#so i see respiratory again at some point in the summer

[jmdbjk]

This week's ... Bangtan report...

Anyone feel the need to come up for air? Me too...

These two... just acting like they can go anywhere here in peace.

I can't believe they ate reheated grocery store deli pizza. At first I was like I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ATE GAS STATION CONVENIENCE STORE PIZZA but then I learned it was a whole grocery store. On a scale of 1 to 10, grocery store deli pizza would be a 4.

I'm still speechless. The longer I think about it the more I can't believe what we've seen these past 4 days. After all this time of hoping they are living easily at home they come over here and turn the bucket over on us. Total chaos.

Aside from boat captains being dickwads (that Miss Karma wasted no time on that loser) and radio show hosts being embarrassing ignoramuses... the LUCKIEST regular people are experiencing encounters with JIMIN and JUNGKOOK in the WILD!!

We all know how excited we get just meeting other Armys in the wild but imagine being at work trying to get the soft serve ice cream machine working and you turn around and Jimin and Jungkook are standing there ready to order some greasy-ass pizza.

I'M SO HAPPY FOR THESE ARMYS WHO GOT TO EXPERIENCE THIS!

But we're still trying to decipher JK's similarities in his Seven concept styling. His hair that's reminiscent of Jimin's in his Face era... The both of them wearing a lot of similar things or even just their street clothes that are from the same designer... all of that making me ...

This trip that looks like all intents and purposes of being a weekend getaway... reserving a whole floor of the restaurant. AND TOGETHER ON SILVER DAY.... Going to a brewery. An outing on a boat. Basically roaming the back roads in New England. And JK headed to Old England.

But we might see it at some point in the future BECAUSE THEY HAD CAMERAS????

They spent all day Sunday .... doing what? Every hour, every minute, every second, you know night after night ...

Anyway...

Hobi's master plan is being revealed finally. At least that's what the twitter streets are saying. Those images were created last summer. He's had this in the works.

I love love love the two characters and the styling of this go-round of Jack in the Box.

I watched Namjoon's recent live and he said things like:

..."everyone is doing their thing and the team is being talked about" which he thinks is great... "let's each do well in our places and meet again looking good." All team members doing good.

He always looks great in his lives and now I'm convinced JK's got a potato phone with a crap camera because ALL of his lives are 360p no matter the lighting situation.

TMI warning...

Koo's got a little bit of an upper respiratory cold. It's no fun flying when your sinuses are inflamed. Give that boy some Dayquil/Nyquil. And YES I sympathy yawned with him! hahahahahahahaaa.

Watching this live... how can you be a straight up goofball doofus and also be the same JK dancing and singing "I'll be fuckin you right Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..."?

I wonder if the slow jam version of Seven was a preview of what's forthcoming?

Jimin got a new phone. I think that's why he had trouble logging into In🌟 (so cute, in-sta). When you move your shit over to your new phone you have to re-login to all your apps.

So let me guess who's gonna turn up with the head cold in a few days? I hope Jimin doesn't have any important schedules coming up in the next week or so.

#jikook #jungkook seven #hobi #j hope #namjoon #bts chapter 2 #tae finally got that cartier ambassadorship #bangtan weekly report

[marmolady]

WIP Dump!

I am actually still writing Endless Summer fanfic, believe it or not. It's just... slow. @mauvecatfic @rhemenway888 @sceptilemasterr I'm still here, quiet though I am!

In addition to the fics mentioned here, I'm also working on my 'Montoya grandchildren' collection, and my 'reunions' collection, and at some write some more glimpses into other Catalysts' family lives. As my 'main' post-canon story is long concluded, I'm mostly doing slice of life stuff and not much too heavy. That is, except for potential explorations of the end of the Catalysts' lives. I've already written Taylor's death scene. BUT I have been working on that particular fic on and off for literally years.

Snippets below the cut:

The first thing I've been working on is a series of windows into Taylor and Diego's friendship over the years, including far, far into the future. I think it's about halfway written, so it could be the next piece to make an appearance here and on AO3.

A snippet....

“Hey--” Taylor said as she settled down amongst the soft cushions of her favourite chair, knowing full well she’d be needing to call in assistance when the time came to haul her old body up from them, “I came up with the perfect idea for our next marathon.”

“’Marathon’? Between the two of us, we’re lucky to get through one movie without someone dozing off.” Diego grinned at his friend. His best friend of seventy years.

“That’s what makes it a marathon, because it takes so damn long. We take our time, savouring the laughs, the tears, and appreciating the artform.” A glass of wine, some cheeses to break up the films. And the two of them would reminisce, and Diego would point out his favourites of the crew’s filmmaking choices… or those that were notably bad.

“How about ‘the Zac Efron trifecta’?” Taylor suggested, showning her age. “High School Musical, followed by Hairspray, followed by The Greatest Showman.”

“Let’s just see if we can get through ‘Julie Andrews Fest’ first, okay?”

They did this fairly often. Just chilling out to the tune of films meeting their assigned theme. At the age they were, ‘just chilling out’ was pretty much requisite. Taylor’s arthritis had worsened considerably in the last year, and Diego’s respiratory issues were easily triggered by any amount of exertion. They were reasonably healthy nonogenerians… but they were nonogenerians.

______________________

Otherwise, you'll be seeing this next; some nice Taystela Valentine's fluff. Because so help me I love some Taystela fluff, and if anyone deserves ALL-THE-FLUFF it is Estela Montoya.

A snippet:

“‘Safe’ sounds perfect. As long as there’s no danger, people can stare all they want-- I’m in love with this woman, and I could not be less ashamed.”

Again, Estela momentarily glanced from the road to catch her wife’s eye, to return the smile there. “Don’t worry. I’m not taking you anywhere I couldn’t kiss you. I’ve suffered enough in my life.”

Taylor chuckled darkly, the knowing laugh of someone who knew all to well what it was to go through hell and back… and to try and embrace the happy ending on the other side in spite of the traumas that wouldn’t let go.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “On both counts.”

___________________

Aaaaaand my baby Rosa gets to head to La Huerta for the first time!

A snippet:

“Where are you headed?” the driver had asked, to which Rosa’s Mama Taylor had replied with, “It’s a secret-- don’t want to spoil the surprise for the little one.”

Rosa pretty much knew where they were going-- she’d heard all about it-- but it sounded so mysterious, it seemed likely there would be surprises when she got there. So much of what she’d been told sounded like magic. The taxi driver wasn’t part of the family, so they couldn’t talk about the place where they were flying to while he could hear.

 They were all headed to the special island, the one where Rosa’s moms first met, years and years ago. It would be Rosa and her new family. And… all these other people. Including Uncle Raj, whom she’d just met the day before. He’d stayed at their house overnight before everyone flew out, and was now sharing their taxi to the airport. It was a little bit scary, because he wasn’t just a new adult to meet, but a very, very big one, and very energetic. But Uncle Raj must have known those things were scary for Rosa, because he’d knelt down to her and talked all calm. He seemed kind and gentle-- and at dinner, he’d even whipped her up a special glittery drink with cotton candy on top. ‘Her signature drink’ he’d called it. Rosa liked Uncle Raj, and she hoped that the other new people would be just as nice.

“Oh, a surprise holiday? Qué niña tan afortunada!”

Rosa could barely hold in a giggle at the sight of Raj, who looked just about to burst with the excitement of the secrets they were keeping from the driver-- well, from all the world. It made her feel better, taking the edge off her jitters. It had to be something good they were on their way to.

__________________________

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #diego soto

[3wizemen]

Up in Smoke - Chapter 2

word count: 4284

rating: mature

read on ao3

previous chapter

- 🜁 -

It was a few awkward minutes before either Nancy or Robin spoke.

"Want a turn?" Nancy asked, holding the multicolored bowl out to the other girl. Her cheeks were flushed, her body more relaxed. It was weird to see Nancy like that, but Robin liked it. She looked softer, happier.

"Uh, sure," She replied, accepting it. Steve wasn't here to cut her off anymore, ha! She took a big drag, almost choking on the thick smoke that quickly filled her lungs. She coughed a little, but luckily, it wasn't the all-out God-meeting lung-hacking she had to endure before Nancy had arrived.

"Do you need water?" Nancy was looking at her with glassy eyes full of concern. Pretty blue eyes. "I can get you—"

"I'm good, I'm good," Robin hand-waved her off. "I just don't really get how anyone does this a lot without vomiting up their entire respiratory system at some point. "

"It takes getting used to, I guess," Nancy replied with a shrug. She leaned against one of the arms of the chair, posture loosening. 

"Haha, yeah," Robin chuckled. "I wonder how they even figured out how to do that shit, you know? Like, who decided to set some plants on fire and breathe in the smoke? I think a lot about how any of that stuff happened…alcohol exists in, like, every culture imaginable, pretty much, and they had that shit for all of their known histories. How did so many people in so many different places figure it out?"

"I don't know," Once again, the girl shrugged, humoring Robin's rambling. It was very different from the sharp frustration Nancy had reserved for her during their previous adventures. "Maybe it's just in our DNA to find ways to get inebriated."

"I believe you because this is as natural as it gets, I feel," Robin grinned, moving to lie supine on the couch cushions. It helped her head stop spinning, as it had begun to once more. "Like, this must be how…I dunno. How the—the cavemen felt, you know, being in the wild, or something."

"What?" Nancy laughed, a musical sound, and Robin looked up, embarrassed. She'd already managed to get laughed at, and it'd only been…what, a minute of speaking? That must be a new record. 

Nancy's face was red, the weed obviously seeping into her cheeks, and her eyes were rosy. A large smile, the kind of sloppy expression she'd never seen worn by the other girl, spread across her face, and she was laughing, really laughing, not the practiced titter she most often employed or the cruel laugh Robin had expected. "You're really funny, Robin," She said lightly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Robin spluttered, not used to receiving such blatant compliments. It made her weed-heated body light up just a bit more, tingling with sharp needles of embarrassment for being notable enough to garner such a complex compliment from someone who she had once thought couldn't stand her. Of course, it was just the weed talking through Nancy, obviously. But still. "I'm just talking," She shrugged sheepishly, taking another hit of the bowl to occupy her hands and mouth to keep her from making any other fatal social mistake.

"Yeah, but you talk…I don't know…like, you like life," Nancy leaned up and forward to accept the bowl from Robin. She took another smooth hit, blowing up toward the ceiling to prevent it from billowing into the other's face. Robin avoided her gaze, unable to bring herself to look at her. She played with the threadbare hem of her dark jorts. "You're just…so bright. It's fun. I like it."

Robin felt her face redden and hoped it seemed to the other girl like she was hot and high, both of which she was. The apartment lacked air conditioning, with only a ceiling fan to cool it in the heat of the summer. It was off right now, sadly. 

She didn't know how to respond to that. Nancy must be off her ass; she had taken a multitude of hits in quick succession, way more than Robin had accumulated. "You're really stoned, huh?"

"Maybe," Nancy replied. "Even if I am, I mean it. I guess I just think it's nice that you're still you after everything. You're still Robin."

You barely know me, Robin wanted to say. You didn't know me before. I was different. I was better.

Nancy was barely aware of Robin's existence before their paths crossed at Starcourt. She didn't know who she was before she was initiated into the secret club of the only people who knew that the world could end at any moment. Did Robin even know who she was before? Thinking back, it was like she was a ghost, an unaffecting specter that lived exclusively out of fear; out of fear of others, of herself, of speaking, of breathing, of existing. She was just a friendless zombie that listened to her language tapes and played in band, then slept, exhausted from days spent trapped in a paralyzing cycle of crushing anxiety.

Was I better before?

"I—uh, I guess nothing can shut me up," She offered a quick joke, shaken by her own self-reflection. "But, uh, I still think you're pretty cool. You've just been dealing with it all in different ways than me."

"I suppose," came Nancy's thoughtful reply.

Robin hated when people answered like that. It gave her no handhold, nothing to fervently push off of to jump to a meaningful response. It made her heart race, panicking to keep the conversation going, to not let herself be blamed for the awkwardness of the conversation. "You, uh, you've been dealing with this stuff a lot longer than me, right? Steve said you knew about it all even before him, and he's been in the trenches, man, so I don't blame you for feeling…uh, changed."

"Since freshman year," Nancy attempted another hit. "Ah, pulled through," Disappointed, she set the bowl down on the coffee table with a hum. A novice, Robin didn't know what that meant, but she assumed it meant it was out.

"Will went missing when I was a sophomore, back when Steve and I were dating. My…my best friend died at one of his parties…the Dem—a demogorgon got her," Her voice took on such a heavy, sad tone that Robin was drawn to look up at her again. Nancy's round eyes were on her lap, her red face having gone slightly pale.

Cold realization hit Robin like a hammer bashing in her skull. "Barb?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," For once, she was speechless.

"Did you know her?" Nancy asked quietly. A dagger pierced between the ribs right after the hammer. Had Barb never mentioned her to Nancy? Had Nancy just not cared to remember?

"Ha, yeah, we were best friends when we were younger," Robin said, feeling almost guilty for saying so. Why tarnish Nancy's idea of Barb by letting her know she used to be best friends with a queer? "I thought she ran away. She used to talk about it a lot."

"Then I wish more than anything that she had," Nancy gravely replied.

"I'm sorry," Robin offered, reeling. 

She had thought her past, which was now going to be subject to more analysis at a later, sober time, was safe from the unholy grasp of the Upside Down. Sure, stuff was going on before she knew about it, but she had assumed her memories, her life from before had remained and would remain unsullied. It felt like when she was drugged in the bunker beneath the mall; the horrid venom of the Upside Down had soaked into every aspect of her life, even her past, even her best friend from long ago. The only real friend she'd had (besides Mr. Hauser) had been Barb, and now, even she had been tarnished by the thick, unremovable, life-eclipsing stain that was the Upside Down.

"It's not your fault," Nancy shrugged pathetically. She seemed a lot smaller than she had been before, retreating back into that up-tight—no, Robin realized, tense, tensed for the unimaginable-yet-real horrors they'd endured—Nancy Wheeler-brand persona. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. Must not be great high."

"Not too cool, but that's not your fault," Robin hummed like a nervous car, panicking inside. She wasn't sure how to react, what to do. She was frozen internally, so many voiceless urges yelling at her to do different things. The weed did nothing but make it harder to listen, harder to sort them out. She was sweating. "I'm gonna turn the fan on. You want a beer? We have…we have some Millers."

Nancy raised an eyebrow, giving her a quizzical look, but nodded. "Yeah, I'll take one."

"Cool," Robin stood carefully, using the arm of the couch and the surface of the coffee table to steady her weed-wobbly legs. Her head swam, rather from that or the conversation, she was unsure.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked. "I'm sorry for bringing up Barb. I didn't know you were friends."

After her head cleared, she nodded. "I bet it was worse for you," She walked carefully to the kitchen area, feeling way too tall but also short at the same time. Good shit. "Just another reason I'm glad all that shit's over."

"Me too," Nancy turned in the chair so she was parallel to the arms, able to watch Robin meander her way to the fridge. It made her focus ten times harder to walk normally. "So fucking glad."

"It's just so crazy how, like, a little over a year ago, I had no clue any of it existed. What else is there that we don't know exists? Isn't it crazy that, like, the government did all that shit? Started all that? I knew the government sucked, but I mean, pshew ," Robin let out a nervous laugh, opening the fridge door and obscuring her face behind it; a brief escape from the pressure of Nancy's gaze.

"Don't fall down a rabbit hole," Nancy warned. "After the earthquake, I did as much research as I could on all that. I didn't eat, sleep, or do anything else for days. I wanted to make sure nothing else would threaten us. It's a fruitless thing to do because we won't know until it finds us."

"Reassuring," Grabbing three glass Millers—, the fancier kind for guests; two for Robin, as she was both a fast and nervous drinker; a drink was something to occupy her hands, her mouth, her eyes, the ultimate anxiety object—she made her return to the couch. The air felt different now; it still reeked of pot and smoke but was weighed down by their discussion. She set her quarry down on the coffee table, taking a step toward the couch. "Speaking of, how…uh, how have you b—"

Poor Robin tripped on nothing, to her horror, and fell at an awkward angle onto the armchair Nancy sat on, landing half on top of her.

"OH!!!!! my god!!!!!!!!!!! I am so sorry!!!!!!" Robin did not risk looking at her casualty before scrambling off of her and onto the floor, then righted herself against the coffee table. "I am so sorry, oh my god," Good lord, could she ever not be the most bumbling creature in the world? Apparently not, even when she was actively pursuing an escape from her apprehension. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment and heat. She didn't meet Nancy's gaze.

"It's okay, Robin, it's okay!" Nancy laughed her light, pretty laugh again.

Robin felt a bear trap close around her heart, her lungs. "I'm so sorry, I really did not mean to do that," She said again.

"It's okay," Nancy looked down at her, and Robin looked up, afraid.

Nancy was looking at her with a mix of pity and amusement, but it wasn't the same sadistic, condescending amusement that many looked at her with. It was the same way Steve or Eddie or the kids looked at her: genuine enjoyment. The way her sharp features had softened, and she looked…well, she looked kind of beautiful, the way her dark hair framed her pale face, making her glassy, ever-keen eyes look dark and bright at the same time. Her lips parted in a happy smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes pleasantly. "You don't have to be so nervous! It's okay."

Robin tore her frightened gaze away from the other girl. She had done nothing to soothe her, in fact, she had made her heart race further. Shut the fuck up, brain. You're high. She could simply not think Nancy was pretty. Not an option. You better fucking CHILL. She felt disgusting for even humoring such an idea.

"Still, sorry," Robin rose hurriedly, pushing past the clouds that threatened to consume her brain, and opened the beers on the bottle opener Eddie had affixed to their coffee table leg, much to Steve's chagrin. Robin thought it was pretty cool; it had the silver countenance of a dragon, mouth open in wait to pry off an aluminum cap. She stiffly handed one of the cold bottles to Nancy, who accepted.

"I know…I know we haven't talked a lot, and I'm…" Her face scrunched up in concentration. "...not very good at talking about stuff, but I like you, Robin. You don't have to be nervous," She echoed her previous point. 

"I'm always nervous," Robin couldn't look at her with the way that assurance made her feel, instead returning to the couch. She sat a little further away this time. "It's just, like, a thing. Just like how I can't stop talking, ever, pretty much, you know? And, I dunno, you just, like, make me nervous," There she went, blithering again.

"Why do I make you nervous?"

Well, she was on a roll now. "You…I don't know, you're just so, so put-together, and smart, and strong…" Images rushed to mind of Nancy, sweaty and pissed , gun in hand, hair touseled and sticking to her face, eyes flashing with justified rage… No, no, no, please get out of my head. "...and, uh, you're just, like, intimidating, because you…you're kind of unreadable, but you're so cool, I don't really know how to act."

Nancy was quiet for a moment, taking a sip of her beer, so Robin did likewise, heart threatening to explode out of her chest. She stared at the mouth of the bottle, then at the label, gluing her restless eyes to the small typeface circling the cold bottle. "That's the Wheeler way," She said after a moment, mirthless.

The chilled bottle reminded her: "I forgot to turn on the fan," Robin stood, making her way to the light switches, which were by the door behind the couch. Her path brought her right by Nancy's armchair, and when she passed it, the other girl grabbed her wrist. 

Nancy's grip was gentle, but firm. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Robin. I'm sorry I make you uneasy…I just…I haven't really had friends in a second, besides Jonathan," Nancy had looked her dead in the eyes until that point, where her eyes flitted down for a moment. "I wanted to try and reconnect, and I realize I'm not very good at that anymore," If Nancy was a kicked puppy now, though Robin had meant to compliment her in some regard. Definitely a spaniel , Robin almost nodded in confirmation of her own idea.

She looked at Nancy, immobilized. Her hand was cold on Robin's very warm freckled skin, making her nearly shiver at the contact. She chuckled nervously, feeling like she was going to melt into a muddle and then evaporate and cease to exist until she turned up as rain somewhere in the Amazon. Maybe the Amazon would be better than this—being stared at by a girl who she had always thought was so pretty but refused to acknowledge because of the pure disgust it filled her with to feel that sort of way toward anyone again. A girl staring at her with eyes betraying her well-concealed desperation for contact, for others who had been through what she had. 

What a situation! "I..uh…I'm just, I'm not very good at talking," Robin tried to keep herself from cringing away. She had once been able to handle Nancy, and pretty much anyone who regarded her with discontent, with a sharp, quick wit and even quicker mouth, that ability had now been reduced to her close circle of Steve, Eddie, and the kids, the only people she could really handle. Nancy, in her absence, did not have the chance to become one of those people. "You don't make me uncomfortable," She lied, though for a valiant reason: You make me nervous because I think you're gorgeous was not something she wanted to acknowledge in her brain or out loud. 

"That's okay," Nancy dropped Robin's wrist suddenly as if she hadn't meant to grab it in the first place. "Sorry. I'm very high right now." "I wouldn't have been able to tell," Robin said with a shrug. Nancy did look a little blasted, but just a little. Not the way Eddie sometimes looked, like he was one step away from meeting God. "I am too, honestly."

They both just stared at one another for a second, Robin standing like an awkward tree, or maybe a telephone pole, Nancy sitting. "Can I ask you something weird?" Nancy asked after a moment, brushing her bangs out of her face and taking a long swig of her beer.

"Yeah," Oh lord.

"Are you and Steve dating? Like, for real," Nancy asked, high but genuine curiosity overcoming her grave expression with a small, mischievous grin Robin hadn't seen on her before. 

Robin couldn't help but burst out laughing, doubling over slightly. Thank god for an icebreaker. "Oh, my god, no! " She said, going down again to the floor. Standing was a lot of effort, and very awkward during a conversation with someone sitting. "No way. Platonic all the way. All capital, not just the P. 'PLATONIC'."

Nancy laughed back, all the sadness weighing on her smaller frame seeming to melt away, to Robin's relief. Never had she been happier to have someone ask her about her and Steve, which happened about every time Robin went out with him now. Many jeered, congratulating Steve on finally 'turning her'. He practically had to be held back when they did.

"I've never seen anyone as close as you two," Nancy said. She was making more progress in her beer than Robin, who was separated from her beverage due to her being on the floor and all.

Robin stood to go turn on the fan, flicking on the light switch and returning to her spot on the couch. She picked up her Miller—she'd need it for this conversation—and took a sip. "I'd never seen crazy Russians and monsters and shit before," She countered cooly. She may have been a constant wreck, but this was the one thing she'd always be prepared for: proving she did not love Steve Harrington. At least not romantically.

"Yeah," Nancy shrugged. "But…I don't understand why you're so set on keeping it a secret. You live together."

Robin absently remembered that Nancy was a reporter. She must be the subject of some interview in the other's head right now; a probing of her ex's new girlfriend. Robin thought there'd been enough of that during the whole Vecna thing, but until she and Steve either kissed passionately on the mouth or one of them died, there would always be speculation. "I don't know what else to tell you, Nancy, but we aren't dating. Actually, I think I would rather die than date Steve Harrington…living with him has proven that."

"So you liked him before you moved in with him?" Nancy prodded mischievously, then drained the rest of her beer. "Is it okay if I grab another one?"

"Ugh, no," She repeated her sentiment. "I mean, yes. I mean. No. Yes. Go get a beer," Robin covered her face in her hands, and Nancy laughed again, a cute little snicker. She realized she rather liked making Nancy laugh…it felt different than other people. It was like learning a new language, everything sliding into place in her brain until she produced the right pattern, the right sentence, to elicit the response she wanted. It was like a complex puzzle. 

Rubbing her eyes and taking a sip of her own beer, Robin attempted to recollect herself. This is going well, right? This is how normal people talk? She wasn't quite sure. It felt like it had been hours since Steve and Eddie left…she checked her watch. It had been fifteen minutes.

The fridge thudded shut as Nancy retrieved her next drink. "Listen, I'm happy for you. I'm over Steve. I have been for a while. I feel like you were kind of nervous around me…before because you thought I still loved him, or something," She explained her pushing as she cracked open the bottle with the little dragon. "I can assure you I do not."

"I rest assured. You're too good for Steve," Robin said quickly. "I love that guy, but, jeez, man. He's a dingus, and you're so…" She cut herself off quickly. So what? "...so, uh. Not that," Nice save.

"Thanks?" Nancy gave her a confused look, head tilting slightly to the left. Spaniel. "I—"

"I mean it when I say we aren't dating, Nancy," Robin tried to soften her voice into something more serious, but it was hard when she was almost a beer and who knows how many hits in. It probably sounded more like a fucked-up purr from a cat that had been affixed to a gyroscope. "He's my best friend. He's my brother. But he's not my boyfriend, and he never could be. We worked together at the mall, and we survived this insane adventure with the Russians together, and then we made it through Vecna together, too," She explained. "We're just…we're close, now," Robin took another drink after she finished speaking, draining the last of the bottle.

The bready taste warmed her throat. It had warmed from its time out in the hot room, but Robin was too high to care. "Why do you ask? Do you like Steve or something?"

It was Nancy's turn to be on the defense. "What? No! I was just curious. Journalistic instinct. High instinct," She defended. 

"It's okay if you do. I give you my blessing," Robin said snidely, gaining a rare upper hand in the conversation. She removed the next bottle's cap, taking it into her free hand to fidget with, though she eventually dropped it and began messing with the bottle's label. "Oh, wait, sorry. Forgot about Jonathan. I just, like, never actually knew him, with him sort of being in California and stuff."

Nancy paled at Robin's comment. "...We actually broke up a few days ago," She said faintly.

Robin's breathing froze for a second, all previous confidence draining from her body like a squeezed sponge. Of course she had to make the wrong joke at the wrong time. "Oh…I'm sorry, Nancy, I didn't realize—"

"It's okay," Nancy replied, that sadness from earlier returning to weigh her voice down into a low, sad sound. "You didn't know. I haven't told anyone."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's fine. It was probably for the best," Nancy said, annoyance sharpening both her bright eyes and her soft voice. "He lied about applying to Emerson and didn't tell me until the other day. It would have been fine if he had just talked to me about it…but he didn't."

"Damn," Robin said sagely. "That fucking blows. I don't understand how people lie like that."

Aside from the whole being in the closet deal, Robin was a terrible liar. Only under the most extreme of pressures and the most serendipitous of circumstances could she lie properly. It wracked her with guilt to lie to extremes, and it made her incredibly paranoid. She tended to talk too quickly to think up lies in time with her mouth, anyway. Her most impressive rouse remained their galavant in Pennhurst; she was still proud of herself for that. "It's like, I don't know, it's like I didn't even know him anymore. He came back from California so different. It's like I didn't know him, but he still knew me. But he didn't."

"We went through a lot while he was gone," Robin agreed, sipping at the subject of her fidgeting. "I don't blame you for being changed from it. Sometimes that stuff just happens," With a pang, she was reminded of how she and Barb had grown apart. She wondered what the last thing she'd said to Barb was before she died; she couldn't remember.

"I just—I don't know. I need something different. Maybe I'll find that in Boston," Nancy said.

"So that's a no to Steve," Robin attempted a joke she was unsure would fly, and Nancy mercifully gave her a small chuckle in return. 

"No to Steve. He's all yours," She gave her a small smile.

"I think we should just together agree: No Steve. We're better than that."

"Deal," Nancy's eyes shone with amusement and Robin feared she had worse things to worry about than falling for Steve.

"No Steve," She held out her bottle, tilting the neck toward Nancy.

"No Steve," Nancy clinked their bottles' necks together, and they both quaffed the rest of their drinks.

As if on cue, the door opened. "Miss us, ladies?" Eddie grinned happily over two boxes of pizza. Steve pushed in after him, reminding him to take his muddy ass shoes off so as not to stain the carpet.

"Horribly," Robin said, and Nancy furrowed her brows humorously.

#ronance #fanfiction #character study #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ao3 #fanfic #3wizemenupinsmoke

[chocoladieimagines]

Mind if I request a Muichiro Tokito x black reader?- I would appreciate it tehehe

I don’t mind at all! Muichiro is interesting to me because I always thought he didn’t seem to care about things or just not observant but I learned much more about him~ Enjoy!

Muichiro Tokito x Black!Reader

- Muichiro Tokito and his identical older twin brother, Yuichiro Tokito, were born to a woodcutter and his wife.

- At ten years old, their mother caught bronchitis, an inflammation of the bronchi or the large airways in the lungs that causes coughing. It can either be acute or chronic, chronic being a respiratory disease marked by overproduction of mucus and mucins. After catching a cold it worsened into the illness, while their father had gone to fetch medicinal herbs for their mother during a storm. Their mother died from the condition and their father fell off a cliff during the storm to his death.

- The Tokito brothers became orphaned, surviving together as Muichiro developed an emotional and kind nature after his father and Yuichiro held a cold and impassive outlook on life—possibly telling the twins apart.

- That Spring, Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s wife, Amane Ubuyashiki, recruited the twin boys for the Demon Slayer corps. Yuichiro was distasteful of his brother’s excitement, blaming the death of their parents on their hardworking and selfless natures which froze his outward behavior into a cold demeanor. This way, he thought his tough love for his brother would keep them alive.

- At eleven years old, that Summer, a demon arrived at their cabin during the night and attacked them, resulting in Yuichiro losing an arm within the process—trying to protect Muichiro. Muichiro lost himself in a rage and destroyed the demon with all the tools at their disposal and wooden logs. While the fight lead outside, at dawn, the demon withered to ash and it was that morning that he found Yuichiro near death, motionless. Muichiro prayed if he could survive but only laid next to his brother, grasping his hand as he breathed in abnormal respirations; progressively deeper but some inhales became faster. Then he passed away.

- Amane and her daughters later arrived to heal a severely wounded Muichiro but while he recovered, she remarked to her husband that Muichiro may have suffered memory loss of what happened. “Some may think that it is a blessing for such traumatic events or episodes to be forgotten, especially when it is weighing on the shoulders of a child such as him—so young. But, our scars may also heal and make who we are as a person stronger. It may be through an eye opener or trauma that awakens this omnipresent power source underlying the ignition to your abilities.” Kagaya said. “He has been training fairly well; showing massive strength and highly extensive training. I’m afraid sometimes if he’ll overwork himself.” Amane said.

- “Yes, I do have faith that my children will become stronger if not more powerful than demons. But, they should have proper treatment and the caretaking for all they’re going through. They deserve it.” Kagaya stated. “Can you send him to the Mental Health subdivision where the L/Ns are? I believe if he were to fit treatment into his training, he will fully prosper in blossoming into a true demon slayer.”

- Over the years, The Demon Slayer Corps grew into a large organization, large enough to branch off into smaller subdivisions that were clinics. They were meant to treat demon slayers after they may have gone through trauma or be traumatized by an experience of losing loved ones and those who they care about. Twisted memories within others could lead to mental disorders; depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) otherwise insanity.

- Amane echoed the words of Kagaya to Muichiro, wondering if he was even listening to her. Thus, she gave him a piece of paper with a four digit address to your subdivision. “A mental health clinic? For what?” Yeah just as she thought. She deeply sighed but smiled, “It’s to help with your memory loss. We believe you developed Amnesia and would like proper evaluation of your condition so we know that you’ll be in the right hands and guidance.” “I don’t need to be babied by some doctor. It won’t help me with my training.” Muichiro refuted. “It will. This is not a negotiation matter. It is an order from Oyakata Sama.” With that, she bowed and left the boy to himself.

- On his way, he had the piece of paper in his hand but was more attentive to the clouds than he was of himself. He unknowingly let go of the paper as he went in a sense of direction. The subdivisions were connected to the organization by Guzei bridges adjoining to different properties. Each property looked like a huge lush ornate garden. There was varieties of trees; flowering cherry blossoms, azaleas, magnolias, camellias, Japanese maples, pines, cedars and cypresses. Ponds of Koi fish, algae and sheer waterfalls were featured with a peaceful auditory atmosphere of moving water. There was teahouses that also suited as an amenity along each property of the subdivisions. Demon slayers were welcomed into the establishments to chat and socialize while they were served tea and could look into the open view of their tranquil environment.

- Muichiro became so lost into the nature enshrining the place that the assigned task went in the back of his head. Luckily, Amane informed you that you would be having a patient that day by the name of Muichiro Tokito. A young man with long black hair about his back, fading into soft turquoise tips that approach his waist. He wore a gakuran jacket with loose, free hanging sleeves and baggy hakama pants over dark blue tabi socks in a pair of dark blue strapped zōri sandals. You giggled when you saw him staring off into the distance, as she also described to you that he always had a dreamy look on his face. You knew that memory loss could sometimes link with daily functioning since his mind was so easy to trail off from where he was supposed to go.

- “Come! Over here!” You spoke, beckoning to him when you caught the gaze of his minty green eyes. Seeing your kind persona, he slowly walked over to you. “Muichiro Tokito is it? Mist Hashira? It is an honor,” you bowed with the same smile graced on your face. “You were sent here so I could accompany you to hopefully regain your memories.” You thought that he looked fairly young to uphold a rank as high as one of the most elite warriors out of the Demon Slayer corps. But you were also young and was assigned to help other youngsters around your age or even younger. Your family believed that it could establish more of a empathetic bond if it was looked at from a perspective of a person that could easily put themselves in a kid’s shoes. As incredulous as it could be to others, you were a psychologist; identifying psychological, emotional, behavioral or organizational issues and diagnose disorders.

- “You’re a what?” Muichiro trailed off again. “A child’s psychologist. It means to study psychology, ya know—well you wouldn’t know—but studying the human mind and the behaviors that come along with it.” You explained. Muichiro wouldn’t hesitate to say that you were pretty to look at. He’s often fixated on the natural beauty of the world; whether it was the lacy white edged clouds rolling in over the blue sky, a formation of a flock of birds flying or observing the simplicity of a person’s natural looks. You had your hair in two afro puffs; the protuberant strands of your hair accessorized with Craspedia flowers as they were captured in place. There was a type of aura you generated, he couldn’t name it but it positively pervaded the air between you two. He liked the way you addressed him and treated him, as if he deserved the upmost respect since Hashiras have a pivotal role in the Demon Slayer corps.

- They exceeded the limits of an average being, reaching the peak of the human‘s athleticism and condition as they’ve exerted themselves through rigorous training. They were practically the construction of the organization; constantly putting themselves on the front lines and physically capable of going against the Twelve Kizuki or else Muzan Kibutsuji himself. That was the thought process of Muichiro as he sat in a room partitioned with shoji paper walls and lattice screens transmitting light through their translucent sheets. Then the room would be well lit by the rays that pour through the screen soft and muted, bright enough to illuminate the room yet dim enough for comfort. As you sat on cushions upon the tatami mats lining the floor—surrounding a coffee table, the yukimi shoji allowed a panoramic scene of the greenery outside. Bonsai trees were also inculcated as a way of bringing the natural world into your home.

- Yet, what he liked the most was the sound of your voice. While you peacefully presented yourself by the style of your hair and clad of a bright orange kimono with golden flower decals and a tightly bound obi, you gently spoke to him to exhibit your patience. As much as he thought it was babying him, it was a matter of speaking in friendly, congenial, and playful tones. It helped people respond better and learn better when in a hospitable environment. While you took notes of his behavior, you pointed out tips; encouraging him to continue his daily activities of training which would increase blood flow through the whole body including the brain. At least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity should be spread throughout the week.

- You gave him mental exercises which could stimulate his brain and keep his memories going. You introduced him to the game shogi: a two player strategy board game that is the Japanese variant of chess. Sudoku, which is a logic based, combinatorial, number-placement game. As well as crossword puzzles and Contract Bridge, a trick-taking card game using a standard of a 52-card deck. The game consists of a number of deals, cards are dealt to the players and the player “calls” or “bids” in an auction are sought to take the contract, specifying how many tricks the partnership receiving the contract (the declaring side) needs to take to receive points for the deal. You noticed that although he was impassive, and at times, obtuse the first time around, he began to show a willingness to learn.

- The way he looked when he was focused; his eyes centered on the shogi pieces on either side of the board, frowning in concentration each time he moved his ranging pieces: The Lance, bishop or rook. You were capable of analyzing his movements like there was an invisible string being pulled by the contraction of his muscles. You could tell every signal his brain sent by his body language; the silent gasps of air he took when he saw a move, the way he eagerly moved in the number of squares as if they were derived of a plan he had up his sleeve. You also amused the intensity in his gaze as he concentrated; propping his chin between his fingers to properly have a view of the pieces; currently seeing you moved a friendly piece adjacent to your king which meant he couldn’t move in that direction at all.

- He was gaining up on you though. Within the pattern of moving your pieces and capturing them by removing it from the board, you had fewer pieces left and had to think more strategically. When another moment of silence occurred, you took a glance at Muichiro’s features but this time he was looking up at you. With the sound effect of a piece snapping against the board, he said, “Checkmate.” At the same time, the sound caught your attention and he was right. Your king was in check, you could no longer make any legal moves to protect it.

- “Impressive. Fair play, Tokito.” You praised him. He was making more progress; there was something that had been added to him. Perhaps it could be his emotions or if he was friendlier. “You know, you should come watch me train some day,” He calmly proposed. “It’s like you’re cooped up in this place. But I can’t blame you, I purposely would be too if it meant getting away from the troubles of this world.” He was much more talkative too although it was a surprise to others. The Hashira were used to his usual laid back nature and obliviously wandering off in his thoughts as if he didn’t care about the situation or someone. Kagaya described that it was like you made him remember his emotions by feeling the introduction of love.

- You were surprised by his words and only shook your head. You were certain to sustain a professional relationship with a client in order for you to make an accurate diagnosis of their condition. He reasoned that “Without waging war, there was the nexus of love. The history of humanity is a bloody tale of genocide. The only survivors are our collective ancestors. The drive toward conformity is a preparation for war and is amped in power by comparison. Thus, in times of fear the proper leaders must have an upper brain capable of dominating their primitive drive and converting that amped power into solution finding over war strategy. Therefore, after our conflicted minds have been revealed to such a feeling such as passion—ardor, their reality has been expanded. Their outlook on the world is being changed to realize there are two of the complementary.”

- After listening, you looked to your shoulder to see Muichiro beautifully move with his katana. As he trained against another one of the Hashira, it was like watching a scene from a movie. Both of them moved with such speed that your eyes processed their movements in a delay, seeing them perform through accuracy as every turn they made resulted in their weapons clashing. It almost made blood roast under the constitute of your espresso cheeks by being able to watch two slayers train. Knowing these people were your protection, it felt promised by the combat proficiently owned by Muichiro. Afterwards, he was able to put their battle to an end after disarming his comrade. They both bowed in respect before the boy looked in your direction with his dolly green eyes.

- “That was great Tokito Muichiro. It is a privilege to know and see that we have our Hashira’s protection.” You inclined your body once again in his presence but he only raised you by your chin. “Y/N, just call me Muichiro.” He said softly. “It’s not like you have to treat me like I’m royalty or like I’m superior above everyone else.” “I-I mean, but you’re a Hashira. You’re...You’re practically the back bone of the Demon Slayer Corps.” You sheepishly said after he tipped your chin to look at him. “Still, it doesn’t give me the right to not have respect for others as well. It should be me kneeling for you. You’ve been by my side for a while now and it feels like I’ve changed. During every moment I’ve spent with you so far, I keep falling deeper and deeper.”

- Your family teased of how there was puppy love between you two. They’ve been seeing the way Muichiro looked at you at times; giving you big eyes while you talked to him—his famous dreamy look but the absence of paying attention to your words was subconsciously made by staring at your features. You would have to pull him back to his consciousness which he would wave off saying that he just liked to listen to you talk. But there were times opposite of the vacant look you were used to, which was when he actually expressed his emotions. His eyes were windows; allowing the transparency of his emotions to come together to form the art of his soul. It formed a picture you saw in an instant and comprehended with full depth. A reflection of his old self; a caring individual with a higher level of kindness and understanding than his demeanor as a demon slayer. Believing he should aim to do good for others if he wanted good to be done for him.

- “What do you mean Muichiro?” You questioned to be clear, although the heat bubbling under your skin had a feeling of what he meant. “I mean that I like you. I think you’re really smart, sweet and pretty. When I go to meet you every week, I wanted to change it to everyday. The place seems so peaceful, especially with caring people like you. Ive come to love the feeling of being cared for. Now I want to care for you.” He confessed with a soft smile, still holding your chin so he could see you process his words. “You...really mean that?” You questioned again. “Yes.” He nodded. “Would you like to have a kiss? Could that prove my feelings for you?”

- The way he innocently inquired it made you shift in place and your heart to sing a song out of melodic and rhythmic sounds. You weren’t sure what to think or what to say, only you went off of the instincts of your gut who spoke to your heart to spell out how you felt. So you slowly nodded, mentally bracing yourself as he raised one hand to cup your cheek and angularly tilted his face. Then, when he leaned in you closed your eyes and felt his lips land on yours. They were smooth to the touch as he gently connoted with his lips. The warmth was cut off when he brought his head back to test the waters, opening his eyes to see your pleasured face. But you wrapped your hand in his hair and pulled him back into you, feeling much more confidence from him when his hand felt on the curve of your hip. His progress has truly improved since he wasn’t necessarily your client anymore but something more.

Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed! 🤎🍫

#demon slayer x poc!reader #kny x reader #muichiro tokito #muichiro fluff #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #anime x black!reader #hashira x reader #demon slayer x black reader #demon slayer x reader

[tetsurouskuro]

Fire in His Eyes

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, swearing, dom!kuroo, fireman!au haikyuu, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, fluff 

word count: 5,193

a/n: this is my submission for the Haikyuu Headquarters NSFW server collab using the prompt mirror fuck! 

the whole masterlist can be found HERE by the amazing @animewh0re​!

a huge thank you to my wifey 💖 @guessmqnster​ who made this amazing banner! everyone go and give her a follow!

also a huge thank you taylor aka @deathcab4daddy​ for helping me with beta-reading and grammar issues! super thankful 💖

now, enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated! <3

Synopsis: Kuroo is a fire fighter and your best friend. When your apartment building catches fire and burns up, Kuroo offers to let you stay at his place until you’ve found a new apartment.

MASTERLIST!

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The background music in the small bar could be heard while other people were chatting away and making conversation. You were sat in between one work colleague and your best friend who you have known since you were a kid: Kuroo Tetsurou.

A laugh escaped his lips as he speaks to one of his friends from work. The way his eyes close and his mouth opens, and he throws his head back, in pure bliss. A smile forms on your lips as you take a sip of your drink. Pulling the straw into your mouth and sipping, feeling the sweet mix of liquor and soda hit your tongue and throat.

Just as you set your glass down on the table you feel Kuroo’s arms around your shoulder pulling you towards him. You let out squeak as he did that which made him chuckle. The faint smell of his body wash hits your nose, but also the sweet smell of his body sweat.

“Kuroo, let me go!”

“What why? I need my cuddle bear,” he chuckles again and hugs you tighter towards his own body. Your front is pressed to his side as he holds you in place or trying to. You’re a wiggling mess trying to break free from his hold on you.

“Kuroo- I- Let me go!” Your palms press against his rock-solid body and push away making him release you. Your hair got a little ruffled and you give the tall man at your side a pout.

“Aw c’mon princess, don’t give me that pout.” Princess. The nickname he has called you since you were kids. Ever since the both of you used to play prince and princess with Kenma being the bad guy.

“You’re an ass, Kuroo.”

“A sexy ass, right?”

You just roll your eyes at his comment and he smirks at you while taking a sip of his beer. The glass bottle reaching his lips as he takes a chug, and you watch as his thick throat moves as he swallows. You bite the inside of your cheek and take a sip of your drink as well, trying to contain your “innocent” thoughts of Kuroo Tetsurou.

You had always had an attraction for the tall, black-haired man and the fact that he decided to become a fire fighter didn’t make it any easier for you.

The amount of times you had seen him work out with the boys, especially Bokuto didn’t make it easy on you. The man himself was well built and he knew it. Everybody knew it. He often had a girl on his arm and for tonight at this little get together you could see the many women ogling at him, wanting some of him and the thought alone of Kuroo leaving the bar with another woman makes you anxious, jealous, and sad. Sad that you can’t have him that way.

“Oi, earth to (y/n).”

“Hmm? What?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, tired. I think I’m just gonna head home early.” Kuroo watches as you stand up and start gathering your stuff, which isn’t a lot. It’s a small handbag and your coat.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers himself and stands up, his tall frame standing by your side as he chugs the rest of his beer down and picks up his phone and wallet that’s left on the table. “Let’s go.”

You both say your goodbyes and exit the bar, Kuroo’s body close to yours as he guides you with one of his hands on your lower back.

Once outside, his hand doesn’t leave your back until you both stop near the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green so you can cross over. There’s silence surrounding both of you, neither of you talking. The sound of the light turning green makes you perch your head up and walk ahead, Kuroo following suit. Once over the very well trafficked road you turn right, towards your apartment.

“You’re quiet.” Turning your head, you see Kuroo watching you, his eyes scanning you as if he’s trying to read you.

“J-Just tired.”

“I don’t buy it, but if you wanna talk I’m here,” he smiles, and you return it. The walk to your apartment goes by fast, way too fast for your liking. You both stop at the entrance to your apartment building, turning around to say goodbye to Kuroo.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. I don’t get to see you pretty and lame face that often anymore.”

“So mean,” you pout again and turn to open the door.

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughs. “I have the next weekend off, wanna hang at my place? Kenma is coming over too.”

“Wait, Kenma is back?”

“He arrives Thursday night.”

“Oh, cool. I’ll make sure to be available.”

“Good. Goodnight (y/n).”

“Goodnight Kuroo.” He turns and walks away. You stand and watch as he walks away, missing his presence already. Wanting to spend time with him, but also not. Being in love with your best friend is awful.

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

The sound of something beeping wakes you up from your slumber, the smell of smoke filling up your nostrils. You open your eyes to your dark bedroom; still half asleep you turn on the light on your bedside table. Sitting up on the bed you head to the living room and then to the small, narrow hallway. The smell of smoke is getting stronger and you stark coughing. As you reach your front door, your right hand goes to grab the door handle but soon pull back as it’s burning hot.

What’s going on? you ask yourself and touch your wooden door, feeling it burning hot too. Then it all clicks; the building is on fire.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, what do I do? What can I do? I’m on the 8th floor. Is what’s going through your head. You then remember Kuroo’s words, what he taught you in case a fire were ever to happen. You start pounding on the door, yelling for help. The smoke was getting heavier, you could feel your lungs working hard getting oxygen. You could feel your energy slowly disappearing and your thought becoming more and more foggy. You back away from the door, your back against the wall as you slowly slide down and sit on the floor. Closing your eyes, you, fearing what might happen.

Kuroo, please save me.

“(Y/N)!!!!” A voice screams, or are you imagining things?

“(Y/N)!!!!” This time you perch your head up and look towards your door, just in time for it to break down and a familiar face pops up.

“K-Kuroo?” You cough and he looks serious, and angry.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” another cough. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Damnit, why did you stop yelling?”

“Y-You heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you princess, come here. Quickly!” You try to stand up, but your legs give out. Kuroo is quick to catch you in his arms. “God, I am so mad at you right now.”

You stay quiet as you curl your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into his chest. He hugs your body close to his as he carries you bridal style out of your apartment. The smoke is heavy, and you start to cough some more, your eyes watering from the smoke burning in your eyes.

“Hold on, we’ll be outside soon,” Kuroo explains. Suddenly, there’s a cracking sound and a loud thud. Kuroo wobbles a little but continues to carry you until you reach outside. Fresh air fills your lungs and you pull your head away from Kuroo’s chest and are met with the sight blue and red lights. Fire trucks, ambulance, police, a lot of people in uniforms as they patrol the area.

Kuroo walks you towards an ambulance that is the closest to the two of you and sets you down on the ramp of the ambulance. His body pulls away from yours, and you already miss the warmth from him. You’re only wearing a thin tank top and some short pajama shorts and it being a cold summer night made you freeze, your arms wrapping around your body.

“S’cuse me, do you have a blanket for her?” You hear Kuroo ask one of the ambulance nurses and soon there’s a blanket wrapped around your freezing body. You hug it tightly to your body as Kuroo walks away and talks to what looks like his squad captain. You see Bokuto there as well. Kuroo then takes off his helmet and ruffles his hair. The sight of his crazy bed head always brings a smile to your face.

You can see how there’s a discussion between the three men, Kuroo nods his head a couple of times and points towards your apartment building, or what was your apartment.

Oh shit, all of my stuff. My phone, my ID, my wallet, my laptop. Everything is gone.

You slowly start to panic, but not for too long as a nurse starts to check up on you. How you’re oxygenating, pulse, blood pressure, respiratory rate, temperature, and then some questions. Everything turns out to be normal and the nurse lets you go. You stand up with the blanket still around you and start to walk closer to your burnt down apartment building, only then noticing that you’re barefoot.

“(y/n)?” You turn around and are immediately embraced by strong arms, the familiar scent filling your nostrils. You take a step back to look at your savior only to be met by strong, angry yet mesmerizing gaze.

“You are so lucky you’re alive. God woman you could’ve died. I thought you had already gotten out of the building.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Kuroo embraces you once again and holds you close, his chin on your head. You can feel and hear his heartbeat through his thick uniform, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“I’m glad that you’re safe. Have you already been checked you out by a nurse?”

“Y-Yeah. They checked me a minute ago. Everything was normal so I’m good to… Oh god, Kuroo my building is gone. Where the hell am I gonna live? I have no money to pay for a hotel or- “

“Whoa, okay take a deep breath (y/n). You can stay at my place.”

“I-I can. Really?” You feel yourself calm down, knowing Kuroo is offering his home to you for a couple of days, at least.

“Sure. You can pay the rent later,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes, but smile.

“Thank you.”

“No worries princess. I’ll drop you off at my place and then I need to head back to the station to work out some stuff, I’ll be home later.”

“Okay.”

≫ ----- ≪·•♕•·≫ ----- ≪

“Oh, you’re still up?” Two hours had gone by as Kuroo finally returns. He’s wearing a pair of black slacks and a black tee.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” you answer him as you’re cuddled up on the sofa watching the news on his TV. Kuroo’s long legs carry him towards you and takes a seat beside you on the sofa. You immediately get butterflies in your stomach.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“No. I’m too tired for that.”

“Alright, well I’m gonna take one. I smell like smoke and sweat.”

“Yeah you do, I could smell your stank all the way from the elevator,” you smirk and can see Kuroo raise an eyebrow at you and then his lips form into a smirk too.

“Watch it, or I might force you into the shower with me.”

“You wouldn’t.” At those words, Kuroo suddenly has your body over his shoulder and is carrying you towards his bathroom. “Kuroo, oh my god I was kidding. Let me go.”

“You started this, now you’re gonna get it.”

“No, no, no, no. Please. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so.” Kuroo continues walking away from the living room until his feet arrive in his big bathroom, with a big shower. Glass walls covering a big space for the big shower, it could easily fit two people which made you more eager to get down and away from both him and the room.

You start to wiggle more but his grasp on you is firm; he is not letting you go.

“Kuroo. Okay, I’m sorry. I was only joking. You don’t stink, you smell nice actually. Just- NO! KUROO! AAAAAAH!” Kuroo has thrown you into the shower and started the big shower head, cold water pouring on you, hitting your head and then running all the way down to your shoulders, chest and further down.

Your hands immediately go to cover your body as you try to get away from the water. Kuroo’s tall frame is making it hard for you to escape, and he is laughing at you now.

“Kuroo.” You say his name sternly, but he doesn’t budge. He stops laughing and smirks at you. His eyes slowly trailing down your body. Kuroo watches as you tremble from the cold, he can see your nipples peeking through the thin material of your tank, your arms pushing your breast slightly upwards as you try to warm yourself up.

Kuroo gulps as he watches your body shake, his eyes fixated on your breasts. He turns around and walks to his sink. You watch as he opens the cabinet underneath the sink and start pulling out a big fluffy white towel. You just stand still and watch his back muscles work as he gathers yet another towel and places them on the sink as he stands straight again.

Kuroo turns and you lock gazes. The temperature in the shower has turned warm and you’re no longer covering your body. You’re watching him, he is watching you.

“Fuck this,” you hear him say underneath his breath and walks into the shower and pushes your body against the cold tiles making your back arch. His lips crash against yours, his tongue quickly invading your mouth. His large hands gripping your shoulders, his long fingers digging into your skin.

“Kuroo,” you moan against his lips, them never leaving yours. Your head spinning from all the endorphins that are flooding your system. Both of your eyes closed, tongues dancing with each other; feeling, loving, tasting.

Your hands grip his now wet shirt while his hands have moved to your waist, his soft hands holding you in place, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear. His lips then decide to pull back and you open your eyes to gaze into his hazel orbs; they’re darker than usual. Kuroo’s eyes have always had some light in them, but tonight, they’re different.

His forehead goes down until you can feel it make contact with your shoulder.

“Kuroo- “

“I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself,” he confesses and all you can do it stand still and listen, feeling like everything you’ve ever wanted is in front of you and now, finally you can grasp it.

Placing both hands on Kuroo’s wet chest, feeling his hard and solid chest underneath the wet material that’s hugging his body.

“Don’t hold back.” Just as you finish this sentence, his hands quickly tear your tank into pieces and squeezed both of your breasts in his palms. His mouth is back on yours in a second and you throw your arms around his neck. Pulling him closer to you, making him press both of his palms between your head, keeping you caged.

But he composes himself quickly and pulls back but only to throw his wet shirt off him. You scan his beautiful and well sculptured body and drink him in, just this makes your pussy throb for him.

The wet shirt lands on a pile next to your torn tank. Kuroo’s large hands palms your face, his lips crashing onto yours once again.

The now warm water is crashing against your head, drenching your hair further. Your whole body is wet, a pool of wetness has formed in your panties from the small action of kissing Kuroo.

His lips start to kiss their way down, stopping at your chest to give your breasts some attention. His tongue circling around your nipples, making you throw your head back and moan. Fisting a handful of his wet locks in your hands.

His lips continue their way down, his index and middle fingers grab the waistband of your pajama bottoms and drag them down your legs, along with your panties, throwing them to the large pile of wet clothes that has formed outside the shower.

He stands up and throws off his slacks and briefs in one go. His semi-hard cock slaps against his lower abdomen, your eyes locked on his member that has made an entrance.

“My eyes are up here princess,” the nickname he always used on you hits different now when you’re both naked in front of each other. It feels more intimate and you love it.

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth, biting down on it as you look up and meet his gaze. His eyes are watching yours, his hazel eyes filled with lust, his mind has only one thing on his mind and that is having his hard cock in-between your folds.

Kuroo takes two steps forward and now he’s in front of you, you’re eyeing his chest, but he lowers his upper body, so his face is right in front of yours.

“Be a good girl and do as I say princess.”

“O-Okay.” Kuroo lowers himself so he’s on his knees, right in front of your private parts. You feel slightly ashamed and try to cover yourself but Kuroo slaps your hands away.

“Don’t. I’m about to have my meal, don’t interrupt me princess.” With your back against the wall of his big shower, he grabs your left leg, his hands on your thigh as he throws it over his right shoulder. You lose balance for a second but regain it quickly by grabbing onto his hair.

“Hold on tight,” he throws your right leg over his other shoulder and holds your weight up with his shoulders. This makes you let out a squeal, but you are quickly silenced as his lips wrap themselves around your clit. You let out a moan and look ahead of you and to your surprise you see the both of you in his bathroom mirror that almost cover his whole bathroom wall.

You see Kuroo sucking on your clit in the mirror, his tongue leaps out now and then and flicks on it. The length of his tongue even going so far back and start to flick on your opening.

“Oh, Kuroo,” you moan. You tilt your head down and see him watching you as he continues to suck on your sensitive bud. He pulls back slightly and then spits on your clit.

“You taste so good princess,” and his mouth and tongue’s back on your cunt, sucking up all your juices. “So sweet. I’m hungry for more and I’m just getting started.”

“Fu- Kuroo. I- Shit.” His tongue licks you up and down your slit. He stops when he after some time reaches your clit and with the tip of his tongue, starts flicking it fast.

Still having all of your weight on his shoulders, he pushes his index finger inside your folds, and you can’t help but clamp around him. He adds another finger and starts thrusting them with an even tempo. His lips sucks on your bud and you feel the pressure in your abdomen increase. You’re fisting two handfuls of his hair in your palms, eyes closed, head tilted back and your back arches as you feel yourself come closer and closer to a release.

“Cum for me princess. Cum all over my tongue.” You open your eyes and look into the mirror and watch yourself cum, making a lewd face. You cum all over his tongue, filling his taste buds with your juices and Kuroo drinks you all up.

The water has made his hair all damp, it falls over his face as he stands up straight. Your legs barely holding you up after the orgasm you just experienced. He pushes his hair back and smirks at you, his hazels looking at you as he sucks the rest of your juices from his fingers.

“You taste fucking delicious,” he speaks. His voice hoarse and raw. “C’mere.” You step forward until you’re in front of him. He grabs your left arm and pulls you forward until you crash against his naked chest and his lips are instantly on yours, capturing and captivating you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips.

He holds you in his arms as he turns you around and starts walking forward, making you walk in reverse. You crash against something cold; he turns you around and you see that he has led you to the sink. Your back is against his front, he is holding your shoulders in place. He lowers his face close to your ear, and softly speaks: “Did you like watching yourself cum in the mirror princess?”

His words make your whole-body shudder and you can’t help but moan. You love this man with your whole mind, body and soul and would do anything for him, and you’d let him do anything to you at this moment.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of this mirror and you’re gonna watch me, my cock thrust inside that tight cunt of yours.”

“Mhm, Kuroo please.”

“Please what, kitten?” This new nickname has shivers covering your body and you groan, wanting his cock inside you.

“Please, I want your cock, Tetsurou.”

“Fuck (y/n),” Kuroo groans and hitches your right leg up, flashing your private parts to the mirror. “Watch as I fuck you.”

From behind Kuroo fists his cock in his palm, centers the head of his cock between your folds and lubricates both you and him with your juices.

“Kuroo, just fuck-oh!” Without warning he pushes his length inside you. His cock is big, he’s bigger that what you thought. There’s a slight burning sensation as he stretches your walls. He has stopped his motions, waiting for you to get used to his size before he starts moving.

Kuroo’s other arm goes around your body and towards your face, turning it so you’re facing him. His eyes are lust filled and he leaves a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re so tight princess,” he grunts.

He slowly thrusts out of you only for his hips to collide back with your ass, the friction of his hips hitting your bare skin making a loud smacking noise to echo in his big bathroom. The feeling of his large cock going in and out of you has you whimpering; you want more.

“Look into the mirror and watch as my cock pushes in and out of your beautiful cunt.” His cock is sliding in and out of your folds so easily. You turn your face forward and look at your crotch and see the way he is thrusting his erect member inside of you. Your cheeks are heating up with embarrassment, you feel exposed but still there’s something intriguing with watching someone, and that someone being Kuroo fuck you in front of a mirror this way.

His right arm hitches your leg up higher, opening you up wider. His left hand goes up towards your face and holds your jaw in place. Your eyes scan his face in the mirror, he’s watching you. The pleasure in your expression as you feel him fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before. You let your gaze settle where the two of you connect and you see his cock, covered in white cream.

“You’re so wet (y/n), fuck. It’s like your cunt is pulling me inside you, like a vortex.”

“K-Kuroo, fuck me harder.” His hips still and he watches your face in the mirror, covered with your lewd expression. To Kuroo, you look like a horny slut that needs to be roughly fucked. Kuroo has never seen you look like this before and it’s killing him from the inside. Just watching your face has his cock twitching in excitement.

“Oh?” His cocky smirk erupts, and he placed your leg down, your warm foot making contact with the cold floor. “Bend over.”

Bending over and arching your back you hear his breath hitch at your action. He’s drinking in your nakedness. His eyes are looking at your cunt, where his cock is buried deep inside you and he can see and feel how you’re clamping around his shaft.

“Fuck princess, you look so sexy like this. Bent over with my cock deep inside of you.” His hands grab your hips as thrusts hard into you. You watch him in the mirror, his mouth slightly open, eyes closed and the two veins popping out from his neck. His pecks glistening from the water and sweat that has formed and you could just cum from the sight that you’re beholding.

His nails dig into your hips as he thrusts harder into your cunt, his cock filling you all the way. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the new position that he has you in, he is devouring your cunt with his large cock and Kuroo doesn’t care either, he is completely drunk on the pleasure from fucking you. He’s ramming into you from behind, he’s no gentlemen.

“Shit princess,” he moans, throwing his head back. His hips slamming into yours, you watch him in the mirror. Your tits bouncing, your mouth open as loud moans escape. One of his arms goes to palm your breast as his other goes to grab a hold of your wet hair, pulling it back, exposing your throat to the mirror.

“Next time I fuck you, I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat of yours.”

“Mhm, please.”

“Look at you princess, begging for my cock like a whore,” he grunts as he continues to ram into you like a wild animal. Your eyes are watering from all the pleasure you’re receiving. You close your eyes for a second, drowning in the way he’s fucking you. He’s hitting your g-spot so delicately and you can feel the pressure in your abdomen returning.

“Eyes on me kitten. Oh fuck, I wanna watch you cum,” his palm collides with your ass, giving it a hard smack. You open your eyes and lock eyes with him, his hazels are watching your (y/e/c)’s. His eyes hardly concentrating on yours and he quicken his pace, his hips slapping and hitting yours hard and you see his muscles twitching and flexing.

“Cum kitten, Cum for me, fuck cum!”

“T-Tetsurou,” you moan out loudly. Your arms going forward to grip the sink, to help you with your balance as your legs starts to shake and you can feel your muscles giving up, but Kuroo is fast to hold your hips in place with his arms as he leans closer to you, his front against your back as his hips still thrusts into you.

“I-I’m gonna cum (y/n).”

“Cum inside me Kuroo.”

“F-Fuck princess I- I’m cumming. FUCK!” Kuroo’s hips still and he grunts and moans in your ear as he cums and you join him. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you yell out his name. His cock is twitching inside of your cunt, he’s milking you with his seed. Your legs are shaking, and you feel like you’re gonna fall.

“I gotchu princess,” his voice comes out softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you go,” he places a soft kiss on your cheek and then trails down to your neck.

“Now or in general?”

“Now and in general stupid,” he bites down on your shoulder and it makes you squeal and giggle. Kuroo laughs at your reaction and pulls away. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Kuroo pulls out of you and grabs the nearest towel he can find and starts to clean you up, a smirk on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know what he is thinking.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you watch him throw the towel into the washing bin. He grabs your hand and leads you out of the bathroom, turning off the lights. You reach his bedroom and he turn on the lights, a king size bed in the middle of his room.

Kuroo lets go of your hand and walks to his closet. He grabs a black tee and two pair of briefs. He turns around and walks to where you’re still standing and gives you the tee and a pair of briefs.

“I know you don’t like sleeping naked so here, put them on,” he smiles softly and takes the other pair of briefs and pulls them up his legs.

“Thanks,” pulling on the tee and briefs you let out a breath you’ve been holding, it turns into a yawn and you feel exhausted.

“Let’s sleep princess.”

“Okay.” Kuroo pulls away the duvet and takes the right side of his bed, climbing in. You do the same on the other side. You settle in bed and see him reach for a button on his side of the bed, turning the lights off making the room pitch black.

Minutes pass and there’s an awkward tension in the room. Neither Kuroo nor you have spoken about what happened in the bathroom, but you remember his words that keep echoing in your head: I want you. Fuck I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for years and now that you’re wet and almost naked in front of my I can’t control myself.

Kuroo has wanted you for years, he confessed to you and he still doesn’t know you feel the same.

“I have loved you since we were 15,” you finally confess, your eyes watching the ceiling. “I still do.”

Kuroo’s head quickly turns to watch you, the light from outside illuminating your soft skin, especially your beautiful face that he can’t keep his eyes off. He is watching you with adoring eyes, his chest feeling heavy and his belly fluttering from your confession.

“I have never loved someone as much as I love you Kuroo. My heart is yours if you’ll have me.” This time you turn your head to watch him. His expression hard to read.

He turns his body towards you and with one arm pulls you towards him, your faces only inches apart.

“I love you too (y/n),” he kisses you softly and you welcome it. “I’ll have you in any way I can have you. You’re mine now princess.”

“I am yours Tetsurou. Please take care of me.”

“I already did, or do you want more?”

“You know what I mean dumbass,” you giggle and feel happy and content. The fire in his eyes burning with passion and love for you.

You’ve found your prince and him his princess, for real this time.

#haikyuu!! #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu!! smut #hqhq server collab #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #sanda writes #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro #my writing

[spideytingle616]

Five Months [5]

Part 4 / Masterlist

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, death, mentions of anxiety/panic, possible implications of sexual activity, blood/injury, swearing

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Word Count: 12.7k wow wow (bold and italics are thoughts, scenes following a +++ are a flashback)

A/N: Thank you all who have read this story! I have had this planed for almost a year, and I’m so happy it actually became a thing, though I apologize for taking so damn long with this part. I hope you enjoy. This chapter features a lot of flashbacks, so buckle up.

Chapter Description: Maybe the universe isn’t so bad…

Month Five, Acceptance: Love, and Never Forget

A new day. A new month. A new semester.

The subway ride feels extra bumpy today, most likely due to the large pit in your stomach. Going to school is never something you looked forward to, but when you got there, someone was usually waiting for you.

Someone that made the grueling day a little easier.

You sigh and slump into your seat. How does a train full of people make you feel so alone?

A completely different person could be seen in your window reflection. Or maybe you were just so numb at this point, your body was nothing but luggage you were simply dragging along.

Fuck, you were exhausted. Beyond the undereye bags and the dry hair, your frame looked like it was ready to buckle down and rest. It was already curling in, prepared to do so when given the chance. Your eyes shut tight as you clenched your fists, trying your best to quiet the anxiety that flowed through your body.

When you open your eyes, you look at your reflection one more time, ignoring the cold stare that met your own. The world keeps going, and so should you.

Everything was more or less the same at Midtown. People were alert after their long break, but they still dreaded the upcoming classes. Friends were reuniting with one another and chatting, and everything seemed normal.

But it wasn’t, at least not for you.

You close your locker, and as you turned away from the wall you were met with familiar faces coming your way. The two friends kept looking at one another as they walked toward you, and it was clear that they felt unsure about approaching.

It wasn’t like you were purposely avoiding them, so to speak. But their worried texts were plentiful, and with everything that has happened, you pushed away from their coddling. Your responses were short, usually, something along the lines of “I’m fine” and “doing good”. Whether or not they trusted that you weren’t sure, but it kept them off your tail long enough for the time being.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you joke, opening your arms wide. “Come here.”

MJ and Ned smile at the gesture, quickly accepting the hug. It was definitely something all of you needed. You buried your face into their shoulders, happy to be with them again. Guilt pooled in your chest.

“I missed you guys… and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting” you sigh.

MJ tightens her grip on you, snuggling her face closer to yours. “It’s okay. We get it. We were just worried is all.”

“Still, it was selfish of me to do.” You pull away, looking between the two. “This whole thing is not just about me. I should have been there for you guys too instead of pushing myself away.”

“Well, we’re here now. Whenever you’re ready, to talk or hang out, we’ll be there.” Ned offers, and a smile reaches your face.

God, your friends were amazing. You couldn’t bear to hurt them even more with your doom and gloom. They deserved someone that would be there for them and listen to their concerns, instead of hiding in their own pool of guilt.

You quickly shake your head before speaking. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna be okay, though. If you guys need more time that’s totally fine, but I’m good. Nothing has to be weird between all of us, we can just hang out like old times, you know?”

Your friends glance at one another, their eyebrows pulled slightly tighter.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m glad,” Ned says, looking back at MJ for reassurance. “But you know, it’s totally cool if you still need time. After all, it’s been a rough month.”

You bite your tongue back from replying, your jaw suddenly tense.

Yeah, no shit…

+++

He’s gone.

Oh my god he’s gone.

He’s actually dead.

If someone came and ripped your heart out of your chest, it would be painless compared to how you felt now. You continued to stare at Peter even after his eyes closed. If you continued to look at him, maybe you could still pretend that he was alive.

When the police showed, everything was a daze. The flashes of red and blue sirens drew a queasiness deep in your stomach. As the officers forced you to let go of the boy, their voices muddled into the air. You felt completely disassociated from the scene in front of you, and all you wanted to be held in Peter’s arms. There, you could pretend that everything was okay.

“They’re still breathing!”

The shout draws you back into current time, their words shooting a current throughout your body. It couldn’t be…

“Airways are clear, but his respiratory rate is dropping. Get him on the stretcher now. Don’t let him go into shock.”

Were you hearing all this right? Too many things were happening right now, and no one bothered to tell you anything. The police were pushing you away from the scene as if you were a random pedestrian, and you were ready to grab them by the throat and scream at them. When you see Peter getting lifted into the ambulance, his suit now more red than blue, that was the last straw.

You push your way through toward the paramedics. If they were taking him, you were going too. You were right behind the red and white doors before a hard shove comes to your chest, stopping you from coming any closer.

“Excuse me miss, this is private business,” what looked like an EMT said. “Stark Industries does not want anyone seeing this. I’m going to have to ask you to go back with the crowd.”

You stare dumbfounded; at least Ned was able to get a hold of him, but the fact that they were acting as if you weren’t a witness and Peter’s friend angered you even more. “No, you don’t get it, that’s my friend in there. I- I need to be with him if he’s still alive. Please I-“

“Look, as much as I’d like to believe that we were not told anything about other parties being involved. So, to keep this under wraps, we cannot let you ride with us. If you actually do know the patient, you can follow us and figure out your clearance there,” they finalize before walking away and jumping into the vehicle. You don’t even get a chance to breathe before they’re gone, and the only remnant of Peter was the stain on the street.

The EMT did have a point. If you wanted to keep Spider-Man’s identity a secret, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Slipping under the newly posted yellow tape, you’re swallowed into the shadows before the police even notice.

Now here you were, in a dirty subway car at ten in the evening. Being a teenage girl, this situation would normally terrify you (Seriously guys, no means no. Why are you even near us to begin with?), but luckily the murder scene on your dress and the hollow glare in your eyes drove most passengers away from you.

Staring into space, your brain tries to process everything that just happened in the past hour. You sprinted across the city to find your dying soulmate, only to find out he isn’t dead? Or at least, not yet. Based on his current state, it could still go either way.

Shouldn’t you be feeling hopeful? Or at least some sort of relief knowing that Peter has a chance? Your body internally cringes at the idea. Getting your hopes up wasn’t great; part of you always hoped for a happy ending with Peter and look where that got you.

All you could feel was dread, and it wasn’t much better than the heartbreak prior.

The car slows down as the rest of the passengers stand and walk toward the doors, but not without giving you a worrisome stare. You ignore their eyes as they pass by; you couldn’t care less about what they thought.

You look down at your hands and focus on blood caked under your nails, trying to rub the residue away. Some looked like it came off, but the red-brown still pigmented your skin. Chest tightening, you lean back in your seat and let your head knock back.

Peter’s blood was on your hands, both figuratively and literally.

---

A chill travels through your spine, bile working its way upward.

Was that really only a month ago?

The bell sounds, its ringing bringing you more despair than usual. Your conversation was brought to an end, MJ and Ned giving you a nod to signal their departure. They forced a smile your way, and you keep your calm composure even after they turn away.

Pulling the straps of your backpack closer, you take a deep breath before walking to class.

---

“First order of business: team captain. Miss Allan’s parting was unfortunate, but both she and I believe this team will do amazing at the international competition this summer. We just need a new captain.”

“Mr. Harrington, I’m honored-“

“Not you, Flash.”

You and Ned snicker under your breaths, earning your partner an elbow from Betty. MJ rolls her eyes at the two of you, but her smile gave away her amusement.

Decathlon was supposed to be done for the school year, but your team’s win at D.C. earned Midtown a spot at its international competition in Paris. You didn’t expect the school board to approve the trip, especially with the large expenses it ensued. But apparently, they found an anonymous donor.  

Though no one could figure out who would willingly spend tens of thousands of dollars for a kids’ trip to Europe, no one was complaining either, especially when they were paying to include an actual vacation with it. As ecstatic as everyone was about the opportunity, it also meant that you would soon be back to frequent practices. And as much as you enjoy this club, more work is never fun.

“After careful consideration of each of your prior performances, I’m happy to announce that our new captain will be none other than Michelle Jones.”

Harrington continued his announcements, but you already stopped paying attention. You nudge MJ after the scattered applause, mouth still agape.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be captain. Congrats!” you whispered.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know until just now. But I would have been pissed if I wasn’t.”

“And I would’ve had to listen to you complain about it, so it’s a win-win… can your first order be to rearrange the seating? I love Cindy, but sometimes she smells after gym.”

MJ scoffs. “Done, but it’s your fault if this all goes to my head.”

“Oh, I think it already has,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just be quiet so I can listen.”

You roll your eyes as you let her turn away from you, grabbing your phone in the process.

You: Guess who the new captain is…

Liz: It better be MJ, I put in a good word for her and everything

You: It is lol. Good choice by the way, she’ll probably be a better captain than you

Liz: whatever 🙄

In the past month since she moved, the two of you found comfort in one another. Both of you fell in the direct line of fire, and as brutal as that was, it also meant that you weren’t alone.

+++

Lately, it seemed that your timing was nothing if not impeccable.

You speed walk to the cafeteria, breath getting heavier with each step. You’re usually one of the first in there, trying your best to beat the rush of students, but you just had to go to the bathroom beforehand. Amateur move, honestly…

Once you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks. Just ahead was Liz and her mom, both with boxes in hand. Her mom takes a right, most likely heading toward the office. All that was left was you and her, and the ten feet of tile in between.

“Hey,” you call out, gaining her attention. A tint of regret coats the air around you as you walk closer.

Where do you start, after everything that has happened?

“Liz, hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, hey. Nothing much, I’m just packing things from my locker and whatnot. My mom’s grabbing my file from the office, and after that we should be good, or whatever.” She sighs, looking down at her things.

“Wait, packing? Are you… are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want us to see him in trial. We’re moving all the way to Oregon tomorrow. My mom has family there… nice area apparently, or whatever,” She purses her lips. “New York allows prisoners to call as often as they want, so no worries there, plus I’m all set for college so I can more or less breeze through senior year.”

You nod. Though you suppose the situation could have been worse, it was evident that Liz was hiding all the struggles she just got handed. Maybe if you were closer, you’d be able to comfort her, or tell her what she needed to hear.

“Liz, you’ve probably gotten this a lot, but I’m really sorry about what went down. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

There’s a pause before she finds your face again. “I think you do though. Maybe not exactly the same as me, but you were part of this too.”

You tilt your head, confused at her words. Setting her things down, she slings her backpack around to her front, unzipping it to find what she was looking for. “Peter left this in my dad’s car, but something tells me it was meant for someone else. It’s a little wilted now, but I still think it looks nice.”

In her hand was the rose that Peter had the night of the homecoming dance. You were so annoyed when you saw it. However, this time was different. You were not sure what you felt, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You take the flower from her, admiring the purple-red petals. Underneath, a card was tied around:

A rose for a rose.

You might not be my date, but can I SWING BY for a dance?

You let out a quiet scoff. If the pun didn’t give it away, the web doodles might have.

“You think I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Liz shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize until it was right in front of my face," you joked back, earning a smile.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way. He was just trying to do the right thing, and it’s not my secret to tell anyways.”

You nod at the gesture, relieved that things were not getting any messier. Not as much as they could, at least.

“I’m sorry too by the way…” she starts. “if I got in the way of you and Peter.”

You shake your head. “No no, it’s fine. Really. That was Peter’s choice to do that. I even told you we weren’t soulmates, so…“

“Yeah, well, I could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. Or at least, I couldn’t believe that it was the truth.” When you don’t reply, she continues on. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, or maybe even half of it, but almost everyone thought you two were soulmates before you even said anything. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You pause for a moment. For someone who was only two years older, she was a lot wiser than you imagined. “Yeah, maybe it does… I don’t know, it’s just so complicated, you know?”

“I can only imagine.” She offers a smile. “But assuming he’s okay, wherever he is, I think it’d be a lot less complicated if you were in it together.”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. You both knew that you weren’t really friends, but there was still a connection there. What happened homecoming night created a bond between you, a burning ember in a pile of ash. Everything died down, but there are still remnants that continued to burn.

If you guys chose to, you could let that memory die with the rest of the fire. But you could also choose to keep it alive and learn something from it.

Liz clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Looks like my mom’s ready, so I should go catch up. Thanks for saying goodbye.”

“Well, thanks for the mini therapy session. Hopefully, Oregon treats you better. If you wanna, you can text me once you’re all settled. We can talk, or whatever you want, really. Doesn’t even have to be about this.”

Her eyes light up at the offer, surprised at the generosity. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Thanks.”

You watch as she grabs her stuff from the floor and walk down the hall. The two of you send each other one last wave before parting ways, but you don’t move from your spot. Not until she was fully out of sight.

When she’s completely gone, you think about her words again. Maybe it would be easier.

Or maybe it’s just a faster route to trouble.

---

“You, me, Catacombs of Paris. It’s been on my list for years, and we are not missing out on that.” MJ declares, interrupting your daze. You didn’t even realize the meeting was over, most of the group already filing out of the library. “Jeez, how deep was your conversation with your pen pal? You look like you just woke up.”

You huff as you stood up from your seat. “How do you even know it’s her? Could’ve been my mom checking up on me.”

“Well, whenever you and Liz text, which is pretty regularly now, you get that weird crease between your eyebrows, and something tells me you’re not thinking that hard when you’re answering, ‘how are you’ from your parents.”

“You know, I think someone’s a little jealous that I have other girl friends to talk to.” You joke, checking her shoulder. “Any other creepy spots you’re forcing me to go to?”

Your friend’s face lights up, relishing at the opportunity to talk about her interests. You knew she had hours' worth of knowledge on the subject, and it gave you the chance to avoid talking about yourself. It wasn’t easy to distract MJ, but you had your ways.

It was easy to distract yourself from your current situation with Liz. After all, she was more or less doing the same thing. Your relationship was symbiotic; One of you would talk about your problems so the other could take their focus away from theirs, and vice versa. Mutual therapy, as you both called it.

The bonding made you feel safe. You made a friend and found someone that would need time to heal too.

At least, that’s what you thought.

For the last few conversations or so, the tone has taken a rather lighthearted turn. Liz started her new semester at Oregon a week earlier than Midtown, and she was already coming for the title of Ms. Popular. Though, with her being a hot, new senior, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was using her mom’s name for more privacy and was basically starting fresh. Liz even said she could still go to NYU if things died down after the trial. You were ecstatic for her, of course. She was incredibly strong for taking her life into her own hands and making the best of what happened, yet deep down you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated. In the end, even the people that have it worse still find ways to turn it around.

Your stomach turns. Maybe it wasn’t time that was the issue.

Maybe it was you.

---

Life’s kind of funny. Less than a year ago, you thought meeting the Avengers would be impossible. The only time you ever saw them was on the news or some badly edited PSA. For you, they seemed more fictional rather than real.

Now here you were, in the same car that Tony freaking Stark uses, being driven to the one and only Avengers Facility.

Despite the news about the Sokovia Accords, and the infamous “Civil War”, as they coined it, the building continued to stand tall and proud. The squeaky-clean windows and trimmed hedges were simply another reminder of how this lifestyle was beyond you.

Peter has been staying here for the past few weeks so the doctors could track his progress in private. With his mutated DNA and dangerous alien technology, they wanted to make sure there was not any permanent damage to his systems. Though this caused him to miss the rest of the semester, he knew it was for the best.

Despite taking a nasty hit, his super healing got him back on his feet, more or less. Just a few hours of physical therapy and some tests were enough to get Peter back to full mobility. However, he was still advised by the doctors to take things slow. Just because he could move doesn’t mean he should so soon.

This was the fourth or so trip here, yet every visit still felt like the first. All of this was so overwhelming, but you try not to let it show as you walk through the glass door. When you couldn’t find Peter in his room, your panic started to become visible.

Finding one guy in a 300,000 square foot building? How hard could it be?

Answer: not impossible, but still rather embarrassing.

After a few wrong turns here and there, you eventually made it to what seemed to be your destination. You wound up in a gym twice the size of your school’s. It had every piece of equipment one could need to train for a life-or-death mission, and you were struck with awe once again.

Your attention quickly focuses on the sounds of leather on leather. Across the gym was a boxing ring, holding none other than Tony Stark and your best friend.

The two didn’t notice you yet, so you took your time heading closer. Peter was in deep focus, his grey shirt tightening around him every time he threw a punch. Sweat covered the top half of the fabric as his curls brushed his forehead, and you could feel your throat drying up at his appearance.

You would have shown up earlier all those other times if you meant you got to see this…

“Y/N! Hey!” Peter greets when he finally sees you. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you that I was still in here. Guess I lost track of time.”

You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Looked like you were doing some good work.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Did you know the only fighting knowledge he had before this was from movies?” Tony interrupted, pointing a glove at the guilty party.

“Hey c’mon, Rocky is a solid resource,” He defended. “You ever seen it?”

The billionaire paused, mentally going through the five stages of grief. “Yeah kid, I think we’re done here. He’s all yours.”

“Sounds good,” You respond, turning back to Peter. “Something tells me you might need to freshen up before we start studying, so I’ll just meet you in your room. If I can find it, that is…”

The boy nods, feeling extra gross and sticky now that you brought it up. You send the two a small wave before walking out of the gym, trying your best to retrace your steps. Peter watches you until you vanish, to which Tony raises an eyebrow.

Maybe it was just him, but the spiderling was rather obvious with his emotions.

“Normally I’d say, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but clearly you don’t listen to that,” He says, snapping Peter back into reality. “Just keep it in your room, alright? Last thing I need is to spray this whole place with disinfectant.”

Peter’s mouth parts, slightly uncomfortable at his mentor’s words. “What? No, it’s not like that at all. She’s just helping me with all the schoolwork I’ve missed.”

Tony immediately stops, punching pads half on. “That- that’s it? You get a second chance at life, and all you’re doing is studying?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know, I haven’t taken my finals yet-“

“Finals that you can pass if you just study the night before like a normal kid.” He walks closer to Peter. “You escape the jaws of death and the one thing you want to do is study? What happened to you teenagers and wanting to ‘live a little’?” He mumbles the last part, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t use this experience as an excuse to shy away. I’m not saying go off and be reckless, but at least have a little fun, yeah? Do what you want.”

From one man who had a near-death experience (or several) to another, maybe he had a point. But then again, if you try to sacrifice yourself multiple times, you must be more than okay with the thought of leaving this world and the people you care about.

Tony finally finishes packing up, while Peter was still in the ring, contemplating.

“She’s a good one,” he shouts to the boy, getting his attention. “Might even like her more than you.” He pauses, realizing how that sounded. “No offense, of course.”

The boy’s face sours as Tony keeps walking. “Some taken… oh and hey! I know it was you that paid for the Europe trip!”

“Nope! Wrong billionaire!” He swings the door open, turning around to look at Peter. “But uh, I think there’s a light festival the same weekend you’re in Prague. You should check it out.”

“Uh-huh…” he grins, playing along.

+++

Thanks to his powers, Peter’s hands always got extra sticky when he was nervous. So, when Mr. Stark called him to come to his office a week or so after the incident, he tried his best to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. You wanted to see me or something?” he asked, awkwardly shuffling through the door.

Tony looks up from his phone and nods at Peter. “Kid, hey. How you feelin’?”

“Oh, well I’m actually doing pretty goo-“

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts. “Anyways, here you go.”

He slides a paper bag toward the boy, to which Peter responds by checking his surroundings. Was this a test? Because there are some major drug deal vibes happening right now.

“What the heck are you doing, kid? Just take the damn bag.”

Peter snaps back to the man and quickly snatches it off the desk. He peeks inside and is shocked when he sees the bright red and blue suit. He clutches the bag closer, afraid it would be stripped away from him a second time.

“You- you’re giving it back to me?” Peter grins.

“Well, it didn’t really teach you anything when I took it away, so I might as well just give it back. Plus, your other one looks ridiculous compared to this.”

His smile falls a little, and Tony quickly backtracks for clarification.

“What I mean is that you did good work. I didn’t believe in you after the ferry incident, but you were determined. You followed your heart and ended up catching the guy. However, you also ended up getting shish kabobbed and almost died, which isn’t as good.” Stark mumbles the last part, getting a little off track. “I told you before that if something happened to you, that it would be on me. But if you won’t listen to me then… I guess I have to mentor you, and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “As in…”

“Training every morning. We can practice using all your suit’s abilities along with combat in case you’re stuck without it. We’ll track your health and progress to make sure you’re not pushing it. Last thing we need is you showing off and hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” He replies, mouth agape. “I- thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He couldn’t believe it. This was all happening so fast. A few days ago, he thought he was supposed to be dead on the sidewalk. Now, everything seemed to be going well. Maybe too well? How was Mr. Stark so calm about it?

“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t be thanking me. It was your girlfriend that pretty much convinced me to do this. Y/N or something?”

He cocks his head. “Wait, Y/N? What do you mean?”

“We met at the hospital when you were under surgery.” He shrugs. “Kept telling me how you were a good kid who was going to help the city at all costs, that you were soulmates and this was doomed to happen, you should get another chance, etcetera etcetera,” He dismisses with his hands. “It was pretty moving, really. She really believes in you, so I thought I should do the same.”

Peter tries to keep a neutral face, but this information made his mind go even faster than before. You never mentioned that you met Mr. Stark, much less had an actual conversation with him. With all the crap he’s pulled on you, you still said all that. And to an Avenger, no less.

He doesn’t comment about Mr. Stark’s confession, only giving him another thanks followed with a goodbye. From the looks of it, Tony was rather done with the conversation anyways. He leaves as awkwardly as he came in.

As Peter walks back to his room, he notices the air around him feels lighter. Fresher, even. He smiles at the thought.

For the first time, in a very long time, Peter was optimistic for the future.

---

Never mind, maybe he should have died that night.

Studying was a far worse punishment.

Peter groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow, a string of obscenities following shortly after. You turn and frown at the sight. Sure, you weren’t any better during finals week, but this was just sad.

“C’mon dude,” you said as you shook his shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost done with this.”

He groans louder at your comment. “Too much work. Math isn’t even real.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah okay. Tell that to Gonzales, I’m sure you’ll keep your number two spot after that.” You snort, not registering Peter’s shock as he propped himself up.

“Two? Don’t you mean one?”

Shit. “I mean, not exactly. Finals week happened a little bit ago. Grades change, you know?”

“Okay…” He gives you a look. “Well, then who scored high enough to beat me?”

Your lips tighten, but your silence, in turn, answers his question.

“No…” Peter realizes. “You- no….”

“Pete-“

“You’re first now? You took my freaking spot?”

Your mouth hangs open trying to think of a proper response and your friend scoffs. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “After all this time, I didn’t realize my best friend would become my enemy. Now I actually have to try.”

“Ouch. A nice congrats or something would have been nice, you know,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Whatever, at least I’m being nice and trying to help.”

“Help? Or sabotage?” Peter smirks, sitting up. Stiff from his previous meltdown position, he clasps his hands together and stretches his arms upward. He doesn’t get very far before he flinches back down, hands now gripping his side as he quietly whimpers.

You immediately assume the worst as you turn closer to Peter, but he shakes his head, a sign telling you it’s nothing serious. He takes a few more deep breaths before looking at you, now sheepish.

“Sorry bout that. I think I overdid today,” he explained, gently rubbing his abdomen.

“Peter…” you pout. “Thought the whole point of you being here was so that you wouldn’t overdo it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’t think a late-night workout would cause too much trouble,” he says, and your eyebrows furrow, disappointment evident. Peter slumps further down, throwing his hands up. “I won’t do it again, okay? It’s my last weekend here, anyways. I’ll take it easy for the next few days. Promise.” He then offers his pinkie to you, and you accept it with a sigh.

Your eyes wander down his chest, stopping at the top of his waist. You’ve never actually seen it, the wound and the scar that it left. At least, not since the incident. Your chest tightens at the thought. It was so bloody, and dirty, and just plain gross.

It was supposed to be the end of him, the end of everything you had. And now here he was, studying for a calculus test.

How was all that a month ago?

“Does it always hurt?” you ask before you could stop yourself. Peter follows your stare before looking at you again.

“Nah, just sometimes,” he starts with a small shrug. “It’s usually a dull ache every now and then, but it hurts more right now, cause, you know…” He looks away in shame. “Speaking of, I need to put this cream stuff on before I forget, supposed to keep it clean and help with the healing. I forgot to put it on after training.” He leans forward to grab the tube off his desk, and you could tell the easy motion was rather painful.

“I could do it if you want,” you offer, eyes widening immediately afterward. The two of you have been keeping physical distance between one another, and now here you were, basically asking to caress him. “I mean- if you think it would be easier.”

He takes a moment to think before giving a small nod, not saying anything as he hands you the cream. You both seem unsure of this, but you slowly grab the tube anyways. You take your time unscrewing the cap, giving Peter a chance to change his mind. When you look back up, he’s already staring at you, waiting for your next move.

You scooch closer toward Peter, and the air starts to get thicker. Tense. One wrong move could ruin this whole thing. You cringe at the thought. It’s not that deep, you tried to rationalize.

But this was Peter. Every small action meant something more.

Fisting the bottom of his t-shirt, you bring it to his chest to reveal the scar. You let out a shaky breath, looking at the newly exposed skin. It was the same as the last time you saw it: You could still see the tinges of pink under the lights, and his chest was still firm. But now all that was blemished with a horrid red line on his right.

That fucking scar. If looks could kill, your stare could probably reopen the wound that was once there. It makes you so frustrated to know the memory still stains his body. Peter once mentioned that his powers speed up his healing process, but marks like these last a lifetime for normal people, so you imagined that if it were to go away, it wouldn’t be for years.

You shake the thoughts from your head as you squeeze the cream onto your fingers, using your thumb to warm it up. Shifting your weight forward, you lean in even closer to him and gently touch Peter’s skin. The contact causes him to tense at first, but he eventually softens under your touch as you massage in the substance.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes off you. He watches how softly your fingers graze his scar, and how his skin was burning at the contact. It reminds him of that weekend: The hungry kisses, the skin on skin after you took your shirts off. Even when you were pulling him for more, you were never rough. You let him dip his toes first, making sure he was doing what he wanted.

Mr. Stark’s words come back to him. Live a little… have some fun… do what you want…

And right now, Peter thinks he wants more.

He sits up straighter (or at least as much as he could) and brings his hand up toward you, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. His thumb rubs the center of your cheek, bringing your focus away from his scar. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until you face him again. Peter’s stare flickers between your eyes and mouth, and you swallow hard. Though his touch was warm, your mind was frozen.

Were you supposed to do something? What did Peter want? Your questions were soon answered as he started to close the distance between you, ever so slowly. And though a part of you wanted to meet him halfway, memories cloud your head.

Blood.

Rubble.

Tears.

Peter holding on for dear life.

Fear shooting through your veins.

With a sharp inhale, you put your weight on your palms and back away. Peter stays where he is, his body a few seconds behind. After a few seconds, he lowers his hand down as concern floods his eyes.

“I- I should go,” you announce. Pushing yourself off the bed, you quickly pack your stuff away, not bothering to check if you got everything.

“I thought we were going to study more-“

“Just look up some practice problems online and you should be good. The curve helps a lot too.” You zip your backpack. “You’ll be fine without me.”

Peter fumbles for an excuse. “Well, it’s getting late, though. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night like last weekend?”

“No, it’s cool. Happy said they always have a driver on call just in case. Might as well put use them,” you shrug. “Anyways, bye!”

You quickly slam the door behind you, and Peter cringes at the sound. What the hell just happened? He brings his palms to his eyes with a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward, yet he still managed to drive you out of his room and onto a two-hour car ride instead. Did he misread the situation that bad?

Meanwhile, you were still on the other side of the door, eyes wide. Did you really just do that? You were always so upset when Peter didn’t communicate with you, but now you were no better. You turn back to face the door, hand on the doorknob, yet the turn never came. Eventually, you let go and back away, and pull out your phone before turning the corner and out of the hallway.

At that same moment, Peter decided to stand up and follow you. Even if you wanted to leave, he didn’t want all his feelings to go unsaid. He pushes through the soreness and reaches the door, yanking it open.

He sticks his head out into the hall, but he doesn’t see you. Peter’s frame shrinks. A big part of him wanted to chase you, to see if he could catch up before you had the chance to go, but if you were already so far gone, it must be for a reason. With a frown, he slowly shuts his door, hoping that maybe you’ll come back before the click.

You never do.

Sleep never comes to you that night, thoughts about a brown-haired superhero circling your head. You knew that leaving was not the best idea. And not turning back when you had the chance was also not the greatest call. But at that moment, the idea of confronting your fears and worries seemed so much worse.

Grabbing your pillow, you smother yourself as you let out a quiet scream. By the time you uncover your face, you can already see the sun.

---

Neither of you mentions that night. Not that you were purposely avoiding the topic. In fact, you wanted to apologize for your abrupt exit, and maybe talk about what was going on between you two, but there was never a good time to do so.

Peter’s reappearance was not going as smooth as you thought it would. No offense to the boy, but you didn’t think many people would notice he was gone. But with the lack of Spider-Man sightings, and all the chaos surrounding homecoming weekend, people were chatty.

The first day he came back to school, Flash kept asking what happened to the friendly neighborhood hero. Poor Peter tried his best to blubber an excuse about him having a mission out of the country, but that just confused his classmates even more.

Others were asking why he missed all those weeks of school, which caused him to create an elaborate lie about having an extended family in Europe. It took everything for MJ not to outright laugh at the scene, which you later scolded her about.

Combine that and all the work he needs to catch up on, you thought it would be best to wait a little longer.

Eventually, Friday rolls around and all of you have survived another week. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ were talking around your locker before school when Ned claps his hands together, a lightbulb turning on in his head.

“Oh, dude! Now that we’re all here, we should all play some D&D!” He grins, getting giddier by the second. “We finally have a good amount of people, plus it’ll be a good way to have Betty get to know you all better as a group. I got this new book for Christmas and I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome!” He quickly spits out, looking toward the group for a response.

Turns out Betty and Ned were soulmates, though no one knew until recently. Except for MJ, of course. When she gossiped about it homecoming night, Ned spilled all the beans.

They found out a few weeks after D.C., but though the two of them were pleased with the pairing, Betty didn’t feel ready to go into a relationship. Ned was accepting of this, being the sweetie he is, and the two of them are slowly building a friendship, though they are quite affectionate with one another. It was adorable, and slightly jealousy-inducing all at once.

MJ crinkles her nose. “I suppose I could try it. No promises that I’ll enjoy it, though.”

Ned, Peter, and you all stare at one another before bursting into laughter. Your amusement confuses MJ, but she doesn’t interrupt the moment.

“Oh Michelle,” you begin, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are in for a world of fun.”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Ned points to you.

“Of course, dude! You’re the best Dungeon Master around. That, and your mom always has tons of snacks for us whenever we play.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he scoffs. “Should we plan for tomorrow or something? I need to add a few more details and Betty should be free then too.”

“I’m good.”

“Same here.”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m busy.”

The three of you turn to Peter, who shrinks down in size and offers a shy smile.

“C’mon Pete. I get you have a lot of catching up to do but I’m sure a small game break wouldn’t kill you,” you said.

“No no, I get that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I was gonna start patrolling this weekend… “ he explains, and your blood runs cold. “But you guys go on and play without me, I promise to join next time.”

Ned nods, the three of them continuing to talk like normal, but you stay silent, keeping your eyes in Peter’s direction. Patrolling? How come he never told you about this?

It’s five minutes before class when MJ and Ned decide to leave, heading to their first period history together. Peter decides to go to class too, but you grab his arm before he gets the chance to turn away.

“Are you seriously going out? What happened to taking it easy?” you hissed. Though your tone was rather snippy, deep down you were terrified for Peter. Sure, he was fine now, maybe even better with all his training, but was he ready to go back out?

Were you ready for him to go back out?

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week, and people are starting to get suspicious. I don’t know if I can make it through another one of Flash’s confrontations without getting caught,” he sighs. “Look, can we just talk about this later? Class is about to start.”

You scoff. “You’re just trying to avoid the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to hear you lecture me when I’m already heading to one. And besides, I already know what you’re gonna say so what does it matter?”

“You literally just described ‘avoiding the subject’,” you bite back, concern turning into frustration. “Nothing good happens when we don’t talk, Pete.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah dude, I’m pretty sure. That’s kinda how a friendship works.”

“Right. Friendship…” A pause. Peter’s face hardens as he looks at you. “Fine, let’s talk: why didn’t you kiss me?” he asks, jaw clenched.

Your hand lets go of his arm and falls slack. When you said you wanted to bring up the almost-kiss, you didn’t mean now. Why was he turning this on you?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if I can’t avoid the subject, then you can’t either.”

You shake your head. This was not the time to talk about this. He takes your silence as an answer and moves a step back.

“I’m going out. Tonight,” he announces. “I’m not waiting around.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns around and walks away. The action surprises you; Peter was never the one to walk away. If he was, it was because there was a danger that he needed to tend to.

This time, he willingly chose to.

You mull over what he said before he left. I’m not waiting around. He said it with such conviction. It almost sounded like he wasn’t talking about Spider-Man.

He was talking about you.

+++

You didn’t realize the Avengers had their own private hospital section, but considering their job description, you shouldn’t be surprised.

The stale, air-conditioned air of the hospital welcomed you the minute you entered. Goosebumps prickled your exposed arms as the atmosphere around you shifted.

Yeah, you really didn’t like hospitals. Especially now.

The nurses didn’t know anything of you or your involvement either, so they couldn’t let you go past the designated waiting room, leaving you all alone in a stuffy room. You’ve been staring at the fish tank for the last five minutes, waiting for someone to at least come in and talk to you.

Ugh, fuck this.

You texted MJ and Ned the news about Peter, which was a rather chaotic conversation. You promised you would let them know the whole story soon, but now didn’t feel like the time. Not when your other half may or may not be alive.

When you left the school, Ned spammed Stark Industries with emergency messages, which finally got Tony Stark’s attention. You overheard some nurses at the desk talking, and apparently, he was somewhere in the building, talking down a woman. You had no doubt that it was May.

God, if you thought you’ve been through it, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. To find out your nephew, who was basically your son, is a crime-fighting superhero is one thing. To find out he was almost killed and is currently fighting for his life all in one night is another. You were surprised her head didn’t explode right then and there.

Another ten minutes pass by before May comes out from the patient area, eyes red and completely distraught. Tony Stark was close behind her, holding the door open as May’s crouched figure passes through.

You stare at the two of them and accidentally make eye contact with the billionaire. He sends you a nod before heading back to the hospital rooms, like it was the only safe thing to do. The anger from before quickly disappeared; at least you weren’t the only one in shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” May says when she spots you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s super late, I think it’s safer if you went back home. I don’t want your parents to worry. Do you need me to call and talk to them? I can take you home if you need me to.”

“May, you don’t-“

“I mean it’s probably best if I go do something. I don’t think I can sit here for very long without pulling my hair out.”

“May-“

“This is all just hitting me so hard. I mean, how did I not even realize this? I feel so stupid. God, the nerve of Tony to pull this. I should have never trusted him-“

“It’s my fault, May.” You snap, ceasing her rambles. “I did this… I fucking caused all of this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do and one thing led to another and… I killed him. I killed Peter. I am so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

May doesn’t respond right away, still processing everything you said. Her shoulders slump down slightly as she cocks her head. Out of all the news she got tonight, this one confused her the most. But as she focused on you and your shivering body, she realized she wasn’t the only one that had a rough night.

She takes your hands. “Let’s talk, alright?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent by you blubbering about everything. The soulmate memory, his Spider-Man secret, how you tried to keep apart, and how you found him downtown. You skip over the rather intimate parts, knowing it was probably not going to help May. Your face is red and splotchy by the end of it, and a handful of tissues covered the small table next to you.

May doesn’t say a word until you’re done. Though a nice gesture, her silence was more due to her complete shock.

“I am so fucking sorry, May,” you whisper at the end. “I should have told you, or someone, at least. It’s just that, it was Peter’s life on the line. I didn’t want to do anything and hurt him. I thought it was best if he made the call, but look where that got us.” You wipe your eyes and look away. The guilt was unbearable. May was nothing but caring to you, and you repay her by killing her nephew.

“God... I knew Peter was having a rough time, I always heard him at weird hours of the night, but I thought it was just school or something. I’ve always checked on him, but he would always say he’s busy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you, though. I mean, I’m not exactly happy this all went down the way it did, but I can’t be mad at you for at least trying to save him, even when it hurt to.”

You sniffle at her words, trying to suppress any more tears. “He still got hurt, though. Peter being my soulmate cost him his life…” you whisper the last word.

May offers a sympathetic smile as she smooths your hair. “You know, people say the reason for soulmates is to be with someone you love forever, but it never takes into account some people’s forever is shorter than others,” she explains. “When Ben died… I was so angry at the world. Why give me this amazing person if I only got them for a short time? Sure, the world can give me another soulmate or something, but it almost defeats the purpose… makes it seem that I had to have this one soulmate before I had to a ‘real’ soulmate. Even after all this time, part of me will always want him…

“But even if Ben isn’t with me forever, I was with him for his forever, and I found a way to be okay with that. I gave him all the love I possibly could have, and I have no doubt in my head that it was worth it.”

You smile and nod at her words, but she could tell you weren’t completely getting the point. “You and Peter are great together, friendship or more. There’s no way he regrets spending his time with you, and I don’t think you do either. The two of you always had something special. Don’t push away from that, even if it might seem easier.”

You find May’s hands and give a firm squeeze, a silent way of saying thanks. For months, you have been trying to go for easy: less drama, fewer risks… but it was still a whole lot of pain. And for what? Never getting to be with your best friend in the way you truly wanted? May made it seem like the choice was obvious, and you wondered if it actually was.

A few quiet minutes pass until Tony Stark steps into the waiting room and approaches the two of you. You and May quickly stand up, waiting for the worst. You already experienced Peter’s “death”, you didn’t need to go through it again, especially if it’s real this time.

“Is he going to be okay?” May quickly asks, hands close to her chest, protecting herself from any hidden blows.

Tony’s mouth tightens before answering. “More or less…” he starts, looking down before continuing. “The wound was deep, and if he couldn’t heal as fast as he could, this would be a different story. However, it was still caused by dangerous, alien hybrid technology and he was already in a rough state prior to the… stab.” He cringes at the word. “Scrapes and bruises, a broken rib, some significant brain injury… Dr. Cho is doing the best she can, but as of right now, he’s in a comatose state.”

You gulp at the news. “So, what does that mean? When will he wake up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But- but he will wake up, right?” you clarify.

A pause. Tony’s jaw ticks. His eyes quickly leave you before blinking and meeting yours again, but you notice it. The doubt behind them.

“I don’t know…”

---

It’s almost midnight, which means you’ve spent the whole night worrying.

You were out on the fire escape freezing your ass off. It would only take ten steps maximum to grab something warm, but the bite of the wind kept you alert.

You weren’t going to leave until you knew Peter was safe.

He barely talked to you since this morning. He sat near Ned at lunch instead of you and took different routes to class. You texted him a few times throughout the day, but he never replied.

So, when you sent a message checking in on him with no response back, you weren’t sure if it was him ignoring you or that he was in danger. You let out a sigh of worry as your breath dissolved into the night.

You never realized how nice your view was. The most use your window got was when Peter came in, but that hasn’t happened for months. It’s crazy that you consider that a simpler time in your relationship.

Your ears focus on the sounds of the city. The bustling noises often brought you comfort, knowing that there were thousands of people going through the motions of life. Tonight, however, it sent a feeling of loneliness to your veins. New York kept going on while you were wallowing and worrying. It didn’t need you, even though you needed them.

A sudden urge to cry makes your throat tightens. You really hope that Peter was alright.

When you check the time again, you saw that a new day began. You decide to shove your phone back in your pocket. Watching the clock every ten seconds wasn’t going to help.

You sigh, maybe you’ll feel different today. Maybe you’ll feel warmer because holy shit is it cold outside. At what temperature does hypothermia kick in? That seems like a question to Google, not experiment.

You’re about to turn back when you hear a soft thwip, and a Peter hanging outside down on the stairs. You weren’t too sure how he was feeling at the moment, his covered eyes not giving any hints, but you send a soft smile nonetheless.

“I’m not a damsel in distress if that’s what you’re thinking,” you break the ice.

Peter turns himself right side up, taking a seat on the railing next to you. He pulls his mask off and drops it in his lap, and you can see his face isn’t as icy as this morning. But his mouth was pulled tight, unsure how to go about this.

“I’d consider frostbite to be a crime,” he shrugs. Luckily, you had your window open this whole time. With a quick webshot, Peter sticks and catches the sweater hanging on your chair before offering it to you. “Especially if Spider-Man can stop it.”

You bite your cheek. Part of you didn’t want to give in, but there was no way you could last another minute out here. Slowly, you grabbed your sweater, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. A way of saying thank you.

“Slow day?” you ask, pulling the sweater over your head. The extra layer was already warming you up, and your body relaxes a little.

“Well, considering the biggest thing I did today was helping tourists find their way to the subway, I’ll let you figure that out,” he laughs. “Though I suppose some good work is better than no work at all. At least the city knows I’m back.”

Peter realizes that the last sentence wasn’t a good idea, your face slightly dropping at his words. He tries to keep talking in hopes of distracting you. “So uh, any reason why you’re out here tonight?”

“I was waiting for you. Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were safe, I guess.” you sigh, looking back at the skyline. “I also wanted to apologize, for how I reacted. Even if I didn’t agree with you, I could have at least listened to you.”

Peter awkwardly nods, guilt surfacing at your confession. “I mean, I could have done the same thing too. I was so focused on the dumb rumors I let Flash get into my head. That was my first mistake,” he jokes, causing you to snort. “I’m not trying to get into myself into any death matches anytime soon, but I still want to help out, you know?”

“Always the hero… I learned that back in D.C.,” you sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to figure things out. Everything just feels weird right now, and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

He doesn’t say anything and faces back toward the city. He takes a breath of the city, smelling the mix of laundry detergent from your apartment basement and the exhaust from the streets.

For all his life, Peter was dedicated to New York. He loved going to the museums with May and Ben; he always tried to pay street performers with whatever spare change he had in his pocket; he rolled his eyes every time someone brought up New Jersey; most importantly, he wouldn’t take off the suit until he knew his home was safe, even if it was almost morning.

He’s done everything he could to protect his neighborhood and the people who need it most, yet he feels… almost distant from it all. As if Peter was trying to find something more to it. A faint memory passes through his head- what did Ben use to say all those years ago? Something like, “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”?

Peter’s brain sticks to the thought.

Suddenly, the last month hits him.

“I thought of you,” he starts, still looking out into the night. “When it happened, all I could think about was you.”

Your face softens as the beating of your heart becomes audible.

“I was so… angry about it all. I was so pissed off at myself. Even if I knew that was gonna happen, even if I knew or thought I guess, that that was the end, I was an idiot for not spending my time with you. I should’ve used whatever time I had trying to be something more to you, instead of pushing away what we already had. At least if I did die, I would be at peace with everything,” he chokes up a little at the end. “You’re my best friend, and one that somehow gets me. This place is my home and I’d do anything for it.” He turns his head closer. “But it’s nothing without you. Life feels complicated, it’s always been complicated… but I think it’d be easier if we were in it together.”

You bite your lip and pick at the skin. They’ve been chapped since you came out, but it didn’t stop you from using it to cope with your nerves. Peter was laying it all out on the table, and you were the one left silent.

“You don’t have to tell me why we didn’t kiss, it’s completely understandable if you rather just let it go. I’ve pushed you away too many times, it’s only fair you get to do the same at least once. But I want you to know this.” His eyes were bright under the moonlight.

The last hurrah.

“I would keep you in any possible way I could. I told myself that I need to be able to do what I want, and I want you, for however long I can get you,” he sighs. “If you’re not ready for that, okay. If you never want that- fuck – that’s okay too. I love you. I will always love you,” he says, passion dripping from his words and into your heart. “If you could wait for me, I can wait for you too. Whenever you’re ready, just say when. I don’t care what I’m doing, or where I am, I’m always going to be here with you. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be here.”

I’ll be here…

+++

It took five days for Peter to wake up.

Five days of nonstop worrying and utter stress. Five days of you traveling to the hospital first thing after school until your parents texted you to come home. Five days of you not sleeping because you were waiting for the call, and you had no idea what to expect when it did.

The first day was somewhat bearable. May and you slept in the waiting room that night, and when you woke up, which was about four hours later, she took you home. Sitting in a sticky, vinyl chair was not helping you, and if May had to wait there for another minute, she was afraid she’d have another meltdown.

You were still a little numb from it all by the time you got back. It wasn’t until almost midnight that you started to realize, oh shit, you don’t know when Peter will wake up. If… he’ll ever wake up.

That first night you cried in your bed until the morning. Your face was swollen for the rest of the day, and when your parents came back on the second day, they were panicking that you had an allergic reaction.

You told May not to tell them. They didn’t need to know, and they didn’t need to coddle and worry about you. May, who didn’t exactly think it was a good idea, reluctantly agreed anyways. So, when your parents were fussing about your appearance, you laughed it off and told them you watched The Notebook the night before with some friends.

It was just easier that way.

The second day was spent with you wallowing in your room, waiting by your phone for something. May told you she would keep you updated and that you shouldn’t worry, which both of you knew was just empty advice. Hearing nothing was just as bad as hearing something.

Later that day, MJ sent a few news articles about the Vulture and his arrest. Apparently, his suit gave out not too long after he left the scene, causing him to suffer some internal injuries and harsh burns. He got caught by Stark Industries and was arrested quickly after, and is currently awaiting trial. It was likely that Adrian Toomes would be under bars for a while, and that brought you both relief and guilt as you tried to sleep.

The third day sent you to school, and at least gave you something to focus on. The tension between you and your friends was palpable, but no one bothered to address it, not sure where to even go. The only mention of that night was with Liz in the hallway before she left, and that was enough for you.

You went back to the hospital on the third day (after telling your parents you were staying at school for newspaper), and though there was nothing new about Peter’s condition, you still wanted to be there just in case. May was too busy with work to come in unless there was an emergency, and you hope that brought her more relief than stress.

You spent your visiting hours watching Peter sleep, or whatever people did when they were in a coma. You at least liked to pretend he was just sleeping, it made you feel better about his chances of waking up.

His face was so pale and frail under the fluorescents, and you wished he could wake up just long enough to get some actual food in him. You hoped he was at least somewhat at peace right now and resting away all of the stress he’s put himself under. The stress that you were also a cause of.

“I’m sorry, Peter. For everything,” you whisper. Even if he could hear you right now, you’re not sure you want him to. You slowly stand up from your chair and step closer to the boy, brushing his curls back. Gently, you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, brushing the area with your thumb afterward. “I hope you’re doing okay…”

The fourth day is mostly the same. After school, you lied to your parents and went straight to the hospital. You quietly worked on homework while sitting next to Peter, glancing at him from time to time and sending his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. He looks the same as yesterday, and you’re not too sure if that’s good or not.

“You know he’s not going anywhere,” you hear from the doorway. Their voice was instantly recognizable. “Dr. Cho says he’s doing alright, though. Still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’s alright for now.” Tony Stark says.

You scoff. “No offense, but that ‘for now’ part doesn’t seem so reassuring.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to you. “But considering this is probably my fault, I’ll take that over nothing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happen either way, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” he mumbles.

“Trust me, I actually mean it. If we’re going to put blame on anyone it should be on me… or the universe or whatever.”

Tony tilts his head. “Universe as in…”

“-soulmates, yeah,” you answer. “In our future, we saw each other after the incident, and I thought he died… now here we are.”

“Right, here we are…” he repeats. “They told me someone else was there at the scene when I got to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure who they were referring to until I saw you afterward. Nice to meet officially meet you…”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself.

Tony nods. “I’m sorry about how all that went down though. I knew the kid wants his identity to be a secret so I tried to keep everything under wraps as much I could.”

“No hard feelings,” you smile. “I was definitely upset at the time, but I could tell you were just as worried as I was. You wanted to protect him… I do too.” You turn and look at Peter, watching his chest go up and down with his breath. “I’d do anything for him.”

You don’t notice Tony’s faint smile as he watches you and Peter. Young love was beyond him, and watching it happen right in front of his eyes was both sweet and nauseating.

“I should be heading back, I only came here for a quick check-in. Still have some loose ends to tie up regarding press, but nothing to worry about.” He stands up, straightening his jacket. “Glad we got a chance to chat.”

“Me too.” You watch as he walks away, words still at the tip of your tongue. “For what it’s worth Mr. Stark,” you begin, gaining his attention again. “Peter is the type of person who would do anything to save people. He looks out for his family, his friends, me… I can’t imagine someone who’s more of a hero than him, and that includes the Avengers. No offense,” you half-joke. “Whatever you decide to do with him, I hope you give him another chance. He’s really amazing- powers or not.”

He nods, impressed at your words. Tony doesn’t say anything, choosing to offer you a smile before turning away, leaving you and Peter alone. You don’t stay much longer after he leaves, and you follow yesterday’s routine of kissing Peter’s head before heading out.

The fifth day is rainy, perfect to match your somber mood. School decided that today would be a great day to kick your ass and give you tons of homework, even though finals week was already fast approaching. You also forgot an umbrella this morning, and your clothes were still damp from your walk from the subway station. For the cherry on top, no one has had any updates on Peter since he went under, and your hope was starting to falter.

Without thinking, you took Peter’s hands in yours and started to fidget around with his fingers. The cuts on his knuckles were turning pink and gradually healing, while the calluses on his palms were still evident. Much of the skin around his joints were rough, but it meshed so well with the smoothness around it. You were never touchy with other people, but you desperately wanted Peter to squeeze your hands back. At least show some indication that everything was going to be okay.

When you actually felt a squeeze, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You straighten in your chair and turn your head up. A slow flutter of the eyes and a twitch of the lips make your body tense in anticipation. Is he…?

“Peter?” you whisper.

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as Peter’s eyes gently open, taking in the bright lights. You sigh in relief and blink away at the tears trying to come. This better not be a dream.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice dry and scratchy.

“Oh jeez, maybe don’t talk yet. I’ll go grab you some water and tell the nurses you’re up, okay?” you loosen your grip on Peter’s hands, but he squeezes again.

His head does the tiniest shake as he stares down, watching where your fingers touch his. “Stay. They’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Fine,” you give in. You’ll be out of here soon enough when they find out, and you wanted to spend time with the boy who came back from the dead. “If I get in trouble though, you cannot play the ‘sick patient’ card.”

Peter lets out a gravelly laugh, his body still trying to figure out how to be awake. “I’ll try my best…” he mumbles.

“You’ll try your best? Seriously?” you scoff. “You finally wake up and your first words are some half-ass promise?”

He takes a deep inhale, both humored and annoyed at your teasing. “Fine. I promise I won’t… as long as you promise to be here.”

You smile at his quiet words, taking his knuckle and forcing his pinkie finger up. You gently wrap yours around it, looking him dead in his tired eyes. “I promise I’ll be here,” you whisper.

”I’ll always be here…”

---

A month ago, you promised Peter that exact same thing, and it feels like you already broke that promise. The world has offered you a second chance, and you were doing the same thing Peter did the first time: pushing away out of fear. Could you really waste another five months doing that again?

Could your heart handle that?

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something,” Peter stammers. “If you need some time alone, that’s cool,” he offers, fumbling to put his mask back on.

“-Peter, wait.”

He immediately freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. The wind was starting to pick up, and his curls gently blew in the breeze. The dry air irritates his lips as he picks at it, waiting for your next response.

You move closer to him, inch by inch on the railing; your hands are almost touching, your pinkie desperately wanting to link with his gloved one. You take a deep breath and let it trap in your chest as you stare at the boy in front of you.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Your soulmate.

But most importantly, your best friend.

The wind moves through your hair and chills your body, yet it jumpstarts every nerve in your system. Peter was alive; you were alive; and fuck, was it a good feeling.

You wanted more, so you leaned in. Your nose touched Peter’s and your mouths closed the gap. A small, innocent kiss to tell him you want more, and that it was his call to keep going. When you stop, and Peter realizes that yes, you did just kiss him, he comes back for more. And he’s not looking to stop anytime soon.

His hand lets go of the railing and wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close and balanced. He keeps the other one gripped tight to the metal; he doesn’t trust himself to not get dizzy from you.

You cradle Peter’s face and deepen yourself into his presence. Your heart is hammering against your chest and you love it. It makes your body heat up and radiates the air around you. You hum against his mouth as you suck on his bottom lip, making Peter whine at the feeling. Your sweater rides up as you press yourself closer, and his thumb draws circles on the exposed skin. The small action makes you smile; you were only half-sure you weren’t crying at the amount of love that was running through your veins.

It seems like forever until you two are pulling away, absolutely blissed out and breathless. Neither of you go that far, faces still just a space or two away.

You look into Peter’s glassy eyes. If something were to happen to him, if you had to say goodbye to him in the worst way possible, if you had to grieve for a lifetime in order to move on, if you had to spend every day thinking of him and crying until your face was red and dry…

It was worth it. You were grateful to be loved by Peter Parker.

You catch your breath and take a slow inhale. It smells like cedarwood. Home.

You lean forward again and Peter meets you halfway. Your lips are just touching when you whisper into his mouth his new favorite word.

“When.”

Part 4 / Masterlist

Taglist: @eridanuswave @spideylovin @mktravelbuggie​  @bintfalastin8​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @selfcarecap @peterbenjiparker​

#tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #Peter Parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #Peter Parker fanfiction #five months #Peter Parker imagine #spider man fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel #Tom holland x reader #Peter Parker series

[harvestleaves]

Role Reversal

Prompt: Hi, i'm in love with your out of breath series and i have a prompt If you can write It please. Carlos, for some reason has problems breathing in a scene with the 126, so it’s time for TK to help him. Thank you ❤️

A/N: Happy one year to the Out of Breath ‘verse!!  This time it’s Carlos’ turn!  He has an allergy induced asthma attack.  It was fun writing Carlos, I love his character and I feel that there definitely needs to be more on his background.  This is also posted on Ao3 here.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,399

Carlos always had seasonal allergies, and there were times he couldn’t go on his elementary school field trips to local farms due to his allergy to hay and horses.  Needless to say, springtime was usually the one season that he was out of commission due to his sinuses.  But since he’d met TK in the middle of the summer, his boyfriend had yet to see him get more than just a cold.

But now, it was late March and all the flowers and trees were starting to bloom again in Austin, and Carlos’ eyes itched. It had started out early on patrol with his partner, Derek McCoy, and the other officer handed Carlos a Benadryl and a water silently before focusing back on the road when he saw the younger male rubbing furiously at his eyes.

Carlos was thankful for the allergy pill. It had calmed his itchy eyes, but his head now felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his sinuses ached from the amount of congestion he was experiencing.

And to top it off, he was now wheezing.

Carlos couldn’t remember the last time his allergies had given him respiratory symptoms, and because of that, he knew for a fact that the inhaler in his desk back at the precinct with his name on the label was at least two years expired, and thus no good. His mama would kick his ass for not keeping his medications filled if she knew of his stupidity.

Shaking his head with a wheezy laugh at the thought, he raised an eyebrow when they got a call over the radio for them to head to a car crash on the highway.

“You good to go? You sound like shit,” Derek frowned as he looked at his partner in concern before he flicked the lights and siren on.

“Does TK know about your allergies?  Or the fact that you have allergy induced asthma?”

“It hasn’t acted up in a few years, and plus, it’s only a problem during allergy season.  It’s not the same,” Carlos grumbled with a pointed look over at McCoy.

“Hypocrite.  You want your boyfriend to be open to you about his asthma and you won’t tell him that you have allergy induced asthma?  How exactly is that fair to him?” Derek asked the younger man curiously as he pulled their cruiser up to the scene of the crash, raising an eyebrow at the trails of smoke rising from each of the vehicles before he spared Carlos a second glance.

Hopping out to help his partner with traffic and crowd control, Carlos stifled a cough into his elbow, wincing at the high pitched wheeze and rattle that his lungs produced.  He sounded like TK the few times he’d had to take his boyfriend to the ER for his own asthma, and he knew he probably needed a breathing treatment to open up his lungs, but his pride was keeping him from admitting his weakness.

Maybe he was a hypocrite.  How could he expect TK to be open and honest with him when he never even explained to his boyfriend how he already knew how to operate an inhaler, or how he could put a nebulizer together in his sleep?  He hadn’t had a relationship before this one with TK that had lasted longer than a few weeks, so it never really crossed his mind to explain his personal heath history with his boyfriend.

Carlos figured he’d talk to TK about it later, he had a job to do in the meantime.

Spotting the 126 rolling up to the scene, Carlos couldn’t hide the dopey smile that fell across his face when he spotted TK hop out of the firetruck to help Judd get the victims out of the cars before he quickly turned back to his work with a blush.

___________

The call went pretty quickly, with no serious injuries for either of the drivers involved, which TK was always thankful for.  Once he helped Marjan and Mateo load the gear back onto the rig, he made his way over to Carlos to talk to his boyfriend.  He was glad the two of them only had about an hour left in their shifts, one of the few days that their shifts lined up perfectly.

However, the closer he got to his boyfriend, the more he realized there was something wrong with the other male.  Carlos’ usually tanned face looked pale, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.  But the most concerning thing to TK was the awful wheezing coming from his boyfriend, and the way his shoulders seemed to heave with every breath made TK wince internally.

“Hey babe, you feeling okay?” TK asked softly as he reached out a hand to Carlos’ bicep to squeeze it in concern.

“H-hey Ty.  Yeah, ‘m fine.  J-just allergies, y’know?” Carlos explained, trying to stifle a round of coughs that were making their way up his throat, but he couldn’t keep them down.

The next bought of coughs had Carlos doubled over, hands resting on his knees as he wheezed for breath that didn’t seem to want to enter his lungs and his heart started racing in panic.  He hadn’t had an attack this bad since he was a kid, his allergies typically only ever made him sneezy with the occasional wheeze, not full-blown respiratory distress like he was currently experiencing.  And it terrified him.

The only comfort Carlos found in that moment was TK’s soothing voice and the firm hand over his back as his boyfriend kept him upright, calling over Carlos’ partner.

Derek made his way over to them with a frown and crouched down in front of Carlos.

“He’s got allergy induced asthma.  Seasonal allergies started kicking in today.  He took some Benadryl this morning and I thought it helped.  Check his pockets, I know he carries your spare inhaler around.”

TK nodded and quickly patted down Carlos’ pants, a sigh of relief leaving his lips when he pulled out the inhaler and quickly shook it up before pressing it to his boyfriend’s lips.

“C’mon ‘Los.  Take a deep breath for me babe,” TK whispered softly into Carlos’ ear, as the other man took a shaky breath of the medication, letting it out in a harsh wheeze before another round of coughs shook his body.

“That’s it, let it all out.  Can you try another puff for me?”

Carlos nodded slightly at TK’s question and inhaled another breath of the medication, letting it settle into his lungs for an extra few seconds before he shakily let it out, leaning his bodyweight into TK.

“There we go, catch your breath.  I think you’re still gonna need a breathing treatment.  I think you should go to the hospital for it though,” TK said softly as he ran his fingers through Carlos’ curls gently, looking up as Captain Vega made her way over to them with Tim and Nancy.

“Hey guys.  Carlos needs to get taken in, allergy induced asthma attack.  He took two puffs of albuterol but he’s still wheezing and could use a treatment,” TK explained as they loaded Carlos onto a gurney and Tim slid an oxygen mask onto his face along with a pulse-ox meter onto his left hand.

“Sats are in the mid 80′s, and I’ve got him on 100% O2.  I’ll get him on a neb in the rig.  Do you want to ride with him?” Tim asked TK, noticing how he still looked shaken up over seeing his boyfriend unable to breathe.

“Yes.  Because once he’s better, he needs to tell me why he didn’t tell me he also has asthma.” TK nodded firmly with a pointed look at his boyfriend.

“It slipped my mind.  H-haven’t had an attack this bad since I was little.  And none of my relationships lasted long enough for them to find out about allergies, let alone asthma.  I didn’t wanna get judged,” Carlos explained tiredly, a wheeze trailing his words as he looked groggily up at TK.

“Baby.  You know I am the last person who will ever judge you for having asthma.  I love you, and nothing about you will ever change that.” TK whispered softly as he pressed a kiss to Carlos’ forehead before hopping into the ambulance with him, squeezing his hand gently.  Both a signal and a promise that he would always be there.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #911 lone star fanfic #tarlos #tarlos fic #Carlos Reyes #tk strand

[ushiwakaa]

𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a mangaka who draws from your own experiences to write your stories. your new editor disapproves this method.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: akaashi keiji x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, hanahaki au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: suicidal thoughts/ideation, blood, vomit, major character death

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2 k

𝐚/𝐧: this was written for the cheese cult’s hanahaki fic event !! djnfjdngjnjfnjnjngjn this took me so , so , so long to write because every version i wrote ended up hitting the same brick wall of unimaginable angst and believe it or not, this is probably the happiest version. i was supposed to post this two whole as days ago but hey , at least it happened

From over the cover of the fairytale he reads, the young boy boy peers at you with soft sage eyes — checking to see if you’re still awake. You are, but you’re careful to keep your eyes closed, face buried into the blanket. 

“The end,” the young boy finishes softly, closing his book.

He gingerly places the book to the side before sliding in next to you under the covers. You can feel his eyes on you for another moment before he takes a deep breath — there’s a secret, a confession, something on the tip of his tongue. 

You never hear it.

You wake up with a start, a cough half-way up your throat. You cough and cough and cough until the first bud breaks air, tickling the back of your throat. You reach your fingers into your mouth and pull. 

Bitterly, you stare at the withering bouquet in your hands. 

The flowers are wet with your saliva — only a hint of blood coating the white of the petals. 

When you went to the doctor about it, she said you were lucky. She said that your flowers were so small, you could go your entire life with an unrequited love and they would leave your respiratory system alone. She also added, no doctor in their right mind would perform a removal surgery on a person who was more likely to die on the table, then by their illness. 

While cultivating roses would be painful, at least it would be a quick death.

Like every other day, you toss out the pathetic string of baby’s breath in the garbage bin as you head into the washroom to wash out your mouth. 

You get off of the train at a quarter to ten — thankfully on time for your meeting. 

Kaori gives a friendly smile when you enter her office. Even behind her desk, you can see her burgeoning belly. Despite pushing eight months into her pregnancy, she beams. In her smile, she wears the name brand brightness that they all share — the people with a requited love, that is. The lucky ones whose flowers weren’t fed with misery and tears.

You try your best not to resent her but your jealousy bleeds when you sit in the glossy, apple green chair.

“How are you?” Kaori asks, her gentle eyes watching you.

You give a vague shrug, a small smile. “Sad that this is it.”

She’s pleased by this answer, giving a laugh. It reminds you of blue bells rustling in the wind. “I’ll be back and ready to work on your next series before you know it.”

You give an empty chuckle.

There’s a knock at the door and you both look. A man stands in the doorway — staring at Kaori dryly. His plain neutrals are out of place in her bright office but her brightness doesn’t flicker as she waves him in. You play with the sleeve of your severely drab cotton blouse as you wonder if that’s how you look here. 

“Akaashi! Glad you could make it.” 

He gives a slight bow to Kaori first, then you. You stop fiddling with your sleeve and return the bow while seated. He takes a seat in the chair opposite to you (Kaori dubbed it the pineapple throne after its piss yellow hue). He’s too tall for it. It’s almost comical. You might write that in for one of your characters.

“(Y/N), this is Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi, this is (L/N) (Y/N).” She turns to you. “He will be taking over as your editor for the last volume while I’m on maternity leave.” 

You look over at him — “Akaashi… Keiji?” 

At an arm's length, you can see the gentle slope of his nose and the delicate curl of the eyelashes that frame the muted green of his eyes. There’s something that’s strangely familiar about him but you can’t put your finger on it. You know him. You don’t know how, but you do.

“I look forward to working with you.”

You smile, but at the back of your throat, you can feel a familiar itch beginning to grow.

Despite the connection your body draws to him, Akaashi doesn’t show any recognition in return. 

He taps his pen lightly on the paper. “What’s going on here? What’s your plan for this girl?”

You peer over the desk to look at the character on trial — the panel shows the short haired girl spewing forget-me-nots into the trash bin. Immediately, you frown. It’s annoying that he doesn’t know her name. She is literally one of three main characters.

“Konoka?” You settle back into your seat. “She’s going to die.”

He looks up at you. “I gathered that much, but why?”

If the robot says it, it really must not make sense but then again, you doubt he even understood the nuances of the series if he couldn’t even remember Konoka’s name. “Because she has Hanahaki Disease.”

“Okay, but —” if you hadn’t been growing annoyed by his flat tone, you might’ve swooned at the softness, “forget-me-nots are small. She couldn’t possibly die of Hanahaki.”

“That’s why she kills herself.”

He’s silent for a moment, calculating his next words. “...You realize that she’s one of your most beloved characters, right? Your readers don’t want to see her die like that.”

“This is the trajectory the story has been on since she and Tanaka met again.” Your tone is more charged than you intend, but you can’t help but defend Konoka’s decision fiercely. “She has to commit suicide. It’s the only way she can move on.”

“Yes, but Kanoka—”

Pointedly, you cut him off, “Thank you for your opinion but I refuse to compromise on that.” 

He purses his lips. “I sincerely ask you to reconsider.”

“I will not compromise my artistic integrity for your comfort.”

“Killing characters off isn’t profound. It isn’t always necessary.”

“In this case, it is.” Your cheeks burn red as you stand up for yourself — this fight is on a personal level. “I’m not killing her for shock value. I’m killing her because every night, Konoka dreams about Tanaka, and everyday, she wakes up and throws up flowers because she knows he doesn’t love her back. I’m killing her because there’s no one else for her. I’m killing her because the flowers won’t and that — that’s more painful.”

The silence in the aftermath of your rant is deafening. He says nothing to you for another moment, staring into the smoulder of your eyes with a calculating stare. It might be a mistake to appeal to the emotional aspect of it — after all, you sort of doubt he has any at this point — but, at the root of it, that’s what it is: an emotional problem.

“Fine,” he says. “You still have to redo this panel, though.”

Your mouth burns with a minty tang as you walk back into your room — drawn over by the buzzing sound of your ringer. Looking at the caller I.D., you have half a mind to throw it across the room and get back under the covers. 

But, with all the professionalism you can muster at nine in the morning, you say, “Hello?”

“Are you finished with the second draft?” Akaashi’s flat drawl reverbs through the speaker.

You resist the urge to sigh. “Yes.”

“Can you come by the office to drop it off?”

“Today?” You scratch absently at your collarbone. “Uh… I can swing by tomorrow, but if you really need it today — you can pick it up from my apartment?” 

There’s silence on the other line — likely weighing the pros and cons. In the weeks you’ve worked under him, you’ve noticed that he does nothing without proper evaluation. 

“Is three o’clock alright?”

You’re in the middle of vacuuming when a knock at the door interrupts you. While you’re expecting it, you’re not any less annoyed. You open the door with a tight smile, manuscript already in hand. Akaashi gives a monotone greeting in his monotone clothes with his monotone face. 

“Hello. May I use your washroom?” 

You give a sigh as you open the door wider. “The door on the left.”

He enters your apartment, neatly putting his shoes by the door. You toss the manuscript back on the counter. You meant to send him on his way, but, because he’s already here, you put on a kettle to boil. 

“I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.”

You turn around at the comment, looking at your editor with a raised brow. “I’m still killing Konoka.”

He’s a different person when you look at him. For once, there’s something behind his eyes — a sharpness to his gaze. That feeling returns — the one that sees flowers tickling at your trachea.

Gravely, he repeats. “I sincerely hope you reconsider your plans.” 

He must’ve seen your garbage bin. You feel ready to throw something else up now.

“Tell me about them,” Akaashi says.

“About who?”

“Whoever it is you’re willing to die for.”

“I…” You feel faint as you rub at your clavicle. “I don’t think you want to hear this.”

“That’s why I asked, isn’t it?” 

So you do. 

You swallow your pride as you tell him about the little boy you once knew. You tell him about the summer you didn’t leave each other’s side and how one day, while you were camping, you woke up next to him and he was coughing petals and buds and thorns. When his parents took him to the hospital, he never came back and you didn’t get to ask any questions before they moved away. 

You tell him that you started dying that day. That the doctors told your parents that the surgery was too risky for your age. That when you came back a few years later, they told you that it was still too risky when the chances of your death were slim. Some days are better than most, you tell him, but because you never stop thinking about him, you’ll never get better. 

It’s the same story that you are writing. 

Akaashi looks at you for a solemn moment, watching you with incredible disbelief. He’s going to call you an over-dramatic idiot for wanting to die over a childhood crush. If it wasn’t your reality, you’d agree with him too. What a stupid reason to die.

But then, he coughs. When he moves his hands from his mouth, both your stomachs drop while you stare in horror at the soft petal, sopping wet with his blood. 

His eyes widen the same time yours do. Immediately, the phone is in your hand, calling an ambulance.

He thinks he’s dying.

This feeling now, and the feeling from back then... They’re one in the same.

That night, you fell asleep facing him. Your button nose and dark lashes were illuminated by the glow created by his flashlight. It wasn’t until he peered over the cover of the book, he realized that you were knocked out cold.

“You’re so pretty,” he wanted to say.

Instead, a coughing fit seized him, which woke you in turn. He’d been complaining about a dry throat recently, so you disappeared to get him a water from the coolers outside of the tent. 

When you came back, the sleeping bag was littered with bloodied petals. The chilled bottle hit the floor as you gave a blood-curdling scream.

This time, when Akaashi wakes up in the hospital, he’s already coughing. In rapid succession, four blood-soaked petals of varying sizes, the round bud they were plucked from, and two thorns spew from his mouth. He looks at you, startled, more emotion than you’ve ever seen him exhibit. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and swollen.

Gently, you pick up the debris littering his lap and toss it into the garbage beside you. The thorns fall through the maze of baby’s breath you had also coughed up and hit the bottom of the bin with a dull thud. 

"Keiji?” you sniffle, your voice soft. “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he answers. Akaashi chuckles but you can see the blood dribble from his mouth. You wipe at his chapped lips with a tissue.

“The doctor said to call him when you woke up. Let me just —” You feel dizzy as you stand, maybe a touch overwhelmed. “I’m going to go get him.”

There’s a minuscule tug at your hand. When you look down at Akaashi, he’s watching you. His eyes are still a faint shade of green, but there’s a new shine behind them.

“Can I tell you something first?” You hesitate for a second. Then, you nod. “I hope you reconsider your decision.” In the chaos of the past few hours, you had forgotten the matter that brought you here. “I want Konoka to choose herself over Tanaka. Even if she coughs up flowers everyday... I want her to live.”

You take Akaashi’s hand — large, smooth, and cold — in yours. “I can do that.”

“I know that it hurts, but she needs to know that means she’s alive.” You squeeze lightly as his words resonate within you. “I haven’t felt pain in a decade. But, that means I haven’t felt anything. Right now?” He gives you a small smile. “I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.”

Gently letting go of him, you say, “I’ll get you the doctor.” 

You wince when he coughs again — loud and wet. A confession in this final hour won’t do anything. The withered flowers have to come out somehow. 

Still, “I love you,” you try. 

He smiles weakly back at you. “I love you too.”

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji  @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @milk-n-writings @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq​ @badlywritten-hq​ @mochibeaa​ @oinkanna​ @chxrry-wxne​ @spudicide​ @airybby​ @asranomical​ @karmasuna​

#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x you #haikyuu fanfiction #cheesecultficevent #hanahacheese #akaashi keiji #tw suicidal thought #tw suicidal ideation #tw major character death #tw blood #tw vomit #writing

[stevishabitat]

The summer wasn’t meant to be like this. By April, Greene County, in southwestern Missouri, seemed to be past the worst of the pandemic. Intensive-care units that once overflowed had emptied. Vaccinations were rising. Health-care workers who had been fighting the coronavirus for months felt relieved—perhaps even hopeful. Then, in late May, cases started ticking up again. By July, the surge was so pronounced that “it took the wind out of everyone,” Erik Frederick, the chief administrative officer of Mercy Hospital Springfield, told me. “How did we end up back here again?”

The hospital is now busier than at any previous point during the pandemic. In just five weeks, it took in as many COVID-19 patients as it did over five months last year. Ten minutes away, another big hospital, Cox Medical Center South, has been inundated just as quickly. “We only get beds available when someone dies, which happens several times a day,” Terrence Coulter, the critical-care medical director at CoxHealth, told me.

Last week, Katie Towns, the acting director of the Springfield–Greene County Health Department, was concerned that the county’s daily cases were topping 250. On Wednesday, the daily count hit 405. This dramatic surge is the work of the super-contagious Delta variant, which now accounts for 95 percent of Greene County’s new cases, according to Towns. It is spreading easily because people have ditched their masks, crowded into indoor spaces, resumed travel, and resisted vaccinations. Just 40 percent of people in Greene County are fully vaccinated. In some nearby counties, less than 20 percent of people are.

Many experts have argued that, even with Delta, the United States is unlikely to revisit the horrors of last winter. Even now, the country’s hospitalizations are one-seventh as high as they were in mid-January. But national optimism glosses over local reality. For many communities, this year will be worse than last. Springfield’s health-care workers and public-health specialists are experiencing the same ordeals they thought they had left behind. “But it feels worse this time because we’ve seen it before,” Amelia Montgomery, a nurse at CoxHealth, told me. “Walking back into the COVID ICU was demoralizing.”

Those ICUs are also filling with younger patients, in their 20s, 30s, and 40s, including many with no underlying health problems. In part, that’s because elderly people have been more likely to get vaccinated, leaving Delta with a younger pool of vulnerable hosts. While experts are still uncertain if Delta is deadlier than the original coronavirus, every physician and nurse in Missouri whom I spoke with told me that the 30- and 40-something COVID-19 patients they’re now seeing are much sicker than those they saw last year. “That age group did get COVID before, but they didn’t usually end up in the ICU like they are now,” Jonathan Brown, a respiratory therapist at Mercy, told me. Nurses are watching families navigate end-of-life decisions for young people who have no advance directives or other legal documents in place.

Almost every COVID-19 patient in Springfield’s hospitals is unvaccinated, and the dozen or so exceptions are all either elderly or immunocompromised people. The vaccines are working as intended, but the number of people who have refused to get their shots is crushing morale. Vaccines were meant to be the end of the pandemic. If people don’t get them, the actual end will look more like Springfield’s present: a succession of COVID-19 waves that will break unevenly across the country until everyone has either been vaccinated or infected. “You hear post-pandemic a lot,” Frederick said. “We’re clearly not post-pandemic. New York threw a ticker-tape parade for its health-care heroes, and ours are knee-deep in COVID.”

That they are in this position despite the wide availability of vaccines turns difficult days into unbearable ones. As bad as the winter surge was, Springfield’s health-care workers shared a common purpose of serving their community, Steve Edwards, the president and CEO of CoxHealth, told me. But now they’re “putting themselves in harm’s way for people who’ve chosen not to protect themselves,” he said. While there were always ways of preventing COVID-19 infections, Missourians could have almost entirely prevented this surge through vaccination—but didn’t. “My sense of hope is dwindling,” Tracy Hill, a nurse at Mercy, told me. “I’m losing a little bit of faith in mankind. But you can’t just not go to work.”

When Springfield’s hospitals saw the first pandemic wave hitting the coasts, they could steel themselves. This time, with Delta thrashing Missouri fast and first, they haven’t had time to summon sufficient reinforcements. Between them, Mercy and Cox South have recruited about 300 traveling nurses, respiratory therapists, and other specialists, which is still less than they need. The hospitals’ health-care workers have adequate PPE and most are vaccinated. But in the ICUs and in COVID-19 wards, respiratory therapists still must constantly adjust ventilators, entire teams must regularly flip patients onto their belly and back again, and nurses spend long shifts drenched in sweat as they repeatedly don and doff protective gear. In previous phases of the pandemic, both hospitals took in patients from other counties and states. “Now we’re blasting outward,” Coulter said. “We’re already saturating the surrounding hospitals.”

Meanwhile, the hospitals’ own staff members are exhausted beyond telling. After the winter surge, they spent months catching up on record numbers of postponed surgeries and other procedures. Now they’re facing their sharpest COVID-19 surge yet on top of those backlogged patients, many of whom are sicker than usual because their health care had to be deferred. Even with hundreds of new patients with lung cancer, asthma, and other respiratory diseases waiting for care in outpatient settings, Coulter still has to cancel his clinics because “I have to be in the hospital all the time,” he said.

Many health-care workers have had enough. Some who took on extra shifts during past surges can’t bring themselves to do so again. Some have moved to less stressful positions that don’t involve treating COVID-19. Others are holding the line, but only just. “You can’t pour from an empty cup, but with every shift it feels like my co-workers and I are empty,” Montgomery said. “We are still trying to fill each other up and keep going.”

The grueling slog is harder now because it feels so needless, and because many patients don’t realize their mistake until it’s too late. On Tuesday, Hill spoke with an elderly man who had just been admitted and was very sick. “He said, ‘I’m embarrassed that I’m here,’” she told me. “He wanted to talk about the vaccine, and in the back of my mind I’m thinking, You have a very high likelihood of not leaving the hospital.” Other patients remain defiant. “We had someone spit in a nurse’s eye because she told him he had COVID and he didn’t believe her,” Edwards said.

Some health-care workers are starting to resent their patients—an emotion that feels taboo. “You’re just angry,” Coulter said, “and you feel guilty for getting angry, because they’re sick and dying.” Others are indignant on behalf of loved ones who don’t already have access to the vaccines. “I’m a mom of a 1-year-old and a 4-year-old, and the daughter of family members in Zimbabwe and South Africa who can’t get vaccinated yet,” says Matifadza Hlatshwayo Davis, who works at a Veterans Affairs hospital in St. Louis. “I’m frustrated, angry, and sad.”

“I don’t think people get that once you become sick enough to be hospitalized with COVID, the medications and treatments that we have are, quite frankly, not very good,” says Howard Jarvis, the medical director of Cox South’s emergency department. Drugs such as dexamethasone offer only incremental benefits. Monoclonal antibodies are effective only during the disease’s earliest stages. Doctors can give every recommended medication, and patients still have a high chance of dying. The goal should be to stop people from getting sick in the first place.

But Missouri Governor Mike Parson never issued a statewide mask mandate, and the state’s biggest cities—Kansas City, St. Louis, Springfield, and Columbia—ended their local orders in May, after the CDC said that vaccinated people no longer needed to wear masks indoors. In June, Parson signed a law that limits local governments’ ability to enact public-health restrictions. And even before the pandemic, Missouri ranked 41st out of all the states in terms of public-health funding. “We started in a hole and we’re trying to catch up,” Towns, the director of the Springfield–Greene County Health Department, told me.

Her team flattened last year’s curve through testing, contact tracing, and quarantining, but “Delta has just decimated our ability to respond,” Kendra Findley, the department’s administrator for community health and epidemiology, told me. The variant is spreading too quickly for the department to keep up with every new case, and more people are refusing to cooperate with contact tracers than at this time last year. The CDC has sent a “surge team” to help, but it’s just two people: an epidemiologist, who is helping analyze data on Delta’s spread, and a communications person. And like Springfield’s hospitals, the health department was already overwhelmed with work that had been put off for a year. “Suddenly, I feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day,” Findley said.

Early last year, Findley stuck a note on her whiteboard with the number of people who died in the 1918 flu pandemic: 50 million worldwide and 675,000 in the U.S. “It was for perspective: We will not get here. You can manage this,” she told me. “I looked at it the other day and I think we’re going to get there. And I feel like a large segment of the population doesn’t care.”

The 1918 flu pandemic took Missouri by surprise too, says Carolyn Orbann, an anthropologist at the University of Missouri who studies that disaster. While much of the world felt the brunt of the pandemic in October 1918, Missouri had irregular waves with a bigger peak in February 1920. So when COVID-19 hit, Orbann predicted that the state might have a similarly drawn-out experience. Missouri has a widely dispersed population, divided starkly between urban and rural places, and few highways—a recipe for distinct and geographically disparate microcultures. That perhaps explains why new pathogens move erratically through the state, creating unpredictable surges and, in some pockets, a false sense of security. Last year, “many communities may have gone through their lockdown period without registering a single case and wondered, What did we do that for?” Orbann told me.

She also suspects that Missourians in 1918 might have had a “better overhead view of the course of the pandemic in their communities than the average citizen has now.” Back then, the state’s local papers published lists of people who were sick, so even those who didn’t know anyone with the flu could see that folks around them were dying. “It made the pandemic seem more local,” Orbann said. “Now, with fewer hometown newspapers and restrictions on sharing patient information, that kind of knowledge is restricted to people working in health care.”

Montgomery, the CoxHealth nurse, feels that disparity whenever she leaves the hospital. “I work in the ICU, where it’s like a war zone, and I go out in public and everything’s normal,” she said. “You see death and suffering, and then you walk into the grocery store and get resistance. It feels like we’re being ostracized by our community.”

If anything, people in the state have become more entrenched in their beliefs and disbeliefs than they were last year, Davis, the St. Louis–based doctor, told me. They might believe that COVID-19 has been overblown, that young people won’t be harmed, or that the vaccines were developed too quickly to be safe. But above all else, “what I predominantly get is, ‘I don’t want to talk to you about that; let’s move on,’” Davis said.

People take the pandemic seriously when they can see it around them. During past surges in other parts of the U.S., curves flattened once people saw their loved ones falling ill, or once their community became the unwanted focus of national media coverage. The same feedback loop might be starting to occur in Missouri. The major Route 66 Festival has been canceled. More people are making vaccine appointments at both Cox South and Mercy.

In Springfield, the public-health professionals I talked with felt that they had made successful efforts to address barriers to vaccine access, and that vaccine hesitancy was the driving force of low vaccination rates. Improving those rates is now a matter of engendering trust as quickly as possible. Springfield’s firefighters are highly trusted, so the city set up vaccine clinics in local fire stations. Community-health advocates are going door-to-door to talk with their neighbors about vaccines. The Springfield News-Leader is set to publish a full page of photos of well-known Springfieldians who are advocating for vaccination. Several local pastors have agreed to preach about vaccines from their pulpits and set up vaccination events in their churches. One such event, held at James River Church on Monday, vaccinated 156 people. “Once we got down to the group of hesitant people, we’d be happy if we had 20 people show up to a clinic,” says Cora Scott, Springfield’s director of public information and civic engagement. “To have 156 people show up in one church in one day is phenomenal.”

But building trust is slow, and Delta is moving fast. Even if the still-unvaccinated 55 percent of Missourians all got their first shots tomorrow, it would still take a month to administer the second ones, and two weeks more for full immunity to develop. As current trends show, Delta can do a lot in six weeks. Still, “if we can get our vaccination levels to where some of the East Coast states have got to, I’ll feel a lot better going into the fall,” Frederick, Mercy’s chief administrative officer, said. “If we plateau again, my fear is that we will see the twindemic of flu and COVID.”

In the meantime, southwest Missouri is now a cautionary tale of what Delta can do to a largely unvaccinated community that has lowered its guard. None of Missouri’s 114 counties has vaccinated more than 50 percent of its population, and 75 haven’t yet managed more than 30 percent. Many such communities exist around the U.S. “There’s very few secrets about this disease, because the answer is always somewhere else,” Edwards said. “I think we’re a harbinger of what other states can expect.”

#covid 19 #pandemic #missouri

[stoolcattle51]

A Summer Without Coming Home For Many Spaniards Abroad

Jaime (4 years old) does not lose hope of getting on the plane and visiting his grandparents in La Coruña and Cádiz, as he does every summer. "Tomorrow, maybe the coronavirus is gone," he says hopefully to his father, Chiqui Esteban, as he paints with his brothers, aged seven and nine, a huge cardboard box as if it were a shipping package. Then he gets inside, closes the box and announces: "Now you can send me to Spain." "The annual trip to our land is always very good for us because we see our family and children take the opportunity to speak Spanish," explains Chiqui, who is Spanish, arrived in the United States in 2016 and now works as Director of Graphics at The Washington Post. From behind you can hear Álvaro, the oldest, asking his father to mention how badly he is doing for not seeing his grandparents, in a tone between joke and conviction. Chiqui laughs when listening to her son and assures that "they have understood the situation quite well, as far as possible." The family had planned to fly in mid-July and spend the holidays in Spain until mid-August but, when in April they saw that the situation got complicated and the deadline for a possible cancellation of the tickets ended, they decided to postpone it, as commented on the Chiqui Esteban himself on his Twitter account: "We have canceled our annual summer trip to Spain. We assume that in these conditions no one from there will come to see us. The enormous drama is that we have just opened the last bottle of Cola-Cao that we had left "read that message. "Both my wife and my parents are risk groups, so we decided not to risk because they are very long flights and it is too much exposure," he explains more seriously. The health crisis caused by the coronavirus has completely disrupted the summer of many of the 2,618. 592 Spaniards who, according to the latest data from the National Statistics Institute (INE), live outside our borders in 2020. Before the pandemic, the summer season meant much more to them than a break: it was going back to the roots, hugging yours, go back to where you started. However, fear of infection, economic uncertainty and doubts about border measures are leading many Spaniards living abroad to postpone summer in their land. A proof of the uncertainties that surround travel currently is that the Executive of Pedro Sánchez changed this June 14 the scheduled date for the opening of borders with the countries of the Schengen area and without quarantine, which has become June 21, except for Portugal. For the rest of the countries it will continue to be July 1. However, for the latter cases, Spain is waiting for Brussels to draw up a list that includes countries that meet three requirements: their epidemiological situation is analogous or better to that of the European Union, that assume certain health conditions at origin, route and destination, and that they act reciprocally (that is, that they accept the entry of travelers from the European Union). In addition, the Government is preparing automated processes, such as electronic forms and thermal cameras, which it will apply to travelers coming from abroad, which implies the risk of being isolated in case something goes wrong. And as if this were not enough, some neighbors in the rural environment, where the population is particularly aged, already asked their relatives last Easter not to travel to the towns for fear of contagion. Thus, returning home generates more uncertainty than emotion. Rosana Rovira (30) works as a Spanish teacher in Baton Rouge (United States) and has decided not to travel with her three daughters this summer due to the financial risk posed by the 'new normal'. "Each trip with my girls to my land, Tarragona, costs me 10,000 euros," she calculates. On previous occasions, her mother has helped her cover this figure and now she doesn't want to risk losing her "because I'm isolated or because they won't let me enter the United States later." Of course: "The girls have become quite sad because we have not been going for two years and they love spending time with my mother, eating paella and bathing on the beach." Of the nearly two and a half million Spaniards who reside abroad, more than half (63%) do so outside of Europe. One of them is Francisco Abolafio (40), who had to spend the pandemic in Brazil, especially far from his loved ones. In 2014, as soon as she moved to Sao Paulo, she lost her great-grandmother and couldn't say goodbye. "After that, you are much more afraid that something will happen to someone and you will not be able to be," confesses this Malaga draftsman to whom the airlines have already been canceling his flight since the end of April. "There are days when I dream that I am there with my family and my friends, eating paella... and then I wake up."

Coming home, an emotional need

Return has always been a fundamental ingredient in the emotional well-being of emigrants. As Natacha Lillo, a professor at the University of Paris, explains in the analysis A century of Spanish immigration in France, the generation that emigrated to France in the 20th century "already saved to buy a car and be able to make annual trips to the town ". Mothers first traveled with their children in early July by train and then fathers met them in August by car. The objective: "not to lose contact with the family." Natalia Flores (24), a native of Mallorca, lives in Homburg, in the southwest of Germany, and has decided not to travel to her land in June for fear that her two little ones will catch the infection. Their daughter, who was born in Germany in January, spent several weeks intubated in hospital due to a respiratory virus. "My son also caught bronchitis at the same time and my husband and I went on a chain," she explains. They are left wondering if their respiratory problems were related to the coronavirus, although they have not been able to know for sure. "It hurts my mother because she saw her newborn and has not seen her again. The whole family wants to meet the girl and I am sorry that these moments are lost, but after going through that experience in the hospital we do not want to risk more ", assures Natalia. "Even an employee of the Embassy advised us against traveling this summer when we told him that we wanted to give the girl a passport to buy tickets to Mallorca." Celia Arroyo, an expert psychologist in migratory grief, describes the return to the place of origin as "an oxygen balloon" for the emigrants. However, that oxygen balloon has now exploded. "It is not the same to live the coronavirus in Spain as it was. Until now, being outside of Spain was a reversible situation at any time," explains the expert. "However, to some extent now they can have the feeling of being trapped, which has increased the psychological distance with the family." People who emigrate to a country without knowing the language or without access to the health system traditionally experience a sense of fear for their health, according to Arroyo. This emotion, known as "mourning for physical risks", has spread during the health crisis to anyone abroad, regardless of their knowledge of the language or their access to the health system. "The pandemic has shown that there is an emotional part to the idea of ​​getting sick outside the home that is intrinsic to anyone who has left their country of origin," he says. "In addition, we have also detected another common denominator in a large part of the emigrants: they come to feel guilty if they fall ill and infect a relative during their summer visit," Arroyo points out. The process of the pandemic has been marked by a cocktail of negative emotions. This new fear of ending up infecting loved ones has been added to other feelings already present in these months. Some emigrants, for example, have commented in the Arroyo sessions that they are afraid to argue with family or friends when expressing their opinion about the health situation in Spain "due to the social tension that the coronavirus crisis has produced." The feeling of ambivalence regarding their Spanish identity has also grown in them, as the expert explains, due to having been exposed to certain comments in their host country. "They have heard questions like 'What's wrong, that in Spain you don't wash your hands?' or 'After this you will not continue thinking about having surgery in Spain?' "says Arroyo. "In a situation of so much suffering far from yours in which it is implied that our health system is third world, when in addition the Spanish know that it is not true, a lot of impotence is generated and that affects self-esteem." Virginia Manzanares (39), who has lived through the pandemic from Israel, where she has been installed for half a decade, will not go to Spain either. Her mother had planned to visit her in May and she was going to travel to Toledo and Santander in August but, after two canceled flights to Istanbul and Prague, Virginia has decided to cut her losses. "In addition, in Israel at the moment there is a mandatory 15-day quarantine for anyone who arrives, and we still do not know to which countries borders will be opened," he adds. "It hurts a lot because I love spending time with my mother, my grandmother and my cousins, but I just have no other choice."

If you are not going to travel to Spain

CS If you are not going to be able to travel to see your family this summer either, you can follow the advice of psychologist Celia Arroyo: - Schedule regular videoconferences with your loved ones in Spain, you will feel that you are more united in the face of adversity. - Maintain a fluid communication with yours, expressing your concerns without being alarmist. - Ask your family to keep you informed of the good and bad news. - Provide emotional support to your family: do not think that you are not useful because you are far away, your encouragement is essential now. - Share your concerns with your network of Spaniards abroad. - Encourage your loved ones to follow the recommendations and to stay busy and active. - Don't let intrusive thoughts of guilt flood your day: remember that you are not to blame for the pandemic. - Check the sources from which you receive news about covid-19 and avoid rumors. - Get involved in solidarity activities to fight the virus: symbolic actions protect our mental health and give us back the feeling of unity. Sure you can contribute your grain of sand.

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[innytoes]

Self-Insert January: Let’s Go Steal A Protégé

Yes I did write a self-insert fanfic of my own fanfic. Most of this was written in December and then um, January happened. This takes place December, probably before Christmas (and is obviously not canon).

Happy Self Insert month!

Being with Leverage, Jamie had seen a lot of weird stuff. Done a lot of weird stuff, too. But all the breaking into highly classified places and museums and pretending to be a circus performer and jumping off the Eiffel Tower did not prepare them for the magic portal that opened up in the ceiling of the Leverage Offices, or the lady that fell through it.

Luckily, their startled yell had summoned an Eliot, which meant that if this was the beginning of an intergalactic space war or some kind of mutant criminal rival of Parker’s, Team Leverage was going to come out on top.

Except Eliot actually put away his knife and greeted the lady, who struggled out of the squashy purple beanbag chair she landed on. “Hardison, Parker, Inny’s here!” he called.

“What the hell is an Inny?” Jamie asked. Was it a species of alien? Was Hardison’s Doctor Who obsession because they literally knew The Doctor? Honestly, it wouldn’t really surprise Jamie.

“I the hell am an Inny,” Ceiling-Lady said, before gasping and pointing at them. Which was concerning, to say the least.

“That’s Inny,” Hardison said, coming into the office and handing the lady one of Jamie’s Mountain Dews. Rude.  “She’s from a darker timeline and drops out of the ceiling once or twice a year to catch up. And get inspiration for her fanfiction. Apparently we’re like, a TV show over there. What’s up, girl?”

“Is that why nobody is allowed to move the beanbag chair?” Jamie asked. They had thought it was some weird Parker thing. Or perhaps that it was on top of some kind of secret trap door to Hardison’s BatCave or something. They ignored the part about the fanfiction and the TV show. That was too Truman Show to think about. Though their brain was already going over actors they’d cast as the team. Eliot would totally be played by Chris Evans, right?

Inny stopped chugging the Mountain Dew long enough to shrug. “They used to live somewhere with way lower ceilings. Nearly broke something falling from this one.”

“Yeah, me,” Eliot grumbled. He nearly broke something again when Parker dropped down from the ceiling onto his back. “Dammit, Parker!”

“Inny!” Parker proclaimed. “How is Deeks?”

“Good!” the lady fished a beaten up phone out of her pocket. “He met some alpacas, wanna see?” Parker snatched up the phone and made delighted noises. Jamie peered over her shoulder. They had to admit the dog was pretty cute, and the alpacas looked very intrigued by their small, same-coloured, short-necked friend.

“How’s life in the darkest timeline?” Hardison asked.

“What date is it here?” the lady asked, looking around. “I mean, if you still know.”

“Why wouldn’t we know?” Parker asked, still swiping through dog pictures.

“Well, I mean, 2020, am I right?” Inny said, waiting for a reaction. She looked incredulous at their blank  faces. “It is 2020, here, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Hardison ventured carefully.

“How dark is this timeline of yours?” Jamie asked carefully. Sure, it was a tumblr joke, usually reserved for stuff like the however-many-renewed-season of Supernatural when great shows were cancelled or whatever creepy feature FriendCzar had tried to impose that month.

The woman paused, frowned, then took a deep breath. “In response to the global pandemic of a deadly respiratory virus, President Donald Trump suggested on television during a briefing that people should inject or ingest bleach to kill the virus.”  She took another big breath. “And that’s not mentioning the fact that he downplayed the seriousness of the virus while knowing how deadly and contagious it was, called it a hoax, made taking safety precautions a political thing instead of a public safety thing, and held massive super-spreader events.”

“Donald Trump?” Jamie asked. “The ‘you’re fired’ dude?”

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Inny responded, before taking another swig of her Mountain Dew. “Yeah, I mean, I thought the fact that Australia was on fire at the start of the year was going to be the only terrible thing I was going to tell you.” She laughed and shook her head ruefully, like that was some kind of funny joke.

“Australia was on fire?”

“Yeah. Parts of the US too, for a while. Orange skies. But since the country was basically on lockdown anyway, it wasn’t like it was very different to stay inside for that…” Jamie stared at the lady, then back at the adults. Parker didn’t look overly concerned, but then, she never really did. Eliot and Hardison were both frowning, though. There was no sign that this was some kind of elaborate prank Hardison was pulling on them with the help of one of Sophie’s acting friends. Besides, he was good, but not ‘fake opening a magic portal in the ceiling’ good. At least not within the five minutes Jamie had been in the other room.

After a litany of horrible things, which were apparently not even all of them, the woman stopped. “On the upside,” she said. “I perfected my banana bread recipe, Deeks met some alpacas, Leverage is getting a reboot, and I figured out why I probably keep dropping in here.”

“To remind us that things aren’t so bad like some messed up version of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?” Hardison guessed.

“Because Jamie is my OC,” she said, dropping a fucking bombshell like she just dropped out of the fucking ceiling. Jamie felt their brain fill with static, because no, they were a real person, and that either meant that this lady was full of bullshit, or, well, basically god. The Truman Show feeling returned ten times over. “This is my fanfic.”

Hardison recoiled a little. “No,” he whispered, fully understanding the implications of that. Hell, it was probably even weirder for him. Sure, knowing they were a TV show was probably cool, even more so with the reboot. But Fanfic Land didn’t fade to black and Jamie was pretty damn sure some kinky shit went on behind the soundproofed doors of their bedroom.

“Now, there’s two prevailing theories about this, as far as my internet rabbithole searches can tell,” Basically God Maybe continued. “Either I wrote this world into existence, because the multiverse is ever expanding and that is one of the ways it expands, or I just got some vibes from whatever crack between worlds keeps bringing me here and wrote down your shenanigans.”

At Parker and Eliot’s blank looks, Jamie clarified: “Basically, she’s either God or…”

“Some kind of shitty false prophet,” the lady on the beanbag chair beamed. “Probably the second one, honestly. My subconscious turns everything into a zombie apocalypse sooner or later, and you guys seem to be fine.”

Jamie whipped around to look at Hardison and Eliot, hopeful. “We’re fine, right?” they asked quickly. If anyone knew about a starting zombie apocalypse, it would be those two. Between Hardison poking around in basically every intelligence agency’s server ever and Eliot’s contacts, they’d know. God, Jamie hoped not. They were so not ready for a zombie apocalypse. Eliot hadn’t even taught them how to murder someone with an axe yet.

“We are definitely fine,” Hardison assured them.

“Yeah, I figured,” Not-God agreed. “If I had my say, Eliot would have stopped pining long before he did and kissed you guys.” Eliot grumbled and glared, probably because she was right. Parker patted him condescendingly on the head, which wasn’t helping matters.

The ceiling started crackling and glowing ominously. The lady put her can down as she slowly drifted off the beanbag, alien-abduction style. “Well, it’s been real. Be good, guys. Have some fun adventures. Ruin some rich douchebag’s day for me.”

“Will do,” Parker promised. “Say hi to your dog for me.” She got a thumbs up.

“Let us know how the reboot turns out,” Hardison said. Jamie figured it would probably fuck with the space-time continuum if she downloaded the show and brought it to them, but who knew. Maybe there was some kind of loophole for that, too. They were kind of curious to see what a Leverage show would look like. It probably had kickass fight-scenes.

“Stay safe,” Eliot said seriously. He’d been the most concerned about the talk of the pandemic, probably because you couldn’t punch it.

“Will do,” Inny shrugged. “I mean, 2021 can’t possibly be any worse, right?”

The portal crackled louder, which Jamie hoped wasn’t a sign. The lady was almost at the ceiling. She looked concerned, like she realised she just totally jinxed herself and the new year.

“Hey, just in case you are god,” Jamie called up. “Can you give me superpowers?”

The portal closed to the sound of laughter, and then there was silence. All that remained was a dent in the beanbag and an empty can of Mountain Dew.

“What the fuck,” they told the room at large.

“Yeah, you get used to it,” Parker said, before wandering off back to the blueprints she had been studying.

“I’m just gonna… check some things,” Hardison muttered, making a detour to the kitchen to grab a ginormous bottle of orange soda before getting behind his computer. “And buy a bunch of disinfectant and toilet paper, just in case.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, before bumping his shoulder against Jamie’s. “Come on,” he said.

“Come on where?” Jamie asked. “I’m having a bit of an existential crisis here.” If they were someone’s OC, did that mean that they didn’t have free will? Did it mean that all the cool things they had done the past year had only been because of some weird lady that fell out of the ceiling? Or did it mean-

“I’m gonna teach you to throw a knife so you can take out a zombie,” Eliot said.

Fuck that, the existential crisis could wait until 2am. They had more important things to do. Knife throwing would be fun and useful no matter if there was a zombie apocalypse or a pandemic, or they got superpowers.

#fanfic #self insert month #I wrote a thing #leverage #lets go steal a protege #HardisonxParkerxEliot #I almost didn't post this because of you know the civil war thing in the US #but then I thought wouldn't it be funny if this was pre-january and self insert Inny was just like: well fuck #dear americans I'm sorry #yes Deeks did meet some alpacas it was adorable

[eulalia-heart]

My Trip to the ER

In October, I had to go to the ER because I was having trouble breathing and had a low oxygen saturation level. I wanted to share this story with all of you because I feel you will understand in a way that those in my real life do not.

 The Days Before:

It all started because I caught a cold or some other respiratory illness that the doctors never quite identified. On Thursday, I started to develop a cough. On Friday I woke up slightly sick and coughing but went to work anyway. My task that day was watering, like it is every Friday, which is a cumbersome task on a good day due to the number of plants and their sporadic locations across multiple gardens. Watering them involved dragging heavy, leaky hoses across long distances and loading and unloading an off-road utility vehicle with gallons of water which I than had to carry to trees planted far away from the paths. It is impossible to do this without getting wet, which was fine in the summer, but this was a cold and windy autumn day.

After doing this for only an hour I started to feel winded and weak. I could feel and hear my lungs wheezing. It felt like my lungs could no longer fully expand. I went to my locker and grabbed my albuterol inhaler and quickly administered it, which made me cough hard. I could feel my lungs be able to expand more and my wheezing subside but did not completely diminish. My heart rate increased slightly from the medicine. I continued working. As the day went on, I could feel myself getting weaker. Whenever I would lift heavy jugs of water, I would get winded and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but it did not feel normal. My heartbeats felt frantic, fast, and forceful. Like my heart was trying to compensate for my lungs failing. About every half hour I would start to wheeze again and be forced to use my inhaler. Each time I used my inhaler it felt less effective, it could no longer stop me from wheezing or open my lungs any further. I continued until I finished watering, which took four hours.

At this point I felt weak, was wheezing, dizzy, soaking wet, shivering from the cold and had slight tremors from all of the albuterol I have been inhaling. I decide to just go home instead of taking lunch. My body was feeling just too weak to continue working. I grabbed some soup to eat on the way home, it did not make me feel any better. I took a shower and it helps warm me up but it did nothing to open up my lungs. I used my inhaler again and fell asleep on my couch.

Saturday morning, I woke up still sick and weak. I don’t think I really did anything at all the entire day but cough, wheeze and just try to breathe. I remember trying to play video games, but I couldn’t. For some reason, my controller felt astonishingly heavy and my arms felt really weak and shaky. Even watching videos seemed impossibly hard, I couldn’t focus, my mind was too foggy. At this point I really should have called the doctor or gone to the ER. But for some reason I didn’t even think to do that. I don’t think I really thought of anything at all. Just thinking was too tiring. I laid there all day just getting weaker. I was coughing and wheezing but since I was laying down, I never really thought to use my inhaler other than a few times in the morning.

By Saturday evening, I realized I couldn’t breathe at all when I laid down. It was as if when I laid down my lungs closed, and I would just be left gasping and coughing. No matter how many times I used my inhaler I was unable to breathe laying down. I was coughing constantly. With every breath I took I was wheezing loudly, it felt like my lungs were almost rattling when I breathed.

At this point even though my breathing was significantly worse than it was earlier I was much more alert. I could feel my heart beating fast with adrenaline, trying to keep me alert and compensate for my lungs. I felt scared and was mad at myself for not calling the doctor in the morning. There was no way I was going to be able to just go to sleep. I certainly wasn’t going to be able to wait until Monday morning to go to the doctors. I decided that if I just propped myself up with pillows and kept my inhaler in my hand, I would be okay. It eventually got to the point that I was using my inhaler every half hour again. But this time I needed it just to breathe at all. Once the medicine would start to wear off, I was gasping for air. I started to have immense trouble walking. I could feel my heart beating fast to compensate for my lungs. My head was throbbing with pain. I had several close calls where I had drifted to sleep and woke up gasping and coughing, needing to use my inhaler immediately. I decided I just needed to make it through the night and that in the morning I would go to Urgent Care.

Sunday morning eventually arrived, and I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see daybreak. I got dressed and went to Urgent Care. When I got there and told the nurse about how my night had gone, she yelled at me for coming to Urgent Care and not to the ER. I don’t remember what my vitals were, at the time I didn’t know how to read the oxygen levels on a pulse oximeter, so the number didn’t really mean anything to me. I do remember she seemed very concerned and was surprised I was able to even walk into the Urgent Care. I was taken to the back and they did an x-ray of my chest. They said my lungs were clear and I didn’t have pneumonia. They gave me an oral steroid and a nebulizer treatment which made me feel a bit better. But my oxygen level did not improve in any meaningful way and she told me to go to the ER immediately. I ended up having some difficulty getting to the ER but eventually got there two hours later

In the ER:

Once I got to the ER the nurse at the front took my vitals and admitted me. She asked me if I needed a wheelchair and I declined. The walk from the entrance to a bed felt excruciatingly long. I started to feel dizzy again and my heart pounded in my chest. When I made it to the bed, I crawled into it exhausted. They gave me a hospital gown and asked me to change into it which I did. A doctor came in and asked me how I was feeling and if she could have a listen to my lungs. She placed her stethoscope on my back which was exposed by my hospital gown and told me to take deep breaths. I tried to breath as deeply as I could. While breathing I could feel and hear myself wheeze loudly. She listened to multiple locations on my back while I took deep breaths and then moved the stethoscope to the front of my chest above my left breast. I could feel my heart beating forcefully against her stethoscope, I think her listening made my heartbeat even faster. She told me I was wheezing and that she was going to give me a blood test and more lung treatments.

A nurse came in and put an IV into my arm and took a blood sample. She also hooked me up to the EKG next to my bed, gently sliding her hand under my gown and placing the pads on my chest. She placed a meter on my left pointer finger to monitor my oxygen levels and turned on the machine. I was memorized watching it, my heart appeared steady but fast. Later another nurse came in and gave me steroids directly into my IV. She also gave me a nebulizer treatment through a respiratory face mask which she helped attach to my face. I took deep breaths letting the medicine fill my lungs for about ten minutes. I could feel my lungs open up more, I could expand my lungs further before wheezing. As my lungs began to relax my heart rate began to increase rapidly. I could feel it pound against my chest and shake my entire body.

The doctor decided to give me another nebulizer treatment because my oxygen saturation level had improved but was still low. I took deep relaxing breaths filling my lungs with the medicine. With each breath I could feel my heart beating faster and more forcefully. It was an unusual experience to be taking deep breaths, trying to relax my frantic heart but for my heart to just beat even more furiously.  I felt slightly betrayed by my own heart, it would not slow down no matter how hard I tried to calm it. The medicine also gave me pronounced tremors throughout my entire body but especially in my hands. It was like I was shivering even though I was not cold.  

The nebulizer treatment got my oxygen saturation level up to 80 and my heart rate to over 200 bpm. I remember these numbers because they stayed constant for three hours.

For hours I could feel and think about nothing but my heart. I could feel the blood moving throughout my entire body with immense force. It was like I could now feel the pulse in every capillary in my hand and every organ in my body. The pulse was extremely strong in my eyes, I could feel the blood moving through them and shake from the force. At one point it was so bad that when I could feel the blood rushing through my eyeball, my sight would go white and I could see nothing. I now realize my blood pressure must have been extremely high for it to be affecting my eyes in that way.  

My entire body was literally rocking with every beat of my heart, when I would sit cross-legged on the bed, I could feel my torse moving back and forth from the force of it pumping.  I could see my left breast bouncing up and down with my heartbeat. I desperately wanted someone to place there hand firmly on my chest so they could feel my heart pounding. I wanted someone else to acknowledge how hard my heart was working, someone to appreciate it. No one did. Occasionally a nurse would come in look at my EKG and take note.

About an hour after the last one they gave me another nebulizer treatment. This treatment did nothing to help my oxygen saturation level, it remained at 80. I kept getting mixed messages on whether 80 was a good number or not depending on what nurse I asked. After doing some research I now know your oxygen saturation level should be around 100 (mine is normally 98). Anything below 90 is considered low. However, I think 80 was good enough for me to no longer be in the ER.

After the ER:

I ended up being admitted to the hospital for observation for two nights. I continued to be given nebulizer treatments and steroids through my IV but at a lower level than in the ER. When I was discharged, I was still wheezing but only from my left lung. And my tremors had become significant. I could no longer drink out of a glass of water without my hands shaking so much that I spilled it everywhere. I could still feel the blood rushing through my body but not as strongly. My voice was hoarse, and I couldn’t talk for long periods of time. After a week of rest and slowly coming off the medicine I recovered.

TLDR:

The drugs made my heart wild. If you can’t breathe please go to the hospital.

#heartbeat story #cardiophile #eulaliaheart

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

BITE DOWN

A new hurt/comfort, isolation, Snowbaz sick fic that wouldn't leave my head and that I cranked out in the last 24 hours. 

Baz and Simon shelter in place in London during the pandemic but they are not aware SImon has been infected until he falls ill. Baz does the care taking as Simon descends into illness and then Baz has some very difficult moments to face and decisions to make. Angst with a happy ending.

*trigger warning from frank descriptions of severe pneumonia and respiratory illness*

BITE DOWN

Day 1

Simon

Penny left this morning. Her mum wanted her home once the shutdown order came through and with her uni having gone all online there wasn’t much point in her staying around.

Other than for me, that is.

She wanted to but I told her that’s daft. She should be with her family. I’d never choose to cross Mitali Bunce and there’s no reason for Penny to, not for this.

I’ll be fine. My classes are all online. I can buy what I need at the corner shop and the curry place is staying open.

And I’ve got Baz. He’s staying too. Spouted some rubbish about not wanting to possibly transmit something to his family, seeing as they’re half-isolated as it is, way out where they are.

And don’t I know it. I made that jog from the road to their place more than once. Isolated doesn’t do it justice. It’s remote.

But I also know that’s not the real reason he’s staying here. I know he’s staying for me, the sappy git.

I tried to make him go. Tried to convince him he should be with his family.

He’d turned his sea-grey eyes on me then and said, “I am with my family.”

There’s not much I could say in answer to that. Not with words that is. I practically knocked him off the sofa in my attempt to snog him senseless. He says things like that and I . . . well, fuck, it makes me believe it’s all been worth it. All that came before.

No, I know it’s worth it. I’d give up my magic again in a heartbeat to have what I’ve got with Baz. Give it all to the Humdrum, fight mutant vampires in the desert, deal with that fucking Lamb character—I’d go through it all over again for him. Every moment of it, to be where we are now.

Together. In love and able to say it. Out loud. To each other.

My therapy appointments are down to once a month now. Baz and I have one together every few months. I was surprised when he started seeing someone, a few months after we came back. After everything had finally settled down.

Fiona found him someone she trusted.

It made it easier for me to do it, once he started. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he did it. But there’s never been a point in asking him that. It doesn’t serve a purpose. He wouldn’t have kept going if it wasn’t something he needed as well. So why he started doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he did.

And I did.

And we’re here now, better than we’ve ever been.

Well, other than this pandemic shit.

I don’t think it’s going to be as bad as they say. They’ve shut the whole damn country down. Hospitals and clinics at ready. I think it will take time, but it’ll pass.

It’s done a right number on all of our plans, I’ll say that.

Last year of uni for Baz and Penny. I basically fucked away my first year so I’m a bit behind, but still. We’re all moving forward, not looking back.

I hope this doesn’t fuck up Baz’s graduation. He’s top of his class here too, the swot. I want to see that. See him graduate.

I didn’t get to see him give his leavers speech at Watford.

Baz says he’s not fussed about graduation. What he’s fussed about is possibly having to cancel his graduation gift from his parents. They’ve sprung for a two-week vacation on the Continent for the both of us.

I’m part of the gift, it seems. Daphne came right out and said it like that, when they told Baz about it. I thought I was going to go up in flames right there and then.

It’s right embarrassing sometimes, the things she and Malcolm say. I call him Malcolm now, as if that doesn’t take the bloody cake. Took me long enough. (It’s still awkward as fuck, but he likes it so I try.)

It was bad enough when they assumed we were shagging and we weren’t. Yet.

Now they’re even less inhibited. Sending us away on romantic weekend trips. Buying us matching gifts. Asking us when we’re going to move in together (yes, we’ve talked about it) (probably this summer) (or we were planning to, before this bloody thing started) (just hadn’t told anyone but Penny yet.)

But this. This is like some wedding planner’s ideal honeymoon trip. Paris. Venice. Barcelona. The bloody Amalfi Coast.

It’s as if Daphne looked up every romantic location on Pinterest and added it to the itinerary.

Every bloody romantic proposal location, I mean.

That’s what it feels like to me.

Because I’d been thinking to ask him, after graduation. And I’ll be good god-damned if I don’t get to do it first.

Knowing Baz, he’d probably try to get the drop on me, just to be a competitive arse.

No, he wouldn’t actually. Not for this. He’d want me to be sure, he’d want to know I was the one who really wanted it.

And he’d want to see me try to set up something romantic. For him. He’s such a sappy git. I think he’d be just as thrilled if I did it in the Tesco car park as the Eiffel Tower at sunset.

Which is where I’m currently planning on asking, when I let myself think about it. Paris, that is, not the Tesco. Although last week it was a gondola in Venice. And by next week it may well be somewhere else.

It’s not as if I’ve bought a ring or anything yet. I was waiting a bit. Getting comfortable with the idea rather than just letting myself daydream about it.

Not that I’ll be getting any ring shopping done anytime soon.

Not even online, not with his meddlesome self looking over my shoulder when I’m on my laptop, now that he’s going to be here every minute, not just a few nights a week.

He’s here more than a few nights, to be honest, has been for a while. Unless he’s got a big paper or some sort of group project and I’m too much of a distraction.

Baz basically moved in at the start of the fall term. I mean, he still has his place in Camberwell. He’s just rarely there anymore. His clothes fill my closet, he’s got a colourful array of spare pants in the dresser, his toiletries on my sink and in my shower—not travel sized versions carried back and forth in his knapsack anymore.

There’re orderly pints of blood in the fridge and cold vampire feet in my bed every night.

I’m not complaining one bit. It’s taken us long enough to get here.

And so here we are, our coursework done for the day, curled up on my sofa watching Derry Girls again, my head resting on his shoulder.

I’m feeling all right. None of the symptoms they’re blathering on about in the news updates and emails from the uni health centre.

And Baz . . . well, he’s being Baz. Calm in the midst of the anxiety that’s overtaken the city. Meticulous about his personal hygiene and bloody annoying about mine.

Like now.

“Go wash your hands, Simon.”

“I just did, when I went to the loo a bit ago.”

“You just touched your nose. Wash them again.”

“Bloody hell, must you watch me every minute?”

“Not about to change my habits now, they’re ingrained.” He’s smiling, the prat.

“Don’t I know it.”

His eyebrow goes up. “Someone has to, you’re an absolute menace to cleanliness as a rule.”

“Piss off.”

But I love him for it, so I go and wash my hands. I know why he does it. I know it’s out of concern.

I’m being careful. I am.

I’ve not been out other than for a run, not since uni shut down. I mean other than to go to the corner shop for snacks a few days ago. And to the curry place for some samosas yesterday.

Baz has put a stop to all that now though. Said he’s doing the shopping and the food runs from now on. I watched him empty the shopping bags earlier—wouldn’t even let me help, the tosser. He’s stocked up on paracetamol, thermometer covers, zinc throat lozenges, throat syrup, and whatnot.

“Didn’t you get any crisps? I thought you were going to get more crisps?” We’re not going to make it long without crisps.

He just rolls his eyes at me. “We’ve got bags of them, Simon. We’ll be fine.”

Baz

I’m trying not to let on to Simon how worried I am.

I’ve seen the projections. It’s not looking good. This government has bollocksed the entire situation from the very start. Even my father is appalled at the Tories and has not been shy about saying so, which is unprecedented and not doing anything to dampen my anxiety about all this.

It’s end times when my father is to the point of vehemently condemning a Tory government.

I don’t know what Simon and Penelope were thinking. They’ve not stocked up on much other than toilet paper and crisps. I had to purchase the bare necessities today and it took me to two Tescos and one Boots to find any paracetamol.

I do know what Penelope was thinking—that a few well-cast spells would sort it.

She sorted Simon when I thought we’d lose him. I can understand her confidence but it’s wildly misplaced.

This isn’t like that.

This is, for lack of a better term, insidious. Fuck. I hate that word. I can’t use it and not think of the bloody Humdrum. That leads to thinking about the Mage and Simon’s magic and then I’m off on tangents that make me want to rage.

I know it’s been years now. I know he and I have both talked through it, with each other and with Simon’s therapist.

But at moments like this, in the middle of this fucking plague, all I can think about is how much easier this would be, how much safer, if Simon still had his magic. Not that it made him impervious to injuries or illnesses. It didn’t, I know that first hand, from all those nights he’d drag himself up the steps to our turret, bruised and battered and a bloody mess.

But he had a capacity to heal, to bounce back, without needing to be coated in spells. He’s not got that anymore.

But he acts like he still does.

Like he did in America. Like he’s acting now. Like somehow, he’s resistant to it all, that he can barrel through as he is and still come out relatively unscathed.

I’ve put a stop to all that. No more trips to the corner shop or the curry place. No unnecessary activities outside of the flat. None. I’ll be damned if we’ve made it this far only to have some rogue virus destroy it all.

I’m the one who’s impervious. I’m the one who will still be standing at the end of the day, when this is all over. And I want Simon at my side.

I need him to be.

He can content himself with sitting at home, on the sofa, watching the telly. I’ll even buy him some cider, if he’ll just bloody well stay inside.

Here I am, wishing that Simon Snow would just lie the fuck down on the sofa and not argue about it. Who would have thought we’d come to this? Crowley, the world is upside down.

At least now I get to lie down with him.

READ THE REST AT AO3! 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287240

#simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #carry on #wayward son #hurt/comfort #sickfic #isolation #quarantine #angst with a happy ending

[tinpigthinksbig]

Covid Thoughts

So far the Covid pandemic has played out according to the models for respiratory virus disease. We are now seeing an increase of the infection rate above 1. The govornment wwwill invoke further quarantine measures with increasingly limited effect. But is this right?

Personally I don't think so. On the scale of deadly virus epidemics, the COR-SARS 2 virus is not that deadly. The average age of covid deaths in the UK is 82.6. In Scotland this is over the average life expectancy for both men and women. This is why the published death rate looks so high for Italy (11.5%) and the UK (9.2%) whose populations have a large old and frail cohort in which the virus was spreading through in January and February within the hospital system by the staff and by GP's in the communty,(mainly nursing homes).The models showed that (simmilar to SARS), hospitals would qickly not be able to take the increased number of patients with so many staff already infected. The govornment had to stop the exponential growth th allow hospitals to deal with the current infections, so imposed a national lock down. Adherence to the lock down by the populace was high and within days the r number dropped before 1. At this point I think the govornment should have relaxed quarantine quicker. Doing enough tests to have a reliable sample of the population meant the r number should have been monitored and allowed to stay around 1. By almost stopping infection over the summer the govornment has stored up greater infections over the winter compounded with all the other winter bugs. NHS hospitals have been quieter than usual over the summer but will now have more than usual until the epidemic has played out. Nicola Sturgeon said that "we must flatten out the curve". Correct but was it right to try and get rid of the hill completely?

I think Covid is the first example of the fourth stage of the above pictured population model. The UK's life expectancy has stalled since 2012 but the numbers of older people has continued to rise. This has created a pool of susceptible individuals who won't make it through the next serious infection. As an epidemic kills off that pool of people, the life expectancy rate drops. Then as time goes by the population fills up the older groups again leaving hills and valleys in the overall graph. No population in nature can remain stable for ever. Humans arn't exempt from nature.

I understand my assessment is rather sanguine and there is deaths and lingering conditions amongst younger people but there is always outliers in any virus and Covid is overwhelmingly fatal for the elderly. Any one individuals risk of dying in the next few months has not been increased that much but for some of the oldest that small change is enough. I think this pandemic has shown that if you give people accurate information they will collectively act to curtail the infection but the govornment hasn't been able to eradicate the virus because collectively we know it's not dangerous enough to sustain a lock down. And wreck the economy. It just isn't fair. Folk have to die of something and this year's trend is Covid.e

I think that at least when an existential crisis does come, some people's coping strategies may seem peculiar ( like purchasing large quantities of toilet toll), but collectively people' act sensibly. Because the next pandemic will be simmilar but could be much more dangerous like Measles.

#uk politics #science #biology #geography

[thetranquilteal]

Tethered - A One Shot [AO3] by @thetranquilteal

Being tethered can be both a blessing and a curse. It all depends on your point of view.

Modern Day Firefighter AU. One-shot. Inspired by personal feelings of anxiety and helplessness this Australian bushfire season. 

A/N: I had just settled myself down in front of my computer with the intention of editing Part II of The Gift when the news caught my notice. For many Australian’s like myself, bushfires are not anything new. Every year hazard reduction burns are conducted (weather permitting), friends and family who volunteer with local fire brigades are likely to get called out at unexpected times, we pay attention when the State Department issues a Total Fire Ban. But the news that day was worrisome. It was alarming. It was downright anxiety-inducing. A literal state of emergency. I looked down at the story on my screen and asked myself… What would Claire and Jamie do in this situation? The answer, I found, was easy: they would be right there in amongst it. Fighting. Healing. Doing anything and everything they could to help the cause. Then I began to wonder… what if Claire was in my situation? What if she, too, was a primary carer who had little ones relying upon her, who had little to no extended family to provide support, who couldn’t simply walk out the door - no matter how much she wanted to? After much thought, I came to understand that - just as there is strength in staying to defend and strength in leaving everything behind - there is strength in going in headfirst and strength in staying behind. 

That being tethered can be both a blessing and a curse. It all depends on your point of view.

She was tethered.

And all she could do was worry.

Claire's hand hovered over her phone sitting on the kitchen bench and she caught herself, purposefully pulling herself away and over to the sink where a pile of dishes were waiting. 

Reading the news would bring no relief, she knew, only reports of more people evacuating homes, an ever-increasing number of people missing and warnings of extreme weather forecast for the days ahead, all guaranteed to intensify the sense of helplessness that had been hovering over her ever since Jamie had left.

It was a feeling as hot and sticky as the heat itself - and one she had come to hate. 

In all her thirty years, she had seen and done many things. She had served with an army, graduated medical school and worked in the most adverse and trying conditions with Doctors Without Borders. She had been arrested during protests, been beaten, wounded, patronised and, at the worst of times, betrayed by those she relied on most. Most recently she had relocated to a new country, become a foster mother and survived childbirth twice.

Yet nothing compared to staying behind while Jamie went with the Rural Fire Service to the front line. 

It had to be the hardest thing she had ever done.

Even now, two weeks after Jamie had received the call, she was itching to move. To take action. Drop Fergus, Faith and Brianna off with trusted friends and head for the hills. Literally.

She looked down at her gloved hands, covered in soap suds and clenched them tightly before opening them again to look at them plainly. There was so much more they could be doing - should be doing - other than washing multicoloured milk stained cups and jam smeared plates. 

Respiratory problems, minor burns, heat exhaustion and dehydration, for example, were things she was well trained and equipped to deal with. But staying at home to look after the house and the children while her husband, friends and colleagues risked their lives during a state of emergency? Not so much.

Welcoming Fergus into their home had been both simple and easy. As an 8-year-old he had been happy to go wherever she and Jamie went, be it home or away, on a schedule or travelling across land and sea at only a moments notice. So much so, in fact, she had caught him attempting to stow away in one of the RFS trucks, adamant that he was not only old enough to go with the men but it would be beneficial for the team to have someone as small and fast as he around to help them.

Having Faith and then Brianna, however, had been something else entirely with periods of enforced bed rest, a near-death experience during birth and now being on maternity leave during a crisis challenging her in ways she had never expected. 

She let out a sigh and pulled the plug out of the sink, deciding to leave the now clean pile of dishes to the elements in favour of giving in and scanning her phone for updates. Again.

‘Too Late To Leave’ the latest headline read and, just like every other time she came across those words, a shiver ran through her leaving goosebumps along her skin in its wake. Her throat tightened at the thought of something happening to Jamie or any of his team members and tears welled up in her eyes, from frustration or despair she didn't know. 

Perhaps it was a mixture of both. 

Not a moment too soon, Faith bounded through the kitchen door, hands full of colourful flowers pulled from the garden. 

"For Mrs Cook!" Faith announced, holding out the bouquet proudly, her both smile wide and innocent, as Fergus joined them notably red-faced and out of breath.

"For Mrs Crook?" Claire corrected with a smile of her own as she reached for one of the clean cups behind her.

More than once she and Jamie had expressed to their foster son that caring for the little ones was not - and never would be - his responsibility yet the 11-year-old could always be found nearby actively looking after them, be it redirecting Faith’s attention when her antics turned dangerous or rocking Brianna’s crib when something startled her from slumber. 

The least she could do, she figured, was refuel him at any given opportunity. 

"Aye! Mrs Cook!" Faith repeated unfazed, her red curls bouncing eagerly.

"We haven't gone down to see Mrs Crook nor Mr Martin since the day before yesterday,” Fergus paused to gulp down half the cup and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We were thinking to take them some iced tea -” 

“And flowers!”

“- and some flowers," Fergus added clearly, his eyes sparkling.

"That's a wonderful idea,” Claire agreed proudly. The days had been warm and at times the air so thick with smoke the normally busy roads were abandoned in favour of air-conditioned residences and she had made a point of regularly contacting their most at-risk neighbours just 'in case'. Such thoughtfulness from the children warmed a part of her, somewhere deep within her chest, that she hadn’t realised had grown cold. “I’ll get Brianna ready while you collect the fresh jug from the refrigerator."

On her way out of the kitchen she picked her phone up off the counter and slipped it into her back pocket before scooping Brianna up out of her bouncer and following the elder two children out the door.

"Come home to me, soldier," was the last thing she said to Jamie. 

She would have to trust that he would.

"Keep the bairns safe," was the last thing he said to Claire. 

He would have to trust that she would.

There was no point in worrying about things he had no control over, he knew. Not when the ash beneath his feet was like snow, covering every surface the eye could see, and flames in the distance reached heights he never imagined possible, producing smoke so thick it threatened the sky's existence. 

To consume the very air they breathed.

Jamie pulled up his visor and wiped the ever-present sweat off his forehead with a dirty sleeve.

With moderate temperatures and low winds, they had expected to spend the day reinforcing containment lines in preparation for the days ahead, a much-welcomed respite from the gruelling 16-hour shifts they had been partaking in so far. 

Just halfway to their assigned location in the National Park, however, they had received an urgent request for assistance in the Valley where a spot fire had taken the local crew by surprise. Together they had managed to protect all nearby buildings - including one he later found out was heritage-listed and an important part of local history - and were taking a moment to rest before getting back on the highway.

"Hey, Fraser! Catch!"

Jamie turned and caught the bottle of water in his gloved hands smoothly. He tucked it under his arm to take off his gloves before opening the bottle and lifting it to his dry, chapped lips. 

"Taing," he called back, his voice still scratchy but strong, and lifted the now mostly empty bottle in a show of gratitude.

Left to his own devices for a moment more, he took the opportunity to look around as his heart rate slowed to a more reasonable beat. Except for their fleet of three trucks and two utility vehicles, each strategically parked to form a line of defence, the road was barren and the lack of wildlife combined with the eerie orange glow filtering through haze left him with an unusual sense of unease. 

The very first time he had signed up to volunteer with the local brigade, he had been a young lad living in the Scottish Highlands, determined to follow in his late father’s footsteps, and in the years that followed learned from some of the toughest and most experienced senior members not only how to deal with the myriad of things they would undoubtedly encounter but what it truly meant to be a firefighter and part of a crew. 

For some years now, he had considered himself both highly skilled and well informed, worthy of the seniority bestowed upon him and prepared for anything that would fall across his path. Yet, in all his years fighting fires, he had never experienced a summer like this.

It wasn't just the challenging terrain, unprecedented severe weather conditions or the growing number of losses that settled upon his shoulders, as heavy as the equipment they carried on their backs, that was testing him - threatening to push him beyond his limits. 

It was also the first time the job had taken him so far away from his family. And for so long.

The first day or two had been easy with specialist reports, numerous briefings, allocation of equipment and the challenge of building a team under extreme conditions taking most if not all of his time and energy. But as they became familiar with the situation and settled into a somewhat regular routine, he found himself thinking of his family more and more. It was not uncommon for him to lay on a makeshift bed on the station floor in the wee hours of the morning, his body exhausted to the point of collapse but mind not yet following suit, and find himself wondering how they were or what they had been doing in his absence. 

Even on their busiest days, when they stood on the front line, feet planted firmly on the ground, sweat running down their backs and hearts racing in their chests, they were there, not so much in conscious thought but a subtle sensation. As though something was pulling on him, reminding him that their mere existence provided him with purpose.

A purpose to fight, yes, but also a much newer purpose to come home.

At the signal of their Crew Leader, he drained the last of his water and climbed up into the cab of the truck.

Right now, they were headed into the unknown, their uniforms blackened and scorched in places before they had even truly begun. He didn’t know what they would come to face in the next few hours, how long this beast would rage or much damage it would ultimately cause. 

All he knew for certain was that none of them were invincible, that what they were facing here - yesterday, today and tomorrow - was bigger and stronger than he and the crew would ever hope to be.

And he also knew he needn't worry.

He was tethered.

#Outlander #outlander fanfiction #fan fic #jamie x claire #Jamie Fraser #Claire Fraser #fergus fraser #faith fraser #brianna fraser #firefighter au #modern day au #one shot

[whenemmafallsinlove]

what makes cov-19 different from like influenza? if it kills roughly the same amount of people and seriously affects more vulnerable people too, then surely the only difference is that it’s unknown and it’s infecting at a fast rate? Plus if it’s going to take at least a year and a half to legally, feasibly distribute a vaccine should we just not leave our houses for 18 months?!

(continued: In my earlier question I said it’s got a mortality rate similar to influenza - sorry that’s wrong. But surely 3-4% isn’t that bad. Considering how many people die of totally preventable things.)

okay there’s a lot to unpack here so i’ll do my best. like i just answered another anon though, both are bad. it’s not either/or. right now, though, the issue is covid-19. 

see, it’s spreading at a massive rate on a global scale. that’s like.... there’s nothing “only” about that. to say the “only” issues are that it’s unknown and spreading quickly is like saying the “only” issue with forest fires in the summer in a drought are that it’s hot and we don’t have a lot of water. like, those are two pretty serious issues.

we as humans have built up some immunity to the various influenzas over the years. we also know sort-of what to expect from it. that’s HUGE. 

now like i said i don’t really like comparing the two because they’re just..two totally different issues, but here’s the thing. covid-19 spreads faster and easier than the flu. it has a much higher death rate. we have NO treatment for it. (we at least have tamiflu for influenza). we have NO herd immunity, whereas with influenza we at least have SOME level of herd immunity.

3-4% is BAD. the world population right now is over 7.5 billion. 3% of 7.5 billion is 225 MILLION PEOPLE. that means if every single person in the world caught covid-19, 225 million people could die. influenza has a death rate of about 0.1%. 0.1% of 7.5 billion is 7.5 million people. that’s an ASTRONOMICAL difference.

now, ideally, we’ll nip this thing in the bud before it would get to that point. obviously. 

we are telling people to stay inside because we need to flatten the curve. by flattening the curve, we reduce not only the entire number of cases, but how many bad cases there are. see, the thing is, the people who are getting bad with covid-19 are ending up in respiratory failure and need ventilation and sedation. we only have so many ventilators in america, and in the world. if things keep moving at the rate they were last week, soon health care workers in america will be picking and choosing who to ventilate - and how do you make a decision like that? based on age? education level? first come first serve? there’s not really a right answer. the right answer is to do everything in your power to prevent it from getting to that point. in this case, for you and me, it’s staying inside.

saying “well i guess we’ll stay inside for 18 months” is a pretty worse case scenario thing that we won’t have to do if y’all will just stay inside like you’re being asked. (and again this is not at retail workers and toher people who have NO CHOICE but to go to work). if you can stay inside, literally just fucking do it. 

#Anonymous #emma has mail