#I’ve been so swamped lately I know I haven’t been interacting much and that breaks my heart

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Y’all want a Sarge update tomorrow? 👀

[katedoesfics]

Lacuna | Chapter 5

It took the rest of the week for Kahli to finish the bridge to Amber Island, with some assistance from Arlo. But when all was said and done, she felt a sense of accomplishment as she admired her work.

When she returned home that evening, however, she found that Huss and Tuss had returned, waiting for her in front of the house just as they promised. Huss greeted her immediately as she approached them.

“How do you do, Kahli? Do you have the money to pay off your debts?”

Kahli crossed her arms. “I know who you are.”

Huss’s gaze narrowed on her. “Oh, you do, do you?” He cracked his knuckles threateningly. “You should know, I’m not afraid to hit a woman.”

Kahli grinned. “Neither am I.”

“You should be,” Arlo’s voice sneered. He trotted up on his horse, and Huss and Tuss immediately backed away. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble around here?”

“We’re not afraid of you,” Huss hissed.

Arlo slid off his horse, and without another word, the troublesome brothers squealed and took off running down the road.

Kahli turned to Arlo expectantly. “Aren’t ya gonna chase ‘em down, cowboy?”

“Cowboy?”

Kahli rolled her eyes. “You Civil Corps sure do a good job around here.”

“Did you really think you were going to fight them?”

“I may be worthless with a hammer, but I can throw a punch, you know.”

Arlo crossed his arms. “I’d like to see that.”

“Alright, tough guy,” Kahli taunted. She punched her fist into her palm. “Let’s go. I can kick your ass.”

Arlo laughed. “That’s adorable.”

“Afraid?”

“I don’t fight damsels in distress.”

Kahli scoffed. “That’s ‘cuz you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you.”

Arlo shook his head.

“What if I was a big baddie? If I attacked you? Brought a hammer up to your neck?” She made a slicing motion across her neck.

“I’d be more concerned for your thumb.”

Kahli narrowed her gaze on him and smiled. “Me too.”

Arlo laughed. “I’ll keep an eye on things, but please stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Is that why you’re in the Corps?” Kahli asked. “So you can creep on all the pretty ladies?”

Arlo smirked and got back on his horse. “Maybe,” he said, turning his horse around and trotting back into town.

Kahli blushed and turned away, but it didn’t matter; Arlo was already out of sight. She turned her attention back to her workshop; she already had another commission lined up. This one was from Dawa with a request to help fix a section of fencing at the tree farm. An easy job, far easier than her attempt to build the bridge. She figured it would only take a couple hours to do, so she opted to save the job for the next day, turning in for the night for some much needed rest.

In the morning, as she was puttering around in her workshop, a cheery faced peered around the door. When Kahli met the young woman’s gaze, she stopped and offered her visitor a smile in greeting.

“Hey, there,” she said. “Sorry to bother ya.” She stepped into the workshop. “I’m Sam. We haven’t officially met yet, but I’ve heard a lot about you already!”

Kahli raised a brow. “You have?”

“Sure,” she said cheerfully. “From Presley and Gale, and a lot from Arlo.”

“Arlo?”

“Yeah! He sent me to check in with you. Make sure you’re alright and all. Heard you tried to take on Huss and Tuss! You know, they may be idiots, but they’re not afraid to break some limbs to get what they want. Be careful who you try to fight around here.”

“Because I’m just a builder?”

“Fair enough. Guess I don’t know you that well yet. But still. It’s my job to protect people around here, yeah? I’m all for defending yourself, but just make sure you know what you’re getting into, first.” She put her hands on her hips proudly. “I could show ya a thing or two if you want!”

“I might take you up on that,” Kahli said.

“Alright! Hey, if you’re good enough, maybe we could get you into the Corps! I could use another female around here!”

“Tell Arlo I want you defending my honor next time.”

Sam winked at her. “Us women gotta stick together, right?” She saluted Kahli playfully. “Alright, everything looks good here. I’ll tell Arlo I found Huss and Tuss bleeding out at your feet. I’ll make it real exciting!” She laughed. “He probably won’t believe me for a second, but could you imagine his face? Ha! Alright, see ya around, Kahli!”

Sam waved to Kahli as she stepped out of the workshop, leaving Kahli alone, her lips twisted to the side as she pondered over Sam’s words. It seemed odd to think that Arlo was talking about her. Probably telling everyone how incapable she was as a builder. Her cheeks warmed in frustration at this thought, and she quickly turned back to work. At the very least, she could probably redeem herself by helping Dawa and Aadit at the tree farm.

It was nearing noon when Kahli found herself at the tree farm, patching the whole in the fence to the relief of Dawa and Aadit. But they weren’t about to let her leave without giving her another job.

“I don’t know why, but the panbats have been coming out of the swamp and into the farm since last month,” Dawa said.

“We’ve tried everything already,” Aadit continued. “Fire, water, you name it, but they just won’t go away. The Civil Corps came by the other day and they’re just as clueless as we are.”

“They have been sucking nutrients and poisoning our trees. Look at them - the leaves are turning brown. Is there something you can do?”

“We tried talking to Higgins,” Addit added, “but he’s afraid of the panbats and won’t help us.”

Kahli smirked. “Of course he is,” she muttered. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

She didn’t know much about panbats or how to get rid of them, so finding a solution would require someone more knowledgeable than her. She hadn’t formally introduced herself to Petra or Merlin yet, so now seemed as good a time as any. She was hopeful they may be able to help her come up with something.

As she walked to the research center, she watched the people around her. For the last week, she studied them quietly, getting to know their routines and how they interacted with one another. As an outsider, it was easy to see the relationships they shared with one another, and she couldn’t help her curiosity. She was sure, in time, she would get to know them all, but she enjoyed watching from afar.

On her walks through town, she had already gathered a few bits of information. From time to time, she would see Antoine watching Dr. Xu from afar. She had gotten familiar with Albert, stopping to chat with him a few times. It was almost unavoidable since his shop with Gust was right in the center of town. Gust hardly said two words to her, but Albert was always eager to speak with her, showering her with compliments when the opportunity presented itself. She wasn’t used to the attention, and she paid no mind to him in the beginning. But after leaving the ruins a few times, she saw him acting the same wa with Sonia and Phyllis, and it became clear to Kahli that he was just a flirt.

She often saw Sam, too, patrolling the town, and Sam was always eager to stop and say hello. And, to Kahli’s surprise, on one particularly late night, she caught a glimpse of Nora and Arlo together. They weren’t doing anything, but it seemed odd for them to be hanging out as late as it was. And so far from prying eyes, too, at the edge of town. She couldn’t help but to wonder if there was something between them.

Despite her people watching, there were still a few people she had yet to meet, and Petra and Merlin were among those. She felt bad she was only getting to introduce herself now, but the bridge had completely occupied her first week in Portia. It was about time she get down to the research center, and when she entered, she looked around in awe. A dark skinned woman greeted her first with a smile, then spoke.

“You must be Kahli,” she said. “You’re a new face around here, so I just assumed. I’m Petra. Glad to see you made it our way.” Her head cocked to the side. “Or, are you only here because you need something?”

“People only visit us when they need something,” the older woman from the back of the room said over her shoulder.

Petra grinned. “That’s Merlin. What can we help ya with?”

Kahli frowned slightly, biting her lower lip. “Well, I just came to say hi.”

Petra laughed. “No you didn’t. But that’s okay, I know you’ve been busy. I saw the bridge you built to Amber Island. Nice work with that.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks. Just don’t walk over it.”

“Well, that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

Kahli shrugged. “To be fair, I never told anyone I knew what I was doing.”

“That’s reassuring,” Merlin remarked over her shoulder.

“Well, you’re trying,” Petra said. “Gotta give ya credit for that, hm?”

“I am,” Kahli said. “And now apparently I need to help fix the tree farm.”

Petra frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“They’ve got a panbat infestation,” Kahli explained. “Need something to get rid of them.”

Petra thought about this for a moment. “Hmm. I’m not sure.” She barked over her shoulder. “Director! Do you know anything that might stop a panbat?”

Merlin finally turned to face them, no longer burried in her work. “Of course my dear. Panbats are very sensitive to sound. If you make some sort of sound amplifier, you’ll be able to scare those poor things away in no time.”

Petra nodded in agreement. “I might have an old diagram lying around for something like that.” She turned to a table and flipped through some scattered pages before finally pulling one out and handing it to Kahli. “Here. This should help ya.”

Kahli thanked them, then returned home with the diagram. She spent the rest of the afternoon working on the device, and by evening, Emily had stopped at the fence on her way home. She leaned against it as Kahli emerged from her workshop and grinned.

“So, you and Arlo have been hanging around a lot,” she said.

Kahli wiped her hands on her pants, sensing where Emily was going already. “We have?”

“I see him checking up on you.”

“I think that’s called doing his job,” Kahli pointed out. “Sam checks on me too, yanno.”

But Emily chose to ignore her. “And hanging out at the bridge.”

“Helping me when I jammed my thumb,” Kahli corrected.

“You guys have this weird back and forth.”

“It’s called conversation.”

“You like him,” she sang. “You think he’s cute!”

“I think you need a punch in the face.”

“Arlo and Kahli, sitting in a tree -”

“Shut up!” Kahli quickly placed her hands over Emily’s mouth and Emily laughed.

“What’s the matter? Afraid someone will hear?”

“You spew lies,” Kahli hissed.

“Oh, come on.” Emily turned to put her back against the fence, then leaned backwards, looking at Kahli upside down. “What’s wrong with being attracted to someone?”

“I’m attracted to no one.”

“Liar.”

Kahli narrowed her gaze on Emily. “I’m not here to fuck around.”

“Why not?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m just doing my job as best friend.”

“Your job?”

“Getting you laid.”

“I don’t need to get laid.”

“When was the last time?”

Kahli hesitated. She glanced to the side, silently calculating.

“Exactly,” Emily said. She straightened and faced her. “There are some good looking men around here.”

“You know I’m the new girl,” Kahli reminded her. “I can’t exactly go on someone else’s turf.”

“Who’s turf?” She brightened. “What do you know?”

Kahli shrugged. “I don’t know anything. But I see things. I suspect things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’ve seen Albert flirting with a different woman every day.”

“Everyone knows he’s a womanizer,” Emily confirmed with a nod.

“And I think Antoine’s got it bad for Dr. Xu.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah, I’ve always thought that, too.”

“What about Arlo and Nora?”

Emily paused in thought, then grinned. “Why do you wanna know?”

“I don’t,” Kahli hissed. “I’m just telling you what I’ve seen.”

Emily shook her head. “I don’t think they’re a thing.”

“No?”

“Maybe Nora likes him.” Emily shrugged. “I dunno.”

“You don’t think he likes her?”

Emily grinned. “You’re really digging.”

Kahli rolled her eyes. “Whatever. So what?”

“Just admit it!”

“Oh my god, Emily,” Kahli said in falsetto. “He’s like, so freaking hot, I wanna have his babies!”

To Kahli’s dismay, the sound of trotting hooves silenced her quickly, and she and Emily turned to see Arlo, Remington, and Sam leaving the center of town.

“Ladies,” Sam said with a nod as they passed, and the three officers stopped for a moment.

“Sam,” Emily said in greeting. “Rem.” She met Arlo’s gaze and grinned. “Arlo.”

Silence fell between the five of them for a painfully long moment.

“Uh,” Sam started. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Kahli said quickly.

“We’re talking about hot men,” Emily said.

“Oh!” Sam started. “My turn! Dr. Xu!”

“Oh, he’s so dreamy,” Arlo said. He rolled his eyes.

“What about me?” Remington said. “I’m dreamy, right?”

Emily grinned. “Rem, my man, you are by far the dreamiest of all the men in the Free Cities.”

“Aw, Em, I always knew we had something special.”

Emily turned to Kahli expectantly, and suddenly, all eyes were on her.

“I have a… hammer… to build… “

“Felt like flattening your other thumb?” Arlo said with a grin.

“Don’t you have a job to do or something?” Kahli sneered.

“Right,” Arlo said. “I’m a cowboy or something, apparently.”

Sam laughed loudly. “Yeah, alright, man. What’s a cowboy do? Rope some cattle?”

“That’s offensive to the cowboy community,” Emily laughed.

“Yeah, Sam, seriously,” Arlo played along.

“If the four of you don’t mind,” Kahli said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Come on,” Arlo said, taking the reins in hand. “Guess we gotta go rope some cattle or something.” He winked at Kahli before leading his team away.

“You will regret this,” Kahli sneered at Emily. “When you least expect it. I will have my revenge.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily said, waving her off. “And when you two get married, I’m going to mention this moment in my maid of honor toast.” She backed away from the fence, keeping her gaze on Kahli and grinned. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” she sang.

[cowplant-pizza]

Get Famous Q+A

1. @cowconuts:

So many people are kind of iffy that the world is too small and too detailed for the amount of lots we get.  What are your thoughts about the world?  Many discussed that it feels like a game pack, rather than an expansion pack.  But I'd like to know what you actually like about the pack.  Like, the thing that would make you buy it? (If there is anything.)

Okay so, I want to be totally honest with you guys. I was personally underwhelmed by the world when I opened my game. It was actually something i wrote down in my little notepad when I was making notes about my opinions to write about later. There is only 1 empty lot to choose from when you start and its 50x40 that costs around $9,000. Imo, that is waaaay too big and way too much for what I guess is the starter lot in this world. However, I think there is so much detail in the world’s enviroment that I think I understand. Normally gaming companies will have to choose between two things on which to spend their resources so I guess they chose the enviroment instead of the amount of lots. BUT, I do understand this in a sense because people normally only play with one family per save with legacys or challenges and stuff, and with the ability to have as many saves as you want (or as your computer lets you lol) then I don’t really see it as that big of a problem because I’ll need to play at least about 11 saves before I’ve explored every lot in the world. That’s my opinion on it anyway.

As for my reason for buying this, I think it really adds a whole dimention of gameplay that we sort of needed in the game. It adds new interaction with things such as busking and dj’ing, and gives your sim an actual reason to do these things instead of just leveling the skill for a personality reason if that makes sense? The only thing I sort of felt missing from this is that pre existing townies like Penny Pizzazz and Bob Pancakes don’t already have celebrity status even though in their lore they are considered to be well known. So idk, maybe that’s something they could’ve added but I also think that might be a nice thing for you to do yourself!

2. @izysims:

Do you have an insight on the build/buy? The world is dismally small so hopefully we can at least make it beautiful.  Also what you not get famous from? I know retail you can’t but what else? Can you get famous from a restaurant?

Build and Buy is 50/50 for me. I think that the furniture set that was added into the game is super cute and I will use it a lot. It has a nice aesthetic like Laundry Day stuff. However the lack of clutter was dissapointing for me. I would’ve loved to see more of that stuff, like trophies or medals ect. Also there is nothing for children and toddlers so.. I was very shocked at that!

I’m honestly not sure what you can’t get famous from because it seems like you can get famous from a lot of things! I will let you know if I find anything though :)

3. @sweettartfish:

is being a celebrity worth it overall? i remember playing ts3 late night and eventually regretting becoming famous because of all the paparazzi with bad AI. of course they would still be intrusive, that’s the point, but still. i don’t really want to have to dodge even more random paparazzi if their mechanics aren’t very good. also, how do you feel about the actual celebrity skill mechanic? how are the “perks” and “quirks” ?

Right now my Sim is only on the first level of being famous after about 6 hours of playing. That’s partially because I’ve been editing and trying to find everything for you, and as of right now there are no paparazzi. Although walking around and seeing bigger celebs, I have noticed that there are always paparazzi swamping them. However you do have the option to opt your Sim out of being a celebrity or turing off celebrities altogether!

The celeb quirks seem very interesting tbh. I wrote them all down for you! I haven’t included the descriptions though because I feel like they are pretty self explanitary. 

Group 1: [lvl 1] Noticable - [lvl 2] Celebusim - [lvl 3] Established Name - [lvl 4] Career Hopper - [lvl 5] Easy Street

Group 2: [lvl 1] Networking - [lvl 2] PR Agency - [lvl 3] Fan Favourite - [lvl 4] Instant Besties - [lvl 5] Squad

Group 3: [lvl 1] Corportate Partnership - [lvl 2] Influencer - [lvl 3] All Nighter - [lvl 4] Trailblazer - [lvl 5] Lifestyle Brand

Good (only available at lvl 3): [1] Giving Back - [2] Rally! - [3] Star Treatment

Bad (only available at lvl 3): [1] Who’s Bad - [2] Play the Villain - [3] Feud Bringer

4. @sinister-simister:

Is Get Famous compatible with other packs? For example Pets, can pets get famous by social media? Are sims followed by paparazzi when walking, or only when they are in a specific location (restaurant, home)? Can you completely lose your fame if you dont keep on posting/acting/ect? Do traits influence the fame of a specific sim by any means? Are a famous sim's relatives, famous too? Does the update with the first person game camera help/influence get famous by any means?

1. I think GF is compatible in the idea that Sims can become famous from actions introduced by other packs. However there were no CAS or Build/Buy items for Pets and I am yet to test if they can become famous, but I doubt it.

2. Sims are followed on Lots definitely. I have seen them both in Del Sol Valley and San Myshuno so far but have not seen any on my lot, however I am a low level celeb right now!

3. Yes you can lose your fame. My sim got to level 1 fame after getting promoted to Level 3 Acting career, then the next morning it said her spotlight is fading! 

4. I think that some traits might influence your fame slightly. Being mean will get you a bad reputation and being good will get you a good reputation. There’s also a new trait with the EP so I’m asuming that it might make getting famous slightly easier with whims and quirks.

5. I became best friends with a celebrity and did not have any influence from them. However I do remember in the trailer they said that children can be famous from having famous parents. I’m not sure how far that goes in the sense of siblings or romantic partners though.

6. I haven’t tried it out because it makes me motion sick but no it will not have any influence.

5. @cowberrys:

are the paparazzi really annoying like they were in ts3 or are they pretty easy to avoid if you don't want to be seen? 💕

I’m honestly not sure I’m sorry! I know there is a famous people’s club in one of the bars and the paparazzi are not allowed in there.

6. @artsysimming:

How detailed is the acting career? Like do we get to choose the movies/acting we do or are they just randomly assigned jobs and whims like with the Get to Work careers?

You can choose one of two agencies to begin with that slightly changes your playstyle from the very first level. I thought this was really cool. The acting career is pretty slow and costly to get into however. You basically get the job, then check the auditions from your work tab. You’re given some options telling you the pay and the skills you should probably level to help you through the audition. Once you select an audition you then have a whole day to prepare. You go to the auditiopn the next day at 7pm. If you get through you then have another whole day (well, 2 technically) to prepare for the filming. You do not get paid for the audition, so between shooting, money can get reaaaally tight. I made a starter house of about $18,000 and on my audition day I was down to $60 and had had to sell a load of things in order to afford a guitar (my audition needed guitar level 2). However it’s actually quite fun? And something I have found very tough when playing ts4 is that I’ve felt like all they do is spend their time at work! So it’s actually a very nice break from working 24/7. You do attend the shooting with your Sim if you want to (like a normal interactive career) and that’s super cute. 

[kakasaku-shipper]

Natural Progression (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3

Kakashi sipped his sake quietly through his mask as he watched Tsunade chugged her 10th bottle of the night. He was really impressed - Tsunade should be the same age as his parents and she still managed to pull such a feat. And he knew for a fact that Tsunade must have gone wild yesterday, when alcohol was free for all. He wondered about how her liver was coping, but reminded himself that she was the best medic the shinobi world have ever seen, so that should be the least of anyone’s worry.

“So Hatake,” Tsunade began. “When can you start?”

“I believe that there are still things I should learn before taking over..”

“Bullshit,” Tsunade cut him while fixing him a glare.“ I know that you know all there were to know about being a Hokage. You’ve basically shadowed Minato throughout his whole stint, and you know all there were to know about the village’s secrets and innerworkings. You were the ANBU captain, and you are still deeply entrenched in their affairs. You’ve investigated Root to the core after Danzo’s death. Hell, you probably know more than I do about most of the shinobi in the active roster, and I knew you always read the file of whichever shinobi was assigned to be your partner,” she said with an accusing look. It was a hefty, very punishable offense to intrude on someone’s personal file without the Hokage’s order, but the fact that all the Hokages since Minato had allowed him that leeway meant something. Kakashi knew that Minato was lenient just because he was his student, and Hiruzen.. The old Hokage did try to groom him into a potential candidate, since both Jiraiya and Tsunade’s whereabouts were unknown, and the possibility of Danzo rising to power was just too terrifying and destabilising.

“I haven’t found everything there is to know about Root yet,” Kakashi replied quietly.

“Do you think there is a need to investigate before you take up the position?”

“Yes. I believe investigating it and uprooting the organisation now would be for the best. I have more flexibility, and if anything should happen, you can still cover up for me. It will look better on the Hokages track record..” Kakashi hummed with an innocent smile.

At his words, Tsunade snorted and put her sake bottle away. “Smartass, you sound more and more like your dad each day..”

“Ah..”

“Are you still affected by what happened?” Tsunade asked gently. Any trace of drunken stupor was gone as she stared at him intently.

“No.. Not really,” Kakashi said softly. After a deafening pause that seemed to go on forever, Kakashi cleared his voice and started again, “I had a talk with him.”

Tsunade was quiet. She had burning questions to ask, when? what happened? how? But she knew that he needed space. When he was ready to talk, he will. If he was willing to talk to her about this.

“During Pein’s attack, I died.” Kakashi spoke, as he reached for a bottle instead of his sake cup. He took a sip of the poisonous, flammable liquid. The burning sensation and the buzz was good. “In what seemed like the afterlife, I met Otou-san. We talked.”

Tsunade’s continued silence and complete attention prompted him to go on. “He apologised for what he did, for leaving me. And I.. I have forgiven him for a long time.” Kakashi took a big gulp. He needed more buzz. “I told him that, and also how proud I was at him. For doing what he did, for not abandoning a comrade,” Kakashi finished as he emptied the bottle he was holding.

“Your father was a good man,” Tsunade said. “He was stronger than me, and smarter than Orochimaru. He was a gentleman too, unlike Jiraiya,” Tsunade reminisced, her last sentence barely above a whisper.

“Ah..”

“Do you remember much about him?”

“I remembered him always being present in my life. Despite his missions, I felt that he was always.. there. I don’t know how he does it but he was a good father,” Kakashi mused as he swirled his now empty bottle. It felt nice, to finally being able to talk about his father. He had thought that with Jiraiya dead, there was no one else he could talk about him with.

“Gaki, if you buy me more sake, I may just share more stories about him,” Tsunade said teasingly. Her tone was playful, but Kakashi could see her softening features, something that almost never happened with the current Hokage.

“I’ll be looking forward to it then, Hokage-sama,” Kakashi said as he got up from his table. He left a few ryo bills before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“Brat,” Tsunade muttered with a smile, as she opened and chugged another bottle. Kakashi was one of his most trusted soldiers, just after Shizune and Sakura. Seeing him having life returning to his eyes was a good thing. She did not know how he was like in his youth, but that sparkle that he had, that she had only seen when he was still a kid had been missing for a long, long time. She was glad that her friend’s son was finally getting back on track.

…

As Sakura’s double shift was ending, Kakashi decided to buy her some food. He knew that she will not be eating during her shift or between the shifts, as she was too busy and too in-demand to catch any breaks. After purchasing an assortment of tempuras; three pieces of fried ebi, two matsutake mushrooms, two pumpkins, a piece of carrot, lotus root and bamboo shoot each, and also what seemed to be a diabetes inducing syrupy dango, he headed towards the hospital. Just as he was walking out of the dango shop, a soft voice greeted him, “Good afternoon, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Hinata-chan,” Kakashi greeted. “A shift, or visiting Neji?”

“Both,” Hinata replied softly. “I’m currently filling in more shifts because Ino-chan still needed some time to herself.”

“Ah..” That explains why Sakura was so swamped at work. Ino was afterall, the second best medic in her generation after Sakura. “How is Neji?”

“Nii-san is stable. He hasn’t woken up yet but according to Tsunade-sama and Sakura-san, he should be waking up in a few days,” Hinata answered softly.

“You know Hinata-chan, Neji-kun will not be happy if he knows that you are still blaming yourself. He did protect you out of his own volition. It is not your fault,” Kakashi reminded.

“I know that, Kakashi-sensei. It’s just that.. if I was stronger, if I was more useful..”

“You were useful during the war, and you are strong. Besides, Neji-kun will be fine, wouldn’t he?” Kakashi asked as his eyes creased into his trademark smile.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei,” Hinata said gratefully. “Is that lunch for Sakura-san? I could take it to her..”

“Maa.. She probably needs to be dragged away from her work, and I think you’re too nice to scold her for working to hard..”

Hinata giggled at that. “She only listens to Tsunade-sama..”

“Or threats involving telling Tsunade that she has been overworking.”

Hinata laughed at his words. “Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

“You already thanked me, Hinata-chan,” Kakashi said bemusedly.

Hinata was glad that she had bumped into Kakashi. Despite never really talking to him much, she had known from observing others’ interactions with him that Kakashi seemed to always know what to say in any situations. She did feel so much better after Kakashi’s reassurance that Neji’s almost fatal injury was really not because of her incompetence. And it was also really nice to finally be able to laugh again.

After a few minutes of walking in a companionable silence, Hinata braved herself to ask the burning questions she had had since she had peeked into the contents of the take-out Kakashi was holding.

“Ano.. Sensei? Can I ask a question?”

“You’re asking it now aren’t you?” Kakashi asked teasingly, amusement clearly sparkling in his eyes.

“Ah.. ano..” Hinata blushed as she did not have a response. As she was silently berating herself for saying something so stupid, Kakashi’s chuckle broke her thoughts. As she saw his encouraging look, Hinata tried again, “How do you know that those are exactly what Sakura-san always gets?”

“The same reason you know her exact order. I don’t think she eats anything else,” Kakashi said conspiringly.

With a laugh, Hinata bowed at Kakashi as she turned into Neji’s ICU room while Kakashi continued his trek towards Sakura’s office.

“One minute!” Sakura bellowed at the knocks on her door. She was so swamped with work. It wasn’t until ten minutes ago that she had finally been able to sit down in her 16 hours shift. And now she had to organise her patients’ files after writing down as much details as she could remember. As for the things she had forgotten, she had scribbled little notes for the interns to follow up and ask the patients on the details she had missed…

“Your shift is over,” Kakashi’s reminded as he set her late lunch on her desk.

“I know.. It’s just that I still have these to be sorted. Details to write down, and organising the stack back alphabetically..” Sakura mumbled as she glanced at the food he brought. She could feel her stomach rumbling when she caught a whiff on the delicious smell of the food.

“Get the interns to organise it.”

“But we’re very understaffed right now, even the interns are busy..” Sakura pouted. She would usually gladly delegate such menial tasks, but there was no one to delegate to with the hospital overflowing with patients.

With a sigh, Kakashi slowly pushed himself off the door frame he was leaning on. “All you need is for that pile on the floor to be organised alphabetically, right?” Kakashi asked as he walked towards the mess of papers on the floor. Sakura had picked up Tsunade’s bad habit of laying important documents on the floor, disorganised, only for someone else to put them back on order. As Sakura’s head bobbed absentmindedly in response to his question, Kakashi sat on the floor and began to sort through the files.

“You don’t have to do that, sensei! I can do it once I’ve finished writing.. ” Sakura squeaked as she realised what he was doing. She was really glad for his help, but she felt really bad making Kakashi work on something he didn’t have to. Plus, he already bought her lunch..

“Don’t worry about it,” Kakashi said as his eyes creased. “While the medics are busy, ordinary shinobi have nothing better to do than to get drunk, get into brawls or read porn..” At Sakura’s stiffening posture and redness of her cheeks, Kakashi smirked as he counted to three, when Sakura finally fixed him with a glare that would be terrifying if not for how red her face was. “Would you like me to read Icha-Icha here instead?” Kakashi asked innocently.

Sakura huffed and get back to her work. “Organise the file,” Sakura told him briskly. Kakashi chuckled in response as he continued to stack the files in order.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei,” Sakura said gratefully as she handed the last file. Kakashi hummed in acknowledgement as he stood up, arms full of papers.

As Sakura reached for her stethoscope and looped it around her neck, Kakashi spoke, “What are you doing, Sakura?”

“I’m just going for one last round.”

“Go home,” Kakashi ordered as he placed the stack of papers on her desk and plucked the stethoscope from her.

“But..”

“No buts, go home.”

“Kakashi-sensei!”

“Go home or I’ll tell Tsunade.”

“You can’t do that!” Sakura complained indignantly. Tsunade will wring her neck and strap her into a bed on forced time off.

“I can, and I will if you don’t go home now.”

“But..”

“Hinata’s here. And I saw Shizune when I came up.” Kakashi said as he continued to stare down at her.

“Fine.” Sakura sighed as she took off her white coat and placed it around her chair. As she was reaching for the take-out Kakashi had gotten her, Sakura staggered, and a hand shot up to hold on to her elbow to steady her.

Go find Naruto on your way home.” Kakashi advised as he took a closer look on her face. While she looked perfectly fine on the surface, he saw her slightly dilated pupil and stiffness on her upper and lower eyelids, which caused her eyes to be open slightly wider than its normal size. “Get Naruto to transfer some chakra for you, and just how many hyorogans have you had?”

“I only had two,” Sakura answered in a petulant tone. At Kakashi’s unbelieving stare and a raise of eyebrow, Sakura sighed, “I didn’t count. Maybe I had five or six..”

"Why did you need so many? I thought you said that most patients were stable?"

"Two teams returned severely injured yesterday. A group of nuke-nin tried to incite a rebellion in one of Fire's border near Wave since they thought that Konoha would not even have enough intelligence personnel to know of their activities," Sakura said with a sigh. "So among other things, I had to put back a lot of innards into place."

"Hmm.. Were they poisoned too? Wave shinobi are famous for it," Kakashi cringed as he recalled their first mission in wave.  

At Sakura's nod, Kakashi sighed as he placed a hand on top of her head. No wonder she was exhausted. He knew that dealing with poisons were troublesome and very tiring. “Go find Naruto now. I won’t tell Tsunade this time, but the next time I caught you taking three times the recommended amount, I’ll haul you personally to her and watch as she wring your neck.”

Sakura gave him a wry look as she hoisted both the take out and her bag into her forearm. She nodded at his salute as he walked off to drop the files at the nurse station, while she dragged her feet towards the hospital exit. Kakashi was right, as he always was. She really needed the extra chakra she could get Naruto to give her.

…

A/N:

1. Neji’s death is the most ridiculous death in Naruto, because I don’t see the need and much of the impact, since it is not explored in the series. And since Neji is well loved, why not let him live in this fic? :)

2. I think poisons will take a lot of effort to deal with. Because you have to extract it from pretty much every cells in the body and it’s going to be a long and exhaustive process. That’s why antidotes are more effective. I’d assume that since the teams were brought in for emergency, Sakura would have to start on the extraction process while identifying the process and wait for someone to concoct the antidote.

[dantesunbreaker]

Doc x Reader

Gosh, I love Doc so much! I’ve got a bunch of other requests I’m working on, but the next one posted will be a NSFW part 2 to the Thatcher post I made a while ago. Well, at least if everything goes according to plan.

For once, it is actually peaceful and quite at the Rainbow Six headquarters, seeing as all the operators currently present are enjoying their tine not away on missions by relaxing. All expect of Doc, who is cooped up in his office, slaving away over mounds of paperwork. Y/n walks past the doorway, spying him hunched over his desk as he works all alone. They hate to see him being swamped in work while everyone else, including themself are free to relax and do as they please. Making a decision, Y/n gently taps against the wooden door frame with their knuckles. Surprised, Doc sits up straight and turns to investigate.

“Oh, it is just you Y/n,” he sighs in relief, giving them a small smile as he turns slightly back towards his work. “Is there something you need? Or did you just stop by for a visit? Unfortunately, I’m a bit busy, so I’m not sure I’d be great company if that is the case.”

“Actually,” Y/n steps further into the room, “I came to see if you could use any help. You shouldn’t have to be the only one on the base that is working. Plus l enjoy your company, Gustave,” This seems to further surprise him, and causes a slight blush to spread across his cheeks, but he gives an appreciative sigh. All the work puts constant strain on him, so he is glad to receive any assistance.

“Merci. Your help would be very appreciated,” Doc clears a spot on his desk for them to work, pulling up another chair that was resting in the corner of the room.

Y/n quickly reassures him it is alright, happily accepting the paperwork Doc hands them, ready to get to work. Briefly, he explains what information needs to go on each form, but reassures them that it is mostly self explanatory. He made sure to give them the easier documents. Thanking Y/n once again, the French man sits back down to work on his now smaller stack of papers.

Together, both operators get through everything rather quickly, although it is still several hours later when they finally finish. It is almost evening, and soon everyone will head to the mess hall for dinner. Sighing, Doc pushes his chair away from his desk and opens up one of the lower drawers. Y/n is a bit surprised when he pulls out a bottle a wine, which they notice is nearly three fourths empty, and two glasses.

“What?” Doc asks in a teasing tone as he sees the expression on their face. “A little wine doesn’t hurt anyone. Sometimes it helps me get through the long nights of paperwork just like this.” He tilts one glass towards Y/n, silently asking if they would like some as well. They nod.

Filling both glasses nearly to the brim, Doc hands one to Y/n as he turns his chair to face them, sitting down with his own drink in hand. They each take a small sip. Y/n hopes that perhaps the alcohol will calm their nerves. For a long time, Y/n has secretly been in love with the French doctor, but has always been too afraid to mention it. A rejection would break their heart, and perhaps change the way Doc looked at them.

“So, Y/n, how is life treating you? Is there anything interesting that you would like to discuss?” Doc doesn’t realize that Y/n is struggling with whether or not they should confess their feelings towards him. Taking a large gulp of their wine, they make their decision.

“I haven't ever really thanked you, have I?” Y/n asks after a few moments of contemplation, staring down at the drink in their hand as they casually stir it with their fingertip, eyes cast downwards to avoid the French man’s gaze.

Doc gives them a curious look as he looks up from his own drink. “Thanked me for what, mon amie?” He turns his chair so that he can better face them, failing to miss their slight cringe at being referred to as a friend. Y/n continues to stare down at their drink. “It should be I that is thanking you, seeing as you were the one to help me this evening.”

“No, it is not about today,” Y/n sighs and looks up into his soft brown eyes, searching for the courage to spill their guts. It feels as if their throat is seizing up, constricting with the fear of being emotionally vulnerable in front of the man they are in love with. “I want to thank you for everything really. Without you, Gustave, I wouldn’t even be here today. I want to thank  you for everyday that I am still here.” Y/n lowers their gaze again, throat tight with the pain of recalling traumatic memories. “You changed everything in my life that day we first met in the field. I will never forget it, and I’ll never be able to pay you back for the kindness you showed me.”

Many years had come and past since the first time Y/n ever encountered the empathetic, charming doctor. It had been during a high priority mission, involving an unknown number of terrorists, over a hundred civilians, and bombs that were rigged to explode at a moment’s notice. There hadn’t been any time for introductions before all the operators were thrown out into the fray, so it was in the field when Y/n managed to interact with Doc. Unfortunately, it was not under the best of circumstances.

Things quickly turned south, one of the bombs had exploded before the team could defuse it, and it caused a chain reaction of hazardous panic. Bodies of the dead and dying littered the ground surrounding the warehouse where the bomb had been located, many belonging to civilians and terrorists while a few were fellow operators. Y/n was among the numbers resting in the dirt, waiting for death as they attempted  to practically hold themself together. A decent part of the ordeal had been blocked from Y/n’s memory, unable to handle the trauma. Y/n almost wishes that it had been completely blocked just so they wouldn’t have to relive the experience in their nightmares every so often.

For what felt like hours Y/n sat half propped up against a large slab of stone in the dirt of some foreign country. Everything below the waist was numb, lacking all feeling, and their head felt ready to burst as they could hear the muffled screams of those still dying around them. Tears stung Y/n’s eyes, realizing that they were waiting to die alone and afraid. It didn’t even register for a while that somebody was approaching. At first, as hands gently rested against Y/n’s trembling shoulders, they thought that they were looking up at angel bathed in  blinding white light. It was the most beautiful and reassuring sight they had ever seen, and it gave them a moment of comfort in their time of anguish.

“Everything will be alright, mon cher,” the angel had spoke with such a thick French accent, but Y/n had not questioned it at the time. Y/n was just relieved to have company during what they thought to be their final moments. Deep brown eyes stared directly into Y/n’s eyes as they tried to control their crying, and the angel said more firmly, “I’ll take care of you.” And he did. Doc didn’t leave Y/n’s side, working desperately to keep them breathing and comfortable, until back up had arrived to transport Y/n via helicopter for immediate medical treatment. It was only later, while recovering in the hospital that Y/n learned the true identity of the angel they thought they had seen.

“It wasn’t just what you did for me out in the field,” Y/n momentarily pulls out of their memories, still facing towards their glass, but they look up at Doc through their lashes. Their heart is beating rapidly in their chest, and they hope that Doc isn’t able to hear it thudding against their ribs. “Afterwards, when I was in the hospital for all that time, you still stuck by me. You were so invested in making sure that I got better. Nobody has ever cared so much for me.”

It was true. Many months were spent in the hospital after the accident as Y/n struggled to overcome their injuries, but Doc was there for every step along the way. Trauma to Y/n’s legs and spine required several surgeries, and they were left unable to walk without assistance. Physical therapy became essential so Y/n could regain the use of their legs and various other muscles. But it was a long and painful process, that often ended with Y/n lying on the floor in tears. Doc was always there to pick them back up though. He would hold Y/n in his arms until their crying stopped, and his words of comfort would encourage them to keep trying until they would finally succeed. Over time, Y/n realized that they had been slowly falling in love with the French doctor, and it was too late to stop their growing affection.

“I’ve always admired you since then, Gustave. In fact, I even love you,” Y/n continues as Doc has still remained silent  throughout Y/n’s confession. Y/n is almost glad. They aren’t sure if they would have the strength to finish if he were to cut them off. “You are the most caring, compassionate person that I have ever known. I know that you may not feel the same towards me, or may not wish to pursue a relationship with a former patient and fellow operator. I just want you to know how much you and what you did for me means to me. The world would be a better place with more people like you.”

For a long while Doc is completely silent, staring down at the red liquid in his glass with an unreadable expression. An intense weight may have been lifted from Y/n’s shoulders at their confession, but they still feel the cold, hard fear of rejection clawing at their insides. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to rest on Y/n.  Without uttering a single word, Doc leans ever so closer to Y/n until they are only inches apart and Y/n can feel his breath against their cheeks.

“May I?” Doc’s gaze flicks down to Y/n’s lips before going back to their eyes. Their cheeks flush a furious shade of scarlet red. With a breathless sigh, Y/n nods their head almost a tad too eagerly.

Lips gently press against Y/n’s with a feather light touch that sends a tingling feeling through Y/n’s entire body and butterflies soaring through their stomach. Doc presses their foreheads together as he pulls back, parting their lips from each other. A smile is still gracing the French man’s gentle features, and it is infectious, causing Y/n to match his expression.

“I remember that day, when I saw you sitting out their amidst the bodies of so many others, covered in blood and various debris,” Doc pulls back slightly to sit straight up, one hand going to rest on Y/n’s shoulder gently. But the smile remains, although slightly somber. “At first, I thought you were already dead, but then you began to speak, although I’m sure you don’t remember it. You looked me straight in the eyes, tears streaming down your face, and begged me to stay with you until it was over. It didn’t appear that you would survive your wounds, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave you. So I stayed, at the time I wasn’t exactly sure why, and I did what I could for you.”

Doc pauses in his speech to gently brush aside a strand of Y/n’s hair that has fallen in their face, taking the time to admire the face of somebody he thought would have died that day in the field. He still believes that it was just short of a miracle that they survived, but he is eternally grateful.

“When I heard a few days later that you had survived, I was so relieved,” he continues, voice soft and soothing. “Immediately I offered to be the one to oversee your care, wanting to see your care through to the end after that encounter in the field. It was never my intention to grow affection for one of my patients, but it happened with you over time. Each time I held you as you tried to regain the use of your legs, every time I consoled you after you awoke from a night terror involving the ordeal, I found my feelings growing stronger towards you.”

Gripping Y/n’s chin lightly with one hand, Doc pulls them closer to place other kiss against their lips, this one lingering for a long while before he pulls away. The smile on his face is full of pure bliss, and Y/n is feeling the same. For so long they had longed to do the same thing. It almost seems unreal that their dreams are finally becoming reality.

“I love you, and I’d like nothing more than to kiss you again right now,” Y/n states as they cup Doc’s cheek gently in one hand.

“Je t'aime,” Doc whispers back softly, grabbing both their glasses of wine and setting them aside on his desk, away from the edge where they were in danger of being knocked over. It is a smart move, because the next thing he does is pull Y/n practically into his lap as they lock lips once again. This kiss is unlike the others, being hot and fiery, full of uncontrolled passion. Both operators are glad they finished their paperwork already, because they know it may be awhile before they are done with each other.

[aion-rsa]

Cyberpunk 2077 Review Roundup

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Cyberpunk 2077 is arguably the most highly-anticipated game of 2020, and after several delays and other controversies, it’s finally here. Fans will be able to get their hands on CD Projekt Red’s new RPG on Dec. 10 (unless you pre-ordered from Best Buy). Ahead of the global launch, here’s what critics are saying about the game so far:

Andrew Reiner, Game Informer:

“Cyberpunk 2077 is a work of awe-inspiring ambition, dazzling with its massive scale and creative vision. The world of Night City is a metropolis of futuristic art, stealing your eye with stunning neon-lit architecture and streets filled with citizens made of flesh and metal. Night City is an open world that immediately pulls you in and keeps you engaged with its dark narrative, meaningful player choice, and overwhelming amount of side content.”

Score: 9/10

Kallie Plagge, Gamespot:

“It also bears a mention: Cyberpunk 2077 is phenomenally buggy. I played a pre-release build that was updated during the review period, and there’s a day-one patch planned as well, but the scale of technical issues is too large to reasonably expect immediate fixes. I encountered some kind of bug on every mission I went on, from more common, funnier ones like characters randomly T-posing to several complete crashes. I didn’t notice much of an improvement after the update, either. In a very late-game, very important fight, the game froze on me–twice. I ended up taking a break out of frustration before attempting, and finally succeeding, the third time.

These bugs, more than any game I’ve played in years, took me out of the experience often. Non-interactable items like cardboard boxes will explode when you interact with something next to them; UI elements will stay on-screen long after they’re meant to, which is only solved by reloading a save; characters will interrupt themselves during proper dialogue sequences by repeating a throwaway line they’d say in the overworld, seriously disrupting key moments; I died once and, upon reloading my last save, found my hacking ability no longer worked, forcing me to roll back to an autosave 10 minutes prior. The list is extensive.

Score: 7/10

James Davenport, PC Gamer:

“I found it moving and life-affirming in the final moments, even in the face of near certain death and a relentless onslaught of bugs. I suppose it’s an appropriate thematic throughline though: Cyberpunk 2077 is a game about V coming apart at the seams, in a city coming apart at the seams, in a game coming apart at the seams. Play it in a few months.”

Score: 78/100

Tom Marks, IGN:

“Cyberpunk 2077 kicks you into its beautiful and dazzlingly dense cityscape with few restrictions. It offers a staggering amount of choice in how to build your character, approach quests, and confront enemies, and your decisions can have a tangible and natural-feeling impact on both the world around you and the stories of the people who inhabit it. Those stories can be emotional, funny, dark, exciting, and sometimes all of those things at once. The main quest may be shorter than expected when taken on its own and it’s not always clear what you need to do to make meaningful changes to its finale, but the multitude of side quests available almost from the start can have a surprisingly powerful effect on the options you have when you get there. It’s a shame that frustratingly frequent bugs can occasionally kill an otherwise well-set mood, but Cyberpunk 2077’s impressively flexible design makes it a truly remarkable RPG.”

Score: 9/10

James Billcliffe, VG24/7:

“In the midst of such intense anticipation and scrutiny, it’s easy to get carried away with what Cyberpunk 2077 could have been. The final experience might be more familiar than many predicted, with plenty of elements that aren’t perfect, but it’s dripping with detail and engaging stories. With so much to see and do, Cyberpunk 2077 is the kind of RPG where you blink and hours go by, which is just what we need to finish off 2020.”

Score: 5/5

Carolyn Petit, Polygon:

“One of my fears about Cyberpunk 2077 was that it was going to be so cynical and nihilistic that playing it would be like wallowing in grim hopelessness, that the cheapness of human life in the game’s world would be mirrored by the game itself. But that’s not the case. It’s easy to lose the human thread in the overwhelming glut of stuff Cyberpunk 2077 puts on your plate, with your map plastered with crimes you can violently “neutralize” for a reward from the police, and fixers constantly sending you text messages about underdeveloped one-off jobs you can take on to earn a bit of extra cash. But the humanity is there, if you look for it.

“And that humanity is the saving grace of this alluring yet uneven and deeply flawed game. I can’t deny that Night City wowed me with its scale, its verticality, and its sense of history. But I wish I could see people like me on its streets as something more than objects. I wish that the game’s politics were more radical. Yes, I know I shouldn’t look to a colossal game that was itself produced under exploitative labor conditions to lead the charge of anticapitalist liberation, but I wish the sparks of Johnny Silverhand’s ideological rage got to burn brighter, that Cyberpunk 2077 felt more interested in envisioning new futures than in reminiscing over bygone glories. Neither its gameplay nor its narrative can imagine the bold possibilities that I find so central to the best of cyberpunk. But what it does offer is visions of people trying to make do and get by in a world that’s trying to eat them alive, and sometimes those people get by with a little help from their friends. It’s not the revolution I hoped for, but it’s something.”

Riley MacLeod, Kotaku:

“I haven’t fallen in love with playing Cyberpunk 2077, but I haven’t loathed it either. Some moments have been exciting or moving, while others have just felt like stuff to do. I’m middle-of-the-road on it so far—having fun in spots, left wanting the game to be more like what made The Witcher 3 great in others. The game itself wants so badly for you to think it’s cool, that it’s the cutting edge of graphics and game design, that it talks about edgy topics like body modification, corporate power, and the internet. It tries too hard, stuffing itself with a tangle of complicated roleplaying game systems; with so many cyberpunk tropes, plots, and slang; with neon and holograms and so many in-game ads, most of them for sex; with car chases and hacking and corporate espionage and double-crossing powerful people; with a world where the human body is made obsolete with money and technology, while also chewed up and spat out for the sake of capital. There’s an admirable diversity of races, sexualities, genders, and body types, but they feel like a veneer. It’s not a politically progressive game: these identities are all in service of the game’s vision of the cyberpunk future, one that can feel implausible and alienating but also has hints of the world we live in today.

Chris Tapsell, Eurogamer:

“It’s still early on for me, I should say – after 30 hours I was still, no doubt to the horror of many with vanishing spare time, just finding my feet – but much of that focus is placed on Cyberpunk‘s central story, which has so far been a welcome surprise. Beneath the noise – and Cyberpunk is truly cacophonous – there is a lingering thread of tenderness to it. I’ve opted to play V as a woman, with a ‘Corpo’ background, and she’s been voiced impeccably by Cherami Leigh and written with some skill. There’s real tenderness here, real vulnerability – a lot of “this city’ll chew you up and spit you out” stuff, sure, but there’s a waver to the tough talk, and from more than just V. Cyberpunk‘s story so far is one of fear, the surface of it plated in chrome and angst and body horror gore, but still built on a core of humanity. It’s more than I expected, and more than we’ve been taught to expect, frankly, by the brashness of the marketing, the pitching of Night City as this great, submissive, ultra-hedonist playground. Night City is a vile swamp, in actual fact, and Cyberpunk‘s characters are drowning in it. It is, so far, more than just a synthwave skin on another puerile open world.”

Rob Zacny, VICE:

“Cyberpunk 2077 is a game of the past and its forgotten futures. Its setting is a pastiche that was overtaken by history and technology. It is a piece of software that is a throwback to PC gaming of the 1990s and early 2000s in every possible way, and its aesthetic and narrative sensibilities of a teenage boy’s bedroom in the 1980s. Yet its lavish and utterly sincere devotion to its influences recalls what has made these dated visions so alluring and enduring. Cyberpunk is too tacky and graceless to be cool, but it’s very big, and very loud, and sometimes that’s all it takes to be awesome.”

Brad Chacos, PCWorld:

“Even if the main narrative somehow stumbles at the finish line, it wouldn’t take away from that sublime core gameplay experience. After a dozen hours, I haven’t come close to exhausting the available activities in just the first of Night City’s six districts and surrounding Badlands. No matter what happens with V, I can’t wait to discover all of Night City’s secrets. I’m in love.”

Richard Scott Jones, PCGamesN:

“Retroactive trigger warning about ‘politics in games’ for whoever cares about such things, by the way, but if that’s you, then you’d best steer clear of Cyberpunk 2077 if you stand by your claimed convictions. This is one of the most explicitly politically charged games ever made – Mike Pondsmith designed the tabletop game upon which it’s based as a “cautionary tale,” and after the killing of George Floyd back in June, reiterated that his universe is “a warning, not an aspiration“. Anyone who insists it’s pure, meaningless escapism is hopelessly deluded.

“Even if such sentiments are uttered in sincere good faith, I think it’s a tragic diminishment of our medium to insist that it shouldn’t tackle politics. Cyberpunk 2077 might not push quite as many boundaries in game design as a landmark release could, but if it can convince more people that games can and should take a position on issues of substance rather than peddle mindless thrills, that’ll be a worthy legacy.”

Stay tuned for Den of Geek’s review of Cyberpunk 2077 next week!

The post Cyberpunk 2077 Review Roundup appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[resonanteye]

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horror movie talk with LFR

My friend Lucy F. R. has really great taste in movies.

I don’t say that lightly. You all know (if you’ve been reading me a while) how fussy I am about horror/weirdshit and how many movies I’ve watched. It’s my actual hobby, unrelated to anything else I do, purely for enjoyment. It’s hard for me to find people to talk about movies with, really- my uncle, who first introduced me to horror movies, and weird cinema, and one or two friends. So I’m really happy to have a conversation here about movies with someone.

Sal doesn’t take any shit from no man. (Beyond the Valley of the Ultravixens)

(R: me,  L:them)

R:  you’re on a grimy southern/grind horror kick right now. But what genre do you like best? What feeling are you after?

LFR: Horror is my favorite genre, I just get very into specific branches. I always want to end up saying to myself “this is a GOOD movie”.

R: What’s the best of the batch you’ve been into recently?

LFR:The Dunwich Horror (the 70’s one), Ghost Galleon, House By The Cemetery, Werewolves On Wheels, and Tourist Trap.

R: Tell me about Werewolves on Wheels. I just watched Dog Soldiers again, and I’ve been on a werewolf kick.

(Swamp Water)

LFR: Wait, you haven’t seen it? It’s about a small biker gang that are on their way to the desert and come across a monastery that they think is abandoned but come to find out it’s not and a mysterious cult interacts with them. The cult takes one of the biker girls and puts her in a ritual. The bikers take her back from them and go back on the road, but don’t know that ~one~ of them is now a werewolf at night.

R: People reading might not have seen it. I usually try to explain a little when I start talking about stuff, especially the lists I make.

I feel like this could turn into a list?

I saw a short film recently also with a werewolf- soldiers are in WWII, surrounded by Nazis in an old police station. There’s a woman in a cell that’s locked herself in and they get stuck in there with her. She’s a werewolf and they turn so they can beat the Nazis.

I feel like- the older werewolf stuff, I think 60s to early 80s, a lot of it was hippie panic. Manson references.

I felt like Werewolves on Wheels is also backlash on feminism, like a lot of gory stuff from that time.

LFR: It felt like a backlash on feminism and hippies.

(Vamp)

R: with werewolves and vampires there’s the whole homophobic/transphobic thing too. “secret monsters” and all that.

what movies would you compare it to? what’s close to it, in feeling?

  LFR: In feeling as in how it made me feel while watching it for the first time: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, House Of 1,000 Corpses, Ghost Galleon. I just know it’s a movie that I’ll recommend to everyone and watch over and over.

Aesthetics and mood-wise: Warriors, Clockwork Orange, Hammer Film movies.

R:yeah it’s got that grit to it. easy rider/warriors. I actually haven’t seen Ghost Galleon. Rip it up for me a little.

LFR: Oh man, so

I get really into bands and for the past few years I always look up what my favorite band member’s favorite movies are, or movies that feel like the music genre. So recently I’ve just been super into doom and stoner metal, naturally I’ve been listening to a lot of Electric Wizard. I asked a bunch of doom metal fb groups “what’s the most doom metal movie you’ve seen” and eventually I somehow found Ghost Galleon. It’s a movie that is not good. Very low budget. Like Ed Wood status. But it’s REALLY good.

These swim suit models go out on a shoot and stumble across a ship that should not be afloat still and is completely abandoned. They get stuck on the ship so friends come looking for them. But the ship’s crew is a satanic cult and they come alive and, to keep from spoiling, all hell breaks loose. And it’s THE most doom metal movie you will ever watch. It has it all- mood, aesthetic, and story wise.

R:so bad, it’s incredible. sounds perfect.

LFR: it’s on prime.

R: FUCK YEAH

you guys are always using my prime and my Netflix and my Hulu. you think this is a costume? this is a way of life

R:when I started watching musician friends’ recommendations I ended up discovering Green Room.

The last time before that, it was Pighunt, which is to this day one of my favorite movies.

LFR: You told me to watch that one years ago. I recommend it to basically anyone who will listen to me.

R:it’s like the least sexist least racist southern-USA monster movie ever made.

LFR:Les Claypool’s roll in that has forever changed how I see him. When I saw Primus all I could see him as was a hillbilly preacher.

R: yep completely.

let’s talk about art horror. the weird shit. seen anything good there lately?

(The Horde)

LFR:The Girl On The Third Floor. It was weird and a little comical, but I enjoyed it. I Am The Pretty Thing Living In The House is REALLY good but it’s a little weird and a major slow burn. And, Society, but that’s more body horror than art house horror.

R:Society is a classic. Body horror and class war. So amazing. I thought I am the pretty thing was a lot of fluff- I understand the drive to slow-burn right now, it’s nostalgic. But I think it’s one of the movies where they went too far into the slow burn.

If I’m going to wait 90 minutes, that girl better taste some damn butter. You know?

LFR: I can see why but I also saw it as more of a classic gothic horror story so the pace didn’t bother me too much.

R:I kind of got tired of Gothic horror at some point. The slow burn. I think I was too interested in French and Korean extreme and gore for a minute.

LFR: I’m a sucker for gothic horror and black and white universal monsters.

R:I liked Late Phases- that kind of straddled the line for me really well. Which brings us back to werewolves, strangely enough.

I have been seeing more elderly characters in movies, which I like a lot.

  LFR: I love creepy old women and demonic children in films. I feel like The Visit sparked people’s interest in elderly characters in horror.

R: yes! I agree. I really like variety- diversity. ” 5 teenagers on a road trip ” movies… it gets tiring. Bland.

not to mention that there’s actually Black people and elderly women in movies now.

LFR: Road trip gone wrong horror is good but, you gotta do it right.

R:tell me about one that you think gets it right.

LFR: The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It paved the way.

R: it did pave the way. that there were pockets of deep weird hate in this country- I think the suburbs were really shocked by it. but if you grew up in bumfuck nowhere it was less shocking.

I think Dead End is the ultimate “road trip gone wrong” movie. Urban legend plot, Ray Wise, Lin Shaye. Just incredible pacing.

LFR: I haven’t seen that one, I’ll have to watch it.

R:oh, you’re going to love it.

I feel like the Hills Have Eyes deserves a mention here. though it’s more a “trapped on purpose” movie than a road trip.

LFR: That’s a “vacation gone wrong” horror movie, and it’s definitely one of the best ones. Vacation and road trip movies are two different branches of a genre to me.

R:I think of them as “wrong turn” vs “bad directions”. like they stumbled into trouble is one genre. they were purposely hunted/trapped, is another.

LFR:Yes, exactly!

R: like a vacation movie that’s a trap- hills have eyes a vacation movie that’s an accident- Jurassic Park

Texas chainsaw massacre is both a road trip and a vacation, an accident and a trap.

tell me about a movie that’s got a plot hole, or has kept you thinking afterward, lately. for me it’s been resolution/the endless, and residue. residue in particular. how do they keep that book? why such a dumb ending? resolution/endless bugs me and I have to watch it again- time loops force me to do math, and I end up a little obsessed with figuring out timelines.

(Requiem for a Vampire)

LFR:Horror wise, 3 From Hell. I keep thinking about how different of a movie it originally was going to be. But also, still, HOW did they survive the shoot out from Devil’s Rejects just… miraculously??? And how come this new Firefly brother was never mentioned previously whatsoever??

R:OMG yes. I couldn’t. I got too wrapped up in plot holes to enjoy it!

LFR:I still enjoyed it for what it was but yeah, I was like WAIT WHAT??? every ten minutes.

R:what about not-horror?

LFR: Picnic At Hanging Rock.

We’ve come for the crites.

R: oh yeah. that’s the kind of movie you think hard about the rest of the day. what’s your theory on the ending?

man I just went to find a photo from it and they made a show? what the hell.

have you seen The Fields? It’s set where I grew up, it’s got…a vibe. Stuck with me.

LFR: Honestly? I can’t come up with a theory on what happened. It just really feels like they simply vanished.

I haven’t seen it. Tell me about it.

(The Fields)

R: There’s a menacing thing in the cornfields. A kid has shitty parents and is sent to stay with family. The farm is in the middle of all cornfields… there’s an abandoned little amusement park that lures him. It’s based on an actual place- a tiny amusement park that flooded and was shut down. it’s still there abandoned, right next to the town I grew up in!

cornfields are extremely creepy. it’s so easy to get lost in them.

The main characters- it’s got all the bad mountain people shit going on, abuse, drinking, violence, and then more because of the presence in the fields. pretty good stuff.

not a slow burn. a medium burn.

LFR:I’m definitely watching it

R: you’ll like it. big Jughead mood.

(and then I got tired and they I think did too, so that’s all for today)

I hope I get to do this again soon: I fuckin LOVE to talk horror.

Not your baby.

If you want to support LFR in some way, wear a mask, stay the fuck home, support BLM and trans rights, and get your government reps to continue unemployment payments for gig AND other workers. Seriously.

[pinelife3]

Sadness

The treatment of the breaking of the fourth wall in Fleabag is the most compelling thing I’ve seen all year. Throughout the first season, our protagonist Fleabag (played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge who also writes the show) would look at the camera to make witty asides. Usually a sarcastic remark or eye roll to hammer home that she’s sardonic, insincere, perhaps a little underhanded. 

You’ve probably noticed how if you’re in a one-on-one conversation, it’s hard to rag on someone but that in a group it works (because you can pretend it’s good natured humour rather than a scathing attack on their very existence). In Fleabag, the breaking of the fourth wall is a way for Fleabag to safely ridicule whoever she’s speaking to. It’s also a succinct way of delivering backstory, revealing her intentions, and getting us on side. These interactions with the fourth wall are pretty standard, see: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Amélie, House of Cards, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Shakespearean asides, American Psycho. It’s an accepted device. But then in season two, when Fleabag speaks to us, someone takes notice, someone spots her dipping out of their diegetic reality as she speaks to us in ours. 

I thrilled at this. 

Sometimes I feel like I’ve seen everything - but I’d never seen this before. This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen on a TV show (forget the Red Wedding). This is a masterful trick, and great storytelling all at once - it demolishes a literary device. But most of the coverage of Fleabag has focused on how sad the show is:

People seem to like that: they like being crushed, enjoy being devastated. Why is that?

I’ve recently cried over two cowboy related things: Brokeback Mountain and Red Dead Redemption 2. 

I cried when I finished Red Dead Redemption 2 because I love Arthur Morgan so much: he was just the sweetest guy, and I was sad the story was over because we can’t go fishing anymore, or crash his horse into trees and fall, or fight gators in the swamps, or brush his horse while we cruise around the old west. I just felt so wistful for his life and the idea of bad guys working hard to be good in a changing world. 

And then I cried at the end of Brokeback Mountain because it is objectively very sad. The shirts tucked inside each other which Jack kept all those years. The possibility that Jack didn’t know how much Ennis loved him. The life they could have had together, and how much they loved each other - but the families and relationships they destroyed along the way as well, because no one ever said what they felt. 

I really liked both Brokeback and Red Dead, because they have great stories and characters. In Red Dead, I have so many fond memories - and for that reason it made me feel strong emotions. But I don’t like Red Dead because it made me feel strong emotions. I don’t like Brokeback because it was ‘crushing’ and/or ‘devastating’ - it was enjoyable because it was a beautiful story with tragic, poignant elements. I like the story - not that it made me cry. Most Fleabag reviews seem to focus on the sadness it made the audience feel as a way to recommend it to people. 

Watch Fleabag - it will make you feel something. 

Prepare to emote because Fleabag is preternaturally sad.

The discourse around the show on Reddit is similar:

Pffft want to feel really sad? Check out this scene from Synecdoche, New York:

It’s very moving, kind of irresistibly so. And I think that’s because it’s calling out to that scared, bitter, self-pitying part of you which is always cringing in the shadows, waiting for someone to invite it out of the garage into the living room. This speech is designed to frighten you: you’ll make misssssstakesss and ruin your life. You won’t even know you’re doing it until it’ssssss toooooo late. You might think your life is nice - but that’sssssssssssss only because you haven’t ssssssssssseen how bad it will get. It’s giving you permission to feel bad without providing any reason to feel bad, and then it’s allowing you to wallow in that bad feeling. It’s poison. 

I promise you, for 99% of people who watched Synecdoche, New York , life is not that bad. People in horrible, war torn places where they aren’t able to watch Charlie Kaufman films because no one dubs indie movies in Kurdish have it bad - and not just because they’re missing out on great films, but because they essentially live in a sandier version of Hell. Haven’t you ever sat in the sun with a dog and seen it look back at you and felt a perfect connection? Haven’t you ever fallen asleep, perfectly comfortable, tucked in beside someone you love? Haven’t you ever eaten pancakes with ice cream, or seen a huge mountain, or been really cold and then gotten into a warm bath? Haven’t you ever seen a baby fake-crying on the tram and then its mum tickles it under the chin and it laughs, and you see everyone around you smile because babies are so pure? Come on! You’re not Othello. Your life is pretty nice. Even Othello’s life was pretty nice right up until the end. 

Pretty nice.

But boring. Right? 

Pancakes? Cuddles?

How am I to thrill at sunsets and smiling babies? 

Good. Now I’m sad again. 

And if the realisation that you don’t have anything to be sad about (except for the ordinariness of the pleasures in your life) didn’t make you sad, check out this compilation of the 10 most depressing moments in Bojack Horseman (ranked in order from least depressing to most depressing!).

A major inconvenience of modern life is that most of us have supremely comfortable, happy, safe lives. And when something goes wrong, you can’t go on a tragic rampage and tear out your own eyes, beat your breast, or wail on the moor in a thunderstorm - even though that may be what you feel like doing. 

Work sucks, no one respects me, and I messed up that section of the Excel spreadsheet so maybe they are right to not respect me: take me to a moor where my tears can blend with rain and my howls will be swallowed by the wind! 

Ordinary people don’t get to live in a tragedy - and besides, there aren’t as many moors around as literature might have you believe. The most you can do usually is make a scene at a family dinner or isolate yourself at a party and then get drunk and walk home crying. Who would write a sweeping, romantic story about an embarrassing fuck up walking home drunk, feeling sorry for themselves.

Oh.

Wait:

And Now For That 2000 Year Old Mystery

Aristotle’s Poetics is the source of the word catharsis (in italics because it’s Greek which is the way I was taught to do it in high school - if only there were Greecian-alics, am I right?), which in common parlance today basically means any kind of dramatic release of emotions. Kickboxing is cathartic. Getting your eyebrows waxed is cathartic. Crying during an emotional episode of a TV show is cathartic. 

Because the word appeared in Poetics, it's original usage related to the theatre, in particular the experience of an audience watching a tragedy: the release of emotions they feel in watching things go seriously wrong for the hero. For this reason, catharsis is often tied to anagnorisis - the moment of tragic realisation. 

Oh god I killed my father and married my mother. 

Oh god, that’s my son’s head on the pike, not the head of a mountain lion.

Oh god, remember when I messed up that bit of the spreadsheet and everyone knew it was me. Existence truly is pain.

You get the idea. It’s not enough that the protagonist is a fuck up: that matter needs to be brought to their attention and they need to reflect on it.

(A more proper (read: academic) definition of catharsis is: “an imitation of an action ‘with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions.’” The emotions the audience feel echo what the people on stage are feeling. The jump scare in a horror movie scares the character on screen and the audience watching at home.)

Aristotle never clearly defined catharsis. So for all this time (2000+ years) people have been trying to infer what he meant from a couple of references to a pretty slippery concept. Even though the general public has their understanding of the word, academics still cannot agree on a definition. But we know what it means, roughly, because we’ve all experienced it. 

Over the weekend I watched Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s other other TV show (not Killing Eve) which had an exchange between an artist and a drunk girl on sadness and how it factors into art:

Character 1: He’s my muse!

Character 2: Your muse?

...

Character 2: Like an artist's muse?!

Character 1: Yes, he is! You think meeting someone like Colin happens to artists all the time?! He gives so much.

Character 2: Yeah, sure, and you just lap it up and just slap it on a canvas.

Character 1: Pardon?

Character 2: "His pain is so beautiful." You're using him to indulge yourself.

Character 1: I am indulging? And what is this? 

Character 2: This is a $4 bottle of wine.

...

Character 2: Sorry if I upset you, Melody.

Character 1: You don't upset me. You bore me. All you seem to want to do is drink and wank and drink and wank.

Character 2: Well, at least I don't have to wank other people's pain onto a canvas, and then shove it in people's faces and call it "my art."

Character 2 in this scene is played by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. I can’t be bothered to explain why it’s relevant. 

For the eternity of human brains, or at least for as long as preserved creativity, the most comfortable, secure people in the world have tried to experience the things tragic victims feel - perhaps so they can briefly know what it feels like to be a romantic figure struggling in an unjust world. A passport to feelings and drama we aren’t permitted in every day life. Catharsis is the word to express the reaction, but what do we call an audience who seeks out that sensation? Catharsis chasers?

It’s not insightful to say that people like to watch Fast & Furious movies because they’re exciting and perhaps audiences enjoy that excitement because their own lives are un-exciting. But commending a thing because it will make you sad seems aberrant in some way. A fast and dangerous car that will make you miserable. A roller coaster that will make you depressed. An incredible shootout in the streets of LA that will make you sob in the bathroom cubicle at work every time you think about it. I can’t explain the drive, but like Aristotle I will invent a new word, so that academics can never know what I meant but will still write at great length about it, so that it will slip into common parlance and be horribly misused until eventually, 2000 years from now, a girl can waffle on about it on her blog. And the word will be: scartharsio. Or maybe scorpithoniacs? Or sarcastiharsics? 

Sadness is entertainment for a scartharsio.  

ALL TIME HALL OF FAME: WAILING WOMEN AND MOORS

Nobody knows what it’s like to be me, a sad woman who weeps on moors! 

I’m not being overly dramatic!

[anavoliselenu]

Crashed chapter 2

“He’s strong, Andy … he’s going to be … he has to be okay,” I finally say when I trust the resolve in my voice.

He just nods his head. We see a set of doctors running past us and my heart lodges in my throat, worried it’s because of Justin. He scrubs a hand over his face and I watch the love fill his eyes. “The first time I ever saw him, he broke my heart and stole it all with one, single look.” I nod my head at him to continue because more than anything I understand that statement, for his son did the same thing to mine.

He captured it, stole it, broke it, healed it, and forever owns it.

“I was on set working in my trailer on a scene rewrite. It had been a long night. Quin was sick and had been up all night.” He shakes his head and meets my eyes for a moment before looking back down to focus them on the band of his watch that he’s fiddling with. “I was late for a call time. I opened the door and almost tripped over him.” He takes a moment to will the tears I see welling in his eyes to dissipate. “I think I swore aloud and I saw his little figure jolt back in unmistakable fear. I know he scared the shit out of me, and I could only imagine why a child would have that type of a reaction. He refused to look at me no matter how gentle I made my voice.”

I reach over and take his hand in mine, squeezing to let him know that I know Justin’s demons without him ever revealing them. I may not know the specifics, but I have seen enough to get the gist.

“I sat on the ground next to him and just waited for him to understand that I wasn’t going to hurt him. I sang the only song I could think of.” He laughs. “Puff the Magic Dragon. On the second time through, he lifted his head up and finally looked at me. Sweet Christ he stole my breath. He had the hugest green eyes in this pale little face and they looked up at me with such fear … such foreboding … that it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around and comfort him.”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmur, going to withdraw my hand but stopping when Andy squeezes it.

“He wouldn’t speak to me at first. I tried everything to get him to tell me his name or what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered—my missed call time, the wasted money, nothing—because I was mesmerized by the fragile little boy whose eyes told me they’d seen and experienced way too much in his short life. Quinlan was six at the time. Justin was smaller than she was so I thought he was about five. I was shocked later that night when the police told me he was eight years old.”

I force the swallow that’s stuck in my throat down as I listen to the first moments in Justin’s life when he was given unconditional love. The first time he was given a life of possibilities rather than one of fear.

“I eventually asked him if he was hungry and those eyes of his got as big as saucers. I didn’t have much in the trailer that a kid would like, but I did have a Snickers bar and I’ll admit it,” he says with a laugh, “I really wanted him to like me … so I figured what kid couldn’t be bribed with candy?”

I smile with him, the connection not lost on me that Justin eats a Snickers before every race. That he ate a Snickers bar today. My chest tightens at the thought. Was that really only hours ago? It feels like days.

“You know Dottie and I had talked about the possibility of more kids … but had decided Quinlan was enough for us. Well, I should say that she would have had more and I was content with just one. Shit, we led busy lives with a lot of travel and we were fortunate enough with one healthy little girl, so how could we ask for more? My career was booming and Dottie took parts when she wanted to. But after that first few hours with Justin, there wasn’t even a hesitation. How could I walk away from those eyes and the smile I knew was hiding somewhere beneath the fear and shame?” A tear slips over and down his cheek, the concern for his son, then and now, rolling off of him in waves. He looks up at me with gray eyes filled with a depth of emotions. “He’s the strongest person—man—that I’ve ever met, Selena.” He chokes on a sob. “I just need him to be that right now … I can’t lose my boy.”

His words tear at places so deep inside of me, for I understand the anguish of a parent scared they’re losing their child. The deep seated fear you don’t want to acknowledge but that squeezes at every part of your heart. Sympathy swamps me for this man that gave Justin everything, and yet the numbness inside me incarcerates my tears. “None of us can, Andy. He’s the center of our world,” I whisper in a broken voice.

Andy angles his head to the side and looks over and studies me for a moment. “I fear every time he gets in that car. Every goddamn time … but it’s the only place I see him free of the burden of his past … see him outrun the demons that haunt him.” He squeezes my hand until I look back up to see the sincerity in his eyes. “The only time, that is, until recently. Until I see him talk about, worry about, interact with … you.”

My breath catches, tears well for the first time but don’t fall. After having Max’s mom, Claire, hate me for so long, the unspoken approval from Justin’s father is monumental. I hiccup a breath, trying to contain the tornado of emotions whirling through me.

“I love him.” It’s all I can manage to say. Then it’s all I can think about. I love him, and I might not ever get to really show him now that he’s admitted to feeling the same way about me. And now I stand on the precipice of circumstances so out of my control that I fear I might not ever get the chance to.

Andy’s voice pulls me from my rising panic attack. “Justin told me you encouraged him to find out about his birth mother.”

I look down and draw absent circles on my knee with my fingertip, wary that this conversation can go one of two ways: Andy can be grateful that I’m trying to help his son heal or he can be upset and think I’m trying to drive a wedge between them.

“Thank you for that.” He exhales softly. “I think he’s always been missing a piece and maybe knowing about her will help fill that for him. Just the fact he’s talking about it, asking about it, is a huge step...” he reaches out and places an arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward him so my head rests on his shoulder “...so thank you for helping him find himself in more ways than one.”

I nod my head in acknowledgment, his confession causing words to escape me. We sit together like this for some time, accepting and pulling comfort from each other when all we feel is emptiness inside.

It’s a perfect day. Blue sky overhead, sun warming my cheeks, and not a thought on my mind. The waves crash into the sand with a soothing crescendo, roll after roll. I come here often, the place we had our first official date, because I feel close to him here. A memory, something to hold onto when I can never hold onto him again.

I wrap my arms around my knees and breathe it all in, accepting that sadness will always be a constant ache in my heart and wishing he were here beside me. But at the same time, I know I haven’t felt this at peace since he’s been gone. I might be turning a corner in my grief—at least that’s what the therapist thinks—since it’s been days without the blind panic and strangling screams that consume my thoughts and skew my grip on reality. I think that maybe after all of this time, I might be able to move forward—not on—but forward.

The lone car in the parking lot to my right catches my eye. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because the car is parked near where Justin parked the Aston Martin on our first spontaneous outing—the most expensive beach date ever—but I look, my heart hoping what my mind knows is not possible. That it’s him parking the car to come join me.

I turn to look just in time to see a figure walk up to the passenger side and lean over to talk to the driver through the open window. Something about the person causes me to rise from the sand. I shield my eyes from the sun’s glare and study his profile, suddenly feeling that something is off.

Without thinking, I start walking toward the car, my unease increasing with each step. The stranger straightens up and turns to face me for a second, the sun lighting his dark features and my feet falter, breath lost.

My dark angel standing in the light.

“Justin?” My voice is barely a whisper as my brain attempts to comprehend how it’s possible that he’s here. Here with me when I saw them load his unresponsive body on the stretcher, kissed his cold lips one last time before they laid his casket to rest. My heart thunders in my chest, its beat accelerating with each passing second as the hope laced with panic starts to escalate.

And although my voice is so soft, he tilts his head to the side at the sound of his name, his eyes filled with a quiet sadness, lock onto mine. He starts to raise a hand but is distracted momentarily when the passenger door is shoved open. He looks into the car and then back to me, resignation etching the magnificent lines of his face. He hesitantly raises his hand again but this time finishes the wave to me.

I bring my fingertips to my lips as the grief rolling off of him finally reaches across the distance and collides into me, knocks the breath clear out of my lungs. I feel his absolute despair instantly. It rips through my soul like lightning splitting the sky.

And in that instant I know.

“Justin!” I say his name again, but this time my desperate scream pierces through the quiet serenity of the beach. Seagulls fly at the sound but Justin slides into the passenger seat without a second glance and shuts the door.

The car slowly heads toward the parking lot’s exit, and I break out into a full sprint. My lungs burn and legs ache but I’m not fast enough. I’m not going to get there in time and can’t seem to make any progress no matter how fast I run. The car turns to the right, out of the lot onto the empty road, and is angled to head past me on its way south. The blue metallic paint shimmers from the sun’s rays and what I see stops me dead in my tracks.

It feels like forever since I have seen him like this. All-American, wholesome with blue eyes and that easy smile I love all too much. But his eyes never break from their focus on the road ahead.

Max never even gives me so much as a second look.

Justin, on the other hand, stares straight at me. The combination of fear, panic, and resignation etched on his face. In the tears coursing down his cheeks, the apologies his eyes express, in his fists pounding frantically against the windows, in his words I can see him mouth but can’t hear him plead. All of it twists my soul and wrings it dry.

“No!” I yell, every fiber of my being focused on how to help him escape, how to save him.

And then I see movement in the backseat and am knocked clear to my knees. The gravel biting into them is nothing compared to the pain searing into the black depths of my core. And although I’m hurting more than I ever thought imaginable, a part of me is in awe—lost in that unconditional love you never think is possible until you experience it for yourself.

Ringlets frame her cherubic face, bouncing with the car’s movement. She smiles softly at Max, completely oblivious to the violent protests from Justin in the seat in front of her. She twists in her car seat and looks toward me, violet eyes a mirror reflection looking back at me. And then ever so subtly, her rosebud lips quirk up at one corner as childhood curiosity gets the best of her and she stares at me. Tiny fingertips rise above the windowsill and wiggle at me.

I have to remind myself to breathe. Have to force the thought into my head because she’s just singlehandedly ripped me apart and pieced me back together. And yet the sight of her has left me raw and abraded with tomorrows that will never be.

That I can never get back.

That were never mine to keep.

And from my place on the ground, my soul clinging for something to hang onto before being swallowed into the darkened depths of despair, I yell at the top of my lungs the name of the only person that can be still be saved.

“Justin! Stop! Justin! Fight damn it!” My voice falls hoarse with the last words, sobs overtaking and despair overwhelming me. I hang my head in my hands and allow myself to be dragged under and drowned, welcoming the devastating darkness for the second time in my life. “No!” I scream.

Invisible hands grab me and try to pull me away from him, but I struggle with every ounce I can muster against them so I can save Justin.

Save the man I love.

“Selena!” The voice urges me to turn away from Justin. No way in hell am I walking away again.

Never.

“Selena!” The insistence intensifies as my shoulders are shoved back and forth. I try to flail my arms but I’m being held tight.

I awake with a start, Beckett’s aqua blue eyes staring intensely into mine. “It’s just a dream, Selena. Just a dream.”

My heart is racing and I gulp in air but my body doesn’t seem to accept it. I can’t grab my next breath fast enough. I bring a trembling hand up and rub it over my face to gain my bearings. It was so real. So impossible, yet so real … unless … unless Justin is …

“Becks.” His name is barely a whisper on my lips as the remnants of my dream gain momentum and I start to understand why Justin would be with Max and my daughter.

“What is it, Selena? You’re white as a ghost.”

The words strangle in my throat. I can’t tell him what my mind is processing. I stutter trying to get the words out when we are interrupted.

“The family of Justin Donavan?”

Everyone in the waiting room stands and moves to congregate near the entrance of the waiting room, where a short woman in scrubs stands untying her surgical mask. I stand too, fear driving me to push my way to the forefront with Becks clearing the path ahead of me. When we stop next to Justin’s parents, he reaches his hand over and grips mine. It’s the only indication that he’s as scared as I am.

Her eyes take in the lot of us and she shakes her head with a forced smile. “No, I need to speak to his immediate family,” she says. I can hear the fatigue in her voice and of course my mind starts racing faster.

Andy steps forward and clears his throat. “Yes, we’re all here.”

“I see that, but I’d like to update his immediate family in private as per hospital protocol, sir.” Her tone is austere yet soothing, and all I want to do is shake her until she says “screw the rules” and gives me an update.

Andy shifts his eyes from her to glance over at all of us before he continues. “My wife, daughter, and I may be Justin’s immediate family, but everyone else here? They’re the reason he’s alive right now … so in my eyes, they are family and deserve to hear the update at the same time we do, hospital protocol be damned.”

A look of slight shock flickers across her features and in this moment I can see why all those years ago the police officers in the hospital didn’t question Andy when he told them Justin was going home with him for the night.

She nods slowly at him, lips pursed. “My name is Dr. Biggeti and I teamed up in the operating room with Dr. Irons on your son’s case.” In my periphery I see most of the guys nod their heads, bodies leaning forward to make sure they hear everything. Dorothea steps up next to her husband, Quinlan on the opposite side, and grabs his hand like Becks is clutching mine. “Justin made it through surgery and is currently being moved to the ICU.”

A collective gasp fills the room. My heart thunders at an accelerated pace and my head dizzies with the news. He’s still alive. Still fighting. I’m scared and he’s scarred but we’re both still fighting.

Dr. Biggeti puts her hands up to quiet the murmuring among us. “Now there are still a lot of unknowns at this point. The bleeding and swelling were quite extensive and we had to remove a small section of Justin’s skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. At this time, the swelling seems to be under control but I need to reiterate the words at this time. Anything can happen in these cases and the next twenty-four hours are extremely crucial in telling us which way Justin’s body will decide to go.” I feel Beckett sway next to me and I detangle our hands and wrap my arms around his waist, and take comfort in the fact we are all here, feeling the same way. That this time I’m not alone in watching the man I love struggle to survive. “And as much as I have hope that the outcome will be positive, I also need to prepare you for the fact that there may be possible peripheral damage that is unknown until he wakes up.”

“Thank you.” It’s Dorothea who speaks as she steps forward and grabs a surprised Dr. Biggeti in a quick embrace before stepping back and dabbing the tears beneath her eyes. “When will we be able to see him?”

The doctor nods her head in compassion at Justin’s parents. “Like I said, right now they are getting him situated and checking his vitals in the ICU. After a bit, you’ll be able to see him.” She looks over toward Andy. “And this time, I must follow hospital policy that only immediate family be allowed to visit with him.”

He nods his head.

“Your son is very strong and is putting up one hell of a fight. It’s obvious he has a strong will to live … and every little bit helps.”

“Thank you so very much.” Andy exhales before grabbing Dorothea and Quinlan in a tight embrace. His hands fist at their backs and expresses just an iota of the angst mixed with relief vibrating beneath his surface.

As the doctor walks away her words hit me, and I close my eyes to focus on the positive. To focus on the fact that Justin is fighting like hell to come back to us. To come back to me.

All of us—crew and family—have been moved to a different waiting room since we were taking up all of the space in the emergency area. This one’s on a different floor, closer to the ICU and to Justin. The room’s a serene light blue, but I’m nowhere near calm. Justin is near. The thought alone has me hyperventilating. I’m not immediate family so I’m not going to get to see him.

And that alone makes every breath an effort.

Leaves every emotion raw, nerves bared as if my skin has been peeled back and exposed to a fire hose.

Each thought focused on how much I need to see him for my own slipping sanity.

I stand and face a wall of windows overlooking a courtyard below. The parking lot beyond is swarming with media trucks and camera crews all trying to get something more on the story than the station next to them. I watch them absently, the mass becoming one big blur. You were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it …

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jolt when someone places their hand on my shoulder. I turn my head and meet the grief-stricken eyes of Justin’s mother. We stare at each other for a moment; no words are spoken but so much is exchanged.

She’s just come from seeing Justin. I want to ask her how he is, what he looks like, if he’s as bad as the images I have in my mind. I open my mouth to speak but close it because I can’t find the words to express myself.

Dorothea’s eyes well and her bottom lip trembles with unshed tears. “I just …” she starts to say and then drifts off, bringing her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. After a moment, she begins again. “I can’t stand seeing him like that.”

My throat feels like it’s closing as I try to swallow. I reach my hand up to my shoulder and squeeze hers, the only solace I can even remotely offer. “He has to be okay …” The same words I’ve uttered over and over today that fix nothing, but I say them nonetheless.

“Yes,” she says with a determined nod as she takes in the circus of the parking lot. “I haven’t had nearly enough time with him. I missed the first eight years of his life, so I’m owed extra ones for not getting the chance to save him sooner. God can’t be that cruel to rob him of what he deserves.” She looks over toward me on her last words, and the quiet strength of this mother fighting for her son is unmistakable. “I won’t allow it.” And the commanding woman that had slipped momentarily is back in control.

“Mom …” The sob is hiccupped as Quinlan re-enters the waiting room. We both turn to face her as she walks toward us, all eyes in the room on her. I watch Dorothea’s face shifts gears as she goes from fierce protector to maternal soother. She pulls Quinlan into her arms and kisses the top of her head, squeezing her own eyes shut tight as she whispers words of encouragement that she fears are lies.

I feel like a voyeur—wanting my own mother more than anything right now—when Dorothea looks up at me over the crown of Quinlan’s head. Her voice is a hushed murmur but it stops my breath. “It’s your turn now.”

“But I’m not …” I don’t know why I’m so shocked that she’s giving me this opportunity. The rule follower in me bristles, but my traumatized soul stands at attention.

“Yes, you are,” she says, a tight smile on her lips and sincerity flooding her eyes. “You’re helping make him whole—the one thing I’ve never been able to do as a mother and that kills me, but at the same time the fact that he’s found it in you …” She can’t finish the sentence and tears well in her eyes, so she reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go.”

I squeeze it back and nod at her before I turn to go to the man I can’t live without, fear mixed with anticipation streaks through me like fireworks on a pitch black night.

I stand outside of the intensive care unit and prepare myself. Fear and hope collide until one big ball of anxiety has my hands trembling as I turn the corner to stand at his doorway.

It takes me a moment to gain the courage to raise my eyes and take in the broken body of the man I love. The images in my head are worse—bloody, bruised, total carnage—but even those couldn’t have prepared me for the sight of Justin. His body is whole and unbloodied, but he lies there so motionless and pale. His head is wrapped in white gauze and his eyelids are partially closed, the whites of his eyes showing somewhat from the swelling of his brain. He has tubes coming out of him every which way, and the monitors beep around him constantly. But it’s not the sight of all of the medical equipment that breaks me—no—it’s that the life and fire of the man I love is nonexistent.

I shuffle toward the bed, my eyes mapping every inch of him as if I’ve never seen him before, never felt him before. Never felt the thunder of his heart beating against my own chest. I reach out to touch him—needing to desperately—and when I hold his hand in mine, it’s cold and unresponsive. Even the calluses I love—the ones that rasp deliciously over my bare skin—are not there.

The tears come. They fall in endless streams as I blindly sink down into the chair beside the bed. I grip Justin’s hand with two of mine, my mouth pressed to our joined hands, my tears wetting his skin. I cry even harder when I realize the all too familiar Justin scent that feeds my addiction has been replaced by the antiseptic hospital smell. I didn’t realize how much I needed that scent to be there. How much I needed that small, lingering piece of the man I love to remain when everything else has changed so drastically.

Incoherent words cross my lips and muffle against our entwined hands. “Please wake up, Justin. Please,” I sob. “You can’t leave me now. We have so much time we need to make up for, so many things that we still need to do. I need to cook you horrible dinners and you need to teach me how to surf. We need to watch the boys play little league and I need to be in the grandstands when you win a race.” The thought of him getting back in a car makes my heart lodge in my throat, but I can’t stop thinking of all the things we still have left to experience together. “We need to eat ice cream for breakfast and eat pancakes for dinner. We need to make love to each other on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and when you walk in the door, I’ll push you up against it because we just can’t get enough of each other. I haven’t had my fill of you yet …” My voice fades as I close my eyes and rest my forehead against our hands, Justin’s name a repeated prayer on my lips.

“You know, I’ve never been as angry with him as I was last night.” Beckett’s voice jars me from my scattered focus.

I look up through blurred eyes to see him leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes focused on his best friend. I know he’s not expecting a response from me—and frankly, I’m hoarse from crying so I give him the only answer I can manage, an incoherent murmur before turning back to look at Justin.

“I’ve been pissed at him plenty of times, but last night took the cake.” Becks breathes a long, frustrated sigh, and then I hear his feet shuffle across the floor. He sits down in the chair opposite me and hesitantly reaches out to squeeze Justin’s free hand. He looks over toward his friend’s impassive face before holding my gaze across the lifeless body of the man we love. “When I knew Justin was willing to let you walk away without telling you the truth or putting up a fight...” he shakes his head in disbelief as tears swim in his eyes “...I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off or wanted to throw a punch at someone as much as I did when he told me to leave your room.”

“Well, we were both being stubborn asses,” I concede, wishing that we could be back in that hotel room—repeat the day—so that we just could stop fighting and I could wrap my arms around him a little tighter, a little longer. I wish I could rewind time so I could warn Justin of what was going to happen at the track. But I know it wouldn’t matter. My reckless rebel thinks he’s invincible and would have climbed into the car anyway.

I look back up at his face and he’s anything but invincible now. The sob rises in my throat, and I try to hold it back but fail miserably.

“He’s so used to thinking he’s not worth any of the good fortune that’s come his way. He’s never given me specifics, but I know he thinks he doesn’t deserve any better than what he was from, wherever he came from. He thinks he’s not enough for you and—”

“He’s everything,” I gasp, the truth in my words resonating clear within my soul.

A ghost of a smile turns up the corners of Beckett’s mouth despite the sadness in his eyes. “I know, Selena.” He pauses. “You’re his lifeline.”

I lift my eyes from Justin to meet his. “I don’t know how that’s going to help him now. I left him last night after you walked out of the room,” I confess, staring again at our two hands intertwined, guilt consuming me. “After what he said to me, I kept thinking, I can’t be with him anymore under these circumstances. I thought I could stick around—help him heal everything that’s broken—but I couldn’t stand around and be cheated on, so I left.”

“You did the right thing. He needed a taste of his own medicine. He was being an ass and was using his fear to fuel his insecurity … but he went after you, Selena. That in itself tells me he knows how much he needs you.”

“I know.” My voice is almost a whisper and is drowned out by the incessant beep of the machines. “I’d gladly walk away from him again and never look back if it would prevent us from being here right now.”

I say the words without any conviction because I know deep down that wherever Justin is, I would never be able to stay away from him.

We sit for a bit, each battling our own thoughts when Becks stands abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor and shattering the antiseptic silence in the room. “This is fucking bullshit. I can’t sit and look at him like this.” His voice is thick with emotion as he starts to walk out.

“He’s going to pull through, Becks. He has to.” My voice breaks on the last few words, betraying my confidence.

He stops and sniffles before turning around to look at me. “That fucker is stubborn in everything he does—everything—he better not disappoint me now.” He shifts his attention to Justin and strides to the side of the bed, the grief turning into anger with each passing second. “It’s always got to be about you, doesn’t it, Wood? Self-centered bastard. When you wake the fuck up—and you will wake the fuck up because I’m not letting you go out like this—I’m going to kick your ass for making us worry.”

He reaches his hand out and, in contradictory fashion to his gruff words, lays a hand on Justin’s shoulder for a brief moment before turning and walking out of the room.

I’m left alone with the man I love, the weight of the unknown pressing down upon us but hope finally starting to bleed through the edges of the pain.

I can feel the car—the engine’s rumbling in my chest that tells me I’m alive—before I even see it slingshot out of the backside of the turn. I focus on my hands. They’re shaking, fucking trembling. I can’t hold onto the wheel, to my thoughts, to fucking anything at all. The wheel shudders beneath my goddamn fingers. Fingers that can’t quite grip to control the fucking chaos unraveling around me.

The confidence I own in a place that’s always been my salvation is fucking gone. Dust in the motherfucking wind.

What the fuck is going on?

The sound of metal giving—fucking shredding—mixed with the squeal of rubber sliding across asphalt echoes all around me. Jameson’s car slams into mine. And with the impact—the jolt of my body, the theft of my thoughts—my memories crash and collide like our cars do.

The thought of Selena sucker punches me first.

The fucking ray of light against my goddamn darkness. The sun shining through this crash-crazed haze of smoke. The one and only exception to my fucking rule. How can I hear her sobs through my headset and yet see her doubled over in shock from a distance? Something’s fucked up here. Like bat-shit crazy fucked up.

But what? How?

And even though there’s all this smoke, I can still see her face clear as day. Violet eyes giving me something I don’t deserve—motherfucking trust. Begging me to let her in, to let her help heal the parts of me forever damaged from a past I’ll never outrun—never escape—even when slamming head first into the fucking wall.

I see my car rise above the smoke—above the goddamn fray of broken trust and useless hope—and I lose my fucking breath and my chest feels like it’s exploding, detonating like the shrapnel of memories embedding themselves so deep in my mind I can’t quite place where they land. Even though I’m watching it, I can still feel it—the force of the spin, the strain on my muscles, the need to hold tight to the wheel. My future and past coming down all around me like a goddamn tornado as I roll out of control struggling to fight the fear and the fucking pain I know is coming next.

That I can’t ever escape.

Debris scatters … on the track and in my head.

Collateral damage for another poor fucking soul to deal with. I’ve had more than my share of it. I choke on the bile that threatens—the soul siphoning fear that stabs into my psyche—because even mid-flight, when I should be free from everything, she’s still there. He’s still there. Always a constant reminder.

Colty, when you don’t listen, you get hurt. Now go be a good boy and wait for him. When you’re naughty, naughty things happen, baby boy.

The crunch of metal, his masculine grunt.

The smell of destruction, his alcoholic stench.

My body banging into the protective cage around me, his meaty fingers trying to take me, own me, claim me.

Tell me you love me. Say it!

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I welcome the impact of the fucking car because it knocks those words off my tongue. I can see it, feel it, hear it all at the same time as if I’m everywhere and nowhere all at fucking once. In the car and outside of it. The resonating, unmistakable crunch of metal as I become weightless, momentarily free from the pain. Knowing that once I’ve spoken those three words only hurt can come.

The fucking poison will eat at me piece by piece until I’m the nothing I already know I am.

The goddamn fear will paralyze me—fucking consume me—dynamite exploding in a vacuum chamber.

My body slams forward but my shoulder harnesses strangle me motionless, like Selena urging me to move forward. Like the fucking memory of him holding me back—unforgiving arms trapping me as I fight against the blackness he fills me with. Against the words he forces me to say, forever fucking up their goddamn meaning.

The impact hits me full force—car against barrier, fucking heart against chest, hope against demons—but all I see is Selena stepping over the wall. All I can see is him coming at me while she’s walking away.

“Selena?” I call out to her. Help me. Save me. Redeem me. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. All my hope is fucking lost.

… I’m broken …

I watch the car—feel its movement encompassing me—slowly come to a stop, the damage unknown as the darkness consumes me.

… and so very bent …

My final exhale of resistance—from him, for her—as the fight leaves me.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

“We’re losing him. He’s crashing!

… I wonder if there’s pain when you die …

“Justin, come back. Fight goddammit!”

Minutes turn into hours.

Hours turn into days.

Time slips away when we’ve lost too much of it as it is.

I refuse to leave Justin’s bedside. Too many people have left him in his life, and I refuse to do it when it matters the most. So I ramble to him incessantly. I speak about nothing and everything, but it doesn’t help. He never reacts, never moves … and it kills me.

Visitors drift in and out of his room in sporadic bouts: his parents, Quinlan, and Becks. Updates are given in the waiting room where some of the crew and Tawny still gather daily. And I have no doubt that Becks is making sure Tawny keeps her distance from me and my more than fragile emotional state.

On the fifth day I can’t take it anymore. I need to feel him against me. I need that physical connection with him. I carefully move all the wires to the side and cautiously crawl on the bed beside him, placing my head on his chest and my hand over his heart. The tears come now with the feel of his body against mine. I find comfort in the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my ear, instead of the electronic beep of the monitor I’ve grown to rely on as a gauge of his momentary status.

I snuggle into him, wishing for the feel of his arm curling around me, and the rumble of his voice through his chest. Little bits of comfort that don’t come.

We lie there for awhile and I’m fading off into the clutches of sleep when I startle awake. I swear it’s Justin’s voice that is pulling at me. Swear I hear the chant of superheroes, a tumultuous sigh on his lips. My heart races in my chest as I reacquaint myself with the foreign surroundings of his room. The only thing familiar is Justin next to me, and even that’s a small comfort to the riot in my psyche because he’s not the same either. His fingers twitch and he moans again, and even though it’s not the words that awoke me, deep down I know he’s calling to them. Asking for the help to pull him from this nightmare.

I don’t know how to soothe him. I wish I could crawl inside of him and make him better, but I can’t. So I do the only thing I can think of, I start singing softly, his dad’s comments ringing in my ears. I thought I’d forgotten the words to the song I’d heard long ago, but they come to me easily after I struggle through the first few.

So in this cold and sterile environment, I attempt to use lyrics to bring warmth to Justin by singing the song of his childhood: Puff the Magic Dragon.

I don’t even realize I’ve fallen asleep until I jolt awake when I hear the squeak of shoes on the floor and look up to meet the kind eyes of the charge nurse. I can see the reprimand about to roll off the tip of her tongue but the pleading look in my eyes stops her.

“Sweetie, you really shouldn’t be up there with him. You risk the chance of pulling a lead out.” Her voice is soft and she shakes her head when I meet her eyes. “But if you want to while I’m on shift, I promise not to tell.” She gives me a wink, and I smile gratefully at her.

“Thank you. I just needed to …” My voice trails off because how do I put into words that I needed to connect with him somehow.

She reaches over and pats my arm in understanding. “I know, dear. And who’s to say it won’t help pull him from his current state? Just be careful, okay?” I nod in understanding before she leaves the room.

I’m left alone again in the darkness with the eerie glow from the machines illuminating the room. Still snuggled into his side, I angle my head up and press my lips to that favorite place of mine on the underside of his jaw. His scruff is almost a beard now, and I welcome the tickle of it against my nose and lips. I draw him in and just linger in the feel of him. The first tear slips out quietly and before I know it, the past few days come crashing down around me. I am lying holding on to the man I love—still afraid that I might lose him—overcome with every form of imaginable emotion.

And so I whisper the only thing I can to express the fear holding my soul hostage.

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

My tears subside over time, and I slowly succumb to the clutches of sleep again.

I awake disoriented, eyes blinking rapidly at the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Murmured voices fill my ears but the one that surprises me the most is vibrating beneath my ear.

Awareness jolts me when I realize the rumble is Justin’s voice. In a split second my heart thunders, breath catches, and hope soars. My head dizzies as I sit up and look at the man I love, all others in the room forgotten.

“Hi.” It’s the only word I can manage as my eyes collide with his. Chills dance over my flesh and my hands tremble at the sight of him awake and alert and aware.

His eyes flicker over my shoulder before coming back to rest on mine. “Hi,” he rasps as my elation soars. He angles his head slightly to observe me, and even though confusion flickers over his face, I don’t care because he’s alive and whole.

And he’s come back to me.

I just sit there and stare at him for a moment, pulse racing and the shock of him awake robbing my words. “Iron-Ironman …” I stutter, thinking that I need to go get the doctor. I don’t want to move. I want to kiss him, hug him, never let him go again. He just looks at me as if he’s lost and understandably because he’s just woken up to a frantic mess and the only thing I say is the name of a superhero.

I start to shove off the bed but he reaches out and grabs my wrist. “What are you doing here?” His eyes search mine asking so many questions that I’m not sure that I can answer.

“I—I—you were in an accident,” I stutter, trying to explain. Hoping the trepidation snaking up my spine and digging its claws into my neck are just from the overload of emotions over the past few days. “You crashed during the race. Your head … you’ve been out for a week …” My voice fades as I see his eyes narrow and his head angle to the side. I can see him trying to work through the memories in his head, so I give him the time to do that.

His eyes glance back over my shoulder again, and it’s now that I remember there were voices in the room—more than one person—but something about the look on his face makes me afraid to look away. “Justin …”

“You left me.” His voice is broken and heart wrenching, filled with disbelief.

“No …” I shake my head, grabbing onto his hand as fear starts to creep into my voice. “No. I came back. We figured it out. Woke up together.” I can hear the panic escalating in my tone, can feel the pounding of my heart, the crashing descent of the hope I’d just gotten back. “We raced together.”

He shakes his head gently back and forth with a stuttering disbelief. “No, you didn’t.” He looks back over my shoulder as he pulls his hand from mine and holds out his now free hand to the person behind me. “You left. I chased you but couldn’t find you. She found me in the elevator.” The smile I’d been silently needing, wanting to reaffirm our connection, is given … but not to me.

The air punches from my lungs, the blood drains from my face, and a coldness seeps into every fiber of my soul as the smile I love—the one he only reserves for me—is given to the person at my back.

“Justin couldn’t remember everything, doll.” The voice assaults my ears and breaks my heart. “So I filled him in on all of the missing pieces,” Tawny says as she comes into view, scrunching up her nose with a condescending smirk. “How you left and we reconnected.” She works her tongue in her mouth as the victorious smile grows wider, eyes gleaming, message sent loud and clear.

I won.

You lose.

The bottom drops out of my world, blackness fading over my vision, and nothingness left to contend with.

I awake with a start. My lungs are greedy for air and my mind reaches to cling to anything real through its groggy haze. The scream on my lips dies when I realize I’m in Justin’s room, alone, with him beside me. My head is still on his chest and my arm still hooked around his waist.

I blow out a shaky breath as my adrenaline surges. It was a dream. Holy shit, it was just a dream. I tell myself over and over, trying to reassure myself with the constant beep of the monitors and the medicinal smell—things I have grown to hate but welcome right now as a way to convince myself that nothing has changed. Justin’s still asleep and I’m still hoping for miracles.

Just ones that don’t involve Tawny.

I sink back down into Justin, my nightmare a fringe on the edge of my consciousness that leaves me beyond unsettled and my body trembling with anxiety. I’m so lost in thought—in fear over both nightmares—that as the adrenaline fades, my eyes grow heavy. I’m so lost to the welcoming peace of sleep that when a hand smooths down my hair and stills on my back, I sink into the soothing feeling of it in my hazy, dreamlike state. I nestle closer, accepting the warmth offered and the serenity that comes with it.

And then it hits me. I snap my head up to meet Justin’s. The sob that chokes in my throat is nothing compared to the tumble in my heart and awakening in my soul.

When our eyes meet I’m frozen, so many thoughts flitting through my mind, the most prevalent one is that he came back to me. Justin is awake and alive and back with me. Our eyes remain locked and I can see the confusion flicker through his at a lightning pace and the unknown warring within.

“Hi there,” I offer on a shaky smile, and I’m not sure why a part of me is nervous. Justin licks his lips and closes his eyes momentarily which causes me to panic that he’s been pulled back under. To my relief he reopens them with a squint and parts his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Shh-Shh,” I tell him, reaching out and resting my finger on his lips. “There was an accident.” His brow furrows as he tries to lift his hand but can’t, as if it’s a dead weight. He tries to angle his eyes up to figure out the thick bandages surrounding his head. “You had surgery.” His eyes widen with trepidation and I mentally chastise myself for fumbling over my words and not being clearer. The monitor beside me beeps at an accelerated pace, the noise dominating the room. “You’re okay now. You came back to me.” I can see him struggle to comprehend, and I wait for something to spark in his eyes but there is nothing. “I’m going to get the nurse.”

I reach out to pull myself off the bed and Justin’s hand that’s lying on the mattress clasps around my wrist. He shakes his head and winces with the movement. I immediately reach out to him and cradle his face with one hand, his skin paling and beads of sweat appearing on the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t move, okay?” My voice breaks when I say it, as my eyes travel the lines of his face searching to see if he’s hurt anything. As if I would know if he had.

He nods just barely and whispers in an almost absent voice, “Hurts.”

“I know it does,” I tell him as I reach across the bed and push the call button for the nurse as the hope deep within me settles into possibility. “Let me get a nurse to help with the pain, okay?”

“Selena …” His voice breaks again as the fear in it splinters in my heart. I do the only thing I know might reassure him. I lean forward and brush my lips to his cheek and just hold them there momentarily while I control the rush of emotions that hit me like a tsunami. Tears drip down my cheeks and onto his as the silent sobs surge through me. I hear a soft sigh and when I pull back, his eyes are closed and his mind lost to the blackness behind them once again.

“Is everything okay?” The nurse pulls me from my moment.

I look over at her, Justin’s face still cradled in my hand and my tears staining his lips. “He woke up …” I can’t say anything else because relief robs my words. “He woke up.”

Justin comes in and out of consciousness a couple more times over the next few days. Small moments of lucidity among a haze of confusion. Each time he tries to talk without success, and each time we try to soothe—what we assume from his racing heartbeat—are his fears, in the few minutes we have with him.

I refuse to leave, so fearful that I’ll miss any of these precious moments. Stolen minutes where I can pretend nothing has happened instead of the endless span of worry.

Dorothea has finally convinced me to take a few moments and head to the cafeteria. As much as I don’t want to, I know I’m hogging her son and she probably wants a minute alone with him.

I pick at my food, my appetite nonexistent, and my jeans baggier than when I first arrived in Florida a week ago. Nothing sounds good—not even chocolate, my go to food for stress.

My cell rings and I scramble to get it, hoping it’s Dorothea telling me Justin’s awake again, but it isn’t. My excitement abates. “Hey, Had.”

“Hi, sweetie. Any change?”

“No.” I just sigh, wishing I had more to say. She’s used to this by now and allows the silence between us.

“If he doesn’t wake anytime soon, I’m ignoring you and flying my ass out there to be with you.” Here comes Haddie and her no-nonsense attitude. There’s no need for her to be here really. She’d just sit around and wait like the rest of us, and what good is that going to do?

“Just your ass?” I let the smile grace my lips even though it feels so foreign in this dismal place.

“Well, it is a fine one if I may say so myself … like bounce quarters off of it and shit.” She laughs. “And thank God! There’s a bit of the girl I love shining through. You hanging in there?”

“It’s all I can do,” I sigh.

“So how is he? Has he come to again?”

“Yeah, last night.”

“So that’s what, five times in two days according to Becks? That’s a good sign, right? From nothing to something?”

“I guess … I don’t know. He just seems so scared when he wakes up—his heart rate on the monitors sky rockets and he can’t catch his breath—and it’s so quick that we don’t have time to explain that it’s okay, that he’s going to be okay.”

“But he sees you all there, Selena. The fact you’re all there has to tell him he has nothing to fear.” I just give a non-committal murmur in response, hoping her words are true. Hoping that the sight of all of us soothes him rather than scares him into thinking he’s on his deathbed. “What does Dr. Irons say?”

I breathe in deeply, afraid if I say it my fears might come true. “He says Justin seems stable. That the more often he wakes up the better … but until he starts talking in full sentences, he won’t know if any part of his brain is affected by everything.”

“Okay,” she says, drawing the word out so that it’s almost a question. Asking me what I fear without asking. “What are you not telling me, Selena?”

I push the food around on my plate some, scattered thoughts focusing for bouts of time. I work a swallow in my throat before drawing in a shaky breath. “He says sometimes motor skills might be temporarily affected …”

“And …” Silence hangs as she waits for me to continue. “Put your fork down and talk to me. Tell me what you’re really worried about. No bullshit. You’re not a lesbian so stop beating around the damn bush.”

Her attempt to make me laugh results in a soft chuckle turned audible exhale of breath. “He said that he might not remember much. Sometimes in cases like these, the patient may have temporary to permanent memory loss.”

“And you’re afraid he might not remember what happened, good and bad, right?” I don’t respond, feeling stupid and validated in my fears at the same time. She takes my lack of a reply as my answer. “Well, he obviously remembers you because he didn’t freak out when you were lying in bed with him the first time, right? He grabbed your hand, stroked your hair? That has to tell you he knows who you are.”

“Yeah … I’ve just found him though, Haddie, and the thought of losing him—even if it’s in the figurative sense—scares the shit out of me.”

“Quit thinking about something that hasn’t happened yet. I understand why you’re worried but, Selena, you’ve made it through some pretty random shit so far—Tawny the twatwaffle’s antics included—so you need to back away from that ledge you’re sitting on and wait to see what happens. You’ll cross that bridge and all when it comes, okay?”

I’m about to respond when my phone beeps with an incoming text. I pull my phone from my ear and my heart rockets when I see Quinlan’s text. He’s awake.

“It’s Justin. I gotta go.”

Pain pounds like a fucking jackhammer against my temple. My eyes burn like I’m waking up after downing a fifth of Jack. Bile rises and my stomach churns.

Churns as if I’m back in that room—dank mattress, crab weeds of trepidation blooming in me as I wait for him to arrive, for my mom to hand me over, trade me … but that’s not fucking possible. Q’s here, Beckett. Mom and Dad.

What the fuck is going on?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake away the confusion, but all I get is more of the goddamn pain.

Pain.

Ache.

Pleasure.

Need.

Selena.

Flashes of memories I can’t quite grasp or understand blindside me before disappearing into the darkness holding them hostage.

But where is she?

I fight to gain more memories, pull them in and grasp them like a lifeline.

Did she finally figure out the fucking poison within me? Realize this pleasure isn’t worth the pain I’ll cause in the end?

“Mr. Donavan? I’m Dr. Irons. Can you hear me?”

Who the fuck are you? Ice blue eyes stare at me.

“It may be tough to speak. We’re getting you some water to help. Can you squeeze my hand if you understand me?”

Why the fuck do I need to squeeze his hand? And why is my hand not moving? How the hell am I going to drive in the race today if I can’t grip the wheel?

My heart hammers like the pedal I should be dropping on the track right now.

But I’m here.

And last night I was there, with Selena. Woke up with her … and now she’s gone.

… checkered flag time, baby …

It all zooms into focus at once. And then complete darkness. Checkered holes of black—polka dots of void—throughout the slideshow in my head. I can’t connect the dots. I can’t make sense of anything except that I’m confused as fuck.

All eyes in the room stare at me like I’m the side show at the goddamn circus. And for his next act folks, he’ll move his fingers.

I try my left hand and it responds. Thank fucking Christ for that.

My mind flashes back. Crunching metal, flashing sparks, engulfing smoke. Crashing, tumbling, free-falling, jolting.

… It looks like your superheroes came this time after all …

My mind tries to figure out what the fuck that means but comes up empty.

Selena’s gone.

She doesn’t love the broken in me after all.

I try to shake the bullshit lies from my head but groan as the pain hits me.

Max.

Me.

She left.

Can’t do this again.

I can’t believe I was selfish enough to even ask her to.

“Justin.” The doc is talking again. “You were in a bad accident. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A bad accident? The flickering images in my head start to make more sense but gaps of time are still missing. I try to speak but my mouth’s so dry all that comes out is a croak.

“You injured your head.” He smiles at me but I’m wary.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He may have given me life again, but the fucking reason for living isn’t here. She’s smart enough to leave because I just can’t give her what she needs: stability, a life without racing, the promise of forever.

“The nurse is bringing you some water to wet your throat.” He notes something on his tablet. “I know this might be scary for you, son, but you’re going to be okay. The tough part’s over. Now we need to get you on the road to recovery.”

The road to recovery? Thanks, Captain Obvious—more like the speedway to Hell.

Faces fill my immediate space. Mom kissing my cheek, tears coursing down her face. Dad hiding his emotion but the look in his eyes tells me he’s a fucking wreck. Quin beside herself. Becks muttering something about being a selfish bastard.

This must be pretty fucking serious.

And yet I still feel numb. Empty. Incomplete.

Selena.

After a few moments they slowly back away at my Mom’s insistence to give me space, to let me breathe.

And the air I’ve just gotten back is robbed again.

I turn to look at the vague blur I notice in my periphery, and there she stands.

Curls piled on top of her head, face without makeup, hollow, tear-stained cheeks, eyes welled with tears, perfect fucking lips in a startled O standing in the doorway. She looks like she’s been through Hell, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

Call me a pussy, but I swear to God she’s the only air my body can breathe. Fuck if she’s not everything I need and nothing that I deserve.

Her hands are fiddling with her cell phone, my lucky shirt hanging off her shoulders, and I can see the trepidation in her eyes as they flit around everywhere but at me.

Breathe, Donavan. Fucking breathe. She didn’t leave. She’s still here. The neutralizer to the acid that eats my soul.

Her eyes finally find and lock onto mine. All I see is my future, my salvation, my singular chance at redemption. But her eyes? Fuck, they flicker with such conflicting emotions: relief, optimism, anxiety, fear, and so many more unknown.

And it’s the unknown I focus on.

The unspoken words telling me all of this is tearing her apart. That it’s not fair for me to put her through this again. But racing is my life. Something I need as much as I need the air that I breathe—ironic considering she’s my fucking air—but it’s the only way I can survive and outrun the demons that chase me. The black ooze that seeps in every crack of my soul making sure it can never be eradicated. I can’t be selfish and ask her to stand by me when all I want is to be the most self-centered bastard on the face of the earth.

Urge her to go but beg her to stay.

But how can I let her go when she owns every single part of me?

I’ll gladly suffocate so that she can breathe freely. Without worry. Without the constant fucking fear.

Be selfless for the first time ever when all I’ve been my entire life is self-serving.

I should have told her—got over the fucking fear that consumes my soul—but I couldn’t … and now she doesn’t know.

… I Spiderman you …

Words scream through my head but choke in my throat. The words I don’t know if I’ll ever be healed enough to say.

She robbed me of that all those years ago.

And now I’ll pay for it.

By letting my one fucking chance go.

Then I hear the sob wrench from her throat. Hear the disbelief and torment in that singular sound as her shoulders shake and her posture sags.

And I know what I want and what is best for her are two completely different things.

Out of nowhere the sob tears from my throat at the sight of him, lucid and groggily alert. My damaged man that is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.