frshdsco

[yourbleedingh3art]

Wake me up inside + In the arms of the angels

[cheegu3]

~ Jungwon - Dr. Evil ~

tw / trigger warning: yandere themes, hospital scenes, car accident, blood, murder, swearing

synopsis: as your husband enters a car accident, you rush him urgently to the hospital. The one that happened to be the closest was Yang Junwon’s hospital that he ruled over. One glance was all it took for the doctor to become infatuated with you, but one problem was still evident...your husband

wc: 2.8k

pairing: doctor!jungwon x y/n (+ husband!jake)

a/n: I’ve become jungwon biased in this enhypen phase 😭 I will post other groups soon I promise !!!

I had no idea how to write the car scene lmao but yet again this fic inspo came to me in the form of a dream !!

What was he supposed to do? You came into his clinic and caught his attention right away. Anyone would’ve done the same if they got to witness your beauty.

As your eyes locked for the first time, his breath hitched - Jungwon knew, right then and there that he had to have you no matter what.

As your eyes locked for the first time, his breath hitched - Jungwon knew, right then and there that he had to have you no matter what.

There was just one problem, your husband.

It had been a late, snowy night in November. You and your husband had dinner with your parents and were now heading back.

Fresh snow covered the ground, hiding the deadly ice underneath with a constant flow of snowflakes piling on top.

Your parents insisted on you two staying the night, arguing about a storm coming - but both you and your husband Jake argued back just as passionately.

You couldn’t wait to get home to the comfortable bed you shared with the love of your life; fireplace warm and hot cocoa with some Christmas movies beforehand.

Eventually, they had to give up - having followed you halfway up to your car and still trying to change your minds, they realised it was quite pointless. A reason you had married Jake was because you were both equally stubborn, to your mother’s distaste.

So you both got into the car and started driving home. It was going pretty well at first; the path that lead up to your parents’ home was fine but it started to get icier as you turned on the road.

You looked at your husband, a small clump in your stomach growing with every meter he drove. He assured you that it was fine, he was experienced with weather like this and that you’d be home “ in no time “.

Then it all went too quickly. As you approached a crossing where it was the iciest, the tires lost grip making the vehicle slide over to the other lane. Just then, a car rammed into the side of your car.

Your vision turned black for several minutes. Consciousness trying to re-enter your body desperately. A hand made you jolt awake suddenly and you heard several worried voices shouting over each other in the background.

You blinked a few times as the stranger’s face was coming into view. It was an older woman, her hands were covered in blood and her face looked worried.

‘‘ You’re okay now. Let’s get you to a hospital ‘‘ she said, her soothing voice reminding you of your own mom.

You smiled weakly and managed to get out of the car with the help of the kind lady. Outside stood many parked cars scattered chaotically in the middle of the crossing and you could see an ambulance approaching in the distance.

‘‘ My husband? ‘‘ you said to her.

She gave you a sympathetic look, leading you away from the car to wait for the ambulance to park. You felt as if she was trying to distract you from something; Panic and worry started to form inside.

‘‘ Why won’t you tell me? Is he okay? Is my husband okay? ‘‘

‘‘ He’s...in critical condition ‘‘ she finally admitted after you started clinging onto her arm desperately. 

In critical condition? You weren’t sure what that meant, only knowing it was serious. But like always you stayed positive - repeating affirmations in your head that it was all going to be okay, your husband was going to survive and you would arrive home safely; together.

The lady lead you to an ambulance that had its doors open, the other one had not. Peeking inside you realised disappointedly that your husband wasn’t inside this one, but let yourself be pushed into it nonetheless.

The silent ride to the hospital left room for your mind to wander - anxiously thinking of your husband and all the ways it could go wrong once you’d arrive. You couldn’t imagine a life without him, it felt impossible.

‘‘ Miss Y/n? ‘‘ a soft voice called out to you.

Your head snapped up, staring at a young woman outside the ambulance.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d arrived so quickly, the hospital must have been very close.

‘‘ Yes? ‘‘

She smiled and then stepped to the side, signaling for you to get out of the vehicle. You immediately obeyed; the adrenaline starting to pump inside your body again at the thought of possibly seeing your husband soon.

‘‘ Doctor Yang will be taking care of you and your husband today. Once you get in, he will greet you and then lead you to your husband. Mr. Sim will be examined and then they will decide what treatment he needs ‘‘

You nodded silently to the woman, giving her a small smile as your mind was already elsewhere. Your eyes stared at the entrance.

The woman then gestured towards it and you took that as your cue to go inside. You had to stop yourself from running.

The doors slid open and revealed a very young but handsome man. Your overactive mind didn’t notice, only glancing briefly as you approached him hesitantly - but the doctor furrowed his brows at the sight of you, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards and he examined you like he would a patient.

A hand was extended towards you, making you look up in surprise. The eye-contact was intense and it freaked you out. As a doctor, shouldn’t he look empathetic or sorry for your situation? Then why did he look intrigued and almost happy as you met his eyes? He even had a pleased smile on his face...

‘‘ I’m doctor Yang Jungwon, nice to meet you ‘‘

His eyebrow raised at your lack of answer but you still shook his hand.

‘‘ And you are..? ‘‘

‘‘ Y/n ‘‘ you said, eyes darting behind him to see if you could spot your husband.

He watched you silently.

‘‘ You must be waiting to see your husband ‘‘ he contained his smirk at the thought of your badly injured significant other ‘‘ Follow me ‘‘.

You nodded eagerly and followed him. Your husband’s room was at the back of the ER - Where supposedly “ the worst conditioned “ ones were kept, without windows and with locks so no curious eyes could catch a glimpse of death.

As the door was getting closer, you tried your very best to not think of that fact. But it was extremely hard, seeing as the lights in this area were more dim and no voices were heard down the hall at all.

‘‘ Here we are ‘‘ 

Your head raised at the sound of the doctor’s voice. He sounded so...casual? But maybe he had been trained to be calm under all kinds of pressure.

You took a deep breath and stepped into the room, feeling him immediately follow behind.

Unfortunately, your husband looked worse than you had imagined. His eyes were closed, looking peaceful which was a stark contrast to his beaten and bandaged body. He was unconscious, and you were sort of thankful for that as it meant his body could heal while he rested.

Tears welled up in your eyes at your lover’s pitiful form. You wish he could wake up so you could tell him it was going to be okay. But you weren’t even sure if that was the truth.

Judging by the amount of beeping machines attached to him, you knew there was a good reason for keeping him so far away from the other patients; he might not survive.

The question popped into your head and you didn’t really try to stop yourself from blurting it out at once.

‘‘ What’s his condition right now? ‘‘

Your eyes followed the doctor as he casually strolled around to your husband’s bed and crossed his arms while watching him. You weren’t sure if he was assessing him or just pretending to - because his eyes were blank and emotionless, but when they met yours again they softened.

Stop overanalysing everything because of your anxiety, it meant nothing..

You smiled uncomfortably, gathering yourself and controlling your facial expressions. 

He ticked his tongue; rather amused that you felt uneasy whenever you had eye-contact with him. It felt exciting and empowering.

‘‘ He’s not stable yet, we’re unsure if he’s in a coma but he is unconscious as you can tell ‘‘ Jungwon’s eyes went up to the machine showing your husband’s heart-rate. ‘‘ He will have to stay here for a couple of weeks, maybe more depending on when he wakes up ‘‘.

‘‘ And his survival rate? ‘‘

His eyebrows raised; surprised by your question. You seemed to be a very logical and straightforward person who didn’t beat around the bush nor want things sugarcoated.

How interesting.

Usually the doctor would have to lie to his patients’ family members, soften the blow a bit and comfort them as even when he’d deliver a lie they still broke down in tears dramatically. 

He hated people like that. But it were those kind that Jungwon dealt with every day in his work. Many times, the resignation letter had been close to being dropped off at the CEO’s office but something always stopped him from doing it. Maybe it had all been leading up to this day today - it was destiny, it had to be!

‘‘ Frankly not the best. 50% ‘‘ 

He watched your face closely, curious to see your reaction to the horrible news. You tried to focus on breathing regularly, only nodding silently as you were deep in thought - But he could see right through you.

50% wasn’t too bad, right? You had a habit of being delusional, it made things a lot easier. A protective shell built up of toxic positivity, preventing you from losing your cool completely and having a mental breakdown.

But even though it wasn’t healthy, it felt safe so you didn’t care. You gave him a small smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes but was still hopeful.

‘‘ Thank you ‘‘ 

You walked closer to your husband’s bed, having stood by the door before to create some distance.

You smiled again but this time it was a painful one. Your facial expressions twisting as a reflection of the agony you felt inside at the sight of your husband. A hand instinctively went up to touch the side of his face affectionately. 

He felt cold, body not reacting to your touch or the sound of your voice. It made you a bit sad. You were always told as a kid that ‘’ love defeats all ‘’ but maybe not when it came to science.

A deep sigh escaped from your tight lips, making you come back to your senses after being caught up in your thoughts again. That’s when you felt the doctor’s heavy gaze on you.

It made you jump in surprise and you backed away as your face quickly turned red in embarrassment, 

‘‘ I’m sorry...I thought you left I- ‘‘ you mumbled, apologies spilling from your mouth.

The corners of his lips curved upwards at your cuteness. And well, you weren’t technically wrong - he should leave, but he didn’t want to. Screw patient privacy he wanted to watch you forever like this.

It made him feel good to know your husband’s life was in his hands and he, only he could decide what to do with it. 

However Jungwon was getting impatient. So many tears welling from your pretty eyes being wasted over a nobody like the man in front of him, it was a shame. He could think of better ways for you to use your tears. 

Knowing he’d want to act soon, to make the next part of his plan kick in - he unhooked your husband from some of the machines and pulled his bed out.

Your furrowed your brows, immediately coming up to clutch the side of the bed to catch the doctor’s attention; demanding an explanation.

‘‘ I think he should go into surgery, it doesn’t look like it will get any better. It’s the only way he has that 50% of surviving, otherwise it’s 0% ‘‘

‘‘ But...’‘ you said.

‘‘ I’m the doctor ‘‘ he said matter of factly and a bit arrogantly as if that meant he was always right.

Despite that, you still stepped aside and waved your husband goodbye for now as he was pushed away by Jungwon.

He told you to wait in the room and that it would take maybe 1-3 hours max. He also surprised you by giving you his hospital card, urging you to use it to buy food for yourself at the hospital while you waited.

It felt a bit odd. You had never heard of such a thing - either it was unprofessional or he was an overly nice doctor that did this to all of his patients’ loved ones.

As he left you stared at the card, turning it over and playing with it in your hand. The whole situation felt so surreal. Not only had the day been going on for what felt like forever, but the surgery had been decided so quickly.

From the small amount of knowledge you had about hospitals from medical dramas, albeit not accurate; they always had doctors consult with others, wether that be nurses or different doctors. They never took such big decisions on their own.

So why did Dr. Yang do that?

Nevertheless you decided to trust him. What were you supposed to do anyway as the anxiety made doubts creep into your mind - run in there and stop him? That would never work.

So you just let the time pass. Wandering the halls back and forth several times. You had bought food but it laid untouched inside your husband’s room.

One hour had passed, then two and finally three. Just as the clock stroke past the 3 hour mark, the door slid open.

You had retreated back to the room after the nurses began gossiping when they saw you pacing with a blank look on your face.

“ Hey “

He looked relaxed, almost too relaxed - did this mean he had good news?

“ Did he survive? “

Jungwon grimaced, he disliked bad manners. Especially when it came to you; He will have to teach you that later. But right now, shouldn’t you be happy he was there to see you again?

He had been gone so long, been so busy - burying the body of your husband…

Weren’t you happy your true love was yours now?

The long silence and his reaction made you somehow realise what had happened. Not that he had killed him but that your lover was dead.

So you burst into tears without the doctor uttering a single word.

Burying your head into your knees you sobbed uncontrollably, body shaking with every breath you drew.

Jungwon came over and laid an arm over your shoulder. He shushed you comfortingly and even placed kisses on your head - but you were too out of it to even care.

“ It’s gonna be okay, y/n “

You sniffled out an answer in between choked tears.

“ No, it’s not. I just lost the love of my life “

As your head was buried you couldn’t see the utter rage that took over the doctor’s beautiful features. His eyebrows twisted in annoyance as he watched you silently, a slight sour taste forming in his mouth.

‘‘ Oh, seriously? He didn’t even fucking deserve you ‘‘ he spat out, venom dripping from his voice.

You lifted your head to look at him, mirroring his expressions.

‘‘ Who are you to tell me that? What the fuck is wrong with y- ‘‘

His smirk made the realisation sink in; that feeling you shouldn’t have ignored from the start came back.

‘‘ You killed him, didn’t you? ‘‘

‘‘ Took you long enough ‘‘ Jungwon scoffed sarcastically, not bothering to hide his true persona now, as if he was proud of taking a person’s life.

You felt sick to your stomach - even more so when you were reminded of his arm around you shoulder, comforting you while you cluelessly cried into the arms of your husband’s murderer.

You tried to twist out of his grasp, feeling the bile quickly traveling up but he was quicker; already predicting your movements he pulled you in harshly, pressing you even harder into his body now.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe. Jungwon was much stronger than you had imagined and the newfound information of him that he was capable of murder made you terrified to make the wrong mistake. 

If you did, would he throw you away like all his other patients; like a toy he was bored of playing with? After all - he could always get another pretty doll if you annoyed him too much...

It was as if he was reading your thoughts again when you looked into his eyes. His were screaming of danger and arrogance, yours were sorrowful. 

‘‘ You’ll behave now, won’t you? I don’t like when people annoy me or test my patience. You don’t want to find out what happens when they do.. ‘‘ 

[whumper-whimsy]

@augusnippets day 6

car accident/ plane crash/ ship wreck

Potentially triggering and graphic description of a car crash, ambiguous whether Whumpee survives

°

Caretaker drove down the highway on his way back from picking Whumpee up. The other man sat beside him, singing along to the catchy pop songs on the radio.

The highway wasn't busy by any means, and Caretaker let himself climb over the speed limit.

55 miles an hour. 60, 65, 70.

His headlights were bright— he could easily see anything that popped onto the road.

He continued on, humming along and tapping the wheel on beat.

A car in the other lane was made visible by the headlights. Right as it was about to pass by Caretaker's vehicle, a deer popped out into the open road.

It all happened so fast. The other car took a sharp left, cutting into Caretaker's lane. Caretaker turned to his left, trying to avoid a head-on collision.

One moment, Whumpee was singing along cheerfully to terrible pop music. The next, the right side of the car was crumpled, taking the brunt of the crash. Caretaker was alright— shocked and a little bruised up, but— oh God, was Whumpee breathing?

Caretaker shouted for help, avoiding looking at the mess in the passenger seat. He sobbed and tried to get out, finding his dashboard had been shoved in and trapped his leg. He hadn't felt it before, but fuck, it was starting to hurt. He grabbed his phone, calling the police. As soon as a dispatcher picked up, Caretaker began blabbering into his microphone.

"Send somebody, please! T- there's been a car crash on the highway between City X and City Y, and I don't know if Whumpee is alive and i don't wanna look, and‐ and i don't know how bad the other driver is, and I'm trapped and— please, get here and save Whumpee!"

The dispatcher attempted to calm him down, assuring that police and paramedics were on their way. Caretaker hung up, putting his phone down.

Still without looking, Caretaker reached his hand out to touch Whumpee's skin. It was warm and wet, and Caretaker held in a sob. "Whumpee..? Whumpee, come on, say something. Tell me you're alright." Caretaker bit his lip, fighting more tears. "Come on, don't make me look... I don't— please!"

Caretaker felt up the limb— an arm, he assumed— and tried to touch Whumpee's neck to check a pulse. He felt something solid embedded in the flesh, pulling back with a high-pitched wail. "No! Please!"

Sirens were audible in the distance, and Caretaker soon saw the emergency vehicles arrive. The paramedics hurried over in pairs of two to each side of each vehicle, pulling the doors open. Caretaker was checked over and pulled free from the vehicle.

The medics on Whumpee's side went back to their ambulance and came back with a stretcher, preparing it and starting to try and get the door open.

"Is he okay?" Caretaker asked the medics, stepping back towards the car. Gloved hands grabbed his shoulders, attempting to hold him back. "Is Whumpee okay?"

He was met with silence, so he pushed past the paramedics and to the car, looking in the window.

Whumpee was barely recognizable. He was covered in blood, his body slumped. Glass stuck out from his flesh in various places, and his right arm was nearly detatched.

Caretaker let out a howl of distress, screaming Whumpee's name as the medics pulled him back. "No! Whumpee!"

Caretaker crumpled, stricken with horror and grief. He clutched his head in his hands, flooded with anguish.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..."

[weirdanecdotes]

On Being Psychic – Part 1

I don’t know if I am an evolutionary mutant or a recessive throwback. For the first twenty-five years of my life, I wrestled with knowing too much and wanting to be rid of my “special gift.”

As a small child, I didn’t know I was psychic; I just was. I knew/felt/saw/received information and had no reference, no way of knowing that everyone didn’t perceive the world the way I did. Information popped into my mind and jumped out of my mouth before I even noticed. My days were peppered with news bulletins from the Aether and I delivered them thoughtlessly.

I’d ask Mama things like, “Why does that person have a yellow cloud?” And, “What are those pretty ribbons in the sky?” Or tell her, “Don’t make plans with Alice. Dot will call later to invite you to a party.”

Going to Sear’s one day when I was about two years ago, I told her, “The road is blocked. Take another way.”

“Now why would you say a thing like that?” My mother dismissed my warning until we were stopped by the backup of traffic and saw an ambulance pass by.

“Too late,” I said to the ambulance, “They’re gone.” Mama shivered in response.

When she started taking me to nursery school, the route she took included a rickety humpbacked bridge over railroad tracks. I hated the school and getting me to go was a workday chore. I cried and begged, “Please don’t take me there.” Then as she drove us toward the railroad bridge, I started screaming, “No! Don’t go that way!”

Probably she had conveniently forgotten about my being right about another road being blocked or maybe she remembered because she shouted at me, “Shut up! Stop it now!”

I shut myself up until only whimpers escaped my mouth as I anticipated what was going to happen. On the other side of the bridge, the roadway widened to two lanes to allow a left turn lane, went steeply downhill and got stopped by a traffic light. We usually had to sit thru a couple of lights before it was our turn to get thru.

That morning, there must have been extra traffic because we ended up stopped on the top of the hump. And a train with a very long load came barreling under it at high speed. In my memory, the noise was unbearable but much worse, the bridge shook and creaked like it was going to collapse. I couldn’t help myself and started screaming in terror. Mama screamed right along with me and pulled me across the front seat to hug me close to her. Then we both cried and clung to each other until the damned trained passed and the world returned to “normal”.

She had tissues in her purse and wiped both our faces while she promised me, “I will find us another way to your school. We will never—never come this way again.” And when she picked me up that day, we took a different route home.

There was absolutely nothing in her background that prepared Mama for dealing with me. She was raised in a strict Southern Baptist family in Charleston, South Carolina, got a high school education, and took a course to be certified in Accounting. She didn’t enjoy reading and had not significantly expanded her mental boundaries or even tested her intellect since leaving school. How she withheld judgment over my little prognostications for so long is a mystery to me. I think she probably coped through an automatic denial mechanism. I’ve known her to do this with other, more serious, situations that were unpleasant to her. So it can be presumed she simply forgot things she couldn’t understand as soon as they occurred. Quite a few people do this as a way of life. But, we never crossed that bridge again.

My parents made no secret of the fact that I had been adopted. I can’t remember ever not knowing that “your real mother could not keep you and she knew that you would be better off with a Mama and Papa like us who would love you and take care of you.”

Papa bought a two-volume book set titled The Adopted Child—one for the parents and one to be read to the child. Reading the book for me, he asked, “What would you rather do in a candy store? Close you eyes and grab whatever you could reach? Or look around and pick out the candy you wanted?”

“Pick! Pick!” Even simpleton toddlers make this choice but I didn’t. I looked at both of them anxiously and Mama volunteered the answer, “We picked you.”

Now whatever psychologist wrote this framing of the situation overlooked the implications. I heard quite clearly that my “real mother” had put me up for sale in a candy store because she didn’t love me. I could imagine myself like a baby doll in a box displayed on a shelf until my parents came and “picked” me.

Even the constant reassurances that I was “special” only made me feel awfully different in some indefinably bad way. Much later in life when I would take my children away from my brawling parents’ house, I would assure them, “Remember, you’re not related to those people.” I always knew that but I didn’t realize it mattered as much as it did. Psychic abilities often skip a generation and my life would have been better if I’d had a grandmother or an aunt who understood what was happening to me.

[destinyesque]

Roads

by Sam Lastname

Cassandra crashed our car in Kansas, a few miles down the road from the World's Largest Ball of Twine. She said it was an accident. I'm not convinced she didn't do it on purpose. I suppose how it happened doesn't really matter.

We ended up on the side of the road, the car miraculously right-side-up after it had swerved past the shoulder and rolled end-over-end once before settling. Neither of us had cell phones on us, and neither of us were in any condition to go seeking out the nearest gas station to call nine-one-one; someone else would do it for us eventually, anyway.

Cassandra was barely hurt at all, and I had hit my head on the dash only hard enough to make my brain jitter. I think I blacked out for a while, and the first thing I remember after the crash was her laughter filling the car like carbonated bubbles. On either side, the car doors had been dented, our little metal hovel almost destroyed in a single soda-can crunch. It was kind of funny, really. Or maybe that was the concussion talking.

I asked her how the hell she'd managed to fuck up highway driving on a mostly empty road with a mostly new sedan. She smiled at me and shrugged, and I remember thinking I wanted to kiss her. She'd been distracted, she said. She had drifted out of her lane and could do little more than panic. As if. She had years of driving experience under her belt, and I’m sure she could’ve driven these roads with her eyes closed and one hand behind her back.

At least it was like an adventure, she'd said. In the middle of our bleak, endless lives, a burst of sound and color, like a fuse lit too close to a firecracker—painful, but exhilarating. We could look back on the story fondly, maybe. Get some laughs at a party. She was wearing that kind of lopsided smile that I see in my head whenever I think of her. I remember agreeing with everything she'd said, out of disorientation if not understanding.

She kept on talking despite a busted lip, and it was probably the concussion that made me unclick my own seatbelt and lean over the center console and unclick her seatbelt too, even though it took a few tries, and it was probably the concussion that made me ask her, "can I kiss you?" and it was surely shock that made her say "yes" and put her hands on my cheeks and pull me in, and it might have been adrenaline that had us tilting back her seat and I wouldn’t have recognized the man who wasn't even embarrassed when the EMTs found him leaning over her, half in her lap, blood on both our lips, but it was definitely Cassandra that laughed and told them to fuck off before letting them wrangle her into the ambulance and drive us to the hospital.

Yeah, she said when we were both laid up in hospital beds, waiting on nightfall. Yeah, this is a pretty good story. One for the ages. (I remembered that part, "for the ages", because it was such an odd, so-very-Cassandra thing to say.)

I think both of us were loopy from medication because we weren't even really bothered by the knowledge that we'd be in completely different cities in the morning, and that we wouldn't see each other for months, probably. That neither of us would be telling anyone stories anytime soon. Or, maybe she would, but no one would remember her. Or me. Either of us.

 Here's how this whole thing worked: I awoke in a hotel bed in a highway town, the quiet hum of wheels-on-asphalt in my ears. I checked the time, opened the window. Unless there was snow outside, I had no idea where I was. I walked to the diner (there was always a diner—this is America, after all). The menu was usually the same, and I usually ordered the same thing: two pancakes, two eggs, and just water, please. The waiters were different in each town—I hardly ever talked to them, but it was nice anyway. I didn’t bother remembering their faces, because I'd be hundreds of miles away tomorrow morning. I ate. I paid with the money in my pants pocket (always seventeen dollars, every day). I left. I took a walk, just to see if there was anything interesting nearby. There usually wasn’t, of course, but it didn’t hurt to try. At the very least, I could find a corner store or a gas station. I'd buy dinner there later. I spent the day in the hotel room or outside, by a Wendy's parking lot. Usually, I just read, if I could find a book anywhere. I got real familiar with hotel Bibles; it’s not as if I had anything better to do. I ate dinner and went to sleep. Every night, at exactly midnight, I would be flung into a new town, an identical hotel room. Whether or not I had been asleep by then, I wouldn’t remember anything else until I woke up the next morning to repeat everything the next day in a different state. I lived an odd sort of Groundhog Day. So it goes, or whatever.

 Cassandra and I met in Tennessee. Or, she’d seen me in Kansas weeks earlier and we introduced ourselves in Tennessee. I was eating breakfast at a diner, same as every other day in every other town. She sat right down in the chair across from me—this plain, gangly girl with dark hair thick enough to be called a mane—and said she saw me the day I woke up in a tiny town called Grainfield. She couldn't have, because I didn't know anyone. She insisted, though, and even though I left her alone in the diner that day, chewing on strips of bacon she had stolen from my plate, I remembered her face.

 It was three months before I saw her again, in Ohio this time. I was sitting on a bench outside that day's hotel, reading a trashy thriller, when she stepped out of the lobby, stretching her arms so that a tiny strip of skin peeked out from under her shirt. Her hair was shorter. It took me a moment to place her in my memory, the handful of sentences we’d exchanged bubbling to the surface. Before I could say anything, she caught my eye. Her face turned real smug, and I got an earful of I-told-you-so until she ran out of steam. We walked to the only restaurant that wasn't a chain and sat down in booths in the back. Neither of us trusted the other quite yet, but I didn't have anything to hide and she was content to tell me the basics.

Turned out, we were in similar situations. Different towns, different states, different hotel rooms, same problem. For her, it had been six months. She remembered what it was like before this life in a way that I didn't. She said she was going to get out. I remember laughing her off, and then hardly believing my ears when I realized she was serious.

She took me to the library, where she looked up curses and wormholes and maps of the country, like she could find some explanation for this endless loop. She wanted me to help, but I didn’t know how any of it was supposed to help either of us. Still, she was determined. I dozed off in an armchair for most of the day, and she put fruitless work into research. She’d learn, eventually, I figured.

The whole time, she talked to me about all her plans, what she’d been doing—because of the nature of this whole thing, she couldn’t keep books or notes or anything. They were just gone the next day, and we were left with the same items we started with that morning. Cassandra said she had a good memory, though, and it was almost impressive. She remembered all sorts of things from books she'd read before, like the names of demons used in medieval curses and the equations for how light bends around a heavy enough object. When the library closed at nine, Cassandra had twenty pages of notes on all sorts of things, and I was almost convinced they could be useful. Almost.

We walked back to the hotel and put up in her room for the night. Cassandra got to memorizing all the information on the pages and I turned on whatever bad TV was playing. I think I fell asleep, because I don't remember much of anything after the first episode of House Hunters.

I woke up in another hotel bedroom, a few states away, more afraid than I could remember being in a long time. I could do little more than hopelessly hope that Cassandra would get out, get what she wanted.

 I used to worry that no one would remember me. I didn't really remember anyone, and Cassandra hadn't always been around. I remembered the tar-black road and I remembered a whole lot of towns that blurred together into one, and I remembered ground and sky that met together in a straight line in the middle. Living like this felt a whole lot like shining a lantern in the dark, because I could see where I was, right here, and I could see a few feet behind me and a few feet ahead, but I couldn't situate any of it within a larger whole. I didn’t know much about the before. I thought I had a sibling, maybe. Younger. And parents, maybe friends. There wasn’t a lot more than that. I might’ve been forgetting more and more as time went on, but, hell, I couldn’t even remember enough to know if that was true. Soon, I was sure I’d be left with just this. Just, you know, asphalt.

People don't realize just how much of this country is flat. All the land west of the Appalachians and east of the Rockies is empty brown field, like God drew the highways in but forgot to furnish the rest. As far as I'm concerned, the only difference between Iowa and Arkansas is temperature. Most of the people—most of the culture in this country is concentrated on either coast, so much so that they forget there's anything at all between New York and California. Flat, empty America is most of America, at least by landmass. And even where the smooth skin of this that land is marred with mountains and valleys, I could always count on the highways being the same.

 I tried to kill myself in Arizona, once. This was a few years ago, I think, but things sort of got fuzzy at the edges after so much time within same-y hotel walls drenched in cigarette smoke and dirty linoleum tile and black ribbon roads. I was alone, and I didn't remember very much in either direction. I don't know if the problem was me or if it was the country. Probably a bit of both.

However it was, I'd had enough. I woke up in a desert town with the same fast-food places and chain motels and tired old roads as in Minnesota. If I saw another day scarred with all the cursed things that I already knew too well, I thought I wouldn't be able to take it.

There was a pharmacy a bit away from the hotel I woke up in. The lights buzzed in the ceiling when I walked in, and one of the employees told me to let them know if I needed any help. I won't explain the irony.

In the end, I bought a few bottles of painkillers and an orange soda. The cashier must have asked if I was alright, because I remember reassuring her that my sister was having cramps, and I remember her saying the soda would only make the imaginary sister feel worse. One of us laughed when I said the soda was for me, not her. She wished me well and I didn't think about anything else until I was back in my hotel bed, leaning against the headboard like an invalid.

I took the pills one-by-one and washed them down with the soda. Not much of that night is clear anymore. I felt bad, and everything was blurry, and I threw up in the toilet a few times. None of it was worth it, because I was still there, obviously, and this damn country didn't let me out of its grip. I don’t even know if death would’ve freed me, or if the afterlife is the same as this. An endless road, a journey that leads nowhere.

I woke up in another hotel bedroom, in Iowa this time, completely fine and unfortunately alive.  

 I tried to kill myself in Iowa, once. Then in Nevada. Then Alabama, Wisconsin, Illinois. I thought killing myself would be the hardest thing I’d ever do, but eventually the reality of everything sort of crystalized, and I began to understand that the hardest thing was to know I was alive, and to know I couldn't do anything about it.

 I’ve heard that all horror boils down to fear of the unknown. I don’t think that’s right. There was a sort of horror in familiarity, too. Because I lived out every day in a town I've never been to before and that I'd never return to again, to the point where each new town was as familiar as the last. I'd been all around, but things didn’t change a whole lot. Certain buildings just got copied over in every state, every town. Gas stations, fast food joints, and hotels were the big ones, but every diner was just about the same, and the houses were all built with identical DNA, and the roads were all shaped by the same hand of God. There was a sort of horror in knowing you could travel as far as you wanted, but you'd never escape all the things that framed your life. I wondered, sometimes, if there were other copies of me, scattered around like everything else; maybe a few details changed, but the same at their core. I didn't know if that scared me or comforted me.

 The second time I saw Cassandra, we had both ended up in a log cabin motel to one side of Route 41, a half-hour walk to Calumet, Michigan—quaint in comparison to the endless Motel 6’s and Holiday Inns. We were the only ones there, since I guess the owners closed down for the off-season. It was mid-autumn at that point. Not quite time for skiing, but not warm enough to otherwise justify visiting the Upper Peninsula.

The whole motel was dark and cold. I woke up around dawn, shivering, and tried to go back to sleep, but eventually I had to give in to the temperature and look around for more blankets or something.

I got up with the comforter around my shoulders, flicked the light switch on and off a few times to no effect, and wandered to the tiny hotel common room, which seemed to already be occupied by one Cassandra, cuddled up in blankets filched from a linen closet. She had a weak fire going in the fireplace already, an armchair pulled up as close as she could get, and an old book in hand, already halfway read. I called her name and she startled to life, swearing like a sailor. I think I laughed. She scolded me, sniffled, and huddled back into her seat.

Fancy seeing you here, I said, to what do I owe the pleasure?

She smacked me with her book. Things were the same as before, she told me, and she hadn’t had any luck with her escape plot (Yet. She was adamant that ‘yet’ was the operative word here). Still, she had an idea. Maybe, maybe if she drove far enough west, hit the coast, the edge of the world, maybe then she could break free. Maybe braving the road, all the way to the end, was the only way out. I believed her.

Not today though, she said. She had spent the last couple weeks up north for the most part, probably caught a cold at some point. If there had been a car in the deserted lot out front, she wouldn’t have felt up to driving anyway, especially not in this weather. Even now, a light snow drifted outside the window. Usually, they’re pretty good about plowing the roads this far north, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.

Cassandra wasn’t feeling up to finding food, content to hang out in her blanket nest as long as the cold (both the sickness and the temperature) remained. I scrounged up some canned soup and instant coffee from a break room of sorts, found a deck of beat-up cards too. The plumbing seemed to be out, but between all ten-ish bathrooms in the place, I got enough water for a few cups of coffee. Couldn’t figure out how to turn on the power, though. Apologized to Cassandra for that. She teased me about it, I remember. Said I must not have been an engineer before I got stuck in the loop. I didn’t remember what I was before this whole thing; now that she brought it up, it bothered me in a way it hadn’t since… long enough ago that I didn’t remember that part, either.

The only card games either of us knew were Blackjack and Go Fish, but we made the best of it. The soup helped, too. As the day ticked into mid-afternoon, the snow only got thicker, and Cassandra and I got to talking. She had graduated college about a year ago, one of the state schools on the east coast, with a degree in mathematics. She loved embroidery, her family had a pet cat named Sourdough (because he looked like a loaf of bread), and her two twin sisters were about to enter undergrad. She grew up in a suburb, but she left because there was nothing to do there. Ended up driving west on her own, road-tripping to “find herself or whatever” (the derision is all hers). Got stuck in a dead-end highway town a week in, and it had been like this since.

I think she was expecting me to give her my own story, leaving home and finding myself out here in desolate middle-America, but my story didn’t extend much outside a couple weeks of same-old, same-old memories and a handful of moments that broke the years-long monotony, one of which she already knew, because she’d been part of it—it isn’t often that you meet a fellow victim of the American backroads. At least, not a victim in this particular way.

 (I didn’t it then, but I thought I had a sister.

 I thought I had loved someone, once.

 But I wasn’t even sure of that.)

 I think she was sorry for me. Even though she was stuck in the same goddamn situation, the same goddamn highway towns every day, she still had it in her to feel pity. I guess she thought I was further gone even than she was. Which was probably true. I was forgetting more and more every day, the lights illuminating my past and future flicking out and dark nothing approaching on either side. She said she’d been forgetting things too, but not nearly as much. It scared me. I remembered a time before her, but I still couldn’t imagine a time after her, if I forgot her, too.

She must have noticed I was afraid, because she put her hand on my arm and reassured me that we’d meet again. When you wake up tomorrow, drive to Beloit, Kansas, she said. It was pretty damn close to the center of the country. No matter where we ended up, that would be our best shot to find each other before we were disappeared away to the next town, she said. We would be alright, she said.

 The next morning, I carjacked a pickup in Kentucky and overheated the engine trying to reach Beloit. I didn’t make it, but I kept trying. Some days, I’d start close enough to get there, but she wouldn’t. Some days, it was the opposite. Still, every now and again, both of us made it. Cassandra still wanted to hit the west coast eventually, but Beloit was nearly a full day’s drive away from any kind of ocean. Mostly, when we were together, we kind of just hung out, got food, tried to figure out what there was to do in a town of less than three thousand. It was one of those days, after we visited the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, that Cassandra flipped the car over on the highway. I liked those days. I was the closest I’d ever been to being happy that I could remember. Beloit didn’t change everything. Both of us were still mostly stuck in middle-America hotel purgatory. Most days, I still didn’t want to do much more than lay down and die, and I was still forgetting things. Cassandra had to remind me several times about how we first met. But if nothing else, it was an improvement.

 I was in New Mexico, before I met Cassandra, at another one of those lonely hotels. The empty ones, with a few cars inexplicably out front. There wasn't much of anything else for miles, so I took one of the cars and picked a direction. This was a long time ago. I think I was still trying to get out of the loop back then, but the memory has faded edges, so I don't know for sure. I remember turning onto the highway around nine in the morning and thinking that I wouldn't turn off until the car stalled out or I drove off the end of the earth. I didn't see much of anything the whole time I was on the road. Just one long line of asphalt, threading beneath my car like God was pulling it past me from the other end. I remember the sky was big and blue and everything beneath it glowed orange with the sunlight, as if in protest.

I made a game of counting cars, but I only got to ten or so before several hours had passed and I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe the road had stretched out beneath my tires, so that every mile on the speedometer was really only an inch. Or maybe I was moving at seventy miles per hour, but the land was just a lot bigger than I had imagined. Like I said, people forget how much of this country is flat.

I kept going and going, and every hour or so, I'd drive past an exit sign advertising a gas station, or a fast-food brand "only 0.2 miles on the next right!" but I didn't stop for anything. I didn't eat, didn't drink, and the fuel tank never went below half-full. All I could do was keep mindlessly driving onward, so I didn't do anything but.

I watched the big blue sky turn pink and orange and red, and then deep blue and black and speckled with stars just as cold as the couple other headlights I passed. The car's dashboard clock was off by a few hours at least, so I didn't know what time it was except by guessing. I kept going in the dark, without streetlights or anything. Eventually, I flicked off my headlights and just kept going straight. Not out of confidence or anything. I guess I just did it because I was bored. Maybe I thought I could hide from my affliction. I don't know. With the dark and the hum of the engine and gentle jitter of the suspension, it was almost peaceful. I took my hands off the wheel. The car might have veered off the road, tires bumping over sand and dirt rather than asphalt. It was hard to tell the difference. Either way, that was probably the furthest I got from the highway in a long time. I still woke up the next morning in a neat, white-sheet hotel bed.

  The last time I met Cassandra, we were in Montana. It was winter, and rubber-stained snow was piled in dunes on either side of the road. I hadn’t even started in the same town as her that morning. She drove in with a car I didn't recognize and we stumbled across each other in a gas station. She was counting out singles to figure out how to pay for both gas and a drink, and I was wandering the town looking for something better to eat than chips and gum. Neither endeavor was going particularly well, so I remember she lit up when she saw me out of the corner of her eye as I pushed through the front door.

Her eyes were red and her hair was out of sorts, but her cold-cracked grin was bright as ever. Or maybe I was just imagining that part. I lent her some of my cash to pay for everything and then some.

As it turned out, she had picked up an SUV that morning and was beelining her way west. She wanted to hit the coast before midnight, she said, if she didn't spin out on the icy roads first. It wasn't even a question that I was going to climb into her passenger seat and ride along with her.

We had just made it out of Idaho by the time it started to get dark. It was just after five, according to the clock in the car—winter this far north was like that. Cassandra more-or-less had the major American highways memorized, but she still had me navigate with a huge fold-out map we bought in Spokane.

We stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for dinner and Cassandra moved to the passenger side. She didn’t like driving in the dark much, but I didn’t mind it. She was supposed to be navigating, but she fell asleep not twenty minutes after we got going again. It was the kind of sleep that isn’t quite ‘sleep’, per se, but more a fitful doze. She kept humming unhappily and shifting around. At one point, her head slipped out of her hand and hit the window with a solid crack. She groaned and blinked blearily. When I asked if she was okay, she didn’t answer and just went back to sleep. I kept my eyes on the road, but it was hard not to look at Cassandra, at least a little. In the daylight, she had seemed the same as she always was; stubborn, determined, bright. But in the growing dark, the shadows on her face illuminated an exhaustion I hadn’t noticed. It was like gazing into a mirror. She looked like me. Hollow. Tired. If this wasn’t her last shot at freedom, she was at least pretty close to hitting her limit. I didn’t wake her, but I didn’t stop, either.

The coast came up suddenly. It was dark. There weren’t any sea birds still around this deep into winter. The burning cold far overwhelmed the saltwater smell. By the time I had left the highway and hit the end of a tiny beach road, our clock showed eleven thirty-eight. We had made it.

Cassandra woke up as soon as I parked, staring blankly at the rolling waves some fifty feet ahead of us. She didn’t say anything, just pushed open her door and stepped into the sand and the biting wind. I followed.

Without streetlights or electric anything nearby, I could hardly see anything, but the steady murmur of the waves was more than enough to guide me. Ahead of me, Cassandra stopped. Took her boots off. Dug her feet into the sand just before the edge of the water. She looked at me and I looked back. Breathed in deep. Held it. I took her hand.

In step, we walked into the ocean, cold wind and cold water gnawing at our skin.

Well, we’re here, she said. I nodded.

Thank you, I said.

It’s late, she said.

I know, I said.

One way or another, she said, I’m not going back.

Good, I said. Me neither.

In the water, my legs began to sting. The cold and the dark worked their way through my clothes and into my skin. Minutes ticked on. I don’t know how many. Eventually, we came out of the water, put our boots back on, and watched the clouds skitter across a half-full moon.

[thewoonerffiets]

Auburn Ave (McGregor Avenue to William Howard Taft Road) Proposal

Auburn Avenue Existing Conditions

We chose Auburn Avenue, specifically between McGregor Avenue and William Howard Taft Road as our study area. During the blog, we will use the phrase, Auburn Avenue, to refer to our study area, not the entire length of the avenue.

Today, Auburn Avenue functions only to funnel vehicles and, more importantly, ambulances between Christ Hospital and McMillan St and Taft Road which then connect to the region's interstate highways. This function is achieved with relative success but the street could do so much more. Auburn Avenue’s form is defined by the two lanes of vehicular travel in both directions and narrow sidewalks. Ensuring little impediments to vehicular traffic, there is a lack of crosswalks along the corridor. While this allows traffic to flow faster, it creates a barrier for pedestrians. Even though there are few crosswalks, there are numerous ADA ramps located along the corridor where no crosswalk exists today, but where crosswalks could be implemented without much effort. Two examples are shown in the photos below.

Taken by James McDermott

Turning vehicles are not given dedicated space, which causes weaving due to impatience by drivers waiting for the lanes to clear. Additional safety hazards include wide turning radii at intersections, no dedicated cycling space, and no traffic lights at some intersections despite complicated geometry and blindspots. A heightened sense of danger is created by high speeding rates, blind spots, long crossing distances, and the high frequency of ambulances. Below is a graphic which compares the speed of vehicles to the risk of death and serious injury in a pedestrian and vehicle crash. Currently, the speed limit along the corridor is 30 miles per hour.

Auburn Avenue Proposal

Sketched by Dylan Gomez, edited by James McDermott

The goal of our proposal is to maintain the functions of the current street while making it possible for other modes to use the space safely and comfortably. Pedestrian improvements begin with crosswalks. New crosswalks at Wellington Place, McCormick Place, and E Hollister Street with vastly improve connectivity across Auburn Avenue. Pedestrian islands will be put at McCormick Place, McMillian Street, and William Howard Taft Road to shorten crossing distances which heighten pedestrian safety. Below is an infographic explaining the locations of the current crosswalks along the corridor and where we propose for new crosswalks to be painted. Note that each crosswalk that we propose already has ADA ramps on each side of the street for disabled users.

Created by James McDermott

Cyclists are included with dedicated bike lanes in both directions. Vehicle experience will also be changed; decreasing to one lane in each direction will help to visually narrow the road and passively reduce speeding. Dedicated turning bays will reduce back pressure on turning vehicles fostering safer left turns. Lastly, we proposed that the speed limit along Auburn Avenue be lowered to 25 miles per hour. Below is a graphic by the NYC DOT explaining the safety benefits of a similar conversion.

From NYC DOT presentation

New York City serves as a good example for this street redesign because they’ve implemented designs like this with great success, reducing pedestrian death and injury, while increasing cycling modeshare. The changes are thorough while also maintaining ambulence access through dedicated turn lanes and bike lanes giving space for ambulances to pass vehicular traffic. Vehicle capacity is maintained by separating turning vehicles from through traffic.

Summary

The new design proposal will increase safety for all road users and foster neighborhood connectivity, while maintaining current vehicular capacity and ambulance access.

Considerations given to all types of use on the street create a more pleasant experience on the road all while the embracing the natural use of Auburn Avenue; as seen by how drivers use the avenue in the photo below.

Finally, here is the full diagram of our proposal for Auburn Avenue from McGregor Avenue to William Howard Taft Road made by James McDermott and Aaron Earlywine.

Blog Post by James McDermott, Aaron Earlywine, Dylan Gomez, and RT Atkins

Photo of the group at the intersection of McMillan Street and Auburn Avenue.

[typical-simplelove]

Snowflakes, Hot Chocolate, and Traffic -> Will Halstead

12 Days of December

Author's Note: Happy Day Seven! Also, my first Will Halstead fic! Please be kind with this one as it holds a soft spot in my heart. For anyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas, this fic does not mention Christmas at all. Here's today's question: what's your favorite winter activity? Enjoy!

Warnings: explicit female!reader; mentions of car accidents; innuendo to sex

Word Count: 1.4k

The thermos sits perfectly in the cupholder of your car as you put your purse and tray of food in the backseat. The box of hot chocolate mix sits next to the tray and box of chocolate. Chocolate was always the way to go for Sunday dinners with your family. Starting from a young age, your family always got together on Sundays to have dinner together. Even when you, your siblings, and your cousins all got older, everyone was still required to get together for Sunday dinners. The only exceptions were if someone were away at college. Currently, you’re not away at college, so you had to go to Sunday dinner. “Had to go” makes it sound like a chore, but it’s not. You truly enjoy seeing your family each week, and it was one of the highlights of your day.

For the first time, though, you were bringing Will with you.

Ever since starting to date just over a year ago, you never felt comfortable bringing him. When you were finally comfortable bringing Will to Sunday dinner, his schedule at the hospital got busy, and couldn’t make it, so you went solo. Today, though, Will had the day off and was ready to join you as you go see your family.

Since graduating from college, it was your responsibility to bring the warm pasta dish. You often switched up the pasta dish, but you learned that your Cajun Chicken Pasta was the favorite, so that’s what you made this morning.

You start your car and begin to blast the heat as you wait for Will to hurry out the door. He slides into the passenger side door with a few snowflakes littering his iconic red hair. “I didn’t know it was supposed to snow today,” he remarks with a soft smile as he fastens his seatbelt. You shrug as you do the same to your seatbelt. You turn your head to make sure you have everything.

“What do you expect?” you say. “Chicago in the middle of December.”

He chuckles and turns to look at you as you begin to exit the parking garage. A smile graces his face as he watches you. Will puts his thermos of hot water in the cupholder next to your matching thermos. He turns on the radio to some random channel to allow for some background noise as you continue heading to your parents’ home.

“So,” he says but doesn’t continue the thought.

“So,” you repeat as you drive onto the highway. You release your foot significantly on the gas as you join in a lane with many slow-moving cars. In the past few minutes, the snow has started to fall quickly making the visibility low and cars moving slowly. The prominent sight out the window were many, many red lights.

“I don’t have anything to say; it’s just so,” Will clarifies.

You snicker, but it stops in the back of your throat as you suddenly press the brake. There must have been an accident ahead because all the cars suddenly stopped. You turn to Will and ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers breathlessly. “You?”

“Fine, just not sure what the holdup is.”

“An accident, maybe?”

You shrug as you stare ahead at the cars. The snow was starting to blanket all the stalled cars and the road. You curse under your breath when you hear sirens from behind your car. You move your foot to the gas and try to maneuver your car to the side, so the emergency cars can pass. You manage to get out of the way in time to see four police cars, two ambulances, and a fire truck drive past you. Yup, it was likely a car accident of extreme volume.

You lean your head against your seat as you wait for the cars to start moving again. You try to make out what’s happening in front of you as you wait to move, but the snow was blocking your sight. You opt instead to change the setting of the windshield wipers to a slower setting. When sitting in traffic, you always loved watching the snowflakes slide down your windshield.

“This is the first time I might be late or miss Sunday dinner,” you remark after a few minutes of comfortable silence pass. Will turns his head to look at yours and sees the sadness in your features. He reaches his hand across the center console and places it on your thigh. He strokes soft patterns with his gloved fingers in comfort. You turn your head to Will and see him looking at you intently. You place your right hand on Will’s hand while keeping the left on the steering wheel. Not much movement is happening right now, so you feel it’s okay at the moment.

“Well, we’ve got a part of the meal here, so we could always indulge in that.”

“With what, our fingers?”

Will shrugs. “If it comes down to that, sure. Or, we could just get off at the next exit and go home.”

You ponder that thought. “I think we have two options.”

“And what are they?” Will says in a teasing voice.

“The first one is what you said, but I know my family will be extremely disappointed in us.”

“We can’t have that when they have barely even met me yet,” Will adds.

“So, going home is a no.”

“There’s one thing we could do if we go home,” Will teases.

You roll your eyes. “Moving on, two is spending the night. I doubt we’ll be able to drive home in this weather, and at this point, it might be better to just keep going and stay the night.”

“You’re right. I might not be able to make it to the hospital, though.”

“The weather might clear in the morning, though,” you suggest.

“In the meantime, though,” Will says and removes his hand from your thigh. You turn to follow Will’s actions as he reaches into the back seat and grabs the box of hot chocolate packets. “Hot chocolate?”

You smile. “Smart.”

Will grabs two packets and places the box back. “That’s why you love me.”

“Okay, then, what will we use to mix our hot chocolate?”

Will pauses his actions of opening the thermoses as he thinks over your questions. His eyes dart briefly to the back before he reaches his hand back to grab the serving spoon you brought. If flipped upside down with the spoon facing up, it was long enough to stir the hot chocolate mix and hot water. “See? I can think of everything.”

You giggle. “Nice job, Dr. Halstead.”

“Do you know what has a good ring to it?” Will asks as he continues opening the thermoses and pouring and mixing the hot chocolate mix.

“What?” you ask as you slowly move your car up. It’s not much movement though as the cars are still at a standstill from the snow and the accident.

“Mrs. and Dr. Halstead,” he says without a beat as he closes up your thermos and hands it to you. You grab the thermos but don’t reply as you feel the warmth spread to your face. “You haven’t thought about it?” he asks worriedly.

You take a sip of your hot chocolate as a smile spreads over your face. You have thought about it, and when Will says it, it makes you happy.

“So you have thought about it,” he says. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“And if I have?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then,” he smiles and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “Best hot chocolate I’ve ever had.”

You burst out into laughter. The next hour and a half go by as you’re finishing your hot chocolate and slowly making your way to your parents’ house. When you finally introduce Will to your parents and they embrace him with giant hugs, you smile at the comment Will made earlier in the day. It was all you could think about.

Sometimes hot chocolate, snow, and traffic are enough to bring out the truth in people’s lives.

Taglist: @stars-canucks, @jostyriggslover96, @lam-ila, @iwantahockeyhimbo, @shinyfalcon4, @rosesvioletshardy, @2manytabsopen, @krswrites, @themotogirl, @shinytoadpandadeputy, @ghostyjosty (Join the taglist here!)

[thebookreader12345]

Memory Lane

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x reader

Summary: Y/N gets severely injured on the job, and throughout her time in and out of consciousness, she recalls the memories that she's shared with Adam throughout the years

Requested: No

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of getting shot

Word Count: 1,718 Words

One minute, I was fine. The next, I was on the ground, clutching at my shirt which was stained dark red with blood. It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was a simple exchange, money for drugs, but everything went sideways when a patrol car intercepted the meeting. That was especially bad news for Adam and I seeing as neither of us had on bullet proof vests.

"Y/N!" Adam shouted and hooked his arms under my armpits before dragging me behind our car. Gunfire echoed around us, but the only thing I was trying to focus on was Adam. "5021 Ida. I need an ambo to the south block of Union. We're in the abandoned lot near the factories. My partner's been shot."

"Copy that 5021 Ida. An ambulance is 3 minutes out," the dispatcher replied.

"Adam," I murmur.

"No, Y/N, don't talk," Adam ordered and pressed his hands onto my wound, which caused me to wince. "Save your strength. Everything's gonna be okay."

"I've been shot in the stomach and I'm lying in a pool of blood," I whisper and clutch Adam's arm. "It's not cool to lie to me when I'm dying."

"Hey, you are not going to die on me. Not here, not now, now ever," Adam said. I nodded as my vision started to blur slightly, and I began to lose my strength. My grip on Adam's forearm loosened and my hand fell slack to the side, hitting the rocky gravel pavement. I could feel my conscious fading away, and it took everything in my power to keep my eyes the slightest bit open. Adam noticed my sudden silence, and when he realized that my eyes were staring to close, his face was flooded with worry. "Keep your eyes open, darling. The ambulance is almost here. You can do it."

I wanted to be strong for Adam, but it was getting hard to stay awake. My brain was begging me to close my eyes and get some rest, and I fought the urge to lose consciousness for as long as I could, but that didn't last forever. I felt my eyes flutter shut, the last thing I saw being Adam's distressed face. It was weird though, being unconscious. Everything was black, and there was no light in sight. That's when the black disappeared though, and suddenly, I was reliving the time Adam and I first met.

Flashback

"Here are the papers you requested Trudy. All 26 of them," I declare and place the stack of papers on the front desk.

"I'm impressed," Trudy confessed. "I didn't think you'd get it done in time."

"Hey, we may be short in the bullpen, but that doesn't mean I can't get my own work done quickly," I say.

"Speaking of being short on people, Al's brining in the new recruit now," Trudy spoke and nodded behind me. I turned around just as Al bounded up the front steps with our new rookie trailing a few steps behind him.

"Hey, Al," I greet my co-worker. "Who's this?"

"Y/N, this is Adam Ruzek. He's going to be our newest team member. And Adam, this is Y/N L/N," Al introduced. "She's one of the members of Intelligence."

"It's nice to meet you," Adam admitted.

"Yeah. You too," I reply.

"So, are you gonna be my partner?" Adam questioned.

I laughed softly. "Sorry, but I'm partnered up with Antonio. You're stuck with Al."

"Oh. Al was telling me about you on the ride over so I just figured..." Adam trailed off, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

"He's cute. I like him," I tell Al.

Al chuckled. "I figured you would."

"Well, Adam, it was nice meeting you, but I've gotta get back upstairs and finish some more paperwork. Al, would you mind buzzing me up? My print hasn't been working lately," I explain.

"Sure. Ruzek, I need you to stay here and fill out some paperwork with Sergeant Platt. She can let you up when you're done," Al said.

"Got it. Again, it was nice meeting you, Y/N," Adam voiced.

Flashback Ends

When I slightly regained consciousness, my eyes cracked open the tiniest bit, just enough for me to know that I was in an ambulance. I could hear the sirens echoing on the street outside and feel the bounce of the wheels as they drove on the concrete road. I could also feel Adam squeezing my hand as a paramedic tended to my wound. But all of that disappeared in a matter of seconds as I slipped away for the second time that afternoon. This time, I was brought back to our first kiss.

Flashback

"No way! That never happened," I object and laugh.

"Yes it did. I swear. My dad walked in on me and my girlfriend at the time making out," Adam claimed.

"That must've been so embarrassing. I would've hid from my parents for a month if that happened to me," I say.

"Yeah, well, I was a teenager, and they provided me food and shelter, so I couldn't exactly avoid them," Adam joked.

"Well, this is me," I murmur and gesture to the apartment building a few yards up. Adam nodded and pulled to the curb, parking his car to let me out. Just before I could exit the car, Adam stopped me.

"Let me walk you up," Adam spoke and climbed out of the car. I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips, and exited the car. I slung my purse over my shoulder and joined Adam on the sidewalk, and together, the two of us walked up the stairs of my apartment complex and stopped at the front door.

"I had fun tonight," I confess and turn to face Adam. "We should do this again sometime."

Adam nodded. "Definitely. But uh, before I go, there's one more thing I have to do." And with that, Adam leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I smiled against his lips and moved my hands up to cup his cheeks, which caused him to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me closer. I could taste the faintest bit of beer on his lips, and it went surprisingly well with the wine flavor that was still occupying my tongue. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, and I was a bit upset when we pulled away from each other. "I couldn't leave without giving you a goodnight kiss," Adam admitted. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Night, Adam," I reply.

Flashback Ends

This time, when I came to, I was being wheeled into the ER at Chicago Med. I had an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth to help me breathe, but that didn't help much with my labored breathing. Through my squinted eyes, I could make out a few people hovering above me, but I couldn't seem to hear what they were saying. Along with Adam and the paramedics, I saw Dr. Rhodes, who was wheeling my stretcher in the direction of the elevators. I didn't stay conscious for long, and when I drifted off, I was seeing another memory.

Flashback

"Y/N, can we just talk? Please," Adam pleaded. I ignored his pleas from where I was seated on the floor against the bathroom door, and leaned my head back against the wood. Tears fell from my eyes and slid down my cheeks, but I didn't even bother wiping them away. "Y/N? Come on. Let me in."

"I don't want to talk to you right now," I murmur.

"Y/N I..." Adam trailed off for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, okay? I know that it was reckless of me to jump in front of that bullet but-"

"You could've been killed, Adam," I interject.

"But I wasn't," Adam countered. "And I'm not even hurt. The vest stopped the bullet. I'm okay."

"I get that, but what if you weren't?" I propose. "What if the vest didn't protect you? What if you had been seriously hurt? I can't live without you, Adam."

Adam sighed from where he was standing on the other side of the door. "You will never have to live without me. I'm never gonna leave you, Y/N. I love you so much."

My breath got caught in my throat at Adam's words. We had never said 'I love you' to each other before. I sniffled and stood up, using the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that had remained on my cheeks, and then I opened the door. Adam was standing a few feet away from the door, and he looked up when I exited the bathroom. I took a few steps forward and hugged him tightly, burying my face into his shoulder.

"I love you too," I breathe out.

Flashback End

My eyes opened slowly, and I cringed at the brightness of the room, closing my eyes again. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes again, blinking a few times to get used to the light. A small groan slipped past my lips as I tried to move to a more comfortable position, and that alerted Adam, who was sleeping in a chair next to my bed, that I was awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter, his hand automatically gravitating to mine.

"Hey," Adam muttered, his voice laced with sleepiness. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I hurt everywhere," I reply. "But I think I'll be okay."

"You uh, you had me worried for a bit," Adam confessed and squeezed my hand softly.

"Don't worry. I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon," I admit. "But I do plan on taking every measure to make sure I don't get shot ever again. It hurts like hell."

Adam chuckled. "I will do everything in my power to keep you out of harm's way."

"You know what else you can do? Get me a cup of Jell-O from the cafeteria," I tell him.

"Deal," Adam said and stood up. "But I'm also gonna grab Dr. Rhodes on my way back so that he can check up on you."

"You're the best boyfriend ever," I exclaim. "I love you."

"I love you too," Adam responded and leaned down to peck my lips.

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

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @anotherfan07

[maybe-theres-hope]

Tarlos Fic - Dinner Date

3.2k | T | Warnings: Blood, Injuries (mostly minor) | Contains: Judd/Carlos friendship, Tarlos being perfect, blue Camaro (rip)

Read on AO3

“So, what are your plans for the night?” Nancy asked as they exited the ambulance, their shift nearly over as long as the bell didn’t go off in the next ten minutes. 

TK smiled to himself for a moment before he spoke. “Well, Carlos is taking me to Jeffrey’s, so…”

“Holy mother,” Nancy breathed, looking at him with obvious envy. “Do you guys have a ten year anniversary or something coming up? Did he get some kind of commendation at work? Because I know your last one was like a month ago, so.”

“No, no anniversary, that’s in a couple of months. And its three years, Nance.” He chose to ignore her muttering about their mushiness ‘aging me ten years’. “And nothing from work that I know of. Maybe he just loves me?” TK couldn’t stop grinning while they stocked the bus and readied for the handover. 

“He loves you crap ton! Their wagyu strip steak is a hundred and twenty-five dollars!” Nancy had her phone out, obviously googling the menu. 

“Well at least we’ll save money on wine,” TK said with a chuckle.

“I’ve heard of the place by reputation but like, dude, who ever gets the chance to actually go there?”

“TK it seems,” Tommy cut in. “Why don’t you go on? We got it here and you’re gonna need at least an hour to pick out an outfit.”

“And gel your hair. You and your dad are way more alike than you want to admit,” Nancy added with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You sure, Cap? I can stay and help?”

“I’m sure, kiddo. Go get dolled up for your man. Eat a few bites for us, yeah?” Tommy yelled at his retreating figure. She and Nancy looked at each other with grins as they caught the little skip in his step. 

“So, what do you think the occasion is?”

Tommy looked back at Nancy with a gleam in her eye. “I can wager a guess, but I don’t want to jinx it.” Nancy just gave her a look and went back to restocking.

--

Around 8 p.m., Owen was sitting in his office toying with his phone in his hand, smiling at his last text exchange. 

we’re just leaving the house now, wish me luck!

you’re not gonna need it, kid :)

“Not if I know my son anyway,” Owen said aloud to the empty room. He wondered if it’d happened yet. No incoherent string of emoji’s from TK yet, so he doubted it. 

He was shoving the phone back into his pocket with the bell went off. 

--

“Alright guys,” Owen said into the mic from the Captain’s chair. “Dispatch says three vehicles involved, two still on the road and one went over the side into the ravine. Police are on their way but we’ll probably beat ‘em there. Strickland, Marwani, soon as we get there I want you to harness up and get down in that ravine. Judd, you too. You’ll be in command down there and I’ll stay up top with the other two vehicles. Everybody else you’re with me, got it?”

A chorus of “Copy that, Cap,” and suddenly they were on the scene. 

--

“Marjan, Paul, we’re goin’ down!” Judd called to them as the rest of the crew went over to the silver Prius and black Mazda that were crumpled in the middle of the two-lane highway. Judd wasn’t a prayin’ man, but he sent up a little something to the man upstairs that this went their way. It looked bad. 

Paul arrived at his side first, strapped into his gear. “Marjan’s grabbing the bag from the truck, she’s coming.” 

“Alright. We’ll go down this way,” Judd said, pointing to a safe-ish stretch of hillside. “Can’t see the other car from here but dispatch said bystanders saw it go over. Probably just hidden in the trees.”

“Okay guys, let’s do this!” Marjan called, harnessed and carrying the medical bag and a backboard. “TK’s gonna be sad he missed this. Medical doesn’t get to harness up a lot and I know he loved it. He coulda helped.”

“Nah, he’s got better things tonight. Carlos was takin’ him to Jeffrey’s,” Paul said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ohh, fancy,” Marjan said with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

They’d reached the bottom and were starting to look through the brush and low-hanging trees for a vehicle. 

“Don’t know,” Paul answered. “But I think Cap’s in on it somehow.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Judd cut in as he whacked a few branches out of his way. “Carlos came by the station a few weeks ago, and they sat up in Cap’s office for an hour before he left grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.” 

“I have no idea what that means,” Paul said with a laugh. 

“Hey guys, look!” Marjan called from a few yards to the left. The other two went to her position and saw what she’d found. A track in the underbrush where it had been torn at and flattened. “Think this is the place.”

“Let’s go,” said Judd. They followed the path through the brush for a couple of yards before they caught sight of it: taillights. “Alright, Marjan you go on the passenger side, I got the driver. Paul you see if you can clear some of that brush off the back in case the doors are jammed and we gotta get ‘em out that’a way.”

Visibility was still low despite the lights of the car and their flashlights, but as they approached they saw the car wrapped around the trunk of a tree on the passenger side. “I don’t know if I can get in there, Judd, but I’ll try,” Marjan said as she broke out into a jog.

“Wait!” Paul cried. Judd looked over at him, and he would have said such a thing couldn’t happen to a calm and collected person like Paul, but his face had gone ashen. “That’s Carlos’s car,” he said on a breath. 

“What?” In the dark, now that he was really looking, he could see they were coming up on—what used to be—a blue Camaro. 

“I’m sure of it. TK bullied him into putting that sticker on the back because he said it was too pristine and it needed personality.” He shone his flashlight at the rear bumper and sure enough, there was a SXSW sticker half ripped off from the path the car had taken to get there. 

“Come on,” Judd said, heart rate kicking up.

“Should we call Cap?” Paul asked.

“No, we stay down here and do our jobs, and he stays up there and does his. We’ll get ‘em.” His voice sounded numb even to his own ears, but he was determined. 

“They were on their way to dinner,” Paul said lowly.

“Yeah, probably takin’ the backroads to avoid traffic,” Judd said, shaking his head. Fate was hell sometimes.

When they reached the car, Marjan was yelling. “TK! TK can you hear me?” She turned to Judd. “I can’t get in there. The tree trunk is halfway into the car, probably pinning him to the console. He’s unresponsive.” Her face was also pale, but determined. 

Judd went to the driver’s side and saw Carlos, head hanging to the side facing the broken window. He tried the door as he called out. “Carlos? Hey Carlos, come on buddy. Can you hear me?” The door wouldn’t budge; Judd figured the car had rolled a couple of times coming down the hill, crumpling it like a tin can. Then he heard a soft groan.

He looked up, and one of Carlos’s eyes was trying to open. The other was swollen shut, where he’d probably hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. Half his face had burn marks from it. 

“Hey, hey Carlos, look at me, that’s it.” That one eye tracked around before it landed on Judd, drawn to the light of the flashlight on his helmet. “Hey man. We’re gonna get you out okay? Now, can you move your fingers and toes for me?” Judd stuck his head into the window to see down in the floor boards. “Alright, likely no spinal damage. How’s your head?”

“Hurts. Shoulder, too.” His voice was barely audible. 

“Okay, it looks like you dislocated it,” Judd said as he prodded his left shoulder. “I don’t see anything broken but we’ll have to get you out to determine that.”

“TK—“ a wheeze, “TK…first. Been out…a while.”

Judd peered over to the passenger side, where TK was shoved almost fully into the center console, head laid back on the headrest and his face covered in blood. Marjan and Paul were still hard at work outside trying to clear a path into the car. 

“We can’t get to his side just yet, but we can get you out first and then we’ll be able to pull him out this way, okay? We wanna focus on you right now.”

“Alive.”

“Yeah, you’re alive, Carlos. You’re not gonna leave us yet,” he said as he assessed the door panels where they could cut through with the saws they brought. 

“No. TK. Weak, but…alive,” Carlos breathed out, coughing through the end.

“We’ll make sure he’s alive, okay?” Judd said, trying not to lose his professionalism at this whole messed up situation.

“He is.” Judd stopped looking around and looked back at Carlos. The man raised his right hand just as much as he was able, showing where he had two fingers on TK’s radial pulse. 

“Good, that’s good Carlos,” Judd assured him. That meant Carlos had had some minutes of consciousness after the accident before they showed up. “Was he talking at all? After you hit the tree?”

“Little. Minutes, maybe.”

“That’s good, that’ll help. Alright Carlos, we’re gonna get this door off so I’m gonna cover you with this while we do okay?” Judd waited for a small nod before he covered Carlos’s face and torso with his own turnout coat. 

After an agonizing four minutes, the door popped off in a shower of metal and broken glass. Judd removed the coat and went back in to assess. “Carlos? How you doin’?”

“Tired. But won’t…sleep. Promise. That’s bad.”

“You learn a few things from your Paramedic boyfriend?” Judd said with a watery smile.

“Mmm.”

“Judd, I got the back cleared. Maybe we can get in there to at least check TK’s vitals,” Paul informed them. 

“Get on it, I’ma try to get Carlos here out onto this backboard. Marjan, radio for another backboard and have two RA’s ready to go topside!”

“Copy that!” Judd had to admire those two. They never let their professionalism slip too far, though he could see they were worried sick. He could relate. He wouldn’t relax until both of the boys were back up the hill and on the way to the hospital.

From the looks of things, maybe not even then. But he had hope.

“Alright, Carlos, I’m gonna grab your legs and behind your shoulders here and pull you out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll be quick.”

“Wait.”

Judd stopped cold.

“Left…pocket. Please.”

“You want me to get at your left pocket?” A nod. “Alright, hang on.”

Judd carefully shifted Carlos’s leg so he could reach into his slacks, which had probably been part of a very nice suit at the beginning of the night. His fingers searched until they hit a small bump, an object no bigger than a baseball, soft velvet over a hard shell. He sucked his lips between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pulled it free in his hand. 

“Keep it…safe…for me?”

Judd looked down at the little black box for a moment, then clutched it tight in his hand before transferring it one of the innermost pockets of his turnout. 

“Of course, man. I will guard this with my life.” He looked up and saw Marjan coming back with another backboard. “Alright, buddy. It’s go time.”

Carlos gave a weak nod and winced when Judd started to pull. 

--

“Welcome back, man. You had us worried there for a bit.”

Carlos opened his good eye to see Judd sitting at his bedside, smiling softly. It took a moment to remember where he was. Hospital. Accident. Tree.

“TK—“

“Is fine. Banged up and will need crutches for a few weeks, not to mention a killer headache with no meds, but he’s fine. All things considered.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way, so you just stay put, okay? You’re pretty banged up, too, ya’know.”

Carlos shifted a bit and winced. His left arm was in a sling, his head bandaged over his left eye, and his right side hurt like hell.

“Broken rib when the tree went into TK’s door, door went into TK, TK went into the console, then the console went into you. He’s got a femoral fracture in his right leg but like I said, all things considered, you’re both pretty well off for how far you fell and probably rolled.” 

“Yeah, he said his leg had gone numb but he could still move his toes. He made sense for about five minutes, then started talking all jumbled, then went quiet. I uh…freaked out a bit after that. I thought he had…” Carlos trailed off, looking haunted. 

“Yeah, and you kept your fingers on his pulse that whole time. What you were able to tell us at the scene helped us treat him. You did good, Carlos.”

“Not good enough to swerve in time,” he said.

“Not your fault. And don’t you dare go thinkin’ it is. I don’t wanna hear it, Carlos,” Judd said in what TK called his Dad Voice. Stern and no room for argument. Carlos just nodded. 

“And uh, hey. I been waitin’ to give this back to you.” Judd stood and walked over to the bed, holding out a tiny black box. Carlos took it and cradled it against his chest. “It better be a nice one, cuz I about had a heart attack while I was showerin’ thinkin’ someone was gonna come get my pile a’clothes and take ‘em to the laundry while I was gone.”

“You didn’t open it?”

“Nah, I figure the big reveal? TK deserves that all to himself.” 

“Owen’s seen it,” Carlos countered, smirking.

“Uh huh. He approve?”

Carlos laughed. “He whistled and said I spent too much.”

“To impress the Cap it must be a lot,” Judd said with a small whistle of his own.

“Well, what was it Michael Scott said? Three years’ salary?”

Judd’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and Carlos laughed harder before wincing again at his broken rib. “I’m kidding, Judd. But I can tell you, no matter the cost, TK deserves the best and that’s what I hope I got.”

“You gonna make another reservation? Soon as y’all get back into fightin’ shape?”

Carlos looked down at the box again for a moment, contemplating. “I…don’t think so.”

Judd had a confused expression on his face but at that moment, a nurse was wheeling TK into the room, followed by most of the 126. Carlos’s face lit up like starlight at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” TK said with a smile. His leg was in a full cast, so the nurse was careful in maneuvering him around to Carlos’s bedside. 

“Hey, I feel like you should be the one in bed! Why are you out and about?”

“Because you were still asleep and he’s an absolute menace. We made multiple apologies to the staff on his behalf for the last hour,” Owen said as he walked into the room behind his crew. “He’s a stubborn little shit. Always has been, always will be. You sure you’re up for that?” He asked knowingly. TK was still looking at Carlos, blushing at his dad’s ribbing. Carlos met his eyes and said, “Yes.” He blushed more. 

“In fact,” Carlos continued. “I’m ready to get started. I’ve waited too long anyway. I mean, how many times do you and I have to beat death before I get the nerve to do this?” He said, looking into TK’s beautiful eyes which were looking confused. 

“What are you talking about, babe?”

“Look, I’m sorry this didn’t go how I planned. And I’m sorry I can’t get down on one knee right now, but. I hope you love me enough not to mind.” He lifted his good arm, his hand holding out the box. “A little help, Judd?”

“It’d be an honor,” the man said before leaning in and opening the box, since Carlos only had one good arm. 

At the sight of the contents of the box, TK’s eyes went as big as saucers. Surprise was written clearly over every inch of his features, which were all still beautiful even scarred and stitched up as they were at the moment. God, Carlos loved this man so much. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, you are the love of my life. I tried so many different scenarios in my head of how this speech would go, before I just said screw it, I’ll speak from the heart. You’re kind, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything in between. You can’t boil water and you absolutely can’t properly separate laundry. I have a dozen pink shirts as proof of that.” At this, the gathered group chuckled and TK went bright red. “Ah, but you also know just how to ease the tension from a long day just by hugging me on the doorstep. And I can always count on you to be there for me when the world gets too much, when what we see out there creeps in too far. And I want you to know, that I want to be that for you too, for the rest of our lives. So, TK. Will you marry me?”

The room was silent, apart from the hum and beeps of the machines. Everyone on the edge of their proverbial seats, but no one having any doubt to the outcome. 

“Oh, my God! Of course I’ll marry you! Yes, yes! Yes!” The last was said through TK’s fingers covering his red face, hiding the few tears that had started to fall. He held out his left hand to Carlos, who Judd had kindly helped by removing the ring from its box and handing it back to him. He slid it over TK’s finger, smiling like an idiot the whole time, barely registering the whoops and hollers of the 126 throughout the room. 

He only had eyes for TK. 

“I love you,” TK breathed through his happy tears.

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

“Oh, my God, dude, were you seriously surprised?” Nancy asked incredulously once the commotion had died down.

“Well…yeah? I didn’t expect this at all,” TK said, looking sheepish. 

“TK…my dude…he was taking you to Jeffrey’s! How could you not know?”

Once again, the room erupted in laughter and TK ducked his head again. Carlos reached out and touched his chin, catching his eyes again.

There was nothing but love there. 

CLEARLY every Tarlos fic I write has to have a proposal in it *shrug emoji* 

Also I wrote this in like an hour after I had a dream so please excuse any typos I didn’t catch!

Please reblog if you liked it! I would really really appreciate it :) Thank you for reading!

[mymoonagedaydream]

stark! daughter reader and Bucky get into a motorcycle accident. Bucky runs over to the reader who’s laying on her back on the side of the road, injured.

Bubble Wrapped

Summary: Breaking free from your overprotective father felt really good, at least for the first few minutes

Pairing: Bucky x Stark daughter!y/n

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Language

---

For the daughter of a fucking avenger, you really didn’t get to have much fun.

The world knew Tony Stark as the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, but the side of him they never saw was the unreasonably strict and overprotective father, the one who barely let you set foot outside the compound without surveillance from a full secret service of bodyguards and a personal apache attack helicopter.

He made sure you stayed close to home job-wise too, arranging for you to begin work as an assistant to your mother as soon as you turned eighteen.

He even kept all the other residents of the compound under strict orders, that no circumstances warranted you getting mixed up in the dangerous side of their work, and that he’d completely ruin anyone who dared challenge him on that.

You lived in bubble wrap. 

You knew that your dad was doing what he thought was best for you, and he did everything he could to make up for your lack of freedom, but all you really wanted was a proper life.

Then Steve brought the newest avenger back to the compound.

You’d seen him in passing a few times, when you ate with Nat in the communal dining area or walked past one of your father’s many meetings, but you only properly met him after he’d been living in the compound for a few weeks.

While Tony was away on business, Pepper gave you a few days off work to relax and have free reign of the compound, during which time you bumped into the newest avenger fixing his motorbike in the parking lot and decided it’d be nice to properly introduce yourself .

‘Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m y/n.’

‘We haven’t, but I’ve heard lots about you.’ He flashed you a smile before standing up and sticking his hand out towards you. ‘Bucky.’

‘Nice to meet you.’

You shook his hand and gave him a polite nod, then taking a few steps past his bike, but stopping when he spoke again.

‘So what's the deal with your dad?’

‘Good question. Could you be more specific?’

He chuckled, pulling a dirty rag from his pocket and wiping the sweat off his forehead. ‘When I arrived, he sat me down and said you need to stay away from all the exciting stuff. You got brittle bones or something?’

‘Not as far as I know, unless they’ve deteriorated from lack of use.’

‘I’ve heard of that happening.’ You huffed slightly at his amused smile, giving him a face of complete resignation in return. ‘You should probably try having some fun.’

‘It’s on my to-do list.’

You headed back towards the door, smiling to yourself and finding that you were extremely intrigued by your father’s new team member. Just as you yanked it open, Bucky shouted after you.

‘I could take you for a ride?’ You spun round, looking back at him in slight shock. ‘On the bike, I mean.’

Your heart started thumping. You definitely wanted to, more than anything, but Christ if your dad ever found out he’d probably lock you in your bedroom until you were forty.

‘That’s a really, really bad idea.’

‘So is that a no?’

You felt a warm smile spread across your face and your legs started moving on their own, instinctively carrying you towards him as you battled the choice out in your mind.

‘Alright, but you can’t tell anyone. For both our sakes.’

‘Deal.’

He only had one helmet, which he gave to you, insisting that it’d take much more than a road accident to cause him any damage. Throwing his leg over the bike, he positioned himself right and gestured for you to hop on.

Your whole body was tingling with excitement as you settled yourself behind him, nervously running your hands over your thighs. As soon as he revved the engine your heart leapt out of your chest.

‘You’re gonna want to hold on, Stark.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘First time can be nerve wracking.’

The bike roared fully into life and he pulled away from the building, the sudden momentum prompting you to throw your arms around his waist and hold on as tight as you possibly could. 

You swivelled your head round, watching the compound disappear into the distance, ecstatic to finally be away from that place for a while.

Bucky sped down country lanes and back roads, laughing heartily at every squeal you let slip, purposefully gunning the bike a little harder after each one. 

You could feel each burst of fear and excitement and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’d never felt more alive.

But it all changed in an instant.

A car pulled out from a hidden turning without checking the road, speeding right into your path.

Bucky quickly swerved and the motorcycle crashed down onto its side. 

He was thrown over the handlebars, landing with an almighty thud on the tarmac and rolling away a few metres. Your leg got trapped underneath the bike, both you and it sliding across the road so fast that the material of your trousers got ripped away and you felt the rough road surface scraping against your bare leg.

The car immediately sped off, leaving you and Bucky sprawled out in the middle of nowhere, both lucky to be alive.

Even with the unholy amount of adrenaline your brain was producing, you still felt an intense, stabbing pain grow from your trapped leg. It worsened with every deep breath you gulped in, until it became almost unbearable.

Battling through shock and confusion, you lifted your head slightly to try and figure out where Bucky was, spotting him lumbering back onto his feet a few metres away. He sprinted over to you and yanked the bike away like it weighed nothing, relieving some of the pain in your leg, before dropping to his knees.

‘Fuck, are you hurt?’

You shifted slightly and groaned in pain. ‘I think my leg is broken.’

‘Alright, don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.’

You tried to keep control of your breathing as he spoke down the phone, but you weren’t able to stop intense panic and fear rising in your chest. 

Bucky must’ve seen how scared you were, because while the two of you were waiting for help to arrive, he lay down himself on the road next to you. He held your hand and reassured you that everything was going to be alright. 

He made what would otherwise have been the most terrifying ten minutes of your life completely bearable.

Once you arrived at the hospital, you were taken for x-rays, which showed that you’d only sustained a stable fracture. Your doctor kept passive-aggressively reiterating how lucky you’d been, stating that she rarely saw such minor injuries from severe motorcycle accidents, especially ones that happened at such speed.  

You noticed she didn’t bother lecturing Bucky, even though he was the one not wearing a helmet. Then again, he’d somehow come out of it with no injuries whatsoever and had taken to shooting intense daggers at anyone who even tried to approach him, so she was probably just too intimidated to attempt it.

Fully casted and drugged up, you made your way back to the compound with Bucky, where you explained everything to your mother. Thankfully, she’d always been much less strict, and she agreed that Tony could never know what’d happened. She even helped you devise a very detailed story about how you’d fallen down the stairs while tipsy. Genius.

The evening came around and you found yourself alone in the living room, disappointed at how quickly the morphine they’d given you at the hospital was wearing off. 

Just as you were about to hoist yourself up and raid your father’s liquor cabinet, Bucky shuffled into the room, looking extremely sheepish.

The rest of the avengers weren’t usually allowed into your parents’ private quarters, but with Tony still away and Pepper working all night, he probably figured he was safe for a quick visit.

‘I just came to make sure you’re alright.’

‘Yeah I’m all good, thanks Bucky.’ You glanced over to your monstrosity of a cast and chucked. ‘Well, apart from that thing.’

‘I’m really sorry. Should’ve just stayed away, like your dad said.’

‘No, it wasn’t your fault. That driver was an asshole.’ He nodded, a slight smile spreading across his face. ‘I’m still really glad I said yes. Up until things went sideways, I was having the best time of my life.’

That seemed to cheer him up. His expression evolved into a wide grin and he took a few steps towards you, scanning his eyes over your face.

‘Maybe next time, we should go smaller. Whack-a-mole or something.’

‘Next time?’

‘Yeah. Unless Tony finds out what happened and murders me.’

You bit your lip, trying your best to suppress a giddy grin. 

‘Sounds like a plan.’

---

[ao3theskyisblue]

Our Unforeseen Forever

Summary:

For a moment, TK takes in his appearance.

His husband’s shoulders are slumped, as if it was physically taxing to stand upright. There were heavy bags underneath his eyes – eyes that were sunken and haunted. They were distant, sporting thoughts swimming a million miles away than where he was standing right now.

It was like seeing a shadow.

Written for Day 6 of @911lonestarangstweek : Off the job injury + “You’ve got to be more careful.” 

Read on AO3

Warning: Major Character Death

He gets one wish.

And without even hesitating, he chooses him.

.

Everything was still the same.

As soon as he steps through the door, he’s greeted with the sight of their hooded blankets strewn messily on the couch, a stack of books on the coffee table in a lopsided pile with the one on top on the verge of falling off.

There was a half-drank cup of coffee left on the kitchen counter, a thin layer of film covering what lay underneath. Speckles of dust floated lazily in the beams of sunlight through the gap between the curtains.

He’s sure he wasn’t supposed to be able to smell or feel anything anymore, but stepping through that door filled him with a wistfulness and longing he couldn’t quite explain. He wants to curl up on the couch. He wants to feel the way his heart would stutter in his chest every time the lock clicks as the front door opens and see his favourite smile lighting up the room.

He wants to smell sandalwood and the bitter tang of coffee lingering on clothes, feel strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him into a hug – hear the quiet giggles as they exchange sweet kisses.  

He wants a lot of things, but want was something that just fell short in the hands of reality.  

TK sweeps his gaze over the nostalgia plastered all over the walls, his eyes catching on a few pictures that immediately takes him down memory lane.

The day he moved to Texas, standing beside his father in front of their house, arms wrapped around each other as they made funny faces to try and depict their surprise at the cost of Austin real estate.  

Next is a photo of the 126 a few weeks after the tornado, all wearing bright grins as they gave a playful thumbs-up at the camera.

His smile dims a little at the next photo taken not long after Tim’s death beside the ambulance, all of them standing around the inscribed name. Their eyes are red-rimmed, and TK feels a sudden urge to see the ambulance one more time.

See all of them one last time.

Swallowing thickly, his racing thoughts ease as the next picture immediately makes him chuckle wetly.

It was a selfie taken underneath the glowing sky of the little miracles of Mother Nature. Carlos had pulled out the camera on his phone, wanting to commemorate the day and TK had only been eager to comply. They tried to find the angle where they could get the luminescent sky in the picture, and in the end settled for their faces being slightly shadowed in favour of the glittering lights.

TK reaches out, fighting back the pressure building behind his eyes as he pauses just a few inches before his fingertips could touch the picture, running them over Carlos’ startled expression frozen in time.

It had taken them so long to find the semi-perfect angle that by the end, TK had just felt a strong urge to kiss his affections into the man next to him and proceeded to do just that. Mere moments before Carlos clicked the shutter button, he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, smiling into his skin.

No matter how many phones they’ve changed over the years, laptops that they went through, USB keys that were forgotten, that photo had been etched permanently into their lives. It was their first tangible piece of each other’s hearts offered underneath a night with the stars as their witness.

He flits his eyes over towards another photo, and this one pulls out a quiet laugh that rises naturally.

They had been out with the team along with Carlos’ partner and Grace, thinking that nothing could go wrong when a bunch of first responders decided to line up their days off to go on a mini road trip.

Of course, everything that could go wrong, did.

There were a couple pictures scattered around the one showcased in the center of them all, with their friends laughing in their soaked clothing and making ridiculous faces at the sky to playfully protest the thunderstorm. The snuffed-out campfire was between them all, a lost cause after the weather decided to mock their abilities.

Mateo was swinging his shirt around in one of them, the movement blurring the photo but the elated expression he sported was the best depiction of how their trip had gone despite everything. Another one had Marjan and Nancy pouting as they were covered in mud, one of them having slipped and pulled the other down with them.

All of their faces were filled with excitement and bliss, the rain a mere backdrop to the love they all shared.

He yearns to touch the photograph sitting at the center of them all, but stops himself and instead takes one of the drawstrings of his hoodie to twirl around his fingers.

The picture was of him and Carlos, soaked to the bone, hair a wild mess. The loose tanks they were wearing were completely plastered to their bodies, their shorts tightly hugging the muscles of their thighs. Their arms were locked securely around each other, his heels tipping a little off the ground to press his body more into his then-boyfriend, leaning their foreheads together mid-laugh. Carlos’ back was relaxed against their broken-down RV, eyes crinkled happily as the picture Nancy took caught him mid head tilt as he tried to capture his lips in a searing kiss beneath the pouring rain.

That trip was his best and worst memories filled into one, but if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.

More photos fill his line of sight. Carlos’ family, his mother and father holding a four-year-old Carlos who was in the middle of eating a cookie between them, crumbs all over his face, grinning happily. Andrea and Gabriel hugging both of them between them, all of them sporting versions of cowboy hats when they went to their niece’s cowboy-themed birthday party.  

There were ones of his mom and dad with Andrea and Gabriel, laughing openly with icing on their faces, which was done from a place of unadulterated love from both of them for Gabriel’s 57th birthday. Holidays spent together, more birthdays, lunch dates…

It was like walking through a visual screenplay of the time they’ve shared with each other, captured in snapshots filled with everlasting memories.  

His eyes land on a more recent picture, making him pause. It had been taken just a little over two years ago. Both of them were sporting complimenting blazers, their sky blue and viridian button-ups neatly tucked into black dress pants. They were adorning twin smiles that radiated pure affection and love as they looked at each other, forgetting the world spinning around them. Their hands were interlocked, the glint of their matching rings being the secondary focal point.

He absently twists said ring on his finger, and although he shouldn’t be able to feel the weight of it, his memories won’t let him forget.

The faint click of the front door startles him, and he turns to see a sight he’s yearned for since he first stepped foot into their home. His instincts tell him to run forward, tightly envelop the man standing in front of him in his arms, and tuck his face into familiar curls.

But he knew he would just pass right through him.

Carlos hasn’t lifted his eyes from the ground, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the doorknob heavily.

For a moment, TK takes in his appearance.

His husband’s shoulders are slumped, as if it was physically taxing to stand upright. There were heavy bags underneath his eyes – eyes that were sunken and haunted. They were distant, sporting thoughts swimming a million miles away than where he was standing right now.

It was like seeing a shadow.

TK waits until Carlos finally manages to step through the doorway, barely reacting to the sound the door makes as it shuts behind him. He stares down at where both pairs of their shoes would sit neatly, and TK can see something flashing through his eyes when it was clear that only one pair would be sitting there now.

“Hi, sweetheart.” TK whispers, even though it doesn’t matter. Carlos kicks his shoes off, not bothering to line them up like he usually does and passes by him without a glance. He hates how it’s suddenly harder to breathe, the pressure in his chest building up and making his breath catch.

“I waited for you, you know?” TK says gently, trailing behind Carlos smoothly, stopping beside him at the kitchen counter where he’s staring at the half-drank coffee mug. “They wouldn’t let me go anywhere else, but that was okay. It means I get to see you come home one last time.” TK smiles, looking down at where Carlos’ hands were resting on the counter, gripping the material tightly and placed his hands down next to his, as close as he could.

His hands twitch, itching to get closer, but TK doesn’t let them.

He doesn’t want to feel the pain that will grip him when he sees that they’ll just pass right through him.

Carlos doesn’t move for a long time, still staring at the mug, but TK can’t take his eyes off him, longing to kiss away the frown marring his expression.

“I feel like I’ve missed out on staring at those pictures we have lined up at the entranceway,” TK chuckles, mimicking leaning against the counter to face his husband properly. “You always say you never know what to do with your hands in front of a camera, and complain that you look awkward and misplaced, but you’re always the first one I see.”

Carlos doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as twitch. TK takes in a few deep breaths, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. His heart had stopped permanently a few days ago, so he wondered what exactly it was that made him feel like his heart was breaking all over again.

“I know that you didn’t want to come home,” TK stays still as Carlos moves for the first time in what feels like eons, but may have just been a couple of minutes. “And that’s okay. You never have to hold back what you feel, Carlos. Our friends, our family are all here for you – they all love you so much.” Carlos has reached the other end of the counter, and they were facing each other. He still hasn’t lifted his gaze, but TK can still see his hands shaking as he moves to grasp the mug.

“I love you.”

As if on cue, Carlos’ grip on the mug slackens, and the object falls onto the floor with a resounding smash. TK immediately steps in between the mess and his husband, knowing that Carlos would instantly want to clean it up.

He forgets in that millisecond, and closes his eyes when Carlos just walks through him, every inch of his body wanting to chase that familiar warmth.

He’s crouched next to the broken pieces, his eyes a hollow abyss as he moves to pick up the first piece before flinching back. There’s a quiet hiss of pain, and TK sees his husband clutching one hand in the other, a finger jutting out unnaturally.

“Babe, you’ve got to be more careful,” TK murmurs, crouching down next to Carlos as he stares at the blood slowly seeping through the cut on his finger, the mug a scattered mess beneath their feet. “Remember the dustpan we keep near the leftmost cupboard? Because of how often I drop things? Please use that next time.”  

A quiet giggle suddenly bursts out of his lips when he suddenly remembers something, and he stops himself from nudging the shoulder next to him so he doesn’t fall over. “Though, you hardly ever drop things, so that dustpan will be collecting dust I guess, huh?” TK grins at his terrible joke, but Carlos doesn’t smile.

And just like that, his own smile dims.

His chest tightens at the sight of his husband staring at the kitchen floor with a vacant look in his eyes, as if staring at the broken pieces of ceramic hard enough would mend the mug back together. The blood is still trickling steadily down the length of his finger, a few drops landing on the floor.

“You need to rinse the wound with cold water. Then clean it,” TK coaxes gently, but Carlos doesn’t move. “Come on, baby. Our first aid kit isn’t that far away.” He wonders if Carlos can sense his urgency, because he jumps back slightly on instinct when he abruptly stands up, stepping over the mess and towards the kitchen sink. He watches as Carlos lets his finger rest underneath cold running water for a while, letting out an affirmative nod when he finally shuts off the water, walking over to the cabinets inside the bathroom.

“Man, I think the last time we used the first aid kit on you was years ago,” TK mused, leaning casually against the bathroom wall, admiring his husband’s profile as he pushes aside miscellaneous things to take out the first aid kit. “You were always so– what is it?”

TK straightens when Carlos’ entire frame freezes, his hands holding the kit in a vice-grip. He steps forward, frowning when he sees Carlos just staring down at it, the first hints of emotion flickering across his face.

“What’s wrong–”

His eyes land on where Carlos was looking, and feels something roaring in his ears.

Suddenly, there’s not enough air to breathe, and his skin stings like salt water being poured over invisible scars.

There’s a lump growing in his throat, and he has to actively force himself to push it down the longer they stand there, stock still.

Because on top of the first aid kit is a harmless green sticky note. Something he had written a lifetime ago and pushed to the recesses of his mind, thinking it was just an innocent act.

 If you’re using this, that means you hurt yourself. Which means getting treated personally by yours truly. Don’t even try to talk your way out of it. I love you babe, but no amount of kisses will distract me.

P.S. I know exactly what’s in here. If there’s even a single piece of tissue missing, consequences will occur

 There’s even a poorly drawn face with its tongue sticking out at the end along with a heart, and TK suddenly wants to go back in time to when he decided to write it at all. A day like any other, basking in the excitement of being newlyweds, a minor kitchen accident, his laughter ringing around them as he grabbed a sticky note and pen, scribbling down something hastily and sticking it on the kit before joining his husband.

He takes in a wobbly breath, and through blurry eyes he sees Carlos running his fingers reverently along the words, tracing every single letter, leaving none behind. His fingertips stop on the ‘I love you’ and the heart, and before his fingers finish tracing it, TK hears a sound that has his soul snap in two.

Unrelenting sobs fill the air around them, and he blinks against the tears in his eyes as he watches Carlos slowly slinking down onto the bathroom tiles, clutching the first aid kit towards his chest. His shoulders are shaking violently, both arms wrapped protectively around the kit, which gives him a clear view of his husband’s tears running down his cheeks without abandon.  

He slowly sinks down beside him, leaning against the sink base cabinet, feeling the faintest outline of warmth from where their arms brushed against each other. He leans his head down, mere millimeters away from Carlos and closes his eyes as he quietly listens to his husband’s cries.  

“I miss you too,” TK whispers, smiling against the silent tears that had slipped down his cheeks as he reaches forward with a hand hovering over the sticky note, right next to where one of Carlos’ was. “And I love you. So much.”

He wonders if Carlos knew that right now, he would have given anything just to say those words to him one last time out loud. To hold him in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings. To feel the way Carlos would clutch at him, holding each other so close until they felt each other’s heartbeats, sharing each other’s warmth.  

He would give anything, just to have five seconds more with the love of his life.

“I know you wouldn’t want me to be, but I’m sorry,” TK murmurs, licking his lips and not tasting the usual saltiness of his tears that he didn’t bother to wipe away. The tears that disappeared into oblivion anyway, from his lack of corporeal form. “I’m sorry you have to go through this so soon. I’m sorry for fighting my hardest and it still not being enough.”

Carlos’ cries had quieted slightly, but there were still sniffles and occasional quiet coughs, and TK stares at the dried tear stains on his cheeks, wanting nothing more than to wipe them away, leaving soft kisses in their wake.  

“I love you with everything that I am, Carlos Strand-Reyes, and I hope you won’t ever forget that,” TK says steadily, feeling what was left of his body aching with the overflowing love he had for the man sitting in front of him. He lifts his only free hand to brush a stray curl away from Carlos’ eyes, but closes his eyes sadly as his hand slips through.

He sits back, placing both hands right beside where Carlos’ own rested, looking up at him reverently.

“We’ll see each other again. Hopefully not until the far future but when we do,” TK is sure the smile he’s currently donning is one of Carlos’ favourites, his eyes crinkling tenderly at the sides. Leaning forward, he presses one last lingering kiss to his husband’s temple.

His body is slowly fading away, a weird tingly sensation filling him as he drifts away into the light.

The last thing he sees is Carlos cradling the sticky note in the palms of his hands carefully, the faintest of smiles painting across his lips.

 “I’ll hold you in my arms again.”

[sirsamurai]

I have fallen out of the habit of writing, yet again. But I saw Neil Gaiman speak today and he preaches that to be a writer you must write. So….

Slept in much later than planned today, most likely my body is still trying to recover from my insane weekend (which I will write about soon). Made lunch, took a long shower with my girlfriend, and then we started the journey to San Francisco to hear/see Neil Gaiman (my favorite author). We were in her car (my ac doesn’t work) but I was driving (she hates driving in the city. So do I, but I’m a gentleman and am not going to force her to do it). Just past Vacaville I saw just how important luck is. A white car blew by me on the right then got in front of me and then went into the left lane, where he hit another white car, who hit the wall and came back and hit the first car, then they each hit another car and the world filled with dust as all four cars pun out of control. Luckily before the two cars touched I started to apply my brakes and slow down, but resisted the urge to slam the pedal down. Because of this we some how passed through the four cars as they spun out of control. One hitting the inside wall the other three going off the road, one into a field, one pointing backwards, and the other with the left side destroyed but somehow safely off the road.

I immediately pulled over and told Heather to call 911. The lady in the closest car (the one that was backwards) was pretty messed up and could not move, but was able to talk. The man in the second car signaled he was ok, but he never got out of the car, which made me wonder. The left side of his car and the back of his car were totaled

The driver of the white car which caused all this and who had ended up in the field was walking around but was completely out of it and was making no sense. After awhile he went back to his car and sat down, closing the door.

The car across the freeway ended up crossing traffic somehow, and he joined us. He was ok, though the left side of his car was damaged. His car was the only survivor.

After a few minutes a tow truck arrived and he checked to make sure everybody was ok. Heather stayed with the poor woman that couldn’t move and helped her with her phone. After a good 15 minutes a cop arrived, and he too checked on everybody. 15 minutes later ambulances, fire trucks, more cops, and more tow trucks arrived so Heather and I got back in her car and continued to San Fransisco.

A few blocks from the theater we were headed to we got caught up in a protest for women’s abortion rights (if you have a penis stay out of the debate. Nobody tells me what I can and cannot do with my body. The same should apply to my girlfriends as well).

Because of this we arrive late to the theater, but luckily he started late so we didn’t miss a thing. Neil is a brilliant storyteller and the evening was well spent. He inspires me to get back into writing.

We made it home without incident. Luckily.

[gukyi]

helloo, may i please request number 80. “Is your seatbelt on?” with hobi? thank you so much in advance 💕

going home | JHS

“Thanks for doing this, by the way.” You stop staring out the passenger side window to turn to Hoseok, soft smile on your face. 

“It’s no problem, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s late, and I live kind of far away. You didn’t have to offer to drive me home,” you try to explain yourself. “It was really nice of you to do that.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you take a bus home this late,” Hoseok says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. In a way, it sort of is. 

You leave the conversation there, not feeling the need to continue it further. What else is there to say? Hoseok offered to drive you home after a jazz band competition at a campus that was fifty minutes away from your off-campus apartment. You’re almost certain that it’s because he lives in the same area as you, and not because of anything else. It’s not as if the two of you speak very often. He said he would. You thanked him. He said it wasn’t a problem. The end. 

“Dunno why they have comps so far away from campus,” Hoseok says, trying to keep the conversation going. “Would be better for all of us if everyone came to us.”

“Life can’t always be one-sided like that,” you say with a laugh. “But yeah, I agree. It’s a hassle.”

“You took the bus to get there, right?” Hoseok asks. “With your trombone?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you tell him, shrugging. “Nobody sat next to me because I had it with me, which was nice.”

“But you were planning on taking a bus back to campus? This late?”

“I’ve done it before.” You shrug again. It never really seemed like such a big deal. Granted, other competitions were much closer to campus than this one, but you still weren’t planning on making a mountain out of a molehill. You take the bus all of the time. It was just nice of Hoseok to offer to drive you home, this one time. 

“Oh,” Hoseok says. “Well, you know I’m happy to drive you home. It’s really not that big of an issue.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that for me--” You begin. 

“It’s not a problem. I think we only live a couple streets apart, so it’s convenient for me, too,” Hoseok waves away your concerns. “I don’t mind at all. Sort of nice to have company.”

You stop. On the bus rides to and from competitions, you had always liked those few minutes of privacy. Granted, you were on a bus, but being alone with strangers passing by in your life has always brought you some sense of peace. You put in your headphones and stare out the window and think to yourself. Think about your life, your work, your music. It’s calming. 

But this is calming, too. Driving home when the moon is high in the navy blue sky, the radio volume low but still audible, filling up the car. You and Hoseok don’t ever really speak too much, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have things to say to each other. The moment was just never right. 

But this one is. 

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

You’re barely paying attention to the road when you notice Hoseok slowing down on the highway, almost coming to full halt as the red and blue lights of am ambulance swirl around ahead of you. 

“Is your seatbelt on?” Hoseok asks. 

You turn just to double check. “Yeah, why?”

“Looks like there was an accident up ahead,” Hoseok says, motioning to the hubbub in front of you. It’s late at night, and there aren’t many cars, but there are enough to cause a bit of a pileup on this heavily-trafficked highway. 

“Oh.”

“We might be a little longer than expected,” Hoseok tells you as the car creaks to a stop. Even though this highway is often busy, there are only two lanes, and both of them seem to be blocked by emergency vehicles at this time. You might have to wait a bit. 

“That’s okay,” you tell him, letting the soft rock of the radio play out throughout the car. The slow tempo of the song matches the beat of your heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. You turn to Hoseok, smiling. “I don’t mind spending more time with you.”

Hoseok grins back. “Me neither,” he says. 

please no more drabble requests for now, but i may open them again soon!

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write fic based on the song let her go by passenger. Have you ever seen “If I stay”? Maybe something like that but Andy Barber x reader. You can choose the ending! Stay safe!!

Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Angst, Coma Summary: You were in a car accident, the trauma caused you to be in a coma for who knows how long. Doctors know you’re unstable, but having your outer-body experience, you can see and hear those people around you. But they can never hear or see you. Your husband doesn’t take it so well, memories flooding and he gave up everything for you. It was now your choice to stay or not.

REQUESTED: I honestly think this is so sad for me and I wasn’t sure if you were wanting a daughter or wifey fic. So I made it into a wife fic. If any of you want a remake for a daughter part, I can do that.

It may be short, but I honestly think this was a great request. The song is beautiful.

The ending will be horrible, but not just by my writing. It’s the sadness. This was a good distraction for me. Thank you.

You were heading back from New York. A small business trip wasn’t hurting you much to home. Sure, your family lived in New York, you had someone special at home. He called you at that moment when you said you were coming back in time for lunch. He was telling you all about his day at work after he asked how you were doing.

“How is it back there?” He asked. You tried not to go over the speed limit to reach home quicker, it was scary enough to see snow fall during January. “Well... freezing,” You laugh, “But I might be able to get there soon.”

You could hear him laugh on the other end, “Well, you be careful.”

Well you only need the light when it’s burning low. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow. Only know you love her when you let her go. After a couple more minutes of speaking, Andy had gotten another call from what sounded like his boss, Lynn. You then sat in your seat for the next hour, hands on the wheel like you were on a mission. The heat never bothered you when you had it on since you got in. You’ll know the temperature will go up a little in Newton.

The roads were a little wavy, every turn was almost unexpected, but luckily you were going slow to notice them. The snow seemed to get thinner and thinner. The ground was slick, your tires were barely new. They lose their grounding from every time you drove on harsher roads and you needed to get new ones anyway.

You just a couple miles from Newton and you wanted to call Andy. You searched for his number on the small screen above the radio. Glancing for a split second, you hear someone come towards your car. A truck drove off from its lane and you could hear the sounds of glass shattering.

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low. Only hate the road when you're missing home. Only know you love her when you let her go. And you let her go.

What felt like an eternity, you thought you’d never wake up. Feelings around you were nothing, you woke up on the cold ground. Your fingertips never caught a cold, not even your own breathing could be seen in the air. You hear chattering by the road, where you see people walking around. 

You picked up your feet and walked over to the accident and saw the crash. Your car drove off the road, it collided with a tree and the front of the window had shattered. The driver’s side door was opened.

“We need a trauma team!” Someone called, you let out a disbelief exhale towards the frantic people. “Hello? Excuse me?” You call out to them, none of them responded. “Please. Where-? Hey!” You call out to the next. They all ignored you, like you were invisible. 

You hear clattering behind and hear two people talk, “We gotta take her to the Newton General.”

“Better get going then,” The woman says. You rush over to the gurney and saw yourself on the bed. Eyes closed, your cheek cut and your knuckles were bruised and bleeding. You let out a gasp and reached for your mouth, keeping what felt like you were gonna scream. You felt like you couldn’t. “No... This...” Your head turns to the other car who turned on its side. 

You couldn’t tell if that person every made it.

“Hurry,” You hear the woman say, you followed yourself on the gurney and hopped in the back of the ambulance. The man closed the back and jumped in the front. All you did was stare at your own body on the gurney. The woman found ways to treat you, putting on a mask over your face. She stuck needles in your arm, kept checking your pulse every once in a while.

Sitting there what felt like hours, coping with what your mind was going. A roller coaster wanting to make you sick. There was no point into getting the woman’s attention, you couldn’t grab anything. You tried tapping your own self’s arm and head trying to wake your unconscious self up. 

You pinched yourself thinking you’re dreaming. Nothing. Were you dreaming? If you were, you would’ve waken up by now. “Wake up,” You urged, you pinched yourself again, “Wake up, Y/N. Wake up...” You closed your eyes and felt tears pool in your eyes, “Wake up, please...” You opened your eyes and saw the medics rush your body out of the back.

Quickly, you followed them and tried your best to chase after them. You dodged every body that walked in your path. People clamoring over each other to treat you. They take you into the emergency room and once you dart for the open doors, they close on you. Your hands slap onto the doors, seeing them lift you onto the table and people began to dress for what they were prepared to do. Once you pull away, you read the clear sign with words printed on.

COMA 1 No cell phones allowed in patients room.

A gasp barely came out, your hands lift from the doors. Turning away, all you could do was sit outside on the ground. Knees pulled up to your chest as you quietly cried. You felt weak to have tears run down your face, like you were never to do anything. Hours had passed and you see the doctors come out and you took the advantage and slipped in between the doors before they closed and you stood at the end of your body.

Tubes were attached to you that were attached to machines. Your heartbeat monitor was going off quietly. It seemed to get louder in your ears, it was started to make you think this was real. The monitor gets cut off by the chattering and the door being pulled open from someone. 

You turn and your face drops, “Andy.”

“Y/N.” His eyes were hurt and filled with worry. Your heart seemed to crumble when his eyes never met yours. They were on your unconscious body. His coat hanging on his forearm, he made his way over to your self. He places his coat on the ground, not even caring on how the floor could be dirty, he got down on one knee and took your hand in his.

You could almost feel it in yours when he stared at your closed eyes. “I’m here, Y/N...” He whispers, “I’m here.” You slowly made your way to the other side of you. His other hand covered yours in between his as if you could feel his love just by a simple touch. 

And you could. 

He lowers his head, “I’m sorry... I’m...” He lifts up his head and his hand removes itself to lay on your side. You slowly sat down in the seat across from him. The only thing separating you two was you in a coma. This all felt too real. You couldn’t cry, not even speak to him. Like someone had ripped your throat out. “Andrew.”

His head turns toward your direction, but it remained low. You reach over to touch his hand. You couldn’t grasp his hand in yours, you couldn’t feel his touch under yours. The warmth and love from his hands. But you could see it in front of you. His love to just hold you there, to keep you warm and let you know he’s there.

After hours of being with him, Andy had left before 8pm. You saw him drive off but that didn’t take long for you to go home. You walked over there for an hour and a half. You didn’t feel tired but it felt like you needed it. You didn’t hear from doctors about how long you could be in a coma for. Was it your decision to choose that?

You were lucky to head into the back of the house and find the door open. You walked in and heard what sounded like Andy’s sobs. You peered around the corners, reaching about halfway in the house, you turned to see him on the ground. 

Hair tousled in stress and sadness. It was overwhelming for you than it was for him. You were gone to him, but to you, you couldn’t tell him you were still there for him. Have anyone listen to you. See you. No, he didn’t have a lot of friends and you were only there for him.

You stood by his side from now on.

One Week Later...

Everyday, he’d spend his days at the hospital. You didn’t come home to him a lot. You only visited him that day when you first got to the hospital. You were trying ways to get your conscience to wake itself up. You attempted to say to God you needed to go back. 

Nothing worked. You tried shaking yourself, pinching, hitting things around. You screamed once and nothing happened. You needed to wake up but you had no idea how to. 

The day you followed Andy back to your home. You noticed how he was ordering himself takeouts. You see him take the whiskey from the top cabinet and pour himself a small glass. He stared the surface on the table, his chopsticks stuck to his fingers like he was tensed now. His frown never removed with a smile or grimace. You turned to the living room to see what he had done.

Only to see you and Andy on the couch, laughing. His arm around your shoulder, your legs thrown over his with a gray blanket over you two. The lights were on, giving you the thought on how bright you two were. Andy from the table seemed to darken the room once he appeared in your view. The memory disappeared in front of you as he sat down on the couch with his drink in hand. Another was poured after the other. Till the clock struck 11.

Staring at the bottom of your glass Hoping one day you'll make a dream last But dreams come slow and they go so fast You see her when you close your eyes Maybe one day you'll understand why Everything you touch surely dies

That night, you followed him to your own bedroom. The sheets already moved from the night before, giving you the realization that he struggled sleeping. His lamp was on in the room. He wore casual, comfy clothes and slipped into bed so deliberately. 

You watched as he leaned on his side to reach for his book. You remembered he read that every night. You remembered when he read it to you. You see the lights surge to their fullness and see you in bed with Andy. His book in hand while you snuggled next to him. His voice soft and low, you never gotten annoyed by his words.

How they fell out of his mouth like nothing. Words he could define so easily like he was a dictionary. With a soft sigh, he finished off the last chapter and closed the book on his thumb. “One more chapter?” You hear yourself ask him. Andy grins down at you and opens it again.

“All right, one more and we go to bed.”

You see the lights decrease their brightness and see that Andy didn’t bother to read the first word in the book and closed it. You watched as he put the book back on his nightstand and shuffled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, expecting something to happen. You couldn’t read his thoughts, but you knew you were glued into his mind.

You and Andy had been together ever since you two were 18. 20 years later, you’re laying on a separate bed as he lays in a colder one. An empty home that he couldn’t no longer call it that without you. The neighbors liked you two. You were the youngest couple in the neighborhood. High school sweethearts, everyone adored you two.

Now, Andy walks alone on the sidewalk, hand freezing and unlaced with another. You don’t know how many times he’s heard those same five words.

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

Everyone just stared and could only watch a guy without no friends, a good job and end up without someone he loved.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark Same old empty feeling in your heart Love comes slow and it goes so fast Well you see her when you fall asleep But never to touch and never to keep 'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep

You walk over to your side of the bed and slowly got in bed with him. You couldn’t pull the covers to join his warmth. You see him stare at the ceiling, the moonlight shining through the open bathroom, you could see the glistening in his eyes. Carefully, you shifted closer to him, still not meeting his touch. You still couldn’t feel his warm body. 

You could just feel the weight of him under you. Your hand places just above his heart, you look up to him with the same wet eyes as you tried to hide your sobs. “I’m sorry, Andy.”

The next days, Andy visited your unconscious self once again. That day you felt weaker. Your hands started to feel cold this time. Your feet that were bare throughout your time started to get cold, too. You could still hear your heart monitor beep. You began to hear your own heart beat in your ears. 

Slowly.

You breathing was getting slower. As if you were calm. Relax. Andy held your hand like you were gonna wake up to feel him near. You couldn’t feel his hand on yours. You sat on the edge by your self’s arm on the other side of where Andy sat. He lifted himself up to place his hand on your forehead and place his lips just below his hand.

You grinned weakly. 

One last time, he lowered his head to press it to yours. His eyes closed to think of you in front of him smiling. “I’m sorry...” Your fingers began to feel numb. Your eyes got weaker by the second. With that you closed your eyes and rested your head.

Andy lowered his head and let out a sigh. The sound of the heart monitor began to slow down. Andy lifted his head up when the monitor made a continuous beep. Like a siren ringing in his ears, his heart drops and he immediately rushes out for a nearby doctor.

He shouted for assistance and doctors came in. They made Andy leave the room, pushing him into a different section. He pushed himself away from running back to you as they tried to find ways to bring you back. His hands grip his hair and his lip trembles. Just after that, he crumples to the ground.

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[theleafthatfelloff]

to busy cities and peace

Cars honking, street vendors yelling, people talking amongst each other, the quick and noisy trains and buses, wailing sirens of the police cars and ambulances, loud pop songs played at the half shut bars and pubs, dogs barking along the streets and if all of that was less, the pitter-pattering of the rain on the gravel to add to it.

The street lights flickering from yellow and white, the eerie headlights of the cars and buses, the neon signs outside the street vendors’ stalls, the lights from the mobile phones of all the people, the billboards and the display boards on the street advertising in bright and bold hues of red and yellow, the disco ball lights outside the already enlightened bars and pubs, the lights in the adjoining park and the lights below the monument in the centre of the city, the twinkling lights of the aeroplane high up in the sky and if all of that wasn’t enough, the startling lightning at the horizon somewhere far off.

Noisy and bright, much of an eyesore and an ear-biter ain’t it ?

Nah !! I beg to differ. Ask me, and I will tell you, there is peace in the otherwise incessantly busy city. Come, join me and I will show you the aesthetic the haphazard city has.

There is questioning in the blaring horns of the cars, they carry a plea of someone who wants to rush home; of someone who is hungry and wishes to go have some delicious food someone lovingly cooked for them; of someone whose pet is waiting for them to return and smother them with licks and hugs; of someone who has no one to return to, but just wishes that he/she gets moving from this little jam and fall asleep on their couch, with an ache that reminds them of someone’s arms or someone’s cuddles; of someone who just wishes that they could get somewhere quick enough.

There is a soothing effect to the flickering yellow white street lights, at least they make one look up and realise that its time, its time they have walked slowly along those very lanes, its time they have checked their phones to see if they missed a call or two from someone they call home, its time they have looked out for that little guitar hanging in the instrument store on the next street, by the very lamp post opposite the bus stop, its time they have stopped to think of things.

There is the sound of love and care in the sound of ambulances and police cars, some rushing to the hospital carrying somebody else’s loved ones, not because they get paid, but someone relies on them to save them; some rushing to a scene to take hold of some ousted person and drive him to the

There is warmth in the billboards' and street stalls' lights. The light of accomplishment and fulfillment, from seeing someone excel in something they invested in and are doing well with; from seeing someone eat to their heart's content and put out that gleaming smile on their face; from seeing someone earn money they worked hard for; from seeing that the exhibition in the city is still open; from seeing that the antique piece she wanted to gift her father is still out for sale; from seeing the twinkle in the eyes of the toddler after he got his large balloon and cotton candy.

There is the sound of love brewing and hearts breaking, and all of it over the sound of the peppy songs playing in the bars and pubs. The sound in the little looks shooting across the bar, from that young boy who wants to ask the girl in the corner out; from that serene woman holding her whiskey high reminiscing some days she spent with the girl she loved in her 20's, grooving to the music there; from that old uncle who sits at the same stool for the last 20 years brooding over life and scribbling onto the little pocket notebook he has in his pocket. The sound in the tinkling of the glasses; as a raised toast for someone who is making a new venture, as the tapping of the glass at the drinks' table demanding a refill to lose themselves into their emotions, as she slammed the glasses on the table, because she couldn't take the rejection. The sound in the silence, with which he stares into the crowd dancing in the centre, with which she fiddles with her glass, because she didn't speak in time, with which they look into each other's eyes because they finally accomplished their huge dream.

There is a lot of light and sound in the busy city. But I guarantee you, break it down and there lies the peace and the aesthetic. The pitter-patter of the rain and the thundering high up in the sky, the whooshing of the aeroplanes and their little lights you see from below, the dogs on the street and the lights at the monument have their own aesthetic, huge enough to not fit into words. 

The city has loads of dreams and stories, care to open that chapter and it will seem less polluted, less adulterated and less dirty from what it looks like now.

As for me, I am the little leaf fallen in the midst of city, that came from some 'dim' and 'peaceful' town, floated on the pavement and now looks at the city from that girl's diary, in the shelf, that overlooks the window onto the road and into the city, sending wishes to busy cities and its peace.

[mitigatedchaos]

Re: Using corrugated metal pipes as tunnels:

[previous post]

So the most recent development sketch for Misneyland is the village ring, and it’s portrayed above.  (Technically I can create much more sophisticated 3D models than that, but I’m not going to do so for a Tumblr post, unless someone wants to pay for a 40 manhour version.)

The village ring was developed to solve turning radius and fire hose length requirements for contemporary fire engines, which are included in common fire codes.

Each village has an outer tree berm.  This cuts down on noise, and the upwards slope conceals truck traffic beyond.  The next layer is a one-way, one-lane road for full-size automobiles and access by emergency vehicles, including fire trucks and ambulances.  A sidewalk is provided in part for potentially routing around damaged vehicles.  Garages are half-buried in the tree berm.  Every house has a garage for a full-size auto.  The next layer is a backyard, followed by a house.  (The depicted houses are duplexes.) 

The layer after that is where it gets interesting - this is a multi-mode path for golf carts, electric scooters, bicycles, and pedestrians.  This path actually marks the “front” of the house.  The houses are arranged in this kind of circle to provide a town feeling, with just enough landscaping on either side to allow for a bit of expression and creativity.  We might like it to feel a bit like you’re living on a small street in Tokyo - but with a bigger personal yard, and regular access to a full-size car.

Residents should feel that they can just walk right out their front door or on a bike, and get on the path to visit a friend or central store in the development or nearby areas.

We then have another house, backyard + garages, one-way road, and a central park.

[ @florescent--luminescence ]

there are golf cart tunnels in my hometown (no,  really) and a lot of them are made from giant corrugated pipes so idt  they're too expensive at all

This is good information and I’m glad you brought it to my attention.  I looked it up and suppliers will just sell you 50-year-rated 8-foot diameter galvanized steel pipe for exactly that use case.  It’s also possible to get some thermal insulation by setting it underground.  One could even stick two next to each other - one for each direction of travel.

My thoughts here have less to do with golf carts as a form of transportation, and more to do with golf carts as a tool for providing an experience (which also happens to sell housing).

Here’s a golf cart tunnel in The Villages, generally used for going underneath major roads.  It feels like an underground bunker (for golf carts).  Above-ground paths are sunny and green, with palm trees rising up from the landscaping.  Peach Tree City’s paths look like this.

If you think that looks like, say, the Erie Canal Towpath Trail in Ohio, you wouldn’t be wrong, at least on summer days that aren’t overcast.

My view is that different forms of transport have different kinds and amounts of charisma.  The most charismatic form of transport is probably either the sailing ship or the steam locomotive - by the way, the Towpath intersects with the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railway.  Cars, particularly powerful and fast cars, have their own form of charisma.

To convince people to use golf carts and invest in a golf cart based development, in my view one should draw out the natural charisma of the golf cart as a form of transit.

Close to the ground.

Less separation from the surrounding environment.

Top speed of 20 mph is closer to the speed of a horse than the speed of a car - more traditional scale of environment

Vehicle itself is small, cute.

Thus the title Misneyland (originally a joke about a Mitigated Chaos amusement park).  The cart concept was inspired by an urbanist’s statement that America’s built environment is scaled to the automobile - the original post jokes about an environment scaled to the size of a golf cart.

The cart path should be “scenic” - carts are less imposing on their environment, and thus there should be lots of vegetation, cart-scaled features (such as bridges and signs), and architectural details that are visible when cruising along at 15 mph (so probably traditional architectures for many buildings).  Golf carts as a first-class transport option.

We can view this like a theme park, experienced from the front, where full-size autos are a “back stage” thing, moving mulch, heavy objects, families with 28 kids, etc.  Unlike left-wing opposition to full-size autos, I actually think cars are amazing (due in part to the number of destinations they can reach per minute), and expect most households in this setup will have a car.

The golf cart is just a car on a more human scale.

Anyhow, the problem with building the tunnels is it’s not scenic at all to spend 15 minutes driving through a corrugated metal tube. 

On the other hand, surface golf cart paths are so cheap that we can almost ignore the price of the surface path and just assume we have a matching surface path for every tunnel path.  In that case, it may be worth it to have a matching underground path for every surface path just for use in the winter.