#the world was literally rigged against her from the start!

[primordialchoice]

So, the reason why I keep mentioning that she is the avatar for evil, is literally because she keeps getting referenced as the evil side of someone o_o

[itsclydebitches]

You're saying what I've been feeling this whole time. The story doesn't do enough to justify Ruby's place at the center of it. I get that she's special because of her eyes, but the only time that made her the center of attention in the main conflict was when Salem sent Tyrian after her. After that Salem stopped caring about her because reasons.

Yup.

RWBY got it right at the start. We're told in episode one that Ruby has eyes that are somehow ~special~ and they intrigue the mysterious, powerful headmaster. All they needed to do was establish that this rare power is the only way of beating Salem, thereby forcing Ruby to shoulder the responsibility of this war, or else doom all of Remnant. It's a classic set-up and it works. Harry is named Voldemort's equal by a prophecy. Ellie is the only one immune to Cordyceps. Buffy has been gifted the power of the Slayer. Aragorn is heir to the throne. There are a ton of ways to go about it, but so long as you give your character a unique position/power and say, "If you don't do it literally no one else can" then you've got a perfect recipe for them grappling with that responsibility. They're at the center of the tale because they have to be.

RWBY didn't follow through with the Silver Eyes. At no point have they ever said that it's a crucial (or even helpful) ability against Salem, which means that, nine Volumes in, Ruby remains a relative nobody who is choosing to put herself at the center of this fight. Which is also a very compelling setup! But RWBY has simultaneously a) not written Ruby as having more power/better ideas/wisdom/whatever to justify why others should listen to her over the already established heads of this war and b) lately the writing has sharply pulled back on her willpower. She's no Goku, mastering techniques her allies - at the time - can only dream of and possessing a drive to protect others that will overcome even the Gods themselves. Ruby's subconscious spent the whole vision going on about how hard it is that she has to fight all the time, figure out a solution to an impossible problem, save the entire world, and meanwhile I'm going, "You literally don't? Have to do any of that??" The ONLY reason why we, the audience, read Ruby as "having" to be at the center of the fight is because we recognize that we're watching a show with her name in the title, but the in-world reality is that Ruby is a blip in a multi-dimension world with incredibly little to offer. What would happen if Ruby actually decided to bow out? Nothing. Remnant would not fall because there are other huntsmen, other fighters, and Ozpin who has been at this for actual lifetimes, continually keeping Salem from taking over. If things were to fall that would be a direct result of the series long choices Ruby and her teammates have made that have actively made things worse (taking the Relics out of their vaults, dropping Atlas, etc.) It simply doesn't work for the story to pretend that Ruby is so burdened by this war when nothing and nobody is making her continue on. Not even, as you say, following up on Salem's Volume 4 obsession with her. Ruby could go, "You know what? You're right. I'm done. I'm gonna go defend average people from grimm in some no-name town for the rest of my life" and the fight would continue on without her. Without that success/drive that makes a character go, "I don't have to help, but by god I'm going to!" Ruby is a flat protagonist who is only important because the show says she is.

The longer the series goes on the more I wish it were (in direct contrast to its initial tone/genre) an intentional tragedy. A young girl with dreams of being the hero of a fairy tale wrests power from those with more experience, wisdom, power, and resources than her because she's so sure she can do it better. Her good intentions are praiseworthy, but at the end of the day hubris, naivety, and a rigged game from the Gods inevitably doom the world. You tried, but at the end of the day you were never going to win because no, life isn't a fairy tale.

[pixies-and-poets]

Pirate AU where Woodrow is a sailor burdened by a curse where he brings bad luck every time he writes or sings sea shanties, and when he's alone one night, he accidentally summons Phantom, a giant monstrous siren enamored by his talent.

From his perch in the crow's nest, Woodrow peered out towards the darkening horizon, surveying the crashing waves until they became an indistinguishable blur in every direction. No islands, and no masts or sails to be seen - no other ships. It had been weeks since their crew had taken a prize, and they were starting to get antsy. The Rabbid signed and pulled down on his cap. He could only hope it wasn't because... no. No, he couldn't blame himself. He had been trying so hard to quit, after all.

Two sharp voices made their way up to him, though the wind carried away their words. He looked down at the deck far below him, despite having little need. The gruff tones of one and the high pitch of the other told him all he needed to know. The ship's carpenter, Sweetlopek, and its bosun, Darya, were arguing again. Their similar roles, each caring for the ship in their own way, often led to clashes.

Woodrow was glad he was high above them this time. Whenever he got pulled into these arguments, his gut berated him for not instantly agreeing with Sweetlopek. He was his dear childhood friend, after all, and the one who had gotten him a spot on this crew. "If they'll let me take me beaver aboard, Woody, they'll take ye in too."

And yet Darya was a force to reckon with. A remarkably petite Rabbid, he had been told that some of the crew were initially doubtful she could be of much help. And yet she became known as an unstoppable force both on deck and in personality. A mysterious being indeed; she always kept her hair tied back and invisible under a scarf, only letting her ears poke out through its folds, and as she passed through the rigging, she seemed to literally float. To Woodrow, she was compelling, fascinating, and somehow reminded him incessantly of the forests of his homeland. Perhaps it was her accent? At any rate, he found it hard to argue against her.

This evening's heated discussion was cut short as it began to lightly rain, and the two went their separate ways. Woodrow was left alone on watch as most of the crew went belowdecks to indulge in the waning rum supply. The rain pelted him sideways; he didn't mind, and there wasn't much he could do if he did. An umbrella was of little use on a moving ship.

He hoped no one had noticed the preponderance of rain since bringing him on board. Certainly not... Why would they blame him? How could they?

And yet sailors were a superstitious lot. Eventually they would put things together. He thought of Darya again; there was a time when seagoing superstition was so strong that a woman onboard was considered a curse. He was glad that he lived in a more enlightened age. Only... Bad Luck was alive and well. It's just that gender had nothing to do with it.

Well! He may not be able to help the literal cloud of misfortune that followed him, no matter how he tried to run from it at sea. But he could certainly avoid making things worse. All he had to do was keep himself from writing. Yes... That was all. He didn't even have to do anything. He just had to NOT do something. It should be easy.... easy, old boy...

And yet, as the night wore on... the world around him seemed like music. Music that needed lyrics. The gentle pounding of the rain was a steady rhythm, the roar of the waves a chord progression, the cracking of the canvas sails syncopated percussion. The rocking tilt of the ship added to the hypnotic effect. It was hard to resist... so hard...

And yet resist he did. He was strong! No poetry, no shanties. Those days were behind him... well, it was only a few days since his last one, after which the ship had mysteriously sprung a leak... and the one before that, which caused them to discover all their fruit had somehow spoiled instantly overnight... No, he couldn't write again. He couldn't do that to his crew.

And then he heard it.

Another layer, on top of- or rather, beneath- the music of the sea. This new instrument in the symphony sounded distinctly like a voice- a low voice, richer and deeper than all the treasures sunken to the bottom of the ocean. It started as a hum, then rose up to the level of singing. A distinct melody, so wonderful and rapturous that Woodrow felt it had always been there; that from this point onwards he would never be able to imagine the crash of the waves or the creak of the ship without it. It rang throughout him like the vibration of a bell, setting his fur on end.

No one came on deck to indulge in the song, and the ever-patient helmsman currently at the wheel seemed not to react. Did anyone else hear this? Was Woodrow imagining it? Well... It mattered little to him. Nothing else mattered.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the mast, touching it with his paw as one would caress the skin of one's beloved; he was in too deep to even remember his former restraint. He sighed, dreamily, love-drunk, half-hypnotized. The very ocean was singing to him, and he answered, giving words to the melody.

When I was a lad it seemed to me sad

To live upon the lonely sea,

And yet here I am, grown to a man

Who finds the waves a-calling me.

When I am awake my body shall take

Its place among a hearty crew,

And yet when I sleep my heart will sink deep

Beneath the waves, a-calling you.

My lover dressed in his seaweed best

And nestled in shells among the sand,

With gills and scales, shark teeth and tail

He leads me deeper by the hand.

My darling...

Woodrow trailed off, as he suddenly realized his sweet accompaniment had ceased. Although the waves still rushed and the rain still pattered, it seemed to the lyricist that a deafening silence rang through his ears, hollowing him out from head to hindpaw. He felt empty, cold- the spell was suddenly broken, and he realized what he had done.

He had spoken a poem into existence.

"No," he said weakly- and then, with a crack in his voice, "Come back...."

Then suddenly, a roar. A splitting of the seas. A great shape rose from the ocean near the ship, causing her to list violently to the side. The helmsman panicked as the ship just barely managed to right herself, and a number of the crew rushed up on deck.

Silhouetted against the moon was an enormous figure. Some kind of long-eared sea beast, half Rabbid and half... well, perhaps a sixth squid, a sixth shark, a sixth jellyfish, and maybe a smattering of other things as well. Now that the creature was above the water, he seemed to give off his own bioluminescence from his copious belly, visible both above and below the sea.

Tears emerged from Woodrow's eyes and were immediately obscured by the rain on his face. He had done it this time, in his moment of weakness. He had done them all in. A sea monster! It would crack their ship in half like an egg, and drag her to its lair in the caves of the ocean floor. They were all dead...

But the creature made no moves to destroy the ship. Instead, one of its tentacles emerged from the water, raised high, and shot straight for the crow's nest. Its tip wrapped around Woodrow, encircling his body securely and then lifting him up and out. He couldn't find the strength to scream. Before he knew it, the beast had brought him before his glowing form. The tentacle released him, and he found himself in the palm of the hand on one of the beast's two normal - albeit giant - Rabbid arms.

Shivering, the poet looked up at his captor. Now that he was closer, and with the blurred vision brought on by terror slowly subsiding, he could see the beast had wild hair of seaweed, and tentacles on his face that gave the appearance of a moustache, and even a little barnacle dotting his face like a beauty mark. It was... he was... almost... Handsome.

No, not almost....

Then the creature smiled, his glowing eyes delighted. And when he spoke, the voice as deep as the sea rang through Woodrow and washed away the rest of his fear.

"Finally, my little poet. I have caught you."

"You have," said the sailor breathlessly. "I am yours."

[mmikmmik2]

I believe Philip drew a design of the portal door with the eye in his diary, not as an original design, but copying down what he knew about someone else's door in preparation to attempt to replicate it. I don't believe he ever succeeded and I definitely don't think the portal door has any connection to him prior to him acquiring it in Young Blood Old Souls. (I'm not sure whether or not this is already a common belief in Owl House fandom, but I've seen at least one post that suggested otherwise, so I'll make this post.)

I'm pretty shaky on the lore of this series (which already leaves a lot ambiguous or unresolved), so I might be forgetting some big evidence for or against this claim, but here's my reasoning.

The door's eye is strongly implied to be associated with the Titan somehow, or possibly even literally the Titan's eye. I believe it is unlikely that the eye would have been intact and acquirable hundreds or thousands of years after the Titan's “death”.

The door, imo, doesn't fit any of Belos's aesthetics. It's less sleek and grandiose than his present day inventions, but more polished and decorated than his jury-rigged gear from when he was just starting out as Belos.

Belos didn't insist on taking the key from Luz in Young Blood, Old Souls. She uses the key to summon the briefcase and then tucks it back under her clothes while Belos is facing away from her. Then he turns towards her, she hands him just the briefcase, and he accepts it and lets her go. Why would he have let her leave with an absolutely essential component of the portal, one that's all but impossible to replace, if he actually understood how it worked?

The key blueprints at the start of Eclipse Lake look fresh and modern. There are geometrically precise exploded-view diagrams of pieces and it's printed on literal blue blueprint paper. They're sitting right next to a book about Grimwalkers, which has yellowed pages and appears to be handwritten. This contrast suggests Belos kept and still uses very old books, but his key designs are brand new. I don't think he realized he needed a special key to power the door until he'd gotten a good look at the portal door for the first time.

What possible circumstances could have led to Belos successfully constructing a working portal to the human world that could be used infinite times, then the door being buried on Clawthorne property?

I also checked the paintings from Hollow Mind. There's a shot of Philip watching Caleb follow Evelyn through a stone archway portal (it has an extremely different design compared to the archway in Thanks to Them), and a shot of the repaired portal in the present day. That's all. So, that's not strong evidence one way or the other.

I believe the portal door with the eye belonged to Evelyn. (I would furthermore guess that she discovered/inherited the door with the eye and didn't make it herself, but she did make the stone archway in the graveyard so she and her bf would both easily be able to reach other while they lived in different realms. But that’s more of a headcanon for fun than a Srs Theory.) She buried it on her family's property, near the other portal, when she decided she never wanted to return to the human realm. Philip wouldn't attribute the door to Evelyn in his diary because he hates her and because it would be creating evidence linking him to a murder and an attempted murder.

[firespirited]

Mum accidentally ended up under a pile on when she said death threats against DV survivors were not okay when JKR was brought up by someone totally ignorant of the past decade's drama and the very angry very sweary 'death to joanne' replies poured in. She was then labelled a terf by some teenagers for asking why their anger was directed at jkr and not the tories in power which made clear she was British and an older woman.

She's very literal and doesn't believe in death threats against paedophiles either, just that they should be locked up. That's just how she is... Readmore for length.

So I had to explain what trans exclusionary radical feminists were, how they labelled themselves & it's not a slur and how outrage online isn't rational and often isn't focused at the systemic issues but fallen heroes also often turn into the biggest scapegoats.

The thing that really got to her was the disproportionate energy people had for hating jkr but not other authors or politicians who are far worse, the energy for outrage but no political/community engagement elsewhere.

I wasn't really able to explain why people have energy to be mad at jkr but don't do any offline activism or even get that angry at politicians, there's a sort of passivity, the sense that the game is rigged I guess but people feel maybe they might have the power to make jkr uncomfortable talking smack about marginalised people in public ??

It's hard to explain, on some level I feel like people enjoy bullying and when there is a righteous reason then it's ok to engage in such "fun". On the other, I'm seeing this strange manifestation of trauma where people will be vicious with people who fail to live up to perfection (and that definitely includes trans women - think Hot Allostatic Load: it's a great article that explains something I've seen play out too many times but also isabel fall and the lady who made the mistake of griping about being locked out of the local lesbian scene and ended up painted as the evil pervert who coined the cotton ceiling - she was just really lonely and rightfully sad) with the stored anger and pain that deserved to be directed at multiple systemic issues and instead comes out like a firehose on a peer who is no longer a 'good' peer so they're the enemy. I'd love to read any psych studies but I'm not sure what key words. I know a lot of people are noticing this: energy for rage, apathy for even minor changes we can make. I've seen multiple "stop with the 'omg look at this terf who deserves to die' when you're just retraumatizing trans people by boosting" in the same way that people of colour had to beg for folks to stop boosting black and brown people being brutalised, just graphically making people relive that trauma but please boost actions and learning instead. You know what I'm talking about? Right.

I know the world is terrifying right now but the way social media has raised folks to channel it is not healthy let alone constructive. I'm not sure how to help and not sure how mum can ever regain her purity in the eyes of the little book group she's in. She doesn't like gender, she's actually long been gender non conforming but doesn't know any of the vocabulary. She's still processing trauma from DV and being in a cult so being told how to think gets her hackles up even when she's trying to be as logical and fair as possible. I'm scared the gender crits will reach out and say "hey we're real feminists who care about women, we don't even hate trans folk, come hang out with us and leave behind the rude meanies".

I don't know where to start. With pretty much all other marginalisations we have had people in our life to relate to. Mum's got lesbian, gay, black, Muslim, jewish, sex worker, disabled and mentally ill friends but zero point of reference for trans folk above 14-15 (a friend's child is autiqueer). If any of her friends came out as trans she'd be eating every book available and ready to advocate for them at doctors appointments but right now it's just an abstract concept that makes no sense when she's never been feminine enough to be more than a failed woman and never been that attached to gender.

How do you explain gender dysphoria to someone who's never experienced gender euphoria?

This is someone who never once questioned the anger behind some black lives matter posts, never took wypipo or 'white woman tears' personally because of course anger comes out messy and of course people don't like to think they're racist and have to deliberately learn to be anti racist and will mess up.

The problem here is that it's very hard to talk gender with someone alienated from anything gender related except misogyny.

I remember back when I got into feminism and she'd given up on all that because it didn't have anything to say for working class women who love men. Womanism had the keys to her heart: loving men + hating the patriarchy that crushes their souls along with yours, not wanting the capitalist dream but a different society.

If you've read this far you deserve dog pics, thank you for letting me rant. I'm going to try and find some books by older trans men and women from similar working class backgrounds (no showbiz) and some intro to Judith Butler. Maybe something on the left eating it's own to explain why these younguns don't know how to just boycott and never listen to jkr again.

Replies are welcome, reblogs not. This is delicate and personal. Please have grace. She's trying. I'm trying.

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 26

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

26. All Apologies

Cassie leaned her head back against the train window and let her eyes fall shut, her keys fisted in her hand. Her head was pounding from lack of sleep, her stomach rolling from all the coffee she’d forced down to keep awake. 

She hadn’t bothered to try and sleep once she’d gotten home the night before. She’d merely hopped in the shower and changed for work, glad that the hot water could at least remove the tear tracks from her cheeks. 

She hated seeing Spencer high like that, hated the way the Dilaudid dulled everything that made Spencer Spencer. She hated seeing him in so much pain, hated that she knew exactly what he was escaping from. 

She had just wanted to help him. 

She knew he hadn’t meant it, not really. She knew it was the drug and the anger and the fear and the shame talking. But it didn’t stop the pain in her chest when she remembered the venom with which he’d snapped at her, the malice. 

It was dangerous to hang around profilers, because they knew what to say to cut the deepest. 

Before Spencer she would have never considered herself to be lonely. She didn’t have time to be—she never stopped moving long enough to even consider it. 

She’d moved from Virginia before she’d had a chance to make any real friends and then she’d been homeschooled in Montana. Her parents had been her whole world. Then she’d bounced between foster placements so often that she’d given up on even trying. In college she’d been so much younger than everyone else and even if she hadn’t all she ever did was study. Gideon had always been a surrogate father figure but she’d seen him maybe a handful of times a year before she joined the Bureau. 

She hopped off the train, turning the opposite way from her apartment, towards the clinic. It was easy enough to get a handful of doses of Narcan, easier still to find a pair of little black makeup bags to stash them in. 

She pulled out her phone to call Spencer, only for it to begin to ring. She checked the number, fumbling when she recognized the number for the detective in Voron’kiv. 

“Hello?”

“Yes, Miss Boann? This is Detective Melnyk. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, there’s an issue with the exhumation orders. We need the family to consent and we are having a hard time tracking down next of kin, so it is going to take a while. I am not sure if your State Department might be able to put some pressure on the process—“

“What if—what if I could get you next of kin?”

“I assure you, we are doing all we can.”

“I am sure, I am not doubting that—I just. I ran through the evidence on my end and there is a familial link to one of my victims. I’ve put in the paperwork to run a full profile but that will take several weeks. So—the victim was my mother. I ran a panel on myself and—I think he’s my grandfather.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. Then a sigh. “I—This is highly irregular, but let me see what I can do. Send me the results and I will forward them to the required authorities. Chances are, though, we will need to repeat the test here to confirm. You understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course. How long would that take?”

“I would have to ask. But the quicker we could run the sample the better.”

“Okay. I’ll get those files sent over to you right away.”

She dug a pen out of her bag and scribbled an email and fax number on the back of a receipt before hanging up. She stared at her scribbles for a moment before tucking it into the pocket of her laptop case and flipping back through her favorited contacts. She hesitated a moment before putting her phone back in her coat pocket and heading back towards the train. 

---

Spencer paused as he turned down the hall of his apartment building, spotting a brown paper shopping bag hanging from his doorknob. It had been hastily taped shut with yellow masking tape, his initials scrawled on in blue ink. He pulled it off the handle, hefting in his hand before he unlocked the door and stepped inside. 

He crossed to the counter  and dumped both the bag and his satchel on the counter before digging in his drawers for a pair of scissors. He sliced through the tape and unpacked the bag, brows furrowed at the seemingly disconnected contents. 

There was a container of take out from an Indian restaurant in NoHo that was still warm, a worn copy of Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman, a small black zippered pouch and a manilla file folder. He flipped open the folder, finding a familiar scrawling handwriting. 

Hey Spencer—

I know you don’t want to talk about what happened. Not with me, and that’s perfectly understandable. But you should talk with someone. Maybe a therapist or a counselor or a psychiatrist. You might not think that you need to, or that it would help, but I can promise you, it does. Not right away, but it makes things easier. Helps you find ways to ground yourself, to break out of the panic. 

I’m not trying to be holier than thou or judge you or anything. That would be laughable considering how badly I handle my own trauma. I just don’t want you to suffer alone when you don’t have to. When things can be better than they are. 

The Dilaudid won’t help. Especially if it’s the stuff from Hankel. I pulled his files, I know it didn’t end up in evidence. It’s nasty, Spence, nastier than you think. It’s blended with hallucinogens that have poor interactions with the Dilaudid. 

I’m here if you ever do want to talk. I get the whole held-captive-and-tortured thing, if that’s helpful. I get the guilt that comes with surviving when others don’t. I get the rage that comes with the world continuing on as if nothing ever happened. I’m not good at talking about it, but I can try, if it would help.

I keep my phone on all night and I’ll always answer. I don’t want you to keep doing the Dilaudid, but if you do, I’d rather know so I can at least make sure you don’t stop breathing. 

I’m sorry I didn’t see how much you were suffering before and I left you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying enough attention. I’m sorry I got mad at you for lashing out when you had every right. I’m sorry I didn’t do more. Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. 

I can’t lose you. 

Please—

C

Spencer swallowed hard. He flipped through the rest of the folder. It was printed lists of therapists that specialized in trauma covered under their insurance, some crossed out, others crossed out and annotated with thinks like ‘Dickhead’ and ‘pill pusher.’ Under that were lists of support groups in DC and the surrounding areas, lists for Recovery groups, for Narcotics Anonymous chapters. A handful of grounding techniques. The toxicology report on Tobias Hankel, outlining the composition of the drug. 

He unzipped the pouch. There was two vials of Narcan, a spray version, and a handful of safety needles along with an instruction card outlining how to administer it. 

He didn’t know when he’d started crying. He swiped at his cheeks, digging through his bag for his phone. He clicked through his speed dial until he landed on her name, pressing the phone to his ear. 

She picked up on the second ring.

“Cass?”

“Spencer?”

“Hey—um, are you free right now?”

Previous Next

[of-thought-will-life-and-death]

Luke was always the hero of the prophecy.

Every time I wander into the Luke tag and see people who really firmly believe that his actions were inexcusable, or I (as I am doing rn) reread TLO and see Thalia saying that everything that’s happening is due to Luke’s poor choices, I have to sit there and remind myself that "poor choices” is a really reductive view to take on a very complex issue. Luke was born with a destiny, and nothing that he did along the way could have changed it. 

We start the series with The Fates cutting his life line. The moment that Percy is found by monsters and inducted into the world of myths, Luke’s fate is sealed. Any questions of what would happen end in that moment. Not that there were many questions before - both May and Hermes are well aware of who Luke would become. It’s why Hermes had to stay away, and why May was terrorized with these visions.

Now, this primes Luke for his frustration with the gods. He’s already hurt and scared of his future, and he knows the gods are well aware and don’t seem to give a fuck regardless. He knows that, on top of his dad being shitty, Thalia and Annabeth have been abandoned, too, and that’s his family. That’s inexcusable. 

And then Thalia dies, killed by a god, with her father unwilling to intervene until she’s already gone.

And then he, at 14, is left to run the Hermes cabin, presumably after whoever was previously leading it dies. The cabin where every unwanted demigod is left, where they don’t even have enough room for everyone to have a bed anymore. Eventually, he’s not just running that cabin, he’s basically running the camp. Training demigods because the immortals who are supposed to be doing so have gotten so burnt out on heroes over the years that they are barely involved. So he has to be the one to try and train them well enough that they don’t die when they inevitably leave on quests that aren’t important, they’re just re-hashings of quests from the past. More of the gods jacking themselves off over memories of the “golden age.” 

When Luke finally gets his own quest, it’s one of these rehashing of the glory days quests. One that he’s literally been told by his father is of no importance - it’s only so he has the chance to do something great and prove himself before he dies. And so, when he is faced with the drakon and has the chance to complete it or die trying, he leaves. Glory and fame isn’t worth his life. But now he’s a failure, and a failure is worse than dead, so suddenly there are no more quests. The rigged game is broken now that there’s the option to just not do it, so it’s banned. 

So, you get an (at the time) 17-year-old kid who has watched kids dying to the gods’ games since he was 14, who is considered a failure for refusing to play, and who is acutely aware that this has been happening for two thousand years. And will continue long after he’s gone. He’s the failed hero because he refused to die. And then someone offers him a deal - bring down the Olympians, and you get to decide the fate of the heroes. Someone clever and manipulative enough to convince Olympians to turn against Olympians and powerful enough to follow through on their promise.

If there’s one “poor choice” that Luke makes, it’s here, but how many others made the same one? With less reason to?

By the time we get to TTC, he sees where he fucked up. Thalia helps him realize - this isn’t going to save demigods, this is just going to place them under a new system that’s just as controlling as the first. He won’t live to see it happen, which means there’s no insurance. 

So, he tries to go back on it. Kronos says himself that he has to threaten Luke and Luke’s “family” with terrible things in order to get him to agree to swim in the Styx. Luke tries to run away with Annabeth, seeing her as the last person left who might be willing to trust him, as a last ditch effort to escape, not just for himself. He tells Annabeth, “Kronos will use me as a stepping stone.” He’s trying to remove himself from the equation, slowing Kronos down before it even begins. 

He tries to stop Kronos from killing Beckendorf.

He tries to interfere when Kronos is close to figuring out Percy’s Achilles point. 

And he makes the choice to kill Kronos in the end, even if it means killing himself, because this was never what Luke’s war was about.

He wanted demigods to stop being pawns in a greater game, and accidentally became one himself. He wanted kids to stop dying in order to prove themselves to parents who often didn’t even know their names. 

And no matter what choices he made, he was trying to move towards a better future. The Fates had other ideas. No matter where he tried to back out or leave, he was always going to end up in that throne room with Percy and Annabeth. 

He’s not a perfect person - he makes an excellent antagonist and foil to Percy. But I’d love for the narrative to shift away from him as selfish or entitled, because it was never just about him. It was about all of the other demigods he had to send off to die.

[inkperch]

Ok, SO! I did a roleswap au for RWBY by putting every main character (RWBYJNPR) into two random name spinners: Spinner one picked the character, spinner two picked the character roll (with exactly as much 1-1 preciseness as I felt like for that particular swap, lol, this isn’t very consistent-). A lot of them were really lucky, I swear I didn’t rig any of theses, here’s what I got: 

Pyrrha --> Jaune 

Straight of the bat, we have Pyrrha Nikos, who, like in canon, was a famous tournament fighter... until one day she doubled back to get a forgotten water bottle and walked in on her manager talking about how he’d been rigging her fights. She revealed this near-instantly, of course, it’s Pyrrha, and her manager was fired and put under investigation. But, from a mix of genuine bad habits from all the rigged matches and sheer nerves at learning her entire success had been a lie, Pyrrha’s next tournament round was an absolute flop, with her finishing close to last. She applied to Beacon hoping to prove to herself that the sport she built her entire life around wasn’t just her getting lucky. She’s. Not doing so great rn-

Ruby --> Ren

Speaking of not doing so great! Patch is gone in this au. Like, straight up, it got nuked, no one knows what happened to Taiyang but the last time anyone saw him he was holding the line against a metric fuckton of Grimm while evacuations went down, so odds are looking not great for him being alive. Uncle Qrow took both girls in, but he couldn’t be around much in person, especially not seeing as he blamed himself for what happened to Tai. So, Ruby’s. A lot quieter. Still the small, honest soul we all know and love, if anything what happened to Patch only strengthened her resolve to be the Fairy Tale hero everyone needs- for better or worse.

Weiss--> Blake

So, in general I have this little headcanon that prior to Nicholas ‘I’m literally Santa Claus’ Schnee, the Schnee family were known and reviled due to their hereditary semblance (’passing your soul down to your kids?? What are they, clones??’) and specifically for the fact that a main ability of that semblance was summoning giant fuck-off Grimm to fight for them. And uh. Here it wasn’t the Schnee’s who founded those dust mines-

(honestly, Blake and Weiss both got of lightest with the changes, their actual motives are basically the same, Weiss just has different angst-)

Ren --> Pyrrha

He wasn’t the best fighter, not even in the small, local village tourney’s were he got his start, but he was the most desperate- the rest of the competitors were their for fun, or bragging rights, he was there because the prize money could buy him and Nora an actual meal. Luckily for him, a talent scout happened to be at one of those small tournaments, there to watch their nephew get their ass kicked- and they saw promise in the young boy who did it.

Nora --> Ruby

Nora has silver eyes. It wasn’t an accident, that their city was targeted. 

(I swear, I didn’t just do this whole thing as an excuse to make everything angsty-er-) 

Jaune --> Weiss

It was the Arc family that founded the dust mines! This has not made conditions better. At least in the Arc family mines, it’s a genuine lack of care that sends you to your easily-preventable death as the Arc family dotes on each other happily in their ivory tower, not an attempt to squeeze every last drop of profit from you that they can! But yeah, Jaune is spoiled sweet, he genuinely believes his parents are just unlucky, what with so many people they trusted with important positions in the company turning around and betraying them like that! Why, Stabby McBackson was so nice when Jaune met him- he’s sure Stabby put up just as good a front around his parents, so he’s going to go out, really see the world, and then he can help his parents deal with all of these jerks who keep slipping between the cracks! (Jaune baby the entire company is just one big crack at this point-)

Yang --> Nora

I swear I didn’t rig this-

Which. Yeah, not much changes here? Nora and Yang are weirdly similar characters, if I’ve already burned Yang’s home to the ground and killed her father for Ruby’s part of the roleswap-

her Raven Issues:tm: are. A lot worse than in canon though, cause y’know, her dad died and her uncle constantly worked himself to death leaving her to basically raise her little sister even more than she did when Summer died and Raven still didn’t even say hi-

Blake --> Yang

Remember how I mentioned Blake and Weiss got the least changed? Yeah-

Blake basically just steals Yang’s personality and nothing else, with the personality change being just as much of one in-universe as it is out- it’s largely an act, because she knows her disguise is flimsy if Adam tries to track her down, but he knows her well enough that he’ll hear ‘goes to parties’ and call the guy who found her an idiot who obviously had the wrong person-

As for the teams, I randomised them too- NBLR (Nobler, or as the characters realise when they pick up on the colour name ‘no blur’ aka a pun-), Nora Valkyrie, Blake Belladonna, Lie Ren and Ruby Rose, led by Nora Valkyrie. And ASXN (Ashen), Jaune Arc, Weiss Schnee, Yang Xiao-Long and Pyrrha Nikos. Led by Jaune Arc

(I did randomise the leaders, but honestly the choices make sense- Jaune really needs the kinda growing up leadership’ll force him to do in this au, and Nora’s got those Silver Eyes.)

[dancingamongstdust]

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Ben Drowned

You had promised, sworn on your very life, that you wouldn’t laugh. It was an oath. One to be taken very seriously.

“Using your hand to muffle the sound still counts as laughing.”

Part of you felt really bad but that made you snicker even harder. Your best friend, at the very least, did appear extremely shaken about the entire thing. She sat on the edge of the couch with her arms crossed. Dark bags had formed beneath her eyes and her attention seemed unable to stray from the Nintendo 64 that sat between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you have to understand how this sounds. You’re telling me that you’re being haunted by a literal video game.”

She pulled her legs to her chest. The amount of weight that she had lost recently couldn’t possibly be healthy. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Have you considered talking to a psychiatrist?” you offered. “Or perhaps selling this game?”

“He would kill me.”

You picked up the Nintendo 64 and stared at the main menu of the game. It looked pretty normal to you. You fiddled around with the settings to turn the music down. “I really think that talking to somebody about this would help.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” she said. “I want to stop playing. I want to speak to people but all that he wants is for me to continue trying to beat the game. There’s no way to win! The entire thing is rigged!”

“Have you looked up a guide?”

She groaned. “Nobody’s going to listen to me.”

An awkward silence fell over the room and you shifted around in your seat before offering some coffee. She accepted but the kettle had barely been boiling for a few seconds when her phone chimed happily.

“Oh look, he wants to play now,” she muttered. She thrust the device to you. “Take a look for yourself.”

The notification had come through an app called CleverBot. It was a very simple ‘hi’ message that didn’t really seem all too haunting. You opened it up and clicked around the app for a little. “Looks like just a chatroom,” you said. “Why’d you download this?”

“I didn’t. I just woke up the one day and it was on my phone.”

You closed the app and returned to the home screen. It immediately reopened and the same message popped up again. An identical thing happened the second time. And then again.

“This looks like a virus,” you said. “It’s probably best to uninstall.”

Clicking on the button made the icon disappear for a short while but it was quick to reappear. This time, when the chatroom opened itself, the message had changed to simply say ‘rude’.

You pursed your lips. That was suspicious enough for you to understand her potential worries. “I don’t think that it’s haunted but you should probably take it to a professional to have it wiped or something. And maybe consider less porn in the future?”

Your joke fell flat but it died when the chatbot began typing. Not too long after, another message had come through.

‘I don’t hang out in such places.’

“Can…” you trailed off. “No, there’s no way that they’ve hacked the microphone, right?”

‘Don’t need to hack in to hear what you’re saying.’

The colour drained from your face and you quickly glanced towards your friend. She didn’t seem panicked, even when you showed her the message. If anything, her expression was resigned as though this was a regular occurrence.

You didn’t get too much time to respond when a horrible static sound came through her phone. The screen began flashing and blurry images raced across it. A distorted version of the Majora’s Mask theme song started playing. It felt like your ears were bleeding. Scared, you threw the phone to the floor and, with a shattering crack, everything stopped.

For a while, you stared at it but then she said, “He’s going to be pissed with that.”

There was a chime from somewhere on your right. Your own phone’s screen lit up. Nervously, you reached over to check on it.

A single notification stood there, from an app called CleverBot.

‘You Shouldn’t Have Done That.”

Bloody Painter

The park was busy this time of day and filled with an awaiting audience – whether they were interested in watching the performance or not. Many seemed to appreciate it though, taking the flyers handed out by your group.

It was nearing midday when you ran out of pamphlets. You stretched and pushed your hair away from your face, relishing in the feeling of sun against skin.

Your gaze drifted across the park’s patrons before settling on one that you had been watching since the beginning of your performance. He didn’t look up much. A sketchpad sat on his lap and tousled brown hair hung over his face. You hadn’t caught his attention once but he had certainly kept yours.

“Can you hand me another lot of flyers?” you asked one of the other girls with her.

She handed them over and you put on your best grin before making your way to the tree he was sitting under.

He looked up when your shadow fell over his sketchbook. His work was considerably abstract and nothing that you could identify with ease. There weren’t too many colors though.

“Hello!” you greeted cheerily. “I don’t mean to bother but what did you think of the show?”

He blinked up at you. “I didn’t see it.”

The man was a master of deadpan but you didn’t allow your smile to drop. You lowered the flyer and sighed, “That’s a shame. It’s so rare that we have attractive people at our shows… you should consider coming to our actual performances sometime. Everybody loves musicals.”

He didn’t even react to the compliment. No smirk or even a blush. It was as though you hadn’t spoken one word.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he said. “You do this kind of thing quite often. Don’t you get tired of people staring at you?”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t be in this line of business if I was too self-conscious. When they stare for too long, I like to imagine that it’s because I’m the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen.” Running your fingers through your hair, you offered him your most dazzling smile. “And if you remember me, that’s a certain compliment.”

“You can take it whatever way you want but it doesn’t mean anything.”

It was tempting to give up. Flirting with cute boys was only entertaining when they responded with… something. This boy just stared.

“So you’re an artist, right? You’d have a good point of view on whether or not I’m actually pretty.”

“My opinions on people are rarely accurate.”

His response made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Something of a warning twisted in your stomach. A light had lit behind his eyes but it didn’t seem like something you wanted to tie yourself to.

It appeared it was time to give up your pursuit. “Well, I really should get going. Perhaps I’ll see you at the next performance.”

His eyes drifted to the pamphlet that you held. “Were you planning on giving me that?”

“Offering it but you don’t have to –“

“I’ll take it,” he said, putting down his pencil and holding out his hand. “Your show wasn’t too entertaining but I enjoyed watching the performance you just put on. Rather like a peacock strutting its feathers.”

So he wasn’t oblivious then… just teasing. You had no idea if it showed his genuine interest or if he was merely taunting now.

With a slight scowl, you passed it over. He tucked it into his sketchbook and then closed it, standing up. He was scrawnier than you had anticipated but he still had a considerable height – holding at least a few inches over you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He left without another word. You rolled your eyes and made a point to ignore any thoughts about him for the rest of the day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have given him your information… after all, that flyer had your full name and everything.

And you knew absolutely nothing about him.

Candy Pop

Hospitals were the worst places in the world.

They smelled too clean and looked too false. You generally avoided them as much as possible unless it was absolutely necessary. When a close family member found themselves locked within the walls, unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to stay away.

You wrinkled your nose as you walked into the room. The sterilized smell burnt you.

Most of it was what you had expected but the young, child-like scream made you jump and nearly drop every gift you were holding.

Your aunt jumped up from her chair beside the hospital bed. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, fussing over your cousin.

She was barely over eleven and had badly injured her leg during a biking competition. Your mom had told you that everybody in the family was going to visit her, encouraging you to go together in order to drop off some gifts.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl said quickly. “I don’t like balloons and I thought… it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

You moved them behind you a little, trying to block her line of sight. “No, no, I should have asked first. You could have been allergic to latex or something and then I’d be feeling really bad about it.”

“She’s been particularly on edge thanks to these awful nightmares,” your aunt explained.

“Nightmares?” you asked.

The little girl seemed pale at its mention, pulling her blanket up to her nose and watching everybody wearily. “They’re just bad dreams,” she said. “You said that they couldn’t hurt me.”

Her mother hurriedly rubbed her shoulder and offered a warm smile. “They definitely can’t,” she reassured.

“Are they about the fall?” you asked.

“Sometimes.”

You settled down in one of the chairs as your own mother began speaking to her sister. They were able to discuss everything from the colour of grass to what they thought would be the best country to live in. You weren’t particularly interested in what they were saying and, after a while of trying to chirp in, you just let the lack of sleep catch up to you.

Your dreams came to you quickly, faster than usual and sharp in an uncomfortable sort of way.

You found yourself standing in a large field. The sky was grey and the grass tall enough to reach your knees. Everything felt bright. It hurt your eyes to stare at anything for too long.

Normally, dreams didn’t feel as such, but you were certain that this was one. There was no purpose to where you were. No inclination to walk in a specific direction or try to understand what was happening.

Just confusion.

You took a step forward and a soft wind wrapped around you. It brushed through the grass, dancing around the trees. Something was watching.

You turned and two, glowing lights floated above the ground.

Slowly, mist gathered around the two spots. As you stepped back, it began to solidify – quickly forming a more recognisable shape. The figure tilted its head to the side and a slight jingling sound filled the air. It stepped forward then and the glow faded from its eyes, revealing just what stood before you.

He was a jester, though certainly more modern than the old king’s versions. Blue hair hung around his shoulders and his entire outfit jingled with hundreds of bells. A smile graced his face and he stepped forward.

You moved away.

His smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. The mist appeared again and he vanished into it.

You looked around frantically. He was gone. The wind picked up unexpectedly, howling in your ears. You raised your hands to shield your face and something grabbed your wrist. Before you could turn to see, you hurdled away from the meadow and awoke spluttering for air.

“Are you alright?” your aunt asked.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a blue jester but, when you turned to look, he was gone. “Yeah,” you said, rubbing your chest. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your made eye contact with your cousin and swallowed thickly. The look on her face said it all.

Clockwork

Every night, without fail, you saw her sitting there when you arrived home from work.

She always wore the same thing and, initially, you had thought that she would play on her phone for hours at a time. It didn’t appear that she had a phone, however, as you came to realise. Whatever she was holding was circular and fit perfectly within the palm of her hand.

You mentioned it to the building manager the second time she was there until like two in the morning. He had said that they thought she was homeless but, as far as they could tell, she wasn’t dangerous. You reassured him that your worries weren’t about her presence due to any perceived problem but he had just nodded.

She never moved while she was waiting. Not even to adjust her weight or brush the hair from her face.

A few of your neighbours used the very eloquent reasoning that she was merely crazy.

Occasionally, you heard children from the area parroting their parents. Rumours abound that she was a ghost who would attack anybody if they spoke to her. You scoffed each time it was said but many believed the stories.

You were arriving home late one night when you spotted her sitting in the usual spot. It was strange for you to feel anything beyond exhaustion on the nights when hospital jobs ran too long but this time, a strange anticipation settled itself in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Are you okay?”

Her hair was dirty and her coat looked as though it hadn’t been washed for years. Now that you were close, you could make out what appeared to be dried blood on her shirt.

“Go away,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“I have medical experience,” you responded. “And I know some good places to stay in the area. I can –“

“Good for you,” she sneered. “Leave me alone. You’re going to make me miss it.”

The object she was holding was an old pocket watch. It looked like something you would find in an antique store and pay insane amounts of money for. Though, it didn’t appear to be working. The clock hands sat at a set time and didn’t move in the slightest.

“I want to help you if that’s okay,” you said.

She forced out a laugh that sounded as though it physically pained her. “You want to help me?!” she cackled, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Isn’t that sweet.”

You stumbled away from her and clasped a hand over your mouth. Her face…

Her mouth was torn to pieces, jagged cuts that ripped through the skin there and had been crudely stitched back together. But that wasn’t the worst. No, the worst part of it was her left eye that had a pocket watch shoved into the socket and forcefully stitched there. The injury flared red with infection and pain.

“What’s wrong little doctor?!” she cawed. “No longer feeling like saving the poor girl you found on the side of the road?”

You steeled your resolve and straightened. “I’m still willing to offer help if you need it,” you said in your strongest voice. “That injury is severe and needs attending to if you want to save the eye.”

The eye was definitely gone and she knew it as well, scoffing at your offer. “No chance of that. Why do you people like pretending that you care?”

“I do care.”

She responded with a mocking expression and stood unexpectedly. “Sure you do.” She tapped the front of the pocket watch with her nail. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get to work. I nearly missed it thanks to your nagging. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.”

And she marched off into the night.

Dark Link

The vase that you were holding was beautifully polished and almost brand new. As you lifted it, something rattled around within.

“Why are you selling this for such a low price?” you asked.

The woman was middle-aged with a falsely high voice and bright, darting eyes. “It was a gift,” she said. “But I decided against keeping it. I wasn’t sure how low the price should be but it’s not like I’m losing any money.”

You decided against buying it, thanking her and walking away quickly. While you were looking through a few pieces of jewelry, your arm was grabbed and a small object pushed into your chest.

“Here you go!” you friend chimed. “Consider it to be a late birthday present!”

You took the game cartridge and examined it closely. “Zelda, again?” you asked. “I’ve already tell you that –“

“Yes, yes, I know that they’re not your thing but if you haven’t tried all the games then how are you meant to know there isn’t just one that you like?”

Sighing, you took the game and dropped it into your purse. It was dirty and definitely well used. A bit of black paint flaked off on your fingers.

Another game for you to keep in your cupboard and not look at again until months later when you were asked about your opinion on it. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t have the console you needed and the simple answer of ‘just buy one for cheap’ wasn’t always available.

But in the coming weeks, you quickly realised that this wasn’t just another game.

At first, the things that went wrong were too minor to even pay attention to. Electronics started breaking frequently until the point where you had replaced your stereo twice in a week and no longer had a television. After that, you started feeling sickly and uncomfortable whenever you were in the house. A feeling of imposing nature settled upon your shoulders.

You spent more time away from home, staying away for as long as you could. When you tried to dogsit for your brother, the pup wouldn’t even enter the house.

It was late at night when you woke up in a cold sweat. Nausea coiled in your stomach and your heart was beating at the speed of light.

At first, you had no idea what had woken you.

And then you heard the rattling.

It was coming from the next room over. As though somebody had taken hold of your desk and was shaking it as roughly as they could.

You scrambled for your phone but it wasn’t there. It was sitting in your office.

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped from your bed. Your head felt fuzzy, as though you weren’t able to wake up properly. Every step was slow and lethargic.

Stumbling toward the door, you gingerly grabbed the handle. As you opened it, your mind caught up with your body and you remembered that you shouldn’t just burst in on a potential invader.

But it was too late.

The person, for it had to be a person, stood in the middle of the room. Its body was so dark that it blended in with the shadows surrounding it. Two bright red eyes shone, illuminating enough that it showed some of the creatures ashen features. It had sharp features that were definitely human. Though as you stared at it, you knew that it was anything but.

It smiled and began turning into small squares, pixelating into the air and disappearing into something behind it.

You flicked on the light as fast as you could but it was gone. Sitting in the middle of the desk, the black cartridge seemed to emit its own darkness.

Dr. Smiley

The building was beyond restoration, crumbling and derelict. You were sure that it hadn’t been occupied for at least a decade. Perhaps even longer.

For months now, you had been going through the motions to have everything approved and organised. You had gotten clearance, hired the workers, discussed things with any neighbours, and even paid extra for the best machinery to get everything done quicker.

And now they were refusing to do anything.

“I’m sorry, and I will compensate for the time wasted, but my men are saying no,” the on-site manager said. “I know you’re not from these parts but we’ve always known there’s something wrong with this building. Rumours and superstitions abound and I wouldn’t blame my men for not wanting to anger a ghost.”

“They’ll be pissing off something far worse than a ‘ghost’ if they continue refusing to even go in there,” you snapped.

He glanced towards his workers and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once he left, you turned your attention to the house. Why anybody would have wanted a house in this location was beyond you but now that you had inherited it, you could see potential.

Although the entire place was probably crawling with all manners of disgusting flora.

Perhaps you could use that to get the health counsel to do the job for you.

They will still talking and you could see the weariness on their faces. Sighing, you stalked your way to the front door and pushed it open with one hand. It creaked with the effort.

You stood with your hands out towards the men. “I’m going to walk this entire house!” you called. “And if your ghost doesn’t accost me while I’m there, then I’m going to be expecting you to all get on with it, alright?”

Nothing immediately jumped at you when you entered. The door struggled to open and it swung shut on its own accord. If that was the haunting that they were talking about…

A roach skittered along the floor in front of you, darting under a derelict sofa stained with an unknown substance. Several of the windows had been broken so it wasn’t surprising to find that graffiti and markers had been used to etch various names into the walls.

You walked through a destroyed kitchen, passed a bedroom with a smashed crib, and even kicked open a door that led to a filthy storage room.

No ghost jumped out at you.

Problems started presenting themselves when you walked down one of the hallways and pushed open a bedroom door. The entire room felt set apart from the rest of the place with almost-new curtains that had been drawn shut. Blankets covered the bed, dirty but still there. You immediately thought somebody may be squatting there but your concerns changed when you noticed the wall.

Black mold. It crawled its way up the side, covering most of what had once been white wallpaper. You brought one hand up to shield your mouth and stepped out, slamming the door closed.

If there was an infestation then you had to get the health department immediately. This was –

Your thoughts were interrupted by something grabbing you. Panic filled your mind as a sharp weapon was pressed against your throat.

“Well now, I just know that you don’t have an appointment,” a voice said close to your ear. “I don’t like trespassers.”

Thinking on instinct, you threw your head backwards as hard as you could. There was a satisfying impact followed by a loud yelp of pain. The weapon around your throat moved away so you kicked the guy in the shin and bolted for it.

The house felt bigger while you were running but nobody came after you. You didn’t hear any footsteps or other sounds of a chase.

Bursting through the front door, you winced at the bright light. The house hadn’t seemed nearly that dark until compared to the outside.

You collided with one of the workers in your rush and nearly knocked everybody to the ground.

“What’s happened?”

“It was that ghost, I’m telling you.”

“We warned her, boss.”

You cleared your throat and straightened up, making eye contact with each man individually. “There is no ghost,” you said. “Only a squatter who I shall deal with using police force if needed. However, I do believe any construction will have to wait because I saw an excessive spread of black mold within the house.”

They all spoke amongst themselves, discussing options. You glanced back to the house and allowed your attention to find its way to the bedroom window. Though fleeting, a masked face peered out at you from within.

Eyeless Jack

In many ways, what happened that night was your boss’ fault.

Having just finished working a double shift that ended at almost 1 in the morning, you were exhausted upon returning home. You walked past the neighbouring apartment with only one thought on your mind – sleep.

It was then that you heard a thump coming from within the house, followed shortly by a muffled scream.

Tired, you had to pause to register what was happening and, by the time your brain caught up, your heart was in full-on panic mode. You slowly reached into your pocket and dialed the emergency number as slowly as you dared, whispering into the phone and being reassured that a police presence would be arriving shortly.

Your neighbour was a young man though, just out of rehab and beginning to make his way through life. The longer you stood and waited for the police, the guiltier you felt.

So you reached into the pot plant and pulled out his spare key. After a short while of building yourself up, you unlocked the door and crept inside.

It was dark with the outside world shrouded via heavy curtains. You could barely make your way through the unfamiliar apartment and you didn’t dare turn on the light. Damn, you were extremely tired.

Part of your brain suggested that you had imagined the whole thing. It was a byproduct of a sleep-addled mind or something. That would be embarrassing to explain to the police and to your neighbour. Would you get charged for breaking and entering or could you blame it on your tiredness?

Your doubts didn’t get much further than that because somebody grabbed you from within the room.

A horrible iron-filled scent attacked your senses as you took in the bedroom. It looked like your neighbour was tied to the bed though he wasn’t moving. Somebody stood behind you, their breathing heavy and their grip strong.

They pushed your wrist closer to your back, preventing you from wriggling free of their grip. A blade, small and yet sharp, pressed against the side of your throat.

“Trying to play the hero, are we?” snarled a voice. “Have you called the cops?”

The blade pressed against your skin and you quickly spat out a yes.

“Probably right before you came in, if not earlier… I’d have enough time to kill you but then you’d be an absolute waste. Nowhere to stash a body around here and they’d comb the entire area if you were missing…”

“I didn’t mean –“

You were shoved forward before you had a chance to react. In the dark, you couldn’t make anything out and you hit the wall unexpectedly. Now, far enough away, you turned and tried to make out the face of your assailant. He melded in with the shadows and you ran your fingers along the wall until you found a light switch.

The lights flickered on and you gasped.

He wore a dark blue mask, a black ooze dripping from the eye sockets and onto his hoodie. There was no reaction to the lights. Not even a blink.

“Don’t you want to beg for your life?” he asked. “The other one pleaded nearly constantly until I shut him up.”

“You killed him…”

“He isn’t dead, just unconscious,” the man scoffed. “I try to avoid killing them, if I’m able to.”

“The police will be here soon,” you warned.

“Oh I know. That’s the only reason that I’m leaving this very minute.” He made his way over to the window, never turning to stop facing you. The bedroom window slipped open without a sound and he began climbing out. “I’d keep my doors locked if I was you. Plenty of unsavory characters live in these parts.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Glitchy Red

Your younger cousin squealed excitedly, holding the game to her chest in joy. “I love it so much!” she said. “I can’t believe I used to think Pokémon was for babies. At first when the music randomly cut out, I did think it was super weird but I’ve gotten used to it now.”

“I don’t think it’s meant to do that,” you chuckled. “But cheap versions, you know?”

It was good to see that your last-minute gift hadn’t gone to waste. You had been worried that the present’s fun would be lost on your video game-hating cousin but she had actually decided to give the game a shot. Now you had somebody in the family to speak to which was extraordinarily exciting.

“What are you meant to say to Red when he asks you whether or not he’s a joke?” she aske unexpectedly. “I know that if you say no, he goes away, and I’ve been too scared to try the other option.”

You frowned. “I don’t actually remember that part of the game.”

“Really? But it happens so often.”

When she realised that you really hadn’t encountered anything like that in the game before, she told you to wait a minute and came back with her game.

“There was one around here,” she said, loading in. “Just give me a second and I’ll find it.”

You stayed much later than you had originally intended to that night. The two of you played through a lot of the game, waiting for the moment when Red would break the fourth wall and demand to know about your opinions on him.

It never came.

The game ran incredibly smoothly. It was quite odd. There weren’t any hiccups along the way nor horror-style glitches. The music didn’t even cut off which was apparently rare accourding to your cousin.

After a while, she sighed and handed it to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why it’s not breaking. I’ll go make us some food.”

You continued playing while she was gone, enjoying the memories that came with the game. It was as fun as you remembered until about five minutes after she left. The music just shut off unexpectedly and, no matter what you did, it refused to come back at all. Any other sound effects worked fine though.

“So you’re just programed to break when only one person’s in the room?” you joked.

Perhaps that was a bad choice.

Unexpectedly, a loud static erupted from the console, so ear-aching that it felt like your ears began to bleed. The game took on a horrible red tint and Red appeared on the screen, a dialogue box appearing beneath his blackened form.

AM I A JOKE TO YOU?

Horrified, you immediately shut down the game and threw the cartridge as far away from you as possible. You raced at full speed into the kitchen, nearly knocking several things over along the way.

“You have got to throw that game,” you wheezed.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“There is something really fucked up with that game…” you said. “That thing with Red is absolutely not meant to happen. It felt like he was staring into my soul. You have to throw it out the moment you can. I will buy you another one but do not keep that.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, seemingly confused but nowhere as shaken as you were.

A faint static came from the living room, sending shivers down your spine.

Hobo Heart

Tears flowed down your face despite your best attempts to remain composed. “I’ve known for a while now,” you managed to say.

Your ex-boyfriend seemed shocked, though not entirely upset about your admission. “How long –“

“Since last week,” you said. “Though I’ve heard it’s been going on for considerably longer.”

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. You recognised this behavior from the past, already hearing the words you knew were coming. The apologies and the false regret, the promises about not doing it again, and then the eventual guilt-tripping. If you heard the latter, you weren’t sure your resolve would hold.

“Goodbye,” you said firmly.

“Wait!”

You ignored the calls, making your way home at a steady place. A few people offered you concerned looks so you rubbed away the tears and took a few deep breaths.

Several months of your life had been completely wasted. You had put so much time and energy into a person who didn’t care one ounce about you.

Just great.

You turned onto your street and made your way to the house across from your own. The woman who lived there was always busy and she only came home to feed her dog before disappearing again. Thankfully, she trusted you to spend time with Bruno.

Bruno came racing over to the gate and jumped up for head scratches. He was a beautiful Afghan Hound with a dark coat and bright eyes.

“At least I know that you’ll always be by my side,” you said, running his fingers through the dog’s fur.

A tear slipped out and you quickly rubbed it away. You dug around in your bag and took out a couple treats, offering him.

A second bark brought your attention to the street.

Standing there, a small white dog with a scruffy coat stared up at you. It looked friendly enough and, after cautiously checking it out, you crouched down and gave it a treat.

“Hello,” you cooed. You gave the pup a few scratches and smiled. “How are you doing, hm? No collar? But you must have an owner because your coat is all groomed and soft. Did you get out or slip your leash?”

You looked around the streets to see if anybody. Nobody jumped out so you gave the dog another treat and brought it into the garden with Bruno to protect it from cars.

The two barked and played with little issue and you messages friends and family about the events of the day.

It was about half an hour later when the air was starting to get chilly. You stood and the small scruffy dog began barking excitedly. Its tail whipped through the air and it jumped up against the fence. A man wearing a white hoodie was standing down the street. You glanced at the dog, scooped it up and made your way to where he was.

“Excuse me,” you said. “I think that I found your dog.”

He turned to look at you and you startled slightly at his rather unusual face paint. A white skull was painted onto his face, similar to something you would see at a college convention.

He glanced down at the happy dog and sighed. “So that’s where he got to.”

“I’m sorry if you were looking for him. I took him off the street to protect him from any cars or anything.”

“It’s fine. He always shows up eventually,” the guy said. “You can just put him down. He’ll follow me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Then he turned and started walking away. You hurriedly put the dog down and it immediately bounded after him, falling into step directly beside him. They disappeared around a corner and you returned to your own house.

The day had gotten much warmer suddenly.

[ectonurites]

Steph is the worst robin she barely did anything

Steph's time as Robin was literally rigged against her from the start so I feel like judging that as a fault on her rather than a fault on the people who wrote it is unfair. They didn't decide to make her Robin until after they already decided to kill her in War Games (which it's funny. There are conflicting claims about who came up with the idea to make her Robin [both DiDio and Willingham have claimed to come up with the idea], but no one person has ever taken responsibility [or pointed directly at someone] for making the choice to kill her), she never actually got a fair shot in the role.

Steph had the potential to be a great Robin, and I wish we got to see her have a real chance in the role more like her World Without Young Justice version. I want that as one of those YA Graphic Novels (in the style of/maybe even same universe as Shadow of the Batgirl) so badly... to get a story that actually lets her be Robin without being doomed to brutally die a few months later.

[isekaithatplease]

Review -the princess wars

Part 1 of this....review (it's more like rambling/reviewing/ranting) ((I will upload a part 2- when I get further into the story)

But Imma give you the official run down of this story before we start:

'After the Princess died, the soul entered a life-betting game! She will be the famous Pea Princess and other princesses in a fairy tale who will pursue the only prince. Only a princess who has successfully married a prince can return to the real world and continue her life and receive a huge bonus! How can she fight powerful princesses to capture the prince's love? ! War of the Princesses!"

interestingly enough- I read this one a while back, dropped it like a hot potato too, I'm in the middle of re-reading it right now, and I can safely say- that save for the fl and the art, can't forget the gorgeous art- I have literally nothing nice to say about this story.

I'm serious.

This will probably be the meanest review I ever type (for now)

Reading 20+ chpts of this series in one go was like going to a pig farm with no shoes on. Yes, I'm actually kinda upset that I had to re-read this story (it's not you, I just kinda hate this story) but I wanted to give it somewhat of a fair review, so to compromise I sort of speed read it.

So let's start with the good:

Well- ok, I might have a few good things to say about this story- mostly with the fl, Juana (I think that's her name).

Smart, resourceful, loyal and pretty funny! Not to mention that she's pretty strong and knows how to handle herself with weapons or maid work.

And the art- holy cow this art-

SHE KNEW WHAT WAS UP- GET A JOB! GET AWAY FROM HER!!!

The concept: Is also kinda interesting too, with the princess having special abilities, and whatnot, and you sorta feel bad for them, as there are actual stakes in the story! I also appreciate that the princesses seemingly follow their original story rather than a modified/watered down retelling, especially with the creative liberties that they take with the pea princess that technically doesn’t break the original story as:

-the original pea princess for all we know might not have ever been a princess to begin with 

and

-her test was kinda rigged because anyone sleeping atop of so many mattresses would definitely complain about something, so I’ll give credit where credit is due- the concept is fairly interesting and inspired. There.

NOW ONTO THE BAD:

Now look, this is isekai, right? And let’s be honest most isekai isn’t perfect, but we can still enjoy it for what it is.

Bad/corny villains? Eh ok, bearable I guess.

Basic/uninspiring side characters? Ok a little tolerable, but not unbearable, if you got a good fl and ml, the story can still be ok. 

Terrible/stupid fl or ml? Ok now you’re just going too far~ and that brings me to this story.

YIKES.

THE ML- PRINCE VINCENT.

Prince VINCENT

 ugh this Ml

Like imagine taking Cardan from The Cruel Prince- and removing his microscopic redeeming qualities and 3-5ft deep character depth (obviously I'm exaggerating/joking here) BUT- if you did, you'd get Vincent. In fact, if I were to just jump down a nearby rabbit hole- this whole story kinda feels like if we were to do an uninspired 'eligible bacherolette' for the prince- Cruel Prince version. Yes.

One thing I hate hate HATE about this story is how society gossips about the princesses acting out of line, yet no one says anything whenever Prince Vincent, who's supposed to be the morally upstanding future emperor looking for a wife- A WIFE- YES ONE, willingly eggs them on against each other, because deep down I think he wants a harem of toys. He gets off on manipulating them and kinda egging them on against each other which is just...weird and kinda gross. He obviously wasn’t held at ALL as a child. Sadly this isn’t even the worst he does

I hate the ml (the way how he mistreats and acts like a terrible person to the fl is just ugghhh- I think he has a thing for humiliating and threatening her (with death or just pretty much anything whenever she doesn’t comply with his demands)- I actually think it’s a kink too. You know he's only getting a pass because he's the prince, the art is pretty and he's hot. Otherwise he'd be dragged and shredded.

I'm serious- mistreating her as having her spend her punishment as working as a maid (even when he had the same suspicions and in the end had no problem humiliating that princess who they were accusing of, in order to humiliate her own country into submissiveness), and then when she (I think) becomes something akin to a knight, his personal knight *unfortunately* he kinda just annoys/harasses her. 

And let's not forget that time when he tried to kill her for her ending up in the library late at night and then forcing her to work for him. Maybe it'd be cute if they were like itsy bitsy kids or something- and this was just left to cold/jilted banter, but nah, I think he's abusing his power against her in an uneven power dynamic relationship. 

He knows he can make these demands and sometimes he blatantly does when she clearly doesn’t want to do something, but he knows she can’t resist because he’s the one with the power here. They’re obviously not equals in this relationship- I mean, it’s kinda clear that he only sees her as an asset to completing his own mission rather than her being an actual person. He doesn’t berate her for almost killing herself in order to fullfil a mission for him, nor does he have any problems with using magic against her when SHE’S VISIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT, and even after he uses it ON HER, he refuses to TELL HER WHAT HE DID TO HER. That’s SUCH A VIOLATION OF CONSENT- IT ACTUALLY MAKES ME ANGRY. ESPECIALLY WHEN WE KNOW HE’D THREATEN HER LIFE IF SHE DID ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY SIMILIAR TO HIM.

 This isn't like some harmful flirting, nah- he's making power moves against her. Publicly mocking her, privately putting her down while just leveraging her for whatever reason, pressuring and threatening her to ride a horse when she’s showing FEAR (which is kinda understandable, I can see why people would be scared of horses) and then stuffing her in an uncomfortable carriage when she’s still too scared to ride a horse.

He really doesn’t deserve her, in fact he doesn’t deserve anything at all, well except for the worst.

Also him painting using this as a test on only someone he can ‘trust’ aka so he could manipulate her into doing it is LAUGHABLY PATHETIC/MANIPULATIVE- given how he saw how said magic almost killed her in the first place, and despite her proving her worth to him MULTIPLE times while putting everything on the line, despite the fact that he treats her like utter GARBAGE. Just say that you want to exploit her for your own means, since it’s worked so far, and if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, because that’s all you want to do.

Just to be clear, I have nothing against a 'mean' ml, and in some cases it does make way for great banter/relationships, and character depth- but I think that ultimately fails here- with the stakes being so high and the power mostly being in his favor. The dynamic fells uneven- and it feels like she’s being taken advantage of someone who doesn’t even see her as a person. Heck, I don’t think he sees anyone else as a person- as it’s shown how he can so easily toss away people for his own gain, which sure, is politics, but that doesn’t make him any better suited for her, in fact it shows that he’d probably sell her out too if he could politically one up, or just humiliate her (because that’s his kink- I’m 100% sure of it)

People call him complex, but no, I’m sorry. The most complex thing about him is how the artist blows their back out weekly trying to make him look good. Being a flat out terrible person who takes advantage of others is not complex, it’s poor writing. If he were the villain it would be ok, and understandable even, but he’s not- he’s supposed to be a deuteragonist that we’re ok seeing Juana with when she deserves BETTER. 

You wanna know what actually is complex? Maybe a conflict or some sort of inner dilemma which the prince never has. If it’ll change, I’d like to see so, but I’m like 40+ chapters in, and I have yet to see anything.

 That’s really sad that these are her ‘last thoughts’. 

It also doesn’t help that literally any other male in this story would be a better male lead for the end game. Not even joking, I’d take the gardener or even the prince’s uncle over the prince. (Does anyone know what the gardener's curse is? I haven’t figured it out yet, but if I reach that point Imma upload it in part 2, if any of you know, please feel free to spoil it for me, the less I have to read outside of spoilers- the better).

I would not recommend this series to anyone - AT ALL.

the only way this story can redeem itself is if the females band together and rip his head off.

[iamnotawomanimagod]

I finally have a chance to sit down and reflect on the Halsey show.

In one word - incredible.

Big spoilers for the Love and Power tour below - I'm going to go over as many songs and moments as I can!

It started with The Tradition, which was especially interesting at Red Rocks because it's an amphitheater (naturally formed by red rock, hence the name), so she when she opened the show on the catwalk rig, it really took a moment to see where she was, and it let the visuals really shine

Speaking of which - fucking AMAZING visuals, all of the graphics for each song fit so well and the lighting was so perfect. Plus there was pyrotechnics and fireworks...it was crazy. I've been to two other Red Rocks shows and this was by far the biggest and most impressive production I've seen there.

The video packages in between songs and sections were so well thought out and really underlined the horror element. I think what I loved the most was how grotesque it got - the visuals were truly disturbing, including stuff like eye gore/horror, one scene where she bangs her head against a sink until her teeth fall out, one of her all wrapped up post-surgery... it was very effective and creepy imagery and it definitely added a whole other level of flavor to the songs

There was even this moment in the middle where they were like "this next part is really sugary sweet and pop-y" and they played songs like Be Kind, Colors, So Good, etc - and the visuals morphed a little more to reflect that, becoming a little sweeter, which was especially cool because that was the "Release" and "Reflect" chapters of the setlist

Plus they had these really beautiful spoken word interludes... I hope someone has transcribed them or recorded them, I really want to see them again. I only recorded a few things because I was so caught up in the show that I completely forgot to take my phone out, haha.

I was so so happy with what they played, I ended up being really excited about a lot of the changes, since I've been following the setlist so closely all tour, lmao. So when she said "tonight's show is gonna be a little different than the rest of the tour" I lost my mind. I mentioned it before but they played "Hold Me Down" and "Heaven in Hiding" and "You asked for this" which were all songs I didn't think I'd hear at all. And I prefer all of those over their alternate songs from other parts of the tour.

They said that Red Rocks is like their living room because they've played it so much, and that it's special to them because it's where they had their first real conversation with Alev. But they also said it was the site of (what they consider) one of their worst-ever shows, during the HFK tour. Someone nearby yelled "It was really good!!" which was cute.

I ended up in a great part of the crowd. One of the weird things about Red Rocks - and I bet this is true for a lot of venues, but especially for Red Rocks - it's such a special and beautiful place to see live music (Halsey literally called it "the most beautiful venue in the world" which like, BRAG) that a lot of times you'll get people there who don't know the artist at all and are just there to see a show at Red Rocks. There was such an interesting blend of ages because of that - everyone from tweens/teens to college kids to people in their 30s and 40s, and even like, a handful of much older people. So it definitely wasn't just an arena full of Halsey stans, haha.

I was a little disappointed, but H put on an incredible show, so I can't imagine anyone leaving not at least a little bit impressed by them. There were a lot of parents with their kids, which was cute - we actually ended up next to a family, a mom and a dad and their kid, and it was the kid's first concert. And the mom and dad were dancing and singing along, and being so supportive, it was sooo sweet. And the mom confided in my best friend that she was worried that her kid wasn't having a good time, so we tried to dance with them - but honestly I think they were a bit overwhelmed, I definitely would've been too at that age.

And on my other side was this gorgeous gorgeous person, I'm not sure if they were gay or nonbinary or just queer, but they were wearing a flawless face of makeup and working this mustache along with it. (Honestly? Incredible place for outfits and looks, people really went all out and it was all really edgy, fun, Halsey-inspired looks. I even saw a girl in Halsey's outfit from "You should be sad") But the person next to me and I vibed so much, we kept screaming the lyrics together and making jokes and stuff - and making a concert friend is one of the best things that can happen at a concert, such a lovely and intimate and honest encounter, even better because it was so fleeting!

I couldn't see the stage suuuuper well, I was definitely in the middle of the amphitheater and someone kinda tall was in front of me, lol. So I ended up watching the screens a lot. But when I did manage to catch her on the stage, I was blown away by how short she is, pahaha. They have such huge stage presence, it's easy to forget. And they really had to work to make the show engaging, because they were the main focus for the entire two hours. They never flagged or complained or dropped their energy.

but I might be getting too old for concerts, lol. My feet literally went numb, and I definitely had to sit down a few times. I'm ngl, there were a couple of lulls and some songs I don't think <.< needed to be on the setlist. Like "The Lighthouse" is an amazing song, but I don't think it's very good live. It felt like it really killed the energy, tbh. >.> That was probably the one song I really wish they had skipped. That and maybe "So Good." But it gave me a chance to sit down, pahaha, so it worked out. For the record, I know not every song should be high-energy, that would make for a boring and overstimulating show - but like, "Darling" and "100 Letters" were slower songs that were still super captivating in a way that "The Lighthouse" just.......wasn't.

But oh my god......y'all, I cried during "Darling" and then on into "100 Letters." I mean they literally started "Darling" by saying "A lot of people think I wrote this song for my son, but I actually wrong it for my first babies. I wrote it for you guys." and of course I was like "awwww" but then when everyone pulled out a light and Halsey sang it I just got so emotional. Like something about the line "until it's time to see the light, I'll make my own with you each night" hits so so SO different when you're literally standing in a sea of lights among other people who love Halsey as much as you do. And then they went into "100 Letters" and it was the stripped version, and that's one of my all-time favorite songs by them, and then line "but I don't let him touch me anymore" just means so much to me, and so when she sang that the floodgates just opened. (My friend who was with me had a very similar experience with "Graveyard" - Halsey's music just Does That.)

"Whispers" is incredible live. They looked so intense, and the difference between the whispers being, well, whispered, versus screamed by a crowd, just adds this whole other incredible element to it. I love songs where something painful and personal becomes something that brings people together, that lets people connect and feel less alone.

And during "Nightmare" everyone was singing and screaming so loud, and jumping up and down, and when the abortion stats were on screen everyone just started screaming even louder. And afterwards, Halsey talked about their thoughts on Roe v Wade, and talked about how if she hadn't had an abortion she wouldn't be here, her son wouldn't be here. And some people walked out (or chose a super bad time to go to the bathroom) but she just went right on talking about why it was so important. And then they led the "my body, my choice" chant and it was just. so cathartic, and healing. and empowering.

And all of the classics - Gasoline and Castle and Hold Me Down and Bad at Love and Colors and Hurricane - were as amazing to see as I knew they would be.

I can't believe the setlist was 26 songs, it went by so fast, it didn't feel like two hours at all. If it weren't for how sore I was (and lowkey sick, my stomach didn't like all the jumping around and I had to puke in the parking lot,) I would've stood there all night listening to them sing and talk.

They sound so so so amazing live. Like I think some of the power of their voice is lost on recordings. Red Rocks also has some of the best acoustics for concerts in the world, so that just made everything she sang sound even better. But I was constantly impressed by how beautiful and rich and powerful their voice was. Halsey's vocals have never been the most important thing about her to me - I'm definitely a bigger fan of their lyrics and their concepts and their visual art style. But that concert gave me a whole new appreciation for how talented they are as a vocalist.

It was like. Truly one of the most incredible nights of my life. I'll post some videos if you guys promise not to make fun of my voice lmao. I was definitely not concerned with how I sounded, I was just taking the recordings for me, so there is talking/my own singing over it. Fair warning, haha.

But yeah. I'm so grateful that I got to go. I'll never forget it. I didn't think it was possible for me to love and respect Halsey more as an artist, performer, and singer, but I walked away from that show with even more appreciation for her.

just.... wow.

[usermoreid]

what would the unsub maeve story line be like? talk about it!

god im so happy you asked me this. it got so long so it's under a cut but im akfhdh i love unsub maeve arc

okay so she reaches out to spencer because she's been looking for a way to get to the team for a while now, and spencer posting to forums about his migraines was the perfect opportunity. she starts slow - introduces herself as a geneticist, asks to see the brain scans. spencer's so desperate for help he doesn't even ask for credentials, he just sends them to her. what's the worst that can happen, right??

she says she has some ideas, but she needs to talk to him; she needs to get a feel for what sort of lifestyle he's living so that she can figure out the best way to work with it. spencer's immediately overjoyed - someone has an idea of how to help him?? wonderful!! exactly what he needed!! so they start writing letters. she asks about any trauma he's been through in the past. he thinks it's to see if there could be any psychological or physical underlying issues. it's actually so that she can use it against him if need be.

talking about these things just feels so good to him - he's never been able to be so open with someone. but it's for medical purposes, he reasons, meaning that it's not like he's actually talking about it. and then they start talking on the phone. she suggests some vitamins - things she knows won't actually help him with his migraines but also won't hurt. during these phone calls, he pretty much starts using her as a therapist of sorts. and then he learns that she really is incredibly smart and wow she's so funny and oh my god she let's him ramble on and on to his heart's content and oh she's literally perfect.

his headaches become a little less severe. he pins it on the vitamins and the changes in diet and the exercises that she has him doing. he's not necessarily wrong, it is making him healthier. but it's actually due to the decrease in stress. he's not bottling up his emotions anymore. it took a little bit of time but he reaches a point where if he has a difficult case, he picks up the phone and calls maeve, whose credentials he still never asked for because why would he ask for proof when he's literally evidence of her capability himself??

this goes on for a while. spencer partially does actually develop feelings for her, but he mostly just starts associating the lack of pain with her, along with the relief that comes with it. he doesn't realise. she does. it's going exactly to plan.

she tells him about her stalker; says that he's the reason they can't meet; says that it's far too dangerous to get spencer's team involved because i don't want to hurt you and spencer believes it all. why wouldn't he?? he certainly has no reason to believe that they actually can't meet because her plan isn't ready yet, or that the team can't get involved because they'll see beyond the veil that spencer's insecurities have casted and immediately spot the red flags. no, she has no reason to lie to him, why would he ever doubt her?? he loves her, she helps him. and she loves him too, she said so herself. she wouldn't lie to him.

and then one day she gets kidnapped. there's a voice saying zugzwang and she can't answer the phone and oh my god he's going to have to tell the team. so he does. he musters up all the courage he doesn't have and stumbles marches his way into hotch's office, trying to project an air of confidence that's greatly diminished by the overwhelming anxiety coming off of him in waves and he tells his boss everything, from their first meeting to their last conversation.

hotch is skeptical, spencer can tell, but they go through with it anyway. they treat it like a regular case. they think it's the ex-fiance and oh god why didn't she say she was engaged and then they think it's the guy's new girlfriend and they've found where they are, they've figured it out let's go get her!!

and when he gets there he's told to blindfold himself and he does and then he's strapped to a chair and he needs to see her and he finally does and—

i told you we were going to make blindfolds fun again, he hears.

she's standing alone. two bodies in the back - bobby and diane. she had to kill them. bobby was going to expose who she really is and why she really had to disappear from her academic circles and maeve couldn't have people finding out that she was forced to leave after stalking someone to the point of almost getting a restraining order, not after she fought so hard to keep it quiet. and diane - ugh, diane - who stole her boyfriend and wore her clothes without even knowing they were hers. they both had to go.

he stares in shock. he doesn't understand. he came here to save her why is she free why is she stood in front of two dead bodies why is he strapped down to a chair what's happening??

she tells him. she tells him that the bau ruined her life. she tells him that they killed her parents - her real parents, the ones that weren't related to her by blood but through love, the ones who took her in when she was a child who ran away from home. they were serial killers, sure, but they loved her and she loved them. but then the bau came along and ruined their big finale. they didn't get the chance to blow up the people they were meant to, so they blew themselves up. suicide, it technically was. maeve calls it murder. the bau murdered them.

she takes spencer's gun from his hip and fires a shot into the wall, knowing that the team would come running. spencer can't tell them not to, they wouldn't hear him in time. they pile in, seeing maeve holding a detonator in one hand and the gun in the other and they realise, only moments after spencer, that she's rigged the place to blow.

she makes them all put their weapons down and throw them over, as she holds the gun to spencer's head. once the weapons have been dealt with, she throws the one she's holding over with the others and waves the detonator higher, making sure everyone can see it. she tells them that her cells have been dying ever since she returned to her birth parents, never having told them where she was for months and they didn't care enough to ask, because that was the moment she decided she was going to kill herself. she said it happened to her parents too - spontaneous cell death, she called it.

then derek lunges forward. it has such a small chance of working, but it's either this or they all blow up. either way, there's a strong chance they won't make it out. may as well give anything a shot.

he gets the detonator out of her hand by some miraculous luck but before anybody has time to celebrate, she grabs a gun out of the pile and points it to her own head whilst derek's is next to it. if the bullet gets shot, it would kill them both.

it doesn't get shot. spencer's gun does. the one he hides in his ankle holster. the one he grabbed as hotch untied him during the chaos. the one he never told her about because it was such a subconscious act that he never even thought to mention it. he's grateful that he didn't, but not until later. no, right then he doesn't feel anything as his bullet rips through the skull of the woman he loves. or as the gun clatters noisily yet silently to the floor. or as his knees give in and he falls down, staring at the blood pooling from the face he'd never seen in person. she was as beautiful as he had thought. the most beautiful girl in the world. and he had killed her.

[itsclydebitches]

re: that ask you posted a couple days ago about the male and female representation in RWBY, part of what makes RWBY's whole 'girl power' thing ring exceptionally hollow to me is the fact that there are like... no women in positions of real power in remnant. like at all. except the big bad.

winter is second in command to james. glynda is second in command to ozpin. all of the headmasters are men (for no discernible reason, imo; why theodore and not dorothea?). the leader of the ace ops was a white man (and then winter seemed to take over clover's position instead of either of the women of color on the team, and she was still second to james). RWBY is an all girl team, but JNPR was led by a boy despite a girl arguably being far more qualified (pyrrha). the happy huntresses are all women, and robyn had no real power to speak of--she didn't even manage to win the election, because jacques rigged it, and then the council ceased to matter. there was one (1) woman on the council, but she was so inconsequential that i can't even remember her name. (i suppose we're lucky it was the guy and not her who james shot lol) jacques controls the SDC instead of willow, even though he's not even a schnee by blood and actually married into the family for power. (and we don't even know how he got it over his wife.)

and then there's the white fang, which ghira led and not kali--and it's ghira who leads menagerie itself, while kali seems to be a housewife. sienna had five minutes of screentime before being brutally killed and her position assumed by adam, a man. cordovin is basically a one off lackey we haven't even thought about before or since. neo was second to roman. you have cinder, sure, who is a second but to salem, a woman, and raven as the leader of the branwen tribe--but what does it really say about your 'girl power' narrative when the only women with genuine systemic power in your world are villains or antagonists with massive bodycounts??

atla has the same sort of problem--a couple great female characters, but all the leadership positions are men (except the kyoshi warriors, an all girls group, and even then the leader of their island is an old man) and the one female mentor figure also turns out to be evil--but it at least has some great writing to help overlook that fact, and it came out in the mid-00's and so has some sort of excuse of being a product of its time. but rwby didn't even start until 2013 and it's still going and still making these kinds of decisions well into 2021.

where is this supposed girl power, exactly? am i really supposed to overlook the very patriarchal worldbuilding just because the title characters are girls?

That's an excellent summary of the situation, anon, and as with so much in RWBY, it comes down to the full context. Any one of these examples isn't necessarily going to mean much on its own. It's when you look at the pattern that you can start making a case for those conclusions: Why is the show marketed on "girl power" set in a world where men hold the vast majority of that power? And, more importantly, why is that setup not the point? We could easily have a story where that lopsided gender dynamic is the problem that the girls are looking to fix, but... that story doesn't exist. Like the problems discussed with Jaune, the supposed point here exists only on the surface. Dig just the tinniest bit — the above — and you hit on a lot of structural problems with this "girl power" world.

To add just a few details to what you've already said:

Salem indeed has power, but she's never allowed to fully use it. Each volume the frustration with this grows as Salem accumulates more abilities and then just sits on them. From literally hiding out for a thousand years to worries that she won't use the Staff in Volumes 9-10, Salem really isn't allowed to be the threat she's presented as on the surface. And yes, this is absolutely due in part to the "She's too OP and the writers don't know how to let her be that powerful while still having the heroes win" issue, but again, context. That problem doesn't exclude others occurring simultaneously.

Same double explanation with Summer. Yes, dead moms are an incredibly common trauma to dump on a protagonist, but it still left Yang and Ruby with Tai as their primary influence. And Qrow. The uncle becomes the extended family influence while Raven is the absent one/eventual antagonist. It's personal power as opposed to political power, but Tai, Qrow, Ozpin, formerly James... most of the mentors are men. Maria, a key exception, has been ignored in that regard. The story announced that she was Qrow's inspiration, setup her being Ruby's new mentor, and then... nothing. Nothing has come of that. She disappeared for a volume and then went off to Amity and was literally forgotten by the story when evacuating everyone was the finale's whole point.

Like that Endgame moment I mentioned, the Happy Huntresses feel a little too forced to me. Yes, it's the same basic idea as in ATLA, but ATLA, as you say, has a lot more going for it. The Happy Huntresses feel... on the nose? Idk exactly how to explain it. Like, "Here they are! Another team of all women! Isn't this how progressive storytelling works? Just ignore how this is a one-off team of minor characters compared to the world building issues discussed above." And if you're not paying attention, you miss just how insignificant they are, with a side of Robyn being, well, Robyn. The Kyoshi Warriors, at least, are based off of Kyoshi. A woman avatar who is a significant part of their history. That is, presumably, why they're an all women warrior group (but who notably still teach Sokka). The Happy Huntresses are all huntresses because...? There's no reason except that meta "We want to look progressive" explanation. Just like having all the women superheroes team up for a hot second so people get excited and ignore the representation problems across, what? 21 films? Don't get me wrong, I love that May is among the Happy Huntresses. I think including her in the explicitly all-women group was one of the better things RWBY has done in a long time, but the rest is still a mess.

RWBY is arguably about these smaller groups as opposed to systematic power (despite the writers trying to work that in with things like the White Fang and the election. Not to mention the implication that everything in Atlas is fine now that evil Ironwood has died and taken the symbol of wealth (the city) with him. We saw a human holding hands with a faunus after all. Racism and corruption solved, I guess.) So yes, our group is dominated by women... but Whitley is the one saving Nora, helping to defeat the Hound (plus Willow), thinking of the airships, and providing the blueprints they need to escape. Salem is our Big Bad, except Ironwood is the one the volume focuses on. Ruby is our leader, but Jaune is the one leading the group into the whale and getting praised for how heroic he is. Ren does more to shake things up, even if he's painted as the one in the wrong. Oscar gets to confront Salem and destroys the whale threat. Ozpin provides the information they need to evacuate. Meanwhile, when the girls do things in Volume 8 it's almost always followed by a long-stint of passiveness. Nora opens the door so she can be unconscious for most of the volume. Penny keeps Amity up so she can also be unconscious for a good chunk of time. Ruby sends her message and then sits in a mansion. Blake fights so she can tearfully beg Ruby to save her. Weiss, as said, takes a backseat to Whitley (and Klein). They forward the plot, absolutely, but comparatively it doesn't feel like enough.

It's that pattern then, no one specific example. More and more the personal power, not just the systematic power already built into Remnant, seems to be coming from the men. Not all the time, but enough that scenes like the tea drinking moment feel like a part of a much larger problem. Pietro taking control, Watts hacking, and Ambrosius literally remaking her when Penny is supposed to already be in control of herself and her fate. Winter being presented as the active mentor to Weiss, only to turn around and claim that Ironwood was actually responsible for everything. Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and May straight up commenting on how awful things are out there while Yang, Jaune, Ren, and Oscar lead the charge against Salem — with the latter three doing the most to forward that mission (no fear, semblance, cane). As others have only half-joked, Yang's supposedly badass moment was bringing up a mother she's ignored for six volumes and briefly blowing up the immortal woman for a couple of seconds (with Ironwood's bombs). Even Marrow is arguably the most significant Ace Op after Clover. Vine isn't actually a character, Elm slightly less so, Harriet is there to go crazy and try to drop a bomb (notably before admitting to never-before-existed feelings for Clover), but Marrow? He's the one who breaks out. Who is meant to heroically stand up against Ironwood. Who comments on how awful it is that teenagers are fighting and, regardless of how messed up the moral messages are, is supposedly pushing for active change while all the women in his group, including Winter, insist on maintaining the status quo. Look at all these choices as a whole, it makes throwaway worldbuilding choices like "All the Maidens are women" feel pretty hollow. Why does it matter if Amber is a Maiden if she dies in a flashback so Ozpin can struggle to pass on the power? If Pyrrha dies before becoming one so Jaune can angst about it? If Raven is one and then disappears from the story entirely? If Winter has enough power to break Ironwood's aura, but supposedly had no power throughout every other choice she made getting here? If Penny is one, but is continually controlled by men and then asks another man to help her die? It's just really unconvincing, once you look past the surface excitement of a woman looking cool with magic powers.

When you do consider the whole of the story — both in terms of our world building and who is forwarding the plot in the latter volumes, getting the emotional focus, being proactive, etc. — there are a lot of problems that undermine the presumed message RT wants to write. They say, "girl power" by marketing RWBY with these four women, but too many of the storytelling decisions thoroughly undermine that, revealing what's likely a deeply ingrained, subconscious bias.

[rafael-silva]

lean into me, I’ll catch you: a tarlos fic

The 126 paramedics get called to the scene of a bar fight, tension rising during the drive. The chaotic scene is cluttered with police presence, TK spotting Carlos’s patrol car upon arrival. Once inside the bar, TK gets thrown a sudden and painful curveball.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + hidden scar

hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, paramedic tk, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, kisses, whump, comfort, angst with a happy ending

6.5k | rated T | on ao3

*****

The call comes in a little after lunch.

The crew had just finished cleaning up, all of them hanging out in the common area, keeping busy with various activities. Tommy is chatting with Judd in the corner, while TK, sitting on the kitchen counter, is engaged with Nancy in their own conversation. They restocked the ambulance after their last call and after making sure everything was on track there, relaxed and fell into an easy exchange filled with their usual playful banter and quirky back and forth. TK laughs at one of Nancy’s statements, his eyes wrinkling at the corners which elicits an equally hearty laugh from his partner.

Then the bell goes off, calling the paramedics to a scene of a bar fight with multiple injuries. TK hops off the counter and he and Nancy meet Tommy in the ambulance bay, TK sliding into the driver’s seat, Nancy into the passenger one, Tommy closing the doors behind her as she gets into the back. The sirens blare loudly as TK presses down on the gas petal and drives towards the heart of downtown Austin.

Halfway into their trip, the ambo radio springs to life.

“Be advised,” a dispatcher starts, “incoming report of an officer injured on scene.”

“Copy that,” Nancy replies into her radio. “We’re five minutes out.”

She looks over at TK and notices his grip on the steering wheel tightening and his facial expression hardens as he squares his jaw at the new information. She knows what’s going through his mind.

“We don’t know that it’s him,” Nancy says in a low, calm voice.

TK replies with a firm nod, swallowing. Having no further information on the identity of the injured officer or how bad the injury is, TK feels his head spiral towards the worst case scenario.

Silence falls upon the rig, the atmosphere turning sharp and tense and TK makes no indication of speaking or doing anything besides driving, really, his focus solely on arriving at the scene.

He tries his hardest to control his thoughts, but all the what ifs tug at him and feed into his fear of losing Carlos. He wills his heart to stop thumping against his ribcage as he rounds the corner, the bar in sight now. They’re so close, yet it feels eternities away.

TK parks next to a couple of other ambulances that have responded, the common red and blue lights bouncing off the buildings around. TK jumps out, making quick work of grabbing the medkit as Nancy shoulders the lifepak and Tommy emerges from the back. He’s fast on his feet, making his way through the bystanders and police presence and into the bar, Tommy and Nancy hot on his heels.

The scene is chaos, and it’s almost like a tornado had ripped through the bar. Broken chairs scattered around the space, turned tables, shattered pieces of glass littering the ground, crunching underneath TK’s boots as he strides in.

He pushes all that aside, heart hammering in his chest again as he holds his breath, and having seen Carlos’s patrol car outside moments ago, immediately scans the wrecked place for the officer.

Relief floods his body when his eyes land on Carlos standing with Officer Mitchell near the bar stools, both of them talking to two men, one wearing a red jacket and the other a baseball hat, as the officers attempt to calm them down and diffuse the situation. What little relief TK felt is quickly replaced with concern then, reading the tension in the air and knowing that his boyfriend is quite literally in the middle of it.

It appears those two men are the origin of the havoc, judging by the amount of cops hovering near them, taking statements from people around. TK notices how Carlos’s shoulders are rigid and his face stern as he speaks, sharing a fast look with his partner before returning his attention to the man in front of him.

TK looks away for a moment, to where the other officer is injured and that second is all it takes for a roar to erupt behind him and all hell breaks loose again.

TK isn’t exactly sure what happened as he turns around, but Mitchell jumps into action to keep Mr. Baseball Hat back while Mr. Red Jacket yells heatedly at the other man, scrambling to free himself from Carlos’s hold.

It takes TK’s mind a second to catch up with what’s happening and his heart sinks further seeing Carlos in the middle of the brawl.

TK wants to push through and pull Carlos to safety but he’s suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. He doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Tommy. She most likely had read his mind, his team knowing him so well by now, as she anchors him next to her.

TK is vaguely aware of Nancy saying she’ll check over the hurt officer, but his eyes never leave Carlos, watching with drawn eyebrows as his boyfriend attempts to move Mr. Red Jacket backwards to separate to two angry men. He feels helpless standing there, although he knows deep down that he can’t get involved in the middle of this fight, that he doesn’t have the training for this, he wishes there were something he could do to protect Carlos. To make sure Carlos is okay and safe.

TK trusts that Carlos can handle himself, but it still doesn’t make this situation any easier. The two men don’t appear to be slowing down, fueled by rage and adrenaline, it appears that they’re overpowering Carlos and Mitchell.

Officers rush over to aid Carlos and Mitchell, but they reach them a little too late. TK feels his heart drop as he watches his boyfriend’s face morph into a wince, his eyebrows drawing together and eyes going wide at a realization. Carlos is momentarily frozen in place as the two men are taken down around him. But he doesn’t move after, blinking slowly now. And that’s the thing that keeps TK on edge.

TK himself stunned, remains in place, his eyes moving with Carlos as the taller man searches the crowd, eyes hazy, not really looking for anything in particular. But TK sees a spark of recognition when Carlos’s eyes eventually land on him.

TK can tell that Carlos relaxes ever so slightly, his brown eyes meeting TK’s worried green ones. The world narrows to the both of them, the sounds around them mute, movements in slow motion, and TK tries his hardest to understand what just happened. Because something isn’t right, Carlos not having moved an inch and is seemingly unaware of what’s happening around him. TK sees Mitchell speak to Carlos over her shoulder as she hauls Mr. Baseball Hat away, but Carlos makes no indication of having heard her.

And then TK gets his answer, catching the slow movement of Carlos’s hand moving to his stomach, and TK’s eyes widen at the large patch staining the officer’s uniform there.

It all clicks together then.

Stab wound, TK’s mind supplies.

The paramedic is all too aware of his quick breathing now, and his heart dropping into his knees as he watches Carlos sway dangerously to the side as he loses his balance, the patch getting bigger with each passing second.

And the way Carlos’s arm weakly reaches out towards him has TK springing into action, fleeing from Tommy’s hold as he pushes through the crowd to catch Carlos.

“Carlos is hurt!” He yells over his shoulder to his Captain, his heart in his throat now.

TK gets to Carlos just as he’s tumbling forward towards the dirty floor. TK drops his equipment as both arms instantly reach out to steady the officer, Carlos falling against his chest but TK, ready for the impact, keeps their balance as he takes on Carlos’s weight.

“Hey, hey,” TK says softly. “I got you, I got you.”

TK gently lowers Carlos down, the sudden appearance of the paramedic and Carlos nearly toppling over capturing the attention of the officers around as they regain their collective breath from handling the two men.

“Reyes?” TK hears someone call from above as he places his palm over Carlos’s stomach and applies pressure, receiving a groan from Carlos.

That grabs Mitchell’s attention and she turns around, grip still on the man and her eyes go big at seeing TK and her partner on the floor. She hands him off to another officer before she’s rushing to their side.

“Carlos! What the hell happened?” She asks TK, her voice filled with shock.

“He’s been stabbed,” TK replies, eyes not leaving Carlos’s face, who’s growing paler by the second. “Hang on, Carlos. You’re okay, just hang on.”

Before anyone else can speak, Tommy’s voice echoes.

“Coming through!”

TK only looks up then, seeing Tommy and Nancy crouch next to them and open the medical bags.

His attention back on Carlos, TK’s breath catches in his throat when he sees Carlos looking at him, eyes glassy, doing his best to focus on TK.

“TK?” Carlos breaths, his voice frail, almost afraid that he’s imagining the paramedic.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m right here,” TK is quick to comfort him, reading between the lines.

TK gives Carlos the best smile he could muster, hoping it’s not as shaky as it feels to him.

“Hurts,” Carlos wheezes, shutting his eyes when he feels added pressure on the wound.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, babe,” TK replies. “We gotta control this bleeding.”

Carlos sighs, face rolling to the side as he peels his eyelids open, finding TK again amidst the fog that is his vision.

The blood seeping through his fingers bring tears to TK’s eyes, and he swallows against his dry throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. It feels like Carlos is slipping from him, and he’s overcome with so much fear, visible in the shaking of his hands. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, heart racing and sweat rolling down his neck and back. He shakes himself out of it, knowing he has to stay strong and calm, for Carlos’s sake.

“You’re okay,” TK sniffs. “Stay with me, baby. Focus on me.”

“Always…you,” Carlos murmurs.

“TK, I need you to remove your hands for a moment,” Tommy instructs.

He meets her gaze with wide eyes, frantically shaking his head.

“I can’t—he’ll—he’ll lose more blood, I have to keep applying pressure,” TK responds, a tear escaping his eye.

“I’ll be quick,” Tommy promises. “I need to inspect the wound.”

After a moment, TK reluctantly pulls his hands back, immediately taking note of how Carlos’s face relaxes a little once the pressure is removed.

TK holds his breath, hand finding Carlos’s and gives it a squeeze, a reassurance that he’s right by his side. Carlos uses all the energy he could muster to return the squeeze.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” TK says as Tommy works, Nancy taking Carlos’s vitals.

Once Nancy finishes and reports Carlos’s numbers, which are low, she hands TK a large piece of gauze and then secures the IV line she started, prepping Carlos for transport.

“Okay,” Tommy nods once she’s done, moving back and TK doesn’t waste a second in covering Carlos’s wound with the gauze and pushing down.

The almost lack of response from Carlos is alarming, and TK looks at Tommy with broad glistening eyes, fear radiating from his green irises.

“He’s going into shock. We need to move now,” Tommy instructs.

A gurney seems to materialize next to them out of thin air, but TK minds no attention to where it came from as he and a couple of other officers lift Carlos off the ground and onto the gurney. The crowd parts as they move, TK keeping constant pressure on Carlos’s abdomen. Mitchell trails closely behind them, clutching her radio as she speaks into it.

They push Carlos into the ambulance, Tommy following and TK getting in after her.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mitchell tells TK.

He nods as Nancy slams the doors shut and races to the driver’s seat.

The ride to the hospital is agonizing. TK watches as the oxygen mask Tommy placed over Carlos’s face fogs and clears with each weak breath he draws in, his face ashen and skin clammy to TK’s touch. The bleeding had slowed down a little, but there’s no way of knowing what kind of damage has been done internally.

Tommy discards the blood soaked gauze in favor of a fresh one, placing it over Carlos’s stomach and the pressures earns them a hiss from Carlos.

“You’re okay, babe, you’re okay,” TK says, running his thumb along Carlos’s knuckles. “We’re almost at the hospital, everything is going to be just fine.”

“Tired,” Carlos’s voice filters through the mask.

“I know, but you gotta say awake. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Carlos would do anything for TK, so he obliges with a small nod. He sucks in a wobbly breath, and lets it out slowly, eyes latched onto TK. There’s so much worry and fear engraved into TK’s forehead, the height of his fright on full display and Carlos wants to ease that pain and wants to wash away TK’s panic. So he gives TK his best smile, its small and uneven but TK understands.

“You’re okay,” TK nods.

They reach the hospital a few minutes later, the ambulance coming to a halt at the Emergency entrance and the doors are torn open a moment later.

It’s a fury of action from there, Tommy and TK pushing the gurney as Carlos fights against the darkness threatening to take over. He’s semi-aware of Tommy passing the information to the medical team as he’s being wheeled through the hospital hallway, then he directs all his attention to feeling TK’s hold on his hand, warm and steady, strong and reassuring. He sees TK’s face in his line of vision a few seconds later, he’s speaking but the sound doesn’t reach Carlos’s ears.

Then TK’s face is gone as quickly as it had appeared, along with his grounding hold.

A shiver runs through Carlos’s body and he realizes just how cold he is at the loss of TK’s touch. It’s the last thing he’s aware of as he loses the battle with the impending darkness, his eyes slowly slipping shut.

TK feels a piece of his heart being violently torn from him watching the team wheel Carlos away and into an elevator, taking him straight to surgery.

The doctor had reassured them they’ll do everything they can for Carlos, and those words weigh heavily on TK’s shoulders. He knows nothing is guaranteed, knows no promises can be made.

His head falls forward, his chin hitting his chest as he pleads and pleads that Carlos’s time isn’t up, that Carlos won’t be ripped away from him. Because this can’t be Carlos’s end, this can’t be their end. They’ve only just begin, there’s still so much he wants to do with Carlos, so much he wants to see and experience with him.

TK pleads that the I love you he just spoke won’t be the last time, or the last thing, he tells Carlos.

TK is looking at the elevator long after the doors have closed and he feels a hand land on his shoulder, the same way it had earlier at the bar.

“Come on, TK,” Tommy’s speaks in her motherly tone. “They said we can go to the waiting room on the surgical floor.”

TK nods, but makes no indication of movement. It’s when he sees Tommy and Nancy move towards the elevator that he does move, but in the direction of the stairs.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll take the stairs,” he says.

“Okay,” Tommy nods. “The stairs it is.”

TK turns to see Mitchell rushing over, and she quickly notices the drop in the paramedic’s shoulders.

“Is he…”

“They just took him to surgery,” TK tells her.

She nods, the concern for her partner clear on her face.

They climb the floors in silence, the echo of their boots on each step the only sound until they reach the surgical floor, easily finding the waiting room near the nurse’s station. They file in, TK dropping into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and resting his elbows on his tights. He leans forward, his hands folding into each other and he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

He opens them and stares at his hand a few moments later, his stomach churning unnaturally at all the blood coating his skin, Carlos’s blood. He shudders and looks up when a few wet wipes appear in his vision.

Nancy is standing in front of him, holding them out with a sympathetic expression on her face. He gratefully accepts them and starts wiping the blood, the wipes turning pink with each stroke.

Once he’s finished, Nancy disposes the wipes in the trash, returning and taking a seat next to her partner. TK’s leg starts bouncing, his nervous energy palpable and evident in his movements and in the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I, uh,” TK breaks the silence, his voice small and low. “I need to call Carlos’s parents. I’ll be right back,” he gets up and walks out of the room, and with one more look in the direction of the operating rooms, makes his way downstairs and outside.

The sun is still hanging high in the sky when TK steps out of the emergency room entrance. It hasn’t been an hour since the paramedics arrived at the bar, but it feels like it's been a lifetime for him. It’s hot and the atmosphere is sticky with humidity, his Austin Fire t-shirt under his uniform clinging uncomfortably to his body.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opts to sit down on a nearby bench, opening his phone contacts and finding Andrea’s. His finger hovers over her name for a few moments as he steadiest himself, bringing the phone up to his ear once it starts ringing.

The line comes to life after a few rings, and the words get caught in TK’s throat.

“TK!” Andrea greets, her voice cheery and upbeat. “How are you, amor?”

“Mrs. Reyes,” TK starts and then pauses, letting out a shaky sigh. “Andrea…”

Andrea immediately picks up on TK’s broken tone, the concern hugging her next words. “TK, are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m okay, it’s…” TK’s voice quivers. “It’s Carlos. He…we were on a call and he got hurt.”

“Dios mio,” Andrea breaths out and TK can hear hustling in the background now. “What happened?”

“It all happened so quickly…we got called to a bar fight, and PD was already there, and Carlos and his partner were talking to two men. It seems like the fight was over but it suddenly started again and Carlos was in the middle of it,” TK sniffs, letting the tears run down his face. “We’re at the hospital now, I don’t—I can’t—” he hiccups.

“Breathe, TK. Take a breath,” Andrea guides him.

TK can hear the strength in Andrea’s voice, but he can also tell it wavers a little, the worry apparent alongside the steadiness.

“I’m sorry,” TK recovers. “I’m okay.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, TK. And Carlitos will be okay, too,” Andrea replies. “He’s strong.”

TK holds onto her words with everything he’s got. He knows those words are for him, just as much as they are for her, as well.

TK nods, and it momentarily slips his mind that Andrea can’t see him. “Yes, ma’am. He’s the strongest person I know.”

“That’s it,” Andrea says. “Now tell me, which hospital are you at?”

TK returns to the waiting room after hanging up with Andrea, his eyes going a little wide with surprise when Owen and Judd get to their feet at his reappearance.

“Dad? Judd? What…” “I called them,” Tommy supplies from her seat. “It goes without saying that you’re off duty now, and we thought Owen should be with you.”

“But doesn’t your shift start soon?” Owen shakes his head. “I’m staying right here, Judd’s going to be Acting Captain during this shift.”

Deflated and drained, TK doesn’t find it in him to argue.

“I was on the phone with Judd when Tommy called and when I told him,” Owen starts.

“I wanted to be here to see how you were holding up, and to be here for Carlos, too,” Judd continues.

A ghost of a smile passes over TK’s face. “Thanks, Judd. That means everything.”

“Always, brother,” Judd replies, wrapping TK in a warm embrace.

TK feels like a little boy in Judd’s arms, holding onto the Texan and drawing strength from him. Judd tightens his grip on TK, knowing the younger man needs it and pats him on the shoulder a few times. TK nods against Judd’s shoulder in understanding.

*****

“I’m sorry.”

TK frowns, turning to face the source of the words.

“What are you talking about?” TK asks Mitchell.

They’ve been alone for twenty minutes; Judd had to leave for shift, while Tommy and Nancy got a call soon after and left, but not before TK promising to call or text if he needs anything and to update them on Carlos’s condition. Owen had left a little after that, on a quest to find food. Which had left TK and Mitchell sitting in silence.

“This is all my fault,” Mitchell shakes her head. “I didn’t see it, I was right there and…I let Carlos down, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no,” TK gets up from his seat and moves to the one next to her. “This wasn’t your fault, and you didn’t let him down. I know you always have his back, and that makes it a little easier watching him go to work every day. This…this is only one person’s fault, and it’s that man’s who intentionally hurt Carlos.”

Mitchell’s gaze remains on the floor, unable to look into TK’s eyes. “I was right there,” she repeats. “I should have seen it. I was right next to him. I can’t help but wonder if I had just been quicker…”

“It was chaos, everything was happening so quickly and it was a blur. I don’t even think Carlos saw it coming. It…came out of nowhere,” TK sighs. “I was watching you both and I looked away for one second, and I keep wondering if I just hadn’t looked away…maybe I would have seen it,” he confesses. “I was further away, maybe I would have caught it. The man moving to grab the knife or something.”

Mitchell does raise her head then and looks at TK, finding identical unshed tears in his eyes as in hers.

TK sighs again. “The truth is, what ifs aren’t going to help us now, and they won’t make this any easier. They’ll just drive us down a spiral that has no end, trust me, I know. All we have to focus on now is Carlos. He’s going to be okay.” TK turns to look out into the nearly empty hallway. “He has to be,” he whispers.

He sees Mitchell nod from the corner of his eye.

Mitchell was gone by the time Owen returns, carrying a couple of brown paper bags and three cups of what TK can tell is iced tea.

Owen frowns when he only sees his son there. “Where did Officer Mitchell go?”

“She had to leave, their Captain called. He needed her at the precinct to take her statement about what happened,” TK answers. “She’ll be back as soon as she can.”

Owen nods, setting everything on the table in the middle of the room and hands TK a cold cup.

“Thanks,” TK gratefully accepts the beverage and takes a small sip, reveling the coolness running down his parched throat.

“You should eat something,” Owen gestures to the paper bags.

“Maybe in a little bit, I’m not really hungry,” TK shakes his head.

Owen purses his lips but doesn’t push, instead he settles for a nod and a gentle pat to TK’s shoulder.

TK is nearly done with his iced tea when hurried footsteps break the drape of silence that had fallen on him and his father.

He looks up and sees Andrea through the glass window, a moment before she’s stepping into the room, her handbag clutched tightly at her side, brown eyes wide and face heavy with worry.

“TK, Owen,” she pants as both men get to their feet. “Any news yet?”

Owen shakes his head. “He’s been in there a while, we should be getting an update soon.”

Andrea nods and throws a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the big swinging doors. She sighs, turning back to look at TK, but he isn’t looking at her.

Instead, TK is looking down at his hands hanging in the air at his middle, busying themselves as he anxiously runs his fingers over each other.

“TK,” Andrea says softly as she approaches him. “Look at me, amor.”

Slowly, TK lifts his gaze to Andrea’s, a tear rolling down his cheek.

She gives him a small, sad smile and cups his face, wiping away the fallen tear. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

That’s all it takes for the dam inside TK to break, a sob tearing from his throat as his body shakes with the force of his tears.

“Come here,” Andrea whispers, placing her hand at the nape of TK’s neck and gently pulls him towards her.

He goes easily, returning the embrace as she wraps him in a hug and soothingly runs her other hand up and down his back.

“I got to him as fast as I could,” TK says, voice muffled against Andrea’s blouse.

“I know in my heart you did everything for our Carlitos,” Andrea replies as she pulls back, but keeps TK close.

“I wish,” he sniffs. “I wish I could have done more.”

“From what Tommy told me,” Owen’s voice comes from behind them, “you did everything in your power for him, TK. You saved his life.”

TK drops his head. “If I had seen the knife…maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Carlos would be safe, not in surgery.”

“You can’t put that weight on your shoulders, TK,” Andrea says.

TK then realizes that Andrea doesn't know the details of what happened. He meets her eyes and after a moment, explains. “He was…stabbed in the middle of that fight. I was far away from it, I didn’t take my eyes off him the whole time but I looked away for one second and that’s all it took. Maybe if I hadn’t looked away…”

Andrea is shaking her head, a tear sliding down her face but she keeps her attention on TK. “You got to him as quick as you can, remember? I hate that Carlitos got hurt, it aches my heart, but I’m glad you were right there, and I’m glad it was you, that you were by his side, doing whatever needed to be done to make sure he comes out of this okay. From what I’m hearing, it’s true, you saved my mijo, TK. And he’s going to pull through.”

TK nods and moves in for another hug, he and Andrea taking comfort and support from each other, leaning on one another. Their strong hold on each other is the only thing keeping them from shattering right then and there.

***** The silence, save for the beeping of the heart monitor, is eerie and daunting in Carlos’s hospital room.

TK’s been sitting by Carlos’s bedside for a little over ten minutes, but he hasn’t been able to utter a single word since falling into the chair situated by the bed.

It was two agonizing hours after Andrea’s arrival that a very exhausted doctor entered the waiting room and called for the family of Carlos Reyes. Perhaps TK’s silence had something to do with him still digesting the doctor’s report.

It was touch and go for a while but he made it through. Significant blood loss. Concerns about infection. Low blood pressure. Part of the colon was perforated but was successfully repaired. Jagged entry. Will leave a scar. Expected to make a full recovery with time.

TK focuses on the expected to make a full recovery portion of the report, not daring to believe any other outcome. It’s difficult, though, watching Carlos so still in front of him. The officer is a calm sleeper, but there are always small movements here and there, a soft sigh, a little twist and turn, an arm thrown over TK’s middle that pulls him close, and the absence of any of those movements is unnatural. Even his breathing is different.

TK takes small comfort in the fact that Carlos is breathing on his own, but it’s nothing like how he breaths while sleeping in their bed. The rhythm beats to a different drum, it’s not relaxed and peaceful in this hospital bed, it’s strained and on edge.

TK steadiest himself,  reaching out and taking Carlos’s hand into his own, giving it a light squeeze, hoping the officer can feel it.

“Hi, baby,” TK starts but abruptly stops, taken a little aback by how gruff and heavy his voice sounds. He clears his throat before speaking again. “I’m right here, and you’re okay. The doctor told us everything went well and that you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Your mom is here, in the waiting room and your dad will be here soon, too. I…I really need you to pull through, babe. I need you. And I miss you. Come back to me, ‘Los,” TK brushes a soft kiss to Carlos’s forehead.

TK can’t help the disappointment that brews in his gut when he doesn’t get a response.

A gentle knock an hour later breaks TK from his haze, he looks to the door and sees Andrea and Gabriel standing there, meeting TK’s eyes for a moment before they drift to their son.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reyes, please come in,” TK says as he gets to his feet, hand still holding onto Carlos’s.

“How’s he doing?” Gabriel asks, his usual strong voice a little frail and low. The Ranger’s shoulders are fallen, too.

“He’s hanging in there,” TK reassures him. “His vitals are holding and he’s regaining color, all good signs.”

Andrea nods, stepping closer to the bed and cards her fingers through Carlos’s curls.

TK doesn’t want to leave Carlos’s side, but he knows his parents want and need some time with their son. Making up his mind, he looks at Andrea and then Gabriel.

“Please stay for as long as you need,” TK says. “I’ll go home to freshen up, change and pack a bag for Carlos and I.”

“TK…” Andrea tries but TK is quick to gently shake his head.

“You need some time with him,” he says with a small smile. “And I’m sure he’d love to hear your voices.” TK leans down and plants a kiss to Carlos’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit, babe.”

Gabriel squeezes TK’s shoulder when he walks by him, and TK replies with a nod in understanding, smile still on his face.

“And TK,” Andrea speaks before TK leaves the room. “Please try to eat something, too. You barely touched the food your father bought earlier.”

“Yes,” Gabriel agrees. “You have to keep your strength up, for your sake and for Carlitos’s. To take care of him.”

TK gives them another nod and his smile widens a little. With a last glance at Carlos, he leaves.

*****

The sun is climbing in the sky when it happens.

TK had given up on sleep, opting to walk around the room for a while to stretch his tired muscles before settling back in the chair next to Carlos’s bed. He’s scrolling aimlessly through his Instagram feed when his eyes catch the movement.

At first, he thinks his brain is playing a trick on him. Or maybe it’s the not sleeping. But then it happens again, and that has TK sitting up straight in his place, leaning forward towards Carlos.

“Carlos? Baby, can you hear me?” TK speaks, his voice a little rough around the edges.

He holds his breath as he watches Carlos wrinkle his nose, as he sometimes does before waking up. A few moments pass and then Carlos is slowly opening his eyes, finding TK’s through his blurry vision.

“TK?” Carlos whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby, I’m right here,” TK smiles at his boyfriend, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “You’re okay.”

TK reaches out and cups Carlos’s face, tenderly caressing his cheek. A tear rolls down TK’s face when Carlos leans into his touch, and feeling Carlos’s warmth against his skin lights up the flame inside him, the one that was dimmed the moment Carlos got hurt.

“What…” Carlos trails off as he swallows.

“You got hurt on a call, babe, but you’re okay now. You’re safe. I’m right here, I got you,” TK reassures him.

“You…always do,” Carlos gives TK the strongest smile he could muster.

“And I always will,” TK promises. “Get some more rest, baby. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”

Carlos nods weakly. “I love you,” he expresses as his eyes begin to close.

“I love you, too,” TK reciprocates, bringing Carlos’s hand up to his lips and brushes a kiss to his knuckles.

And for the first time since he watched Carlos sway at that bar, TK can finally properly breathe.

*****

“Looking good, babe,” TK smiles from where he’s standing in the doorway of their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

Carlos smiles back, catching TK’s eyes in the mirror in front of him.

“Fits the same,” Carlos says, adjusting his name tag pinned to his uniform.

TK nods and steps into the bedroom, walking over to his boyfriend and wraps his arms around his middle from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Carlos leans back, placing his arms over TK’s as TK rests his chin on the officer’s shoulder.

They watch each other in the mirror as a comfortable silence settles over them and then TK moves his head slightly to place a kiss to Carlos’s clothed shoulder.

Then TK’s eyes roam down to Carlos’s stomach and he can almost see the hidden scar underneath the layers of Carlos’s uniform.

“I’ll be fine, Ty,” Carlos whispers, knowing very well where TK’s thoughts are taking him. “Everything checked out and I’ve been cleared for active duty.”

TK nods, but his eyes remain fixed where they are, and now TK can see the scar in his mind, etched into his memory along with the fear of almost losing the love of his life.

It’s his day off, and TK had hoped he’d be working the day Carlos went back into the field, just for the possibility of seeing him on calls and making sure he was okay with his own eyes.

The weeks following Carlos’s injury weren’t easy, for either of them. A bad infection had set in shortly after Carlos had woken up, which warranted a few more days at the hospital. Once the infection was treated, Carlos was cleared to go home, with strict instructions to take it slow and easy and  to have someone with him for at least the first week of his recovery. TK took time off, staying by Carlos’s side, and still shaken up himself, didn’t stray far for both their sakes. He, too, needing to make sure Carlos was okay, that the worst was over and behind them.

He had to return to work eventually, Carlos constantly telling him that I’ll be okay, I’ll call if I need anything. I don’t want to keep you from work, from people who need your help more than I do now. Which TK promptly replied to with I’m exactly where I want and need to be, babe.

TK and Andrea worked out a schedule a week later, to make sure Carlos was always taken care of and someone was close by as he healed.

Carlos did eventually begin to lean on others and to ask for help when he needed it throughout his recovery, which made Andrea and TK breathe a little easier.

It was hard for TK to leave him, his mind constantly on Carlos when they weren’t on a call. He always looked forward to going home to Carlos and taking him into his arms.

After a few trips to the doctor’s and reassurances that Carlos was healing up well, he was assigned to desk duty. He wasn’t the biggest fan of it but he was glad it meant one step closer to getting back into the field.

TK had his own reserves about that, trying to breach the conversation with Carlos but the words seemed to always stop in his throat. Until one night, while cuddling on the couch watching a movie, the words just spilled out of TK’s mouth.

I’m scared for you. I’ve always been scared for you but that day…I mean, knowing it could happen and actually seeing it happen are two different things and babe…

Carlos understood. I know how scary it was that day. I was scared. And there are no guarantees, in both our lines of work. I can’t promise that nothing is going to happen, but I can and will promise that I will always fight my hardest to come home to you. Every day.

After a final check up and a physical exam, Carlos was cleared for active duty two weeks later.

Which is how they find themselves wrapped in each other’s embrace, Carlos getting ready for his first shift back out there.

“Just…be careful, please,” TK says, lifting his eyes to meet Carlos’s beautiful brown ones.

Carlos breaks out of TK’s hold then, turning around to face the younger man and takes his face gently into his hands, both thumbs running over his cheekbones.

“I promise,” Carlos vows.

Carlos leans in, closing the distance between them with a soft kiss. It’s not urgent or heated, it’s calm and grounding, filled with reassurance and love.

TK smiles against Carlos’s lips as he returns it, getting lost in his boyfriend, soaking up everything Carlos is offering and giving his own.

Their foreheads touch when they pull back and they breathe together. They feel each other and their love, anchoring each other.

TK’s hand gravitates to Carlos’s middle, to the location of the scar and his fingers brush lightly against the fabric covering it. Like his own bullet scar, it’s a reminder of how close he and Carlos had gotten to losing each other, how close they had gotten to losing this. But thinking back to that moment on the couch, TK takes comfort in knowing he and Carlos would do anything and everything in their power to come back to one another.

TK believes in them, believes in their love. And while he gazes into Carlos’s eyes now, getting lost in his captivating brown irises, knows beyond a doubt that Carlos does, too.

That knowledge gives TK the strength to brush another soft kiss to Carlos’s lips and then pulls back, making sure his boyfriend’s uniform is pristine.

“I’ll be right here when you come back home,” TK cups Carlos’s cheek.

Carlos seals the promise with a kiss to the inside of TK’s palm.

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

*

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

*

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

*

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

*

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”