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rootedinrevisions · 14 hours ago

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Too Late: Part 3 (Final Part)

SUMMARY: You find yourself at a crossroads, reflecting on your fears and the love that once defined your relationship with Tyler. After a heartfelt conversation with your mother, you reach out to Tyler, who agrees to meet, unsure of what to expect. What begins as a casual meal at the local diner evolves into a candid, emotional discussion where both of you confront your past mistakes, vulnerabilities, and hopes for the future. As walls come down and trust begins to rebuild, an unspoken connection blossoms once more.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support this story/series has received! This is the third and final part of the story that I have planned. I hope you guys enjoy it! xx

WARNINGS: None really. Mentions of past trust issues (what happened in the 1st part)

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The last of the plates clinked as Tyler set it into the drying rack. His hands moved automatically, a practiced rhythm that mirrored yours as you worked side by side in the kitchen. The early morning sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, casting soft golden streaks across the countertop. The silence between you was no longer heavy or awkward. Instead, it felt easy, almost peaceful—an unspoken truce forged over breakfast and stolen moments.

You rinsed the final dish, turning it over in your hands to ensure it was spotless before passing it to Tyler. He dried it with deliberate care, his fingers brushing the edges of the plate before placing it neatly in the cupboard. Neither of you spoke, but the weight of unspoken words lingered between you, quiet but persistent.

When the dishes were done, Tyler folded the towel and hung it neatly on the oven handle. “I can drive you over to your mom’s if you want,” he offered, his voice low but steady. “So you can grab your car.”

You nodded, wiping your damp hands on the front of your jeans. “Yeah… thanks.”

The drive to your house passed in near silence, the faint hum of the truck’s engine the only sound between you. Tyler kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other draped across the armrest. You found yourself stealing glances at him, your gaze lingering on the set of his jaw and the way the morning light danced across his profile.

It wasn’t until Tyler pulled into the driveway of your mom’s house and shifted the truck into park that you realized how tightly you’d been gripping your seatbelt. The familiar sight of the front porch with its white railing and your mom’s potted plants brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. You stared at the door, your stomach twisting with a sudden, inexplicable knot of anxiety.

Your thoughts drifted to your mom. The doctors had said they’d call if there was any change, and there hadn’t been. No news is good news, you reminded yourself, but the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. Something about stepping into that house, uncertain whether your mom was going to make it, left you frozen with hesitation.

“You okay?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, but it carried enough concern to pull you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced over at him. His steady gaze was on you, his brows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your expression.

You took a deep breath, nodding once. “Yeah,” you said, but the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

Tyler didn’t look convinced.

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve as you stared back at the house. After a moment, you turned to him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Would you... come inside with me? I don’t really want to be alone in there right now.”

The words hung in the air, and you braced yourself for some kind of resistance. But Tyler just nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

He turned the truck off and climbed out, waiting for you to join him before the two of you walked to the front door together. You unlocked it and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet stirring a wave of memories. Tyler lingered just inside the doorway, his hands shoved into his jean pockets as his eyes scanned the room.

“I’ll be right here,” he said gently.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Climbing the stairs to your old bedroom felt surreal, like stepping back into a time capsule. The walls were still painted the same pale yellow you’d chosen in high school, and the mismatched furniture you’d left behind was exactly where it had always been.

You grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, quickly changing out of the borrowed clothes. After running a brush through your hair, you tied it back into a ponytail, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired—more tired than you wanted to admit—but there was no time to dwell on that now.

When you made your way back downstairs, Tyler was still standing by the door, just as he’d said. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached, his voice quiet but steady.

You nodded, offering a faint smile. “Yeah.”

He held the door open for you as you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin. Something about his presence steadied the unease still twisting in your chest. For now, it was enough.

The two of you stepped outside, and you locked the house behind you. Tyler was already back at his truck, standing by the driver’s side door. His hand rested on the handle, but instead of climbing in, he turned to look at you.

There was something hesitant in his expression, like he was trying to muster up the right words but couldn’t quite find them. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You took a deep breath, hugging your arms across your chest as the morning air nipped at your skin. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Tyler at the hospital yesterday had been comforting. He’d been a steady presence in a moment when everything felt like it was spiraling. And the thought of walking back into that hospital room alone right now made your chest tighten.

Your dad’s last update replayed in your mind. The earliest he could get there would be later tonight. He’d been out of town on business when the accident happened and was scrambling to book last-minute flights and make the long journey back.

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain warning you this was a bad idea. But you couldn’t help it. You glanced over at Tyler.

“Would you…” You paused, swallowing hard. “Would you come sit with me at the hospital? Just until my dad gets there?”

You braced yourself for some kind of resistance, but Tyler didn’t even hesitate. He nodded without a second thought. “Of course.”

Relief flooded through you, and though you tried to hide it, you were pretty sure he saw it in your face. You climbed into the truck, and Tyler started the engine, pulling out of the driveway. The hum of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between you, but this silence felt different—less heavy, more comfortable.

When you reached the hospital, Tyler parked and cut the engine. You both made your way through the sliding glass doors and up the elevator to your mom’s room. As you reached the floor, Tyler slowed his steps, glancing at the small waiting area near the elevators.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” he asked, his voice quiet and careful, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You hesitated, looking back toward the hallway that led to your mom’s room. For a moment, the idea of walking in alone made your stomach churn.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You can come in.”

Tyler nodded, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the way the two of you moved in tandem—and the fleeting contact sent a strange mix of comfort and nerves through you.

When you reached your mom’s room, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the door handle. Tyler didn’t say anything, but his presence at your side was enough to make you feel steady.

You and Tyler stepped into the room, the soft hum of machines filling the air. Your mom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door, and when she saw you, a tired but genuine smile spread across her face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

You moved to her bedside, leaning down to give her a gentle hug. As you embraced her, you felt her gaze shift over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” she said warmly, catching sight of him lingering near the door. “Come in, honey. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler replied, nodding as he stepped further into the room.

He seemed hesitant, unsure of how much space to take up. After a moment, he settled into a chair in the corner, his broad frame somehow making the small hospital chair look even smaller.

You pulled a chair closer to your mom’s bed, taking her hand in yours. Her skin was cool and fragile beneath your fingers, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

For a while, the room was filled with quiet conversation between you and your mom. You told her about the house, reassured her that everything was in order, and avoided bringing up anything that might worry her further. Tyler stayed silent, his presence steady but unobtrusive, watching the two of you with a quiet attentiveness.

When the nurses came in to administer pain medicine, your mom began to fade into drowsiness. You smoothed her blanket over her, watching as her breathing evened out and her eyes fluttered shut. The room grew quiet again, a stillness settling over everything.

You glanced over at Tyler. He’d leaned back in his chair, his phone in hand, occasionally responding to a text or scrolling through something. But for the most part, he just sat there, a calming presence you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Hours passed in that comfortable silence. At some point, you noticed Tyler’s head start to dip forward, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilting slightly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was around then that your mom stirred. You turned your attention back to her as she opened her eyes and smiled at you.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice still a little groggy.

You hesitated before nodding. “I’m okay,” you said, though the words didn’t feel entirely convincing.

Your mom glanced past you, her smile growing a little wider when she saw Tyler sleeping in the corner. “Are you two talking again?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Not really. He’s just… trying to help right now.”

Your mom let out a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and knowing. “Which one of you is being stubborn?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind of expression only a mother could manage, equal parts teasing and serious. “I mean, Tyler’s here, isn’t he? Sitting in a hospital room with you for hours, even though you two aren’t together anymore.” She tilted her head slightly, studying your face. “That boy cares about you. He always has.”

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Mom, you’re forgetting why we broke up in the first place. He was never around. He missed birthdays, holidays… even our anniversary once. How do you think that made me feel?”

Your mom sighed, her expression softening. “I know it hurt, sweetheart. I know it did. But have you ever thought about why he worked so much? Why he was gone so often?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because his job was more important than I was.”

“No,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unwavering. “Because he wanted to give you the world. Tyler would do anything to make you happy, and the way he thought he could do that was by working hard and making sure you had everything you could ever want.”

You started to argue, but she held up a hand.

“He wasn’t gone because he didn’t care,” she continued. “He was gone because he cared too much. That YouTube channel, the storm chasing—it’s how he made his money. It’s how he provided for the two of you. Do you know how many times he called me, asking what he could do to make things better for you? How many times he worried he wasn’t enough for you?”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss.

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” she said softly. “And I’m not saying it didn’t hurt you when he missed things. But he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He was doing it because he thought it was the best way to take care of you. And maybe he didn’t always get it right, but his heart was in the right place.”

You looked down at your hands, her words circling in your mind.

“Don’t let fear or pride keep you from giving him another chance, sweetheart,” she said gently. “People make mistakes. They grow. And from what I’ve seen, that boy would do anything to make things right with you.”

You glanced over at Tyler, still asleep in the chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle. Despite everything, his presence here—just being here—had been more comforting than you’d expected.

Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes love means letting go of the hurt and giving someone the chance to show you they’ve changed.”

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Tyler proved to be a steady presence in ways you hadn’t expected. It started with small gestures—things that felt almost too thoughtful to be coincidental.

The first time, it was coffee. You’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as you worried about your mom, your dad still trying to make it home, and the ever-present weight of Tyler being sort of back in your life. You’d shown up at the hospital bleary-eyed and running on fumes, only to find Tyler already there, leaning casually against the wall outside your mom’s room.

“Morning,” he’d said, holding out a cup of your favorite coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

You’d blinked at him, caught off guard. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been ordering the same thing since I met you,” he said with a small smile.

The warmth that spread through you at his thoughtfulness was immediate, but you tamped it down, nodding as you took the cup from his hand. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

But that wasn’t the only time.

The next day, you’d mentioned offhandedly that you needed to grab a few groceries before heading back to the hospital. By the time you made it to the store after your visit, Tyler was already there, leaning against his truck in the parking lot with a bag in hand.

“Saved you a trip,” he’d said simply, handing you the groceries you needed.

“Tyler,” you started, a mixture of gratitude and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone calm and even. “But I wanted to.”

And then there were the texts.

How’s your mom doing today?Did you get some rest last night?Let me know if you need anything.

They came consistently, never pushy but always there, like a quiet reminder that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that he was just being polite, trying to make up for the past. But the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore.

One evening, after another long day at the hospital, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, Tyler’s latest text lighting up your phone.

Did you eat today?

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. He wasn’t asking out of obligation. He wasn’t trying to win points. He was just… there. Consistent.

It felt foreign—this version of Tyler who wasn’t promising the moon and stars but showing up in small, meaningful ways instead.

You typed out a quick reply, trying to keep it casual. Yeah, grabbed something at the cafeteria. Thanks for checking in.

His response came almost immediately. Good. You need anything?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you wanted to tell him no, to keep him at arm’s length where it felt safe. But another part of you—the part that had started noticing the way he remembered your coffee order, the way he didn’t hesitate to pick up groceries, the way his presence made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter—wanted to say yes.

Instead, you settled on something in between. I’m good. Thanks, though.

You set your phone down, your emotions swirling in a way that felt impossible to untangle. You could see the effort he was making, the consistency you once doubted in him. And yet, the fear of repeating past mistakes loomed large, a wall you weren’t sure you were ready to let down.

As you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder: Could you let yourself trust him again? Or was holding back the only way to keep from getting hurt?

The answer felt as distant and elusive as ever, but one thing was clear—Tyler wasn’t going anywhere. And that scared you as much as it comforted you.

* * * * *

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to say yes when Tyler offered to have you over for a few hours. Maybe it was his reasoning—that you needed a break after days at the hospital. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was finally back, sitting with your mom as she started to regain her strength. Or maybe, deep down, you knew you wanted to be here, in his space, no matter how much it scared you.

Tyler’s house was just as you remembered—cozy, and filled with small touches that made it unmistakably his. The scent of cedarwood lingered faintly in the air, and the shelves were dotted with framed photos and little souvenirs from his storm-chasing adventures.

“Make yourself at home,” he’d said, heading into the kitchen to grab drinks. “I’ll be right back.”

You wandered aimlessly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that settled over you. It felt too easy to picture yourself here again, and that thought sent a pang of unease through you.

As you drifted toward the small desk in the corner of the living room, something caught your eye. The drawer was slightly ajar, and within it, a glint of gold and a small velvet box peeked out. Your curiosity got the better of you, and before you knew it, you were reaching for it.

When you opened the box, your breath caught.

It was the ring. The family ring. The delicate gold band with the intricate etching you’d admired since you were a little girl. The one your mom always said she’d pass down when the time was right.

Your fingers trembled as you held it, a dozen emotions colliding in your chest—shock, confusion, hurt. You didn’t hear Tyler’s footsteps until he was already in the doorway.

He froze when he saw you, his expression unreadable.

“What…” Your voice came out in a whisper, shaking as much as your hands. “How do you have this?”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I—” He stopped, as if weighing his words. “I didn’t think you’d find that.”

“That’s not an answer.” You looked up at him, your voice sharper now. “How do you have this? This is my family’s ring. My grandmother’s ring.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might deflect or brush it off, but then he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had it because… I was going to ask you,” he admitted quietly. “Before we broke up.”

The room felt like it tilted beneath you. “You… what?”

“I’d talked to your parents. Asked for their blessing,” he continued, his voice steady but softer now. “Your mom gave me the ring. She said it was tradition, that it would mean something to you. And I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I loved you enough to want to make you mine forever.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Tyler… why didn’t you tell me?”

His brows furrowed, his frustration evident. “How was I supposed to bring that up? ‘Hey, by the way, I was planning to propose before you ripped my heart out’? It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation we were having when you left.”

Your chest tightened at the bitterness in his tone. “I didn’t just leave for no reason, Tyler. You were never there. You were always off chasing storms or working on the channel. I felt like I was just… waiting for you to choose me over everything else.”

Tyler’s expression hardened, but his voice didn’t rise. “I wasn’t gone because I didn’t care. I was gone because I was trying to build something for us. To give you the life you deserved. Do you think I wanted to spend all that time away from you?”

“You could’ve told me that!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Instead, you just kept pushing forward like I was supposed to read your mind. How was I supposed to know you were doing it for me when you never said anything?”

“I thought you knew!” he countered, his voice finally rising. “I thought you understood. I thought what we had was strong enough to get through it. But instead, you walked away without even giving me a chance to explain.”

The room felt unbearably small, the air thick with unspoken pain. Tyler took a step closer, his eyes locking with yours.

“I didn’t know how to fight for someone who had already made it clear she didn’t want me,” he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, regret—left you feeling raw and exposed.

Tyler reached for the ring, picking it up from where it rested on the desk. He held it out to you, his hand steady despite the tension in his jaw.

“Take it,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s yours anyway. Keep it, or take it back to your mom’s—I shouldn’t have it anymore.”

You stared at the ring, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his words, the pain in his eyes, the ring that symbolized everything you’d lost and didn’t know if you could get back—it was all too much.

“I can’t do-,” you whispered, stepping back. “I… I need time to think.”

Tyler’s hand lowered, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded, slipping the ring back into the box and tucking it away in the drawer.

The argument had left you both emotionally drained, the air in the room thick with all the things unsaid. Tyler had retreated, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone with the silence. You could hear his footsteps as he made his way out the front door and onto the porch. After that, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It felt like a heavy kind of stillness—almost suffocating in its weight.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the drawer where the ring had been returned, now hidden away again. Your fingers reached out, pulling open the drawer and picking up the box. You didn’t open the box or look at the ring. You just quietly put the box into your purse. You told yourself you’d give it back to your mom.

Tyler’s house had always held a special place in your heart. The old farmhouse, weathered but sturdy, had been his dream long before you moved in. He’d poured himself into this place, building it up, making it his own. His grandparents’ house, the land that had been in his family for generations—he’d often told you how much it meant to him. The memories of the two of you walking through the fields, sitting on the porch at dusk, talking about the future… it was all a part of him. And yet, it didn’t feel like home in the way it used to. Not anymore.

You’d moved here together once, a promise of a new chapter, a future side by side. And in many ways, it had been your home. A place where you’d shared laughter, arguments, and everything in between. But now, as you stood in the familiar space, everything felt different.

You moved through the house slowly, almost instinctively, as if searching for something—some sign that the past could be healed, that the love you once had could still be found in the cracks of this place. But every room seemed to hold its own kind of sadness, a reminder of what had been lost.

When you reached the kitchen, you ran your hand over the counter, feeling the familiar grooves of the old wood. This was where you used to stand while Tyler cooked dinner, teasing him about his “experimental” dishes, laughing at how he always burned something. He’d smile and tell you that’s why he had you, to make sure you guys didn’t starve. Then he’d pull you into a kiss, the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything else. The kind of kiss that made you feel like nothing could ever tear you apart.

But then, as you stood by the window, your gaze naturally fell outside. The view from here was familiar, the long stretch of land with the barn at the far edge of the property.

And that’s when you saw him. Tyler.

He was standing outside by the old barn, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, the axe gripped firmly in his hands. You watched, your heart dropping a little in your chest. He was splitting wood—heavy, deliberate swings with a rhythm that seemed almost mechanical. You had seen him do this before. It was his way of working out whatever was on his mind, his way of channeling anger or frustration. It was a pattern you knew all too well, one that had been there even before you left.

When he split wood like this, you knew better than to interrupt. It was his space, his time, his way of dealing with things. He didn’t want anyone there. He didn’t want to talk. It was his silent, solitary method of pushing everything down, of pretending that the world around him didn’t hurt.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest as you watched him swing the axe, each strike carrying the weight of things unsaid. Your eyes burned slightly, the tears you hadn’t realized were threatening to fall welling up.

The sight of him like this—the man you still cared about, the man who had been so much a part of your life—hurt in a way you hadn’t prepared for. You’d hoped that seeing him here, in this space, would make things clearer. But instead, it made you question everything.

Was this your fault? Was he out there, splitting wood because of you? Because of the things you’d said, the things you’d walked away from?

You could almost feel the tension in his every movement, the frustration he was releasing with each swing. He wasn’t angry at the wood. He was angry at everything that had happened between you two—at the distance that had grown, at the things left unsaid. He was angry at himself for not being able to fix it, and maybe, just maybe, angry at you for walking away.

You stood there for a long time, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, your breath shallow. You wanted to go outside, wanted to talk to him, to ask him to stop. But you knew better. You’d learned that lesson a long time ago. When Tyler was like this, the best thing you could do was give him space. He would come to you when he was ready. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

You blinked, trying to clear your eyes, but the image of him out there—alone, working through his pain in silence—stayed with you, heavy and haunting.

You sighed, picking up your bag and making your way to the door. As you stepped out into the cool afternoon air, the weight of the ring seemed to grow heavier in your bag. Walking down the front steps, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had with Tyler was still there, just waiting for you to reach out and claim it. But you were scared. Scared of reopening old wounds, scared of trusting again, scared of letting yourself believe that it could work out this time.

As you drove away from the house, the ring resting silently in your bag, you couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said. For the first time, you started to wonder if you’d been too afraid to face your feelings for him.

* * * * *

The house was quiet when you finally got back to your parents’ place, the weight of the past few days pressing down on you. The hours spent at the hospital, the conversations with your mom, the raw argument with Tyler—it all swirled in your mind, and you couldn’t seem to escape the echoes of the past.

You were sitting in the living room now, curled up in the old armchair. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast long shadows on the walls, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house. Your mind was running through everything that had happened. Your mom’s voice rang in your head, reminding you that you were likely pushing Tyler away because you were afraid of getting hurt again. But even as you replayed her words, it was hard to shake the feeling of uncertainty.

It wasn’t love you were lacking. That much was clear to you. The memories of your time together—both the good and the bad—flooded your thoughts, and the love you once shared was still there, even if it was buried under layers of hurt. You could still feel the way your heart had raced when Tyler kissed you, the way he had held you close on the coldest nights. You had loved him with everything you had, and a part of you still did. But now? Now, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, too scared to take the leap, too unsure of where it might lead.

Your thoughts drifted to the last few days—Tyler’s quiet presence when you needed him, the way he had shown up, consistently and without hesitation. He brought you coffee when you needed it most, offered to run errands, texted you just to check in. Every little thing he did was a reminder of the person he had become, the one who wanted to be there for you, no matter how hard it might have been for him.

You couldn’t ignore the changes. He wasn’t the same as he had been before. He’d made mistakes, but he’d also shown you that he was willing to work on himself. The way he had apologized, the way he had acknowledged his faults—it was all part of the healing process.

And yet, even now, as you sat there in the silence, your heart was heavy. You were scared to trust again. Scared to believe that this time, things would be different. The fear of repeating past mistakes loomed over you, a constant companion in your thoughts. How could you know for sure that Tyler wouldn’t hurt you again?

You thought back to the day you broke up—how Tyler had tried so hard to be what you needed but had failed, leaving you to feel abandoned. You remembered the words he said, the frustration in his voice as he admitted he didn’t know how to fix things. But now, you knew he was trying. He wasn’t perfect, but he was showing you he cared in a way that mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about being willing to try. And for the first time in a long while, you started to wonder if you were ready to take the risk.

As you sat there, you felt the weight of the ring in your pocket, still a physical reminder of what could have been. The family ring. The one Tyler had almost given you. He’d wanted to give you everything, to make you his forever. It stung, thinking about how close he had been to doing that, and how you had walked away before you could even see what might have been.

But maybe now was the time to face what had been left unsaid. Maybe now was the time to acknowledge that you weren’t as afraid of him as you were of what it would mean to trust him again. Maybe it was time to stop holding onto the past and to start letting yourself heal, to start letting him back in.

Your thoughts lingered there for a moment, wondering where things might go if you took that next step, if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to take the chance on him again.

* * * * *

You took a deep breath, staring at the screen of your phone, your finger hovering over the “Send” button. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times, but now that it was here, the weight of it was almost too much.

Tyler. You hadn’t really spoken since that painful argument over the ring. But something in you had shifted. The clarity that came after your reflection—the understanding that your hesitation wasn’t about love, but about trust��had led you to this point. You weren’t ready to give up on him, not yet. You needed to talk, to lay everything out, and to figure out if there was a way forward.

With one last deep breath, you typed out a quick message: Can we talk?

You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, and then hit send.

The response came a few minutes later, fast and blunt: Sure. What about?

You hesitated, your mind racing. Can you meet me?

There was a long pause before his reply. You could almost feel his hesitation through the screen: Why can’t we talk now?

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart racing again. I just think we need to talk in person.

Okay. Where?

You agreed on a quiet spot at a local diner, one you used to go to together when things were easier. The diner was just as you remembered it—faded red booths, a flickering neon sign in the window, and the faint smell of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. It had been weeks since you’d sat here with Tyler, sharing laughs over milkshakes and fries. Now, as you pushed open the door, the memories hit you like a wave, bittersweet and unrelenting.

Tyler was already there, seated in the far corner by the window. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared out at the parking lot. He didn’t look tense—just tired, like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something he knew wasn’t coming.

When he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his expression softened, and he offered a small, polite smile.

“Hey,” he said, standing as you approached the booth.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you added, unsure of how to start.

Tyler waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. Everything okay? Is this about your mom or... something else?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his assumption. He thought this was about your mom—or maybe something unrelated entirely. You realized he hadn’t even considered that this might be about him. That hit you harder than you expected.

“No, she’s fine,” you said quickly. “It’s not about her.”

A waitress appeared with two menus, setting them down before taking your drink orders. Once she walked away, Tyler leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely. “So, what’s on your mind?”

You traced the edge of the menu with your finger, searching for the right words. “I’ve just... been thinking a lot lately,” you started, your voice steady but quiet. “About everything. About us.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. When he did, his tone was careful, like he didn’t want to assume too much. “Us?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Us.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his expression—hope, maybe, though he tried to mask it. “Okay,” he said slowly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I’ve been thinking about why I’ve been so hesitant... why I haven’t been able to just move on or figure out what I want. And I realized it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s not because I don’t... love you.”

Tyler’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“It’s because I’m scared,” you continued, pushing through the lump in your throat. “I’m scared of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again. And I know that’s not fair to you, because you’ve done so much to show me you’ve changed. But it’s the truth.”

Tyler leaned back slightly, his hands dropping to the table. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but firm. “I can’t blame you for being scared,” he said. “I don’t. And if I could go back and change the way I handled things back then, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. All I can do is try to show you now that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I see that,” you admitted. “And I want to believe it. I do. But this is going to take time, Tyler. If we do this—if we try again—I need to know we’re on the same page.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his voice full of sincerity. “Whatever you need. Time, space, anything.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and fear, but you pushed past it, meeting his gaze. “I need honesty. Communication. Consistency. If I’m going to trust you again, I need to know you’re not going to disappear or pull away.”

Tyler reached across the table, his hand stopping just short of yours, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady.

“You have my word,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could work.

“I’m willing to try,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to give you away. “But we have to start over. From scratch. No rushing, no expectations. We figure this out one step at a time.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “One step at a time,” he echoed.

The conversation between you and Tyler drifted into lighter topics as the waitress returned to take your order. You both opted for the diner’s signature cheeseburgers, a choice that made Tyler chuckle.

“Some things never change,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You always did love their fries.”

“And you always managed to steal half of them,” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

For a while, it felt easy—almost normal. The tension that had weighed so heavily at the start of the conversation seemed to fade as you reminisced about old times. Tyler told you about the farm and the projects he’d been working on, and you found yourself laughing at his stories about the chickens escaping their pen and wreaking havoc in the garden.

When the food arrived, Tyler immediately reached across the table and snagged one of your fries, grinning mischievously as he popped it into his mouth.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Consider it interest,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

As the meal wound down, the check arrived, and Tyler reached for it without hesitation.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, grabbing for the small black folder.

“I got it,” Tyler said firmly, holding it just out of your reach.

“Tyler, I can pay for mine,” you insisted, leaning across the table in a futile attempt to snatch it.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “You can get the next one.”

“Next one?” you echoed, your cheeks flushing slightly.

He froze for a split second, realizing what he’d said. But instead of backtracking, he leaned forward, his expression softening. “Yeah. Next one.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t argue. Tyler slid his card into the folder and handed it to the waitress, who returned moments later with a receipt for him to sign.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, the world felt quieter. The neon sign buzzed faintly above you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk.

Tyler walked beside you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. You fell into step together, the sound of your footsteps the only noise between you.

When you reached your car, you paused, turning to face him. He stopped too, standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the chill in the air.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, Tyler reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around your hand.

The simple gesture sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in years. You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling at the unspoken promise in his touch.

As you started to pull away, Tyler hesitated. His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and when his eyes met yours, they were filled with something quiet and certain.

“Can I—” he started, his voice catching, but you didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. But as Tyler tilted his head, his free hand moving gently to your waist, it deepened just enough to make your heart race.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were still close, your breath mingling in the cool night air. Tyler’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mixture of wonder and relief.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though it carried the weight of so much more.

“You too,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

As you climbed into your car and drove away, you couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror. Tyler stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching until your taillights disappeared into the night.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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nexadarling · 2 days ago

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I have to tell yall something that none of you are going to like....

It's not the same gear.

I know, I know, we all want it to be the same gear from when Jayce and Viktor first got the Arcane to work for them, we all want Viktor to have kept it with him for sentimental reasons, i know. Trust me, I do too. But it's not

Don't get me wrong, it still represents the same thing! Their relationship, the whole "two sides of the same coin" thing, what they've built, how connected they are. The corruption that's taken over. It still means the same, it's just a different gear.

"But Nexa how do you know?!" I hear you scream. I'm so glad you asked.

Let's look at the gear in question

Pretty, right? And the gear's pretty cool, too

Now let's look at the gear from That Scene in s1

Do you see the problem yet?

They're very different sizes. The original gear is much smaller, and the center hole is wider in relation. Viktor's corrupted gear has a smaller opening but is honestly overall pretty large as far as gears go.

Here's one more view of the corrupted gear for comparison

(Sorry, sorry, I know it hurts. But it's a really good close up)

Aside from the increased detail, I think this shot shows pretty well that the center is too different for it to be the same. The animation in Arcane is honestly too meticulous to miss that.

Which makes sense, Viktor and Jayce wouldn't have really had time to grab anything from that lab as they left. And Viktor didn't hold on to the gear, he let it float away. Even if he did remember exactly what it looked like, he'd have to go find it while the enforcers and Heimerdinger were already there, and I highly doubt they were inclined to let that happen.

So instead I propose a different solution! Viktor grabbed that gear on his way out of the lab for the last time, likely planning to never again see Jayce - or at least all they had built together - after that.

All in all, this distinction doesn't really matter and please keep writing heartbreaking stuff where it is the same gear cause I feed off that shit. I just wanted to share this particular observation. And also I think Viktor grabbing a gear on his way out as a reminder is equally heartbreaking.

#arcane #jayvik #jayce #viktor #jayce talis #viktor arcane #arcane s2 #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane spoilers #meaningless distinctions #it's a tiny thing but it bothers me to see ppl say it's the same one #or... bothers is a strong word #i just wanted to point it out #and suggest my own heartbreaking theory #cause you know #they aren't heartbreaking enough on their own already #i think too much about this gear god help me #where are queue and i'm so sorry

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prettygirl-gabi · 10 hours ago

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Chapter 7: Homecoming

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: who would have thought going home would have Granny playin match maker..

Welcome to the chapter 7 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The plane ride back to Georgia felt longer than it should have. The weight of the past month pressed down on me as I stared out the window. Between the rumors, the growing connection with Paige, and the pressure of my final project, I needed a break. But more than that, my grandmother needed me.

When I walked into her cozy home, the scent of lavender and fresh cornbread greeted me like a warm hug. She was in her usual spot in the living room, knitting a quilt and wearing her signature smile, though she looked thinner than I remembered.

“Come here, baby,” she said, her voice still strong despite her frailty.

I dropped my bags and hugged her tightly. “Missed you, Granny.”

For the next few days, I tried to clear my mind. I helped around the house, took long walks through the fields behind Granny’s home, and even stayed off my phone. But no matter what I did, my thoughts kept drifting back to Paige.

Paige’s POV

I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into practice and didn’t see Y/N behind her camera. She always arrived early, her tripod already set up and ready to go.

“Where’s Y/N?” I asked KK as we stretched.

“She went home to Georgia for the week,” KK said, shooting me a look. “Coach told me her grandma’s sick, but I think she also needed a break from all the drama.”

That explanation didn’t sit right with me.

After practice, I went straight to Coach Geno’s office. “Can I talk to you?”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “What’s on your mind, Bueckers?”

“It’s about Y/N,” I admitted. “I think I need to check on her. I know my knee’s almost 100%, so maybe I could use this time to—”

He held up a hand, cutting me off. “I was going to suggest the same thing. Take the week. Rest your knee. And while you’re at it, make sure Y/N doesn’t quit on me.”

Two days later, I was on a plane to Georgia. The moment I landed, I reached out to her mom, who sounded delighted to hear from me.

“She’s been so down lately,” her mom said. “Maybe you can cheer her up. Come on over.”

The house was just as Y/N had described—modest, warm, and filled with love. Her mom greeted me with a hug, and her grandmother waved from her spot on the couch.

“She’s out back,” her mom said. “Go on, now.”

I found her sitting on the porch steps, staring out at the open field as the sun dipped below the horizon. She didn’t notice me at first, so I softly cleared my throat.

Her head whipped around, her eyes wide. “Paige? What are you doing here?”

“I heard you needed a break,” I said, sitting down beside her. “Thought I could help.”

Y/N’s POV

For hours, we talked about everything—our favorite childhood memories, the stress of college, and the whirlwind of the past month. Paige opened up about the pressure she felt as a super senior, the expectations that came with being Paige Bueckers.

“I didn’t mean to make things harder for you,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on the stars above.

“You didn’t,” I replied, resting my head on her shoulder. “If anything, you’ve made it easier.”

We stayed like that until the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon.

Later that afternoon, while I was out running errands with my mom, Granny and Paige sat on the back porch swing.

Paige’s POV

Granny handed me a glass of sweet tea, her sharp eyes studying me over the rim of her own glass.

“You like my granddaughter, don’t you?” she asked, her tone as casual as if she were asking about the weather.

I nearly choked on my tea. “I—I do,” I admitted. “But it’s not just about liking her. I respect her. She’s... special.”

“She is,” Granny agreed, her expression softening. “But she’s also stubborn. Gets it from me.”

I chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

Granny leaned forward, her voice dropping slightly. “If you care about her, Paige, don’t let her run from this. From you. She’s been through a lot, but I see the way she lights up when she talks about you.”

I nodded, her words settling deep in my chest. “I won’t let her run.”

Granny patted my hand. “Good. Now, go on and help me bring in the laundry before Y/N gets back. She’ll fuss if she sees us out here working.”

That evening, as we sat around the dinner table, I felt something shift between us. Y/N’s walls were starting to come down, and for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 .... (more to be added)

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blkkizzat · 14 hours ago

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tw: discourse, plagiarism, drama, etc. im a bit snarky here but i reserve that right. the truth could never be a diss.

I hate that it had to come to this as I have had this blog since Aug 2023 without ever having to do something like this. But being gaslit and when people start blatantly playing in my face like I’m stupid is where I draw the line. I will not tolerate any kind of plagiarism with fics I work hard to create for free while working full-time and going to grad school.

Tumblr user @/rissouu has plagiarized my work. Specifically part 3 of Plug!Choso fic (with minor things from the end of part 2) with their brat taming/plug!choso smut drabble. I posted p3 of my fic on 7/3/24 they posted their drabble on 1/1/25 [screenshots below].

Note: This is not a direct word for word copy, but heavy detailed inspiration including dialogue, actions, reactions, sexual situations, etc. It’s been said to me by many other people I have consulted to get their opinions, that it reads like a watered down, condensed, version of my smut scene —and I would have to wholeheartedly agree.

(more details below)

Now to be clear: I do NOT own any concept. I hope I can effectively convey in this post I am NOT doing all this because someone wrote plug!choso or brat taming!choso and combined them. There has been plenty of both, even combined, well before I even wrote my fic and has been in the months after, none of them have been anything like my fic. Also these have BEEN my sentiments as I expressed this months ago when I kept getting TNMN concept asks/dms after my fics:

Not to mention I give tutorials and share methods of how to do my graphics, formatting fics, writing tips, etc as I believe in knowledge and information sharing. I haven’t ever played gatekeeper on a single thing.

Sidenote: 98% of the people who have ever tagged me as inspo credit per my statement above didn't even need to do so. But I appreciate they did. It shows their character and integrity that they would even consider doing so when its not 100% needed nor expected, so thank you!

the drabble @/rissouu posted is on the far left column and specific excerpts from my plug!choso fic are in boxes in the middle and to the right. Each box on the drabble is color-coded and connected to corresponding boxes with my excerpts. Every single paragraph connects to my fic:

Now, the crazy thing here is @/rissouu even tags this drabble #plug!choso as the first tag. Yet there is not one mention of drugs or plugs or even a damn ibuprofen anywhere lmfao. When confronted on this they said—

"it's strictly to give that kind of aggressive/dominant or stoner man vibes, so i don't care as much to input it into the writing itself. me tagging it as 'plug choso' [...] is simply to reach out to my audiences who like the concept of plug!choso. i do this mostly for my girlies of color who i try to reach out to more because it's what they request and like." [full convo screens at the very bottom]

Now, I'm ignoring the problematic implications that only poc girls would like or write plugs, so I'm gonna table that and y'all can make what you want of it. What I want to focus on is this weakass excuse. It's the fact that writing a plug/drug dealer fics does not make that character automatically aggressive or outwardly stoner. There's infinite ways to write a single concept [and as someone who has actually done alot of party drugs and had many dealers living in nyc before, the best dealers are the ones who don't look or act like ones!]. So it's mind boggling a writer would explicitly tag a concept because they were too lazy to actually write it in the fic. Then assumes everyone will interpret it the exact same way and get their meaning from the tag of a generic concept and not their actual story lol 😭. Insanity.

100% transparency, I thought the fic was rip way before I even got to the bottom to see the plug!choso tag. The tag just confirmed it more for me.

Now even with ALL this, I still likely wouldn’t have brought it to the TL. Even though I think it’s clear she took inspo from me and is straight lying through her teeth, I could have let it go. However the next thing @/rissouu did was so insane and shameless, I can't let it go. Like personal creativity and imagination in the trenches but plenty of audacity to spare. This is just a slap in the face.

So the timeline (pst) goes like this:

@6:20pm @/rissouu replies a few times, she explicitly says she will read my chapter to see if there are any similarities. [full convo screens at the bottom]

@7:06pm I posted rm!choso and babydaddy!toji who reader has a baby girl with but they broke up.

@8:59pm @/rissouu posts babydaddy!Choso who reader has a baby girl by but they broke up and takes ANOTHER part of dialogue/reaction from p3 of plug!choso.

Is this real life?

I know if someone accused me of plagiarizing them and I told them I would read their work to check… I wouldn’t in less than 3 hours later post a drabble with one of the same concepts from a fic they just posted 2 hrs ago, and then turn around use the more dialogue/reactions from the other fic they just accused me of stealing from, that I just told them I was going to read!! And I for damn sure wouldn’t have claimed to have just “pulled this outta my ass” !?!? Like @/rissouu really said, fuck all of what kali saying and her artistic integrity with this post loud and clear lmfaooo.

Sorry but *in remy ma voice* b*tch is you DUMB!? Like I know I'm cracking jokes right now, but this situation is so ridiculous it’s gotta be a joke, so I’m treating it like one. They clownin’ with the whole damn circus cause wtf is this 😭😭??

You know what else is circus behavior? This disclaimer:

Lol… so consequences for everyone else but you girl? Okay lmfao. Like such aggressive disclaimers for someone doing exactly that.

Ironic though that all 3 times I have had to confront someone about plagiarism/inspo (in dms) in the past couple months I have been gaslit in the exact same ways.

Their first defense is always “this is a common concept” —Sure, but it shouldn’t be executed in the exact same way, so closely to my fic that's why I'm speaking up.

Their second defense is always, “oh I have written this [topic, headcanon, dialogue] before.” Great. I’m not speaking of those prior times, I’m ONLY concerned that 100% of their current drabble mirrors my fic. They could have written 50 drabbles on this topic/concept, there's no reason any of them should so closely mirror mine.

Finally, the third thing is (after proof is given): “well you don’t own the use of these details or these words. so I didn't copy!” No, I don’t own the individual words or phrases or actions. What I DO own is how those individual words, phrases or actions come together in the fic I wrote. The fic that @/rissouu mirrored and diluted.

One more thing before screenshots of the full convo. You can see on the very first one below that I had been following @/rissouu for 11 months lol, so since 1 month after they created their account. Granted, I don’t think we’ve interacted much at all as I do follow lots of people but I try to spend most of my free time writing or interacting with commenters, anons, closer moots or those who reach out to me. But I know for a fact i've seen them in my notifications before liking things, even in the last week and I honestly thought they followed me at one point lol. That's one of the reasons I was shocked to discover this. So the fact they would try to say they never heard of me or my story or seen my fics ever is looney tunes fr. Not to mention plug!choso is probably the fic people have recco'd the most from me. None of that is important to me though, so I don’t really care about anything but the facts that she took heavy inspo from me and is refusing to even acknowledge that it's pretty weird/odd/uncommon considering how similar they are. (sorry i would have taken screenshots of notifications but i barely got the chat before it disappears after two ppl block each other)

screenshots of our convo here:

As you can see, they apparently think i'm casper. they refuse to acknowledge they know me, or take it down, or give me credit and has me blocked now, so here we are.

Lastly... no one under any circumstances should be harassing or sending anyone hate! If you don’t like what they did, unfollow/block. If you don’t like what I am doing now or don’t agree, unfollow/block. I won't be offended if you do, if you don't like me , you don't like me. Please curate your own experiences.

Also, may choose to answer clarifying questions about this in public asks or comments but I reserve the right not to (even if you are in support of me). Honestly this is all so mentally draining and taking away from the things I actually want to do with my blog and I always feel really bad when I miss responding to comments people leave on my stories/works. So I will likely mute notifications on this. Like I could have been actually writing the many fics in my backlog last night or answering the very sweet or slutty asks in my inbox instead of writing this. I've always tried to keep my blog a pretty positive, goofy, unserious, slutty and drama-free place and I won't let this change that.

Additionally, no overly hateful/bashing comments towards me or @/rissouu will be answered/tolerated. If tumblr had an option to turn off comments on individual posts, I would for this one. I'm not going to waste time justifying something that is clear as day to me and many others. If anyone wants to play Stevie Wonder too, go for it! Nor do I want to waste energy bashing someone and beating a dead horse. I know what they did, they know what they did. @/rissouu wants to steal, lie and play games? Let them do it on their own, I guess. Clout is a helluva drug and I suppose my Plug!Choso was the best dealer for that but call me Desiree Perez cause imma snitch!

I'd prefer anyone really wanting to talk with me about this further and has something to say —good or bad, DM me.

—🎀 Kali

#•𐦍 𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉тαℓк #PSA #tw discourse #art theft #fic theft #plug!choso #plagiarism #choso x reader #choso smut #see now yeah i was a sassy with this but compared to stan music twitter kali this was super nice... i call that GROWTH~~#imma go unplug and do some selfcare now

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 7 hours ago

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Finding Refuge.

Chapter Three

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry Richmond

I feel the darkness inside me like a creature curled up in my chest, breathing smoke and fire. It is always there. It weighs on me. It's not contained by anything but my own skin. Sometimes it sleeps. Sometimes it doesn't…

“How much longer?”

Terry paused within the dark and narrow underground tunnel. The luminance levels inside the tunnel are much lower than outside, making it difficult for his eyes to adjust.

“Nearly there…” Rae’s voice echoed.

Terry released a frustrated sigh before continuing along behind her.

“So, you sure you haven’t seen Mike around here at all?” Terry pestered.

“I’m certain. You sure you don’t have a picture?” Rae asked.

“Nothing. He took all his things. Including his ID…”

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached their destination.

Terry’s hazel eyes took in the area filled with helpless people. They’d created an environment beneath the streets of Woodsbury to remain safe. Tents were pitched, canned goods and other food items were pilled high within a corner. Mothers coddled their children. It was a refuge.

“This way…”

Rae startled Terry by grabbing his hand to lead him along. His breath hitched and he dropped his hard gaze to stare down at their connected hands. The difference in size he took notice of. They stopped in front of an area with supplies and Rae crouched down to search. Terry could feel eyes burning holes into the back of his head. He looked around, taking note of the few who were curious about him. None of which looked pleased.

“Let me see your arm…Terry?”

He focused his attention back onto Rae.

“Your arm. Can I see it?”

She was holding up some gauze and saline.

Terry curled his arm, exposing the bloody abrasion. Rae went to work cleaning him off with saline. Terry didn’t take his eyes off of her for one second. Rae peeked up at him through her lashes with a sheepish smile.

“You from ‘round here?” Terry asked with steadfast eyes.

“No…I’m from Atlanta. Spent most of my youth in Decatur…”

“Hm…”

Terry staked out the area again with cautious eyes. He took note of people whispering and eyeing him down with curiosity. He didn’t like it. Hated it, actually.

“You?”

Terry brought his eyes that appeared golden down at her face.

“North Carolina.”

“Far way from home.”

“No choice.”

Rae applied some antibiotic ointment to his wound and wrapped him nice and tight with tube gauze. Terry admired her work and how professional it was.

“‘Ppreciate you. Were you a nurse?”

“No. My mother was.”

Terry’s eyes fluttered with interest. He quickly tamed those thoughts and created space between them.

“Thanks for patching me up, I’ll be on my way.”

The footsteps of someone approaching from behind put Terry on guard and he turned quickly to face them.

“Rae, who is this?”

An older woman with coarse, salt and pepper hair pulled back from her face approached them cautiously with a whisper. She had a kind face, but the stress lines on her forehead and the corners of her mouth told him that she worried often. Her dark brown eyes fell towards Terry, eyeing him up and down.

“Mildred…this is Terry.”

Mildred glanced over her shoulder.

“Where did you come from?” Mildred questioned sternly.

Terry took his time responding. He stared into Mildred’s eyes with an unwavering determination. He could feel Rae’s eyes on him, silently telling him to say something.

“He’s an outsider,” Mildred spoke with a low tone through clenched teeth, “The others will return, Rae. They’ll get violent—”

“Who are the others?” Terry asked, more so towards Rae.

“We consider them to be our watchers and hunters. They scout the area for potential threats and they gather supplies and food…”

“Like the one that tried to kill me?”

Mildred cut her eyes to Terry’s wounded forearm wrapped in bandages. She slowly shook her head before her face morphed into anger.

“Rae…what have you done? He could have been infected by the walkers!”

Others began to notice them. They started hovering closer, accusatory eyes glued to Terry. Terry placed one hand on his hip, ready to discharge his gun immediately if anyone so much as tried him. He had a shotgun and a crossbow too.

“He wasn’t infected,” Rae stepped closer to Mildred, “He’s here to find his cousin. That’s all. He came all this way to find him. I’m just trying to help. Isn’t that what we do? Help those in need of shelter?”

Mildred shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval, “Through inspection FIRST. You know this. Do you not remember what happened the last time? You can’t be so ignorant, Rae. This is dangerous.”

Rae was ready to protest, but Terry placed his imposing frame in front of Mildred, staring down at the woman with an intense expression on his face. He was tired, frustrated, angry. He didn’t have time for this. Mike was his priority.

“I’m not here to cause problems. Rae offered to help me, so I came along. If your so called protectors keep a close eye on what the fuck is going on around here, then they should know about my cousin. His walkie was found by Rae. Somebody knows something, and I’m gon’ get to the bottom of it. Even if that means violence.”

Mildred’s eyelids fluttered as she looked Terry in the eyes.

“You get me?” Terry looked back at Rae, “Thank you for helping me. But I think it’s best I do this on my own. Too many innocent people here…”

Terry’s hazel eyes scanned the underground refugees with remorse. Women, children, elderly. He could feel their pain. He could sense their sadness and worry. He wondered if Mike had found this place while passing through. Did the protectors feel threatened? Did they cast him out and left him unguarded? The more his mind whirled, the more rage consumed him.

They were living in a post–apocalyptic world filled with zombies. You’d think that would bring people together to fight back against evil. No. Silly of him to think so.

“I’ll be on my way,” Terry gave Rae one final look before bowing his head, “Be safe out here.”

“Terry, wait—”

“Let him go, Rae. He can’t stay,” Mildred gripped Rae’s wrist firm, “It’s for the best.”

Rae turned and scowled at Mildred, “Let go of me.”

“If you leave, you can’t come back.” Mildred spoke with malice laced in her voice.

“Good. I’d rather leave then stay here surrounded by a bunch of people that would rather hurt someone than help them—”

“ENOUGH!”

Mildred’s grip on Rae’s hand tightened. Panicked, Rae went into fight mode, prying Mildred’s fingers from her tiny wrist. Others rushed over, trying their best to get between them.

“She’s going to sabotage what we’ve done! Don’t let her leave!”

Mildred’s nails sank painfully into Rae’s wrist. Rae pulled and pulled, knocking Mildred over. Arms laced around Rae’s body to bind her, and she began kicking and screaming. Distant cries from children filled the air as they witnessed the brewing chaos.

“Get off of me! LET ME GO! Get your hands OFF OF ME!”

Pop! Pop!

Frightened screams filled the air. Everyone went still after ducking for safety. Rae followed the sound of a gun and her wide eyes fell on Terry. He had a pistol in his left hand, aimed towards the stone roof of the tunnel. Debris and tiny pebbles fell from its place around him, staining his shirt with dust. Mothers held their children in protective embraces while others coward away. Terry’s no nonsense approach with sharp eyes took in the faces of those around him before his gaze locked in on Rae.

“Get away from her.” Terry spoke with an even yet threatening voice.

Rae wiggled her way out of whoever was holding her back and stared down at the scratches on her wrist that Mildred was responsible for. She glared at the older woman that stared back at her with a guilty expression.

“Rae, you okay?”

Terry lowered his weapon.

“…yeah.”

She looks around her before brushing past them to grab as much as she could.

“You won’t make it out of here alive, Rae.”

Rae paused, turning her attention to Mildred and the others who stood behind her, silently defending the woman Rae once felt safe with.

“Watch me.”

Rae made a beeline for her things and as she packed what she could, Terry stood watch with his gun at the ready. He didn’t take his eyes off of anyone. Rae took long strides towards Terry with a backpack and a carryon. She paused, giving everyone in that tunnel one final look. Her eyes shined with tears as she locked eyes with the children she helped tend to.

“Rae. Are you coming or not?”

She looked Terry in the eyes. He stared back unblinking.

“I am.”

——

Leaves and branches crunched beneath their feet as they made their way through the woods of Sedonia. Terry Richmond silently watched beyond the overgrown trees, keeping an eye out for any threats. A gently breeze swept through Rae’s braids as the sun began to set. Darkness was fast approaching. Rustling in the distance stilled his footsteps. Rae collided with Terry’s broad frame. He put out a large hand, touching her arm to stop her from moving. Rae’s heart skipped a beat when she’d heard a noise.

She glanced up at the back of Terry’s head. Her eyes descended to his arm and she stopped at his hand that had a tight squeeze on his crossbow. He looked down on her and pressed a finger to his lips for her to remain calm and silent. He steadied himself so that his movements wouldn’t create noise and began fixing his crossbow to strike. Rae watched with keen interest, wondering to herself what exactly Terry had seen.

His bow rose, the stock of the crossbow pressed against his shoulder. He adjusted the spring with his thick, skillful fingers before bringing one hazel eye to the scope. Finger on the trigger, he pressed down, the arrow releasing and whizzing through the trees.

Arrkkkkkkkk!

Rae’s breath hitched.

Terry slowly lowered his crossbow, jaw clenching and chest rapidly moving.

Rae could hardly see what Terry was looking at, but from the sound of his target, it was definitely a zombie. He wordlessly grabbed her hand and they quickly weaved through the trees. Rae’s chest burned as she sucked in air, feet pushing against the earth to keep up with Terry’s long legs. She was afraid to fall. Afraid to trip and slow them down.

Terry Richmond reminded her of a soldier. Everything about him. Physically and mentally tough. Proficient. Her grip tightened on his hand, afraid that if his hold on her slipped, he’d disappear and she’d be left alone to die. Despite being apart of the refuge within the tunnels, she’d always known that the protectors of their group weren’t to be trusted. Her suspicions were correct when she’d witnessed what they’d done to a friend of hers.

They fed him to the zombies.

All because he didn’t agree with their policies.

Rae knew that if she stood up for herself, she’d end up like them. Food for the flesh eating monsters. Terry’s entrance into her world gave her a beacon of hope.

“MOVE!”

Terry’s booming voice alerted Rae to the severity of their situation. Gunshots sounded off in the distance, drawing in closer and closer. Rae tried her best to focus in front of her, but the fear of a bullet piercing her back weighed heavy on her conscious.

“I’m trying!”

Her bags were heavy, her thighs burned, and she was in need of her inhaler.

“I ca–can hardly breathe!”

They were fast approaching a warehouse surrounded by a tall chain link fence. Rae’s vision blurred and her throat constricted as she tried her best to breathe in and out. She was going to collapse at this rate.

Pop! Pop! BANG! BANG!

Wood splintered from a bullet that zipped past her head as they ran. Shaky breaths escaped her and just then her foot caught on a root. Rae toppled over, almost bringing Terry to the ground with her if it wasn’t for his controlled balance. Her eyes were spooked as she looked up at Terry. He remained calm, which shocked her despite the threats of the protesters looming closer and the zombies.

“C’mon, I got you. Push up! Quickly!”

Pop! POW!

Terry ducked down and he reached over Rae’s smaller frame to uproot the branch that had trapped her foot. Dirt sprinkled her face as she kicked herself free. With one strong arm, Terry lifted Rae to her feet and without another pause he dragged her along.

“We have to climb! Can you climb?!”

They halted their efforts before the chain link fence. Terry yanked Rae’s bags from her body and strong arm tossed them over the tall fence like he was a Shot Put Thrower. It landed in a heap on the other side. He quickly removed his crossbow and shot gun, leaving a handgun in the waistband of his jeans. They went over the fence, colliding loudly with the ground.

With little time left, Terry urged Rae to climb. She’d climbed the fence before, but the thought of being minutes away from death had her clumsy. Terry stood behind her and with force he placed his hands on her butt, hiking her up the fence as she climbed.

“GO! Don’t stop, Rae! UGH!”

Her fingers pricked the sharp edges of the fence, drawing blood. As the wind picked up, the knowledge of the zombies making their way towards them petrified her. She made it to the top of the fence, swinging one leg over, her jeans ripping from the fence. As she made her way down to safety, she stared ahead, eyes wide as she watched them sprint towards them. Terry climbed with precision and speed.

“Terry!”

He flung himself over and dropped down, falling to his side. Rae joined him, helping him up to his feet.

“They’re coming…they…”

Rae clutched her chest. Terry grabbed their things and threw Rae over his shoulder. He ran for his life, sprinting through the dry grass towards the abandoned warehouse. Gunfire erupted and right before the made it inside, Terry lost his footing as a bullet pierced his shoulder blade.

“AH!”

He dropped to one knee. Rae tugged on his shirt, bringing him further inside as Terry pushed with his feet. He stood and watched as the protectors crowded the fence with their guns pointed at them. Terry released a huff, peeking at them through a broken window. Rae rummaged through her bag and grabbed hold of her inhaler. She wrapped her lips around it and pushed, her lungs filling with the medicine. Instantly, she felt relief.

Exhaling, she rose to her feet. Her eyes fell to the blood stain on the back of his shirt and the hole where the bullet had entered. Thankfully, she’d brought some medical supplies with her. She also has experience in treating wounds. Something she had to teach herself. Just in case she ended up in a situation such as this.

“You’re bleeding out…”

Terry glanced down at her over his shoulder, sweat trickling down his face and neck.

“I’ll handle it. Right now…we need to find a way out of here. Fast.”

Rae studied the old, abandoned industrial building they were inside of. A factory that had been shut down for many years. Long shadows gave an eerie feeling. The building had been waiting for demolition. It gave her a grunge vibe. A floating crane was suspended high above them, creaking from the old chains and iron beams keeping it steady.

“I found Mike’s walkie in this area, along the outer perimeter…”

Terry flexed his back. Pain decorated his face but he remained stoic throughout. He turned his face away to spit before licking his lush lips that were covered with an overgrown mustache.

“So…he must have been hiding here…I bet your protectors knew about it…”

Terry crouched down to grab his shotgun, looping it over his head to rest across his back.

“I guess they don’t plan to climb. Figured since we’re inside, they can keep us trapped.”

Terry retrieved his crossbow. Rae grabbed her bags and silently followed Terry as he walked further into the warehouse. Their movements echoed, broken glass cracking beneath their feet. Darkness blanketed them, and Rae wondered if Terry planned to stay for the evening.

“There’s a back exit. Look.”

Terry pointed to an exposed backway where automatic doors used to be long ago. Pure black stared back at her. She opened her backpack to retrieve a flashlight. Tapping it against her hand, it ignited. Terry looked down at her as she handed it to him.

“You need to keep behind me at all times. We have to keep moving…”

“Okay. Just…don’t get us killed.”

Terry elevated a brow at her but didn’t respond.

As they walked, Rae grabbed Terry’s hand. He cut his eyes at her before tightening his hold. Their fingers interlocked, the roughness of his palm against hers warm and steady. They made it out, flashlight quickly scanning the clearing. The fence stopped at a certain point because of a hill. Any one of them could be waiting to jump out at them. Even a zombie could be there, reaching out their decaying arms.

“Let’s go!”

Terry dashed and Rae was behind him at the same speed

Pop! Pop!

Terry yelled for Rae to duck when a few men came out of hiding. Terry got down on one knee and with his handgun he aimed, firing rounds at them at a speed they weren’t prepared for. Rae watched as each of their bodies fell beneath the moonlight.

“Almost there,” Terry helped Rae up and they continued running. She stepped over a dead body, glancing down into the face of someone she’d recognized. He was just a kid. His dead eyes scared her, causing her to look away.

They made it to the hill, and when they got there, Terry raised his gun again, the bullet entering a zombies chest but it didn’t subdue it. More filtered from the trees, dragging their undead bodies towards the scent of the three lifeless men Terry had killed.

——

Rae had done the unexpected.

Terry could feel himself being tugged on. Rae had pulled the shotgun from him and aimed it at the zombies that were showing themselves. She cocked the gun and blasted off chunks of their withered, grotesque bodies. Terry finished off the ones that weren’t completely dead with precise headshots.

The odor of their flesh permeated the air around them along with the smell of gunpowder. Terry watched as Rae’s arms shook from the shock of it all. He approached her, hands on her arms, guiding the shotgun down. He wrenched it from her grasp and flung it over him again. Rae was trying to process things, body rigid.

“Rae…it’s okay.”

Terry rubbed her back to calm her down. She slowly turned to face him. Her doe eyes blinked up at him as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I–I thought I was going to die…”

“…I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer. Terry was the first to break eye contact. Those were eyes to get swept away in. Now was not the time to feel anything. He wasn’t there for Rae. Or so he thought. Mike was his main priority.

“It’s late. We need to find a place to lay low until the morning.”

Terry’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Somewhere concealed.”

Terry looked at Rae. She pondered his words.

“…there’s a watchtower…not far from here…but there may be protectors there.”

“Good,” Terry squared his shoulders, “Then I can get some answers.”

Terry started walking, Rae on his heels.

“They usually have the place surrounded. It’s a death trap.”

Terry chuckled, “if you haven’t noticed by now, everywhere’s a death trap.” He laughed sarcastically.

“The one that watches from the tower has a rifle. They could shoot us down before we even get to them.”

Terry climbed the dirt hill with a sense of urgency.

“And I have the skills to evade them.”

Terry turned, reaching out his hands. Rae stepped closer and Terry lifted her up and over a stone that was too high up for her to climb over. He sat her down and Rae took that moment to stare up at the giant before her.

“You were a soldier?”

“A Marine veteran.”

“Oh…that explains things.”

Terry tilted his head at Rae.

“Lead the way to the tower. You know this area better than I do.”

Rae looked from left to right with uncertainty.

“Rae, you gotta have more faith in me. We didn’t make it all this way for you to act like I ain’t capable.”

“Fair,” she released a sigh, “It’s this way.”

“Go head,” Terry motioned for her to step in front of him.

Rae accepted the flashlight and began walking westward. Terry had his crossbow aimed at the trees surrounding them. He would stop Rae every few steps, aiming the light at the surrounding area to see if any zombies were nearby. They were probably flooding the warehouse by now with those three dead bodies scattered.

After thirty minutes, a watch tower standing tall on beams with a staircase was up ahead.

Rae and Terry hid behind a tree. From their view, they couldn’t make out anyone on the steps, but there was someone within the tower. The constant movement of a light similar to that of a lighthouse moved around and aimed low.

“This will make it easy for us. We have to stay away from the light.”

Rae turned off her flashlight and Terry took the lead again.

“Gimme your hand.”

Hand in hand, they crouched as they moved. When the light made its way toward them, Terry would pick up speed, sprinting in the opposite direction. The light circled back and Terry charged forward until they were safely out of sight.

“It’s a long way up,” Terry studies the distance, “I want you to stay behind me at all times. Here,” Terry removed his shot gun, handing it to Rae, “Use this if you have to. You know how to handle that thing better than me.”

The teasing look in his eyes and the glimmer of a smile beneath his mustache and scruffy facial hair gave him a youthful look. Rae gave him a small smile that disappeared just as fast when he’d turned his back on her and started making his way up.

They climbed and climbed, Rae periodically turning to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Nearly at the top, Terry slowed his ascent, pausing to look down at Rae.

“Stay here.” He mouthed.

Rae nodded her head and held her place, afraid to look out over the railing because of her fear of heights. The darkness didn’t help make things easier. One false move and she could fall to her death. Rae shut her eyes tight and took calming breaths with the shotgun pressed firm against her chest.

Terry Richmond took measured steps up the last flight of stairs. Finally, he tiptoed forward until he was staring at the back of a man about his height but with a slimmer build. He wore a gray beanie with a heavy–duty utility jacket and dark brown cargos. His feet were covered in dirty Timberland boots. He had a rifle perched next to him while his left hand aimed the flashlight around and his right hand held a pair of binoculars over his eyes.

Terry slowly raised his handgun, aiming it at the back of his head. Too bad he miscalculated things. Another man was hiding in the shadows. He pushed the door shut and pounced, putting Terry in a headlock. The Watcher turned on his heels, dropping the binoculars and aiming the flashlight at a struggling Terry’s face.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

The Watcher appeared to be a biracial male with a clean shaven face. His beady eyes stared daggers at Terry.

“Answer the question, asshole!” The man holding Terry hostage spoke.

Terry writhed before pushing backwards, the man colliding with the door. Terry’s elbow flew into his chest and he gripped the arm around his neck, using all his brunt strength to twist his arm in the opposite direction. The man shouted in pain so loud he could probably be heard from a distance. Free, Terry planted his fist against The Watchers nose, sending him flailing backwards against the railing.

“Come here!”

Terry put up his fist and started throwing blows, jabbing the burly man that grabbed him in the throat and then hooking him in the stomach. He bent over and Terry sent his knee into his face, cracking his front teeth.

The door flew open and Rae entered with the shotgun raised. She aimed it at the man against the railing, watching as he raised his hands.

“I thought I told you to wait for my signal?” Terry chastised Rae.

She ignored him, too focused on the man before her staring down the barrel of the shotgun.

“Don’t move!” She ordered.

“Rae?”

The Watcher squinted his eyes with a mixture of confusion and betrayal.

Terry was busy with his handgun pointed down at the man that tried to subdue him. He was rolling around on the floor of the tower, clutching onto his arm that was sure to be splintered. Terry glanced over and looked between Rae and The Watcher.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

Rae hesitated to speak. She gave Terry a weary look.

“I’m leaving the refuge, Billy”

“Leaving? Where the fuck do you expect to go?”

Billy’s eyes landed on Terry with a glare.

“Him? He’s an outsider.”

Terry took slow steps toward Billy.

“Does the name Mike sound familiar to you?”

Billy sized Terry up with a curl of his lip.

“Answer the question.” Terry commanded with his hazel eyes threatening.

“How does he look?” Billy respond with frustration.

“About six feet, slim, black, hair similar to mine. He had on a grey shirt with long sleeves and black pants. Carried a camouflage backpack…”

Billy tried to picture Mike in his mind. His eyes scanned the floor. His eyes widened with recognition.

“…light voice? Goatee?”

Terry froze.

“…yeah. Where did you see him.”

Billy looked between Rae and Terry. Terry turned his attention to Rae. Her expression was hard to read. She could feel his eyes on her, and when she looked at him, he got a sense that she knew more than what she claimed. Terry’s stomach muscles tightened.

Agitated, Terry pointed his gun at Billy with a firm grip.

“Enough of this shit! Where the fuck is Mike?!!!”

“Why the fuck should I tell you anything!” Billy shouted.

Terry charged, hemming Billy up against a pole. Rae lowered the shotgun, watching Terry slam Billy repeatedly against the pole.

“TALK! I swear to god…”

Terry’s lips pulled back into a snarl as he dragged Billy over towards the railing. He tilted his upper body over the railing, one hand around his neck so tight Billy was turning purple in the face.

“IF I FINDO OUT YOU DID SOMETHING TO MY COUSIN! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Rae jumped at the sound of Terry’s voice.

It scared her. Billy was choking on whatever breaths he had left.

“Terry! Let him up!” Rae pleaded.

Terry looked back at her.

“You know something. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know anything!” Rae shouted.

“BULLSHIT!”

Terry pressed the barrel of the gun against Billy’s temple. Billy shut his eyes, mouthing something that Terry couldn’t discern.

“I’m gon’ ask it one more time before I throw you off this bitch,” Terry clenched his jaw, “Where. Is. Mike.”

“Left for dead! Left for dead! Shit! That’s all I know! We caught him and left him for the walkers! That’s all I know!”

Terry flipped his gun around and placed it in his pants. He yoked Billy up and dragged him to the floor. He repeatedly punched him in the face, blood splattering his shirt and the sound of cartilage and bone crushing.

“Terry! Okay! Okay!”

Rae tried to pull him away but Terry was too strong. She fell back on her butt.

Billy was losing consciousness. Terry gave him one final blow, knocking Billy out cold. His fist dripped with blood and his knuckles were bruised and cut. Terry’s heavy breathing was the only sound. Rae turned her head to look at the other man on the floor.

Terry faced her, a distant look in his eyes as he approached the other man. Rae knew him as Duke. She didn’t interact with him much. Terry crouched down, staring Duke in the eye.

“Think you can tell me where you left my cousin to die, motherfucker?”

Duke’s sweaty face held no emotion as he parted his bloody lips to speak.

“We shot him in the leg and left him on the tracks. Don’t know nothing else. We just assumed he was dead.”

Terry held a slight frown, laugh lines in the corners of his mouth pronounced. He blinked slowly at Duke for a few more seconds before standing to his feet at a slow pace. Rae followed his movements, breath caught in her throat.

“So, you thought it was okay to drag an innocent man to his death and leave him instead of helping him?”

Terry stood over Duke, and Rae watched as his boot pressed against Duke’s throat. Duke began to squirm, veins protruding from his forehead as he fought against the pressure Terry applied. Rae covered her mouth with her hands, unable to look away as the life was sucked from Duke’s body. His eyes bulged and then suddenly he went limp. Terry’s boot remained for ten seconds longer, ensuring that he was dead.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r @kanafunee @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @dremmmm @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @playgurlxoxo @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

#aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre #terry richmond #rebel ridge #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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moons-of-dewclan · 14 hours ago

Note

Hellooooo! I’m working on a clangen blog of my own, so I’m going around asking my favorite clangen blogs some questions. I’m happy to get answers to whichever you feel like answering (or none at all if you don’t feel like it!)

What program and file size do you use?

If you use a font, what font is it?

How far ahead do you recommend playing?

Do you have any advice for layouts?

Do you have any tips for lighting/drawing fur?

Do you have any tips for making cats look more unique?

If you do backgrounds, do you have any advice for creating them?

If you use them, where do you recommend finding reference images?

NYELLO! 1. I use Procreate on Ipad! File size is pretty small because i feel more easygoing working small. it forces me not to worry too much about details. Dewclan comic pages come in 1200px wide and.. however tall the page calls for. 1200 DOESN'T SEEM SUPER TINY BUT!! when you think about adding in the speech bubbles and doing usually two panels per 'row', make space for the panels themselves, etc, you end up with only like.. 350/400px to work with. s'LIL 2. FONT is copperplate! 3. this entirely depends on you. if you wanna be able to plan ahead to connect some events, you gotta go a few moons ahead to know what to connect. but sometimes going moon by moon really keeps up your muse and excitement, because even YOU wonder what's gonna happen next. if you need to stay excited about something to keep up with it like ME, i recommend not going too far ahead. keep it Fresh 4. advice would be.. keep in mind/sketch out the placement for your characters AND their speech bubbles in their panels. i don't do this and it shows ALSDNKLSD. sometimes my speech bubbles are squARSHED, or sometimes i have to adjust the size of the font to make it fit. it's silly. PLAN AHEAD. otherwise i'm not so great at layouts and composition in that i don't have a lot of confidence in it, so i can't give much advice OGH 5. shade fur like you'd shade anything else! don't overthink it. but drawing fur can be done in a billion ways so that's a tough one to answer. in my clangen comic it's very simple, bc there's just the illusion of fur. YOU JUST.. ASSUME THERE IS FUR BC.. cats. but there isn't much definition really. sometimes i throw in a tuft or two bc for fun. outside of clangen, uHHHGH.. my fur rendering is sort of a mess. look at how your favourite artists do it! there's no one single way 6. unique cats.. play with shapes! cute round soft shapes, pointy angular shapes. play with the shapes of their ears, give em tufts or give them no tufts. think about silhouettes if you're not going with realism! if you figure out what makes a cat look like a cat enough, you can warp that anatomy and keep them looking cattish 7. i do backgrounds!! i dabble, i partake, in the backgrounds. BUT UAA advice is hard there too. what kind of bgs do you wanna do? :( I'M SORRY I NEED VERY SPECIFIC QUESTIONS I'ASKDNLK I'M EASILY CONFUSED. general advice is again, look at ones you like! think about what you like about the bgs you see and HAVE AT EM. do studies :3 8. Pinterest is good for references. at least it was last i checked before the big AI boom.. bc it'll recommend you similar things. tho i find the layout pretty disorienting. IF YOU CAN GET USED TO IT, IT'S HELPFUL THO

#kasks

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takoyakiriki · 2 days ago

Text

The Sound of You ⋆｡°✩ 𝐬𝐢𝐦.𝐣𝐲𝐧

jakexreader ,, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 && 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ᶻ 𝘇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇!? 𝗇.𝖺 i¿ playlist . 𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 '' (792)

You weren’t exactly shy. You just preferred the company of melodies to people. As a music teacher at a small-town community center, you spent your days composing and teaching kids to play everything from piano to ukulele. The center’s dusty music room was your sanctuary—a space where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of a song and forget the outside world.

Everything changed when Sim Jaeyun walked into her life.

Jake was an audiobook narrator with a warm, velvety voice that could soothe even the busiest mind. He had moved to town to escape the hustle of city life and was looking for a quieter place to record his projects. The community center’s unused soundproof booth caught his eye, and soon, the music room and the recording booth became neighbors.

Your first meeting was nothing special.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Jake said, peeking into the music room where you were fine-tuning a student’s violin. His tone was apologetic, his eyes soft.

“It’s okay,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You’re the narrator, right?”

He nodded. “Jake. I’ve been told this place is where all the cool creative people hang out.”

You chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to plant a seed.

Over the next few weeks, your paths crossed constantly. You would be playing piano softly when Jake emerged from the booth, his headphones draped around his neck.

“Your music’s distracting,” he joked one afternoon.

Your cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I can—”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he said quickly. “It’s... nice. Makes my work feel less lonely.”

Your fingers hovered over the keys. No one had ever said something like that to you before.

Jake, for his part, found himself lingering outside the music room more often than he intended. You fascinated him. You weren’t flashy or loud, but your quiet passion spoke volumes. One day, he asked you about it.

“You never play for yourself,” he said, watching as you packed away music sheets. “Why?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always felt like my music isn’t... good enough. It’s easier to teach others.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jake said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’ve heard you. You’re incredible.”

You shrugged, brushing off the compliment, but something about the way he said it stuck with you.

Their budding friendship took an unexpected turn during the community center’s annual talent showcase. A student of yours dropped out at the last minute, leaving you to fill the slot. You tried to decline, but Jake was having none of it.

“You’ve got this,” he said, standing beside you as the crowd murmured. “Just imagine it’s you and the music. Nothing else matters.”

His words settled something inside you. Taking a deep breath, you sat at the piano and let your fingers dance across the keys. The melody was soft and sweet, like a lullaby.

From the wings, Jake watched you with a small smile. You were luminous, and for the first time, he realized just how much you’d come to mean to him.

After the performance, you found him waiting outside with a thermos of hot cocoa.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, voice soft.

“Are you kidding?” he replied. “That was amazing. You were amazing.”

You looked down, shy but happy. “Thank you. For pushing me.”

“Anytime,” Jake said, his voice quieter now. “Besides, I think you’ve been helping me, too.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been... stuck,” he admitted. “Narrating is what I do, but being here, hearing your music... it’s made me want to try something different. To create something of my own.”

You smiled at him then, a small, private smile that made his chest ache. “You should. You’ve got a voice worth hearing.”

Your connection grew from there, blossoming into something neither of you expected. They started meeting after hours, you playing soft melodies while he read aloud bits of poetry or prose.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Jake turned to you, his heart hammering.

“(---),” he said, his voice unsteady, “I think... I think you’re my favorite song.”

Your breath caught, cheeks warm. You reached out, your fingers brushing his. “And you’re my favorite voice,” you whispered.

From that moment, both of you became inseparable.

Your music filled Jake’s audiobooks with tender original scores, and his narration inspired you to write songs you never dreamed you could create. Together, you found a harmony that neither had known they were missing—a love story written in notes and words, each more beautiful than the last.

Because sometimes, the quietest moments create the loudest symphonies of the heart.

©takoyakiriki

#cyn.mp3 #cynradio #jake #sim jaeyun #jake sim x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen reactions #enhypen imagines

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whisper-cats · 14 hours ago

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What program and file size do you use?

If you use a font, what font is it?

How far ahead do you recommend playing?

Do you have any advice for layouts?

Do you have any tips for lighting/drawing fur?

Do you have any tips for making cats look more unique?

If you do backgrounds, do you have any advice for creating them?

If you use them, where do you recommend finding reference images?

hi hi! Thank you for the questions 1. Clip Studio Paint, my comic pages' size is 1600x2900 pixels when I'm working on it, but that includes empty space on the sides where my lines can go over the limits when needed

2. "HP Simplified Hans Regular"... I sort of want to hand-write all of my text tbh, but I thought I shouldn't make things too energy-intensive for myself

3. Depends what you want the structure of your story to be like. For me the important part was the setting that was generated for me so the moons going forward & the brisk pace that that gives you have less importance for my story than they would for most Clangen stories, and therefore I didn't go very far in the moons before I started sketching down pages

4. nah, i'm a newbie on that

5. can't think of anything, sorry

6. I think looking for uniqueness itself can be kind of a trap, and i think it's most important your characters are distinct from their surrounding cast of characters than them looking unique when looking at the wider art community. Any kind of design can be recognizable if it makes an impact. I think using patterning especially can be something people might fall back on too easily to make characters distinct. These are the other ways I like to try make a cat character recognizable and interesting (among their cast): - Experiment with different, even subtly different whiskers, ear sizes and shapes, fur texture (sleek, puffy, curly, spiky, flowy etc) and where that fur might be most prominent in each character (one fluffy cat might have a huge puffy chest fur, another long hair cat might have their long coat look more heavy and pulled by gravity, another cat might have the puffiest tail but less in the chest, etc). Also of course the usual, like different eye and nose shapes. - Use color contrast to make the character demand more attention to itself. If a cat has a big white patch on their face when the rest of their body is dark, it immediately brings your attention to their face. I often like to play up and heighten the contrast of a warm-toned body against cool-toned eyes like Whisperingpaw's reddish body against his deep blue eyes, but it works just as well in reverse or with other color contrasts. This can be muddied though if the design is full of highly contrasting small elements in unimportant places of the body which instead can just become confusing to the eye. It's why I don't really like designs from for example Genshin Impact

^ Whisperingpaw, I even made his grey pawpads more cooltoned than usual for some extra contrasting details - Try designing two characters at once instead of one at a time. When you design two at once, especially if they have some connection to each other, you can already start laying out some opposing or just different physical traits to them. If you make a huge cat next to a small cat, both of their sizes are immediately noticeable traits about the cats that you can perceive and build on. If you only drew one huge or one small cat, you might not really even register their size as part of their design because there is nothing to compare it to. Let their relationship & direct comparison be something that contextualizes them and gives them something more than an empty paper to relate to - Continuing on the "let the characters have something to compare to", a character will always look more beautiful if they are surrounded by more bland or even "ugly" characters. A character's intricate patterns will be more noticeable if surrounded by very simple-style characters. Use this to your advantage and let things like beauty or cuteness be character-specific traits instead of something expected of each design. This is just another benefit to having a diverse cast, it doesn't just give representation to less charismatic styles of characters (which already has so much value by itself), it lets the "beautiful" designs be more convincing to the eye.

for 7. and 8. i don't have an answer to!

Hope that helps :3

#clangen #warrior cats #asks

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momentsbeforemass · 3 days ago

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Admitting we need help

Asking for help is hard. Because it means admitting we need help.

Needing help is complicated. Because it’s really two things going on at the same moment.

There’s the actual thing that needs fixing. And then there’s our connection to the thing that needs fixing.

It’s the second one – our connection to the thing that needs fixing – that determines whether we ever ask for help.

If the thing that needs fixing is something that we don’t have any real connection to, then asking for help is no problem.

Like asking someone to take out the trash for us. We don’t have any connection to the trash. So asking for help is effortless.

But what if I’m struggling physically? Maybe I’m recovering from an accident or an illness. And I’m worried about what asking for help taking out the trash means – both to me and to the person I’m asking.

Does it mean that I’m not getting better? I don’t want to think about that.

If I ask for help, will they think I can’t do it anymore? Will they think less of me because I need help?

That’s a very different connection to the thing that needs fixing. Loaded with fear, it makes asking for help a lot harder.

We want to avoid all of that. So we don’t ask.

Which means we don’t get the help we need.

And the thing that needs fixing? Never gets fixed.

It’s a problem that seeps into every corner of our lives.

It’s why today’s Gospel – where the man with leprosy asks Jesus to heal him – is so important. Because it gets past all of the fears, to show us how God actually responds when we ask for help.

In the first century, leprosy was a disease with a lot of social and religious baggage. Leprosy didn’t just happen.

Leprosy was a sign to others that you were unclean. You were physically, spiritually unclean –that’s why got leprosy. Leprosy was God’s judgment. On you.

But the man is desperate. It’s killing him, slowly and painfully.

So he musters up the courage and humility to ask Jesus for help. And when he does?

None of his fears come true. Jesus doesn’t reject him because he’s unclean. Jesus doesn’t go off on him, about what he must have done to get leprosy.

Jesus sees the man – not as a disease, but as His child.

Jesus receives him gently and lovingly. And quietly fixes the thing that needs fixing.

As Jesus always does. Whenever one of His children, whenever you, have the courage and humility to ask for help.

Today’s Readings

#Help #Asking for Help #Getting over ourselves #How God treats us #God #Jesus #Catholic #Christian #Church #Catholicism #Chrumblr #Moments Before Mass

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passionatelyxlust · 1 day ago

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The other Princes did not understand their close relationship, and how could they when what they were for each other was designed by the King's hands? Lust had no inkling why the devil bothered creating them as twins when he and Gluttony held no purpose in the grand scheme of the kingdom like the others, he was a demon Prince of Hell, not a telepathic mind reader glimpsing into the King's thoughts. "Gluttony." If Lust thought about it, really thought about it, he will see where this dark madness slowly spreading in him at the mere mention of their King and his evil misdeeds against his twin would land him in a compromising position. He attempted seeing this from Gluttony's perspective, in fact, he witnessed the clear exhaustion with the other male that he didn't associate with his gossiping sibling since before leaving. The pang struck Lust right through the middle of his chest, a beneficial connection from the bond, but an unfortunate disadvantage if either tried keeping an emotional secret from the other which they ever rarely did. "I know, okay, I know coming back means the time and effort dragging Azriel away is in vain. You don't need to tell me she will raise Hell herself if I didn't listen and died on her watch. And as much as I love her, as much as I care about her, she doesn't get how every cell in my body is screaming in protest when we aren't at the other's side. None of them do." The Prince dropped his hands and gently grasped the other's, turning Gluttony's own hand palm facing up and focused on tracing the lines with his gaze. That act only served a reminder of his crazy suggestion to both receive matching tattoos on their palms to signify the brotherhood, but he didn't need ink to remind him of the core bond tying the two together. "If I was the one tasked with slaughtering the King, I wouldn't merely cut off his head. I would destroy all traces of him, dismantle his being, just in case he crafted a contingency plan resurrecting himself. I'd do that for you, Gluts." Lust glanced around him into the nothingness and thought of Azriel, what the demon was willing to sacrifice for the witch. Which included going against his nature. "Well, if I make Az's time worth while, I could visit you as much as I can through your dreams until we're together again. Just promise me you won't push anyone away who only want to help you. They aren't pitying you, Gluttony, remember that. And me," He paused briefly. "I'll always be here."

Gluttony knew that Lust would push back against what he said. Staying away from each other had never been in their cards– they never had to separate. They weren't meant to. Their King designed them as twins; even though they were never his favorite, they at least had each other. Now, one had to stay away under the threat of his life while the other was stripped bare of everything he was. Nothing about the situation was right, but this was the Devil they were talking about. The Prince could only shake his head as his brother continued going against his suggestion. "Lust, stop," Gluttony responded with a resigned sigh, a hand swiping over his brow. He was tired even in his own dream, a bone-weary ache rooted deep since the King stole everything from him. "Isabel is trying her best, but the King is still slowly but surely laying waste to us. She plans for you to stay put, and you know it." He knew that if their King wasn't truly distracted by the bombshell on the legs of walking temptation that Isabel was, then he would be torching the world to draw Azriel and Lust out– meaning his death and that of Azriel's entire family if it meant he could have their heads. No, this was all part of it. His suffering was bait. "Who says you'll be late? There's no one I'd rather kick the King's army with than you, Lust, but I won't be able to forgive myself if you die before then." His dark gaze flicked from his brother to his own hands in shame. It was like when Pride had successfully pegged his train of thought. Gluttony had gotten so used to his voice and chatter that he was so lost without it. Unable to cope with the loss after a millennium. Coupling that with his brother not by his side? It was hard enough for the Prince to get out of bed and to the point where anything he consumed held no flavor, still and lifeless. "It's the truth," he whispered before bringing his eyes to Lust's once more, "I know what you mean. Everyone is consoling me, and I should be happy that people are even bothering, but they aren't you. I can only nod at them while wishing they'd go away and you'd be there instead. I hope Wrath cuts off the motherfucker's head soon– then you can come home for good."

#gluttony convo #azriel convo

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stopisa · 3 days ago

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Seijoh 4 Bedroom Headcanons

a/n: no, not like that u little pervs. like what their actual bedrooms would look like around post time-skip. visuals included btw. enjoy <3

disclaimer: all photos were found on pinterest and none belong to me

oikawa

right after moving to argentina, he got a cute little one-bedroom apartment on a higher floor with a balcony.

he couldn't bring a lot from japan, so his place was bare bones, made him a little sad and lonely the first couple of months. the only decor he had were pictures/polaroids he put up using tape he bought from the corner store

once the athlete paychecks start coming in, he can buy more stuff to make his space feel more like a home like artwork and better lighting

speaking of lighting, he’d layer tf out of it. so not just a statement ceiling light but also clean, modern standing lamps and table lamps too. all have warm toned bulbs.

one of the most prominent things that can be seen around his place are plants! he became a plant daddy so quickly and was super pumped to see them grow. each morning is like a ritual with watering/misting them or moving them around so they can get sun. him taking care of plants gives him another purpose aside form volleyball. reminds him of when he was captain and taking care of his team.

sticks to a color palette of warm and bright tones of beiges, creams, whites, with some grey here and there to compliment the green plants.

you’ll spot a yoga mat and foam roller tucked in the corner

bedsheets are always crisp and 5-star hotel quality. and they smell amazing like lavender/citrusy

this diva sleeps with 10000 pillows bc he needs to feel like he's getting a hug every time he goes to sleep ;(

guys pls he's so touch starved and lonely at this point in his life he just wants someone to hold and sleep next too (maybe that can be u ;) )

iwaizumi

his room started off pretty bare since he had to experience how expensive going to school was in the U.S. plus he lived in a small dorm with little room for decor, made sure his place was close to a large gymnasium in tokyo

he’s the type to keep his space very clean and minimalistic sticking to dark, neutral colors as his palette. it serves to give off a calming and grounding effect that matches his personality imo

for sure has a neat, modest bookshelf filled with sports science books, anatomy guides and a few novels. resting on one shelf is a postcard from argentina that oikawa sent him.

he does not believe in the Big Light™️, only ambient and natural light allowed in his bedroom.

more about his decor, like oikawa he has pictures of his college days, old teammates and family. some plants like ivy and succulents also have their residence about his room. and lastly, a large, singular poster of godzilla that hangs proudly on his wall.

simple bedding, four pillows, matching dark sheets. smells of sandalwood/eucalyptus, he’s got a firm mattress tho :o[ bc it’s better for the back

due to his profession he’s very busy but always makes time to exercise so there are dumbbells and resistance bands safely stored beneath his bed

iwa’s space reflects his disciplined lifestyle but also reveals someone who is sentimental towards his friendships and memories. his bedroom is a place where he can unwind after a long day while staying connected to his passions :’)

matsukawa

his room just looks cozy and effortlessly cool to match his laid-back personality. like he just threw shit together and it worked out perfectly

dark color palette of deep greens, blacks and browns. his decor brings in some complimenting color like red, purple, and yellow

unlike iwaizumi and oikawa, his room is messier but not terrible. his bed is usually unmade and maybe a sweatshirt will be draped over a chair, water cup/bottle collection on his desk. it’s for sure a very lived-in space

the ambiance is lovely, like a perfectly curated nest, the softest, worn sheets and pillows that smell like bergamot and cinnamon paired with soft fairy lights or LED light strips and low music playing in the background, sleeps comes naturally here

blackout curtains are a must, they almost always cover the window in his room so you can really never tell what time it is but that’s fine because he works weird hours at the funeral home and he likes to sleep <3

he’s a gamer™️ imo, so he’s got a nice setup on the desk next to his bed, probably does streaming on the side or always talking to his friends on discord. i just know he’s diamond in valorant and a viper-omen main teehee

honestly his room is entertainment central, fuck a living room. he’s got a decent record player speaker to play his loud ass music, tv to fall asleep to movies/shows, and even a rubix cube he’s solved multiple times with a hidden snack drawer to top it off, you’ll never be bored here

decor consists of some manga volumes, figures/collectables, trinkets (he’s a trinket guy), a lego set and maybe one (fake) plant, and a tapestry blanket hanging on his wall

hanamaki

imo he’s totally a trust fund baby so not just his room but apartment as a whole is just very well styled

he has a fun and eclectic way of decorating with a beautiful harmony of bright whites and greys paired with accents of pastel blues and some pinks

his fashion is peak so he has some pieces on display on a rack with pairs of shoes that he spent a little too much money on smh

has a trendy low platform bed with a very soft duvet, lots of pillows and a gag gift stuffy from mattsun and the sheets hold the sweet, fruity smell of his room spray representing his never ending sweet tooth

the lighting is also heavily ambient and natural but he has a ceiling light that can have the brightness adjusted, light color and tone changed to fit his mood

his “work” space is really just for him to be on discord with mattsun and other online friends on one screen and updating his fashion blog on another. cute junk decorates his desk like a half-drawn doodle, a thrifted lava lamp, and a rubber duck oikawa got him at the ¥100 store in high school

like mattsun, his room is a little messy but more so in an organized chaos way, like he has a piles of PR boxes he has to go through and review in the corner next to his beanbag chair, laundry he has to put away and a stack of magazines in an upcycled crate

makki is the unemployed friend on a tuesday doing some random side quest, one of which is he’s always adding/removing decor from his space to always keep it fresh but there are staple pieces that must remain and they are usually ones with sentimental value (always related to his friends)

much love to @heiayen and @qichun for contributing and letting me yap abt in discord <3

- written in association with @interstellar-inn -

#🖋.writing #★.visuals #hq!!#𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀.#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #hq headcanons #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #seijoh 4 #aoba johsai #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader

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onechicagolife · 1 day ago

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ALWAYS | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner and girlfriend transferred to the FBI and moved to New York. Still adjusting to the loss of his former flame, all the while dealing with emotional scars from his time in the Rangers, his world is once again turned upside down when a case brings up an odd connection to a woman from his past. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Epilogue

Mia lay on her childhood bed, restless and tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of the lavender laundry detergent her mother always used. The room is bathed in shadows, the soft glow of a streetlamp outside casting faint patterns on the walls. It feels strange being in her old room, but there is some comfort in the familiarity of it. Her mind races, replaying fragments of the last few days, but when she closes her eyes, it settles on one image: the look in Daniel Reid’s eyes as he strangled her. Her mind plays it over and over again, unwilling to let her rest.

Mia huffs and rolls onto her back, pressing a palm to her chest as if that could calm her racing heart. She takes a slow breath, but her lungs still feel too tight, and she can practically feel the memories crawling under her skin. It has been this way since the hospital: long, sleepless nights filled with images she can’t escape.

Reaching for the phone on her nightstand, her thumb hovers over her contacts. She hesitates, debating whether she has the energy to speak. Finally, she taps the screen.

It rings twice before a groggy voice answers, "Halstead.” Jay rubs the sleep from his eyes, confusion stirring when no one responds. He pulls the phone away to check the caller ID. His breath hitches before he brings it back to his ear, “Mia?”

Mia’s eye fall shut in relief at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” she finally says, voice just above a whisper. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up. Go back to sleep.”

He settles back against the pillow, his voice losing some of its foggy edge. “No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

She swallows, her throat tight, “I just… can’t sleep. I keep thinking about…” Her voice trails off, and the silence speaks for her.

Pausing, Jay tries to stop his own memories from surfacing and clears his throat. “I’m here,” he prods gently. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like,” Mia exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her palm against her closed eyes, “I’m back in that cabin.” Her voice is raw, pained as she nearly breaks. “I close my eyes, and I see him. I see what he did… to Lindsey, to Kyla… Because of me.”

A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Mia,” Jay begins, his tone gentle but insistent, “what you went through... it’s unimaginable. But none of it was your fault. I know that doesn’t mean much right now, but I need you to hear me. It wasn’t your fault.”

She tightens her grip on the phone and closes her eyes to stop the tears. The conviction in his voice softens the sharp edges of her fear, if only by a fraction. “I know,” she says quietly, letting the words linger. A part of her does know—logically—but it doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at her.

The silence between them is heavy yet reassuring, his quiet presence helping in a way she can’t really explain. Like it always used to. After a few moments, Jay breaks it, his tone lighter, “Hey, remember that time we pranked Will into thinking that ER got canceled?”

Mia lets out an unexpected snort as the memory washes over her. “We? I was just an innocent bystander,” she giggles. “God, he was so mad at you.”

“Well, yeah, because I made him cry in front of a girl,” Jay chuckles, “even if it was just you. Still embarrassing.”

She smiles, a warmth seeping into her chest as they reminisce over the many times she’d been caught in the middle of the Halstead brothers’ antics. The small, welcome distraction makes the air feel a little less stifling. Eventually the laughter fades, replaced by a hesitant curiosity. “Jay,” she murmurs, “do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you never enlisted?”

He goes quiet for several long seconds, and she imagines him rubbing a hand over his face, trying to gather the right words. “I don’t regret joining the military,” he finally says, voice low. “But yeah, I do. I think about how I hurt you. About what you said that day—that I was trying to fix something broken in me. You were right.”

Mia shuts her eyes, a twinge of shame tugging at her heart. “I was so angry,” she admits. “When I found out I was pregnant, I—I was terrified. But I knew in my bones that no matter how scared I was, you’d be the best father to our daughter.”

A strangled breath escapes past his lips, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “Daughter?” he echoes, his voice cracking.

“I’m not sure,” she clarifies softly, blinking back her own tears, “I just always pictured her as a girl.”

He nods to himself, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips for a second at the image it conjures. “I didn’t know,” he manages, choking back the emotion that threatens to drown him. “I didn’t know about the baby or realize how much I was hurting you. I got so wrapped up in what I thought I needed—what I owed myself—that I never stopped to think about what you needed. And if I had known about her…”

"Jay, I know,” she furrows her brows, trying to convey her understanding with the softness of her tone.

He runs a hand down his face, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. I meant what I said. I chose wrong.”

Mia sniffles, tears dripping onto the soft, faded pillow beneath her head. The quiet over the line stretches, brimming with what she can’t bring herself to say yet.

I forgive you.

I want you.

I love you.

“Jay,” she whispers instead.

He swallows audibly, his next words raw. “Honestly, I think a part of my heart has always been yours. No matter what’s happened or how much time has passed. I think about that day at the airport all the time—about the promise I made. And I should’ve fought for you. With everything I had, I should’ve fought for you.”

She inhales unevenly, trying to piece her composure back together. Finally, she breathes again, “I should’ve fought, too.”

The words hang in the air, leaving them both lost in what could’ve been. When Jay speaks again, his tone is carefully measured, “It’s late. You should try to get some sleep.”

She nods even though he can’t see her. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “For always answering.”

He pauses a moment, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Goodnight, Jay,” she says softly.

“Goodnight.”

As Mia hangs up, the shadows in the room seem less daunting, the quiet less suffocating. Rolling onto her side, she closes her eyes, the ghost of Jay’s voice lingering in her mind. For the first time in weeks, she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can find her way back to herself through the darkness.

Mia hesitates outside the door, her heart thudding so loudly that each beat seems to echo in her ears. She swallows hard, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers as she fights the overwhelming urge to just leave a note and run. She hasn’t seen or spoken to Austin since the hospital, having asked for some time to herself. Truthfully, she hasn’t known what to say to him—she still doesn’t. She wishes she could keep delaying the inevitable, but she knows that wouldn’t be fair—to him or to herself.

Summoning her courage, she raises her fist and knocks. Within seconds, the door swings open. Austin’s face brightens with a warm smile, and she feels a pang of guilt twist in her stomach. “Hi,” he says lightly, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

Mia manages a small nod and crosses the threshold into the hotel suite. She folds her arms tightly over her chest and moves near the window, as though distance alone can shield her from what she’s here to do. Behind her, she hears the door click shut. His footsteps pad toward the minibar, and his voice drifts across the room—something about contractors, remodels, timelines. She barely registers the words, her own thoughts a frantic hum in her mind. You can do this.

“…He thinks they can have everything done in a few months,” Austin explains. “I know you’ve been wanting to redo the kitchen anyway.”

She finally hears him and closes her eyes, inhaling a steadying breath. “I’m not going back to that house,” Mia bites out harsher than she intended, cutting through his words. How can he think they could just go back to normal—like the last few months never happened when it takes everything in her to forget, just for a moment?

He pauses, clearly taken aback. “Okay,” he responds slowly, tone laced with caution. “That’s fine. I can have the realtor give us some insight on what updates will sell best, and then maybe we can—”

“Austin.” Her voice is firmer this time, and she turns to face him, pulling a small object from her pocket. She stares at it silently, rolling it between her fingers as she takes a few steps forward. She places her engagement ring on the coffee table, the metallic clink jarringly loud in the quiet room.

His features shift, his tentative smile fading completely. He sets down the glass he’s holding, the faintest tremor visible in his hand. “What are you doing?” Austin asks, tone almost disbelieving.

She swallows against the knot in her throat. “I meant what I said before,” she says quietly. “This isn’t working anymore.”

His eyes flick from her face to the ring, then back. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot,” he offers quickly, stepping closer. “If you need time, if you need space, that’s fine. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

She shakes her head, tongue poking out to wet her lips, “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?” his voice rises slightly, something flickering in his eyes. “Is it about Jay?”

Her stomach clenches, but she tries to keep her composure. “Austin—” she begins.

His frustrated voice cuts her off, “Did something happen I don’t know about?” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flaring with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Just tell me.”

Mia takes a deep breath, knowing that she can’t dodge the truth any longer. “I slept with him,” she says, her voice uncertain as she waits for a reaction.

The room is silent, the color draining from his face. “What?” Austin visibly recoils, a sharp edge to his tone. “When?”

“When you were in Portland,” she admits as she forces herself to meet his eyes. “Before… everything.”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, as if the distance might lessen the blow. “So, what? That’s why you wanted to take a break? So you could have sex with your ex-boyfriend and not feel guilty about it?”

“No! No, that’s not—” Mia protests, but he interrupts her.

“Don’t,” he snaps, raising a hand to cut her off. “You told me there was nothing going on, Mia. And like an idiot, I believed you.”

She flinches slightly. She feels guilty for hurting him but at the same time, she doesn’t regret it. “I know it sounds cliché,” she tries to find the right words to explain, “but it just… happened. You deserve the truth. And, yes, Jay coming back into my life played a part in me wanting a break, but it’s not the only reason.”

“Then what is the reason?” he demands, exasperation bleeding into his tone. When she doesn’t respond, his anger wavers, replaced by a desperate plea. “Mia, I love you. You've been through a lot, so if you need me to give you some grace right now, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes—therapy, time apart, I don’t care. If forgiving you for this means I get to keep you, I’ll do it.” He swallows hard, “Just tell me what I have to do.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she knows she is doing the right thing. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Austin stares at her, heartbreak etched into every line of his face. “Are you still in love with him?” he asks in a voice that trembles under the weight of the realization that he already knows the answer.

Her throat tightens, and she is unable to meet his eyes as her own catch on the diamond reflecting under the light. “You’re a good man, Austin,” Mia avoids the question, voice quiet yet somehow deafening in the silence. “You deserve someone who can be all in, who can truly love you the way you deserve. I wanted to be that person for you—I tried to be that person. But… I’m not.”

He follows her gaze to the ring before searching her face for something—a sign, a glimmer of hope—but finds nothing. “I’m so sorry,” she adds unsteadily. “I never meant to hurt you.”

His shoulders sag, the fight leaving his body. Austin exhales, the sound hollow and resigned. “Goodbye, Mia,” he finally says softly, a pained finality to his tone.

She feels a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly swipes it away. “Goodbye,” she whispers.

Mia steps past him, the door looming ahead like a final threshold. The hallway is cold and silent as she emerges, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud. Guilt tangles with a strange sense of relief, leaving her legs unsteady. There’s an ache inside her chest where her future with Austin used to be, but she also senses something else blossoming: the faintest spark of freedom. Because that future was never real. It was an escape. For the first time in a long time, she feels like she can finally breathe.

O’Hare International was a whirlwind of hurried footsteps, rolling suitcases, and muffled announcements echoing from overhead speakers. Mia stood near the security checkpoint, her fingers twisting with each other nervously. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, feeling the sting of unshed tears. Her stomach churned, her heart aching in ways she couldn’t quite describe. It felt familiar, though—something she had only ever experienced once before. When she was thirteen and realized that her father wasn’t coming home.

A few yards away, Jay stood beside his older brother, his duffel slung over his shoulder and his new uniform freshly pressed. His hair was buzzed shorter than she was used to, and it made him look older, more serious. As if that should somehow make him more prepared to be sent off to his possible death. But his eyes—those deep, familiar eyes she’d fallen in love with before she even realized—still held the same softness, even as they searched her face with a mix of guilt and longing.

Will squeezed his shoulder in farewell when he noticed Mia and shot her a small, reassuring smile, before giving them some space.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Jay mumbled as he stepped closer. His voice was careful, like he was afraid one wrong word might send her running.

Mia crossed her arms over her chest defensively, fighting a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool blasts of airport air conditioning. “Neither did I,” she answered, her tone edged with bitterness and hurt. It had only been a week since she found out about his enlistment—but the short time without him already felt like a lifetime.

His posture stiffened, shame written clearly across his face, “Mia—”

“You lied to me,” she cut him off harshly, her voice wavering despite the determined anger on her face. “For weeks. You let me plan our future—a future you had no intention of sharing.” She couldn’t stop the tears that began to gather in her eyes and blinked furiously to keep them at bay.

“I know,” he swallowed hard, every word heavy with regret. “I messed up. I thought maybe you’d try to talk me out of it, and I was… I was scared of losing you.” His voice cracked, and that small vulnerability only made her heart clench harder.

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Of course I would have tried to talk you out of it!” her words came out sharp, but beneath the anger was an overwhelming sadness. “You don’t just get to decide something this huge without telling me. We were supposed to do things together. You shut me out instead.”

Jay bowed his head under the weight of her words. “I know,” he repeated quietly. “And now I’m losing you anyway.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, and in that single look, she saw the regret, the longing, the fear. Another announcement came over the speakers, but the words drifted into the background. All she could focus on was Jay—the slight quiver in his breath, the desperate set of his jaw. Her eyes softened slightly, tears stinging as she blinked them back.

Suddenly, he dropped his duffel and closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands with surprising gentleness. Mia stiffened at first, but his thumbs brushed away the tears that she fought so hard against, and her anger splintered into grief.

“I can’t,” he started, voice breaking, “I can’t do this if you’re not with me. Please.”

Everything around them momentarily faded, and there was only Jay’s earnest gaze and the warmth of his hands on her skin. She wanted to fight it—wanted to hold onto the anger because it was easier than facing the heartbreak—but she couldn’t. She inhaled a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him desperately as if it would somehow keep him from leaving her.

“I forgive you,” she whispered against his chest, her tears dampening the fabric of his uniform. “I hate that you’re doing this, but I forgive you. We’ll… figure it out.”

Jay lowered his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her hair. His breath stuttered, and she realized he was fighting back tears of his own. “I love you so damn much,” he managed, voice thick with emotion.

Her hold tightened. “I love you too,” she mumbled.

Overhead, the final boarding call for his flight crackled through. She felt that sting of reality slice through her chest, an ache that warned her time was almost up. She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes as she framed his face with both hands. “Will you come back to me?” Mia asked, the words trembling on her lips, fragile but full of hope.

“Always,” he answered without the slightest pause, his gaze steady and resolute, as if his promise alone could protect them both from whatever lies ahead. Then Jay leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of both a goodbye and a vow.

Jay sits on the edge of his couch, the remote resting idly in his hand as the Blackhawks highlights replay for the third time. The volume is low, the commentator’s voices blending into a murmur that only emphasizes the otherwise quiet apartment. His phone lies face down on the coffee table, s if hiding it might banish the temptation to call her—or at least stop him from staring at the screen, willing it to light up. For the past week, Mia has called every single night when she can’t manage to silence the memories that haunt her. They’ve talked about everything and nothing, staying on the line for as long as it takes for her breathing to even out.

He glances at his watch. 12:00 AM. The city seems to have wound down—as much as Chicago can—but he’s still wide awake, leg bouncing restlessly. The last time he sat like this, unable to stop worrying about her, she had been handing herself over to a serial killer. The thought still makes his stomach twist. Maybe she was finally able to fall asleep early, which he knows she desperately needs. Maybe she doesn’t need him tonight, which hurts and reassures him at the same time.

A sudden knock at the door jolts Jay to his feet, heart thumping against his ribs as he approaches the door cautiously to peer through the peephole. He can’t fight the smile from tugging at his lips as he unlocks and pulls open the door, and everything slows.

Mia stands under the dim hallway light, cheeks pink from the cool night air and dark hair a windblown mess. Her green eyes shine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination, and that look alone sends a tremor through his chest. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed to see her until this very second, having thought about it every day since the hospital.

“Mia,” he breathes, relief and surprise tangling in his voice.

“Hi,” she replies softly, offering a small, unsure smile. He steps back, wordlessly inviting her inside. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake,” she says, pausing near the couch. Her gaze flicks toward the TV, still playing the sports channel.

Jay shuts the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was… waiting for your call,” he confesses with a quiet laugh and sheepish shrug.

She bites her lip, fighting back a smile. “I was lying in bed, staring at my phone,” she trails off and turns to face him, her soft expression catching the light, “but I needed to see you.”

His pulse quickens at her words. He takes a step closer, searching her face trying to gauge where this conversation will lead. Arching a brow, his mouth quirks slightly, “Want to sit down?”

She nods, rounding the couch and settling onto the cushion. He follows suit, leaving a small space between them. Mia shifts to face him, drawing in a shaky breath before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m just,” her shoulders deflate, her weariness palpable, “so tired.”

He doesn’t move, afraid to shatter the moment. But he has to ask, and he clears his throat gently, “Of what?”

Mia inhales through her nose and lifts her head, glancing around the apartment as she tries to find the right words. Her eyes trail up to the ceiling, and she rubs her lips together before meeting his gaze. “For the last week,” she continues, voice trembling, “you’ve been the only thing keeping me grounded. For the last few weeks, actually. Even when I…was with someone else, when everything around me was crashing down, the only person I wanted was you.”

His chest constricts from the weight of her confession. He aches to reach out, to hold her, but he resists the urge. A wave of familiarity crashes over him, remembering that night in the safehouse when everything between them shifted. Back to the way it used to be.

“You saved me,” her voice catches as the backs of her eyes sting, but she blinks back the tears and lets out a watery laugh. “Not just from… You saved me from myself. That day you walked into my office. And it terrified me.”

“Mia,” he starts but cuts himself off when she lifts a hand, nodding for her to continue.

“I’ve been scared, Jay,” she confesses, leaning forward. “Scared of letting you in again because you broke my heart. Twice.” Her voice wavers, and she notices the flash of regret in his eyes. She pushes on, though her throat feels tight. “And I let you, because I wanted so badly to be with you. But you weren’t ready, and I realize that now.”

Her voice cracks and Jay can’t help himself anymore. He shuffles closer, reaching out to grab one of her hands in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not the same person I was ten years ago,” he promises.

Lips curving into a sad but hopeful smile, she nods and squeezes his hand back. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” Mia glances down at their entwined hands, eyes focusing on his thumb as it traces over her knuckles. After a few moments, she lifts her chin and inhales deeply, “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

His throat constricts, heart beating rapidly against his chest, “What are you saying?”

She bites her lower lip, searching his eyes. “I’m saying that I’m in love with you,” she admits, lifting a weight off her shoulders that she has felt for over a decade. “And I don’t care if that means risking getting hurt again, because it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

It’s all he can do not to pull her into his arms right then. In one fluid motion, Jay closes the space between them, gently cupping her face in his hands. His fingertips brush against the smooth skin of her cheek, swiping away a strand of hair. “Mia,” he says, voice a desperate plea, “I’ve loved you since I was sixteen. Probably earlier. That never stopped, no matter how many mistakes I made, no matter what I tried to tell myself. And I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure I never hurt you again. Not if I can help it.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she lets out a trembling laugh. “I believe you,” she whispers, her fingers clutching his shirt as though he might disappear again if she lets go.

“Do you?” he asks, voice laced with uncertainty and hope.

“I do,” she repeats, a light shining in her eyes he hasn’t seen in what feels like a lifetime.

He leans in slowly, touching his lips to hers in a featherlight kiss, almost like a question. Mia answers by pressing closer, her breath hitching as she finally gives in. The intensity builds, every unspoken apology and promise as he licks across the seam of her lips. Her free hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer still, as if she can anchor herself in this moment. She parts her mouth, letting him deepen the kiss and sighing into his embrace.

When they finally pull apart, Jay rests his forehead against hers. A hand threads through her hair, brushing it back over her shoulder before resting firmly against her neck. “I still can’t believe you came back to me,” he whispers in awe.

Her eyes shine with tears, and she doesn’t even try to fight the grin taking over her face. “Always,” she murmurs, echoing the promise he once made and renewing it all at once.

A relieved laugh escapes him, and Jay presses a lingering kiss to the crown of her hair. “Good,” he breathes against her skin, “because I’m not letting you go this time. Not for anything.”

Mia nods, hand coming to land atop his still cradling her face, her touch warm and reassuring. “Neither am I,” she promises.

They stay like that—wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the table lamp—letting the echoes of past fears and regrets slip away. Instead, a quiet sense of hope blooms between them. It is overwhelming but after how long it took them to find their way back to each other, there’s a lightness to it. That after everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve fought for, this would finally be it. That whatever happens next, they could face.

Together.

Always.

Forever.

prev . . .

well... thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me!! i've been writing for years but original characters was something new and i'm glad you all seemed to love mia as much as i do 🥹

it's bittersweet but i'm mayyyybe close to stringing together an actual plot for a sequel?

stay tuned 😘

#jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead fanfiction #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #story: always #gifs are not mine: ask if you would like yours removed

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