#it's another entirely to spend months or even YEARS going on about it DAILY

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Kinktober Day 8 || Missionary

PAIRING || Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 3K

SUMMARY || You've been having a tough time now that the end of your residency is approaching, and Tony comes home early from his mission to be there for you, and giving you a night to truly relax together.

RATING || Explicit (E)

TAGS || Canon compliant. Former sugar relationship. Established relationship.

SMUT || Dirty talk. Praise/praise kink. Fingering. Fingersucking. Missionary. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Aftercare.

A/N || AAAH, this was one of my favorite stories to write and share! Again, I want to give my thanks and undying love to my bestie @ccbsrmsf1; I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am for the support and proofreading! 🤍

All graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark || Sugar Daddy!Tony Stark || Kinktober 2024

For as long as you can remember, you have dreamt of attending medical school and going through all the classes and training necessary to fulfill your dream job: a surgeon. While the road to get here certainly hasn’t been easy, you’re finally nearing the end of your residency and your time in medical school. All the years of experience have taught you a lot, but the one thing that sticks with you daily is how important it is to spend time with the people (and cats) you love.

In one month, you will officially graduate and become a surgeon within SHIELD’s medical team, where you’re currently doing your residency. But before that day is here, you have a few more long, demanding shifts ahead of you, and today, you’ve just come out of one of those. You had to perform one surgery after the other, and even though they all were successful, you did make some mistakes that shouldn’t have been made, leaving you with a stone in your stomach.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse is taking too long for your liking as you lean against the back wall, your eyes shut tight to push your evil thoughts and insecurities away. On top of all this, you’re also dreading stepping into the penthouse, as there’s nothing but a large, silent space waiting for you. Tony is gone for a mission that will last a few weeks, and Moon is staying at Bucky’s, where he is being spoiled rotten with Alpine. However, you’re met with a surprise as you smell the scent of your favorite food while the elevator doors open.

“H-hello? Is anybody there?�� you ask carefully, your steps cautious as you enter your home.

“Yes, there is! But it’s just me, Sugar,” you hear your boyfriend say as he steps around the corner to greet you, and you can feel your body relax instantly at the sound of his voice. He was supposed to be gone for at least another week, so you’re not entirely sure why he’s home already, but you’re not going to question it as you let yourself fall into his strong, comforting, warm embrace.

“Hmmm, I missed you so much, you know that? I hate to be gone for this long,” Tony whispers as you let your hands glide under his shirt, the exceptional warmth of his body comforting in its way - he always tends to run hotter than the average person. You use it well when you’re cold or need comfort, as the warmth reminds you of him.

“Missed you too,” you murmur against his chest, not ready to let him go anytime soon. He’s been gone for a little over three weeks, which means you have a lot of cuddles to catch up on, so you might as well get a head start now. His hand gently cups your head as his thumb rubs soothing circles. As he does, you can feel the stress of the past weeks without him flowing away with every passing second.

You’re unsure how long you two stand in each other’s arms, but when you pull away, you feel about ten pounds lighter, and you’re finally able to kiss your boyfriend the way you’ve been longing to in his absence. The thought of being able to kiss him again has been on your mind constantly, and it has been part of some of your dirty thoughts, too.

Tony’s lips feel like heaven as you take your time to get reacquainted with them, his taste being something you’ve missed more than you thought. A soft moan escapes as his fingers dig into your sides, your body responding to his touch in a way that can only be described as desperation.

Your hands wander from his neck into his hair, pulling gently on the roots as his hands squeeze your hips in excitement, his pants becoming tighter the longer you two take your time with the kiss. The heat steadily rises between you two, and every last thought of what happened when Tony was gone slowly leaves your brain as his tongue makes it impossible to think. And he hasn’t even taken any of your clothing off yet.

“Sugar,” Tony says as he wants you to look at him, the need for air becoming too much, his words coming out breathy as he looks into your eyes with a slight smirk - “I made us a simple dinner; I figured you’d be hungry right about now. After that, I promise to give you all my time, attention, and love as I make you fall apart on my fingers and cock over and over again.”

Tony is nothing if not a man of his word, so after you two enjoyed your dinner - one of your favorite dishes that he learned to make especially for you - and a sweet dessert that has you feeling very content now that you’re on the bed, cuddling with Tony. Your head is on his chest, your leg is hooked over his, and his hand is playing with your hair while the other is rubbing soothing figures on your arm. Life couldn’t be more perfect if you’d tried.

“Thank you for coming home, Tony; I can’t believe how much I missed spending time with you,” you tell him as your eyes are shut, and you feel comfortable and soft. A small smile lights up his features, a feeling of pride swelling somewhere deep inside him. Before he had the honor of falling in love with you, he would never have considered being missed by anyone, but now that you two have had the chance to explore your love after your arrangement, he wouldn’t want it any other way. Thankfully, he’s not shy about admitting he missed you, either.

“You don’t have to thank me, Sugar, I promise. As soon as I heard you weren’t feeling well, I went home when I got permission from Steve and Nat. They didn’t hesitate for a moment when I told them that you needed me, and they practically pushed me out the door and into the Quinjet before I even had the chance to finish my sentence,” he says with a giant smile as he thinks back to that moment.

“Go, she needs you much more than we do, Stark! We’ll be fine. And besides, you’ve already been away for too long, so you have a lot to catch up on,” Natasha says as she throws some of Tony’s things in a duffel bag. All he can do is stand there and watch as she’s doing everything short of throwing him over her shoulder and carrying him to the Quinjet. Then, before she zips up the bag, she spots a small red box on the floor, reaching for it before Tony can say anything about it.

“Is this what I think it is?” Natasha asks with a quirked brow, and the color on Tony’s cheeks rivals the color of the small velvet box his fellow Avenger is holding. He nods, not trusting what might come out of his mouth when he does. He carries the ring everywhere, even if you’re not with him, because he can’t help but think of it as his good luck charm - you usually are his good luck charm, but on missions, this will have to do.

“Who’d have thought you’d ever go down on one knee? I surely didn’t until you met her. But you two are made for each other, Tony. I can see how happy you make her; she deserves someone as amazing as you. Go home and ask her to marry you already!” she says with a large grin, throwing the box to Tony, who easily catches it.

“Thank you, Nat, it means a lot,” he says as he grabs his bag, ready to go home to you.

“How’re you feeling?” It's a simple question, but still, you don’t have a clear answer. There’s still a lot going on inside you, and you want nothing more than for your boyfriend to silence every last thought going wild inside of you. Without saying anything, you move in a way so that you’re straddling him, leaning forward and kissing him with a passion and hunger that your boyfriend happily reciprocates.

A soft moan escapes your lips as his hips buck up, pressing his rapidly hardening length into your waiting core. Then, it becomes clear to Tony what you’re looking for, but he has a different plan for tonight. His arms circle your waist, holding you so that it’s safe to turn until your back is on the bed, and he is now on top of you instead of the other way around. His lips don’t leave yours for a second, making him incredibly proud as he deepens the kiss.

“Tony,” you say in a breathy voice, your chest heaving as you look up at him with neediness in your eyes.

“It’s okay, Sweet Girl; let me take the lead tonight, and I’m going to give you a night you’ll never forget,” he whispers before placing a few kisses on your cheek and your jawline, making your body feel hot, and your panties wetter than ever. You nod in agreement, allowing Tony to strip you completely naked before doing the same to himself. Your legs are spread wide to accommodate him being comfortable between them, your head propped up on a pillow so you can see exactly what he’s doing.

“Look at that, Sugar. ‘S all because of you- ‘m so fucking hard for you,” Tony groans as his hand strokes his painfully hard length, and it makes a wave of arousal soar through your body as you drip onto the sheets below you. Then, without warning, he works one of his thick fingers into you, making your back arch, and a loud moan bounces off the walls as he gently stretches you, as the last thing he wants is to hurt you.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes you preen as he takes his time stretching you on one finger, then two, and finally, when you can take three of his fingers comfortably, he takes them out before offering them to you. Without a second thought, you wrap your lips around his long digits, licking them entirely clean with a soft hum of approval. The entire time, Tony’s cock is throbbing from pure excitement as you look at him with your big, pleading eyes.

“So beautiful,” he whispers as a smile tugs at a corner of his mouth. After your boyfriend is delighted with how you cleaned his fingers, he wraps his hand around himself again, stroking a few times before moving to line up with your waiting entrance. His pink tip slips in without much resistance, making him groan as he feels your warmth around him again, and his thoughts are slipping away alongside yours.

“That’s it, you take me so well, Sugar. You feel like heaven around me,” he tells you as he gently thrusts into you, ensuring he’s taking it at a pace you’re comfortable with. The entire time, he can’t stop telling you how good you feel and how much he loves you, your heart swelling and your cheeks heating at the praise he’s giving you. Simultaneously, he knows it’s exactly what you need, as if he read your mind.

“I love you, ‘m so lucky to have fallen in love with you, you know that? Such a beautiful, sweet, caring girl who’s all mine. God, you would look perfect when carrying my babies - your perfect belly all swollen after I’ve fucked you in every position imaginable,” he groans, your nipples perking up even more at the thought as you suck him in even deeper with your eager pussy.

“Oh, you like that, huh? I- I just know that you’d make the best Mommy ever, and when you’re pregnant- fuck- I’d drink from you every single day, Sugar. Your milk will be so sweet as I take my fill from you,” he tells you, his pace picking up as he does. Your nails dig into his shoulders at the thought, your brows furrowing as the edge of your release slowly comes closer and closer. As Tony looks down to where you two are connected, he gasps softly, and a wicked grin spreads that has you following his line of sight.

“Hmm, I’m so deep I can see myself in your belly,” he whispers, and he slowly pulls his hips back before thrusting back in with renewed enthusiasm as he can see himself. It’s always a massive ego boost for Tony, and the obscene moan slipping from your lips is clear evidence that you’re enjoying the sight, too. Once Tony’s nestled deep inside you again, he repositions himself slightly so that he can set a better pace, and your hands move to his back as your legs wrap around his waist to pull you even further into him.

“I-I’m close- please,” you pant out, the pleasure you’re feeling almost overwhelming as he keeps the same pace and drives you to the edge you’re longing to fall over. As you drag your nails over your boyfriend’s back, he groans loudly, adding to your pleasure until the sweet release you’ve been craving is finally there. A loud shout of his name bounces through your bedroom as he fucks every last thought out of your brain, his forehead pressed against yours as a layer of sweat adorns your body.

With a few more faltering thrusts, Tony buries his cock deep inside you and his face in your neck as every last drop of his cum is eagerly milked by your body, leaving both of you satisfied beyond belief. It’s everything you needed and more, but when he pulls his softening cock out of you, you let out a little whimper at the loss of him. He presses a soft kiss to your nose to soothe you, making a dopey smile appear as he peppers your cheeks in kisses, too.

“I love you, Sugar, ‘m the luckiest man on earth right now,” he tells you after getting comfortable beside you, allowing you to snuggle into his side, exactly like you were before you two made love. Before you can answer, though, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms. Every time Tony’s gone, you don’t sleep as well, and you’ve also come out of a few 12-hour shifts, meaning you’re more tired than usual.

“Sleep well, Sugar,” he murmurs as he looks at you, followed by a kiss on the crown of your head. Once he’s sure you’re deeply asleep, he gently gets up from the bed to get a surprise ready for you. After pulling on a pair of pants, a henley, and a pair of shoes, he makes his way to Bucky’s apartment, not giving a single hoot about how he looks after he had sex with you. He’s proud to show off the fact you two made love, and his post-sex hair is a trophy he wears proudly.

After a few short knocks, Bucky opens the door while holding Moon and Alpine to ensure they won’t run away.

“Hi, Tony,” Bucky smiles before stepping aside, letting the other man into his apartment. Once the door is shut, Bucky bends down to put the felines down, and they make a beeline to Tony, who happily gives them all the attention they could desire.

“How is she? I know she’s been having a tough week,” Bucky says, his voice tapering off near the end. You and Bucky are pretty good friends, and even though he tried cheering you up, he knew you needed Tony more than him, so he sent Steve a message about your well-being.

“She’s better now; when she came home, she looked like she was on the verge of collapsing due to her tiredness, and it breaks my heart to see her that way, you know? But I know she’s doing what she loves, so I will always support her. Again, thank you for sending that message; I appreciate it.” Tony claps Bucky on the shoulder, who smiles in answer to his words.

“No need to thank me, Tony. You would’ve done the same for me,” Bucky says, and he’s right. While they haven’t always seen eye to eye, they’ve turned it all around, and now they’ve managed to build somewhat of a friendship. It hasn’t always been easy, but with your help, they’re getting along more than you ever could have anticipated. Then, Tony says his goodbyes before scooping up Moon, ready to take him back to your penthouse.

While Tony and Moon are standing in the elevator, Tony can't help but talk to Moon, as he missed him a lot during his time away for the mission.

"I'm happy to be back with you. Do you know that? Even though you're more like a black and white cat now, with Alpine's fur everywhere! Though Mommy won't mind, I'm sure of that. She's so excited to see you, my sweet Moon. Are you ready to go and see Mommy again?" As if to answer him, he gives his Daddy a soft meow, making Tony smile.

As soon as he steps into the penthouse, Moon jumps from Tony’s arms into the bedroom as if he knows exactly where to find you. When Tony walks into the bedroom, he sees Moon curled up by your side, purring with his eyes closed. The sight is one Tony never wants to forget, and he snaps a photo before making his way to the bathroom, ready to take a nice hot bath. The rest of the night is spent together in said bath with some fruit and your favorite chocolates, followed by a much-needed massage and more snuggles in bed.

“Thank you for everything, Tony. You gave me exactly what I needed today,” you say, scratching Moon behind his ears as he lies on your boyfriend’s lap. Then, you lean in, softly kissing your boyfriend’s nose, making him blush. You’re getting more comfortable and ready for more sleep, and when it finally takes you under again, you’re having some of the best rest. And it’s all because you’re with the man you love more than anything.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

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Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[luvyeni]

CONSEQUENCES OF A ONE NIGHT STAND. ( chapter. 14)

— CHAPTER FOURTEEN: telling the parents (fail) ...

— 𖦹 warnings?

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"jungwon , stop complaining." his mother rolled her eyes , sitting the food down on the table. "im just saying i can't believe i had to sleep on the air mattress." you laughed at your bestfriend , all these years later and he still whined to his parents.

"because she's pregnant jungwon , she can't sleep on the air mattress." you smiled cheekily , of course you could've slept on the air mattress , you planned on doing so , giving your bestfriend his bed back — you just wanted to piss him off. "my name isn't jake , he's the one that got her pregnant , not me."

"jungwon enough, eat your breakfast " you stuck your tongue out , your phone rang , you picked it up , reading the daily good morning text and check up from jake. you smiled , texting him back. "speaking of the devil." jungwon said. "look at that smile , for someone who claims they're just in it for the baby , you surely are cheesing hella hard." you rolled your eyes. "hush up , it was only a good morning text."

"i just can't believe you're with child , jakes none the less." jungwons mom fed you more food. "he is a wild one , i was surpised when wonie brung him home during spring break."

"well as long as he helps out with the baby , he's free to do whatever he wants , date whoever he wants." you said , something in the back of your head saying you didn't really mean that , but you pushed it down. "now that i think about it." jungwon started. "i don't think i've seen or heard him talk about another girl , for the month it's been all about you and the baby in the group chat , i almost kicked him out because of it."

"you're a professional hater , you know that right?" he smiled. "like it's a full time job."

"you're gonna tell your parents today right?" his mom spoke up , you sighed nodded. "how do you think they'll take it." you shrugged. "horrible if my predictions are correct." you never got along with your parents , being the oldest sibling , your parents always set the standards at a unreachable level , and would get mad when you would fail.

your younger sister on the other hand — being the baby and all , was treated with love and care , given everything she wanted , even if her grade were horrible. when she turned 18 for her graduation present wanted to travel to europe for a year with her friends , your parents funded the whole trip. when you were 18 you asked them to help you with your books for college , they said they were already paying for half your tuition and they couldn't do it.

when your sister said she didn't want to go to college like they pressured you into doing , but instead she wanted to be a youtuber , they bought her an entire set up that cost thousands of dollars , but when you asked could they help you with the down payment for your cafe , they refused , if it wasn't for jungwons parents you would've probably be in debt.

it's safe to say you've pretty much cut contact with them , and now you have a successful cafe , and they're still financially supporting your sister who is now an adult.

"well you are always welcomed here , that baby will always have a home here." you smiled , standing up to hug the woman who was more like your mother than your actually mother. "thank you , so much for that."

"we don't have to be at your parents house for dinner until 8 , so we have time." jungwon said. "wonie , how about you let ( name ) handle this on her own." mrs. yang spoke , washing the dishes. "what the hell am i supposed to do then?" he said. "uh spend time with your mother."

you grabbed his hand reassuringly. "she's right , i can do it on my own , spend time for your mom , it's not every day you visit her." he nodded. "if that's what you want bubs , then i guess i can stay here and wait , text karina and make sure sunoo is doing his job." you hugged him. "i'll be fine i swear."

after helping with the chores , you decides to finally suck it up and get dressed — thinking of multiple ways you could tell your parents , each resulting in them being horrible as the next. "where are my car keys?" you paced back and forth. "you mean the ones in your hand?" you looked down , sighing. "you don't have to do this alone." he said. "i do , i just need to get it over with." you slipped your shoes on.

"okay." you huffed , finally ready to leave. "i'm gonna go now." you took one of his sweaters. "make sure they aren't burning my store down." he reassured you , pushing you out the door "okay , okay go , you're late." he said. "good luck honey." mrs.yang yelled , you thanked her knowing you'll definitely need it.

after 25 minute drive to your house , and 15 wait outside your door , you finally worked up the courage to get out of the car , walking to the door , knocking on the door. you heard the old family dog barking , before silence , the unlocking of the locks nerve wracking , the door swinging open. "you're late."

you and your sister stared each other down. "you look fat." she turned , letting you walk into the house. "take your shoes off , the mother just cleaned." you complied , deciding not to argue. "i did live here at one point."

you bent down , petting the old dog , who jumped at your side. "hi girl , it's been a while." you let her lick your palm. "everyone is in the dining area."

you let out a inhale , exhaling before walking into the dining area. "next time call when you're gonna be late." your sister sat down , you could tell this was not gonna be easy. "me and jungwon got caught up." you sat down. "of course , you spend more time with that boy than you do your own family." your mom passed out the dishes.

"well im surprised you even noticed." you said. "are you talking back?" you shook your head. "no mother."

the dinner went by just as you suspected , your family saying sly comments about you and your life , and you praying to god to escape — almost calling it quits and leaving many times. "can we just stop beating around the bush." your sister said.

"it's been 4 years since you left , you've block everyone on social media , we have to hear from mrs.yang about you , so why are you here?" you guess it was time , sitting down your utensils , sighing. "well i came because i have something to tell you."

"is it about your business? because we've already told you we're not- i didn't come here because i need something , my god can you just listen for a second." you snapped , making them go silent , you huffed , before speaking.

"well." you gulped , i just wanted to tell you guys that , i am pregnant." you watched their eyes widen , before your mom sat her utensils down. "pregnant?" she questioned. "yes."

it was so silent , you thought that they could hear your heart beating out of your chest. "can't say im surprised." your mom said. "what does that mean?" you scoffed. "you've always been know to make stupid decisions." she said. "it was only a matter of time before you gotten yourself pregnant." "do you know the baby's daddy? is he your boyfriend? why isn't he here?" your sister spoke.

"of course i know him , and no jake isn't my boyfriend." you said. "you're having a baby with someone you're not even with." your sister shook her head. "so it was a mistake?" you were growing annoyed. "does that matter, the baby is coming regardless."

"you didn't think to get rid of it?" you scoffed at your mother. "are you serious right now?" you said. "i should've come here." you stood up. "what are you gonna do now?" your dad said. "gonna come crawling back to us for money , much like before with the cafe , you can't keep asking the yangs for money , they'll eventually get tired of you."

you scoffed , more liked laughed. "that's what you think?" you nodded. "my shop is doing way better." you said. "i didn't come here for money , i just came to check something." you said. "guess i was right." you walked out of the kitchen.

"i won't be back again." was all you said before you grabbed your shoes , walking out the house to your car. you climbed into the car , driving off , and you just kept driving , straight past the yangs house , you couldn't stay in your home town any longer.

— ( taglist. CLOSED ) @j-wyoung @whoslai @cha0thicpisces @sunsunl0ver @wonyoungsvirus @omgtintarr @en-dazed @kwiwin @httpsrinrin @igotkpoops @enhaz1 @ahnneyong @electrobutterfly @nes-caf @beomgyusonlywife @jup1t3r-y30n @gyulune @mixtape-racha @ddazed-lhs @shuichi-sama @chaelinhhwang @stariszn @rikisly @ilikekpop-c @jenjnk @ilovehimyourhonour @peachyun02 @primroselover @sxurgrapes

©️LUVYENI

[yuly]

How about Hotch who rejects reader once they confess their feelings? But later on he comes to the realization he actually loves the reader!!! And he tries to win her back?? I know you’d write this so well 🥹

→ hi lovely anon, I love this idea! I wrote this with a shy reader who works in the BAU but is not a profiler/agent, I hope you enjoy <3 

cw: mentions of being insecure and self-doubt, angst and pain, Aaron's father is mentioned

Aaron Hotchner x shy!female reader

Time and Tide

A Lifetime

That's how long you’ve been a shy, out-of-the-way, quiet creature. You’re a diligent and skillful worker, but socially awkward and prefer to keep to yourself. You’re often unsure of what to say to strike up or even maintain a casual conversation. But your Unit Chief makes it easy. Your first year working with the FBI has been rocky but Hotch has been the most supportive and compassionate boss you’ve ever had. He is welcoming, always lending a listening ear, offering you advice and standing up for you. You quickly learn that he is an advocate for every member of his team and not just the few agents he works with on a daily basis. You find yourself admiring him from afar, daydreaming about him, and committing all of your interactions to memory.

A Year

That's how long it takes for you to build up the courage to say something to him. Having now established some semblance of a friendly working relationship, you decide to make your move. That move is to reciprocate his kind gestures for once instead of crumbling at the mere sight of him and fleeing from the scene. And it works.

You develop this tradition after cases where, after the official debrief with the team, Hotch has another, more intimate debrief with you. Your presence is a calming force, a sense of serenity he craves daily. He usually sits in his chair while you wrap up your work for the day in his office, often times you’re the one talking - about your day, the work you did, the latest office gossip, and the new boots you're saving up for. You’ve become truly comfortable in his presence, and he basks in it. Sometimes he’ll indulge you in his day-to-day with his son or a story from his days as a prosecutor. You listen eagerly, with an open heart, ready for the taking.You’ve fallen hopelessly in love with him and worry if the feelings will ever be reciprocated.

An almost fatal injury suffered on a case is what pushes you over the edge. The thought of losing something that was never yours to begin with breaks your eager heart.

A Month

That's how long you spend skirting around the words that occupy the majority of your brain space. For an entire month, you show up at his doorstep, food in hand, always offering him some company. More often than not, he takes you up on the offer. Your traditional post-case debrief sessions are now spent within the confines of his home.  Aside from the physical pain in his body from his injuries and the emotional pain in your heart from loving him, nothing much has changed. 

One Day

One day you finally make your move. Sitting side by side on his couch, eating tortilla chips, watching some documentary he’s been raving about all week. You turn away from the TV screen to face him.

“Aaron, I-I like you.”

He chuckles lightly in response, and a slightly confused look sits across his face, “thank you, I like you too, Y/N.”

“No, Aaron I like you more than a friend, I...I have feelings for you.”

The silence that follows your confession suffices. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, shoulders tense, jaw set tight. The energy in the room has shifted and you suddenly feel like an intruder in his home. 

“Y/N…..that’s not going to work.”

That's all he manages to say before standing from his spot on the couch, awkwardly eyeing the door.

You lift your jaw off the ground and clear your throat, “I’ll see myself out.”

If you could have one wish, it would be for the ground beneath you to open up and swallow you whole. His rejection stings worse than any embarrassing scenario your mind could ever conjure. You feel the familiar thoughts of self-doubt and disgust begin to swarm your mind. 

⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯

You keep your head down at work, slowly reverting to your old shy and insecure self; you hate it. So when an FBI tech named James begins to hang out at your desk and bring you coffee every morning, you welcome it. You view it as a chance to rebuild yourself, to rid yourself of this heartbreak over a man that was never yours. And James is good to you, he’s sweet, doting, and totally enamoured with your being. You allow yourself to get comfortable, and receive love for once. And it feels good.

Hotch has made it a point to maintain his distance from you ever since your confession. That hurts worse than the rejection itself. He never looks in your direction, never speaks your name, and never makes any direct contact with you at all. It's like you never existed.

So when he stops by your desk one evening to extend a personal invite to the team’s Christmas dinner, you’re stunned and speechless. 

“You haven’t spoken to me in nearly a year,” your words are a soft whisper, spoken mostly to yourself, but he hears you.

“That’s not true-”

“It is, Aaron. You always push people away, I never thought you’d do it to me.”

When he looks into your eyes, he immediately regrets it. The memory of your friendship comes back to him in a rush, the stories you two shared back and forth, the time you spent in his office to keep him company, all the words of advice he’d offered, the 30 consecutive days you'd shown up at his doorstep with warm home-cooked meals. All of that was your testament of love, and he threw it all away without giving you a chance.

Aaron doesn’t say anything in response. He trudges back into his office, only looking back once, desperately hoping to catch you looking back at him. Instead, he’s met with the sight of your boyfriend kissing your cheek and gathering your things to go home for the night. Your hand slips perfectly into his and the two of you walk out together. 

The sight of you walking off with another man brings back a bitter memory of his father and a phrase he would often scold him with.

"time and tide wait for no man"

[atzjieun]

dating history

han jisung of stray kids (june 2022 – may 2023)

they met briefly as jyp trainees in 2015 but never spoke as she had been busy with sixteen and left the same year, but they were reunited in 2021 on a tv program 

they had only spoken briefly, but towards the end of the year finally had a proper conversation when she was at the jyp building for a collab with chaeryeong

jisung had liked her since the tv program, so he clumsily asked for her number with the excuse of contacting her so he could show her his studio space

their conversations were strictly music-related at the start, but eventually branched to other topics and even just daily updates about what they were doing at the moment

eventually, he confessed to her in june 2022 and they started dating

although they were both busy, they always found time to talk to each other and hung out when they could 

the first few months were great, but after the honeymoon phase ended they started talking less as they got busy with touring and promotions

they tried talking about it but it was clear to both of them that things weren’t going to work out, so they decided to mutually end things in may 2023

there’s no bad blood between them though, and they still occasionally message each other when one of them has a comeback to congratulate them

jung wooyoung of ateez (september 2024 - now)

this was something neither of them ever expected ngl

wooyoung did actually have a brief crush on her before they debuted, but it was so small that he completely forgot about it until san reminded him

hence why he was so surprised when he suddenly developed feelings while they were on the american leg of their ttl tour

he tried ignoring them for a while, but this only resulted in him subconsciously isolating her, eventually leading to a fight

after the fight, he tried to just move on for the group’s sake, while jieun was completely oblivious to his feelings

wooyoung tried making things right by inviting her to hang out together, but this only ended up in his feelings growing stronger

at some point along the way, jieun began to realize that she had started to develop feelings for him too

both of them kept their thoughts to themselves though, despite the fact that they were started to spend even more time together

they both had a bit of awareness regarding their feelings, but it was difficult because they didn’t want to make things awkward for the group

but all the other members, who had been observing them the whole time, just wanted them to get together because they were tired of the obvious romantic tension ever time they looked at each other 😭

this obvious tension but fear of doing anything eventually led to another argument, though it got resolved by the time they went to paris together

on the free day they had, the two spent the entire day exploring the city and ended up on the eiffel tower while the sun was setting, where they decided to make things official :)

they didn’t tell the others right away though, wanting to keep things on the low to make sure things would work out

but both of them knew that no matter what, they were going to fight to make sure things did

taglist: @teezingsiyeon

[paracosm-draw]

Just nudging myself into your inbox as a complete stranger 🌈 for Obikin prompts: things Anakin changed about Obi-Wan's life as a Padawan.

It's Sunday prompt day again 🥳

Ngl this one made me tear up a bit but I took great pleasure writing it because their relationship is so precious to me ❤️‍🩹

TW : mention of death

I'm still taking prompts btw ! I'm just slow to write because I'm busy during the week, but you can still send them to me and they will be answered eventually 🌼

_______

It was supposed to be just another pathetic life form Qui-Gon had picked up in the deepest corners of Tatooine. An enslaved little thing he had freed and separated from his mother on the grounds that the child had a midichlorian count even higher than Master Yoda. 

Obi-Wan was more than skeptical, and maybe a little jealous that his Master had turned his entire attention to that tiny, dirty and incredibly chatty boy who was always cold, no matter how many layers of clothes they put on him. 

He had spent a lot of time observing the kid from a safe distance, trying to understand what was so interesting about him. 

He was clearly gifted in the comprehension of the engineering and mechanics of things, able to fix everything with anything and already speaking a technical language Obi-Wan didn't even try to comprehend. Still Qui-Gon could spend hours listening to his rambling with a fond expression on his face that made the young Jedi's heart clench. 

Anakin - he refused to call him by the little nickname everyone seemed to have adopted - was trying to reach out to him every once in a while. Obi-Wan suspected the child was like a cat, always seeking attention from the most disinterested people. He probably didn't like that Qui-Gon’s padawan was still the only one to resist his charming blue eyes and angelic face. 

Obi-Wan didn't interact with him more than necessary, and when he made efforts it was generally after Qui-Gon made a face at him or scolded his attitude towards the younger one. It pissed him off. Anakin was Qui-Gon’s responsibility, not his. He had decided to set Obi-Wan’s training aside to take care of the kid, he couldn't expect his padawan to do the same. 

The few months following Anakin’s entry into their life were a troubling time for Obi-Wan. His daily meditation sessions gravitated around the control of his emotions and his acceptance about the situation. 

It was challenging to hear his Master praise a child day after day for a future that was still incredibly blurry. Anakin didn't even know how to use the Force yet. He was maybe extra-sensitive to it but Obi-Wan joined the council when they said he was too old to be trained. 

If he listened to the darkest corners of his heart he secretly wished Anakin was too old to be trained. He didn’t know how he would react to Qui-Gon taking him as his apprentice. Abandoning him. 

He was not ready yet. He still had a lot more to learn, even if his Master often told him otherwise. He was not ready to let go of the relationship they had developed for so many years, to the comfort and intimacy of it. The bond they shared had been so long and hard to create that he didn’t want to lose it. 

Qui-Gon was his only family, his friend, his teacher, the only one he could rely on in almost every situation. 

Qui-Gon was the universe he floated safely around day after day, a strong and steady pillar in his life, eternal and reassuring. 

And now Qui-Gon was gone. Killed by the filthy hand of a Sith. And his last words were for Anakin. 

The weeks after his death, Obi-Wan moves forward by the mere strength of his will and the comfort he finds in pre-established routines. He feels like a ghost, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other while his head feels like he’s underwater. 

The child is hard to manage. He cries a lot. Obi-Wan thinks he doesn't really understand what's happening. Master Windu says he’s old enough to understand that Qui-Gon will never come back. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to take care of him. He already doesn’t know how to take care of himself. He’s so caught up in his own grief that he doesn’t have the strength to feel ashamed when he lets Anakin on his own. 

It still twists his gut when he hears the little boy crawling to the bottom of his bed in the middle of the night, curling himself like a kitten on the sheets, making sure to always be far enough not to touch him. Obi-Wan lets him, but he pretends to sleep every time Anakin wakes up in sweat and tears after a nightmare. 

There’s a part of him whispering in his mind that Qui-Gon would still be alive if he hadn’t tried to save the kid. 

But Anakin clings to him no matter what. No matter how Obi-Wan ignores him or speaks to him or pushes him away. He endures all his moods with his head down, patiently waiting for the storm to pass. 

It infuriates Obi-Wan at first. He’s not proud of it but he’s sometimes mean to him, trying to push until he finds his limit. It would be easier if the child hated him. But Anakin never says anything. He might have tears in his eyes but he always comes back to him. 

It takes a while for Obi-Wan to understand that Anakin is even more lonely than he is. Where Obi-Wan has the Jedi council and a few friends across the galaxy, Anakin has no one except for Qui-Gon. And now that Qui-Gon is dead, the closest thing to him… is Obi-Wan. 

After he’d been granted the rank of Master, time flows a little bit more easily and Obi-Wan falls into a reassuring routine. 

He’s heard that time heals all wounds, and it does. It’s slow and it's not linear but he manages to keep his head above the water a little longer each day. 

Then Master Yoda approaches him, asking if he will train the boy now. Obi-Wan surprises himself by accepting after only a day of reflection. It’s Qui-Gon dying wish and it’s the only reason why he does it, he assures himself. 

Anakin learns quickly, and he’s desperate to please. Obi-Wan starts to see what his Master saw in him. 

The child is talented, and he works hard, almost always to the point of exhaustion. 

Obi-Wan tries his best teaching him about the Jedi Code, about the spectrum of the Force, about their purpose in the universe. Mostly he parrots what’d been taught to him, not really knowing where to start and where to go. He’s still lost and he realizes soon enough that having a padawan is a responsibility he wasn’t prepared for. 

In addition, they have to learn to navigate through the new bond forming between them. They don't use it yet but they’re both aware it exists in the Force. Master Yoda says it’s the beginning of all things. 

Anakin is still careful around him, he doesn’t ask for much except a little bit of attention. He still sleeps on the farthest corner of his bed but when he has nightmares, Obi-Wan allows him to scoot closer. 

Their relationship changes slowly and smoothly enough that the older Jedi doesn’t realize when Anakin started calling him ‘Master’, or when he had made a mental note of the kind of food he liked after a hard training day. 

It bothers him at first, to realize that despite what he’s telling himself, he cares about Anakin. He does. The boy did grow on him and he has to admit that he likes teaching him more often than not. 

Anakin might feel the shift because he becomes more comfortable around him, less inhibited and more like himself. Obi-Wan discovers a funny kid with interesting stories, and they start to talk more.

As they open up to each other, they get closer. Obi-Wan asks about his life on Tatooine and Anakin asks about his life at the Jedi Temple. They don’t talk about Qui-Gon, the subject still too painful, even years after. 

Anakin is thirteen and he doesn't stop growing up. Obi-Wan says he’s big enough to sleep in his own bed and Anakin says ‘okay’ but he still sneaks in in the middle of the night. He’s becoming more confident, timidity being progressively replaced by insolence when he wants his Master’s attention. He doesn’t really have friends, despite the council’s advice. He’d rather spend all of his time with Obi-Wan. 

The older Jedi wonders sometimes if that kind of dependence is healthy. He himself starts to feel the aching feeling of loss when Anakin is away from him for more than a few hours. The realization bothers him for a couple of days. What if he’s trying to find a substitute for Qui-Gon in the last thing his Master put his faith in ? He wonders if he has to open up to Master Yoda about this. But he’s never been one to open up easily, especially not about the internal turmoils of his heart. 

So he decides to take the matter into his own hands. 

Of course, Anakin doesn’t understand why he becomes so distant all of the sudden. Why he locks the door of his bedroom or why he leaves him with training groups when he never did before. 

But his Padawan is not the scared nine years old he was when they met, he has a voice and he’s not afraid to use it. 

He confronts Obi-Wan about it and when the Jedi doesn’t give him a satisfying answer, he yells about it. And then he cries about it. He says that Obi-Wan is being unfair and that he always did everything his Master ever asked and that he's being mean punishing him for something he didn’t do. 

Obi-Wan is taken aback when he understands that being away from him is a punishment for Anakin. It comforts him in his decision. 

It last two years. Two years of constant fights between them, two years of Anakin shouting the most horrible things to his face but still sleeping every night on the floor behind his door. Two years of him threatening to leave the Order but meanwhile becoming the more talented padawan of his generation. 

Two years of tension rising up between them. Until it breaks. 

One day Obi-Wan is holding onto the stubborn idea of what their relationship should be according to the Code  and the next he can’t bear to hear Anakin tell him he hates him for the thousandth time. 

He’s just so tired of what they have become. He tries to convince himself he did it for Anakin’s good but he can’t lie to himself anymore. They both suffer from the situation and it brought them nothing except a painful lack of trust and resentment. If he’s truly honest with himself, he doesn’t feel at peace when his padawan is away from him. 

A discussion with Master Yoda makes him understand how he had mistaken independence with rejection, and how his fear of losing Anakin like he had lost Qui-Gon might have been the trigger to the whole mess he’s drowning into now. He had thought that if he doesn't get attached, he doesn’t take the risk of suffering again. But he’s suffering right now, so it was all in vain, years ruined by his own insecurities. 

And he misses Anakin. So he tells him. 

Anakin being Anakin yells at him before listening. But this time Obi-Wan doesn't back up, doesn’t give up on them. He patiently faces his padawan’s anger and listens while Anakin spits his bleeding heart out of his chest and cries and yells some more. 

Then Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms and Anakin stops crying and yelling, too stunned by that foreign thing that is his Master’s affection. It the first time they’re so close and it heals something in Obi-Wan. 

It still takes two more years until they trust each other like before. Except it’s even stronger than before. Obi-Wan came to the realization that the peculiar bond they share is a strength and not a flaw. 

They’re constantly with each other, flying together, training together, fighting together, sitting through boring meetings together. They even share their personal life together. 

Anakin has a permanent place on the left side of Obi-Wan’s bed. Abandoned pieces of a half built droid are lying on Obi-Wan’s desk. There’s a toothbrush in the bathroom that Anakin left just in case. In case of what, Obi-Wan never knew. 

He doesn't really question it. He's never felt so alive with Anakin by his side. The young man is like the brother he never had. 

Time flies and Anakin doesn’t stop growing up. When he’s nineteen Obi-Wan has to raise his head to look at him in the eyes. He struggles a bit more to match his strength during training. He begins to notice the way he attracts attention while being totally oblivious about it. 

He's proud of the Jedi Anakin is becoming. Of the man he's becoming. Fiery and passionate, smart and creative. He truly thinks that if his lightsaber skills matched his wit, he could easily overpower Master Yoda in a fight. 

But he also knows that if Anakin looks  bold and confident on the outside, on the inside there’s still a huge part of him being the little boy he was on Tatooine. He's still full of insecurities, still afraid and starved for affection. He still has nightmares that Obi-Wan tries to chase away night after night. 

Their relationship is not perfect. They still fight, especially since the war against the separatists is hovering menacingly over their head. But as long as Obi-Wan can feel Anakin’s heart beating peacefully when he holds him at night, he decides it’s all worth it. 

Now that he’s facing death, Obi-Wan thinks about all that. About all the changes Anakin brought into his life. About how Anakin made him change and progress as a Jedi and as a man. About how the majority of his life had been Anakin. Anakin’s fears, Anakin’s joys, Anakin’s tears staining his clothes, Anakin’s scent on the sheets of his bed, Anakin’s hand on his shoulder after an exhausting mission, Anakin’s padawan braid tucked inside his utility belt, Anakin’s ambitions and frustrations and trust and anger and love and hatred. He wonders what he has missed. Where he has failed. 

Maybe if he had loved him more, if he had loved him earlier, better, he wouldn't have to face one of his worst nightmare right now. Loosing him to the dark side. Mourning him while he was still alive. 

Having to take the most painful decision of his entire life. Having to kill half of his soul. 

He knows he has to. He knows he can’t. Not when there’s still something of Anakin inside Vader. 

Maybe Vader is right after all. Maybe he is weak. 

He’d rather doom the entire universe than hurt the man his heart is aching for. He’d rather die than even think about killing him. 

So he does. 

And when Vader plunges his lightsaber into his heart, all he’s thinking about is Anakin’s smile, shining brighter than the Tatooine’s suns when they exchanged that promise to always care about each other, no matter what happened. 

[soracities]

soracities please provide your wisdom. i met someone a few weeks ago who i instantly connected with. within the first week of meeting, we saw each other four times in that one week. i instantly felt that i had known them for a long time but have two concerns i’d like your opinion on (i think that these are mostly a result of my overthinking).

firstly, he had to leave to overseas for an internship so the next time i see him won’t be for another 2 months. we are still texting/facetiming daily but i can’t help but feel that he will no longer see me as a lover but as a pen pal/friend.

secondly, i don’t feel a lot of nerves/excitement that is typically associated with a new fling. like i said, i feel very comfortable around him and could spend an entire day together in silence. i know this is likely a good thing as it seems ppl spend years searching for this, but i am scared this is a symptom of a lack of passion between us/there is something wrong with me as this person is genuinely perfect and beautiful otherwise.

would appreciate any advice or consolation you have xx

I think you are overthinking this just a bit; I think--in spite of the depth of the bond you feel--you need to take some time to remind yourself that you have only known each other for a few weeks. This is not to say the sense of having known him forever isn't real (I've had that feeling with others, so I get it), but that you also can't ride entirely on that feeling: it's an expression of your connection at present. And while it might be an honest expression, it's also only the very tip of the iceberg of who he is and what your relationship (whatever shape it takes) may become, if that makes sense; who you are as people goes far beyond the few weeks you've known each other. As such, the more solid foundations of your relationship still require building.

For the internship, I think it's important to remember that two months, like the weeks you've known each other, is not a long time: its 8 weeks, give or take. A sunflower takes longer to bloom. And while the uncertainty might be daunting, it is also something you cannot do anything about: he is there, you are here. As such, your lives will be entirely separated until he comes back. Whatever happens in those spaces (for either of you) is not within your control for him, or his control for you. One of my closest friends shared something recently which has fundamentally altered how I try to think about things and it's literally just a reminder to stand where your feet are. You can overthink and worry about what might happen if such-and-such occurs or what-if he does or doesn't feel xyz--but all you're doing is stealing time from yourself by creating anxieties and worries in advance without having any indication that these things are even going to happen.

When you are talking and face-timing, you are talking and face-timing. When you are going about your daily life, you concentrate on your daily life. It is not your place to speculate on what goes on in someone's mind because, unless you're asking them about their feelings directly, you're inventing scenarios and making assumptions based on your feelings--not theirs. Your place is to be attentive and present in your interactions as they happen, and allow them to happen and unfold with sincerity. It is also to trust in your intentions and another person's when they haven't given you reason to doubt those intentions; ultimately, I don't think someone who doesn't care about spending time with you will make the effort to spend time with you in the way you've described and you need to trust in that because that is what you know--not what may or may not happen in a week or two.

If it happens that the distance does dim your connection, then you cross that bridge when (or if) you come to it because you cannot do anything about such a scenario now. And if it so happens that it is the case what would actually be the worst case scenario? Would it be as awful as you fear? This isn't a pleasant question by any means, but I think it's a necessary one when you find yourself thinking in this way. Could you possibly have had any input on such a scenario, with such a distance? Can you control who comes into his life and how (or who comes into yours?) If you haven't had any concrete conversations about how you both feel / have agreed to date exclusively while he's away / established expectations of your relationship etc / then would it be fair to influence the natural rhythms of someone else's life from your own worries?

I think most solid relationships can weather a small bit of distance provided you have open communication when necessary; if the romantic inclination fades away after two months apart then, in my view--and in the absence of vocalised expectations and romantic interests between you both-- it wasn't strong enough to begin with. I absolutely don't mean for that to sound harsh, nor am I saying the feelings and bond you've built so far aren't real. All I'm saying is that there are so many variables to how romantic attraction builds and that is different for everyone; something enduring and lasting doesn't pop out and then root itself overnight--a seed emerges but it still takes time for those roots to form and grow deep and strong enough. Again, I'm not diminishing your feelings or dismissing them--but a few weeks, beautiful and profound as they have been for you are still just a few weeks--stand where your feet are. It will work out however it works out when the time arrives for it.

My thoughts on the passion are the same but I think it might help to ask yourself a few things: How do you define passion? What are your expectations of it? Are these based on what you've felt or what you've seen / heard / come to expect from other sources? What have been your experiences of passionate feelings before (if you have had them before)? Were these purely physical and never (or rarely) emotional? Were they healthy relationships / expression of passion when you had them? Or was passion a form of compensation (i.e., a way to paper over your own insecurities by riding on an emotion that distracts you from them)?

I don't think comfort necessarily points to lack of passion--passion is emotion, but like all emotionally-driven things they don't happen in a vacuum. You can feel nerves and excitement around someone new for a number of reasons but that doesn't always mean it's coming from a healthy place; quite often, if you come from an emotionally unhealthy environment with a lot of emotional instability or reactive people around you, for example, you might find the uncertainty of a new fling or someone emotionally intense exciting simply because that instability has become familiar to you. Personally, I try to concentrate less on "passion" and more on desire because they aren't necessarily interchangeable in my view and, ultimately, what matters most here is: Are you attracted to this person, physically and emotionally? Can you imagine yourself being / want to be physically involved with him? If the answer is yes to either of those, then I wouldn't worry too much because, again, you're at a distance right now. It isn't something you can explore fully / allow develop until that distance is no longer there.

I don't know if any of this helps you, anon, but I hope some of it does x

[thelaurenshippen]

this is a genuine question not at all meant as a rude gotcha, but I feel like I've seen lots of people cite the relatively low barrier of entry as a huge advantage of podcasts as a medium, "if you have access to decent audio tech you can make a podcast" etc etc. So where does the need to sell a script come in? Is it a financial thing, and IP thing, something else?

this doesn't read like a rude gotcha at all, it's a really good question! there is a much lower barrier to entry when it comes to podcasts compared to tv, film, theater, etc. (though not as low as writing a book if we're talking about hard resources - you can technically write a book with just a laptop and a dream and then self publish! though as a writer who has written a lot of scripts and four books (3 published) writing a book is a much bigger psychological burden imo lol).

the need to sell a script, for me, is entirely a financial thing. if I had the money to produce podcasts at the level I want to entirely independently, I would! I know how to do it! but, unfortunately, I really only have the funds to produce something like @breakerwhiskey - a single narrator daily podcast that I make entirely on my own.

and that show is actually a great example of just how low the barrier is: I actually record the whole thing on a CB radio I got off of ebay for 30 bucks, my editing software is $50/month (I do a lot of editing, so this is an expense that isn't just for that show) and there are no hosting costs for it. the only thing it truly costs me is time and effort.

not every show I want to make is single narrator. a lot of the shows I've made involve large casts, full sound design, other writers, studio recording, scoring, and sometimes full cast albums (my first show, The Bright Sessions had all of those). I've worked on shows that have had budgets of 100 dollars and worked on shows that cost nearly half a million dollars. if anyone is curious about the nitty gritty of budgets, I made a huge amount of public, free resources about making audio drama earlier this year that has example budgets in these ranges!

back in the beginning of my career, I asked actors to work for free or sound designers to work for a tiny fee, because I was doing it all for free and we were all starting out. I don't like doing that anymore. so even if I'm making a show with only a few actors and a single sound designer...well, if you want an experienced sound designer and to pay everyone fairly (which I do!), it's going to cost you at least a few thousand dollars. when you're already writing something for free, it can be hard to justify spending that kind of money. I've sound designed in the past - and will be doing so again in the near future for another indie show of mine - but I'm not very good at it. that's usually the biggest expense that I want to have covered by an outside budget.

but if I'm being really honest, I want to be paid to write! while I do a lot of things - direct, produce, act, consult, etc. - writing is my main love and I want it to be the majority of my income. I'm really fortunate to be a full-time creative and I still do a lot of work independently for no money, but when I have a show that would be too expensive to produce on my own, ideally I want someone else footing the bill and paying me to write the scripts.

I love that audio fiction has the low barrier to entry it does, because I think hobbyists are incredible - it is a beautiful and generous thing to provide your labor freely to something creative and then share it with the world - but the barrier to being a professional audio drama writer is certainly higher. I'm very lucky to already be there, but, as every creative will tell you, even after you've had several successes and established yourself in the field, it can still be hard to make a living!

anyway, I hope this answers your question! I love talking about this stuff, so if anyone else is curious about this kind of thing, please ask away.

[queenofhyruleee]

Link/Reader Story

I tried to write a one-shot today but got carried away and ended up with the first chapter of a short story. I've never posted on Tumblr before but hey, there's a first time for everything, right?

Summary: After being shrouded in Twilight and tormented by monsters for so long, Hyrule is finally recovering and returning to normal. And what's more normal than a shitty relationship? You're a potions-maker's apprentice who is dating someone who is... less than ideal. While you're struggling to navigate your deteriorating relationship and dwindling self-confidence, your good friend Link is determined to help you see that you deserve better.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and as it fell so did your spirits. You sighed, dropping your chin into the palm of your hand. He probably wouldn’t show. 

Again. 

You decided that you were only going to wait for another ten minutes before calling it a night and going home. Frustration bubbled in your stomach, and as the minutes passed you found yourself fighting back tears of frustration. 

Why hadn’t he come? Why does he keep doing this? 

You had been romantically involved with Elis for the better part of a year. It had started off strong and sweet, with him dropping by the potions shop where you worked nearly daily with some sort of sweet treat or pastry. Eventually, those days came fewer and farther between, but you hadn’t thought much about it because it made sense that maybe the excitement of the new relationship was wearing down. You weren’t worried because he still treated you with kindness and was happy to spend the weekends wandering around Castle Town or down by the lake. But recently, it was as if you didn’t exist. He hardly made time for you anymore, and when he did he didn’t even show half the time, later claiming some issue or another had come up suddenly. 

Like he would probably do again after today. 

Through the tavern window, you watched as crowds strolled past, chatting animatedly and munching on various foods that were being sold in the different stalls that currently lined the roads of Castle Town. Today was the Autumn Festival - the first one since the strange monsters had been eradicated and Princess Zelda restored her rightful place on the throne. The entirety of Hyrule was celebrating not only the beginning of a new Autumn, but its freedom as well. 

Yet despite all of the happiness and celebration, you felt as lonely and dark as ever. 

Sighing again, you decided you had spent enough time looking pathetic alone at the table, looking up hopefully at the door anytime you heard it open. Standing up, you caught the attention of the barkeep, Telma. 

“Headed out?” She asked, a knowing look in her eye. You nodded as you walked up to the bar, digging around in your satchel to try and find your wallet. Telma reached across the bar, resting her hand in front of you and making you pause. “No need, hon. This one’s on the house.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide. “No Telma, I-” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “It’s the Autumn Festival today, and everyone deserves to have something nice done for ‘em.” 

Your look of protest melted into one of gratefulness. You smiled at the older woman, feeling appreciative that at least someone cared enough to be kind to you today. 

“You know, speaking of which..” Her tone had changed to one a bit darker. She grabbed a dirty cup from the pile at her side and began to clean it with a rag she held in her other hand. “This is the third time in a month I’ve seen you sitting there all alone for a few hours, looking more anxious than a man whose girlfriend just told him she missed her monthly bleed. Wanna tell me anything about that?” Her eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer you had a feeling she already knew. 

She was aware that you and Elis were together, and she expressed from the beginning that she wasn’t entirely happy about the fact. Telma was one of the first people you met when you moved to Castle Town from your family’s farm just outside of Kakiriko Village. She immediately took you under her wing and helped you adjust to and navigate the fast-paced life of the city. Even though you were there as a potions-makers apprentice which gave you housing and meals, she still insisted on doting on you and taking care of you as if you had nothing. And in a way, you had had nothing. You were forever grateful for her kindness, her hospitality, and her unwavering friendship. You knew that she cared about you more than maybe even your own family, so you absolutely hated the feeling of knowing you were disappointing her. 

Elis was the son of one of the richest businessmen in Castle Town, and maybe even Hyrule. And he… did not have the best reputation. You of course had no way of knowing that being new to the area and all but Telma, as the owner of the most popular bar in the city, was privy to all of the hot gossip and drama. And apparently his name was one that came up with the patrons of her bar. A lot. 

When you first caught Elis’ eye, and Telma started to catch on to what was happening, she had given you a warning. 

“Now I’m not your mother, so I’m not here to tell you what you can and can’t do, or who you can and can’t do. But honey.. I’d think twice before you get involved with him.” 

Of course you had thanked her for her concern and promised it wasn’t that serious, but now you were regretting not asking more questions. You had fallen in way too deep and before you realized it, you were telling yourself you were different from the other people he had been with. You would change him. Surely you wouldn’t be one of those bitter ex-lovers, drunkenly rambling on to anyone who would listen about how awful he was to you. 

Well, you hadn’t made it to the drunken rambling part quite yet, but you were certainly starting to catch on that maybe you wouldn’t be the one to change him after all. 

Telma continued to look at you expectantly, waiting for any kind of answer to her question. You averted your eyes, knowing you wouldn’t be able to lie if you had to look at her face. 

“No, everything is fine. I just have been feeling a bit suffocated at the shop lately. So I’ve been coming here to get some time alone.” Now that the lie was out, you met her eyes again and gave her a very non-convincing smile. 

Telma raised her eyebrows and gave you a very deadpan look to show you that she did not believe you in the slightest. You were certain that she was going to keep pressing for the truth, but much to your relief she instead just gave a resigned sigh and shook her head. 

“It’s just hard to watch you settle for this when we both know you don’t have to.” 

“It’s fine, really!” You tried to sound upbeat. “He’s just been super busy lately, and things keep coming up.” 

Telma rolled her eyes as she grabbed another cup and began to scrub. “‘Things keep coming up’ my ass,” she muttered. Then louder, “You actually believe him when he says that?” 

You bit your lip, knowing it wasn’t even worth the effort of trying to lie. So you remained silent instead, which was answer enough for your friend. 

“You deserve better than this, sweetie. You really do.” She cocked her eyebrows, and a small smirk suddenly replaced her annoyed grimace. “You know, you deserve something like a knight in shining armor. Someone who would treat you like royalty.” Her emphasis on certain words gave you the impression that she was trying to imply something, but whatever it was it went right over your head. She continued.

“Someone who is loyal, and kind, and would ride to the ends of Hyrule for you.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Yeah, okay Telma. Find me a man like that who would be interested in someone as plain as me and then we’ll go from there.” The sarcasm dripped from your voice, hiding the painful emotions that were beginning to stir again as you thought about how little Elis really seemed to care about you. Ride to the ends of Hyrule for you? He couldn’t even walk a kilometer away to meet you for dinner. And maybe that was all you could hope to get. 

Telma froze, giving you an incredulous look. She set down the items she was holding and put her hands on her hips, scoffing. “Now really?” 

You shrugged, dropping all efforts to hide your true emotions. “I’m a nobody who works as a potions-maker with nothing significant and no money to their name. Sure, a knight in shining armor sounds great and all, but someone like that would surely be sought after by all kinds of people with more to offer than me. And if they’re an actual knight then I know for a fact they’re one of the most desirable bachelors out there. I mean, take Link for example. He has women and men alike practically throwing themselves at him.”

Though you knew that comparing Link to a normal knight was hardly accurate. He was anything but normal. He was one of the members of the Royal Guard and recognized as a hero by the people of Hyrule. You weren’t sure you understood all of the details, but you did know that he had played a major role in expelling the monsters from the land and restoring peace to the kingdom. Once the major damage around the kingdom had been fixed and things began to settle back into a normal existence, Princess Zelda had held a large ceremony open to the public where he was officially made a member of the Royal Guard. You had laughed so much that day, knowing just how uncomfortable the guest of honor was with all of the attention. 

Aside from being a famous knight and hero, Link was someone you would consider a close friend - maybe even your best friend (of course you would never tell Telma). You had met him for the first time back when the monsters still roamed and he frequently paid visits to Telma and her tavern to speak with members of the Resistance. 

You had only heard stories about his bravery and heroism from your friend until the day she came crashing into the shop where you worked, speaking frantically about needing a health potion. She didn’t explain much, but you didn’t ask any questions either as you quickly got to work and provided her with what she needed. She promised she would explain more later and rushed out as soon as you had placed the bottle of red potion in her hand. You spent several hours after that as a ball of anxiety, creating the worst scenarios in your head about why she could possibly have needed the potion. 

It wasn’t until you were about ready to close the shop for the day and rush over to see her that the door had opened and in walked a face you had never seen before. The man certainly looked as if he had seen better days and was in desperate need of a nap, but regardless you were slightly taken aback by how handsome he still appeared. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and (you assumed) muscular arms that were hidden underneath a loose, white long-sleeved shirt. His hair was a beautiful dirty blonde, tied back with a simple leather band that left loose strands framing his strong jawline. His face had been rather pale, and dark circles sat beneath blue eyes that you suspected were dulled due to exhaustion. But despite his obviously not wonderful condition, he had still exuded a sense of strength that was almost intimidating. 

“Um, h-hello,” you stuttered. “I’m just about to close up-” 

“Are you the one that I have to thank for saving my life?” He asked, taking a step forward. You froze up, and then frantically looked around the shop, trying to find the other person he was obviously talking to, because there was no way he could have been talking about you. A warm chuckle brought your eyes back to his face, where his soft smile nearly made you breathless. 

“Are you the potions-maker?” 

 Mouth slightly open, you continued to stare. “U-uh yeah, that was me I guess.” 

He nodded and continued to walk further into the shop, closer to you. You noticed that he seemed to be walking with a slight limp. 

“Well, I just wanted to come here personally and give my thanks. Without that potion I’m not sure I would have the opportunity to be standing here now.” 

You were certain that the look on your face was ridiculous, but you had no idea how to respond to this situation. It was your job to make potions, you didn’t need any thanks for it. 

You wanted to say thanks, but instead when you opened your mouth you said, “Why are you standing here right now? If you needed that potion less than 12 hours ago, you should almost certainly still be in bed.” You gestured to his body, “And no offense or anything, but you really look like you should still be in bed.” 

His colorless cheeks turned a bit pink then, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, almost shyly. “Well, Telma is a wonderful person and all but I was starting to feel a bit…” 

“Smothered?” You finished for him, stifling back the laugh that threatened to come out, knowing how your friend was. A look of relief washed over the stranger’s face and he nodded, seeming to realize that you understood how he was feeling. 

“Yeahhh,” you drawled out, nodding sympathetically. “I understand that all too well. I actually had to put a lock on my bedroom door the last time I had a small sickness to physically stop her from bringing me medicine and food every hour. I love her to death but I can only take so much soup in one day.” 

He laughed then, and you wondered how in the world a laugh could sound so nice. Pushing those thoughts aside, you introduced yourself then, holding your hand out to the man. He smiled and took it, his hand calloused from years of hard work but gentle nonetheless. 

“I’m Link.” 

A lightbulb went off in your head then. “Oh, you’re Link? I’ve heard so much about you!” 

“I could say the same about you.”

It was the start of a beautiful friendship from that point onward. Whenever Link was in town, whether he was restocking his supplies, working closely with other members of the Resistance, or doing whatever it is that heroes do, you always made sure to make time to see him. And he did the same. He probably became your number one customer, always putting in bulk orders for various potions. You always joked with him about how often he needed health potions, but truthfully you were very worried about him and how he was constantly out in harm’s way. It was a lot of work, filling his large orders, but you were happy to know that you were helping to keep him safe in some capacity.

“And you’ve never.. stopped to consider why Link never takes anyone up on their offers?” Telma asked, still staring at you with an incredulous look. You couldn’t understand why she was acting so strange all of the sudden. 

“Not really,” you shrugged. “I just assumed he’s too busy for it or that he does and nothing comes of it. He doesn’t talk to me much about his conquests, work-related or… otherwise.”

Telma shook her head. “No, honey, I don’t think he’s out there conquering anyone. He seems to have uh.. a specific goal in mind.” There it was again, that tone in her voice that made it seem like she was implying something that you just weren’t understanding. It nagged at you, but you chose to brush it off. Who knew what was going on in your friend’s mind. 

“Well, regardless. I just don’t think I’m the type of person someone like a knight is trying to settle down with. But who knows, maybe I’ll ask Link if any of his fellow knight friends are available and interested.” You laughed, the joke seeming ridiculous. But your friend, on the other, didn’t seem to find it so funny. She stood, her mouth slightly open as if she couldn’t believe what you were saying. 

“You’re joking, right?” 

Frustration was starting to build up within you, unable to understand what you were doing that was so hard to believe. Why was Telma treating you like you were an idiot today? You were slightly kidding when you ragged on yourself about not being good enough, but did your friend genuinely believe it so strongly that even a joke about asking a knight was too much? She was the one that started the whole thing in the first place! 

“Of course I’m joking Telma,” you snapped. “I know my place. Elis is probably the best I can hope to get.” 

Telma closed her mouth, pursing her lips with an unamused look. She shook her head slowly and turned around to organize the newly cleaned mugs and glasses. “It’s not my place to get involved,” she said quietly, more to herself than to you. Still feeling frustrated, you huffed loudly and turned to leave. First Elis, now Telma. This was not shaping up to be a good day. 

Before you could fully turn around though, she glanced back, stopping you with the serious expression on her face. “Really. You can do better. There is better out there. Waiting to love you the way that you deserve to be loved. You just need to open your eyes.” 

Your sour emotions were already set though, and you were in no mood for cryptic messages. “Alright, thank you fortune-teller Telma. I’ll see you later. Thanks again for the drink.” And without looking back, you walked to the door, opened it, and took a step into the darkening evening. 

The air was crisp and cooler than it had been since the spring, signifying the exit of summer and beginning of a chilly autumn. Very fitting weather for the night of the Autumn Festival. 

You crossed your arms tightly against your body as you walked, the thin shirt you chose to wear not doing a good job to protect you from the chill. You felt your temper cooling as you walked as well, gradually being replaced by a feeling of deep sadness and loneliness. All around you were people enjoying the festival, happy to be surrounded by those they love. Grandparents lovingly watching their grandkids laugh and play as they ran through the crowded streets playing tag, friends walking together and sharing stories that made them snort and grab their sides from laughing so hard, new couples attached at the hip and so engrossed in each other they hardly watched where they’re going… it was isolating. Here you were, recently stood up for the umpteenth time by someone who was supposed to care about you, walking through massive crowds of people and yet never feeling more alone.

You felt an all-to-familiar tightness in your throat, and the tears began to prick the corner of your eyes, blurring your surroundings into blobs of shimmering color. You fought hard to keep your composure, determined to make it back to the shop so you could run to your small bedroom upstairs and never come back out. But the loud voice in your head was determined to break you. 

Why? Why am I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? How can I be better?

The strong feeling of hopelessness that came with those though breached the dam you had built to hold back the tears, and with a loud sob, they started to spill. A few people within your vicinity turned to look at you curiously, likely wondering what could have caused the noise that came out of your mouth. You put your head down and covered your mouth with your hands, hoping to muffle the sound of the sobs that continued to come involuntarily. 

Luckily for you, there was a small alleyway directly to your left. You were able to shove past the poor innocent people who were in your way and beeline for the abandoned area. Once you were in the alley, you began to run, desperate to get as far away from people as possible. You weren’t able to make it very far though as a dead end blocked your escape. Incapable of thinking of any other alternatives, you resigned to this being your stopping point and slid down the wall until you were sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees, legs tucked as closely to your body as you could physically get them. Dropping your head down, let all of the feelings you had been holding in for the evening out. 

It was overwhelming yet cathartic. The force of your sobs wracked your body for what felt like hours, the thoughts of inadequacy and rejection running through your mind on an endless loop. But eventually, you found it easier and easier to take deep, measured breaths and the body shaking sobs gradually slowed to a halt. No longer did you feel… well, anything. The only thing you could feel now was numbness. A quiet calm to replace the raging storm that had been going on. 

You sat up, leaning your head against the wall behind you. You stared up at evening sky, the sun out of view as it dipped closer to the horizon. You’re not sure how long you sat there, relishing the feeling of feeling nothing at all. You knew you needed to get up, but you worried that once you stood the feelings would come rushing back. 

Your solitude was ruined by the loud crashing noise of a door being opened with extreme force close by. The sound startled you, making you nearly topple over with surprise. 

You heard a whiny, high-pitched voice over the thundering beat of your heart. “Come on, it’s about to start!! We’re not even going to get a good view at this point!” 

A few meters away, a young child came running out of the small apartment door that you hadn’t even realized was there. Had they heard your crying? 

“Leon, slow down. There will be plenty of space available. The procession goes all the way from the city gates up to the castle. Certainly not everyone will be crowded in the same area.” An older woman stepped out after the child, her smile conflicting with the stern tone in her voice. She didn’t even glance in your direction as she shut the door behind her and followed the child down the alley to join the festivities you had so desperately escaped. 

Ah yes, the procession. You had almost forgotten all about that. 

As a closing event of the Autumn Festival, the royal family traveled in procession through Castle Town, waving and acknowledging their loyal and loving subjects. It was not just them, however. The royal carriage was last in line in the procession. Preceding it were several (and in your opinion, more interesting) groups. Professional jugglers, wowing the crowds as they showed off the impressive skills they have while on the move. Bands of Gorons who marched in step, beating out different tunes powerfully on large drums. One year, when you were young, there was a fantastic group of Zora dancers who mesmerized the crowds with their movements, as smooth on land as they were in water. It changed from year to year, but since this was the first Autumn Festival celebration after years of being terrorized by monsters, it was sure to be a big one. 

You continued to sit, looking towards the crowd as it continued to grow, their excited voices bouncing off the walls of the empty alley. Normally, you would be one of them, jumping up and down with excited anticipation to see what that year’s procession has in store. But now you couldn’t imagine standing there, surrounded by happiness and laughter. 

The crowd roared as the first part of the procession finally appeared, slowly crawling through the street. You listened as people cheered for the performers who walked, “ooh”ing and “ahh”ing as they did whatever it was that they were doing. You couldn’t see through the crowd of people who now blocked off the entrance of the alley, so you could only listen and imagine, picking up bits and pieces of conversations as it drifted down to your ears. 

You didn’t need to be able to see when the Gorons arrived, however. That you could feel. The vibrations rattled your entire body as they beat their drums in sync, the unfamiliar tune sinking into your very bones. It was an oddly relaxing feeling. You were happy to close your eyes and rest your head on the wall, soaking in the feeling. You were left with an achingly empty feeling in your chest when the Gorons were far enough away that you could no longer feel their drums. 

You decided that even though you were tired, you would wait until the end to get up and begin making your way home. With the crowd the way that it was, there was no way you would make it anywhere anyways. So, you continued to sit. 

As you waited, your mind drifted to Elis. If he hadn’t come to meet you, then where was he? Was he just lounging lazily in his bed as he so often liked to do, unable to be bothered to come meet you? Or was he out there in the crowd, standing with his friends, cracking jokes without even sparing a single thought for you? 

Your heart dropped as another thought crossed your mind. Was he out there in the crowd with another girl? Had he spent the evening whisking someone else around to the different stalls, sharing all sorts of sweet treats with her? Feeding her fresh fruit as they walked? Whispering things in her ear, making her giggle and blush? Did he give her his jacket when she began to shiver because she was only wearing a light shirt? Was he going to take her home once the festivities ended? 

You could feel the emotions coming back, much to your displeasure. You didn’t want to feel anything. You liked the numbness. But the thought of Elis leaving you to look foolish while he was out entertaining another girl was too much to handle. 

You decided that you needed to get home. You couldn’t stand to be out any longer. You would shove people out of the way if you needed to. 

Standing up quickly, you made your way back to the entrance of the alley where the crowd was currently a wave of excitement. You began to push your way through, but you were only able to make it to the front of the crowd before you realized you were stuck. There was rope that stretched down the street as far as you could see on both sides of you. To block people from crossing the road and potentially getting hurt or messing up the procession, you assumed. 

Frustration bubbling and exiting your body in the form of hot tears that welled up in your eyes, you turned to push your way back. But once again, you quickly realized that wasn’t going to happen. A large Goron stood behind you, happily oblivious and chatting with another large Goron besides them. Considering you had to crane your neck to look up at their faces, you assumed that you would not be able to get their attention with all of the noise and distraction. Groaning inwardly you turned back and stood miserably, knowing that your only option now was to stand and wait for the procession to end. 

Luckily you didn’t have to wait long before you heard the sound of the horns, signifying the arrival of the royal carriage. Once again, the crowd around you came alive, everyone excitedly standing on their toes and moving around to try and get a look. 

The horses were the first thing to come into view. Beautiful white horses donning colorful, bedazzled bits and draped with navy and gold saddle blankets made their way past you. Children and adults alike stuck their hands out, reaching to try and get a touch of the magnificent creatures as they passed. You wanted to be excited, but the heavy feeling in your chest and tightness in your throat remained, and you knew it was only a matter of time before the tears began to spill again. You just hoped you could hold out until you were able to get away from people.

Something heavy suddenly pushed up against your right shoulder, nearly toppling you over. Luckily you were able to keep your footing and straighten yourself up before falling. Pushing the hair out of your eyes, you glared in the direction of the mysterious force. 

Two girls, probably just a few years younger than you, were standing there, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“So sorry!” One squeaked, genuinely looking scared. You held your glare for a few more seconds before turning your head back to the procession, not even bothering to accept her apology. Her and her friend did not seem bothered for too long, however, and began to chat animatedly. They were so close that you couldn’t help but overhear. 

“Do you think we’ll see him?”

“Of course we’re going to see him you idiot! He’s like, Princess Zelda’s shadow! Wherever she is, he is!”

Suddenly the conversation you were trying very hard to ignore grabbed your attention. You realized, with slight amusement, that you had a good idea as to who they were probably talking about.

“I mean, I don’t blame her for always wanting him around.” 

“Oh I totally agree. If I had a knight who looked like that, I’d never let him leave my side.”

The girls burst into giggles, and you rolled your eyes. But also, you knew you couldn’t blame them either. There was no denying that Link was very easy on the eyes. 

The girl closest to you sighed wistfully. “He just seems so dreamy. He’s brave, and strong, and he’s so kind! One time I saw him buy a whole basket of bread that he then passed out to the line of people who had been waiting for hours to see the doctor. This was when that horrible sickness came through Castle Town a few months ago and everyone was sick! He risked his own health to make sure people were fed while they waited.” 

You hadn’t heard about that, but you were not surprised in the least. Link was an absolutely selfless man who consistently put other people’s needs before his own. He had done it a time or two for you as well. One of those times was actually during the sickness that the two girls were referring to. 

You had managed to stay healthy for awhile, but you found yourself extremely overworked during that time, trying to keep up with the mass influx of orders of health potions and other remedies that came pouring in from desperate townspeople. You had averaged about an hour of sleep a night for days on end, and were lucky if you were able to eat a single meal. Luckily, Link had offered to help you with deliveries which took a massive load off of your plate. However, it still took a major toll on your body physically. Luckily, Link was there to save the day. You know, like heroes do. 

The bell dinged, signaling that someone had entered the store. You didn’t even bother to turn around, busy cutting and weighing the ingredients in front of you. It was a very precise recipe, and even the slightest miscalculation or mess up could change the effect of the potion entirely. 

“Hey, I’m back.” His calm and gentle voice was a welcome break from your frantic muttering out loud to yourself as you worked. You simply grunted and waved the hand holding the knife into the air to acknowledge his arrival. 

His laughter was followed by footsteps as he walked behind the counter, coming to a stop beside you. His presence seemed to bring you comfort, and you could feel yourself starting to relax slightly. “You know, waving a knife at a member of the Royal Guard could be seen as a threat. Be careful where you point that thing.” 

You rolled your eyes and finally turned your head to face him, your exhausted smile meeting his boyish grin. “At this point, there is nothing you could do to me that is worse than what I’ve been dealing with the past few weeks. Go ahead and lock me up or chop me up, either is preferable at this point.” 

His smile faltered, and you could see the concern in his eyes. Suddenly, he looked very serious. “Have you eaten today?” 

Sighing, you put down the knife and stepped away from the ingredients. You decided a short break wouldn’t hurt. Running a hand over your face, you tried your best to stifle a yawn. “What time is it?” 

“It’s a few hours past midday. Have you eaten?” He repeated, eyes boring into yours. You worried your bottom lip, nervous to tell him that you had not. 

“Well, Elis told me he would bring me lunch an hour before noon.” 

Link’s eyes hardened. “And did he?” 

You laughed timidly, shrugging. “I’m sure something came up and he was too busy.” 

The blonde did not look impressed in the slightest. “So, no.” 

You waved a hand nonchalantly. “It’s okay, I’m not super hungry anyways. Too busy to be hungry!” With fake enthusiasm, you made to turn back to your ingredients and continue working. Link’s hand gently touched your arm, stopping you from moving. 

“You need to take care of yourself. You need to eat.” The concern in his face made your heart skip a beat. 

You nodded finally, giving in. “I know, I will. I guess I won’t be any help to anyone if I die of starvation huh?” 

Link shook his head, his expression still very serious. “I’m not worried about other people. I’m worried about you.” 

You froze, your breath catching slightly in your throat. Your brain seemed to malfunction as you tried to figure out how to reply. But Link was suddenly distracted, rummaging around in the satchel that was slung across his body, a concentrated look on his face. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled out a small brown bag, which he then held out to you. You looked at it, then back up at him. He nudged it forward again, prompting you to take it. 

“Please.” 

You didn’t have any words as you gingerly took the bag from his hands. Slowly, you opened it and peered down at the contents. Bread, cheese, a few slices of dried meat, and a large red apple. You looked back up at your friend. 

“I can’t take your lunch from you!” You exclaimed, trying to push the bag back into his hands. He was having none of it though. He grabbed your hand with both of his. He gripped it gently but firmly, closing your fist over the opening of the bag and pushing it back towards you. 

“It’s not my lunch, don’t worry.” 

“Oh, so you just walk around with spare lunches in your bag?” Though when you really thought about it, he did always seem to have literally everything inside that bag..

Link looked away, suddenly seeming shy. “Well, no. I brought it. For you.” 

“For me?”  For what felt like the millionth time that day, your chest swelled with gratitude for the blonde. 

“You know.. just in case.” 

It was both charming and upsetting. It was extremely sweet that Link was concerned and thinking about you. But it made your heart sink to think that Elis, someone who claimed to love you, couldn’t even be bothered. You tried your hardest to fight back the tears as you nodded and accepted the meal. 

Link seemed to let out a breath of relief, smiling gently as he watched you pull the bread out and nibble on the edge. 

“Please promise me you will take better care of yourself.” 

You just nodded, your mouth full of bread. He narrowed his eyes and leaned down, his face just inches away from yours. You froze, suddenly feeling nervous at his proximity. 

“Promise.” 

His face was once again serious, but his eyes were soft. Caring. 

You swallowed the bread you had been chewing and nodded again, genuine this time. “I promise, Link.” 

He continued to stare, unmoving. “You promise what?”

You groaned, making a face. “Really?”

But his stoic expression told you that he was not joking. 

“I promise that I will take better care of myself,” you muttered, feeling like a child who was being scolded. He still didn’t move for a few moments, however, continuing to search your eyes with an unreadable expression. Finally, he stood up and nodded once. 

“Good. I expect to see you eating every day from here on out. On your own,” he added. “Not waiting for a meal that will never show.” 

The meaning behind his words cut deep, and once again you were reminded that the one person who was supposed to care about you didn’t seem to. 

But at least you had Link. 

 A loud squeal brought you back to the present, where you hadn’t even realized you zoned out. 

“Oh here it comes!”

And sure enough, the royal carriage came into view, pulled by two gigantic horses. What little sunlight remained reflected beautifully off of the gold exterior, the different jewels that decorated it sparkling magnificently. The fabric top was not in place, giving the crowd an unobstructed view of the figure standing inside. 

Princess Zelda was the vision of beauty and grace as she smiled and waved to the crowd. Her blonde hair was pulled out of her slim face and back into an intricate braid that was adorned with flowers that matched the white and lavender dress she was wearing.  A small but genuine and warm smile graced her lips, and her eyes were sharp and alert as she scanned her surroundings and took in the sight of her subjects. She exuded a sense of strength and unity, which was something the people of Hyrule had desperately needed for so long. 

Once again, your train of thought was broken by an obnoxious squeal. 

“There he is! I told you! I told you we’d see him!” The girl next you jumped up and down, not even realizing that she bumped into you every time she did so. Her friend was leaning heavily over the side of the rope, trying to get the best view possible. You held your breath, feeling anxious all of the sudden for a reason you didn’t understand. 

His hair was the first thing you spotted, the navy cap contrasting heavily with the blonde locks that weren’t quite as well tamed as the rest of him. The pristine white trousers and navy and crimson tunic hugged his athletic figure generously, showcases the strength he had built over years of hard work and fighting. His sword was strapped to his back, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice if needed. But what you noticed most about the knight was the way that he carried himself as he marched alongside the carriage. 

He held his chin high, shrouded with an air of confidence well earned from countless successful battles. Despite his tall and muscular frame, he was endlessly graceful, almost gliding along the ground. His bright blue eyes were alert and sharp, and he scanned the crowd continuously, making sure there were no imminent threats to the princess or otherwise. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him, suddenly finding yourself enamored with everything about him. Telma’s words from earlier came back to you as you continued to stare. 

A knight in shining armor. 

There was a phrase to describe Link if there ever was one. From his strength, to his courage, to his generosity, to his kindness. He was the embodiment of a true knight. 

Suddenly, you found yourself once again reliving the memory of the two of you in your shop, concern etched into his face as he stared down at you. 

“Please promise me you will take better care of yourself.” 

“I’m not worried about other people. I’m worried about you.”

An intense feeling of loneliness and longing washed over you, making it harder for you to breathe. You bit down on your lip as you fought to hold back the tears that suddenly welled up in your eyes. 

Whoever Link chooses will be the luckiest person in all of Hyrule. To have someone who cares so openly, someone with such a good heart.. Not someone who would continuously abandon plans and give half-hearted excuses for why he can’t come. 

But what you had told Telma was true. You were a nobody with no money to your name. You had nothing to offer anyone. Elis was rich and had status. For someone like him to be with someone like you was almost unheard of. It would be silly to get caught up on something as silly as feelings when you were being given more than what you deserved. 

It still hurt though. And the tears still came, spilling over and sliding down your cheeks. 

“He’s getting closer! Oh my goddesses, he’s almost right in front of us!!” The girl next to you grabbed her friend, shaking her with excitement. You watched from the corner of your eye as they quickly rushed to fix their hair and straighten out their dresses that had been ruffled in all the commotion. 

You found yourself annoyed at their behavior, but appreciated the heads up. With you being in the front, there was a very good chance that Link would see you. And he couldn’t see you crying. You turned away, trying to hide your face as you wiped frantically at the tears. But it seemed like the more you tried, the more the tears came. You began to panic, which only added to the strong emotions that you were feeling and made everything worse. 

You turned back around, planning to just sneak a quick peek to see how much time you had before he walked by. If he was too close, you planned to just turn around and stay turned around until he was well past you. Sure it would look funny, but he wouldn’t know that that was the back of your head in the crowd. 

But unfortunately, just like it had been for the entire day, luck was not on your side. As soon as you turned around, piercing blue eyes met your red and watery ones. 

You immediately straightened up, wiping frantically at your face and trying to plaster on a smile that was horribly unconvincing. Link’s eyes widened as he took in your appearance, and you could see that he was visibly struggling to keep his facial features calm.

“Annessa, he’s looking at you! I can’t believe it, he’s looking at you!!!”

The girl’s voices sounded far away as she screeched at the girl next to you, whose name was apparently Annessa. The only thing you could focus on was Link and the pained expression he worse on his face as he fought against whatever emotions he was currently feeling. 

Once again you tried to give him an unconvincing smile, but it was the ultimate failure as your lips quivered and you had to put your hand over your mouth to hide the sob that came out. 

Did he know? Did he know how pathetic you were? How you weren’t even worth your own partner’s time? Surely he had to know that, as someone who was one of the most popular men in the entire kingdom. He was only nice to you because that’s who he was. He was a nice person. 

You maintained eye contact with him for as long as you could, but eventually you had to turn away, embarrassed by your emotions and how unstable you appeared. When you brought your head back up, Link was no longer looking at you. He looked forward as he continued to march on. 

Exactly. He knew that you weren’t worth it. That you were an embarrassment. 

But what you weren’t expecting was for him to turn his head, glancing back over his shoulder to get one last look at you. You weakly waved, and he frowned before turning back around and continuing to look forward. 

“Did you see that?? He even looked back at you!! You made the Link do a double take!!!” 

The girls next to you jumped up and down in excitement, squealing on and on about Link and something about marriage and children. You weren’t sure because you tuned them out. You tuned everything out. That feeling of numbness returned, which you were grateful for, and you spent the rest of the procession staring at the ground, blissfully unaware of anything happening around you. 

Eventually the procession had ended and the crowd began to clear, excitement still in the air as the chatted about the day’s events to each other and made their way home or to the bars. It was nighttime now, so the party would likely continue for most of the adults, whether that was in the tavern or at private parties around the city. 

For you, you were just happy that you could finally make your way home. You did not want to party, you did not want to socialize. You wanted to crawl into your bed and never get out. You wanted to physically become one with the pillows. 

As you approached the shop, you had a stupid hope in your heart that maybe Elis would be there waiting for you. That he had come late to the bar to meet you, and when he couldn’t find you in the crowd he decided to wait for you at your shop. But, of course, you were met with disappointment and darkness when you arrived home. Nobody was waiting for you at the door, and there were no explanations about why he never showed. 

You entered the shop and barely remembered to lock the door behind you before dragging yourself upstairs to your bedroom. Master Shido was out of town, traveling to who-knows-where for some rare ingredients, so you did not have to worry about the noise you made as you collapsed on to your bed. 

Today was awful, and you wanted absolutely nothing more than for it to be over. You lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, but sleep never came. Instead, your mind whirled continuously about Elis. 

What was he doing at the moment? Was he with another woman? Did he even feel any remorse for standing you up? How would you confront him? Should you even confront him? What would you say if- 

Thud. 

Your froze, your racing thoughts stopped by a loud, muffled noise downstairs. You held your breath as you waited, in the silence and in the darkness, for more noise to come. But it never did. 

You were starting to believe you had simply imagined it when it came again.

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Someone was knocking on the front door of the store.

[7grandmel]

Blog Update - 16/06/2024

TL;DR: My 1-month break is over! The blog is returning but with a slower rate of posts. New forms of posts will start rolling out soon as well - scroll down to the bullet-point list for details.

Hello all! I've been receiving some asks and questions in the request form wondering where I've been this past month. Rest assured, I've been fine. With Athletic Doctor back in May, I reached the one-year anniversary of doing this daily-rip-posting thing, and today, June 16th, marks the one-year anniversary of this blog's existence as a whole with Snowball Park - Super Mario 3D World. Because yeah, for those first 30 posts I didn't do this as part of a blog, but as a daily activity for my own personal Tumblr account on @melblur. If you compare the word counts on those first few posts (the "First 30 Archive") to the posts made later in the blog's run, you'll likely be able to see how my focus in writing evolved, going from mere shoutouts and recommendations to full-on retrospectives and analysis. That was a large part of why I chose the blog's initial name as "Tumblr's SiIvaGunner Historian", there's something about regaling these oft-forgotten events in the channel's history that just invigorates me, a passion that kept me doing this for a year straight. What began as nothing but a laid-back writing exercise to keep my mind sharp became something that, on some days for rips that I was truly passionate about, drew my FULL undivided attention for an entire day's worth.

You saw the TL;DR, and you can probably tell where this is going. By the last few posts, I was noticing myself that this really isn't sustainable to keep doing at a daily rate. I've worn that pace as a badge of honor for so long on here: In my mind, it just made so much sense for a blog celebrating SiIvaGunner, a channel partially defined by its insane rate of uploads, to also do things at such a high pace, with so many references to past posts interconnecting them all just like the many in-jokes on SiIvaGunner itself. But this blog isn't a network of a hundred team members and a thousand contributors - aside from the requests on what to write and footnotes left by a rip's creator, everything made on this blog has done solely by its writer, me, Mel. I loved it - but I do think its about time I slow things down.

I was as torn on this choice as you likely are seeing it - after all, it's called "TODAYS siivagunner" for a reason, right? I was toying around with how to resolve this as far back as in March of this year, tossing around ideas and concepts as to rework the blog to be more feasible whilst still preserving its spirit. The April Fools prank, the legendary Raftmageddon of Raft Ride ~ The Story So Far, was sort of an offshoot of this, a day where posts were more rapid-fire than ever yet were all contained to just five or six sentences each: Short, snappy, concise, and even pretty casual and silly a lot of the time. And that was really fun for the sake of the bit, it again fit with the nature of Raft Ride the same way that my main posts sort of fit with the nature of standard SiIvaGunner uploads, but I realized even then that it wouldn't be a good fit for the blog's main posts - the things that make both you and I most happy as readers and writers respectively are when I get to truly get down to the meat of a rip and explore its contents and history to the fullest.

A month went by quicker than I thought it would, but alas, here we are. A lot can change in not so much time - I'm currently employed, for one, which is yet another reason why daily posts feel far less feasible, but I'm also spending my time expanding my interests, listening to albums, reading books, watching shows, talking to new people...I want this blog to keep going, but I also don't want to use it as an excuse for my own lack of growth as a person. And so, I've landed on a compromise that I hope will satiate all of us. Here's the current plan for the blog going forward:

Rip coverage will be going from daily to weekly, posted every Monday starting tomorrow, June 17th. In return, the goal is to make these posts as well-written and interesting to read as possible.

Requests for these posts will still be taken as normal. I'll of course try to prioritize requests from people who haven't had theirs featured on the blog yet, but keep in mind that it's still up to my judgement if I'll be able to have enough to say on a rip (or know enough about a rip's topic) to warrant writing a post on it!

New, more laid-back kinds of posts for the blog will be featured in the days between rip coverage posts - these will be a lot simpler in nature and made ~2-4 times a week depending on my schedule. Here are some examples of posts I have in mind!

GIFs and image sets from the channel's various visual rips and/or lore videos! Think the Christmas Comeback Crisis, the KFAD Tournaments, the Festival events of Season 4, 5 and 6, legacy content posted on the SiIvaGunner Twitter account, and more!

Character appreciation posts featuring all sorts of characters from the SiIvaGunner lore! Celebrate the figments you love with all twelve other SiIvaGunner fans on Tumblr!

Trivia about the channel, which I'd otherwise sneak into main posts, may get small little posts in of themselves! This can be anything from Did-You-Knows about how in-jokes have been carried on during the channel's life, to easter eggs and references, to fun tidbits about rippers themselves.

Shitposts! Goofs! Stuff I'd otherwise reblog under the #epic flintstones tag, basically.

Miscellaneous text posts related to the channel, such as Guides, summaries, or just whatever various thoughts I have!

All of these will have their own tags dedicated to them, just like #todays siivagunner - what tags they end up being is still up in the air and may change even as the posts are rolling out. Either way, the blog's pinned post will be continually updated with all the relevant tags and info about the blog - keep an eye out on it during next week.

Whew! That's a lot of stuff covered. I hope you're as excited for the second year of this blog as I am! Hopefully the greater variety of posts will help with the longer wait between "main" posts. The goal is, as you can imagine, to keep the blog a fun read for you all and just as much of a fun passtime for me, whilst also easing my own workload enough to make it manageable. I love running this blog more than anything, and I'm hoping this new schedule will give me more energy to make better posts - Maybe I'll even get a chance to interact with all of you even more by discussing more than just per-rip analysis.

Thanks for reading everyone - That SiIvaGunner Tumblr Blog will officially be back tomorrow!

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Part 3

Description: Using all the resources at his disposal, Pero is trying to find out who is after Niki and why.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5700 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: So, it looks like this is becoming a series after all. I'll be making a Series Masterlist in the next few days. Lots more history on Pero in this part, and further insights into his criminal life.

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   It feels weird being back here this time. He usually goes to the safehouse about once a month, to keep the dust away, but he never spends the night. He never cooks. Never uses the shower.    Safe though it might be, it has never felt like a home. Thus far, he’s never needed to use it as one either, having managed to keep his real identity from those that would undoubtedly do him harm if they ever found him.    But he’s happy to have it, now that it’ll benefit someone.

   He unpacks the food he bought into the fridge and pantry, and then goes for a shower. The master bedroom isn’t connected to the primary bathroom, so he can clean himself up without disturbing Gillian, who fell asleep on his bed shortly after he left the room.    When he steps in under the spray, the comfort of the warm water seems to unlock something within him. He starts crying, and he can’t stop.

   He doesn’t know if it’s for Niki or himself or his coworkers that he dragged into this shit, or perhaps for the baby that might no longer be there, having been given no choice or chance at all. But whatever the reason, he doesn’t fight it. He’s too tired to fight anything right now, and anyway, it would be pointless.    This feeling isn’t gonna go away no matter how hard he tries, so he might as well let it out and be rid of it where no one can see him, and where the water washes away the evidence.

   But when he steps out more than half an hour later, he somehow feels heavier.

   He towels himself dry and takes the time to shave while his skin cools, mostly just to feel like less of a crook, although he’s not sure why shaving might help with that.    While he works the razor, his mind is drawn to images from his childhood, like his first ever shave, but then jumps back to his younger years, where he was the only Hispanic kid at the schools he went to.

   He remembers getting up in the middle of the night and sneaking into the living room to watch American movies. He’d sit next to the VCR and rewind every phrase spoken, so that he could practice the pronunciation until he’d completely removed his Spanish accent. Not that it had made any difference, there was no way to learn how to not be Hispanic.    And in high school, he’d eventually gotten angry enough at his bullies that he’d decided to get back at them.

   But he’d been a skinny kid who hadn’t known how to fight, so instead, he’d figured out how to hurt them mentally. That was where his criminal career had kicked off, teaching himself how to scam people out of things that were precious to them for one reason or another.    Like Matthew Pritchard and the baseball glove that he’d never gone anywhere without. Pero had managed to trick him into giving it to charity, in front of the entire school, without Matt ever knowing that he was behind it.

   That had been his first win, and it had felt so good after years of being ridiculed and bullied daily, that he’d turned it into a successful livelihood. Sadly, it would take him over a decade to realize that stealing from other people and making their lives miserable, even just for a day, was never going to make his own demons go away.    He finishes the shave and lets the memories fade. He’s not proud of the man he is. Maybe that’s why the baby scares him so much.

   After putting on clean clothes and running a brush through the unruly curls on his head, five weeks overdue for a cut, he heads back to the kitchen to make dinner. He’s gonna need a solid meal to have enough energy to stay awake for the rest of the evening.    Gillian comes walking into the spacious combined kitchen and dining area, just as he’s finishing the ragu, or Bolognese to most Americans.

   “Smells good. I’m starving,” she sleepily mumbles, having clearly dragged herself out of bed without being fully awake, probably drawn by the spicy scent.

   He serves her a plate and tells her to dig in, before doing the same for himself.    The meal is a well-needed source of energy. He can almost feel his brain begin to return to normal function, and his guest seems to be experiencing something similar, looking increasingly alert with each bite.

   “So, did you learn anything yet?” she asks once her plate is empty.

   “No. I needed to… decompress first.”

   “You should sleep too.”

   “I know. But I can’t do that until I have some answers,” he says, and before she can protest, he deflects. “How are you holding up with all this? Is there someone missing you back home that you need to call?”

   “Just my coworkers, and they probably know that I stole a patient and vanished, by now. No need to incriminate myself even more by trying to explain,” she shrugs.

   “Well, if you do feel like calling someone, I just want you to know that it’s safe to do that here. This house has a scrambling device which won’t let anyone eavesdrop or triangulate your position no matter how long you talk for, or if you use the internet.    Just keep the phone inside the building while you use it and you’re fine.”

   “Wow. That… wasn’t even on my list of things to worry about. But thanks.”

   “Sure. Do you want any more food?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

   “No, but it was delicious. I’m gonna go check on Nikita and then I think I need a shower too.”

   “There are clean t-shirts and sweatpants in the bottom drawers of the bathroom closet, if you wanna change. I’m afraid I don’t have any lady underwear, though.”

   “What? You mean you don’t bring women here on the weekends for strip-poker? Wasted opportunity, dude,” she jokes, and he smirks at her as she leaves the room.

   He’s fairly certain that she swings the other way. Not because of her obvious disinterest in him, that’s what he expects and even hopes for from most women, it’s just a gut feeling he has about her. Something in her more subtle expressions.    Once the meal is cleaned away and the leftovers are Tupperware secured and refrigerated, he heads upstairs to the lounge area, where there’s a library and a desk with a computer.

   The whirring of the fans as he turns it on seems loud in the quiet and slightly echo-y space, but once it’s warmed up, he stops hearing it. He opens the online search engine and looks up the local news for their hometown, to see what he can find out about Boon and the nurses.    No names have been released yet, but apparently there are two fatalities at the hospital. They probably haven’t found or at least not connected Carrera to it yet, so it could be anyone of the four people that they left behind in that garage who are the deceased victims.

   He hopes that one of them is the assailant, because at least then, some justice has been served.

   A soft buzzing in his pocket tells him that the call he’s been waiting for is finally coming in, and he digs it out, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering.

   “Tell me you’ve got something,” he says instead of hello, and hears a little huff on the other end.

   “Considering what happened at the hospital, I can see why you’re a bit tense, but don’t bite my fucking head off, asshole.”

   “Please, tell me you found something. Dickhead,” he corrects himself, to which Will just hums.

   “Well, something is putting it kinda mildly, actually. Your girl isn’t your average Jane, by a mile.”

   “Meaning?”

   “Meaning the reason why she was off the grid for nine years, was because she was one of seven department heads on a major covert weapons development project, which is why it took me all fucking day to find it.    The whole thing was compartmentalized, so she probably didn’t know what her research was being used for specifically, but I’ll be surprised if she hasn’t guessed it. They don’t put you in a ghost town for almost a decade to develop better tires.”

   Weapons research? That’s unexpected, but then, she is an engineer and a good one. And it does explain why she would be important enough to send assassins after, if she knows something she’s not supposed to, for example.    Still, there’s a big question mark to that theory.

   “But why would they come after her six years after the project ended?” he asks, and Will clicks his tongue twice, something he always does as a way of signifying that something isn’t what it seems.

   “I don’t think it’s our people who are solely responsible. It might be a reaction meant to stop someone else from getting their hands on sensitive information. I haven’t been able to piece it all together, but there are definitely outside sources involved.    I’ll need another day to dig into that aspect, though. This is snake pit, Tovar.”

   “Yeah, that much I’ve figured out.”

   “You at the safehouse?”

   “Didn’t know where else to put her,” he admits, not at all worried that the man might decide to disclose his secret hideout to anyone.

   Firstly, because he’s got no one to tell, he’s even more alone than Pero. And secondly, because if he did that, he knows that his house and all his computers, his own sanctuary from the endlessly stressful outside world, would be leveled to the ground.

   “Alright, well I’ll keep digging and get back to you. Keep your head down.”

   “Since when are you worried about my head?” he asks with raised brows, genuinely surprised at the comment since it’s as close to actual friendliness that the man has ever gotten towards him.

   “Hair is a valuable commodity these days,” Will deadpans, “And the way yours is looking, I could probably get a good check for your mop.”

   He hangs up without answering that. His relationship with Garin is… well, horrible for the most part. But while they’re definitely more enemies than friends, the Veteran knows better than to cross him. He made that mistake once, and it cost him dearly. And that was before he went to war and got himself even more messed up. In fact, it was probably the reason why he’d enlisted.

   Another thing that Pero isn’t proud of. But also feels no guilt over, because the man had brought that misfortune upon himself, by himself.

   “Pero, I think she’s waking up!” Gillian calls from downstairs, and he practically leaps out of his chair and runs back down.

   He finds her by Niki’s bedside, studying the monitors and then her face. He isn’t helped by looking at the tech, so his eyes are instantly drawn to her face and arms, both of which are twitching, just barely.    His breaths seem to be trapped somewhere right under his chin, until the moment her eyes flicker and then begin to open. A soft exhale which turns into a smile without him even realizing it, frees his chest and he takes her hand, suddenly no longer worried that he might hurt her simply by touching her.

   “Hey… Can you hear me, Niki?”

   Her eyes are eerily still at first. The lid is only half open, but he can see that she’s just staring ahead, not looking around her or seeking his voice. It might be because she’s only just awake and hasn’t gotten her senses all back, though, so he tries again.

   “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

   He’s never called her any nicknames before, save for the occasional “baby” slipping past his lips during sex, and yet it feels completely natural now.    Somewhere, in all this time spent trying to keep her alive, he’s stopped thinking of her in terms of how she relates to him, and just thinks of her as the wonderful person she is and how he can’t imagine a world where she isn’t there anymore.    And from that perspective, his feelings for her aren’t complicated at all.

   It still takes another few seconds, but then her eyes start to move to the side where he’s standing, and her hand weakly squeezes his.    She can’t talk yet, but within her eyes he sees her questions, her fears, and he knows that she remembers the crash.

   “You’re safe, don’t worry. I’ve hidden you away, they can’t find you.”

   The heartrate monitor is muted, save for the alarm which automatically sounds if her BPM’s drop lower than thirty-five. But a glance at it tells him that she’s still scared, because it’s been holding steady at around fifty throughout everything that’s happened, but now it’s jumped up to seventy-eight.    She wants to know that her baby is safe too. That’s the only thing he can think of that might be so distressing to her right now, but that’s also an answer that he can’t give.

   “I don’t know… if… if the baby made it. I don’t know,” he says truthfully, for the first time tasting that fear for himself.

   He was so angry that he threw her out because of it, and now he finds himself dreading the possibility that it’s gone. He wonders if she can see that in his eyes. If she somehow knows how much has changed over the course of this day.    Her eyes are filled with tears when they fall shut once again, leaving a dark wet line down the outside of her cheeks. Her heart slows and she’s back under the heavy blanket of unconsciousness.

   “This is a good sign, Pero,” Gillian gently reminds him when he begins struggling to breathe again.

   It isn’t until he looks up at her that he notices the wetness on his own cheeks. He wipes it off on the bottom of his t-shirt, but his breathing only gets worse. Seconds later he’s gasping, feeling his knees weaken, and suddenly her arms are around him and he’s moving.    She leads him to the bed where he collapses, half screaming, half choking with the pain that rips through him, and then he’s out.

-=¤=-

   He wakes up with a jolt, sitting up so fast that his head spins for a few seconds while his heart races. But as soon as he locates the hospital bed at the other end of the room, he remembers, and begins to calm.    A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s 6:30 pm, which means he’s only been out for about an hour. That’s good, because he still has a lot of work to do before he can really sleep.

   “Already up? I was hoping you’d be out for the night,” Gillian says as she looks up from her seat next to Niki.

   She’s brought a chair from the kitchen in there, and has found a book to read, probably from the library upstairs.

   “You keep going like this and you’re gonna kill yourself, either from fatigue itself or by making a mistake because you can’t think straight.”

   “I’m fine,” he grumbles and gets to his feet.

   “You crashed, Pero. Do you think that that happened because you’re doing okay? Your friend almost died and is being hunted by assassins, and you haven’t processed any of it.”

   He completely ignores her comments. Not because she’s wrong, he just doesn’t have the mental energy to argue.

   “What would you need to be able to tell if the baby is still alive?” he asks instead, and she sighs, giving up trying to reason with him.

   “This early in the pregnancy, only her HCG levels would tell us anything useful. But without a lab to send her blood or urine to for analysis, there’s no way for us to measure her levels.”

   So, no way to know except to just wait.    He wants to know to set his own mind at ease, sure, but mostly he just wants to have an answer for Niki the next time she wakes up.

   “Let me know if you need anything or if something changes. I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her on his way out of the room.

   If this is about covert weapons development, he’s got someone he can call to learn more. His time as a criminal might not have afforded him any friends, but it has generated a kind of network of information, which only he can use because he is the connecting dot in the middle of the web.    It’s comprised of rich and influential people all over the country, all of which he’s scammed out of small portions of their fortunes, and in many cases, that has given him a modicum of leverage over them. Usually because their riches were at least partially illegally obtained.

   He never would’ve guessed that the day might come when he’d use these people to protect someone other than himself, but then, things have changed rather drastically over the course of this hellish day.    Back at the computer, he looks up the name of the corrupt army lieutenant he’d come across, who had amassed a small fortune of his own by selling classified documents to the highest bidder.

   Reyes. A man sure to remember Pero, despite their brief dealings over ten years ago now.

   He looks up the contact information to check that it’s still accurate, not at all surprised to find that the man hasn’t even changed phone numbers.    Most people that he scammed seemed to assume that once the exchange was over, he’d cut them lose and would never want to interact with them again, probably because they imagined that that would put him at risk.

   He dials the number and waits, having already checked that his own number is being blocked, and the man answers after the fourth signal.

   “Reyes.”

   “Good evening, lieutenant. How’s business in the classified section?”

   There’s a pause, then…

   “Mr. Hood,” the man shakily recalls.

   A bit theatric of a name, perhaps, but Pero had never stolen from anyone who couldn’t afford it, and almost exclusively from those who had made their fortunes on other people’s misery or even pain.

   “I’m glad you remember. I need a favor.”

   “Look, I gave you what you wanted, we’re square-…”

   “Shut the fuck up, you corrupt piece of shit,” he cuts the guy off. “You’ve got no card to play here, because if I decide to turn you in, you’ll get tried for treason, and I believe they still kill people for that in your state.”

   There’s dead silence on the other end, so he continues.

   “Now, you’re gonna find out everything you can about a covert weapons development project which started sometime in 2008 and ended in 2017. A project that long can’t be a dime of dozen, so you shouldn’t have much problem figuring out which one it is, even without a name.”

   “…I know the name,” Reyes unexpectedly replies after a nervous pause. “I was part of the protection detail there for a couple of years. It was codenamed “Amazon”, as in amazon warriors, not the company.”

   “What do you know about it?” Pero presses, trying not to sound too eager.

   “I know that it wasn’t a weapon of mass destruction they were trying to make. It was something else, something small and surgical, and I know that it was successful.”

   “And what about after it was completed? What happened to the staff and the scientists?”

   “Only the project management team knew what they were actually making, so once it was completed, I assume everyone was released back into the world. But if someone blabbed later, they might’ve been dealt with. I don’t know.”

   “And what about you?” he questions, entirely ready to believe that this man had blabbed, or stolen something relating to the project.

   “Hey, I know I’m not the most trustworthy person in the world, but you’d have to be suicidal to nick shit from a project like that. Plus, the security was airtight. Every piece of paper printed was logged and archived and kept under lock and key, and they had hackers employed to make sure that the computer system wasn’t tampered with.    I may be an opportunistic individual, but I’m not Steve fucking Jobs…”

   Pero ends the call there. If Reyes has been involved in any theft, Garin will sus him out eventually. For now, he’s gotten some new information to work with, so he texts Will the name of the project, receiving a thumbs up in return. It’ll streamline his search to have a project headline to look for.    Next, he looks up another number, this time a casino whale who loves to know everyone’s business but despises anyone knowing hers.

   “Hello?” she answers, sounding intrigued by the prospect of an unknown caller.

   “Hello, Wendy.”

   “Oh. You. And here I thought I might get to have some fun.”

   “That’s what you live for, isn’t it? No matter how it affects anyone else.”

   “Get off your high horse, you prick! You extorted me!” she shrieks, which means she’s at home alone.

   In public, this woman is the picture of ease and elegance, and when her husband is home with her, she makes every effort to keep up that façade, because he’s not a man who tolerates needless drama in his house.

   “True,” Pero admits. “But then, you could afford it. The houses you scammed elderly people out of and then sold, were left destitute and homeless.”

   There’s a groan on the other end. She hates being put in her place.

   “What do you want?” she snarls, probably thinking that he’s after more money.

   “I wanna talk to one of your husband’s friends. Specifically, Mr. Huang.”

   “What? W-why?” she asks, suddenly sounding fearful, and with good reason.

   Huang is known in her circles for being someone that no one crosses or questions. He’s the top representative for the Yakuza in America, and he’s not above torturing or killing people with his own hands.    However, Pero also knows that he’s a skilled businessman, and always willing to make a deal if it might benefit him or the people he represents.

   “I want the number, Wendy. That’s all.”

   He hears her start to move, likely to her husband’s office to find his address book.

   “You’re crazy, Mr. Hood. No one in their right mind goes looking for that guy,” she says while she leafs through the pages.

   She finds the number and recites it for him, before adding that she hopes the Yakuza kills him, and then she hangs up.    He immediately dials the new number, while mentally going through the list of incriminating evidence that he’s got stored up, specifically for moments like these, which he might offer up in payment for the information he wants.

   “Who is this?” a male voice calmly answers after seven signals.

   “You probably know me as Mr. Hood.”

   There’s a moment of silence on the line, but he hears fingers being snapped and then a door closing, so Huang must’ve ordered someone to leave the room before he starts talking.

   “Yes, I have heard of you. All good things, I must say.”

   “How surprising,” Pero replies, because that’s never been the case before.

   “Oh, yes. You’ve caused quite a lot of trouble for people around me, which to me, is almost always good news.”

   “Well, I do what I can.”

   “Indeed. How can I help you, Mr. Hood?” Huang asks, and he sounds almost pleased, as if the prospect greatly appeals to him.

   “I have a problem with assassins.”

   “Ah, always a pickle. Someone you hired or the other way around?”

   “Someone hunting a friend of mine,” Tovar admits, hoping that this man will have come across enough hired hands to have an idea of who the hell the two unknown men are.

   “Do you have a description?”

   “It’s a team, or at least a pair. Two men, approximately forty years old, average build, no visible tattoos, could be North American or European. Skilled, obviously well trained and highly experienced,” he recalls, sticking only to information he believes is relevant to identifying them.

   No need to describe what happened, or where, just in case this extremely dangerous guy doesn’t know them, in which case too much information might have the opposite effect of what he’s trying to do, which is keep Niki safe.

   “That sounds an awful lot like the Qwerty brothers,” Huang suggests, and then reinforces his theory. “Let me guess, one looked like a Mark Wahlberg wannabe, and the other Tom Cruise?”

   “Yeah… now that you mention it,” Pero answers, stifling a chuckle at how the memories of the two men suddenly seems comical.

   “That’s Howie and Hogan. There are four of them in total, and they’re all in the contract killing scene. The other two are Hugh and Holger, but you probably won’t encounter them. They only operate outside the US.”

   “And their surname is Qwerty?”

   “No, that’s more like their stage-name, after the Qwerty keyboard, because none of the letters fit together, but they make for an effective ensemble.    Their real surname is Bloom and if you’re looking to ambush the two who came after you, I know all of their most frequented bars and hangouts.”

   “And you’re willing to part with this information free of charge?” Tovar asks skeptically, but Huang takes no offense.

   “Like I said, Mr. Hood, your work has greatly benefitted me in the past, I’m just repaying you. And perhaps asking that you’ll refrain from looking too closely in my specific direction in the future.”

   Ah, there it is. Still, a small price to pay, especially since Pero has long since retired Mr. Hood. This is a temporary re-emergence, brought on by necessity, nothing more.

   “I can live with that.”

   “Excellent. Then I suggest you write this down…”

   Huang gives him a total of six addresses where the brothers have regularly been seen over the past year, and then the two end their conversation with polite goodbyes.    Of all the unexpected twists to come out of this day, having a mutually respectful and informative conversation with the Yakuza, certainly takes the cake. He does worry that this might in some way come back to bite him in the ass later on, but if so, that’s a headache for another day.

   None of the addresses are close enough that he can drive there tonight, though. So, for now, he settles into the notion that he’s done all he can today. He turns off the computer and heads back downstairs, finding Gillian in the chair by Niki’s side.

   “Any change?” he asks, and she looks up from the book.

   “No. How about you?”

   “I was able to find out some things, but nothing I can act on right now, so I’m gonna try and get some rest.”

   “Good,” she says, emphasizing the one word to tell him that he’s being an asshole to himself.

   He already knows that, but there’s no point in arguing about it or being mean to her for pointing it out. She cares. Even about someone as unworthy of her care as him, and he’s not gonna punish her for it.

   “If you need a break, let me know and I’ll watch her,” he says instead, gently stroking Niki’s undamaged arm before he walks over to the bed and lays down on his front, fully clothed on top of the covers.

   He falls asleep before he’s even fully relaxed into the soft and welcoming mattress.

-=¤=-

   The ringing of his phone wakes him, and the first thing he registers is that it’s still dark outside. He rolls onto his back and picks up the device from his pocket, but before he answers, he sits up and glances over at Gillian to make sure that everything is alright.    She’s looking at him with tired eyes, probably making sure that he manages to wake up enough to successfully take the call, so she’s clearly fine.

   “Hello?” he answers, his voice thick with sleep, while rubbing his eyes and scratching at his moustache.

   “Shit… you sound hungover. Been partying over there?” Will’s normal and generally gruff tone greets him.

   “Say your piece, man. I’m not in the mood for your brand of banter,” he shoots back, much too exhausted still to even try and be polite.

   “My piece is that I went and found the jackpot, jackass. So, you might wanna pay attention cause this one’s a doozy.”

   Pero sits up straighter as he hears that. He didn’t expect Garin to come back with anything substantial so fast, but it seems that knowing the project name really did speed things along.

   “I’m listening.”

   “Alright. Now, as you know, the project was very hush-hush and everything was compartmentalized and monitored, but that wasn’t the half of it. The security around this place was insane, I mean regular cavity searches, insane. So, no one could’ve smuggled anything out during the time the thing was ongoing.    And you’d think that once the number of people involved was drastically reduced with the entire staff being released back into the world, it should’ve only gotten easier to keep the records secure. But no.    I don’t know exactly who got the five-finger discount, yet, but I do know that four years ago, there was a memo sent to the head of the project, a guy named Porter Haines, explaining that sensitive information had been stolen, including all the names of the project’s department heads. Which includes your girl.    Now here’s where it gets messy. In order to ensure the safety of the newly developed weapon, instead of safeguarding the people that developed it, our fucking government decided that the best course of action would be to kill them, thereby permanently keeping their knowledge from being used by any enemy.    So, I hope you’re ready for war, my man, because that poor woman is being pursued by an outside force, and hunted by her own government.”

   God damned it. The thought has occurred to him that it could be their own people, but he never imagined that it might be twice that bad.

   “Do you know which country is the outside source?” he asks with a heavy chest, feeling as though their chances of survival just went from slim to none.

   “Not definitively, although the leads I’ve currently got are pointing at China. It could easily be a decoy, though.”

   “Hm. Interestingly, I had a conversation earlier tonight with Mr. Huang, and he was surprisingly helpful.”

   “Fucking hell… Has your girl somehow ended up in the middle of an arms race between the US, China and Japan? Talk about rotten luck…” Will remarks, sounding both shocked and impressed that one person could accomplish such a feat.

   “I’m not so sure that Japan is involved,” Pero counters. “Huang openly admitted that my work has directly helped his organization. He offered up the assassins that are after Niki, on a platter.”

   “Yeah, to make sure our people can’t dispose of her before they can get their claws into her knowledgeable brain.”

   “Except that he has no idea who I am, or that I’m in any way connected to her. If the Yakuza really had a hand riding on this game, then if Huang had already known which American assassins are after her, he would’ve just killed them himself to clear the way. He doesn’t take chances with errand boys, that’s why he is where he is.”

   “Fine, so no Japs. But that still leaves two powerful countries on her tail. What the hell are you gonna do?”

   He doesn’t have an answer for that. He just stares at Niki, fighting for her life completely unaware of just how big a shitstorm she’s in the middle of.

   “You might wanna consider cutting her lose,” Garin quietly suggests after a few beats.

   That thought has never even crossed his mind, and now that he hears it, Pero feels repelled even by the suggestion.

   “Yeah, except I’m not like you,” he spits back and then ends the call.

   It’s a low blow, but he doesn’t care. William made his own bed, and he did it by being selfish, but that doesn’t mean that that’s how everyone handles their problems.    He drops the phone onto the covers next to him and closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples and massaging his own neck, trying to absorb the reality of the trouble they’re in. It all seems too heavy and too much.    How can one person be worth this much trouble?

   “Bad news?” Gillian asks from her spot across the dimly lit room.

   He sighs, not sure how to even begin, but then decides not to.

   “You should take the truck and head back to town,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes her pause.

   For a moment, he can see that she wants to retort, to question the point of her coming here at all, if it was just to abandon them when things take a turn for the worse. But she bites her tongue. She can see in his eyes that something’s changed, and that it’s bad, but she doesn’t want to leave, so she looks away and stays quiet instead.    It’s not in her nature to leave people in need, she might not even know how to do that, much less allow herself to. She’s young, but impressive.

   She should get to live.

   “We’re safe here, right?” she finally wonders, meeting his gaze again.

   “For now,” he cautions, because while he thinks that they are, governments have nearly endless resources, especially when there’s secrets to be kept.

   He wants to believe that no one can find them here, but he knows that all it will take is time. Like water slowly polishing stone, no matter how resilient they try to be, someone will eventually wear their surface down, until the stone is dislodged, and the river comes flooding over them.    The best he can hope for, is to stay ahead of the tide.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 4

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

[lianabrooks]

How To Keep Your (Found) Family Happy

A friend posted a cartoon about weaponized incompetence on another website and talked about how every family has this. In fact, most groups of humans have run into this at some point, it's pretty normal for humans to try to find a way to take the easiest route (even if it means more work for others).

Despite all that, I've been with the same person since 2001. We've been married most of that time, had four kids together, and moved countless times as we restarted jobs, hunted promotions, and switched career fields. And we've managed to avoid most of the pitfalls. Here's how my spouse and I have avoid fights, weaponized incompetence, bitter feelings, and feeling neglected in our relationship for over 20 years (Hint: there's a lot of communication going on)... P.S. These are all very family/relationship-centric but you can absolutely adapt them for the workplace, school, or anything else.

MAKING CHOICES AHEAD OF TIME ... the menu is made at the start of the month, money is allocated before major events, we plan trips sometimes years in advance. All of that reduces the choice making later and is one less stress to handle. This is purely a decision making fatigue thing, if you have to make a decision, it requires brain power, and after a long day you'll have none. So why not sit down on a quiet day and make all the decisions you need to make for the next week? Poof! Brain power is freed up and there is less stress!

MONTHLY & WEEKLY CALENDAR SCRUBS... we sit down and make the menu around the first of the month, and we fill in the calendar with schedules so we know which days someone will be too busy to do things like cook, wash up, or something else.

DAILY CHECK-INS... whoever is home together in the morning does a morning devotional (yoga, dance time, scriptures, motivational quote, prayers, whatever works for you) and review what's happening so everyone is tracking major tests, work meetings, stressors, ect. Then we try to have dinner together if possible (even if it means eating at 5) and then a bedtime check-in before light's out (usually scriptures, prayers, and chatting, then bedtime stories for the littles). If people are working from home, we might have lunch together too. That means we have 2-4 planned meetings a day so we can course correct. -> If you're not religious, don't stress it. Pull out some Terry Pratchett quotes, favorite poems, pick a theme song for the week and dance to it. Just give you and your people five minutes to do something happy together. -> If this is at work this might mean a team meeting at the start of the day or a 12 minute check-in at 1:30 when everyone is back from lunch. The goal is to make sure everyone is on schedule for what they need, haven't run into an emergencies, and no one has questions. A supported work team gets more done.

SPENDING LIMITS... we got married in college when we lived off college stipends of $400/m. And we had a kid. Our rule was never to spend $20 without consulting the other person. We never changed that. We discuss everything from birthday presents to grocery lists and when we're getting gas in the cars even though we're much more financially stable. It means everyone spending out of the main accounts is tracking where the money is going so we don't over-splurge.

CHORE SCHEDULES... when we were first married we'd set aside an hour or so to clean the house together. It worked. As the kids got older this got more complicated (they needed to learn how to clean). But now we're at a point where everyone has assigned chores and we put bounties on chores that need to get done and are unassigned. And then we have one cleaning day (usually Friday or Saturday) where we take an hour and all clean the shared spaces. It takes 30-60 minutes to clean the entire house if you have six people working together. Laundry has assigned days for every load. The dishwasher and cooking have assigned days. It works. Everyone helps to the best of their abilities. -> With this is a lot of Adjusted Expectations. My house is not color coordinated with everything in a bin. My family is all neurodivergent. Most our dishes live on the counters because putting them away makes them vanish. This works great for us but might be overwhelming for other people. Who cares? It's our house, we're doing what works for us and the person mad about messes on Instagram can suck a lemon. -> If you really cannot do chores, cosplay it. Roll the dice and make it a game. Set a timer. Bribe yourself. Make it work for you.

ONE-ON-ONE TIME... not just for me and hubby, but for parents and kids. We try to make sure everyone gets some alone time where they are the focus of attention and we can check-in and make sure their emotional needs are met. Kids need a space to vent. Adults to a space to not be parents. -> This is super important for friendships too. Make time for people in your life! -> At work, this means managers need to make time to talk with their employees, check-in, and assess who needs things (and consider the people's needs first, not the CEO's bonus)

SCHEDULED DOWNTIME... usually this is Sunday for us (the Sabbath day for our religion), but it can be whenever, and we might have more downtime scheduled on a stressful week than in an easy one. The goal here is to make sure everyone gets time to not work, not lead, not think, and just chill. They can play, listen to music, nap, whatever their brain needs, and they can do it without upsetting anyone or feeling guilty because it's part of the schedule. -> In an office this would mean not lean staffing, maybe having an early release day once a week (or a late start) or long lunches. Give your people space to zone out and chill so they can come back refreshed. -> Quiet Quitting only exists because management is trying to exploit their staff. Don't be that boss. (P.S. Join Your Union)

SOME THINGS DON'T HAPPEN... our kids are limited to one after-school activity a year and one AP class for high schoolers. We've tried other ways and found it generates too much stress. I limit projects I take on because I have a set quitting time, even though I work from home. My husband passes up on some away-from-home events with friends because we prioritize family time. Figuring out that balance is something you have to decide as a family. What works for one person won't work for all. -> In business this means doing sustainable, slow growth over rapid booms that overextend and hurt the system. Stop looking for the short term boost when long term is better.

ADAPT TO WHAT YOUR GROUP NEEDS!... this is the most important one, because what we've done over the years has changed in reaction to the needs of people around us. My kids in college need something different than the one starting middle school. My team at the lab needed something than my team at a newspaper. If you have a bunch of introverts, they probably don't want a dance party, they want a three minute meeting with a heads up about any major disturbances and then ten minutes of silence to prepare their souls for any human interaction. Do what works.

[arrow-dodger]

Having friends is hard. Having friends as an adult is hard, specifically.

I miss the time in my late teens and early 20s when nobody had any responsibilities at home, so we could just hang out whenever. Go crash at each other's houses. Go grab chips and salsa after work whenever. Now my work friends (the people I spend the most time with by far) are all married people with obligations and shit to do. My male friend has a wife I've barely hung out with who I know doesn't like our friendship. That's always been a thing for me, but at least in the past they were just random passing girlfriends and not entire spouses. Some of my other friends hang out still, but at like, bars? I hate bars.

My older friend group is another story. Since I don't live close enough to hang out with everyone much, I only get invited to big events where everyone and their dog is there, so my frame of reference for everything is pretty limited. But the thing about the "friend group" as a living being is that people get added to it or removed from it as time goes on, and it's always really weird for me because I usually don't know any of the new people at all. That kinda happened this past year where some people were ousted and different people were added that I really don't vibe with as much? So I honestly just feel very weird, precarious, and out of place in general.

And I was already kind of feeling like I wasn't vibing with certain people as much just after months of seeing them say things that seemed really ignorant and dumb, or just things I don't personally agree with at all, but then some drama happened (while I was elsewhere, so I came back to this like the guy in the pizza fire gif) that sowed discord amongst the ranks and REALLY changed my opinion about some people for the worse. It was ultimately related to political beliefs and just... the ability to have adult discussions? And some people really showed themselves as people who spout certain beliefs but don't actually believe those things or support these causes in their daily lives, which is something I can't stand. It takes zero brain cells to repost an instagram infographic about a political issue and is another thing entirely to really learn about things, challenge yourself, and have informed beliefs. Some people just have no curiosity about the world around them and I can't understand that.

And some of it was just regular old ignorance or being uninformed, but I'm like... almost 30, so I don't want to have to constantly explain shit to people that I feel like they should already know in order for us to be on the same page about literal core values. That's not what I want out of my close relationships. Some of my friends do that on the regular for their close friends and don't seem to mind, but I don't like it. My work friends and my best friends and I are always having deep discussions, so it's hard to treat people with kid gloves or talk to them like they're five about shit, especially while [hahahahaha I just backspaced something really mean hahahahaaaaaahaha whatever, the point is I feel like some people think they're incapable of or exempt from learning new things and I disagree]

It may seem shitty to even be posting about this but I've been ruminating on it for like, three months, and haven't hung out with anyone since like April. Plus people in that group can handle their interpersonal issues however they want. PLUS, I'm slightly tipsy, so jot that down.

Anywayyy. It's also just weird to hang out with a large group of people where several of them seem to dislike each other. So I keep my distance for now. And my work friends are having a Friendsgiving and I don't think I'm gonna go because fuck holidays. I absolutely can't make myself do it when nothing about them feels true to me. But I also need to take every opportunity I can for human engagement because I never regret it.

[escudofracturado]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Vicker's Beach, Harborside PARTIES: Finn (@animotoph0bia) & Milo (@escudofracturado) SUMMARY: Two depressed stoners meet at the beach and realize they have a lot in common. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug use, suicidal ideation, and self-harm

Vicker’s was an absolutely gorgeous beach. The fact that he worked in Harborside and got to see the ocean before and after his shifts still felt a little insane. Milo had been a city boy his entire life, and as much as he did love being out in nature, there was a specific kind of energy, of magic to the city that he couldn’t get enough of. The life, the people, the culture, the art, not to mention the food. But he couldn’t deny the beauty of Wicked’s Rest, the more relaxed energy of this small town surrounded by nature. He would even go as far to say that he liked it, if not for all the horrors that seemed to be lurking around every corner. 

It’d been a long day. After losing track of time the night before, he had only gotten a few hours of sleep before having to head in for the morning shift. Not only had his manager caught someone trying to shoplift– which he always made a huge deal about– but Milo had to deal with some miserable old lady who had turned what should have been a very simple transaction into A Whole Fucking Thing that had taken about thirty minutes of his life. 

So, after clocking out, he made his way to the beach, walking down to a little rocky outcropping where he took a seat on one of the flatter rocks right on the edge of the shore. He just needed to sit and stare at the ocean for a while, watch the waves come in and go out, listen to their crashing, breathe. Milo wished his job was beach. He could be Fuck-Up Ken. Cringe Fail Ken. Dammit, now that song was gonna be stuck in his head.

—

As much as Finn preferred the general concept of ‘inside’ with its ‘no people’ and consequently, less feelings, it was a stretch to say he enjoyed spending time in this new apartment. On most days, it was manageable, when he got to lose himself in work or a video game. On days like today, where his mind was reeling and not even an extra dose of anxiolytics could stop him from sensing (or imagining, it was up for debate at this point) his neighbhours’ feelings, the apartment was a cramped space from hell. 

There was still plenty of town to explore but at this hour, most of the inner parts were crowded with people. Walking in a straight line away from civilisation felt as good of a plan as any, headphones on and eyes on the concrete until it turned to cobblestone and finally, rocks. Finn felt drained after passing all of those people, letting his gaze settle on the ocean and then fall out of focus as everyone else’s anxieties and stress and anger dissipated from his mind and body. 

He’d always enjoyed the beach, even though trips there had been few and far between. Watching the waves was definitely nice, especially with alt-J as a background noise. Now that it was finally quiet, Finn let himself dig out a smoke and lighter. As he fumbled with the lighter, his gaze finally moved from the orange horizon to the rest of the beach, landing on - fucking hell, another person. He only had the one blunt one him but getting arrested for smoking in public after less than a month in a new town would be a big mess. 

Attempting to put away the lighter obviously resulted in him dropping it because honestly, why wouldn’t it? It clattered down the rocky decline, seemingly with a will of its own and a determination to reach the damn ocean with how far it tumbled. Finn winced, slowly pulling down his headphones and risking a glance at the only other person here. Was this about to result in socialization? Fuck. 

—

Between the day he’d had and the soothing sounds of water crashing against the shore, Milo was beginning to feel the exhaustion that had created a home in his body. It was always there, had been for years, slowly eroding away at his bones, digging trenches where the daily fatigues could collect like rainwater. He was convinced that it would eventually sink him. Honestly, it was weird that it hadn’t already. It should have. It was all he felt sometimes, all he felt right then. There was a quiet peacefulness to it, to the hollowness of his being, but even that felt a little distant and muffled, just like the rest of his emotions. 

At least the beach was nice. 

The clattering of plastic on stone startled him out of his daze, and he looked behind him to see a guy standing on the rocks above him. A moment later, he noticed what appeared to be a lighter skittering and bouncing down toward him very quickly. He tried to grab for it, but it just sailed past him, ultimately landing in the water with a plop. Milo went after it, reaching into the shallow water before the waves could drag it away. Shaking off the excess water, he carefully clambered up the rocks toward the stranger.

Now that he was closer and had a moment to look, the guy was kinda cute– shaggy hair, glasses, a few visible tattoos. “Hey. Sorry, man.” He held out the lighter for the guy to take back. It hadn’t been in the water long, but it would probably need to dry out before it would work. “I’ve got a light if you need,” Milo offered. 

—

Finn watched in a bit of a stupor as his lighter was fished out from the ocean, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Walking away now would be rude, with this stranger having gone through the trouble of rescuing the cheap lighter, but it was still so very tempting. Thankfully for his future social standing in this town, Finn stayed put, turning off the blaring music in his headphones as the guy made his way up the rocky hill. 

“It’s fine,” Finn replied, mustering a smile even as he felt a faint warmth crawling up his neck and to his face. A compliment, he supposed, hair flattened by the headphones and his current shirt just barely having passed this morning’s smell check. Even so, this feeling always made him more antsy when it reared its head around someone of the same gender. Felt more invasive, somehow - what if this guy hadn’t even told anyone? And then Finn was the first person that some poor stranger inadvertently came out to, and this is how spirals start, cut it the fuck out. 

Accepting the moist lighter and pocketing it, he glanced around before looking back to the friendly stranger. He really did want a smoke. 

“Yeah, alright. That makes you complicit in any case,” he half-joked, pulling the smoke back out from where it had been hastily stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. Maybe he’d just been distracted upon arrival, but Finn could have sworn he’d been alone upon getting to the beach. There hadn’t been a flurry of emotions, just a sense of zoning out, which he’d assumed had been his own. Maybe not… “Sorry, I ruined your ocean watching.”

—

The guy seemed a little flustered, and it left Milo wondering if he was the anxious type. However, he breathed out a laugh at his comment. “Damn, it does, doesn’t it? Think we’ll be fine, though. I haven’t had any problems yet, at least.” Also, this was a college town– he doubted the cops really gave a shit about one blunt. Then again, he had heard that the WRPD was trash, so… Either way, it’s not like there was anyone else nearby. 

He dug a lighter out of his pocket, as he brushed off the apology. “Oh, no, you’re fine, dude. I was just kinda vibing anyway.” Did it count as ocean watching if he was mostly just staring blankly ahead of him in a stupor? Sure, he was looking in the direction of the ocean, vaguely taking in the view, but he also wasn’t really looking at anything. He hadn’t even been listening to music or anything. Totally cool, normal neurotypical behavior, right?

Flicking the lighter, Milo cupped a hand around the flame to shield it from the breeze as he held it out toward the other. 

—

Accepting his new partner in crime and the reassurance that no one would probably care allowed Finn to relax. A bit, it was hard to relax completely when most of your life had been a steady state of anxiety. At least this particular interaction wasn’t flooding him with emotions - he could deal with the awkwardness of a slight attraction, deal with it meaning he could forget it ever happened and try to ignore every hint of it. “Fair enough.” 

With the lighter held out, Finn got a better view of tattooed forearms, the random array of art reminding him way too much of his own insane assortment and bringing a flicker of a smile to his face. Accepting this guy as a kindred spirit helped Finn not be completely weird about leaning in close to a stranger’s hands - the smoke finally getting lit also helped. “Decent place to vibe,” he breathed out, deflating with the release of all this pent up energy. “The no people thing is definitely a plus.”

Sighing contently, Finn plopped down to the ground, taking another drag before politely holding it up towards the stranger. He wasn’t really sure whether or not he wanted the guy to actually accept it, not usually the one to actively long for company. It had been a while since he’d had some actual social interaction, though… “I’m Finn, by the way.”

—

There was something about being in such a beautiful place while being acutely aware of the emptiness inside that made reality feel intangible. The salty scent of the ocean, the pale sand, the late afternoon sun, it all combined in a way that nothing about it felt real to him. His body, like an anchor, felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to the space and time Milo currently found himself. Meanwhile, his mind was somewhere above the two young men, looking down upon the scene.

Running a finger over the heated metal as he pocketed the lighter again, he shocked himself into his body somewhat. He wondered if he should leave the guy to do his thing. He seemed to wasn’t giving off the vibe of someone who really wanted to chat with a stranger– especially with the added comment about how it was nice that there weren’t people around. The last thing Milo wanted to do was annoy the dude, but he found himself a little desperate for the human interaction, for anything that might ground him, distract him from his thoughts or, god forbid, the emotions that were always lying in wait for an opportunity to dig in and drag him under. 

But Finn surprised him, offering him the now lit blunt and introducing himself. So, he went along with it, taking a seat near him, and offering him a small smile. “Oh, thanks, man.” He took a hit, some of the heaviness easing up as he exhaled the smoke. “Milo,” he said, voice soft as he  passed it back. “Nice to meet you. Always fun to find a new partner in crime.” It was a stupid little comment, but he grinned nonetheless. 

—

It was faint. So faint and… familiar in a sense, that Finn hadn’t noticed it at first. The blankness, for lack of a better word. It was like a strange hole, or a really heavy blanket that somehow managed to not be comfortable, yet just slightly different from the one he himself indulged in when fully and completely alone. It also felt different to how his father’s had felt, that had felt a bit more like… being underwater. The second the feeling faded, Finn’s thoughts returned to the presence. And it looked like Milo had been too deep in his own hole to notice.

Now curious, and a bit empathetic, Finn found that he didn’t mind Milo accepting the offer to join him. And whatever the younger man felt wouldn’t matter in a moment, since Finn could already sense the detachment easing over him, like the smoke filling his lungs could blow away the ability to feel - both his and anyone else’s emotions. Smiling back, the gesture filled with much more ease than it would have been just a few minutes ago, he took another drag and let the shoddily rolled blunt hang from his fingers. “Yeah. Just a couple of losers smoking pot on the beach.” He paused, glancing over at Milo. “No offense.” 

He let his eyes linger on the other a moment, reading into him like a normal person would, not with the advantage (or cheating) of literally reading him. Pretty normal looking, all things considered. Seemed to get a decent amount of sunlight, had a kindred knack for tattoos and- The surprised laugh came out sounding more like a snort and Finn quickly scrambled to explain the random outburst. “Oh, fuck off. That’s…” As he spoke, oh so eloquently, he pulled back his sleeve to reveal the reason for his amusement. “Here I was thinking I would be unique in this town.” On his bicep, now turned to face Milo, was a fine line box with words. The same exact words that decorated the other’s forearm. Despite everything, it’s still you. 

—-

The weed seemed to be doing its thing, as Milo could feel some of the tension he had noticed upon first making his way over melt away with each exhalation of smoke. It was something he enjoyed about smoking with others, noticing them ease up, get out of their head a little. It always helped tear down his walls and filters with others, generally just helped him to relax. He was probably leaning on that a little too much these past several months, but, like, fuck, he needed something. And it was better than… other things. 

He chuckled. “None taken, I’m absolutely a loser, gg, you got me pegged immediately. And, I mean, hey, the beach is a pretty nice place to get high.” Milo turned his focus back to the scenic ocean view in front of them. “This town’s, like, stupidly pretty,” he murmured. He hated the draw Wicked’s Rest had on him, even when he knew how dangerous and chaotic it was here. And, he really hated that Luci seemed determined to stay in spite of the dangers. The fuckin’ rammys of my actions. Exhaling with a sigh, he was brought out of that line of thought by the other’s laugh. 

Eyebrows raised, he turned to face his new companion, a questioning look on his face and a small smile already on his face from the sound of Finn’s snort. When the other began to pull up his sleeve, Milo’s confusion only grew. That is, until he noticed the words inked onto his skin. A laugh bubbled out of him at the coincidence, and he held up his arm, gaze darting back and forth at the two nearly matching tattoos. “I mean, Undertale’s a great fuckin’ game,” he shrugged, amusement written all over his face. Shaking his head, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d never met anyone with the same tattoo before. “That’s… Yeah. Two losers with the same tattoo smoking at the beach, I guess.”

—

Finn’s big mouth had an impressive reputation for getting him into trouble, everything ranging from hurting people’s feelings to his own face doing the hurting. So it was a relief that Milo seemed to vibe with the sentiment, understand the sarcasm, however much truth it was laced with. Because they were just being a couple of losers, weren’t they? Didn’t people have shit to do at this time of day? Meet up with friends or partners, go home for family dinner, anything else than trying to drown your feelings alone on the beach? Well, not entirely alone anymore. “Game recognize game, I guess,” he shot back, easy smile settled on his face, thoughts drifting in and out of focus but not in the bad kind of way. 

The tattoo revelation seemed to shock and amuse Milo just as much as it had Finn, the two definitely starting to look the part of stoners as they sat there, staring at each other’s arms with stupid smiles on their faces. “Great fucking game is an understatement. I could code a game like that, easy, but the fucking story would never compare,” he sighed wistfully, letting his heavy head drag him closer down to the ground, now propped up by his elbows. 

“Yeah… basically the same person, seems like.” Finn took one more drag that he definitely didn’t need before the next round of mistake left his mouth. “Complete with dissociation and depression. Quite a package deal.” It took him a moment too long to realize that he obviously wasn’t supposed to know this much. Took him even longer to realize he should care, but then he just… didn’t. If Milo got angry or freaked and walked away, that would just be getting straight to the inevitable. Even though the thought of having a buddy to smoke with, someone who had the same tattoo for fuck’s sake, was achingly appealing in his current state. 

—

‘Game recognize game’ was absolutely the most dorky, loser ass response and Milo loved it. So far, Finn seemed like someone he could be friends with– good friends, maybe. And the tattoo thing really felt insane. He knew it shouldn’t and that there were likely a lot of people with the same or a very similar tattoo, but coming across one was throwing him a bit. A lot of his tattoos were just fun, random bullshit, but that was one that meant a lot to him. It was a moment in a game that he loved that had hit him hard, and the tattoo sort of served as a reminder that after everything he’d gone through growing up, he managed to survive. He had to wonder if it held that same kind of meaning to Finn, or if he was just projecting that onto the other. 

He grinned at Finn’s enthusiasm for the game. “Yeah, it’s such a good story and unique game style, and the fuckin’ soundtrack’s so good. Really, such a masterpiece of a game. Toby Fox, I love you, please make more games,” he said, throwing the words out into the void. Milo could talk a lot when sober, so he jumped onto the bit of information before he could continue rambling about the game. “You code, though? That’s super fucking cool,” he replied, eyes lighting up. “Are you a game designer or something? Or is that just the dream?”

Chuckling at the comment, he nodded. They did seem to share some common interests– to the point that they shared a tattoo– and Finn seemed pretty nice and chill. Between his company and the drugs, he felt so much more relaxed than he had before. But then he continued speaking, and once again Milo turned to the man in confusion, a slight panic rising in his chest. Was he so obvious that this stranger could read him after such a short amount of time? He couldn’t just know that, right?  “How–” He genuinely wasn’t sure what to say, ultimately just repeating himself, “How?” The panic pooling at his sternum made him blurt out the question on his mind. “Am I that obvious?” 

—

“Just the dream,” Finn had sighed, sharing this dumb and seemingly unreachable milestone with a stranger that currently didn’t feel like a stranger. Whose sentiment at shouting wishes into the voice he definitely shared. And then he had gone and fucked it all up, predictably. Where the two had seemed to be settling into an unspoken moment of leaning back and just being, Milo broke it by shooting up straight. Not his fault, obviously, since Finn - like on so many occasions - was the fuse. 

Milo was unraveling, his panic piercing through even the dull haze of the weed, and Finn forced himself to focus. Because even after only ten freaking minutes, he kinda liked the kid. “Woah, hey, just…” Finn sat up straight, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to say something that wasn’t just complete shit and would cause a further spiral. Something he was usually terrible at. “No, you’re not that obvious. You seem really chill, dude. Okay?” He sighed and under different circumstances, would have taken a second to think on his next sentence, but he didn’t currently have that privilege. “I just… feel shit, yeah? No better way to put it.”

Legs crossing, unfocused gaze made an attempt to settle on Milo. The guy who’d had the decency to save his poor lighter and offer the weirdo at the beach company. “It just slipped out because… honestly, fucking same. I didn’t even realize I was feeling your shit for a while because it just felt exactly like my shit. So like… your secret’s safe with me, or whatever.” Providing as much explanation as he could muster, Finn let himself sink back against the rocks, waves providing a sarcastically calm background for the panic he had caused. “Now’s your cue to call me a weirdo and bolt, by the way.”

—

There was such a familiar wistfulness to his sigh that Milo could almost feel the ghost of its ache in his chest. It made him even more curious about the other, if he really was capable of making such a piece of art, if there was something that held him back. What was Finn’s deal? Well, aside from reading him like a goddamn book.

Years ago, a friend had casually mentioned how even before they were friends, she had noticed he was sad, and that comment had felt like a punch to the gut. Granted, she was ridiculously smart and observant, and she had seen herself in observing him, but still. If she had been able to see him struggling just from her bored people watching during classes, then shouldn’t any of the adults in his life be able to do the same? Not that he really wanted them, or anyone for that matter, to perceive him or call attention to anything. But he was a kid, and deep down he did just want someone to notice and care and figure out how to make it better, how to fix things, fix him. Instead, he was stuck suffering through his adolescence with a brain that wanted him dead. So, there was something about being seen so clearly by a stranger that felt a little devastating to Milo. 

But… I just feel shit. Finn could just feel that he was depressed and dissociating? Feel how? Like he ‘had a feeling about it,’ or did he literally mean he could feel it feel it? Because one option was significantly worse than the other. 

He didn’t even really question the possibility of it, and that in itself made him feel a little insane. But how could he really question it? He was a fucking witch, from a family of witches, who was friends with a zombie, a werewolf, and an oread. Winter, who could see ghosts, kept calling him X because she had thought he was a mutant. His sister could probably turn water into wine if she really wanted to. This guy could somehow feel that Milo was an absolute dumpster fire of a human? Sure, why the fuck not? Finn could feel the chaos in his head, and hadn’t even noticed because he felt the same way. Fucked up if true, and he couldn’t see how the hell he would be able to know with such certainty if it weren’t. 

There were so many questions running through his head, but he was kinda high and baffled, and he couldn’t find the right words to ask. “You feel it?” he asked, finally, quietly. His emotions, the crushing weight of them, the emptiness, could he really feel them? Did he really share in them? The idea made him feel so incredibly uncomfortable while also breaking his heart a little, however, there was also a weird sense of camaraderie and even ease at the prospect of being around someone who truly understood. Maybe he hadn’t totally been projecting with his thoughts on their tattoo after all?

He wondered how much Finn knew, if he should share his own weirdo status, if he would even believe him, especially without any sort of demonstration on his part. This guy he’d met less than thirty minutes ago already seemed to know him– the real Milo– more than most people, and he didn’t know what to do with that. So, he laid back on the rock, staring up at the partly cloudy sky. “This fucking town’s totally ruined the meaning of weird for me, honestly,” he sighed.

— 

Everything felt muffled, like trying to make out words underwater, except it was feelings Finn was trying to get a read on. Not trying very hard, granted, because it still and always would make him feel icky. Like a peeping tom. A more capable person probably would have intervened, attempted to slow the roll of what was obviously a melt down in process, but Finn wasn’t even capable of slowing his own roll on a good day, much less do it for someone else. So he stayed quiet, at least giving Milo the decency of not staring at him while the inner turmoil continued. Simply holding the blunt where it could be reached, as if that was any consolation. 

Milo finally spoke, and he didn’t sound as completely bewildered as he should have. Maybe people in this town believed in psychics and shit like that. “Yup,” Finn replied casually, popping the ‘p’ and then sighing as he readjusted his position on the harsh rocks. “Yours, everyone else’s, all the time. Well, most of the time. This helps,” he explained, taking another smoke from his saving grace to prove the point. “This and sometimes the meds mom prescribed because she thinks it’s probably schizophrenia.” It only felt fair to overshare, since Finn had accidentally blurted out Milo’s deepest feelings. 

And he wasn’t leaving. Finn was talking about the shit that had made his school counselor and every therapist cock their head in a concerned way and scribble something down. Either Milo was just curious to see where this nutcase story was going, or he genuinely didn’t think Finn was crazy. It didn’t matter much, he was really just kinda thankful for the change in reaction. 

—

When he’d read about empathy powers in, like, comics and shit, Milo had always thought it sounded pretty miserable. The same with any telepathic powers, really. Just being bombarded with people’s thoughts and emotions all the goddamn time? He could barely deal with his own emotions, thank you very much, and his heart was already too soft and large for his own good, anyway. It was hard enough being the average kind of empathetic in the world they lived in, being an actual empath seemed like way too much of a burden. 

And here Finn was, telling him that he carried that exact burden, right after reading him for filth.  

“Is your mom a psychiatrist?” It shouldn’t have been the next question out of his mouth, considering the current topic of conversation, but it was what his stupid high brain latched onto. It was certainly the more easily digestible fact. He was neither high enough, nor sober enough, for this one. However, the guy wasn’t trying to, like, eat his organs or spit acid at him or throw him into a body pit or something. At least, not yet. So, you know, that was a step up from the last time Wicked’s Rest decided to totally blindside him. 

Milo gazed up at the sky, watching for a moment as a group of seagulls flew past, before suddenly pulling himself back upright. “Okay, but, like, deadass?” he asked, watching the other curiously. “Like, you’ve got the Jean Gray, ‘I feel other people’s emotions,’ empath thing going on?” 

—

The question made Finn snort with laughter because it was fucking hilarious, wasn’t it? His mom’s profession and the irony of it throughout his whole life had never been lost on him but something about hearing this question now, the something most likely being weed, was insanely funny. “Fuck yeah, she is,” he chuckled - even now, every argument about medication or trying a new therapist just felt like the sickest, but still most enjoyable, joke. “I’m the one case she can’t crack,” he sighed, attention drifting from the conversation at the sight of a particularly fluffy cloud passing overhead.

Focus snapped back at Milo’s sudden movement, head swiveling to watch him go through his revelation. Smiling, a bit lopsided in an attempt to keep his face serious, he nodded. “Deadass. Without all the cool stuff, though. No thoughts, no context. No blowing shit up, which is probably good since I can’t even control this fucking thing.” Resting his head back, Finn kept one eye open to peer at Milo, faint smile still clinging to his face despite talking about the thing he hated most. 

“You’re kinda cool, dude. For a stressed and depressed guy, at least,” he added jokingly, something akin to fondness coating the words. Considering how the day had started, Finn wasn’t hating how it had ended. Sure, he’d probably regret telling his weirdest, freakiest secret to some random guy he’d met on the beach, while high. But for now, it felt like the greatest idea he’d had in months. 

—

His laugh made it hard for Milo to keep a straight face. But his response sent a pang of concern through the younger man as he processed what he said. Finn's mom didn't believe him about his abilities, then? She had him on some kinda antipsychotics, thought he was schizophrenic. Jesus. "I guess the DSM doesn’t exactly cover empathetic– empathic?– abilities..."

Okay. He couldn't read thoughts. That was good, Milo wouldn't have to give up on his life on land and jump into the ocean, never to come back. (Distantly, he wondered if mermaids existed, and was immediately grateful the other man couldn't see the full extent of his mess and dumbassery.) He supposed Finn probably wouldn't have stuck around to talk if he could see into his mind, see all the awful, rotten parts of him. But he could feel it, felt it himself, even, and that was something Milo wouldn't wish on anyone. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "It sucks, not having control." He could feel his heart beating through his chest, feel the pulse around the hollow cavern in his chest. Jaw clenched, he held his breath as he felt it reverberate through the empty pit, sending a deep ache straight through him, and through Finn, too, presumably. 

"For a stressed and depressed loser, you mean?" he shot back, an easy grin on his face. "Back atcha, man." Maybe it was the weed or the exhaustion, or maybe it was the tattoo or the oversharing or the way Finn implied they were like the same person with similar emotions, but Milo didn't care enough to feel uncomfortable. He knew he probably should, seeing how Finn could literally read his emotions, but it wasn't something the other could control, right? 

No, instead of discomfort, there was an odd sense of ease, of comfort, almost as if they were old friends who were becoming reacquainted. …that was def at least partially because of the weed, but still, he liked the guy. It seemed he had found yet another addition for their ever-growing band of weirdos. 

[beingdreeyore]

Reviewing my MindMap for the year this afternoon. It's the one I do at the start of every year. Disappointed to say that I've been slack so far this year. Other than a few pole tricks I haven't ticked much off. For a few things I've gone woefully far in the opposite direction.

I removed checking my Mindmap weekly from my daily habit list a few months ago. It shows.

It's crazy how much I rely on goal setting and habit checklists to thrive. But I got the reminder today.

I've now got three drafts loaded onto my iPad ready to start editing. I've picked up an extra overtime shift consistent with my financial goals. I did some grocery shopping that supports my health goals. There's some baby steps right there.

It's crazy to me that I used to write an entire novel in a month and now I have to set reminders to even write ten pages a year. I feel like I don't have the creativity I used to have. I'm paralysed by insecurity and self-doubt. I need someone to tell me my writing is okay or I can't even get started. But I don't have that person. So I don't write. It's all so strange to reflect on. Every spare moment I was alone, I used to spend writing in cafes and bars and airports all over. I can't even remember the last time I sat somewhere and wrote. Looking at my MindMap I'm reminded why it was so important to me and why it continues to be.

Today was a needed day of rest and reset. I didn't even know how badly I needed it. Work have sent about another ten emails but I've ignored them all. It's a day off. I'll get to them when I'm in the office tomorrow.

It's rest and reset. It's remembering the life I was aiming to live and filling the day with tasks and hobbies that make me happy. The end of term dance performance is tonight but I'm skipping it. I'm telling myself I'll go next time. I'm not doing anything today that will increase my anxiety.

Rest and reset. That's it. Just rest and reset.

[superborb]

What am I looking for in fandom?

Overly emotional late night posts are obviously always a good idea, right? A locked post on my flist was talking about bygone fannish communities; as I'm still in between fandoms and driven by the fact that I'm trying to decide if I should give Tumblr another shot or return to Twitter or whatever*, I fell back into contemplating what I'm looking for in fandom and if I can still find it in 2023. *It's totally fine to come back six months later, crossposting, right? :D? Also, I'm especially curious what people have to say and it is late and my judgement-- questionable. Because my kneejerk reaction is community, right? That's what drew me into fandom, the love for a canon but also the search for other people to talk about it and explore it with in a way largely separate from any commercial transactions. And yeah, I'll always seek out people I find interesting and who are easy to learn from, but if that was all, I'd still just be RSS feeding it up. But I feel like I do have that, so what am I doing wrong? On DW, I have a reasonably active flist, though it is nearly entirely media recs, with some personal and fandoms-I'm-not-in posts mixed in. I guess it doesn't scratch the fandom itch because even if a book is being passed around (very fun!), it's still at most one discrete post per person + comments. Mastodon is not quite active enough to feel like a community yet, just a somewhat scattered group chat. I guess the closest I have right now is Discord: I moderate a cnovel reading group where we're currently reading Little Mushroom and so chat multiple times through the week about it (unfortunately, Little Mushroom IMO is not... good enough to stand up to this treatment...)! In two separate servers, I now have weekly watch parties! And I'm reading fic and assembling a DCU recslist (tentative subtitle: 20 years of DCU), so I'm doing something concrete with fannish energy, even if it's a fandom where I chat with one other person in. I guess I have a few horrible hypotheses, some more horrible than others: 1. I miss scrolling through stuff and keeping up with a busy large group. On LJ, I would routinely be ?skip=100 daily; on Twitter I used to spend around 1.5 h daily keeping up. This would suck because it would imply that I'm superficial and primarily satisfied with parasocially looking at people's (fannish) lives lol. 2. The obvious: I'm not really emotionally invested in any fandoms right now, and idly chatting about jpop or BLs or cdramas are not the same as being all in on a single canon, thinking about and reading meta/fics. But I was (probably?) satisfied looking at fandom from afar for the decade I was out, with only sporadic commenting as engagement. 3. The most impossible to fix: displaced stress over something completely different. 4. I'm looking for something that isn't present in those existing avenues: lots of in depth meta. While I stayed subscribed to lots of authors on AO3 and found new authors to subscribe to, the meta writers slowly changed Tumblrs (which broke my RSS connection) or left fandom and I didn't search out more. Maybe fixable? Tumblr meta is so much harder to find, and also I'm older now and my standards have gone up (as I discovered when I was going through my old Pinboard links), but it... still exists somewhere I'm sure. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe I'll try Tumblr again and focus on meta writers?

On DW: https://superborb.dreamwidth.org/494109.html