#Windshield Damage Assessment

[expertautoglassrepair-az]

Auto Glass Replacement or Repairs: Which is More Practical?

When dealing with damage to your vehicle’s auto glass, you face a crucial decision: should you opt for a replacement or a repair? Both options have their benefits, but understanding which is more practical depends on several factors, including the extent of the damage, cost, and safety concerns. Here’s a detailed look at each option to help you make an informed choice.

When to Choose Auto Glass Repair?

Minor Damage:

Auto glass repair is generally more practical when dealing with minor damage such as small chips or cracks. These issues can often be repaired effectively, restoring the glass’s integrity without the need for a full replacement. Repairs are typically recommended if the damage is less than a certain size (usually around 6 inches for cracks and 1 inch for chips) and located away from the driver’s line of sight.

Cost-Effectiveness:

Repairing a small chip or crack is usually less expensive than replacing the entire windshield. Most repair services are affordable and can be completed quickly, often in under an hour. Additionally, many insurance policies cover the cost of repairs with little or no deductible, making it a cost-effective option.

Quick Solution:

If you need a swift solution, auto glass repairs are often the better choice. Repairs can be done on-site or at a service center, and they require minimal downtime. This is particularly useful if you rely on your vehicle daily and cannot afford to have it out of commission for an extended period.

When to Opt for Auto Glass Replacement?

Extensive Damage:

If the damage to your auto glass is extensive—such as a large crack spreading across the windshield or significant shattering—a replacement is usually necessary. Repairs may not provide sufficient safety or durability in these cases, and replacing the glass ensures your vehicle meets safety standards.

Safety Concerns:

The windshield plays a critical role in vehicle safety, contributing to the structural integrity of your car and providing support during a collision. A damaged windshield that cannot be adequately repaired may compromise safety. In such cases, replacing the glass is the safer option to ensure full protection.

Insurance Considerations:

While insurance often covers repairs with little to no cost, replacement can sometimes be covered as well, depending on your policy. It’s important to check with your insurance provider to understand your coverage options and any potential out-of-pocket expenses.

Choosing between auto glass repair and replacement depends largely on the extent of the damage and your specific needs. For minor damage, repairs are generally more practical due to their cost-effectiveness and quick turnaround. However, for extensive damage or safety concerns, the best auto glass replacement in Phoenix is the more appropriate choice. Always consult with a professional to assess the damage and determine the best course of action for your vehicle.

[let-spretend]

hellooo here's part 2 , some minimal alexei & bucky in the beginning, then void and bob . ok bye

heavy space between us pt.2 (bob x reader)

CW self-harm, mental unwellness

pt. 1

You, Bucky and Alexei were being sent out on a short-notice mission, to assess several reports of a supernatural being in the upstate area. With a disproportionate amount of funding, missions that don’t call for immediate attention were to be gone with a car. Obviously, Alexei opted for a limousine and that’s what you got. No one really cared at that moment, but now everyone was slightly embarrassed to be seen in it for missions or to represent the Avengers. You didn’t mind, the room in the back was way too convenient and luxurious, despite it being on the cheaper side. But, 5 hours. It was a little bit daunting, when it was awkwardly silent Winter Soldier and overly extroverted Red Soldier occupying the car. The leg room was not cutting the two extremes you were facing. You look out to see the open fields. It was so flat that it didn’t feel real. But the green gave you a sense of relaxation. The bustling nature and blinding lights were nowhere to be found, but it wore off a while ago. 

Bucky fiddles with his gun to avoid talking to you. Guns were never your thing but they got the job done; another thing that kept you out of the loop from the New Avengers. You and Bucky have always had an awkward and strained relationship - where neither of you were willing to open up to each other and you both could tell. Despite this, you still looked up to and cared for him as much as the others. You couldn’t tell or say the same about him. 

You would give Alexei a couple chirps here and there to engage him in conversation, but something was off. You could feel another entity nearby. It wasn’t as though you were near bulks of civilization, just the same miles of field. 

“Bucky, I think something is here.” You say. He immediately stops his fiddling, his face full of alertness. His usual furrow of the brow forms onto his face, his eyes glaring into yours. You begin to confess, “I know I haven’t told you a lot of things but-“ 

“Something’s coming, New Avengerz!” Alexei yells, accentuating the Z. 

You couldn’t even react. The car was smashed into by some inhuman speed. The rear was smushed in, Alexi grunting by the lack of space, squeezed in. Shards of glass fly by, grazing both you and Bucky on the face. You reach for Alexei’s seatbelt, unbuckling him to help release him before he is crushed indefinitely. The green scenery was no more from the windshield, only black could be seen.

“Alexei, please! Coordinate with me.” You strain, as you try pulling him out of his seat. His panicked flailing stops and he tries to shimmy out whilst you pull his arm. His plans for a summer body were clearly not progressing.

“Opened.” Bucky muttered. He had worked on finding a way out for you all, kicking at the backseat’s one-way door. He shuffles on over and helps you get him out by pushing on him through the crack on the left, Alexei popping out in no time. The damage done to the car was irreplaceable, completely wrecked. Or rather, beginning to fade. The front portion of the car was just gone, like it had never existed. You hated the way it resembled the Blip. You squeeze your eyes momentarily to snap out of it. It seemed a miracle you all were able to avoid death.

“Like what I did there?” 

The three of you turn to see an older man, perhaps in his late 40s, in a regular working suit. He had no scratches or wounds, or any indication that he was the perpetrator. His mouth contorted in a smug way, proud of his work on the limousine. 

“I ought to think you wouldn’t show up! Y’know, like they always do, only caring about the big city ‘n all.” He confessed. 

“What is it that your town needs, exactly?” Bucky sternly asks.

“We need jobs, investment and focus in this area. No matter how hard I tried, my voice was never heard.” He looks down onto his palm. “I’ve always had this problem, y’see. I’m a Mutant. Always thought of it as something to hide and be ashamed of. But, I can use this.” His arm reaches out, you all crouch expecting impact. “No more waiting.”

Only speckles of black flakes remain where he used to be, disappearing. The warmth of another, resurfaces, behind you. You feel a hand grasp at your backpack, tugging you backward. You instantly hear your shoulders get lighter, items clanking beneath you. When you turn around he waves around a small light bomb that should’ve been in your bag. Shit. You turn back around toward your teammates, grabbing and slamming them to the ground. You attempt to cover at least one of their ears, your left hand on Alexei’s and and your right on Bucky’s. Your arms and back shield their eyes. Your left hand tingles from the pressure.

A hot, burning sensation trickles onto your back and a loud ringing follows. Disorientation was an understatement, everything had happened so fast. You open your eyes to a yelling Bucky, but you couldn’t hear anything spewing out of his mouth. His hands find your shoulders, lightly pushing you off him. All you could do was watch him dash toward the mysterious man as Alexei tries to get you back into the moment. His words were at least muffled now, face littered with worry. You don’t fail to notice the rips and tears in his uniform from when the car crashed.

You brush him off and begin to pick yourself up. You need to protect your people, your purpose. The sounds come rushing to you as you come to a straight stance, throwing off your equilibrium for a moment. Bucky grunts as he is thrown to you and Alexei’s feet. He attempts to help him up but is met with resistance. Your feet lose contact with the ground. You all were floating an inch off the pavement, flakes surrounding you. He’s making molecules disappear and transport you, as he did with himself seconds ago. You can only watch helplessly as just the flick of his finger makes you go flying 40,000 feet into the air. 

The world begins to warp and the houses begin to shrink. All the parachutes had been left in the car as an afterthought. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. The wind that hits your face hurts, as you all begin to hurl toward the Earth. Alexei begins to yell, the circumstance beginning to hit him. Bucky joins in with him, closing his eyes. There was really no other way. You had to rely on your powers. To save your friends. So it would be okay. 

You attempt to swim amidst the air, grabbing onto the Red Soldier’s thigh. His holster for a small knife carefully hidden away by the various straps on top of it. You hand snakes it out of the jail it was behind, freeing it for its use. To slit, to cut. 

“Alexei. Hold onto Bucky, okay?” 

He looks like he wants to ask what it is exactly you were planning, but Bucky does the “holding onto” for him, not questioning you. You hum at his obedience and look down to see his knife. Shining and in optimal sharpness. Raising and scrunching your left sleeve to your elbow, you don’t dare linger on it. You bring the knife near your left ventral and cut toward your palm. It was deep, you could feel it digging in. You couldn’t quite tell whether you hit bone. A flash of heat, followed by a shiver when the blade leaves you. You sigh. The comfort of this feeling was one you know you should hate. All the things you did because of your power, to yourself and others. This odd sense of familiarity is why you stopped when you were younger. It confused you.

The familiar feeling of blood oozing and rolling off your arm, reminds you why you even did this again in the first place. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on your blood, draining yourself. 

A maroon red begins to slowly cocoon you three, hardening it like a shell as best you could to brace for impact. You keep your eyes closed. Afraid of what Alexei or Bucky’s faces looked like. What they would say.

It felt like forever, falling back down to Earth. It killed you to not know when you would hit the ground. Your right hand that was squeezing your arm to hold in as much blood as possible should hurt right now. Alexei and Bucky are still yelling, arguably louder since they couldn’t see. Forever sounded nice. Until it wasn’t.

As soon as you hit the ground, the blood became plush to cushion your fall. It immediately disperses and turns into liquid. Bucky and Alexei’s bodies slam into yours and they roll off onto the ground. Your blood stains all of your clothes, the wet seeping through onto your back. It stung, with the previous burn from the stun bomb. 

“Oho~ I didn’t know you had powers, Avenger.” He mocks. “A weird one at that.” 

Too much blood was leaving your body, but you had to keep fighting. Your clouded mind was beginning to fade. 

You prop yourself up with your left arm, more blood oozing out of your body. Hurriedly, you slam your hand onto the wound. 

Crystalizing what blood was still on the ground, you fling it toward the man with two fingers. You didn’t want to create anything life-threatening to him by using the fresh blood from your arm. He yells from the several that penetrate his thigh and shoulder, immobilizing him. You had deduced he was just a man with powers with no physical training or battle experience from his appearance. 

Alexei seizes this chance, pinning him to the ground. The man struggles under his weight, but gives in after a couple seconds, flopping his arms and legs to the ground. The Red Soldier grins for the victory. Bucky swiftly administers a power suppressor onto the man’s neck, disabling his ability. 

You allow yourself to lay your head onto the ground, beginning to let yourself into the black. It was comforting, not in the way that it was familiar, but this devoid feeling reminded you of Bob. Early this morning was calm and enjoyable. You could stare at his concentrated, hard-working form all day. You could feel two sources of warmth approaching you, but you stay ignorant, staying in the comforting black. The Void.

-

It felt as though you woke up, but you were met again with nothingness. You never necessarily remembered how it felt or what you saw in your mind when you were unconscious. You simply woke up. This time, though familiar, there was no warmth like you felt before you fell into the dark. 

Faint dripping noises could be heard, looking down, the same wound you had inflicted was still on your arm. It runs along your forearm and continues to splatter onto the floor. There was no pain, only the sensation of the liquid running along. 

You guess you’d been staring at this anomaly for a while, as a pool of your own blood begins to form. Crouching down, you look at the moment the blood hits the pool. It ripples for only a moment, dying as soon as it lands. 

”Why do you not stop it?” A figure, seemingly blended into the darkness, stands before you. Only two small slivers of light could be seen radiating from his pupils. The Void. This must be his doing, but it didn’t feel as though he was creating this place out of malice. Whether he was asking about the ripple or the flowing blood, you couldn’t tell. You only look up, allowing him to have the upper hand.

”Stop what, exactly?” You try to clarify.

”The bleeding.”

”Oh, well. Not that I really can, can I?” You confess. The Void steps closer to you, crouching down with you, watching the fleeting ripples.

Softly putting your hand onto your wound, you squeeze at it, trying your best to stop the flow. No matter how you rearranged your hand, blood would always manage to seep through. Your once clean right hand, tainted with fresh blood.

“See?” You say, looking over to his bright irises. He takes several moments to stare you down, to assess you. Of course the Void and Bob were two different entities, but you could see many similarities in them. “Are you okay, Void?” You ask. He only blinks, taking his time to look into your eyes. 

“Hm.. yes.” He answers. “Why is it that you ask?”

“You seem.. different. More, present.”

The Void stands up, creating distance between the two of you.

“I had thought that controlling you, having you beneath me was what we wanted. Bob doesn’t know what he wants with you and I don’t either.” You turn to look at the Void in confusion. “I was born to be the manifestation of Bob’s flaws. You… your powers are like myself. Where, we are confined to be a specific way and cause harm, but there is solace and comfort in that familiarity. Why did it take me you to understand that I am needed, that I am Bob? And I figure, it is because you are so imperfect and raw that I recognize my being was never so ..” Again, his eyes meet yours. “Haah.. I can’t find the word..”

The bleeding had long stopped while the Void was talking. Only a long gash remained. You could see the inner workings of your arm, where the muscle lay and bone met. You look up to see the room lightening to a dark gray, the Void now clearly visible. He contrasts the place harshly, a rough outline of Bob’s shaded figure standing before you. 

“The others don’t understand us.” It states. The void steps forward, seeming to want to touch you, but stops the action. “I.. will see you again...” 

Your brows furrow as the room brightens in an instant, blinding you momentarily. You want to know what it is that you helped him to understand with your actions. How come you don’t understand that yet? 

That looming feeling of the Void dissipates, but lingers. Warmth.

You jolt up fully expecting to still be in upstate New York, bleeding out on the endless fields. You were met with the familiar blinding med bay lights within the tower. Your wound had been stitched up, due to its deep nature. 

A warm feeling fills your body, both sensing and seeing Bob at your bedside. His hand was on your left, answering your question as to why you were visited by the Void in your unconsciousness. An unknowing psychic. 

Keeping your hand under Bob’s, you quietly turn it around, holding his in yours. Your ventral side of your arm now toward you, you could see the red. You run your fingers along the closed slit, barely seeing any thread. Must’ve been a layered stitch. You sigh, leaning back into your pillows. They had been propped up so you were slightly upright in the bed. You wonder if Bob had done that for you.

You had never thought of the Void as something to be locked away, though you knew why the New Avengers had gone with that route. It made you question why the Void was okay with your complicity. Shouldn’t the Void be angry, even with me?

You turn your head to see Bob, sleeping, his head on your bed with his hand lightly intertwined with yours. You brush his bangs away from his face, revealing his closed eyes. They twitch a bit, now that the lights are fully hitting him. Mumbling into the bed, he pushes himself up with his left hand. “Ergh..” He groans, squinting.

Just like the other day, using the same hand, he rubs his eyes to wipe the sleep away. He softly blinks, realizing you were awake. His face contorts, wanting to say something, but all he could do was hug your body tightly. You hadn’t been in the fight directly, so nothing hurt really, but your heart tightens when Bob sobs quietly into your chest. More like a relief than anything. You let him be like that for a while. His cries did stop relatively quickly, but he remained in the hug with no intention of letting go soon. Though you wanted to, you decided to keep your arms to your sides. To have him initiate something, was new.

You also come to think it was nice to feel him physically. He is always scared to touch anyone due to the Void, which in a way you understood. He couldn’t really control it and you don’t think he ever will. 

“Thank you for being with me, Bob. You didn’t have to.” You say. 

He slowly peels himself off you, revealing his puffy red eyes. You admire his ability to be vulnerable, but wonder greatly why the Void hadn’t taken over. Usually when he is in great distress, the Void finds it easier to.

He gulps a small bit. You could clearly see the gears turning in his head, hyping himself up.

”Why…hadn’t you told us about your powers?” He meekly asks, scared you would be mad for bringing it up. His mouth tightens, his dark blue eyes meet yours. 

“Uh, well…” You trail off, trying to find the right words to say. You remember, how the Void had asked why you hadn’t stopped the bleeding and you didn’t know why. “I initially thought my reliance on my powers was normal, y’know, like Ava. It’s like second nature, a habit, and I’m sure for her it’s a healthy one.” 

You look down onto your arms to see the littered healed scars. It felt vulnerable to have them out due to the hospital gown you adorned, usually you would wear more concealing clothing. Not that you were ashamed of having scars, but you weren’t quite at the stage where you couldn’t look at them without convincing yourself it was to use your powers again. Which you knew wasn’t true. “There are good days and bad days, right?” You say, looking at Bob. His eyes were on your arms, accessing what that exactly meant. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what I was asking.” He states.

‘It’s not a crime to ask, Bob. Just that, I also realized that I was solely using my powers to hurt others and myself. When I met you, you reminded me of what I was like or, am, really. I still haven’t completely recovered that part of myself yet. And I know you don’t know this, but the Void had told me that he now understands that he is an extension of you. Not necessarily a part that should be pushed down, but I guess, we both have a part of ourselves we need to constantly be working on. I shouldn’t have been subduing it this whole time. You and the Void, your relationship, helped me understand that too.”

“You talked to the Void.” He goes a little bug-eyed, in disbelief. “Okay..” 

“I’m not quite sure of it either, but I think it was a good thing.” You say, with confidence. His mouth tenses, but he seemed to trust your judgement. Amidst this new understanding of you and the Void, Bob understands why he’s always felt a connection to you. That, every part of him feels it.

“I told Bucky I would call him over when you woke up. We’ll keep talking later?” He says, slowly standing up from his chair.

You simply nod. He averts his eyes and shuffles out of the room very quickly, not turning back. 

After the incident with the Void, he had been reluctant to give into great self-indulgence. He would read books and watch some TV to pass the time, but never anything he would specifically be interested in. Always picking out mundane channels or boring books. He felt undeserving. But this time, he walks out feeling lighter and he doesn’t know why.

[delusionalfanficwriter]

accident

The morning sun cast a soft glow over the streets of Seattle as Y/N drove to her training session for USWNT. The familiar scent of coffee filled the air, but her mind was focused on the upcoming game and the challenges that lay ahead. As she approached an intersection, the traffic light turned red, forcing her to come to a stop.

Just as the light turned green, Y/N accelerated, her mind still occupied with thoughts of tactics and strategy for the game. The intersection was busy, cars moving in various directions. However, in the blink of an eye, a distracted driver ran a red light, colliding with Y/N's car from the side.

The impact sent Y/N's car spinning, metal crunching against metal. The sudden jolt left her disoriented, the world spinning around her. As the chaos unfolded, she heard the distant wail of sirens, and through the haze, she saw the familiar faces of Maya hopping out of the fire truck and the Station 19 team rushing to the scene before her eyes started to close shut. 

Maya takes in the scene,  her eyes fall on the license plate number she has seen dozens of times. Her mind jumps to y/n, who she knows is in Seattle for the game coming up later in the week. The y/n who she and Carina took under their wing after she showed up several times to clinic days. They opened their home for her until she was steady enough to be on her own and when she isn’t with USWNT she is home in the UK playing for Arsenal. 

Panic and concern etched across her face, as she sprinted towards Y/N's car. Reaching the damaged vehicle, she instantly saw y/n out cold. Reaching for the door handle, it wouldn’t budge. “Fuck! Guys it’s y/n. We need the jaws of life to remove the door and maybe even windshield for more access.” Travis went to grab it as Warren and Andy came with the med bag as they were on Aid car 19. “Y/n, I’m not sure if you can hear me but I need you to try to open your eyes. It’s Maya. You are going to be okay.”

Maya makes the decision to break the backseat window and enter through there before crawling front to the passenger seat. Andy did the same but remained behind y/n as she helped stabilize her neck with a c-collar after Maya checked for a pulse. 

With all the hands touching her, y/n started to stir awake, moaning in pain. “Shhh. Y/n, it’s going to be okay, just try to remain still for us.”

Hearing the familiar voice, y/n turned her head as much as possible with the collar on to the source. “Cap…” She whispered.

“Hey there, kiddo. You took quite a big hit. Andy and I are in the car with you. Can you tell me if you are in pain and where?” Maya scans over y/n as y/n thinks the question through. 

“Um. My head is pounding and the light makes it worse. Chest might be bruised… Maya…” y/n’s facial expression changes into a panicked one. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong?... Y/n talk to me…”

“...legs… I- I can’t feel my legs. Maya- no no…” Y/n begins to spiral as realization hits her. 

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me and breathe. We will figure it out but don’t focus on that right now. I need you to get your breathing under control.”

Warren assisted Travis in preparing the jaws of life while Maya focused on Y/N's immediate needs. Andy opened the med bag, retrieving equipment to monitor vital signs. 

"Y/N, I need you to stay with me. Andy's going to monitor your vital signs, and we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Maya explained, her voice a steady presence in the chaos. “Nice deep breaths.”

Andy secured an IV line, administering fluids to address potential shock. Maya continued to assess Y/N's chest and abdomen, searching for any signs of internal injuries. 

"Good job, Andy. Let's keep an eye on those vitals. Y/N, I need you to let me know if anything feels off or if the pain increases," Maya directed, her focus unwavering. “Y/n pay attention to me. Eyes on me. We will worry about your legs when we pull you out.”

“Cap, my legs are everything. You know that.”

“I know, Y/n, I promise I know.” Maya is reminded of how soccer saved Y/N life and helped lift her from her rough past. 

As Maya reassured Y/N, the situation took a dire turn. A faint hissing sound emerged from beneath the wreckage, followed by the acrid smell of gas. Maya's heart sank as she realized the danger they were in.

"Warren, Travis, we've got a gas leak! We need to get Y/N out of here, now!" Maya's voice cut through the chaos, urgency evident in every word. With adrenaline coursing through their veins, the team intensified their efforts.

Travis and Warren redoubled their efforts with the jaws of life, while Andy swiftly prepared Y/N for extraction, mindful of the looming threat of fire. Maya coordinated the rescue operation with precision, her training kicking in as she assessed the risks and devised a plan.

Suddenly, a spark ignited the volatile atmosphere, and flames erupted, engulfing the front of the car. Time seemed to slow as panic surged through the team. Without hesitation, Maya made a split-second decision.

"Grab Y/N, we're getting her out, now!" Maya commanded, her voice unwavering despite the inferno raging around them. With synchronized movements, Andy and Maya carefully lifted Y/N, their actions swift yet deliberate.

“Stop it-it hurts! Maya, stop!” Y/n screamed and cried as her body was hastily carried out of the vehicle. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n but we need to leave now!” Maya screamed over the chaos. As they lifted y/n out and placed her on the stretcher, they ran as Vic and Jack foamed over the gas leak. 

“Leah… I was on a call with Leah before.” Y/n suddenly remembered having her girlfriend on the other end of the line before the crash. 

“Don’t worry, I will call her, right now.” Maya climbed into the back of the ambulance, her eyes never leaving Y/N. "You're doing great, Y/N. We're right here with you," she said, her voice filled with reassurance.

Andy followed suit, bringing the medical bag and equipment into the confined space of the ambulance. Y/N's eyes darted between Maya and Andy, seeking comfort in their familiar faces amidst the uncertainty.

“Speaking of the devil, Leah is facetiming me.” Maya says unlocking her phone but as the ambulance doors closed, Y/N's panic resurfaces. The confined space and the realization of the severity of the situation weighed heavily on her. "Maya, I can't... I can't breathe. It's too much," Y/N gasped, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Maya quickly grabbed an oxygen mask from the medical bag. "Y/N, slow your breathing. This will help," she said, placing the mask gently over Y/N's face. "Deep breaths. In and out."

“What’s happening? Maya what happened to Y/n?!” Leah yelled through the phone panicked by Y/n’s panic. 

“Y/n look who I have on the phone, wanting to see you.” Maya tries to distract the woman in front of her. Y/n pauses for a second to see her blurred girlfriend on the screen.

“Baby, you’re going to be okay, Maya is with you and I am sure Carina will meet you in the hospital. I’ll be on the next plane over.” Leah reassured y/n. 

“Leahhh,” Y/n cried. “I can’t - can’t feel my legs. I’m so scared.” Leah pauses and a panic look crosses over her eye but she tries to remain as calm as possible. 

“Wait until the doctor’s check you out, it could just be from slight inflammation. Just focus on what Maya says. She is with you and looks like Andy is there too. You are gonna be fine, baby just remain calm.” 

“Leah, we are pulling into the ambulance bay in a minute so I am going to hang up and get her sorted for the medical staff. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” Maya tells Leah knowing how protective she is of her girlfriend. With that Leah gives another word of love to Y/n before canceling the call. 

“I texted Carina as well, I am not sure if she’s in surgery or not but she’ll come to find us once she sees it.” Maya informs y/n knowing she is able to calm down more when Carina is around. “We are almost there, but it’s going to get chaotic. Just breathe, it’ll be alright.” 

The ambulance pulls up and doors open to reveal Amelia, Bailey, Kepner, Teddy, and Carina. 

“What do we have?” Bailey starts.

“23 year old female in a MVC, airbags deployed, head laceration, possible spinal injury, she says she can’t feel her legs. C-spine precaution taken. Y/n had two panic attacks already and is in pain but no pain meds given as unknown head trauma...” Andy trails off. 

“Alright, trauma 2.”

Y/n is rolled in as everyone takes on a role and several hands are trying to assess her injuries to the full extent. Y/n takes her deep breaths as she reminds herself they are here to help her. 

In the entrance of the room Maya whispers to Carina, “Carina, she said she can’t feel her legs. I tried to stay calm for her but it’s never good. She was freaking out…” 

A loud groan of pain takes them out of their moment as they see they have turned y/n on her side to check her back before placing her back down. Amelia does a head work up and then moves down to y/n’s legs. Carina steps closer to y/n for support as Amelia asks her if she can feel her touching her feet. 

“I can’t feel it.” Amelia moves up the leg and to the knee. “Nothing.” Amelia moves mid-thigh. “I barely feel that.”

“Okay, don’t worry, we will get a CT scan and check you out. Might just be inflammation on the spine that will go away.” Amelia reassured the girl Carina took under her wing. 

“And what if it doesn’t,” Y/n asks the question she knows the answer to. 

“Let’s see what the scans say and we will take it from there.” Amelia places her hand on Y/n’s hand but she pulls away. 

“I’m going to be sick.” With that, y/n turns her body as much as possible and only dry heaves. 

“Bambina, you are stressing yourself out. I know you are worried about playing soccer, hell even walking but one thing at a time. You can’t think of what ifs. I am here now. I will make sure things are in order. Maya and I will be there for you every step of the way. I am going to need you to practice the breathing exercises. I don’t want them to sedate you but if your panic gets in the way…”

“No, no I promise.” Y/n cuts her off and closes her eyes trying to regulate her breathing. The team talks to her about the next steps of imaging and makes her a priority case.

[reveryfics]

Hey! I really love your work, so I had an idea of m!reader getting injured on a supply run or something and when he gets home he thinks Daryl is going to be all tough like usual but Daryl ends up taking care of him and being very gentle <3

Softie

Daryl Dixon x Male Reader

Summary: After returning from a run injured, you didn't expect Daryl to be so gentle

A/N: I love the soft side of Daryl, especially when it's so unexpected. Again to those who keep requesting smut, it'll be awhile before it's done however non-smut requests are open!

TW: Injury - Blood - Fluff

The sky was a canvas of bruised purples and inky blacks, the stars mere pinpricks of light struggling to pierce the thick veil of clouds. A light, persistent drizzle kissed the windshield of the sedan, blurring the already dim landscape. The car idled with a low, guttural rumble as Aaron brought it to a halt before the imposing gates of Alexandria. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on you in the passenger seat, a silent question etched on his face before the heavy gates creaked open, revealing the familiar path within.

Standing just beyond the gate, a solitary figure against the weak glow of the community lights, was Daryl. He was a constant presence during your and Aaron's supply runs, especially those that stretched late into the night. His posture, usually a study in relaxed vigilance, was taut with a palpable tension. He watched intently as Aaron carefully helped you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. Even in the gloom, the dark crimson staining your clothes and the crude, blood-soaked bandage wrapped around your hand were impossible to miss.

Daryl moved with a swiftness that belied his usual measured pace, closing the distance in a few long strides. He reached out, his calloused hand finding your waist, supporting your weight as your legs threatened to buckle. "The hell happened?" he questioned, his voice rough but laced with an uncharacteristic urgency. The usual gruffness was softened by a clear undercurrent of concern, his brow furrowed beneath the brim of his cap.

Aaron’s voice was strained, the events of the last few hours clearly weighing heavily on him. He recounted the harrowing encounter, the sudden, overwhelming surge of walkers that had surrounded them with terrifying speed. The chaos, the desperate struggle to fight back, and the moment you were separated in the thick of it, a gap opening between you like a chasm in the earth. He described the frantic search, the growing dread that had clawed at his throat with each passing minute. Then, the horrifying discovery – finding you at the bottom of a steep, rocky cliff, a crumpled heap against the unforgiving terrain. He detailed the visible injuries, the sickening angle of your ankle, the deep gash across your hand, and the myriad of cuts and bruises that painted your skin.

A low groan escaped your lips, a sound of pure agony that made Daryl’s grip tighten protectively. You mumbled something incoherent under your breath, the words slurred and lost to the night air. Without hesitation, Daryl scooped you up into his arms, his strength surprising even himself in that moment of raw fear. He carried you with a fierce tenderness, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as he made his way towards the familiar glow of Aaron and Eric’s house.

Inside, the warm lamplight cast a comforting glow. Daryl gently laid you down on the worn couch, his movements surprisingly delicate. Eric emerged from the top of the stairs, his eyes widening in alarm as he took in your battered state. Without a word, he turned and hurried back upstairs, reappearing moments later with a small, metal box filled with the meager first aid supplies they had on hand.

Daryl knelt beside you, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began to assess the damage. He carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage on your hand, his breath catching slightly at the sight of the deep, jagged wound. He cleaned the blood away with painstaking care, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence in the room was thick with unspoken worry.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice raspy and weak. "I was… reckless." Your gaze flickered to Daryl, his face etched with concern as he moved from your hand to the swelling bruise blooming on your cheek.

He snorted softly, a sound that held more relief than amusement. "Reckless ain't nothin' new," he mumbled, his eyes never leaving your face. "Just glad you're alive and you made it back." He reached for a spool of thread and a needle from the table behind him, his movements precise and practiced. With a steady hand, he began to stitch the gash on your hand, his touch surprisingly light. He kept up a quiet stream of conversation, talking about mundane things – the state of the garden, the new pups Carol had found, anything to distract you from the sting of the needle threading through your skin. "Better not have to tie you to the bed while you heal," he joked, a hint of his usual gruffness returning, though the worry in his eyes remained.

You watched him, a strange warmth spreading through you despite the pain. "I expected the gruff Daryl," you admitted, your voice still a little shaky. "Not… this." You gestured vaguely with your uninjured hand. "This gentle, concerned Daryl." You paused, a small smile touching your lips. "I don't mind it."

He didn't meet your gaze, focusing intently on his task. When he was finished, he tied off the thread and carefully wrapped your hand in clean gauze. Then, he did something that made your breath catch in your throat. He gently kissed the wrapped bandage, a soft, fleeting touch that spoke volumes. He moved closer then, his attention shifting to the cuts on your face and the bloodied mess of your nose. He cleaned them with the same meticulous care, ensuring no dirt or debris remained to cause infection. Finally, he examined your swollen ankle, his touch gentle but firm as he wrapped it securely.

With your more immediate injuries tended to, Daryl carefully helped you to your feet, supporting most of your weight as he guided you towards the stairs. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, his arm a steady presence around your waist. He ignored your weak protests about being able to manage, and the mumbled remark about him being a "big softie," though a faint smile played on his lips.

In the small bathroom, the steam from the warm water fogged the mirror. Daryl helped you remove your torn and bloodied clothes, his gaze lingering for only a moment on the extent of your injuries before focusing on the task at hand. He gently washed the remaining blood and grime from your skin, his touch tender and thorough. You couldn't resist teasing him, whispering about his surprisingly gentle nature, each remark met with a shake of his head and a quiet grunt.

Once you were clean, Daryl helped you dress in soft, clean clothes. As he fastened the buttons on your shirt, he finally spoke about your earlier comment. "You just… you bring that out in me," he said, his voice low and husky. He leaned in, his gaze locking with yours, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You kissed him back, the relief of being safe and in his arms washing over you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He chuckled softly, then scooped you up into his arms once more, carrying you effortlessly towards the bedroom you shared. He laid you gently on the bed, his eyes filled with a love that chased away the shadows of the night. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You reached for a pillow, throwing it at him with a weak but playful grin. "I love you too, you big softie," you retorted, the exhaustion finally starting to claim you. But even as your eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of his presence beside you, the lingering scent of him on your skin, chased away the last vestiges of fear, leaving only the profound comfort of being home.

[vivs-fics]

In The Woods Somewhere

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings/ Tags: Swearing, smoking, smut to come

Lumberjack AU

Word Count: 8924

The flaming heat of the mid-summer afternoon sizzled down to tepid embers with the arrival of a pleasant sprinkling of rain. The light pitter-patter of rain on your windshield coupled with the slow, easy jazz that flowed out of the radio made for pleasant company on your drive out to the small shopping center in town. A cool wave of contentment washes over you, you relish it. Finally, you feel as though you’re in a place where the entire world doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling around you. Staring out onto the open road ahead of you, a faded white line divides the smooth tarmac surface. Evergreen trees stand proudly on either side of you, the heady scent of pine is thick in the air, amplified by the rain. A sad, sullen thought slinks through your mind.

Was there even a point to bearing witness to all these beautiful things if you had to see them alone?

Thoughts like these creep up on you sometimes. Getting out of a four-year relationship that had you twisted from the inside out will do that to a person. It took you well over a year to process. Countless hours of gentle parenting yourself and using every crappy, overly marketed self-help tool at your disposal to breathe, and mantra, and journal your way through everything. And it worked, partially at least.

Learning to live with yourself was a little harder than expected, but being out here helped. Perhaps it was because of the mountains. Weathered and different from how they once were- carved and indented by the hands of men… But still strong, still present. And maybe, you thought, you should extend the same grace to yourself. Acknowledge that things inside and around you have changed, but never underestimating the importance of the fact that you are still present. Present despite every setback, disappointment and broken heart- and that is no small feat.

You smile. Fuck yeah, emotional regulation. Just as a small blossom of hope sprouted in your chest, it was crushed by the heavy boot of your car engine sputtering, backfiring and then smoking profusely. No. Sweet, suffering Jesus, no. You were too far from the town to get a signal on your phone and were too unfamiliar with the surrounding area to know where the nearest tow company was. You supposed you could just walk to the grocery store you were heading to and ask someone there- but it was at least five miles and visibility was shit because of the rain.

You pull over and rest your head in your hands for a brief moment, recalling all the choices that led you here. You didn’t even have the luxury of blaming all of this on the impulsivity of a drunken night out, no. You sat, and thought, and researched about all of this. This came to you, bit by bit, with a clear mind. A rasp of wry laughter escapes your parted lips. At the angst of it all, the fucking absurdity.

“Alright.” You mutter to yourself, gathering quiet strength stored deep down and get out of the car. You pop the rain spattered hood of your car and assess the damage- the engine smokes, a great roaring heat hits you as soon as it’s given an escape from the confines of the car. “Shit.” Yeah, shit. You wouldn’t be able to fix this, not without some divine imparting of mechanical wisdom. You wait for a moment, collecting yourself.

Your silent prayer to the heavens is interrupted by the distant rumble of an engine. As the sound grows louder, you look up, hoping for a good Samaritan that could aid your current predicament. A red truck makes its way into your vision, an oasis in the desert of your despair. The pickup rolls to a stop, and your eyes move through the rain to see the figure stepping out.

He is a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and rugged. The brown plaid of his shirt is muted by years of wear- muscles bulge under the fabric. His hair is a warm chestnut, framing his face perfectly. He’s a few feet away, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and what you took to be mild annoyance- as if this situation was an inconvenience to him. The silence he shrouded himself in was almost tactile. It fills his immediate surroundings with an unspoken reserve that suggested a man chained in solitude. As he approaches, brows furrowed and lips set in a solid line, you notice the shining hazel of his eyes- they’re soft. Surrounded by harsh lines and weighed down by his sullen expression, but soft, nonetheless.

“You alright?” The stranger enquires, eyebrows raising a hair in concern. He looks behind you, almost through you, and lays his sights on the wispy, darkened smoke rising from your engine.

“Yeah- I mean… No. Not really. Stupid fucking car just gave out on me.” You sigh out, exasperated.

He grunts and steps closer. “Want me to take a look?”

A smile graces your features at his offer, “Please. Yeah, go ahead. You know a lot about cars?” You sidestep the vehicle to give him access to your disaster of an engine.

“Some.” He responds, eyes downcast.

He surveys the scene with an air of practiced detachment, “Yeah. It’s fucked. I can tow it into town, if you want.” he offers, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance.

You manage a wry smile, relief flooding you. “That’d be great. Thanks. I couldn’t get a signal out here either so, uh, you’re kind of saving my ass.”

“I’m Logan.” he states plainly, not bothering to shake your hand. He keeps himself away, not allowing the hands that caused so much hurt and pain to taint you with their touch. An invisible border closes him off from you- maybe from everyone, you theorise. He closes the trunk with little regard and turns to you.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you.” You wipe your clammy palms on your pants, unsure of what to do. His head bows only a little, only for a moment. If his presence wasn’t so encapsulating, you’re sure you would’ve missed it.

He works with an efficient precision, unhooking your car from its spot and securing it to his truck. The heavy clink of the tow hitch falling into place was oddly reassuring, a small promise of resolution to come.

Logan moves to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door for you, extending his arm as a gesture for you to get in. You do so wordlessly, a tight smile flung his way as a measure of gratitude.

As you climb into his truck, the faint scent of blended tobacco and leather wafts its way into your nose. It provides you with an odd sense of comfort. You take in the interior- the brown seats are worn, the dashboard cluttered with pinecones and other forest finds. Odd, you think, but refrain from asking about it. Instead, you ask the only thing you could think of- it comes out sputtered and unkempt, “So, uh, have you lived here long?”

“A while.” His eyes don’t leave the road, his knuckles tighten slightly around the dark expanse of the steering wheel.

Am I annoying him? You think to yourself, but quickly shut it down remembering how he offered to help you. Perhaps this is just his nature, it fits with the gruff woodsman aesthetic he’s wrapped himself in.

“You don’t talk much, do you, Logan?” You peer over at him. Jesus fucking Christ this man is so beautiful. Maybe you’d be more annoyed by his shitty attitude if he wasn’t so goddamn pretty.

“Not if I can help it, angel.”

“Angel? Ah come on, Logan. Don’t tell me you’ve resorted to that because you’ve already forgotten my name.” You jest, a small ring of laughter coming from you.

There is the tiniest uptick of his lips, you note it. “Didn’t forget it.”

“So you say.” You smile at him once again, subconsciously willing him to look at you again. He does, but only for a moment. Just enough to indulge the butterflies inhabiting your belly. Logan drives with focus, intensity. You were sure he applied the same intent to everything else in his life.

The truck glides steadily along the winding road. The landscape remains breathtaking, even as you get closer to civilisation. The towering pines, strong and evergreen; the lake shimmering like a million sapphires, and the mountains looming majestically with peaks partially veiled by mist. You suck in a deep breath, letting the serenity of the outside make its way inside you. Logan is not blind to this; he checks on you periodically. It takes every fibre of his willpower to not look at you. He wants to drink you in, satiate himself on the divine radiance of your presence. So bright, so beautiful. He wouldn’t dare risk casting a shadow over that.

Your attempts to make conversation with the burly plaid-clad man feel like an exercise in persistence. “So… Is it a habit of yours come to the rescue of beautiful, stranded motorists?”

He lets out a non-committal grunt. You sigh, deflating into the seat slightly. He notes the pang he feels in his chest at disappointing you. He means to crush it under his heel, with the force and might of a tank, but he can’t seem to bring himself to. Logan shakes it off, reminding himself that he is, at his core, stone and adamantium, sharp edges and an impenetrable centre. The world breaks against him.  

He glances at you briefly before focusing on the road, stealing seconds of you for himself. Logan supposes he could indulge you, just this once. “Not always. Just when it’s hard to ignore.”

“I have been told I light up a room. Maybe that same mechanism made me look like the world’s prettiest, most devastated road flare.”

 Logan lets out a scoff, it’s half-hearted and something close to a show of amusement. The corners of his mouth ascend as he turns onto the road leading into town. You witness it, photograph it, and frame it in your mind.

The truck rumbles down the road as the mechanic shop comes into view. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you sook it out. It is a dingy, slightly crooked building with a battered, sun-bleached sign that reads "Ricky’s Auto" just barely clinging on to the wall. A sad collection of vehicles lay scattered around the lot, most of them looking like they were long past saving.

You sigh deeply, eyeing your pathetic excuse of a car that’s still hitched to the back of Logan’s truck. This is not how I imagined my day going, you think to yourself. You had envisioned picking up some cherries from the greengrocer and making a pie, maybe getting some reading done with a hot cup of tea. But here you were, courtesy of Mr Sex on Legs, who so far had spoken about fifteen words to you.

As soon as Logan parks the car, he exits and moves around the vehicle in an imperceptibly swift motion and opens the door for you. You hop down from the slightly raised surface and give him an easy smile, coupled with a genuine, albeit slightly surprised, “Thank you.”  You doubt he hears you though, because he’s already moving to unhitch your car. And, by God, you try not to stare, but it seems like the world’s most impossible task. Seeing the way his muscles moved under the lines of his plaid shirt makes your mouth water. With the same quiet efficiency as before, he unlatches the tether between the two vehicles.

Before you think too much about how incredibly strong he looks, a man in oil-stained overalls emerges from the garage. He has a crescent moon hairline and thin, wire framed glasses. Splotches of grease stain his fingers as well as the cloth clasped in his left hand. “Logan m’boy!” he calls out, slapping his rag down on a pile of neatly stacked tyres. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a goddamn minute.” The grey-haired man stands a few feet away from us, a half-smoked cigarette dangles from his lips. His blue overalls are stained from decades of oil changes and brake jobs. A canvas upon which he painted his years of experience.

“Been busy,” Logan mutters, his voice gruff as all hell, but you notice the faintest flicker of a smile tug at his lips.

The mechanic turns to you, putting his hands on his hips. “And who might you be, Miss?”  

“Oh- I’m Y/N. My car decided today would be a good day to give out on me and, um, Logan here so generously offered me a tow.” You flash him a half-smile.

“He did, eh?” Ricky peers over his glasses to assess Logan, standing with his arms folded over his chest. Logan furrows his brows, a silent conversation occurring between the two men. You shift on your feet awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Ricky shrugs his shoulders and walks over to the car. The bespeckled man leans over, scratching his chin. “Alright Miss Y/N. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” He pops the hood and squints, practiced eyes examining the situation. “Yeah, looks like the radiator’s shot. I can fix it, but it’ll take a day or two for parts.”

A day or two? Fuck me, you think to yourself. You make an attempt to shirk your disappointment, but it is as evident as the light of day upon your face. “Right. Okay. I suppose if that’s the only way…”

Before you could dwell on it, Logan speaks up. “Ricky’s the best. He’ll get it done, angel.” Your eyes meet momentarily, sincerity evident behind his hazel irises. “If you need a ride or anything… I can, uh… I’m around.” He curses himself out mentally. Now why the fuck would I say that? He thinks, clenching his fists slightly.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly. Considering how he behaved like simply towing your car into town was a chore, you hadn’t expected an offer like this. “Uh, yeah. That’s really sweet of you, Logan, but I wouldn’t want to put you out…” you fiddle with the rings on your fingers, hoping he sees through your feigned polite declination.

Ricky, however, wasn’t about to let this moment slide. He interjects, leaning against your car. “Don’t be silly, Miss. ‘Course he’ll take you.” An air of finality surrounds his words.

Logan shoots him a look, jaw clenching in the most delicious way. This, however, just causes an even wider grin to spread across Ricky’s wrinkled features. “Young miss, you were headin’ into town, weren’t you? Logan here would be more than delighted to take you ‘round and bring you home after.”

You glance over to Logan, eyes wide, curious, pleading. He nods his head, albeit begrudgingly. You let of a smooth sigh of relief, thank God. After giving Ricky your details, you exit the well-loved repair shop to see Logan with his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets.

“C’mon then angel.” He rumbles, tilting his head in the direction of his truck. He opens the door for you once again and waits until you’re strapped up before he shuts it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound breaking the tension the tiniest bit. “So, I wanted to go to the grocery store to pick up some cherries. I was going to bake a pie tonight.”

He hums in response, eyes focused on the road. “You bake often?” It comes out gritted, restrained. Knuckles whiten around the worn steering wheel.

“When I can. I thought I’d bake as much as I could before the school year starts. I’m, uh- I’m starting work at Oak Haven High School in the fall.”

He nods slowly- soaking in the bright, melodious nature of your voice. He could listen to you talk about nothing forever, he thinks to himself. He wants to hear you laugh; he wants your smiles to come about because of him. He wants to hear you whimper under him while he- No. No. Can’t think about that, Logan scolds himself for allowing his mind to wander.

“You know I-” You pause for a moment, thinking about how to say this. He glances over as you stop speaking, brows raising a fraction of an inch, egging you on.

“Well… it’s just that you’ve been so kind to me, and I’d like to repay your favours.”

“Don’t need to, angel.”

“No, but I want to. I don’t know if you’re busy later but maybe you could come to mine for dinner? I was going to cook Chicken Adobo and uh, and the pie, obviously.” You smile, teeth flashing from under painted lips. And his heart catches in his chest. Every ounce of better judgement is silenced by the screaming of every cell in his body, telling him to say yes. It’s beyond desire, beyond want. It’s necessity. He must see you again.

“You don’t- no. That’s not necessary.”

“Aw c’mon, I can’t say the food will be anything to write home about, but I can promise some good company.” You bat your lashes at him and smile and for the first time in a long time, Logan feels weak.

“Alright.” He drawls out, the faintest whisper of a smile graces his face.

“Really?” You beam, all sunshine and warmth. It lights something up inside him, a fire he’s kept covered since he moved out here. He nods, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. It’s surprising to him, how easily he lost this battle of wills with you. And maybe, he thought, he should allow you to win again and again.

The drive into town is pleasant, less tense than before. You glance at Logan from the corner of your eye, mind reeling at the sight of the beautiful behemoth of a man to your right. He is clearly a man of few words, his stony exterior surely aids in his want for solitude. Every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you, infinitesimal moments that he took for himself. Neither of you comment on it.

“So… you and Ricky go way back?” you enquired finally, breaking the seemingly never-ending silence.

Logan shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes trained on the road. As if he knew that if he allowed himself to look at you properly, he’d never be able to look away. “Knew him from town. He’s good people.”

You nod, eagerly awaiting more from him. When he doesn’t give you anything else, you decide to press a little. “He seemed to enjoy teasing you back there.”

Logan huffs, something resembling a laugh escaping his perfect lips. “Ricky’s a pain in the ass, but he means well.”

That, right there—that tiny hint of humour hidden under his stony exterior, it makes you smile. “Seems like everyone in this town’s got a lot of… uh… personality.”

He glances at you, his gaze lingering just a second longer than before. “Guess so.”

Subtle as it may have been, there’s something a touch different about the way he gazes upon you now. A hairline fracture appears in the brick-and-mortar walls that surround him, letting the slightest sliver of something out, something real and tactile and intoxicating.

Strolling into the little greengrocers, you glance down at the shopping list in your hand. The air in the small space is fresh, produce is lined up in neat piles sprawling across the aisles. Logan is pushing the cart with squared shoulders, he’s tense. He glances moves past the fresh vegetables receiving a light misting from the sprinklers above. His hazel eyes scan the surroundings, as if he’s waiting for something- or someone to pop up.

“Are you always this tense when you go shopping?” you ask, a vain attempt to lighten the mood, raising an eyebrow at him as you stop in front of the baking section.

Logan looks over at you, his expression hard, unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“You know, some people find this relaxing,” you said, grabbing a bag of sugar and tossing it into the cart. “But you look like you’re being hunted for sport.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “I just like getting in and out. Not a fan of lingering.”

“Not a fan of lingering,” you repeat with a smirk, eyeing him as you reach for a small bottle of almond extract. “I guess I shouldn’t ask for your opinion on pie spices, then? Too much lingering involved.”

He gives you a slight shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “As long as it’s edible, I don’t have a strong opinion.”

“High praise, Logan,” you jest, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’ll be sure to aim for ‘edible’.”

Logan remains silent, giving you the sweet nothing you’d become slightly accustomed to. You could, however, see the tiniest bit of amusement flicker in his eyes. He isn’t exactly chatty, but there is something oddly comforting about his presence. He’s grounded, solid. Reminds you of the mountains- he smells like them, too. Fresh, earthy, safe.

As you reach the fruit aisle, you glance at the cherries, bright and shiny under the fluorescent lights. You grab a bag and hand it to him, watching as he weighs them in his large, calloused hands.

“Do you even like cherry pie?” you asked, sliding your hands into your back pockets as you lean against the cart.

He paused for a second, looking down at the cherries, then up at you. “Never had it.”

Your eyes widen in blatant disbelief, “You’ve never had cherry pie?”

Logan shakes his head, his expression still neutral, though you notice the faintest trace of amusement behind his eyes. “Nope.”

“Well, now I feel like I’m under immense pressure,” you said, mock serious. “I’m taking your cherry pie virginity, Logan. What if I mess it up?”

He raises an eyebrow, his voice teasing. “Didn’t you say somethin’ about aiming for edible?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Shut it.”

He shrugged again, his lips twitching into a near-smile. “Just holding you to your own standards, angel.”

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” you shoot back, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Alright then, tough guy, let’s see if you can handle the next critical decision.” You gestured grandly to the dairy section. “Butter or margarine?”

Logan drinks you in, sizes you up, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “Butter. Always butter.”

You clap your hands together and sigh dreamily. “A man after my own heart.”

The gruff lumberjack feels his cheeks heating, he needs to look away from you- you’re too goddamn beautiful, even under the harsh fluorescent lights. He feels as if he’s going to combust, but he cannot bring himself to tear his gaze from you. So, he smiles. It’s bright and big and you catch a glimpse of his sharp canines.

The banter continues as you wander through the aisles, each small decision becoming a chance for you to tease him, and for Logan to surprise you with his dry, understated responses.

At one point, you reach for a carton of eggs, only for him to pluck it off the shelf before you can. “I’ve got it,” he said, placing it carefully in the cart.

You tilt your head, pretending to size him up. “You’re surprisingly helpful for someone who looks like they’d rather wrestle a bear than be in here.”

He lets out a low chuckle, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not that bad.”

You grin, leaning in a little. “Oh? You sure about that? Because the guy I met a few hours ago...” You raise your eyebrows and suck in a breath through your teeth.

Logan’s jaw clenches, there is no anger behind it though- more like he is deciding how much to give away. You decide to leave it alone, best not to press him, you thought as you see him shift, like he isn’t used to being called out.

“I guess you caught me on a rough morning,” he says finally, his voice quiet but sincere.

You soften at that, watching him for a second longer than you intended. There is something vulnerable in his honesty, and it throws you off guard. You want to watch him unravel next to you- you want to kiss the scars on his hands and shield him from the world.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you hum, your tone lighter again, “I, um, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Logan shook his head, dismissing it easily. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

You let the silence hang between you for a second before deciding to break it. “Well, in that case, I think you’ve earned the right to pick the ice cream.”

He glanced down at the freezer section in front of you, clearly aware of your attempt to steer things back to neutral territory. “Vanilla.”

You groaned, dramatically covering your face with your hand. “Vanilla? Really?”

Logan’ lips twitched again. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head as if you were gravely disappointed, “It’s good. Classic.”

“You seem surprised.” He adds, eyebrows raised in faux surprise.

“Yeah,” you reply, a concealed smile on your face. “I had you pegged as… like a… mint chocolate chip man.”

He smirked—a full-on, unmistakable smirk. “Mint chocolate chip.” Logan swirls the words around in his mouth He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, playing disappointed. “That’s… certainly something, angel.”

You throw your hands up in defeat. “What do you mean? Mint chocolate chip is a perfectly respectable flavour to enjoy!” He grunts in response, picking up the vanilla ice cream and dropping it into the little trolley.

As you make your way to the checkout, you can’t help but sneak glances- actually, scratch that... You cannot help but full-on stare at him, eyes trained to his pretty face or his rippling muscles the entire time- shamelessly. There is just something about the way he carries himself—strong and steady, but there’s also faint whisps of humor peeking through his tough exterior. It made you feel like you’d been graced with a glimpse of the real Logan.

And maybe, no… Definitely. You definitely like what you see.

The drive back to your house is quiet, as you anticipated. Not an awkward silence- more like the kind that settles in when two people are comfortable. Logan’s prized red truck rumbles steadily along the road, the low hum of the engine filling the gaps in conversation. You stare out the window, watching the trees blur into a mix of greens and browns as the slightly parted clouds give way to balmy rays of mild, yellow sunlight.

“This is me,” you state, a pointed finger directing him toward a small, cozy house nestled between the trees. You could already see your porch light flickering on, casting a warm, yellow glow over the front steps. As Logan slows to a stop, the tires crunching on gravel, you feel a little flutter of nervousness again. I should’ve mowed the goddamn lawn, you chastise yourself internally.

Logan put the truck in park, glancing around as if taking mental inventory of the place. You observe his hazel eyes sweeping over the porch, the old oak rocking chair in the corner, the hanging ferns swaying slightly in the breeze. He doesn’t say much, but you can tell he is taking it all in- just like he’d taken in the details of you back in the store. Quiet, observant.

“You moved into Sixty-Seven?” he enquires, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blink, looking at him as you fumbled for your seatbelt. “Yeah, it was- uh- I just fell in love with it, y’know? It’s got this bay window out front, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful the view would be from there when it snowed.”

Logan gives you a small nod, his hands still resting on the steering wheel, gaze lingering on your abode. His heart clenches in his chest- this, all of this and you- so beautiful, so perfect. His eyes catch the flicker of the porch light, and for a second, you wonder what he is thinking. Surely nothing about how goddamn unkempt your lawn looks. Surely.

“You live nearby, Logan?” you ask quickly, a flailing attempt to fill the quiet.

“Yeah. Not far from here.” His voice is gruff, but there was something almost... tentative about it. Like he hadn’t really expected to say that out loud. “Just, uh, down the street actually.”

You hum and give him a smile, looking out the window again. “So… I guess, uh, I should get going?”

Logans lips twitch slightly, though his eyes remain fixed on your house. “Guess so.” He almost seems lost in thought. You couldn’t possibly fathom that he was lost in a fantasy, so long passed that he never thought he could reach it again. He imagines love flowing out of your house, music playing softly in the living room. His mind wanders to you: you who should not have such an immense hold on him this soon; you with your dazzling smile and bright eyes, with that sweet fuckin’ ass and those perfect tits- Logan blinks and suddenly the domestic fantasy is dragged away from him. The prospect of warmth like that is stolen and an icy reality washes over him. The reality that he is alone- and perhaps it was best for everyone if it stayed that way.

For a moment, neither of you move. You feel the weight of the day settle between you, meeting one another, the shared shopping trip, the easy banter, the way he had quietly helped with everything without making a fuss. And now here you are, sitting in his truck, only a few feet from your front door, and it feels like you are still... suspended. Like neither of you quite want the moment to end.

You catch him glancing at you again—just a quick, fleeting look, but enough for you to notice. He has this way of looking at you like he isn’t sure what to do with you, as if you are simultaneously the most innocent and dangerous thing in the world.

“I, uh, appreciate the help today,” you say finally, your voice resounding melodically in the quiet cab of the truck. “And the ride. I really do. Thank you, Logan.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his knuckles brushing against the worn leather. “Not a big deal,” he mutters, his hazel eyes finding yours before looking away again. He finds it hard to breathe, even with the windows of the car open. You shine and radiate and fill up the space with your insurmountable beauty. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to look away.

Isn’t a big deal? You smile to yourself. Perhaps this is just his way? Saying something isn’t a big deal when he’d gone out of his way to make sure it was sorted out. Like when he stayed with you at the mechanic, or when he let you tease him about lingering in the grocery store without getting defensive. Every little thing about today had shown you more of who he was beneath the gruff exterior. And you want more.

“Well, it is to me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the door handle as you hesitated. “So… thanks.”

He nods, still not looking at you directly, but you can feel the weight of what isn’t being said between you. You weren’t sure if it was the quiet of the woods surrounding you, or the warmth that lingered from the setting sun, but something about the moment felt... heavier. Like it wasn’t just about the grocery run or the ride home.

He shakes his head, as if clearing his mind from the thoughts he is having about you and moves to open your door. His tan boots crunch heavily on the gravel. The cool afternoon air engulfs around you, a chill runs up your spine. You turn back to face Logan, who was still here, leaning against the side of his truck. He watches you in that way of his—silent, steady, almost unreadable.

“So, um… I’ll see you tonight around seven?” you query, a genuine lightness in your tone.

Logan nods slowly, his gaze shifting between you and the house, like he was still sizing up the situation. “Yeah. You sure you don’t need help takin’ all that inside?”

“I’m a big girl, Logan. I think I can manage carrying two shopping bags twenty feet into my kitchen.” You jest, but your hands feel clammy, and your belly constricts at the thought of him coming into your absolute mess of a house. It horrifies you, boxes sprawled across the floor, clothes haphazardly strewn on the backs of your chairs, dishes piled in the sink left with the promise of fixing it up after your ‘quick run into town.’ Not exactly the best circumstances for a… what even was this? A date? A thank you dinner? God knows.  

But before you could take another step, he calls out, his voice a little softer than before. “Angel. Thanks, uh, for the invite.”

You turn back to him, your heart doing cartwheels at the sound of that nickname in his mouth. You wanted to hear it over and over, every second of every day, sung out in pleasure and joy.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softer than you intend. “Of course.”

He nods once, like that is all he needed to hear, before turning around and hopping into his car. As you watch him pull away, the truck’s rumbling engine cutting through the serenity of the street, you cannot shake the feeling that something is shifting. Inside you, perhaps inside him. It could be nothing. Or maybe it is everything.

~

You didn’t think that you’d live to see the apocalypse, yet here you were standing in what can only be described as a catastrophe-riddled kitchen. Bombs of flour litter your immediate vicinity. It’s on the counters, the floor, it even managed to get on the potted fern by the window it’s leaves dusted white like a winter’s morning. The air smells of sugar, sweet cherries and the buttery pie crust, which was about the only thing that was going well at this point.

Oh God. Why did I think this was a good idea?you think to yourself, contemplating why you didn’t just offer to invite him to dinner tomorrow.

Inviting Logan over for dinner seemed like such a simple, kind gesture at the time. A little thank you for all his help with the car, perhaps a little excuse to indulge in his presence once more. But now, standing in the middle of this culinary battlefield, your confidence is crumbling faster than the edges of your pie crust.

You flail around attempting to make your house seem presentable, shoving clothes into your laundry basket and wiping up the remnants of flour and sugar and pie crust that had somehow spawned all over your kitchen.

The clock on the wall ticks louder than usual, reminding you that time is running out. Fifteen minutes until he arrives. You glance at the mirror by the door and cringe slightly at the sight. Flour streaked your cheek, your hair is dishevelled, your teal apron is muddied from its time on the aforementioned culinary battlefield.

Your heart does a little flip, and you immediately scolded yourself for it. Why are you nervous? It’s just a friendly thank you dinner. A friendly thank-you dinner with a pretty, brooding, unimaginably sexy man. You suck in a few deep breaths before changing into something appropriate for dinner.

The setting of the table is interrupted by three sharp raps on your front door. You swing the door open, and there he is, standing on your porch in all his glory. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, a fresh red flannel shirt stretches taut across his defined chest, and his boots are coated in a fine layer of dust, a bottle of red wine is clasped in his right hand. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade into the background, and it was just the two of you, standing in this strange, unspoken space between strangers and something else… something more.

His hazel eyes meet yours, flicking quickly to the warmly lit living room behind you. You see a brief flash of ardour in his gaze before his face settles into its usual unreadable expression.

“Hey,” you sing out, a big smile gracing your features. You step aside and extend your arm in invitation. “Come on in.”

Logan nods and steps inside, moving slowly, as if he isn’t entirely sure if he belongs here. He glances around, taking in the varnished wooden floors, the cosy linen couches, the scent of sugar and cherry hanging in the air. His eyes settle on the antique record player in the corner of the living room, and for a second, you think you see his lips twitch, the ghost of a smile. It feels unfamiliar to him, but it was good, he thought. Something about this cosy space, with its cluttered charm and lingering warmth, made him feel less out of place than he expected.

He watches you move, your hands fidgeting as you finish setting the table. There was something... endearing about it, Logan thought. Something about the way you hold yourself that makes him feel warm inside. An almost indefinable quality that tells him that this is you, unabashed and unashamed of your nature. He yearns for that.

“Uh, I hope you’re hungry,” you said, your voice a shining as you gesture to the table. “I’ve got the chicken stewing, and the pie’s almost ready... sort of.”

Logan gives you a low grunt of approval, his eyes flicking to the pie cooling by the window. “Smells good,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, like he’s trying to find his footing in this strange, domestic moment.

You smile awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s my first pie in, well, uh... years. Let’s just hope it tastes better than it looks.”

She’s nervous, Logan realizes, watching the way your delicate hands tremble slightly. He’s used to people being nervous around him, he’s an intimidating man, but most just avoid him altogether. But here you are, standing in front of him, your eyes bright with uncertainty, trying to make the best of this impromptu dinner.

He takes a seat at the small kitchen table, the polished chair creaking slightly under his weight. The space feels too small for him—too cozy, too... personal. But he notices the little things, the details that make it feel like a home: the way the warm porch light slants through the window, catching the edges of the remnants of flour on the counter, the faint hum of the adobo bubbling on the stove, the warmth that seemed to fill every corner of the room. It is a place he could never have imagined for himself, but in this moment, it feels like he’s supposed to be here.

You shuffle around the kitchen, stirring the stew, checking the pie. But you can feel his eyes on you- those sharp, quiet eyes that seem to view more than they let on. You weren’t sure if he’s judging your messy kitchen or just observing, but either way, the awareness of his gaze makes your heart race.

“So, do you cook often?” Logan enquires, breaking the silence, his voice low and steady.

You let out a breathy laugh, gesturing to the flour-covered counter. “I know it probably doesn’t look like it, but I promise I do.” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of playfulness flickering in his eyes. “No, it- uh- it smells good, angel. Want me to open the wine?”

You chuckle, nodding your head. “Yeah, let me- I’ll just get some glasses. Thank you for this, by the way. I thought I was supposed to be making it up to you for everything you did, and here you go adding to the list.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Logan said, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. He didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his tone that surprised you.

You dished out the stew, setting a bowl in front of him. Your fingers brushed his as you passed the bowl, and the warmth of his skin sent a tiny spark up your arm, more surprising than you wanted to admit. He retracts his hand, causing the stew to drip down from the side of the bowl, “Shit. Sorry.” He quickly grabs the cloth napkin that the cutlery was laid down upon and wipes up the stray droplets.

As you sit across from him, you try to relax, but every time you look up, there Logan is, sitting at your kitchen table like he belonged there, like this wasn’t the most surreal thing that had happened since you moved here. He eats in silence, his movements slow and deliberate, the way someone eats when they’ve learned to savour every bite. Why does he have to be so... solid? you wonder, watching him out of the corner of your eye. There is something grounding about him, something steady. Even though he barely said a word, his presence filled the room, making it feel smaller, warmer.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “what do you do when you’re not out chopping trees? Any hobbies besides... lumberjacking?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, his mouth morphing into some kind of reserved smirk. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, leaning forward slightly. “There has to be something.”

He shrugs, honey eyes drifting to the window. “Just take care of the land. Fix things up. Keeps me busy. I’m up on Lot 48- it’s lakeside. I, uh, started redoing the house when I moved out here.”

You nod, picturing him out in the woods, working with his hands, surrounded by nothing but the sound of nature. It was such a different life from anything you knew, and you couldn’t help but wonder what had led him to choose that kind of isolation.

“Must get lonely,” you coo softly, not quite sure why the words slip out.

Logan’s jaw tightens slightly, his gaze still fixed on the window. “Sometimes. But it’s better that way.”

The silence that follows is heavier this time, charged with something unspoken. You want to ask more, to understand why he kept himself so closed off, but before you could say anything, Logan smiles at you. His eyes are soft, mellow pools of gold that you want to lose yourself in. The smile catches him by surprise, but he can’t help it- you’re so fucking gorgeous, and you put so much effort into this meal. Things of beauty, such as this, seem foreign to Logan.

The rest of the meal passes in quiet conversation, the tension from earlier slowly melting into something softer. You serve the cherry pie and wait in eager anticipation for his feedback. Logan takes his first bite, fork passing through his soft, pink lips. His eyes widen slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of approval. He lets out the most delicious low moan.

“This is so fucking good,” he said, his voice rough, sincere.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the wine or the steaming hot cherry pie. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d done something right. Truly right. Completely right.

“Really?”

He lets out a muffled “Mhm.” Mouth still stuffed with vanilla ice cream and cherry pie. “I, uh… I don’t usually have a sweet tooth- but you’re- uh, this is incredible, angel.”

"That's mighty high praise, Logan. Would you go so far as to say it's edible?"

A laugh rings out from him, more joyful than a thousand church bells, sweeter than all the combs of honey the world has to offer. "Fuck yeah."

~

The scrape of chairs across the floor feels almost too loud, punctuating the end of dinner with a finality that leaves your heart beating just a touch faster. As you stack the plates and glance toward Logan, the room feels smaller somehow, heavy with the weight of something unsaid, something hanging in the air between the two of you. Nobody comments on it, neither of you have the courage to.

Logan so moves easily, like he’d done this a thousand times before, confident in every movement, every stride. Taking the plates from your hands without so much as a word, his fingers brush yours again, but he doesn’t flinch away from it this time. Even though it’s just for a second, it sends a spark of electricity up your arm—a reminder of the tension that has been simmering since he came into your house.

“I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs, already heading to the sink. His voice is low, gruff as always, but there’s something softer beneath it tonight. He rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms—strong, tanned, with just the right amount of scruff. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping. You can’t help but stare, and apparently, you aren’t as subtle about it as you think because he catches you looking and raises an eyebrow.

“You alright over there?” he asks, a teasing edge to his tone.

“Fine,” you say, too quickly, reaching for a towel. “Just... uh, trying to figure out how you’ve made washing dishes look like some kind of art form.”

“That all?” He chuckles, the low rumble of his voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Yeah, I just… I can’t remember the last time someone did the dishes for me.”

“Don’t be too impressed. I can clean up after myself.” He winks, leaning over the sink.

You dry the dishes after he rinses them, the comfortable silence between you filled only by the clinking of plates and the soft hum of the evening beyond the window. Every now and then, you catch him sneaking a glance your way, and each time, it makes your pulse quicken just a little. There’s something brewing here, something that neither of you seem ready to name just yet.

When the last dish is dried and put away, Logan leans back against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you weren’t sure you’d ever see, a sign of nervousness. “Mind if I step outside? Thought I’d smoke a cigar.”

You blink, not half surprised. The idea of him standing on the porch with a cigar seems... right. You nod, suddenly feeling like you need fresh air yourself. “Sure, uh, I’ll come with you.”

The evening air is cool, a light breeze carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. The sky is splattered with deep purples and oranges, with the final rays of sunlight slowly dipping behind the mountains, casting a beautiful golden glow over everything. The porch creaks slightly underfoot as you both step outside, the world around you settling into a soft hush.

Logan reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a thick Cuban cigar, lighting it with slow, practiced ease. The flare of the lighter illuminates his face for a brief moment, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the hazel of his eyes that caught the fading light just right. He takes a slow drag, the scent of tobacco mixing with the pine-scented air. You’re drunk on him. Gulping down every facet of the strong man available to you.

You lean against the railing, pretending to watch the sunset but feel the weight of his gaze on you, that unspoken tension still simmering. “Hey Logan?” you enquire, breaking the quiet, “what’s with all the pinecones on your dashboard?”

He lets out a low chuckle, glancing sideways at you, cigar puffing between his lips. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Hard not to,” you reply, teasing. “You’ve got a whole collection. I thought maybe you were some kind of weird tree fruit enthusiast.”

“Not quite,” he quips, tapping the ash from his cigar. “Those... well, they’re gifts.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Gifts?”

“Yeah.” He shifts slightly, looking a little embarrassed, which only made you more curious. “From my cat.”

Your eyes widen, a surprised laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “Your cat brings you pinecones?”

He nods, taking another slow drag of his cigar. “She’s a stray I took in. Started bringin’ me little ‘presents’—pinecones, rocks, she found a… a, uh, whole stem of Harebells once. Couldn’t bring myself to throw them out, so... they ended up on the dash.”

“That’s... fucking adorable,” you said, biting back a grin. “You’re a big softie underneath everything, aren’t you, Logan?”

He gives you a half-smile, his hazel eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “Guess I’m a bit sentimental.”

You tilt your head, looking at him in a new light, a softer light. “Sentimental, huh? Never would’ve guessed that about you.”

He shrugs, blowing out another stream of smoke, his gaze flicking back toward the mountains. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, angel.”

The way he says your name—soft, low, with just a touch of something deeper—sends a shiver down your spine. You turned slightly, leaning against the railing, your arm brushing his as you did. “So dramatic, Logan. Maybe you should start filling in the gaps, then.”

Logan looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. The air between you feels charged, the fading sunlight casting great, sweeping shadows across his face, making everything feel more intimate, more immediate. For a moment, you are sure he is going to say something—something important—but then he just smiles, that quiet, secretive smile that makes you wonder what exactly is going on inside his head.

“You really wanna know?”

You nod, biting your lip. “I do.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you, the fading light, the soft breeze, and the shared space on that old porch. You don’t say anything else, and neither of you move away from the other. Instead, you simply stand there, side by side, feeling the tension thrum between you like something alive, waiting to be acknowledged.

And then, in a quiet voice that is almost drowned out by the sound of the crickets, Logan whispers, “I like this. Being here.” With you, he omits.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat as you turn to look at him. He isn’t smiling, not exactly, but there is something softer in his expression, something that makes your chest feel too tight, your thoughts too scattered.

“I like it too.” you grin, not trusting yourself to say more.

He doesn’t reply, he just nods slightly, taking one last drag from his cigar before putting it out against the heel of his shoe, a practiced movement. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, the way he looks at you in that moment- his eyes dark and warm, his posture more relaxed than before but still stony- says everything you need to hear. And it scares him. It scares the fuck out of him. The whole reason he came out here was to get away from people- if no one knew him and no one wanted to know him, then there was absolutely no chance of people getting hurt because of him. But here you were, fresh faced and pure, weaseling your way into the stone walls he’d built up over so many years.

“I should, uh, I should get goin’, angel.” He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, closing the solid barrier between you and him.

“Oh,” The word comes out involuntarily, sadness lacing the singular syllable. “No, yeah. Of course. It’s getting late.”

He clears his throat, stepping down the stairs one by one, “Thank you, again, for dinner. It was really good. Don’t put yourself down so much.”

You chuckle, nodding at his praise. You let it drip down you and warm your entire body. It feels good. The moonlight casts a pale glow over him, illuminating his features and encasing him in an angelic glow. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. You don’t want him to go, you want him to stay and light a fire for the two of you, you want him to sit and talk more about his cat and his house and everything else he’d be willing to tell you.  

“I left my number on that notepad in your kitchen. Call me if you need somethin’ angel. I’m sure I’ll- uh- I’ll see you around.”

You wave him off as his headlights illuminate the road leading away from your house. As soon as he’s in the confines of his car, and far enough away for you not to hear- he lets out a long, “Fuck!” And another, and one more for good measure. He runs a hand through his hair, a maelstrom of emotions swirl through his chest. He shouldn’t feel this much for someone, not this soon, anyways. But it is the most intoxicating feeling in the world, being near you gives him a high people could only dream of; his head is a mess- his heart more so.

For now, Logan only knows two things for certain: that he absolutely should not see you again, and that he 100% would be seeing you again.  

Part 2 >>>

Hi hi! So this is part one to my Lumberjack!Logan series. It's going to be a bit of a slow burn, but please let me know what you think of the story so far!

xoxo, Viv

[tikosblogg]

Request

Summary: you show up to Noah’s house hurt, and he takes care of you.

Warnings: none.

A/N: sorry yall im a bit rusty 😅

Tags: @liajanecollins-blog

The wipers fought a losing battle against the onslaught of rain. Each swipe cleared the windshield for a fraction of a second before the downpour relentlessly obscured my vision again. The radio crackled with static, occasionally spitting out a warning about flash floods in the area. I should have stayed home.

I was on my way to Noah’s. We had planned a movie night, a tradition we’d upheld for years. But the storm had intensified rapidly, turning a simple drive into an exercise in white knuckle grip and unwavering focus. I was only minutes away from his place.

Then it happened.

The car hydroplaned. One moment I was driving along, the next I was fighting for control as the tires lost their grip on the slick asphalt. I screamed, squeezing the steering wheel with every ounce of strength I possessed. My eyes slammed shut, bracing for the inevitable impact. The world became a blur of spinning tires and rushing wind. Then, a sickening thud, followed by the jarring stillness of my car nose down in a ditch.

My head snapped forward, my face colliding with the steering wheel. A sharp, throbbing pain erupted in my nose, and I tasted blood, metallic and thick. For a moment, I just sat there, stunned, the rain pounding against the roof relentlessly.

Taking a shaky breath, I slowly assessed the damage. My nose throbbed, and I felt what I was sure was blood gushing from it. I ran my hands over my arms and legs, checking for any other injuries. Everything seemed intact, just a little shaken.

Gingerly, I opened the door and stepped out into the storm. The wind howled, tearing at my clothes, and the rain felt like needles against my skin. The front of my car was a mess. The bumper was hanging on by a thread, and one of the headlights was completely smashed. Other than that, the damage seemed superficial.

With a surge of adrenaline, I ripped the bumper the rest of the way off, tossing the mangled plastic into the back of the car. I climbed back into the driver's seat, shivering and soaked to the bone. After a few anxious attempts, the engine finally roared to life. Relief washed over me in a wave, chasing away some of the fear.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled back onto the road. The car groaned in protest, but it moved. Each mile felt like a victory. Finally, I saw the familiar silhouette of Noah’s house in the distance, a beacon of warmth and safety in the raging storm.

I parked in his driveway, the engine sputtering its last breaths before falling silent. Wiping the remaining blood from my nose with the back of my hand, I took a deep breath and walked to the door.

I knocked, the sound barely audible over the din of the storm. After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, revealing Noah.

His usual easy smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure shock and concern. His eyes widened, taking in my disheveled appearance, the blood on my face, the wild look in my eyes.

"What the fuck happened?!" He grabbed my arm, pulling me inside, away from the wind and rain.

"I-I'm okay," I stammered, my voice trembling more than I wanted it to. "I just... I had a little accident."

He didn't say a word, just continued to look me over, his brow furrowed with worry. He led me to the living room and gently pushed me down onto the couch.

"Just now? What happened?," he said, his voice low and serious.

I recounted the story, the words tumbling out in a rush the hydroplaning, the spin, the ditch, the bloody nose, the mangled car. As I spoke, I felt the adrenaline begin to fade, leaving me shaky and vulnerable.

When I finished, Noah stared at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and exasperation. "Why didn't you call me? You could have been seriously hurt! You shouldn't have driven here like that!"

I shrugged, feeling a little sheepish. "I didn't want to bother you or make you get out in this. I figured I was close enough to just come here."

He sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Bother me? you could never bother me. Now, let me see your nose."

He disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a washcloth and a first aid kit. He sat beside me on the couch and gently began to clean the blood from my face. His touch was careful and soothing, and I found myself relaxing under his ministrations.

"I think it's just a nosebleed," he said, examining the area closely. "But you might have a black eye or two."

He cleaned my hands, removing the grime. As he worked, I watched him, noticing the lines of concern etched on his face. I realized, not for the first time, how lucky I was to have him in my life.

The rest of the night was a blur of quiet comfort. Noah made me tea, wrapped me in a warm blanket, and put on a movie, something light and distracting. He scolded me again, gently, for not calling him. I snuggled into the blankets and enjoyed just being in his presence. He took care of me like he always did when I was in need.

As the night wore on, the storm outside gradually subsided. The wind died down, the rain slowed to a soft drizzle. The worst was over.

Around midnight, Noah insisted I sleep in his room. He tucked me into his side. ”Y/N?" He whispered softly, placing a sweet kiss against my head.

"Yeah?" I asked, already half-asleep.

"I'm really glad you're okay."

I smiled sleepily. "Me too."

As I drifted off to sleep, I could still hear the faint drumming of the rain against the window, but it sounded gentler now, almost like a lullaby. I was safe, warm, and cared for. And in that moment, despite the earlier chaos and the damaged car, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. I knew that whatever happened, I could always count on him. He was more than just my best friend; he was my rock, my confidant, and the one person who could always make me feel safe, even in the middle of a storm.

[onbearfeet]

From that long whump list: ¹⁴⁾ a torn-apart first aid kit

That could go so many different ways!

CW: canon-typical blood, injury, angst

Jack woke with a groan. It was reflex by now. He'd woken up in pain so many times that it just seemed sensible to groan first and assess the damage later.

"Chingada madre," he muttered as he felt the dull ache in his head kick in and most of his muscles throb to life in protest. Somehow, the wolf never seemed to want to drink water on busy nights, and Jack usually paid the price with a supernatural hangover.

His eyes were crusted shut with something sticky, so he rubbed at them with one shaking hand until dried flakes fell away and he could let the world in.

The world looked remarkably like the inside roof of Elsa’s van. That was comforting, at least. He'd panicked a couple of times, waking up in an anonymous van and thinking he'd been black-bagged again, but finally Elsa had stuck handfuls of glow-in-the-dark stars all over the inside of the cargo area so that no matter which way his head was pointed when he opened his eyes, he'd know he was safe. Hunters, monster collectors, and sorcerers bent on world domination didn't put stickers all over the inside of their vans.

It was time to risk movement. Jack rolled his shoulders a little, and was moderately pleased to feel the scratch of wool against the bare skin of his chest. The red and black Navajo blanket Elsa kept for cold mornings was doing its job.

Then he looked down and saw the blood.

It was splattered across his upper chest, what he could see of it above the blanket, and now that he was more fully awake, he could feel the sticky pull of dried blood on the skin of his neck and face. That alone wasn't too much of a surprise--if the wolf had fed the night before, he wouldn't have bothered to wash before sleep--but the rest of it was.

There was a smear of blood on the inside of the van's rear door, and what smelled like more on the corrugated steel floor of the cargo area. And strewn around his aching body were shreds of plastic bags, ribbons of torn and soiled gauze, and what looked like the mortal remains of a heavy-duty plastic toolbox. Exactly the sort of toolbox where Elsa kept her first-aid supplies. Except the last time he'd seen Elsa's kit, it hadn't been torn apart.

Jack's nostrils flared, and he came fully awake for the first time.

"Elsa!" he cried.

He scrambled to his feet, legs tangling in the blanket and hands slipping on the metal floor. His arms flailed, one hand caught a utility strap clipped to the van wall, and he dragged himself upright and around and forward. The smell of Elsa’s blood was strongest in the direction of the driver's seat, and he lunged toward it, his eyes already welling with tears.

"Elsa, Elsa," he sobbed as he stumbled between the front seats. The dawn light was filtering through the windshield, and the passenger seat was full of something that made no sense, legs dangling over the armrest and a curtain of black hair against the window and a rumpled wool blanket and everywhere the smell of her blood and no, no, not again--

Her eyelids twitched, and then her eyes cracked open.

"Jack?" she murmured. "Bloody hell time is it?"

The image resolved then. He wasn't looking at a limp, dismembered body. Elsa was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, her head against the window, her knees hooked over the armrest, and a blanket to match his own draped over most of the rest of her. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in the wool, not bothering to stifle the sound of his heaving breaths.

Slowly, gingerly, Elsa’s fingers worked their way into his hair. He pushed into her touch greedily, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of her warm and alive beneath the salty-metallic tang of dried blood. She was all right. Whatever had happened, whatever he couldn't remember, it wasn't the worst.

"Had a nightmare, did we?" Her voice was rough with sleep. Her nails scratched idly at his scalp.

Only if his pinche life counted as a nightmare, Jack thought. He shook his head, rubbing his nose in the smell of sheep's wool and Elsa, and pointed a trembling finger at the mess in the back of the van. There was a shifting of blanket and woman as she leaned forward to follow his gesture, and then she sank back into her seat with a huff that might have been the start of a laugh.

"Have I mentioned lately just how terribly you you are when you're ... not you?" she asked. He could hear the crooked smile in her voice.

He shook his head again.

Her fingers stopped scratching and began smoothing his hair down, stroking him calm.

"The leshy last night," she said slowly, "got in one good shot at me before the wolf tore him apart. Next thing I knew, I was being bridal-carried back to the van--at speed, mind you--and did you know the wolf has figured out door latches?"

Headshake.

"Maybe he borrowed it from you, but he got the doors open, found the first-aid kit, and got rather ... excited."

Jack lifted his head. He could feel the tear tracks drying on his bloodied face, and knew he must look a fright, but Elsa wouldn't care.

Slowly, Elsa peeled the blanket away from her torso to reveal a shredded black shirt and an enormous wad of brown-stained gauze, stiff with dried blood, pressed to her abdomen below the band of her brassiere.

"Don't touch," she warned, just as he caught sight of the Bloodstone glowing from the hollow between her breasts. He curled his hands into loose fists to remind himself to obey. She dug her fingernails under the edge of the gauze and began to peel, wincing as the coagulated blood pulled at the skin on her belly.

The flesh beneath the gauze was sticky with brown residue and stank of old blood, but it was otherwise unmarked.

All the breath left his lungs in a rush, and he sagged sideways, letting his cheek rest on the rucked-up blanket where he could gaze at the proof that his beloved was no longer wounded. He had known, of course--she was Elsa, she always survived--but now he knew. Now he could breathe.

"I put the stone on as soon as I got settled up here," she assured him. "The wolf sat and watched until moonset." She arched her back and rolled her neck. "God, what time is it? Did you get any sleep?"

Jack glanced out the windshield at the pale gray light filtering through the fog-topped trees. "About seven, I think," he said. His voice was raspier than he'd expected. Had he been crying?

"Too bloody early," she grumbled. "I don't suppose the camping mattresses are accessible?"

He glanced back. "They are. Why?"

She yawned. "I need at least another four hours before I can drive. I'd like to spend it horizontal, now that that's an option." Her eyes met his. "With company, if possible." There was a wicked curve to her lips.

He found himself returning her smile, though his was more shaken than seductive. "I think that can be arranged," he said.

It took longer than he would have liked to unroll the foam pads with shaking hands, but Elsa was beside him the whole time. And then they were tangled together under the blankets, his head pillowed on her shoulder so he could breathe her in. The last sensations he remembered as they slipped into sleep together were the distant call of a mourning dove and the warmth of Elsa in his arms.

[girlactionfigure]

🔵 Tuesday - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

▪️TERROR - SHOOTING ATTACK - BEIT LID, SAMARIA.. 3 wounded, bullets through the windshield.

▪️BLUE ON BLUE - ISRAELIS RUNNING A CHECKPOINT.. overnight near Beit El, a vehicle arrived which did not hear the soldiers’ calls or stop for the checkpoint, as a result the soldiers fired at the vehicle. 3 injured, 1 serious.

▪️ROCKET BARRAGE (20) HIT KIRYAT SHMONA.. multiple strikes, factory - fire started, houses hit.

▪️COUNTER-FIRE.. Overnight, Israeli fighter jets struck Hezbollah sites in southern Lebanon's Houla, Kafr Kila, and Bani Haiyyan. The IDF also shelled areas near Blida, Deir Mismas, and Rmeish with artillery to "remove threats.”

▪️TARGETED ATTACK PATTERN.. Throughout yesterday, the IDF attacked numerous times from the air, with each attack resulting in at least 3-5 deaths.

▪️BIDEN ON MIDDLE EAST.. "I received a request from the Saudis - they are ready to fully recognize Israel if we provide them with defense guarantees and allow them to establish a civilian nuclear facility"

▪️THEY MISSED? The Houthis carried out an extensive series of attacks yesterday in the Red Sea against the Israeli-owned MT Bentley ship, but there were no casualties and no damage was caused.

▪️IDF EXERCISE - “NORTHERN COASTAL STRIP”.. a military exercise will be held in the area of ​​the northern coastal strip. During the exercise, the active movement of vessels and security forces will be felt in the area.

▪️TRUMP’S VP PICK J.D. VANCE ON GAZA WAR.. "Joe Biden made it difficult for Israel to win. First of all you want to end the war, and after that - you want to promote peace between Israel and Saudi Arabia. Biden did the reverse.”

▪️ECONOMY.. Governor of the Bank of Israel to meet with PM and Min. Finance, recommends raising the VAT tax to cover war costs.

▪️ECONOMY - INFLATION.. The June index rose by 0.1%, the annual inflation - 2.9% (a slight increase from 2.8% last month); Apartment prices continue to rise at 3.4% year over year.

▪️UNRWA BEING SQUEEZED.. Trying to raise $1.21 billion emergency budget for Gaza, the West Bank and Jerusalem, only 16% was received. And a final goal - $415.4 million dollars as a budget for the emergency plan for Syria, Jordan and Lebanon, only 15% was achieved.

▪️SOUTHERN COMMAND RE-OPENS NEAR-GAZA AREAS.. In accordance with the assessment of the situation, the commander of the Southern Command signed an order to change the policy of the closed military area in several areas in the Gaza Envelope and in agricultural areas.

⭕ HEZBOLLAH ROCKET BARRAGE overnight at: Kiryat Shmona, Margaliot, Manara, Metulla, Kfar Giladi, Kfar Yuval, Ma'ayan Baruch, Tel Hai, Beit Hillel, HaGoshrim.

INFILTRATION ALERT - EILAT

Fear of terrorist infiltration in the Eilat area. The police have put on alert and are sending many forces to the area of ​​the city at this time, among other things with helicopters.

The police are currently handling the incident from end to end, with all of their special units under the command of Southern District Commander Amir Cohen.

Entrances and exits from the city may be closed.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 14

summary: the aftermath of the attack, the reunion, the recap.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: hiiii, not much to say with this one, but I have the next chapter ALMOST done as well so be prepared for a double update this week!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

“We need aerial pickup in the woods outside the generator, my coordinates. Get medical ready, tell them we have an incoming Avenger.” 

Her eyes flicked up to Bucky at the last word, surprise lighting them up. His face was a standard mask of annoyance mixed with…was that relief? Blue eyes trailed over her body before meeting hers once again. He regarded her for a moment before speaking again. 

“So when were you gonna tell me you learned to fly a Quinjet?”

Typical. He does something heroic and chivalrous, but still has the same attitude problem. Some knight in shining armor. “I was waiting t’see if y’brought me a souvenir,” She croaked through her raw, burning throat.

As the smoke from the explosion began to clear, Charlotte's ears were still ringing from the deafening blast. She blinked, trying to regain her bearings as she looked around to assess the damage. Tears streaked through the dirt on her cheeks as her eyes burned, her whole body buzzing at how close she’d come to the end. She’d tried to stand a few moments ago, but nearly vomited at the pain in her ribs. Now seated against the base of a tree, she could feel the pain beginning to cloud her mind as the adrenaline wore off.

"Charlotte, hey, stay with me," Bucky's voice cut through the haze of confusion, filled with concern as he knelt in front of her. “Medical is almost here.”

Groaning, she sat up a little straighter. “Th’shouldn’t come outside the shield,” she paused to cough. “S’too smokey and there could be another detonation. We need t’move.”

Bucky regarded her grimly, eyebrows raised, but didn’t argue. “Okay. C’mon.” He helped Charlotte to her feet, his arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her as she stumbled slightly. She favored her left leg, still peppered with glass from the windshield, putting her arm over his shoulders for stability.

"That was quite the entrance," Charlotte groaned, her voice shaky as she leaned into Bucky's firm grip. “B’you could have stuck the landing a little better."

Bucky offered her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes, shouldering the majority of her weight as they began to traipse through the shrapnel-littered woods. The pain must be bad if she was cracking jokes, begging for a distraction. 

“Y’could have shown up a little sooner, too.” She forced out between shallow breaths. 

“We stopped for burgers halfway,” He humored her. “You seemed like you had it handled.” He didn’t mention the way they’d been white-knuckled the whole flight back, nearly silent as they prayed they’d make it in time. The way he’d paced the floor, ready to rip the enemy aircraft apart with his bare hands when he finally got to it. The way he heard those words and was ready to throw himself out of the Quinjet just to get to her. She’s not gonna make it.

“D’you bring me one?” Her weight was getting heavier on his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” Bucky hoisted her arm higher around his neck, taking more weight off of her leg. “Hope you like mustard.”

As they finally approached the edge of the shield, they were greeted by the sight of a medical cart waiting to transport them back to the safety of the compound. The first rays of dawn were beginning to lighten up the inky sky, breaking up the darkness. When they reached the cart, Charlotte eased herself into the flatbed of the cart with Bucky's assistance, taking a slow breath as she leaned against the edge. Hopping in behind her, Bucky patted the hull of the cart, signaling that they were ready to go. 

The journey back to the main building was quiet, the only sound was the hum of the cart's engine and Charlotte’s occasional sharp breaths when they hit a particularly large bump. Bucky didn’t speak, but his eyes clocked every wince, every muscle tensing in her jaw. He glanced up ahead, seeing the compound buildings beginning to come into view.

As Charlotte sat in the medical cart, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as the adrenaline that had fueled her during the attack was nearly gone, leaving her feeling drained and emotionally raw.vShe couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief at the suddenness of the attack, the way it had shattered the peace and security of the compound in an instant. It was a stark reminder of the ever-present threat posed by HYDRA, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike when least expected. She’d allowed herself to get comfortable, to live in the delusion that there was a life after them. That they’d one day stop looking for her and let her go free. 

That delusion had brought one of the world’s most dangerous organization to the doorstep of the only people who had offered her a home. A family.

The thought of losing any of them was almost too much to bear, a prospect she couldn't even begin to contemplate. To think that it might have been her fault, her presence that lured them here…she couldn’t even let herself finish the thought.

Rounding the final corner and emerging from the treeline, the hangar and main building grew nearer. With them, the crowd of people gathered in front, clapping and cheering. The sound made Charlotte open her eyes. Standing outside the SHIELD headquarters were the two dozen agents who’d been there through the attack, had been under her assumed command. At the front of the crowd stood Calla, clapping furiously with tears in her eyes. Beside her, still in full battle gear, was Sam, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Peter. All of them looking beautifully clean and unscathed. All of them cheering. Charlotte felt a wave of relief wash over her, finally accepting that it was over. The cart jolted to a stop, whistles and applause filling her ears. There was a knot in her stomach that she wasn’t ready to address yet, a maelstrom of emotions clawing through her, demanding to be felt. Instead, she focused on the physical feelings. People patting her shoulder, squeezing her hands, sliding under her knees and lifting her out of the cart. 

Opening her eyes, Charlotte saw dozens of faces beaming at her. Calla was holding one of her hands, the other was draped around the shoulder of whoever was carrying her. The feeling of vibranium under her knees told her all she needed to know. As Bucky walked through the crowd, they eagerly parted to let her through, the cheers never ceasing. The doors to the medical wing slid open with a whoosh, cool air conditioning wafting over them in contrast to the spring humidity. 

In the distance, she could hear Natasha’s voice telling the agents to give her some space, before Steve thanked them for their bravery and asked them to give their statements to Intelligence before heading home for the end of their shift. There was a hallway, a turn, and then she was being gently set down on the all-too-familiar medical bed. 

“From what I hear, we just need to put your name on the door,” Calla quipped, washing her hands in the corner. 

Charlotte mustered a chuckle, but anything beyond that threatened to set her throat on fire. 

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up. What hurts the most?” Her eyes raked over Charlotte, fingers assessing each wound. Angling her leg, Charlotte nodded to the shards of glass protruding like spikes all down the side. Calla masked her concern like a true professional. “That seems like a good place to start.” 

She pulled a stool beneath her and slid her hands into a pair of gloves as Maddie, the lab tech, wheeled in a tray of first aid supplies. “Sargeant, would you mind lending a hand?” Calla looked expectantly up at Bucky. 

“Yeah, uh, sure.” He cleared his throat and stepped toward the bed. 

“Grab those scissors in the top drawer,” She nodded her head to the counter behind Bucky, shining a small flashlight in Charlotte’s eyes. He obliged, crossing the room to stand beside the bed. “Thank you. I need you to cut the left leg out of Ms. Rossi’s suit.” 

“You, wait, what?” Bucky looked incredulous. 

“I can’t effectively clean and stitch her up with the suit on, and I can’t take it off while Ms. Rossi still has glass sticking out of her leg. If I pull the glass out before taking the suit off, she’ll lose even more blood.” Her tone was calm but firm as she continued to work, cleaning a wound on Charlotte’s forehead. “So in order to get her taken care of and out of pain as quickly as possible, I need you to take those scissors, cut up the center of her suit, and get me access to the wounds.”

He stood, frozen, beside her bed. 

“Now, Sargent.” 

With that, he sprung into action. Setting the scissors down at the foot of her bed, nimble fingers unlaced her boots, gently removing them and tossing them to the side. They landed on the floor with a solid thump. Cold metal touched her ankle as he lifted the hem of her suit away from her skin and slid one scissor blade beneath it. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he carefully but quickly cut a line up the top of her leg. As he worked, Maddie tugged the fabric over the glass on the side, freeing the wounds. Once the scissors had reached her thigh, Bucky stopped. 

“Good,” Calla pointed. “Now bring the cut around the outside of her thigh so we can peel the fabric back all the way.” 

Charlotte could have sworn he flushed, but he did what he was told. Calla pulled the flap of fabric to the side, revealing a mangled mess of her leg. Blood, old and new, caked her skin and dozens of large pieces of glass stuck out the side, running from her ankle nearly to her hip.

“Sargant, one more thing. Could you hand me that towel?” Calla’s tone was warm and calm, smiling as Bucky dropped it into her hand. Offering it to Charlotte, she gave a clear instruction. “Bite down.”

Bringing the towel to her mouth, Charlotte didn’t have time to question before Maddie dumped a copious amount of antiseptic onto her leg, setting her whole body on fire. She bit into the towel so hard her jaw ached, a muffled scream filling the room and setting her throat ablaze. Out of the corner of her watery eyes, she swore she saw Bucky wince. The wave of pain caused sweat to bead across her forehead, her leg throbbing. They made every effort to work quickly, but that did little to quell the agony. 

Forcing herself to breathe through her nose, Charlotte clenched her eyes shut, telling herself all the same things she had in the past. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’ll be over in a minute. Pain is just my body telling me something is wrong, and I already know something is wrong. I don’t need the pain. I don’t feel the pain. I don’t feel th-

“Oh, shit,” Sam’s voice called from the doorway, pulling Calla’s eyes up to his for just a split second as she dropped a particularly large shard of glass onto the tray beside her. Steve and Nat pushed into the room, taking in the scene. Charlotte on the bed, eyes closed and sweat dripping as she bit down onto a towel. Calla and Maddie furiously working on her gruesome left leg, one set of hands carefully extracting shrapnel while the other cleaned and stitched the wounds left behind. Bucky standing beside the bed, hands behind his head and a grim look on his face. His helpless eyes met Steve’s and a look passed between them. Guilt? Understanding? Their unspoken conversation was interrupted by Natasha slid a chair bedside, gripping Charlotte’s right hand as her eyes flicked open. They were red from all the smoke, but alert. 

“Hell of a showing back there,” Nat gave a reassuring grin, squeezing her hand. Charlotte groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be born for this ‘saving the world’ gig after all.” 

Charlotte shot her a sidelong look, narrowing her eyes. Raising her hands defensively, Nat joked, “Listen, all I’m saying is it took Sam years to learn to fly a Quinjet and Bucky still refuses to use comms correctly. You’ve got ‘em both beat.” 

“Hey,” Bucky frowned at her. 

“Am I wrong?” 

Nat’s attempts to distract everyone from the tense situation were effective. Calla and Maddie had worked their way up Charlotte’s leg, staunching the bleeding and leaving a web of dark stitching and angry red cuts in their wake. As Maddie tied off the final stitch, Calla tugged her gloves off with a snap. “Alright, looks like we salvaged the leg.” She winked at Charlotte. “Let’s take a look at those ribs.” 

Attempting to prop herself up on her elbows, Charlotte winced, eyes squeezing shut. Several pairs of hands reached out to support her, Nat being the first to reach her thanks to her proximity. 

“Woah, take it easy,” Calla braced her other arm. “Gentlemen, give us a minute?” She nodded to the door, with Steve, Sam, and Bucky filing out obediently. When the door was shut behind them, she returned her gaze to Charlotte. “Is it alright if we go ahead and remove the suit? We’ll put a medical gown on you, I know how much you love those.” 

Charlotte scoffed but held her arms out long, granting them permission to tug the sleeves off. With the three sets of gentle female hands and a few more slices from the scissors, her suit lay in a stained and crumbled heap on the floor. For the next fifteen minutes, they set to work cleaning her various cuts and abrasions while Nat held her hand. Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned her head against the pillow, the exhaustion catching up with her. She had a difficult time processing all that had happened in the span of a week. The team leaving for their mission, her outburst with the agents, meeting Calla and finding out the bombshell about her relationship with Sam, learning to fly a Quinjet, the attack in the dead of night, almost being blown up, being rescued by Bucky…again, the heroes reception she’d received when they returned. It was too much for her muddled brain to process at the moment. 

“Alright, Char, you’re as good as new. Or at least you will be in a few days.” Calla squeezed her arm. “Thanks, Maddie, you’re good to go back home. Thanks for coming in on such short notice. Take the rest of the day off. Oh, and tell the guys they’re good to come back in.” 

“Thanks, Maddie.” Charlotte’s strained voice called after her. 

“No problem.” Maddie smiled. “I hope I don’t see you again anytime soon.” 

Laughing into a cough, Charlotte adjusted her position against the pillow, the white medical gown just as unflattering as always. Chairs squeaked across the floor as all three men rejoined them and took a position around the bed, looking at her expectantly.

“Good morning,” She raised an eyebrow. 

“Good morning.” Steve chucked. “How do you feel?” 

“How do I look?” 

“Like you just about got blown up,” Sam teased. 

“Yeah, not the best way to get blown.” She yawned, ignoring Steve’s choked laugh and Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “But you should see the other guy.” 

“I don’t think there’s much left to see.” Nat chimed in. 

“Guess that means I did my job.” 

“You did great, Charlotte.” Steve’s tone was warm, reassuring. The atmosphere thickened as smiles faded in favor of a more serious tone. “If you hadn’t been here, hadn’t acted when you did…things would have turned out much differently. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I’ve grown pretty fond of this place.” Natasha squeezed her hand. “Thank you for protecting it.” 

“This place,” Sam stood and crossed the room to stand by Calla, still typing notes into her computer. “And the people inside it. I owe you one.” 

Charlotte smiled. “No, you don’t. I’m pretty fond of it too. The place and the people.” She winked at Calla. 

“Sam, something you’d like to tell us?” Steve raised an eyebrow at Sam’s arm draped around Calla’s shoulders. 

Chuckling, he met Calla’s eyes. “Guys, this is Dr. Calla Arturo. My fiance.” 

Bucky let out a whistle as Steve grinned and stood to hug Sam. Nat simply picked at her nails, winking at the couple, another secret well kept. 

“I’m sorry, we have a lot to catch up on, it sounds like. Can someone order breakfast? With coffee?” Charlotte pleaded. “Lots of coffee?”

“Coming right up.” Nat popped up and strode out of the room to make the order.

Half an hour later, feet still clad in combat boots were propped on the edge of Charlotte’s bed, the smell of coffee filling the air. A cart sat full of discarded, empty dishes near the door.  The food was all but devoured the minute it was wheeled into the room. Now that everyone had given up on going back to sleep as the morning stretched on, Calla made a round, refilling everyone’s coffee before taking a seat beside Sam. 

“So we get to the source of the tremors, and we find nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s a complete ghost town,” Sam explained. “At first, we thought maybe they took everything underground, or it was cloaked somehow. We ran every scan possible, combed through the whole one hundred mile radius. We found nothing. So we camped out overnight, figured we’d do the same thing the next day.”

“We reviewed the initial reports of seismic activity, and sure enough, we were at the exact coordinates.” Nat shrugged. “It seemed like a fluke, somehow the coordinates got skewed. We were positive we missed something, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then…”

“We got the distress signal from SHIELD.” Bucky met Charlotte’s eyes. “The signal that the compound was under attack.” 

“That was when we knew it was a decoy.” Steve’s eyes looked pained. “We knew it was an attempt to lure us away, leave it vulnerable. The furthest point away without going off-planet. We were just lucky it wasn’t a trap.” 

“So we got the hell out of dodge and came back here.” Nat’s gaze was unfocused, remembering. “We flew back as quickly as we could, we were on the live comm feed with the command center. We heard everything that was going on.”

Charlotte’s blood chilled. They’d listened to everything. Had she sounded like a complete rookie? Her adrenaline had been pumping so strongly, she couldn’t conjure more than a hazy recollection of what she said. 

“We didn’t think we would make it in time.” Steve was somber. “We heard you go back, try to extract the information. When they kept counting down and you still hadn’t gotten out…we were still flying over the woods outside the shield. It wouldn’t have been possible for us to get the jet to the landing pad and get out to you, and there was nowhere to land it with all the trees around you.” He glanced at Bucky, who’d set his jaw defiantly. “As you know, Bucky decided to take matters into his own hands.” 

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Bucky, waiting for him to chip in. 

“If I would have known saving you would be this demanding of a job, I would have asked for a raise.” His dry tone was nothing new, but for some reason it struck her wrong. 

“I don’t remember calling for your help, Sergeant.” 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.” 

“Gee, thanks, should I replace our next training session with an hour of groveling and falling at your feet? That seems to be the reaction you’re looking for.” 

“As tempting as that sounds, I think you’ve done enough falling for a while.” He nodded his head at the wrapped, gauzy mess that was her left leg. Charlotte’s hands curled into fists, gripping her coffee mug so tight the ceramic creaked. 

“Anyways,” Natasha cut in pointedly. “We made a note to keep parachutes in every Quinjet from now on, but thankfully, Cap’s shield did the trick this time. We don’t want to lose anyone. We’re a team. A family.” The last word seemed to be directed straight at Bucky, her eyes staring daggers at him, a warning not to be so…Bucky. 

“And now you’re caught up.” Sam joined. “Now tell us what we missed, because clearly it was quite a bit.” 

Calla raised her eyebrows at Charlotte, grinning. They exchanged a look, debating who should launch into the story first. It was Calla who took over, unable to keep her excitement at bay. She told them about her quiet morning after Sam and the rest of the group left, how she’d gone to get coffee and found Charlotte about to choke out one of the agents. A collective groan came from the group when she told them which one. His ego didn’t exactly fly under the radar in their training sessions, either. She told them about Charlotte’s flying lessons, missing surprisingly few details, and their dinner at her apartment, then the ultimate interruption of the attack. 

Calla nodded in agreement, her expression grave as she recalled the moment they had felt the first explosion rock the city. "Charlotte didn't hesitate for a second," she said, her voice tinged with admiration. "It’s like she just…locked in. She took off running before I could even process what was happening, started giving orders the whole way. She’s a natural” Calla gave Charlotte a watery smile. “She made sure everyone had explicit instructions to keep the shields up even if she went down. She flew out not knowing what she’d see or if she’d come back. Everyone is right to call her a hero."

Charlotte winced slightly at the word. It felt unfamiliar, foreign. It wasn’t a good fit. Not when she felt like she’d barely escaped with her life. If it hadn’t been for Bucky, she wouldn’t have. Prick as he might be, he was right. He had saved her. Again. 

Bucky remained silent for the most part, his gaze fixed on Charlotte as she and the others watched Calla recount the events. There was a fire in his eyes, a barely contained anger. Had Charlotte glanced over to see it, she might think it was directed at her. A result of her handling the situation poorly, or not acting as he would have. It was Steve, however, that looked over at him, seeing something else entirely. Bucky wasn’t a touchy-feely person, that much was blatantly apparent. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel at all. In fact, he felt more deeply than most people, the love for those he cared about able to blind him at times. As he sat and watched his friend watch the dark-haired girl on the medical bed, he just knew. 

His friend was utterly blinded by what he was feeling.  Nat raised her mug. “To Charlotte Rossi, Mockingbird, Avenger of the Avengers.” A chorus of agreement sounded around the room, mugs clinking in the air.

“To Charlotte.”

[absolutedaisy]

Toss Him In Back

In which Zoey Chambers panics and kills a man. Thankfully, a new cowboy friend with a baby blue pickup truck is there to help her bury the bully

“Let me get this straight–you just killed someone? Like…killed them, killed them?”

This was not, in any way, the way Zoey Chambers foresaw her evening going, but now here she was, pulled over in a bush on the outskirts of town with a full-on wild west cowboy staring her down while her ex’s lifeless body sat in her passenger seat, oozing from a head wound. 

…Maybe she needed to rewind.

It was an accident. Zoey did not want to kill Sam Sweetly, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. She didn’t want to have shot him with his own gun after he came by uninvited when he knew her roommates weren’t home, but that was, as the kids say “creep behavior” and the firearm was within her reach! She let the impulsive thoughts win, that’s all. Sam folded to the ground like an adirondack chair, crumpling onto the tile floor of the kitchen Zoey had neglected to clean for the past four days.

Oh, oh god…looks like you fucked up, Zoey.

She sighed and dug her keys out of her purse.

The ride to the Witchwood, the only place Zoey could think of to dispose of a body quickly, was mostly uneventful. They (being Zoey and the corpse, obviously) drove past a couple on an evening walk, what was either cardboard or a dead possum (didn’t matter; whatever it was looked like Sam currently) and some beautiful “Fuck Clivesdale” graffiti on the wall of the local shoestore, before the Ford started making noises similar to a cat coughing up a hairball. It sputtered to a stop, and Zoey had just enough time to pull over.

That led her basically to where she was right now: pulled over on a backroad with Sam’s remains splattering onto her dashboard. She had stepped out of the car to assess damage, but apparently she wasn’t the only one driving around Hatchetfield at 9:37 pm.

He was not a small guy; quite the opposite in fact! He was tall, beefy, and wearing an outfit that looked like it belonged on one of those guys from the gay cowboy movie that somehow ended up on tv last time she watched it with Hailey. 

“Hi.” She thanked all that was good in the world that her windows were tinted, otherwise the carcass in the front seat would have drawn a lot of attention. The man smiled at her, bright as the fucking north star, the light from her phone flashlight illuminating his gold tooth. 

“Didn’t expect to see no one else out and about this late.” He flashed that winning grin once more. “You lost?”

“Nope!” Zoey squeaked. “Not lost, just…broken down, I guess.” She gestured to the unfortunate state of her car. 

“Out for a little…evening joyride?” He questioned, peering around her shoulder. She shifted in front of him. 

“Yeah, haha, looks like I’ll have to get towed…” She snapped her fingers in a sort of ‘Ah, dang it’ gesture. He looked on kindly. 

“I wouldn’t mind given’ ya a ride home.” He held out his hand to shake. “Eddie Chiplucky. Dunno if we’ve met before.”

“Zoey Chambers. Don’t think we have. And, ah, thank you for the offer, but I can just…” She flipped through her mental list of people she could possibly admit to murder to. No names came up, save for her brother, Zach, who she did not intend on ever letting in on this secret. “I’ll call my…friend…or something.”

“Stranger danger?” He chuckled. “Welp, if you say so. Nice to meetcha, miss. I’ll stick around until your buddy gets here, wouldn’t wantcha to get cold. You can come sit in the truck and warm up, if ya want.”

“I’m…sure the heater still works in mine.” She stuttered, turning her attention back to her own car and the very noticeable bloody smear on the inside of the windshield. Eddie Chiplucky was not stupid, she could tell that much.

He’s onto me, isn’t he?

“Now, what are we gonna do about this whole…” Eddie moved his hand, vaguely encompassing Zoey, her vehicle, and the crimson-stained mess contained within it. “...Situation? How the hell did you even manage this?”

“It’s Hatchetfield. I don’t know if you southerners now this, but it’s really fucking easy to get away with murder.” 

“This ain’t your first rodeo, then?” He turned slightly, and Zoey’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of a shotgun tucked at his side. She wondered if he was planning on asking her to duel at high noon.

“Well…the first time wasn’t fully my fault.” She had just admitted to murder. There go my chances of being on Broadway! So long, big stage!

Eddie put a finger to his lips. “Zip it, lock it, put it in yer pocket. I won’t tell. You got a reason for why this fella had to meet an end?” He stepped closer, examining Sam through the window. 

“I didn’t know he had a key. We used to date, before his…wife found out…” The last part stung. Not only had she fucked around with a guy thirteen years her senior, but he was also married. Toxic, abusive, yes, but still a mistake on Zoey’s part too. 

“He had it comin’, then?” Eddie pressed his nose against the glass. “Yeah, he had it comin’. Look at that badge, that’s a cop right there.”

“That has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a scumbag.” Zoey insisted, knowing fully well that it had everything to do with that. “And he’s gone now anyway.” 

Eddie stepped away from the car and immediately jumped back a little. Zoey was shocked too, and before they knew it, the pair were bathed in hues of red and blue. Zoey’s first thoughts were omg, bisexual lighting! Before realizing she was A) not bisexual and B) probably about to get arrested. Eddie’s hand went for his gun as the car door opened. 

“We got a call about a drunk driver down here.” A short, brown-haired man with dimpled cheeks stepped out of the cruiser. Zoey recognized him immediately: Bailey B. Bailey, a regular customer at Beanies and a shitty tipper. “A couple on a stroll saw a young lady swerving all over the road.”

Bailey strutted up to the car, eyes never leaving Zoey. “Gonna need you to be a good citizen and take the breathalyzer for me, okay?” She took a timid step back. 

“I- uh…” 

“You know that arguing can get you in even more trouble, right?” Bailey sighed. He shook his head, glancing down at his feet. 

And then it happened.

He saw.

“Miss…Miss Chambers. What the fuck is that in your car? Unlock that car.” He growled. “Is that…? No! Sam? Officer Sweetly?

Zoey’s pulse quickened. She was dead. Bailey was pulling out his radio, he was gonna call back to the station and then she was gonna get arrested. For the second time that day, Zoey Chambers was about to kill a man.

She wasn’t even thinking. She just bolted toward Eddie, snatched the gun out of his reach, aimed, and shot a bullet directly into the cop’s neck.

Eddie stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’re a sharp-shooter.” He eventually choked out. “I guess we’ll need my truck. Toss him in the back.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I love Apollo therefore Ara is throttling the living hell out of him -Danny Words: 2,563 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XI: With All Due Respect, Which Is None

"Nemo, trying to lose them is pointless—"

"Do not unbuckle your seatbelt!" He gives a sharp turn to the left.

Apollo yelps. "Is your plan to avoid a fight by dying in a traffic accident?"

"Ha-ha." Percy says through gritted teeth. "I'm getting us to the beach. Ara could get this done anywhere but I fight better near water, and I'd like to better our chances."

"Because Poseidon?" Meg asks in the backseat behind Ara's.

"Yep. That pretty much describes my entire life: Because Poseidon."

Ara hears the younger girl excitedly shuffling in the backseat. "You're gonna be like Aquaman? Get the fish to fight for you?"

Ara laughs. Percy grumbles. "Thanks, I haven't heard enough Aquaman jokes for one lifetime."

"I wasn't joking!"

"He's just cranky," Ara gives him a look. 

 "Ah, I know these spirits!" Apollo exclaims. "They are... um..."

"What?" Percy urges him anxiously. "They are what?"

"I've forgotten!" The boy huffs. "I hate being mortal! Four thousand years of knowledge, the secrets of the universe, a sea of wisdom—lost, because I can't contain it all in this teacup of a head!"

"Hold on!" Percy gives another violent turn making Meg hit the ceiling with her head. The girl bursts into a fit of giggles while Ara scolds her brother. "Just another mile or so to the beach... Plus we're almost to the western edge of camp. We can do it. We can do it."

The moment he says it, a blob flies directly to their windshield, making Percy give an abrupt turn and causing the car to spin. Ara lets out such a strong curse word that Apollo covers Meg's ears and blushes. Paul's blue Prius swerves off the road and breaks through the limits of an orchard, crashing right in between two trees.

Percy unbuckles his seatbelt. "You guys okay?"

"Oh gods, this will take ages to fix..." Ara places a hand on the dashboard and glows orange, assessing all the damage the Prius took in the collision.

Meg fights with the handle. "Won't open. Get me out of here!"

"Back here," Apollo tells them. "Climb over!"

They leave the car with shaky legs and stunned brains, Ara spots the three blobs no longer looking like blobs. She curses and draws out Almighty. "The heck are those?"

"STOP!" Apollo tries to sound powerful, but his voice quivers. "I am the god Apollo!"

He gives a step forward and Ara tenses. "Are you sure...?"

The boy silences her and Ara obeys out of habit, he may not look like a god but she's still aware of who he is. "Leave us or be destroyed! BLOFIS!"

Ara frowns. "Did you just scream my dad's last name as a ward against evil?"

It does nothing to destroy the creatures, if anything, they look more ready to kill. "Oh, dear." Apollo says shakily. "I remember now..." 

"What are they?" Ara asks out of obligation, because she certainly doesn't want to know.

"Nosoi. Plague spirits," he winces. "And they can't be killed." 

"Nosoi?" Percy helps Meg out of the car. "You know, I keep thinking, I have now killed every single thing in Greek mythology. But the list never seems to end."

"You haven't killed me yet," Apollo points out.

"Don't tempt me," he retorts at the same time Ara says Don't tempt him.

"These creatures are not myths," Apollo continues. "Of course, most things in those old myths are not myths. Except for that story about how I flayed the satyr Marsyas alive. That was a total lie."

"You did what?"

"Guys, could we talk about that later?" Meg grabs a random tree branch as her weapon of choice.

"Apollooooo..." speaks one of the creatures. "We have coooome to—"

"Let me stop you right there." Apollo crosses his arms. "You've come to take your revenge on me, eh?" He looks back at the demigods. "You see, nosoi are the spirits of disease. Once I was born, spreading illnesses became part of my job. I use plague arrows to strike down naughty populations with smallpox, athlete's foot, that sort of thing."

"That was actually going to be my next question," Ara says.

"Oh, really?"

"No, you self-centered doofus!" She exclaims. "Why would you antagonize the living hospital waste?"

"Somebody's got to get the job done in a respectful manner! Better a god, regulated by the Council of Olympus and with the proper health permits, than a horde of uncontrolled spirits like these."

Another spirit speaks up. "We're trying to have a moooment here. Stop interrupting! We wish to be free, uncontroooolled—"

"Yes, I know. You'll destroy me. Then you'll spread every known malady across the world. You've been wanting to do that ever since Pandora let you out of that jar. But you can't. I will strike you down!"

"What will you strike us down with? Where is your booow?"

"It appears to be missing. But is it really? What if it's cleverly hidden under this Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and I am about to whip it out and shoot you all?"

The nosoi hesitate a bit. "Yooou lie."

"Why do you speak like that?" Ara blurts out.

"Like what?"

"Elongating the o's," she tilts her head. "Is that supposed to be threatening or...?"

"Are you trying to antagonize the hospital waste too?" Percy mutters. "Listen, Apollo..."

"I know what you're going to say. You, your sister, and Meg have come up with a clever plan to hold off these spirits while I run away to camp. I hate to see you sacrifice yourselves, but—"

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to ask what happens if I just slice and dice these mouth-breathers with Celestial bronze."

One of the spirits makes a noise that kind of sounds like a laugh. "A sword is such a small weapon. It does not have the pooooetry of a good epidemic."

"Let me give you a real nuclear farewell, then," Ara mumbles, ready to change her sword into a bazooka.

"Stop right there!" Apollo steps in. "You can't claim both my plagues and my poetry!"

"You are right. Enough wooooords."

Apollo lifts his arms with his palms facing the creatures as if to blast them, but nothing happens when he does that. "This is insufferable! How do demigods do it without an auto-win power?" 

Ara turns her sword into a shotgun. "Let's survey after I put these uglies to bed."

Meg stabs one of them with her branch and the wood sizzles like it's sinking in acid. "Let go!" Apollo squeals. "Don't let the nosoi touch you!"

Ara steps back, but Percy charges without a second thought. He rarely gets those anyway, and one of the spirits tries to seize his wrist. Meg throws a frozen peach at the head of the creature, and Ara loads her shotgun, ready to finish him off. She shoots, but the creature's body dissolves and forms again without any damage.

"We gotta run," Meg concludes.

"Yeah." Percy stumbles back. "I like that idea."

Ara grabs Apollo's wrist and drags him through the orchard easily even though he's almost the same height as Percy. "That's the western border of camp!" Her brother points further ahead. "If we can just get there..." 

He explodes a tank near them and with Ara's help, wills the water to swirl around the bodies of the nosoi, the girl glows teal as they run through the field. "That's cool!" Meg runs happily. "We're going to make it!" 

"Can y'all stop saying that!" Ara exclaims irritatedly. The nosoi burst out of the ground ahead and Percy doesn't have time to stop before he runs through one of them. "Nemo!" She gasps.

"Don't breathe!" Apollo squeaks.

Percy presses his lips together and clutches his shirt over his nose, he holds the little breath he can gather. Ara loads her shotgun again while Meg picks up another bruised peach from the ground. Ara runs through a few plans in her mind. "Can I use water?"

"What?"

"If I use water is my brother going to be okay?"

"I don't know! There is no seawater here!" Apollo screeches when another spirit charges at him and makes him crash into a tree.

"I'll take my chances," Ara summons the skies the moment the last spirit charges at her, and even if he's good at dissolving, there's nothing he can do against the speed and power of lightning. She looks between her brother and the helpless god, not knowing which one to focus on.

"Which fatal illness shall I use to kill the great Apolloooo?" The third spirit hums approvingly as it stalks the god. "Anthrax? Perhaps eboooola..."

"Hangnails," Apollo coughs out. "I live in fear of hangnails." 

Ara reaches for her octopus, fishes out a water bomb, and tosses it at Percy's feet. He closes his eyes tightly when the bomb explodes and Ara contains the detonation, making the water swirl as fast as possible, imagining whatever virus, germ, or bug is in there getting washed away. The girl glows brighter and closes her fist, dragging the water away from her brother's body, and into the plague spirit hovering over Apollo, lifting the being in a seawater ball.

"Percy, help!"

He helps her hold the ball up. Apollo is curled up in the mud, Ara glares at him feeling dizzy. "What now, Lester? We can't keep that thing trapped forever."

Just as she says this, the spirit Percy had previously run through reforms and pounces at them. Meg screams, taking them by surprise. "GET DOWN!" Everyone obeys, watching in shock as a thousand frozen peaches fly up and straight through the spirit, intercepting the one in the water bubble too. It's such an impressive display of strength and skill that they stay down even after the spirits fade.

Percy speaks weakly. "What just happened?"

Apollo clears his throat. "Meg, is it safe?"

"I—I'm not sure."

"How'd you do that?" Percy rubs his nose like he's got an itch that reaches all the way to his brain.

Meg shakes her head. "I didn't! I just knew it would happen."

A plague spirit sits up with difficulty. "But you did doooo it. Yooou are strong, child."

"Not strong enough," said the other. "We will finish you now."

"Are you kidding me?" Ara growls. "What does a girl gotta do for her murders to stick?"

One of the spirits does something that sort of looks like a smile. "Arae Jackson, soooo feisty. The girl's guardian is sooooo disappointed that he didn't find yoooou first." 

Meg kicks the ground, squealing in panic. "NO!" Another large group of peaches flies up and gets together, mixing and molding into a chubby plant-baby that reminds her of a nymph in the worst kind of way.

Ara frowns. "Is that...?"

Percy makes a face. "I hate these things."

"Wh-what is it?" Meg asks.

"It's a grain spirit," Apollo explains, visibly shaking. "I've never seen a peach karpos before, but if it's as vicious as other types..."

Ara lowers her weapon. "Let's not look threatening then... and step back veeery slowly... Meg, command your little friend to attack the nosoi."

"But I don't—"

"Do it," Ara says kindly yet curtly. "It'll listen."

With a shaky finger, she points at the plague spirits. "Eat them."

The next few seconds are a display of peach feral violence, enough to make Ara swear to never eat said fruit for the rest of her life. The baby chomps, munches, rips, inhales, and obliterates every single speck of nosoi in sight. Just as quickly, the grain spirit sits obediently at Meg's feet and burps, his green eyes attentive as he hits his chest proudly in an archaic gesture. "Peaches!"

Percy leans closer to Ara. "Do we kill it?"

"No!" Meg turns to them urgently. "Don't hurt him."

"Not planning to," Ara says. "Thank Peaches for us."

Meg pats the creature's head. "You saved us—Thank you." The creature wraps his chubby hands around Meg's leg, hugging her with such a gentle grip it melts Ara's heart, although she can't forget the way he consumed the plagues as if they were nothing but smoke.

"Peaches," he purrs.

"He likes you," Percy points out the obvious. "Um... Why?"

"I don't know," Meg blinks. "Honestly, I didn't summon him!"

"Meg," Ara starts patiently. "Your godly parent..." Something is not adding up. Ara heard the nosoi mention some guardian being disappointed over the fact that they didn't get Ara first... did they mean Meg's?

"Well, whatever the case," Apollo says dismissively, "we owe the karpos our lives. This brings to mind an expression I coined ages ago: A peach a day keeps the plague spirits away!"

Percy wrinkles his nose. "I thought it was apples and doctors." The creature shows its fangs at him. "Or peaches. Peaches work too."

"Peaches," the grain spirit nods solemnly.

Percy sneezes, perhaps the plague left him with some kind of seasonal allergy. "Not criticizing, but why is he grooting?"

"Grooting?" Meg frowns.

"Yeah, like that character in the movie... only saying one thing over and over. You know the one, Ara, you love the Raccoon."

Ara looks back at Meg. "He's asking why he's communicating using a single word."

Apollo shrugs. "I don't think a karpos tends to have a... targeted vocabulary."

"Maybe Peaches is his name." Meg pats the creature's head amicably. "That's what I'll call him."

"Good idea," Ara nods. "At least he seems to listen to you, so—"

"Whoa, she's not adopting that—" Percy sneezes again, shaking his head. "Ugh. The nosoi did something to me, my nose is all itchy."

"You're lucky," Apollo points out. "Ara's trick with the water diluted the spirit's power. Instead of getting a deadly illness, you got an allergy."

"Let me see," Ara presses a hand between his eyes. She reaches for the watering system of the orchard, willing the water out. "This will be quick, so don't breathe for the next five seconds."

In a swift motion, Ara glows teal and shoots a bit of water into Percy's right nostril and out through the left, giving him an instant nasal wash. He doubles over cursing and coughing. "A little heads up would be nice!"

"I told you not to breathe," she pats his cheek lovingly. "How's it feeling?"

Percy inhales deeply. "Good as new. You're the best, Birdy."

"No problem," Ara kisses his cheek.

"Excuse me?" Apollo speaks in annoyance. "We still need to move!"

Ara's eyes turn cold in an instant. She reaches the boy fast, making him yelp and stumble. "Listen here, you Less-tier god—you took plague spirits to where my pregnant mother lives, you almost got my brother and a twelve-year-old girl—that I still don't know if you kidnapped—killed, and you still don't understand that you're in no position to boss me around. Thank Percy for driving us here."

Apollo cowers a bit, looking back at Percy while blushing. "Thank you."

Her brother doesn't move an inch to pull Ara away from the former god, he seems to enjoy the scene. "No problem."

"Can we go now?" Meg asks like she's getting bored.

"An excellent idea," Apollo says promptly. "Though I'm afraid your father's car is in no condition—"

"I can drive you the rest of the way, if we can get it out from between those trees... Aw, Hades no...." Percy groans. Ara spots the police car stopping near the collision. "Ara, if they tow the Prius, we're dead. Our parents need the car."

"I got this," Ara eases him. "Bit of charmspeak and they'll help you tow the car back to our parking lot. You can explain what happened, and I'll be back before dinner, I'll get the car running by the end of the weekend, it'll be fine."

Percy nods at Apollo and Meg. "So you're seeing them to camp?"

Ara looks briefly over her shoulder. "Wait there, I'll be right back." She looks at Peaches. "You're in charge, bub."

"Peaches," the creature puffs out his chest.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

[thornyfluff]

No one asked, but... two weeks after huge hail storm and the car insurance guy came out today to assess me and my SO's cars... mine was deemed completely totaled and the other one might be too. Not to mention the roof being shot to hell...FML...

At least the hood dents could make for a good texture/npbackground ref maybe? There is so much more damage than I can show here. Lights, windshield, plastic pieces---looks all shot up now---

Not to mention my greenhouse

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, reblogs, or donating to my kofi!

summary: “Someone got here first,” Steve sighs out, casting a light on every corner to assess the true damage. “They went into her room, too. I don’t know what they’re lookin’ for, but they were hell-bent on finding it.” Hopper’s lips purse beneath a thick mustache, brows tight together as the scene plays out for him - men in uniform kicking their way through the damages, pocketing all they could. Jewelry was left behind, and any money goes ignored in vaults in favor of damning evidence on paper. Paper and files he needed in order to hold against them - to understand Autumn’s purpose in all of this. warnings: home invasion. a nano second mention of being suicidal. you gotta squint. wc: 2,822

Her voice calls in every corner of his mind. Loud, brash, and unapologetic as her hands flail in an attempt to make herself seen. To be heard. She followed after him, continuing her rampage as old pieces of herself slipped back in. She had been fed, thanks to Steve, unlocking the monster inside of a teenage girl with too much to say all too suddenly. Autumn had been ghostly the moment she stumbled out of that bedroom, mind scrambled due to a forceful long sleep. It was easy to excuse her lack of words and slow shifts of movement, knowing the drug still lingered in her veins. But it had been hours, now. The sun was setting and she was fueled by the same flame that kept her alive, and angry at the world. “It’s my house,” she would say. Full of bark and bite as he gathered his things inside the cabin, checking the perimeter for anything out of place, just to keep her safe. The girl didn’t seem to care for his actions, trailing after him in pajamas despite the cold air to assault her skin. She was grateful without showing him that kindness, overwhelmed by the need for closure - even vengeful against the cause of her uprooting. She wanted to go back, just to see the man that crept through the night, and Hopper was adamantly against it. The risk of her tagging along was a death sentence, or for something worse if she had fallen into the hands of Martin Brenner. A life she wished to be over, caged away by white walls. Hopper's denial was firm, even angered by the girl's lack of care for herself after all he had done. He would have cuffed her to the long-dead heater, leaving her to stew and huff over her inability to seize control of the situation. But after a long battle between the two, he’s able to escape her clutches - leaving the girl to glare through his windshield as he peels away. He makes promises that she’s safe and secure, so long as she listens and keeps to the shadows until he returns.

Hopper is now sat outside of the Reid residence - a fortress left cold and abandoned. The lack of life inside was eerily similar to the girl as she stumbled from the bed - hollow, and haunted. The windows held no light, but the moon casts a glow against the roughened edges, glass broken and shattered. He remembers the gut-wrenching feeling as he left the girl behind, surrendering to its pull until he wound up back in the neighborhood in the early morning. He sat and waited, just like now. He waits for something to shift in the dark, a threat to lurk around the corner whether it be human or creature. He remembers the painful silence and the burn in his eyes from a long stare unbroken, and then the sound of something coming to life from the sleepy depths. His ears ring as the explosion settles, windows rattling until cracks form and break away. The porch light flickers, beckoning him in closer, and Hopper’s on his feet, running without fear of what lay beyond that door. A home destroyed, a family ripped in two as her “protector” was long gone, leaving a frightened boy to hold her tight as they escaped into the night. It’s all a stark contrast to now - living on the edge of anticipation for something to disrupt the peace, only to fall flat in continued silence. Then, a glimmer. It flickers along the broken edges of the living room window, a small beam of light seen shifting inside before disappearing. Knuckles pale against the steering wheel, picturing Brenner sifting through the wreckage of her home before burning away the evidence. Another deeply kept secret born in the flames. It doesn’t settle well with Hopper, a snake constricting his insides, only to be set free as he races up the driveway with his gun drawn. He doesn’t push his way through like he had the night prior, opting for something more stealthy as he slips in with cautious steps. His back is up against the wall, a figure buried in the darkness. The officer checks every corner, heartbeat racing to the point he swears it’ll give out. The main floor seems untouched from his last moments inside, safe for the hell a teen girl brought with her, whatever that may be. Hopper creeps along in the shadows, allowing the lack of light to build shapes out of nothing. A creak in the floorboards echoes from above, freezing him on the spot as he casts a stern look towards the steps where fallen photographs lay. The light comes again, dancing along the wall before dwindling - and he follows after it like a moth to its demise.

Each step is carefully made, testing the surface with the touch of his toe before moving onward. He’s nearly made it to the top of the stairs when his heel meets glass, the crunch beneath forced pressure is painfully loud in the quiet home, putting both uninvited guests on edge. The man stills, eyes moving along the walkway and towards the darkened doorways, left open and exposed. There’s something there - lurking and creeping closer towards the frame, hoping to get a look at the intruder while remaining undetected. He appears in a silhouette, fallen strands of hair nearly obscuring his view of the man at the stairs. There’s a moment of relief as he studies the figure before sickening panic rises like bile in his throat as he stares down the barrel of the officer's gun - just like the night before. “Woah, woah, woah!” Steve calls out, now lurching from his hiding place with hands and flashlight up in the air, praying his surrender won’t end in his downfall. “It’s me! It’s me!” Now illuminated, Hopper’s anger is evident as he lowers the weapon, his chest filling and ready to unleash a building frustration. ���Harrington?” “Yes! Yes, Harrington! Jesus Christ,” the adrenaline fades and the boy collapses against the railing, hands firm to support his weight. “You could’ve killed me!” “Or someone else could have!” the officer retorts, pulling himself up the last remaining steps, nearly charging after the boy until he towers above him. A bird of prey ready to pluck the weak from their place within the brush, hiding away. Or so they thought.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, huh? I thought I told you t’go home.” Steve retreats at the cruelness in his tone, hand fumbling with the light while the other gripped at the railing - steadying himself as Hopper refuses to give them space. “I did!” the boy defends, voice shaking. “I-I was home!” His reply only leaves Hopper to raise a brow in suspicion, hands held out to his sides expectantly, waiting for the explanation to follow suit. “I-I left some things here, s’all.” The other male takes a moment to study the boy in the dim lighting, the only new addition to his appearance being shoes that seemed to fit better than worn down, mold-infested loafers. “D’you find them?” he questions, watching as Steve slowly nods in response. “Good. Now get lost.” It’s a bold, and purposeful statement. They were only children at the center of it all. Thrust into this supernatural world, with danger around every corner and just beneath your feet. It was infuriating, yet admirable to watch them march towards the battlefield - like now. Steve had done as he asked. The boy delivered food and was forced to retreat back to safety before his parents began making phone calls about a missing son. He was free, yet somehow still found himself tiptoeing around the girl's home - risking it all.

Hopper steps to the side, arm held out in gesture for Steve to move on by - to slip out that front door and into the night, but he doesn’t move. Something entangles around his ankles to hold him in place. Something like curiosity, and fear. “What’re you waitin’ for?” The teen's gaze shifts in the dark, a hard swallow working its way down his throat - pushing down that fright, replaced with a shred of bravery. “I think you should see something," Steve's words are confident, strong, and convincing enough that Hopper doesn't argue against him. He merely watches as the boy slips by, the light dancing along the floor until it aims through an opened doorway. Worrisome eyes find Hopper, doused in the shadows and beckoning the man in for a closer look. To take in the secrets once buried inside the home. And buried, they stayed. Cabinets lined up against the far wall had been haphazardly opened and emptied. The desk toppled over, leaving stationary to scatter along the carpet, glass clinging to every fiber. The room had been torn to shreds at the hands of faceless men. Their only purpose in life is to keep darkness tucked away until all is forgotten. “Someone got here first,” Steve sighs out, casting a light on every corner to assess the true damage. “They went into her room, too. I don’t know what they’re lookin’ for, but they were hell-bent on finding it.” Hopper’s lips purse beneath a thick mustache, brows tight together as the scene plays out for him - men in uniform kicking their way through the damages, pocketing all they could. Jewelry was left behind, and any money goes ignored in vaults in favor of damning evidence on paper. Paper and files he needed in order to hold against them - to understand Autumn’s purpose in all of this. “Here,” he begins, offering out a small list with his own and the girl’s handwriting scattered across the sheet. It details every item she’s personally requested, the ink smudged from frantic scribbles. “I need you t’find these for me, okay?”

The all too brilliant light shines against the note, the boy's face twisted up in confusion as he reads it all over. He tries to ask about the girl he left behind in the cabin. But Hopper is quick to cut him off, ushering the boy away from the vacant office and down the hall, towards the teenager's room. He casts an uncertain gaze just over his shoulder, before studying the paper more carefully, vanishing into the darkness. Now alone, the officer seems to shift from calm, to desperate. He charges through the ruins, ripping open every cabinet in hopes of scraps left behind. But the storage is scraped clean, forcing him to pull them from the walls, searching within the shadows before lifting the fallen furniture and supplies. Anything - he needed anything and was left empty-handed. The man nearly trips over his feet as they carry him out into the hallway once more, moving in Steve’s direction. He finds an untouched bathroom - nothing sacred to be stolen, hidden away in the cupboards. Just next to it, Steve tiptoes through the girl's bedroom. He’s found a laundry basket and carefully begins to load it with various items - some from the list, others he believes she may want or need. The floor is darkened by broken pots, soil spilling out and trampled through, carving out a frantic path as multiple men tore her world to shreds. Clothes lay scattered, ripped from their hangers to drape over books of unimportance. It’s a sickening sight to take in, but he pulls himself away with the mission at the forefront of his mind. All the while, Steve nearly spins himself in circles to drink it all in. The place where he once lay covered in terracotta shards, her bed flipped on its side to find hidden treasures.

His partner in all of this is racing down the stairs, the distress leaving his heart to tremble and roar like thunder in his ears. It’s a disorientating sensation. The tips of his fingers trace along the walls as he moves, just to keep him locked in reality - body unwavering. The living room holds less attention than the rooms upstairs, and for that he’s grateful. He remembers the books lined up perfectly, some spines tattered with time and others perfectly pristine. He becomes reckless and crazed, stacking them up in his arms, ignoring the heavy burden as he moves out the front door to carelessly toss them into the trunk. But it’s not enough, his chest aches for more. Something to satiate the need for truth before it chokes out his fire. He swipes the pill vials left in the kitchen, pocketing them as he moves with purpose. Her father's room is decorated in beige, cream, and brown with burnt orange curtains to hang over dark windows. It’s been visited, too. The sheets ripped up with the mattress laying slanted off to the side. His closet opened, and given the same treatment Autumns had endured. The wall shelving echoed with emptiness, objects tipped over without care. He knows they’ve taken all they could - all they truly needed, but still, he believes something must have been ignored or unseen. So, he digs. Bedside tables are opened to find nothing of importance. The bench just at the end of the bed is filled with small nothings and a photo album, he adds it to a small collection on the bed before running his hands along areas they would not think to check. Hidden compartments beneath the wooden furniture, a hole cut through the carpet to reveal a secret hiding place. Something sewn into fabric - easily missed unless you went looking for it. He nearly gives up as the sweat collects on his brow - this open space beginning to suffocate the man. But calloused fingers run along leather backing just behind the headboard, and time seems to stop. A notebook is pulled from the shadows, once resting comfortably out of view on a thin ledge. Hopper takes a moment for himself, hands nearly trembling with anticipation before he flips to the last page filled in.

I don’t see her anymore. Every day, she becomes a little less of herself and more of someone else. I didn’t think it would be like this so soon - or maybe time really has just flown by. He tells me to keep her in line, but it feels too late to try. I wonder if he would be so bold if he was forced to face her. To face him.

I've done what I could. I did what I promised. Only time will tell now.

The journal is tucked between the pages of the album for security - not bothering to continue reading, knowing this may be enough to confess an ugly secret. Lies on his tongue and truth pouring from the ink. He only wishes Ian hadn’t been so cowardly - and that his bloodied fist could pull honesty out by the roots, forceful.

Steve hurries down the steps with the basket piled high - far more than what Hopper had asked for. The pair meet in the entryway, masked by the night. “I can bring more if you just-” “No,” the elder man spits out, hoisting the basket up onto his hip as it’s carried out to the truck. “What d’you mean, ‘no’?” Her belongings are set carefully in the back, a heavy sigh on his lips as they face one another. “You’re not even supposed t’be here, kid. You’re putting yourself in danger by even getting involved.” The boy's face contorts, seeming appalled by his words. “I’m sorry, are we forgetting that I was there, too? I am involved! If someone wants t’hurt Autumn, then - well, I’m not letting that happen.” His words are bold, and filled with confidence as he stands proud before Hopper, palms resting over hips. The officer slumps against the chilled surface, a hand running along his face as he tries to sort through scattered thoughts. But warm eyes dig through his weakened shield, tired and beaten down by the events and his lack of sleep. “Let her decompress, okay? And then - then, we’ll just see, okay?” The boy is reluctant to agree but nods along for the time being - watching as the man slips away and towards the driver's side. “What about school?” he calls out from his lone place in the driveway. “They’ll be calling here - they’ll be calling her dad.” Fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose - letting the pieces of this puzzle scramble even more, making his work harder and longer. “And what about Jonathan? He’s going t’find out she’s gone-” The flow stops as he notices Hopper’s hand held out to silence him, letting it all catch up to him at once. “I’ll figure it out, okay? Just - just go home, kid. And for God’s sake, try t’stay out of trouble.”

[rubyvroom]

Continuing Adventures in Car Ownership

Car owned for 10 years by my parents, in pristine condition. I drove it 950 miles to get it home, no trouble. In under 1 week in Boston, somebody smashed it up.

I had the car in a MBTA parking lot, and when I came back, the driver's side was scratched all to shit, dented on both doors, and my side mirror was ripped off and smashed. I don't even know how they did this in that parking lot, I was well within my lines and it looks like you'd have to practically T-Bone it to get this damage.

No sign of the other driver. However there was a note on the car windshield. Not the guy who hit me, but a witness who wrote that they saw the whole thing, it was a Ford sedan and the license plate number is LCD9183, good luck! No contact info for anybody.

Had to get transit police involved. They were surprisingly helpful. They ran the plates, and went by the address and the other car was smashed up in just the right spot, so they approached the guy and he confessed, and now I have his insurance. So thank you random passerby! You saved me a bunch of headache and probably $$$$.

But now I have to get the car fixed. It drives fine, but it's apparently illegal to drive around without a side mirror in my state, so it's at the shop. They have to do an official insurance assessment first. I still have to also get my emissions testing, but unfortunately the shop my insurance told me to take the car to doesn't do that, so I have to also take it to a second shop to get that done. I don't have time for any of this btw, since I already had to take off work to register the car at the RMV.

I still don't have my parking sticker or my official title, both are in the mail to me supposedly. So I now need to find a NEW place to park it where my car doesn't get towed or Fury Roaded.

Already owning a car in Boston is waaaaaaaaaaay more trouble than it's worth, lol

[moonbeam-dreamer]

The Storm

It happened again. I should have seen it coming. Nothing good lasts forever, but why did it have to come to such a dramatic head this soon? It wasn’t like I didn’t know the answer. The truth is always staring you in the face, and you could choose to ignore it, act like it was a dead bug on the windshield, yet it stalks you like a predator. It’s never far from you, running in the opposite direction never yields distance, and when it finally catches you, the collision has the full force of a freight train. 

There was a storm this past week and the damage left many without power. I should have let her fend for herself after all the chaos she’d brought me, but I knew the animals would suffer and I couldn’t live with that. I still had to bring two of mine home and there was no better time than now. She wouldn’t have access to a grocery store without assistance, and it would help to lighten her load. So was my thinking anyway. I should have listened to my gut instinct. 

The first car ride went as expected and put my nerves on edge. She told me off for moving out and leaving her ‘stranded’. Her tirade compared me to my father and the bastard he was for every one of her misfortunes. I thought the time alone would have helped her realize that no one cared enough to stalk her, but that was the next topic to come up. Apparently, Since I’ve left, the number of cars to go by has increased and they no longer try to keep it hidden. There’s construction on the main street a block over neighborhood detours has nothing to do with it. I took her to the store, then back home, and used the hour drive to my own to unwind. I hadn’t attempted to collect my cats. There was always the next time. I just needed to get away from her. The stress brought me to tears and rather than go shopping, or making something to eat, I wrapped up on my favorite blanket and went to sleep. 

My father offered to bring her to the store but she refused. Rather, she blew up my phone with demands. Again, I went and endured her abuse. This time she tried to guilt me into letting her stay at my place, but I flat out refused. She waited until we on the way back to start an argument, and I drove home with frazzled nerves, where I repeated the motions of the day before. Disassociating, I believe Jessica calls it. Five more days of maltreatment and mental torment continued before I summoned the energy to load up the last of my items, plus the two cats, and my father’s dog she said she was done caring for. I would have refused but I couldn’t leave him to starve or be tossed out in a storm. He’d suffered that as a puppy and was now deathly afraid of thunder.  

Once they were all safely tucked in, I went back to shut the front door and no sooner had I taken hold of the handle, blinding pain lit my skull. From the right came a hard blow, and from the left there was glass breaking from impact. I thought the wind had pushed the gateway into me and smashed, but another strike to my mouth sent me down the single step with a spin. I managed to stay upright, even as she came forward to continue her assault. When her fist came flying, I grabbed her wrist and held it tightly so she couldn’t pull back. She's 65 and couldn’t move as well as she used to. I thought she might wizen up and stop this idiocy. It wasn’t a fight she could win against someone half her age, but it didn’t stop her from trying. Her other hand came down on mine, nails digging in and drawing blood, and she was yelling obscenities. Force wasn’t going to be enough to break this, and I hated that injury was going to follow, but she was the aggressor. This needed to be done so I could make my escape. I leaned back, swung around, and released her from my hold. Her grip tore me open as she flew across the yard, but I didn’t take a moment to assess the damage. My feet carried me quickly to the car and I sped away from the house to the highway. 

(Continued in part 2)

[chrissieshauntedbones]

TW: car crash, surgeries, broken bones

I got into a bad car accident on Thursday June 1st, 2023 while on my way to work. Not only was it me in my truck, but my emotional support dog, Merle. Merle was a valued member of our office, and assisted me in my day to day by keeping my anxiety in check, and helping me with my task and time management. My entire office loved and valued both of us.

When the accident occurred, the other driver cut me off and drove headfirst into my Jeep Cherokee... Between the speed and the force in which I was hit, the engine broke free of the motor mounts, fell into my dashboard, and pinned both my legs under the dashboard, as well as my 90lb German Shepherd.

He was trapped for a half hour while I screamed and begged everyone around me to get him out. He was eleven years old. I had him for nine years. He was pretty much my everything. I was hopeful he would make it. Due to the extent of his injuries, we were forced to euthanize him. His spinal chord was severed.

Me on the other hand? I had a broken right arm at the elbow, a head wound (brain bleed), both femurs were broken, both knees, my right tib/fib, my right ankle, and both feet. I was legitimately lucky to be alive. If I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt, I would have gone through the windshield and died.

I was trapped under the engine for an hour and a half before they could cut me out of my truck. Once I was freed, I was put into an ambulance, and then into a helicopter and flown to a triage center. I needed scans and tests to assess the damage, which I was sedated for most of this. Then I needed surgery. They repaired my femurs, knees, leg, ankle, and arm, leaving my feet for last. The surgery took 15 hours.

Since 6/1/23, I have needed 5 other surgeries on my left femur & knee, bringing the total to 6... And, I am now going for surgery number 7 on the same femur in a week.

This is all due to the fact that the insurance company wouldn't agree to pay for a knee replacement for me...

My knee got infected 7 weeks after the first surgery. Due to the gnarly infection I had, I needed a 2nd surgery to clean everything up. The infection basically created a mass of scar tissue inside my knee, which then needed a 3rd surgery to remove and fix. Which then caused another infection, so surgery 4 and 5 were to implant antibiotics and to remove hardware... and surgery 6 was to reinstall new hardware.

Now this surgery is #7, and should hypothetically be the stepping stone I need in order to get the knee replacement I will need, that will get me back on my feet (I have been in a wheelchair or bedridden since 6/1/23).

I am so angry because they've spent so much money and put me through so much pain and suffering, wasting so much of my time, for nothing in my opinion. My knee has no cartilage in it and doesn't move. I knew this a year ago with surgery number 3, yet, went through 4 surgeries (including number 3) to try and alleviate that. It's been insane.

They have been fighting the knee replacement because of my age (I'm 34), and because if I go for a knee replacement, I will need subsequent knee replacements throughout my life. So rather than give me the knee replacement and have me need 3-4 more throughout the course of my life, they have put me through 4 other surgeries, plus the 3 or 4 more I will need for possible knee replacements for the rest of my life. Because clearly 8 is less than 4. Meanwhile they've paid out all this money, and I've gone through literally all this pain, and have been suffering for the past 18 months, and have had my life on hold, barely scraping by, for what?

The US healthcare system is an absolute JOKE.