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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 1 year

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missing

sooo hi! I haven’t posted any of my writing on tumblr in a long time lol, but I thought about it and I figured, eh, I might as well for this one :). And since I haven’t done this in so long, mas, I’m kind of stealing your format a bit. Sorry about that :p. Anyway, this is actually my first lone star fic! That I’ve posted, that is. I have another one I’ve been working on for a while (it’s not extremely long but motivation and inspiration are fickle things), which I will hopefully post soon :). But when there wasn’t a fic about this the day after the episode (I lasted a night of resisting the idea lol), this possessed me xd. This takes place the morning after 4x03. I hope you enjoy :D!!

trigger warnings: talk of kidnapping

TK woke with a start and a flash of anxiety, both of which were caused by his phone ringing. Ever since his mom, he always felt like he was going to get bad news. It was getting better, and then everything with Iris’s disappearance had spiked it again. But this was fine. Iris was back, so that was over. The anxiety started to recede, still humming in the background, but TK ignored it as he fumbled to grab his phone. He squinted automatically at its light, and he tried to see who was calling, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted after a few seconds so he just answered it.

“Hello?” he answered groggily.

“TK Strand?”

He sat up slightly.

“Uh- Yeah,” he responded. “Who is this?”

“Police Sergeant Sykes-” TK’s heart jumped into his throat, and he forcibly swallowed it back down. “I’m Officer Reyes’s boss. And you’re his fiancé, correct?”

“Oh, yeah, we- Yeah, we met once,” TK recalled vaguely. It had been a brief interaction when he was picking Carlos up from a shift. “Sorry, what do you need?”

“It’s fine,” Sergeant Sykes responded. “I apologize for calling you so early.”

TK glanced at the alarm clock next to him - 5:57.

“I had to be up soon anyway,” he said wearily.

“Oh, that’s convenient,” the Sergeant responded. He wasted no more before continuing. “Well, I was calling you because Officer Reyes didn’t show up for his shift at 5.”

Breathe. Just- Sykes was talking.

“Sorry, what was that?” TK interrupted.

“I was asking if Officer Reyes is at home,” Sykes repeated.

“No,” TK said. “He-” and then finally he woke up enough to remember. Relief and comprehension flooded through him. “He’s staying at the hospital with Iris Blake tonight.”

“Ah, I see,” Sykes said. “He must have overslept or got involved with something there. I’ll call them. Thank you, Mr. Strand.”

“Yeah, of course,” he responded, and the other man hung up. TK rubbed his face and glanced at his phone. No important notifications. No calls or texts from Carlos. And it was 5:59, so with a sigh he got up and started getting ready for work. His shift started at 7:00, so he didn’t have a lot of time to lounge around.

TK went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, trying to wake himself up a bit more. It didn’t really help. He dried his face and then quickly brushed his teeth, trying not to think about how it felt different with Carlos not coming home than when he left before TK. He thought about work instead, wondering what kind of day it would be.

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind a busy day, he thought as he went back into the bedroom and started looking for clothes.

His phone rang.

It’s fine, it’s nothing, just answer.

TK hurriedly picked up his phone from where he dropped it on the bed and answered it. He shoved the shirt he’d been holding under his other arm as he said: “Hello?”

“Sorry to call again so soon, Mr. Strand.”

It’s fine, just breathe. Maybe Carlos’s phone died and needs his charger.

“Sergeant,” he said, surprised. “What do you need?”

“You said Officer Reyes went to stay with Iris Blake overnight, yes?”

TK swallowed, staring at the wall but seeing nothing. “Yeah. Were you able to contact him?” Maybe the sergeant needed him to call Carlos himself, or remind him which room Iris was in.

There was silence for a few seconds.

Just breathe, don’t overreact. Everything is-

“Carlos Reyes is not at the hospital. We have no idea where he is.”

TK’s blood ran cold. His heart was beating in his ears - it’s fine he’s fine everything’s fine - and there was some squeaking sound in the back of his mind. Carlos must’ve left already. He must’ve- what was that noise?

TK glanced down and realized the noise was coming from his phone, which was currently sitting on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up.

“-you there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” TK forced out. “I- what were you saying?”

“Is there anywhere else he could be?” repeated the Sergeant.

TK closed his eyes, trying to focus. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Uh- yeah. There’s places he could be, but they’re not- I don’t know why he’d be there,” he answered.

“Such as?” Sykes asked.

“His parents’, the 126 firehouse, or just driving, like, to nowhere.” He racked his mind for Carlos’s hiding places, but he was still trying to figure out why he would be at any of them.

“I was about to call his father and ask if he knew where Officer Reyes is,” Sykes said.

“Okay,” TK said tightly. “But I can’t think of any reason he would be there. He- he said he was going to the hospital.”

“Is there any reason he wouldn’t want to come home?” questioned Sykes.

The lump in TK’s throat was growing fast.

“Mr. Strand?”

“Yeah,” he answered past the lump. “I- I went to talk to Iris, before her. . . disappearance. And, he thought- that it could’ve been my fault.”

“So he was angry with you?”

TK swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“Then it makes sense that he didn’t tell you where he was going,” Sykes said.

“No,” TK countered immediately. “He would’ve told me.”

Sykes didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then: “Tell me exactly what he said to you.”

“He- He called me, last night. Around 8:30, I think? Maybe 9:00. PM,” he added, just to be sure. TK took a deep breath. “I said I was getting worried, and I asked how Iris was. He- he said not great, and that I shouldn’t wait up, because he was going to stay there. So, I said that- it made sense, you know, that she shouldn’t be alone, and- and I said I loved him and he said it back.”

“He didn’t seem particularly angry with you last night?”

“No, just- quiet.”

“He’s most likely just spending time alone, and lost track of time,” Sykes said calmingly. TK would be annoyed at being treated carefully if he had any mental space for anything else.

“He’s been through a lot in the past few days,” the Sergeant continued.

“Carlos doesn’t lose track of time,” TK said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. “And he wouldn’t skip his shift.”

The other end of the line was quiet for a few seconds.

“Sergeant-” TK started.

“I’m having someone call Gabriel Reyes now,” Sykes interrupted.

“Tell me what he says.”

“I will,” Sykes promised.

There was silence for a few moments - it felt like hours, but TK was sure it couldn’t have been longer than 30 seconds. He felt like pacing, but was rooted to the spot, barely breathing. TK could almost make out voices in the background of the other call, but he had no idea what they were saying. Then, nothing.

He waited a few seconds.

“Sergeant?”

“Gabriel Reyes has received no communication at all from his son.”

Breathe. That means he must be driving somewhere, blowing off steam.

“Okay,” he said, trying to ignore the tension in Sykes’s voice. “So- he’s driving, out somewhere.”

“Thank you,” Sergeant Sykes said, voice slightly fainter. What was he- right, talking to someone else.

“What?” TK asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Does someone know where he is?”

A sigh. “Cell tower report. Officer Reyes’s cell phone last pinged last night at 8:49 PM. His call to you,” the sergeant added.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“So his phone died? That’s why we haven’t heard from him?” TK asked hopefully. Finally, there was an explanation beyond Carlos just forgetting.

“Carlos Reyes is missing.”

TK’s heart stopped. Everything slowed. It felt like plunging into the lake: muffled, freezing, and terrifying. The information wasn’t processing. It couldn’t, because this couldn’t be happening. Because Carlos had called him barely a day ago to tell him the exact same thing, but they had found her and she was fine-

“I’m sorry, TK.”

His senses came rushing back to him. It was like Sykes snapped him out of a trance. TK took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” TK said hollowly. “Find him.”

He was already moving, rushing to grab the rest of his clothes.

“Mr. Strand, we’re going to do everything we can-”

“I know that,” TK interrupted forcefully. “And you want me to come in and answer some questions, right?”

“. . . Yes, but-”

“Tell Gabriel I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Mr. Strand- TK, Gabriel Reyes isn’t here,” Sykes said, the sympathy - more like pity - in his voice mixed with confusion.

“He will be,” TK said firmly. “And like I said, I will be too. So tell him.”

Sykes sighed. “I will,” he replied, sounding a bit defeated.

TK was about to hang up, but he hesitated. Stared at nothing. Heard his heart pounding now that the silence wasn’t filled with his voice.

“Thank you,” he said shakily. “For telling me.”

“Of course, TK,” the Sergeant said after a few seconds. “We’re going to find him.”

“I know,” TK said. He didn’t.

He hung up.

TK took another breath, and then dropped his phone onto the bed. He felt the anger rising back up. He needed to move, and he did. He jumped right back into his search for clothes. TK searched near frantically for his shoes (or any shoes really) as he switched his pajama shirt out for an actual shirt. By the time he changed all of his clothes, he finally found them.

TK rushed into the living room. He grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and-

His phone. He ran back into the bedroom, snatched it off the bed, and was out of the door within seconds.

After an agonizing 40 seconds (time really was fond of making seconds feel like hours that morning), TK finally made it to the car. He unlocked it, threw open the door, and slid in. He knew the way to the police station by heart. Take a left on-

The door shut. The silence was back. TK hated this silence. Silence that should be just the lack of noise but was so, so much more. Silence that was anger and sadness and death-

TK let out a strangled sob. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until it all rushed out. He could feel the tears in his eyes, feel one start to track its way down his face. The silence took away the anger for just a moment, and all he wanted to do was scream, or cry. But he didn’t have time for either.

TK closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. And then a few more, slightly steadier ones. Carlos needed him. TK couldn’t just sit in the car, because Carlos was going to be fine but they needed to find him first. His fiancé was missing, and he needed to help.

TK opened his eyes and put the key in the ignition.

#9-1-1 lone star #911 lone star #oasis's 9-1-1 chatter #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star 4x03 #911 lone star 4x04 spec #technically lol #tarlos #911 lone star fic #9-1-1 lone star fic #911 ls 4x03 #911 ls 4x04 #I wrote most of this in like three writing sessions lol #not really much in between them xD #I'd be like 'oh I wanna write and I need to work on this but agh I did a line and I can't think of what comes next- *writes 700 words*#lol #anyway!!#I am also on ao3 as afternineattheoasis :)#that's where I usually post my fics #but yeah I hope you enjoyed this :DD!!#kinda scared to be posting it on tumblr lol #also I read through the finished product like one full time and lightly edited it soo any mistakes are my own lol #I'm pretty proud of this!!#I kinda just wrote it quickly (for me at least - idk about y'all but this was a fast turnaround for me lol) and threw it out here but #I like it :DD #also usually I don't end up following up on episode-code ideas for any show really so this is impressive :)#I'm proud of myself :D!#🥰��🥰🥰🥰#anyway!

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werelink · 1 year

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Hey guys, I'm writing a sort of Log Horizon fanfic and trying to motivate myself to keep writing, so I'm posting the first part I've fleshed out. Let me know what you think.

My Guld of Me

Intro

“Did I fall asleep? I was just playing online, I wouldn’t have passed out, but why am I waking up?” I think to myself as I open my eyes and look around. “This looks like a room in a medieval inn, but I was just in my own bedroom. Why am I here? Where even is here?”

I sit up and look around, taking stock of the tiny room. There’s barely room for the twin size bed and a side table. The wardrobe at the foot of the bed would be blocked if the door opened. This room must be an economy build. That still begs the question: what am I doing here?

I swing my feet off the bed and realize that there’s even more that’s not right. My body feels different. I look down to find that my thin hands look a little daintier than usual, and my chest is sticking out weirdly. “Oh my god! Am I a girl?!” The alarm bells ring in my head and I start having a silent freakout. I quickly stand up for a pat down inspection of myself. I always had a butt for a guy, but now I’ve got hips. My chest doesn’t stick out that far, but I think I’m wearing some kind of sports bra. I’m probably as short as I always was, but maybe that won’t be so unusual as a girl. I’m wearing a dress, no scratch that; I’m wearing robes, so at least my silhouette is fairly formless. I’ve got…oh no, I have cat ears.

I try to run to the compact water closet in the corner of my room and instantly bash my hip on the side table. I’ll worry about that later. I look in the vanity mirror and see the same blue eyes I was born with widen in horror as it dawns on me what’s happening. I am incarnated as my Elder Tale character, a cat girl mage.

What the hell? The new expansion isn’t a VR game, and even if it was, this is way too real. I was just playing on my computer, exploring one of the outer towns before the expansion changed everything. I had just bought a room in the inn before logging out, but now I’m logged in hard. Wait, can I log out?

I squint around the edges of my vision and see a bit of the usual UI for the game. I find the logout button after some fumbling, but it’s grayed out.

This can’t be happening. Why am I here? I wasn’t even hit by a truck to be granted this isekai bullshit! I was in the middle of grad school. How am I going to turn in my next paper? I guess my classes are gonna have to wait. I hope my mom is okay. I wanna go home. I need to go home. I Need to go home now. I NEED to be home Right Now.

A text box pops up into my vision. “Casting: Call of Home” and a progress bar fills up. My hands glow and my vision goes white, then black.

I wake up at a table to the sound of people shouting. I look around and I’m in the main lobby of an inn, one I recognize. This is definitely the main city from Elder Tale; I’ve spent a lot of time here, but it’s usually calmer. The room is as crowded as ever, but instead of silent avatars going about their business, real people are scattered around displaying various degrees of hysterics.

I need to get out of here. I need somewhere private, I need my own space. I need my guild house. I had all my alternate characters pool their resources into a house just for me, that’s where I need to be right now.

I move as quickly as I can, stumbling through the crowd as my vision narrows from the panic. I make it to the guild building by keeping my head down, but instead of instancing to my home as soon as I cross the guild threshold, I’m met with a hall of doors. I don’t know how I know where to go, but my feet take me to one identical door of many and my hand reaches toward the knob. As I clasp the handle, a pop up window shows “Big Blue House” and I know I’ve made it.

I open the door with a sigh of relief, I finally have somewhere I can be alone to resume my freakout in peace. I close the door behind me and turn around. All around my living room are half a dozen pairs of blue eyes staring at me, wide in shock just like mine.

#Log Horizon #fanfic #text #My Guild of Me

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sijalmk · 2 years

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Writing without motivation

Believe me when I say, you don't need motivation to write. In fact, you don't need motivation to do anything. Why? Because it's a bitch, comes once in a year. (Let's pretend that didn't sound sexual) if you keep waiting for motivation then it will take a lifetime to finish one book. But first allow me to explain this: those people you see out there, who are constantly working or writing, waking up early and hit the gym every day, they don't really love this. They don't wake up with a smile exciting to go on with their day, most of them cursing themselves and the alarm and the world. But it's self-discipline and commitment. They just push themselves to do all of that, at least I know I do that.

When it comes to writing, it's a little tricky since it's creative writing and, well, it's art. Art needs this chaos of thoughts and emotions but it's not always there, so here's what to do.

First, fucking write. Just write. 'But how can I write with no motivation?' It's quite easy, type the letters on the keyboard. I'm sure there's at least one scene in your head you should write. Write it as it is, don't try to make poetic or swooning or whatever the purpose of it, save that for editing. Why you do this? Because action creates motivation, not the other way around. At least 99% of the time.

Second, if you have a scene or a chapter, something you really want to write and believe it's a badass but you have absolutely no idea how to write it. Guess what? That's mostly the case in writing, especially if it's your first book or first draft. In this case step away form the keyboard and watch videos instead. Like anime fight scenes, or that beautiful romantic moment in your favourite movie, could be a sad death scene. Watch whatever related to the thing you want to write. Once I was struggling to write the moment when my MC started to feel something toward the love interest, so I watched some edits of couples I really love and it gave me an idea how it will go. And don't worry if it will come out as cringe or a piece of shit (which most likely it will be) that's what the editing is for.

Lastly, if you really can't write, like really cannot, then step away from the screen. This usually happens when you push yourself too much, that's the body's and brain's way to tell to stop that shit and have some rest. But you have to mentally rest not physically. Most of us might feel guilty when not writing but that's alright. You can't write every day and all the time. A mental rest and maybe physically then go back to the keyboard.

#writeblr #writeblr community #writing tips #writers of tumblr #writing community #writing blog #novel writing #creative writing #writing characters #fictional writing

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jojoturnip · 1 year

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Someone told me recently that they were glad I had befriended you. Because they had seen you blossom after we had become friends. Because they didn’t think you could’ve done so otherwise.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this sentiment. It’s happened with many of my friends at many points in my life. The intention is always good, too—people intend to tell me that my friendship and presence has weight and meaning in the lives of others. It’s a good thing to know. It’s something to be proud of.

But, I wouldn’t attribute all that blossoming to anything I ever did.

I was born with a birthmark on the back of my neck in the shape of a pair of lips. My family called it “the angel’s kiss” and told me from a young age that it meant the angels were sad that they had to give me up to the mortal world. That they had kissed me as they laid me down in my mother’s arms. That I was something great and significant and had so much potential to grow into.

The birthmark faded. I can’t see my neck easily, but I doubt it’s there at all anymore.

I went over to one friend’s house to hang out with him and his little siblings after school a couple of times. Andrew didn’t have anything in common with me, really, but he was always nice and was a good older brother. I liked how easy and natural it was for the two of us to go over to his house after school, sit on the living room floor, and just play with action figures and dolls with his brother and sister. His mom would also offer me dinner every time I was over, and you know how I love free food.

He was in the resource program in my school. My mom used to praise me when I hung out with him, like I was doing some good charity work and adding some wholesome kindness back into the universe. She told me that I was living up to it, that grand potential that those angels had promised my family went they sent me down.

I always hated that notion.

Despite what everyone else thinks about my friendship being this great force of good that opens people up and reveals the beautiful layers they hide beneath protective sepals, I’m certain that my motivations are much more selfish. I didn’t befriend Andrew because I felt bad for him. I befriended him because I didn’t want to sit alone on the bus, and he used to draw superheroes in a notebook next to me and would tell me stories he’d crafted for each of them. In truth, I wanted to be his friend more than he wanted to be mine. After I moved to Iowa, I called him a few times, and I never got a response. He has my phone number and email, but he never reached out to me. I gave up after a while.

When I befriended you, I didn’t have some big plan to help you out and to bind your roots until you flowered. It’s so much less charitable than that. I saw someone who disliked our professor as much as I did. Nothing brings two bitches together faster than a common enemy.

My first sentence to you was an accidental insult. I like to think that you snubbed me and took me to be some preppy loudmouth. Now, you credit me for all the friendships you’ve made in the past two years. You think my persistence and kind manipulations and simple words of affirmation have done it all, formed all these stories that you yourself have written with them.

I don’t quite know what to do with that. All it really means to me is that you still can’t accept that you’re interesting and enjoyable to be around. Or that maybe you never had someone in your life who was selfish enough to carve away at your tough exterior because they saw a friend in it.

I’m out on the balcony right now, writing this instead of all the essays I’m supposed to be writing. You’re asleep in your room, and I’ve heard your alarm go off at least three times just in the time I’ve been home. I’m waiting for you to wake up. Not to cure my loneliness—God knows I get plenty of social interaction at school—but because I haven’t seen you since last night. I don’t have anything exciting to tell you. My day’s been simple, easy. My kidneys aren’t hurting bad right now, so I don’t have much to complain about. I just want to see my friend. That’s enough to make me excited.

You texted me today that your pen pal wrote you another letter and drew a dandelion inside of it for you. You were so touched by that simple display of joy that you warned me you might fall in love. You have a playlist for a thousand random occasions, for the street we live on, for all the moods of life. You have so much wonder inside of you. You remind me of the summers of my childhood that I am nostalgic for, like I know if I asked you what you thought the sky felt like, you would jump on a swing set and try to get high enough to give me the answer.

There’s so many parts of myself that’ve I’ve lost and others that I’ve created to protect myself. I miss the bits of me that are gone a lot, even if I’m not sure I can even remember them. I’m much too cautious to say I want those pieces back. But, sometimes when I’m hanging out with you, I remember what it was like to live without fear.

Why do you think this friendship is something I shouldered the weight of? Why do other people think that I helped you bloom and never the other way around? I may know a lot about small talk, but that doesn’t every time I try to make a friend, it works out. You know this, you’ve heard my stories of failed friendships. So, why would it be so one-sided? I am selfish. I wanted to be your friend a year and a half ago, screwed up, and somehow you still let me in. I may be persistent, sure, but half of this is your doing. Half of this is you.

When will you realize that? How can I make you understand that you are so worth all the selfish kindness and communication skills that I have used against you? How can you still believe that you are not good? You are filled with all the curiosity of the universe, and you radiate its warmth. How can I force you to see that I’m not going to abandon you? When will you wake up?

I’ve been blasting music out here on the balcony as I write. I’ve stolen so much of it from your playlists. I’m no longer surprised what none of it is powerful enough to wake you up. You dumbass narcoleptic. When will you wake up?

#a letter to a friend #a friend who needs to be hit over the head with proof that they are wanted sometimes #writing #my writing #friendship

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whyeveryonehatesmondays · 1 year

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Monday Blues: An Ode to the One Day We All Love to Hate (But Can't Live Without)

As I sit here on this dreary Monday morning, my mind can't help but wander to the age-old question: why do people hate Mondays? Is it the start of the workweek? The end of a weekend filled with fun and relaxation? Or is it simply because Mondays have been the butt of jokes for decades?

Let's face it, no one wakes up on a Monday morning and thinks, "I can't wait to start the workweek!" It's more like, "Ugh, here we go again." And who can blame them? Mondays have become synonymous with a wide range of unpleasantness, from early alarms to office politics to the dreaded Monday morning meeting.

So why do Mondays suck so much? Is it just a case of the Monday blues, or is there something more to it? As a seasoned humorist and writer, allow me to take you on a journey into the depths of why Mondays truly suck.

First and foremost, let's talk about the obvious: the end of the weekend. For most people, the weekend is a time to unwind, relax, and do things they enjoy. Whether it's spending time with family and friends, pursuing hobbies, or simply catching up on some much-needed rest, the weekend is a sacred time.

But then Monday comes along, and suddenly it's back to reality. The carefree days of the weekend are replaced with the stress and pressure of the workweek. It's like a cruel awakening, a slap in the face that says, "Hey, remember all that fun you were having? Well, it's over now."

But it's not just the end of the weekend that makes Mondays suck. It's the fact that Mondays are a reminder of all the things we don't want to do. Whether it's a job we hate, a boss we can't stand, or a project that's been looming over our heads for weeks, Mondays are the day we're forced to face all of it head-on.

And let's not forget the early mornings. For many people, Monday mornings mean waking up earlier than they'd like, rushing to get ready, and dealing with the chaos of rush hour traffic or public transportation. It's like the universe is conspiring against us, making it as difficult as possible to start the day off on the right foot.

But perhaps the biggest reason why Mondays suck is the sheer weight of expectation that comes with them. Mondays are supposed to set the tone for the rest of the week, so there's a lot riding on them. We're supposed to be productive, efficient, and on top of our game. But after a weekend of relaxation, it can be tough to get back into that mindset.

It's like starting a race with a lead weight strapped to your ankle. You're already behind before you even begin, and it's a struggle just to catch up. And let's be real, no one wants to feel like they're constantly playing catch-up. It's exhausting, demoralizing, and just plain sucks.

But it's not all doom and gloom. As with any problem, there are solutions. And in the case of the Monday blues, there are plenty of ways to make the day suck a little bit less.

First, try starting the day with something you enjoy. Whether it's a cup of coffee, a few minutes of meditation, or a quick workout, starting the day on a positive note can make a big difference.

Next, try to focus on the positives of the day. Maybe you have a meeting with a colleague you enjoy working with, or a project that you're excited to tackle. Whatever it is, find something to look forward to and let that be your motivation.

And finally, remember that Mondays are just one day out of the week. Yes, they suck, but they're also just a small part of our overall lives. So don't let them get you down too much. Instead, focus on the bigger picture and remember that there are plenty of good things in life to be grateful for.

Of course, these tips are easier said than done. It's one thing to say "think positive" and another thing entirely to actually do it. But that's where humor comes in. Humor is a powerful tool that can help us cope with even the most frustrating and difficult situations. And when it comes to Mondays, a healthy dose of humor is exactly what we need.

So, without further ado, let's dive into some of the funniest and most relatable reasons why Mondays suck.

The alarm clock: Let's start with the obvious. Waking up on a Monday morning is like being jolted awake by a klaxon. Whether you're jolted out of bed by a blaring alarm clock or woken up by the chirping of birds outside, it's never a pleasant experience.

The commute: Unless you're lucky enough to work from home, chances are you have to deal with some form of commute on Monday mornings. Whether it's traffic, public transportation, or a long walk to the office, the journey to work can be an absolute nightmare.

The workload: Mondays are usually the busiest day of the week, which means you're hit with a barrage of tasks and responsibilities right from the get-go. It's like being thrown into the deep end of the pool without a life jacket.

The meetings: If there's one thing everyone hates more than work itself, it's meetings. And Mondays are usually chock-full of them. Whether it's a team meeting, a one-on-one with your boss, or a presentation to clients, there's always a meeting looming on the horizon.

The lack of motivation: After a weekend of doing whatever you want, it can be tough to get back into the swing of things on Monday morning. Motivation is often in short supply, which can make even the simplest tasks feel like climbing a mountain.

The dress code: If you're someone who enjoys wearing comfortable clothes on the weekends, Mondays can be a rude awakening. Suddenly you're expected to don business attire and look presentable, which can be a real drag.

The office politics: If you work in an office, you're probably well aware of the drama and politics that can arise. And Mondays are usually when all of that nonsense comes to a head. Whether it's a coworker who's always trying to one-up you or a boss who's micromanaging your every move, office politics can make Mondays even more unbearable.

The feeling of dread: Perhaps the worst thing about Mondays is the feeling of dread that accompanies them. Even if you enjoy your job, there's always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that says, "Ugh, I really don't want to do this right now." It's like a dark cloud that hangs over the entire day.

Of course, these are just a few of the many reasons why Mondays suck. But the good news is, they're also ripe for humor. So let's take a look at some of the funniest memes and jokes about everyone's least favorite day of the week.

"Mondays are like a math problem. Add in the irritation, subtract the sleep, multiply the problems, divide the happiness."

"Mondays are the Bermuda Triangle of productivity."

"Mondays are the worst thing to happen to weekends since weekdays."

"I have a love/hate relationship with Mondays. I love to hate them."

"Monday morning checklist: coffee

Deep breaths, and a mantra of 'I can do this' repeated ad nauseam."

"Monday is a state of mind. Put on your positive pants and make it a good one."

"I don't hate Mondays. I hate alarm clocks."

"The only thing worse than a Monday is a Monday after a long weekend."

"Why is Monday so far from Friday, but Friday so close to Monday?"

"I wish Mondays were as good as Fridays, but with better hair."

These jokes and memes may seem silly, but they're also a testament to the power of humor. They remind us that we're all in this together and that we can find humor even in the most frustrating situations. And let's be honest, sometimes a good laugh is all we need to make it through the day.

But what if you're someone who just can't shake that Monday blues? What if you find yourself dreading Mondays every week and struggling to find any humor in the situation? Well, there are a few things you can do to make the transition to the workweek a little easier.

First and foremost, it's important to take care of yourself. Make sure you're getting enough sleep, eating well, and getting some exercise. A healthy body is better equipped to deal with stress and anxiety, which can go a long way in making Mondays suck a little less.

It's also helpful to try and shift your mindset. Instead of focusing on all the things you don't like about Mondays, try to find something positive to look forward to. Maybe it's a project you're excited about, or a coworker you enjoy working with. Whatever it is, finding a bright spot in your day can make a big difference.

Another tip is to plan ahead. If you know Mondays are always a busy day, try to get as much done over the weekend as possible. This can help ease the workload and make the transition to the workweek a little smoother.

And finally, don't be afraid to reach out for help if you need it. Whether it's talking to a friend, seeing a therapist, or reaching out to a coworker for support, there's no shame in asking for help when you're struggling.

In conclusion, Mondays suck. There's no denying it. But they don't have to suck as much as we make them out to. By finding humor in the situation, taking care of ourselves, and shifting our mindset, we can make the transition to the workweek a little easier. So the next time you find yourself dreading Monday morning, remember: you're not alone, and there's always something to laugh about.

#monday #mondays #blues #whyeveryonehatesmondays

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elliebear666 · 1 year

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Me, in school, daydreaming instead of paying attention and then getting in trouble for not paying attention.

It's funny, but... being homeschooled catered to my learning style. It was one on one and engaging. I liked almost all of the stuff we studied. It was genuinely interesting. When I got to public school, my grades at first were great and it wasn't terribly hard because, thanks to our homeschool curriculum, I knew most of the shit we were being taught.

However, as I progressed in middle school, my grades steadily declined until I was failing like one class with a D in another and mostly Cs or Bs. It was a nightmare in a few of the classes I was in. I'd daydream or zone out or dissociate. I had a lot of anxiety and, of course, gender dysphoria. I was miserable tbh. Being homeschooled, my mom would take us out to do stuff, she'd show us things and read books to us. She kept us engaged by speaking to us.

I can see how coming to an ADHD (inattentive) diagnosis could be difficult. I mean, there was a lot going on with me.

I think that my persistent day dreaming instead of focusing on the task at hand, forgetfulness, distractibility, and short attention span (unless engaged by something I really liked) are definitely indicative of that, though. I mean, I went through all of this with my psychiatrist. It wasn't like I just said, "So, I think I have ADHD" and he prescribed me strattera. We talked about this for a while.

I mean, I guess my forgetfulness could be chalked up to like dissociation. Like, I'll set down an object, turn around, and then literally forget where I put it. "Out of sight, out of mind." I've been doing this for as long as I can remember. I'm incredibly forgetful and disorganized. I can't manufacture the motivation to clean my room beyond basic tasks that still take a lot of gumption to get going. Like I got in trouble with my landlord because I wasn't keeping my apartment clean. Not because I was like, "I don't want to >:(" but genuinely because it seemed so daunting and overwhelming and difficult, and the very simple matter of manufacturing motivation made it seem impossible. Like, when my friend Lettii would come over, she would help me organize my space because when she'd leave it was nice but within a week or so it was a mess. All my shit is in a big pile in my closet. I have tons of odds and ends I've forgotten about tucked away in a multitude of bags and boxes in my closet.

I forget to change my cat's water, or to change her litter. To feed her, unless I see it is empty and act on it right away, or she wakes me up with her paws in my face.

I used to literally need my mom to remind me every single day to take my medication because I would forget. So I put alarms on my phone. I would still forget. Recently, however, I'm actually surprised at how well I'm doing with my meds. My alarm to take meds goes off and usually within a little while I'd have taken them. This is a development in my life that is actually awesome. It makes me feel so proud of myself lmao, that I can manage my own meds xD

But then there's the matter of bills. Maybe this makes me an absolute pathetic loser, but my mom helps me pay my bills because I keep forgetting. Like, the only reason my rent gets paid on time each month is because she will write the check, hand it to me and say "Go pay it now." The one time that she wrote the check and gave it to me a a day before I was supposed to pay rent, I forgot. It took me four days to realise that the baggy on my TV stand, which is cluttered with countless random objects, had a check in it. So I paid it like three days late and I got another mark on my record.

I literally pay my phone bill late almost every single month. The times I don't get it within four days of the due date, I usually get a message that says, "You need to pay your phone" or my mom says, "Did you pay your phone." I'll say no, and promise to do it when I get home. But I'll have forgotten about it within a few minutes at most. My mom will give me instructions for something, and I'll sometimes need her to repeat it. But about 70-80% of the time, by the time I get to where I need to be to deal with whatever it is I need to deal with, I've forgotten what I need so say. Like I had a thing I was doing a while ago and my mom gave me instructions and naturally I forgot what I was supposed to say so I awkwardly stumbled over my words until they figured out what I needed. They thought it was kind of funny but honestly it was fucking humiliating. I felt like a fucking stupid idiot. To top it off, most of the time I have an appointment, I'm either getting distracted or don't process what they say, or by the time I leave, I've forgotten everything that was said. My mom would ask me how things went and what they said and I'll just say, "I don't remember. I have bits and pieces, but I don't remember."

Like, this isn't a, "Shucks, I can't focus so it must be the ADHD :(" situation. This is a... my forgetfulness, inattentiveness, distractibility, and overall inability to manage my life has culminated in me being dependent on my fucking mom to keep me from becoming homeless lol.

Like this is bad. It isn't just anxiety or depression that makes me forget to pay my bills. I've actually reduced anxiety and depression by an enormous amount. I've transitioned. I'm on hormones. I'm taking my meds. No depressive episodes or mania in months. Only periodic BPD symptoms. And yet I still forget to pay my rent. Like... idk, man

It isn't like I WANT this to be a thing lmao, it isn't cool. It fucking SUCKS. This is absolute fucking ass, y'all. This blows donkey dick. My life is so difficult due my various problems that I genuinely can't function like a normal person.

Like, when I was little, I used to be so inattentive and distracted, whether daydreaming or whatever, that I'd put my dirty underwear in the freezer or the trash instead of in the hamper IN THE OTHER ROOM. Like ALL THE TIME XD. This didn't start in adulthood. So, maybe I was so anxious and depressed and traumatized by my family life. Maybe, sure. I could accept that. I just... I don't think that's what was going on when I was little. Like, most of the trauma came and got worse after those symptoms were noticed.

I told my mom about possibly seeing a psychologist to get an in-depth assessment beyond what I've already gotten and she said that like... well she basically said that my psychiatrist has already done that, and that my history is indicative of that too.

Idk. I get stressed and look for anything that this issue might he besides ADHD, and nothing really tracks. No other issue causes all of these symptoms besides being an absolute fucking idiot.

I mean, both my psychiatrist and my therapist agree on ADD, but again I guess I could go see a psychologist. Idk what that would change. It would be two or so sessions with someone that has never met me before and has no knowledge of my mental health history. They'd probably interview my mom I guess. She could tell them she pays my bills because I'm too stupid to do it myself, I guess. That I used to talk so rapidly and fast as a child that most people couldn't understand me. That I was so forgetful that she constantly made comments about it.

I'm honestly too tired to worry about this right now so I guess I'll just do something else instead of fretting over this shit.

I mean, I'll be fifty and still forgetting to take my brain with me when I leave the house.

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zephiesjournal · 2 years

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thursday, october 27th, 2022

this is a weird one i’ve been dreading writing because it’s the 29th right now and i was up all through the 28th. i need to transition to each entry being written on the day instead of it just indicating the day it’s about because how i’m feeling about my day right now is a hell of a lot different from two days ago. even writing that i’m thinking that should be on the 29th entry because i’m thinking it Now due to circumstances.

even though i went to sleep hoping i never feel like gambling again, immediately upon waking up and being in my dumb babybrain half-asleep state all i could think of was thos Slot’s. i turned off my alarm then went back sleep and only got up because of a wet dream. i felt like the brief motivation i had when i’d lost a lot of money was gone now that i’d made it back and more. but luckily there was a fix for this! read on to find out…

i spent a while looking for an apartment because i’d decided to switch to full moving-out mode and putting off the new computer for now. i want a place comfortable in manchester that doesn’t look like it’s about to fall apart but i couldn’t find one that was under my £550 universal credit limit. felt very stressed thinking about all this and also my headdd has been going crazy itchy every day, i took an annoyed shower then just floated around for a while feeling irritated not knowing what to do. unfortunately what i then decided to do was look at some emails from all those casino sites i’d signed up for.

free spins offer on one site that seems risk-free, what’s the harm there is none. just like there was no harm in sticking to matched betting even if it exposed me to the casinos right. as well a know i am very capable of acting rationally and logically when it comes to these things. yes it was risk free i think but it still required a deposit and i kept going after losing the bonus and lost £100. the thing that felt the worst about it is learning that this is really just going to keep happening no matter how strongly i feel “never again”, as long as i don’t put a lot of work into fixing my brain or getting therapy. could’t even fall back on my usual solace of “at least i’m still up overall” because now i was just scared if myself.

so that was the aforementioned motivation “fix” because now i was back out of moving out mode and into buying a computer mode. don’t know how much i spent overall, around £1k, a lot of the links on pcpartpicker weren’t accurate and honestly i didn’t feel much like keeping perfect track of my expenses right now. the biggest pain was trying to find an affordable motherboard because i didn’t know exactly what to look for, i think the one i ended up going with had some kind of usb incompatibility with the case that i don’t know if is a big deal but whatever. anything to not go with another red/black one because i am sick of seeing that color combination on my computer. i do not want to see the lava dragon anymore i do not want to be gaming that hard. i’m more excited to put it all together than to have a new computer finally because it’ll be a thing that i’ll get into and be motivated and everything and maybe it’ll carry over into other things after i’m done but it won’t and the first thing i’ll do is stare at twitter for hours, enhanced.

i don’t quite remember how it happened after that because i didn’t write anything that night or all of the next day and i don’t even know when to move onto the next post exactly because it

#october 2022

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bella-studyblr · 3 years

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Task Management:

Creating + Maintaining a Schoolwork Schedule

Key elements

Your schedule suits your individual time/task management preferences.

It is flexible enough to accommodate sudden changes, plus fluctuating energy levels, states of concentration, symptoms and moods.

Daily tasks are not over-whelming; they are small enough that they are achievable.

You do not get “burned out.”

It allows you to be consistent.

Steps to create your schedule

Decide if you want your planner to be paper or digital

Find an “order” that’s logical and achievable for you (more on this later)

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all the assignments, tests and other events taking place that week/month (and their due-dates).

Then break these down, assigning tasks to each day of the week (more on this later).

Break down your tasks even further (more on this later).

Decide if you want to follow a simple daily to-do list or a timed schedule (more on this later).

Find your “order(s)”

Mandatory: Schedule assignments around other commitments (work, social, hobbies, etc.).

Do the hardest task first to get it out of the way (so that the rest of your tasks are less daunting, and because your smaller tasks require less energy therefore can be done even after completing the hard task).

Do the easiest task first to build momentum (give yourself a feeling of accomplishment which will motivate you to continue, and boost your self-confidence early in the day to establish a positive mindset for the rest of the day).

Do the task that’s due first to minimize deadline stress, and so your assignments don’t fall through the cracks (causing you to get discouraged and lose momentum).

Plan according to your energy level throughout the day and week: Do you have Pilates once a week? Maybe you can reserve that day for easier assignments. If you know you’re going to be tired for whatever reason, account for that in your planning.

Consider your state of concentration: If you know you’re too groggy or spaced out for the first hour of your day, you can either schedule easy tasks in that time, or none at all. If you take a medication in the afternoon/evening that makes you tired, schedule easier tasks or none, and get harder tasks done earlier/later in the day. If you have ADHD and crowded places mess with your concentration, but you like studying at a café, go when it’s not busy.

Be mindful of your emotions and symptoms: If you have depression, or are prone to depressive episodes, you’ll need to consider that when scheduling. You might have to rework your entire schedule when you get into a depressive episode (like adding lots of breaks). If suddenly you’re going through a big life event (like a breakup), you need to account for that when scheduling. For instance, if you can’t stand to be alone, maybe you can go out instead of staying in, and if your motivation is low, you may need to up your reward-system or break down your tasks even more.

Break down this week/month’s tasks

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all your due dates for the time period you’re scheduling for.

Based on due dates, outside commitments, predictions of energy/mood/symptoms, assign assignments to the days of the week/month that make most sense for you.

Break down daily tasks into sub-tasks

You can do this (in advance) for your full week/month’s assignments, or do it every morning/evening.

Generally, your assignments will follow a variation of this formula: brainstorm, create an outline, research, write rough draft, edit and revise. Test/exam prep will look something like: check to see what the test is based on, pinpoint important sections, review to see how well you know the material, create a list of items to study, rewrite select notes, make flash cards, study topic 1, study topic 2, etc.

What are the individual components of these steps? Here are some examples. Brainstorm: what should my topic be, what should my thesis be, what points can support my thesis, what do I need to research, what questions do I need to ask my prof? Outline: topic, thesis, points, conclusion. Research: write down all the important parts from each source (separately), then sift through to sort into Supporting Point 1, Supporting Point 2, etc. Rough draft: opening statement(s), intro, point 1, point 2, etc., conclusion, closing statement(s). Edit/revise: read and check for grammar only, then read again and check for spelling only, read again and check for cohesiveness only, etc. Topic 1: Part A, Part B, etc.

Each of these small components can be individual items on your to-do list. Big tasks like, “write essay” are too big for most people. Even “write rough draft” is daunting. If you start with something specific and small like brainstorming, and work your way up, it’s a lot easier to approach. Plus, being able to check off tasks more often and more easily will boost your confidence and your sense of competence, thus building momentum.

Here is a sample to-do list: Research X for Point 1 of Literary Essay, create outline for History Essay, Edit/Revise Assignment 1, study Topic 1 and Topic 2 for Test 1.

To-do list or time-based schedule?

To do list: Write down all your assignments for the day. Put them in the order you want to do them, or go through them intuitively (based on what you feel like doing, or what’s most practical at the time/place you’re at).

Timed-based: Write down all your assignments, then write down the time you’re going to do each of them. You could set reminders or alarms if you want, or simply refer to the list. There’s an awesome app I recommend if this is your thing. It’s called Structured (iOS only).

Curate your study environment for maximum focus

Eliminate distractions such as uncomfortable clothing, sounds (or silence), phone and computer notifications, clutter in the room and on your desk, people who may try to talk to you (shut your door and/or inform them that you’re busy).

Designate a space to doing homework only and avoid spaces that you associate with other things (do not study in bed, as you will want to relax or sleep, and/or you will mess with your sleep by weakening the bed’s association with sleep).

Build associations: Incorporate other events and items into your study/homework routine that you only use while doing that, so that you associate those things with studying/homework (examples: specific playlists, pencils/pens, cups/bottles, scents, rituals, decor, etc.).

Ensure good lighting (preferably including daylight).

Get dressed in clothes that make you feel good about yourself. They don’t have to be “professional” and they should definitely be comfortable. Do not stay in your pyjamas. Believe me, I know this can be hard, and I love PJ’s. But they are not good for productivity.

Don’t “multi-task.” It may feel like you’re getting more done this way, but by splitting your focus, not only do tasks take longer, they also diminish in quality. Commit to the task you’re doing.

Meditate: You can even meditate for just 1-5 mins right before studying, homework and/or classes.

Practice self care (daily!)

Sleep (enough, well, and regularly).

Daylight: Get outside, work by windows, use a light therapy box. These can help regulate your sleep, improve and maintain mental health, and boost energy.

Fresh air: Getting outside even for a couple minutes can help you refresh and reset, and feel good about yourself and your life. Fresh oxygen can help you wake up and is great for your health. Even just opening your window can do a lot for your mood, energy and motivation.

Movement: Try to move at least once per day. The benefits of exercise are numerous and immense.

Healthy and consistent eating: Avoid spikes in insulin levels by eating regularly so you don’t have extreme dips in your energy level. Also, brain power uses calories too, so make sure you’re eating consistently, and try to eat healthy. There are so many other reasons eating consistently is good for your health (and by extension, your productivity).

Relaxation and leisure: Make time for fun and socializing, as well as intentional relaxation. Hobbies, movies/tv, time with friends/family, meditation, baths, progressive muscle relaxation, etc.

Therapy: Your therapy sessions are not daily, but you can do 5 minutes of inner-work per day based on what you and your therapist are currently working on. Working with a therapist is a great way to stay on track with your goals, and develop the skills and positive mindset required for success in school.

Reward yourself

Track progress: Reflect on all the assignments you’ve completed and your grades to remind yourself that you’re capable!

Completing to-do lists daily maintains a sense of accomplishment which keeps your momentum going. Check those items off! Or give yourself gold stars! ⭐️

Treat yourself with non-food rewards: Tie completed school work with fun tasks like video games, or take yourself out for coffee, or some other small (non-food) outing. What I’m trying to do right now is not do my leisure activities until my daily tasks are done.

Develop a positive mindset

Take promises you make to yourself seriously. The more you break promises to yourself, the easier it will get to continue breaking promises. You will lose respect for yourself which lowers motivation, and you will lose trust in yourself which can become debilitating as well. The more you keep promises, the easier it will get, the more motivated you’ll become, and the more you’ll trust and respect yourself. Your confidence will improve, and you’ll feel better about yourself. Productivity is choosing yourself. Discipline is choosing what’s best for you instead of what you feel like doing in the moment. Discipline is a muscle, and like any muscle, it can be strengthened, and it can atrophy.

Remember your “why.” What is the end goal of being in school? What’s your career path, and why did you choose it? What will your life be like when you have that career? What would your life be like if you gave up and didn’t make it to your goal? Aiming for your dream while running from your nightmare is a great strategy for maintaining motivation. Lighting a fire under your *** can be a huge motivator.

Remember how good you feel when you get schoolwork done, and let this motivate you to stay consistent. You can also remember how you feel when you don’t get work done, but definitely focus more on the positive!

Go to therapy and/or hire a coach. There are SO many benefits to therapy and I’d honestly need a whole other post to get into it. You don’t need to be depressed or mentally ill at all in order to benefit from talking to a therapist. They can even help you with time management, procrastination, motivation and more! If you can afford it, please do it. It’s such a worthwhile investment.

Be consistent

No “zero days.” Do at least a bit of homework or studying every day so you don’t slip into vacation mode. Make schoolwork a daily part of your life, so it just becomes the norm.

Build productivity momentum (track progress, check items off your to-do list daily, treat yourself, keep promises to yourself, remember your “why,” remember how success feels).

Stay on top of projects. Your assignments are made up of smaller tasks you assign yourself across time. “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.” - Robert Collier

Avoid burnout (more on this later).

Keep it interesting (more on this later).

Avoid burnout

Self-care: shower and/or bathe regularly, maintain proper sleep habits, stay hydrated, take care of your skin, do relaxation activities like meditation and reading, do fun activities, pamper yourself every now and then with face masks or foot baths, take your meds as prescribed, eat well and regularly, get outside often, move daily, etc.

Break up study/homework sessions into small, manageable chunks of time, with constructive (refreshing) breaks in between.

Break assignments down into even smaller tasks so that you aren’t over-working yourself during the course of a day, and so that you don’t overwhelm yourself (the stress can lead to burnout).

School-life balance: Keep up with your social life as best as you can, make time for your hobbies, maintain self-care, say no to things that don’t serve you, etc. Try to follow through with scheduled schoolwork 100% of the time, but know that you won’t. Sometimes you’ll need to prioritize mental health over schoolwork (be careful though, this is a very fine line, and a slippery slope). Sometimes things will come up and it’ll be out of your control. But more than anything else, there will be times when you just decide to prioritize something else like fun and socializing over schoolwork. This is why your schedule needs to be flexible: to accommodate sudden invites to hang out and random decisions to skip a homework/study session, but more importantly, flexibility will reduce the odds that you’ll skip in the first place. If your schedule includes hobbies and socializing, and anything else that’s important to you, then you won’t feel deprived. If you have school-life balance, you’ll have more of yourself to devote to schoolwork when it’s time to.

Keep it interesting

Romanticize your life by putting effort into making all of your daily tasks a special occasion.

Make meals and drinks special by using your favourite dinnerware and cutlery. Perhaps even incorporate extra elements such as: a beautiful tablecloth, napkins, candles and/or dim lighting, music, wearing your favourite clothing, etc.

Pretend you’re the main character in a movie about a successful, productive student (because you are the main character in your life).

Make games out of studying if this is something that interests you (the Forest app comes to mind).

Use lots of colours in your notes and buy colourful stationary! 🌈

Vary your approach/methods if needed to avoid boredom.

Study with friends (online or in person).

Reward yourself often.

Remember your “why.”

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

Fix her - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: kaz brekker x reader Summary: kaz sent you out to gather information, and you always return on time with the intel he needs. well, maybe not always. Warnings: angst, language, mentions of BLOOD, BRUISES, INJURIES, typical soc stuff, slight six of crows and crooked kingdom spoilers Word count: 2.2K A/N: hello my darlings it is I and I have read almost every book leigh bardugo has written in the past month. I am now hopelessly in love with jesper, kaz and nikolai. I'll be updating my character list soon! I still have a few wips but I don’t have any motivation / inspiration for those. so have my first kaz brekker x reader instead! enjoy reading :)

It was a rather easy job, really. Kaz had received word that the Dime Lions had an important meeting coming up. Because he always wanted to know what exactly was going on in the Barrel and with its gangs, he wanted someone to listen in on said meeting.

Normally, he would send Inej. She was the obvious choice when it came to gathering information. But she was still recovering from a rather nasty cut in her side, and so you had offered to go.

Inej insisted she could go. But all it took was you raising your eyebrows when she moved to sit up, only to wince and flop back down onto the bed. Though he didn’t quite like it, Kaz had assigned you to the job.

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew there was something between you and Kaz. Neither of you had spoken about it. There were just a lot of lingering glances, smiles from you and what you think was almost a smile from Kaz, and you even had stolen his coat once when you had lost your own. He didn’t seem to mind though.

When you had left that evening to listen to the Dime Lions meeting from the shadows, Kaz had sent you a look that you knew all too well. He reserved it only for you. It was him telling you to be safe. You’d respond with a wink that basically meant always am.

The rest of the crows started a card game to pass the time as they waited for you to come back. They didn’t worry, you were always careful and are considered one of the most dangerous criminals in Ketterdam. They knew whatever happened, you could handle yourself.

But after Jesper had lost four rounds of card games, the tension began to rise between them. Most meetings typically didn’t last this long. Still, no one said anything as they started their fifth game. You would show up eventually, probably bringing valuable insight with you.

After two more games, there was still no sign of you. Nina was the first one to speak up.

‘She should have been back by now.’ she says, absently looking out the window into the dark street.

‘Have a little faith, Zenik.’ says Kaz, though on the inside he was filled with worry. He shook it off and focused on the game again.

More than once he’d scolded himself for allowing you to get this close to him. For putting so much trust in you, especially after what happened the last time he’d really trusted someone. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he was drawn to you like Jespers trigger finger was to his revolvers. He couldn’t help it.

Still, he knew your skills. He knew you were smart, and a fighter. Whatever was going on with you out there, he had no doubt you’d show up at the door in a few moments, cheerfully announcing what good intel you’d gathered and wondering how many card games you’d missed.

But you still didn’t show. And one by one, they all lost their interest in the card game. They fell silent and looked out the window or fiddled with their empty glasses. The tension in the room grew. Until Kaz suddenly stood.

‘Finish the game.’ he says. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ says Jesper, getting up as well.

‘No.’ says Kaz, earning a frown from Jesper. ‘Just me.’ he says. And with that, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his cane and was out the door.

‘Right.’ says Jesper, sitting back down. ‘Anyone fancy another game? I have a feeling I’m gonna win this one.’

They played three more games. They were tired, and it was well past midnight. Still, none of them went upstairs to their rooms. Too anxious to play any more cards or to even have a normal conversation, they settled for silence and more drinks.

Jesper was fiddling with his rings and bouncing his leg. Nina had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Matthias was trying to not look at Nina. And Wylan was attempting to build a house out of the cards.

Finally, they heard the sound of the door opening. All of their heads shot up and turned to look who it was.

Kaz stumbles awkwardly through the door, carrying you in his arms. Nina gasps softly and Jesper murmurs ‘Saints’ as their eyes land on your body.

It’s bruised and bloody, and your eyes are shut. Was Kaz too late?

‘Clear the table!’ says Kaz loudly, limping toward it with you in his arms.

Instantly, Matthias and Jesper seize the glasses and cards off the table as Wylan pulls some of the chairs back to make room. Kaz lays your beaten up body on the table and turns to Nina.

‘Help her.’ says Kaz.

But Nina is looking at you body, bruised and bloodied, nothing like the cheerful girl that buys her waffles and laughs as she teases Matthias. It’s almost impossible to find a spot on your body that doesn’t have a wound on it. There’s slashes from knives everywhere, bruising around your neck and the side of your face, and to top it off, blood is slowly leaking out of a bullet wound in your leg.

An expression of horror is written across Nina’s face, her hands pressed against her mouth.

‘Nina.’ Kaz presses on. ‘I said help her.’

‘Kaz, I don’t think-’ stammers Nina. ‘Come on, fix her!’ says Kaz loudly, surprised of how much anxiety can be heard in his voice. Fix her, he thinks, because I need her to fix me.

‘I can try but-’ ‘Do it.’ says Kaz and then he turns away, he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Memories of Jordie flood over him, mingled with memories of you. Your laugh, how he fights his own smile every time you wink at him or send a flirty comment his way, the way you smell. How you look at him when he catches your eyes.

Kaz shuts his eyes, attempting to drown the memories out. Taking deep breaths, he tries to focus on the voices behind him.

‘Jesper get the bullet out of her leg.’ says Nina.

‘Just pull it out?’ questions Jesper.

‘Saints, you’re Grisha, Jesper, pull the fucking bullet out!’ says Nina in a loud voice laced with fear.

After a while of listening to Nina’s murmuring and instructions to others, Kaz finally turns back around to look at you. A wave of nausea hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard.

Nina had treated most of the wounds, with Jesper’s help. But your entire body is still covered in bruises, and now bandages as well. Nina’s cleaned the dried blood off of your face, but your arms and legs are still covered with it.

They’re all nervously looking at Kaz.

‘I don’t know if she’s going to-’

‘Don’t.’ says Kaz, interrupting her. He needed to think straight. He needed someone to help him focus. Normally, you’d be the one to do so. But you’re in no condition to softly talk to him to reassure him everything is going to be alright. He needed to be his own soothing voice tonight.

‘Matthias.’ he says. ‘Bring her up to my room. Nina, go with him, see if there’s anything else you can do for her. Jesper, get Inej up to speed. Wylan, clean this mess up before someone notices.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Kaz walks up the stairs to his floor. Several moments later, followed by Matthias, who is carrying you, and Nina and Jesper. Jesper disappears into Inej’ room, while Matthias and Nina continue to walk the stairs to get to Kaz’ floor.

When they arrive, Matthias carefully places you on Kaz’ bed as he was instructed. For a while, the three of them look at you. Until Matthias and Nina go to their rooms as well, leaving Kaz alone with you.

None of them had questioned why he insisted Matthias brought you to his room and not your own. Of course, they were dying to find out exactly what was going on between you and Kaz, but they all knew tonight was not the night to push him.

As he looks at you, Kaz feels the strong urge to touch you. Lay his hand on your cheek, to see if it’s still warm. But he can’t. Instead, he merely pulls out a chair and sits down next to the bed. He lets his eyes travel over your body, wondering how much pain you’re in, and who the hell was responsible for it.

He needed you to wake up. He needed you to tell him who did this so he could send his biggest most muscular members of the Dregs to them. Kaz wanted them to hurt the way they had hurt you.

His mind is running at an alarming speed. But eventually, even Kaz can’t fight his tired body anymore, and he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position in his chair.

From that night on, he instructed that you shouldn’t be left alone. He doesn’t want you to wake up and realise you’re on your own. The next day, it’s business as usual. The members of the Dregs are coming and going like they always do. The familiar flow of people helps to take everyone’s mind off things, but as soon as they’re by your side, they remember.

Nina had tried her best to heal you, but it still took you almost a week to wake up.

When you wake up, your first thought is that your entire body feels way heavier than it’s supposed to. You try to open your eyes but it’s like your eyelids are made of lead. After a couple more tries, you finally open them.

You take in the room, and realise it’s not your own. Kaz.

Why would you be in Kaz’ room? Why aren’t you in your own room? And why does your body feel so damn heavy?

And then all of the memories flood back. Like a tsunami, they catch your breath in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You try to inhale deeply, but it’s like your throat is sealed shut. You start to panic when you notice you can’t breathe.

Then a pair of hands land on your shoulders and gently push you back onto the bed. Whoever it is, is talking softly to you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing.

Then the voice yells out, but from much farther away, like they’re standing in the doorway, and not next to the bed.

‘Kaz! Nina! Get up here!’

It’s Jesper.

You try to ask him what’s going on, but it’s still hard to breath normally. You try to focus on something else. Jesper’s voice trying to calm you down, his eyes looking into yours, but nothing’s helping.

Then you hear a sound you know all too well. A familiar stumbling, of someone walking up the stairs with a cane.

Seconds later, Kaz rushes into the room and roughly shoves Jesper away, taking his place next to the bed.

‘Who did this to you?’ he says.

His voice is that familiar rasp, and normally you love it. But now it just makes your head hurt. You shut your eyes and softly shake your head, trying to drown the sound out.

‘Y/N, who did this to you?’ says Kaz, more firmly this time.

‘Kaz.’ says Nina’s voice. ‘Let her rest. You can talk later.’ Nina’s voice is softer, more gentle than Kaz’. You try to focus on it as you open your eyes again.

Kaz is close. He looks down at you and you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. Was that a hint of worry you detected? You open your mouth to say something, but Kaz is faster.

‘Y/N, tell me who did this to you.’ says Kaz.

‘Couldn’t see their faces.’ you manage to say in a hoarse voice. Your throat feels dry and you start to cough. Immediately, Nina moves to get you a glass of water and helps you to drink it.

‘Did you notice the way they moved? How they walked? Were they Dime Lions? Could you see any tattoos? What about scars? Clothing? Voices?’

Kaz keeps on firing questions at you, but you can’t focus on his words. Your head feels heavy and you feel your eyelids slowly closing again.

‘Kaz.’ you say softly. ‘Tomorrow.’

You expect him to press on, to find out who did this to you. But instead, he looks at you and holds your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely nods at you. You know what it means. Despite his harsh voice and the million questions, he’s glad you’re safe. And the ones who did this to you will pay for it. He’ll make sure of it.

You offer a weak smile before closing your eyes, already drifting off. You hear two pairs of footsteps leave the room, and assume Nina stayed behind to check on you.

The chair next to you gets moved back and you hear how someone sits down in it. When you feel something brush against your fingers, you assume it’s Nina checking your pulse.

But then you feel a gloved thumb on the back of your hand. It slowly rubs over your skin. To most people it wouldn’t mean anything. But to you, it meant the world. A tiny smile reaches the corners of your mouth, as you fall asleep.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Note

24 + 50 from the touch prompt list plz

Ship: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Word count: 1.6k

Prompts: #24 - whispering in the others ear, lips touching the skin

#50 - putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up.

A/N: I tend to keep my non-series related posts to my sideblog @switchspencer so check out over there for general discussion of NSFW stuff, but this was for my 1k celebration so ... here we are. The warnings are the very first thing under the cut! I wrote this in literally 20 mins and haven’t proofread so ... oops?

18+, minors dni.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, soft/medium!dom Spencer (it’s definitely not hard dom but i don’t know what i’d class it as), use of 'good girl', hand over mouth while having sex, (i don't know what the official term for that is), sucking on fingers, swearing, sex when you’ve just woken up, but that's everything!

You tend to keep to yourselves on cases. But last night you couldn’t help sneaking into his room after it was dark and everyone else had fallen asleep, using the spare keycard he’d given you for emergencies and tucking yourself up next to him. He was already asleep when you got there, his only acknowledgement being a grunt and to throw his arm over your hip when you clambered in next to him.

It’s early when you wake up. The light streaming through the terrible motel blinds. Annoyingly it still does him justice. It was your dream that woke you up. Far earlier than your alarm would have, but you feel quite motivated to stay awake, considering.

His mouth kissing up to the apex of your thigh, hands on your hips holding you in place on the counter. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Yanking on it to pull him up to you. A moan rumbling through his throat, an incredibly smug smirk as he continued to tease you, slowly bringing his kisses closer and closer and closer to where you wanted them and then.

You were awake. Pressing your thighs together. It’s almost a bit embarrassing, the effect he can have on you. Without even layiny a finger on you.

Your movements are, apparently, less than subtle, and you feel him move. Rolling over, his tight grip on you meaning that you’re pulled with him. You make it easier on him, and end up with your head pressed against his neck. Heart thrumming in your chest. You’re practically buzzing with want, and you’re sure he has some kind of detector for sensing when you’re horny because without you saying anything, his hand moves towards your ass, grabbing it.

Letting out a squeaky exhale, you feel the bob of his Adam’s apple as he chuckles, voice deep and rough with sleep, “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“I know.”

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking. He uses his hands as leverage to bring you towards him, his hips rolling against yours and letting you feel how he’s hard already. Without even meaning to, you let out a breathy gasp, automatically moving to seek out the friction you so badly want.

He tsks you, “I thought we agreed no sex on cases.”

“We did,” You acknowledge, adopting your most seductive tone, “But I had a dream about you.”

Previously, his eyes hadn’t been properly open, only squinting at you. That though? That sentence seems to be the magic trick, they’re open properly, and he’s shuffling so that you’re face to face. Unfortunately that means his crotch is removed from yours, and you bite your lip to contain your protest at the loss of contact.

“Tell me about it,” He says, as simple as if he’s asking the weather forecast, but his eyes are a different story: hardly any pupil remains visible, and you don’t think that’s just down to the dim lighting.

You feel a bit embarrassed, and he senses it, dropping his hand from your ass and moving it around to the apex of your thigh, running his fingers lazily over you through your pyjama shorts. Unintentionally, you wiggle, searching for more. And he stops, “Tell me what your dream was about, and I might.”

“We were in the kitchen,” You start, voice becoming more breathy as you continue, his fingers inching past the drawstring of your pants and dipping inside your pyjama shorts, “At home. Y-you were kissing up my thighs.”

He hums. As if amused. His fingers finally breach the last barrier, and he runs his fingers over your core, grinning, “You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs. He shifts, letting you fall to your back, and leans up. With one deft movement, he tugs off his flannel pyjama pants and boxers, leaving himself exposed to you. You follow his leave, shedding your own undergarments as quickly as possible. It’s lucky they’re soft, or else you’d probably get some kind of rope burn. Your eagerness has him feeling cocky, and you can’t have him getting too sure of himself. So, you reach out, taking his length in your hand, admiring how his eyes squeeze shut, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

His hand catches your wrist, eyes burning into yours, “M’close.”

That’s hot.

You’d ask if it was already, but then you recall how he was already hard when he woke up. Maybe he was having a similar dream. The thought makes you wetter, if that’s even possible. He dips his fingers at your entrance, collecting the wetness there, and then pressing two fingers inside you. There’s a burning sensation as he stretches you out, but it’s quickly replaced by pleasure when his thumb nudges against your clit.

Even though your mouth is clamped shut, you can’t help but let out a litany of small gasps, tiny moans that breach past the fortress of your mouth and teeth. He leans down to kiss you, hard, missing the usual softness that comes with morning wake-up kisses. This is all tongues, teeth, urgency. He nips at your lower lip and you let his tongue inside your mouth, laving over it with yours, hungry for more, more more. You can’t bare not to have him inside you for a moment longer, so you grab at his hips, pulling him towards you.

“Do you want me?” He murmurs.

“Please,” You do. You want him so badly, and you sound frankly quite pathetic admitting it, but you can’t bring yourself to care one jot, “Please.”

“Okay,” He murmurs, trailing wet kisses along the column of your throat, until he reaches the spot under the shell of your ear that tickles, his lips brushing against it featherlight as he whispers, “I think you need some help staying quiet.”

Nodding, you look up at him. He takes a long hard look at you, desperate and wanting for him, your mouth kiss swollen.

And just like that, he’s pressing into you. One hand supporting your hip, and the other coming to clamp down over your mouth as he presses inside of you. It’s a good call on his part, his hand helps to absorb some of the surprised squeal that escapes you. He starts to move, slowly, surely, bringing his hand from your hips to your clit. But keeping the other firmly over your mouth.

You gasp against it. Writhing under him. The feeling is a lot, all at once, the burn and stretch and weight of his digits on your most sensitive spot. He’s buried to the hilt, thrusting slowly, and your breaths are hot and wanton against his hand.

He’s starting to work up a little bit of a sweat already. His chest gleans with it, just the tiniest, bit, and you whine again.

His mouth returns to your neck, peppering it with kisses that won’t leave marks and let the team know what you’ve been up to, once again coming to the spot that makes your toes curl. His lips rub teasingly over it, not quite giving you what you want, and he whispers, voice rough and raspy, “You’re such a good girl. Taking me like this.”

If you could, you’d say thank you. But you can’t, not quite, instead choosing to focus on the sheer pleasure pulsing through your body. His thrusts are measured, perfectly in time with the movement of his hand, and if you’re honest you were close when you woke up.

One of your arms loops around his back to bring you closer, press him more into you, allow him deeper inside. He thrusts, harder, getting the idea, and your legs clench around him. He moans, directly into your ear, a quiet ‘fuck’ breathily leaving his mouth. You’re close, so close, and you don’t trust that even his hand will be able to keep you quiet. The idea comes to you quickly.

You bring your other hand to where his covers yours, and he looks confused for a moment, until you grab a hold of it. Bringing his fingers inside your mouth. You suck on them, as if they’re his dick, and it’s this simple action of keeping your mouth filled that ensures you don’t wake up your teammates as your orgasm hits you. Hard.

Not out of nowhere, certainly, but hard. Spencer looks beautiful, all sleepy, there’s a stream of constant moans against your ear, and his rhythm hasn’t faltered once. It courses through you, a stream of pleasure and warmth, and you suck on his index finger hard. Clenching around him. Your moans die in your throat, but your fingernails sink deep into his back, undoubtedly leaving several crescent moon marks that he’ll admire in the mirror later. The idea of that, the ownership of him, is what helps you to milk out the last few moments of it.

The sight of you, falling apart beneath him, cumming on his cock, is all he needs to bring himself over the edge. For the first time, his thrusts become sloppy.

“Fuck. You feel so good,” He groans against your ear, “Fuck, ____.”

It’s with a rasp of your name that he empties himself inside of you, thrusting more and more shallowly as he works himself through his orgasm, his fingers still inside of your mouth.

When he’s finally finished, you collapse next to each other. Overcome by the post-orgasm daze.

“That was really hot,” You tell him.

“Yeah?” He asks, suddenly all shy again, rolling over on his side to face you.

“Yeah,” You nod, pecking him on the lips, “If that’s what case sex gets me, I think we should do that more often.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #not sfw #minors dni #reid x reader

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amoristt · 3 years

Text

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

__________________________

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him.

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this.

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red.

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you.

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.”

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it.

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?”

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.”

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy.

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip.

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy. As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.”

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be.

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you��d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke.

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind.

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find.

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse.

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable.

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look.

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began.

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan.

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

You lowered your head.

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot.

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled.

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?”

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod.

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again.

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly.

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust.

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that?

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person?

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once.

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew.

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under.

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed. How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you.

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions.

No wonder he was so angry.

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call.

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.”

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing.

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.”

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.”

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again.

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy. He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right?

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger.

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying.

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos.

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh.

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up.

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?”

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot.

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.”

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.”

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm.

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

#nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #life is strange #grazing the fire #scenario #fanfic #fluff

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codename-adler · 3 years

Text

Death of Heroes

Because not even Neil can outrun the ephemerality of men.

Renee is the first one to go.

Nearing sixty but never reaching it, she is outlived by Abby and Wymack. At least Stephanie Walker is waiting for her at the gates of Heaven, but for the rest of her Foxes, the loss is heavy.

It’s cancer. Leukemia.

It started with the bruises from her sparring matches with Andrew not healing very well. Then not at all. After decades of maintaining these monthly meetings, of keeping her body healthy, Renee finally has to give it up. She knows something is wrong, and she knows that these sessions won’t be of any help, now.

Then the extreme fatigue starts. Still, Renee doesn’t do a thing about it. Or at least, she lets life go its own course. She looses weight, which she already doesn’t have much of. But then the nosebleeds begin, and it’s no use telling Allison to stop worrying. The diagnosis is unsurprising, yet still shattering. And it’s not a good prognosis either, but it’s still not bad enough for the doctor to give up the Five-Year survival plan.

Renee has to speak up. Ally, I don’t want to do this. She has to put her foot down. Allison, my love, it’ll be okay. I won’t get better, you and I both know that. But it can be okay. It can still be good.

Renee doesn’t get treatment. Renee doesn’t tell anybody, except Andrew. Because Andrew knows, somehow, that she made a terrible, irreversible choice. Because Andrew only deals in truths. Because Andrew is Andrew, and just as he needed her all those years ago, she needs him now.

A little more than six months pass, with less and less outings from Renee and more and more excuses from Allison, and Renee gets sick. Really sick. It starts like a regular cold. Then it looks more like the flu. And suddenly it’s pneumonia, and respiratory difficulties, and lung failure. She’s in that hospital bed, wearing that gown, breathing in that mask. Renee finally nods to Allison, giving her consent.

Ally makes the call.

Only Andrew and Dan make it in time.

Renee Walker goes out like a light.

The Foxes, who had once upon a time been used to murders, life-threatening schemes and acts of extreme violence, had never really known Death itself. The simple, yet inevitable fate of human lives. Of going quietly into the night. It’s all so quiet. So anticlimactic. It’s so quiet, too quiet, too heavy with silence. This time, there is no one to blame, no one to punish, no one to take responsibility.

It’s just life. It’s just death.

Wymack and Abby can’t believe that one of their Foxes, on of their kids, left before them. Renee’s Korean roots made her look barely a day over forty, which made it all so much worse. Renee’s death takes a toll on every single one of them. Because it’s Renee, the best of them. Because all her papers are in orders, her will to date, her wishes known; just as when she was alive, she leaves no chaos behind her.

There is nothing and no one to be mad at, except life.

In the cemetery where Stephanie Walker is buried, Andrew buys a large lot of land. (Large enough to one day welcome all the Foxes) The tomb is moved over there, and Renee’s name is added. A tree is planted above her scattered ashes. It’s very small, very fragile, but with the years, it grows strong.

For the first time, the Foxes realize that, despite going through Hell and back in their youth, they are not immortal. There is nothing to be done about that, but it hurts. It hurts to lose their angel this way, so soon, so suddenly. It hurts to lose, period. It feels like a failure, like giving up. They lost her. They lost.

But somehow, they gained something else they might never know about. Renee might have been the only religious one among them, but that didn’t stop her from becoming their Guardian Angel. Because somehow, from then on, the Foxes were spared.

Let me show you.

Just as Bee had a few years before Renee, Abby, then Wymack, simply die in their sleep, no fight, no agony. None of them have to see another Fox go before them. They don’t have to go through that indescribable ordeal ever again. They are spared the pain.

Then decades pass, enough for the remaining Foxes to grow very old, and live very long. Not infinitely, but long enough.

Matt is the next one to go.

Matt has worked hard all his life, both mentally and physically. It comes to no surprise, then, that arthritis chose to invade his body. For the first few years living with the diagnosis, natural medicine and osteopathy are enough to keep the pain at bay. It doesn’t stop Matt from doing anything. He babysits his 9 grandchildren with Dan every week; he goes on roadtrips with Dan every summer; he goes on a light jog with Dan every day.

It’s just that one day, it’s not enough anymore. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain becomes too much for Matt to do his day-to-day activities. And really, the pain, he could take; it was an old friend, a familiar feeling, almost like a sixth sense.

It was the mental toll of it all that he couldn’t take. To have to say no to seeing his grandchildren. No to driving around endlessly and aimlessly for hours. No to waking up in sync with Dan every morning, and no to their routine, and no, and no, and just- not living.

For the first time in a long time, Matt doesn’t want to do this anymore.

But he does, still. He smiles, and he lies, and he tries to will away the pain.

It all comes down to one afternoon, when he takes his painful walk of the day around the neighborhood. There are three little kids playing Exy in their driveway, when suddenly a ball escapes their racquets and rolls down in the street. The smallest kid runs after it, runs and runs and runs, without looking. Kind of like Neil, Matt thinks to himself before his body acts of his own. The kid doesn’t see the car, and the car doesn’t see the kid. Matt sees both.

The BMW is going way over the limit, its sleek black sides reflecting the sun too brightly. Despite his pain, despite his age, despite his now slow reflexes, Matt leaps. He screams at the kid to stop and turn around, to let the ball roll away, but to no avail.

Matt pushes the kid away in time for the car to hit him instead, and only him.

The rest becomes a blur, but the final verdict is as such: broken hip, shattered leg, probably won’t walk ever again, even with surgery. The doctors and surgeons warn Matt that with his age, his pre-existing condition, and his drug history, surgery might kill him. But Matt refuses to be bedridden for the rest of his already miserable life. Dan knows that. She knows that he has to try. Knows that he might not pull through. She also knows that Matt wants to go, has wanted to for a while now.

She calls Neil. She calls Allison. From there, all the Foxes are bound to get the news. Matt promises to wait until their arrival before going into surgery. In the meantime, the nurses start a morphine line, after warning the couple very strongly about the side effects and the risks. But Matt is in pain, terrible pain, and it’s a compromise to wait for his Foxes. It takes about a week for all of them to come to his bedside, with Nicky being last, coming all the way from Germany. Neil and Allison barely leave his room; Dan doesn’t at all. The others take turns, leaving as much space for Matt’s kids and grandkids as their hearts can allow.

The open spot for Matt’s surgery is on a Friday.

Matt Boyd does not make it to Friday.

The morphine is too heavy on his heart. It was a possible outcome, not as alarming as the upcoming surgery, but... Matt had secretely wished to go ever since and- maybe, up there in Heaven, someone heard him...

Dan and Matt had had a mutual understanding, that it was okay, but it doesn’t make it any more easy to let go.

Two months into Matt’s departure, Allison moves in with Dan. She walks her through every stage of grief. She grieves all over again herself, too. But they make it.

Same goes for Andrew with Neil. Neil doesn’t know loss like this. Death like this.

And yet. And yet. Deep, deep down, Neil is scared. That after all his years of running, and fighting, and lying, he won’t get that peaceful ending Matt was granted.

But Neil lives.

And Nicky leaves.

A few months after Matt, he and Erik simply stay in the States. They say it’s because they want to be close, because they don’t want to miss anything, because they don’t want to risk a Fox leaving without a chance at saying goodbye. Because Nicky misses his Aaron and his Andrew.

Which are all valid and true motives. It’s just not the whole truth.

Nicky has dementia. Alzheimer’s, to be precise. Diagnosed about a year ago. It’s not bad yet, but- It’s the endless back-and-forth between the house and “der Supermarkt” because Nicky forgot what he drove there for in the first place. It’s forgetting words in all the languages Nicky speaks. It’s freaking out at all the Germans speaking German, because Nicky sometimes believe he is still living in America. It’s not finding the Columbia house and panicking when Nicky can’t get a hold of Andrew or Aaron.

It’s hard, it’s heartbreaking, it’s terrifying, but it’s manageable.

Once Nicky and Erik settle back down in North Carolina, they both wonder how long it’ll take before the twins figure it out, because there is no way Nicky is telling them, but he also knows nothing can get past his twins.

And he’s right. Between Aaron’s acute knowledge of Medicine and Andrew’s reknown lie-detector skills, it takes about 14 days for them to take Nicky hostage and demand the truth.

As the year comes to an end, Nicky’s dementia doesn’t seem to progress that much. He seems to escape the worst. He doesn’t forget anyone. He doesn’t become aggressive, doesn’t go missing, doesn’t lose any function of his body. Without looking too closely, Nicky is simply getting old.

The twin girls he and Erik adopted get to move back in for a little while, having lived in the U.S. all their lives and seeing their parents fly to Germany after their retirement. They know, too, and try to make the most of it. They are lucky. They are so lucky. Nicky is a miracle patient.

In the end, though, it’s Nicky’s body rather than his mind that gives out. Once you reach a certain point in time living with the disease, but without the general complications of it, eventually the brain has trouble managing all the organs of the body. So instead of forgetting to eat, or forgetting names and faces, sometimes your brain doesn’t remember how to make your heart beat. Or how to make make your lungs breathe.

Nicky Hemmick stops breathing in the middle of the night, after having wished his twin daughters goodnight, texted his other set of twins goodnight, and kissed his husband goodnight. Nicky had thought, then, that it was indeed, a good night.

Just as he had remembered his Foxes until the end, he was remembered by them as the big-hearted lover that Heaven had just gained as its new angel.

Too soon after him, though, it’s Allison’s turn.

It’s not that she’d simply been waiting around for the day she could be reunited with Renee. She just didn’t understand why her Foxes kept leaving, and why she was still stuck here without her other half.

She didn’t just wait, though. She helps Dan out with the grandkids, and sometimes the grown-up kids too. She volunteers a lot. She gives back to the Columbia community, and all around the world. She travels to places she’s never been, places that remind her of Renee, but are void of painful memories. She empties their bucket list, and much more. The last thing Allison has yet to do, the only thing left to do, is mending her relationship with her parents. Or parent. Singular. In spite of everything, including the death of her husband, Francesca Reynolds was still standing strong at the head of the Reynolds empire. 100 years old was nothing when you lived in spite.

In a twisted way, Allison believed that maybe her mother was the last piece she needed to mend before she was allowed to go. That despite being gone for years, Renee was still there somewhere, looking out for her and making sure she didn’t have any regrets.

So Allison accomplished the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossible. For the first time in decades, she flew back to the Reynolds estate and spoke to her mother. In person.

It was not the emotional reunion Renee might have hoped for, but it was a reunion still. That was more than enough for Allison. They didn’t talk about the big things. The important things. But they talked. They talked. And they scheduled another talk.

Back home with Dan, Allison embraced her friend and let the tears fall. She was grateful for her friend, but both of them knew that these were not the arms Allison wished to be held in. She went to rest a bit before dinner, and she tried to imagine how it would feel like to have Renee hold her again.

For someone as loud, as present and as strong as she was, Allison Walker slipped quietly from time.

When Dan found her, she could only smile tearfully. She played with her hair one last time as she called her Foxes.

Allison left Dan in charge of her finances, and so she took over her charity duties and went above and beyond to honor her friend’s memory. Her sister.

Dan thought she would be next. She wished, she hoped, she prayed to be next.

She wasn’t.

Kevin was.

He might have been the biggest and hardest loss to weather. It wasn’t a feeling that could be explained. As painful as it had been to lose Renee, and Matt, and Nicky, and Allison, losing Kevin was... the great and terrible 10, as they’d say.

Kevin should have died way sooner. His liver should have given out because of all the alcohol it had endured in Kevin’s youth. His heart should have given out because of all the stress it had faced for most of Kevin’s life. All the bad things that could happen with old age should have happened to Kevin, but they didn’t. They didn’t.

Death came knocking one day, and politely asked him if he would please follow them, and Kevin simply took it as a sign that his time was up.

That day, Kevin had felt a numbing pain in his chest all morning long. Used to little injuries here and there, he hadn’t thought anything of it. And he certainly wasn’t about to worry his doctor of a husband...

However, as the sun reached it’s highest in the sky, Kevin couldn’t really hide his pain any longer. He had lain down on their couch for a bit, but he couldn’t seem to get back up. It was too exhausting. So he called for Aaron, as loud as he could in the state he was.

As Aaron stumbled into the living room, Kevin tried to use his softest voice to inform his husband of the situation. Aaron immediately called an ambulance, and when the vehicle took them both away, he reached for his phone again to make, once again, a terrible call to their Foxes. But through his oxygen mask, Kevin reached out to grap his wrist and whispered, with difficulty, just Neil... just Andrew...

Because here’s the thing: Kevin loved his Foxes, and his Foxes loved him back. Immensely.

He loved them so much he had married one, with another one of them as best man (Neil), another as his husband’s (Andrew), and yet another one as their celebrant (Renee).

They loved him so much that it was only short of worship by a hair or two. And Kevin knew that. He loved Dan like a sister. And by extension, he loved Erik like a brother, too. And he loved all the Foxes’ children and grandchildren like his own, despite never being a parent himself.

But Neil and Andrew... There were no words for what they were to him. He knew that he wouldn’t have to talk them through it. He knew they would be the only ones strong enough and close enough to hold Aaron up in case it all turned to shit the moment he passed the hospital doors.

And being the History nerd he had always been, Kevin had written letters, a long time ago. To his Foxes. Most of them had left before him, and so he could never give them their letters, but Dan, and Erik for Nicky, could still have those letters. Kevin poured everything into these letters. It had taken him years, ever since Renee’s departure. He wrote, and threw away, and started again, until he got it right. Nine letters, for his nine Foxes. Andrew knew about it. He’d give Nicky’s and the upperclassmen’s to Dan and Erik, and they’d understand. Kevin didn’t want them to be there, at the very end of it all. He just wanted Aaron. And Neil. And Andrew.

Those three had letters waiting for them, too. Andrew would hand them over a month later. But he would never open his.

Andrew and Neil arrived just before 1 PM. Kevin was hooked on all sorts of IVs and still had the oxygen mask on. His heart monitor was beeping very, very slowly, erratically. He was still Kevin Day in all his gloriousness, but he was much more Kevin, their beloved Kevin.

On one side of the hospital bed, Aaron never let go of Kevin’s hand. On the other side, Kevin removed the mask and weakly motioned for Neil to take the other hand. But Neil was stunned. Frozen. So Andrew came up behind him, and held Kevin’s hand.

It would be the first, and the last time.

Just as Neil finally sprung into action and went to put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, feeling his wiry muscles and his fragile bones underneath the hospital gown, Kevin closed his eyes.

The heart monitor began flatlining.

Neil looked at the monitor, then to Kevin. He looked at Andrew, then back at Kevin, and then at Aaron. His eyes couldn’t stay focused on one thing. He was still hoping. He was still refusing.

Aaron lowered his head. Kissed Kevin’s hand.

Andrew held on tighter to Kevin’s other hand. Gripped the back of Neil’s neck.

Kevin took Death’s hand, which felt a lot like Aaron’s, and Andrew’s, and Renee’s, and walked away.

Aaron unplugged the monitor. And called it.

Time of death: 13:01.

It took exaclty one month, day for day, for Aaron to leave as well. They called it the Broken Heart Syndrome. On the surface, Aaron had held it together. But Andrew knew. He saw. That he was losing him as well.

Some could say that, by handing over Kevin’s letter, Andrew killed his brother. But those who would say that didn’t even begin to understand the complexity of the bond between twin brothers. Especially not the Minyards.

Because what Andrew really did, with that letter, was gifting Aaron with relief.

Peace. Quiet.

Love.

Aaron could exhale, now. He would see Kevin soon, now.

And so in the same room, in the same bed as his husband’s, Aaron Minyard forced Death’s hand and demanded to see Kevin again.

And then there were three.

Dan lived for so long that she started to fear outliving her children. She felt old, so old. In her head and in her heart. She did not believe in a God, but she often found herself praying to someone, anyone. She did not believe in angels and demons, but she often wondered how long they would keep her from Death.

So she waited. For the days to go and the nights to pass. She barely ate anymore. She barely moved. She was only feeling okay when she slept outside, in her chair in the backyard, the sun shinning on her beautiful face. She could sleep for hours there, surrounded by her lively garden. The wind swayed her skirts, the trees whispered in her ears. It was okay.

And at the same time, it wasn’t.

She was tired. She was lonely. Even Erik, a couple of years ago, had gone to rejoin his husband. Neil visited her at least once a week, but he still had Andrew. He couldn’t understand, nor could he stay away from him for too long. He would miss him too much.

Every year she celebrated another birthday, and every year she blew her candles wishing they were her last.

And at last, her wish came true.

Dan was expecting one of her kids to come by in the afternoon. The Carolina sun was shinning quite hard on her, so she had placed her chair in way that let the sunlight hit the back of her head, turned away completely from her house. Her daughter knew exactly where to find her when she arrived, and so she didn’t wait for a response to her presence before making her way down into the garden. She had called her mother multiple times, and had assumed she was sleeping when she hadn’t answered.

Dan was not sleeping.

Dan Wilds had left this world, the sunlight pouring down on her like the radiant goddess that she was.

Being one of the last Foxes, it took a day before Neil and Andrew got the news of her death. They don’t get involved in the funeral preparations, but they show up. And that’s enough.

People don’t really bother them anymore, so they can bid farewell to their Captain in relative peace. They come by Dan’s house aftwerwards, too, and help her kids out with everything. Yes, even Andrew.

Dan’s death makes them reflect the most.

About the Foxes. About each of their departures. How they all lived a good and long life. How they all died a good and quiet death.

They think about how they were always the ones nearing death, always fighting to stay alive. About how they died a million deaths before the age of 18.

They think about how they are the last ones standing, even after everything.

They survived. They lived.

(They loved)

Neil and Andrew should not have gotten this far. They should not have lived this long. They shouldn’t have. But somehow, somewhere above, someone has watched over them and made sure that they didn’t get the ending they should’ve had, but the ending they deserved.

Neil and Andrew don’t really want to die. They don’t really want to live on either. But they take every day that they are given, to be with each other, to mend their hearts still, to breathe.

They take every breath they can.

They wonder who will leave first. Who will have to say goodbye and stay behind, who will have to wait.

It’s a fear neither of them had ever thought they’d have. Not like that.

And it’s only a matter of time before they get their answer. They are, after all, getting very old. It is both a blessing and a curse.

After decades of partnership, Neil and Andrew still go to bed the same way they did when they were eighteen. Both facing each other, their hands joined in the middle, their nose a breath apart.

After decades of peace, Neil and Andrew still wake from sleep at the slightest abnormality.

Which is why the minute Neil Josten gives out his last breath, Andrew awakes.

Neil’s hand in his is still warm and his skin is still soft. His hair, although completely white for quite some years now, still have that bronze glow to them. They’re still curly, and soft to the touch. Andrew passes a hand through them before resting it on the back of Neil’s neck.

He looks at Neil like it’s the first time, tries to memorize every detail of his beautiful face. He rubs circle in his skin, and takes in everything that was, that is Neil. His husband. His junkie. His rabbit. His pipedream. His lover. His love.

Andrew doesn’t move from their bed.

When he has finally spoken everything that he feels to Neil, from the safety of his mind, Andrew moves closer to him so their foreheads touch and noses align. He takes Neil’s lifeless hand again, and kisses it. He sets their hands back down, between the two of them, and looks at Neil one last time.

And slowly, Andrew Minyard closes his eyes, forever.

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