#you will never stop learning as a paramedic and you will never stop feeling like you don't known wtf ur doing

[lesbianambulon]

I want to write a fanfic where Ratchet remembers the first time he worked a resuscitation/spark arrest as a new medic or as a student medic, and had to lead the interventions as the lead medic.

That shit is incredibly difficult. I literally just had to lead a resuscitation call by myself for the first time. He's panicking on the inside, unsure if what he's doing is right, or is enough. He thinks about how terrified he was but how he got through it.

He struggles with feelings of inadequacy in tfp, even after he's been in the field for so long. I want to explore that more, because that is SO REAL.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 18 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17

(Gif by me) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: *are spoilers*, listed at the end

Adrenaline replaces your blood. An unpleasant sensation washes over you. The same three words keep bouncing between your ears.

Buck is dead.

Buck is dead.

Buck is…

“V-tach!” Someone shouts. “Everyone clear!”

Buck’s chest jolts upwards as the shock is administered.

“We got a pulse!”

You heave out a breath. You feel helpless as they wheel him away.

“H-he has a history of blood clots,” you eventually call out. “He’s not on any medications, but he’s allergic to naproxen.”

“Got it,” A doctor calls in response, “we’ll do our best.”

“Do more!” Eddie shouts as they turn the corner.

You turn to Eddie, limbs numb from shock. “What the hell happened?”

“It was so quick,” Eddie whispers, still staring straight ahead. “One second, he was up on the ladder, and the next, he was just… dangling. He was dead.”

You set a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder, which prompts him to pull you into a hug.

“He’s gonna be okay,” you whisper.

You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t.

Buck awakens slowly, blinking a few times before fully opening his eyes.

“It’s about time,” you say softly.

Buck figures out quickly that he’s in a hospital; the air is stale, his usual pajamas are replaced by a gown, and the sheets beneath him are stiff instead of soft. The only problem is, he doesn’t know why he’s in the hospital. If anything, he should be there for you, since your due date is quickly approaching.

“What happened?” Buck asks, rubbing his forehead as he slowly comes to.

“You fell off a ladder, hit your head. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious. Daniel will be back with your discharge papers.”

“...Daniel? My brother?”

You were there for Buck when he learned about his older brother. He has no clue why you’re talking about him now.

“...yeah?” you say with a confused smile. “I’m going to start packing stuff up.”

You stand up, and Buck’s eyes widen.

“You’re not pregnant,” he whispers.

“Thank god for that,” you laugh out, putting a few things into your purse.

“W-what happened?” Buck chokes out. “D-did you… oh, god…”

“What? Whoa, hey!” You spin around, quickly moving to Buck when you see how panicked he is. “Baby, I was pregnant. Two years ago.”

Buck lets out a sigh of relief. “Katie.”

You smile, setting your hands on his cheeks. “Yes, Katie, our daughter. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Buck has a daughter. He’s never been more okay in his life. He relaxes, running his hands up and down your arms.

“What about Eddie?”

Your smile turns into one of confusion. “What about Eddie?”

“How… How is he?” Buck asks dumbly.

You shrug, your hands falling to your sides. “No clue. I haven’t talked to him since be moved back to Texas.”

Buck’s head feels like it’s spinning. “...huh?”

“His parents got full custody of his kid, and he moved to Texas to be closer to them,” you explain casually. “You don’t remember that?”

How can you sound so calm about it? Eddie is a huge part of both of your lives. Hell, he’s one of Katie’s parents … isn’t he?

“We… we’re not… he didn’t…”

Buck cuts himself off with a few gasps. He tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs feel constricted. He’s panicking, and he has no idea how to stop it.

“We need a nurse!” Eddie shouts before you can.

You’re supposed to be one in a few months, but you’ve never felt so out of your depth. You had a single lecture about ventilators in nursing school, most of which you didn’t retain. All you see is that the top bar — the volume of air delivered — is alarming. You see Buck’s chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Buck, if you can hear me, you need to breathe, okay?” you whisper in his ear as you run a hand over his face. “Just breathe, baby.”

A few nurses rush in, and you step back before they have to push you out of the way.

“His sats are dropping,” one nurse notes while the other puts a stethoscope to Buck’s chest. “We need to take him off and a bag him.”

You keep backing up until you hit something. A pair of strong arms wrap around you, one resting across your chest while the other cradles your stomach. Eddie.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Eddie whispers in your ear.

All you can do is grip his arm like a lifeline.

“Buck, can you hear me? …Buck!”

Buck looks around, his eyes landing on you.

“Where’d you go, babe?” you chuckle.

“Sorry, I was… I don’t know. Sorry.”

The details come back to him slowly: his parents and Daniel came over for family dinner, along with Maddie, her daughter, and her husband. Her daughter and husband, Genevieve and Doug. A bitter taste fills Buck’s mouth.

“I can’t believe she stayed with him,” he says quietly. “He’s gonna kill her.”

You sigh sadly as you gather some plates. “I think I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told her that. I mean, hell, we work in an ER together, for god’s sake. She’s seen what men are capable of. I know leaving is easier said than done, but…”

Buck’s memories are hazy, only occasionally coming into focus. As you turn on the sink, he studies you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says.

“Sure am,” you return. “It’s not like that’s how we met, or anything.”

Oh, yeah. Buck stopped by after school let out to check up on a student he had to call EMS for. The poor girl had a seizure, scared the crap out of her classmates. She had already transferred to the pediatric floor for monitoring by the time he got there, but in the ER, he ran into you. He asked Maddie for your number, and the rest was history.

A student… Buck’s a teacher. 5th…? No, 6th grade. On his first date with you, he explained that 6th grade is the best because you get to see children growing into their personalities before the awkward teenage years. God, he loves his job. He knows you love yours, too, and though they aren’t in the same profession, it’s something you both quickly bonded over.

“Just testing you,” Buck jokes.

You face him with a hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. His brows knit closer together ever so slightly. You pick up on it.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly.

“Something feels… off,” Buck replies, unsure of how else to phrase it. “It’s like all the pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, but one is missing.”

“Poetic,” you remark.

“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “...Why did he move away?”

You sigh as you move your hands down to Buck’s shoulders. “We’re not seriously talking about Eddie again, are we?”

“It just… feels like it never really ended, right? Like he’s a loose end.”

“Oh, he’s something alright,” you scoff as you turn back towards the sink and start washing dishes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You set down a plate with a clatter. “You remember what he did, Evan: he almost destroyed us.”

A little while after Eddie’s shooting, the three of you sat down and wrote your Advanced Directives and assigned each other as Power of Attorneys in case of… well, something exactly like this. So when Dr. Becker asks to speak to you and Eddie privately, you know it’s to discuss further treatment options.

Turns out, there aren’t very many. They already have him on a paralytic drip to keep him compliant with the ventilator, but his lungs still aren’t pulling good tidal volumes. She says that proning— or laying him on his stomach — could maybe improve things, but considering the cause of his respiratory failure, it’s unlikely.

“...which leaves us with Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation as our best option.”

“ECMO?” you ask.

ECMO is another topic you had a singular lecture on, but you know enough to know it’s not good. You also know it’s not good because you, Eddie, Dr. Becker, and Buck’s nurse are all sitting in a secluded conference room. You don’t get good news in a hospital conference room.

Dr. Becker nods. “It would be Veno-Venous, meaning it bypasses the lungs instead of the lungs and the heart.”

Eddie nods a little. “Well, that’s… good, right? I mean, bypassing one organ sounds better than bypassing two.”

You keep staring at Dr. Becker. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

Eddie frowns, glancing between the two of you. “What? What aren’t you saying?”

Dr. Becker sighs. “ECMO is known as a ‘Hail Mary’ in the world of medicine.”

That’s how you remember your instructor phrasing it — ECMO is an absolute last-ditch effort. It’s only considered when every other option has been explored.

“It’s not a cure: it’s a bridge,” you say, trying (and failing) to keep your voice level.

“It can give him the time his lungs need to heal,” Dr. Becker explains.

“And if it doesn’t, he’d need a transplant,” you continue. “And if he can’t get a transplant…”

“...he would stay on ECMO indefinitely.”

“...Or he would…” you start but cut yourself off with a sob. You clasp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to take a breath. “...or he would die.”

The words don’t sit right on your tongue. Your lips twist as they make their way out, like you ate something sour.

Dr. Becker’s face stays even, but you catch a glimpse of something in her eyes: pity. “Yes.”

You scoot back in your chair, making a break for the door. The protests of Dr. Becker and Eddie make it to your ears but not your brain. All you can focus on is the bile that’s climbing to the back of your throat.

You slam open the door of a single-stall bathroom, barely able to lock it before you collapse to your knees in front of the toilet. You gag several times, only spit and stomach acid eventually making their way up. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you ate something.

You eventually sit on the floor, resting your head against the tile wall. You take a few breaths, rubbing your palm over your chest. Then, you feel a sudden gush between your legs. Against your better judgment, you stay seated, eyes wide and heart pounding.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not with everything going on.

Not without him.

Eddie said he was in love with you, and you said you were dating Buck. Buck’s pretty sure that’s part of why he moved to Texas: to get away from you. Something about it doesn’t sit right in his stomach.

“That’s not how it was supposed to happen,” Buck murmurs, setting his hands on the counter and leaning into it.

“How exactly was it supposed to happen?” you counter, placing your left hand close to his.

Buck sees a ring. It’s a diamond, probably not a real one, but it looks convincing enough. His eyes move to his own left hand, and sure enough, a gold band is wrapped around his fourth finger.

“We’re married,” he says, almost inaudibly.

“You proposed after a year,” you recall fondly. “I thought you were crazy, but… it’s our five-year anniversary next week.”

Buck should be happy. He should be overjoyed, really — he has everything he’s ever wanted. He has a beautiful wife, an amazing daughter, and a fulfilling career. Still, his gut twists and turns.

“He was in love with you,” Buck eventually says.

“And I’m in love with you,” you state, “so nothing else matters.”

“But it does,” Buck argues, pushing against the counter until he’s standing up straight. “It does matter.”

“Why?” you frown. “Eddie is long gone, Buck. That chapter of our lives has been closed for a while.”

“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” Buck shouts.

You go still, swallowing. “What does that mean?”

“It’s… it’s supposed to be the five of us!” Buck says as he starts to pace. “It’s supposed to be me, you, and him, raising Katie and Chris.”

You look at him like he’s speaking French. “What the hell are you talking about, Buck?”

Buck halts his pacing and turns to you. “Are you in love with him?”

You snort. “What?”

“Are you in love with him?” He repeats.

“Buck, I love you,” you counter.

“I know you do, and you know I love you,” Buck says, a sense of deja vu washing over him, “but I’m asking if you love him.”

You and Eddie ultimately consent to the ECMO cannulation. Buck’s struggled his whole life, and he’s always taken it in stride. He deserves the chance to walk away from this.

That being said, he drew some strong lines in the sand in his Advanced Directives, and you and Eddie have no intentions of erasing them. Buck specifically refused the placement of a tracheostomy and gave a general timeline of two weeks for his status to improve before medical efforts should be ceased. He also said that if at any point it’s suspected he won’t make a meaningful recovery, care should be withdrawn. You’re not at that point yet, but with each hour, you can feel it getting closer.

You went home after agreeing to the cannulation, too emotionally and physically exhausted to stick around. Besides, Chris should have at least one of his parents send him off to school that morning. You briefly explained Buck’s condition and that children aren’t allowed to visit in the ICU before kissing his cheek and seeing him off for the day.

When you finally get a chance to change, you notice the gush you felt earlier; it’s the ‘bloody show’ your OB warned you about. It’s a mix of the mucus plug and some frank blood, normally passed anywhere from days to hours before active labor. You still have time.

Then, as if the universe is playing a trick on you, you feel a contraction.

You lean against the dresser, inhaling slowly. Braxton Hicks are noticeable, but they’re short, normally lasting only a few seconds. By the time you’re done exhaling, it’s over. Or… it should be over. This one continues.

“Come on, Katie,” you mumble, rubbing up and down your tight belly, “not now.”

You count to twenty before the contraction ceases. The paramedic part of your brain screams, but the overly tired part takes over. You don’t panic. You don’t call Eddie. You don’t call anyone.

You go to sleep.

“It… it doesn’t matter,” you repeat, tripping over the words.

“It doesn’t?” Buck challenges. “Because I love him.”

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper.

The look on your face hurts Buck’s heart. Still, he persists.

“This isn’t how this is supposed to happen,” Buck says softly. “This… it isn’t real.”

“Buck, I love you,” you cry. “We have a family.”

“This isn’t real,” Buck repeats, mostly to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his hands in his hair.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t —

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing. Quite literally, nothing. All Buck can see is black. He takes a step forward, almost expecting the ground to ripple beneath him. It doesn’t.

He starts running. He doesn’t know if he’s running away from something or towards something, but either way, he’s running. Normally, he’d run until he was out of breath. That doesn’t seem to happen, though, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other.

“You figured it out,” a voice cuts into his head.

Buck spins around. There’s no one there.

“You were always too smart for your own good.”

The voice is familiar, and not in a comforting way, like the softness of an overworn hoodie. It’s more like being haunted by a ghost.

“You could’ve been happy.”

“It wasn’t real!” Buck shouts into the void.

“It could’ve been,” the voice counters. “If only you’d let it.”

You get back to the hospital later that evening. You plan on switching out with Eddie. What you don’t plan on is seeing Christopher in the waiting room.

“Buddy, what are you doing here?” You ask.

Hen shoots you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but he insisted on coming.”

“I need to see Buck,” Chris replies. “I have to talk to him.”

“They don’t let kids in the ICU, Chris,” you say softly.

“I don’t care!”

You sigh, running a hand down your face.

“...Maybe we can find a workaround,” Hen offers.

By some miracle, Hen distracts the nurse long enough for you to sneak Christopher into Buck’s room. Eddie’s eyes widen as he stands up, approaching you both.

“I couldn’t say no,” you say weakly with a shrug.

You both watch as Christopher takes a few steps forward, looking at all the devices.

“Is he sleeping?” He asks.

“Something like that,” Eddie responds, voice thick.

“He’s resting, so the machines can do all the work to make him feel better,” you explain.

Chris nods. “Can he hear me?”

You look over at Eddie, who’s wiping away a few tears.

“I bet he can,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay level.

“Hey, Buck. It’s Christopher. I know you’re sick, but it’s only temporary. You’re going to be okay,” Chris says, reaching out to touch Buck’s arm. “Wherever you are, you have to come back.”

Wherever you are right now, you have to come back.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Buck says. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to the voice or to himself.

“You can’t go back,” the voice says. “It’s too late.”

“I’m running out of time,” Buck says quietly.

He catches something in the corner of his eye. He turns around to face a mirror. It has to be a mirror — he’s staring at himself.

“You’re dying,” the voice says. Only, it isn’t a voice; it’s his reflection. “Turns out, your parents were right: you aren’t invincible. Weren’t, I guess.”

“This isn’t how it ends,” Buck argues weakly. “I have a family out there.”

“What, your parents?” His reflection scoffs. “The people so caught up in grieving their son that they forgot they still had one left? Or your sister, who’s so busy with her own kid that she won’t even notice you’re gone?”

Buck doesn’t like this version of himself. It’s probably who he’d become had he never joined the 118. It isn’t even Buck… it’s Evan.

“My family,” Buck argues. “My partners. My son. My daughter.”

“It’s sad she’ll never get to meet you,” Evan says, tilting his head. “It’s probably easier that way, though. The other three… that one’s gonna hurt.”

In a mere twelve hours, Buck turns a corner. The ECMO is already titrated down to a level that could warrant decannulation. They discontinued the paralytic and are currently running a spontaneous breathing trial, which involves Buck doing all the work of breathing. He’s an hour in and doing great.

You sit in an armchair beside his bed, picking at a sandwich Eddie got you from the cafeteria. You feel Eddie set his hands on your shoulders.

“You have to eat something, mi amor,” He murmurs as he kneads your neck muscles.

You let out a sigh, setting the sandwich aside and leaning into his touch. Then, you hiss out a breath and grab your stomach involuntarily.

Eddie’s hands stall. “Is that a contraction?”

You close your eyes as you focus on your breathing. You feel Eddie brush past your arm, and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you.

“Don’t worry, they’re still 15 minutes apart.”

“...You’ve been having them regularly?!”

“15 minutes means I’m still in latent labor, not active.”

“You’re in labor, ” Eddie parrots, standing back up.

“Yeah, and I’m not having her until we know Buck is okay,” you say definitively.

Eddie runs his hands down his face. “How long have you been in labor?”

“...15 hours, I think.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

“People can be in latent labor for days , Eddie,” you argue. “Besides, I checked myself earlier, and I’m only like, three centimeters dilated.”

“You…” Eddie cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

“This is not a big deal!”

“How is this not a big deal?!”

“Because I’m not having her until Buck is okay,” you repeat.

It doesn’t make sense. The rational part of your brain knows that. However, the rational part of your brain is taking a hiatus. In its place is an irrational, scared shitless pregnant woman running rampant with hormones. You simply cannot fathom Buck not being there for his daughter’s birth. And so, you don’t.

“Babe…” Eddie says, exasperated.

“What?” you say, standing up. “We probably have days before we need to worry about this. Lets focus on Buck for now.”

Eddie’s eyes trail from your face down to your legs. “Babe.”

“What?” you huff.

“Your water just broke.”

You look down. Your pants are stained with an obvious wet spot, and you can feel something cold trickling down your leg.

“...Fuck.”

Warnings: mild depictions of early child labor/childbirth

[afictionaladventure16]

The Longest Night (Tim Bradford X Foster!Teen!Reader)

The Rookie Masterlist

Word Count: 3,832

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood

Summary: It's towards the end of Tim's shift when he gets a call on the radio about a nearby car accident, but when he arrives, he doesn't expect his world to turn upside down.

The day began like any other, Tim got up before sunrise and prepped a quick breakfast before getting himself ready. By then y/n was up and dressed and eating her breakfast. Over the past two years, they had a routine that they strictly followed. At first, the life of fostering a young teen was challenging for Tim, especially with his schedule but he was determined to help the young teen. He saw so much of himself within her. 

Getting y/n to open up to him was another challenge. It took a while, but eventually, she learned how to trust Tim and now she felt like Tim was the father she never had. There were times when she had to stop herself from calling him ‘dad,’ even though she knew he wouldn’t mind. She felt like it wasn’t appropriate since she knew that one day she would only be a distant memory. 

Towards the end of his shift, Tim was over it. He was ready to go home and start his weekend. More importantly, he was excited to go to y/n’s soccer game tonight. He knew he was going to be the loudest one in the crowd, cheering you on as you gave it your all in the field. 

He loved watching you play, loved seeing the passion you had for the game and if he could, he would do anything so you could play whenever you pleased, but the world didn’t work that way. 

The plan was for you to drive to the field with some friends after school, you would grab something to eat with them on the way there. Fortunately for you, you were able to get out of class early to grab a bite and head over to the field. Later on in the evening, Tim, Lucy, and Angela will meet you at the game. 

“All units,” the voice came over the radio, “we have a major collision at the intersection of Sepulveda and Fifth. Possible fatalities. Paramedics en route.” 

Tim’s heart quickened, something about this call felt different from the others. A chill ran down his spine, he knew that intersection too well. It was one of the intersections he passed on the way to drop y/n off at school.

“Dispatch, show 7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim announced on the radio as he drove off from where he was parked. The scene of the accident wasn’t too far, it was only ten minutes away, but with the way Tim was driving, he made it there in five. 

When he arrived, paramedics were already at the scene, a couple of paramedics were assisting some firemen help get a passenger out of one of the cars. Just with one look at the scene, Tim already knew that the impact of some of these cars was deadly. 

“Tim,” Lucy hurried towards him, she had arrived at the same time as the paramedics. 

Tim was too distracted by the scene of the wreckage in front of him to even notice the look on Lucy’s face, “Jesus, what was the cause of this?” he asked. 

Lucy’s expression was tense, her eyes had widened with something more than just professional concern, “T-Tim,” she whispered, a hand gently touching his arm. 

Tim quickly diverted his attention towards Lucy, taking in the expression she was giving him, “What’s going on?” His voice is tight with worry. 

Lucy hesitated, she had no idea how to tell the man she loved, the man who was standing right in front of him the news that could cause his whole world to come crashing down. Her gaze flickered over his shoulder to where the paramedics were working frantically on someone who was lying on the pavement. “I need you to promise me you’ll stay calm,” she began. 

There was that feeling again, the one Tim felt when he heard the call over the radio, “What is it?” 

Lucy took in a shaky breath, “It’s y/n,” she said softly. Her mouth quivered, she rose her hand up to her mouth quickly before putting her hand back down and continued, “The way the car hit– She–” She let out a small sob. 

“Where is she?” Tim felt a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach, “Where is my daughter, Lucy!?” 

“The paramedics are doing everything they can,” She managed to choke out. 

Tim felt as if the ground beneath him had been pulled out from under him, he followed Lucy’s gaze behind him, his whole world narrowed to the sight of the paramedics working on his daughter. His heart sunk at their grim faces as they focused at the task at hand. He pushed past Lucy, any call for him went in through one ear and out the other as he rushed to Y/n’s side. 

“No, no, no,” Tim shouted, his voice breaking as he took in her pale and bloodied face. “Come on, baby, you got to wake up,” he cried as he knelt beside her, gently holding her head in his hands. 

“Clear!” A paramedic warned as he held the defibrillator paddles in his hands, Tim quickly let go of y/n, his eyes darting to the small portable screen beside them. The paramedic let out a small groan as he continued to administer CPR, “Another round of EPI!” The paramedic ordered. 

Tim’s heart shattered with every single millisecond that passed. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he brushed a strand of hair from y/n’s forehead, “Please,” he begged, “Don’t take her from me.”

Lucy knelt beside Tim, offering anything she could to support him. 

“Clear!” The paramedic announced again. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Tim whispered as he lifted his hands up, allowing the paramedic to use the paddles on y/n. 

Tim waited, watching the straight lines on the defibrillator, “Come on!” He shouted, tears streaming down his cheek. 

“We got a pulse!” The paramedic called out as a small pulse showed itself on the small screen in front of him. Tim let out a breath of relief, overwhelmed with a wave of emotions, Y/N was alive, but barely. 

“You can meet us at the hospital,” the paramedic informed Tim as they loaded Y/n onto a stretcher. 

Tim watched as they wheeled her into the ambulance, His attention was directed to another stretcher that was covered with a sheet. His heart sank as he noticed a familiar charm bracelet that was barely showing through the sheet. He quickly stopped the paramedics from moving the stretcher. 

Tim glanced over at Lucy, she gave him a nod, confirming his fear without words. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as he took in a shaky breath. 

“I was on my way to inform her parents.” 

Tim shook his head, “No, let me.” 

“But y/n.” 

“Y/N would want me to tell her best friend's parents that their daughter… she would want me to do this.” 

Lucy nodded, “I can go with you if you would like,” she suggested. 

He gave her a small nod. Lucy followed Tim in her patrol car, to the small house that was only a few blocks down.

Tim dreaded giving the news of the death of a loved one, but this was different. A knot of anxiety turned in Tim’s stomach as he knocked on the door with shaky hands. Mrs. Garcia, Jenna’s mother, answered the door with a beaming smile, but it was short-lived once she saw the look on Tim’s face. Her smile quickly faded into concern.

“Tim? What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. 

“Can we come in?” Tim asked gently. Mrs. Garcia’s eyes darted between him and Lucy before she gave him a small nod and stepped aside. Her eyes widened with worry. 

“Heeey, Tim!” Mr. Garcia sung as he watched Tim walk into the living room, “Ready for that game tonight? Don’t tell me one of the girls called you to come grab something,” he rambled on, “Leave it to our girls to always forget something.” His voice slowly faltered as he noticed the look on his wife’s face. 

“Tim has– Um, he’s here because of work,” Mrs. Garcia stuttered as she sat beside her husband on the couch. The look on Mr. Garcia’s face now mirrored his wife’s as they looked at Tim. 

Tim took in a deep breath, his mind searching for the right words today, but he knew there were none. For a moment, he wanted them to take in these last moments, the last moments of them being oblivious to what was going on. The last moments of them believing that their daughter was still alive and with them in this world. 

Tears began to well up in his eyes, “There was an accident,” he began. “Y/N and Jenna were involved.” 

Mr. Garcia let out a small chuckle out of disbelief, “But they’re okay, right?” 

Tim felt his stomach turn as he continued, “Y/N is on the way to the hospital, they were able to resuscitate her.” 

Mrs. Garcia gasped, as Mr. Garcia took his wife’s hand, “and my Jenna?” His voice shaking as he asked. 

Tim could feel the tears in his eyes threatening to make themselves known, “I’m so sorry,” he said with a shaky voice, “Jenna didn’t make it.” 

Mrs. Garcia shook her head, “No, no, no! Not my baby!” She yelled as she collapsed into her husband’s arm, her body wracked with sobs. Mr. Garcia held her tightly as tears fell from his eyes. Tim felt helpless as he stood there, wishing there was something he could do to ease their pain, but he knew there wasn’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tim repeated, “Jenna was more than just Y/n’s friend. They were like sisters. You guys were–are like family to us.” 

Mr. Garcia looked up towards Tim, his eyes red and overwhelmed with grief, “Can we see her? Can we see our baby girl?” 

Tim nodded, “I’ll take you to her. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” 

The Garcia’s followed Tim’s patrol car to the hospital. Tim felt like he could understand the pain they were going through, seeing as he had just seen his own daughter almost be taken from him, but he knew his pain couldn’t compare to the pain they were about to face. 

He guided them through the quiet halls, it was a part of the hospital Tim rarely went through. A part of the hospital not a lot of people wished to see. The room in which Jenna’s body was in was filled with an overwhelming aura of sadness. It’s like the walls knew the pain of those who held her close. Tim stood at the door as he watched them walk up to the bed where their daughter lay motionless. 

In the midst of it all, Tim felt guilt. Guilt that his daughter lived and theirs didn’t and mixed in with all the guilt, he felt angry. 

He wasn’t sure if he was more angry towards the drunk driver or god himself for taking Jenna away from her parents. 

Lucy walked up to Tim, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Hey,” she whispered, gesturing for him to follow her. 

He let out a deep breath, following Lucy down the hall. 

“They’re wheeling Y/N into surgery now, they’re saying it was touch and go there for a while, which is why it took them a while to get her stable enough to go into surgery,” Lucy explained. Her eyes gazed towards the door at the end of the hall, “How are they holding up?” 

Tim shook his head as tears quickly welled up in his eyes, Lucy didn’t hesitate to pull Tim into an embrace, “I almost lost her and I was a mess, I can’t imagine the pain they are going through,” he said shakily as he returned Lucy’s embrace. 

“I know,” Lucy whispered. 

“I almost lost her,” Tim repeated. Taking in the words he had just said. 

“But you didn’t,” Lucy said as she let go of the embrace and held Tim’s head in her hands. “She’s alive and she needs you right now, she needs you more than ever.” 

Tim nodded, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.” 

“You didn’t lose her, Tim.” 

“I can’t lose her,” he repeated. 

“You won’t.” 

“But I still can,” tears welled up in his eyes, “they can take her away as easily as they brought her into my life and I can’t bear to lose her. She’s my kid.” 

Lucy couldn’t help but smile, “So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that I want to adopt her. I need to.” 

Lucy beamed, “About time.” 

Tim and Lucy stayed in the hall, while the Garcia’s said goodbye to their daughter. A small amount of words were exchanged as Tim watched the Garcias walk out of the hospital, he promised them that Y/N would come over from time to time, but they still wanted her presence around even if their daughter wasn’t there. He knew it was because their home would be missing that light their daughter gave off, the light that y/n gave off when she came into any room. 

~~ 

Tim let out a deep sigh as he moved in his seat for the hundredth time, “would you quit it?” Lucy asked. 

“My belt is beginning to become uncomfortable,” Tim commented. 

“I know,” Lucy said as she looked up from her phone, “that’s why I called Angela to bring us some spare clothes from our lockers,” she said just as Angela walked out of the elevator. 

“How’s our girl doing?” Angela asked as soon as she walked over to Lucy and Tim. 

“The doctors came about an hour ago to update us, it was touch and go then,” Tim said. 

“Fuck,” Angela sighed as she took a seat beside them, handing off the bag of clothes to Lucy. 

Lucy quickly stood up, “I’m gonna go change,” she said as she grabbed her clothes from the bag before handing it off to Tim. 

Tim watched as Lucy walked away to the bathroom, “How are you holding up?” 

“I just wish I could get to the part where this is all over with and Y/n is back home and she’s safe and healthy.” 

“Don’t we all,” Angela whispered. 

The sound of the corridor doors opening caught Tim’s attention, his eyes diverting to the doctor who rushed through the doors and was walking towards him. Tim instantly recognized him as he stood up, “How is she?” 

“She’s stable,” Tim let out a breath of relief, “she did sustain significant injuries and the road to recovery will be a long one, but what’s important is that she is stable for now. We want to keep her in the ICU until she’s off the ventilator.” 

“But she’s okay,” Angela reassured. 

“She’s stable,” the doctor repeated. “I would count that as a win.” 

Tim nodded, “Can I see her?” 

“Of course, I’ll take you up there myself.” 

Tim glanced at Angela, “Go! I’ll let Lucy know.” 

Tim nodded, grabbing his bag of spare clothes before following the doctor to the elevator. 

“I do want to warn you, that what Y/N endured is traumatic. She had multiple fractures, extensive bruising, and some severe lacerations,” Tim was aware, but when he saw her, all he noticed was his little girl. He saw the blood, but only kept his eyes on her face, taking it in as much as he could. 

“She will be swollen and it may look scary along with all the bandages and lacerations,” the doctor continued. 

Tim swallowed hard, “I just want to see her,” he whispered as he tried hard to maintain his composure. 

“And you will, I just want you to keep in mind that it may look bad, but trust me, it will heal and she will recover,” the doctor turns to face Tim, “your daughter is lucky to be alive considering the damage.” 

The doctor stepped out of the elevator once it had stopped, and Tim followed him to one of the rooms in the ICU. “Let us know if you need anything,” the doctor said before leaving to give Tim some space. 

Tim paused outside the door for a second, taking in a deep breath he walked into the room. The sight in front of him was worse than he had imagined, taking in a shaky breath, Tim hurried to the y/n’s side. He took in all the bandages and wires that were connected to her body, the tube that was coming out of her mouth that was to help her breath. 

He gently took her hand in his, “I’m here,” he whispered as he placed a gentle kiss on her hand, “dad’s here,” he whispered again. 

Days went by and Tim remained by y/n’s side. His anxiety was getting the best of him every day that passed, especially since there was no change. Things weren’t getting worse, but they weren’t getting better either. Every day the doctors and nurses came in to check on y/n Tim was hopeful that there would be some change or something new for them to say, but it all remained the same. 

But today felt different. While Tim was holding y/n’s hand, he felt a small movement. He could have swore that she tightened her grip, he took that hope and ran with it. Getting any nurse that was available to show them what he saw. The doctor was quick to run some tests.

One of those tests in particular came back with new results, “It’s a risk,” the doctor commented. 

“But there’s a possibility?” Tim asked. The doctor nodded, “Then let’s do it.” 

Tim sat by as the doctors removed the ventilator, it was a risk. There was a percentage that Y/N could breathe on her own without it and that’s why she’s beginning to show movement, but then there could be a possibility in which she can’t yet breathe with out it. It was all risky, but Tim was willing to take the risk if it meant him knowing where she is on the road of recovery. 

They waited for a few minutes, watching the machines carefully as the ventilator was now completely out.

“Is this good?” Tim asked. 

“So far,” One of the doctors commented. “It looks like she is breathing on her on, we’ll continue to keep an eye on her.” 

Slowly the few nurses and doctors that were in the room began to file out, leaving Tim alone with Y/n. He watched throughout the day as y/n breathed on her own. He took it all as a good sign. 

Soon Tim felt his eyes growing heavy as he let the darkness consume him allowing sleep to enter his body. It was hours later when Tim heard was awakened by a soft groan. 

At first, Tim didn’t quiet understand where it was coming from, his sleep overtaking him again and ignoring the groans. When he kept hearing them, his body quickly reacted, sitting up in his seat, his heart pounding as he looked over at y/n. Her eyes squinting from the brightness of the room, she groaned again. 

“Hey, hey,” Tim rushed to her side.

“It hurts,” she groaned. 

“I know, I know,” Tim softly said as he pressed the button near the bed, alerting the nurses. 

It wasn’t long until a few of the nurses came rushing into the room, examining Y/N and giving her more pain medication. One of the doctors was alerted, he quickly came and ordered some tests before leaving. 

“How are you feeling?” Tim asked as soon as they were alone. 

“Like shit,” Y/N responded.

Tim chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, “you were out for a week,” he commented. 

“I barely remember anything,” She confessed. 

Tim sighed, “It was bad,” he began. 

“I just remember… I remember hearing screams.” 

Tim nodded, “Joey and Lisa made it out with a couple of broken bones. The people in the other car only had a couple of scratches.” He let out a deep sigh, “the driver that caused everything died upon impact.” 

“And Jenna?” 

Tim didn’t know how to muster up the words to tell y/n. He wish he could say that within the past week he figured the words but he didn’t. 

Y/N didn’t like the silence she was receiving, “Tim, what about Jenna?” she asked again.

“They did everything they could,” Tim began to say, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Y/N shook her head, “No.” 

“Y/N, honey, I know-” 

“It should’ve been me,” She cried out. 

“Don’t say that,” Tim raised his voice. 

“Her parents,” She cried, “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim let in a deep breath, “I almost lost you too, Y/n,” letting out a shaky breath, “I had to watch the paramedics bring you back to life. There was no saving Jenna when they arrived, but they were able to save you.” 

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes as she watched Tim break down in front of her, “I know that’s not what you want to hear and I am sorry about Jenna, she meant everything to our little family, but seeing you lifeless on the floor… It broke me. I don’t think I could ever recover from that.” 

Y/n never imagined to hear those words come from Tim, she knew he cared for her, but she didn’t imagine that he truly cared enough that if she were gone he would miss her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Tim mustered up a smile, “No, I’m sorry, this was a experience I wished you never had to experience, but I am here for you. We’re going to get through this together, okay?” 

She gave him a small nod, Tim sniffles, “I wanted to wait until the paperwork came in, but I think you need to hear this now.” 

Y/n gave Tim a confused expression. 

Tim sighed before he continued, “I want to adopt you.” 

“What? Are you serious?” She asked with a surprised expression. 

“As serious as I ever could be, you have been my daughter since the day I took you in, there is no changing that, So what do you think? Want to officially become a Bradford?” 

Tears began to well up in y/n’s eyes, “You want to adopt me?” She asked. 

Tim chuckled, “Of course, I do.”

“Then I guess I should start calling you dad now, huh?” 

Tim smiled, placing a small kiss on y/n’s forehead, “that’s up to you, hon.” Tim knew that the road from here on out wasn’t going to be easy. It was long and bumpy, but he knew that he could take the challenge one day at a time, especially since the risk of loosing you wasn’t as high as it was before. That’s all that mattered to Tim. 

[fordiaz]

The Archer (Evan Buckley) ࣪ 🏹°࿐ ࣪ ᳝۰ ◝

“We’ve both been afraid of losing the things that matter. But maybe this time, we don’t have to.” જ⁀➴

Synopsis: Evan Buckley has always feared people leaving — but the 118 never did. When a new paramedic joins the team, Buck is forced to confront the version of himself he’s tried to outrun. Through quiet moments, late-night calls, and unexpected vulnerability, he learns that maybe, just maybe, love doesn’t have to hurt to be real.

Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slow Burn

AU: None

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Afab!Paramedic!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries the usual stuff in 911 episodes, calls and emergencies.

Note: Another fic yet again because these things are literally sitting in my google docs waiting to breathe new life. Thank God for my hyper fixation on this show (I’m still on S6) that I’m putting out fics like a machine. Anyways, if you guys enjoyed don’t forget to like + reblog and leave any comments because they are very much appreciated! Happy reading!

Evan Buckley lived in extremes.

He always had. From the moment he showed up at the 118 — too young, too fast, too much — he’d chased every call like it owed him something. Like if he just ran hard enough, climbed high enough, saved enough, he could outrun the feeling gnawing at his ribs.

He didn’t name it back then.

Didn’t need to.

Because naming it meant slowing down. Meant looking it in the face and admitting that he wasn’t just chasing danger — he was chasing worth.

The job gave him purpose. The team gave him structure. And for a while, that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Because when you’re the guy who runs into burning buildings with a smile on your face, people stop asking if you’re the one burning.

He became a legend fast — not in the medals or accolades kind of way, but in whispers around the department.

That’s Buck. He pulled a kid out of a collapsing house. He scaled five stories without ropes once. Total maniac. He hooked up with two EMTs in one weekend.

They weren’t wrong.

Buck didn’t care what people said, as long as they were saying something. Being talked about was better than being forgotten.

And under the bravado, the recklessness, the charm — there was a boy who had been left too many times. By his parents. His sister. Abby. The world.

So he made sure no one could ignore him.

He was the guy who dove headfirst into every call, heart first into every mistake. He was loud. Sloppy, sometimes. He was the kind of brave that bordered on foolish.

Bobby saw it. Hen saw it. Chim tried to buffer him, joke around him, nudge him back into place.

But Buck? Buck was barely holding himself together.

He wasn’t malicious. Just restless. Hungry for connection, for the kind of safety he didn’t believe he deserved. Which is why, when Abby Clarke walked into his life, he latched on with both hands and no helmet.

She was older. Calmer. She saw through the noise and offered him something still. Something quiet.

And he clung to it.

He thought this is it — someone who stays.

Until she didn’t.

And when she left, she didn’t just take her suitcase. She took whatever fragile progress Buck had made believing he was enough for someone to stay for.

He spiraled.

Hard.

Sleeping around. Ghosting shifts. Picking fights with Chim. Pushing Bobby’s patience to its limit. He got suspended. Almost fired. And still, he kept running — from something, toward nothing.

And then he hit a wall.

Not a physical one. But one only he could feel — the kind that comes when the thrill stops numbing the ache.

That’s when Bobby finally sat him down. Really sat him down. No raised voice. No threats. Just a soft, quiet: “Are you done trying to destroy yourself?”

Buck hadn’t answered.

Not that day.

But something shifted.

He started showing up differently. Stayed sober on his days off. Came early. Took care of the new guy, Ravi. Listened more. Talked less. Learned to shut his mouth before the sarcasm slipped out and hurt someone.

It was slow. Uneven. There were backslides.

Nights where he stared at his ceiling wondering if there was anything left for him outside the job. But then came the little wins — Bobby trusting him with a delicate rescue. Hen letting him lead a training. Chim actually saying, “Proud of you, man.”

They were quiet victories.

The kind that didn’t need sirens or spotlights.

And Buck started to realize: maybe being seen didn’t have to mean being loud. Maybe it could mean being real.

And in that stillness, that liminal space between healing and hurt, something — someone — would soon arrive.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today, Buck walked into the firehouse with a steady gait and a thermos of coffee in his hand. He wasn’t running anymore.

He wasn’t fixed. But he was trying.

And as he stepped into the kitchen and spotted Ravi talking to someone new — a face he didn’t recognize yet — he tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

Not because of interest.

But because these days, he paid attention.

Because he knew better than anyone: everyone walks in with a story.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find someone who stays for yours.

The firehouse kitchen smelled like garlic bread and grilled chicken — Bobby’s signature meal for easing new recruits into the fold.

A little comfort food, a lot of subtle observation. It was tradition by now. Buck had seen it play out a dozen times. But tonight, something felt different.

“Alright, everyone,” Bobby called out, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“We’ve got a new member joining us on rotation. Paramedic. Transferred from Station 136. Came highly recommended — and yes, she’s already survived the paperwork.”

That got a few chuckles.

Buck leaned back in his chair, sipping a beer, eyes fixed on the table — until he heard footsteps and glanced up.

You walked in with quiet confidence, your expression open but unreadable. You gave Chim a nod, bumped fists with Ravi, even managed to coax a small smile out of Eddie. But when your eyes met Buck’s, something sharpened in your gaze.

“Evan Buckley,” you said, stepping forward before Bobby could do the honors. “The man. The myth. The sex swing incident.”

Hen choked on her water.

Buck blinked. “Seriously? That’s still going around?”

“I mean, you got stuck mid-rescue,” you said, grinning. “It’s basically required reading in paramedic group chats.”

“I was saving a guy’s life—”

“While tangled in a very specific apparatus,” Hen added, laughing now. “Classic Buck.”

“Right,” Buck muttered, but he was smiling too as he stood to shake your hand. “Well, glad I could make an impression.”

“Hard not to,” you replied smoothly.

Bobby motioned toward the food. “Grab a plate. Get comfortable. You’re family now.”

You slid into the seat between Buck and Hen — the one always left open for new blood. Buck noticed the ease in your posture, the way you listened when Chim talked about his daughter, how you laughed — really laughed — at one of Ravi’s sarcastic remarks.

You were tuned in. Not trying to dominate the room, just present in a way that made people want to open up.

Hen leaned closer. “So, three years at 136, right?”

“Yup. Two of those mostly on medical calls. Rotated through some tough wildfire seasons last year. Decided I wanted something steadier. A tighter-knit crew.”

Buck tilted his head. “And you think this place is steady?”

You looked at him with a smirk. “Steady’s relative. But I’ve got a good gut.”

Hen raised her glass. “To instincts. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Buck didn’t say much after that. Just observed.

The way you leaned toward Hen when she spoke. The way you passed the salad bowl without anyone asking. The calm energy you brought into the chaos.

And for a guy like Buck — whose life had often felt like a long string of misfires — that calm made him want to stay just a little longer in your orbit.

Later, when you excused yourself to help Bobby in the kitchen, Hen elbowed him. “She’s good.”

“Yeah,” Buck muttered, still watching the doorway you disappeared through. “She really is.”

Something in him stirred — something that hadn’t moved in a long time.

But for now, he kept it buried. One shift at a time.

The sirens wailed as the 118 raced through downtown. Dispatch had flagged it as a ‘multi-casualty trauma,’ and the pit in Buck’s stomach tightened the closer they got.

It was a three-car collision on a bridge, with reports of people trapped, including a child in critical condition. The kind of call that didn’t just test your skills — it tested your nerve.

“Chim, Buck — you’re with me on extractions. Eddie, Y/N, you handle triage,” Bobby directed as the truck rolled to a stop with a hiss of brakes.

Without missing a beat, you grabbed your trauma bag and jumped out of the rig, sprinting alongside Eddie toward the first wrecked vehicle.

Buck watched you go, momentarily caught off guard by the way you moved — focused, fast, in full command of your role.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Chim gave him a look. “You gonna stand there or you wanna keep up?”

“Right, yeah,” Buck muttered, snapping into motion.

The scene was chaos. Glass shimmered on the pavement like ice. A woman screamed from one of the cars, her leg pinned beneath the dashboard. A toddler wailed in the backseat. And that was just one of the three vehicles.

Buck was elbow-deep in a door panel when he heard you over the comms.

“Victim 1 has a head wound and possible spinal trauma. Stabilizing now.”

You were crouched beside a man whose forehead was bleeding profusely, calmly applying a C-collar and giving directions to a bystander to help brace him.

It wasn’t just that you knew what to do — it was the way you spoke. Direct, grounding. People listened.

“Y/N, I need a hand over here!” Chim called out from the middle car.

“On it!” You tossed a pair of gloves to the bystander and dashed over.

Buck watched as you assessed a woman’s irregular breathing and slipped a hand behind her neck like you’d done it a thousand times.

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t rattle. You just moved.

Even Eddie glanced up from where he was wrapping a boy’s arm in gauze and muttered to himself, “Damn. She’s good.”

By the time all victims were stabilized and en route to the hospital, Buck stood near the rig, helmet tucked under his arm, adrenaline buzzing.

You walked over, brushing dust off your sleeves. “You alright?”

“Me? I’m good,” Buck said. “But you—wow. That was incredible. The way you handled the head trauma guy, and that kid who was hyperventilating?”

You shrugged, modest but glowing from the rush. “You do this job long enough, you learn how to find your footing in the chaos.”

Buck stared at you for a second longer than necessary.

“Yeah, but not everyone makes it look that easy.”

Chim joined them, clapping you on the back. “If you keep pulling moves like that, I’m not gonna let Hen take you next shift.”

“Too late,” Eddie said as he came up, peeling off his gloves. “I’m already requesting her.”

You rolled your eyes, but Buck could see the smile tugging at your lips.

Bobby walked over last, clipboard in hand. “Good work, all of you. Y/N, you’re proving to be everything your record said and more.”

“Thanks, Cap,” you said, wiping sweat from your brow.

As the team packed up and got back into the rig, Buck slid into the seat beside you.

“You’re full of surprises,” he said quietly.

You turned to him, brow arched. “Good ones, I hope?”

“The best kind,” he said.

And he meant it.

It was just after sunrise when the 118 pulled back into the station. The adrenaline from the bridge call had faded, replaced by the familiar ache of fatigue and the hum of relief.

The B shift crew was already filtering in — exchanging nods, half-sleepy greetings, and fresh cups of coffee.

Buck scrubbed a hand through his messy curls as he slid off his turnout coat, tossing it into his locker.

You were at the sink in the kitchen, rinsing your hands and scrubbing away the grime of the last twelve hours. Hen passed you a towel and a warm smile as she grabbed her keys.

“You did good today, Y/N,” she said. “For what it’s worth — not many people impress Buck.”

Buck looked up from his locker with a faint scoff. “I’m not that hard to impress.”

“Yes, you are,” Chim and Eddie said in unison as they passed by, drawing a light chuckle from you.

Buck shot them both a look before wandering over to the kitchen. You were drying your hands, your sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair escaping your bun.

“Hey,” Buck said, leaning a little against the counter. “Shift’s done. You got plans this morning?”

You looked up, curious. “Besides sleeping for five hours and eating my weight in leftover pasta? Not really.”

Buck smiled. “Well… I was thinking coffee. There’s this spot a few blocks down — open early, quiet, and they actually know how to make a flat white. If you’re into that.”

You blinked — surprised, but not unpleasantly. “You offering me caffeine, Buckley?”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin boyish, almost shy.

“Or maybe I’m trying to hang out with the paramedic who saved three people in record time this morning and made Eddie Diaz speechless for a whole twenty seconds.”

You let out a small laugh, reaching for your jacket. “Alright. Coffee sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “But you’re buying. Hero tax.”

Buck chuckled, holding the door open for you as you both stepped out into the golden, sleepy haze of early morning.

“Deal.”

From the window, Eddie watched the two of you walk off together, shaking his head with a knowing smile. Hen stepped beside him, coffee in hand.

“Told you he’d crack first,” she said.

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, but for once… it’s not just a flirt.”

Hen sipped her drink. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t mess it up.”

The thing no one told you about being a firefighter wasn’t how loud the job could get.

It was the silence after.

The silence when the sirens faded, and the blood was cleaned from your gloves, and the screams stopped echoing in your ears.

That was when the weight crept in — not just from the job, but from who you carried it for.

You had learned early in life not to hold on too tightly. Nothing ever really stayed — not your childhood house, not the friends you thought were forever, not even the people who promised they wouldn’t leave.

Change had always arrived like a storm: without warning, without apology.

So you adapted.

You moved light. You didn’t ask for permanence. You didn’t get too attached.

But then you found the 118.

And somewhere along the line, they became the one place you didn’t have to flinch.

Buck had started as a ripple.

That first coffee turned into a second, then into breakfast runs, then into small moments: him helping you hose down the rig after a muddy call, saving you the last protein bar in the kitchen, walking just a step behind you on every building search like he was quietly, instinctively keeping watch.

He didn’t make it loud, but Buck had slipped into your life like he’d always been meant to be there.

And that terrified you.

Because lately, your heart had begun to stutter every time you lost sight of him during a call.

You started counting the seconds he was out of your line of vision. Every loud crash, every “man down” over comms, had you holding your breath before you even realized it.

You weren’t used to caring this much. Not about someone who ran headfirst into fire.

And today’s call — it shook something loose.

A scaffolding collapse. Six construction workers trapped. One rebar impalement. Two amputations. The kind of call that would drain anyone.

Buck had gone up to the second floor, clearing debris to reach a trapped victim. You and Hen had stayed on the ground level, assisting with triage. You’d looked up once to check on him, just in time to see the beam snap above him.

He’d dodged it. Barely.

He’d waved it off afterward with that crooked smile of his, sweat matting his curls. But your heart had dropped so fast you didn’t even register you were shaking until Hen quietly placed a steady hand on your back.

You didn’t let it show.

Not then.

But later that night, long after the rig was clean and the paperwork was filed, you found yourself lingering in the kitchen as the others filtered out.

Bobby was wiping down the counter, Hen sipped her tea at the table, and Chim leaned back in his chair scrolling through photos of Jee-Yun.

You didn’t mean to say it aloud.

But you did.

“I’m scared.”

The room stilled — not with judgment, but with familiarity.

Bobby set the towel down. “About what?”

You hesitated, swallowing. “About caring too much. About getting used to something good… and having it taken away.”

Hen tilted her head, gently. “You mean Buck.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Chim set his phone down and leaned forward, more serious now. “Buck has that effect.”

“He’s reckless,” you said softly, voice fraying. “He throws himself into danger without a second thought. He laughs it off and keeps going. I’m just— I’m scared one day he won’t come back.”

“Have you told him?” Bobby asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to make it about me.”

Hen stood and crossed the kitchen, resting a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, caring about someone doesn’t make it about you. It makes it real.”

Chim smiled, softer this time. “He probably feels the same way. Buck might be reckless with himself, but he’s not reckless with people he cares about. And trust me — he cares about you.”

You looked up, heart pounding. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Bobby said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you after every call. Like he’s checking to make sure you made it back.”

Hen nodded. “You don’t have to keep carrying the weight of every fear by yourself. You’ve got us. And you’ve got him — even if neither of you have said it out loud yet.”

The silence returned, but this time it was filled with something warmer. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “I needed that.”

Chim bumped your shoulder with his. “You’re part of this family now. You don’t get to do things the hard way all the time.”

You laughed, finally. “Noted.”

And when Buck walked into the kitchen a few minutes later — face flushed from a hot shower, curls damp, a curious glance cast your way — you didn’t look away.

Maybe things didn’t always stay.

But maybe some people could.

And maybe, just maybe… he was one of them.

It started small.

You used to sit next to Buck on shift, shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen table, his leg brushing yours whenever you both leaned in for a bite of something Hen made.

Your jokes came fast and easy. He knew the exact creases in your smile, the way your laugh always started in your chest before reaching your eyes.

But lately?

Lately, you’d been somewhere else entirely.

You’d started riding back with Chim and Eddie after calls, hanging back in the rig longer than usual, sometimes even taking your coffee breaks outside, pretending to answer texts.

When you laughed now, it was still warm — still you — but Buck didn’t feel like the reason anymore.

At first, he told himself it was nothing. Maybe just a bad day. A bad week. Burnout.

But now, two weeks deep into the change, he was starting to feel like an outsider in a story he’d once felt lucky to be part of.

Breakfast runs used to be your thing.

It had started after your second call together — a collapsed balcony with two patients and a lot of adrenaline.

Buck had bought you a coffee to calm your nerves and you’d smiled like it meant more than just caffeine. After that, it became ritual. You even had a usual order.

Now?

You didn’t even ask if he was coming.

Buck found you outside the diner that morning, standing by the curb while Eddie laughed at something Chim said through the window.

You were focused on your phone, but your face was too blank for someone reading a meme. You looked… elsewhere. And that scared him more than anything.

“Hey,” he said, approaching slowly. “Got room for one more?”

You looked up, startled. Your smile was polite. Too polite.

“Of course.”

That should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.

He slid into the booth beside you once inside — you didn’t protest, but you didn’t shift closer, either. Chim and Eddie talked around you both, but Buck barely heard any of it. His stomach was too twisted.

And when you offered Eddie a bite of your toast with a soft laugh — the same kind Buck hadn’t heard in days — something inside him snapped quiet.

You both ended up walking out together afterward, coffees in hand, the LA morning sun not yet punishing. He waited until you reached the edge of the lot before breaking the silence.

“You’ve been distant.”

You froze just a little — not fully, but enough for him to notice.

“I’ve been tired,” you replied.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You sighed, brushing hair from your face. “Buck, it’s nothing personal.”

“But it feels personal.”

That made you pause. Really pause. Buck looked at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for.

“You used to talk to me.”

“I still talk to you.”

“Not like before.”

That quiet hung between you, longer than it should have. Cars rolled by. Somewhere nearby, someone honked. It all faded into background noise.

“I just needed space,” you said finally. “That’s all.”

“From me?” Buck asked, not unkindly — just hurt. And it was that part of him — the aching, raw honesty he only ever let out with people he trusted — that finally cracked through.

You didn’t answer right away. And maybe you didn’t need to.

“Did I do something?” he asked softly. “Or not do something?”

You looked down at your cup. “It’s not about you, Buck. Not completely.”

“Then help me understand.”

You exhaled. Slow. Heavy.

“I care about you. That hasn’t changed,” you said. “But this job… what we do, what we see — I’m trying to protect myself. And lately, I’ve been feeling things I shouldn’t.”

“What kind of things?”

“I worry about you,” you said.

“Every damn call. Every time you take a risk or crack a joke to hide how much you care. I worry because you act like you’re invincible when none of us are.”

Buck blinked. That was the last thing he expected.

“I worry about you all the time too,” he said.

“You think I don’t notice when you zone out after a call? Or when you touch your shoulder like it still hurts from the collapse?”

You looked at him then, and it was the first time in a while you really looked. Buck felt it in his ribs.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you said, voice quieter now. “I just didn’t know how to make room for… this.”

“For what?”

“For how much I care about you.”

That stopped Buck cold.

For a second, he couldn’t speak — which was rare for him. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowed hard.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he admitted. “When you started hanging around Eddie more, I thought… maybe you were just over me.”

“I needed a breather,” you said gently. “And Eddie’s easy to be around when you’re trying not to feel everything at once.”

Buck nodded. He understood that more than you knew.

“I don’t want to be a distraction,” he said finally. “But I don’t want to be out of your life either.”

“You’re not,” you said quickly. “You’re not. I just need to go slow. For my own heart.”

Buck gave you a smile — soft, genuine, a little sad but somehow still hopeful. “I can do slow. I can do anything, really… just not losing you.”

You reached out and touched his wrist, just briefly, but it sent a warmth through both of you.

“You’re not losing me, Buck,” you said. “Just finding me again. In a different way.”

He nodded.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence between you didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like a bridge.

The shift was slow.

Rare for L.A. — rare for the 118 — but the quiet was almost a welcome reprieve.

The four of them had just wrapped up restocking the rig after a minor call, and Buck found himself sitting on the tailgate with Eddie, nursing a bottle of water and trying not to let his thoughts spiral.

You weren’t on shift today.

And somehow, that made him more aware of your absence than usual.

Eddie glanced at him from the driver’s side. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Buck said automatically — then sighed, tipping his head back toward the sky. “Actually, no. Not really.”

Eddie raised a brow, folding his arms and leaning against the rig. “Wanna talk about it?”

Buck hesitated. “What’s Y/N been saying?”

Eddie blinked. “That’s direct.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve been going in circles in my head for two weeks, so I figured I’d try a straight line for once.”

That earned a short laugh from Eddie. “She’s… she’s been quieter. But not cold. Still herself, just maybe… more internal lately.”

Buck nodded. “She talks to you though.”

“She talks to everyone, Buck. Just not you the same way right now. You know why.”

He did. But hearing it said aloud still stung.

Hen and Chimney appeared around the corner, Hen wiping her hands on a towel while Chim juggled two protein bars and a Gatorade.

“Talking about Y/N?” Chim guessed with zero subtlety.

“Wow. Okay,” Buck muttered.

Hen smiled knowingly. “It’s not hard to tell. You’ve been sulking like a sad golden retriever since the breakfast run.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully,” Eddie replied.

Hen sat beside Buck and nudged him with her shoulder. “You wanna know what she said the other night?”

Buck’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just gonna tell me?”

“She said she didn’t know what to do with someone who felt permanent.”

That made the words hit like a sucker punch. Buck’s grip on his water bottle tightened.

“She said,” Hen continued, “that for the first time in a long time, she had something that scared her in a good way. And it scared her so much, she didn’t know if it would survive her fear.”

“She meant me?”

“She didn’t say it. But she didn’t have to.”

Buck went quiet.

Chim leaned against the door, eyes thoughtful. “Y/N’s always been calm in the chaos. But when it comes to people she lets in… she’s selective. You got past the filters.”

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm her,” Buck said, voice low.

“You didn’t,” Eddie said. “But you surprised her. That’s different.”

Buck glanced at all of them. “Why does it feel like I’m the only one who didn’t know what was happening until it was too late?”

Hen softened. “Maybe because you’re not used to something being real, Buck. You’re used to the storm, not the quiet after.”

Buck didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then: “I think I love her.”

The words felt like oxygen and a confession in one breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” he added quickly.

“I just… it crept up on me. Somewhere between the way she remembers everyone’s coffee order and the way she calms people after the worst days of their lives. Somewhere in how she’s always steady, even when she’s falling apart.”

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide now that he’d said it aloud. “I think I love her. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

The group went still for a moment — not shocked, but holding the weight of the moment carefully.

“You don’t do anything,” Eddie said, voice quiet and firm.

“Not right away. You be there. You let her come back to you. And when she does, you make sure she knows it’s safe to stay.”

Buck blinked, chest tightening.

“And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

“Then she wasn’t ready,” Hen said. “But I think she is. I just think she’s scared.”

“And you know what it’s like to love someone who’s scared,” Chim added. “So… don’t rush her.”

Buck nodded slowly.

He looked around at the people who had been his constants — even when he hadn’t been his best. People who saw through the ego, the recklessness, the mess.

He’d never imagined the moment of falling in love would come with so much stillness. But now that he’d recognized it… he didn’t want to run from it.

“I’ll wait,” Buck said. “Whatever it takes.”

Eddie patted his shoulder. “Good. Because she’s worth it.”

Buck looked toward the horizon — where the next call, the next shift, the next chance would come.

And somewhere in all that unknown, he hoped you were waiting too.

It was strange, being off shift and still feeling like you were waiting for something to go off — like a bell, a siren, a call that never came.

You hadn’t been sleeping much.

You hadn’t been talking much either.

At least, not to him.

Not since that breakfast run where Buck had looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers and didn’t know how to stop it.

It had been easier, in a way, to talk to Chim, to Hen, even Eddie — because it meant avoiding the one person who made your heart pace harder than a four-alarm call.

But today, you’d needed something softer.

So you texted Maddie.

Mind if I come by? I kinda miss Jeeyun.

Maddie had responded within a minute:

We’d love to see you. She’s teething like a tiny gremlin but I promise we’ll try to make it fun.

Now, you sat curled up on the couch in her apartment, a blanket half-draped across your legs, a drool-stained burp cloth clutched loosely in your hand, and Jeeyun nestled in your lap like a warm, squirming bundle of grounding energy.

“She likes you,” Maddie said softly from the kitchen, mug of tea in hand.

“She’s a baby,” you murmured. “She likes everyone.”

“No,” Maddie said, settling beside you. “She likes you. Not everyone gets that giggle from her.”

Jeeyun babbled loudly, her fingers wrapped around yours.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Maddie didn’t press. Not at first.

“I’m guessing this visit isn’t just about teething woes and baby cuddles.”

You sighed, brushing a hand down Jeeyun’s back.

“No. I just… I needed quiet. And I needed not to be at the station. Every time I walk in there, I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to say something.”

“About Buck?”

You nodded. “He’s… I don’t know. I don’t know where we stand.”

Maddie watched you carefully.

“Do you want to know what I think?” You glanced at her.

“I texted you, didn’t I?”

She chuckled lightly. “Fair.”

There was a pause, quiet except for Jeeyun’s soft breaths.

“I think my brother can be reckless. Impulsive. Emotionally chaotic. But I’ve never — not once — seen him as focused or consistent as he’s been since you came around.”

You looked away. “He’s… he’s Buck. That scares me.”

“Because you think he’ll mess up?”

“Because I think he won’t. And then I’ll be the one who doesn’t know how to handle it.”

That admission came with a weight you hadn’t expected — a kind of ache you hadn’t named until now. Maddie leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared. Buck doesn’t do vulnerability well, not with feelings like this. But he’s trying. And believe me, I would know.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be someone he gets tired of. Someone he looks at one day and realizes he wanted something easier.”

“He already had easier,” Maddie said. “And none of it made him feel what he feels now.”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t cry.

You just looked at the baby in your lap, who cooed and grabbed at your dog tags like she was trying to keep you grounded.

Maddie added gently, “If Buck had to choose between a steady life without you or a chaotic one with you in it, he’d pick the chaos. Every time. I know my brother. And I wouldn’t see him with anyone else.”

That last part — I wouldn’t see him with anyone else — cracked something inside you.

It was one thing to wonder if he felt what you felt. It was another to hear it spoken, with certainty, from someone who knew him best.

You nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to Jeeyun’s hair. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

Maddie smiled. “Anytime. Especially if it helps bring you back to him.”

You didn’t answer.

But you thought about how Buck looked at you like you were something he didn’t want to lose.

And maybe… just maybe… you weren’t ready to lose him either.

There wasn’t a moment he could point to when it began — no grand gesture, no dramatic reconciliation.

But it started, he realized, during a call.

A routine one, even. An apartment fire, thick smoke, elderly couple trapped on the third floor.

Buck was on the hose line, you were searching rooms with Chim, and the second he heard your voice over the comms — calm, clear, certain — something in his chest loosened.

Then, something else happened.

You came back.

Not all at once. But in pieces.

During cleanup, you passed him a water bottle and murmured, “Nice knockdown.” Your eyes met his.

Not too long, not too soft. But you looked, and Buck noticed. Buck felt it.

The next shift, you called out for him during another call — “Buck, left hallway’s clear, I’m heading back out with Hen” — and your voice didn’t sound clipped like it used to.

It was steadier. Almost like… you wanted him to hear it.

He started hearing it more and more.

You began standing a little closer when you briefed with the team. You laughed again — not at him, not because of him — but near him. And it mattered. God, it mattered.

During a high-rise evacuation with B-Shift, you caught his wrist when he was climbing the stairs too fast and simply said, “Don’t push your knee, you’re limping again.”

It wasn’t playful, but it was gentle. The kind of thing you used to say before all the silence.

And Buck held onto it like oxygen.

Hen noticed first.

She leaned into him at the back of the rig as you checked Chim’s minor burn. “You feel that?” she murmured, tilting her head in your direction.

Buck didn’t answer. Just followed the way you were focused on Chim, how your hand moved with practiced ease, how you smiled slightly when Chim made a joke about pain being temporary and dramatic flair being forever.

“She’s softening again,” Hen said quietly. “Good job not screwing it up this time. Yet.”

Buck let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Later that night, Chim tugged Buck aside while restocking the trauma bags.

“You know she asked about you last shift?”

Buck’s heart thudded. “She did?”

“Yeah. Something about how your wrist was holding up after that fall. Didn’t want to ask directly, I guess.”

Buck couldn’t stop the small smile that crept in.

“She cares,” Chim added. “Still. Maybe more than ever.”

That did something to Buck — not just fill him with hope, but anchor him. Because for the first time in a long time, the thing that had been tearing at him didn’t feel like loss. It felt like a second chance he hadn’t even known he was working toward.

At the next call, he was assigned to your side again.

And when you both cleared the scene, soot-smeared and tired, you nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder.

“Nice teamwork, Buck.” His chest bloomed warm at that.

“Thanks,” he said softly, catching your eyes again. “I missed it.”

There was a pause. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

“Me too,” you said. And it wasn’t nothing.

In fact, it felt like everything.

It was after another long shift.

One of those where your muscles ached in ways you didn’t realize they could, but the adrenaline was still running high.

The sun had barely cracked over the horizon when the 118 rolled back into the station, your silhouettes golden in the dawn.

Buck stretched his back with a groan, watching you unclip your radio with one hand and rub the back of your neck with the other.

He was just about to say something — anything — when you turned to him with that same look you used to wear months ago. The one that came with trust.

“Coffee?” you asked. Then — after a beat — “Breakfast?”

His heart did a quiet somersault.

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You walked a few blocks in comfortable silence. No teasing. No awkward tension. Just footsteps echoing side by side until you found a small diner tucked on the corner of an empty street.

It wasn’t fancy — red booths, yellow lighting, a faint smell of syrup in the air — but it felt safe.

You picked a booth by the window. Sat across from him. And when the waitress poured coffee into your cups, you stirred in sugar like it was second nature.

For a while, it was easy.

You talked about the calls. About Christopher’s latest obsession with stop-motion animation. About Chim’s plan to prank Ravi again and how Hen was already scheming a counterattack.

And then — mid-bite into your pancake — you set your fork down.

“I used to think nothing in my life stayed,” you said suddenly, eyes on your plate. “Family. Friends. I don’t know, stability just… always felt like it slipped right through.”

Buck blinked. Because it felt like you had just cracked something open in him too.

“But the 118… it stuck,” you continued. “And I guess somewhere along the way, you did too.”

Buck’s throat went dry.

“I know we never said anything outright,” you went on, quieter now. “But I felt it. I know you did too.”

“I did,” Buck said, immediately, almost breathless. “I do.”

The way you looked at him then — hopeful, hesitant — it punched through him like nothing else.

“You scared me,” you admitted. “Not because of who you were, but because I didn’t know if I could handle how much I wanted to stay where you were.”

His heart was racing. He leaned in, hands wrapped around his mug to keep them steady.

“I’ve always been afraid of people leaving,” Buck said, voice low.

“Most of them did. Except the 118. Except you. And I was such a mess when we met — sleeping around, numbing out, pretending like nothing mattered. But you…” He exhaled. “You looked at me like I could still be something good.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Because you are,” you said.

Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable, but full. Full of everything unsaid that no longer needed to be hidden.

Then, softly, you added, “We’ve both been afraid of losing the things that matter. But maybe this time, we don’t have to.”

Buck felt the weight of it — that promise. That hope.

He reached across the table slowly, gently, letting his fingers brush yours. And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

You smiled — small, but real.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m tired of running.”

There wasn’t an announcement.

No dramatic revelation. No secret whispers caught in the locker room. But something shifted.

It started small — the way Buck hovered just a little closer to you after morning roll call.

The way your elbow would brush his when you reached for the same granola bar in the kitchen, and neither of you flinched away anymore. The way you’d grab an extra cup of coffee during breaks without being asked.

Hen noticed first.

Of course she did. She always did.

She didn’t say anything at first — just arched a brow and smirked a little to herself when Buck instinctively grabbed the end of a hose line before you had the chance to haul it alone. She made a bet with Chim the moment she saw you both return from a supply run with that familiar soft flush on your faces.

“Twenty bucks says they’re already halfway in,” Hen muttered, sipping her coffee as you and Buck disappeared around the engine. Chimney blinked after you.

“They’ve been soft with each other lately,” he admitted. “Buck didn’t even try to one-up Eddie on that last rescue. That’s growth.”

“Love’ll do that to you,” Hen said with a grin.

Eddie noticed, too — quietly, in the way only Eddie could. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. He’d seen the way Buck looked at you for months now, even before Buck knew what he was feeling. And he’d seen how you looked back like you were trying not to fall but were already halfway there.

He hadn’t said anything, but the first time Buck helped Christopher adjust his helmet during a family BBQ with you smiling in the background, Eddie knew. And he was happy. Genuinely happy.

Bobby didn’t need to say much either. Just gave Buck a knowing pat on the shoulder one day after a call — the kind of gesture that said, I see it. I trust it. Take care of her.

Even Ravi, the last one to catch on, noticed how you leaned into Buck’s side during team lunches. How you laughed easier now. How Buck seemed to listen more — not just with his ears, but with his heart.

It wasn’t just affection.

It was something steadier.

And you felt it too.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t flinch at the idea of something lasting. You weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for Buck to disappear when things got too hard. He had been showing up — for you, for the team, for himself — in a way that wasn’t performative. It was real.

You caught Hen watching you one morning in the kitchen. She was grinning.

“What?” you asked, sipping your coffee.

“You just look happy,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You smiled back, a little shy but not scared. “I think I am.”

Buck came up behind you, ruffling your hair with that ridiculous grin of his before stealing a bite of your toast.

“Hey,” you laughed.

“What? We share now,” he teased, mouth full.

Hen just shook her head and muttered something about whipped golden retrievers.

The rest of the day passed like any other — calls, chaos, controlled urgency — but the difference was in the pauses. The quiet in-betweens where Buck would find you, touch your hand briefly, or glance your way like you were the thing grounding him to the world.

And for once, you weren’t afraid of what that meant.

Because he wasn’t afraid either.

This wasn’t the kind of love that burned too fast and too bright. This was the kind that unfolded. That stayed. That chose you every day, in every little moment — even the ones no one else saw.

You were still the same firefighter. Still the same paramedic.

But now, in the laughter around the table, the warmth of the 118’s eyes on you, the feel of Buck’s fingers brushing yours when he thought no one was looking — you felt something new:

Home.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[googleitlol]

Here's one of the two PoM LMK oneshots I wanted to post!

It ended up being 7000+ words help

Dove Masterlist:

Amnesia Rules

How on earth did things end up like this?

You can’t say that it’s often you get to join your friends on these sort of missions. Out of everyone in your little found family, it’s you who usually misses out on all the antics. However, after the Lady Bone Demon took over the city, you didn’t have much of a choice other than to be dragged along.

Though, maybe that isn’t the best way to put it. You would love to join your friends in their hijinks and adventures more often. Hearing about how your friends raced a hot-tempered demon or saved the weather station after the fact always has you feeling a twinge of jealousy, but you never really have the time or get the chance to be a part of those moments. Or rather, you often get held back from doing so. Why? Because of a certain irritatingly cold Monkey King.

Sun Wukong may as well be the greatest enigma in your life, one that continues to leave you perplexed. When the Monkey King first took on your accident-prone friend, MK, to be his successor, the Great Sage mostly kept to himself. Only MK ever saw him– not that you expected this centuries-old demon to integrate into your friend group all that much. You didn’t take him as someone that would leave his island paradise too often.

If you do ever get the chance to see him, the sage was often cold towards you. You’re not sure whether you did something to upset him, or if he just has a stick up his ass, but everytime Monkey King saw you, he’d just become irritated. He usually tenses up and turns away from you, and if he doesn’t flat-out ignore you, he– you’re not even sure what to call it aside from pulling unfunny pranks. Sometimes you would be planning to go visit the others on Sandy’s boat when you’d receive an unexpected call from your boss asking if you could cover someone’s shift. Other times, you’d have to rush home to deal with something broken and leaking in your apartment, leaving MK and the others in the process. It took a little while before learning the reason behind your string of misfortunes was a stone monkey with nothing better to do than waste your time. 

The worst he’s done before was leave you stranded on Flower Fruit Mountain. You were surprised when the Monkey King showed up to your apartment (you’re not even sure how he knew your address), asking for your help in taking care of a sick monkey in Water Curtain Cave. If you knew that the only ones who could let people in or out of the cave were Monkey King and MK, you would have been much more sceptical about his insistence that you were needed there. Why did Monkey King think it would be funny to leave you there while he went on his so-called ‘vacation’? The answer eludes you still. You were stuck living off his half-filled pantry solely made up of peach chips and the stone fruit itself for a week before MK and Tang stopped by for an unrelated reason about some giant dumpling.

You do admit that the break from work was nice, though. Being a paramedic is a stressful line of work, so spending a week void of the usual sirens and severely injured citizens did a lot to help clear your head. If Monkey King wasn’t so difficult to get along with, you could see yourself visiting more often for that peaceful little paradise. You really do wish you could get along with him, MK always made their training sessions sound like so much fun. One day while you were stuck on his island, you came across some origami he had done and in the moment, you thought of how nice it’d be to learn how to do it yourself. Monkey King seemed good at the art, he had an origami character for each of his old companions from the Journey to the West– though there was also a bird character, too. You still aren’t too sure who that could have been.

If you wanted to learn origami though, Monkey King likely wouldn’t be so keen on helping you learn. Not with how much apparent-fun he has in disrupting your day with stunts like that. It has gotten to the point where you barely get to spend much time with your friends. Gah– why does he hate you so much? Does he really have to go out of his way to make you drift from MK and the others? At least he can’t push you away this time, not when that would have meant leaving you to freeze over in the city. None of your friends would have let him do that.

It was pretty evident to everyone that Monkey King was annoyed to have you join them on the quest for the Samadhi Rings. Even his usually starry-eyed pupil felt the need to ask his mentor why your presence put him in such an irritated mood, but the infamous Sun Wukong has never been known for his straight-forward answers. It ticks you off how he dances around questions, especially concerning his apparent hate-boner for you. It isn’t like having you brought along has slowed down the group by any means– if anything, you’ve been great to have around! You have medical training the others don’t, and your years as a paramedic have prepared you for dealing with violent confrontations– running into the middle of a fight is an everyday sort of thing for you.

Even with Monkey King’s cold shoulder he so often gives you, things have been going well for the group as a whole (it also helped that your #1 hater is in the middle of some mystic meditation). That is, until you lost MK, Sandy, and Mei. The second you all realised they were no longer in the van, you pulled over by a cliff to figure out where they might have been left, and that only made things worse. Your group had only been stopped for a minute before a demon charged the van.

You, Tang, Pigsy, Mo, and a vegetable of a Monkey King are boxed in by whatever the hell is outside, scrambling to find a way out of this mess when the noodle chef gets the bright idea to wake up the sleeping sage with a pepper. You aren’t entirely sure how a pepper might wake up the Monkey King when the noise the demon outside is making has done virtually nothing, but then you see the damn thing! The light emanating from it is nearly as bright as the light that bursts from the Great Sage after he wakes up.

He wakes with a shout, jumping out of his seated position he’s spent the last few days in with a cocky grin. “Stand back, Master! Sun Wukong will handle this demon.” He declares loudly before knocking down the back door of the van.

You, Tang, and Pigsy all share a worried look as the Monkey King hops out of the van. Ignoring whatever the hell he just said, it’s a little vexing that he had to kick down the door to the van, though at least now the sage is awake to help take care of whoever is trying to attack you all.

The three of you (plus Mo) follow Monkey King out as he scopes out the area for the demon that was threatening your lives just moments prior. Strangely enough, nobody is there. “Master, it’s safe to come out. You too, Piglet.”

“Master?”

“Piglet?!”

You can’t help the snort that escapes you at Pigsy’s offended look. Monkey King hasn’t necessarily been extremely friendly to anyone during this trip, but calling Pigsy Piglet? That was so unexpected, it was funny. Did that pepper give the Monkey King a sense of humour?

At your reaction, Monkey King stiffens and whips his head over to you. The way his gaze zeroes in on you makes you freeze, especially with how he tenses up. You can’t help but frown a bit at the way he looks at you, worry now taking centre-stage in your mind. What, do you have something on your face? Does he not like the way you laugh now? The way he’s just– staring into your soul– what, did you offend him somehow?? Ugh, he can be so annoying in how he acts sometimes, you don’t understand how that–

“Dove?” Huh?

Monkey King’s voice is suddenly soft, just barely a whisper. With unsure steps, he moves toward you. He’s slow and careful in his movements, like he was approaching some shy woodland creature that would dash into the bushes if he moved too quickly. You share a confused look with your friends, looking between Tang and Pigsy, then down to Mo before returning your worried gaze to the Monkey King. “I’m sorry?”

“Is it really…” He reaches out to hold your face, and you almost swat his hand away. The only thing that makes you hesitate are the tears that start to build in his eyes. His hand is warm, and the strange intimacy of his thumb brushing over your cheek makes them flush a little… What is happening?

Monkey King lets out a breathy laugh, and one of the tears roll down his cheek. “Is it really you??” His smile widens, and all you can do is ponder his question with confusion. What sort of question is that–?

You don’t get  a moment to finish your thought before you’re pulled into a hug so tight, the air pushes out from your lungs. Monkey King holds you close in his arms, his head resting over your shoulder as he sighs with more emotion than you've ever heard from him before. “I don’t understand! How did you– hah, I don’t even care. You’re safe, thank goodness you’re safe.”

The entire time he’s rambling, you look to Pigsy and Tang just to find your own confusion reflected in their eyes. What the hell did that pepper do to him? Give him a new personality?! You feel so taken aback by his sudden new behaviour, you’re not exactly sure how you’re meant to respond to it. “Uh… yeah. I’m safe, I think you scared that demon away–”

You cut yourself off and let out a surprised squeak when the Monkey King starts to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Red bursts over your face at the sudden physical affection– seriously, what is going on here?! Is this some dream?? Are you on drugs??! Or did you eat that pepper instead of him by accident? Who the hell is this Dove person that Monkey King thinks you are?! You’ve never seen him act this way with anyone before. Hell, you didn’t even take him as much of a touchy guy to begin with! Then again, it isn’t as though you spend enough time with him to really know that.

At this point, Pigsy speaks up. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” He huffs and steps over to break the two of you up. The second he does, Wukong shoots him a look that makes him step back. In a heartbeat, you’re pulled into a closer embrace that puts your face smack-dab in the middle of his chest. How much closer does he want you to be?!

“How long did the two of you know she was okay?! Do you know how much I– gah!” Monkey King looks between Pigsy and Tang, and the hurt in his voice makes you pause in your panic for just a moment, and you feel one of his hands over your head, holding you close. “If you got hurt because of me, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

A chill goes down your spine when he says that. This weird feeling pangs in your chest at those words and a hint of understanding takes over. Carefully, you push yourself away from the sage to give yourself space to breathe. “…Monkey King, who do you think they are?”

The King laughs a little at your question. “Monkey King? What happened to Peaches?”

“Peaches?” You frown, only feeling your confusion grow as the Monkey King mirrors your expression.

Monkey King observes you for a moment, his frown deepening as he grabs you by your shoulders and starts to shake you a little. “Don’t tell me… can you not remember anything?!” Ugh, what does he take you for, a maraca?? You swat the Monkey King off of you to get the shaking to stop and shoot the monkey demon a scowl. This is just great, a pepper broke the Monkey King!

“Your head must’ve gotten hurt when you got hit. I’m so sorry, Dove.” He looks down before taking your hands in his own. “I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to get your memories back.” He declares, and again you find yourself taken aback by his sincerity. You feel so used to Monkey King’s cold demeanour, all of this sudden kindness feels almost overwhelming.

Tang groans to himself a little ways away with Pigsy. “This is why you don’t wake someone up from a transcendental meditation, we broke him!” He stresses to Pigsy, grabbing ahold of his shirt to shake him in a similar fashion as Wukong did to you.

“I’m fine, Master. I haven’t felt this relieved in a while.” Monkey King brushes off Tang’s words before looking back at you. His voice gets low for a moment as he flashes you a smile. “And don’t worry about a thing, Dove, I’m sure we can find some way to jog your memory.” Ha, yup, this is getting out of hand. What, is he flirting now?? From the blush that blooms over your face in reaction to his words, one might think it was working, too.

Before you can let yourself spiral over that any longer, something in your head clicks. “Actually, I think it’s coming back all on its own.” You smile politely at the sage, stepping back a bit to give yourself some space.

His eyes light up at your words. “Really?!”

“Mhm!” You nod, though your smile feels a little strained as you gesture over to Pigsy and Tang. “That’s your companion, Zhu Bajie, and that’s your master, Tang Sanzang, right?”

Monkey King lets out a sigh of relief over that. “Yes! It’s coming back to you.”

Okay… “And, uh, I am…”

“My one and only, Love-Dove.” HUH–??

You choke on air in response to his answer. Okay, that confirms why he’s being like this. He thinks you’re some old girlfriend or something he had during the journey– but what is that godawful nickname?! It takes you a moment to recover from the mental damage that name does to your psyche. “Mmhmm, I think I remember it all now.”

“Thank goodness.” He sighs as he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes. Never did you think you’d ever see the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, look so smitten. You admit, your heart stirs a little being under his gaze, but knowing this is the same person that can’t seem to stand you normally, it just feels weird.

Before you know it, he leans in for a kiss and you slip out of his hands before his lips can make contact with your own. “Hahahahaha, anyway, uh… I think I need to ask good ol’ Sanzang a question.” Like what are you supposed to do with him now?? He won’t stay like this forever, will he? What, did that pepper wipe the last five hundred years of his life from his brain?! Oh god, MK is gonna come back from wherever he was left and he’s going to witness his mentor being all mushy with you– you can’t traumatise the poor guy like that!

Sure, you’ll admit that not getting the usual silent treatment from the king is a nice change. Plus it would be hard to deny that the way his voice dropped earlier… it definitely did something for you. And the way he snuggled up into your neck before… but it’s so vastly different from his usual demeanour! The sudden change gives you whiplash.

You’ll be honest with yourself, the very first time you met Sun Wukong, there were definitely some stirred feelings. The moment you saw his eyes, you felt your breath catch in your throat– though the feeling was short-lived after he completely ignored you. It’s a struggle to even think of the two of you as acquaintances, so this sudden change in his behaviour towards you feels so weird!

Leaving Monkey King to huddle up with Tang and Pigsy, you try and figure out what to do with him. Pigsy is the first to start suggesting solutions. “Maybe we handle this like amnesia rules, huh? We just gotta bonk him on his dumb head, and he’ll get back to normal.”

“Or giving him head trauma makes him worse.” You deadpan. “If this is what post-journey Monkey King is like, I don’t wanna know what happens if we accidentally bring back the Sun Wukong that thought he could challenge Buddha.”

Pigsy sighs with a shake of his head. “What, do you got any better ideas? ‘Cause I’m not hearing them.”

“Let’s just not rush into full-on assault, okay?!” You frown, and the noodle chef scoffs.

“Are ya sure you don’t just like him like this? ‘Cause it sure looks like he likes you.” Pigsy crosses his arms with his accusation, raising a brow of suspicion when your face flushes.

You look back at the Monkey King, who’s in the middle of looking for something to use as his staff. Yeah, maybe this version of Wukong is nicer than his usual self, but that doesn’t mean you want him to stay like this! “I– don’t know what I’m feeling at the moment, but I know I’m not damaging MK’s psyche further with this love-sick version of his mentor!”

“Okay, guys,” Tang raises his hands up defensively, “let’s just take a second to calm dOWAHHHHH–” Before the noodle-enthusiast can finish, a clawed hand pulls him back in a sharp motion. Your eyes go wide as your friend gives a panicked shout as he’s pulled up and over the cliff. The demon from before, it never left!

“Master!” Monkey King shouts, as Tang is dragged away by the demon.

Pigsy looks up in shock before turning to you and Monkey King. “We gotta do something!”

“Exactly.” The Monkey King grins with a nod. With a large branch he found in his hand, he looks over to you. “Hop on, Dove.” With his staff/branch, he taps his shoulder and gives you an expectant look.

All you can do is frown as you try to work out what he wants in your head. What, does he want you to sit on him? “…Where?” There’s no way you are balancing on his shoulders.

Monkey King only laughs over your confusion, and he gives you this cute lopsided smile. “Aw, I guess you forgot about your transformation, too. That’s alright!” Without waiting, Monkey King scoops you into his arms and grabs Pigsy with his tail before racing off in the direction the demon took Tang. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his neck for support, and together the three of you bound off.

Huh, for once, Monkey King is carrying you off towards a fight. That’s a new one.

~~~~

By the time you rescue Tang from the demon who took him, Sun Wukong isn’t any closer to remembering anything. Pigsy and Tang wanted to discuss how to get him back to normal without the Monkey King present, and since he’s been sticking to you like glue, you decide to keep him out of the van so they can plan their next move in private.

Seeing this side of him, it feels so bizarre to you. When Monkey King doesn’t hate you, he gives a lot of physical affection, which isn’t something you’re used to coming from him. He’s kept you close during the whole rescue mission and his tail is always on you somewhere, be that hanging lightly around your wrist and sometimes your waist. He even had it coiled around your leg at one point on the walk back to the van while he held your hand.

Monkey King seems so passionate about whoever this person he thinks you are, it makes you wonder why you’ve never heard of this Dove person before. Do you really resemble her enough for Monkey King to mistake you for her? It’s not that hard to see why he thinks Pigsy is Zhu Bajie, and it’s possible that Tang looks similar to the Great Sage’s master, but what are the chances that you also look like an old companion of his?

Well, maybe you could call this Dove person more than an old companion… not with the way he talks about her, at least. Well, the way he talks to you. It’s difficult to believe this is the same Monkey King that’s been so irritated by you this whole time.

“Something on your mind, Dove?” Monkey King pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to face him with a slightly worried look.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m great.” You smile, moving to sit against the rocky cliffside the van is parked by. “Just, uh… tired. We’ve been up all night and I’m pretty tuckered out.”

The sage frowns a bit as you sit, and he becomes uncharacteristically quiet. “I guess sometimes I forget how much rest you need when you’re mortal.” His voice is strangely soft as he joins you in sitting against the cliff. As he sits, he takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

Having him like this for the last few hours has done enough to help you adjust to having all this affection come from Sun Wukong, but you still can’t help the blush that forms when he does small things like that. You honestly find it adorable… and so not like the Monkey King you know.

As nice as this sweeter Monkey King is, you can’t help but frown when you see his expression fall a bit. “…I really thought you had died during the separation. I messed up and you paid for it, again.” There’s a sharp pang in your heart as he speaks. The regret in his voice… it makes it hard for you to look him in the eyes, and it’s hard not to feel sorry for the Monkey King. Sure, he’s relieved now because he thinks you– well, this Dove person is okay now… but that’s not you. Whoever this Dove person is, she must have really…

He looks to the ground, his eyes sombre. “It’s like I always find some way to hurt you without realising it. First it was the peaches, now this…” A heavy weight drops in your stomach, and you can’t help feeling horrible for Sun Wukong. It seems like he really loved her. Losing that sort of love can’t be easy for anyone, especially when they seem to blame themself for it the way Wukong seems to do.

Your hand is still in his, so you give it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey.” You smile and tilt your head a bit to the side and wait for him to meet your gaze. “If I really thought all my bad luck came from you, I would have gone running a while ago. But I’m still here, aren’t I? You can’t blame yourself for every bad thing that happens to me.”

You’re not really sure what you’re saying, it just comes out like an impulse. Despite his usual attitude, you can’t help but want to comfort him. You suppose this amnesia-Wukong has been nothing but sweet to you, and you’ve never seen him open up like this before.

His frown only deepens at your response, and he leans back against the cliff with a sigh, his eyes towards the dawn. “How can I not? Every time you get hurt, it’s because I took away your chance at immortality. If you die, it will be because I was stupid and impulsive and ruined your life before I even met you.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Okay, so there’s a lot more to this than you thought. You’re quiet for a little, and sit back to watch the sunrise with Wukong as you think of what to say. The way he talks, it’s like he carries so much guilt over this person. How can you act as though you need to take on so much responsibility for someone like that? Though, if what he says is true, you find it a little hard to believe this ‘Dove’ could put whatever anger they held for Wukong aside. She apparently did more than put that anger aside, seeing how he acts around you.

Maybe that’s it, then. “I’m not sure you’re right about that.” You hum, bumping your shoulder against his lightly. “I mean, I don’t think I’d be calling anybody something as cute as Peaches if I thought they ruined my life.” You can feel his eyes on you as you continue.

“Maybe things started out messy, but where are we now?” You look back at him, barely able to even notice your hand sliding up to hold the side of his cheek until you’ve done it. “Does Dove– I mean, do I love you, Sun Wukong?”

It’s hard to read his face when you do that. His brows furrow and lips part slightly, on the verge of saying something that never leaves his mouth. It takes a second before his expression softens and he looks down with a small scoff. A smile worms its way onto his face as he leans into your touch and raises his hand to curl over your wrist. He gently moves your hand down to rest over his lips, where he places a kiss on the centre of your palm. “Yes, you do.”

His voice gets low as he answers, and you feel your cheeks flushing for the nth time since this entire amnesia-mess started. Whoo, you shouldn’t feel this hot when the sun isn’t fully risen yet. Flustered, you quickly pull your hand away and let out a quiet, albeit awkward, laugh. “Then how could my life be such a mess when someone I love is in it?” You shrug, looking anywhere but his direction as he goes quiet again.

Just as you’re thinking of some way to shift the conversation to something less personal and relationship-focused, Sun Wukong lets out a long sigh. “Jeez, Dove, you can’t just say stuff like that to me.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and before you know it, hands wrap around your waist and pull you onto Wukong’s lap.

“Master wouldn’t mind if we leave for a bit, right?” Wukong hums against the back of your neck, the touch pushing your heart to beat out of your chest. He presses a kiss against your collarbone and your breath hitches. “We could go for a little flight on our own for a bit…”

Never in your life have you jumped up to stand so quickly. “Hah! I don’t think that’s so, um…” The tingly heat from your cheeks has engulfed your face at this point. “…we probably shouldn’t– y’know… wow, it’s a little hot this morning, isn’t it?”

The entire time you struggle to find your words, Wukong has the biggest smirk on his face. “You’re right, it is kind of hot.” He agrees, joining you in standing up before untying the blue scarf that sits around his neck. “I’ve gotta find some way to cool down.”

Before you know it, the mischievous mystic monkey is slipping off his shirt. In an instant, the article of clothing is dramatically thrown to the side for Sun Wukong to show off his exposed torso. The ironically peach-shaped area of fur on the upper centre of his chest catches your eyes first, but that doesn’t last too long before your gaze begins to wander. The baggy sleeves of his shirt seem to hide his well-defined arms, his chest is broad and his stomach looks soft. It doesn’t take much for you to imagine how it’d feel to lay down with him and rest your head over him– nO, no no no! Don’t, no! The last thing you should be thinking about is cuddling up with this stupid flirty amnesiac!

It doesn’t help that the sage isn’t too shy about showing off, flexing his muscles while shooting you with a wide grin. “Wukong!” You look at him with wide eyes, unable to turn away. Never, never did you think you’d see the day where Monkey King would rip his shirt off in front of you to– what do you even call this?! Some birds of paradise mating ritual he decided to start doing?!

Wukong wiggles his eyebrows a bit, the look on his face shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but his voice remains innocent. “What, like what you see?” He prods, and you can’t stop the giggles that start erupting as he continues his little ‘gun show’. Jeez, this is so ridiculous! What is he thinking?!

You finally manage to turn away and bury your face into your hands. It’s impossible to stop the grin that’s wormed its way onto your face now, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his little stunt is affecting you. You aren’t used to this, was he always this much of a flirt with Dove? Part of you wonders how she managed to keep herself together, you can barely keep a straight face with the way Wukong is acting now.

The moment he notices your averted gaze, you can hear him laugh. “No, no, no, no, don’t hide. I’m putting on a show for you!” He exclaims, and you jump a little when you feel his hands over your wrists.

Wukong pulls your hands away from your eyes, giving you full-view of his chest in your face. Just like that, you’re reduced to a flustered mess, tugging desperately at your arms to get away from this immovable flirt. The bashful smile on your face refuses to leave, no matter how much you want to hide it from him. “Oh my gosh, stop it!”

“You’re looking a little flushed there, Dove. Need any help cooling off?” Wukong pulls you closer while leaning in, his half-lidded eyes brimming in mischief. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s loving every second of it. Both of your laughter fills the air as you shoot one another a playful look, and just for a moment, you find yourself wishing Sun Wukong could always be like this. Fun and teasing, warm and loving.

But you doubt Monkey King will be like this when he gets his memories back, so you might as well enjoy this while it lasts. “If anyone needs cooling off, it’s you.”

“Are you saying I should take off more–”

“No!”

Gah, it’s like he wants you to be reduced to a puddle! You shake your head as quickly as you can, and Wukong huffs out a laugh. “Nope, not at all. Keep your clothes on, Wukong.” As you call him by his name, his expression drops a little, and you quickly backtrack. “I mean, Peaches.”

It’s cute to see how quickly he perks up over your use of the nickname, his smile like a sunbeam so warm it wakes the butterflies in your stomach.

Wukong pulls you into his arms, and you can’t help but melt into the hug as you return it. His skin is warm to the touch, the fur over his back and the tuft on his chest is as soft as what you imagine his somersault cloud to be. It takes every ounce of your being not to overthink how you’re against his bare chest, but dammit it’s nice! You can be sued for liking it, you don’t care.

Sun Wukong hums with content. “Ever since the day you returned my feelings, I’ve started each morning with a lighter heart.” Your eyes widen a bit at his words, and your head rests on him while he continues “Having you with me has made even my darkest days bright. Whether you use your gift or not, all I have to do is look into your eyes to put my worries to rest.”

Gift? Is he talking about your healing touch? But he thinks you're this Dove person, doesn’t he? There’s no way she could have had the same soothing abilities that you have… right?

Your thoughts aren’t given the chance to wander as Wukong continues, and a finger hooks under your chin to guide your gaze up to his own. “I can’t know how the future will unfold or what it holds, but what I can be certain of is that I want you in it. A thousand and one lifetimes is not enough to spend with you, My Dove.”

Your heart skips a beat at those words, his eyes never leaving yours the entire time he pours out his love to you. Since when could Sun Wukong be this eloquent?? What, did he have that prepared?! It’s not hard for you to see why this Dove person loved him so much, every other thing he’s done since eating that pepper has made you want to swoon. Wukong… he really loved this person. More than you ever could have guessed.

His mention of her gift nags at your mind, and you can’t help it when your brows furrow. What are the chances this person that was so close to Sun Wukong in the past had the same abilities as you. Not only that, but you’re similar enough for a Monkey King-amnesiac to mistake you for–

“What the hell is going on out here?!”

The microsecond you hear Pigsy’s voice is the moment you launch yourself away from Monkey King. Standing just outside of the van is Pigsy and Tang, and your face– that had just started to return to its normal shade– bursts into flame again. It suddenly feels like you’ve been caught red-handed, cuddling up with the Monkey King. How long have they been there?! “We weren’t doing anything!”

Sun Wukong lets out an annoyed sigh at the interruption and rests his hands on his sides. “Not anymore, we’re not. You sure you don’t wanna find somewhere more private, Dove?”

“Private?!” Tang looks between the two of you with wide eyes while Pigsy’s arms cross, and the desire to burn into a crisp from embarrassment grows with every second that passes.

The noodle chef pauses for a moment when he looks over at the topless Wukong. “Where did your shirt go?!” “We’ve gotta get him back to normal, fast!” Tang panics before making a mad dash away. “I’ll get the boulder.”

That snaps you out of your embarrassment. “Boulder?”

“It’s nothing, but I better go and help him.” Pigsy sighs before running after the scholar.

You guess they’re going with their head trauma plan after all. There isn’t much else you can think of to bring Monkey King’s memories back, and you suppose getting hit in the head can’t do too much damage to someone who’s already immortal. Still, if this works, this might be the last time you see him like this.

Turning your attention back to Wukong, you offer the sage a small smile. “Um… I just wanna say, uh, I’m glad you’re here, Peaches. It’s nice knowing you’re here with me.”

Wukong returns your smile and takes a step towards you to hold your hands in his. “It would take another one of Buddha’s mountains to tear me away from you.” His words make your heart flutter, never have you heard him so sincere in the time you’ve known him. The way his eyes look into your own do little to help, those golden irises taking in every feature of your face.

It takes you a minute to pry your gaze from his, and you let go of his hands to quickly step away to clear your throat. It feels like you could get lost in those eyes if you look into them long enough. “Anyway, we should really focus on the task at hand. We’ll need to find the others before we keep looking for the three Samadhi Rings.”

“Four rings.”

“Huh?” Four? What does he mean, four?

Before you can get your answer, a falling boulder crushes Sun Wukong, shaking the ground as it collides with the king. You jump back with a start before looking up to the top of the cliff where Pigsy and Tang look over its edge. Jeez, what is with their horrible timing?! It’s one thing for them to walk in on you hugging a shirtless Monkey King, but what the hell was he saying before they crushed him?? Was he confused? What did he mean by four rings?!

You aren’t given the chance to spiral before the boulder cracks open, and out jumps the Great Sage with a shout. The Monkey King looks up with wide eyes and a burst of flames erupts from his mouth. By the time the fire stops, the sage looks around in confusion before his eyes land on you. The second your eyes make contact, his gaze hardens. Guess that means he’s really back.

Monkey King looks down to his exposed chest, and his frown deepens. You can only just notice a dust of pink over his cheeks as he looks back up at you. “…Where’s my shirt?”

His voice is indifferent, and it takes you a minute before answering. “Uh, I think you threw it over there.” You point over to where the shirt lays, discarded on the ground.

“Thanks.” He turns away rather quickly, moving to retrieve the garment and slip it back on. His back faces you as he finds his scarf and begins tying it back on while your two friends make it back down the cliff.

Pigsy seems relieved to find a fully clothed Monkey King once they get back to you, though Tang stays cautious. “Did it work?”

You don’t turn to look at your friends to answer them, your gaze focused on the Monkey King as he finishes tying the scarf around his neck. That cold air you feel so accustomed to has returned. You try not to sound too deflated in your response. “…Yep, it worked.”

After Pigsy and Tang inform Monkey King of the eventful events of the night, you all find yourself in the van on the move once more. You still have your friends to find, on top of the Samadhi Rings– however many there are. You have an itch that wants to confront Monkey King on that, though you aren’t sure he would give you a straight answer anymore.

Pigsy is driving with Tang in the passenger’s seat up front, leaving you in the back with Mo in your lap and Monkey King sitting in the middle of the van, reading over one of MK’s books he made about his mentor and his adventures. An awkward air hangs between the two of you again, and you can’t help but hate it. Seeing this side of him again is so jarring after spending the last few hours with such a sweeter and caring Sun Wukong.

After a while, it’s hard to sit in this cold air any longer. Setting Mo down, you get up to walk over to the king. His head snaps up as you approach, and you almost flinch at his narrowed gaze. Despite the ‘subtle’ undertone of annoyance in his eyes, you gesture down to the book. “I don’t think MK ever wrote down any stories that had Dove in them.” As you speak, you crouch down to sit with him.

“What?” The name makes his frown deepen, and you try your best to give him a friendly smile.

“It’s what you were calling me.” You explain, the Monkey King’s frown fading when you do. Instead, his face twists with something akin to cringe. You barely catch the pained look in his eyes before he looks away.

His hand raises up to his temple with a groan. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been– uggh.” He grumbles under his breath, and you feel bad for bringing up the name at all. Monkey King’s posture stiffens as his other hand reaches up to support his head, he looks uncomfortable now. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad in any way.

Your hands shoot up to wave in defence. “It’s okay! It was kind of cute, if I’m being honest.” The words sort of fall from your mouth, you don’t know what else to say when Wukong… he just looks in pain. His eyes are focused on the book in his lap, so concentrated, you’re surprised his laser-eyes haven't burned through it yet. “…Maybe it’s just me, but I think whoever she was, she was lucky to have someone like you by her side.”

That gets him to give you a sharp scoff. “You’re right, maybe it is just you.”

His tone takes you aback, and your surprise is quickly replaced with a frustrated huff as you rise back to your feet. “Sure, maybe it is.” You just wanted to make him feel better, to try and move past that sour attitude he only has with you. You turn to walk away, if he doesn’t want you around, you won’t bother him anymore.

“Wait.” You stop as he calls after you, something urgent in his voice makes you freeze. When you look back at him, his hands are in his lap, clenched into fists. His eyes can’t meet yours, still focused on the book under him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” You look down at the Monkey King, your brows furrowed as you observe him, still as stone. Even without him meeting your gaze, you can recognise the hurt in his expression.

Looking at him now, it feels as though there’s a new perspective for all of Monkey King’s past actions against you. His words from this morning echo in your mind. His declaration of love, regrets over whatever… however this Dove met her end. “I don’t know what happened. But whatever it is you’re blaming yourself for, I don’t think she’d hold it against you, Peaches.”

The name slips before you can catch it, and Monkey King’s eyes shoot up to yours before you can correct yourself. “I mean, Monkey King. Sorry.” You look away quickly– he’s obviously hurting, why would you say that right now?!

“I don’t…” You barely catch his mumbling, and you slowly look back to see his eyes looking to the side. There’s a light blush over his face as he coughs into his arm. “I don’t mind being called Peaches.”

Something deep in your chest stirs, you’re not sure you’ve seen Wukong look… flustered? It makes you smile a little, and when he catches your gaze, he smiles back.

He’s okay with the nickname, you’ll have to keep that in mind.

[watarfallar]

*gay braincell tossing*

Scar: Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Grian: Why start now?

Grian: I love you. Scar: I love me too.

Grian: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Scar: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

Scar: Snow got me feeling some type of way. Grian: That's hypothermia.  Scar: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Grian: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life. Scar: Please never become a surgeon.

Scar: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Scar: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Scar: Damn, the power went out. Grian: Don’t worry, I got this. Grian: *stomps foot* Scar: What-? Grian: *Sketchers light up*

Grian: We either die free, or die trying! Scar: Are those the only choices?

Scar: I’m totally useless. Grian: You’re not totally useless. Grian: You can be used as a bad example.

Scar: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Grian: Technically a mix of green and blue? Scar: So blurple. Grian: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Scar: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Grian: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

Scar: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?! Grian: ... Scar: Oh, right. The lying.

Grian: You’re not jealous, are you? Scar: No! Grian: Good, ‘cause I consider my fake relationship with you a lot more meaningful.

Scar: And what did we learn, Grian? Grian: Tackling someone isn’t the correct response to being asked a simple question.

Scar: You know, it’s fine to admit you were wrong. Grian: *Sipping their drink after accidentally adding salt* I just like the way it tastes.

Scar: You are a solid 11/10. Grian: Aw, thank- Scar: Which is 1.1 because you look like shit.

Scar: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Grian? Grian: …Not really. Scar: Nothing? Grian: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

Grian: Kill him. Scar: This is the kind of quality advice I look for.

Scar: There are no friends when playing board games. I am here to win.

Grian, texting: Scar, will you please go to sleep? Scar, texting back: What makes you think you didn’t just wake me up? Grian, yelling: I CAN HEAR YOU CLAPPING TO THE FRIENDS THEME EVERY TWENTY MINUTES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP! Grian, texting: Just a hunch :) You goin’ to sleep soon? Scar, texting: I’m trying Grian, yelling again: TRY HARDER I HAVE A 5:45 AM MEETING TOMORROW BITCH Grian, texting: Okay, don’t stay up too late or you’ll be cranky :)

Scar: I’m a masochist, not a loser.

Scar: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff. Grian: Oh, that was all real. Scar: Wait, you were trying to help them kill us?! Grian: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right.

Grian: *spins around in chair ominously* I’ve been expecting y- *chair continues to spin* shit *tries to stop spinning* shit *tries to grab a table to stop spinning* sHIT *falls out of chair*

Grian: I’m not stupid, you know. Scar: Well, you’re doing a really good impression of it!

Scar: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you. Scar: Ask me to kill for you. Grian: ...First of all, calm down-

Scar: Grian, you’ve tried 37 times and you’ve failed every time. Give it a break. Grian: DO I HEAR “FIRST TRY PART 38?”

Grian: I know how this must look but I can assure you we have a perfectly logical explanation. Scar: Yeah! We’re cowards!

Scar: *holds a gun out to Grian* Grian: I-I don't believe in guns. Scar: Well, trust me, they're very real. Now take it.

Scar: I owe you one. Grian: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Grian: I hate you with every inch of my body! Scar: That’s not a lot of inches.

Scar, to Grian: You drink too much, swear too much, and your morals are highly questionable. Grian: … Scar: You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a best friend.

Scar: I need a long word. Grian: T-rex but the long one.

Grian: I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

Grian: You know you've made it when you see your picture everywhere you go. Scar: Those are wanted posters!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺

81 for 🩺:

---

She talked him through a sexuality crisis in his late twenties. Helped him settle on the label bisexual. He’s thankful for her. 

Basically, Buck can thank his lucky stars that he and Hen seem to almost be on the same shift.

“Anything interesting happening?” He asks. 

“Not much in the past hour since I started,” she tells him. “Our favorite paramedic is on his way, though.”

Buck smirks. “Han?”

“The very same,” Hen answers, amused.

Buck looks across the ER, to where Maddie - a few hours into her shift - is talking to one of their regulars. A very kind, very anxious woman named Midge. Midge comes in once every two weeks, at least, terrified about something or other. 

“Maddie know?” Buck asks.

“She does,” Hen smiles. 

“Why doesn’t she just ask the poor guy out already?” Buck sighs. “Put him out of his misery.”

Hen shrugs. “She’s your sister, Buck. You tell me.”

“If I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” Buck says.

The thing is, since Maddie has arrived in Los Angeles, she’s had this ongoing flirtation with one of the LAFD paramedics that stops by the ER with patients sometimes. Howard Han from the 118. Or, as his teammates call him, for whatever reason, Chimney. They like each other. But they’ve never seen each other outside of work. A real shame, because he’s kind. Kind and gentle and totally the type of man Maddie needs after her shitbag of a late husband. 

A few minutes later, the 118 ambulance shows up. But when they climb out of the back with a patient on a gurney, it’s not the usual duo Buck is used to.  Chim’s regular partner is an older white guy, Massachusetts accent. Eli. This is not Eli. This is a model. A model around Buck’s age, with beautiful dark eyes and insane bone structure, masquerading as a paramedic. 

“What do you got for me, Han?” Hen asks.

“Allyson Wade. Female, thirty-five. Dislocated her knee after falling off a surfboard,” Chimney explains. “She’s had some ketorolac for the pain, but refused any morphine.”

“You’re going to be okay, Allyson,” the new paramedic says gently to the woman, wincing in agony. “They’ll take good care of you.”

Buck reads his name tag. Diaz. 

“Who’re you?” Buck asks. Dumbly. He’s aware he sounds fucking dumb. “You’re new.”

“Uh,” Diaz says. “Not exactly.”

“Eddie’s a new transfer to the team,” Chimney says. “Trying out the paramedic side of things.”

“Well, welcome, Eddie,” Hen says. “Sorry to hear about your work partner - good luck with that.”

“Dr. Wilson, I am hurt,” Chimney feigns offense.

“Nice to meet you,” Buck mumbles, feeling weirdly self-conscious as they begin to wheel the patient away. 

“You, too,” Eddie replies. “Uh…”

“That’s Buck,” he hears Chimney say. Then, he calls out louder. “Hey, is Maddie working?”

“Yep!” Buck calls back. “Why, you have a question for her?”

▪️▪️▪️

Buck doesn’t think too much about the pretty paramedic that day. Sure, his brain vaguely processes and catalogues the very obvious truth that he is a hot man. Nice to look at. But that’s about it. He’s busy. The dislocated knee is followed by quite a few heat stroke cases, as he expected. By the time he gets home from his shift, he’s almost forgotten all about Paramedic Eddie Diaz entirely.

Plus, he does not hear from Maddie any news about Chimney asking her out. So, really, why remember the interaction at all?

ii. 

In the next three-ish weeks, Buck sees Chimney and Eddie almost every shift. Any time their shifts line up anyways. Sometimes several times per shift. During that time, Buck doesn’t learn much about Eddie. He’s always friendly. Polite. But not chatty and forthcoming like Chimney. In the limited windows of time they see each other, he doesn’t reveal much about himself. 

Buck does learn some things. He’s a great paramedic, even if he’s spent the past few years doing more of the firefighting work. 

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Day 7: Hell Week

You made it.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours of sitting beside your husband like he was a stranger. Of watching his fingers twitch against his leg, like they wanted so badly to reach for yours. Of standing in the hallway outside Whitney’s room, just far enough that he wouldn’t see you—close enough to hear him say goodnight.

“Love you, sweetheart. Sleep tight.”

You memorized the sound of it, tucked it into the cracks of your heart like a threadbare blanket. It was the only thing that made the rest of the night bearable.

Because nighttime… night was war.

Sleep never came easy before the overdose. But now? It was like closing your eyes meant surrendering to the worst parts of your brain. Images you never actually saw but still haunted you: the color of his skin, the way the paramedics looked at you, the sound of your own voice breaking as you screamed his name.

You’d sit in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes shaking. Sometimes crying. But you did it. You didn’t break. Not this time.

And that was supposed to mean progress.

Therapy Check-In – End of Week 1

You don’t sit next to him this time. You sit across the room. Your arms are crossed. Your jaw clenched so tight you might break a tooth.

“I want to be done,” you say.

Your therapist’s brow lifts gently, like she’s heard this before.

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’m not coping. I’m surviving. And I don’t want to keep doing this. I didn’t want this in the first place. I only agreed because everyone said it would help, but I feel like I’m dying every night.”

Marshall’s eyes flick toward you, his jaw working like he wants to say something but knows better.

Your therapist doesn’t flinch. “I hear how hard this is. And I don’t want you suffering. But your nervous system is starting to re-learn safety. Slowly. The separation isn’t a punishment—it’s a container. A chance to regulate in his absence. If we keep going, it could—”

“I don’t want to regulate in his absence,” you snap, and your voice cracks on the last word. “I want my husband.”

Silence.

Then—softly—she says something that makes the air freeze in your lungs:

“If it’s safe, and you feel ready, one next step might be to explore time with someone else. Not an emotional connection. Not romantic. But a small date. Something light. To experience autonomy. Separation.”

You don’t even register your own reaction—because you’re watching his.

Marshall leans forward, instantly. “No.”

Your therapist raises a brow.

“I agreed to this—this separation crap—because I want her to feel safe,” he says, low and firm. “I’ve done everything you asked. But you bring up her going on a date and you’ve lost me. That’s not healing. That’s breaking something else.”

You turn to look at him. His knuckles are white, fists clenched against his knees.

“She’s my wife. We’re not done. So don’t treat us like we are.”

There’s a beat of silence that hangs like a held breath.

“I’m not suggesting it to threaten your bond,” the therapist replies, calm but direct. “It’s a clinical option. One that many couples use to understand their attachment styles more clearly. But we can set that aside if it’s not a viable path.”

“It’s not,” he says.

You’re still reeling, but you manage a whisper: “You really wouldn’t let me?”

He looks at you then, really looks—eyes sharp and soft all at once.

“I wouldn’t stop you,” he says. “But I’d be outside the restaurant waiting for you to change your mind.”

[meltinglikeasugarcube]

Can this be a fanfic where Taylor Swift is dating someone on a football/ soccer team . It is close to the end of the match. One of your teammates has passed you the ball and you are about to make a header to get in the goal (I have very limited knowledge of the game). You are in the air about to make contact with the ball when someone from the opposing team knocks you down and you hit the ground (mainly your head) very hard. You lay there for a moment unable to comprehend what has happened, you try to get up. When you are standing up you feel very lightheaded and nauseous struggling to keep your balance. Everything feels too bright and too loud not long after you collapse back on the ground rubbing your chest as you fall. You are going into cardiac arrest because the player tackled you to the ground. The medics run onto the field to help you, Taylor is already there. She came down the moment she saw you get knocked down; she was able to get to the field very quickly because she was right at the front of the field.

You don't have to listen to this but can have them get in an ambulance to have to go to the hospital, can this be very angsty without having them die please.

Thank you for taking the time to listen to me and consider this. You do not have to listen to anything I said also sorry if my English is bad

Title: STAY

Word Count: 559

Pairing: Taylor Swift x Female Reader

One moment, you’re airborne, foot slicing forward, the goal within reach. The next, the ground slams into you.

Pain arrives before understanding. It roots itself deep, searing through your skull, pressing in from all sides. The world tilts, spins, shudders. You don’t have time to reach for your own face before something raw and broken tears from your throat. It isn’t a choice. It simply happens, because it hurts, and your body reacts before your mind can.

Thought fractures around the pain, but one thing pushes through: Taylor. You worry. You worry about your sweet angel watching all of this happen from the sidelines. She’s always there at every game, learning the rules, tracking your movements like they matter in some way beyond the scoreboard. She’d cheered when you won, dragged you into her warmth when you didn’t. And now she’s watching this. The thought barely settles before another wave of pain drowns it out. You wish, distantly, to pass out. But you don’t.

You endure. You shift, barely, and fresh agony tears through you. Someone reaches you (paramedics, probably) but they aren’t alone.

“Baby, I’m here,” Taylor’s voice breaks through, raw and unsteady. “I’m here. Look at me.”

A voice, firm and detached, tells her to step back.

“No,” her refusal is immediate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel pressure on your body, careful hands assessing, voices speaking in clipped, efficient tones. Taylor’s face appears above you, blurred, cheeks streaked with tears.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, like saying it makes it true. “You hear me? You’ll be fine.”

You want to nod. To tell her something. But the world tips, and everything goes dark.

—

You wake to the hum of an ambulance, fluorescent light cutting through the haze. The pain lingers, numbed at the edges, but the dizziness remains. Your body feels detached, foreign. Someone is gripping your hand, fingers locked so tightly around yours it almost hurts.

“She’s awake,” a voice announces.

You can’t turn your head; it’s fixed in place by something around your neck and everything is sluggish and unnatural. Taylor is there, breath hitching, pressing frantic kisses against your knuckles and it’s the only thing you can focus on.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, reaching before stopping herself.

“Don’t touch her head,” the paramedic warns. “She needs to stay stabilized.”

Taylor exhales sharply, but her hand never leaves yours. She leans in close enough that her warmth cuts through the cold air and you can see her face.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “We’re almost at the hospital. You’re okay.”

“Ow,” your throat feels thick, the words sluggish. “It hurts.”

“I know, I know,” she nods sadly. “Just stay still. Try not to move.”

Something tugs at the edge of your thoughts, foggy and half-formed, but it slips free before you can stop it.

“I was so stupid,” you murmur.

Taylor’s grip tightens, her expression hardening.

“You had it,” she says, like there’s no question. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t even think about that.”

Your vision tilts, her face shifting out of focus. Panic flickers through you.

“Stay,” you whisper, barely a sound.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she moves back into view, jaw set. “I’m staying right here and you’ll be okay.”

You let your eyes close and believe her.

[burplewrites]

saudade | tamarack & qiu

𓆉 | fandom: our life: now & forever

𓆉 | characters: tamarack, qiu, reader

𓆉 | word count: 1,075 words 5,946 characters

𓆉 | a/n: this story is sort of in qiu's pov, and about grief and stuff!! i don't think its too sad, just an experience but you have been warned!

𓆉 | quick summary: y/n passed. the world just needs to learn how to deal.

saudade is an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone.

“and you two are gonna grow up someday and i’m gonna grow up too, but that’s never gonna stop us from being the same age. cool.” that’s what they said, eight years ago, when they first met y/n and tamarack for the first time after the duo waltzed their way into their life.

ever since that fateful day, the three were friends, best friends. even with the little break of their friendship from ‘personal problems and moody feelings’ as y/n used to say, y/n brought them together again and reminded them why they were friends in the first place.

their friendship only got better from then on, and they committed to bettering themselves and each other, talking about problems, and about random thoughts that entered their minds. at least, that’s what qiu thought. he thought that they all told each other everything, all their stupid secrets, random thoughts in the middle of the night, things that would be considered too much information for other people. so why didn’t y/n tell them, not tamarack or him, anything about what they were going through? why didn’t they say anything at all?

they never expressed pain, or acted like they were suffering at all. they were always smiling, expressing their positive emotions with not a care in the world. qiu loved them for that. they had been crushing on each other for a while, qiu knew that, y/n knew that, and even tamarack, who had to watch the whole thing unfold in front of her, knew that. they just never got together, and now they would never get the chance to.

it was only a year ago when their life changed. when tamarack yelled in the middle of the night, alarming everyone out of their drowsy state, y/n was having trouble breathing, and was trying to get upstairs to their mother's room without disturbing their best friends on the couch. their limbs started giving out, making them fall to the floor. that whole night was a blur for qiu and tamarack alike. watching their best friend’s mom trying to help y/n take some breaths as they all cried, seeing the tiredness in y/n’s eyes, like they’ve been fighting this for years and was finally starting to give up, and opal’s sobs as she begged her only child to keep trying, to keep breathing. tamarack clutched hard onto qiu that day, the shock causing her to freeze up.

hearing their best friend's last words, being so weak, so quiet, yet so genuine. it was like y/n trying to fully get everything out like they knew this would be the end.

"hey its okay, you're okay… you're okay. i love you guys so much, more than you'll ever know."

that's what they whispered, as the paramedics took them away. a smile never left their face, even with the ventilator on their face and the paramedics checking their vitals on the way out the door. they died on the way to the hospital. even to the end, they were caring for others.

opal changed as a person after that. having to bury your only child, someone who you watched grow up, someone who you experienced their good days and bad days, and was just expected to keep moving. but that was impossible, how could she? her world stopped that day but everyone kept moving, the world kept spinning at the same speed it always did, no faster, no slower.

but y/n was gone.

tamarack put her whole being into her cello practice since y/n always seemed to like it when she played for them. she even played a song she wrote at the funeral; a song that was supposed to be for her best friend. one that they were somewhat writing together. she still tried being normal, helping opal with whatever she needed, but never trying to pressure her. it was tamarack's form of escape. if she could be in the house that y/n was in, surrounded by all the things that made them, them… that would be enough. it had to be enough. qiu simply regressed into themself. it was like they were back to when they were fourteen. they stayed outside sitting by their ‘hideout’; hiding away from the world. tamarack tried to stay with him some days, when qiu wanted the company and couldn’t deal with being alone without someone to talk to, someone who understood, but other times it was too overwhelming and they preferred to be alone.

life changed. golden grove moved on, and people found other things to talk about, but sometimes things brought them back to that day one year ago.

especially today, the one-year anniversary of y/n’s death. three hundred and sixty-five days without them. it was early morning, around five am, and qiu biked to the cemetery to just be with them alone. they knew tamarack would be coming in the morning after she woke up, and opal would be coming in the afternoon, so this was the best option. plus they couldn’t sleep.

qiu never knew they could cry that much. every time they came to visit, to talk about something exciting that happened, or something weird, or anything really, they would end up breaking into sobs each time, gasping for air by the time their tears ran out.

‘why did you even have to come into my life if you were going to leave it partway?’

that was a question that they asked themselves multiple times and always felt bad for thinking about it after. they knew tamarack felt the same. tamarack was the first of the two to mention that thought out loud.

but it was true, wasn’t it? they never regretted having y/n in their life. everyone's life shone so much brighter with them there, like the sun on a summer day, but with the sun gone it gets darker. the sun always comes back, but y/n wouldn't. y/n was dead. they were gone, and they were going to stay gone.

no matter how much opal begged, how much they all hoped and dreamt, y/n was not coming back. they were never coming back. they had been gone for the last three hundred sixty-five days, they would be gone for the next year, and the years after that. and nothing could change that.

so as qiu sat there, laying by their grave while talking about everything and anything, all they could really do was hope y/n was there and listening.

[twentyonebucks]

Honestly it just feels like 911 has been going in circles for a while now. During season 5 i was already kinda getting bored and frustrated with some aspects of it so i only watched season 6 sporadically when they then moved to abc i was like I’ll give it another chance… liked the opening disaster and was then positively surprised by bi buck. But looking at the show now… literally every character seems to be in the exact same place they were years ago there is nothing really new happening anymore i feel like I’ve been watching the exact same storylines over and over again. There are hardly any new faces popping in that could freshen it up and if they do the side characters are gone again after a few episodes. Bobby and Athene have communication problems every season and Athena is a cop that gets some copaganda shit to do. Henren always have drama when it comes to expanding their family and hen‘s job. Chim never has a storyline outside of his wife and maddy is only needed when something regarding abuse pops up. Buck just recycles through wanting to find love and being dumped (now with the addition of male love interests but they still can’t even say his sexuality on camera) and Eddie is still finding himself and trying to heal. It‘s getting so repetitive i kind of wish they will end the show after season 8 because it seems to be getting worse and worse.

i agree mostly. i think tim really meant it when he said characters shouldn't change. i just took it to mean that their core characteristics should be kept intact while still growing into better versions of themselves. it's weird that tim seems to have forgotten about that part. recycling the same issues over and over doesn't make for good storytelling, imo—it just gets boring. the outcome is always the same—it seems like a given character has finally found the answer or made peace with themselves, only to circle back a season or two later. it's exhausting.

that said, it does remind me of real life in a way. people often think they've learned a lesson, only to end up repeating the same patterns over and over again. it takes tremendous self-discipline to change how we approach things, since we tend to stick with what feels most comfortable. so, in a way, i get why some of these characters fall back into the same habits—it's realistic. but here's where this argument falls short—as oliver likes to point out, this show is not a documentary. it doesn't have to reflect real life 1:1. honestly, who wants to watch characters constantly go in circles? it may work for a little while, but there comes a point where you have to know when to stop. i think buck's had enough failed relationships to have learned how to navigate or fight for one. i think bobby and athena have had enough conversations about difficult topics to understand that it's better to approach the situation in a healthier manner.

i'm not saying these problems need to disappear completely. i'm saying that it'd be nice to see the impact of the previous situations on the current one, with a character actually drawing from past experiences and trying to do better. it doesn't mean the character has to suddenly be perfect in that aspect—just that they're clearly trying. it'd be enough, and i think it would make for some compelling storylines. and once that's done, why not introduce some new challenges? why stick to the same tried-and-true approach? sure, it worked in the past, but that absolutely does not mean it's still the best option moving forward.

and don't get me even started on henren—or on CHIMNEY. who's chimney outside of being maddie's husband, jee's father and a paramedic? because i don't think even the writers know. that's why he's missing for like six episodes in season 5. maddie's gone, and suddenly no one knows what to do with him anymore, so they just write him off.

and when it so happens that chimney, maddie, eddie do get individual storylines, they’re always tied to the same past we’ve already revisited a thousand times. i get that it’s part of who they are, obviously, but is that really all there is to those characters? how about creating something new for them to go through and then exploring the repercussions of that instead? not just pretending the arc is over and leaving the consequences behind? seriously, is it really that hard?

[spaced-out-tiger]

Misfit Menagerie AU incorrect quotes cause I’m bored (might draw some of these later)

- - -

Riley: On the count of three, what’s your favorite cake?

Riley & Ryker: One, two, three-

Riley & Ryker: Chocolate cake, peanut-butter frosting, and chocolate chunks!

Doey: Our turn, Bobby! One, two, three-

Doey: Vanilla!

Bobby: I’ve never had cake before. What is cake?

Doey: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke.

Riley: Snow got me feeling some type of way.

Doey: That's hypothermia.

Riley: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Ryker: Wake up! The sun is shining!

Riley: What do you want me to do, photosynthesis?

Ryker: Onion rings are vegetable donuts.

Doey, used to Ryker being dumb: Sure...

Ryker: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.

Doey: Okay?

Ryker: Lasagna is spaghetti flavored cake.

Doey:

Ryker: Lobsters are mermaid scorpio-

Doey: Jeez, that one is a little-

Bobby, interested: No, no, Ryker, keep going.

Bobby: Riley, I want a bedtime story!

Riley: I’m busy, Bobby. I’ll tell you one tomorrow.

Bobby: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed!

Riley: Once upon a time, there was a kid named Bobby, who always wanted things their way. One day, their friends got sick of it and locked them in the basement for the rest of their life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end.

Bobby: I don’t like these stories with morals.

Riley: Is this a good idea?

Riley: Probably not.

Riley: Do I care?

Riley: No.

Doey: Real life should have a search function, or something.

Doey: I need my socks.

Riley: I am convinced Ryker and Bobby share a brain cell.

DogDay: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

Emma: I just wanna be called cute 21/7.

Doey: Why not 24/7?

Emma: Snack breaks.

June: I love making parties more interesting by telling strangers “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here.”

Bobby: *Gasp*

Riley: wHAT??

Bobby: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?

Riley: *inhales*

DogDay, in another room with Doey: Why can I hear screeching?

Ryker: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at math.

Doey, handing out popsicles: which flavor do you want?

Bobby: blue flavor!

Doey: uh you mean blue raspberry?

Bobby: blue flavor! Blue flavor!

Doey: Blue is not a flavor!

Bobby: BLUE FLAVOR!

Riley: Bobby has discovered "deez nuts" jokes and it's all they say now. Everything is deez nuts. They simply can't stop.

Riley: I asked Bobby where they learned that joke. They made me promise they wouldn't get in trouble if they told me. I agreed.

Riley: So they lean in and whisper, "deez nuts."

Riley: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Ryker: Hey, spaghetti, we’re having Riley for dinner.

DogDay: What is wrong with you people?

Bobby: Shut up, chocolate.

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one*

DogDay: I will not let you down.

Bobby: Sounds fun.

Ryker: K.

Kissy: *glares* (which means ‘No, I'm not.’)

Doey: Do I have to be?

Riley: Please god, I am so tired.

Bobby: Assert your dominance over your friends by kicking them in the face, and then giving them a little smooch on the forehead!

Riley: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Ryker: ... Your what?

Riley: My friends.

Doey: Are they saying “friends”?

Ollie: I think they're being sarcastic.

Bobby: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Riley! All of your friends are in this room.

Bobby: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.

Ryker: That’s a snake.

Riley: DogDay… I’m bleeding…

DogDay: Oh god… what’s your blood type?!

Riley: B positive…

DogDay: I’m trying to but you’re bleeding-

Ollie: Yeah, I’m a false prophet, but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we’re in this mess?

Ryker: You ever get so tired that you start seeing spiders?

Ollie: Me after I take 17 Benadryl and start seeing the hat man.

Ryker: THE WHO?

Ollie: Oh is this not a safe space suddenly?

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 11

Author's Note: All I'm gonna say is, I'm so so sorry.

Description: The war begins.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Angst. Word Count: 5053 Author's Masterlist

   Thirty-six minutes. That is how long you were dead.    More than half an hour in which all Oberyn could do was try and not give in to the despair. If he had, he would have drowned all of Scandinavia in fire, darkening himself so absolutely that Simon would not have had to make any effort to corrupt him. He would have happily destroyed the world for not allowing you to exist.

   His call to the emergency services had been panicked and largely incomprehensible, so how they had managed to arrive and begin to work on you in less than five minutes, was a right miracle.    They had asked him so many questions he could not hope to answer. Not because he did not know, but because so much about you is not knowable. You are an orphan, which of course makes your medical history impossible to determine, but at the same time, your human body is not merely human, so there is no way to fully understand it.    But how could he explain any of this?

   All your readings had come back flat. Your ECG, pulse and blood pressure no more than lines upon their machines. Your temperature dropping by the minutes. But the four paramedics had been so professional and skillful, not giving up even as their efforts had yielded no results, one of them coming to his side and offering comfort when they had noticed how he had begun to spiral into fits of agony.  

   But your heart had never even responded enough for them to try and shock it with the defibrillator, and they had just decided to give up when you had suddenly returned.    Waking up as though you had simply taken a nap, the machines had all come to life at once, not with blaring alarms or dramatic flashes, just the steady beeps indicating your heartbeats and normal readings of blood pressure, oxygenation, pulse and temperature. All had appeared at once, as if having been there all along.

   He did not dare believe it at first, waiting for his heart to start beating again and his lungs to stop contracting before he could accept that the shock which he was seeing in the medical staff was all real.    Equally stunned at the sudden appearance of several strangers around your naked body, in what must have been mere seconds to you, you had tried to ease the tension as best you could, while likely letting your mind catch up to what must have happened in your absence.

   So controlled, even under such strange and unusual circumstances, while Oberyn had nearly lost his mind.    Still, the relief of having you back had soon taken over, allowing him to rejoice in the moment, even as you had then demonstrated the power of your new understanding.    And now, less than an hour later, you sit upon his back as alive as you have ever been.

   More than that, you are happy. Despite the dire state of the world, whatever you have learned in your spiritual endeavor, it has left your soul harmonious. He can feel it in the energy you give off. The light you spread by simply existing. And he envies you, for his own heart is muddled by fear, both the lingering dread of a world without you, but also a terrible worry this new plan of yours will fail.    Not due to any lack of faith in your abilities, but rather in the stark absence of any plan whatsoever.

   You told him first to fly south, to the capitol of Norway, and he did. But once there, you had climbed down, walked among the frightened and fleeing people, somehow stopping them without a word, before you had touched the shoulders of a select few and then returned to him. Climbing back on without a word of explanation, you had merely asked him to head for Stockholm next. So, he did. And then Finland, from where you had directed him to Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and now Poland is your next stop.

   But you say nothing more. You have not even attempted to help him understand what is actually being done, somehow under the impression that your demonstration in the hotel room should be enough for him to grasp the concept.    Alas, he does not.

   “Valya?”

   “Yeah?”

   “What is this? What exactly are you doing in the capitols for only a few minutes, to leave you with such confidence it will turn the tides of this war?”

   “I can try to explain, but it probably won’t help much, because I don’t understand most of it myself. Not consciously, anyway. I just know in my heart that this is what I need to do.”

   “Please, try,” he beckons as gently as he can manage, and feels your soothing hands stroke his neck while you oblige him, clearly sensing his frustration.

   “All life on this planet is connected, and that’s what makes our side of this war so unfathomably powerful,” you begin, and you sound so animated. “Because when I touch these people, I feel what weighs on them. Their pains and everyday torments. The existing darkness within all of us which Simon uses to manipulate us. And once I know what it is, I can take it away.”

   “But how? People can’t just be freed of fear, can they?”

   “Not freed, no. What I do is take away the power that fear has over them. I put so much hope in their souls that even if the sky should come crashing down, they wouldn’t panic. And when I do that, each person I’ve touched then spreads their light to every other person they meet, and once enough positive energy has been created, nature becomes affected as well, carrying it further and further out into the countryside.”

   “This all sounds most wonderful, but I still fail to grasp how it helps us combat the darkness which still spreads to the west.”

   “I’m flooding the world with light, Oberyn. So much of it, within all living things, that no matter how hard he tries, Simon won’t be able to infect anything more. His army won’t be able to grow any further which means his power will stop growing as well.    In the meantime, I’m also increasing our power, yours and mine, because with every life we add to the whole, their strength becomes our strength.    Can’t you feel it? How much lighter you already fly. How much easier each stroke of your wings is becoming.    The world is already carrying you, my love. All you need to do is trust it.”

   He knows the feeling of which you speak. The lightness with which he glides through the air now, as though the winds themselves have become his allies. It is part of the reason for his concern.    Perhaps simply because he has never felt accepted or wanted by this world, but the thought that all living things could ever willfully lend their power to him, is precisely what makes him doubt this endeavor.

   However, his trust in you is absolute. He will not challenge your authority or attempt to dissuade you from this course.    But the other reason for his concern is the fact you had to die to learn of this ability to spread hope. The spirit within you is not only the most powerful of all, but also the most mysterious, hiding from all worlds and all realms since the dawn of time.    And having seen you lifeless, he is no longer convinced that trusting it blindly will end well for all parties involved.

   Oberyn has a growing fear within his chest which whispers in his ear of your fragility in this mere human form, trying to convince him that no matter how well prepared you might be… the final battle will inevitably claim your life.    Of course, this is quite possibly only his own mind attempting to prepare for a worst-case scenario which, it cannot be denied, is not at all improbable. But he must not allow these thoughts to color his perception, or he himself might be the cause of your demise.    So, he keeps his deepest worries concealed, hoping they will not fester within the depths of his soul.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   All your life you’ve thought about how travelling around the world would be your treat to yourself after a long life of hard work and scraping together the money. And now, you’re jumping from country to country, making lightning fast visits to every capitol of the world, zig-zagging down the European continent, over to Africa, before turning back up and moving over the eastern European region, making four stops in Russia because of it’s size, and then taking on the Asian continent.

   Because of the frequent stops, the dragon remains low to the ground, letting you see the impressive landscape of the Alps, the African savannah, active volcanoes in Iceland, Italy and Ethiopia. Then the Himalayas, which quite literally take your breath away as he takes a slightly longer route, winding his way between the largest peaks and the deepest valleys to let you truly see the might of these age-old formations which he helped create.

   However, it’s also so much more than just the impressions from your senses. You can feel the world around you now, from the growing light within the human population, to the awakening power of the billions of trees who are so integral to the ecosystem, to the countless vibrations generated by the array of buzzing insects just going about their day.    But more than anything, you feel the mountains.

   There is so much energy locked within their mass, so much more lifeforce than you could ever have imagined could be found within cold, hard stone.    It’s as if the gravitational and magnetic forces of the Earth are in constant conflict with the unyielding material, creating a completely separate energy in the process, stored within each crack and cavity of the bedrock.    You wonder if Simon can sense it too, and whether, if he can, he might also be able to use it to feed and strengthen his darkness.

   In any case, you’re confident of your chances when it comes to the survival of life and light. With each passing hour more countries are joining the force for good, until all that’s left is Antarctica and then South America.    From the southernmost point of New Zealand, Oberyn gets you to the icy continent in record time, and it’s a strange thing to come to such an isolated place as an unexpected visitor. And not just because you’re arriving on the back of a dragon.

   In every other country the cities you’ve visited have been large, to varying degrees, filled with human, animal, and plant-life, whereas here, some of the towns or research facilities consist of five structures, of which most are tents.    There are no plants and while you can feel the presence of birds and penguins further away, there’s no connection between them and the human settlements.    It is more heavily populated than you would’ve imagined, though. Some four thousand people in total are working on the continent, which is in its summer season.

   You ask Oberyn to land at McMurdo Station, where there are a lot of people out and about in the mild and clear weather, enjoying the sun while they can.    But unlike all the other places you’ve landed today, these people seem completely unafraid of the dragon. Perhaps because they’ve chosen to live in one of the harshest environments on earth, making them highly resilient to stress, but it is impressive all the same.

   “Hello,” you greet with a smile and a small wave as a crowd quickly begins to gather around main street, where the massive Tyrannus stands tall after helping you step down. “We’re not here to hurt anyone, I hope you can believe that.”

   A younger woman steps forward then, while more people continue adding to the curious onlookers further along the street. She’s likely in her mid-twenties and Hispanic, with short and wavy black hair, wearing the kinds of overalls that keeps a person warm while cutting across land on a snowmobile, although the sleeves are pushed down and tied around her waist, revealing a black wool polo-neck jumper underneath.

   “I hope you mean it,” she says loud and clear. “Just like I hope I’m not seeing things, because if this is a dream, I’m gonna be so disappointed.”

   “It’s not a dream, I promise. We’re here to ask for help.”

   “And what could a bunch of scientists at the bottom of the world do for a dragon?”

   You step closer to her before you answer, so you can reach her shoulder, but when you raise your hand towards her, she shies away. She stands her ground but pulls her shoulder back sharply.    It’s hard to tell if she’s just unsure of your intentions or if there’s a deeper issue underneath. Normally, you can sense the gist of whatever people are hiding from one another, but this woman seems uncannily skilled at concealing her feelings.

   “There’s a terrible evil spreading across the American continent right now, and you can help us stop it,” you explain, keeping your hand raised but still in front of her. “All you need to do is let me touch you.”

   Her expression darkens somewhat, hearing that, but when you slowly lower your hand towards the outer curve of her shoulder again, she doesn’t move even though her entire body turns tense and rigid. And when your fingers connect to her, you’re overwhelmed for a moment by the darkness which floods through you.    You can see the hurricane of pain this poor woman has lived with her entire life, from an abusive single mother to the many cruel and downright sadistic men she’d encountered in her eight years as a working girl, getting snared at the age of just thirteen.

   She got lucky eventually, taking the opportunity to get out when it happened to appear, and then worked hard for a long time to give herself a real chance at a good life.    But the scars have never healed. She came here to escape the world, not to help it.

   “Let your mother go, Daniela,” you whisper, meeting her eyes as they widen at the mere mention of her terrible upbringing. “She may have given you life, but she was never your mother. There’s nothing wrong with hating someone who only ever hurts you, what’s wrong is hating yourself for it.”

   A shaking breath escapes her, and with it, the hurricane starts to lose strength.    You place your other hand on her cheek, and the bare contact between your skin and hers amplifies your light as it pours into the empty slots left behind by the fleeing darkness from within her being.

   “Let her go.”

   She inhales sharply and you can feel her spirit soar with the sudden freedom. She smiles at you in a way you’re certain she’s never smiled before, so genuinely filled with happiness now that her demons have been driven out.    You know it won’t last forever, because nothing and no one is ever just light or dark, but there’s something truly precious about being able to give someone their own heart back.    She turns to the crowd, scanning it until she finds someone she knows, then runs over to them and hugs them, and you can feel how the light fills them too, immediately growing and spreading, needing nothing but an invitation to take root.

   Satisfied that your work here is done, you return to Oberyn, but he doesn’t look nearly as happy as the people around him.    His gaze is drawn to the north, and he seems very concerned.

   “What is it?” you ask, and he answers without taking his eyes off the horizon.

   “We need to go.”

   “That’s fine, I don’t need to see anyone else here.”

   “No, Valya…” he grumbles before finally turning to look at you, and you can see that he’s not just concerned, he’s afraid. “We need to take this fight back to Simon. Now.”

   “But South America-…”

   “Is already lost,” he cuts you off, and suddenly you realize what it is he sees on the horizon.

   “Oh, god. But… it’s only been a day. How could he overtake two continents that fast?”

   “I do not know. He is the most perfected Darkling to have ever lived, I’m afraid we must assume that history will be of little aid to us in this battle.”

   He picks you up and lifts you to your seat at the base of his neck, and from up there, you can already see the ashes in the air to the north.

   “Wait!” someone calls from down on the ground, and when you peer down the dragon’s side, you see Daniela come to a stop beside him, having apparently run over from her friend. “You’re leaving already?”

   She still looks so happy.

   “We have to. It’s time to fight,” you tell her, and her smile fades.

   “Oh… Did I help? It doesn’t seem like I did.”

   “You still are. Every time you smile or laugh, every happy thought or bright feeling within you will help us win this war.”

   With that, Oberyn spreads his wings and leaps out over the bay before taking his first stroke, to avoid knocking everyone to the ground. He follows the Antarctic coast all the way to Alexander Island before he turns north, then he sets his sights on the southernmost tip of Chile, reaching it in what feels like mere seconds.    But seeing it makes your heart drop. It looks exactly like the North American coast did when you first flew over it.

   “Do not lose faith, my dear. I don’t pretend to understand how, but it is your belief in the light which will end this darkness, so do not let Simon’s evil rob you of it.”

   “It’s not my belief, Oberyn, it’s everyone’s. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” you counter, but he doesn’t respond, which sends a sliver of doubt through you. “Do you not believe in my plan?”

   “I believe in you,” he replies without hesitation, but it’s not really an answer to the question.

   He can feel your disappointment, and sighs heavily before he speaks again.

   “There is a great fear within me… one that will not be silenced by any measure of hope. This fear is not of failure or death, precisely, but about Lux herself. The essence of her being.”

   “How do you mean?”

   “You said it yourself, Val. Her purpose is to protect the spirits. And I cannot shake the fear that in doing so, she will annihilate herself, and therefor you as well, should such a thing become required to accomplish her task.    This is the problem with purpose, you see. When your entire existence is bound to the fates of others, there is not always a choice.”

   “But that’s what all this was about. Spreading the light so that I’ll be strong enough-…”

   “To defeat Simon?” he cuts you off, and his tone clearly implies you couldn’t do that even if you had all the power in the world.

   “Freeing the spirits is the only way to do that, I thought we agreed on this,” you argue, and feel him nod once in confirmation.

   “We do. But did you not see them? You cannot possibly think that anything but giving it everything you have is going to be enough to free them all.”

   “With your help I can do it.”

   “I don’t doubt whether you are able, my love. I fear your purpose will command you to sacrifice yourself in the effort.”

   “Where is this coming from?” you ask, starting to feel a kind of desperation you can’t really name. “You’ve never doubted my strength before.”

   “And I still don’t. But… you were dead…”

   His voice breaks at the memory, and you can feel how truly enormous his pain was in that moment, how relentlessly seared that image is inside his brain. Your dead body on the bed.

   “All she did was show you something, and it killed you.    How am I supposed to believe that you can wield her power unscathed after witnessing such a thing?”

   “Maybe I can’t. Maybe that’s the price we’ll have to pay to protect this world,” you ponder sadly. “But even if it is… how could I ever walk away? And what difference would that make? I’d still die, just for Simon’s pleasure instead.”

   He’s quiet for a moment then, but you can feel his discomfort. Something so deeply engraved into his heart that the mere thought of it agonizes him.

   “If you die…… it will not matter if you do manage to save this world. I will burn every inch of it into dust if I must live in it for one day without you.”

   Somewhere deep inside you, there’s a twinge as you hear him say that. You don’t know what it means, but it leaves an ominous sensation in its wake. Something lightly queasy.    Then Oberyn dives through a thick black cloud and when he emerges underneath it, you’re looking at the Mexican Gulf, except it’s not an ocean anymore.    In what looks like thick, gloopy mud, and even thicker pools of tar, there are former ocean giants, now unrecognizable blobs with too many mouths and strange appendages seeming to serve no purpose at all, flopping and wriggling about. No longer able to swim and too heavy to move using the poor excuses for limbs their mutated form provides.

   You look to the east and the connecting Atlantic Ocean, confirming that it’s already spread beyond what used to be Florida. The Atlantic is too vast and deep to be infected as quickly as the gulf has clearly been, but you’re guessing no more than three days before the darkness reaches Europe. And a quick glance to the west confirms the same thing about the Pacific.    There’s no real way to know if your efforts of spreading light will truly be able to stop its advance if, or when, push comes to shove, so all you can do is hope.

   And fight.

   There’s no mistaking Simon’s new home, having built himself a castle in the time you’ve been away. One made of the bones of the dead, surrounded by mutated bushes covered in poisonous thorns.    You can’t see the spirits anywhere, but you’re sure they’re close by. He wouldn’t dare let them wander off, he knows that they’re the only ones who can kill him.

   “How are we doing this?” you ask when Oberyn starts to circle above the castle, dropping a little lower with each turn.

   “I will try to keep the vines and beasts away from you, but this means you must fight the spirits yourself. Are you ready for that?”

   “I guess we’ll find out.”

   He turns his head then, and you see his left eye peer back at you, somehow giving you the feeling that he’s holding back a goodbye. And as you look back into that blue sphere, you realize you’re doing the same.    There’s a rumble from below which draws both of your attention, and you see an army of monsters start to emerge out of the ground.    Simon knows you’re here.

   Oberyn waits until the entire ground is littered with these unnatural beings before he swoops down over them, unleashing his fierce weapon, melting and electrocuting them by the millions in just one breath. Then he turns and does another pass, burying the castle under tons of lava.    And while your enemy is blinded as he’s forced to encapsulate himself within a cocoon of continuously dying black vegetation, the dragon lands and drops you off, taking to the skies again the moment he’s sure you’re not immediately overrun by surviving vines.

   It takes you a second to adjust, though. The air is thick and hard to breathe down here, and the ground doesn’t feel right when you walk. It’s like there’s no bedrock underneath the surface of it anymore. As though the darkness has corrupted the very crust of the Earth, turning it spongy and unstable. It feels like it’s gonna buckle under your weight at each step, while simultaneously seeming strangely elastic.

   A second is about as much as you get before there’s movement in your periphery and you duck on pure instinct, narrowly avoiding being cut in half by some kind of weaponized leaf.    Reminding yourself that movement is your ally, you get up and sprint about thirty yards before stopping to listen and gauge your surroundings. And sure enough, it only takes moments before there are beasts approaching you on two sides.

   One is eliminated when Oberyn makes another pass, keeping his flame just far enough from you to keep from harming you, so you refocus on the other one.    You’ve never tested your light in a combat situation before, never consciously attempted to use it as a weapon, but as the creature reaches you, stretching its tentacular arms towards you, it comes to you as easily as if you’d been practicing all your life.    Like a white laser, it beams out of your left hand, cutting through the air for hundreds of yards before it fades, and everything dark it touches is turned to glowing dust.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   The beam cuts through the dusky atmosphere as if it were the entire sun concentrated into just one narrow ray. It shines so brightly that even the ground it merely passes over is scorched with it, leaving a glowing yellow trail behind which seems to seep into the corrupted soil and intensify.    With each burst of light sprung from your hands in your continued battle, these streaks of embers are multiplied, until there is an entire grid of them around you.

   And once they have all spread their secondary effects far enough to reach one another, the whole grid becomes its own weapon, firing additional beams under the surface of the earth, which seem to infect the darkness at its roots.    Oberyn’s faith has been tested in these past few days, but as he watches you channel these powers, he finally begins to believe that this war will be won. He may have lost none of his faith in you on this journey, but his hope for a favorable outcome of this war has never been high.    And by favorable, he means of course that both of you will live to see the world reborn.

   On his next pass, he sees Simon emerging from the still melting remnants of his castle, and since he must keep the Darkling’s focus away from you while you hunt for the spirits, he sets down right in front of the former man.

   “Ah, yes. Of course. The great viper, Oberyn Nymeros Martell,” he smiles, looking up at the dragon with pure amusement, as if he were a child at a theme-park.

   But Oberyn is not amused, he is shocked. He has never been able to recall his full name, and now that he does, it drags up thousands of hidden memories within his mind, flooding his senses with them, overwhelming him to the point where he struggles to remain standing.

   “You didn’t think anyone alive today could possibly know anything about your history, did you? But there are ways to look into the past, if you know which energies to tap into.    Man, you were such a brat. Gave your brother Dorian the worst headaches trying to keep you in line so your father wouldn’t beat your ass to kingdom come.”

   Dorian… that was his name. The father of the tortured child he had so desperately tried to aid. And Mellario, his wife. They had bickered endlessly of what to name the boy, finally settling on Quentyn the day before the massacre.

   “How’s your head, Obe? Splitting I’d imagine, the way you’re trembling like a leaf. But then, you always were a coward.    Do you remember it yet? The battlefields of Dorne? The way you fled from them, from the limbs you’d severed and the blood you’d sent pouring into the sands. There was no pride in you then, and there still isn’t.”

   He does recall these things now. But it was not fear which had driven him from the fields of victory. It was sorrow. Because as a young man he had struggled to grasp the purpose of such slaughters. The reek of death had put a darkness within his heart that had ceaselessly made him question the validity of such actions. The supposed honor they garnered.

   “Look at you. Even with the great Tyrannus within you you’re still just as weak. I won’t even break a sweat defeating you.”

   “You think… knowing a few things about me gives you power over me?” he challenges the dark one, finally regaining his composure after the worst of the overload has faded. “I may not have been a viper before I became the dragon, but it was not due to any weakness.    I mourned the dead for the uselessness of their passing.”

   “No, you idiot. You mourned them because of your guilt, and that’s where I’ve already gotten past your defenses,” Simon gloats, and suddenly Oberyn feels something terrifyingly obvious become clear to him.

   Whether caused by fear, guilt or sorrow, there is darkness within his soul.    For all your efforts, your light has never reached him. Never flooded the cavities of doubts and insecurities he harbors, so deeply concealed.    A pain unlike anything he has ever experienced begins to spread through him when the tentacles which have ensnared his legs without his notice, begin to pump their venom into his blood.

   He tries to fight it. Tries with all his might to keep the darkness from corrupting his heart, but it is no use. The change has already begun. He can feel it spread, burning his insides like acid as it mutates him from within, until black spikes burst out of his armored scales, spewing oil over his white form in such thick layers that it buries the brightness.    And then it hits his brain, and everything he once was, all the memories he has just reclaimed, are swept away. Erased. And Oberyn Nymeros Martell is no more.

Part 12

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[birdylion]

coordinating helpers in first aid / CPR situations

** Disclaimer 1, I'm not a professional. I'm a layperson who's passionate about first aid and has been learning about cooperation in first aid situations. If any professional here has corrections to this, please add them. **

** Disclaimer 2, this can in no way be a full instruction for CPR itself. You have to learn and practice that in a class.**

In the First Aid classes I know, it is assumed that you are alone when someone goes into cardiac arrest or you find an unconscious person who needs CPR. That's because they want to train you to be able to do it when you are alone. But often, you aren't. You're on the bus, at the table with friends, or at work. In these classes, that's brushed aside with "make use of others and delegate tasks". But what does that mean, actually? Let's break that down.

When you're alone, the steps when you find an unconscious person are: 1. Talk to them, touch them, see if the react. If no: 2. Lay them down on a flat and hard surface, overflex their head (this frees the airway, which is otherwise blocked by the tongue) and hold your cheek over their mouth and nose for 6-10 seconds - do you hear & feel normal breathing? And watch their torso from this position, does it move when they breathe? If not, they need CPR. ¹ Time is of the essence here, and every minute counts! 3. Call for help around you, 4. Call an emergengy service, (4b. If you happen to have an AED really close by, grab it and follow its instructions) 5. start CPR and don't stop until the paramedics tell you to². To do that, you remove any clothing over the breast bone, and start the compressions. The recommended rhythm is 30 compressions, and then 2 mouth-to-mouth respirations. ³ And so on.

(¹ Current guidelines where I am don't recommend checking for a pulse.

² or the situation is too dangerous for you to keep going, or you and everyone else are physically completely exhaused

³ For those you again have to overextend the head. if the air doesn't go through on the first one, check again that the neck is extended back. If it doesn't go through then, go back to the chest compressions. Seriously. They are more important than the breathing.)

You can do some of these steps together – you can put your phone on speaker and make the call while you remove the clothing and start the compressions. But all in all, it's one step after the other, and you have to do everything ... or is it?

That's all assuming no one helps you. But what if they do?

Let's assume you are with others when someone goes into cardiac arrest. The key thing now is: All the tasks listed above still have to be done, but others can do stuff too, and more. It's just that someone needs to keep them in mind and make sure they get done.

How you go about that depends on who's with you, and how well you know their first aid and other skills.

/1. Check the breathing like described above. From the moment you know they need CPR, you say it out loud, and start removing the clothing. While you do that: Ask who knows how to do CPR, if you don't know already. Keep as many of those people around you as you can spare. You're going to need their help soon.

If someone knows how to do it, tell them to start. You will now stay close, but handle the organisational part. If the others aren't sure how it works, and you are, then you start the compressions. (Seeing you do it might remind them how it goes if they learned it years ago, and they can take over from you later.)

Starting CPR has the highest urgency right now: the heart isn't pumping blood anymore, so the brain doesn't get oxygen, and will start taking damage very soon. The compressions are a manual pump that helps move the blood and its oxygen, so the brain doesn't die. They don't restart the heart, they just make sure that the brain is still able to work once the heart is beating again. This is also why you never stop the compression-respiration-cycle. The moment you stop is the moment the timer for when the brain starts dying resets again.

If no one else takes control of the organisational part, you do that too:

/2. You tell someone to call the emergency service, and then to report back to you. Preferably someone who can tell them exactly where you are, and how to get there if that's not obvious. This is the next highest priority. It's actually the most important thing, because it's the most reliable way to actually save your patients life. If you're not doing compressions, you can make the phone call yourself.

The few seconds it takes to start CPR won't hold up the paramedics much, but they can make a difference for the brain, that's why you can start pumping first when you have enough people that someone else makes the call.

/3. If you have another person to spare, ask them to check if there's an AED nearby somewhere⁴. If you remember the location of an AED that's close, then tell the person where to get it. They're getting more common and often can be found in public areas, on official buildings, ... If there's one, ask the physically fittest and most able person to hurry (without endangering themselves) and retrieve it. During the time before the doctor arrives, an automatic external defibrilator is the only thing that might restart your patient's heart, and you want that as early as possible, because the chances that it actually does that get slimmer as time passes.

⁴ there are ways to check online, such as https://openaedmap.org They might not be complete, but better than nothing. Depending on your country there might be other pages and tools to check.

Once these two things are done, you have done everything you can at the moment to make sure effective help is on the way. Remember that you or someone else kept up the chest compressions during all of that. If you have a helper for it, now is the time to organise yourself so that you can keep up the CPR for as long as it needs.

It's best if you're at least two people for that: one does the compressions, one the breathing. The one who does the chest compressions counts in their head, and say the last few numbers out loud. For example "20 ... 25, 6, 7, 8, 9, 30" so the other person knows when to do the rescue breaths.

Doing chest compressions is tiring. If you're exhausted, you may lack the strength and endurance to do the compressions as deep as necessary in the right rhythm, and that means reduced (or no) blood flow, which means brain damage. So you take turns in doing the compressions so that no one is at it for too long. You usually switch after 5 cycles (2.5 minutes): the one who does the compressions then moves to do the breaths as well, and during that, the one who did the rescue breathing before (and has already moved to the side of the patient during the last cycle of chest compressions) now brings themself into position for the compressions, so that they can resume them immediately after the 2 breaths.

Once the phone call to emergency services is made, you have one person who's again free to do something. They can join the CPR (more people = you can keep it up longer), they can find other helpers and instruct them to lead the paramedics to where you are (especially if that's not obvious, like you're in a big building with lots of corridors, or on a path you can't see from the street, etc), or do that themselves. Especially when there's multiple ways to get where you are, and you have enough people, it's useful to put one at each possible avenue of approach. Paramedics can lose valuable minutes if they don't find your location. Also keep your phone close by, the emergency dispatcher might call you back with questions. Other things to organise and delegate: if the patient has relatives/friends close by who'd be in need of psychological support, ask a bystander to take care of them.

By now, someone might have brought an AED. They can open it and follow the instructions: they will put the electrodes on the body while the people doing CPR continue to do that. So there's now 2-3 people on the patient, and 1 organising how to get the professionals to your location as fast as possible.

The AED measure the heart rhythm. In some cases of cardiac arrest, there's an electrical signal in the heart that is not a heartbeat. What an electrical shock does is stop this signal, so there will first be a flatline, and over the next minute or two, the heart will try to find its rhythm again. That means: when the AED tells you that a shock is recommended, the person operating it makes sure nobody is touching the patient by telling everybody to keep away, checking visually, and then say "shock" and press the button. The device will also say out loud when it gives the shock. Now, the heart still doesn't beat, so the moment after the electrical shock, one of the helpers starts the chest compressions again. After 2.5 minutes (5 cycles), the device tells everybody to stop touching the patient again, and measures the heart rhythm again. That would be a good time to switch positions, so that someone fresh can do the chest compressions. You then use every one of these 'breaks' to cycle through the positions. That way, you all can keep it up for longer, because you have breaks in between.

Depending on where you are, it might take some time for the paramedics and emergency doctor to arrive. Now, the one who did the phone call and other organising has work to do again: to bring them to the scene, and brief the doctor what happened. They'll mostly want to know how long the CPR has been going on, and if you use an AED, if and how many shocks were administered. If they need / want more information, they'll ask for it.

Now, the patient is out of your hands. The paramedics will take over the CPR for you, and an emergency doctor may administer adrenaline, and they'll get the patient to the next hospital as quickly as possible.

Clean-up of the scene may vary depending on the situation and probably on the country, so I won't say more about it. In any case, make sure to check in with everyone who helped you. Are they okay? Do they want support? It's not your job to give that, but it doesn't hurt to ask, or to thank them for their help.

[professional-benaddict]

Stephen's dislocated shoulder - part 1

brainstormings with @dumb-bitch-starker 💗💗

part 2 - part 3

Neurosurgeon Stephen, Peter, dislocated shoulder, hospitals, whump, fluff

Stephen and Peter are on vacation in Hawaii and Stephen learns too late that he is too old for surfing. The poor doctor dislocates his shoulder and so the nightmare begins. 

A dislocated shoulder is very painful and Stephen only shuts up when he gets morphine from the paramedics. Peter feels awful for his boyfriend, but he also feels embarrassed with how Stephen cannot seem to stop criticising the paramedics the whole way to the hospital. He even comments on their driving skills. 

But, it does not stop there. At the ER, it turns out the doctor assigned to Stephen’s case is an old “friend” from Colombia. And even worse, they have a medical student with them. 

“Oh, you’ve never done this kind of setting, right? This is great.” The ER doctor says, gesturing for the medical student to set Stephen’s shoulder back in place. 

“Leonard, the only reason you passed Chem 301 is because I let you cheat off me! We were blood brothers and you’re not gonna do this do me!” 

“Stephen, we all had to learn the first time. So did you right? Aren’t you grateful to the patients you got to practice on? Someone’s gotta be the first.”  

“NO.”

Leonard ends up popping Stephen’s shoulder back in the end while the medical student watches keenly. Peter covers his ears in anticipation of the sickening pop of the joint, but turns out he has to protect his ears from Stephen’s scream of pain. Leonard gives him an annoyed look, but wishes Stephen a speedy recovery and a good surgery back home. Because he will need it to stabilise his shoulder properly. Stephen and Peter travel back home, in polar opposite spirits compared to when they left. They cannot wait to get out of Hawaii and back to New York. 

Stephen has to wear a sling for weeks, and also the four days leading up to his surgery. Peter quite enjoys taking care of his boyfriend and fussing about him. After all, Stephen has provided and care for Peter for a long time. It feels good to give back. 

Four days turns out to be a long time for the neurosurgeon to be on bedrest. And although it is nice that isn’t not his dominant hand that is hurt, Stephen usually jerks off with his non-dominant one. Besides, straining like that makes his shoulder hurt. 

“Would you chill the fuck out if I gave you head?” Peter has to ask this quite a few times in just four days. 

So, Peter is ever so helpful with getting his boyfriend off, and especially when he gets huffy and puffy. Nothing knocks Stephen out like a good orgasm and then being kissed by Peter. 

[megamindsupremacy]

Misc Marvel Fic Recs (part 7)

ghosts in the machine by hollimichele

History, Peggy has learned, never tells the whole story.

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romantic tomography by pigeonstatueconundrum

Remaining neutral about Eddie Brock was much easier in principle when he’s the unseen ex of your girlfriend, a little harder in practise when you’ve helped him through the worst week of his life.

“Pay up.” Anne flops down next to him on the couch two months later. They’re still fishing bits of the Life Foundation Rocket out of the Pacific, but no evil or chaotic neutral ex-terrestrial goo has been recovered. Supposedly.

Dan fishes the promised $20 out of his wallet, “He finally told you.”

Dr Dan Lewis would like to stop feeling like the third billed in the romantic comedy that is his life.

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call every girl we ever met maria by irnan

"You're telling me," Rhodey said, gleeful, "you're telling me that you've been shot, stabbed, sewn up, been riddled with shrapnel, had a magnet implanted in your chest, spent two years poisoning yourself with palladium, spent twenty years as a functioning alcoholic and had a vasectomy and you still managed to knock Pepper up?"

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decoys by littlerhymes

The serum makes Steve stronger, but not bigger. Instead of a superhero, he becomes a spy.

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Respectibility, Politics by brawltogethernow

Per the prompt, "the Spider-Man fic where anti-mutant bigots think JJ is one of them because of how he is about Spider-Man and he experiences no personal insight whatsoever in reaction to this but is so offended he dedicates the front cover of the Bugle to spotlighting the X-Men for like three days straight and Peter is keysmash feelings".

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Blips on the Record by ambivalentangst

Flash, let it be known, doesn’t like Peter. He’s too good at everything—infuriatingly so—and nobody ever calls him on his bullshit, like with AcaDec nationals. Flash has to put his all into everything he does for a fraction of the attention Peter gets for his bare minimum, and it pisses him off, to say the least, so sue him for looking for chances here and there to knock him down a peg.

However, when he notices, he shuts his entire operation down.

Maybe Peter has a decade on his age when he was in the thick of it, but Flash remembers what it was like. He gets having school be a safe place, and nobody, not even himself, is going to jeopardize that for Peter.

//

Flash Thompson’s story is not simple, Peter Parker can always use someone else in his corner, and secrets are had and protected by all.

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Far Out by Bergen

It all started the way it usually did; with Tony doubting his own sanity. “Happy,” he said, turning the paper over, then turning it back, squinting at it. “What the hell is this?” Happy barely glanced up from his phone. “How should I know? I just drive you around, I don’t try to understand your designs. You’re the one who left it in the back of the car yesterday.” Tony turned the paper towards Happy, tapping a finger against the scribbles in the margin. “I didn’t write that. I thought it, but I didn’t write it. What sorcery is this?” “Oh shit, sorry,” Happy said, expression resigned. “I’m guessing the kid went through them when I drove him to school this morning. He has no regard for personal boundaries.” “The kid.” “Um— My girlfriend, she has a—“ “Your stepson did these calculations?” “That’s not entirely—“ “Bring him to me,” Tony commanded.

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Where the Need is Greatest by Niitza

In which Steve Rogers takes one look at the history of American military interventions since the end of World War II and nopes straight out of it, follows in his Ma's footsteps to become a paramedic, joins Doctors Without Borders, gets sent on an unsanctioned humanitarian mission to Syria, and somehow still ends up being a determining factor in Hydra's downfall - all of this without throwing a single punch.

Somehow, he's okay with it.

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If you wanna be my lover (you gotta get with my friends) by mindshelter

MJ still remembers Ned’s initial disbelief when Peter—infamous for missing class back in sophomore year, suspended for two weeks freshman year—finished his bit of the group write-up four days early. The work was perfect, and so was Ned's chemistry grade. After that it was Peter this, Peter that, Peter parted the Red Sea, it’s true, MJ, I was there; I saw it. MJ, hey, are you listening?

Then Ned says, “We should invite Peter to join AcaDec.”

or;

peter isn’t rock bottom on midtown’s social ladder; he’s underground. friendless, rumoured to get into street fights. ned declares him bestie material anyway, and mj catches feelings.

she also meets tony stark(?) in foodtown, of all places, and makes a spider-man(??) sighting.

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Cannon Fodder by KieraSayre

During the war, Steve and Bucky get stuck with press duty. Sometimes reporters are racist assholes. The Howling Commandos decide to take this as an opportunity to get creative.

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you had your soul with you by napricot

Three timelines and a Reverse Time Heist.