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notsodelirious · 1 month ago

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OKAY hi!! a request that's been hanging in the back of my mind about that jayroy/reader one, is basically just wanting to know what their routine becomes as a slowly establishing poly relationship (i just love their dynamics so far, it's super sweet!) and how will the reader eventually interact with Lian? i feel like reader could be more nervous before meeting her and then become an absolute natural when interacting with kids maybe, but that's just me, i think HAHAH

Hi! really glad you requested this <3 I hope you enjoy this small conclusion to the trilogy

synopsis: Roy wants you to meet Lian

notes: SFW, and explicitly fem!reader with the use of she/her pronouns

tags: established relationship, fluff, minor angst, m x m x f, wc: 2.7k words

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (current)

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

The oven fan whirled softly as the savoury aroma of your cooking wafted in the air. The lights were dim and buzzed softly, syrupy rays of honey catching the swirling smoke of baked empanadas. A radio played softly from the kitchen island—outside, the city began to wind down, as streetlamps flickered on and people went home for the evening.

Jason nudged your hip with his lightly before pointing to the filling bowl by your arm with the spoon he had in hand—you slid it over before returning to your folding, swiftly closing the edges with a deft hand and slipping it onto the baking tray. It was your third one so far—a lot, yes, but you’d initially made too much filling, so the rest was going to Roy’s neighbours.

The man in question sat behind you, doing nothing but watching two of the most important people in his life happily cook dinner together—he’d been banned from touching the food after he’d tried making an empanada; which burst and spilled all over the tray. So he was relegated to the sidelines, overseeing the oven timer instead.

“How many more do you reckon?” you said as you hooked a finger past the rim of the bowl, dragging the fillings a little closer to you, “Like, half a tray?”

Jason leaned over to look, before nodding, “Yeah, probably.”

“And that’ll cover most of the pastry anyway.”

Jason just hummed, before kissing your forehead and going back to stuffing and folding the empanadas.

You shivered slightly when a hand rested on your lower back—Roy leaned over to peer at your work over your shoulder. Jason was always deceptively quiet despite his size but Roy could be too when he wanted to.

“What are you doing so close to the food?” you said teasingly, slipping one more turnover onto the baking tray.

“Need to pull out that batch in a minute,” he said as he gestured towards the oven but didn’t look away from your hands, “Why? Miss me?”

Jason snorted beside you and Roy’s head turned as he smirked.

“Aww, babe, don’t be jealous,” Roy cooed mockingly, “I love you too.”

“Your hand in her back pocket is the only reason you came over.”

Roy side-stepped to your other side. The smack then clatter of Jason’s spoon made you giggle softly. Jason covered his ass where Roy had slapped him, fixing him with a glare.

“Keep your hands-“

The timer went off, “Oh look at that, gotta go!”

Jason scowled but let him go, especially as he opened the oven; a wave of heat brushed over you as Roy used a tea towel to pull the tray out and set it on the stove grates.

“Want me to take that one?” he said as he pointed to the tray you had been filling up—you nodded as you passed it to him, watching him slip it in and put a timer on.

Roy slipped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched you both finish the last of the empanadas and brushing them with egg yolks; he never got away with hugging Jason from behind, because he preferred to have full range of motion when cooking and didn’t like anybody stood behind him, but they had both quickly found out that you didn’t mind and Roy took full advantage of that.

You began stacking dishes, wiping down the worktop—Jason took the bowls and cutlery from your hands and you moved to go put the first serving on the table.

Roy’s arms tightened around you.

“Hold on, baby” he said, tugging you back against him.

“Roy, love, let me-“

“I want you to meet Lian.”

The bowl nearly slipped from your hands.

Roy caught it as you scrambled to regain your hold on it, and set it aside for you.

“Are you… sure?” you asked, nervously chewing at your lip as you looked up at Roy, whose grip on you finally loosened.

“We’ve been dating for several months now,” Jason said from where he was scrubbing dishes in the sink. Which was true—even if a little messily: all three of you having a night off at the same time made it hard to properly date sometimes.

Between school, work, Lian, and a secret fourth thing that definitely had nothing to do with their scars and bruises, your schedules didn’t always line up; the best you could do sometimes was going on a date with one while the other took care of Lian.

There were plenty of nights like this one, when the little one was with a friend or family, but they only happened a couple of times a month.

All this to say you weren’t ready to meet Roy’s daughter.

“She’s heard us talk about you,” Roy continued softly, his hands running along your sides, fingers teasing along the skin of your hip, just under the hem of your shirt. “And at this rate, I don’t think you’re going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“What if she hates me?”

Jason snorted, “She won’t hate you—she’s a lovely kid.”

It wasn’t her you were worried about, it was you. Sure you’d had kids in your life but none that you needed to actually get to like you. Your nieces and nephews, related and otherwise, had met you way before they could form words, let alone be cognisant.

“We’re going to the park tomorrow,” Roy said, “Join us.”

You swallowed, before nodding, “Yeah, okay.”

Roy tilted his head, smiling as he caught your gaze, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you returned the smile shyly. He kissed your cheek before finally releasing you and reaching to hand you back the bowl of empanadas.

“You’re the best; I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Tomorrow came very fast to you. Maybe a little too fast.

You were definitely freaking out.

“Nervous?”

“Jason, don’t.”

He raised his hands in surrender before lounging more comfortably on the park bench.

While Roy left to go pick up his daughter, you and Jason had decided to head to the park earlier than planned when he noticed you were getting a little restless staying cooped up in Roy’s apartment.

So now you paced around the bench, messing with your belt loop as you went.

“You can’t be this freaked out over a kid.”

“It’s not Lian I’m worried about,” you said, fixing him with a soft glare. Jason leaned forward to pin you with a searching look, resting his elbows on his knees like he always did when he tried to crack a hard case.

“Then what is the problem?”

“You are.”

He blinked at you, genuinely taken aback. Which… was fair; you knew what you’d said, “I just mean,” you sighed as you rubbed your face, “You love the kid—both of you. And she obviously loves you both too. I don’t want to mess this up because she’s important to you. What if I’m not good with kids?”

You risked looking up at Jason; he simply beckoned you closer. You collapsed next to him, defeated before you’d even begun.

“You’ll do fine-“

“You don’t know-“

“No, hey, look at me.”

You complied, more than reluctantly but you looked up at him. You wondered if he saw the mild, spiralling panic in your eyes.

“You’ll do fine,” he repeated, so softly like he was trying to soothe a spooked critter, “You really think Roy would let you around his only daughter if he didn’t trust you?”

You bit your lip and shrugged—you knew the answer was no, Roy had, and would, always be fiercely protective of his daughter. It was endearing.

But maybe somewhere it just made the impostor syndrome worse.

What if Roy trusted you and you managed to mess it up anyway? Because he was wrong about you? Because he’d misjudged you?

“The kid’s going to love you,” Jason said softly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “And if anything goes wrong Roy and I can step in, you’ll never be alone.”

You slumped but nodded, leaning into Jason’s side.

“Come on,” he laughed softly as he rubbed your arm, “Look alive. Look who just got here.”

“Jayjay!”

You both stood, just before a small blur of black and red slammed into Jason’s legs. He laughed as he reached down to pick Lian up, with the grace and effort one would a bag of groceries.

“Hey there, stinker.”

“I’m not stinky,” Lian said, trying to sound mad but she giggled the entire sentence.

“I don’t know,” Roy piped up as he walked up, just as Jason put her down, “Uncle Dickie said somebody was being trouble during bath time.”

“I’m not stinky!”

“Okay, bug,” Jason laughed as he ruffled her hair, “You aren’t stinky.”

It was only when Lian seemed satisfied with that conclusion did she seem to take notice of you.

She tucked herself behind Jason’s legs almost immediately. You smiled at her softly—kids’ sense of shyness and perception was so weird, but very sweet.

Roy knelt down beside her and nudged her softly.

“Don’t you wanna say hi? You were so excited in the car.”

Your heart warmed at that little tidbit and you kneeled to be eye-level with them.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said kindly, or at least the softest voice you could muster to not frighten the girl further, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Lian mumbled something as she played with Jason’s jeans in her grasp and Roy chuckled softly.

“Didn’t you have something to give her?” he prompted gently to which she nodded and glanced up at you.

She dug her hands in her pockets before slinking out from behind Jason.

She held out a bright red and yellow bracelet to you, dotted with cute flower beads and smiley faces, “Thank you for making my Daddy and Jayjay happy.”

“Oh sweetheart,” your heart melted as you took the bracelet, easily slipping it over your wrist, silently vowing to never take it off. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Lian kicked her feet as she looked down, mumbling what must have been a small “You’re welcome.”

She looked up at Roy, a little less nervous now that you’re out of her direct field of vision.

“Can I go play now?”

“Yeah, kiddo, go for it,” he smiled—as you stood she dashed away towards the playground fixtures, and the three of you were left to linger.

You kept your eyes on your pretty, new bracelet.

“She made that a while ago when she was with Kory,” Roy explained, making you look up from your wrist, “She was really excited to give it to you.”

“She looked like you were blackmailing her,” Jason snorted softly.

You smacked his arm, “She was just nervous—she was adorable.”

“And I don’t blackmail my kid!”

“Wonder why she chose these colours though,” you mused, loudly. The boys glanced at each other.

“I think we’re really bad at keeping secrets,” Roy said to which Jason just smacked him upside the head.

“No, you are.”

“Oi-“

Your laughter interrupted them as their attention snapped towards you instead.

“We’ll talk about it another time.”

Jason nodded while Roy grinned, “Yes, ma’am.”

Sitting around watching kids playing on a wooden ship wasn’t the most interesting thing you’d ever done with your day—but every time Lian popped up, waving and grinning widely, you couldn’t help how your heart warmed.

The three of you chatted throughout the afternoon—one of you always had an eye on the playground but nobody was too worried, or hovering over the little one’s movements like a hawk.

Jason was describing how Bruce taught him to bind a book in vivid detail when Lian ran up to you, nearly slamming into Roy’s knees.

“Daddy!”

“Yes, kiddo.”

“That girl has a really cool flower crown,” Lian declared, pointing towards a girl a little older than her, with a crown of daisies sat on her blond curls.

“She does, doesn’t she?”

“Can we make one?”

“Ah,” Roy glanced up at you and Jason then back down at his daughter, “I don’t actually know how to make one.”

“But I thought you knew everything!”

“But I don’t know everything, sprout.”

“I know how to make one,” you piped up and you could see the moment Lian’s wide brown eyes lit up.

“Really?”

“Do you actually?” Jason asked to which you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” you stood, dusting paint chips off your jeans, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go find the prettiest flowers.”

Lian eagerly grabbed your hand, wrapping her fingers around a couple of your own to drag you away with a surprising amount of force.

You glanced back to see your boyfriends snickering at you before eventually standing to follow you both.

You sat when Lian plopped down on a green patch of grass.

“You wanna find the really long ones,” you explained as you plucked an example and handed it to her so she could see the length you were talking about. “That way it’s easier to tie it together, yeah?”

She nodded and you both set to work, picking a handful of the prettiest flowers each.

You were vaguely aware of the boys behind you, but you paid them little mind as you started to explain to Lian how to weave the daisy stems together, letting her start her own as you made one yourself.

It took a couple of tries, and soft words of encouragement but she quickly got the hang of it, with surprising dexterity for a five-year-old.

“So, are you my Daddy’s girlfriend?” Lian asked as she briefly abandoned her daisy crown to look up at you.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I am. Is that okay?”

“But you’re also Jayjay’s girlfriend?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

You handed her a couple more flowers, the pretty ones that bled from pink to white from their centres.

“Well, you know how you can have more than one friend? And your friends aren’t just your friends, are they? They’re friends with each other too,” you explained, vaguely gesturing with one of the flowers—it was a sad-looking thing, with only a couple of petals left, but it slotted in nicely within the weave of your flower crown. “Well, it’s like that—but your dad and Jay mean more to me than friends. We all love each other very much.”

“Can I have two boyfriends when I grow up?”

You laughed softly, reaching over to help her loop one of the stems around the other, her small fingers struggling with the finer movement needed for the fragile plant.

“Well, if both your boyfriends are okay with it.”

Lian nodded, empty palms held up as she patiently waited for you to put her work back in her hands.

“Does this mean you’re going to take care of me like Jayjay takes care of me?”

“Well, do you want me to?” You gave the crown back

“I don’t know you.” You laughed softly—she stuck her tongue out as she tied more flowers together and you returned to your own. “But Jayjay likes you and Jayjay doesn’t like anybody.”

You snorted, covering it with a cough as soon as Jason looked up.

“Is that enough to put me in your good books?”

“But you’re not in a book.” You handed her more flowers as you smiled softly.

“You’re right, sorry,” you said as you looked at her and stretched your legs to put your finished flower crown in your lap, “Does it make you feel better that Jay likes me?”

“I think so,” Lian said, “Daddy and Jayjay really like you. And I think you’re really pretty and nice.”

“Well thank you, sweet pea,” you carefully placed your flower crown on her head before pointing down at hers, “Do you want me to show you how to make it a circle?”

She nodded but quickly thought better of it as her crown began to slip.

With careful hands, you showed her how to weave in the final stem.

“Tada!” she declared happily, showing off her finished crown.

“Tada,” you echoed, “Do you wanna go show your dad?”

“Yeah!”

She took off towards Roy and Jason with her wreath in hand, gentle with her grasp despite her skedaddling speeds.

“Daddy, daddy, look!”

“Wow! Did you make that? That looks amazing!”

Jason stood to meet you, all eyes still on the adorable Daddy-Daughter duo.

“No good with kids huh?”

“Shut up, Todd.”

(“Daddy? Can we get ice cream?”

“I dunno, sprout, it’s dinner time soon-“

“Roy, love? Can we go get ice cream, please?”

“…Fine.”)

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

She’s done folks <3 I really enjoyed writing the throuple dynamic, it was fun and honestly let me work on my characterisation a lot—on the other hand, I never want to write another 5 year old ever again, I love Lian but she was something to figure out

Anyway, my requests are currently closed while I work through my current ones but you can find my list of current projects and masterlist here

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avifaunaa · 6 months ago

Text

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.1 ]

Authors Note: My first Rio fic! Make sure to check the content warnings before reading further in case the content inside does not suit your taste! Otherwise please enjoy!

Some quick fun facts that literally none of you asked for but I added a lot of plot to a darksmutfic:

• I’m a former history major so some of this is based off of knowledge of what I know about time periods I studied and found special interest in

• Johnnie Ray was a popular artist in the fifties so I slipped him in for story ambience

• Only by 1955 did Americans, in half of their homes, have television sets. Up until then it was considered a bit of luxury with limited channels and times you could watch. You’d get static otherwise. Most homes had radios as their everyday media consumption.

• John Daly and the News was an actual television show broadcasted between 1953 — 1960 and is now what we know today as ABC World News Tonight

• Reader hinting that she and Rio shouldn’t talk so openly against how things are handled after the war is me referencing how the Second Red Scare [ Mcarthyism ] began to take an effect on the United States and how people ran their lives. Some actors, for example, would get blacklisted for the rest of their lives if they were accused of communism / socialism and found guilty even with denied claims from said actor.

Masterlist

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!reader

Summary: Rio Vidal broke the rules of her own nature only two times in her long existence — once when she allowed her and Agatha’s son to live long enough to love his mother and the second and last by finding you and taking a life for every year she allowed you to live. Centuries later this still held true . . . Only now Agatha was dead and she was angry. It was time you stop running from her.

Content Warnings: Dark — be warned in advance and take care of yourselves! This has flashbacks that occurs between 1943-1953 but details about World War II itself are very vague. Some mild period-typical gender norms in terms of roles and clothing during flashbacks. Mentions of abuse / abusive marriages, angst, death, manipulation, threats of violence, stalking, choking, misuse of magic ( Rio ), housewife R ( and encouraged by Rio 😭 ), kidnapping, somnophilia, non-con, cunnilngus ( r!receiving ), face grinding ( Rio!receiving )

Word Count: TBA

Rio rarely found it in her to feel anything other than passive nonchalance when she came for them. A hand held out expectantly, a knowing expression that made no room for desperate pleas, and she took another soul away from this plane she stalked for her souls.

Children were the worst to come for and made that choice even more difficult for Rio. Death did not care who it struck or why — she was only able to ensure the balance of the universe stayed intact by orders greater than her.

She loved Agatha and Nicholas though . . . Enough that she stayed away from her lover for the amount of time she had promised their son could adventure the Earth as short as it may be.

She loved Agatha enough to take him while she slept with him curled tight in her arms where he was the absolute safest he could be. Nicholas was all Agatha with his curly hair and serious eyes, but Rio liked to believe there was part of her in him as she took his hand and took him to her home.

Agatha evaded her incredibly well after Nicky’s death, doing her best to leave no traces and not stay in one place for too long.

Rio decided that Agatha wouldn’t be able to forgive her — if not forever then at least for now. So she stopped trying and allowed Agatha to grieve and slowly move on in her own impossible way.

Rio met you in 1945 during a high stress time for the world. It was wonderfully busy in that she was everywhere more than usual. A war just ended and wars made Rio’s life both miserable and fulfilled with the amount of workload she took on.

You were an unfortunate case and barely hanging onto your single thread of life. She could see it glowing from your chest, flickering in and out . . . As if it would be snuffed at any second should the wind blow right.

Her instincts told her it was your time but everything about the surroundings were telling her that nobody else agreed.

But why? She’s seen it millions of times in different cultures and centuries. A life had a time limit and she knew when that time ended even if they didn’t — or didn’t agree with it.

Rio’s entire instinct told her to take this soul and move onto the next so she could keep the balance moving and not disrupt the will of the universe that held them all together.

But she didn’t. She waited unseen in a corner and watched you as nurses came in to check on you, refilling your untouched water pitcher and cleaning you up. You still barely hung on, her eyes keeping locked onto the thrumming flow of life that beckoned her.

She finally stepped forward to get a closer look at you, tilting her chin down through her hood and taking note of every small detail that put you in her ledger for collection.

You were a battered woman more than anything, and she let her fingers drift over you to get a feel of your energy.

Her hand ripped back to her side at what she felt within you. You remained nearly lifeless and unconscious in the bed but your soul was very, very angry. It was a black pool of oily rage and despair that Rio was usually able to cleanse once she took them but . . .

She took your lifeline in her palm, feeling the warmth seep into her cold skin as it stuttered more as she grasped it.

She pressed a thumb into it as though it were something physical and willed a demand — live. I shall not take you today.

For a moment she wasn’t sure how her magic would treat your soul once they interacted. But more stuttering was soon filtered out like a street lamp, giving way to a soft and steady glow.

Rio smiled and released your lifeline, allowing it to lazily float back toward you where it retook its place reaching for her out of your chest.

Rio might be Death and she may hesitate to break rules on most days — but you were the exception she was going to see through and hope she didn’t regret later.

1943-1952

Rio left you soon after. She had to take a soul in your place and had others that needed her attention besides.

But she frequently returned to you with a pull she could not ignore. Your recovery was slow and painful, and she watched invisibly as you cried to your mother and father about your husband — the man you claimed was the one who caused your near death.

It filled her with something raw and visceral when she followed you back home to him. A drunk man who had no boundaries and no respect for the life he was given — nor yours.

She decided to wait a couple of years for the world to cool down from the anguish that it was trying to recover from. But she watched as you suffered with him and tried to keep your distance in order to avoid pain.

In 1952 Rio decides to play dress up. She comes to your beautifully decorated home and sickeningly pretty flowered garden in an outfit that women are scolded for daring to try on.

Slacks and a blouse with her hair styled for the time even if it wasn’t in her taste. She was going to play a partial role — but she had a plan and will see it through.

Rio knocked on your door so that there would be no question of a visitor, hands sliding into her pockets not long after as she waited.

She was not kept long.

The door opened and there you were pretty and smiling — even if Rio knew what the depths of your soul actually contained.

“Oh,” you said by greeting, hand going to your chest. “Hello there. Hi.”

“Hello,” Rio greeted back politely. “I moved in a few houses down and have gone about introducing myself to the neighbors. I want to build a community around me.”

You pursed your lips in surprise. “I didn’t know we had a house for sale,” you mused aloud, but waved your hand, “Oh, but who cares? Welcome to Westview.”

“My name is Rio, Rio Vidal,” Death greeted, sliding a hand out for you to take. If you were caught off guard by the invitation, you did not show it. You grasped her hand and shook it and relayed your name back even though she knew it well.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you said, still smiling. You gestured and stepped aside in your entry way, showing Rio the bright yellow walls and decorated room behind you, “Would you like to come in? I’ve been trying a hand at making a cake and I’m unfortunately not doing so good.”

Rio took the invitation and entered your home, laughing breathily at your statement. “A woman who can’t bake? Not a sight I see often.”

You shut the door behind you both and grew shy under the observation. “I was never great at it,” you admit as you started through the entry way and leading her through the living room. It was quiet.

“No husband?” she questioned aloud, noting the empty recliner diagonal to the newest television set that money could buy. Expensive taste for even a well earning home.

“One,” you called back when you reappeared from the entrance to the kitchen. “He works all day at the plant in Eastview. He just got promoted.”

“Eastview,” Rio murmured. “Isn’t that a bit of a drive?”

You smiled weakly. “Sure, but it’s good income. He works hard and keeps us fed. Come, I’ll prepare lemonade.”

Rio allowed herself to be guided into the kitchen that smelled like a bakery. Black and white checkered floors, green cabinets and brand new red chairs and a table set. If not good at baking you at least had good style.

You were pulling out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and she wandered close to you. “It smells good.”

You glanced up at her from your pouring, “You came right as I was putting my third attempt in the oven. Hopefully it doesn’t burn this time. I admittedly bought store-made icing.”

Rio grinned, “My lips are sealed.”

You chuckled as you pushed her a glass of lemonade and took your own in two hands, clutching it close. “So . . . You have no husband of your own?”

Rio leaned against the mint-colored counter and twirled her glass. “Afraid not. Lost him to the war in ‘43.”

You frowned as an expression of sympathy started to cross your features, “Two years before that deadly disaster ended, too. I’m truly sorry he didn’t make it home.”

Trap set and bait laying with prey lured, Rio continued with a faux tremble in her hands, “They don’t tell you what to prepare for if they don’t come home. Don’t give you much in return for the price they pay for the country. How fair is that?”

Your lips thinned slightly. “No, I’d rather say the bets we place are never worth it.” A pause, full of hesitance. “But we shouldn’t talk so queerly about such things.”

Rio curled her fingers inward toward herself despite her grip on her glass. She was probing for information mostly — where she could poke holes and find weakness. The end of the war left a fear of things they didn’t understand . . . And politics became a large aspect of society as soon as the world began picking itself back up.

Rio reveled in the chaos and enjoyed — with no shame to be found — watching humans try and control their societies in endless cycles of vitriol and greed masked by different ideologies they claimed were better than the last.

It kept her in a job.

“Of course,” she finally said with a hint of emotion. “My apologies. I’m afraid my heart has been hardened by experience.”

You softened slightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course. I can’t imagine the suffering you’ve endured — I just — I’m sure the country is thankful.”

Rio bit down a response that would get a rise out of you. She wanted to see that anger she felt in your soul when she initially came for you that day.

She couldn’t feel it just from standing here and pretending to be a sad widower of a war. It was difficult to get a feel on you in general right now — unless she pushed her magic and coerced them out of you.

A brief quiet fell over the two that mostly consisted of sipping lemonades and listening to Johnnie Raye’s alluring voice sing through the radio that was situated near the entryway of the kitchen on the counter.

“So,” Rio drew out and set down her glass. Hardly touched — just enough to make you believe she dare partake in such things, “Little ones?”

You smiled again but a sad gleam overtook the look this time. “No, no children.”

You didn’t go into detail and Rio decided that this topic was one she could let go until later either by finding out through her own means or getting to know you in this fashion.

“Well it looks like we could both use a friend at least,” the brunette said as her gaze turned to stare out the window for a brief moment. “The world can be entirely too lonely for women these days and I’m inclined to find ways to fight it.”

You perked up slightly at her veiled offer and bit your lip. “I’d love to be your friend.”

2024

Your neck was aching in a way that it hasn’t for a very long time. A subtle throb just below your hairline that felt deep inside of your muscles.

You told yourself it was just an ache — the magic she had worked on you was disintegrated and nothing more than a reminder of a past long dead.

But the ache did not relent when you woke up the next morning, or the next after that.

You began to wonder if the witch you paid to remove all the magic in your body was a fraud a week after the ache started.

You simply ignored it and went about your daily life even as it throbbed dully beneath your skin like a timer set to go off at any given point.

It started giving you headaches and then the nausea set in after that.

Pointedly, you continued to do absolutely nothing for it. Anxiety was shoved into a small lockbox and the key was dropped into the dark depths of your brain to be forgotten as you sealed the blinds for the night and went about prepping dinner.

Onions splayed out on a cutting board next to other ingredients ready to be prepped. A dinner for one but a pleasant distraction to keep your hands busy. You propped your phone up against the wall to listen to a podcast while you began peeling the onions.

Flowers for your parents graves and a visit to your nieces’ retirement home, you reminded yourself through the busy chatter of the podcast and stripping of the outer layer of the onion.

A shattered vase?

You stopped peeling and stopped breathing. You listened, drowning out the sound of your phone and focusing on background noise that may come next.

You quietly set down the onion and curl your fingers around the hilt of the knife you had set aside. You tucked it close to your side as you stepped silently to the entry way of your kitchen to look out into your living room.

Indeed your vase was shattered off of the display case where it had previously been sitting. An antique but not one you were invested in, really. The carpet was wet from the water that kept the flowers fed and the flowers themselves were scattered in the shards.

As you approached the mess and kneeled down to set about starting to clean it up, you tossed the knife to the side for now and got the shards out of the way first.

You ignored the alarms in your head. The warning signs that were so large and so close that they were nearly impossible to ignore.

You released a shaky breath and threw away the shards in the kitchen. You gathered yourself momentarily and repeated your mantra, “She isn’t coming back, you’ve gotten away,” enough to almost believe it.

You return to the living room to take care of the ruined flowers and clean up any leftover petals and leaves.

Even when you gathered the crumbled flowers and found a perfectly intact green rose aligned in the middle of them.

The thorn cut your thumb open and left a wound that bleed for two days.

Five more days continued on after that slower than the thick molasses that your grandmother used to make when you would visit her home as a child.

You visit your parents in Westview once you’re sure activity of magic has disappeared. You knew the Scarlet Witch had contained the once lovely and beautiful town and used it to create something for herself she was believed she had the right to.

It’s been months — hell a year even. The news claimed that Maximoff had disappeared without a trace and left no one worse for wear after defeating an unknown threat.

The graveyard was not maintained in the hostage situation. Overgrown and some older stones beginning to degrade from age and lack of care, dead and wilted flowers not cleared or replaced with new ones by thoughtful visitors.

You trudged through it all and for once you could not ignore the agony in your neck. It was allowing the pain of the physical or the pain of your heart — and you didn’t think you had it in you to feel anything but the inclosed walls you built for yourself.

You kneel onto your knees once you reach the matching headstones. Moss was starting to grow on the edges and inside the grooves — but you let it stay. You started pulling out the decayed flowers from the in-ground flower holder, tossing them aside and dusting off the area.

“Still so attached to the past,” a husky voice mused in no one direction. Your head jerked up and you began to look around, palm resting on your father’s headstone for support. A cheerless — but darkly amused — laugh. “You tend to it like a garden or a herd of sheep. Maintaining its needs and working on it like it’s keeping you afloat.”

You used your free hand to rub your forehead. You couldn’t see anything — the voice was clear as day and that is what had you spinning.

“Angel with stone wings, angel with no reach,” the sultry lilt continued. Your eyes locked onto the damp statue of an angel feet away, eyes echoing endless depths of nothingness.

You forced your eyes back to the graves. Your hands were shaking as you continued to clear them, hands aggressively tugging the weeds from around the stone.

“Oh sure, ignore me. That’s worked out for you just as much as burning your leash off has.”

“This is a figment,” you responded out loud.

Large, aged oak trees swayed angrily around you in turn and howling winds scraped against your skin. You needed to make sure of it — ground yourself before you lost yourself in the delusion.

Your knuckles slammed into hard stone, pressing until they turned white and stung from the impact. Your breathing was heavy and your ribcage felt like it was being grabbed from the top of your spine and pulled backwards.

“You really thought that your little magic trick could defy the sigil of Death, angel?” You could imagine her face. Mocking, smirking with full teeth and eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

She wasn’t here.

And then it felt like you had a rope thrown around your throat so tight that you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. The force of it sent you sailing onto your back, feet kicking, gasps sounding out into empty air.

Your hands flail upward in animalistic instinct, clawing at your neck.

Nothing was there. Nothing was there. You opened your mouth more, to breath, to scream, to —

The pressure left as quickly as it was there. You turned over and dug your fingernails into the damp ground, getting into your knees and breathing in as much air as your lungs would allow.

A billow of green and black took up your line of sight as your vision began to clear. It decreased its length toward you with lazy speed and only stopped when you were inches from the fabric.

The figure crouched and a cold hand took your jaw to tilt your head up. Your stomach became a pit of liquid when you saw exactly who it was above you — and she was no figment.

“Hello, angel. Thank you for walking into my trap. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down.”

1953

You slam on Rio’s front door despite the crudeness of it. It was cold and your tears were freezing over on your cheeks. You were numb and you needed . . . Comfort. Something. Anything.

The door opened almost immediately to your best friend. She had a lazy smile that quickly fell once she saw you.

“Angel,” she offered a soft crow, “what happened? It’s dark out and you should be at home right now."

Your throat bobbed and you manage to cup your mouth before a loud, ugly sob can escape and wake the entire neighborhood. "Oh, God, Rio."

Now her eyes flickered with alarm. Dark swirls of it as she stepped forward and immedately wrapped two arms around your shoulders and tucked you close. "Let’s get you inside. Come on.”

Her voice soothed you as she guided you into her home and you remained unaware of the malice that crossed her features as she glanced outside at the street for any sign of threat before closing the door.

She sat you on her couch in front of her television. She was watching John Daly discussing the news on the black and white set with his stoic professionalism.

“Do you want a glass of water? Ginger ale?” Rio questioned and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You glanced upward at her. Your fingers twisted into your dress and you crossed your ankles, pressing them into the couch as you sat up straight and stiff.

“Yes please, if it’s no trouble,” you murmured.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” You ignored the odd quip, having gotten used to Rio’s strange ways by now. Most of your neighbors wives’ — when you met for the monthly update while husbands drank and played cars — found her to be much to odd for comfort.

You didn’t mind. She wasn’t nosy like the other women were and didn’t have the tendency to berate you about how you iced your cookies or strung your laundry on the line when laundry day came. She took little interest in petty gossip and didn’t prod for details about why no children came to fruition within your marriage.

Perhaps that is what drew you to the long-haired widow while the others felt repelled by her.

Your brain was lost in this forest of thick fog and thoughtless wander so deep that you jumped when a cold glass was brushed against the back of your clenched hands.

Rio said nothing about it; she simply waited until she was satisfied that your water was safely in hand before sitting down in the chair next to the television. She reached over and twisted the dial until it flickered off.

“What happened?” she asked plainly, picking something off of her finely fitted pants. Waisted pants today that ended at her ankles, fitting her loosely. Some days she wore styles that mothers would roll in their graves over — a man’s wear.

Today she decided on a more fashionable approach in women’s attire, it seemed. The pants were dark blue in color with a cream long sleeved shirt tucked in.

You tried to focus on her question, but answering it meant you had to tell her in the first place. In doing that — in doing that you would be left in a situation where you could break down completely.

“Hey.”

She was next to you as if by magic. Her hand rested on your knee lightly. Her hand was cold. Anytime you were together she always seemed to be cold . . .

Your mind started melting into itself again but a finger directed your chin to meet Rio’s intense gaze. It was a gentle gesture, but also a command. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly.

“Angel,” she says, a low noise in her throat, “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Your fingers curled as tight as the glass would allow, as tight as your grip could be. “My husband,” you started, a stuttering whisper fading after it. You couldn’t bear to finish.

Her features remained unchanged, but her head tilted. She let her finger brush away from your chin as she moved that hand over yours on the glass.

“What about him?” she asked.

“He’s — the factory owner called, you see. Told me I had to get to the hospital as quickly as I could.”

It was a terrible, bloody mess. They didn’t let you back into the room to see him because of the severity and instead had her wait until the doctor could come and speak with her privately.

You weren’t in tears at all — the nurses had commented. You were being very brave. You must be so scared.

You could only nod at them, smile shakily maybe.

You did cry when they asked you to sit down to tell you that he did not survive their attempt at surgery. It was a machine incident, they said. It broke down during use and your husband was the one on the line during the process.

You sobbed like a stricken wife, now widowed and left by herself. The nurses came to comfort you, offer tissues and take you somewhere quiet.

You weren’t devastated.

You were so relieved.

You felt like you would go home that night and not have to worry about if doing the dishes would be what set him off.

You could make a meal and not sit in a silence that you feared ended in another bruise to cover up for a few weeks.

Your husband was never good at cleaning up his messes. That’s what you were there for. That’s what his lack of complaints at the extra makeup in your grocery bags meant.

“He’s dead,” you choked out loud for the first time. “He had an accident . . . And . . .”

“Hm, I see.” Rio did something else and tucked you close into her side. She started stroking your hair and you took on the comfort even if you weren’t used to it. “It saddens me to see you so upset.”

Over him, she didn’t add. She didn’t need to with her tone.

“It’s just . . . Oh, you may find me very crass if I tell you what’s been heavy on my heart.”

Rio grasped your chin firmly and quickly, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her lips were thinned and she said with a steady, stern tone, “I could never think you crass. We are both outcasts in our own way in this world we’ve been born into. Whatever you tell me will change what I think of you — would you like me to swear it?” She paused. “On your God?”

You pulled back briefly, but her hand went with your tug. She had a tight grasp on your chin and wasn’t letting go, determined to keep your attention.

“My God?” you echoed, visible confusion coating your features.

She didn’t give you a response. Perhaps she felt as though she had been clear enough even if you felt entirely puzzled.

She tapped your cheek with her index finger. “Admit to me your heart’s truths, angel.”

The sick feeling in your stomach — the way you liked how she spoke to you, touched you . . .

Her touch suddenly felt like the hottest flames and you snapped out of the foggy daze. You were too close, she was too near. Everything about this broke the law of nature.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Your mouth snapped shut and she allowed you to jerk away from her grasp to the other end of the couch. You hadn’t . . .

Why did you say that.

Rio’s lips were painted black today. An unusual color to decide on and very much not within the fashion of today. Your catalogues and magazines always pointed at which colors to lean into and which to avoid. Black lipstick was hard to find and it was often discouraged; it was seen as unappealing and unapproachable.

Rio wore it like she owned it and you hated that you seemed to tingle and grow hot in ways your husband was unable to do.

She tapped her chin with her nails, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Oh, my my. A wife who grieves not for the loss of her dear husband — her protector in life and guardian . . . But perhaps the comfortable lifestyle he provides?”

Your lips trembled. “How dare you,” you whispered, flushing from the neck up from the shame. She was right. She was right and you hated it. “That’s so mean to . . .”

“Stop with the act, angel.” Rio leaned back into the cushions, one leg crossing over the other. “Own how you feel for once. Take that relief and dig deep — see what else you’ll feel.”

The water glass had grown slippery in your palms. Either from how sweaty you got or from the melting ice. You were glad for the cold it provided, to keep you from floating away.

You sipped at it in quiet and refused to talk to her. Childish, perhaps. But what you couldn’t do right now was face what she was shoving in front of you: that you feared for your comforts as creaturely as they may be. You were raised to be a housewife and your parents didn’t know how to encourage much else.

You weren’t an educated woman — and didn’t have the money to become one.

“You’re depressing me,” Rio stated, slapping her hands on her knees. You jumped. Her head tilted low and she regarded you with something that should have sent you running, “I’ll keep you safe and pampered, angel. Sell your home, move into mine. I have three extra rooms. I could use a woman’s touch.”

“You’re a woman.”

A feline grin was your first reply. Then, “A working one.”

You supposed you could have realized that in the time she’s been around. No husband, widowed — how else would she have managed on her own without?

“It would . . . Isn’t it rather odd to have two women together? Especially one as a housewife?”

“We’re widowed, angel,” Rio reminded her as she removed the empty glass from your hand and set it on the coffee table. “Gossip will see a sad woman who need comfort from another woman who knows what it feels like. You will be truly devastated, simply unable to recover normally.”

You licked your lips and glanced around. It was darker in certain corners and the living room lacked color. “. . . Everything has a fine coat of dust,” you mumbled.

Rio laughed, standing and pulling you with her. She leaned forward and for a moment you held your breath, scared . . . Perhaps maybe filled with anticipation, as she did. Soft lips brushed your cheek.

“It’s a very good thing I just found myself a housewife to fix that.”

2024

The ache was gone — you could come to understand that as feeble awareness started to come to you in bloated masses.

Your body felt heavy and as though it had been pressed through your mother’s clothes wringer. Should you open your eyes? Would that even matter right now if all you could do was lay there and try not to vomit?

A sudden wave of pleasure that seemed to hurt coursed through you, and you let out a garbled moan as your body lifted and your hand frantically reached down to find the cause.

A soft, breathy chuckle greeted you against your wet pussy as your hand messily gripped hair and pushed the figure against you instead of pulling away.

“Mph.” Rio. It was Rio — she was — you ground your face down as her tongue delved deeper rather than pulling out of you to speak to you. You kept your eyes screwed shut — not wanting to see her but chasing that high she was making you seek out.

Her sharp nails gripped your bare ass and squeezed, nose rubbing purposefully into your clit as she used your body like an old instrument she pulled out of the closet.

It had been so fucking long and yet she knew you so goddamn well. Like it hasn’t been damn near seventy years and she hasn’t collared you with her magic and trapped you again.

With more force and anger driving you, you rode her face harder, knowing Death needn’t breath and how too entirely much she enjoyed the goddamn desperation she could soak up from you.

It flipped like a switch. One moment you’re angry and chasing something that you don’t want and the next you’re clawing at the brink of your orgasm like it was being veered over the edge of a cliff for years.

You cursed and kicked, but Rio saw the entire thing through. Only when your shivers eased and grip loosened did she come up for uneeded air, smug and eyes twinkling.

“Welcome home, angel.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you breathed, shoving her away with a shaky foot and sitting up on your thighs.

Then she was behind you, leaning over your shoulder with a weighted hand on the back of your neck. “I am going to enjoy seeing you try.”

Rio and reader will return in Part Two

PART TWO

#rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #agatha all along #dark fic

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bonefall · 6 months ago

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Update + Reply Bundle

Heyo all, it's been a while with some radio static and I've got a bundle of bits to reply to here!

If you're wondering where I've been, it's actually that things got MEGA busy on my end. Between the new year, a small promotion at work, getting a license to operate an X-ray machine for extremities (i have no idea how this happened man i have an applied science degree in dead people), learning some Java, and making travel plans to visit my partner overseas, it's been hectic but good.

But I ain't gonna pay it no mind, because every 6 months in queensland a man is torn apart by a crocodile the Warrior Cats never stops. I have also been passively ruminating on the Family Tree and keeping up with checking the inbox. Before I get to ShadowClan and the Glitch Warriors, I'll tackle all the other things.

SO reply time;

Changing Skies Reactions (On Moonpaw's sister being stillborn, the ShellFern cheating situation, etc)

The Flipclaw/Myrtlebloom Family Tree Fix plumthrift is soooo back

Other Fun Stuff (Which character should be allowed to say fuck. Names I'd like to use in other Clans.)

(NOTE; not addressing anything submitted about BB!ASC just yet, I want to put all my plans together first)

CHANGING SKIES REACTIONS

My honest feeling is that they don't know what a chimera is, BUT, I'm actually glad about that.

I would 100% rather they go with having her be possessed by a dead stillborn rather than them making her rare, ultimately harmless genetic quirk "the reason" why she's haunted. The stillborn haunting is the sort of concept I've come to accept in the setting (though I do have my critiques and reservations about another Evil Voice plotline, especially given the shitshow that was Splashstar in the last book of ASC), but there are DEEP layers to how messed up the implication of "zygote souls" would be.

Others have been joining into the convo in the meanwhile, tho. In essence, I agree with @mothdapple's thoughts on the subject. I hope the voice isn't wholly evil, and I hope that the haunting doesn't stem from her chimerism.

I'm betting that she gets a weird shipping moment with one of her cousins tbh. Especially if she survives this arc and doesn't become a medcat. You just know they'll open up the next arc with her and Sunkit being mates with 400 babies if you ship her with a girl too hard lmaooo

@dawn-sunlight

MANNNNN. You CANNOT convince me that I'm not correct about this at this point. The first 4 times it might have been coincidence, but they seem to have pinpoint accuracy for sinking popular LGBT headcanons and hetconning straight romance into old material.

That's Riverstar, Blossomfall, Ivypool, Leopardstar, Onestar (they replaced a firestar scene man), and now Thriftear and Flipclaw in one fell swoop?

Not to mention how everyone was joking around about "Old Woman Yuri" with Tawnypelt and Leafstar and then BAM, Sudden Crowfeather.

Like idk. Watch Barley get a super edition called Barley's Boo where it's revealed he once fell in love with a beautiful BloodClan she-cat who he had to leave behind, until it's revealed she's in WarriorClan now, so he leaves the barn to get her pregnant before dying. And also she's his first cousin.

That's a joke but if Apollo hits me with the dodgeball I hope he kills me in 1 hit

THE FLIPCLAW/MYRTLEBLOOM FAMILY TREE FIX

thank god. This is actually an extremely easy fix for me, now. All the pre-emptive cleaning I've done for the BB!ThunderClan family tree has paid off.

I Don't Rewrite Arcs Until They're Done, BUT, I have discussed the previous options at length before and how I intend to fix it. If you're reading along but need to catch up on the convo and context, follow these links in order,

Summary and Intro: BB!ThunderClan and the Propositions (ShellFern, StormCherry, FlipBay, or PlumThrift)

Anon ShellFern argument

Anon StormCherry argument

Hypokit Moonpaw Designs for All Four Options

Phantom of the Opera FlipBay Moonpaw

StormCherry Voter who changed their mind for FlipBay or PlumThrift

All caught up? Nice.

PlumThrift is sooooo back. It's basically what they've shown in the first book of CS. Soccer moms and their weird ass kid who they're desperately pushing to be an overachiever LET'S GOO. The most likely thing that will happen is that Moonpaw is a PlumThrift kitten-- unless something big changes.

(Though I am a little bit saddened that I can't do the cool Phantom of the Opera mask thing which came from Bayshine... unless Moon was honor sired, of course. Or maybe adopted. Hmm...)

For Oakkit, Sunkit, and Hazelkit though, I'm leaning towards what anon mentioned. Their canon parents are Myrtlebloom/Flipclaw, so it would be very easy for me to change to FlipBay because of my pre-emptive fixes. It'll match canon, and I have also grown fond of the idea of the two silly dads.

(plus then it's extra easy to have Moonpaw come from the first surrogated litter which was for PlumThrift to raise, and the second litter is for FlipBay. Biologically full siblings, socially cousins.)

That said, there's still a small chance they get shuffled over to ShellFern. Or, more radically, I might end up sending them over to StormCherry. If that doesn't happen though, don't worry, I'm still keeping Honeyfur and Leafshade in my back pocket in case there's no other opportunities to give them kids.

I will say this for certain though-- PlumThrift BB!Moonpaw would never have full siblings. She will be the only child they ever raise. If the canon parents ever have another litter, they would immediately get shuffled to FlipBay or someone else.

Sunbeam's kittens are, of course, Finchlight's. im punting that other thing into RiverClan. GIT.

OTHER FUN STUFF

I do actually want more mushroom names broadly, because sapient cats would actually be REALLY interested in fungi. I'd even say they'd be more interested in them than flowers. A lot of edible fungi have a chemical compound that makes them smell and taste like meat, so imo, they should be kind of like natural snacks or treats you can find while out and about.

Kinda like how humans have fruit, a culture of cats would have mushrooms. I plan on researching and writing a VERY elaborate mushroom guide at some point explaining this all in-depth (which I will be going thru my little "rolladex" of artists to illustrate it, when it's time), so I don't want to dive into the details just yet.

But in terms of names...

Something I wish I'd been able to do more of is weird, hard-to-translate prefixes. Scents that humans overlook, more time-related names about seasons or crepuscular events, categories of birds and invertebrates, etc.

Petricorfur, Prey-scent-tail, Arionbelly (a particularly large slug for eating), Rascalheart (a particularly feisty bit of prey that gives you a good chase), Thermalhawk (a thermal is a rising wind that allows birds of prey to soar more easily) etc.

If I was going back and scrounging up Glitch Warriors for other Clans, or just generally shaking up the prefixes, I would add names with these "themes" into each Clan;

Thunder: Sweet things and more wood-related terms Nectar, Drupe, Sap, Pith, Grain, bark textures like Fissure, Scale, Tessel.

River: More aquatic animal terms, poetic imagery, and "beautiful" things Caddis, Cray, Salmon, Roe, Mussel, Pearl, Dazzle, Twirl, Dance, Sway, Mirror (for the state of water when it's absolutely calm).

Wind: Sounds, events around the time of birth Bellow, Hiss, Roar, Crackle, Swale (if born around the time of a muirburn), Journey (if born out of camp), Drowsy (for a long birth)

Shadow: Mushrooms, wetland terms, fermentation effects, names that might otherwise sound like insults to other Clans Cake, Candle, Jelly, Parasol, Elf, Sphagnum, Gas, Drake (male duck), Muck, Peat, Bog, Fizzle, Bubble, Rot, Blight, Gnat, etc.

Sky: Cars and Suburban Terms Truck, Bike, Cycle, Wheel, Asphalt, Lawn, Fence, Board, Shingle, etc.

I also really want to put Vetch in someplace. It's a pretty normal and common kind of flower, I just think the name is neat.

@angelinelitalady

Firestar's Quest Chapter 5: "ARE YOU TELLING ME SKYCLAN HAD TO LEAVE BECAUSE THERE WEREN'T ENOUGH FUCKING TREES????"

Canon? I will never not answer Bumble, you're going to have to give me two guns to ask this kind of question because there isn't a version of me in any nearby timelines that would say anyone except Bumble. It should be a rocket launcher, actually. We need to give her the nuclear codes. In BB I'd give it to Spotty. It would be REALLY funny. 25% of the story is preventing the rise of TigerClan and the other 75% of the story is taking the gun away from her.

HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR ALSO! IT'S SNAKE TIME BABEYYYY

@magewolf-the-artist

Do it! Go ahead! I can put it over in the Fan-Fanart post if you'd like. I should really make a section there for written art, too.

Everything about BB and everything WC-related I put on this blog is open source, from Clanmew, to plot threads, to Clan Culture, etc. PLEASE reference what you'd like if you're inspired by anything you see here!

The only thing I ask is that you keep that spirit of mutual collaboration alive. If you add onto Clanmew, allow others to reference it too. Talk about your thought processes. Encourage people to be inspired by what you did and make versions of their own. That's the beauty of fandom.

My end-game goal is for BB to result in a "skeleton" of chapter-by-chapter notes, the sort of thing you would hand to a ghost writer, so that it's essentially bones that anyone could take and write out themselves. This will take a looooong time because it's more about me having fun along the way, so if you want to write something, go ahead!

Never, never worry about "getting something wrong." You can change things, you can grow as a writer with time, wisdom, and practice. The worst piece of art is a piece that is never made.

#bone babble #BB!Moonpaw #better bones au #BB!CS #family tree fixes

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nasa · 2 years ago

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Let's Explore a Metal-Rich Asteroid 🤘

Between Mars and Jupiter, there lies a unique, metal-rich asteroid named Psyche. Psyche’s special because it looks like it is part or all of the metallic interior of a planetesimal—an early planetary building block of our solar system. For the first time, we have the chance to visit a planetary core and possibly learn more about the turbulent history that created terrestrial planets.

Here are six things to know about the mission that’s a journey into the past: Psyche.

1. Psyche could help us learn more about the origins of our solar system.

After studying data from Earth-based radar and optical telescopes, scientists believe that Psyche collided with other large bodies in space and lost its outer rocky shell. This leads scientists to think that Psyche could have a metal-rich interior, which is a building block of a rocky planet. Since we can’t pierce the core of rocky planets like Mercury, Venus, Mars, and our home planet, Earth, Psyche offers us a window into how other planets are formed.

2. Psyche might be different than other objects in the solar system.

Rocks on Mars, Mercury, Venus, and Earth contain iron oxides. From afar, Psyche doesn’t seem to feature these chemical compounds, so it might have a different history of formation than other planets.

If the Psyche asteroid is leftover material from a planetary formation, scientists are excited to learn about the similarities and differences from other rocky planets. The asteroid might instead prove to be a never-before-seen solar system object. Either way, we’re prepared for the possibility of the unexpected!

3. Three science instruments and a gravity science investigation will be aboard the spacecraft.

The three instruments aboard will be a magnetometer, a gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer, and a multispectral imager. Here’s what each of them will do:

Magnetometer: Detect evidence of a magnetic field, which will tell us whether the asteroid formed from a planetary body

Gamma-ray and neutron spectrometer: Help us figure out what chemical elements Psyche is made of, and how it was formed

Multispectral imager: Gather and share information about the topography and mineral composition of Psyche

The gravity science investigation will allow scientists to determine the asteroid’s rotation, mass, and gravity field and to gain insight into the interior by analyzing the radio waves it communicates with. Then, scientists can measure how Psyche affects the spacecraft’s orbit.

4. The Psyche spacecraft will use a super-efficient propulsion system.

Psyche’s solar electric propulsion system harnesses energy from large solar arrays that convert sunlight into electricity, creating thrust. For the first time ever, we will be using Hall-effect thrusters in deep space.

5. This mission runs on collaboration.

To make this mission happen, we work together with universities, and industry and NASA to draw in resources and expertise.

NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory manages the mission and is responsible for system engineering, integration, and mission operations, while NASA’s Kennedy Space Center’s Launch Services Program manages launch operations and procured the SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket.

Working with Arizona State University (ASU) offers opportunities for students to train as future instrument or mission leads. Mission leader and Principal Investigator Lindy Elkins-Tanton is also based at ASU.

Finally, Maxar Technologies is a key commercial participant and delivered the main body of the spacecraft, as well as most of its engineering hardware systems.

6. You can be a part of the journey.

Everyone can find activities to get involved on the mission’s webpage. There's an annual internship to interpret the mission, capstone courses for undergraduate projects, and age-appropriate lessons, craft projects, and videos.

You can join us for a virtual launch experience, and, of course, you can watch the launch with us on Oct. 12, 2023, at 10:16 a.m. EDT!

For official news on the mission, follow us on social media and check out NASA’s and ASU’s Psyche websites.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#Psyche #Mission to Psyche #asteroid #NASA #exploration #technology #tech #spaceblr #solar system #space #not exactly #metalcore #but close?

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makwebba · 1 year ago

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better than a podium l LN4

summary: lando could've won his first race in silverstone but he ended up not finishing. pairing: lando x gf!reader warnings: mentions of lando crashing and swearing. note: my first formula 1 fan fiction! not my first time writing fan fictions but it has been a couple of years since i wrote something and lately my love for writing is slowly coming back. the pictures are from pinterest and idk who the owners are so if you guys know the owner or if you are the owner, please lemme know :( also no hate on checo but it just kinda make sense cause he's in a red bull idk. dont come for me. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy it!

- lando was leading the race in silverstone, his home race. you could've not been more prouder for your boyfriend, you were certain he was gonna win the race but not until checo hit the rear tyre of lando's car which cause him to spun out and hit the barrier. your heart sank, everything went numb and it felt like the world just stopped. it was a bad crash, you waited for his voice to come through the mclaren headset that's snugged onto your ear. "lando, are you okay, mate?" randy asked through the radio. you can hear him grunt and groan in agony, breaking your heart even further. you hated seeing him like this every time you come and watch him race. what felt like ages, the medical car finally showed up to retrieve him back to the garage. lando didn't even bother making any eye contact with anybody once he got to the garage, not even you. he just went straight back to his driver's room, hearing the door slam behind you. you sighed as you rubbed your face with your hands in frustration. you walked over to where he locked himself in, you didn't even have to see him to feel the tension that was building in the air as you knocked on the door. "lan...?" your voice muffled against the wooden barrier between you and lando. lando's eyes closed shut when he heard your voice behind the door, he always loved how soft spoken you were to him. he hasn't responded back to you as he stayed where he was sat before deciding opening the door for you. there he is. what he once was; a ray of sunlight beaming through the morning sun to becoming the loud rumbling sound of thunder at night. you furrowed your brows as you quickly but gently swift his hand up against yours while you closed the door behind you. "hey..." you whispered as you brought your hand up to his face, searching for his eyes. lando was not the type to cry but boy, he was just on the verge of losing it. you brought him into a tight embrace, your face nuzzled on the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around your back. he held you tight as you started to hear him sniffle which ached your heart painfully. you had to fight your tears back because he hated seeing you be so empathetic for him whenever he had a bad race. "i was close... so fucking close..." he mumbled, his voice getting choked up. "i know, my love. i know." you slowly pulled away from him as he quickly wiped the tears building up in his eyes with the palm of his hand before it could stream down his face. you rubbed his arms for comfort as you stood before him, you finally managed to see his eyes. oh so beautiful but it was filled with so much anger and pain. "you did so well out there. and i know your fans wanted you to win as much as you do. we all did. but sometimes things just doesn't go our way..." you said, running your fingers through the side of his head, intertwining with his curls. "could never win a race, huh?" he muttered, moving your hand away from him. "i don't know why i got into this sport in the first place. not even good at it." it broke your heart to hear him talk so low about himself. you tilted your head slightly to the side as your brows furrowed when he moved your hand away from him, stopping you from running your fingers through his hair. you didn't let him get away from it when you placed both of your hands on his face, staring directly into his eyes. "you don't have to be a race winner to be a great driver. you are enough." lando looked back into your eyes which eased him a little. he took a deep breath in when his hand found a place down on your lower back, a soft smile appeared on his face which made you smile back at him.

it was that contagious. "in everyone's eyes you're a winner. to me you're a champion." a wave of warmth cruised all over lando's body when you said those words to him. it definitely hit a nerve in his system but in a good way. it didn't take long until lando pulled you in closer to him and placed his lips against yours, gentle and passionate. "i wouldn't know what i would've done if you weren't here..." he said. landonorris and ynusername

liked by mclaren, user1, user2 and 1,233,754 others landonorris shoulda woulda coulda, right? but i’ve got something better than a podium.

the end x

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #lando norris smau #lando norris imagines #lando norris imagine #makwebba fan fictions

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emakataken · 17 days ago

Text

Part 9 – Triage

Idea: This is pre-canon, slow-burn AU, Buck arrives at Station 118, ruled by Captain Gerrard. Tommy/Buck/Sal.

--- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6.A - Part 6.B - Part 7 - Part 8 The ER was chaos.

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright against the late night sky outside. The waiting bays reeked of antiseptic, wet smoke, and blood-thinned sweat. Somewhere down the hall, a gurney squealed around a corner and a nurse shouted for another set of vitals.

Buck was arguing. “I told you it wasn’t broken,” he grunted, words sharp despite the rasp in his voice. “It’s just fucked. You hear me? But I could go another twelve on it easy.”

The nurse mid-thirties, tired eyes, perfect ponytail put his x-rays away and raised a brow. She moved to his bedside and wrapped a fresh ice pack. “Sir, your knee is swollen to the size of a softball and you’ve got tracking bruises down your right leg.”

Buck gestured vaguely to his leg. “Swelling’s just inflammation. You wrap it, I ice it, we’re golden. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“It’s not a rodeo, it’s a hospital,” she replied flatly. “Sit still or I’ll sedate you.”

A curtain swiped open behind them. “Probie’s allergic to naproxen,” Sal stated. He didn’t glance at Buck, eyes pinned on the nurse. “You have ibuprofen in that tray?”

She blinked, startled. “And you are?”

“His emergency daddy.”

There was a pause, just long enough to catch Buck’s muffled groan as he dragged a hand down his face.

“Excuse me?” the nurse said, eyebrows climbing.

“Lieutenant Deluca,” Sal clarified smoothly. “I’m his emergency contact. It’s in his file.”

The nurse blinked again. “Right. Well. Thank you for the heads-up.” She made a note on the tablet in her hand, muttering something about firefighters before disappearing through the curtain.

Sal let the silence sit, his gaze sweeping over Buck’s, watching as he itched at the oxygen cannula.

Buck raised his eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with soot. “Emergency daddy, really Sal?”

“Don’t make it weird, Hersh,” Sal said, finally glancing over. “How’s the leg?”

“Fucked…” He admitted, “but nothing broken.”

“You’ll be lucky if they let you walk out on your own.”

Buck tilted his head, searching Sal’s face. “How bad is it? Gerrard?”

Sal hesitated, then rolled his jaw. “Cap's in surgery. They’re working on his leg, some other bleed, probable rib fractures. Nobody’s saying it but they’re all thinking it. He might not make it through the next hour.”

Buck went still, his breathing turning shallow.

Sal closed his eyes. Just for a second. A half-desperate plea tossed up into the fluorescent ceiling tiles. Let Gerrard live.

The words echoed like a bruise inside him. "Buckley, keep him alive." He’d grunted them into the radio hours ago, sharp and instinctual. A command wrapped in fear. And now? Now they haunted him.

“And the Chief?” Buck asked, lip swiping over cracked skin.

Sal sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Finally showed. Had the balls to call me in for a consult. Like he hasn’t been dodging my calls for two weeks.”

Buck's brow creased. “You think he's been avoiding on purpose?”

Sal’s lips twisted. “I thought he was. Turns out? Someone’s been intercepting the reports.”

Buck exhaled slowly, “So what now?”

“Gerrard’s out of commission for a while. Chief’s sending a temporary captain while they ‘run an internal review.’” Sal’s tone made it clear what he thought of that.

A few beds over, Rodric coughed hard and cursed as a nurse pushed the nebulizer back into his hand. Sal glanced that way but didn’t move.

“Guess I’m not concussed,” Tommy said as he approached, still faintly clipped from adrenaline or irritation. “Just incredibly charming and unlucky.”

Sal huffed. “Did they superglue your ego back together too?”

Tommy didn’t rise to the bait. He reached Buck’s side and dropped into the chair next to him with a quiet grunt. A fresh strip of gauze was taped just below his hairline, where a nurse had glued the gash shut “How’s the leg?”

“I’ll limp out of here,” Buck said, matching his tone. “Out maybe a week.”

Tommy shot him a look, dry. “Please don’t make me carry your ass. I’m still picking fiberglass out of my hair.”

Sal’s eyes cut around the room before he stopped in front of Tommy. “You good?” he asked, voice dipping just enough for Buck to know it wasn’t for show.

Tommy nodded once, then shifted like he might say something more, but didn’t.

A nurse clipped the curtain back again. “Deluca? We’ve got discharge paperwork for Kinard and Buckley. You can move them when ready.”

Sal gave a tight nod. “Rodric?”

“Vitals stable. He’s finishing his nebulizer treatment and then he’s clear.”

Tommy stood first, shoulders tight with wear. Buck followed slower, bracing himself on the crutch with a wince he didn’t bother hiding. Sal hovered just long enough to watch both men steady.

“Alright,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “Let’s go wait.”

The air in the waiting room felt heavier than the ER. Not quieter, babies still cried somewhere down the hall, and a TV mounted in the corner flickered through a muted weather report.

Everyone had been cleaned, cleared, or coerced into at least a cursory exam. Now they sat scattered across plastic chairs that creaked every time someone shifted. Hen balanced her knee against a low table. Chim had a butterfly bandage on his temple and a blood-stained hoodie tied around his waist. Rodric was still coughing into a cup of water. Buck leaned forward on his good leg, crutch propped beside him, the other ankle elevated on a backpack.

Tommy sat nearest the window, head glued, hair still matted in places, arms folded tight across his chest like he was holding something in.

No one was talking much.

They were all waiting. For a word. A glance. A sign.

For something.

Sal returned last, two hospital bracelets and a stack of paperwork tucked under one arm. He didn’t sit. Just stood in front of them like a shift debrief, posture locked even as fatigue settled into the corners of his frame.

“They’re giving us two weeks,” he stated, breaking the silence.

Eyes lifted. Half the room blinked like they hadn’t been expecting anything at all.

“Paid leave,” Sal added. “Automatic. Mandatory. While they run their review.”

Hen’s brow furrowed. “The whole shift?”

Sal nodded. “B, C, and a temp rotation will cover the house. Everyone in this room will get a call about interviews. Counseling check-ins too, probably one, maybe two. No badge implications. Just a box they’ve got to tick.”

Rodric rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something that sounded like Jesus but didn’t carry much bite.

“What about Cap?” Buck asked, quiet.

Sal looked at him, gaze carefully blank. “Trauma ICU. They stabilized his condition; they have him a coma to help his recovery.”

No one moved.

The words coma and recovery didn’t sit comfortably in the same sentence. Not here. Not after that call. Not when most of them still had his blood on their turnout gear.

Tommy’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. His arms stayed folded, tighter than before.

Hen leaned forward, her voice quiet but even. “He going to walk again?”

Sal shrugged, the motion tight. “Too early to say. Wasn’t just his leg. They had to drill into his skull or somethin’ must’ve cracked it when he went down. They patched what they could. Rest depends on swelling, bone integrity, infection risk. Could go either way.”

Chim let out a slow breath.

Rodric just nodded, like that somehow confirmed something he’d already decided.

Across the room, Buck didn’t lift his head, just kept tracing the seam of his pants with one soot-smeared thumb. The hum of the vending machine behind him felt louder than it should. Every chair shift, every sneaker scuff echoed sharp in his ears. He blinked hard once, then again, trying to focus on Sal’s voice.

Sal ran a hand down his face, weariness bleeding through his voice. “I know this ain’t what any of us signed up for this week. And yeah, he’s a bastard. But he’s still one of ours. So we wait. Let the review do what it’s gonna do. And until then? You don’t say nothin’ unless someone asks you direct. I’m not sayin’ protect his ass. I’m sayin’ protect yours.”

Hen raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re going to sweep it?”

“I think someone tried to,” Sal said. “And now the spotlight’s on. So, until we know who’s holding the fuckin’ flashlight, we keep formation.”

Tommy was the first to voice the question that had been simmering beneath the surface. “And when they start asking about the orders?”

Sal met his eyes across the room. “Then we tell the truth. Just don’t embellish it.”

A few heads nodded. No one looked relieved.

Buck exhaled and finally leaned back against the wall, his leg still elevated. The tension in his jaw had eased, but his eyes stayed fixed somewhere over Sal’s shoulder, like if he didn’t move, the weight of it wouldn't settle on him.

Sal scanned the room, the sharp edge in him dulled now, worn down by blood loss and bureaucracy. “Alright,” he said, voice lower. “That’s enough for tonight.”

A few heads lifted. Hen raised an eyebrow. Chim just looked grateful.

“Go home,” Sal added. “Sleep. Eat. Shower if you still smell like smoke. I’ll call each of you in a few days, once the brass lines up their interviews.”

Tommy stood first, nodding once, no argument. Rodric followed with a grunt, rising slowly like his spine was protesting the effort. Hen gave Buck a squeeze on the arm as she passed. Chim gave Sal a look that said thank you without words.

And then they were gone, leaving only the scrape of plastic chairs and the soft hush of automatic doors behind them.

Sal didn’t move for a beat. Just stood there, watching Buck like he was trying to figure out how many more fractures were still hiding under that soot and stubbornness.

Then, gently, “C’mon, kid.”

Buck blinked up at him, wary. “What?”

“You’re not goin’ back to that Friday night mosh pit you call a crash pad,” Sal said, not unkindly. “You’re comin’ home with us.”

Buck’s brows pulled, slow and uncertain. “Sal, I’m fine. I can…”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’re half-concussed, can’t even walk straight. You need food, a shower that actually fuckin’ runs hot, a flat surface to crash on, and someone to keep an eye on your dumb ass. Now get your probie ass in my truck.”

They didn’t speak much on the drive.

Buck climbed into the back of Sal’s truck without another word, crutch wedged between his knee and the door, fingers curled around the fabric of the seatbelt. The roads were mostly clear, the world still hushed in the pre-dawn quiet. Tommy drove. Sal rode shotgun. Buck watched their silhouettes blink gold now and again in the streetlights, voices quiet as they traded backstreet shortcuts and muttering about traffic cones that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Nobody said “you okay.”

Nobody had to.

They pulled up outside a narrow stucco single-story just before 4 a.m. Not flashy, but clean. The porch light was still on. Two old Adirondack chairs flanked the entry, one marked with a coffee ring on the armrest. A crooked wind chime hung beside the door, barely clinking in the breeze.

Home.

Not a rental. Not some temporary crash pad like the ones Buck had been cycling through the past year. This was lived-in, something they’d built.

Tommy unlocked the door and nudged it open with his shoulder. “Come on. Inside before you pass out on the porch.”

Buck stepped in slowly, crutch thudding once against the hardwood. The space smelled like cedar and fresh laundry. Clean. A little too warm. A pair of work boots sat by the door. A hoodie was slung over the back of the couch. The kitchen was small but neat, navy tile backsplash, a half-full mug drying upside down in the rack.

The living room was dim. The TV remote sat in a tray beside a matchbook from some bar in Atwater. One throw blanket was folded. The other was half-shoved into the couch cushions like someone had fallen asleep there and never fixed it.

Buck didn’t say anything.

Neither did they.

Tommy flicked on a hallway light, warm and low. “Guest room’s this way.”

“Guest?” Buck echoed softly.

Sal shot him a look over his shoulder. “Don’t act surprised. You think we never have company?”

Buck smirked faintly. “I figured people didn’t usually make it past the porch.” Tommy choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh, too dry, too knowing. The jab landed, sharp and deserved.

The guest room was small but put together. Sheets already on the bed. A folded towel on the dresser. A nightstand with a small lamp and a charger still plugged into the wall.

“This’ll do?” Sal asked, half-turning.

Buck nodded. “Yeah. More than.”

“Bathroom’s across the hall. Water pressure’s decent. If you bleed in the tub, clean it up after,” Tommy added through a yawn.

Buck nodded again, too tired to argue. “Thanks.”

They didn’t say “you’re welcome.” Just hovered a second longer than they needed to, then turned and walked out together.

Tommy cracked two eggs into a pan and reached for a whisk while checking the fridge. “We got any of that rosemary steak left or did you take it to lunch last shift?”

Sal grunted, pulling a vacuum-sealed packet from the meat drawer. “Thought about it. Didn’t.” He dropped the packet on the counter beside a cutting board and grabbed a knife.

They moved around each other easily. Years of shared kitchens had built a rhythm. Tommy didn’t even glance when Sal nudged his hip aside to reach the spice rack. Salt. Pepper. The good paprika.

The eggs hissed when they hit the pan. Sal laid the steak in a cast iron beside them.

Tommy wiped his hands on a towel and leaned against the counter. “You brought him home.”

Sal didn’t look up. “What the fuck was I supposed to do with him, T?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away.

Sal pressed the steak down with a set of tongs. “He’s concussed. Limping. Half-starved.” He exhaled. “Someone needs to watch over him.”

Tommy stirred the eggs slowly. “He’s not a stray.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Sal muttered.

Tommy didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew the kid had followed Sal out of the ER without hesitation. Sal flipped the steak, the sear loud, final.

“Besides,” he added, voice harder, “you’ve got shit to fix.”

Tommy blinked. “Huh?”

“Whatever bitchy shit you pulled whenever Gina was at the station.”

Tommy’s grip on the spatula stilled. “That’s not...”

“Don’t,” Sal said, low and sharp. “I know you. I know your silences. You snapped at him in the kitchen like he’d said something unforgivable when all he did was notice. Then you iced him out.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “You think he didn’t deserve some boundaries?”

“I think you punished him for seeing us.”

The eggs finished first. Tommy turned off the burner and plated them up. Sal added thick slices of steak and a heap of roasted potatoes from the leftovers he’d reheated in the oven.

They didn’t speak again as they carried the plates back into the living room.

Buck was on the edge of the couch, curls damp, wearing a pair of borrowed sweats that sagged a little at the waist and didn’t quite reach his ankles. He startled just a twitch then looked up like he was dragging himself out of a fog. He hadn’t heard them come back in. Not until Tommy set a plate on his lap.

Sal dropped into the recliner with a groan, boots kicked off, one socked foot propped on the coffee table.

“What do you like to watch?” he asked, flipping the remote toward Buck like it was a peace offering.

Buck looked at the screen. Then down at his plate. Then back at Sal, lips parting. His fingers twisted the paracord bracelet at his wrist, winding and unwinding. “I don’t… umm.” He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He held the fork wrong. Fingers curled around it like he expected someone to take it away. Sal didn’t comment. Just clicked the volume up and leaned back into his chair.

Tommy didn’t sit right away. He lingered behind the couch, watching. Then, softer than he meant to, “We’ve got a bunch of stuff queued up. Old movies. Some sci-fi. Sal’s got a boner for crime docs.”

“Language,” Sal teased without heat.

Tommy didn’t reach for the remote. His eyes tracked the bruises blooming along Buck’s collarbone. “I think you’d like MythBusters.”

Sal hummed like he agreed.

Tommy finally dropped onto the couch beside Buck, close enough their shoulders nearly brushed. Sal glanced over, not speaking, but something in his eyes softened.

Tommy gave the smallest nod back.

#salbucktommy #saltommy #bucktommy #911 fanfic #tommy kinard #sal deluca #evan buckley #9 1 1 fanfiction

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