#it was a cool angle of them trying and failing to cope with it

[m00n-d34r3st]

Ok, I love all of mikey's life interest even sara hill, because they all said something about it no matter how it panned out in the end, but with the expection of Wood by a bit is, I 100% always perfer him being with an oc one the basis of when we do see mikey finally give himself some distance from the environment he grew up in which is a goal is some iterations, it kind of a bummed we never really see mikey having anything beyond his established social circle and I feel like it such a waste in storytelling.

I don't want them to disappear, but with the young adult experience, it's normal and healthy for them to start building a new circle and spending a bit more time with them. My idea is kind of im the vain of urban legend and mirage to an extent having towns and cities were mutants and other people that would not fall under the human umbrella can lead civilian lives with Mikey getting a scholarship to go to college in one and meet other people his age that are mix of ocs and recurring characters in the fanchise. I love the idea of playing with the concept of mikey being the one out of all his brothers having a life that is normal in the traditional sense, he going off to college and building his own life and his family unit really dealing with such a change. I mentioned mikey having arcs in the early comic days of moving out or deciding to have living arrangements away from his family and I realized that at it's core is a family experiencing empty nest syndrome, which can be experienced by siblings. And it makes me so sad, because thinking about it while many families at least know and even expect that day to come, in their situation, they didn't have such expection or evne a chance of looking forward to such a day coming, so when Mikey did make that reality they were blindsided in away and left trying to find ways to cope. And I feel like it will be the same song and dance when it comes to finding his soulmate and future spouse, especially with them being an outsider.

For the type of person I think they would be, I love the idea of him being a man that is equally as invested in his career and trade and have the upmost respect for it. He's an ace in his field, but still uses has time for the people in his life and to better his community. Personality wise, I can see him being laced guy that knows how to work hard and play hard. Loves to engage in conversion, especially around the arts and definitely not beating the obssessed with his work vibes, which would match mikey's freak.

The thing is I can see them being a slow burn couple, they likely met during college, but had grown within themselves and with each other and generally had a deep connection that took time to create. They aren't always the bestest of friends, but there would never be a time when the other didn't have some level of respect and understanding. While, they weren't each other's first, it clear when they do finally start to claim each other as romantic soulmates, because the experiences they had together created that for them.

I have a couple more ideas like meeting ans becoming apart of the family but that's what I can think of now.

Mikey and April

They are each other’s stray cats

When Mikey meets April he literally acts in the exact same way he would if she were a frightened kitten. Beats up the thing threatening his creature, scoops her into his arms, and says to his brothers, “Can I keep her?” And then takes her home and gives firm instructions they should get him when she wakes, he’ll be listening to music. Tell me it wouldn’t be the exact same story on Mikey’s part if she had been a cat.

And meanwhile April allows her creatures to approach at their pace, let’s them into her home, bribes them with food (okay food Mikey and Donnie ordered but still), and tries to keep them—especially Mikey—away from fragile items. They are all cats in this show. Except for the, uh, rat. Sorry Master Splinter.

April and Mikey understand each other on a spiritual level. It isn’t very long after they meet that the banter begins, with her pretending to have ruined his comic books and him turning the lights off on her. They have fun and make each other laugh. They’re also very respectful of each other’s boundaries. Like when Mikey comes into her shop during a fight to say hi, when she protests and he realizes, he immediately gives the most sincere apology we’ve heard from him at that point in the show (maybe ever?) and backs right out. Or when Mikey wants to be a superhero and all of his brothers are making fun of him, but April rolls up her sleeves and helps him find an outfit. It takes them very little time to earn each other’s trust, and once they have it they never betray it.

I think the show under utilized their youngest sibling solidarity. Makes sense because Robyn is in one episode, and I don’t think age order is even stated (is Robyn younger in 2003? I’m pretty sure she’s older in Mirage and I like younger sibling April so I’m gonna pretend Robyn’s older). Anyway it would’ve been fun to see April remembering what being the youngest is like and sticking up for Mikey, reasonably or unreasonably. Could’ve been a cool bonding opportunity with Angel, too. But not very plot relevant so makes sense. I guess.

This friendship is so important for Mikey because she really is his first human friend. Donnie and Leo both seemed closer with the Professor (especially Donnie, but Leo is also shown to be trusting of the Shredder and the Utroms so I feel like it’s implied that the human thing isn’t a big deal to him), and Raph is close with Casey before he gets close with April. Mikey is the turtle who would want human friends the most. He shows the most interest in NYC culture and verbally states a desire to be part of the community more than once (the greater good thing). April’s first reaction on meeting them is screaming and fainting, so not great, but things turn around pretty fast and that had to have done a world of good for Mikey’s confidence.

You know how he’s obsessed with monster movies? I don’t think the irony is lost on him. Especially considering how quiet he immediately gets when Don points it out to him during Notes from Underground. The internalization of societal prejudice against him specifically is strong with this one. And in Mikey’s world, at fifteen, “society” irl is pretty much made up of April, Casey, and people who want to kill him. Thank goodness for April and Casey.

Some headcanons:

April is Mikey’s maid of honor just like he was hers

They are the party planning duo. Birthdays with the Splinterson-O’Neil clan are off the charts

They would have so much fun shopping together

April buys all the Turtle Titan merch

Most likely duo to argue about food. Does pineapple go on pizza? Sushi yes or no. How much hot sauce is too much. Why are you adding cilantro I hate cilantro—

[unlikelyjapan]

s2e6 rewatch notes - part 1

I'm breaking this up over two days (for length, clarity, and my own mental health) - I pause and scribble my way through scenes as I go, so there may be a few repeats here and there.

Natalie's bereft face in the opening, attempting to disassociate but failing miserably because that's not her coping style. She obviously doesn't even smoke by the way she's holding the cigarette, she just does it because - much like working inside a commercial kitchen - it's the only legitimate excuse for a break from the chaos. Both she and Mikey act like they've just exited the fog of war (because they have) and - unlike Carmy - they've never had the emotional or material means to escape it.

Sugar's "No one can make anyone else act a certain way" comment to Mikey - it's very clear that they perceive mental illness from very different angles. Mikey admonishes Natalie for her check-ins as an attempt to blunt/control Donna's outbursts, and Sugar's skepticism of Mikey's strategy of just riding the lightning/ignoring the outburst (while acknowledging that he and Carmy have more success, but she attributes most of that to being the female middle child of a grievously ill female narcissist).

Carmy coming out = a hot mess of family dynamics. He asks Mikey (innocently enough) to come in and handle the crowd by being "fun cool guy" and Mikey assures him that he will, but with a vacant look in his eye (no wonder this man was on drugs, what other choices was he afforded?). Fak is literally yelling indistinctly inside, upping the chaos, as Richie bursts outdoors amidst the three siblings to ask if "there's any family shit going on that he should know about".

Along with just trying to be ok themselves, these three adult Berzattos are a magnet for every other wayward adult-child who needs a home to reckon with their own trauma, and their inclusion becomes their problem as well and only ups the frequency of the despair. Mikey literally makes space for the three of them by dismissing Richie "for a minute", and you can tell that's not normal protocol.

"Would it kill you to pick up the phone?" - Carmy is already wounded by Mikey more than 4 years before his death. You can immediately tell by Mikey's earnest response (along with his previous discussion with Sugar) that he was just keeping Carmy at arms length to ensure he never returned, to spare just one of them from a life of hardship. In spite of everything else we see about Mikey and how poorly he manages his trauma in this episode, he is an inherently good brother who started early in inciting loathing in the person he loves above all others just to save him.

I wanted to peek behind the "Our Mother of Victory, Pray for Us" bit, as you know damn well it wasn't selected by Storer by accident. The whole idea is that Mary, the Mother of Victory "pleads our cause with a mother’s heart and concern with whatever we bring her. Confident that Our Lady’s prayers are always heard we pray"

I may be reading too much into this, but that's a whole fuckton of power projected onto Donna. Even though it's said in jest, its maternal compassion and mercy that was never extended to the Berzatto kids. It could also be seen as "only Donna's prayers are heard and answered" (through the placating and emotional gymnastics performed by her children) so they utter this little prayer to her as much as they do to God - for control, for relative calm, for the day to simply be ok. They know better than to expect much more than that.

What is the actual point of Fak and Ted? I mean this narratively. I know that the Ricky actor who plays Ted originally worked on the set of The Bear in S1. Did the producers think they had an awesome "boys club" vibe and just plop them in as chauvinistic comic relief? Or is this part of a long-con? Do Fak and Teddy embezzle all of The Bear's money and retreat to Hawaii or something? Right now it's giving "Matty Matheson needs to sell more cookware" and I need a reason for this set-up, as the rest of the players offer more than enough relevant chaos to the episode.

Also, when they ask "Mrs. B, are our skateboards in here? Can we sleep over?" as Donna is cycling in the kitchen - Matty Matheson is in his 40's, so he time-traveled back to a rough-looking 35 to freeload off of his fake-besties Mom and aid in her spiral? I don't get the age timelines/ideas on what arrested development in this show are anymore....

"Say the fucking words" - ooof. I feel like a lot of ink has already been spilled on what the word "love" means in the Berzatto realm, but no wonder Carmy can't comprehend it even when it's right in front of him. Love to him is sacrifice and struggle, panic attacks, pacifying meltdowns, idealization and inevitable betrayal (hello other shoe!), and just saying the word because it diffuses an argument - not unlike rubbing one's chest.

So....what's the likelihood that the abusive chef at EMP is just a projection of Donna living rent-free in Carmy's head at this point? The way she lobs the ball at Carmy with all of the elements that need to be swapped when the timer goes off, the practical matters of running a high-pressure kitchen trailed with jests and insults and total emasculation. Yeah...I think it's pretty high up there.

The second Richie and Carmy trade off the homemade Sprite (before Carmy can grab the prosciutto and mortadella that his mom asked for 2 seconds ago) is just enough silence for Donna to feel abandoned and start unravelling again/start screaming about moving the pot. I can't quite place my finger on the weird amalgam of mental illnesses they gave this woman (hit me up, psych majors) but if its not over-scripted/acted, its a lot.....

Richie and Mikeys "Just take a break from being a mopey little fuck" - phew, these dudes really think that a high-school chick will be Carmy's salvation.

"I don't have a love of my life?" Carmy doesn't even flinch or show recognition of who they're talking about at first, and then it dawns on him that they've probably embarrassed him and he wants to crawl in a hole and die (which is the most honest feeling expressed this episode to date).

And wow. Donna intercepts the whole thing by throwing a spoon at Stevie and screaming "Richard, bring her the fucking pop!" - a.k.a the title of the previous episode with the house party. Those words ended the gang's harassment re: Claire, but then future Carmy willingly waded right back into the abyss of thoughtless conversations, bullying, projections, others' expectations, and the terrible Christmas.

Ok, that's it for now - I'll be back on my bullshit tomorrow.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...” your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

-

Masterlist

[mongooseblues]

Bless You Father for I Have Sinned (Fleabag, Hot Priest) 1/1

Did anyone watch Fleabag and/or want to read about a hot priest sneezing?

This works just fine as a standalone if u haven’t seen the show but for context: Hot Irish prob alcoholic “cool swear-y” priest and recovering sex addict and all-around hot mess main character (who doesn’t have a name) strike up a “friendship” that is just a poorly veiled excuse for spending time with someone they want very badly to fuck but can’t bc priesthood vow of celibacy and whatnot.

Here’s ~2k words in which I continuously get off on the idea of blessing a priest and unresolved sexual tension I also don’t resolve.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

“Fuck you, calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it…”

It happens for maybe ten minutes before it starts to stick out to her. Because it’s cold, as it always is on early-spring nights in London, and while they’re both fully dressed (unfortunately), neither is probably quite dressed enough to be out in a garden at this hour. And they’re a bit drunk—not that drunk, they’re both pretty practiced—on the G&Ts he’s so fond of for whatever reason. He specifically likes the kind you get already mixed in a can, which are especially shit, but it’s almost endearing that he likes those in particular. Well, very endearing actually. Goddamn this man—or… hmm, poor choice of words.

It doesn’t really grab her attention until he combines the sniffling with pinching his nostrils together.

“You alright, you’re quite sniffly?”

“I know, I dunno what’s going on,” he says, and punctuates it with a harsher sniffle than the ones previously unacknowledged, “Think ‘m just cold.” He zips his sweatshirt up a bit as if to illustrate.

“We could get you a blanket and swaddle you up like baby Jesus.”

He laughs. She extracts from her coat pocket a pack of cigarettes, takes one herself and angles the carton toward him in offering. Mostly because she wants him to scoot closer to her on the bench as she flicks the lighter for him. The flame illuminates the angles of his face in orange, the back of his fingers grazing her hand by happy accident, and yes, it’s a little pathetic that this momentary skin-to-skin contact is as erotic as it is to her, but that’s what you get when you fancy a priest isn’t it?

“They’re always describing him as being swaddled. Odd word, swaddled. Sounds kind of violent.”

“It does kind of,” he agrees, leaning back against the bench and exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. Her plan worked, he’s ever so slightly closer to her now, post cigarette exchange, close enough that when he sniffles she can feel the slight vibration of his shoulders through the loose fabric on her coat sleeve. It unites them like an accidental spark of electricity she can sense just faintly enough to feel jumpy. Or turned on. Or both.

She really shouldn’t be this shameless about trying desperately to corrupt a man of the cloth she wants to get under. Maybe she’d feel properly guilty if she wasn’t quite so fucking horny.

“So you did read more than just the passages I marked for you?” He asks, at once surprised and pleased and maybe nervous, grinning but also looking away for a moment as if he could disguise all of that.

“Not really, just the birth of the ol’ lord and savior. It seemed like it’d be climactic.”

“Was it?”

“Can’t say I climaxed reading it, no,” she says with a cheeky look that elicits the laughter she’s looking for, “No offense but it’s really quite boring, this book you love so much.”

“Yeah… that’s a tragically common sentiment among reviewers.” He’s scratching at his nose with the back of one wrist with such intensity it’s unmistakeable how much it’s bothering him.

“Don’t care much for the writing style either, I have to say.”

If the irritation could be resolved with a mouse-like scrunch of the nose he’d have figured it out by now, and clearly he hasn’t because he still has to shrink into his crossed arms like an accordion with a fairly high-pitched, vocal and thus somehow Irish-accented, “Hehh-ishhYUE!”

“Bless. The only way I was able to get through it was by imagining you in every speaking role.”

It’s a sentence meant to provoke him, not unlike most of her sentences, and for a minute as her eyes are on her own exhaled smoke and he fails to respond, she wonders whether it sounded even weirder than she meant it, but as it turns out he’s just about to sneeze again — squinting into the distance and bringing an arm to his face in slow motion.

“Mmff-SHOO!” He blinks in surprise as he resumes his previous position on the bench, now shifted just a bit farther away from her. Damn.

“Ugh, sorry. Every speaking role?? Ohfuck— ahh-ishSHEU!”

“Jesus.”

“You imagined me as Jesus??”

“No I mean Jesus, are you okay, did you catch something?” Of course she imagined him as Jesus.

“Ooh I hope not,” he says with a nervous look, “that’d be lousy timing.”

“The lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Thuh-that he does—” A sudden inhale, a crooked arm rising at a much hastened speed. It begins in a manageable way, somewhat controlled, but then it seems to get away from him.

“Hh… hehd’SHHUE!”

“Bless you, Father."

He mumbles a thank you bookended by soft snuffling.

“Maybe he’s sent you a plague of sneezing. He does that sometimes doesn’t he? Send plagues?”

His face just scarcely conveys amusement before it’s hijacked again by the same expectant expression, but he still attempts to talk through it, even as irritation becomes evident in every feature. “S-sometimes…”

She thinks about saying bless you in advance but decides instead to just wait for him to succumb to it. A flicker of lashes, a reveal of the very tips of canines, his entire face crinkles around his visibly twitching nose. It pulls him downward and then forward in that order, as he collapses into a crooked arm as if stumbling despite being seated.

An especially desperate, “hehhSCHOO!” that begins quietly but certainly doesn’t end that way.

“God bless you, Father, again.”

“Wow,” he says with a sniff, knuckles swiping under his nose in a single smooth motion, “Maybe I’m allergic to you. My body’s having a reaction.”

“Is it?”

An eyeroll and a grin, and then he goes back to scratching at his aggravated face in a manner that’s becoming aggressive.

“Well stop manhandling your nose that’s clearly not working.” Before she can think better of it, she takes his elbow to pull the offending arm away from his face. She can feel his muscles tense with the movement, but when she looks up at him there’s only a blurry-eyed smile chased by a nervous huff of a laugh. Another line she can’t uncross but doesn’t particularly want to.

The therapist hadn’t needed to point out that her all-consuming attraction to someone she couldn’t have was probably a healthy coping mechanism of her recently adopted abstinence. She hadn’t really expected this though — for her advances to not be rejected entirely. She hadn’t planned for hope to cease feeling like such a daft, one-sided notion.

“Should I even be blessing you or is that overkill? Or am I even qualified to bless you? Can one bless a priest if they’re not like, anointed or something?”

“You can bless me,” he confirms, looking like he’s barely got a handle on controlling his own eyebrows. Or lips for that matter. God, that mouth, those lips. Parting by accident the way she’d like to make them open on purpose.

“Little greedy of you. You’re not blessed enough as is?”

“Neh—neverhurts…” He pitches sidewards with a slurred, tellingly tipsy, “hehh-ESHHyoooo!”

“Bless you…”

“Thank you,” he sniffles with embarrassed necessity, bringing the back of a sleeve to his nose.

“Hold on, I think I have some tissues,” she says as she feels around in her bag in the darkness, “Well, cocktail napkins at least.” Another knuckle brush as she hands them to him. How arousing. How pitifully arousing. She really should come up with ways to hand him things more often.

“Ahh you were holding out on me,” he says, and then after a gentle blow, “Sorry.”

“You are coming down with something aren’t you?"

He thinks about it, bringing the napkin away from his nostrils with a final follow-up dab. “I dunno, maybe?”

“Do you feel ill?”

“Mostly just very itchy.”

How many other chances will she get… She reaches a hand to gingerly press the back of her fingers against his forehead. He blinks a few times in response, rapidly and reflexively, and swallows back a smile. There’s a burning in her stomach that’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

“Um, you feel okay I think?” She says, attention course-corrected back to the cigarette crumbling in her hand, but still glancing at him to measure the aftermath of the relatively bold gesture and they lock smiling eyes in the process.

If he really wanted to ward her off he’s doing a phenomenally shitty job of it. She knows he wants her. God if only that was enough, to know he wanted her.

“I think you’re right I’ve been sent a plague of sneezing. Probably trying to tell me something.”

“Something about how your new friend could take care of you?”

He grins with half of his mouth. “Or something about how I probably shouldn’t be drinking G&Ts in the middle of the night with my new friend who I like a little too much.”

Oh he… really shouldn’t have given her that.

“ExxSHHUE!!” He shakes the whole bench with this, then straightens back up, not looking entirely recovered, and says almost to himself, “And about how I probably shouldn’t tell my new friend that I like them a little too much.”

“But you did anyway and he hasn’t, I dunno, smote you down yet.”

Irritation is still etched into his features, his chest slowly swelling with air, hastily fiddling with the napkins.

“Are you actually going to sneeze again? You haven’t finished?”

He shakes his head as his eyes close and seizes into a rushed, “hehESHHyue!"

“It’s a plague I can’t stop! Snf, it’s out of my hands."

She knows the night’s over, she does. She gets the sense that she’d been invited to overstay her welcome, but it’s getting past that point now. Whenever she leaves after being around him her face hurts from smiling like an idiot the whole time and she comes away aching in more ways than one. That ache is starting already, another sign they’ve stretched this interaction too long once again.

However, alcohol. “If you tell me to leave and you sneeze again perhaps we’ll know whether or not it was divine intervention.”

“He might just be punishing me now anyway,” he sighs, remembering a cigarette he may not have taken a single drag from, neglected and foreshortening in his fingers.

“We haven’t done anything we’re just talking. I’m a—what is it, parishioner?”

“That is a word, yes. Snf! Though it implies someone who’s actually going to church to, you know, practice their faith."

“I’m a parishioner here to…” she’s not even sure what to say, she still doesn’t know shit about Catholicism aside from the fact that it’s a massive cockblock, “seek your… counsel? Guidance? Guidance counseling.”

He puts a hand over part of his face, tired but amused. “You can’t act innocent even when you’re trying your best, can you?"

She almost snorts. Is this what he thinks trying her best looks like?—No, don’t actually say— “Who said I was trying my best?”

Why can’t she stop herself from saying things like that to him? The only thing that’s going to stop her now is a ‘no’ that’s actually firm enough not to give way when she presses against it relentlessly. He honestly needs to just get it over with before he really gives her too much to hold onto. She’s not going to win out over God, the guy’s pretty fucking stiff competition.

Goddamnit, just break her heart already, what the fuck is he waiting for? This should have ended ages ago, and now it’s getting dangerously close to too late.

Was it unfair to assume he’d be stronger than her? Or is he trying to hurt himself too? A duetted exercise in masochism, mutually assured destruc—

“—ESSHHYUE!” He looks at her through wet lashes, bleary and sheepish and drunk and cute and fuck.

She sighs loudly, looks skyward and says, “Right, you’ve made your point! I’m leaving!”

[commonwealthoccurences]

Stuck

CW: Claustrophobia, hints of a panic attack description 

Word Count: 2,043 Prompt: Elevatorfic Day: 15/27 Sole reflected on their willingness to clear out Nuka World, almost singlehandedly, as blatantly stupid. Sure, they had encountered a lot during their time in the Commonwealth, and the raiders not protesting at them volunteering wasn’t suspicious at all, considering how lazy they could be despite their greed. However, Sole was regretting everything they had volunteered to do for the ungrateful bastards about the time the elevator screeched to a halt and what lighting they had shattered on the floor next to their boots.

They’d already felt sick from the heat that pressed against their skin, bringing forth a layer of sweat that caused everything to stick to their skin. Gage wasn’t much better off, considering he felt the need to complain every two seconds about how he was sweating his balls off, despite the fact that he and Sole and just about everyone in Nuka World were in the same weather. They’d lost count of the amount of times they’d glared at him, trying to get him to shut up to no avail.

The realization that they had to travel down into the depths of one of the buildings to get a necessary chip had Sole begging the universe to grant them some sort of freedom from the heat. They would be underground, so it would be cooler there, right? They had to hold onto that hope, otherwise they were going to end up strangling Gage before he could get out another word.

That hope halted just as quickly as the elevator did, complete with the terribly bright sparks of metal on metal and jarring drop that nearly had Sole falling back into the wall behind them. A lantern they’d found and set up on a hook in the corner went crashing down as well, spraying the floor of the elevator with hot oil, causing Sole to suck in a whistling breath as they jumped out of the way. It cooled somewhat rapidly against the lukewarm metal floor. With no light and no escape from the heat, they were stuck.

Gage burst into another round of loud cursing, kicking at the doors that were quite content to remain tightly shut, sending Sole flying to wrench him away from the doors with a furious and exasperated, “Gage! It’s a fucking elevator, that’s not how it works!”

He yanked himself out of their grip and pushed them away, pressing a hand to his face as he began to pace in the limited area of the elevator. Sole wanted to feel bad but the heat had gotten them both riled up and irritated with everything that dared to move that day, and this was just another wrench in well set plans that would’ve had Nuka World up and running sooner rather than later.

With another kick to the walls of the elevator, Gage dropped down to sit on the floor, seemingly having already forgotten about the spilled oil. His head remained in his hands, braced against his knees as he attempted to shut out the area around him. Sole pried their fingers into the crack where the doors were clamped shut even though they knew how poorly that would go, and sighed in frustration when, exactly as they thought, nothing happened. With a shake of their head they turned away, back towards Gage, just barely able to see the outline of his form in the darkness.

The image of him curled in on himself with his arms braced on either side of his head like he was trying to protect himself from something was enough to have Sole tilting their head in confusion. Gage wasn’t exactly someone they’d say had a lot of fears, and whether that made him a little reckless, or he came across somewhat cocky because of it, Sole couldn’t say. What they did know was this was concerning and they had no idea what was causing it.

Internally cursing the heat that was beginning to build in the tiny space, Sole kneeled next to him, grimacing at the way their knee dipped into the pooling oil. For a second, they raised a hand to rest on his shoulder, but swiftly thought better of it when they remembered what his reflexes were like. Instead, they simply placed it on their thigh and muttered a quiet, “Gage, you okay?”

He heaved a breath and tilted his head back, looking at them with his jaw clenched and eyebrows creased. “The hell was it called before the War? Claustrophobic?” He tried to fake a laugh for fail of anything better, but failed, instead letting out a suppressed groan of discomfort.

Sole didn’t know how to help. That was the first thing they thought. He needed help and they didn’t know how to make things easier, to relieve some of the pressure that was inevitably crushing down on his chest. Even they were uncomfortable with how boxed in they were, sweating even more as the heat trickled in with no escape, amplified by their body heat. Sole dropped down to sit next to him, resigning them to accepting their fate in the oil, and leaned their back against the wall, looking over at Gage.

His eyes were now squeezed shut, his hands trembling where they rested on his knees, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his legs in terror. Sole ground their teeth together, thinking. They had a direct line back to the camp, thank God, and someone would be over to help them out relatively soon once they made contact. Sure, no one really liked them and Gage, but things wouldn’t run smoothly without them. First they would make contact, then they could focus on Gage.

With that, they brought their Pip-Boy up to their face and tapped it to turn the light on, flinching as the green beacon filled the room. Despite the initial scare, it seemed to help Gage as he looked around, committing his surroundings to memory for fear that the light would vanish as soon as he got comfortable. Just a few more minutes and then they’d figure it out together. With a couple more taps, Sole navigated their way to the radio section and tuned into the raider frequency that allowed them to communicate. A familiar, grating voice came through just moments later. “What’s going on, Boss?”

Sole had to sigh at the situation. “Old elevator decided to fuck us over. Any chance you can get down to Kiddie Kingdom to get us out of this shitshow?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Caps. And I won’t skin you alive when I inevitably get out of here.” They snapped back.

The voice over the radio let out a laugh. “Sure, Boss. We’ll get movin’.”

Thank God they hadn’t fucked one of the factions over when they were splitting things up. Gage didn’t care much about making people cranky, but they knew at the time it would’ve come back to bite them in the ass. Sole dropped the arm that held their pipboy and began unbuckling it with a resigned breath, ready to get the weight off their limb and get what little air they could filtering over their sweating skin.

The Pip-Boy settled against the elevator floor with a few clangs of metal, not in the puddle of oil, the green light cast across the space hauntingly. It rested at an angle that perfectly accentuated Gage’s gaunt cheekbones and his hollow, tense expression that made Sole worry for him for the first time that they could remember. His breaths were coming much faster and shorter than they had been. He was panicking, and Sole needed to stop it before he really worked himself up. “Gage.” They spoke softly, but he jumped anyway. “I’m gonna put my hand on your arm, okay?”

Whether or not he had nodded in response or there was a shift of the light was up in the air, but Sole took it as a cue to move forward with their plan. They reached over and placed a hand on his arm, letting him get used to that for a moment, before sliding it down to his hand. Carefully, they worked their hand under his, turning it to grip him firmly in an attempt to ground him. After a moment of processing he grabbed onto them quite hard, like they were the only thing anchoring him. His breaths were getting even shorter. “Gage, breath. We’re just fine. Help’s on the way, you heard them, yeah? We’re gonna be okay, but we gotta be patient and wait for them to get here.”

“Hate it.”

“Hmm?”

“I fucking hate it. Feels like it’s gonna collapse on us.” He held onto them even tighter.

The metal shifting periodically in the building probably wasn’t helping him fight his fears. “These buildings have stood here for hundreds of years, they’ll last far longer after we leave. The elevators are built to last, too, Gage. Don’t let your brain trick you, okay?”

With that he turned and looked at them finally. His eyes were shiny, bordering teary, his jaw clenched so hard Sole felt their teeth begin to hurt in sympathy. They smoothed their thumb over the back of his hand, smiling softly in hopes it would be somewhat reassuring. Gage’s breaths were still ragged, far too uneven to be comfortable. Sole made sure he was paying attention when they shifted closer and turned towards him, bringing his hand that they were cradling towards their chest.

Gage rolled his eyes. “Now’s not exactly the time, Boss.”

Sole fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, telling themself that he was only trying to cope with humor. They rested his hand flat against their chest and he watched warily, eyes curious. “You need to breathe with me. If you hyperventilate it’ll only make things worse, so let’s avoid that.”

Gage, surprisingly, agreed readily and nodded in response, swallowing harshly as he tested the position by adjusting the pressure of his fingertips against Sole’s skin. It was hot, far too hot, and they could feel how his skin felt like boiling water against theirs, but they told themself they didn’t mind and drew in a slow, long, even breath. Gage’s breath in return was much more ragged and choppy, but it was progress, and they’d take it.

With that Gage slowly brought his breathing closer to normal and was able to fight the lightheadedness that was making nausea rise in him. Neon danced along the walls, reflecting off the pool of oil and glass shards that had been scattered across the other side of the elevator, resembling some sort of radioactive underwater show. Sole watched the refractions with careful eyes, mentally crossing their fingers that someone would be around to free them sometime soon. They’d done all the dirty work, even got trapped in an elevator for it. All the raiders had to do was get there and find the external emergency release. God knows they’d complain about that too.

Gage’s posture slumped down, a contrast to the previous live-wire tension that had been running up and down his frame. He sighed and brushed a hand over his forehead, wiping sweat off his brow in a swift motion. His head was still bowed towards his lap, his hand on their chest as they looked over his shoulder at the bright display. With an exhausted breath blown between chapped lips, Gage simply leaned forward and rested his forehead against their crossed legs, hand coming down to land on their knee. Accepting the situation rather quickly, Sole picked up his hand again and worked their fingers between his, knuckles bumping uncomfortably and palms sticky. He squeezed their hand for reassurance. Checking to make sure they were still there in case he needed them. They squeezed back.

The pair let the silence creep by, simply accepting that they were in a short waiting game, whether they were to be rescued by the raiders or to pry their way out kicking and screaming if they had to. After a few beats, Gage spoke up in realization. “Aw, fuck! Of course the lantern broke.” He swore, realizing what he was sitting in. Sole had to sigh and looked to the ceiling to summon their patience.

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Fall Apart in Me || oneshot

PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Native American!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,775

WARNINGS: spoilers for the end of Infinity War, grief, self-blame, smut

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​ - please heed the warnings and enjoy! This is my first ever Captain America fanfic… here’s to new firsts!

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

It’s been a week since everything happened. 

You’re back at the compound, barely able to leave your room. Nat’s keeping the TV on as the news broadcasts the names of people who vanished, and you can’t find the strength to ask her to turn it off. 

Everyone’s coping in their own way.

It’s day three of you staying huddled in your room, and you’re long overdue for a shower. Quietly, so that you don’t disturb anyone’s sleep, you gather a change of clothes and slip down the hallway and into the communal bathroom.

Steve’s standing at the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He only moves when the door swings shut behind you, turning slowly to watch you set your clothes down on one of the stainless steel benches. He looks genuinely surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” He folds his arms across his chest. “How you holdin’ up, kid?”

Shrugging, you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I… not good, but is anybody here really holding up?”

He looks at the tile floor. “No… I don’t think anybody is.” He goes quiet for several seconds before raising his head to look at you. “I’ve been trying to contact Tony, but… there’s nothing. Pepper’s alive, at least.”

“Oh.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I… it’s Tony, he’ll find a way.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I bet he will.” He looks like he doesn’t want to leave you alone, and when he reaches up to scratch at the beard on his jaw you make an effort to continue the conversation. 

“Were you gonna get rid of that?” you ask, gesturing to his face.

“Eh, maybe.” He sighs heavily. “I was thinkin’ about it.”

“Keep it,” you suggest, “just a bit longer.”

He offers a tight, sad smile. “Yeah… well, I’ll let you have the room.”

He leaves before you can say anything, and as soon as the door’s shut you strip and step into your favorite cubicle. The warm water rinses away the grease and grime from the last three days. You stay there for at least an hour, until your fingers turn pruny and the water starts to run cold. Quickly toweling off, you redress in flannel pajama pants and a tank top and toss your laundry into the hamper before walking back down the hallway. 

Steve’s on the patio, leaning against the railing and blankly gazing at the empty space in front of him. He’s changed into black flannel pants and a white tank top, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight. It’s been too long since you’ve shared your bed with anyone or anything other than your vibrator.

“Can’t sleep?” You step through the sliding door and close it behind you.

“No, not really.” He clears his throat and wraps his fingers around the top rung. “Good shower?”

“Yeah.” You lean on the railing, closing your eyes as the cool breeze blows through your hair. It’s eerily quiet, and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s so quiet,” you murmur. “Do you think we’re ever gonna fix this?”

Steve exhales sharply and hangs his head. “Kid, I… I don’t know, I’m still trying to realize that this even happened. We screwed up.” He runs his fingers over his beard. “We screwed up and we lost, bigtime.”

You chew on your lower lip. “I keep wishing I’d done more.”

“We all do, Y/N—”

“No,” you interject, “I mean… I should have done more. I was supposed to be protecting Vision and the stone and I failed…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve explains softly, “we all tried as hard as we could—”

“But I didn’t.” You fight to keep your lower lip from trembling. “Shuri was so close to getting it out and Wanda went to help everyone else and it was just me… I was supposed to be strong enough, but I got knocked out and when I woke up—”

“No.” Steve covers your shoulders with his hands, spreading his fingers wide to keep you steady. “No, don’t put that on yourself. You did everything you could and none of this is your fault. The guy who attacked you was three times your size.”

“I’ve handled bigger, it should have been easy—”

“Y/N, just stop.” Steve brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His thumbs wipe away the tears that fall from your eyes. “I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself anymore, do you understand?”

“I just feel horrible,” you whisper, “I want a distraction… does that make me a bad person? I just don’t want to think about this for just one night.”

Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t make you a bad person at all.” Stepping closer, he lowers his head until his forehead is resting against yours. His breath is slightly shaky, and you reach up to grip his wrists. You can’t remember being this close to someone who’s not an immediate threat.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re stretching up on your toes and kissing him. His lips are warm and soft, beard delightfully scratchy on your skin, and when he lets out a soft breath and kisses you back, you can’t help but wind your arms around his neck. 

“Distract me,” you whisper. “Please…”

He leads you through the door and down the hallway to the bedrooms. He lifts you up outside the door to his and carries you inside, nudging the door shut before crossing to the bed and laying you out on the soft surface.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kneeling up between your thighs and hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips so he can ease them down, and when he tosses them off the edge of the bed you tug your shirt over your head. He blinks slowly, absorbing the sight of your naked body like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“You’re wearing too much,” you cover, tugging the hem of his tank top. He strips it over his head—Jesus fuck—and tosses it to the floor. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight, but you don’t get to look for very long before he’s holding himself over you and kissing down your neck, the valley between your breasts, your stomach, the dip of your hips…

The sound you make when his tongue scoops through your bare folds is somewhere between a whine and a groan. His beard scrapes sensitive flesh, adding a pleasant, scratchy tingle to the rhythm of his lips and tongue. 

“Ohh…” you bite your lower lip and thread your fingers in his hair, “oh, fuck… yes…”

Steve hums at the expletive and presses his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open for him to feast. You arch up, rolling your hips against his face, and you shiver when his tongue circles your clit. It’s more than you can take, and you pull away with a soft whimper. 

“Wasn’t done yet,” he murmurs, trying to pull you back down.

“Need you inside me,” you whisper, “please… wanna feel you inside.”

His pants are gone before you can blink. His cock is thick and heavy, flushed dark with arousal. You reach out for him, grip his shaft firmly, and give a steady stroke. He grunts softly, tipping his head back as you reach out with your other hand and pull his hips down. 

“Easy,” he chuckles, “easy, kiddo.”

He presses his lips to yours, and you hum at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Rubbing the tip of him through your folds, you let him find the small divot between your thighs and guide him in, only releasing him when he surges in deep, your bodies coming together in one primal, gratifying moment.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full, and you’d be lying if there’s not a slight twinge of pain when he thrusts the first time. You take it in stride and wrap your legs around his waist, heels pressing against his ass as he picks up a steady rhythm.

“Christ.” He sighs against your mouth, swallowing your own gasp of pleasure in a wet kiss. He grips the covers on either side of your head, his forearms sliding underneath you to form a cradle that keeps you tucked safely underneath him. You slide your hands up his back, scraping your nails just a little to feel the roll of firm muscle under his warm skin. 

“Go deeper,” you murmur, “you can go… oh my God—ahh…”

He digs his knees into the mattress for leverage and changes the angle of his hips, causing his cock to rock against your sweet spot on every inward movement. Rolling your hips, you manage to meet him thrust for thrust, and he pulls back to gaze into your eyes. 

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m… ngh, not gonna last…”

“Don’t.” You squeeze his waist with your legs. “Cum inside me.”

His head drops onto your shoulder as he exhales a solid groan. You wiggle a hand down between your legs and rub your clit, holding onto Steve with one arm wrapped around his shoulders. He quickly works you up to your peak, silencing your high-pitched moan as you cum around him. The rhythmic squeezing of your cunt around him only drives his own urges, and he only manages a half-dozen spasmic thrusts before he pushes in deep and shudders, spurting deep into your warmth.

He draws you into a tender kiss, continuing to rock his hips until you’re both sensitive and quivering. When he pulls out and rolls to lie beside you, he brings you with him, holding you close as if terrified of letting you go.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask, unable to help a giggle. 

He closes his eyes, a soft, delirious smile playing on his lips. “I did have two years away, y’know. Some nights got lonely.”

You tuck yourself against his body, nuzzling the crook of his neck where he’s warm and smells like musk and amber. “Are we gonna keep doing this?”

Turning his head to gaze at you, he raises a hand and brushes his fingers across your cheek. “I wouldn’t mind.”

You kiss him gently, only pulling back when your breath catches in your throat and the overwhelming reality seeps back into your intimate moment. “We’ll get them back,” you whisper desperately, “we’ll find a way, somehow.”

Sighing deeply, he caresses your shoulder and closes his eyes. “Yeah, kiddo. We’ll figure it all out.”

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[werezmastarbucks]

dayton

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2631

music: air catcher by twenty one pilots

The tiniest part of you wanted to go to Columbus, because you loved that place. But the bigger part, the one that connected your brain to your hands clutching the wheel, told you if you fail, you’ll have all the time in the world to go back to Columbus. To wherever the fuck you want. Kai said he can operate practically any type of transport, but doesn’t like ships. Flying was fine with you as long as he really knew not to crash a plane. You had to constantly remind yourself that he had many years to learn everything.

As you drove, you were revising the CDs Kai found in the car. He was putting the disk in and pressing play, or sometimes he just read the names of the bands. He opened the window and threw away all the CDs that were named trash. Now that you two were misplacing them, they were supposed to stay there on the road after Kai sent them out of the window, you were asking. Right? But, crashing on the ground, they were damaged, so did it fall under the order part of the spell? Were they to return into the car after you deliberately got rid of them? 

“You’ll know tomorrow”, Kai replied playfully. Surely he knew how that works, but it seemed he was unwilling to just tell you everything about this prison, and wanted you to discover things for yourself. 

Dayton was empty, too. Just like Roanoke and Huntington on the way through. You found this stillness somewhat soothing. You didn’t like gatherings and crowds, didn’t like noise and people. You decided to dive back into the three foot world, and just enjoy the empty roads for once, and start worrying when the realization of utter loneliness settles in.

You looked on your right, where Parker was sitting, staring at the cover of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” by a-ha (do not throw them away under any circumstances!) in his hands, with one brow raised, belt across his chest. You still felt like you were alone here although he was next to you. He still didn’t feel like a human person - more like a part of this world. As inanimate. He was remarkably quiet, and you knew it wasn’t for good. 

On the Germantown Street, you stopped the car, feeling tired. The sun was about to set down completely, the May angle leading it onto your left. You got out and stretched, and Kai stepped out of the car a minute later.

“Where will we sleep? Any good hotels?”

He shrugged.

“I haven’t been in Dayton”.

“You haven’t been to Dayton?” you repeated.

“That’s what I said”.

“Ever?”

“Ever”. 

He looked around and stared at the sky again. Parker has been glitching like that since last night, when he stared up as if trying to cope. You looked at his upturned nose and his youthful face, thinking, he is in his forties. This dude is going to be fifty years old soon, and he is a nut case, and I have him on my hands.

He looked back at you.

“Adventure begins here”, his tone was half-questioning, and he smiled. The way it curled his capricious mouth, his eyes glowing, told you he didn’t really believe in getting out. You’ve only spent here a day, but he gave up already. He knew there was no getting out, and he just took it as a long journey, to keep his girlfriend sane. You had no idea where he thought he was going. 

You walked back to the car and took your bag and the phone. Kai’s eyes wouldn’t leave you.

“You’re changing the car again?”

“Uh-huh. Why not? It’s not like someone’s going to report them all?”

He smiled again. 

You walked down the street, ghostly and quiet. No stray dogs, no garbage being thrown around by the wind - but that’s likely due to Dayton being very clean. Kai wouldn’t bother taking the bag out of your hands, walking with his head turning right and left. You felt like in a museum, observing the 90s’ fashionable displays and stores. The eerie sight of clothes you had a habit of associating with your mother’s youth, and the lighthearted, distant, happy past years, the square thick screens and simpler times, were now a reality for you. You could reach and touch that sky-blue blouse on a slim mannequin, wearing posh plastic necklace, a picture from an aesthetic lookbook for inspiration. Aesthetic and nostalgia, that’s what the nineties were to you, but now they were here, brought right upon you, by magic, and they were very real. 

You slowed down in front of one of the windows of the Dayton Mall, a low, nice-looking white and green store, and looked at the leather jacket displayed.

The bag dropped on the ground as the understanding slowly creeped into your mind. Kai was standing few steps away from you, with his head cocked, watching you yet again. He seemed like a tour guide, a museum security guy who was more concerned about whether you enjoy this experience rather than keeping it all intact.

“I can do whatever I want”, you said slowly. 

“Absolutely everything. There’s nobody to stop me”.

“Don’t headbutt the glass”, Parker warned you, and there was this note in his voice that told you he’s talking from personal experience.

You took off your hoodie, the evening air a bit cool for only a tank top. You wrapped your hoodie around your hand and swung it, breaking the display.

The glass shattered loudly, pieces of it falling to your feet with ringing. Interesting, you thought, you get here, into this world of opportunity which poses as prison, and the first thing you do is vandalize.

The jacket wasn’t even that cool, so you didn’t aim for it. You looked down the street full of windows, and you could feel your blood boil. There was something inside of you, trying to get out, like the fuse that suddenly got lit. Everybody has it. Anybody would do it. You turned back to look at him - no need to mention his name, there is nobody else but this guy - and he grinned half-invisibly. It was a grin of indulgence, a hidden smile that lit his face when he did something bad: you recognized it from last week, when he said he’d kidnapped Elena on the first week after he got out of prison. It was the smirk that bloomed on his face as he spoke about how he gutted his own mother, and god save you, it was the same smile he had after you opened your eyes and still had a taste of his mouth in yours. 

You ran along the Germantown Street with the red pipe wrench you fished out of a car you found in the street. It was heavy in your hands as you swung it, crashing it into the glass, bothering the headless and armless mannequins, startled and falling down, creating the mess on their places. The glass was cutting your hands, flying in all directions, spitting sharp shrapnel like rain. With each broken window, your shoulder ached more and your head ached less, and you felt less like crying. Maybe there was a wake among that act of desctruction, but you missed it amongst the wild excitement of complete permissiveness. Parker walked after you, smiling quietly, as you raged around him, carrying the bag, and looked around. Finally, when you got tired, he sat on the asphalt next to you and looked at your hands.

“You’ve tapped one percent of what you can do here”. 

His sly hand took your palm, and your skin stung a little. It wasn’t as bad as that burn yesterday. You watched your own hands not believing pain could live longer than physical manifestation of it. Kai’s fingers wrapped around the cuts tightly, making you sigh sharply. He was so full of magic now, fresh prince of everything, that it radiated out of him. You could swear you felt it coming from his hand to yours. The cuts started sucking on themselves, and the ache stayed deep inside slender bones, phantom. 

“Another”.

“You shouldn’t waste your magic. Who knows how long we’re going to stay here”.

Kai gave you a meaningful look.

“Well, we decided we’d find a way, right? So, I’m doing it soon”.

“You know you’re lying. You’re only going to Oregon because I asked you”.

“See how nice I am?”

Your palm snaked out of his hand as soon as he healed you. 

“That’s what I don’t like about it”.

Parker eyed you down.

“You’re really hard to please, aren’t you?”

“I’m a bit grumpy cause I’m stuck here with you”.

“I have told you before, I never asked you to”.

You didn’t really have the energy to fight now. You wondered how you’re going to cope with his breakdowns in the future - and they’re bound to happen from time to time. Maybe become just like him, emotionally volatile. Seems easy enough. So far, everything here has been too easy, and you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Darkness fell on Dayton, and there was intense white glow somewhere beyond a row of buildings in Madden Hill.

“There it goes. I think it’s a cool hotel. You should go to sleep, you have a long drive tomorrow”.

He got up and offered you a hand.

“It’s weird you’re not driving”, you noticed.

“I don’t like driving”.

You stood up without his help and he frowned again, like he was noticing every little thing crossing your mind. 

“How is that? I thought you liked being in control”.

“I am. I’m making you drive me everywhere”.

You sniffed.

“I do it because I like driving”.

“Then it’s a win-win, right?”

He patted you on the back and removed his hand as if afraid you’d bite. 

You walked on towards the glow, crossing lit and dark streets. Here the lightning is automatic, and here is not, Kai was commenting. He was commenting on everything which indicated he was in a good mood. 

“That’s the best ‘94 can do?” you inquired, looking at the tall rectangle building. 

“It’s a Hilton”, he noticed.

“It’s an ugly ass hotel”, you grumbled. Kai snickered and followed you inside.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry”.

Parker knew his way around everything. He knew where the kitchen was, and, while you were coming up choosing a room, he went on raiding the huge space filled with food.

He was devilishly good with it, too. 

That evening, after you’ve eaten, you went strolling around the place and found out one more thing: you didn’t like being without him while you knew he was around. 

Empty space that was supposed to be filled with people creeped out your unprepared mind. The stairs sounded hollow, and you expected somebody to jump out of the long, empty corridors. In the windows of the hotel, there shone an empty city, lit for nobody. Shadows and silhouettes were floating around in the dark sky. You decided not to butcher every thing that came into your way and fought the desire to break the window to look outside. What will become of you if you use the foot and fist method for everything just because there’s no one to stop you? Kai wouldn’t mentor you. He’s more of a devil on the left shoulder than the voice of reason. He will definitely be willing to spoil you until you’re flexible material he can use.

You now had a great opportunity to reflect on all that, Parker included, and decide on your course of action, separate yourself from your cell mate. But instead of staying away to think you found yourself drawn to the place where he was, because the empty ugly Hilton was scary. 

You returned into the room and found him, sitting on the floor of the big top floor suite, with the little bedside light next to him, crouched over something. Walking closer, you found it was the charger from your phone, and something remotely resembling a part of a boombox. One of the loud speakers from it was torn out, and laid at his hand, and you couldn’t understand a single thing he was doing.

“What is it?”

“I’m making you a portable speaker, like one of those bluetooth things kids have”, he said shortly. 

You looked down on him, a little surprised, because he’s never acknowledged his own age or the era he’s lived in before. Preoccupied, he looked very smart, and completely normal. He even rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie.

“How?”

“See this thing? It’s from that player”, he motioned his hand towards a player lying afar on the floor. Looked like he’d kicked it away with force.

“I’ll adjust the wire so that it can see your iPhone, and voila”.

“But I need the charger”.

“It’s gonna work”, he nodded.

“Are you sure? Kai, I can’t lose my phone!”

He sighed, and looked up at you.

“Did I mentioned I studied at MIT?”

“No. You know there’s been a shooting?”

You didn’t know why you mentioned it immediately.

“Wasn’t me”.

“Clever motherfucker”.

Kai shifted as if you touched him. He looked at you as you walked away. Coming close to the bed, you felt you were almost collapsing with exhaustion even though you didn’t do much.

Just before you fell asleep, you looked at the time on an electronic clock next to bed. It was almost midnight.

You woke up as if someone hit you. The silence was pressing on your ears, pressing your head, and moreover you didn’t know where you were. Without opening your eyes, you tried to remember the place and what happened. The darkness was blue and black, and it was so warm you tried to pull the covers off of yourself, and failed.

Kai moaned, displeased, right behind your ear, and you realized his arm was wrapped around you, and that’s why you felt like you were lying in a cacoon. 

You rolled halfway, not without a struggle, and saw his face very close.

“Kai, what about personal space?”

His body was so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. Of course, he’s one of those boys who turn into stoves when they sleep. Somehow his body just did that, so that you didn’t really know what he was unhappy about. You were scared of how well your shape adjusted to his, and you were lying comfortably in such a position that you usually get when you wake up in the morning. Even if bed seemed uncomfortable last night, in the morning you don’t want to move an inch, and the pillow seems perfectly soft. 

Still, you could feel his invasive mass, almost pushing you off that king sized bed, cornering you to the edge, like he was trying to scope you and win over the bed at the same time. You felt for his hand against your ribs and found he formed a fist, clutching the fabric of your shirt, like you were about to roll away.

“What personal space?” he murmured. 

Fair enough. In this world, that was all yours and nobody else’s, this crowdless, lifeless planet, thounsands and thousands of miles of nobody’s land, in this spacious cursed desert, there was not space enough for the two of you to move separately. You had felt it while wandering around the hotel, when you decided to run back to where he was just to see another human next to you, to make sure you’re not alone. This prison was as claustrophobia igniting as it was hollow. There was no personal space here.

[finsterhund]

Hey I fucking broke my ankle lmao

“I could really use a break right now” I say as I struggle with my dog having terminal cancer, my roommate pushing my limits, my money being nonexistent, and barely getting one meal a day.

A finger on the monkey’s paw that is me ever wanting anything in life curls again. Must have been a pretty fucked up monkey because there’s a lot of fingers on this thing by now.

So yeah, life thought I wasn’t going through enough already so it added broken fucking ankle to the list of Finsterhund suffering hours.

“I wish I wasn’t broke” is another good one. “here have a different broke then lol. go fuck yourself you rotting corpse of a victorian boy piece of shit”

here’s the goods. Got ex roommate to take photo of the screen. Doctor did not let me email the high res version to myself.

I did not go “waaaiii” on the way down, unfortunately. Life just isn’t like a video game. Probably didn’t look funny either. In reality I am a silent faller/injurer/whatever. Survival instincts of child abuse survivor I land and stay there as quiet as possible. I “grew out of” signals for help before teenage years. Which is a blessing in disguise because I don’t like people looking at me when I am hurt. it’s the “baby deer waiting for mom to come back instinct” I hide from predators.

My brain didn’t really process it when it happened. I just fell and heard a SNAP. If I had watched a video of it happening to someone else I would have found it gross but fortunately my brain just let me ignore it.

I was mostly immediately scared that I had somehow damaged the FIFTY DOLLAR dog calming aid that I got for Cazza in the pet store. I needed something like it for her and just seeing it in person and not having to pay 30 dollar shipping I was like “yeah. getting it here” fortunately the only fragile part is a little plastic capsule that imitates a heartbeat, which was packaged inside the toy inside the box. I hope. I have not opened it.

But the reason I fell is because I was also carrying giant bag of dog food. You see my vet recommended I switch out her food in light of the potential heart disease link. So I got the biggest bag of the best chicken stuff they had. My roommate might try saying that it was because the bag was too heavy. It wasn’t. I could lift that shit just fine. Bag was impossible for my impaired depth perception cringe fail line of vision to see around. The same visual impairment that prevents me from being able to drive a car made me think that I could put my foot down on the curb of the sidewalk. Dumb ass thought I was stepping OVER the curb.

Fortunately the bag of dog food broke my fall. Otherwise I’d have probably smashed my nose and teeth on the pavement. I really hope the expensive puppy calming toy is unharmed :( I say as I have a fucking broken leg.

So yeah. If you’ve seen labyrinth where David Bowie playing Jareth the Goblin King walks over all those weird ass fucked up stairs and ledges that are all a manner of odd angles? Specifically where he just takes steps that are at an angle that you cannot actually walk? Yeah I fucked up Jareth platform stairs walked over the fucking curb and snapp my legs

yes, I said legs.

Only my left is technically broken. It’s a Webber A something or other. I have a sick as hell photo if you wanna see. It’s included in this post.

But my right foot also got fucking fucked up. That one it snapped a tendon or a ligament or whatever the fuck. Get this, it snapped off a small piece of the gottamn bone. It’s not a break but it’s like it came off like a splinter. I made a joke in the hospital about how it’s like when you throw a sticky hand at the wall and when you pull it back a piece of the paint comes off with it. That was really fucking funny but nobody laughed. My friend’s group chat thought it was funny though. I did not get a photo of that foot and the tiny cringe sticky hand paint sliver bone.

I am on pain meds better than my normal pain meds. I can barely feel the legs in bed now.

So back to the parking lot. I landed on the dog food bag. I am hoping the calmeroos puppy is not broken or damaged in any way, I heard the snap but my brain is not registering the snap. This hurts “like a normal fall” I think at first. It hurts a lot of course, but I have the pain tolerance of a truck (thanks for this one Will) and a “heartwarming” story from my youth is that my mom didn’t believe my arm was broken both times it happened because I wasn’t “in pain enough” so I’ve got the firsthand experience to back that up.

Yeah then I try to fucking move my goddamn legs. Left one, broken one, there’s noises. Like cracking pop sounds. And pain. God fuck. It feels like the foot is loose and it’s only connected by fleshy flesh and muscle and skin. Aka like how my dislocated shoulder (that my mom also dismissed because I didn’t scream enough... after the lifeguard had alreayd put it back in...) had felt when I was 12.

So I’m like “oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck I can’t get up or move” yeah my first response was “how the fuck am I going to escape?” I attempted to better myself to get up but absolutely not. Right foot feels like when I roll the damn thing which happens a lot. That *WAS* my bad ankle. sidkfjsdkfjskdf not anymore!!!!!

So an important note is that I’m technically better about my severe agoraphobia that my roommate can let me go into a store by myself provided he’s no more than a couple stores away. So while I’m waiting for a predator to pick my weak ass off outside the petstore he’s in the dollar store next door where I was supposed to meet him after putting the dog food in the car. The car I am now sitting next to. I have no way to get his attention because my phone is dead and also in my bedroom because it’s useless when not plugged into the wall.

Luckily the people parked next to us come out the store and see Mr fuck leg the fucked leg boy sitting on his bag of dog food between the cars and bless this family they help me out. By trying to get roommate out of the dollar store. Which doesn’t work. So they get the dollar store manager. Who then gets roommate out of the store. I was probably sitting there for 10 minutes or so. They had kids so I’m really trying not to let them see how fucked up the rapidly growing ankle balloon is.

But yeah. Eventually roommate come out the dollar store. And get this, he does the same shit my mom did every time anything ever fucking happened to me and is all “okay if it were really broken you’d be screaming right now” as I’m finally able to prop myself up enough to get into the car. That fucking triggered me real bad and I had a breakdown in the car while he went back into the dollar store to continue shopping.

Then we went to get food.

Then we went to costco.

He said that he would take me home and then if it was “still bad tomorrow” he’d take me to the ER.

So he tries to help me out of the car to the house.

I cannot put weight on the right leg either. It is agony. He’s trying to support the bad leg but the other leg need support too. A weaker man would have screamed but I just dropped to the parking lot ground and cried.

Made an attempt to crawl to the house but the gravel on my knees was just too much on top of everything else.

So FINALLY the ER is back on the menu. Ex roommate comes out because I need someone to support each foot. And they take me to their car and they drive me to the ER and I’m trying to eat a baconator while my foot is reminding me that we should have stayed as tiktaalik. you know, not fucking biped I want semi aquatic too please please please youre nothing

The wheelchairs in the ER are designed to offer full body support but the damn things are so hard to maneuver around and cannot be user operated. So I was sitting there having to get pushed around feeling like a dumb fuck because I hate needing assistance to move I hate it I hate it I hate it. I kept reaching down expecting to find the wheel handles but they weren’t there.

ER was... fun. There was a cool cartoon I’ve never seen before “Craig of the Creek” playing on the TV. I really want to see more of it I really liked it. But a fucking anti vax guy (YEAH REALLY) was swearing and bitching because there were kids shows on the TV This show was the only comfort I fucking had. Craig was spoonfeeding me comfort with his little freeze to death without your winter clothes adventure (RIP to him but I’m different)

But yeah. Once being treated it was all really nice. My ability to make constant jokes about fucked up injury death and suffering is a really good stress relief. Shout out to the xray tech who totally understood I use dark humor to cope and in response to my joke about how if I was a horse they'd just shoot me that I would “make wonderful glue” the other people were also very kind but I kinda felt they were intimidated by how “jovial” I was about the whole thing. Like yeah. I’m “handling it well” because that’s my whole strategy. Inside I’m screaming “please not the plates please not the plates please not the plates” (I am scared of having metal plates and screws.) Fortunately the stupid little cringe bone broke just low enough on the bone that I don’t have to get the plates and screws. I was literally begging Spot and she answered.

In my moment of weakness I decided that the true nature of the “Spot Power” is that she makes it so that when I’m going through shit I’m always “being so brave about it”

I kept thinking about how Cazza thought I had abandoned her though and while roommate did give her her evening walkies she was stressed and puked on the walk. Which fucking ruined my life and I cried more hearing that than the fucking leg.

So yeah. In canada crutches and the foot boot actually cost money. I’m out like 100 dollars. Plus like 30 because roommate wanted gas. I’m just used to it by now. I definitely need to plug Cazza’s gofundme again now though. Have no clue how I’m even going to take her to her appointments. I am hesitant to hope that roommate will give her as good walks as she needs.

There were more tears over the fact that I was going to fail Cazza than that I actually broke my fucking ankle.

This shouldn’t be a shock. I knew that eventually my visual impairment and my physical disability were going to team up on me and fuck up my body even worse somehow. Always thought it was going to be stairs though. A small comfort is apparently the x ray department has had four other people come in about the exact same curb. Yeah I kid you not. The curb between the redacted dollar store and the redacted pet store confirmed for Heart of Darkness 2: Andy Ankle Adventure

They were supposed to give me more pain meds but I guess I didn’t pick them up or they forgot or something. My brain is fried so i have no idea at all.

Crutches are a massive learning curve for someone with depth issues and balance issues. I almost fell face first on the goddamn crutches several times. If I wasn’t broke and you know, if I couldn’t fucking not leg broken walk leg I would go to hardware store and make a wheeling seat thing like those scooters in gym class and then I’d have Cazza pull me on walks. That would work.

Big issue is in and out of our place is fucking stairs. Yeah. I crawled up them on hands and knees. No way in hell with my already fucking broken mobility could I go crutches up them. I have to hold onto railing or I fall down stairs so crawling it was.

I can technically take the boot off to sleep but the tightness makes it so much better so fuck that. Wish I had the rolling elementary school gym class scooter so I could drag myself around the house.

Cazza doted on me like nothing else. She tried to brace me going up the stairs but she’s not big enough for what I’d need with this fucking leg problem. She helped me change out of my clothes though. Even though she’ll never be certified she’s still my everything.

The she cuddled close to me until I had calmed down and now she’s fast asleep in her bed. I am so glad I ended up giving her her bath before going out.

I am going to attempt to make it to my bloodwork appointment tomorrow. I have rescheduled that due to chemo appointments too many times.

I can’t remember if I’m forgetting anything else. Honestly my roommate telling me the exact same shit my mom did just fucking hurt so bad. I think I know my own body better than you do. Like I’ve told him about how she didn’t believe me and I had to beg her to take me to the hospital and he ended up doing the exact same shit. All because I didn’t outwardly exhibit being in enough pain apparently.

I just hate how being disabled you always have to fucking prove you’re disabled. Like I was expected to somehow walk back to the house and up the stairs but when I got to go to the ER yeah fucking broken lol.

I just wish I had parents. I need taking care of. I always did and I never got it.

I’m scared for the future. I don’t know how I’m going to manage or how I’m going to provide for Cazza.

I wish breaking my ankle could have made Cazza’s cancer go away

[lonestarbabe]

Grief is a Lantern

The 126 deals with their grief. (AO3)

Glimmers in the Night

Debris hangs in the air in Austin, and the volcanic matter looks like snowflakes, falling through the apocalyptic sky. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. With tragedy, there always seems to be corresponding beauty that feels like a cruel taunt more than a way of balancing the awfulness. T.K. wants to be somewhere else because it hurts to exist in his own brain. His body is heavy with the weight of what he has seen— the melting flesh, the smell of burning skin, and the horror of losing someone so close.  The thought of snow creates a pang of yearning for New York and her white winters. New York isn’t his home any longer, but it’s his history, and whenever grief creeps into his life, T.K. can’t help but grieve the simpler times in New York before everything became so hard. He longs for real snow, not the bastardized disaster-snow that has fallen upon Austin. He wants to be six years old again, making snow angels in the park before the snow turned to ash and before the pollution started to clog his mind. His brain remains congested no matter how far he runs from the chaos that dawns the minute innocence and ignorance are lost. With all that hangs in the sky, T.K. can’t see the stars, so the night feels lonelier.

Within every great natural disaster, there are the little disasters that go unknown to the wider universe— the human tragedies that are just blips compared to the broader chaos that mother nature has inflicted. Faces become blurred as casualty numbers scroll across news banners and names are shoved behind the fear-inducing title of whatever “once in a lifetime” event has just happened. Losses are sensationalized, and rubberneckers wear you down with their stares. It is hard to have a tragedy so personal be the world’s because the grief becomes even more inescapable. It’s there when you flip on the TV; it’s there when a friend from long ago calls to see if you’re okay; it’s there when you go to the grocery store to get midnight salty snacks and the cashier cannot stop talking about it, even as you are moments away from breaking down and crying. The grief comes at you from all angles. You feel so many feelings that you aren’t sure which are yours. Your pain feels exposed, and you don’t know how to tuck it back inside of you, back into its cage until you’re ready to face it.

T.K. isn’t ready to face what happened. It’s only been a few hours, and he is still running on adrenaline and whatever chemicals are lingering in his body to keep him going. He’s not let himself think too much because he knows that the emotional crash that he’s going to face isn’t one that he can handle alone. T.K. knows enough about himself that he knows that he doesn’t handle feelings well. He’s been working on coping skills in therapy, but in times like these, when unexpected things happen, his brain always wants to revert to old patterns, the ones that are a quick fix for so problems that have not so quick solutions. He knows that he needs to be careful with himself for a while, and he’s not going to take shortcuts to feel better.

The highs and the lows of life get to T.K. the most. He loves the high and is debilitated by the lows, and too often, he seeks the gray middle. The levelness that allows him to robotically function. One moment he was celebrating his dad’s life and not too many later, someone’s life had been taken, and it’s like every time things start to be good, something sours the sweetness. In times like these, T.K. defaults to feeling numbness, and he knows that when the numbness hits, he’ll want to feel something— anything— because anything’s better than trying to process emotions he cannot access. Numbness helps him cope, but it also deprives him of the light. The joy becomes enshrouded by the darkness that prevents him from engaging with himself.  

Going home doesn’t feel right after everything that has happened, and T.K. knows he can’t sleep in his own bed tonight. Unable to think too hard, he follows his gut and goes to be with the person he most wants to hold. Carlos had told him to come over if he needed to, and T.K. doesn’t care if he was just saying that to be nice. He needs to see Carlos. To know that he’s still there, to feel his skin, and to prove that this horrible night is real. Until he sees Carlos, he’ll worry, so he drives the eight miles to Carlos. It’s late, so there’s little traffic, and T.K. thanks whatever’s up there for little blessings because he doesn’t have the patience to sit and wait for other people to get moving when his life already feels like it has hit a standstill.

He feels unsettled in a way that makes his head light with the desire to escape the truth because he doesn’t want to accept what has happened. It would be easier to deny the facts just a little longer. To let himself sleep one last sleep without the burden of tragedy. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up with a piece of lead in his brain, pressing his head against the pillow with an unwillingness to get up and face everything that has happened, but today, he’s unfocused and his world is a haze with a gray filter. He can see the pixels in the air as his eyes try to find any stray beam of light. He grips the key in hand, pressing the cool ridges into the palm of his hand and letting the feel of the cut metal remind him that he’s not floating in outer space alone. He’s here, on earth, seconds away from seeing the man he loves. He’ll be okay if he can just push his body a little further.

The adrenaline is starting to crash, and his energy is waning, but he has to go just a little further. It is that distance, the small but profound one, that keeps his legs holding him up. A few steps more and he will be by Carlos’ side. T.K. drags his feet to the door of Carlos’ house. He slips into the apartment, being as quiet as he can because it’s late and Carlos is probably asleep. He doesn’t mind if Carlos isn’t awake, and it might be easier for him to be asleep. T.K.’s tempted to turn back and isolate himself. He thinks it might be less painful if he doesn’t have to meet Carlos’ eyes, but he shakes that thought away. Knowing that Carlos is there and safe is what matters. T.K. doesn’t need to talk or anything like that. He just needs to see that Carlos is there because loneliness magnifies pain.

As much as he doesn’t need Carlos’ consoling, relief strikes him when he sees that Carlos is waiting on the stairs. Carlos’ face nearly makes T.K. lose it, those brown eyes that say all the things T.K. has tried to ignore. Even with the sadness between them, Carlos is still so inviting. He feels like safety. T.K. takes a breath, exhaling the air that’s been lodged in his chest. He uses whatever remaining energy he has to make it to the stairs, and he can’t take them with much gusto, but pulls his feet up, and he goes to where Carlos is waiting. He feels his heart flutter at the thought that Carlos had not gone to sleep. On a day when sleep is so tempting an escape, it means so much to wait up and choose to endure the slow-motion hours when you can fast forward through the longest minutes, the time when there’s nothing left you can do.

Carlos reaches out to T.K. to take his hand, and guide them to bed, but T.K. can’t do it. He can’t lift his arm. He can’t reach out. He can’t move his legs any more than he already has. It’s all too much, and all he can do is drop his body against Carlos’. He collapses against his boyfriend— oh, how he loves that word— and he lets his airy head find the solidness of Carlos’ arm.

T.K. can’t move his head from Carlos’ shoulder as he starts to feel a hot bubbling in his stomach. Tim didn’t deserve to die. It’s unfair and aggravating. 2100 degrees of anger makes its way through T.K.’s body, and he wants to scream as he clutches onto Carlos to keep him grounded, but the truth is that as hot as the anger is, it freezes as soon as it hits his chest. So, he sobs because he’s so sad. He thinks he’s sad, at least. Feelings are confusing. They shift quickly and blend. They camouflage as one another, and T.K. doesn’t have the energy to know how he feels other than “not okay.”

The day wasn’t supposed to go like this. T.K. should still be at work, attending to calls from people doing things that they should have known better than to do. No one had predicted the disaster that had unfolded. Even when they knew they were dealing with something so dangerous, T.K. had focused on saving people. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would fail to save one of their own.

T.K. can’t find words, so he doesn’t try. He lets Carlos hold him, and he sits on the stares feeling no comfort but feeling as at peace as he possibly could. The tears fall from T.K.’s eyes as Carlos presses kisses against T.K.’s head and pulls T.K. closer with a firm arm; they are quiet tears, the ones that give none of the release of a sob. There are only a few of them, but they are more than T.K. usually lets another person see. They stream down his face, warm and salty. They make his face itchy, but the knotted ball of energy in his chest remains strong. As the tears slow, T.K. hides his face in the wet splotch he’s left on Carlos’ shirt. Carlos rubs his back, and T.K. wonders what he did to deserve a man like this, one who will sit on the stairs as a sad soundtrack plays mournfully in T.K.’s mind.

T.K. doesn’t know how long they sit there, but eventually, Carlos shares the first words between them, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Without having to think about it, T.K. shakes his head. “I just want to sleep.” So, they sleep, letting the awful day become part of the past. It’s a step forward, but it doesn’t feel much like one.

When T.K. wakes up a little after four, Carlos is just waking up. His eyes are bleary and his head is heavy. He doesn’t want to move. Even the act of moving his lips feels like too much, but he musters the strength to speak. “You’re still here,” T.K. says to himself more than Carlos. He rolls over to the other side of the bed, turning so he can pull his arms around Carlos, “I thought I would miss you.” T.K. brushes his hands over Carlos’ face to make sure he’s real and this isn’t just a mirage. “But you’re still here.”

“I’m here,” Carlos confirms. Carlos takes the hand on his face and wraps it in his own. T.K. stretches his neck to kiss Carlos. “I’ve got work.”

“You were just at work,” T.K. says with a sigh. He doesn’t want Carlos to leave just yet, but he also isn’t going to ask Carlos to stay because he knows that if he did, Carlos would.

“I know, but they need me there. I won’t be too long.” Carlos looks T.K. over. “You’ll be okay?” He’ll be okay. He’s been through enough trauma in his life that he knows he can handle this one. He knows how to stay away from the edge and keep his head screwed on. Therapy hasn’t been a useless pursuit as much as he would like to say that he didn’t need it.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” T.K. puts on a brave face. “Meet up after your shift?”

Carlos nods, giving T.K. another kiss. “But for now, go back to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I need it,” T.K. replies, but he knows that he won’t go back to sleep.  T.K. doesn’t want to sound clingy. He doesn’t want those old fears of someone he loves leaving and then not coming back to come back full force, but he can’t help the panic he feels as he watches Carlos get ready for work. He knows Carlos is good at his job, and he knows how to take as few chances as he can, but dangers always lurk for first responders, and the light starting to fill the sky reminds T.K. that the night is never far away.

The Trap of the Rising Sun

Owen is the leader of the 126, so he knows that he has to keep a strong front whenever possible. People look at him to know what to do.  When bad circumstances start to fragment a team, it’s always a good idea for someone to act like they’ve got it all under control— to use an authoritative voice and assure them that somehow they can survive the storm that has hit them. Owen wants to be that person for his team, but the truth is that he doesn’t have it under control. His head is spinning with memories of the past, and that never does any good. He’s being pulled back to the darkest time of his life. Loss of life is never easy, but losing someone that you know well and that you should be looking out for is even more heartbreaking. Owen doesn’t want to let his mind linger too long on what has happened because it won’t do him much good. He’s got to push forward. For better or for worse, he’s always been the type of man to push through tragedy, and he’s not going to stop now.

Owen hasn’t slept much; he’s sure that none of them really have, but he’s up bright and early because with so much on his mind, sleep seems like a waste of time. He hopes the morning will give him some sense of clarity, some cosmic meaning to something that mostly seems meaningless. He’s not much of a believer, but with the yesterday that he had, he’s willing to believe just long enough to give himself some peace. The sun is just starting to poke its head over the horizon, and Owen’s got coffee brewing because he knows that there’s no way he’s getting back to sleep. He’s got to find the courage to face the day. He’s been spared death. His cancer didn’t kill him, and now, he owes it to the people he loves to be strong, and if he can’t be strong, he’ll settle for breaking down when he’s alone.

Austin was a new opportunity for Owen. He’s good at those. When things go wrong, he’s a firm believer in creating something new. Ditch the past, and move forward. When T.K. had overdosed, he decided it was time to start something new yet again. In the time since, he’s created the nicest station in all of Texas, but it is not architectural inspiration that gets the job done. It’s the people. He’s always said that the firehouse has always been his family, and now more than ever, that’s still true. He came to Austin not knowing anyone, so the 126 has become the center of not just his work life but his social circle as well. They are the people he wants to celebrate his victories with, and they’re also the people he worries about when the chips are down. He’s got so much love around him now, and it’s a wonderful feeling, but it also means that he has so much more to lose than he ever has before.

Owen worries about what will happen to the station after this loss. They’ve become like a well-oiled machine, and they’ve learned to function as smoothly as they can with each person’s strong suits. They lessen each other’s weak areas and pull each other when they’re feeling down. They’re still getting used to Tommy, but everything was going well. The 126 was adjusting, and they were bouncing back after Michelle left to follow her passions. It seemed that every time they started to get settled that chaos would strike again and send them into a whole new tailspin. Owen doesn’t know how many high-stress, high-heartbreak situations they can take. He hopes they don’t bottle up the hard feelings they will face in the coming days and months.

When he gets up, before the sun has pulled itself fully into the sky, he sends T.K. a text. He trusts his son, but he’s still a father. He still stays up late at night fretting over his kid and praying that he’ll make it through the week unscathed. Maybe this hasn’t always been true in the past, but T.K. is his first priority, and Owen knows that something like the death of Tim can shake anyone to their core, especially someone who has always been raw and sensitive like an exposed nerve. T.K.’s been better lately. He’s been happier, and he hasn’t had to see his therapist as often, but no matter how good someone feels, one crisis can cause them to go spiraling backward, and Owen cannot let that happen, but he also knows that he can’t be too pushy or overbearing, so he keeps his text simple, Are you okay? I’m here if you need to talk. And he hopes that if T.K. isn’t okay that he’ll reach out for help. Owen doesn’t care if T.K. talks to him, but he has to talk to someone when life gets too overwhelming.

Owen isn’t sure how the rest of his team is going to cope with this crippling blow. Many of them have already been through a lot. They each have traumas and hurts that shape how they see the world and react to calls. They’ve learned to come together over their hardships. They’ve become so close over the past few months, and when you’re that close, it makes it hard to go bravely into the danger. You start to second guess your instincts, and when that happens, you may make deadly mistakes. When you’re a first responder, you can’t psych yourself out. You’ve got to maintain your focus even in the face of fear. The minute you freeze up, you put yourself in a bad situation, and it’s Owen’s job to make sure that no one freezes up. He has to keep the team’s confidence up and remind them that they are still capable. Somehow, he has to convince them that while losing Tim was tragic, it wasn’t something that they could have changed. It just was, and while there are always more solutions in retrospect, they trusted themselves at that moment, and they worked to the best of their ability.

Will Judd be thrown back, thinking about the devastating loss of his crew? Judd’s made a lot of process with his PTSD, but Owen knows better than anyone that PTSD doesn’t just go away, even with a lot of work. Usually, it lingers for quite some time, even as the symptoms mostly dissipate. Owen doesn’t feel his own symptoms much anymore, but they’re still there, sometimes, and there’s no rhyme or reason to when they appear, but traumatic situations certainly never help. Owen knows that Judd has a good support system. Grace would go to the ends of the Earth to make sure that her husband is okay, but there are times when it doesn’t matter how good the people around you are. You have to fight yourself, and you have to learn to face the fears and hurts that you’d rather shove aside. Owen admires the progress Judd has made because he knows how hard it is to wake up with your whole life changed. He knows how hard it is to move forward and find a new purpose when your old one is suddenly gone.

Will Marjan think twice before trusting her instincts? Marjan’s best quality when on duty is her ability to trust her instincts. She’s not a rule-follower, but she’s also not reckless. She knows what she can handle, and her confidence allows her to complete insane feats. She makes what she does seem superhuman, but the real skill she has is to know her limits because when you know your limits, you can dive into a situation without overthinking it. Marjan is savvy, strong, and morally-driven. She knows who she is, and as long as she remembers to keep her pride by her side, she doesn’t have issues. Owen worries that she’ll have more doubts. She’ll think twice when she only needs to think once. Owen doesn’t want anyone on his team to be reckless, but he needs them to listen to their gut, especially Marjan because she knows what she has to do in an emergency without having to fret too much about it.

Will Mateo feel secure about his place on the team? Mateo always had his doubts that he belonged on the team. He feels stupid, Owen knows that, and no matter how much anyone tries to tell him differently, Mateo always feels like the kid-probie, who is trying to fill firefighter shoes that are perpetually too big for his feet. Mateo still has a lot to learn, but he does things that others think are unimportant. His contributions don’t always go noticed, but that doesn’t make them unimportant. He may never have viral videos of himself saving people as Marjan does. He might not be able to deduce with pinpoint accuracy like Paul, or he might not be able to look like a force of authority like Judd, but he is important to them. That’s what is so great about the 126— no one is replaceable. They can throw more bodies into roles, but they’ll have their own unique contributions.

Will Paul’s wall of reassurance crack? Paul can read people from across the firehouse, but he is hard to read. He’s self-contained, and he doesn’t often let it show when he’s hurt or angry. He’s an emotional stabilizer in a firehouse filled with passionate and lively people, and he is a great listener, but Owen worries that Paul keeps too much to himself. With so much that Paul doesn’t show others that he’s bound to break down eventually. Paul knows how to handle his emotions, but a person can only take so much, especially a highly empathetic person like Paul. He takes on other people’s pain, and Owen wants him to know that the crew is willing to take on some of his pain as well.

Will Tommy forgive herself? She had been tough on Tim, which was just how she operated. Owen knew that you had to be tough sometimes to keep everyone safe and make sure that they could live up to their potential. Still, it was never easy having to be the bad guy, even when it was warranted. It was even harder when you didn’t have a chance to show the other part of you that wasn’t strict and severe. Tommy was a good person, that was for sure, and Owen had no doubt that given time, she and Tim would have developed a better bond. Unfortunately, time was never a guarantee.

And then there’s Nancy, who was without a doubt the closest to Tim. She’ll take the loss the hardest, and Owen knows enough about her that he knows she’ll have trouble adjusting to working without Tim by her side. They’ve been through a lot together. Nancy had just lost Michelle, and now she was losing Tim too. At least Michelle was still around, even if she didn’t check in as much as she promised she would. Tim was gone forever, and that would be a hard reality for Nancy to swallow.

Owen considers his own feelings on the loss, and he can’t shake the idea that he yet again escaped death when it should have been him. When he got cancer, the universe seemed to be righting itself, but then he had survived that, and it felt off-balance again. He was overstaying his welcome, and somehow, he kept surviving even though he was sure that he’d used up his fair share of lives.

The firehouse isn’t going to recover from this loss for a while, Owen knows. It doesn’t matter if you lose your whole crew or you lose just one of those people, any loss still strikes a firehouse to its core. A firehouse is only as great as the people in it. It doesn’t matter how fancy it looks, a firehouse without good firefighters and good paramedics will never have the heart it needs to survive. They’ll feel Tim in those halls long after their grief has faded and things have gone back to “normal”— whatever normal means. For now, they’ll have to do the best they can. They’ll have to learn to lean on each other and seek help when they need it, but they didn’t get where they are without resilience.

Mornings Always Come Too Soon

When the morning comes, Mateo isn’t ready for it. Everything seems more real in the light, and he doesn’t think he can face the brightness. He wants to roll down his blinds and hide in his apartment until someone drags him away, but he knows that’s not an option. He’s got to be normal, or as normal as he can be under circumstances like these. Inaction is only going to make him feel worse, reminding me of all the actions he could’ve done and didn’t do when Tim was in danger. Mateo has made it through the night, but his mind is still dense with the feelings that don’t seem to abate, so he goes for a run, and he hopes that moving his body will shake off the fizzy feelings loose from the pit of his stomach.

What-ifs loop in Mateo’s head to the rhythm of his feet against the pavement. There’s nothing I could have done, Mateo tries to remind himself, but it does nothing to break the wonders that will perpetually be in his head. There’s always another option in life. Mateo believes for everything that goes wrong, there’s something that he could have done better. He has the unshakable feeling that if he were somehow better that the results would be better. He feels so small and so limited. He’s finally made it to be a firefighter; yet, he still doesn’t feel like he belongs. He feels like an imposter, and he keeps waiting to fit in and feel like he’s finally got what it takes, but no matter how long he does the job, he still keeps thinking that one day the 126 is going to see that he never belonged and that he never had what it takes to be a firefighter. He worries that he’s too dumb. He fears he’s incompetent. He knows none of them would say that those things were true, but that doesn’t mean he believes it.

Mateo’s still exhausted. It’s only just become day, and he’s barely gotten any sleep, but his body needs to get going. Doing something will make him feel less powerless. When he was a kid, loss used to be so much easier. He’d pray to God, and even if things still hurt, at least they made sense. Now, it’s not like he doesn’t believe, but his faith is less of a sure thing. He mostly has it in moments of desperation when belief is the only thing that can give him any comfort. It’s easier to believe in God when you are alone. In those lonely, pained moments, Mateo thinks it would be easy to believe in anything. But it is the God he was raised with that always pulls him in and provides nostalgic comfort. As much he is filled with uncertainty, Mateo wants to believe, so sometimes he can brush away his doubts for the safe cocoon of ignorance.

With all the doubts and sorrows that threaten to fill him to the brim, Mateo’s running. Running is what he does when he needs to clear his head and shake the jumble of words that have gone unspoken. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but going somewhere is not the point, so he lets his feet move in whatever way feels right. He doesn’t want to have to think too hard right now, so he lets his instincts take over and focuses on his breathing. In that way, running is like meditation. Mateo has never been one who has the disposition to sit down and meditate, but he can do this. He can push against the air and center his thoughts through movement. As much as he tries not to think, he can’t stop. The thoughts bombard him, and he knows that trying to censor them only creates toxicity in his body, so he lets the thoughts exist, and he doesn’t try to push them away just because they’re uncomfortable, but running distracts him enough that he doesn’t have to give his full mental energy to the looming thoughts.

Above all, Mateo feels so stupid. It’s his default feeling when things go wrong, and he knows why, but knowing why has never changed how incompetent he always feels. He’s a troublemaker. He doesn’t mean to mess things up, but somehow, he always seems to mess them up. He gets confused or he is focusing on the wrong thing. Whatever goes wrong, Mateo is never doing what he should be where he should be doing it. He imagines being there to warn Tim. If he’d just been several feet closer, maybe he could have done something, but he was so far away, and he doesn’t even remember what he was doing when it happened, so chances are that it was nothing that important. He should have known better— they all should have— but Mateo especially. He’s the probie, which means that he has the least important things to do— right? – so if anyone could have dropped what they were doing to be near Tim, it should have been him. He failed, and he wonders how long it will be until people call him out for his constant failures.

He wonders if things would be different if he was somehow better. If he was better. He’s always been towards the bottom of the pack in everything he does, and on the 126, it’s exactly the same. He isn’t the biggest. He isn’t the bravest. He isn’t the smartest. He does his work, but he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t do it quite up to par. He’s wanted to be a firefighter for so long, and in the face of this tragedy, he can’t help but worry that he was never meant to be one. He wonders if the truth is that he’s never been good enough and he never will be. It pains him to think, but he has to be realistic with himself. The way he sees it, he’s just not the type of guy who excels at anything.

Mateo knows that he should have been there for Tim. He’s made it a priority to attend to details that no one else did because he wanted to show that despite what people kept telling him, he wasn’t stupid. He doesn’t have the observational skills of Paul, but he goes to extreme lengths to do the job right, and maybe he goes to extreme lengths to overcompensate for all the deficiencies that he feels make him trouble.

There’s a part of him that knows that what happened wasn’t his fault, but that part of him is buried under the louder part of him that tells him he can do nothing right. He is just a troublemaker. He’s always been a troublemaker, and wherever he goes, disaster follows.

Mateo runs until he’s out of breath, and he continues to run long past the point of exhaustion. He can’t seem to stop his feet. He’s been training for a marathon, so he normally wouldn’t be so exhausted so early in a run, but with so little sleep and pushing himself rather than pacing himself, it’s no wonder that Mateo’s run isn’t normal. The grief has knocked him out of step, and now, he’s gone from being an adept runner to trying not to trip over his feet.

Mateo’s experienced loss before, and it never gets easier. You learn coping techniques and the pain lessens over time, but it doesn’t become something you’re ever prepared for. It’s not like running. No amount of practice makes grief any less strenuous. It is surprising, rage-inducing, and plain sad every time it happens. Mateo’s best friend’s brother had died when they were sixteen. He had known that Rex was going to die— they’d known for months that the cancer was terminal— but that hadn’t mitigated any of the shock Mateo felt when he got the news that Rex had actually died. He’d prayed for weeks, hoping for a miracle. He’d sustained himself with that hope, thinking that somehow it would be okay. It felt like a blow to everything Mateo believed in when Rex died anyway. Mateo has learned that humans can’t stop having that little blip of hope. Even cynics, somewhere deep aside, are desperately wanting to believe that the unlikely good may happen.

He runs up, and he feels himself still in front of the church. The steeple is foreboding, and the cross on the front is so big. It used to fill him with sheer awe, but now, it fills him with so much more: confusion, fear, hope, dread, anger, joy. And yeah, it still fills him with awe because there will always be a part of him that loves the church and God. Even as he doubts the meaning of life and the cosmic forces behind it, he still takes comfort in the idea that some greater than all someones is looking down on him. He likes the idea of heaven and life after death because the idea of there being nothingness when you die terrifies him because losing your sense of self is the worst fate for any person. He never wants to stop being himself, and he wants to believe Tim has not stopped being himself either.

Tim Rosewater is gone, and Mateo wants there to be a reason for such a tragic loss. He wants it to make sense, but his thoughts are jumbled, and he wonders if this is a side-effect of his dyslexia or if everyone feels this way in the face of grief.

Late Mourning

Michelle doesn't find out that Tim has died until two days after it has happened. She’d been swamped with work to the point that she’d barely paid attention to the news, let alone her text messages. She knew about the volcano, of course— she wasn’t that detached— but she hadn’t let herself think that someone she knew had been injured. She’d shoved away any worry because it didn’t serve her, and she pushed herself further into work. Maybe that attitude made her selfish, she wasn’t sure, but it’s how she’s always been. When things go wrong, focus on just one issue and pretend away the rest.

When she gets the news, Nancy calls her, sounding a lot sad and a little mad. Nancy doesn’t wait to break the news. In fact, she sounds like she expects Michelle to somehow already know, but it’s not like Michelle has been talking to many of her ex-workers. She hasn’t even had much time to talk to Carlos. It wasn’t for a lack of want, but with the pandemic and so many changes in her life, it was the perfect storm for growing distant from the people she cared about. With how packed her schedule has been, she barely makes time for her mom! She wants to be the kind of person who will fight for friendships and who always answers her messages, but that’s just not Michelle.

She becomes obsessed with something, and then, she cannot stop thinking about it. It takes up all the time and it robs her of all the attention she should commit to other things. Her mind lags behind what Nancy has been saying. Finally, Michelle says, “Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

She can hear Nancy scoff, “You know we love you, Michelle, but you haven’t exactly been here. And you aren’t great about answering calls.”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees. “I’m sorry.” She’s sorry for a lot of things that have happened in her life, even the ones that are not her fault. She’s sorry for not spending more time with people before she lost them. She’s sorry for all the times she’s focused on all the wrong things. She’s sorry for the misses calls and texts. She’s sorry for the missed opportunities of reaching out. She’s not sorry for knowing Tim, though, even though it aches that he is gone. She’s not sorry about all the good times they shared.

“About not answering or Tim?” Michelle can’t tell if the question is hypothetical, but she answers it.

“Both,” Michelle confirms.

Nancy’s voice sounds choked, “We needed you. Tim was really upset when you left. He took it the hardest.”

“I know, but I had to do this.” She’s explained why she left. She couldn’t have stayed when her passion changed.  

“We get that. We’re not mad at you for leaving. We’re mad at you for not being there for us,” Nancy’s voice is angry and accusatory. Michelle knows she’d never speak this way if she wasn’t dealing with a broken heart.

“I’m sorry,” Michelle tries again, but that won’t absolve the sorrow she feels or the guilt that is starting to eat at her. She can apologize all that she wants, but there’s no way to make the situation better for anyone.

“You’ve said that. I don’t want your apologies. I just thought you should know what happened. Even if you’ve got a whole new life away from us.”

“Is there anything I can do? Did someone take in Buster?” She sounds like she’s offering to take him in, and she regrets the words. She doe not have time for a cat right now.

“Tommy took him,” Nancy says with relief in her voice. Michelle feels as relieved as Nancy sounds. “He’s doing well. Dogs get all the credit for being loyal, but cats can be pretty loyal too.”

“I trust Tommy,” Michelle says. “I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t, but she’s had a hell of  a start.”

“Yeah,” Nancy says without much life in her voice. She and Tim were an unbreakable duo. Ever since they’d both been on the team, they’d gotten along. They were so distinct from one another, but they somehow fit. They made each other feel better when calls got bad and they understood the rigors of the job in ways that other people couldn’t.

“How are you, Nance? Are you okay?” Of course she’s not okay, Michelle scolds herself.

There’s a long pause between them. “Listen, Michelle, I’m not really in the mood for talking this all through right now. I just wanted to make sure that you knew about Tim. I know you cared about him.”

“I do,” Michelle adds before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. When the line is silent, Michelle feels the weight of the truth landing straight on her. Her eyes water, and she’s not a crier, but it’s been a stressful time. This has all happened during a pandemic. Lots of bad things have happened to people, but she was fortunate that no one close to her had lost their life. The tragedy had not been hers, but this one is.

She doesn’t regret following her passion, but she wishes she’d kept in contact better. She’s never been good at maintaining relationships. She’s always been mission-oriented, focusing on what she can do for the world and forgetting all the parts of her life that give her joy. Michelle tries to remember the last time she talked to Tim, and she can’t quite place when that was. They’d never been chat on the phone after work pals, but they’d hung out at the same places, and they’d talked when the moment arose, so he was still someone important to her. She still hated the idea that someone she spent so much time with was gone because when you go through long shifts with someone, that is bound to bond you.

Michelle has never been one for long goodbyes, but it would have been nice to give Tim a final goodbye. They can’t even have a normal funeral because the pandemic makes even that last goodbye dangerous. She can’t see Tim again. He is gone, and she doesn’t get the chance of closure, so questions rally through her mind. She wonders if she could have changed things. If she was there, Michelle doesn’t think that anything would be different, but she still can’t help but wonder. Has she let down people she cares about yet again?

But the truth is that the questions she asks aren’t ones that will ever have answers. She doesn’t have time to battle her thoughts. She’s always coped best by throwing herself into work. Michelle takes a breath. She gets to work again. She can grieve later, when it is dark and her tears can hide in the night, but it is only late morning, and she is going to get through the day.

Harsh Daylight

It doesn’t take long for Paul to notice all the ways the firehouse has changed since Tim had died. You can feel the difference as soon as you walk into eh building, and it continues to percolate as the firefighters try to adjust to the new order that doesn’t include Tim. Paul knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, but he may have underestimated how hard it would be to function as a firehouse. He’s never been part of a firehouse quite like the 126 before, though. Stations were commonly tight-knit, but his had always been cliquey, and they’d never quite made him feel as at home.

He’s always been good at observation, but it doesn’t take his skills to notice how profoundly things have changed in just a short time. Everything has been thrown in a new direction. They were just starting to get used to Tommy’s role at their station, and just as soon as things were starting to even out, mother nature came in and wrecked their order. They have to learn to get back into a new swing of things, and it hasn’t been easy for anyone. They’re still mourning, but they are back at work, trying to make the best of things.

Everyone has been quiet. It feels like they’re in a ghost town, and it’s unnerving to see such vibrant with so little to say. Paul doesn’t usually say much. He’s always been the type to sit back and read a book as the others played games, but he still likes to chime in and throw in a quip every once in a while. Without Tim, the dynamic has been shifted, so no one bothers saying much. They greet each and they use pleasantries, but it’s like no one can figure out how to break the silence. Paul doesn’t push them to speak, but he observes that they are not.

He sees the way Nancy’s eyes glisten when she thinks no one is looking. She keeps to herself when she can, hiding in the corners of the firehouse when she’s not needed elsewhere. She does her job, but she doesn’t look at people the way she used to, and she mumbles when she speaks. She’s forlorn, and Paul can see when her thoughts shift to Tim because there’s a light in her eyes that dims when her attention is pulled back into the present.

Paul feels how hard Marjan punches when they spar. She’s got so much anger, and he wants to be there for whenever he can. He’d felt that same kind of all-encompassing anger when he had lost his dad, so he knows how important it is to find healthy outlets and to know that other people are willing to help if you need it. He knows how hard that anger is to combat because it is the most combative feeling, so he suggests they go for a round of boxing whenever he sees Marjan start to tense as the anger becomes more intense.

T.K. and Judd, he notices, are more alike than either would admit. They both run hot and cold. They go from quiet moodiness to snapping at anyone who looks at them the wrong way. They’ve always tended to anger, but not the same kind of anger as Marjan has. Theirs is more animalistic, and it’s more unpredictable. Marjan handles her anger well, but Paul worries about how the anger impacts T.K. and Judd.

Mateo seems okay, but Paul sees him praying more than he ever did before. Paul isn’t even sure that Mateo is that religious, but he knows that Mateo was searching for higher meaning. Paul can understand the draw to a higher power, but he doesn’t have one for himself. He sees the guilt in Mateo’s face, and he wonders if that’s connected to Mateo’s newly revived faith.

Tommy, meanwhile, is trying to deal with some guilt of her own. Paul can tell that she feels bad about what she said to Tim, but he doesn’t know much about her to understand her thought process more fully. She tries to put on a strong face when she comes to work, but he can sense the cracks of insecurity. She has a lot to adjust to, and her starting moments were less than ideal, but Paul has a feeling she’ll get better with time and learn that they’re a welcoming bunch.

Owen is nearly unreadable, but he’s more cautious with the team. He takes more risks himself while not letting his crew do things that he deems, “too high risk.” Paul knows that Owen wouldn’t think twice before running into danger to save any one of them or even a stranger. It doesn’t seem healthy, but Owen doesn’t seem open to the idea that his issues may be more alive than he thought.

While the people are downtrodden, Buttercup has been extra lively. He scurries around the firehouse, trying to cheer anyone up who looks like they’re in a sad mood. Everyone smiles when they see Buttercup.

The team dynamic no longer runs smoothly. It’s bumpy and they all feel a little clumsy on calls. The paramedics are the most affected, but even the firefighters seem out of sync. They aren’t communicating as clearly and it feels like they’re back to the days when they just met each other and had to know how each person operated. It’s stranger now because they aren’t strangers and they know each other well that it shouldn’t be hard to adjust, but it has been hard, and sometimes, it feels like they’ll always have a bumpy dynamic.

With all the quiet and feelings, Paul spends most of his time with his nose in a book, and reading seems to calm his nerves enough that he can breathe through any grief that pops up. Paul wonders when the appropriate time is to start laughing and joking again.

There’s nothing predictable about grief, but Paul thinks he’s handling it fine. He’s not yelling. He’s not crying. He’s moving forward. Paul is going through the process swiftly and easily. It’s not that he’s not upset. It’s just that he isn’t reacting in extremes like the rest of his team. His response has been more demure, and he wants to keep balanced for his team because he knows that’s what they need of him. He’s not grieving in the normal way. But what’s the right way to grieve? He’s grieving the way he knows how, and he’s not sure it’s the best way, but it gets him through his shifts and through evenings alone.

Paul looks in the mirror, taking in his reflection, and he notices that maybe he’s not okay as he thought. He looks sullen and quiet. His eyes look tired and his clothes look just a bit more unkempt than normal. Looking into the mirror, he can’t fool himself. He can’t pretend that he’s perfectly normal, even though the wrong things are so subtle that any normal person couldn’t notice them. He’s grieving. He’s grieving just as much as anyone else. Paul’s learned to process hurt efficiently to save himself from the prolonged pain. The trick is that he doesn’t try to push what he’s feeling away. He’s learned to accept his feelings or at least deal with them as they come. He’s not perfect at it— no human is— but he is doing his best, and he’s trying to get through the pain without anyone noticing that he is hurt.

The Hottest Noon

Tim has been dead for a week, and Marjan is still angry. It still feels like it has just happened, and Marjan knows that a week isn’t long, but it’s much too long for her to still be angry. The rage has not yet become embers. It is hot and she struggles to control the intensity. Marjan is not an angry person. She usually can let problems and hardships roll off her shoulders. She doesn’t believe in anger. She thinks it does more harm than good, and she knows that it doesn’t fix anything; it only prolongs her own suffering. Even so, she can’t seem to get rid of the anger. It keeps bubbling up when she least expects it, and it makes her feel like a frenzied mess of a person. She doesn’t like to look herself in the mirror when she is angry because that is not who she is. It is someone she doesn’t recognize, and it is someone she needs to escape. She doesn’t know how to stop the rage, though. How does she move on from the anger to whatever comes next?

She’s been good at keeping her feelings within. She’s cried a little, but she has hides the part of her that wants to destroy everything she sees because she doesn’t know how to express that without bringing down the people around her. She calls her mom when she can, because her mom is the calmest person on earth, but even those calls have limited impacts on Marjan’s state of mind. She can’t help but wonder if something about Tim’s death broke something inside her.

The rage isn’t stagnant, but it’s always there, waiting to come out and poke at her. The rage is dull when it isn’t so sharp that she feels like she has to lash out just to ease her nerves. It is in the back in her, aching but far enough away that she can take some calming breaths and feign normalcy. The rage is too bright, most times, like noon sun. It is bright in her eyes, so bright that it’s hard to discern the rage from any other feeling. They all muddle together under the brightness of the anger. She knows other feelings are blossoming, but they all fail to shine as brightly as her anger.

She’s been doing a lot of boxing with Paul, and he doesn’t say a word when she asks him to lend a hand. When she’s alone, she spends time with a punching bag. She thinks it’s better to share the rage with a friend, but sometimes, she is too ashamed of how angry she still is even after time has passed. Marjan hasn’t talked about it. She’s not one to keep her feelings bottled up, but with all the grief everyone is feeling, she doesn’t want to say too much. She doesn’t know how to put anger into words, and the more time passes, the more abstract the anger becomes.

The boxing doesn’t quite cut it. It helps her blow off steam but not enough steam, so she joins the Austin Annihilators. It feels good to be back on her wheels. The physicality of roller derby helps Marjan let out some of the tension she has been holding. It lets her let the anger out without having red knuckles. She gets more bruises, but that’s just part of the sport, and the ache in her body after playing feels good. It gives her an escape and a purpose. In roller derby, her anger is a tool.  

Derby girls have a reputation for being tough and aggressive, but the truth is that while they’re badasses on the track, they’re a family. They don’t push Marjan to talk about anything, but she knows they have her back. They’ll point it out if she seems distracted, and Marjan feels more comfortable expressing her grief to them because they didn’t know Tim. She can get some perspectives that aren’t so close. It’s refreshing to have some new faces, ones who can keep an open mind and keep her from getting too lost in her feelings. Most people wouldn’t understand how rewarding roller derby is. They think it’s just violent— because they’re girls playing a contact sport— but it’s a sport just like any other, and for many of the girls, it’s the best emotional outlet that they can find.

It’s hard to sustain rage, but Marjan wants to. She wants to hold on because letting it go means she’ll have to face the other feelings that the anger has been covering up. But ultimately, she can’t keep the anger burning in her heart. The more she tries to hold that rage close to her heart, the more the sadness settles in her core. She doesn’t want the anger to become a part of her more than it already has. She wants to relinquish its claim on her and learn to move on from the pain her anger has caused. She wants to feel the sorrow if she must because grief is not just anger, and she must explore all parts of her grief before she can heal.

The Other Side of the Dome

It’s late afternoon, and they’ve just gotten back to the firehouse, and the morning had gone easily, but things had changed when a big fire broke out in the afternoon. Judd can feel his heart hammering in his chest. His mind has been on the edge. It’s been preoccupied with fear and burning with the repetitive thought that it’s only a matter of time before he loses someone again. Tim dying has brought up old memories, and they make jittery and anxious. He’s been snappish and everyone can tell that he’s not his normal self. He’s had to schedule more appointments with his therapist, and that’s fine, but it shows that he’s not fine. He feels like he should be over this by now, but his PTSD has been stronger in the past few weeks than it has been since just a few months after he started his therapy. While it’s been nearly two years since his last crew died, the wound is still fairly fresh, but Judd just wants it to go away.

Marjan nearly got trapped in a burning building and the fear of losing someone else had hung over them all as they waited to see if she made it out alive. Judd had almost lost it when she was in there. He heard explosions in his head and he struggled to keep his head in the present. Owen had noticed and let Judd take a step back, but it hadn’t done much to help. Judd didn’t want to step back. He wanted to help, but there is nothing he could do but wait. The seconds dragged as he stared at the building, trying to get his head back where it should be so he could actually do his job rather than feeling like he’s losing his mind.

She’d come out of the building with a grin, an ashy one but a grin nonetheless. Her voice had shaken, but she’d reassured them that she was okay. Even now that he knows that Marjan is fine, he doesn’t feel any better. Marjan’s back to being her usual daredevil self, but Judd feels shaky. He’s already lost enough, and he struggles throughout the shift. Anytime a situation gest vaguely dangerous, he has to fight the temptation to pull his team members and try to shield them from what his brain keeps telling him is dangerous. He wants to protect the ones he loves, but when they’re on the job, he can’t let his protective urges get in the way of them doing their jobs.

He goes home that evening, and he feels a constant throb of anxiety. “What’s wrong?” Grace asks her husband, immediately seeing through his façade. He should have known that he couldn’t hide this from her, and to be honest, he doesn’t even want to try. He’s learned that it doesn’t serve him to keep silent. He and Grace have been stronger since they learned to communicate in more productive ways.

“Marjan’s gonna get herself killed one of these days,” Judd grumbles, “Or T.K., or the Captain. Even Mateo seems more reckless these days.” The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that someone is going to get hurt, but certain members concern him more because they dive into danger without thinking their actions through.

“Do you think you might just be extra worried?” Grace asks, face gentle. He feels her hand on his face, and it makes him feel at peace. He thanks the heavens that Grace is a part of his life. He never deserved someone so perfect. He was honored to call her his wife.

Judd fights the temptation to yell. He used to be the guy who couldn’t talk about what he was feeling without shutting down, so at least he’s still got his communication. Therapy has helped him deal with tough conversations better. “Of course, I’m extra worried. I just don’t want to lose anyone.”

Grace pulls Judd into her arms, and she wraps her smaller body around his. “It’s normal to worry. I worry too,” she admits. “I was so scared when I got the call the day of the explosion.”

“I thought I lost everything that day, but yet again, I’m in a position where I have so much to lose.” No one could replace his old crew, but he’d created bonds that were just as special with the new 126. They were still building his relationships, but at the end of the day, they were there for one another.

“And isn’t it the best feeling in the world to have so much to lose?” Before, he would have grumbled and shut down when the conversation got too “mushy,” but he didn’t mind it so much anymore.

Judd nods, “It sure is.” He hates the thought of losing another person from his family, but he knows that it’s a whole lot better to have them than to push them away so that he doesn’t get hurt.

You Can’t Escape the Sunset

It’s only been a couple of weeks since Tim has died, so they’ve all begun to heal, but the wound still feels fresh. Austin is still recovering from the damage that Mother Nature had brought down on them, so all around, people were more demure, but the sadness was lifting, and for those who didn’t lose loved ones, they could go back to being their regular, happy selves. Not everyone is so lucky. Grief is still heavy upon Austin. In some ways, it is a comfort not to move on. Grief feels incomplete when it is rushed, so when it doesn’t feel like a stabbing pain or a dull ache, it is like a weighted blanket, heavy but somehow comforting. Grief is a weight on your chest, but you need that weight to push out the pent up feelings that result from the complexity of loss.

Grief can impact you even when you’re at a distance from it. It ripples and touches people you wouldn’t expect it to touch. Carlos didn’t know Tim well, but he’s been around the station enough that Tim’s absence is tangible. He can feel the empty space in their lives, and it makes him anxious and plain old sad. Because he’s used to seeing his favorite firehouse being lively and joking with each other non-stop when they’re not on a call. The whole 126 is quieter. Their wounds are too fresh to make jokes, and they’re just trying to get back to functioning because they all know that there are still lives to save. There are always more lives to save, no matter how many they lose, and that’s one of the hardest parts of being a first responder, you’re fighting a neverending battle, and for all the grief you’re forced to carry, the potential for loss never ends. It may be someone close to you, or it may be someone you’ve only just met, but first responders constantly deal with loss. That loss is worth all the lives they save. Even Buttercup understands that something dreadful has happened, and he’s been extra attentive to the firefighters, making sure that they get attention whenever they need them. They’re not back to normal, but they’re staying together and that’s what is most important.

Michelle’s been calling more. With the pandemic and her new vocation keeping her busy, Michelle hasn’t had a lot of time to talk to Carlos, but she’s been calling him every other day now, which for Michelle, is unheard of. It’s nice to hear her voice, but there’s so much distance between them. The more time they spend apart, the harder it is to talk like they used to. Carlos can’t help but think that once the grief has worn off that Michelle will go back to being spacey. He’s always known that she needed her space, but he still misses her. She’s still around, but it’s not the same. Still, he’ll hold onto the friendship as much as it can, and maybe with a little luck, it will survive the changes that threaten to tear them apart. Changes just might bring them together, though, if they’re lucky.

There’s one person that Carlos worries about the most. T.K.’s been on edge. He hasn’t been pushing Carlos away in the same way that he used to, but the lightheartedness he’s gained during his time in Austin has started to backtrack. T.K. barely talks about how he’s feeling. He tries to put on a brave face. He says that work has been keeping his mind off things, but Carlos knows better. He knows that T.K. is not as okay as he says he is. He’s not on the ledge, but he could get there if he keeps pushing himself without confiding any of his feelings. The tension in T.K.’s shoulders is deeper, and Carlos knows that there’s not much he can do other than being there, and he will be there. He’ll wait for T.K. to come home as many late nights as he needs to. If Carlos is being honest with himself, he’s not okay either. He needs to hold T.K. just as much as T.K. needs to hold him. They’ve been through so much already, and Carlos desperately wants life to be easy if only for a little while.

With all that has happened, Carlos feels more anxious. He was just starting to get over the fear he had after T.K. had been shot, but now all the worries that he had worked through are peeping out at him again. What happened to Tim could have happened to any member of the 126. There was no rhyme or reason to it; at the end of the day, it was a bad situation that got worse. It was the apathetic hand of nature throwing a wrench in their plans. That was scary to think about because it just shows that no matter how safe someone tries to stay, sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. No one could have anticipated that T.K. was going to shot or that there would be volcanic activity in Austin. Any day, something bad could happen to one of them. Carlos could lose someone important to him before they got to build their relationship in all the ways that Carlos would like to build it. He’s already started to imagine a future with T.K., and while their relationship is still new, something feels so right, and he can’t stand never getting the chance to know what might become of them, not as individuals but as a team.

He knows that his job is dangerous too, but he isn’t concerned about himself. It’s not that he has a disregard for his life, but his own fate isn’t something he wants to try to control. It’s harder to know that you have no power over what happens to the people you love because they’re the ones that Carlos wants to protect the most, but he’s learned on the job that you don’t get to choose who makes it through a hard situation. All you can do is do what you think is best in a given scenario and hope that it turns out as well as it possibly can. Tim’s death reminds Carlos just how fragile life is. In an instant, it can be ripped from a person before they can tighten their hold on it.

Tim had so much more life to live. That’s what everyone who didn’t really know him says as a consolation, but it’s such a generic comment that fails to captivate all the things that made Tim a real human and not a facsimile of one. They know that he was young and healthy. They don’t know enough to specify more than that, but if they knew Tim, they’d know that he had so much planned for the future.  He had people to reconnect with, and he had a cat to take care of. He had friends and he had a whole big family. He wanted to continue to help people.

Dusk

The loss of Tim has eaten at Tommy. Her family has been supportive. The girls had made her sympathy cards and Charles had made her their favorite meal with remnants from their freezer, but as understanding as her family was, there was still an unease that she couldn’t communicate with them. It was a feeling that you could only truly know if you had been there that day.

She hasn’t been sleeping well, and she figures that’s probably the same boat the 126 is in. She’s at home, but she’s getting done some work that she has yet to address— application files. She hasn’t been able to open the materials. She knows that there’s a lot of good people in the folder, but it’s still too soon. Hiring a new team member doesn’t feel right. Still, it’s something Tommy needs to bite the bullet and do, not just because it’s required but because delaying the inevitable doesn’t help anyone, but she doesn’t want it to seem like she’s moving on too fast, which is why she’s starting her hunt for a new paramedic in the safety of her own home so that no one catches sight of her moving things along when the wound is still fairly fresh. Buster is curled up beside her as Charles gets the twins ready for bed. It’s been hard to relinquish that duty, but she’s promised to read them an extra story before they sleep.

Tim Rosewater isn’t replaceable, but they need someone to stand where he stood. The empty space that he should be taking up is a cutting reminder of their grief, and while Tommy doesn’t want to rush their grief, she knows that they can’t move on until they have a permanent replacement for Tim and they can start to rebuild their team dynamics. No one will ever be like Tim Rosewater, so she needs to find someone who is distinct but still just as highly qualified as Tim was. It’s not an easy spot to fill, but given that the 126 is the most luxurious fire station in Austin, Tommy gets to pick from the best, all who want to be part of her team. She doesn’t deserve all this prestige!

With work being busy and family life being busier, Tommy hasn’t had a whole lot of time to herself to process what has happened to Tim. She didn’t think she needed the time because she didn’t even know him that well, but as she sits with the closed folder, she feels her shoulders tense with the weight of the decision. She’s not normally one to have a hard time making decisions. Even when the restaurant had gone out of business and Tommy had decided to go back to work, she had not labored over the decision much. She didn’t like the idea, and she struggled with not being home to look after her kids, but at the same time, she had never doubted that going back was what she needed to do. Her family needed her to work, and even if she didn’t like it, she was going to step up for them.

When she got to the job, she felt out of her element. She’d doubted then, but deep down she always knew that she had wound up exactly where she needed to be. She didn’t have a choice, but it still made her nervous to go back after all those years. She was a leader, and she felt pressure to do everything perfectly. In the process, she sometimes had to upset people. She had to be firm, but she was doing it so her paramedics could function properly. Then, Tim had died, and she started to wondered yet again if she made a mistake. Grief had shaken in her confidence when it was already dwindling.

Maybe Tommy didn’t know Tim well, but she wanted to. She didn’t just want to be the tough boss. She wanted to know what he was like as a person, and she wanted him to like her and not just respect her. She’d seen glimpses of him. She knew he had a sense of humor, and she’d witnessed him treating patients with a gentle hand. When she was picking up Buster, she’d also seen how many toys that Tim had given his cat. He didn’t seem to have many people close by, so he had doted on his cat, and the thought tugged on Tommy’s heart.

Tommy opens the folder, she looks it over once, but as she hears little pitter-patters of feet in the hall, she closes it again. She cannot make decisions tonight, no matter how much she knows she needs to. Her girls giggle as they enter the room, and they bounce to their mother, surrounding her on the couch. The new hire can wait a day. She puts the folder back on the coffee table,  and Tommy focuses on her family. They decide to watch a movie, and Tommy makes herself comfortable on her couch. Buster curls up next to her. He’s become the girls’ new little friend, and even though Tommy never really got to talk to Tim as more than a boss, Buster makes her feel a little closer to the man she wishes she got to know.

She looks at her family and then at Buster. She can’t help but smile at the thought that they have grown. It may take her a while to get used to the idea, but the 126 is so much more than coworkers. They are a family, and she is part of that family. It never hurts to have more family, Tommy thinks. She knows that her daughters will grow up with even more love, and isn’t that what any parent wants for their kids?

Freckles of Light

It’s been over a month since Tim has died, and Nancy is mostly okay. That’s what she tells anyone who asks, anyway, and it’s mostly right. She can do all the things that being a normal human requires. She can get out of bed without wanting to sob. She can make herself a meal and have an appetite to eat it. She doesn’t feel like curling up and blocking out the whole world just to get some escape from the emptiness that loss has left in her core. So, yeah, she’s doing okay. She’s surviving and with a little more time, the wound will heal, only leaving a scar. She knows these things take time, but she’s sick of the part of herself that still isn’t fully okay. She worries that she’ll never be fully okay. It scares her that missing Tim might be her new normal, and how does someone move on if they can never make peace with a loss?

She’s learned to go to work without feeling dread. It was hard at first to show up. The first shift she took after Tim died made her want to go back home and ignore the world forever. It had felt like everyone was watching her and asking her how she was. She didn’t know how she was. She was still working through all the feelings that were still so raw. She didn’t want to lie to them, but she also didn’t want them to think that she was too messed up to work. Maybe she couldn’t have saved Tim, but there were still plenty of people out there who needed her help, and she wasn’t going to give up on them. The reasons she had become a paramedic hadn’t changed. She still wanted to help people, and the calling even more urgent to her. Maybe being a paramedic had just been Michelle’s occupation, but it is Nancy’s vocation, and she refuses to give it up. So, she’s taught herself to shut down her feelings enough to get through the day while allowing enough to remain so that she can be compassionate.

For a while, she felt broken. She’d felt like she’d fallen from a skyscraper into a volcanic pit— a pile of shattered, melty parts. She had wondered if anyone could back from that. Was there any fixing the way she felt? It felt like a part of her had died with Tim, and as much as she wanted to fill the void, she knew that there was no way to replace the spot that Tim had left in her life. That hole smarted and itched, and there was no way to alleviate that feeling other than trying to wait it out.

She feels protective of Tim’s memory. He wasn’t close to his family, and he didn’t have anyone to go home to other than his cat. She hoped that he hadn’t died feeling lonely. She wished she knew if she had been enough for him. Had she supported him enough? Had their friendship eased any of the loneliness he might have felt? Had she been enough of a family? She couldn’t be sure, but she wanted to believe that he hadn’t secretly lived a miserable life because no one deserves to die feeling miserable. It was probably just her fears deepening their roots. She was projecting her own loneliness, maybe. But she hated the potential that what she feels in the absence of Tim was what he felt all the time.

Tim had been such a good guy, not perfect by any means, but he’d been brave and funny. There had always been a brightness in his eyes, even when his face sagged with fatigue. He’d always been ready for a joke and wanted to make the world a better place. Maybe he’d been a little whiny and Nancy knows she’s made so many jokes at his expense, but they’d all been tender-hearted. It was just how they showed affection, and they’d been like brother and sister in that way. They fought sometimes, but they were each other’s family. It would be so much easier if they were just coworkers, but when you work as closely as they did, there’s no such thing as just coworkers. You talk to them, you eat with them, you keep each other safe, and it sometimes feels like you’re the only people in the world who understand the rigors of the job. They’d shared a little bubble of knowing how the other one felt, and now, that bubble has popped, and Nancy didn’t know what to do.

There’s a part of Nancy that wants to hold onto the grief. She wants to mope in her upset and keep it burning her insides. The self-destructive nature of trying to tame her grief has allure. It’s addictive, and the more she lets it rage, the farther she is pulled from herself.  She feels it melting her insides, and she thinks that maybe that feeling is retribution for all the mistakes she’s made, but no amount of penance makes her feel better. She can punish herself all she wants, but self-flagellation only drives her away from Tim’s memory. It puts her into a dark cave, alone and cold despite the fire in her core. She can’t engage. She can’t function. All she can do is feel bad about what her life has become. So, she’s learning that she can’t hold grief because it’s not something she’s got any power over. It’s time to let it go to be whatever it will be.

Nancy still takes each day one at a time. She’s tried to get back to normal the fast way before, and she’s found that by the end of the day, it only makes her feel worse, so she’s got to take it as slow as she needs. She’s got to be okay with taking one step forward and then two steps back. Progress is slow, but she still makes it, even with the setbacks and the bad days. The more time that passes, the fewer bad days she has. She can’t let herself get discouraged on those bad days. She has to remember that bad days don’t last forever just as that deep feeling of yearning to see Tim won’t last forever. She will smile again. She reminds herself how many smiles she has left to smile— so many if all goes well. The past is haunted, the future is haunting, but the present is a chance. She can make the most of the moment, or she can lose herself in it.

Nancy has started to appreciate the people in her life more. She longs to hear their voice, even when it’s just been a day or two since she has spoken to them. She’s constantly worrying that the conversations she has will be the last. She calls her parents more, her brother too, and they are concerned when she does, but they talk to her in cheery voices, trying to balance out the sadness they know she feels. She appreciates their efforts, but she’s not sure they help. It’s still comforting to hear the voices of the people who have been there through it all.

When she’s at work, she feels out of synch. She’s gotten used to having Tim there at every turn. The whole rhythm of the team has been thrown off, and the routines they’ve created to make their jobs easier have a missing link. She can’t remember a time when she felt so off-kilter. It’s like she’s got a hundred-pound weight on one half of her body. It’s hard to stay on her feet, but she learns how to center the weight so she’s not falling over all the time.

Each life she saves is still a reminder of the one she failed to save. There’s a loop of self-doubt that repeats in her head. It tells her that she will never be a good enough paramedic. It convinces her that it is her fault that Tim is dead. Sometimes, it tells her that she should have been the one to die instead. None of these thoughts are logical are consistent, but they are there, making her worry that there’s something deeply wrong with her.

It feels scary for things to go back to normal. It feels too much like they’re forgetting Tim. They’ve put a picture of him on the wall, but that’s just a two-dimensional token of him. It can’t possibly capture all that Tim was, and Nancy is afraid that moving on means letting Tim become nothing more than an old picture as the sheen of the frame starts to wear down and the shiny new firehouse grows old. Moving on feels traitorous, even though Nancy knows that it is what Tim would have wanted. She’s always hated when people say that, “It’s what Tim would have wanted,” because maybe it’s true, but it feels wrong to speak for someone who can never speak back.

She’s pieced herself back together, but no matter how much she pushes forward, Nancy still struggles. Because grief isn’t neat. It doesn’t stack up like the carefully cut layers of a five-tiered cake. It isn’t linear either.  You may be angry one moment, depressed the next, and back to be angry by the time the next day rolls around. The five stages of grief are not stages at all because you don’t advance to one when you have completed the last. The stages of grief are like playing roulette. You tumble around, and it’s up to chance where you will land.

She wakes up feeling something new all the time, and she hasn’t yet landed on acceptance, not really. She knows logically what has happened. She’s not denying that he’s gone, not as she had when it had first happened, but her brain still hasn’t caught up with the reality yet. There’s still a part of her that thinks he’s there. She feels him like a phantom limb. At times, she feels him so strongly that the word dead feels far too strong. It’s hard to believe that something so tragic has happened to someone so close to her. She’s gotten used to witnesses other people’s tragedies, but that hasn’t prepared her to accept her own.

The grief comes back without warning. Even a month later, she thinks about all the things she’d like to tell Tim, forgetting for a while that she won’t be able to tell him them when she goes to work. Sometimes, it’s a light tickle while other times it’s like a hammer in her skull. One day, she had seen a stray cat crawling into the plant she had on her porch, and she’d snapped a picture, automatically thinking about how cute Tim would find it, and as the cat scurried away, the realization that Tim wouldn’t be there to see it during their next shift, hammered her, sending the air out of lungs. She still expected him to be there, and the fact that he isn’t doesn’t change her automatic thoughts of him. She’s gotten into the habit of knowing he’ll be there, and it takes time to get out of habits. She’s read that it takes twenty-one days to break a habit, but she’s starting to realize that it can take much longer.

Grief hides in the corners. Nancy sees Tim in places she never expected to see him— old movies, the smiles of strangers joking on the street, chocolate truffles that Tim loved to inhale. She still has his number in her phone. She’s kept the last thread they had. She looks at it periodically, and some days, it makes her cry. Other days, it makes her laugh. Some days, she can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying.

Nancy knows that she will always miss Tim. His mark in her life isn’t going to go away, and she wouldn’t change how he’s transformed her life. She wouldn’t take back any of the time spent with him, and for the most part, she doesn’t have regrets. She’s stopped agonizing over what she could have done better because those kinds of thoughts aren’t going to help anyone. They certainly aren’t going to bring Tim back. The most they can give her is an insight into how to do better in the future. She’s mostly learned that the best medicine for her grief is to be more compassionate and to put the love and brightness that Tim gave her back into the world because there’s something so healing about finding little ways to share someone who is physically gone.

No matter how old she gets, she’ll keep the memory of him bright in her heart. She’ll talk to her kids about him, and she won’t forget the role that he had in her life and the role he will continue to have. She might not think about him every day. There might be a time when his memory waxes and wanes in her consciousness, but he’ll always be there on some level. When she’s on a call, tending to a moron, she’ll think of him. When she cracks a joke like the ones he used to tell, she’ll think of him. She won’t censor his memory. She’ll remember the way he got frustrated with change and the times they disagreed about how to proceed. Nancy will take the time to preserve as much of him as possible in her mind.

The grief will linger, but she’ll learn to live with it, as every other person must do when they lose someone who meant something to them. She’s already started to learn. She knows how to keep afloat, even as the negative feelings pull her down. Nancy knows that she’s a work in progress. The hurt is still so sharp sometimes. She gets frustrated and tells herself just to get over it, but she’s trying to be more merciful with herself. She’s always been a forgiving person. Her compassion allows her to accept apologies and understand why other people hurt her, but that compassion hasn’t been something that she’s applied to herself lately. For a while, she didn’t think she deserved it, but now, she’s committed to bringing the spark back into her life. She’s been hiding from the light far too long.

Grief is the deepest yearning, a pit of desire deep in your soul. It is wanting what has been taken, and it looking for a way forward when the world has become dim, so grief is not the night; it is the stars. It is the light you carry that was given to you by the people who have most touched your soul. Grief hurts, but it is not the darkness. It is a lantern that reminds you of the brightness you saw in the eyes of another person. It is the luster of memory and joy. It is the sun shining like an alarm in the morning when you have gotten too little sleep, a starling chance at a new day. The grief stings your eyes, but you adjust to it. You learn to see in new ways. Grief is letting yourself remember all the times that another person has pulled you from the darkness. It is the glow of the past pointing you to the future because grief isn’t a trap. It is a beacon when the trauma urges you to remain in the dark.

As you heal, the piercing pain of the light starts to fade, drowned out with light pollution. The streetlamps are so bright that you cannot see the stars of the people who were once so close but are now so far away. The light, the great lantern of grief, never vanishes. When it’s run its initial course, grief doesn’t just pack up and leave. It continues to burn. The light is hot inside of you, but you learn to temper it. Some nights, it still shines so brightly that your eyes burn and tear, but the light does not defeat you, and you cannot defeat it without defeating yourself, so you must learn to balance the light. You must point it in the right direction, and you must allow it to be part of yourself.

It’s late. The night is firmly upon Austin, but the stars freckle the sky, and they make Nancy feel less alone. Her heart feels less cold as she reconnects with the brightness of the world. She likes to think that Tim is out there somewhere. She’s not religious, but she likes to believe there’s something bigger out there— bigger than her, bigger than her grief, bigger than the grief of the whole world. They don’t seem it, but the stars are brighter than a flashlight, a lamp, or even a giant spotlight. They’re far away, but that doesn’t take away their brightness. Even as your memory changes and you grow old and forget, all the lanterns of grief are still part of you, your emotional DNA, that make you who you are, even if you cannot consciously access those parts of yourself. The pinpricks of light in the sky remind Nancy that grieving means looking at the light. It is learning how to hold something you cannot touch. It is a reminder that you can only lose what you expected from the future, but you cannot lose the past and all that past meant to you.

[mypassionfortrash]

You’ve Got This

You finally lose your virginity to Roger!

Warnings: STRCITLY 18+, smut! Notes: This was a request from @scorpiogemini who requested number 5 (massage) and number 18 (first time sex) from this prompt list. Please note that I won't be taking any more requests until after November - thanks!

------------------------------------------

Puffing out your cheeks, you leaned against the sink and looked into the steamed-up mirror. “You can do this. You’ve got this. Be cool,” you muttered at your reflection as nerves coiled around your insides. “You can do this.”

You were certain your legs might have failed you if the walk from the bathroom into the bedroom had been longer; your hands balled up into fists around the neckline of a white, fuzzy bathrobe that smelled just like Roger.

“You ready?” Roger asked, sitting upright in his underwear. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed tired - a pleasant, dazed shade of exhausted. It made you question how long you spent in the shower, psyching yourself up for this. 

You perched on the edge of the bed, out of Roger’s reach. Smiling a small smile, you sighed, “I think so.” Then, you shut your eyes, feeling the bed dip behind you as Roger closed in. The hair around your shoulders was swept aside, creating space for Roger to press dainty kisses to your neck. 

“You’re nervous,” he hummed, clawing down your bathrobe; exposing more skin to his touch.

“No shit.”

“Here, let me help you get comfortable,” Roger suggested, patting the bed.

You turned around to face him, wondering what exactly he had in mind. Skimming your fingers over the collar of the robe, you managed to rasp out a timid: “should I keep this on or…?”

“I mean,” Roger shrugged, “it’s gonna come off either way, isn’t it?”

It earned a laugh from you but deep down, your worries continued to rage. 

His gaze was intent as you loosened the tie and slid the robe down your shoulders. You couldn’t bear to look at him. Doubt, nerves and a hint of shame flowed over your chest as the chill in the room lapped at your body.

Roger patted the bed again.

Not wanting to waste another second, you covered yourself up as much as your arms would allow and crawled back on to the bed, lounging on your stomach in front of Roger.

“You ready?” he asked, giving your side a cursory stroke.

“Go for it,” you said, muffling your face in the fluffy duvet. You waited face down for it to happen. The bed rose and fell around you as Roger went about his business, coming to rest even closer to you than before; then came the snap of a bottle opening. The sharp nip of something on your back made you recoil. “Fuck! That’s freezing.”

“Sorry,” Roger chuckled as he began to massage circles across your shoulder blades. “Should probably have warmed that up beforehand.”

The shock didn’t last long, though. The sense of allowing your mind to go blank as Roger kneaded the tension from your body was nothing short of exhilarating.

Then he worked his way towards the small of your back.

You always complained about that. Being parked behind a desk all day - every day - tended to wreak havoc didn’t help matters. But Roger’s hands were glorious; dextrously driving his knuckles along your muscles, banishing all your pains and twinges. You couldn’t help but moan into the back of your arm in delight.

“I think someone likes that.”

“I love it,” you purred, noticing another sort of tension mounting inside you as Roger’s hands roamed.

“What about this?” he asked, spending a fleeting second around your waist, before pressing his fingers into your bottom.

“Yes,” you answered in a coy tone, biting down on your lip. Now things were becoming interesting. Intuitively, your thighs spread further apart in the hopes that he’d notice that his efforts were appreciated. After all, despite your initial nerves, you were fast growing restless.

No such luck, though. Roger’s fingertips glid across the backs of your thighs. Up and down, over and over, in pleasing, firm movements that hammered home how much you craved him.

Your hips swayed from side to side, begging him to delve between your thighs. Something that might make a start on relieving the ache in your core. You could hear him laugh smugly to himself. 

Then he totally ignored your hints. He returned to your waist. 

You uttered the pettiest whine you could summon to voice your disdain.

“Oh, you don’t like that?” Roger asked.

“Lower.”

“You’re the boss.”

His hands left your back for a moment, and then you sensed him shift around you; he was straddling your legs now. His grasp returned to your bum, grabbing it and making your skin pale under his touch; nothing like the soft massaging motions before. There was something about his presence behind you that told you he too was tired of all this teasing and that he really needed to let loose on you. His hands strayed to your thighs again. This time he devoted more attention to the sensitive inner flesh, gently ghosting his fingers over it. “Have I ever told you how much I love your legs?” Roger mused.

“No?” you replied, attempting to part them as much as you could for him.

“So soft. The kind of thighs you just want to squeeze, Or maybe…” he began, moving down the bed, “bury your face between for a little while.” His hands came to rest on your cheeks, spreading them apart ever so slightly.

You could sense his breath desperately close to where you wanted him, but so far away. You arched your hips into him, closing the gap until his tongue lapped the length of your pussy. All those nerves, all those worries, just melted away while his tongue worked over your lips; ravenously tugging them into his mouth, pulling at them, sucking at them while he groaned against you. It felt far more intimate than you imagined it would. But now was no time to get hung up on it - he had wound you so tight, taunted you so much that you just couldn’t abandon it. Soon, your hips rolled with his mouth, squirming against his hands and the vice-like grip they had on them. “I want to see you,” you demanded into the duvet.

His hands fell to your sides, but his mouth stayed put. A subtle cue for your to manoeuvre on to your back; no easy feat and very undignified. In the back of your mind, the seeds of worry grew again; the thought of him seeing you from his angle wasn’t pretty. You scrunched your eyes closed, allowing Roger to carry on. Only to open one of them again when you realised he had decided to take a break. You glanced down.

“Are you enjoying this?” he asked, seeming concerned.

“I love it,” you sighed, trying your best to appear convincing.

Roger shuffled up the bed again, his face so close you could catch your scent on him as he loomed over you. “Not buying it,” he smirked, smoothing stray strands of hair from your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” you began, turning your head away from him. “It’s not a very attractive angle, is it?”

“Oh boy,” Roger groaned, laughing at the same time. “You’re in for a treat when you see this ugly mug mid-shag.”

“Yeah, but… you know.”

“Nobody looks good when they’re going at it. But you can’t let that get in the way of allowing yourself to feel good. Have fun with it.”

“I’m terrified you won’t want to…”

Roger rolled over next to you and wrapped his arms around you. “Look, unless you sound like a hyena when I get you off, I’d quite like to keep you around for the foreseeable.”

“I promise I don’t.”

“As for me, on the other hand, you’re well within your rights to…” Roger trailed off, making a slicing motion with his finger against his neck.

It seized a soft chuckle from you. Then the sight of the tent in Roger’s underwear caught your eye. “I should probably take care of that for you, shouldn’t I?” you asked, darting your eyes between Roger’s baby blues and his cock.

He was swift to stop you. “No, no, no. This is all about you. I just want you to enjoy this.”

“Okay,” you said in a wavering voice.

Roger nodded, tugging his lip between his teeth. Then his expression darkened, flashing you a look laced with lust. He drifted lower, towards your neck, to lap at the tender skin behind your ear, fast rekindling the fire in your belly.

Your need instantly turned uncontrollable.

Your fingers tangled through Roger’s mane, trying to find some amount of leverage to roll your hips into his body above you. Growing desperate, your legs snaked around his middle, binding him to you in an effort for him to stay put. To make him finally give in and take you. Just like you wanted. “Please,” you begged against Roger’s mouth as feverish, urgent kisses rained down on your lips. “Please, can you…” You trailed off, feeling your cheeks burn at the prospect of asking the million-dollar question. The feeling of stupidity at your reluctance to do just that replaced the shame you felt. Roger wanted this to be about you; about what made you feel good. How was he supposed to know if you didn’t ask? Your mind mulled it over, while your body relished Roger’s kisses. If your mouth could just verbalise it. “Roger?”

Roger was somewhere between your neck and your breasts; as soon as he heard that, his head shot up. “Yes, darling?”

“I really want you to ffff…”

He shimmed up so that his face was mere inches from your own. “Sound it out,” he encouraged, a smirk plastered over his face.

“I want you to…”

“To…” he repeated.

“Fuck me!” you blurted, exploding into a bout of giggles. “Please fuck me.”

Roger, too, had succumbed to the humour of the situation, burying his head against your neck. His laughter rumbled through you as his body jerked, trying to cope with the excitement.

“Will you?” you wheezed.

“Oh, alright then!” He sank back on to his knees, delivering a swat to your thighs. “Gotta spread these a bit more for me,” he continued, pulling them apart. “That’s it.” He casually drew his thumb up and down your slit, lingering on your clit long enough to pull an enthusiastic mewl from you. He looked up at you again, focusing on every little detail of your expression as he teased you. It was cruel of him to keep you waiting. He knew that. But he adored how desperate you were getting. A far cry from how nervous you were just half an hour ago. “And you’re absolutely sure this is what you want?”

“Just do it! Stop teasing,” you squeaked, angling your hips.

“Alright! Alright! Bloody hell, you’re getting demanding,” he said with a wink. But you didn’t have to tell him twice. Slipping his underwear down his thighs, he gave you that first glimpse of his thick, throbbing cock; his free hand pumped around it allowing you time to admire the sheer amount of girth that was about to fill you. To mentally prepare yourself. “Like what you see?”

“Are you sure it’s going to fit?” you gawked with wide eyes.

Roger continued thumbing away at your clit with his other hand. “You’re lovely and wet for me. I can be nice and gentle to start off with - I promise.”

“Okay.”

Roger’s eyes were loaded with concern, watching your face for any trace of discomfort. The tip of his cock slipped through your folds, up and down, with ease. Every swipe made your breathing labour under the anticipation until finally, he paused right where you wanted him. Everything seemed to stand still for just a moment. “Ready?” he asked, taking one of your hands in his and giving it a squeeze.

“Nice and slowly.”

“I’ve got you,” he reassured.

Initially, your body wanted to resist. Everything tightened up, but Roger was with you every step of the way, coaxing you to feel comfortable with kind words in his soft voice. It took a few tries, but gradually, you accepted him, growing delirious at the sensation. The way you seemed to relax to accommodate him, but also how he stretched you and made you feel so ridiculously full far beyond what you thought possible. He hadn’t even kicked into motion, but the pleasure was so divine it made you convulse beneath him.

“Feel good?” he mumbled, draping himself over you to kiss your nose.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Okay, darling, I’m gonna start… just tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

“Promise.”

Roger stayed nose-to-nose with you while his hips shifted against yours. 

Another sear of pleasure shot through your body, feeling Roger come unstuck from you; empty for a split second. And then he began a slow, painstaking rhythm. Smoothly rolling his hips, his cock brushed that sweet spot inside of you, forcing your arms around his body and a gasp against his neck. “You feel so amazing.”

“You like that, darling?” Roger asked, his tone becoming ragged.

“Yes.”

“Fuck, your cunt’s so tight,” he keened. “How about I give you a proper fucking?”

The change in Roger’s level of patience made you twitch around him, but intrigue got the better of you. “Yes, please,” you nodded.

He didn’t miss a beat, getting back on to his knees again and gripping your hips tightly. He set about a rhythm that made your head spin and your entire body shudder. He looked like he was on the brink of coming; head back, uttering growls and curses and your name through gritted teeth while he mercilessly fucked you.

You needed to catch up.

Reaching down between your legs, your fingers instinctively found their way to your clit to rub crude frantic circles around it. Anything to get yourself off. A race against how long your own body would allow Roger to hold out for as he rutted into you like a feral animal. The sounds that came out of him - those hushed hisses as he neared the edge - were what did it for you, making you shake and milk his cock for everything it could give you, while you just tried to keep quiet by biting into the pillow beside you.

Roger collapsed over you when his movements stilled. His breath fell on your chest in jagged wisps as he fought off stars in his vision. And all you could do was look up at the ceiling, harbouring a swell of elation in your gut at what had just happened. Not only had you lost your virginity to Roger, but he gave you a glimpse of a side to him you never realised existed. You smiled to yourself, allowing your eyes to close. Your body felt utterly spent.

“Darling?” Roger whispered, moving to your side to take you in his arms. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, moving into him - allowing him to kiss your hair.

“Hope that wasn’t too ugly for you.”

“Are you kidding me,” you began, turning to face him. “You were perfect.”

“As were you, darling,” Roger chuckled. “The most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen, in fact!”

Your own laughter just highlighted the fact that the pair of you were lying in your own filth and fluids. A damp patch formed underneath you. “I think I better… clean myself up.”

“Okay. I’ll maybe change these sheets, then.”

The pair of you scrambled to your feet. You got on your way towards the bathroom, while Roger dug out fresh bed linen. Your legs had turned to mush with all of the excitement; but all you wanted was one moment by yourself to gather your thoughts. Why was the walk to the bathroom always so long?

The door closed and you were alone again, staring at your reflection in the harsh incandescent light. Tousled hair, a dull sheen of sweat on your skin. And a broad smile on your face.

You did that.

[ayankun]

AoS S2 Rewatch Briefest of Thoughts

Maybe watching a thing five times is too many times lololol

First I have to admit, I found myself spacing out through a lot of this season.  I mean, my annual rewatches are typically always in the background of other activities, but this time through I definitely just didn’t pay attention to a lot of it.

Even so, here is a list of Things I Noticed This Time:

Not sure if watching S1 directly before this really made a difference or not, but this time I have a much clearer understanding of “S2″ and “S3.”  When I first started watching this show, I shotgunned 2 and 3 back to back, and have done that once a year since, causing the two seasons to feel like one mega-season in my mind.  Not this time!

A lot of the stuff I consider to be “the show” is introduced in S2, sure, but isn’t developed until S3.

Daisy Johnson

Terrigenesis & the Kree (wow my new band name)

Mack and Daisy brotp

FitzSimmons as an actual item

Collecting/protecting Inhumans

Talbot and Creel

The Monolith

Lincoln (gross)

And a lot of the stuff in S2 doesn’t even make it into S3!

Cal :<

Raina :<<<

Afterlife and all those poor fools who just wanted to grow up and get wings or whatever

Edward James Olmos

Agent 33 lol GOOD

Fitz’s brain injury

And of course there’s also big S3 specific stuff that hits you right away in the season opener, like Rosalind and Maveth.

I feel like ultimately I’ll have to say from now on that S3 is my favorite season.  More on this as it develops -- only just started ep 2 today.

A note about Lincoln.  Since actually he’s going to be way more important in S3 than he was in S2, let’s talk about his introduction.  So far, there’s really nothing about the character that warrants my knee-jerk dislike.  The character is supposed to be good for Daisy!  He’s soft and patient and sort of cool and is one of the first people she’s met who is honestly supportive of her new situation, a situation that he understands from experience. 

I guess maybe I don’t like the trope of pairing people up with their primary physician?  There’s a conflict of interest there, I think.

Also that dude’s performance rubs me the wrong way (and I only found out like 35 minutes ago that he’s Australian so I’m going to blame it on the fake American accent?).

There’s no narrative symmetry in the structure of S2.  I got really excited at first because there’s a ship in ep 3 and I know that the season ends on Edward James Olmos’ ship, but that was about it.

However, they did purposefully split it down the middle, 10 eps and a break for Agent Carter, and then the last 12 eps.

The story of part 1 takes us to Daisy and Raina’s Terrigenesis, and part 2 is about A) Daisy has superpowers now whoops and B) Edward James Olmos is in charge whoops and these two storylines smash together at the end.

But the story of the whole season is trust.  Not an exploration of the concept, not “what does it mean to trust” or “how is trust earned” but a literal “man nobody trusts nobody and it’s probably for the best.”

Heck the season straight up tells us we shouldn’t trust anything by opening with with Team Coulson monitoring a black market deal between an ex-SHIELD agent and some mercs -- the mercs are also SHIELD agents and it’s a sting -- the sting team doesn’t know Team Coulson was sent as backup etc etc

Ward swears never to lie to Daisy ever again

Fitz can’t trust his own physical self

Nobody can trust Simmons because she’s undercover at Hydra

Nobody can trust Coulson because he’s whacka-doodle (see what I did there) cray cray

Hunter whining about his she-devil ex-wife, but she’s delightful and perfect

Hunter’s ongoing and ACTUALLY QUITE VALID protestations that he can’t trust Bobbi when it comes to her angle on their relationship

Brainwashing is a thing now

Hydra’s still doing Hydra things and blaming them on SHIELD

Man, anything either of the Ward brothers say at any moment is to be distrusted as a Rule

The heads of Hydra can’t trust each other

Daisy gets powers and she and Fitz decide they can’t trust anybody else with this information because errybody acken’ cray cray

Simmons is SO MAD that Fitz didn’t trust her with this information

Daisy is never quite sure if she can trust her dad (because he cray for sure)

You can’t trust May because half the time she’s Agent 33

You can’t trust Bobbi and Mack because they’re working for Edward James Olmos

Edward James Olmos doesn’t trust Coulson AND doesn’t trust that Fury left SHIELD to Coulson and also I guess just doesn’t trust Fury

Turns out Coulson was doing some secret stuff, too, so better not trust him even if he’s not crazy anymore

Nobody can ever trust Ward, no matter which side you’re on, even if he’s actively helping you at the moment

You can’t trust Raina’s vision until you can

You can’t trust Jiaying after all!!  Edward James Olmos wasn’t going to be the bad guy!!!

I think a lot about how this show has such active characters.  Like, there aren’t just plots for plots sake or characters for characters sake*, events happen to shape character motivations, and then character motivations go on to shape events.  I’m thinking about how Fitz’s condition in the first half is almost complete plot-less -- he’s just a character living through some stuff, and it effects ... his interactions with other characters, mostly.  There’s no narrative “point” or payoff to it (other than to remind that Ward Is Bad), until -- until Daisy comes through the mist and

12 episodes of frustrated aphasia, feeling like he’s letting the team down and they’re letting him down, of struggling to cope with Simmons’ abandoning him and then struggling even more with her return ... until ep 12, the only real, uh, utility Fitz’s condition brings to the story is as a means to introduce Mack as 100% Best Guy. 

And then ep 12, getting to see these two beloved OG characters have this moment that only the two of them can have

.... as far as moments go, second best only to the Skimmons quake/hug in 4x15.  My ship sails, my dudes.

I got way off track here, sorry

Anyway my point is sometimes, in other shows, giving a lead character a brain injury is probably a Major Plot Point that is Meant To Be Resolved (and within 40 minutes if at all possible), but on our perfect show, characters are allowed to Just Be -- and the things that they Are will always manifest in narratively satisfying turns of events.

I’m trying to think of any of my “this time I noticed” items and

Not to be all down on 2/3 of my OT3, but especially after watching their siblings dynamic in S1, and seeing just how painfully awkward their relationship is throughout S2, the Simmons-has-feelings-for-Fitz moment REALLY came out of left field.

S1 gave you the Exact Moment that Fitz realized that his crush was on Simmons instead of Skye, and you saw him live with that information for like 16 episodes.

Knowing that they end up together AND always starting my series rewatch with S2 makes her coming to him at the end not just reasonable but inevitable.

But lol no?  They literally never talk about it for the duration of the season?  Fitz talks to Mack and Simmons talks to Bobbi, but they never talk to each other.  Her change of heart is strictly subtext.  Which isn’t the worst, but given their literal text is either antagonistic (see: his reaction to her abandoning him; her reaction to his hiding the truth about Skye) or just ... their regular schtick. 

They’re antagonistic until Edward James Olmos comes on the scene, at which point they bond enough to play the I’m-on-to-your-plan doublespeak shenanigan, and the sandwich moment is arguably the best thing to happen to this ship up until that point BUT she made him away mission sandwiches when he was just her friend too so!!!

Ok when they see each other next there is a specific moment mentioning The Sandwich in the context of love that makes sense (unlike whatever it is that Agent 33 and Ward have) -- but it’s very subtle and the scene is really just a set up to Simmons’ plan to splinter-bomb the hell out of Ward as revenge.

Their next scene together is bonafide FitzSkimmons OT3 grilling Sky about her time at Afterlife which, again is vanilla S1 schtick, and it’s immediately hijacked by Ward and Mission Talk anyway.

It goes straight into the mission where their only interaction is Fitz telling Jemma to be careful but not in a way where she can hear.

Next they debrief Mike Peterson after rescuing him, which is just an excuse to see Simmons not own up to her killing Bakshi on accident.

New episode, now they’re just stalking Skye and (rightfully) giving her new boyfriend the stink eye, then they talk to Agent 33 about her brainwashing -- just a moment for Simmons to feel guilty about never admitting to killing Bakshi/setting up the fact that Bobbi saved Simmons and not Agent 33 so that Agent 33 has a revenge plot for the remaining 2.5 episodes of the season

THEIR NEXT SCENE TOGETHER IS ANOTHER OT3 MOMENT WHERE SIMMONS PRESENTS SKYE WITH THE HULA GIRL ORNAMENT FROM SKYE’S VAN AND FITZ RIBS SKYE ABOUT HAVE EARTHQUAKE POWERS -- FITZSIMMONS DON’T EVEN DIRECTLY ADDRESS ONE ANOTHER.

Ok and then Fitz makes up a reason to go talk to Simmons, and opens up to her about how he’d have tried to kill Ward if he’d been a lesser man, only to find out that Simmons DID try to kill Ward and is actively upset that she failed, so they’re still at odds, philosophically at least, at this point.

Then they split up again and aren’t on the same continent until a third of the way into the next episode, where they’re STILL talking about Agent 33.

The only other thing they do on screen together in this episode is to fight Skye’s dad like they’re on Scooby Doo running away from a guy in a monster mask

Season finale, they have two scenes working with Coulson on mission stuff in which they don’t speak directly to one another, and then

As Fitz is gearing up for his mission, Simmons pops up out of nowhere and drops her bombshell on him

ok, no lie, as I started compiling this and getting closer and closer to the end, I figured it out:

everyone was so collectively heartbroken at the prospect of Bobbi not making it that they all had to go talk to their loved ones before it’s too late.  May does it, too, and it’s framed with Hunter standing over Bobbi’s hospital bed in the background, and Simmons goes directly from Bobbi’s bedside to Fitz to say “because I just saw Hunter with Bobbi, and it made me realize” --

ok, my bad.  I did state up front that I wasn’t always paying attention, okay?!

I take everything back.  We do see the moment Simmons realizes she has feelings for Fitz.  It just comes at the tail end of a string of episodes  where they barely interact, is all.

Man, I gotta pay better attention next time.

Anyway this is not as brief as I thought it would be, nor have I covered all the thoughts I had.  Real quick, though:

Agent 33 is the worst.  I’m not sure what else they would have given Ward to do (gross double entendre intentional :< )  this season, though.  But did it have to be this?  Did you notice that when she picked faces, it was either May or Daisy?  And then used them on Ward, someone who sexually and/or emotionally manipulated both these women in the previous season?  Gross gross gross.  And obviously the grossness of this pairing is literally called out by several in-world observers, but, still.  I’m not sure that they actually wanted me to believe that there was still some humanity in Ward, that there was still a person who could settle down and buy succulents to put on windowsills in houses he shared domestically with another human being, but mostly I’m wondering why they thought they wanted to want me to believe that.

*as stated previously, one of the weaker parts of S2, that I still find weak having rewatched S2, is the use of the character of Trip.  POOR GUY.  Watching S1 first doesn’t do him any favors, either.  At least when you forget exactly the contents of S1, his being in S2 just feels like “guess this is how things always were, oh wait, sucks he's dead now.”  BUT NO things were NEVER like this.  We don’t know who this guy is at all!! 

His purpose in S1 is to be Not!Ward,

and his utility is to have some sort of internal logic to the team getting their hands on the low-tech WWII spy gadgets.

and he’s a very slight catalyst to Fitz’s needing to get his act together and get Simmons off the market before it’s too late (which is a couple of different yikes in my book, as far as "here’s what this character’s here for”)

So I kept my eye on him in S2 and the results were not good.  I think the only time he had lines was to ask questions to allow another character to respond with exposition, or to make jokes that any character could have been on screen to make. 

I want to say he was a side character dressed as a lead character, but HELL he shared scenes with a Koenig and those fools got WAY more character building/backstory/motivation over the course of the series than what Trip got.

Dearest Trip, our very own Red Shirt.  Rest In Pieces

[the-gemini-cores]

Penance, 2

Direct continuation of this. Word count of this sequel is about 4.4k (the first part was 1.3k), which is partly due to actual dialogue and Chell’s head being a lot clearer than dear Wheatley’s.

Along with what I intend to be apocalypse Chelley feels there’s a bit of swearing, though I imagine if you’re on this site then that isn’t too much of a problem :)

~~

Her running steps fell on deaf ears –  

“WHEATLEY!“  

– and the knife came down.  

Two inches to the left.  

She spent a moment regaining her balance and then started wrestling the hilt from his fingers. Despite the awkward angle – and the steel’s partial embedment into wood – it gave with little opposition and was hurled somewhere into the far corner of the room.

A few sharp clangs sounded as blade hit stone, but neither person flinched. The air was too frenzied for her to pay any mind. Adrenaline coursed through her fibers. The immediate threat was gone, though. She vaguely noticed her peripheral vision returning.  

Chell faced the wielder.  

With him sitting and her standing they were nearly eye-level. She cast a shadow over the length of his body, only the top half of his head illuminated as it stared at her in quiet astonishment – like he was a child, and the thing she’d just ripped away was his most innocuous toy. 

His irises held no sign of intent or fear. More than anything, he simply looked confused. Almost startled. He gazed at her unfocusedly, a frown punctuating his lips.  

It made her furious.  

Chell tried grabbing him by both shoulders before a ghostlike sensation reminded her this was newly impossible. She remedied her mistake, gripping him by the throat and pinning him to the chair’s back with the side of her forearm against his chest. He jerked a bit with the sudden motion. As his head settled, Chell forced him to see her, taking up most of his sightline.  

She had risked her life for him. She’d done that – she’d lost her damn arm to keep him intact, and he had the nerve, the near spite, to try … to erase – to waste – her efforts. Even if not all of it, a good enough amount to piss Chell off. As if it was oh-so-simple for him to shed a part of himself, to lose so much of his autonomy, his competence, his strength, in just the span of a second.

To do what she did.  

It’d been slow-going. The last couple of weeks were inconvenient, to say the least. Demanding, no question, but Chell had managed. She’d had to, there was no way around it, no way to undo what had happened. The medics could bandage her and prevent infection, but they couldn’t repair her. They couldn’t give her back what she’d lost.

It didn’t matter. 

Chell remembered the attack. It was as fresh as if it’d been that morning, and given how monotonous time had been as of late, it very well could have been. One singular stretch, lasting for what felt like forever. She hadn’t seen sunlight since. The only thing confirming the separation of days was the leisurely recovery of her stump, marking time as it eventually stopped bleeding out.  

She recalled the noise up there. She could still hear the yelling and shooting, trajectories concealed through fire and smoke. Billowing clouds had closed them in from the world. It’d felt like an oven, the door shut in on them as the walls grew hotter and hotter.

Chell could smell something like ash, even now if she tried. She could taste the whirlwind of hysteria – and she could hear the whistling. Not from wind. There hadn’t been any wind.  

But the critical point in her recollection, the thing that stood out to her like a crystal in rock, the clearest and most colored portion of this memory, was him. Standing, in the grass, his noises unintelligible but discernibly frantic. He’d been scanning the area – for her, possibly. Probably. 

And he was right in the way of it.     

Chell could never know what would’ve happened if she’d not made her decision then. If instead she’d stalled, or run a different route, or merely called out. She didn’t know whether he would’ve ended up like her or gone off worse – the latter, given where he was. Extent was debatable, and she was neither expert nor seer but if she were to make a guess, which she wouldn’t, she didn’t think there’d have been much left to salvage. 

But that was precisely it. In her mind, the details of his fate ultimately didn’t matter. She’d managed to prevent it.  

She’d made a sacrifice. She’d gone in totally blind, having hardly weighed the situation, but she’d done it. She’d done it – so that Wheatley wouldn’t have to suffer.  

He was here. Sitting in front of her, whole and living. Breathing. Looking at her. 

Shamelessly believing he had the right to suffer anyhow.  

That it somehow wouldn’t make things worse.   

Her teeth clenched harder.  

Wheatley squirmed, his blank, innocent disposition rightfully dropping, but a simple change in visage wouldn’t cut it. He hadn’t said a word this entire time. Physically, nothing was stopping him – his windpipe was allowed plenty of room under her fingers.   

Chell held him carefully but without slack. In that quiet space, deep underground, nothing was relevant except him. What the hell he’d been doing, what sort of warped rationalization could have led him to attempt this. For it to even emerge in his brain and be deemed a feasible option seemed an otherworldly case. 

She wanted his acknowledgment of a mistake. She needed his recognition that delimbing himself as a way to cope – it never could have ended well, or even left things as they were. Chell didn’t want a simple apology as a means of placating her, but assurance that he could handle himself. Quite obviously, from what she’d just witnessed, opening the door to see him sitting there with a blade over his arm…

Chell almost shuddered. That image had shaken her, but it also made her fiercely intent on getting to the bottom of things. 

She wouldn’t chance Wheatley trying something drastic again, as he’d maybe not get so lucky next time. He wasn’t thinking. Even now, fidgeting and swallowing against her hand, Chell’s face impossible to miss, he seemed faraway.   

That wouldn’t do.  

Chell steadied her breath, bracing herself.

“What did you think it would accomplish?” she asked.  

Questions – Wheatley couldn’t resist. Commentary was always offered, or perhaps his presumptions in what he thought might possibly be correct. She didn’t expect the trademark quick response this time, but perhaps some sort of signal that he’d registered. A perk in his brow, a clarity in his gaze – a spillage of quips maybe, coaxed by a question and the implication that she wanted to hear him. Or, in this scenario, that she’d hear him out. 

But he gave absolutely nothing. Her voice, ballistic upon entering the air, lingered and then dropped, unsupported in the half-meter between them. Wheatley was unmoving on his end. He didn’t do anything to show that he’d heard, much less bother to speak, though his mouth hung agape. His eyes were wide. 

As she took note of his countenance, Chell felt herself slipping, just for an instant. The lack of reaction was atypical. More unnerving than she would’ve cared to admit.  

Chell willed herself to cool down, if only briefly. She knew her demeanor was less than friendly – she didn’t owe it to him. But for what she wanted, she might’ve come off too strong. Chell unsharpened her words, though she didn’t loosen the hold on his neck. 

“Answer me."  

And she waited, as patiently as her sanity would allow as she ignored the way her heart hammered. But Chell quickly came to realize that the command didn’t get through to him.    

She remained where she was, trying to echo the words through her gaze, but seconds ticked by as silence festered like poison. They wouldn’t end, one after the next, slowly and steadily growing louder until they were downright ringing in her ears. For much, much too long, she bore it. Chell was almost convinced the sounds weren’t imaginary.

The stretch was taunting, as was he – Chell stopped minding her own expression. Her only anchor was the throat she currently clutched with her surviving hand, but even that seemed to be failing her. Its attached head was looking, still looking at her, with unease, like those blue orbs couldn’t understand what was happening and just gave up. Turned off.

He’d turned off.  

Chell wouldn’t take it anymore.   

She changed her grip, fisting the front of his shirt, and pulled. "TALK!"  

Chell practically screamed the word in his face – she’d had to, if she wanted to break the quiet – and its sheer volume in such emptiness nearly made her choke. Wheatley appeared to hate it even more than she. There was a grimace at the way her voice caught, but screw his discomfort – it did the trick.

He’d winced, and then, his eyes saw her. Finally. After a few lasting pauses, Chell partly expected nothing more would happen, but then – God, that was better – the floodgates began shuddering open.  

"W-w-what did I think – it would accomplish?”

In response to his long-awaited speech, she held firm.

“Well, it…” He blinked several times. In a flash, Wheatley reached back to grip the arms of his chair. He met her with alarm now, adopting a higher octave. “It wouldn’t fix things, that’s – that’s for certain, it, it wouldn’t get y– … your arm back, firstly, which isn’t ideal as, that’d definitely be the optimal case in helping matters. And – and you know if I could, if I could hit some kind of rewind button and put things back, I’d do that. Immediately. No questions asked, no need to stop and think about it. I’d absolutely do anything I could, any viable options I’d go for. ‘Cause, ‘cause if it worked – oh man alive, it’d be a miracle! But … but I can’t do that. It’d solve most of everything but … no miracles here. Except – except, of course, that you’re still alive! That is a miracle, that’s – tremendous, better than … the greatest possible outcome. Except for, uh, being alive and also … coming out in one piece.” 

His notes had fluctuated the whole way through. Wheatley went from rushed to careful, certain to meek. That last part ended on a whisper. He’d attempted to sound matter-of-fact, she could tell, but Chell heard his vocals shake, barely concealed behind their natural fluidity. His irises weren’t doing much better in trying to seem calm – Wheatley peered into her own as if they were the barrels of a loaded gun. 

But then abruptly, his voice picked up again.  

"We – we can’t go back and change things … like you’ve said! Very much remember that. On the, multiple occasions you’ve expressed your … adamance, on the matter. And I agree, there is – that is true, there’s very little that can be done to affect things that have already happened. Sealed in time. But…” 

He stopped, lost. Uncomforted, Wheatley glanced down to her hand after a few moments. 

Chell watched as Wheatley’s brow gradually knotted. When he turned back to her, she was on the verge of letting go. His lids had narrowed. He looked her dead in the eye. He spoke with deliberation. 

“… I have to do something. I can’t try and ignore what’s happened. Not like how you’re doing. Going about, not saying anythin’, treating things like nothing major’s occurred, shutting me up whenever I try and broach the subject. ‘Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong, what the hell are you insinuating?’ Any differences you notice are as trivial as an aching shoulder. You brush it off like it’s a bloody fly in your ear, like there’s no issue at all.”  

Seamlessly, he sat up straighter, and her fist – still grasping the front of his shirt – followed. He leaned closer, searching her expression.  

“But that’s just on the surface, isn’t it? A front?”  

He waited, as if expecting some sort of reaction, some hole in her visage. Something revealing. But Chell wouldn’t give him the satisfaction – who was he to be interrogating her? After the shit he just tried to pull? He’d taken on a different tone, and hell, she did not appreciate it.  

Wheatley went on. “You’re different. You’ve, lost something. More than your arm, I mean – which is enough as it is. But, something else … I’ve noticed. It was important. It was – well, can’t really put a word to it, but it was important. You sort of carried it around and, it made you who –” He faltered. Perhaps she’d glared harder. 

Wheatley struggled to collect himself for a moment, but once he did, the accusation was totally gone from his words, and he sounded more pleading. 

“And – and I don’t mean – you are getting along. Sort of. I – look, the point is, I can’t…read you anymore. I never know what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling – or, or if you are feeling. Or what it is that you might want or need. I, suppose the only impression I am getting off of you would be your … well, resentment. A lot of that. Emanating off you. Along with – and I know you don’t like hearing this – pain…And walls. Bloody great big walls that you won’t let anyone through. Just put up recently. Blocking me out. Very noticeable.”  

Again, Wheatley stopped. Watched her for some seconds. Chell continued to be still.

“I … I don’t suppose you might know what I’m talking about? ‘Cause, you’re not really being very responsive. To any of this. Apart from, glaring. Like how you’ve been doing. For the past … I don’t really remember how long it’s been, actually.” He attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a cough. 

Chell observed his back slump. Wheatley’s pupils darted to the wall – he was clearly becoming nervous. He tried again, voice roughly cracking over a swallow. “You know I’ve just felt … a bit useless lately … kind of left in the dark … and all…”

“…”

“… God dammit would you PLEASE JUST GIVE ME A SIGN?!” 

Chell nearly jumped. She stepped away, hand releasing the fabric and moving back a few inches on its own. She brought it to her side, fist still clenched. 

He hadn’t been facing her when he shouted. His irises remained on the wall. Immediately, Wheatley froze.

The seconds were ticking by again, and he still didn’t turn to her. His face was discolored in horror. In her scrutiny, Chell forgot to check her expression. 

He was talking again. “I – I’m sorry I, I shouldn’t’ve…” 

A hiccup left his mouth. He was looking incredibly anguished, breath starting to staccato. 

Wheatley tilted his head to the floor and met his hands with his cheeks. Hurriedly, he rubbed at his temples with knobby fingers, but they soon halted. They wouldn’t take back that outburst. 

Without warning, his shoulders gave a harsh shake. She couldn’t see his face, but his digits moved under his glasses. 

He sniffled. 

The only noise in that dark, throbbing room.

Chell never took her eyes off him.  

She was waiting, she supposed. Truthfully, Chell wasn’t certain of how she wanted to proceed. She wasn’t going to leave – she could take with her the knife that was resting in its corner, but who knew what he’d do if left alone. No, she wouldn’t leave – but neither could she bring herself to disturb him. It’d be like tampering with something that had been a long time coming, intervening in the placement of a much-needed piece. She didn’t want to shorten or prolong it, draw attention to herself or disappear entirely. So she hung back, listening as his gasps morphed into barely-repressed weeping, and she waited.   

It wasn’t very long before he moved his face up again. That single light in the room highlighted wet streaks around his eyes, which Wheatley didn’t bother to dry. He looked at her, yet he seemed just about ready to break down again. 

As their gazes locked, Chell noticed the lack of tension she felt in her own face. The muscles had relaxed. She didn’t bother adjusting them now – Chell doubted she could take on an expression of severity, and anyway, the thought of doing so at the moment felt repulsive.   

Wheatley opened his mouth, visibly distraught. “Chell.” That hurt. “Chell p-please, I want to help you. Believe me. More than anything I want to help you. I know I’m being pathetic but, but all I want is to make things better for you. Or as b-better as they can be, but I can’t. Not –” he caught his breath, “not so long as you refuse to give anything away.” 

Chell was finding it more and more difficult to stay focused. Her goal had been plain at the start of this, but now she could hardly keep her mind on the bigger picture. As he panted, she found herself considering his words.

Chell would never call the aftermath of the explosion “nothing.” It hadn’t been. It still wasn’t. But she was managing. She was handling it. She was fine. She had to be, as there was no time for otherwise. She couldn’t afford to be mulling over it – no one could afford her to be mulling over it. 

Wheatley apparently disagreed with that notion. 

Chell left the gruffness out of her voice. “And you thought cutting off your arm would be the solution?” 

He blinked. It was like, for a moment, he’d forgotten about that, or maybe he wasn’t expecting to hear her speak. “Well … well I don’t know! You won’t talk to me, I can’t tell what’s going on in your head anymore, and you won’t acknowledge that you’re hurting ‘cause you’re too proud to admit it. Even now.”  

Chell could see how drained Wheatley was. He appeared to shrink, curling over and shifting away. His pupils went elsewhere again, dull and exhausted. An exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “You – you hate me.”  

Chell was surprised. “I don’t hate you,” she pressed.

He didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were watering. “I just – I just want things to be okay. Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen…”  

Before she could determine what to do, Wheatley faced her, fatigued and aged. But that broken cadence carried on in earnest.  

"I know you. And – and I know you’re hurting. But…you won’t let me in. I can’t get through to you. I can’t help you.”  

His sightline dragged to rest on her bandaged stump.  

“I did this to you,” he whimpered.   

Something cold clawed at Chell’s chest.

“No. You didn’t, Wheatley.”  

“I did this.”  

“Stop. I made a choice, and –”  

“But you shouldn’t’ve had to make it! And I know you say that, you’ve made it perfectly clear you’re of the opinion that once you make a choice, you stick to it. But as you’ve probably noticed, I have a hard time accepting that choice when it means you have to lose your fucking arm on my account!”  

Wheatley wiped his tears. His breath was shaky. “I wish … I almost wish you’d let me get bl–”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He removed his hands from his cheeks. “… I’m sorry, I know that’s selfish.” 

Chell nearly gave him the affirmative before stopping herself. 

On the one hand, it was selfish. It was implicitly telling her that he didn’t fully appreciate what she’d done, that he’d rather think about what could have happened instead of what did happen, that Wheatley couldn’t find it in himself to let go of that for her sake now, when she was still dealing with the consequences and had to relearn the most basic practices. 

But on the other hand, she thought wryly, Wheatley was hurt. He was hurt, much more than she would’ve thought, and he was hurting on her behalf. He felt guilty, like he was the one who’d forsaken her. 

He interrupted her thought with a sigh. “I’m just … scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, I don’t know what the next crisis is going to be, and this is going to change everything. I just thought … maybe it’d help … but, but in retrospect, it’s probably best to keep all the limbs we can, actually. The smartest thing to do. Got that right." 

When before she’d seen a man she cared about, throwing away a gift she’d given him, defying her, going behind her back, foolishly believing that his decision was going to do anything to help them…

Now she saw a man she cared about, and who she knew cared about her, and because of that he was willing to do anything if he thought it might alleviate some of their pain. 

Wheatley had absolutely miscalculated. He’d made a terrible misjudgement – and she was angry about it – but that was because times were hard, and he was hurt, and she needed to make sure he wasn’t hurting anymore. 

“I’m scared, too.”  

At once, Wheatley was reanimated, eyes bulging out of their sockets. It was a sight she would’ve laughed over had the situation been different.

“You … you what?”

“Hard to believe?”

“I just…You haven’t acted scared. I mean, even if you were, I wouldn’t expect you to act that way, but … you haven’t even seemed concerned. More like indifferent to the whole situation. And that’s what’s terrifying.”

For the first time since she’d entered that doorway, Chell glanced at the floor. 

“Maybe I’ve been trying to ignore it.”

Out of her peripherals, she saw Wheatley shift closer. “… Because … you want to move forward. Right, well, that is a very Chell thing. But, but in doing so, you know, you’re taking those feelings and shoving them into a box.”

“… Does it really make a difference?”

“It does to me.”

She peered up. Wheatley openly faced her, no more hunching back or twitching fingers. He was fully attentive, concern etched across every feature, but she recognized the relief in his brow. He was so glad to hear her talking. 

Perhaps she had been holding out on him.

“It’s affected you,” he said. “Sort of … closed you up. Made you undecipherable. And moody, too, if I’m honest.”

“My mood stressed you enough to do this?”

“I –” Wheatley looked perplexed. “… I wanted to know that you were alright. Seeing you like that, like you’d practically forgotten what had happened even with all the new strains put on you, and acting so different while shutting down the conversation…You’d taken it for me, and I couldn’t even do a proper job of helping you through it ‘cause you weren’t wanting to talk to me…I thought, I had to do something. Show you, maybe, how sorry I was, and hope that –”

“I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” said Chell.

She fought the urge to watch the floor again. What she said wasn’t entirely true.

Chell had noticed a change in Wheatley. His attempts at optimism had become infrequent and half-hearted, to the point where he turned full-on despondent. She’d figured it might’ve had to do with her behavior towards him, but didn’t think very much of it as she was recuperating.

She swallowed her compunction. “… I thought you’d dismiss it as me needing time to cope.”

“I…True, yes, that, uh, definitely would’ve been a possibility. And, sort of, I’m hoping, still is the case. Now that I know you’re not…Maybe in time, you’ll be more willing to talk to me about it. ‘Cause, honestly, up ‘til now, I was not getting the impression that we were on good terms. And I wouldn’t have blamed you for that! Given that you did save me.”

Wheatley quieted. “… I am so … so sorry. I – I know you’ve said I’m not to blame, but … I mean, maybe rationally you might think that, but there’s no way you don’t hold some anger towards me.”

Chell considered the man in front of her. She measured his confessions, thought of her own, weighed his actions and reactions and tone of voice.

“Wheatley.”

“… Yes?”

“You’re going to have to learn to stop feeling guilty.”

He was taken aback. “… I…”

“Please.”  

Wheatley opened his mouth as if he were going to object, but then shut it. He gave up, the tension leaving his body as he exhaled through his nose.

Rather than agreeing, he had his own request: “Please don’t ever save me again.”   

But Chell wouldn’t promise him that, and he knew it. She simply eyed him, tired, and without even acknowledging he’d spoken she smoothly stepped forward and wrapped her arm around his neck, settling her head over his shoulder.

Chell had never initiated a hug with one arm before, and it did feel rather awkward at first, but the feeling dissolved when she felt Wheatley place both of his around her back.  

He was gripping her tightly, encouraging her to sit with him, but she wouldn’t just yet. At this height she could still reach his ear. Chell turned to him and whispered as surely and comfortingly as she could, “I’m going to be okay.”  

He took a few moments.  

“Heh, I should be the one reassuring you. Strong as ever, you are. I just hope you know, what I was … doing. When you came in earlier – I really didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t care about what you did. Or, didn’t appreciate it. I am grateful. Really. In a … begrudging sort of way. I mean, it’s complicated, obviously. Bittersweet. So, so thank you for that. I owe you, I do – but, but what I’m getting at is, I’ll make sure it wasn’t for nothing. I’ll do everything I can so that you don’t regret it.”  

Chell had lowered herself onto his lap, nose buried in his chest. “I’m never going to regret it. I just need time … and you around.”

“Oh – well, I’ll be here! If you need anything at all. Probably be best, though, if you wouldn’t mind being more vocal about what you need, or the like. You know, at least until things are semi-normal again. Back in the swing of things, almost.”  

Chell leaned away to look up at his face – it was no longer in shadow. Wheatley was staring at her, stratosphere eyes bright with the idea that, indeed, it would finally be okay. Because she would be okay, even if things would be different, and that was what mattered to him. 

She felt like quirking a brow, but instead reached up as best she could to give him a quick peck on the lips. She’d missed that.

“Deal.”  

[kingofthewilderwest]

While I think Hawkeye's arc was weird in Endgame (seeing him badass was cool tho), I don't have problem with Thor's depression. Sure he's reacted with beserker rage in the past, but the difference is this was the first time his failure, which already was partially a result of his rage, resulted in not just him failing to kill his enemy but in the death of half of all life in the entire universe. That's gonna weigh down on anyone, on top of the personal loss of family and home. No wonder he broke

I’m of two minds for Thor. Honestly, how I end up feeling, I’ll have to rewatch the MCU to make my “final call.”

Thor’s suffered enormous losses in life, and they’ve kept building up. His father, his mother, his home and many of his people, his brother, and now the loss with Thanos and the snap. During Thor: Ragnarok, I was hoping for more evidence of Thor coping with a loss than what I saw - it was there, but understated, in part because of how humor is incorporated into nearly every scene of the film. In Infinity War, we see a bit more of Thor coping, this time more seriously. 

From what I remember (and do note that with most MCU movies, I’ve seen them only once), Thor brooded during his vulnerable points. He was solemn; you could feel the pain and the underlying dark as he emotionally grappled with his latest losses. It’s not that I expected berserker rage as OP mentioned in the prior post I reblogged (though Thor’s had that, too, as you said), but something more along darker brooding lines. Especially given as in Infinity War, Thor was coping with (as you pointed out) the loss of his home and so so so many of his people, which is mass death and loss of the most personal, intimate nature - I felt like that was a good indication of what Thor would be like during his worst. 

Of course Thanos’ snap is more people, and killing Thanos but not saving people is a big failure on Thor’s end. But from the end of Ragnarok to the start of Infinity War, Thor suffered extreme horrors. Thor experienced his sister murder many of his friends and people, saw his surviving subjects driven from home into exiles, saw those people attacked and killed, witnessed his brother murdered… that’s devastating, and as personally close to home as you can get. Thor loves Earth, but these were Asgardians, these were family. He lost all that. So to see Thor brooding in the midst of this, and then steel himself up, for me feels like a good indication of how the character responds in the lowest of the lows.

Of course, since they were in the middle of conflict with Thanos, Thor’s going to react differently… than in an aftermath where there’s no fight. We may steel ourselves up in fights but collapse emotionally once we no longer have that conflict to power through, or the dangerous desperation that forces us to focus. In the five year time span of Endgame, Thor isn’t in the midst of a giant battle. His mind won’t be on “finish the fight” or “try to survive” or “try to win the battle” - because he’s on earth with the remnant of the remnant of his people who survived, trying to recreate a day-to-day environment.

And, as you said, NOW EVERYTHING is now weighing on him - the personal loss, the death of half the universe, etc.

And that’s why I’m of two minds. Because in a time of peace, this is where things could crash down on Thor, and him enter that depression we see in Endgame. He’s lost everything. He’s got nothing to fight for now. And, as you said, he’s come to the pain of failure. This is where the failure and the loss sinks in, and feels inescapable… and is going to play into how Thor tries to cope with the trauma. And in a situation as horrid as that, it’s hard to process it at all… the mind is going to want to escape.

But given Thor’s previous lows, it feels odd and in some ways out of character, a very different emotional approach than what the MCU’s given us before (not just in Infinity War and Ragnarok, but earlier movies too). Thor hasn’t shown to be the type to be susceptible to depression or self-deprecating alcoholism or shutting himself out from the world. And while Endgame’s start is a MASSIVE breaking point, you can see from his other breaking points and major struggles… how he’d tend to act. We can extract from other situations how someone would probably respond in a worse one, and for me, it doesn’t QUITE add up. We’ve seen him cope with failure before. We’ve seen him cope with massive loss before. We’ve seen him cope with personal loss before. He hasn’t shown himself to be the type to go to these types of poor coping strategies.

But all in all, I don’t mind too much either way whether this is in Thor’s core “character” as we know him in the MCU. It was something I found interesting watching in Endgame because it’s something I would have written differently; it’s not something that bothered me, so much as made me rub my chin in thought. I find it an interesting point of discussion to hear peoples’ perspectives on all angles - probably because I’m in that 50/50 toss-up. I can see the points in favor either way. 

I think characters like Hawkeye definitely responded in odd ways in Endgame, and Thor stuck out to me as well (as did Nat and Bruce, and to a much lesser extent, Tony). But I can see very good reasons to synthesize and discuss why his reaction would make sense, too.

It all boils down to interpretation, I think. The fascinating power of fandom is that we can interact with media in legitimate ways with multiple modes of interpretation. There’s concrete ways to talk about Thor from a resolutely IC perspective. There’s legitimate angles to ponder about whether it were the most “Thor-like” choice in the script. And it’s all so fun to talk about!

Since I feel like the MCU has constant hiccups in how it handles all its characters between movies, this wasn’t anything different than what I’ve experienced before, and ergo I just take it in stride and be like, “Yeah Thor’s going through depression in this movie,” and accept it for what it is. And there’s something to be said that Thor’s relatable, and it’s SUCH an encouraging thing to remember: our mental illnesses or deepest emotional struggles DON’T affect how great and worthy we are!

[rontra]

do you have any recommendations on how to like. Take In Umineko. I think it looks really cool and I’d like to get into it, but there’s a lot of things that are confusing (like all of the different games, the manga, the anime, ect.) and I’m not really sure where to start watching/reading it. Do you have any advice on where the best place to start is?

HOH BABY NOW THIS IS A GOOD ASK

Basically, a lot of this depends on you and how you prefer to take in media. People are different after all; some people like reading long novels, some prefer comics, u know! So let’s just go over all the avenues and how to get at them, and the rest is up to you!

I’m gonna make this post very long. VERY VERY LONG. IM SO FUCKn SORyr

First, I’ll talk abt what umineko is; then I’ll discuss the various media; finally, at the end, I’ll write down what I typically recommend to newcomers! SCROLL REALLY FAST TO THE HEADERS IF U HAVE NO TIME FOR MY RAMBLING LOL

So…here we goooo

READING UMINEKO: UNTANGLING THE WEB

OR: what the fuck is umineko and why do you want me to read it, diesel?

Since this is a general To Whom It May Concern post: Umineko no Naku Koro ni (Or Umineko: When They Cry, alternatively When The Seagulls Cry) is a murder mystery/fantasy/metafiction visual novel published between 2007 and 2011. I know “murder mystery” and “metafiction” sound pretty boring when you combine them, but trust me–Umineko’s unlike anything you’ve seen, and defies explanation. Still, I’m here to do my best!

Umineko is about a rich and complicated family, and their annual family conference–and the year it goes super duper badly. On an isolated island, in the middle of a typhoon, tragedy befalls the family–on a massive scale! Someone is killing them–all of them–and the only answer that seems to be rising is–

“Beatrice did it.”

But Beatrice isn’t supposed to really exist. Not for real!! No one by that name is on the island. It’s just a story! She’s made up–Beatrice is a legend. A witch who has lived for a thousand years–who loaned the family patriarch ten tons of gold, an insane amount of wealth, in exchange for his soul. Now she’s collecting on that loan, taking everything back, with interest–the lives of the family included.

Is the culprit a human, or not? Does the witch exist, or not?Is the culprit one of the 18 people? Does a 19th person exist? Or…?And, most importantly–when the typhoon passes, will anyone remain alive on the island?

[YouTube: Umineko opening]

I’d super-recommend Umineko if you enjoy: strong characterization, a solidly built mystery (with plenty of smaller mysteries to try your brain with along the way ;) ), complex and nuanced characters, hype magic fights, Logic-Based Combat(???), deep discussions of trauma and its consequences, large casts of characters, Genre Fuckery, coping, Meta™, and milfs Complex Lore

I would, however, NOT recommend Umineko if you are triggered by/can’t stomach reading about: body horror, gore, death, trauma, child abuse, bullying, discussion of suicide, discussion of sexual assault, etc (you can message me for a more complete list of warnings; I’m happy to provide super-specific ones if there’s something specific you’re concerned about, or even give you specific scenes to watch out for. I kept this vague on purpose, but if you message me off anon or via DMs here or at @aceyasu, I’ll be happy to answer anything!)

Overall it’s a pretty dark, emotional story, with a lot of Themes™–but it’s also full of love and genuine heartfelt Feelings. I don’t think any story has touched me the way Umineko has! Of course, everyone’s experience is very unique to them, but I think Umineko has something for everyone (provided, of course, that we’re taking into account the content warnings and excluding people who can’t/don’t want to encounter those things!). The characters, music, story and message–it all has a lot of heart and it all is very important to me as an individual. Obviously no media is flawless, but I think Umineko’s good outweighs its bad…YMMV though of course :p

Also, hype magic fights.

OKAY WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY

Umineko’s story is told over 8 arcs–styled as “episodes”. I use “arc” and “episode” sort of interchangeably! Specific ones I just call “EP#” though. All you really need to know though is there’s 8 of them, of varying length, and you have to read them all for the full story.

Thankfully they’re numbered, am i right?? HAFDmgkdfmg

Each episode has its own focus within the overarching narrative and comes with its own fun mysteries and harrowing developments just for you! yay! But basically, the important thing is that they’re divided into the Question Arcs (1-4) and Answer Arcs (5-8).

Sometimes, to make things confusing, the Answer Arcs are also called “Core Arcs” or “Chiru”. I will use “Answer Arcs” here, but if you encounter those two elsewhere, that’s what they are. :p

ACTUALLY EXPERIENCING UMINEKO

(now that im done YAPPING)

The anime

Generally viewed as a poor product. It’s a bad adaption that fails as a standalone, too, because of the amount of important scenes that are missing. Don’t watch the anime first if you really want to get into Umineko. It’s a fun watch once you know how it’s supposed to go, though :p Covers the Question Arcs only, ends with EP4–so even if it was good, it would only be half the story… press f to pay respects. The opening fuckin slaps though, and all the VAs are solid.

The manga

Each Episode has its own manga adaption, usually done by a different artist (with exception of EP1, EP3, and EP8, which are all by the same artist). Generally solid; gets the most important parts. For people who want to get through quicker, the manga helps a lot.

The primary cost is that a lot of characterization doesn’t get to shine AS bright, as there’s simply no time to get into the nooks and crannies (still a great cast, though). However, the art is usually fantastic–since the artist changes every EP, it’s easy to deal with even if you don’t like a specific one’s style. It’ll be gone by next Episode!

A lot of moments get punched up by the more visual format of the manga. You really get a better sense of the characters interacting physically with one another! You do, however, run into the Scanlation Problem…..

I know, I know–most people, when given the option to, don’t want to pay for things. So when given the choice between fan scanlations and the official release, a lot of people would choose the scanlations. And they’re fine…for the most part…except for the parts that aren’t. Some parts (notably in the Answer Arcs) are…bad. Really bad. Even I can’t really understand it sometimes, despite knowing this story inside out… LOL

If you’re good at parsing Scanlation SNAFU or can’t afford/don’t want to buy it, you can find Umineko on MOST manga hosts! I don’t know which you prefer so I’m not gonna link ‘em hahahafkgmfh I usually use Manga Rock but that’s because I usually am reading on my phone and I like their app. The episodes are all numbered, so it’s pretty easy to find your way around!

On the other hand, if you have a hard time understanding poor translations, reading inconsistent typesetting/fonts, or simply Can afford it/prefer buying media, the manga is being officially released in English by YenPress! As is standard nowadays, you can get them in both physical volumes and digital e-books! However, YenPress’ release is currently ongoing–the first volume of EP8 is slated to release in March.

[YenPress link]

The visual novel

Ah, here we are–the head honcho himself…! This is the original version of Umineko. These are the ones we call “games”, and why we sometimes say u “play” Umineko, but. Really. It’s just reading. They’re kinetic novels. Its literally just reading. So I don’t know why we complicate things like that.

(“if she an .exe, shes a game”, I guess… xD)

This is where the characterization and voice of Umineko really shines! The style is often simple to read, sometimes even comically casual, but it cuts deep when it wants to. Even really simple lines can have a really strong impact–it’s a really pleasant style to read, IMO…pretty easy to understand most of the time, but emotionally resonant all the same!

Reading the VN is somewhat of an undertaking, because of the amount of hours required…It’s a far longer read. Depending on your reading speed and whether or not you pause to think/talk about things as you read, people clock in 100-200 hours to finish it.

But, on the upside–because it has so much more time than the manga, the VN can really get deep into the characters, their dynamics, and their inner conflicts. You really get a deep sense for everyone’s character and it makes most of the cast feel fleshed-out enough that you appreciate all of them to some extent (whether positive or negative :P)

Oh, actually–the original Umineko branded itself a “Sound Novel”….as opposed to a Visual Novel, where the emphasis is on, uh–Visuals–Umineko leans more heavily on audio to create its atmosphere. And the music? Fuckin rips!! The Umineko soundtrack is huge and has tons of absolute bangers. It’s easy to see why it decided to market itself as a Sound Novel rather than a visual novel–the graphics of the original PC version are simple, but the atmospheric sound effects and BGM really shines.

Here’s some enticing tracks to pique yr interest (be careful about the comments/etc though, there’s Definitely spoilers in there xD)[worldenddominator] [dead angle] [dir] [system0] [hope]

The VN nowadays is split into the two halves; if you get EP4, it’ll include 1-3 as well, essentially. Picking up Question Arcs (or EP4) and Answer Arcs (or EP8) gives u the whole 8 episodes. Easy peasy! Because we live in the future now, and retroactive inclusion of past games is just convenient!

There is an official English release now, which is a brand new luxury. It’s even on Steam! Wow! That’s the easiest way to get your paws on the hands-on experience. The translation has been slightly updated as well! Also, they added a new set of toggle-able graphics that are…um…I mean they’re certainly new…#BarelyContainedOpinionAlert

If you don’t want to pay or can’t afford it…uhhh….I used to have torrent links but they’re all dead. :T still, you can probably just find them, if you know your way around torrents. For the translation, you’ll have to either get a pre-patched version of the game, or use the translation group’s instructions to patch it yourself. 

If you can’t do either of those, or just don’t really have a preference, or…any number of reasons, you can also find all the games fully recorded and uploaded to YouTube (with or without commentary)!

As for the links, I’ve got them right h–

Wait–oh, sh–the graphics are bad?!? You think the graphics are bad? Or you think plain reading is boring? Y-you can’t understand what the background image in this scene is even supposed to be? Ah…the post-2007 struggle….

The visual novel, Part Deux: AH, THE JPEGS edition

OKAY SO I SPLIT THIS APART BECAUSE IT*S IMPORTANT

If you wanna spruce up your VN-reading experience, here’s the thing: they ported the game to PS3, with brand new graphics and–get this–full voice acting. Wow! There’s even CGs now…Jeez!

These are NOT the same graphics as the new ones from the official English release! That’s important!

SO, if you wanna spruce up the graphics a bit, or you enjoy voice acting with your novels, you can do that! People took apart the PS3 games and made patches for the PC version to enjoy the new graphics and voices. And now it’s available for the Steam version as well!

[SPRITE COMPARISON: ORIGINAL PC | PS3 | STEAM]You pick your favorite!

ALSO VOICE ACTING! WOW!! Remember how I said the anime got two things right and they were the OP and the voice cast?

SAME CAST, BABEY!!!! They are all excellent and do a wonderful job! It can really add some more interest if you struggle with staying focused on “plain” reading.

Okay so NOW the links:

You’ll have to dig up torrents yourself if you want those, bc its 6am and I’m too sleepy to… uzu

QUESTION ARCS[Physical Eng release] or [Steam page] +[PS3 PATCH]

ANSWER ARCS[Physical Eng release] or [Steam page] +[PS3 PATCH]

YOUTUBE[Non-commentated, with PS3 patch] you can find more just by searching but this one looks good to me :p

RONTRA OPINIONS / SUGGESTIONS

Personally, I favor the VN for most scenes, but the manga for my light casual reading. Y’know? The VN can be pretty…um…dense, at times.

Ironically, I think EP1 itself might be the biggest hurdle for total first-timers. It’s definitely paced as a “part 1 of 8″ for the first solid portion! By which I mean, it really takes its time establishing the cast and their individual situations. Which isn’t a bad thing–especially in the overarching scope of how long the story is–but if you aren’t sure about the premise, format, or if you’ll enjoy Umineko at all, it can be sort of…challenging.

It all really depends on the individual–things like attention span, investment, and personal preferences, imo. Some people just don’t enjoy reading that much text at once! And that’s fine! Some people love it and that’s fine! Some people think the intro is too long, some people think it’s intriguing from the start. Some really like watching character building, and some prefer to see action happening. Either way is fine, so it’s really up to you!

Usually, if someone isn’t sure, I suggest they try EP1 in manga form first, just to see if the general premise entices them; it’s fully possible to jump back and do the VN if you decide you like it! It sacrifices some characterization in exchange for exploring the main premise a little faster.

Similarly, if you just can’t get into the VN–you can read the entire thing with manga too, if you favor action over the deepest character lore. It’s still a good time and a good experience!

Though, in EP1′s favor–if you ARE sure about it, and are able to dedicate your attention to the first 10-13 hours of set-up, EP1 has one of the most rewarding escalations I’ve encountered! If you are able to sit and read a fairly long-winded introduction, you are rewarded with the most buck wild Popping Off you can imagine.

So there’s nothing wrong with jumping right in there with the VN, if you enjoy reading!

However, if you do find that the VN is dragging too much for you, you can go in reverse too–and finish EP1 by manga, then decide if you want to jump back to the VN or not. I promise, the novels pick up the pace too–it’s just getting all the introductions down that can be daunting, when the initial cast size is a staggering 18 people (plus the LORE has to be established too)!!

Just for you–if you want to get into Umineko, but struggle with EP1, I’ll offer my private archive of YenPress manga rips for EP1–read the manga, official english translation, for free thanks to your dealer friend, rontra,You will have to message me about it, though–off anon or via DMs, here or at @aceyasu.

My favorite setups when I play by myself are either Original PC Graphics + Voice Acting, or Full PS3 Patch. I personally really like the original PC graphics, but I understand some people think they’re kinda…um…Rough, to say the least xD PS3 graphics are a close second for me though.

I don’t really like the steam version’s new sprites. Some people don’t mind them, so it’s up to you what you prefer, but I think they don’t really convey the feeling as well as their counterparts sometimes… :/

But hey, everyone’s got their own opinions!

I also prefer the EP8 manga to the EP8 VN. If I have control over someone’s first playthrough, I always push over to the manga for EP8! In my opinion, it’s a rare instance where the adaption is better than its original. People have different opinions on this, of course, but since this section is My Opinions Central, that’s my opinioooon!!! :D

SO BASICALLY MY OWN PERSONAL PREFERRED STRUCTURE IS

->TRY EP1 (jump over to manga if struggling; if enjoyed manga ep1 until the end, hop back into the VN at EP2 and come back to EP1 if you want to later)

EP2-EP7 VN

EP8 MANGA(EP8 VN if desired afterwards, once the dust settles)

But you’re free to do what you want, of course. ;9

And then after that there’s some spinoffs that I didn’t talk about because that’s a post for another time. (There’s a fighting game! It’s packed full of spoilers.)

AFTERWORD

All in all, Umineko is…big. its very very big. it has a huge cast (the final count comes out to like, almost 70 characters!) and a huge story. and huge feelings.

The manga and the VN are the main avenues of getting into it. It’s easier than it looks at a glance; and yet, more daunting than it seems…

If you have the time and energy to pour hours of your time into it, Umineko is a super worthwhile story that tackles genuinely difficult material with a delicate but honest hand.

It clowns up sometimes and stumbles over its own demographic–see: Weird Vaguely Unpleasant Anime-brand Sex Comedy that springs up a lot in EP1, some in EP2, and then largely disappears save for a few dumb jokes here and there–but overall is a solidly built and solidly delivered story about trauma, love, loss, and getting your family ritual-murdered by a thousand-year-old witch who may or may not be real.

And if you have any questions at all (or just wanna talk Umineko), you can send an ask or IM me here or at @aceyasu–you can ask for my Discord too if you wanna really get into it. Or DM me on twitter! I’m happy to answer any question or elaborate on anything you’re confused about. I tried to go over this post quickly, so if I was too vague on something, feel free to ask!

The same of course applies to content warnings; if there’s something specific you’re worried about, I can answer it for you, whether it’s “does [specific thing] happen/appear” or “how much of [thing] is there, i can handle a little bit”! Anything! Of course I want people to read my favorite, but I also more than that want u all to be safe.

I’m very sorry that this post is literally three thousand words long. Umineko’s been my special interest for almost ten whole years. I get chatty! But hopefully my passion shines through and gets you excited!!!

LOVE, A BIG NERD

[cleverbroadwayurl]

Surround You (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt 7)

Song: Surround You by Echosmith

Need to Catch Up? PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6

Want More? PART 8 PART 9 PART 10 PART 11 PART 12 PART 13 PART 14 PART 15 PART 16  PART 17 PART 18  PART 19

A/N: Yay yay yay!! This night is finally over!!! Ahhh it took me so long, but I’m glad to finally have it finished! Part 8 is currently in the works, I had an idea for it recently so wowser, draft one is almost done! I also just want to like,,, thank everyone for the hype and feedback again??? Oh my goodness??? It makes me so happy to see people enjoying it??? Like some have said that these are their favorite parts and honestly??? The entire fic was built around this??? And seriously??? This idea has been in my head for over a year because I had to have an escape route and it just happened to be one of my guy friends that I trusted hella so,,, Anyways, I hope you enjoy this part, the next one will be up soon! 

Taglist: @retrogarden @scarsonthecuffsofyourjeans @be-more-heidi-hansen @bluhimaweirdo 

Trigger Warnings: mentions of an abusive boyfriend, cuts, mentions of abuse,

“Got it, Jeremy. Let me know when you’re ready to go. I won’t say a word, no matter what. I’ll keep the bathroom light on so I don’t accidentally fall asleep.”

“Thank you, dad.” Jeremy said, a smile finally emerging from the corners of his mouth.

“Anytime, Jeremy.”

Mr. Heere let Jeremy through and heard him rush down the stairs.

As awkward and terrible as that conversation with his dad was, Jeremy was glad that he finally had a plan. He also realized that he could make as much noise as he wanted or needed to. It was almost as if all high stakes were gone for a minute. Everything was now just a little bit easier for both him and you, which was his original goal in the first place. He got down to the middle level of his house and stood at the top of the basement stairs.

He got memories of when he was a little kid and afraid of the basement. Now that he was somewhat an adult, he was ironically still scared of the basement. Not because he was worried there was a monster or something, but because he was nervous about helping you. As much as he could follow the rules and advice from both Rich and his dad, Jeremy could still fail. You could make it home, but still be in danger. He didn’t want you to be stuck somewhere; he didn’t want this moment of calm between you two to end. Taking a breath and wiping his eyes of any excess tears, Jeremy quietly made his way down the stairs.

When he got to the bottom, he witnessed you on your phone once again. It’s not like he could blame you, though. While it looked like you were texting, he could never be too sure. You could be looking up resources to help you get out of this situation. You could even be on the phone with the police or getting your hands on a possible lawyer to get a restraining order. He just hoped that you weren’t texting your boyfriend.

But you couldn’t be texting that asshole. There was no panic to you, at least not anymore. You were calmly typing away. No tears, no visible pain, but just…you. He almost wanted to walk back up the stairs and leave you be for the night. Your face was only slightly lit from the blue light from your phone; making only your brightest features shine. Jeremy swore in that moment that he’d never seen a more delicate sight. He swallowed hard, making sure not to startle you.

“Hey,” he gave a smile, “I have the first aid kit.”

You looked at him, a little bit of light shining in your eyes. However, this time, it wasn’t from the dull glow from your phone. It was genuine, he could tell. You mirrored his smile before your eyes scanned him up and down. Jeremy wanted to drink in this moment, this basic conversation that seemed so quiet, so secluded from the rest of the world. He took a step forward and opened the kit. You didn’t watch him carefully, instead you made room beside you so he could sit down. Your demeanor had changed, it was almost like it was just you two being friends and had played video games much longer than your curfew. The silence crept in and stayed, almost a comfort to each person in the basement. The actions were similar to a typical Friday night, as if the events from before hadn’t happened at all.

As he sat down, you turned your back to Jeremy so that he could examine the cut. Based off of tonight, this was not typical behavior. Normally, you’d watch him, watch his hands, muscles tense and fear radiating off of your body. But this was different. You were as comfortable as he was, which was shocking for both of you. And Jeremy knew in this moment, something special was going on.  

Looking at the cut again, he noticed that it was low enough for him to reach without violating your privacy. But of course, Jeremy needed to ask because it would be more than rude or creepy to just go for it. Plus, he didn’t want to violate any more rules that night. “Can I lift this up a little to look at the mark?”

“Sure, Jeremy. I trust you.”

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. The lanky boy set the kit on the floor next to him and held a cleaning wipe in his right hand. His hand shook as he lifted up the back of your shirt, careful not to touch you any more than he needed to.

The moment he lifted the fabric, even the little bit he had to, he saw red marks covering your back. They were marks he’d never seen before, each of them small round circles or almost fat crescents. His eyes scanned for the one that was bleeding and found it almost immediately. It was deeper than the others and still oozing the slightest amount of blood. It wasn’t on your spine, thank goodness, but rather too close for comfort. His fingers grazed over the bleeding cut. “This is going to sting,” he said, hoping that those words weren’t entirely true. Jeremy didn’t want to hurt you any more, but this was the only way to clean the cut enough so it wouldn’t get infected.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’m just going to swab down your cuts. Nothing more. Maybe some gauze in a few minutes.”

“Got it.”

Jeremy moved gently once again. He placed the cold wipe onto your skin, just barely grazing the cut before you practically yelped and flinched away from him. He jumped back as well, fear coursing through his veins. You relaxed as quickly as you jumped up. The teenager could hear the smile in your voice as you spoke: “I didn’t think it’d be so cold or sting that much. Sorry for jumping like that.” The smile faded by the time you got to your apology.

Your apologizing almost seemed like a reflex. After all the times you’d said you were sorry tonight, he could only imagine how often you said it around your boyfriend. He wondered how often those apologies meant nothing to your boyfriend and somehow everything to you. There was some darkness lingering in the back of his mind; saying that your boyfriend dismissed your apologies as he would with a fly in the room or a face passing by in a crowd. The grimace that Jeremy had seen many times before appeared in his mind. How many times had you apologized tot hat face? How many times had you meant every “sorry” you uttered, but he meant absolutely none of them? How many times were you ignored, hell even your basic needs ignored because he stood in the way of them?

The lanky boy realized how long it had been since he’d said something and decided to say something so your apology to a completely natural reaction was accounted for. “It’s totally okay.”

He tried cleaning the cut again, this time placing his hand near the mark so the cold wipe wouldn’t catch you by surprise again. His hand with the wipe moved gently across your skin, careful not to disturb the gash any more than he needed to. Jeremy stopped cleaning after about five minutes. Without all the dried blood around it, the mark actually looked at lot better. But just to be safe, he decided to cover it with gauze to get a more sealed finish. If your parents found out about this, he was sure he’d never get to see you again. He shuddered at that thought. As soon as he was done, he opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to the punch.

“Those are from kicks,” You spoke a little softer than before. “I didn’t think they’d get this bad.” He could hear a chuckle in your voice, but wasn’t sure why you were laughing. Maybe it was aa way of coping with the truth. And in that moment, all of those questions from before were answered: Too many times had your apologies and basic needs meant nothing to him.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so Jeremy just stayed quiet for a second. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still concentrating on opening the cleaning cloth. He waited a second, trying not to get extremely angry at the words you’d just uttered and the answer to his questions he didn’t have the heart to ask you. He’d just processed the words, but knew that getting angry now was not the ideal. Not like he did before, at least. He decided that maybe instead of bringing up your boyfriend again, he’d give you a warning. He spoke a second later, keeping his cool as much as he could. “All right, I’m done.”

“Thank you again, Jeremy. For everything tonight. I should probably get going, though,” you said, turning to put your newly bandaged back onto Jeremy’s couch, your profile just as beautiful to the awkward boy as looking at your entire face. In that moment, Jeremy swore you didn’t have a bad angle.

“About that,” Jeremy started, his eyes immediately beelining for the ground. “Is it okay if my dad drives your car and I drive you home? That way, you don’t have to face your parents and stay away from driving. Plus, if you need to hide in a hurry, you can do that. Or like if your boyfriend notices your car, it’ll be my dad driving and not you.”

You smiled, your eyes shining brighter than the fullest of moons. “That’s a great idea. Where’d you come up with that?”

Jeremy sat for a second, thinking over how exactly he came up with that plan. He wasn’t sure, so he decided to jokingly make something up. “You know, I’ve been trying to get past this Bioshock level, maybe I was in a puzzle solving mindset. Michael has been trying to get me to beat it for weeks, but I haven’t been able to.”

Your eyes clouded over with confusion for a second. “Michael—isn’t he the boy that wears the red hoodie that has like Pacific Northwest vibes? And he loves music? Wears sick headphones that are sometimes white?”

“That’s him! He’s my best friend,” Jeremy paused. “Yeah, he’s been with me through everything.”

“Oh right. Something happened at the play Junior year. I don’t know a lot about it, but I’m happy Michael was there for you.”

“Yeah.” He gave an awkward smile, his shoulders almost reaching the corners of his mouth. There was a silence between you two for a second, before you looked at Jeremy sharply, a smile painting your features.

“Where did Michael get his Pacific Northwest vibe?” You asked, not breaking eye contact with Jeremy.

“Well, this one time we played Life is Strange and that’s when he started saying ‘hella’ and basically became Chloe Price, but maybe less punk rock and family issue driven.”

Your smile somehow got wider at his answer. “I love it and honestly support it.”

Jeremy noticed that you looked at your phone right after that, the time reading 2:45 in the morning. He had to get you home soon, that was for sure. As much as he loved these moments with you; moments of seemingly infinite bliss and beauty, they had to end. For some reason, during this time with you, it felt like the world couldn’t lay a finger on either of you. It felt like everything was as it should be, it felt simple. It felt like that domestic life that Jeremy for some reason craved with you. It felt right.

“Shit is it really almost 3? I promised an hour, Jeremy. I’m sorry, it’s been almost 2.” You said, cheeks completely flushing of color.

“Hey, you made my night more interesting, and even gave me a valid excuse as to why I didn’t finish that Bioshock level.”

“But—”

“Really, it’s fine. It was an emergency, you needed help. Your time here is completely fine and valid. We’re friends, it’s what friends do for one another. You could stay here for a year, and I would be happy just have your company around here,” Jeremy blushed at the end. “But you probably should get going, I do want you to sleep even just a little bit in your own bed. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Jeremy.”

The teen walked upstairs and got his dad. Mr. Heere kept his promise and had managed to stay awake to drive your car to your house. You were escorted to Jeremy’s car while his dad took your keys. Your hood was up once again, to hide anything you could from Jeremy’s dad. Going out to the car was surprisingly easy, they just needed to keep their eyes aware of any figures in the dark. Jeremy even opened the door for you, and stepped around to the other side of the car. He didn’t miss his dad’s knowing smile before climbing in, though.

The drive was surprisingly short and almost peaceful. Almost peaceful because Jeremy kept his eye out for your boyfriend or his car, making sure to signal if you should duck your head down under the glove compartment just in case. But it was nice, no traffic, no one was around. It kept the illusion of being untouchable by anyone else, the illusion of privacy alive. The streetlight glowed lovingly every so often, illuminating the wonderful person that sat in the passenger seat of Jeremy’s car. He could tell that you were falling asleep, your head falling on the window every so often. Yeah, good thing you didn’t drive. Jeremy sighed and looked at the road ahead of him once again.

Jeremy couldn’t get the sadness out of his head, the small cloud of darkness from before looming darker and closer. He got to go home and sleep peacefully. Where he was safe. You on the other hand, had to go to bed and face the cold reality of the night. While the he wanted to help, he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. It was just like the SQUIP incident and him. You needed to face this head on and probably alone. If not alone, then with mental health professionals who could do a hell of a lot more than he could. They’d helped him with his situation, he only imagined they could do the same for you.

When you got to your house, he noticed tears streaming down your face again. He wordlessly walked you to your door and hugged you before letting you walk into your home, safe for the night.

He drove with his dad home, the car being silent the entire way. And while before, the silence would be absolutely driving the two of them insane, this was more of a relaxed or sleepy silence. The car ride seemed to go faster, Mr. Heere finally driving the speed limit instead of 5 under like he had with your car.

It wasn’t until Jeremy’s dad stopped in their driveway before he said something. “I know that I have no idea about this friend, but something tells me that you really care about them and genuinely help them. Did you end up using the gauze?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, his eyes still looking at his lap. He turned up, neck craning only slightly, to face his dad. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s go inside and get some good sleep, yeah? It’s already 3:23.”

The two climbed out of the car and locked it before entering the dark house and each going into their own rooms.

As soon as Jeremy shut his door, tears of relief flooded out of his eyes. He had no idea how he had managed to pull off keeping you safe, but he did it. Fuck, he did it. He got into his sweats, tears still escaping at a constant rate. Jeremy sat on his bed, the only light in his room being the moon, and put his head in his hands.

God you didn’t deserve this. Any of it. And in that moment, Jeremy made a promise to himself. He was going to help you in whatever way he could, and never ever let your boyfriend get away with this.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Always Done What You Say

This was how it began - Tony Stark had called on Peter Parker for a mission while he was out with May except the mission did not end the way anyone imagined or hoped it would, and now Peter’s life has been pulled out from under him.

(Or the story of how Tony found himself having to be more than just a mentor to Peter, one small step at a time) Previously

Chapter 14

“What?”

Tony nearly gave himself a whiplash by the speed in which he turned to look at the kid, confusion written plainly across his face.

“Something to just… make it easier,” Peter muttered. “To make the memories hazy… A little less sharp so that…. It’ll hurt less.”

“Okay so there’s clearly something that we should be talking about. This,” Tony gestured, “is one of those things – to be shared and talked about with me. I need you to talk to me, kid, not bottle it all up until it becomes too much that it drove you to make this kind of … request.”

“I’m not asking for my memories to be permanently deleted,” Peter huffed. “Just something that can make me forget about it for a little bit. I don’t want to forget May or Ben, but each time I close my eyes, I see May trapped under that billboard. I see her motionless in the hospital bed. I feel her trembling as I pulled her out from under the board. It’s a nightmare. It – It becomes so much that I couldn’t remember anything else about her, anything that’s good or – or happy.”

“I didn’t realise -”

“Shouldn’t there be a spell or something that can just… sort of repress those unpleasant memories?” Peter cut him off. “It’s like taking a file and putting it in a different folder in a computer, Mr. Stark. It’s not gone forever. It’s still there but in a different place. I don’t know…” he shrugged.

It was clear to him that Peter had given this some thought and Tony was annoyed with himself for not realizing and picking up on this sooner. Physically and on the outside, the kid appeared normal. He was still grieving but he was functioning. Still, if anyone should know the war that went on inside someone’s head, it should be Tony and yet… He had failed this boy.

He took a breath and mentally counted to ten. He would have plenty of opportunity later on his own for him to be mad at himself but right now, he needed to be here for Peter.

“That’s not how it works, kid,” Tony said, trying extremely hard to maintain his composure. “Nobody knows how memories, consciousness and the human mind really work. There are experts still trying to figure these out. Pete, there is a possibility that repressing the bad memories also repress the memories that are good. It’s a risk.”

“How would you know?” Peter challenged. “You’re not the Sorceror Supreme and you don’t have telepathic abilities like Wanda. Maybe they can do what the scientists out there couldn’t.”

“I don’t but even I know that the mind shouldn’t be tampered with,” Tony snapped with a biting edge in his voice.

“How’s this any different than people drinking to forget? Alcohol makes the memories a blur, right?” Peter asked. “Tell me, Mr. Stark.”

Tony reeled from his words, feeling as if he had been punched. That was exactly what he had done after his parent’s death. He had drank a glass each day and that in turn became one bottle and then two, and then he found himself spiraling all because he needed to cope with the grief and the loss, and the sudden responsibility of being CEO of Stark Industries. But he was better now, he had cut down and he was watching himself around Pepper and Peter, so to have Peter bring this up casually in a conversation, even if the kid wasn’t intentionally doing it to spite him, still hurts.

“Listen to me. This isn’t how it’s done. I’m not having Wanda mess with your mind. I’m not having Stephen cast a spell or some magical mumbo jumbo on you.”

“But -”

“No, no buts,” Tony stood firm. “There are other ways.”

“Shouldn’t I get a say in this? It’s my mind.”

“No you don’t get a say in this, not in this instance,” Tony retorted. “You’re emotional and exhausted – yes, kid, I can see it even if you keep telling me otherwise – and you should never make snap decisions like that until you’ve sat down and internalize it all. Trust me. I’ve had to learn from this experience the hard way.”

“I have thought about it and internalized it! I didn’t just bring this up to you now because it was something that popped into my head an hour ago,” Peter argued.

“Watch your tone,” Tony warned. “Fine, for the purpose of this conversation, say I were to give you the go ahead…. You really think Stephen is going to agree to it? I don’t think you know that wizard very well.”

The kid huffed and crossed his arms.

“Maybe then I’ll ask Wanda.”

“I forbid you from doing so.”

“You’re my guardian, not my dad,” Peter snapped, twisting the knife he had already earlier embedded in Tony’s heart.

Tony clenched his jaws. His heart rate was spiking up dangerously as he grabbed the steering wheel with his left hand to stop the impending shakes.

“You’re right I’m not but I’m the adult your aunt appointed to be responsible for you,” Tony said calmly, belying the storm going on internally.  “You want to make that memory a blur too, Pete?”

“Mr. Stark….”

He sounded stunned and apologetic but Tony didn’t think he could sit here in the car with this kid arguing about this anymore. He might explode or yell, and react the same way Howard had with him when his patience was running thin. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take so Tony started the engine.  

“We’re going home,” he declared. “We’ll talk about this when we’re both calmer.”

When they arrived at the penthouse, Peter hovered. Tony knew the kid enough to know he wanted to say something.

“Go to your room, Peter,” Tony directed tiredly. “Try to … Try and get some sleep, alright?”

“Yeah, okay. G’night,” he said, making a beeline for his room.

He closed the door quietly. He didn’t slam it shut the way most teenagers do when they didn’t get their way.

Moving towards the kitchen, Tony grabbed a glass without a thought. He poured himself a drink and sat on the stool. It was only when he brought the glass to his lips that he paused. Drinking was his way to cope – this and throwing himself in his work. Peter didn’t have a coping mechanism, not yet. Having lost his parents at a young age and then his uncle didn’t necessarily make him an expert on how to cope with grief. The kid was still learning and he was clearly grappling.

Spiderman had been the way he dealt with losing his uncle but in Peter’s current mind frame, it was also the reason he lost his aunt. He had nothing left to fall back on now that he had given up being Spiderman.

So Peter had come up with a way to handle things which while wasn’t ideal, shouldn’t be treated as if he was completely in the wrong.

Tony was the adult. That meant it was up to him to steer Peter in the right direction, provide him a healthy outlet to talk about his feelings and his pain, and to deal with his struggles.

“Is Peter awake, F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“He is, sir.”

It was past midnight but if the kid was awake… Or perhaps, he should let the kid cool off? God, he rubbed his face. He had no precedent on the best way to deal with a teenager. He didn’t realise handling just one could be this exhausting.

Tony knocked and waited but when no answer was forthcoming, he opened the door. Peter was half propped on his bed with headphones on his ears. The second he saw Tony walked in, he sat, turned off the music and took the headphones off.

“I’m sorry,” the words tumbled of out his mouth. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, Mr. Stark.”

“Emotions were running high,” Tony said, stepping in.

“Are you – Um… Are you here to tell me that – that you’ve withdrawn the petition…?”

“Come again?” Tony frowned. He pulled the roller chair from Peter’s study table and sat in front of him on the bed.

“I – I was rude,” Peter stared at his hands. “I’m sorry. I really am. Please, Mr. Stark, I’d rather you be my guardian than someone else.”

Tony could only stare at the kid.

“Peter,” he said, placing a finger under Peter’s chin to nudge his head up until he was looking at him. “You’re my responsibility which means I’ll see it through. I’m not the kind of person to throw in the towel just ‘cause you said something that’s rude and out of line. That’s part of the deal. You’re going to have emotional outburst. You’re going to be angry with me at some point over something and I’m going to find myself frustrated beyond belief but we’re not gonna quit on each other, kid. Hate to break it to you but you’re stuck with me.”

“O – Okay. I won’t quit on you, Mr. Stark. I won’t.”

“That’s good to know, underoos. There’s going to be consequences and punishments for when you step out of line but you don’t ever have to worry about me walking out and leaving you to dry. Understand?”

“Yes,” Peter nodded.  

“Good. Okay, good,” Tony released a breath. He rubbed the back of his head, trying to formulate his thoughts. “I’ve thought about what you want and I’m not here to tell you I’ve changed my mind. I haven’t. But I feel that I owe it to you to explain the reason I’m against it. You’re not a kid for me to say no to and expect you to fall in line. You deserve an explanation, and you’re old enough, Peter, to be able to think about it and understand it.”

“I – okay, I guess,” Peter nodded.

Tony learnt a long time ago that people would either listen to logic or emotion, or a balance of both. He had appealed to the logical side of Peter earlier but the boy had been so upset that it left little impact and since Peter tended to be impulsive, reacting on how he feel, the emotional angle would be better suited.

“Alright,” Tony offered a smile. “You were right, Pete. Some people do drink to forget and dull the pain, I’m one of them. Not proud of it. I still do it on some days when it gets too much but Pepper’s there to keep me in check and lately, it’s you too. Sometimes I’ll be in my workshop for hours. Working means I won’t be thinking about whatever it is that’s upsetting me. Ask anyone out there and they’ll tell you a thousand and one coping mechanism. Yours used to be being Spiderman, isn’t it?”

Peter was shaking his head vehemently. “No, Mr. Stark, you’re not going to talk me into becoming him again. I won’t do it.”

Tony chuckled. “I’m not. What I said earlier still stands. It’s your decision and I respect it.”

“So – So why can’t you do the same when I asked if I can have Dr. Strange or Wanda to help me.”

“Because forgetting is not the answer, Peter,” Tony said. “Maybe you don’t see it now but that pain and the loss will shape you. All these experiences will make you into the person you’ll be. It’s a part of you and it’s not something you should run from. I get it, kid, right now, it feels like nothing you do will ever make you feel okay again. But … You’ll learn to draw strength from your struggles. Draw courage to forge your life in their memory, if nothing else.”

Tony steeled himself. He wasn’t good at having conversation or doing any sort of consoling for that matter. May would have done this so he would have to step up and fill that void that she left behind.

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Stark. Maybe you’ve forgotten the pain that comes from loss. I don’t want to feel that pain anymore. It’s sharp and it – it’s stabbing me right here,” his hand fluttered to his chest. “Some nights, when it’s quiet and I’m alone, I think about that day when the aliens attacked and I think about May, and it’s so bad I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s a – it’s a hole that I can’t fill. Then I – I tried not to think about it. I tried to think of when she’s happy, like when we have Thai for dinner during her birthdays but I can’t! I kept seeing her pale and bruised and lifeless. I’m scared that’s the only thing I’ll remember about her.”

Peter choked, his lips trembling and his hands were shaking. Tony did the very thing he should have done a long time ago. Maneuvering himself so he was now sitting at the edge of the bed next to Peter, he drew the kid into his embrace. Peter collapsed against him, his face pressed against Tony’s shoulder as his fingers dug and pulled into the shirt on Tony’s back.

The last time Tony had held him this way, May was still fighting and Peter had soaked through his shirt with tears.

“Let it all out,” he said gently. He hadn’t seen Peter cry since the night May died. This breakdown was passed due. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s just you and me, buddy.”

“I want the pain to – to go away so I can be… ” he trailed, his words muffled against Tony’s shoulder.

“So you can be you again?” Tony asked, adjusting his grip on the boy. “Here’s the thing, kid, you’re the only thing Mary and Richard Parker left behind. You’re the only living legacy of Ben and May Parker. You’re the only one left alive. If you repress those memories, they’ll be lost, Peter. We will all remember May, of course, but you’re the only one left who truly knows her. You have intimate memories of your aunt that no one else in this world has. You know I’m right, Pete. Who are you without them, kid? Who are you without those people who raised you and loved you? You’re not gonna be the same without them in your memories – good or bad – cause there won’t be anything in here,” Tony clasped the back of his head.

“I’m the only Parker left…” Peter breathed out.

“Damn right.”

“How long will I feel this way?” he asked.

“Wish I have an answer to that, Pete. But I don’t. It’s going to sting when you think of them. Always. It’s going to hurt when your birthday rolls around, when you graduate, when you do something big and they’re not there to see it. There’ll be bad days, but there’ll be better days too. I promise. Hey listen, if one day you wake up and feel like shit ‘cause it’s May’s birthday and she’s not here for you to throw a party for, that’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. But you gotta know that I’m going to be here to catch you each time. You’re not alone.”

Tony felt him nodding against his chest. The tight grasp on the back of Tony’s shirt loosened slightly, but Peter remained slumped against him and Tony held him. It didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable. It felt natural to comfort this kid who was upset. Tony looked down at him, smiling a little. Peter was going to be in his life permanently from now on and the thought didn’t scare the living daylight out of him like it would have ten or twenty years ago.

Tony didn’t even think about it when he dropped a kiss on top of Peter’s head.

“You’re okay, buddy,” he patted his back. “You have to talk to someone. You can’t suppress all this until it explodes. I’ll arrange something for you.”

Peter looked up with tear stained face.

“Like a - a therapist?”

“Yeah, a therapist. It’ll be someone I trust, okay? I already know someone. You can tell her everything including your Spiderman activities if you want to. Whatever you tell her, she’ll keep it between the both of you. I should have done this for you a long time ago. My mistake, Pete.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. I – I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

Peter didn’t sound convinced although to be fair, when Pepper had suggested a therapist to him years ago, Tony hadn’t been convinced either.

“I see - so that’s the Lego you built with Ned today,” Tony pointed out.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded and Tony finally got a smile out of him.

Tony didn’t immediately leave the room and Peter didn’t look like he was going to fall asleep any time soon so they spent it talking. Tony told him of a restaurant he wanted to take Peter and Pepper to for dinner one day, Peter talked about visiting the Compound to spend time with the Avengers, they talked about the new upcoming school term and getting Peter’s particulars updated and he even asked if giving up Spiderman meant Peter wasn’t keen on helping him around the workshop with Iron Man suit upgrades anymore.

“Of course not, Mr. Stark!” Peter said, appalled. “I’m not against superheroes. Don’t know where you’re getting this idea,” he muttered to which Tony laughed. “I’ll help. I want to.”

When Tony finally stepped out of Peter’s room, he came face to face with Pepper.

“What are you doing up?”

“You didn’t come to bed at all, did you?” she asked, studying him. “I woke up and the bed was empty. F.R.I.D.A.Y told me where you are. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay. Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know, Pepper,” he admitted truthfully. “We’re working on it.”

“You look exhausted, Tony.”

He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, too. Pepper opened her arms and he readily stepped into her embrace, much like it was with Peter earlier. He let his head fall onto her shoulder, more than content to just stand there outside Peter’s room, safe in Pepper’s warm hug. He inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo and the familiarity of having her around grounded him.  

“Come to bed and tell me what happened?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed tiredly.

Tony's learning how to deal with Peter and how to navigate his role as his guardian. How do you think he's doing?