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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

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sweet as pie.

a/n: please join me in welcoming sam wilson to the page. first story dedicated to this classic man, surely not the last.

pairing: sam wilson x black!reader

rating: 💙

main masterlist | taglist | divider © @whimsicalrogers

sum: sam is home. although times have changed, his sister’s intentions for him have not. sarah would love for her brother to settle down, and she knows the perfect person to make him do it. but when sam gets caught up with work, he misses the date sarah has set up for him.

words: 2.3K

It’s funny how the human mind works.

How easily certain moments can slip through its cracks. Names, dates, songs, conversations, faces lost to the wind, never to be remembered again. In the same turn, how those same things can be retained, recited down to the last detail in perfection.

Sam Wilson has seen enough in his lifetime--more than most men. No one could condemn him for forgetting the smallest of details from time to time. Sometimes he does. He is human. But, strangely, he can never forget a single detail when it comes to you.

Sam can still remember the first time he saw you.

The coffee-colored, cardboard box you carried in your arms--'living room' written across the front panel in your mother’s flawless penmanship. The dark curls pineappled to rest atop the crown of your head--a last-ditch attempt of fighting the Louisiana heat. The oversized Purple Rain t-shirt faded from too many runs through the wash. The round, black sunglasses sliding down the brim of your nose as you paused to take note of the boy watching you from his front window. Down to the scuffed, worn high tops that could barely pass for white.

He even remembers the soft smile you gave him once he froze--too embarrassed to move from the window after being caught watching you for the third time--before turning to lug the box up the steps of your front porch.

It was the summer of ‘94, and Sam Wilson was running late. He was expected to be at the docks assisting his father. Instead, he was peeping around his mother’s powder blue curtains, attempting to score glimpses of his new neighbors. Primarily their teenage daughter.

It’s not every day that Delacroix welcomes a new resident--let alone an entire family. Later that night, over dinner, his mother shared that you were entering your senior year--same as him.

He still remembers the knotting of his stomach. The strange and unusual experience of being tongue-tied when he’d tripped over his name--his name for god’s sake--that morning, you opened your front door to find him and Sarah on the other side. The kindness of your dark brown eyes as they met his, the soft giggle you released as you ignored his sputtering to accept the chocolate chip cookies his mother sent her children to deliver.

He also remembers the vision of you in your wedding dress. The smile he had to keep plastered on his face the night he learned his skepticism, surrounding death by broken heart, faded. You’ve never felt pain until you’ve seen the woman you love marry another man.

Sam must admit. When he returned, he expected--hoped--that those feelings would have disappeared. That they would have been erased from his life. Only, the moment he returned home, Sam discovered those feelings remained--were stronger even.

Five years later, he found you in the same house. Your parents no lived there. After their return from the blip, they packed up their things. Suddenly, tackling their bucket list was their main priority. You still had your husband’s last name but no husband. He was gone, lost to a younger woman.

Five years later, and Sam Wilson finds himself still frozen by the sight of you.

The long-sleeved maroon shirt he’s tugged on is not his number one choice. It’s all he had in his bag. The time on his watch had forced him into an ultimatum. Either run home, shower, and change into the outfit Sarah helped him pick out and risk being five hours late. Or head straight to your house, and risk being four hours and forty-five minutes late.

Sam opted for the latter.

Flowers in hand, he stands in the gateway of your backyard. His eyes admire the glow of the string lights against your skin. The yard has been transformed. Several tables and chairs, enough to host the entire neighborhood, squeezed into its space. Filled with music and laughter a few hours before the backyard is now quiet. Only the sounds of crickets, and the rustle of the trash bag in your hand, can be heard over the racing of Sam’s heart.

“Hey.” Sam takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Late is an understatement.” You don’t bother looking up from the plates stacked in your hands. Dumping them into the black trash bag, you move towards the next table. “You missed the entire party.”

After dumping the trash, you realize that Sam is no longer in the backyard. You find him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to a stop in the doorway.

Sam glances up from the soap-covered glass in his hands. “Helping you clean up.”

You glance around the kitchen, only to find that he’s managed to wash nearly the entire stack of dishes you’ve been dreading the entire night.

“I didn’t realize you still did stuff like this,” you tease. “What with you running off to save the world. Figured you’d just hire someone to do it for you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got you to keep me humble,” he winks.

Sam dries his hands with the bumblebee printed hand towel, a satisfied grin on his lips as he takes in the spotless kitchen. He’s too busy admiring his handiwork to realize you’re standing alongside him.

He turns, the snarky comment he’s prepared lost in his throat as he takes you in.

You can’t deny him a smile as you watch his eyes widen, a boyish grin brightening his face as he takes in the plate you’re holding. On it rests a single slice of homemade apple pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and perfectly drizzled caramel.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

“You saved me a piece?”

“No,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll. “I actually saved it for me. But if I have to look at your pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes one more second--”

“You were hoping I’d show up.” The grin on Sam’s face has morphed into a trademark smirk, the sight pulling a giggle from your lips. “You and I both know you don’t save, or share your pie with just anyone.”

Sam’s observation is spot on.

You don’t share your pie--or food, for that matter--with just anyone. In the chaos of hosting the neighborhood, you didn’t have a moment to stop and enjoy your own party. Let alone a slice of the apple pies you’d spent the previous night preparing.

Apple pies--specifically yours--were Sam Wilson’s true weakness.

The moment he sees you lugging home a bag full of granny smith and macintosh apples, he’s on full helicopter mode. You’re not sure how he knows, but he’s got a radar. One that somehow allows him to prophesize the exact moment the pies are out of the oven and set aside to cool.

He’ll show up, stopping by to say hi, or to see if you still need the drainpipe your ex-husband never got around to working on fixed, or to “pass along a message” from Sarah--as though your best friend couldn’t pick up the phone and call. Whatever the excuse Sam Wilson always manages to be the one to get the first slice of your apple pie. He’s smart enough to know that once the children of the neighborhood catch a whiff, they’ll show up on your doorstep. And as much as he loves the kids--Sam isn’t letting them steal his pie.

Sam’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of apples and crust. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Y/N. You should sell these. You'd make a killing.”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s just for fun,” you dismiss his advice, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Besides, what do you expect me to do? Quit my good paying--although painstakingly boring--job in the hopes that enough people will like my baking to keep me afloat?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam nods, a smile growing as he watches your eyes roll.

It’s a conversation the two of you have had for years. Here is the rundown of how it plays out--every single time.

Sam: suggests that you finally open up the bakery you’ve been talking about since your teenage years.

You: dismiss his words of advice, reminding Sam that most teenage dreams are foolish.

Sam: ends the conversation with, “I’d show up every day for a piece.”

You: spend the rest of the night wondering if he’s right, about taking the chance, only to psych yourself out before going to bed.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs, sliding the plate to the side. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned. Life is going to pass you by, regardless, no matter what you do. If you give it a shot, and it fails--which is never going to happen--your life isn’t going to end.”

You glance up from the table, a tiny smile on your lips as you take in his soft smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” you shrug. “If all else fails, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the Falcon’s favorite pie--”

“You’ll have people flooding in from across the country.”

“It’s settled,” you giggle. “I’m using you in my business model.”

“Hey,” Sam chuckles. “As long as I get a cut, I’m not complaining.”

A silence falls over the tiny kitchen as your gaze drops from his.

Sam lightly raps his knuckles against the table before pushing his chair back.

“Uh—I should probably head out. You’re probably tired. I just wanted to come by and apologize...again.”

“Wow,” the light laugh you release halts Sam’s act of standing up. “The second you get what you came for you hit the ground running?”

The response is automatic. The chance to tease him is one you never pass up.

Sam’s brow raises as he takes in your smile.

“That’s not what I came for,” he admits.

“What did you come for then?”

“To ask you over to my place for breakfast tomorrow.”

The proposition hangs in the air, Sam nearly squirming in his seat as you take your time studying his gaze. You let out a sigh, your shoulders shrugging lightly, once you finally speak.

“I don’t know, Sam” You shake your head. Picking up the plate, you stand and cross the kitchen to the sink. “You just have so many responsibilities, nowadays, running around trying to save the world--”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he’s quick with the reassurance. “Or any day, until we get through that date you promised me.”

You turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest as he comes to a stop before you.

“Say I show up. You have to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

He knows that promise can end up being a slippery slope, depending on how hard you’re willing to make him work for it.

“If something comes up, in the future, you call me. And you tell me exactly why you can’t be here. Nobody gets to stand me up. Not the Falcon. And sure as hell, not Sam Wilson. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes drop to your interlaced fingers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Standing on your toes, you place a kiss against his cheek. “Now, go get some sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting waffles, bacon, freshly squeezed O.J.--the works.”

if at any point you would like to be removed from the taglist, just message me

sam wilson tags: @missroro @fangirl-swagg

main tags: @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @starrynite7114 @awkwardtayler @toni9 @queenbeered @kaystacks17 @thesandbeneathmytoes @richonne4life @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @sadeyesgf @brattyfics @sincerelykas @ladyofsoa @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @demonquartz @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @chaneajoyyy @frostingguru @seize-the-droid @cutiebubbleboo @siempremamita @awkwardtayler @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies

#sorry its up late ya'll already know i had to watch the new episode of All American #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x black!reader #sam wilson imagine #the falcon x you #tfatws imagine #anthony mackie imagine

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baka-writings · 3 years

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𝗩𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗦𝗲𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗴𝘂𝘆 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗿𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗳/𝗠𝗧𝗟 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none actually

I combined MTL with a bullet reaction so I hope you like it~

𝗦𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝘄𝗼𝗼

fourth most jealous, which puts him in the middle

when it comes to plain jealousy he wouldn't be that much jealous

cuz he knows you love him and he trusts you

he'd only get jealous if there were legit proofs of something ex. you kissing another guy, flirty text messages etc

but we won't talk about that rn, cuz cheating is not okay

(just tried to point out when he would get really jealous)

jealous Seungwoo I think would be mature

like he wouldn't unnecessarily yell or something and would talk it out with you

HOWEVER

if he saw another guy flirting with you eve despite knowing you had a bf

oof

i must say rip to that guy tbh

Seungwoo would put his arm around your waist and try to intimidate the guy with his face expression which would be kinda scary tbh

more like a glare tbh

if that person didn't get the hint (or more like didn't want to get the hint)

Seungwoo would lowkey threaten and scare him (not beat him or anything)

or tell him off with some scary expressions

then he'd ask you if you were okay and tell you that if someone ever tries to flirt with you again you should tell him

𝗦𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗶𝗸

the second least jealous from the group or maybe shares the least jealous with a certain someone 😌

i can't see him being jealous at all (in overal)

like he trusts you and also i think he wouldn't get in a relationship with someone he didn't know well

so by the time you are dating he'd know your personality very well

for example you had guy friends or something

he'd already know about them and know that you're classmates/former classmates etc

you get me

If he saw a guy flirting with you he'd frown

and tell that asshole to leave you alone

like he'd handle it without any yelling, swearing etc

maybe would raise his voice tho, but not on the level of yelling, just to scold him

if that guy ignored him and didn't want to leave, he'd just take your hand and leave with you

because first, he doesn't talk to people who don't respect others, second he doesn't want to get involved in dumb fights

so in overal a chill man 😌

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗻

the most jealous in VICTON, fight me

in overal he'd really jealous and possessive

if you were spending way too much time with one of his members for example, he'd get jealous

but it's not because he wouldn't trust you,oh no

it's because he needs you attention and love too much

so if you spent time with someone else instead of him he'd be possessive about it

you're supposed to be with him only

but in his case it's not the dangerous type of possessiveness

it's just as i said the "affection seeking" possessiveness

i think he'd be flustered when jealous

like he wouldn't know how to approach it correctly so he doesn't hurt you ya know

he doesn't want to blame you, but also on the other hand doesn't like you hanging out with someone else

#confusion

but he'd mostly handle it well, unless he's tired from work and gets jealous

then he'd probably snap, regretting it at instant

if he saw another guy flirting with you, he'd immediately death glare him

he'd stand in front of you, shielding you from the guy and then tell him to gtfo with the same death glare as before

honestly he'd death glare every single person who looks at you either with flirty, hungry or hateful eyes

also after scaring the guy away, he'd turn to you with a cute expression again and pretend like he didn't turn into the devil himself a few moments ago lmao

(this gif😭😭😭 shit)

𝗦𝗲𝗷𝘂𝗻

the second most jealous

kinda similar to Chan

but more sassy and sarcastic

he'd glare at anyone who'd pass him when he's jelly

whether it's their fault or not

honestly he'd get jealous even if someone is looking at you for more that 3 seconds

he'd be like *mine* and pull you closer to himself

he wouldn't be 'loud' about it

all his jealousy would be mostly seen on his face expressions and they way he'd talk

if he saw someone flirting with you he'd be furious

he'd diss the guy who'd have the audacity to flirt with his girl, all with a death glare tho

keeping you close and safe

"you wanna flirt huh? why don't you flirt with me too then"

you'd probably chuckle ngl and the guy would be confused

however, I don't think someone flirting with his girlfriend would happen much, because he'd be always close especially when you go to a bar/club or anywhere where someone could flirt

𝗛𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗲

third most jealous, but maybe at times I'd also let him share the second place with Sejun

his general jealousy could go two ways

one; he'd be sarcastic and mad

i think he'd be one of those people who'd be on the 'loud' side

like he'd raise his voice and snap

but it would most likely be due to the 'pain' of maybe feeling like you might leave him

he'd give you a cold shoulder for a day (not more cuz he loves u) and in meantime write everything down for his future lyrics maybe

the next day he'd apologize for snapping, sit down with you explain to you why he did it and how he felt, which would probably make u cry cuz WE DON'T HURT HANSE .. NEVER

two; he'd NOT be impressed at all, If it was you who made him jealous

he'd probably show you in a very nice way 😏😈 who you belong to

okAy now If he saw anyone flirting with you he'd go after them immediately

call them out, death glare at them, scare them away while keeping you close, never leaving the assholes eyes until they leave

but also same like Sejun, he wouldn't really give anyone time to flirt with you as he'd be always around and honestly you'd never want to be around anyone else but him-

𝗕𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻

the certain someone I was talking about in Seungsik's reaction

which makes him the least jealous

he'd be the 'playful jealous' type

he'd either pout or just cross his arms

for example you're chilling with him in their dorm and a half naked other member walks by, you're looking at them

this would make others jealous, but Byungchan would be like "hey i have a good and tall body too, you can look as well"

or would cover your eyes with his hands

but he knows you love him and even If you looked at *his half naked friend* like that, he wouldn't necessarily take it as you thirsting over them, if that makes sense lol

if he saw another guy flirting with you he'd shield you with his body so the guy doesn't see you

and then tell him off with a smile and some snarky comments

"look, I know Y/N is very beautiful, but she has me" smiles, showing his dimples

"She has everything she needs with me so I don't think she'd ever need you"

"Please don't embarrass yourself anymore and leave" flashes another cute smile as he sees the asshole leave

𝗦𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻

Subin is in the middle when it comes to jealousy

he's not THAT jealous, but can make a fuss about it If he becomes jelly

he's a babie, but he's also scary so in this case I wouldn't really count on the cuter image of his

the reason Subin would feel jealousy is most likely because he's young and small to (since he's the shortest in his group)

don't get me wrong, Im not trying to diss him of course

but let's say you'd hang out with Byungchan a lot or Sejun

he'd feel a bit self-conscious that you don't like him anymore and that you'd want someone older and/or taller

he'd either call you out for it, a bit raising his voice, but not too much

"Why do you spend so much time with Sejun? I know he's more handsome and taller than me, but I'm your boyfriend you know"

there could be some sassy comments/sassy tone too tbh

you'd have to reassure him that you love him as he is and that he doesn't need to be scared of you leaving him

(whoever hurts my son, will be badly beaten by Seungwoo and me)

okay but when he sees someone flirting with you, he'd go on beast mode tbh

I'd say something similar to Seungwoo

like he'd observe with a death glare, getting ready to kill a bitch, but at the same time containing himself

"Huh what did you just say?" he'd give the look same as in the gif below

daring the guy to repeat what he just said

honestly if they guy wasn't intimidated yet, he'd make his gaze more deathly

but if the guy got already intimidated, he'd be happy with himself, turn to you and smirk/kiss or both at you-

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buttterknifeee · 3 years

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Tims S/O vs. the batfam

You, the reader, are Tim’s significant other. Congrats! you may think the hard parts over right? WRONG. you need to win over the whole ass Wayne family and heres how it goes.

Alfred

refers to you as Mx. L/N; however as you visit the manor more frequently, he begins to refer to you as Mx. Y/N

Since he refers to you as Mx. Y/N, you call him Mr. Alfred because you feel weird calling him just by his first name

No matter what first impressions you gave off to him, he never shared them due to not wanting to be impolite

you quickly realize that none of the bat fam helps with the chores, so you try to lend alfred a hand whenever possible

you try to be polite as possible around him, and he appreciates it

Dick

Is EXTREMELY protective of Tim

So when you first met him, he did the whole “you break my brother’s heart i will break your face” talk and that was TERRIFYING

Tim tells you not to worry about it, but whenever you were with Tim, you could sense Dick out of the corner of your eye, watching

However, as you spend more time around him, he sees that you’re really in love with tim and hes really in love with you

And you see that tim and dick have an amazing brotherly relationship, something you’ve never experienced yourself

One night, you tell dick that you wish that you had a brother as great as him

In that moment, he decided that he was gonna adopt you as one of his siblings and boom hes your big brother too now.

Duke

Duke being considered the newest person in the Wayne Manor, is basically your liaison, explaining all the dynamics and history of the Wayne Family/Manor

Super Charismatic, though hes clearly being observant of your every move, analyzing who you are as a person

But for the most part, he made you feel really comfortable at the manor

So the day you bought him a 1000 puzzle set was the day you basically won him over

You let him geek out about film and riddles, listening to every word he said, which was something that apparently didn’t happen often to him

Also duke straight up just third wheels you as often as he can

Jason

so basically

you were scared of jason

He was rarely at that manor, especially while you were there but when he was, he came in dragging blood or drinking alcohol

once while you were alone in one of the rooms by yourself, Jason came in, mask off, bandage on his right arm

he asked you, “so why are you dating replacement?”

“Why do you call him replacement?”

“Oh you know, because he replaced me when I died”

“oh. right.” Yeah you’re kinda stupid for that one

It takes a while for you to remember that jason is a vigilante who literally died and came back to life, and it takes him a while to remember that you’re a teenager and not a crime fighting super hero

so yeah your relationship does improve a bit

Whenever you guys get to talk, he always asks you some really deep question that throws you off guard, but you guys end up having really meaningful discussions and you get closer with him that way

Cass

you were even more scared about Cass than Jason

She just silently stared at you sometimes: didn’t even try to hide it

Like duke, she analyzed you a lot during your first meeting with her, although she did it to a more extreme: just by looking at you, she could sense your breathing, heartrate, movements; she was basically reading you soul

From this, should was able to tell just how absolutely frightened you were to meet her, so she made sure to smile to calm you down

Whenever you were alone with her you couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward; not only was there a bit of a language barrier but she was not the most talkative person, at times you just sat in silence

So you would try to do things with her rather than talking: you showed her pictures from your phone, she showed you her fighting moves, and you made conversation through facial expressions and body movements

Steph

VERY AWKWARD SHE PROBABLY HATED YOU IMMEDIATELY THE FIRST TIME YOU MET

i mean whos gonna be happy about seeing their ex’s new s/o not her nope

She kept smiling and laughing but you could see the burning hatred behind her eyes

It took a solid month before she actually talked to you

and it took another month for you to pluck up the courage to ask if she actually hated you

She looked embarrassed and admitted that she did kinda hate you in the beginning but that was solely because you were dating her ex, but she saw how good of a person you were, so she doesn’t hate you anymore

She asked if you hated her, since she kind of ignored you in the beginning

You said no, since she was so cool and you could see why Tim dated someone like her

Yeah so now you’re besties

And you often talking about Tim and his dating antics, sometimes right in front of him lol

Sometimes she would joke about stealing you from him, making sure to give you extra long hugs, and give u a kiss on the cheek just to piss Tim off >:)

Barbara

definitely looked up all your information as soon as she found out you were dating tim

Immediately went to interview mode when she met you

Asked about your future plans with tim, your job, your future college choices, your darkest fears, your median income

“... Im like 16″

Asides from that, shes pretty chill

you dont see her often, but she’s always down for a talk!

Would acted like my aunt from new jersey (in a good way)

Damian

You were super nervous about meeting him

Tim recalled events with him like he was recalling a war

So you were surprised to see a 12 year old kid being the one shooting daggers at you

“Drake brought home another guy/girl/person”

“damian shut the fuck up”

one day you catch him painting in his room

You ask him about his various paintings and he tells you his inspirations from each, going on a long rant for a solid hour

He realizes that hes been lecturing you for an hour and looked at you, blushing a bit

“Damian, you’re an amazing artist.” you say. smiling

Now Damian always tells tim that you’re too good for him, and everytime you banters with tim damian always took your side

Except when he saw you two kissing/cuddling, he would call you guys “disgusting pigs” and bolt out of the room

Bruce

ah, bruce. the final boss

You couldn’t help but feel absolutely terrified.

I mean not only is he a super mega rich business man and also like super famous but hes also BATMAN

you are also almost certain that he doesn’t know who you are despite being with tim for a few months by now

Everytime youre both in the same room he is often too busy to look up from whatever hes doing or rushing past you to go somewhere

Tim often confides in you about being the middle child in the family, meaning that sometimes people dont notice him and its really frustrating for him and for you to hear

One day u and tim are chilling in the batcave and bruce comes it and freezes when he sees the two of you

“who are y- what are you doing here-”

“oh um hello Mr. Wayne”

Bruce kinda just looked at you with a perplexed look, but that was when damian and cass walked by

“Father. Drake. Y/N” said damian, with Cassandra smilng and waving at you, to which you wave back.

“Hey Damian” you say nonchalantly. “I saw that you’re working on a new painting. youll have to tell me ALL about it later.”

“Of course. Im sure you’re aware of Georgia O’Keeffe”

You smiled and nodded, to which he gave the tiniest of a smile back as he and cass headed for the training room

Bruce just stared at you even more perplexed than before, I mean, you just made damian smile

You glanced at Tim, who seemed just as uncomfortable as you

“Oh yeah Y/N, didn’t we have that movie we were gonna watch? yeah lets go like right now.” Tim said as he pulled your arm took you out of the batcave, giving bruce the well talk later look

After that instance he talk to some of his children about you, and they had nothing but good things to say. Even Jason, who literally kills people for a living, put in a good word about you.

The next time you visited the manor, you were greeted by bruce himself, dressed up in a business suit.

“Y/N, correct?” he pulled out his large calloused covered hand and held it towards you

After a brief moment you smiled and took it

“Yeah, thats me”

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lettrespromises · 4 years

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THE FORGOTTEN DAY. - AKAASHI, DAICHI, KUROO, ATSUMU.

@luveranime wrote : ❝Hey Nikki its me again lmao 😂. Could you do one where they actually completely forget your birthday? With Akaashi, daichi, kuroo, and atsumu? Make it angst please🥺❞

A.N: ❝dear reader,

thank you so much for trusting me once more with your request! i always love writing the requests even more so than my own prompts. i sincerely hope you’ll like these hc’s, i tried to make these as angsty as i could but atsumu has two braincells and i could NOT resist the temptation of doing something more lighthearted, i hope you won’t be mad at me! mwah! enjoy your promised letter!

sincerely yours, nikki❞

Genre: Kinda angsty, kinda fluffy. Warnings: Cursing, crying.

Now, Akaashi is not one to forget about dates and birthdays. I’m pretty sure he has a notebook filled with everyone’s birthdays written in a chronological order. Needless to say, he’s someone who is extremely organized.

He is the kind of boyfriend to remember all the slightest details you mention when you guys have a conversation. We’re talking about small details, pieces of informations that others wouldn’t necessarily pick up on except if your name is Akaashi Keiji. (I.E: he knows that Bokuto-san classifies his underwear according to each day of the week.)

The week leading up to your birthday, he makes sure to leave several notes stuck on your notebooks, laptop, mug, even your jacket to let you know how loved you are and how exceptional of a human being you are.

Unfortunately for you, your birthday has the misfortune of being set right during the revision week leading to the final exams. The latter are extremely important to Akaashi because missing his exams would result in him not being able to go to inter-school volleyball training held during the weekend.

Even though he’s in a relationship, he can be quite distant when something is bothering him because he refuses categorically to drown you with his problems, revisions being one of them. He’s so driven to study hard (although he’s already an excellent student), that everything else appears as a blur to him- he breathes revisions, eats revisions, lives for revisions.

The latter causes him to inevitably forget about your birthday. At first, you just think he’s playing along with you and he has this huge and sweet surprise in store for you which might explain why he hasn’t left you any love notes or sent you any texts, or even avoid you at school.

The evening of your birthday, you crash down at his place, a bit perplexed at his antics. But, unconsciously, you were still in denial, you knew or at least hoped that he was just purposefully acting as such because he wanted to surprise you for your birthday.

When he opens the door and sees you, he has a quizzical look on his face “Um, hello, Y/N? May I ask what you’re doing here, dove?”

Now, it was your turn to have a quizzical look on your face, “So you really don’t know? Isn’t it, you know, a special day?”

His mind is so coated by his obsession to study hard that nothing comes to his mind, nothing to answer to your interrogation and eventually, nothing to leave his mouth as a response. He could swear there’s something he has forgotten, it’s somehow on the tip of his tongue but no sound is echoed on his part.

“You know what, Akaashi, just don’t make promises you can’t keep. I hope these notes you left me will help you.”

First of all, you called him Akaashi instead of Keiji, meaning that there was something terribly wrong with him or his deeds.

Second of all, he looked carefully enough, there were pearls of tears on the corner of your eyes.

Third of all, he was so taken aback, as if all his memory had resurfaced in the blink of an eye that he still couldn’t find the strength to say something. Instead, his eyes wandered on your figure, his back facing you, already on your way home. The sole reflex he had was to raise his hand in your direction, as if he could catch your silhouette already long gone, hopelessly.

Daichi is already the (unofficial) dad of troublesome children (thank the heavens for mama Sugawara and uncle Asahi), which means not only he has to juggle between his duty as a captain and as a student, but he also must make sure of the stability of your relationship.

It’s really taking a toll on him. Seeing him come home late after late night practice is not even surprising anymore, he just comes to your place and crashes down for the night at unbelievable hours- sometimes ten, sometimes eleven.

His role of captain is so dear to his heart and he’s kind of an all or nothing kind of guy. But when it comes to the volleyball team, he pours every once of passion, patience and energy he has to offer. He knows that the first years have literally gifts when it comes to playing and he wants to exploit their potential at the fullest.

Nonetheless, when it comes to remembering dates, Daichi (being an unofficial dad) has the tendency to remember rather quickly common dates like birthdays, if not, he can always count on Suga to remind him in case he gets too hotheaded into what he’s doing.

On the day of your birthday, he sent you a myriad of texts, mini-novels if you will. All of them were the testimonies of the love he held in your regard, he was so thoughtful, each one of his word was carefully chosen to make you feel like the most loved person on the planet.

Starting the day off with a series of loving texts from your boyfriend is indeed the best way to wake up.

However, after close inspection, the last text he had sent you mentioned a date tonight at your favorite restaurant in town because, and I quote, “you deserve to be treated like the royalty you are.”

Focusing in class was almost impossible, the only thing occupying your mind was tonight’s date with Daichi, just the two of you on your birthday. And truth be told, there was no other way you’d rather spend this ever so special day.

Right after the bell rang, you made a beeline to your place to get ready as Daichi told you he would pick you up at 7, right after practice. Your heart was bursting with joy and impatience, a sweet mix of emotions which made you feel overwhelmed by love.

It was 7 already and your eyes were stuck on the alley of your house, waiting to see Daichi’s car arrive and admire the beautiful, lovestruck grin plastered upon his face.

Then it was 8, and suspicions started to arise in your mind. Your head was clouded by interrogations : “Does he not love me anymore?”, “Is this is way of telling me we should break up?”

Then 9, then 10 and eventually 11.

You waited four hours to hear a sign from Daichi, and you couldn’t keep up with the countless texts you had sent him, wondering where he was. But, you still had hope. Heart-crushing hope that is, or maybe you were just stuck in pure denial.

You were sitting on a chair, several stains of tears on your cheeks already, facing the window which offered a view outside your house because “You never know, he might show up...”

At 11, your phone rang and Daichi’s number highlighted the screen. You were so quick to pick up the phone, your quickness was almost inhuman.

“Baby? Hi, it’s me. Are you still awake?” You hummed in response, scared of the way your voice would break if you were to talk. “Listen, practice-...”, you cut him off : “Practice ran late again, I know, Daichi.”

There was a moment of silence on his end of the line, a moment of guilt.

“Baby, you have no idea how sorry I am. It’s just the team and the firs-...” - “I know, the gifted first years.” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“We can reschedule tomorrow if you want, I’ll ask Ennoshita to take care of the training for me.” He sounded desperate, eaten alive by the guilt consuming him and the fragile tone of your voice, you sounded like a broken record.

“Tomorrow won’t be my birthday anymore, Daichi, you know that.” You knew that if you were to hear the sound of his voice again, you were bound to break in tears, and as much as he hurt you, you knew it wasn’t his fault and you didn’t want to make him feel even more guilty than he already was feeling.

Instead, you hung up while he was still rambling about confused apologies and you headed straight to your room, head low, fresh tears crashing on the stains left by the dried tears. Like an eternal circle, if you will.

Kuroo is someone who is extremely observant by nature, just look at the way he behaves around Kenma- he doesn’t need for you to talk to know how you’re feeling and can directly dissect what’s wrong with you.

So when he finds himself having a one-sided discussion with you, (or a double-sided conversation if you deem silence as a worthy response), his brain automatically goes on retrospection mode and he’s trying to reminisce absolutely everything that happened during the last 48 hours.

The science-related puns don’t work, the teasing is a crushing defeat, all his best aces fail to put a smile on your face or make you crack a laugh. You’re still silent, or if he’s lucky enough, he can hear the faint sound of hum leaving your lips.

His last option is to ask Kenma because Kenma appears as an omniscient point of view in your relationship. And although he’s not directly involved in your couple, he always seems to find the responses to the riddles left by the cons of being in a relationship.

Kuroo and Kenma are having lunch outside, as expected of the blonde individual, his eyes are solely focused on the device held between his hands, but Kuroo is used to it.

“Man, I just don’t get why Y/N is giving me the cold shoulder, it’s really weighing on my mind.”

“Are you sure you don’t know, or do you act as if you don’t know?”

“Ha? What do you mean?”

“Yesterday was Y/N’s birthday, just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Oh... Oh! It’s time to panic, it’s time to leave his brain on overdrive and find a solution to make up for what he judged an inexcusable behavior.

What broke his heart even more is when he imagined to put himself into your shoes, how heartbroken you must have felt, how alone you must have felt, he even wondered if you wanted to break up with him.

Sure, Kuroo was observant, but sometimes being a airhead got the best of him. Or perhaps in this case, the worse of him.

He froze, his mouth was set agape and kind of like Akaashi, in moments of panic, he didn’t know what to do. He felt defeatist, he knew that forgetting your birthday was a dealbreaker. He already thought of all the consequences of his actions, and he knew that none of these consequences would turn out good in any way.

He ran through the hallways like a madman, yelling to the other students to step aside as he did so. He knew where you were, and he felt so stupid for knowing your timetable off by heart but not being able to remember such a simple date as your birthday.

You were having lunch in class with your friends, and when a hint of a roster’s head peaked through the door, making hand gestures to silently tell you to come see him, you excused yourself and left the class under the puzzling looks of your friends.

To say that Kuroo was sweating was an understatement, he was absolutely shaking to death and he exuded guilt by every pore of his body. Your gaze landed on his face, and your expression seemed lifeless- where did the usual gleam in your eyes go? The shine in your eyes he loved so much?

“You’re free to insult me for the rest of my days on this planet. I know I messed up, I messed up so bad and I don’t even know how to-... Hey? Oi, Y/N, please, please don’t cry.”

If he needed yet another reason to feel guilty, that was his cue. The tears falling in cascade on your face, the scarlet tones of your eyes, everything about you screamed pure sadness.

Both of your hearts broke in unison, and the motion of his hands to capture you and hold him close to his chest was so experimental, as if he’d never held you in his arms in his entire life.

“Why did you forget, Tetsu?”

“I swear on my life that it was unintentional. I know you won’t forgive me anytime soon and, kitten, you have every right to do so. I know it’s not an excuse but just believe me when I say that it was unintentional. I’m so sorry, you have no idea.”

“Just wish me a happy birthday instead of rambling.”

“Happy birthday, kitten, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

As the manager of the volleyball team, you were Inarizaki’s pride and joy. You were a literal ray of sunshine, the embodiment of a gem and you were always cherished by the entire team for helping them so much.

You always made sure they drank enough, prepped several towels in case they sweated too much (they always did), listened to their problems, eased their doubts- you were undeniably perfect to them.

So perfect that Osamu, as well as the rest of the team, always wondered how and why you ended up with his airhead of a twin, or rather, and I quote, “The useless piss-haired twin.”

To be frank, if it wasn’t for you, Atsumu would probably be dead by now. The cause of his death? Osamu himself? The whole team? His stupidity? We shall never know.

You cannot expect Atsumu to remember any specific dates, he even struggles to remember his own birthday which results in him asking when was his brother born and Osamu letting out a desperate sigh, wondering what on Earth did he do in his previous life to deserve such a twin.

Nonetheless, Osamu’s cooking skills came in handy. The whole team had agreed on celebrating your birthday, a kind of surprise birthday after practice if you will, because you were so good to them.

The divine smell of the cake didn’t go unsmelled (please help is that even a word?? no it’s not but i couldn’t say ‘go unseen’ because a smell can’t be seen like???) by none other than Atsumu himself. “Whatcha’ baking this for?” Osamu didn’t even bother to throw a glance in his twin brother’s direction “You should know, idiot.”

Safe to say that Atsumu got absolutely z e r o information from his brother whatsoever and was thus left in general incomprehension. He then figured that maybe it was someone’s birthday given how well looking the cake was, but whose birthday was it? Once again, z e r o idea.

After practice, the whole team gathered to show you the surprise they had in store for you- Kita had stuck some ‘happy birthday’ posters on the wall, Osamu had brought the cake and Aran had the gift from the whole team in his hands. The preparation was quick and efficient, all while you were changing in your more regular outfit in the locker room.

Needless to say, Atsumu still had z e r o clue to whose birthday they were going to celebrate but the grin on his face still testified of how happy he was.

When you exited the locker room to say goodbye to the rest of the team, you were absolutely overwhelmed by joy when you saw them gathered together, a radiant smile plastered upon their face, they were so proud of themselves and most of all, they were proud to be the reason of your happiness.

Reflex kicked, both of your hands covered your mouth and your vision quickly became blurry from the pearls of tears gathering at the brim of your eyes. To say that you were happy was an understatement, you felt so moved, so touched that this whole surprise was for your birthd-

“Hold up, I thought it was mom’s birthday? Who’s the cake for?”

The look on Osamu’s face screamed “Someone hold me back before I kill this idiot with my bare hands.”

Kita threw a volleyball at the back of Atsumu’s head.

Suna was crying on the inside out of desperation.

Hitoshi was holding Osamu back.

The rest of the team eventually ganged up on Atsumu for even daring to forget their sweet angel’s birthday while you were standing there, dumbfounded to say the least, torn between crying and laughing.

You didn’t even need to make Atsumu pay for his mistake, the team had made sure to make him pay for the next ten years (if I’m being generous.)

So... Happy birthday... I guess?

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crimsonandcloverwrites · 3 years

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bhah ch7 can’t stop won’t stop

lmao Dani being like ‘we should wait to discuss kids til after we’re married’ yes doesn’t seem like a giant thing u should make sure u agree on before u make a major commitment at all

Dani is so in love with Jamie sdjkhdfkjg driving to her house on instinct and just like...gazing at her in her old t-shirt and sweats like you’ve finally seen the light girl just kiss her already

god I can’t believe I have 2 more chapters of them as adults just being the absolute perfect match for each other to get through before they finally kiss in ch 11 (i’m maninfesting it no one say anything) I am literally going to scream. Dani will like... feel a little off and it’s all “i need to go to Jamie’s house and also tell Jamie everything and she will make me tea and let me be myself without all the expectations and I will feel better” I AM VERY HAPPY SHE CAN BE THAT FOR YOU BUT ALSO CAN YOU SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE MS CLAYTON (actually I think she kind of does but she must extract herself from her real life first I guess)

oh no the new chapter is almost here I still have so much to read

forget ‘there was only one bed’ this is now a ‘there was only one tent’ stan blog only

thirsty Dani truly is the funniest I am so sorry ur suffering is so entertaining. Dani: literally whacks her finger with a mallet bc horny for Jamie. Me: uncontrollable chortling

the idea of Dani wrangling 8 year olds that are probably just about as tall as her is too funny. tiny legend

aww the lil background Hannah and Owen moments. cute

Dani in a big ol’ straw hat pls that’s so cute

this Jackie and Jamie situation..... GIVE US THE DEETS

hmmmmnnnnnngggg Jamie just straight down on her knees in front of Dani to tie her shoe lace I will absolutely let u have this gay panic Dani u don’t deserve to be made fun of right now

Jamie “I have a story” absolutely NOT

Viola, emerging from the lake in this no ghosts childhood friends story: surprise bitch

these two drunk idiots are literally teenagers dsjkhdfkgjh just get in ur tent

Dani, drunk in a tiny tent w the love of her life: hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me

when we finally get a Jamie on her knees redemption moment-

Dani, drunk in a tiny tent w the love of her life currently taking her clothing off: oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck (y’all really wanted to torture her this chapt huh?)

“dawn was a saffron colored suggestion peeking through a pinhole gap in the tent’s zipper” god that’s a pretty sentence can i pls borrow some talent

Jamie and Dani w kids is sooooo cute they have such a nice balance between them

just thinking about if teenage Jamie desperately in love w her bestie could see things now Dani being all into her w all her lingering looks etc how the fuckin turn tables

“Dani kept a firm grip on her sanity” lol

oh my god they’re both drenched in the tent w the soft lamplight and only their own bodyheat to keep warm whatever will they do

oh wait they also have the heat of their burning attraction to each other they’ll be toasty as anything

hhhhngggg abs

that’s like 4 mentions of Jamie on her knees aklhfdkjgkdjh enough

lads is it gay to imagine running ur fingertips over the scar on your friends back before pressing ur lips to it or...?

Jamie taking the time to teach Dani car things aww

lol not the smutty book

eddie honking at her gets so under my skin like my dude... my guy... stop

Dani thinking so hard about rain damp Jamie and how much she wanted to jump her while she’s in the car w her boyf and MIL. girl

imagine if we had to sit through a dani and eddie wedding before she finally managed to call this off how cursed

ayoooo Carson’s show I cannot wait. omg we get it this chapter too gbless this really is the Dani suffering hours

Jamie just so casually like.... not even flirting w Dani it’s all just kinda observations but every other thing she says makes Dani stop breathing skdhfdkfjh this is so good

Dani has like... a lack of object permanence but with Jamie feelings ok

pleeease the Dani Carson road trip that’s so cute I can just imagine what fun they would have had

uuughhh i wanna go to a sweaty bar n listen to loud music again

also would like a Jamie to press their hand to my lower back n make me lose my mind in a sweaty bar to loud music

this lil jamie dani carson trio is my faaaave

“Girls must be all over you.” and Jamie choking on her drink dsfkjsdhkf oh Dani u beautiful naive angel. god that’s so funny

Robin instantly going for Jamie... same bro

Carson’s lil found family band pls my heart is so full

Carson calling them his sisters n Jamie freezing up bby when are u going to accept these people care abt u and love u like family

Robin is so brazenly just like ‘ur hot’. a voice of the people i love her

Dani being lowkey jealous as IF Ms Taylor has eyes for anyone else babe

Carson knoooowwwwws. When do we get the Carson O’Mara biopic please I want his takes on everything I know they’re excellent

oh my god Jamie knowing Dani’s fave kind of pizza pls I love that so much (I can’t remember if it’s been mentioned in the past few chapters but I remember her being mad that Eddie didn’t in CH1? i love this lil detail) (also I literally just ate vegge pizza I feel so immersed in this experience)

dfkgjhdfkjgh Jamie licking her finger and Dani completely combusting this is so entertaining

fuck n then it gets all soft and about how they’ve been in love their whole lives this is emotional whiplash

Jamie constantly in protector mode but in this really quiet comforting way is so sweet I love her so much

god I just feel so bad for Dani that this kind of insane electricity she has with Jamie has probably never been a thing in her relationship w Ed bby u deserve someone that makes u feel like this

awww Carsons bf

Dani’s soul leaving her body when she sees them kissing oh no

Jamie giving Dani her jacket pleeease I am dying here... the romance of it all

and shariing cigarettes and intense looks these two really are somethin else

lmao even Robin is picking up on their vibes you two could level a building with the amount of tension between u

Dani’s moment of Realisation abt Carson n Jamie just being like... well yeah

lmao Dani subtly trying to figure out if Jamie is gettin’ it sdkgdfhkjgh

when these do two finally get together both of them are gonna be like... taken out by all of this. Dani has only ever known Eddie who just does not get her (and the fact that she is a lesbian so she’s never had real feelings for him in that way) and it seems like Jamie has only ever had surface level relationships with people who never really got her either (while also being in love w her best friend who she never thought would love her back). there’s no way this is wont eventually make at least one person cry a bunch (probably me) with how right all of it is

god Dani is so horny for Jamie sdflkdfjgkfdj preemptive RIP for Ms Taylor when Dani finally does get to live out all these daydreams on her I just know someones gonna end up pulling somethin

Does Dani like.... get that she will never love Edmund that way like is she fully aware of the fact she loves him but she’s not in love with him and all these feelings for Jamie aren’t just because it’s Jamie but because she’s not straight??? have we gone on that journey yet

aw Ed waited up for her

the book the book the book

dsfkdhfgkj oh Dani

“Jamie on her knees, looking up at her” listen-

girl u are so fucked

SIX. SIX MENTIONS OF JAMIE ON HER KNEES pls

THE DREAM

who could this possibly be about hmmmm Dani

christ

THE MEASURES SHE TAKES TO DEAL WITH THE DREAM lordt

“baffled but excited” i think is how I almost always picture eddie lol

dang get it girl take control

aw dani u poor confused little duck. i just wanna give her a hug

Dani dressed as Dorothy is awfuly cute

heh Jamie as a wolf i love her fursona

lmao toto

of course Jamie is well aquainted with the bleachers. cheeky. oh no not the art room. Dani dying inside and then imagining herself there with Jamie girl has got it baaaad u poor lil repressed gayby

Dani is... so thirsty... goddamn

lmao Jamie blatantly checking her out are u trying to kill her she already wants to rip ur clothes off

“To the third floor art room?” dfksdhfgkjdfhgjdhf imagine if this was it they just banged it out in the art room right now n got things sorted

god they go from horny to soft so quick i love the ways they care about each other

Jamie saying the scarecrow costume is fitting for Eddie PLEASE

ooh the infamous hickey

What Dani deseves: snuggles. What Dani recieves: struggles

the MEMES. god bless the memes

this was an excellent companion for my Wednesday hopefully I can churn through the rest of em before we are blessed w ch11 amen

#bhah

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monchikyun · 3 years

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XV. home

Gavin is a restless sleeper. His body thrashes and twitches like it desperately wants to wake up, his mouth forming disjointed sentences whose meaning is indecipherable even for Connor. It feels like his entire being is calling for help, for someone to rescue him from the depths of his own twisted psyche. It’s a hundred times worse than it was yesterday. A night when the android had to do all that was in his might just to stay a passive observer, just because he was too afraid to trespass any further.

Not this time. He holds the fevered man in his arms, hoping it’s the best procedure in this scenario. The human has to sleep, there is no way around it if he wants to get better. All Connor can do is to bestow some sense of comfort. If he’s lucky, it will extend to his dream world, at least partially. Connor will do the rest when he gets released from the clutches of his nightmare. In the meanwhile, he’ll pass the time monitoring his vitals, as he’s fond of doing.

His little indirect confession fails to leave an impact for the longest time, his processors busy researching how to best care for his sick partner. It leaves him unbothered until Gavin’s body finally ceases its violent movements and he’s given a moment of temporary calm. It is all too quiet, meaning the memory has nothing to hide behind anymore. No distractions keeping it from fully presenting itself. Connor fears replaying the conversation would throw him into a flight or fight mode, that he would try and undo it all. Still, avoiding it won’t solve anything. So he closes his eyes and transports himself to that fragile moment. But his mind puts him in no such ugly place. It makes his chest light, like he's gotten rid of a heavy burden that was making his life into a less than joyous experience. Maybe he has been wrong for keeping these feelings for himself all this time, knowing well that Gavin doesn't look at him as one would at a mere friend, that his heart leaps up whenever their proximity is far more than casual. It’s not something earth-shattering, nor a disaster that would split them apart. Perhaps all he’s done is just strengthen the foundation of the bridge that connects them. Perhaps he can keep it standing by being completely honest, not only with himself. The doubts may forever muddy his view, but that can’t stop him from seeing clearly. Not in the long run. Not as long as he has the countermeasure right here beside him.

His friend is pulled from his unrestful slumber with a sharp gasp, his eyes darting around, most likely trying to remember where he is and what’s been happening all those hours he can’t account for.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m here.” That doesn’t feel like the correct thing to say, considering the man’s unpredictable nature, but Connor just can't fight the temptation to remind Gavin that he's not alone.

Connor has left him lying on his own about an hour ago, providing him with the space he might need. His temperature went significantly down and there was no pressing need to keep serving as a personal heater-slash-cooler. Not that he doesn’t greatly enjoy it.

“What…,” an incomplete question accented with a wet cough, “what… where…” Gavin tries to sit up, but the night has made him weak and so he would be left struggling if it wasn’t for his very helpful android friend who eagerly lifts him up. Gavin winces under his touch, but only for the first second, and before long he gives in completely. He doesn’t protest when Connor lets his hands linger just as their eyes meet, despite the blood rushing to his face. The man parts his lips as if there are words locked inside of him that should be set free, but no sound comes out. It doesn’t matter. His look says more than his mouth ever could.

“You sure you’ll manage?” he checks for the third time, seemingly speaking to nothing but the closed bathroom room.

Connor has assisted Gavin with all the allowed tasks, which does not include helping him strip off his clothes, unfortunately enough. The stubborn man has insisted on not being a baby and having the ability to do this on his own, which is disputable at best. Still, he’s relented and let him do as he pleases, but only because his health isn’t a threat to him anymore. And maybe also because it’s hard to go against his wishes when he smiles at him like that, a weapon Connor isn’t immune to.

“Doubtful,” comes the reply together with a freshly clothed Gavin. After a short scan he finds out that the shower hasn’t worsened his condition after all, could be an effect of the very necessary lecture on appropriate water-temperature Connor felt was very pertinent.

The man plops his exhausted body onto Connor’s bed, only since it’s the more sanitary option, he assumes.

Suddenly, his thought processes get brought to a halt, and he stands screwed to the floor, not knowing how to process this beautifully mundane moment. It’s too raw, too visceral and he’s still too frightened to act according to what his heart demands.

“Are you going to stand there and watch me like some creepy mannequin?”

Of course not.

In lieu of a verbal answer, he moves his heavy body to him, sitting next to his friend with an utmost tentativeness. Some would even take it that he’s nervous, but he has no real reason to be, does he?

“Relax, I’m not gonna bite… unless you’re into that?” the man chuckles, making Connor's lips curls upwards as well.

“I don’t advise you to try and find out.”

The tension inside him relents a little, but not enough to lean into Gavin’s side like he so awfully wants to.

“Should we go home?” he asks instead.

“And where would that be, tin can?”

“I…,” he can feel his cheeks heat up, for which he has no logical explanation. He doesn’t have real blood, so how…

“You’re so pretty.” A soft hand grazes the scorching spot, on his face lighting the rest of him on fire. “Never knew androids could do that.”

He just wanted to tell Gavin that he’s his home. A simple thing like that.

“Is it… is it blue?”

“Yep.”

Though the bright grin on his friend’s face might just be worth this embarrassment.

“I was thinking,” Gavin starts as he rests his head on the android's shoulder, “the dog living in that cramped apartment… it isn’t fair to the poor animal. I, on the other hand, have a backyard that isn’t used for anything much these days. Plus, my place is much nicer and closer to work.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“You really want me to say it, don’t you. Okay,.. okay.” He takes a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart. Connor wishes he could do the same.

“Maybe you’d like to move in with me, for convenience purposes I mean. Whenever you want. But really you don’t-”

“I’d love to.”

This new development gives him enough courage to place a small kiss on Gavin’s forehead, as a thank you. A tiny insurance for their shared future.

@a-convin-new-year

this counts as a Christmas present right :D

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #connie is nervous ooo #something big happens maybe?#idk I haven't slept in days take it for what it is xD #i mean properly :D

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years

Text

A Singular Cog in The Machine Chapter 2

Chapter Title: Circuits and Wires

Summary: "It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart."

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that.

Chapter Word-Count: 2k

Pairings: platonic lamp

Warnings: Whump, Referenced Torture, Panic Attack, PTSD, Zalgo Text (If you need a version without it let me know!), Nightmare, Blood Mention, Injuries, Strangling, Partial Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending

Prompt For Chapters 2 & 3: Anon asked “When one character doesn’t realize they’ve been accepted into the family/think of themselves as outsides, until they get hurt and everyone takes shifts watching over them and taking care of them. : Logan or Virgil?”

Chapter 1 | Present | Chapter 3 AO3 LINK

Hey remember when seven months ago I said this would be only be two parts? Well I lied, it’s now three parts. Good news, I’ve already written the next part so you don’t have to wait another seven months for that one :’)

ERROR. Systems crashed. Restart?

Restarting...Restarting...Restarting

W̨̧̻̱͓͐̃̿͂͡Ą͇̦̳̓̂̊͠R̢͎͕͕͙̃̄͘̕͝Ṇ̨͎̮͑̌͘͘Ḭ̲̩̂̂͠N͓̬̺͌̾͐G̛̗̲͚̈́͒͗ͅ ͢͠S͈͓͒̃͜͠Y͈̓Ş͘T͕̖̀̑Ȇ̥M̟̳͐̀ ̀͜f͍̓ä̲́͢͞Í̮L̤̊URe̢̕

--ton! We’re losing him!

Not….get him stabilized...

What

Is That?

Logan!

Can you…

hear me?

Activating Protocol L1G8N. All programs unnecessary maintaining system stability have been shut off. Sequencing….Sequencing complete. Running diagnosis check. System is running at 40% its usual capacity. Initiating hibernation mode to ensure updates and system repairs can be achieved. Initiation Complete.

…..

….

…

“A cheetah can run up to seventy miles per hour. They are the fastest land animal on the planet Earth. However, this speed can only be maintained for a few seconds. For our cheetah mother, a few seconds is not enough to catch up to her prey. With defeat, she must stop and conserve her energy for a better opportunity to secure a meal for herself and her cubs. If not…”

A voice. Measured and methodical, soothing to the ears. He could not discern where it was coming from. It seemed familiar, something he could recall hearing previously. Yet that memory laid restricted in his memory-banks. He couldn’t access any memories, in fact.

Who was he? Where was he? He tried doing a visual scan of his surroundings but his bio-optics were down. No sight, just a voice within darkness. A tactile scan also failed, this time with a thousand red flashing warnings and pain. Crippling, debilitating pain. Like his hard-drive overheating, whirring with exertion but so much worse.

A different sound joined the voice in the darkness. A croaking, choking cry that belonged to a wounded animal. Not him, certainly not him.

“Logan?” Someone asks, speaking over the voice droning on about savannah wildlife. They grasp his hand and his whole system freezes. Expecting an attack, breach on his firewall and entire code. They simply hold his hand, in a firm, comforting clasp.

“Hey, it’s alright, Brainiac. You’re here now. You’re safe. You’re never going back there, alright? Never.” The person said, running their thumb over his knuckles. He didn’t know what those words were referring to. He didn’t know who the person was--although they felt as familiar as the first voice. Perhaps even more so.

However, he found it alleviated many of the warnings flooding his systems. The voice ensured security, protection against viruses and hackers. His own anti-virus program perhaps.

He could not hold awareness for long. His systems drifted back into hibernation, into a murky nothingness.

….

…

Running. He was running, lungs pushing for air and legs pulling forward faster than he’d ever gone. Sweat dripped down his brow, the biological coolant to prevent overheating. Like a cheetah, he couldn’t maintain this speed for long. He just hoped it was enough—

‘The probability of achieving success is 0.03%.’

In a very illogical move, he kept running. He supposed it could be blamed for the biological blood in his veins, to quote an idiom. Even if so, he was an android with a biological mainframe. The body he inhabited was not a part of his code. To claim such a thing would be comparable to referring to an automotive vehicle you drive was a part of your composition makeup.

“There you are!”

His thoughts and body slammed to a halt. A thousand eyes glinted with amusement. Tendrils sprayed all around him, cutting off any routes of escape. A smile full of teeth that was anything but friendly.

“Fascinating,” They crooned, a tendril gripping his chin, “You should be temporarily paralyzed right now, unable to move a single muscle.

“Yet here you’ve run fifteen-hundred yards and stand of your own free will. How did you do it? I must know.”

It was then his heart metaphorically sunk. Because he’d never been close to escaping. It’d been all part of an experiment and like a witless lab rat, he fell for it.

Logan didn’t respond, eyebrows narrowed in a gesture that might be seen as defiant.

The amusement drained from their eyes. “Tell me.” They demanded, the tendril wrapping around his neck, tightening. “Tell me or I’ll hunt down your friends, one-by-one.”

No. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Logan tried opening his mouth but all that came out was a gargled squeak. The tendril was choking him now, cutting off his airways. As android as he was, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe, he was going to die, he was going to die—

“Logan!”

He thrashed and flailed, trying to get the tendril off of him. But it wouldn’t budge. It held him down, pinning him in place. Like a butterfly on a collector’s board.

“Logan, please—”

He growled, baring his teeth in a very primitive gesture. Whatever intimidation he hoped to gain was lost as liquid seeped against his torso. With it, came a stinging sensation worse than the time Roman unwittingly led them into a rancor’s nest.

“Oh fuck, Patton? Roman?! Get in here, he’s reopened something!”

Hibernation Mode Initiated.

What? No, he couldn’t go into hibernation. Not in the face of present danger.

“Override—” He croaked but it was too late, the damage had been dealt. The melatonin kicked in as the clamor above him grew louder.

…

Scanning systems. Diagnosis complete. Biological tissues are 54% recovered. Estimated full recovery in one-thousand four-hundred sixty gala hours. ERRORrrrr memory files are corrupted. Restore? Warning! Unable to restore due to Protocol L1G8N. Restoring memory files could lead to instability within the systems.

OVERRIDE ALPHA-NINER-NINER

Protocol L1G8N disengaged. Restoring memory files…restoration complete. Cycles 1-10803 restored. Alert! Cycles 10741-10800 are unstable.

A̛̦̞͖̩̤̣͖̭͈̪̯̞̩̱͖͙̩̟͉͌́̎̃̎̈̍͒̾̽̾́͐̐̓̾͘͢͜͝͡͞ ̨̬͔̺̬͌̔̀̀̃͜͝L̛͖̲̾ ̨̯̼̺̺͑̓̈̊͝Ę̧̡̨̛̩̱͓͉̗̱͇̯͓̪̰̠̠̼͍͓̩̼̻̜̬̜̺͚̟̪̗̜̦̱̬͇̰̖͖̫̆̈͒͂̔̋͛̉͛̈̏̃͆̆̇̅̌̉̀̐̓͂̑̈́̂̄͌͛̇͐̈́͂́͌͋̄̈͑͗͘͜͢͢͝͞ ̡͈̗̹͍̞͚̝͕̜̟͉̹̺̞̱̤̰̋͂̉̀͐̒̓̔͌͗̈̍̎̏̑̚͟͝͝͝Ṙ̨̡͎̤͕̲̞̬̲̯͙̙͙̫̖̺̠̫̲̬͚̩̯̝͋͒͋͑̋̅̐͗̂̍̐̑̽͛́̏̆̅͒͌͋̀̕̚͟͟͝͡ͅ ̧̢̧̢̢͇̲̥̻̝̹̟̱̗͇̦̟͎̥̤̲̭̤̤̟̫̩̱̘͍̥̼̰͎̍̏͐̑̑̎͑̾̃͆̀̌̈̈́̂́̃̓̈͊͌͛̉̀͐̋̎̄͆͑̚̚͘͟͠͠͞ͅT̨̨͇̞̳̞͕̭̪̝̜̼̬͖͓̩̗̩̲͔̦̜͖̭̞͚͎̰̹̦̰͙̣̞̠̥̪̔̑͋̂͂̓̌̐̾͒̓̋̏̔̄́̄͌́͂̈̿͐̎͛̀̄̀͊̋͑̕͘͘̕͝͞

The first thing he registered was the dull, minimal amounts of data his pain receptors were sending him. Most likely some sort of analgesics reducing the amount of prostaglandins his body would produce. Or in other words, rather than his AI shutting off the pain signals, it was the cause of a painkiller.

The second thing was the warmth radiating around him. Not from a blanket or the climate but from a warm-blooded body. Warmth could be a dangerous thing for him, both biologically and mechanically. Extreme amounts of it could kill him. This warmth was different. It was nowhere near the dangerous levels. If anything, the other person’s warmth seemed to keep him anchored.

His head rested against the nook of their shoulder, their arms wrapped around him in not a constraining but comforting hold. Objectively comforting, of course. His biological body needed tactile touch to survive. It responded out of its own vocation to it.

The third thing happened to be singing. Low and rumbly, sometimes off-key but not terribly too off-key. Some might argue it captured the song better than a classically-trained opera singer could ever hope to achieve.

“Takka toya taya

Yul se umting kaiting

Ritka forka eyis

Yul se Arden fayee.”

It wasn’t GCL (Galactic Common Language). It took him a moment to register the words and translate them. It was Titekan. He cracked his eyes open but it found it useless when he was squished against the person’s shirt.

“Patton?” He asked, his throat throbbing in protest. It took more effort than it should to just speak one word.

“Logan! You’re awake?” A question for a question was hardly an actual answer. Still, it was Patton no doubt. He managed to crane his head back to look up at the Titekan.

“I think that is a rather obvious observation.” He grumbled, ignoring the dry, scratchiness of his vocal chords.

Patton laughed. Logan could feel the vibration of it rattling the other’s chest. It sounded...different than his usual bursts of laughter. Logan did not understand why. “Roman! Virgil! Look who’s awake!”

What? Logan hadn’t been aware of the others’ presences. Impossible, he always knew their whereabouts. It helped when one could track heat signals and had a connection to the ship’s circuitry. Perhaps he misheard Patton?

THUMP.

Logan blinked, jostled by the sudden appearance of a mop of disheveled amber hair and curled horns. Ruby eyes shined up at him with unbridled glee.

“Logan! My most obdurate, appalling, loquacious fiend of a nerd!”

“Ahh, hello Roman.” Logan managed to say in response. Roman beamed, his reptile-like tail whipping back and forth much like a dog.

“Whoa, careful with that thing, you could take someone out with it.”

Virgil. Logan turned his head to see the human standing there with his arms crossed. His figure slightly slouched, his eyebags significantly darker than usual and a few more grey hairs than when Logan last saw him.

“You are all acting weird,” Logan said, never one for subtlety, “Is something wrong?”

Roman’s tail drooped, as did Patton’s ears. Virgil just looked away, his head turned enough to make his expression indiscernible.

“Lo, what’s the last thing you remember?” Patton asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

“I…” Logan stiffened, blood draining away from his face. Images flooded his central cortex, pulled from relevant memory files. Logan slipping out of the ship during the others’ sleep cycles. The thousand unblinking pale eyes. The images glitching, corrupted. The stabbing, burning, thrashing, drowning, strangling--the list went on and on. He retreated into his code. The simulations. So real, but never enough.

N̶̗̲̈́̆͊̿̓̕ ̶͍̻̲̉͌̈́̽̑͐͠E̵̠̰͑͊͑̌̔ͅ ̷̰̥̝̘̞̽́̇̌͑̚͝V̵͗̈́͊̚ͅ ̴̛͎̳̺̮͂͌Ę̸͙̫̂͂͌̽͝R̸͚̪̬̾̌ ̸̛̙̣͍̦̮͈̹̽̿͋̆͛͊Ȅ̷̜̮͙̚ͅÑ̴̦̙̭͘Ơ̶̧͖͎̟̽U̷̻̽̈̌̋Ģ̵̖̫͔͕̹̽͐͛̊̽Ḧ̸̲̹́̅́h̶͍̼͔͎̟̟͖̅͛͗h̸̻̘͔͕͖̦͍͒̈́͒̓̑̈́̾h̶̛̟͓̗͉͚̿̔

“LOGAN!”

He jolted, his heart beating wildly out of rhythm. Much like Virgil’s during a panic attack. That wasn’t right. He was a machine, his body no more than a method of transportation. No emotions, only logic.

He didn’t lash out in anger whenever the others were mistreated (a lie). He didn’t panic when the others’ lives were threatened (another lie). He didn’t love the others enough to sacrifice his continued survival for them (an even bigger lie than the other two combined).

“Logan, can you breath in for me?” A voice asked, gravelly and rough that it was so undeniably Virgil. He was confused. Virgil’s question indicated his breathing was not fine.

“Y-yyo--” He tried speaking, the syllables lost in shallow gasps of air. He jerked his head side-to-side, frustrated. His airflow was indeed erratic. The automatic breathing program was down, unresponsive to his pings. Unless the body was experiencing a heart attack or stroke of some kind, this shouldn’t be happening.

“Don’t try speaking, okay?” A hand brushed his bangs away from his face, “Just breathe in with me, alright?”

Logan nodded affirmatively, liquid starting to dribble down his cheeks. Obviously a malfunction with his tear ducts. An internal count-down started as he inhaled with Virgil.

One-thousand, two-thousand--his breath cut short, too shallow and spluttery. There was a sob, shattered and broken.

“Hey it’s okay. Let’s try again, alright?”

“You can do it, we believe in you.” Roman’s voice joined in. Patton didn’t say anything, but from the rumbling reverb of his chest, Logan knew he was there supporting him.

Logan wanted desperately to speak, to argue with them. Part of him wondered if this was another experiment. A test to see how he’d react to dying by asphyxiation. The others were simply fake, not real. They couldn’t be real--they’d promised--

“One...two...three...four.” The words broke through his internal processing. Logan knew them well. He’d spoken them to Virgil to help fight off panic attacks that snuck past his firewalls. Logan latched onto them akin to a shipwreck survivor holding onto driftwood in a raging ocean.

It was slow-going. Several times the waves knocked him back, almost drowning him. With each setback, came soft words buoying him forward. Eventually, his breathing stabilized, reaching the blissful metaphorical shore at last.

Logan’s eyes flickered between his three crewmates, surveying them carefully. There was so much he wanted to say. No, so much he needed to say.

For possibly the first time in his existence, he was completely bewildered. If this was one of their experiments, where was the macabre twist? And it couldn’t be a simulation. Logan was always aware inside a simulation. He crafted them himself, after all. That left one option...reality.

Yet, that too didn’t make logical sense. Logan was the ship navigator and engineer; an important cog in the machine but one easily replaced. For them to go through the hassle of retrieving him...it just did not compute.

He couldn’t express any of this confusion. His limbs became fraught with fatigue, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. He could not fight it for much longer.

“I think....I am falling unconscious.” He said, before doing just that.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #lamp #kat writes

157 notes · View notes

theshopkeepofremnant · 3 years

Text

Alright, this hiatus is already making me crazy, so I wrote what I wish would happen inside the whale Grimm with team JOYR. Will this actually happen? No way! I can’t wait to see how wrong I am! But it was fun to write, and maybe you’ll find it fun to read!

Also, this should go without saying, but SPOILER WARNING if you aren’t caught up.

Yang bounced bodily across the ground; if you could call it that. The belly of the beast was somehow more unsettling for how artificial, how obviously designed it was, despite the pulsing pink and red and vaguely living passageways never allowing those foolish enough to venture inside forget that they were within a massive creature.

And venturing inside certainly was foolish, Yang reflected as she skidded to a stop, her shoulder a beacon of pain from the massive blow that she had barely blocked. They had slipped past the perimeter of Grimm easily enough, thanks to Ren, and the passageways had been empty otherwise. It had taken them a few minutes to locate Oscar, but they had. Even now, he was dangling mere feet from where Yang was gasping and struggling to her feet. So close, yet so impossibly far away. Between her and the limp form stood a raging giant: Hazel. He had been lurking in the corner of the room when they entered, and Ren’s semblance couldn't hide them from humans.

His attack had come so swiftly that Yang could hardly remember how it had started, or when he had slammed the dust into his arms. They had tried to talk to him, reason with him, but that had failed miserably.

Ren had even done that…thing he had done to the Ace Ops back in the Manta. Yang wasn’t sure what it was, but he had somehow looked into them. He had clearly seen something in Hazel as well, but when he called out his doubt, his anguish, and fear that he was on the wrong side, Hazel had become a blur of dust and muscle and rage, and Ren had been left in a heap on the floor. Yang stole a glance over at her fallen comrade as she forced herself to one knee. He was still crumpled in a ball in the corner, not moving save for a shallow rise and fall along his back. Not dead.

She breathed a sigh of relief that became a gasp as Jaune was sent flying past her. Yang rushed to his side, helping him to his feet as guilt twisted her stomach into knots. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, twisting side to side and running his hand along his ribs. Probably checking for broken bones. “Just trying to come up with a plan.”

“Yeah…” Yang replied vaguely, but she could hardly hear him over the chorus of accusations in her head. That it was her fault they were there in the first place. Her fault for letting Oscar get captured, her fault for letting Ren get taken out of the fight when they so badly needed him. Gods, it was her fault they had split off from the group in the first place, the least she could do was keep them all safe, but she couldn’t even…

“Yang?” Jaune said, glancing between her and Hazel as he stalked forward.

“Sorry. What?” she said, snapping back to the present.

“I asked if you had any-“

But she was already striding forward, her mind made up. No one else was going to get hurt, not for her. “Hang back.”

“You can’t fight him alone.”

Yang cursed Jaune’s newfound backbone. It was a good thing, on the whole, but she didn’t need him to be brave right now. She needed him to be alive, needed all of them to get out. Whatever it took. He’d come a long way since his inauspicious first days at Beacon, but he wasn’t the one she needed right now. Ren may have been helpful if he'd been conscious, but what she really needed was seamless teamwork, someone who could practically read her mind. But that person was out of reach, for now, so Yang was more or less on her own. She shook her head. “No one else is getting hurt because of me.” She didn’t wait for him to protest, launching herself forward with a burst from Ember Celica instead.

Some part of her had hoped that she would catch the big man off guard with her sudden attack, but he was unreasonably fast for someone so big and strong. He blocked her initial salvo like so many mosquito bites. Still she advanced, using feints and misdirection, leaning into every ounce of training her father had put her through. She reminded herself of what he’d said, that fights weren’t decided by strength alone, but she really wished someone had told Hazel that.

It was clear that the man was quite skilled in his own right, though Yang had a suspicion that all things being equal she had better technique. He was just so strong. Worse, his natural power was multiplied by the dust flowing through his veins. With his semblance blocking out pain and a seemingly endless reserve of aura, he shrugged off her strikes in a way that made her seriously doubt her father’s wisdom.

Then he stumbled.

Yang looked past him, dumbfounded, to find Jaune grinning back at her. His sword was transformed into its more powerful two-handed mode, and he’d clearly just landed a full-bodied swing on Hazel’s leg.

The big man staggered back to his feet and turned with a roar to face Jaune, so Yang began laying into him again. Two dust rounds to the back and a kick across the temple drew his attention, but this time he decided to go on offense.

His attacks were big and wide and obvious, but so fast and continuous and with enough force behind them that it was all Yang could do to slip and weave the deadly blows. Her ribs began to ache with the force of her gasping breath, and she knew she was running out of time.

He stumbled again.

Yang grinned at the perfectly timed attack, but it was wiped from her face when Hazel whipped around in a blur and hit Jaune with a devastating backhand. With no shield and no time to dodge, Jaune was caught full in the chest, defenseless, and sent sailing across the eerie room. His flight was interrupted by the wall, and an agonized cry burst from his lips when he hit. Yang's breath caught when his aura flickered, but it held.

She wasn’t the only one watching; Hazel had also stopped to observe his handy work, a savage leer on his face as he watched Jaune slump to the floor. Yang felt her rage build, felt her semblance beg for release, but she held it in check. No doubt her eyes were red, but she could only control so much.

“Forget about me?” she growled as she coiled and unleashed in one fluid movement. She landed two punches that would have shattered rock directly on his chin, only to watch him shrug it off as she stepped back.

“No, I just don’t consider you much of a threat,” he rumbled. Yang fought a laugh. The effect of his nonchalant reply had been ruined somewhat by the glowing mines stuck to his face.

“Fuck you.” Not the most eloquent response, but Yang was out of eloquence. She detonated the mines. The blast obscured his face, but Yang had already measured the distance. Hazels hands clawed the air, trying in vain to stop the incoming assault. Yang ducked under them easily, crouching low to add power to her lunging uppercut, firing a dust round at the moment her hand landed on that granite chin, willing it to crack.

It didn’t.

He stood, brushing debris from his shoulder as though her attack had been but a minor inconvenience, and sneered. “You’re never going to beat me,” he growled. “You can't save him!” he roared.

“But why-?“

Yang never finished her question, couldn’t even remember what she’d hoped to learn as she dove frantically aside to avoid the massive overhand Hazel had launched so quickly she’d nearly missed it. It was unfair that he could swing so hard without ever seeming to tire; if anything, he seemed fresher now than he had at the beginning of the fight.

She ducked and dove and deflected what she could, focusing on limiting her aura use, maintaining her reserve, though she wasn’t even sure why anymore. This man was so big, so powerful, she felt like she was fighting a force of nature. A staring contest with the sun would have been more fruitful. Her limbs began to drag. It was only a matter of…

Yang never even saw the blow that caught her square in the ribs, but she heard the sickening crunch quite clearly. Her vision went white as she was thrown across the room, but she was still conscious enough to feel her impact with the wall. It was softer than concrete, but only just, and she nearly vomited as the wind was blown from her lungs by first the collision with the wall, then by her graceless collapse to the floor. She blinked her eyes open and found that she could only really see out of one; the other was awash in a river of her blood. She reached up and touched the cut over her eye, wincing but relieved that it felt superficial. Scalp wounds always bled like crazy, even minor ones, but it probably wasn’t great that she couldn’t remember getting hit in the head.

Something was wrong with her limbs. She tried to rise, once, twice, and on the third time let herself rest where she'd fallen. She was done. What little aura she had left couldn’t heal her wounds, and it certainly couldn’t fuel her semblance. She’d failed, and she’d let everyone down in the process. The worst part was that she was never going to get a chance to make up for it. To apologize to the little impromptu team that had formed and struggled and fought together, or to Ruby. Ruby…Yang hoped that she would know how sorry she was. Not just for the fight, but for leaving her to carry on this war without her.

Her mind, swimming with pain and grief and guilt, floated on to its favorite topic of late: Blake. There was still so much to say, so much to do, but Yang had always thought they would get to it, someday, when the moment was right. The battle won. Now she wished she hadn’t waited.

The sound of thudding feet filled her ears, and she snapped her head up just in time to see a monster shrouded in arcing electricity bearing down on her. She wanted to rise, wanted to meet him and her inevitable death head-on, but her legs were so wobbly, her arms so heavy. She was so, so tired…

A flash of purple dazzled Yang’s eyes, and her heart fluttered. It was Blake. Summoned by her thoughts as if by magic. A rush of relief and gratitude and something Yang refused to name washed over her. Blake was here to save her, or at least be with her for the end…

“Yang, get up!”

“Jaune?” she mumbled, blinking her eyes at the form standing guard over her. She shook her head. Of course it was Jaune, he was the only one here to swoop in and rescue her. “Thanks,” she said, forcing herself to her feet despite the protests of her aching limbs and the piercing pain in her side from every shallow breath. “Nice one,” she added, seeing that his gravity dust burst had thrown Hazel clear across the room. Not that it had stopped him, but he at least needed a moment to untangle his limbs after his failed rush. Jaune had saved her life. Yang looked at him, took in his determination and worry and strength, and realized that despite everything, she still underestimated him sometimes. She made a mental note to stop doing that.

“What do we do?” Jaune asked.

Yang was stunned. One thing she never doubted was his leadership. Jaune was the idea guy, and he was asking her? Now? After she had failed so spectacularly that he had needed to save her ass. She pushed that thought aside. They were out of time for guilt trips. They were also out of time for strategy. This was a brawl, and that was Yang’s home turf. Besides, she had an idea.

“How much aura do you have left?”

“Not much,” he replied, his face drawn as he glanced down at his scroll. “You aren’t looking any better.”

Yang swiveled her head from side to side, cracking her neck. She didn’t need to check her scroll to know how bad it was. Besides, with a semblance like hers, knowing her aura level had become a reflex. “How long will it take you to recharge?”

Jaune looked at her, then away as he did a mental calculation. She knew that he had been training his aura relentlessly before everything went to hell, and everyone knew he had one of the deepest natural reserves of aura around. Well, except for the giant that was dusting himself off and glaring at them, perhaps. “Thirty seconds, maybe a minute,” Jaune said, settling into a fighting stance as their opponent began to approach them, warily this time.

But Yang stepped in front of him, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll give you that time, don’t waste it.”

“But-“

“Jaune,” Yang said, giving him what she hoped was a confident grin over her shoulder. “I’ll give you the time, but I expect you to pay me back. I can’t beat him alone.” His eyes went wide, then he nodded. Yang turned back to face her massive opponent as she heard Jaune sheath his sword. She strode forward, adding every ounce of swagger that she could to her walk, swaying her hips and smiling up at the man who could kill her with an errant swipe of his fist. Something about her walk must have unnerved him, and she saw hesitation behind his bulging eyes. “I was getting bored, so it’s just you and me now, big guy,” she taunted, coming to a stop just beyond his massive reach where she planted a hand on her hip and bared her teeth.

Suspicion turned to doubt and then amusement as the big man weighed her bluff. “We’ll see if you’re still so confident once I’ve broken you,” he rumbled, his eerie doubled voice sounding more demon than human.

“Yeah, we w-“ Yang began but was cut off as he lunged forward. His first swing was wild but blindingly fast, and it was all Yang could do to get her arm up to block it. The massive fist clanged to a halt on her metallic forearm, a fact that didn’t escape Hazel’s notice as he growled and swung with his free hand.

Yang was ready this time, and she easily weaved under the incoming blow, slipping deftly between the next two as well. He was fast, and his form wasn’t awful, but she was starting to see how his rage drove him into predictable patterns. Of course, predicting what was coming was one thing; dodging or responding was another. Her breath grew fast and ragged as she flowed through the rain of fists, her body racing toward its limit as she moved in the one direction that was safe: closer to the raging behemoth.

Inside his reach, she was in her element. She flowed into one of her favorite combos, using her defensive weaves to set up a series of hammer blows: hooks with her entire weight and the force of explosive dust rounds behind them. She made it through nearly seven straight before he cleared his vision enough to counterattack, but when he did, it was with horrible precision. She was moving too fast for him to hit her with his full power, but when his massive fist landed on her recently broken ribs, she let out a pained gasp and sank to her knees.

She might have been able to absorb more of that blow, but it would have broken what little aura she had left. Instead, she had doled out what she hoped was enough to protect her internal organs. Though based on how wet her breathing sounded, she worried she may have been a bit too stingy.

But what choice did she have? Her aura couldn't break. Not yet.

“Had enough?” gloated the monster, his breath heaving and his gaze manic.

Yang wanted to say yes. Wanted to cry and puke and beg for mercy. Instead, she played for time. “What’s your deal?” she said, clutching at her side. “Why serve Salem? Just want to help destroy the world?”

“I want to destroy everything that Ozpin has built. If the world must burn as well,” he snarled, glaring up at where Oscar hung limp. “Then so be it. Yield, and I’ll make your death quick. It’s over.”

“I didn’t hear a bell,” Yang shot back, spitting casually and trying to ignore the amount of blood mixed in with her saliva. She forced a smile onto her lips as she dragged herself to her feet and raised her hands, her screaming muscles only just managing the fighting stance that had been drilled into her for years. Time, she just needed time.

But Hazel wasn't in the mood to grant it to her. His assault was immediate and relentless, a rain of blows from above in quick succession. Any one would have been enough to crack her skull like an egg, aura or no. Only adrenaline kept her moving, dancing away just in time to see his massive fists slam impotently on the ground. The berserker howled in rage, the veins on his neck and face standing out in a grotesque display. Yang’s dazed mind idly wondered if he might give himself an aneurysm at that rate, but she was distracted as he wound up another attack. She raised her arms, relieved to take another on her unwavering right, but it was a feint. He switched and came back with his own right, forcing her to catch it with her very human left. She managed, barely, but as she did, she heard a disconcerting creak that escalated to a crack, and then her left forearm was awash in a flame of agony.

“Yang, now!”

Jaune’s voice pierced her cloud of pain just in time for her to drop beneath Hazel’s follow-up attack. She thanked her years of training that she didn’t need to look around to find Jaune; she had kept a constant map of the battleground as she had fought for her life. Unfortunately, that map placed Jaune on the other side of her opponent.

But Hazel was a brawler, he rarely used his legs, preferring to swing with his big meaty arms, and Yang could see that his feet were wide. Almost wide enough to…

“Man,” she said, offering what was no doubt a bloody smile up at her opponent. “I thought we were fighting. If I had wanted to dance, I would have asked your-“

The response was a swing of such terrifying might that Yang never even considered blocking it, not that she had intended to anyway. His arm sailed overhead as she dove forward, rolling between his wide and shifting legs, leaving a mine just under his heel as she passed. She came up to her feet at a run, detonating the mine and sending Hazel pinwheeling forward. Yang reached the other side of the room before she even heard him hit the ground. Jaune greeted her by resting a hand on her weary shoulder, and a wave of soothing light washed over her.

“How are you doing?” he asked, looking at the sealing cut on her forehead.

Yang shook her head, closing her eyes to gather herself. “I’m fine, but it was close. Do you need to maintain contact to do your thing or…?”

“Nope,” Jaune replied, pulling his hand back and smiling as she opened her eyes. “I’ve been practicing. Should be able to reach you anywhere in the room.”

Yang shook her head, looking down at her hands as her aura flared to life with a sudden intensity. She grinned up at him. “Jaune, you’re the best. Keep it up.”

He nodded and reached for his sword, but she held out her hand. “Focus on doing your thing. I need space for this, and I need you to keep me alive while I do it.”

Jaune looked ready to protest, but the look on Yang’s face convinced him. He shook his head and nodded, and then took a deep breath. Yang felt the energy flowing through her redouble, and she let a laugh full of relief and rage and pain and excitement. It was a weird feeling, letting someone protect her, trusting them to keep her safe. Especially when that someone wasn’t Blake. But it felt good, and it meant she was free to do what needed to be done. Time to turn the tables.

She spun in time to see Hazel draw out two red dust crystals and drive them into his arms, next to the others. She didn’t wait for him to finish howling as the energy surged through his veins. She wanted to press the attack while her aura was flowing and her stamina seemingly limitless. It wasn’t, she knew, but the feeling was intoxicating, so she rode it. She poured on the attack, hitting Hazel with everything she had, forcing the raging beast of a man back under a barrage he clearly hadn’t anticipated from his worn-out foe.

Still it wasn’t enough, still he shrugged off her attacks, either shielding them with his massive arms or simply absorbing them with his face and body. None of it seemed to phase him, though more than once she saw a flicker as he was forced to use more and more aura to absorb her blows. If she had to wear him down, one punch at a time, she would. Whatever it took, she was going to put him down, protect her team. She would-

Her fist stopped so suddenly that her mind went blank. She had gotten sloppy, slipped into a pattern of her own, and Hazel had caught her hand in his. Yang cried out as he closed his fingers, the bones in her hand crackling under the slow and deliberate pressure. She swung wildly with her right, hoping to distract him, but he caught that as well. Yang snarled up at him, knowing she was out of options but refusing to give in. She needed to stop him before he did any permanent damage, and she could feel Jaune wavering as he poured aura into her to continuously heal her breaking bones. She snorted, breathing deep and collecting the blood that had started flowing from her nose at some point, then spat it directly into Hazel’s face. With no free hand to wipe it off, he blinked and snarled, rage filling his eyes as he looked down to find Yang grinning up at him. He reared back, roaring his fury as he snapped forward to deliver a devastating headbutt.

Again, the world went white, but this time there was little pain. Yang bounced across the floor, a disturbingly familiar feeling at this point, but the soothing flow of aura didn’t falter. Aches and pains throughout her body called out for its touch, but their cries fell on deaf ears. It wasn’t time for healing.

It was time for hurting.

Jaune must have read her thoughts. At that moment, another surge of power ran through her, and Yang smiled.

Then she burned.

Her semblance had always been flashy, always turned heads. Red eyes were one thing, but her mass of golden curls igniting like a flame was a sight to behold, a sign of impending doom for her opponents. But that fire was a candle, a guttering spark next to the inferno that she had become. Then she burned brighter still. Suddenly a staring contest with the sun seemed like a fine proposition, as did fighting the seemingly unstoppable force before her. The room was flooded with her light, and Hazel was forced to raise his hands to shield his eyes as Yang stalked toward him. He tried to blindly defend himself as she drew near, but the power of his own blows batted his arms aside like reeds standing against a hurricane.

Yang strode right up to him, no longer afraid of his power or fury. She glared up at him, enjoyed the way his eyes teared up at the mere sight of her. She wound up, slowly, deliberately, and punched him in the face the force of several of his blows. He took it, but the shuttering flicker of aura and the way he wobbled on his feet put a fierce smile on Yang's lips. She wound up again, this time landing a vicious blow to the stomach, doubling him over. She waited as he gasped and panted, waited for him to right himself. Then she pulled back, focusing all the hurt and fury and will she had into her hand before unleashing it on the wavering man. The blow hit like a meteorite pulled from orbit and sent him flying so hard into the wall that his aura exploded in a burst of twinkling lights before he slumped to the floor. For a moment the room was silent, the raging light fading as Jaune pulled back his aid and Yang’s aura ran out in a golden puff. She let out a trembling breath, her limbs feeling terribly weak after wielding so much power.

She froze when she heard shifting and moaning from the heap of a man on the floor. Hazel was conscious, against all odds, and he looked like he was struggling to his feet. Yang shook her head, terror clenching at her soul. After all that, what more could they do?

Hazel looked up at her, his teeth gritted, but she soon saw it wasn’t in anger. It was…pain?

Then he screamed, a terrible, animal expression of agony as he struggled with the dust in his arms. Jaune looked on in horror. “His semblance…it blocks out the pain of all the dust he shoved in his arms. When you broke his aura…”

Yang turned back to the hunched and howling figure, shocked at how much empathy she felt for the man. Part of her wanted to leave him, he was an enemy after all, but she knew she couldn’t. “Get Oscar,” she said, striding over to where Hazel writhed.

Jaune’s eyes went wide. “But-“

“Just do it,” Yang said, trying to reassure herself as much as him. She stopped several feet from Hazel and looked down at him warily.

She watched as he wrenched the dust out of his left arm, pulling it free with a horrible sucking noise and leaving two bloody holes behind. He gasped and snorted and fumbled with the dust in his right, managing to jiggle one crystal loose with his blood-slick fingers before falling back to his hands and knees.

He growled up at Yang as she continued her approach, but seemed in no shape to attack. Up close she could see him trembling from head to toe, muscles and tendons straining under his sweat-soaked skin. She stopped outside his reach, watching him.

“Why?” he rumbled through gritted teeth. “Why serve him?”

Yang spared a glance for Oscar, watching as Jaune lowered him to the floor and began checking his injuries. She looked back at Hazel, still panting on the floor, and shook her head. “I don’t,” she replied simply.

“But-“

“I’m a huntress,” she said, unconsciously standing straighter at the title she had once misunderstood so thoroughly. “I serve the people of Remnant. Just like my mother did. Just like my friend, Pyrrha, did. Just like your sister did.” Hazel’s head snapped up at the mention of his sister, and Yang didn’t need any fancy powers to see the raging torrent of emotion there, but it did little to soften her heart. “Yeah, I heard your story. Grow up. You’re not the only one who’s lost someone in this war, but you are the only one I’ve ever met who used that as an excuse to join the enemy.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

Yang leaned in. “Anything but that. I’ve chosen to honor those I’ve lost by fighting on in their stead, and by protecting the ones I have left.” She looked at the unlikely crew she’d risked everything for, meeting Jaune’s smile with one of her own. “Just as they fight to protect me.” She looked back down at Hazel. “Do you really think Gretchen would be proud of the atrocities you’ve carried out in her name?” She flung a weary arm toward Oscar’s limp form. “Do you think she would be happy to know that you tortured a child for her?”

Hazel’s head drooped, his lips moving impotently for a moment. Finally, he found his voice. “Please,” he gasped. “End it. Kill me. Please.”

Pity surged in Yang’s chest as she saw the anguish and shame dance across his square face, but she banished it. He deserved no pity, and he would receive none from her. She hardened her eyes and her heart as she stepped forward and reached out with her metallic fingers to grasp his square jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“No.”

Her free hand lashed out, grabbing the last dust crystal still lodged in his arm and wrenching it free. Hazel let out one more gasp of agony, then collapsed forward onto the ground, where he finally lay still. Yang looked down at him, rage and pity still battling within her as she tossed the bloody crystal aside.

Jaune nodded to her, clearly agreeing with her decision as he leaned over Oscar. He lifted his hand, intending to boost the battered boy’s aura, but Yang strode over and stopped him. “Wait,” she said, reaching down and feeling for a pulse. “He’s just unconscious, and you need to save your aura for Ren. He’s our ticket out of here.”

Jaune hesitated, then nodded again. “Right,” he agreed, his face grim. “You take Oscar.”

Yang nodded and accepted the small form, grimacing as she took in his wounds. Oscar suddenly seemed so small, so frail, so in need of protection that she’d failed to provide. Yang felt an extra pang of guilt as she slung him over her shoulder. She wished she could be more gentle, but she still needed a free hand if they were going to get out of there.

She looked over as Jaune went to work on Ren. There were a few guttering flickers of pink around the prone figure, but he didn’t stir. Jaune gritted his teeth as his hands began to shimmer with his efforts, and before Yang could warn him to pace himself, she watched his aura shattered. Jaune sat back on his heels, gasping as though he’d just sprinted a mile but smiling as Ren moaned and sat up, holding one hand to his head and looking around in confusion.

The pair helped each other stand, but that was all they managed before Yang’s scroll started to buzz. She pulled the device from her pocket and read the display. “It’s Winter,” she explained before she answered, “Hello?”

“Finally. Did you find Oscar?”

“We did, but…”

“Good. We are en route with the bomb. You need to get out, assuming you haven’t already. The timer has already been set.”

“Fuck. How long?”

“Not long. I’ll send it to you so you can monitor it yourself. Don’t tarry.”

“We won’t. Thanks, Winter.”

“Don’t thank me, just get out. Good luck.”

“You too-“

But the line was already dead. Yang looked down at the flashing alert on her scroll. She let out a dark laugh, then gently set Oscar on the ground and slid down to sit next to him.

Jaune cocked his head. “Yang, what are you doing? We have to go.”

She let out another hollow laugh, then held up her scroll so he could see the timer as it counted down past five and a half minutes. “Our auras are broken and we have five minutes to get past an army of Grimm. Sometimes you have to be realistic, Jaune.”

She could almost see the gears turning as he fought valiantly to come up with something, anything. “Ren?” he asked with more than a little desperation in his voice.

Ren shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “I couldn’t even cloak myself long enough to get out, let alone all of us.”

“So we just give up?” Jaune was pleading now, not ready to accept the reality.

Yang was trying not to beat herself up for every wrong choice that she’d ever made, trying not to think about how all of her efforts were too little, too late. The least she could do would be to give them some hope. “No,” she lied. “We’re not giving up. We have one minute to recoup as much as possible, then we’ll make a run for it. At least then we might have a few scraps of aura between the three of us.”

Jaune looked at her, his narrowed eyes trying to parse out if she believed what she was saying. Whatever he decided, he didn’t call her out, and instead sat down and closed his eyes, meditating. “Okay,” he breathed. “One minute.”

“Yeah,” Yang said vaguely, contemplating how she wanted to spend her last peaceful minute alive. Sadly, Blake was too far away for what she really wanted, but then again…

Yang smiled when she looked down, Winter hadn’t called her on a tight beam, it had gone through the tower. That meant she had a signal. She punched in the number for the voice she so desperately wanted to hear right now, then listened as it rang once, twice, three times.

“Yang?”

Yang’s heart skipped a beat at the raw emotion conveyed in that single syllable. She completely forgot that she needed to reply.

“Yang, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“Are you hurt? Yang, where are you?”

“I’m okay, and I’m…kind of inside the giant whale Grimm.”

“You’re what?!”

Yang cursed herself, there wasn’t time to explain. “Look, I can’t talk long. I just had something I needed to tell you, in case-“

Blake cut her off with a voice like cold steel. “Stop.”

“What?”

“Whatever you need to say, you can say it to my face. When you come back. Do you hear me?”

“I,” Yang’s throat clenched. This had gone much differently in her mind. She found a smile, a genuine one, creeping onto her face. Damn but Blake understood her. “I do. We’ll, uh, we’ll talk soon then, yeah?”

“Very soon.”

Yang closed her eyes. She was still smiling, but she couldn’t stop a single tear from escaping the corner of her eye. “Good. I’d like that.”

There was a subtle sound on the other end, and Yang hoped that Blake wasn’t crying. Suspected she was. When she came back, her voice was strained. “Do you want to talk to Ruby?”

“Yeah, I…yeah. That would be good. Goodbye, Blake.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

There was a brief exchange that Yang couldn’t make out, then her sister’s voice was in her ear, sounding older and more full of worry than she’d thought possible. “Yang?”

“Hey, sis.”

“Yang, do you need help? We can-“

“No, no. We got this. Listen, I’m so, so sorry for…well, everything,” Yang blew out a breath. “I never should have doubted you. You’ve been put in an impossible position and done such an incredible job of leading us all through it.”

“But-“

“No ‘buts.’ You’re an amazing leader, never doubt that.” Yang bit her lip, but pushed forward. “I love you, Ruby.”

“I love you too.”

“And I am so, so proud of you.” Jaune was standing and looking at her meaningfully, so Yang gritted her teeth and climbed to her feet. “Okay, Ruby. I’ve got to go.” Ruby failed miserably to hide her sob, but Yang forced herself to be strong for her. One last time. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon,” she said with a confidence that she in no way felt. “Until then.”

“Until then,” Ruby parroted, her voice wavering.

Yang keyed off her scroll, then took a deep breath and nodded to Jaune. “Alright,” she said, “Time to go.” She noticed Ren staring at his own scroll, so she caught his eye. "Everything okay?"

"Nora isn't picking up."

Jaune glanced at Yang, then forced a smile. "I'm sure she's fine. You know Nora."

Ren was silent, then put his scroll away with a sigh. “Right. I’ll…mask us,” he said, wincing and clutching at his side.

“Okay,” Yang agreed, “but take it easy.“

Before the words could leave her lips, the door to the chamber opened. Yang stepped forward, preparing herself to fight, but there was no one there. She looked at the empty doorway in confusion, pulling back when it snapped shut again.

“Don’t attack,” came a familiar voice.

Then the air in front of the door shimmered, and a figure appeared.

“Emerald,” Yang snarled, raising her clenched fists.

“I said don’t attack!” Emerald said, her empty hands raised.

“Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t,” Jaune challenged. Yang was pleased to see that he had drawn his sword in a flash and was currently pointing it directly at their newest guest. Not that he could do much if she used her mind trick, but still.

“Because I’m the only one who can get you out of here,” Emerald shot back.

There was a shocked silence, and Jaune shook his head when he saw the look in Yang’s eyes. “No, it’s a trap.”

Ren cocked his head, the weird look returning to his eyes as he stared at Emerald. His aura shattered again after a few moments, but he didn’t seem to notice. “She’s…sincere,” he said, surprised at his own assessment.

Jaune wasn’t buying it. “Ren, how can you be sure? She could be using her semblance to-”

“I’m with Ren,” Yang chimed in. “Besides, there’s no plan B. Maybe it is a trap, but we’re dead either way.” She looked Emerald up and down. No doubt the girl was a consummate liar, but something about her seemed so…earnest. It didn’t take a semblance to see that. “Think you can get us out of here in,” Yang said, looking at her scroll. “Four minutes?”

Emerald’s eyes went wide, then she nodded. “Yes, but we have to hurry.”

Yang shrugged and scooped up Oscar, then looked at Ren and Jaune. When neither protested she stepped forward. “Lead on.”

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby fanfiction #yang xiao long #jaune ark #lie ren #more like lie down #sorry #emerald sustrai #hazel rainart #hiatus madness

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chromium7sky · 4 years

Text

Four-eyes| one shot damirae

A/n: I'm trying to stretch up my writing muscle before continuing other work. Sorry for crappy idea and crappy sketches.

Either her reason is to cut off from social interacting or just the aesthetic, Damian can't help find himself staring at her as she held her book close up, almost buried her face in it.

'What's with the pose?' Damian mumbled as he seen her sit at the living room, while other member interacting, playing even asking question while she simply choose to isolate herself by reading book way to close as if she literally pushing everyone away from her.

Damian as usual goes to the table which situated near the window and put down some document and report for him to finish and compiling. Other than patrolling, working on clerical stuff makes him busy.

Growing up training to kill, social were never be in his dictionary but it seems Raven's effort in social distancing is a bit...annoying as he seen her at the corner of his eyes while studying the statistic of how many times someone try to mess up banking system at the city then he decided to focus on his paper.

-------

He remember when the first time he was sent to teen titans by his father much to his dismay, the member seems to display a tiny of fear as they look at him like seeing a nightmare but for raven, she keep calm.

He thought she's different perhaps because she's the daughter of demons (the worst one), she takes no judgement. But still, he need to be cautious towards her.

Perhaps it is one of her trait where she tries to calm down her team mates if there's inner tension happening. If Starfire unable to calm down the fight between two boys especially when involves with him.

One thing he can't be control is him being hard head and stubborn to the point Raven almost sent him to another dimension. Raven's patience are not infinite and he definitely not going to be overboard with his attitude. Therefore, it train him to tolerate some of member attitude as well as how to cooperate and using other member's ability to achieve the objective of the mission.

He does prepare some plan and blueprint towards the teen titans member for tactical study. Beast boy and Wally simply scoffed as they skim up the document like it was nothing. They prefer to wing it in, as what they told Damian which almost makes him lectured them about preparedness and failure is only for people who don't prepare for any consequences.

However, Raven told him, he should lose up a bit and she does say the others are learning from him being better in tactical as she let him to observe the other member closely when they conducting some mission that involved less threat. She pat on his back, simply said " Don't worry, they got it. They learn it from you. " She smiled.

He felt something after he heard it. What is this flutter feeling in his chest?

His face felt some heat. what is happening?

Trying to avoid Raven from seeing his vulnerable state , he simply let out the sigh and step away from her. At the corner of his eyes he saw her face from pleasant smile to surprised.

Sometimes he cursed his past for not knowing the meaning of emotion. All he learn is vengeance and angry. Only those two. As soon as he move in Gotham, he start to learn respect, family love and worries. The feeling after being praised? He still figure it out what is it.

As time goes by, he eventually try to bond the team, helping them become better. "Dude, even though you'relike some sort of gremlin, I guess you are a good person after all!" Beast boy cracked then turn into a Macaque hugging Damian's face much to his disgust after he improved the shapeshifter's suit.

He sighed.

--------

After two years later, he's begin to be comfortable with the team and almost memorize their attitude and personalities. Somehow, he still haven't figure out Raven. When it comes to accomplish the mission, she glide through the air, launching attack and be as enigma and Raven-y as she can, casting fear towards the enemy. He swore he has seen the method before.

As soon as the mission over, she open the portal pulling the team back into teen titans tower like a worm hole short cut and after that the team disperse at the launching pad, getting rest or shower.

At night the team leisuring in living room but Raven spend her time in her room. But this time, Kori ask him to call her because it is the night of mandatory fun.

Damian keeping his composure, nodded and walked towards her room. He knocked three times, then he heard footstep walk towards the door. " What is it, Damian?"

Damian perhaps jolted a bit as he wonder how could she guess him but quickly discarded as he forget that she, is Raven who can read minds and an empath.

"Its Kori. She said it's Mandatory night." Damian simply state the business. Then he heard silent for a while.

"C-could you tell Kori that I'm not coming?" She spoke behind the door.

"I'll inform to her then." Damian nod and walk away. He inform to Kori about it.

"Ah, too bad. I wanted to show this new movie. Guess it's just us then." She smiled.

"I'm not coming too, Kori. I'm afraid if there's any emergency mission, I don't think she could handle it alone." Damian crossed his arms.

"Raven handle a case during valentine day when she was alone." Said Jackson as came up with casual clothes.

"Which she end up crying after she's back from the mission." Damian sneered at the Aqualad.

"I never knew Damian would care so much for a team mate or...are you planning something else?" Beast boy came up after putting his best clothes and his grin.

"Yes, I'm planning to take over the world, once you're back from outside please do inform me how it went so that I could proceed my plan." Damian said sarcastically.

"Ahah, don't worry, D. We'll buy something for ya." Wally pay on his shoulder.

"Just go." He shoved all three of them as Kori are about to leave the room.

---------

Damian now at leisuring room playing cheesy Viking 3 console mode to passed the time. The tower really quiet as four of them gone out excluding Raven and he really appreciate the moment of silence.

Suddenly he heard a fridge door open. Quickly he put the game on pause, and went to the kitchen.

As he coming to the room he saw the girl with bob hair style with dual color hair consist of navy blue with manogany red ending.

' That's must be Raven.' his heart spoke. As he pulled the chair at the kitchen the table, the girl froze.

"Who's there?!" She spun and held her hand that enveloped with purple energy towards him.

Damian simply stood there and so was she.

Both of them froze.

A moment passed, then another.

And...

"You ... wear glasses?" He rose his brow.

Raven with sweaty face, blink a couple of times as she adjusted her glasses with her other hands.

"Damian, what are you doing in here? I thought you follow others to Mandatory day?" Her hands with energy start to dispersed.

"That explain everything." His lips tug aside.

"What?" Raven confused with the answer he gave.

" The book, the pose, the distance." He chuckled. Then, he looks at flustered Raven.

"What do you mean? you still haven't answer my question, Damian Wayne." Raven getting confused.

"Ah, nothing. I decided to stay just in case of emergency mission and all. I Wouldn't let you handle the cases alone." Damian crossed his arm as he sit at the kitchen counter.

"So...you're doubting me?" It was Raven turn arched her brow.

"I'm not saying you're not capable. I'm saying that you'll need some back up. Two heads are better than one, wouldn't it?" Damian lean back at the chair.

"Never knew you would thought of that, that's very kind of you." She smiled. " An improvement too."

Damian clicked his tongue and looked away, but pink tint start to visible on his cheeks and his ears. Ah, again with this feeling.

He clear his throat a couple of times, then a mug set in from of him. "Peppermint ice tea?"

His eyes looked at Raven as she seat in front of him, with glasses and book on her hands. The Flowers of evil, as he observed the title. "Thank you."

As he sip his tea, he stared at the book. "Flowers of Evil?" As he pointed at the book.

"Yeah, might try to read something like old poem." as Raven looked at the book title.

"I could recommend Robert Frost."

"I did read some of his. The Road Not Taken." As Raven sipped her tea.

"I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

Raven blink her eyes as she heard his recitation the last verse. "So, do you take it?"

"Take what?"

"The road less traveled by."

Damian looked at her. " This is the road less traveled by." He smirk as he sip the cup.

Raven try to understand that line but Damian simply silent. He's quite enjoy the company he's having now.

"All these time, I've been wonder what's with burying your face in the book." He rest both of his elbow on the table as well as his chin on his propped hand. " Never knew you were actually Four-eyes, metaphorically."

"Are you, mocking me?" Raven furrowed her brows as she put her cup on the table.

"I found you looks more professional in those glasses." He smirked as he stared at her which leads to Raven unknowingly adjusting her glasses as she looked away.

"The glasses is expensive. I lost mine as I bought to mission when I first join the titans, so I tend to leave it at room and I had to use some of my powers to adjust my visions."

"But you could heal them?" Damian's begun to curious.

"Only limited time."

"Did you know there's is laser treatment for that?"

Raven surprised as she heard it. She seems to be thinking but then she put down her cup.

"I'd rather wear glasses than risking my eyes to go blind." She sighed. "Unless I end up become Bran the third eye Raven."

Damian chuckled. She's indeed full of surprises.

"If you lost your glasses again, do tell me. I might know some excellent optometrist to do excellent job."

"Uh, n-no. You don't have to. I.."

"That's what team mate for right? Helping each other?" He smiled. A genuine smile.

She seems stunned by him. Smiling. Damian Wayne is actual smiling.

"Besides, you in glasses, is a rare opportunity and quite pleasant to the eyes." As he get up and goes towards the sink to wash his empty cup. At the corner of his eyes, Raven were blushed hard then adjusting her glasses.

Shit. He cursed under his breath. She IS adorable IN glasses.

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justagirlwithapen32 · 4 years

Text

And Time Came Round Again

He found her presence familiar. She thought she'd dealt with his death. A tale of two soul-mates separated by time, reuniting briefly once more. NejiSaku fluff, time travel.

Neji was minding his own business (he really was) when it happened. One moment he was leaping through the trees, returning to the village from a solo mission, the next, he was flung back as a chakra explosion erupted almost directly in front of him. There’d been no hint of it, not a single warning, despite not having his byakugan activated. Even without it, there should have been some sign, but there had been nothing.

There was an overload of chakra emanating from where it had happened, and Neji could feel it permeating him, though he had no idea how it was doing that. There was nothing he could do about it, except get treatment once he returned to the village, but in the meantime, he was obliged to investigate what had happened. And what was happening. Right in the middle of where the explosion had occurred, the basic outline of a person appeared.

Rather quickly, that outline became an actual person, a male, roughly six foot, twenty-seven to thirty years old. Neji instinctively took note of the man’s features, also noting the scratched Kiri hitai-ate on his head. He immediately moved into a defensive stance, but the nukenin ignored him, taking off immediately. The Hyuuga prodigy would have given chase, but four more outlines appeared, then coalesced into four Leaf ANBU operatives.

“Where’s the target?” one with a dog mask immediately spoke, and a cat masked ANBU pointed in the direction the nukenin had taken off in.

“Cat, Bear, track him down, I’ll be there in a minute.” The two ANBU in question immediately took off. “Fox, it seems there’s an eyewitness,” the ANBU who seemed to be the Captain spoke. “Check him for chakra residue. Hyuuga, over here, now.”

Years of automatically following his superior’s orders had Neji moving over to them without question. “Fox,” the Captain said. “Can you handle this? Fox? Fox!”

The Fox ANBU had been staring at him, Neji realised belatedly. “Sorry, taichou,” the ANBU spoke, their voice feminine. “Hyuuga, this way, I need to check you over.”

“I’m heading out after Cat and Bear,” the Captain said. “Get rid of the chakra, Fox, then send him off. We’ll be back as soon as we acquire the target.”

“Yes, taichou,” Fox said, and then Neji was alone with the ANBU.

“Sit over here,” Fox said, indicating to a fallen log.

Neji sat and watched as the ANBU approached him, hands glowing green. A medic, then. The way she worked on him filled him with a sense of familiarity, and he wondered if he knew her. Not that he would ask, she was ANBU, after all. No one was supposed to know who they were. The glowing hands hovered over him in diagnostic mode, before a hand came down to rest on his chest so she could begin eliminating the chakra they’d spoken of.

Years of training to notice things allowed Neji to realise that the ANBU was shaking slightly as she healed him. There were few who would even notice such a thing, she hid it well. His observation skills were almost unparalleled, though.

“Are you alright, ANBU-san?” he asked. “Your hand is shaking slightly.”

“Oh! Uh… side effect of the chakra,” she told him, and Neji wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “How are you feeling, Hyuuga-san? Any dizziness or shaking yourself?”

“A little nausea,” Neji admitted. “No shaking, though.”

She nodded and concentrated on the healing. The minutes ticked by, then she said, “Sorry I was staring at you before. You just… You remind me of someone I knew once, someone who… who died. He, um… He was a Hyuuga, like you.”

Neji tried to think of his family members who might have died in the last decade, with a few who came to mind. She seemed to realise what he was thinking (though how, he had no idea) and said, “It was a long time ago, during the war.”

“Ah.”

Then this kunoichi might be older than he’d been mentally calculating. He’d thought she might be in her early twenties, but if she’d lost her Hyuuga friend in the third shinobi war, then she might be older, perhaps in her thirties, then. He knew that Gai-sensei was about thirty at the moment, though he’d denied it vehemently when Tenten had brought it up the other week.

“I’ve nearly finished,” she murmured. “There’s quite a bit of the chakra here… Were you standing right next to it or something?”

“If you mean the chakra explosion, it happened almost directly in front of me,” Neji told her.

“That would do it,” she said.

She was rather chatty for an ANBU, Neji decided, especially when she asked, “So, how old are you, Hyuuga? Sixteen, maybe?”

“Seventeen, ANBU-san,” he replied, and she sighed.

“Aah, I miss being seventeen,” she said. “So young and naive to the world, despite everything going on around me… Got yourself a girlfriend, Hyuuga?”

A wistful image of pink hair flitted though his mind, and Neji stiffened slightly at the question. The ANBU noticed though, and was immediately apologising. “Sorry if I’m being too forward, Hyuuga-san,” she spoke. “Just trying to alleviate any tension. Aah! There you go. All fixed up now. Still nauseas?”

“A little,” Neji admitted, feeling that sensation of familiarity wash over him again.

He realised then that her manner was rather similar to a certain medic nin he knew, but she was definitely not in ANBU. “The feeling should pass, Hyuuga-san,” she told him. “Just stay seated for at least ten minutes, then you should be fine.”

They stayed there for awhile, Neji sitting stiffly on the log, wondering at how much she reminded him of Sakura, feeling uncomfortable as the ANBU tried not to be too obvious with her staring. After about ten minutes, Neji was about to speak up about heading back to the village, when suddenly the ANBU captain was there. Fox jumped up and immediately went over to check on him.

“Everything’s done,” the Captain said as Fox healed his minor wounds. “Is he clear of the chakra?”

“All of it is purged from his system,” Fox said, stepping back once her job was done. “He’s good to go.”

The Captain turned to him. “Head back to the village now,” he said. “I don’t think I need to stress with you the need to not mention this to anyone.”

Neji nodded and stood. “I understand, ANBU-taichou,” he said, bowing slightly.

Neji took off then, resuming his course back to the village. Before he was out of range, he gave in to his curiosity and activated his byakugan, looking back to see Fox, leaning into her Captain as if for support. She was shaking… crying, Neji realised. Quickly deactivating his kekkei genkai, he quickened his pace and resolved to put this matter behind him.

OoOoO

Sakura tried to hold back her tears, but when Kakashi opened his arms, she fell into them immediately, letting loose her sobs. It had been so unexpected, to see him here. After all these years, having to put his death behind her, to move on, when the two of them hadn’t really been able to… Her heart twisted and she sobbed harder, oblivious to her returning team mates, their target flung over Yamato’s shoulder.

Yamato and Sai stood by awkwardly as Sakura cried, until Sai hesitantly spoke up, “Perhaps it would be best if we returned. I… I know Ino-chan will be willing to assist in comforting you.”

Sakura pulled away from Kakashi, trying to get a hold of herself. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “We should d-definitely go now.”

“Will you be alright, Sakura?” Yamato asked, and she nodded.

As they headed off to a secluded area to begin the trip home, Sakura thought briefly on why they were there. Orochimaru had sent a message, telling them that a nukenin had stolen some research into time travel that he had. It had taken them months, but they’d finally managed to track him down, just as he was attempting the time travelling jutsu.

Thanks to the research they’d done, they were able to do their own jutsu, and even managed to turn up exactly when he had. Now they had to get the nukenin back and destroy all evidence and research for the jutsu. Orochimaru hadn’t been happy with that part, but it was necessary in exchange for their help.

“Alright, everyone ready?” Kakashi asked, then he and Sai started up the jutsu.

Sakura smiled softly at the idea of seeing her daughter soon, and, if reports were correct, maybe her husband as well.

They vanished in a flash of light, back to the future.

#nejisaku #haruno sakura #neji hyuuga #time travel #anbu #kakashi #sai #yamato #canon

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Make The Most of the Dark (Bitney) - Puppy

Summary:

Bianca is playing a babysitter for her cousin and a group of her friends at prom.

Courtney has come with someone else but they seem to have gotten distracted.

What happens when they lock eyes and meet up again?

Inspired by Madonna’s “Crazy For You”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301046

A/N: Merry Christmas, folks. This was for @opalescent-cheetah for a song fic challenge. I hope you all enjoy and have a happy holidays.

Swaying room as the music starts

Strangers making the most of the dark

Two by two their bodies become one

Bianca observed the dancing couples in front of her and hoped no one heard her laughing over the music. The DJ just switched to a different track: something schmaltzy and slow, almost like how that night had been. Some of the couples in front of her honestly looked ridiculous to her. Most of them were either glued together or it was very obvious it was the first time they had danced together. Were they waiting for a third person to sandwich themselves between? If they were leaving room for Jesus, the space between could have fit Him and two other disciples.

She wasn’t intending to spend the past few hours leaned against the wall of the gym counting down the minutes, but here she was: standing in a dress she sewed herself and her reddish-brown hair in a fancy updo. She’d been to cotillion, and the atmosphere was much different. If those instructors ever knew what she was up to now, they’d probably have the biggest fit.

Bianca came with a few friends, but she didn’t really have a date. One of them practically begged her to drive, but she wasn’t aware that she was bringing a whole squad. They didn’t hate her, they just needed a designated driver if/when things got too much. Knowing that particular friend group, things were to get too much.

I see you through the smokey air

Can’t you feel the weight of my stare

You’re so close but still a world away

Among the dancing couples and general modes of merriment, someone started to approach her. Bianca squinted, as one of the disco lights was right in her eye. “Do you want me to unlock the car? You have to get whatever it is yourself. Just try not to hurt yourself on the way…” She did a quick double take and, realizing her mistake, she apologized profusely “Oh my god, I am SO SORRY. I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s fine,” the other girl responded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah… at least you aren’t one of my charges. Good thing you’re just one of those short-skirted, nice-titted, blonde bitches.” Oh shit… that definitely came out wrong. Please don’t leave me here. She hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m one of many. Glad you think these are nice though.” She laughed; her blonde curls bouncing with every sound, and Bianca couldn’t stop staring at them. Great, she wasn’t offended. Her sense of humor… wasn’t strange, but it took some getting used to; it’s very off-putting at first listen. “Wait… don’t we have a class together?”

“Yeah! AP Lit.” The auburn-haired girl slowly nodded her head. “You’re Courtney, right?” She nodded her head. “Cool…” The tension between those two wasn’t awkward, per say but “So… what brings you over here? I’m just looking to see if those guys don’t do anything stupid,” She gestured to a group on the other side of the gym, loitering by the punch bowl. Bianca silently prayed they didn’t spike it. “And then to drive them to the after party… wherever it is. Probably some Motel 6 in the middle of nowhere…. Or some sketchy apartment uptown.”

“The apartment isn’t that sketchy,” Courtney added, then stopped herself. “Well that depends on who’s hosting this year. Is Jared hosting again?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. No one told me and I might not know until I get back in the car. Dory wasn’t invited, so I assume she and her friends will be crashing.”

“Wait, Dory?”

“Adore. My little cousin. She’s visiting from Azusa and she wanted to see what the scene was like. How was I to know she’d bring an entourage?”

“Oh my…”

“And you’re still dodging the question there, Court.”

“My date kinda blew me off last minute. Very last minute, now that I think about it.”

Well, that answers that question, Bianca let out a breath before answering. “Oh shit…”

“And it sucks because I drove her here! Just for her to spend all her time with someone else!” Courtney stared directly at her ditcher as she picked a few petals off her corsage. “She loves me, she loves me not.”

For a time, the two girls just stood there, wallowing in their own problems. They stared at each other, unsure of their next move. Bianca could only just take in her classmate’s beauty and the fact that she came with a date only made it better; there was nothing more beautiful than the unattainable, she always said. However, there was this chance. There was still something about Courtney that just itched at her brain a certain way. They were never really close, but there were always qualities she admired: her effervescence, the way she just lit up whatever room she was in.

“I think I should make her jealous.”

“What?”

“Why not make her jealous? She’s dancing with someone else, so obviously, I should get back.” Courtney replied, though her mind may not have been the most sound. Revenge often clouded this sort of judgement.

Some gears turned in the girl’s mind. The next song came on and Bianca pulled her classmate into the center of the gym. “B, what are you doing?” But she didn’t say anything more as the two girls wordlessly swayed along to the music, a little closer than what they had been before.

Courtney laid her head on Bianca’s chest and stared directly at her date with a look of both pettiness and regret. This may have seemed fun in the moment, but they just had to talk it out sooner or later. Maybe this was some big misunderstanding that could easily be cleared the next day. Yes, her girlfriend was great, but no one should ever feel like a third wheel on their own date. Being with this… mutual friend at best felt comforting, motherly.

The blonde looked up at her dancing partner who stared back at her. There was this gravitational pull drawing themselves closer and closer until their lips briefly met. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t I?” Bianca quietly apologized before being shushed.

“You’re good.” The other girl hesitated a bit before continuing. “You can keep going if you want.”

“You sure?”

Courtney nodded again and reinitiated the kiss.

Sure the two had their own things to worry about, but in this moment it was just the two of them in the middle of the dance floor. Nothing else could have escaped that feeling.

What I’m dying to say, is that

I’m crazy for you

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

I never wanted anyone like this

It’s all brand new

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #courtney act #bitney #high school au #lesbian au #song fic #fluff #puppy

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mayquita · 4 years

Text

Damn You For Making Me Love You (8/15) - Eye Of The Tiger

Thank you so so much, for your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.

Beta-Reader: Thank you so much, @ultraluckycatnd I couldn’t have asked for a better beta. Thank you for all your effort, your suggestions, your advice and for always being there when I needed you.

Special mention to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld, thank you so much for your perpetual support and for believing in me and in the story. Thank you again to the moderators of the event, @captainswanbigbang for giving us this opportunity and making this possible. You all are the best :)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are close friends and co-workers. And both are in love with each other. The problem? They keep their feelings secret not only to the other but also to the rest of their friends. When Elsa, Emma’s best friend and Liam, Killian’s brother and Emma’s boss find out, they decide to form an alliance and work as a team with a clear goal, to get Emma and Killian to take the next step in their relationship and confess their love for each other.

Rating: M

Word count: ~ 9200 (98k total in 15 chapters)

Ao3 / FFnet

About this chapter: (Another long chapter. Sorry???) New flashback, new performance, and...Emma being Emma...

Chapter 7: Eye of the Tiger

Emma - Four years ago

Emma had only been working at The Kraken for three weeks but she had already established a work routine that would allow her to get the most out of her hours there.

There was so much to do to boost the bar that she spent perhaps too much time there, but she didn't mind at all, not if it meant being able to develop her creative abilities.

She came to work every day early in the afternoon when the bar was not yet open. There was something about observing the empty place that made her ideas flow more easily. She also took advantage of those early hours to chat with Liam, the only other person who came to the place that early, and to elaborate on different action plans together.

Emma liked Liam and enjoyed these moments alone with him. He seemed a responsible and kind guy, and, most important to her, open to any suggestion she could offer. Although he always maintained a professional attitude, Emma suspected that the bar meant much more to Liam than a simple business, so she was even more determined to help.

Killian, the younger brother, usually arrived a little later. He also seemed to have an established routine. He always helped Liam leave everything ready for the opening of the bar and then spent a few minutes playing the guitar and singing, just like the first time she had laid eyes on him.

The attraction Emma had felt towards him had not diminished with the passing of the weeks, but rather the opposite. Even so, she kept up her facade as a tough girl and always adhered to her professional role, trying to ignore the reactions of her body whenever Killian walked around.

The fact that he kept singing while she tried to work didn't help her cause, though. His melodious voice had the ability to seep not only through her ears but through all the fibers of her being, generating a warm buzz under her skin.

Today things seemed to follow the same path. Liam had retreated to the backroom to restock some empty spaces on the shelves while she remained perched on her favorite stool near the bar and Killian was on stage singing, of course.

"So, you went to college here in Boston, Swan?"

Emma was not surprised when Killian stopped singing in the middle of the song to address her. This had also been a common practice in recent days, he sporadically throwing some personal questions to her in order, she supposed, to try to get to know her better.

She always managed to give evasive answers or simply rolled her eyes without bothering to respond. This time it wasn't going to be any different.

"Uh-huh," she replied, without looking away from the laptop screen.

After a few seconds of silence on both sides, he began to sing again. She didn't even have time to open the next photo file when silence fell again on stage, in anticipation of the next question.

“Just who are you, Emma Swan?"

This time Emma did look at him, meeting an expression of genuine curiosity, the same that had come off his voice. She was tempted to ignore him, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, as if he really wanted to know her, that caused her mouth to act on its own.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

"Perhaps I would."

The lyrics of a song came to her mind at that very moment, and again, before she even realized what she was doing, she heard her own words. "I'm a survivor."

The answer seemed to satisfy Killian. He grinned at her before directing his gaze back to his guitar. When Emma heard the first chords of the next song, she gave such a start that she almost fell off her stool. What the hell? Was this guy some kind of sorcerer or something with the power to read her mind? He just had begun to sing the same song that had come to her mind just a few seconds before.

“Rising up, back on the street

Did my time, took my chances

Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet

Just a ‘woman’ and her will to survive.”

The bastard had changed the gender on purpose. For her. Although Emma would never admit it, that was the first time she felt butterflies in her belly, which, despite being a pleasant sensation, did not predict anything good. Nothing at all.

Emma - December 2019

Emma hated feeling weak. Even though it had been three days since her accident, she still did not feel fully recovered. The trails of the incident lingered in the form of slight dizziness and dull pain in her shoulder so, as soon as she woke up, she walked directly to the couch and dropped herself down there, too lazy and still aching to do anything more productive.

In addition to her discomfort, she wasn't doing well mentally on her days off and spent most of her time at home, sulk mode on, unable to distract herself by anything.

Well, to be honest, Killian was a distraction. Too much of a distraction, in fact. She should be thankful for his constant presence these days. The reality, however, was quite different. She was having a hard time dealing with his continued attention.

It wasn't because she didn't value his efforts. The only reason, though she would never admit it aloud, was because she wasn't used to having anyone take care of her in her weakest moments. She found it difficult to show her most vulnerable side after so many years of having to take care of herself, with no family or friends to watch over her.

For that reason, when Killian appeared at her door at ten in the morning for the third day in a row, she was not in her most hospitable mood.

The sound of the keys at her front door announced his presence even before he appeared. Emma let out a groan of annoyance as she regretted the moment she decided to give him the keys to her apartment a year ago.

She could handle Elsa's or even Liam's attentions better. She still remembered with some fondness that one time she had come down with the flu a year and a half ago and how Liam had been the first to come to her rescue, since Elsa had been accompanying her girls to a competition outside the city.

She had felt so sick on that occasion that, although she had protested that she could take care of herself, she had found herself so weak that, for once, she had lowered her defenses and allowed someone else to take the reins. Killian had soon replaced his brother to take care of her but since she had spent most of her time raving because of the fever, she had barely been able to assess his attentions to her.

Everything was different this time. Although weak and sore, she kept the rest of her faculties intact, which meant that her thoughts ran wild in her head. Although her feelings for Killian had not stopped growing — or perhaps because of it, she was no longer sure —she would have preferred it to be Elsa exclusively, or even Liam, as the one in charge of taking care of her. Elsa and Liam were just friends, very close friends, actually. Killian, however, was much more, at least for her.

Her train of thought was full of inconsistencies; she was fully aware of it. The constant presence of Killian worrying about her was both driving her crazy and causing the walls around her heart to weaken. And the worst thing was that she still wasn't sure about his feelings towards her.

"Good morning, love." He was in front of her in an instant, swaggering as he walked, a huge grin on his face. In his hand, a paper bag from her favorite coffee shop.

"What are you doing here?" Her response came as a grumble, as she laid on the couch, avoiding direct contact with his gaze.

He, of course, chose to ignore her, his expression unperturbed as he headed for the kitchen area.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked from there, as he opened and closed cabinets and drawers to get the things he needed. In HER kitchen.

"Fine," she mumbled. And it was true, especially if she ignored the persistent pounding in her head, or the small dizziness when she made sudden movements. But she wasn't going to give more explanations that increased his level of concern and that hint of guilt that sometimes clouded his gaze. She wasn't going to deny that she was somehow pleased. But on the other hand, all that worry made her nervous. Did he worry that much just because she was his friend or because she was something else to him?

"Have you had breakfast?” His rhetorical question broke her train of thought. She remained stubbornly silent, with her lips firmly pressed together for a few seconds, but finally gave up, sensing that he would keep insisting.

“Uh-huh.” ( No )

“Liar.”

She huffed in annoyance, hating that he could read her so well. “Why bother asking me if you already know the answer?” Her voice came out in a tone perhaps too sharp, so she took a deep breath before continuing. “Listen, I’m fine. I’m not a little girl you have to supervise. I’m able to take care of myself,” she said without bothering to make contact with his gaze.

Still, she couldn’t help glancing sideways at the kitchen island. His expression hadn’t changed, but she could feel the muscle in his cheek flexing in and out, a sign that he was losing his patience. He kept his voice calm as he headed back to her, though.

“Well, since you’re an adult and responsible person, you must know that you should have more than just coffee in your stomach while you are taking your medication.”

Enough. She rose abruptly, ready to face him. What she didn’t count on was her weakness and the sudden dizziness that arose the moment she stood up, making her whole body falter.

“Easy, Swan.” Killian was there in an instant, his strong arms holding her to keep her from falling. And she hated him a little more for that. Or she loved him more, depending on how she wanted to think about it.

"I'm fine," Emma hissed as she stirred to escape his grasp. His touch suddenly felt like too much, leaving her too weakened to face him. Even so, as she was already standing, she headed toward the kitchen with hesitant steps, feeling a bit uncomfortable by the moment of previous tension.

Killian stood still. When Emma finally dared to look at him in the eye, she could detect that he was hurt. His lips pressed together in a grim line and his brow furrowed. "If my presence is so annoying, I can leave."

Yes, I want you to leave because I can not handle having you so close without having any idea of your feelings. Because all I want is to make that purse of your lips disappear by pressing mine onto yours. Because this whole situation is killing me. She obviously wasn't going to confess her true feelings, but that was no excuse for her behavior. On the other hand, she didn't have the heart to be so cruel as to make him leave, considering her ungrateful behavior so far. Instead, she reached for the bag he had brought with him, inspecting the contents.

Two delightful-looking bear claws were waiting for her. The smell — like heaven — coming through the bag made her mouth water. Without further ado, she grabbed one of the pastries and bit a portion, unable to prevent a sound of pleasure escaping her throat.

A wave of guilt seized her as she glanced at Killian. He hadn't moved from his place, his arms folded across his chest, his expression impassive, his gaze perhaps too intense.

"Do you want one?" She offered him the other bear claw as a sign of making peace, which was funny, considering that he was the one who brought them. Her contrite expression and softer voice was her way to emphasize her offer to make up.

After a deep breath, Killian approached her and grabbed the claw she was holding out. Emma reached for her chocolate to-go cup —with whipped cream and cinnamon, of course. Killian knew all her preferences. Well, almost all of them— and they both had their breakfast in quiet silence, only broken by some sounds of satisfaction coming from her as she savored the food. His expression softened the moment he sat next to her on one of her kitchen stools. And just like that, the previous tension seemed to have diluted and she was comfortable again around her best friend. It must have been the ingestion of sugar, which has brought some lucidity into my mind, she thought.

After finishing their meals, Killian washed his hands and approached her again. "Well, let's examine those little wounds. May I?" Emma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and nodded instead. He had taken his role as a nurse very seriously and performed the same operation every day, ignoring her complaints. This time, given their previous little showdown, she simply let him do it.

She sat on the stool as he approached her, his fingers gently pulling back a strand of hair that had fallen on the wound over her left eyebrow. Although their bodies were not touching, she could sense both his warmth and his scent, feeling a little dizzy again, but this time for completely different reasons. "It looks like it's healing well." A sound of approval accompanied his words, which came in a murmur as if he were speaking to himself.

"What about your shoulder?"

"It still hurts a little," she admitted grudgingly.

"May l?" He pointed at her shoulder, reluctant to touch it without her permission. Emma nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. The tank top she was wearing left her shoulder bare, so Killian turned around behind her and pulled her hair delicately apart, her bruised skin exposed.

She was about to shoot a patient-doctor style joke, but the words died in her mouth the moment she felt his touch. On previous days, he had only examined her wound, barely an accidental contact of his fingers on her skin. This time, though, his fingertips traced delicate patterns over her shoulder, pressing gently, his touch almost imperceptible, like a feather, but enough to send a chill down her spine and leave a path of goosebumps. Damn traitorous body.

"Does it hurt?" he murmured, his warm breath caressing her neck.

Emma shook her head slightly, her throat unable to make any coherent sound. She remained still while his fingers continued their course over her skin.

From her position, she couldn't see his movements but she could feel his body coming closer to hers, his lips approaching dangerously to her neck. Emma closed her eyes, her heart pounding as she launched a silent prayer for Killian to finally press his lips against her skin. The touch never came, though. Instead, his warm breath was a sufficient substitute to send waves of heat toward her center.

After a few seconds that seemed eternal and at the same time they seemed to have lasted only an instant, his fingers finally moved away, her body missing his warmth in the same moment.

He cleared his throat. "It looks nasty, but I guess that's a sign that it's healing too. Have you taken your pain pills?" Despite the intimate moment, his voice seemed calm, as if he hadn't been about to kiss her neck. Because this time she was sure it hadn't been just her imagination.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Emma then got up, walked to the sofa and dropped onto it. She knew without looking that Killian was picking up the remains of breakfast. The act itself caused a new wave of anger to rise inside her. She wasn't a fucking invalid, she could still clean her own apartment. Still, she wasn't in the mood to argue with him again, so she tried to direct her thoughts down a different path. "Any plans for this morning? Don't you have to rehearse or something?"

Killian joined her on the couch, grabbing the TV remote. "Nope, just to delight you with my company and keep you from dying of boredom. Who gets to choose today?" He gestured toward the television as he bumped his shoulder lightly with hers — the good one, fortunately.

"It's ten o'clock in the morning, Jones. Don't you have something better to do?" As she spoke, she snatched the TV remote from his hands, a giggle bubbling in her throat as she saw his expression of surprise at her unexpected movement.

He ignored her question. Instead, he let out a sigh of resignation. "Okay, you're choosing, I guess."

They spent the next few minutes in silence, their eyes focused on the screen. Her mind, however, was not paying any attention to the show but was experiencing an internal struggle. On the one hand, the fact that Killian cared so much about her was a balm to her heart. On the other hand, his proximity made her feel frustrated and confused. It was like having a treasure at your fingertips without ever reaching it.

This current scenario was not new to them. They had already shared countless Netflix sessions or movie marathons both in her apartment and in his. For that reason, she buried the disturbing thoughts in a corner of her mind, ready to spend the morning huddled next to her best friend.

After a few minutes, she felt an extra weight on her shoulder. Killian had tilted his head slightly and was now resting on her. A few seconds later, she heard soft snores. He had fallen asleep.

A wave of guilt washed over her then. Her heart tightened as a lump formed in her throat. Until now, she hadn't been fully aware of the fact that Killian had come to her apartment every morning since the accident. Despite working late into the night, he came to her house early in the morning just to ensure her well-being. And yet, she was utterly sulky towards him, without even bothering to show any gesture of gratitude.

She was a coward. Although their displays of affection were plentiful, only in those moments, when he was asleep and unaware of her actions, she dared to really show her feelings beyond friendship.

She moved his body gently to prevent him from waking up, placing his head on her lap, so that he was more comfortable. He sputtered something in his sleep, but his breathing remained calm and he didn't protest the change of position.

Her fingers then slid over his hair, stroking it gently, depositing in these affectionate caresses all the gratitude and affection she didn't dare to utter aloud.

Two days later, she was tired of being locked up at home. She had the feeling that if she didn't get a change of scenery soon, her head would explode, and not because of her concussion. So, ignoring the advice of her friends, she returned to work on Friday afternoon.

At the very moment she entered The Kraken, she was enveloped by a bear hug from Liam. "Welcome back, love." Emma smiled at him, pleased to see him in his usual place and not worrying about her at home.

Although Liam didn't go as far as Killian did, he had come to visit her more often than usual in recent days. He behaved more like a brother, while Killian... She unconsciously turned her eyes to the stage. There he was, guitar in hand and his gaze focused on her, his lips curled into a wide smile with the ability to melt her heart.

Emma spent the first half-hour catching up with the business. She had missed The Kraken; she considered it as her second home — well, rather the third one, considering she spent half her free time at the Jones' house. She allowed herself a few moments, letting her gaze wander around and reveling in the little details like the boat-shaped bar, the perfectly arranged shelves with the different drinks, the stage area, and all the sailor motifs that adorned the walls. She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply, letting the characteristic smell of the bar penetrate through her nostrils. Her lips parted in a smile of satisfaction. She was back.

Nothing had changed in her absence. The website was still working quite well, customers were still leaving reviews and compliments to the three of them, and the poll she had created to help in choosing the next song for the duet hadn’t stopped getting participants. At that moment, she realized that she hadn't spoken yet with Killian about that, and since it was Friday, they had to hurry up with the rehearsals if they wanted to have the song ready in time.

For that reason, the instant Killian took a break in the rehearsals, she approached him to comment on the subject. "Hey, the poll is working well. Do you think we should sing the winning song or have you thought of another one?" She looked up at the stage, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her pants.

"For the duet?" Killian brought his hand up to scratch behind his ear, something he always did when he was nervous for some reason.

"Yeah, for this Saturday."

"Hey, about that. Liam... why don't you explain it to her?" Killian turned to his brother, avoiding her gaze. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, intrigued by what was happening.

"Yeah, is there something you have to tell me, Liam?" Since Killian was still ignoring her, Emma turned to face his brother.

Liam stood behind the counter, arms crossed over his chest, a glacial glance directed at Killian.

"Liam..." Emma insisted with a warning tone.

Liam's eyes focused on her this time. After clearing his throat, he finally explained himself. "Uhm, we thought that since you're still convalescing, it's better if this Saturday you stay among the crowd, just taking photos. We don't want to burden you with work."

"What?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You mean that I'm recovered enough to take pictures and serve drinks, activities in which I have to use my still sore arm, but I can't get on stage for just three minutes?" She felt a small pull of anger in her stomach causing her voice to rise.

"No one ever talked about serving drinks. In fact, you shouldn't even be here. You haven't fully recovered yet, but since you insisted, we thought it would be a good idea for you to resume your work slowly." Liam's calm speech was meant to placate her anger, she was aware, but he failed spectacularly. Far from being reassured, she was growing angrier by the minute.

Deep down, Emma knew that her reaction was perhaps a bit exaggerated. She had enjoyed their performances so much but in recent weeks, she could barely control the disappointment she felt when she was deprived of something she wanted to do because of a poor excuse. And worst of all, there was only one person to blame.

She turned abruptly, facing Killian again and pointing at him with an accusing finger. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she hissed, her jaw clenched.

"Swan..." Killian's gaze at last held hers, but she didn’t like what she saw as she looked into his eyes. Instead of looking regretful, his expression showed that he was about to lose his temper. The fact that he was still on stage didn't help either. She felt small as she had to look up to face him.

"Oh, you dare look at me now? You're a coward, using your brother that way..." She was harsher than she intended, but this whole thing was throwing her off. At this point, she couldn't stop. She needed to discharge all the frustration she had accumulated over the last several days. "Who do you think you are to decide what is most convenient for me?"

"Are you going to let me explain myself or not?" She was getting him angry; she could tell by the way the muscles in his jaw tightened and by his tone of voice, which was higher than normal. Yet he held himself in place without losing his self-control.

Emma ignored his question. She didn't need explanations, all she needed was to vent her anger somehow. "I do not want explanations. I'm sick of your overprotection. I didn't ask for it, I don't want it. I know how to take care of myself. I don't need you." She regretted the moment her words came out of her mouth, but couldn't help herself.

At least her words got a reaction out of Killian. He unceremoniously placed the guitar on the ground and stepped off the stage, his arms on either side of his body, his hands curled into fists, his gaze so cold it could freeze the warmest heart. She'd only seen that look of fury on his face a couple of times, when he had faced some guy trying to take advantage of her in the bar. "I need some fresh air," he muttered under his breath, passing by and heading to the exit.

In a second, Killian vanished from the room. It was then that the reality of what had happened hit her hard. Emma felt defeated but her frustration, far from dissipating, had increased. Well done, Emma. Besides not feeling any relief, she had also used her best friend, the most important person in her life, as a punching bag, infuriating him like never before.

She let out a deep breath as she walked with defeated steps and sank onto a counter stool. Not daring to look at Liam, she whispered with her head buried in her arms that were crossed on the counter. "I fucked up."

What is wrong with me? Why am I being such an asshole lately? She wished she had magic to be able to go back in time or cast a memory loss spell on The Kraken so that everyone would forget what had just happened. Reluctant to lift her head, she hoped Liam would begin to give her a talk. He remained silent, though, so she gave up and, after a sigh, finally dared to look at her boss.

Liam was looking at her, his arms crossed over his chest and a serious expression on his face, but he didn't seem angry.

"Okay, come on, lecture me."

Her boss continued in silence for another few seconds, his hand caressing his jaw as if he were debating what to say to her. After a deep exhale, he finally spoke.

"Do you know that Killian almost had a panic attack when he saw you falling and hitting your head against the ice? In fact, we all worried. You were about to lose consciousness, Emma."

Although his voice remained calm, without a hint of reproach, she felt more and more uncomfortable, knowing in advance that she wouldn't like what she was going to hear. Still, she bit her lower lip and nodded in silence, encouraging him to continue.

"Killian is overprotective, it's in his nature. He acts this way with me, with you, and he also was overprotective with Milah." Emma's heart dropped to her stomach when she heard the name of Killian's first love. Even Liam had to pause, in clear evidence that he was also affected when talking about her. "I know it can be a bit overwhelming at times, but when you've lost almost everything in life, you can't risk losing anyone else. You should know that, Emma."

Emma tried to swallow the lump growing in her dry throat, Liam's words weighing like slabs on her shoulders. Tears threatened to spill over, but she pressed her eyes tightly shut, preventing them from falling.

Liam rested his arms on the counter and reached out his hand, holding her chin gently. "Tell me, Emma, how would you have acted, if Killian had been the injured person?"

Emma put her hands on her face, her palms pressing hard against her eyes to keep the tears from falling. Everything was in vain. She shook her head. "Oh God, I've been a real pain in the ass." She couldn't deny it. She'd have acted in exactly the same way or even worse.

"I would have probably killed that guy in the first place and then camped in your apartment to make sure he was fully recovered," she admitted, her voice accompanied by a sound mixed between a snort and a sob. She had been so ridiculous.

"So, do you understand now how much we care about you? We know that you are a tough lass. You've had to take care of yourself for a long time. Why don't you let others take that role now? What’s more, you better accept it because neither Elsa nor I, let alone the idiot I have as a brother, will never let you down."

A sense of gratitude seized her. Tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks and the lump in her throat kept her from speaking, so she did what she did best in these cases. She acted. She moved quickly to reach the area behind the bar where Liam stood and lunged at him, burying her face against his chest, her arms tight around his waist. "Thank you," she whispered.

Liam responded to her embrace, holding her against him, his hand gently caressing her back and causing a warm sensation to travel through her veins and reaching her heart. She felt safe and protected in Liam's firm arms, but above all, she felt valued. She mattered to these two incredible Jones brothers, who had not only accepted her but had made her part of their little family. Whatever happened with Killian, they were so important to her on so many levels, that she didn't know what would happen to her if she ever lost them.

"And now, don't you think you should do something else?" he murmured against her ear.

Emma pulled away a little, noting how his chin was pointing toward the exit. After another sigh, she wiped her tears as she bit her lower lip. "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

To her surprise, Liam barked out a laugh. "If you look at him with those puppy eyes and that regretful expression, I'm pretty sure he will. Besides, I don't think he can be mad at you for more than ten seconds. But just in case, this might help.” Liam handed her two bottles of beer, a grin pulling at his lips. "Hold on a sec."

Liam disappeared in an instant in the direction of his office, reappearing a few seconds later holding both Emma's coat and Killian's. "Take this, it's freezing cold out there and the idiot didn't grab his coat." Emma nodded, the corners of her lips raised slightly. As she put her coat on, an idea of how she could handle her conversation with Killian popped into her mind.

As she walked toward the exit, the realization of what both Killian and Liam meant to her settled into her heart, making it beat faster and put a smile on her lips. Liam was to her like the brother she had always dreamed of, a protective rock that would have her back forever. And Killian... Killian was everything to her. The admission of her feelings was a fact; now she just had to overcome her irrational fear and find the courage to admit her feelings to him as well. That would not happen today, but her whole body vibrated in anticipation. Soon, she whispered to herself.

A gust of cold wind hit her in the face the moment she stepped outside. "Shit." Her breath came out in puffs of steam as she looked around in search of Killian, without result.

A sigh of resignation escaped her mouth. She had hoped to remedy the situation as soon as possible, but it seemed that Killian was not going to make it easy. At least she had an idea of where she could go, so she immediately directed her steps toward the harbor walk near the bar.

The moment she saw the harbor, her gaze scanned the area and luckily, she soon found Killian. He was leaning against the railing, his sight lost in the horizon, remaining impassive despite the freezing cold.

Emma approached tentatively, all her determination suddenly gone, replaced by fear of how he might react to her presence. But she wasn't a coward. Besides, she had forgotten the gloves and the damn beers were freezing her hands, so she had better get rid of at least one of them sooner rather than later.

"Hey." Emma paused, waiting for a reaction from Killian. He barely turned his head, simply giving her a sidelong glance. He then turned his gaze back to the horizon.

"You forgot this." She handed him his coat. "You and I know that if you catch a cold, it will be my turn to become your nurse, but better if we don't take a chance, eh?" Her words came in a soft, conciliatory tone, all the previous anger gone.

Killian grabbed his coat and put it on, still avoiding her gaze. He reached into his pockets until he found something. Gloves. Then he handed them to her without a word, taking the beers from her hand.

She accepted them with half a smile. Her heart warmed at Killian's gesture. Nevertheless, despite her hurtful words and his anger, he still found a way to ensure her well-being.

"You came here to tell me that it would be alright if you took care of me, but it’s wrong if I do the same for you?" When he finally decided to speak, his words didn't show anger, but he seemed defeated and hurt.

Emma swallowed hard, but since she had come this far, she did not flinch. "I came here because it's freezing cold." Before continuing, she reached out her arm, her hand squeezing his forearm gently, catching his attention at last. His eyes sought hers, a raised eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. "And to tell you that I'm sorry I behaved like an asshole before." She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, hoping that both her words and her expression showed how regretful she was.

Killian let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry too, Swan." He ran his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. The look he gave her then made her heart flip. It was so intense, so filled with unspoken feelings that she had to blink for a moment to make sure she wasn't imagining it. "Maybe we shouldn't have made decisions for you, but you'd better get used to it, Emma. You're too important to Liam... and to me. You're not alone anymore."

"I'm getting the idea. I've had to take care of myself for so long that sometimes I forget that now I have both of you and Elsa."

"I know you're a tough and brave lass, but when you've been sick with a cold, you've let us take care of you. What was different this time?"

"I... I don't know. I guess I was scared too after the accident. I don't like feeling that weak," Emma admitted.

They remained silent for a few seconds, their gazes locked onto the ocean. The view of the horizon worked as a calming effect, her heart finally beating at a normal pace.

"I gather that this is your way of making up, but, seriously, did you really think that with this weather, beers were a good idea?" A sigh of relief escaped her mouth as his lips curled into a smirk, his eyes regaining their usual glow. He handed her one of the bottles.

Emma snorted. "That's your brother's fault. We could set up a coffee machine for these kinds of occasions," she joked, the tension between them finally gone.

"You could have turned to rum, instead." He bumped her shoulder lightly with his.

She raised her beer. "A toast, then?" Killian nodded, the two bottles crashing into the air.

"Cheers," they both said in unison.

After the first sip, Killian opened his arms. "You're shivering, Swan, come here." She didn't think twice and practically slammed into him, his warm body welcoming her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders tightly. She buried her head in his chest, feeling vulnerable but also safe and protected. This time, that didn't matter to her at all.

"I can't lose you." His words came in a whisper so faint that she wasn't sure if she had heard his voice or if it was only the sound of the wind playing with her imagination.

Saturday night.

"So what's up with those two?"

Emma looked up from the screen of her camera, her eyes following the direction of Ruby's gaze and finding both Liam and Elsa on the other side of the bar engaged, once more, in what seemed like a private conversation. The corners of her lips rose slightly as she looked back at Ruby. "Thank God I'm not the only one who has noticed."

"Right? Your friend seems to always be here, and, coincidentally, she always chooses the stool closest to Liam's section." Although Emma had already managed to convince Killian that something was cooking up between them, she was glad someone else had noticed their unusual behavior. Of course Ruby had always been characterized by being quite perceptive. She raised a naughty eyebrow while her lips drew a wicked grin. "And have you seen those puppy eyes our boss makes whenever she is around?"

"You know what? I'm already tired of this intrigue. It's time to act." Emma raised the hand that held her camera as she gave Ruby a conspiratorial look. "I already have my weapon ready."

"I have to see this." Ruby rubbed her hands together while raising her eyebrows playfully. "Killian! Cover me for a second, please." Ruby yelled at Killian as she waved her hand to get his attention.

Emma didn't miss how Killian looked at her first, his lips drawing a bright smile, and then raised his thumb to Ruby. Ruby blew a kiss in his direction before turning back to Emma. "I swear this bar sometimes looks like the ship of love," she commented while rolling her eyes. Emma suspected that Ruby wasn't just talking about Liam and Elsa, so she opted to ignore that statement and focus on her target instead.

Completely in sync, they both followed the same direction, Ruby from behind the bar and Emma in the front area. Liam and Elsa were so focused on each other that they didn't even realize that the pair had approached, so Emma rushed to act in order to catch them off guard.

"Say cheese!"

The reaction of both of them was immediate. Elsa jumped in her seat, dropping the glass she was holding, while Liam's eyes widened as he straightened his back suddenly, getting distance from Elsa. Luckily, the camera hid almost her entire face but even so, Emma had to bite back the laughter bubbling in the back of her throat.

"Oh my God Emma, look at the mess you made me make!" Elsa seemed a little mortified, both in her expression and in her voice. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't like you taking pictures of me when I'm off guard?"

"I didn't even get to shoot," Emma defended herself, schooling her features so as not to betray her amusement. Ruby, meanwhile, pressed her lips together, barely hiding the grin that threatened to appear as she handed Liam a cloth to clean the spilled liquid on the counter. "Besides, since my boss here isn’t letting me get behind the counter yet, I have no choice but to settle for taking pics."

"You can always just sit back and keep Elsa company," Liam replied, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. If Emma didn't know him well, she would think he was upset, but she could detect a hint of challenge on the expression of his face.

Emma's gaze traveled from Liam to Elsa before shrugging and commenting, "not sure about that, it seemed you were engaged in quite an intimate conversation." Emma paused for a second while placing air quotes around the word intimate. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"We weren't..."

"We just... we were simply talking about a new plan for next Monday, a movie night." It was Liam who finally gave an explanation but not before directing an almost imperceptible glance at Elsa, who remained silent, eyes cast down, and cheeks flushed. "In fact, you and Mulan are invited too. It will be fun." Liam turned to Ruby, who remained by his side.

"I’ll pass. I prefer to dedicate my only free night to other more pleasurable activities with my girlfriend." Ruby winked at them. "Also, the two blondes and the two Irish together in the same room? Too sugary for my taste." Her lips drew a wolfish smile before she turned around, without waiting for a reply, in the direction of her section on the bar.

Emma was tempted to make some other biting comment, but she detected Elsa's embarrassment, so she finally took pity on her friend. After all, Elsa had never forced her to talk about her feelings towards Killian, so the least Emma could do was respect her decision and wait for Elsa to trust her enough to confess what was really happening. Still, she couldn't resist doing something she hoped was harmless.

"So you don't say I didn’t warn you, pose for me guys. I wanna see those bright smiles!" Although Elsa rolled her eyes, she did what she was told, tilting her body slightly in her direction, while Liam leaned against the counter. They looked at her with similar expressions. They both seemed happy. That was what really mattered.

An hour later, the music from the stage enveloped The Kraken, the crowd kept chanting the lyrics while clapping and dancing to the rhythm of the melody. Emma slid among the people taking photos, immortalizing the success of the concert in the form of enraptured faces, raised arms, and smiles directed towards the stage.

It was a great night. Emma did spend some time chatting with Elsa while the boys worked behind the bar. It was always a pleasure to hang out with her friend, even if she was at her workplace.

She also felt exultant about Killian. After making peace the day before, Emma and Killian had been glued to each other for as long as possible, as if trying to make up after their fight. She felt almost fully recovered, a slight ache in her shoulder the only vestige of her accident.

She stared at the stage. Killian was giving it all up on stage, totally devoted to his audience. Damn it! He’s irresistible, she thought while licking her lips. White shirt, black vest, and tight jeans, the perfect set to make her want to climb up there and have her way with him without caring about anything or anyone. It might be relatively easy to hide her feelings, but when it came to physical attraction, she found it increasingly difficult to resist the temptation.

The echo of the last song still resonated in the room when Emma realized that the concert had almost reached its final stretch. She thought with resignation that it normally would be her turn to get on the stage at this point if it wasn't for the damn accident.

She couldn't keep the corner of her lips from pulling into a small smile. Three weeks ago, she had been horrified at the idea of singing before an audience. And now singing a duet with Killian had become one of her favorite activities. It was as if all her inhibitions and fears would be forgotten during that brief interval of time. She felt free to express her feelings through music and she also was able to stay close to Killian, becoming part of his small bubble up on the stage. It was magical, electric, and addictive. And she was missing it a lot.

Killian's potent voice addressing the audience brought her back to reality. "Whoa! It's been a fantastic night, guys, thank you very much to everyone for your dedication." The crowd broke into applause and cheers. Killian waited for them to calm down, as he bowed, the smile of satisfaction never disappearing from his face.

Then his gaze looked for hers. The moment his eyes met hers he winked and continued to speak to the audience. "Under normal circumstances, now would be the time to welcome Emma to the stage to accompany me on the last song. Unfortunately, that is not going to happen tonight." Some people in the audience expressed their disappointment, but Killian kept talking. "She is convalescing after a mishap she suffered a few days ago. She's fine, but we think it's better if she lets this week pass. But don't worry, next Saturday she will be here again, by my side and all of us will enjoy her great talent." The crowd clapped around her. Some people even turned and directed their words and looks of encouragement towards her.

"Even though she's not going to be up here tonight, this is still our moment. That's why I wanted to dedicate the next song to her.”

Wonderwall... That was the first song that came to her mind as her heart skipped a beat. After all, it was their song for this kind of situation, wasn’t it?

“Sometimes you get the worst cards in the game of life," he continued without taking his eyes off her. “But there are people like Emma, who has an inner strength enough to overcome all obstacles. She is the toughest and bravest person I know. A fighter. A survivor. She wanted to be up here today despite everything. So I hope this little gesture partly compensates her disappointment. This one's for you, Swan."

The audience began to roar around her, but she didn't listen to them. All her senses were focused on Killian. Her eyes filled with tears at the unexpectedness of his dedication. Damn bastard and his ability to leave her speechless. He was also looking at her, his eyes full of apology and maybe hope, his smile sending a wave of affection straight to her heart. She nodded in silence, her lips moving in a silent thank you.

That was all he needed. His fingers slid over the strings of his guitar, creating the first notes. Emma let out a gasp as she recognized the song. Okay, it might not have been Wonderwall after all, but his choice couldn’t have been more appropriate given the circumstances. The first chords brought to her memory one of the first moments shared with Killian soon after meeting, and how that moment had represented the point of no return in the escalation of her feelings towards him.

“Rising up, back on the street

Did my time, took my chances

Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet

Just a ‘woman’ and her will to survive.”

Killian's melodic voice brought her back to reality. The same verses she had heard in her memories, now sounding around her. He even changed the gender again to make sure, in case there was any doubt, that the song was aimed at her and only her.

Despite being surrounded by people, it was as if everything around them had ceased to exist except for them, wrapped under the protection formed by their particular bubble in the form of a melody.

It was curious how a song that had nothing romantic in it and was even used as a soundtrack in a boxing movie, had the ability to create an unbreakable link between them. Emma felt an almost uncontrollable desire to get on the stage and join him in singing The Eye of The Tiger with a shouting voice. She suppressed her desire, though, knowing that she would have the opportunity to thank him for the gesture as soon as he stepped down from the stage. Her whole body vibrated in anticipation of the embrace they would share once his performance was over.

The audience began to applaud even before the echo of the last notes faded. Emma, of course, joined them, arms raised high while cheering. Killian had to wait for the crowd to calm down to speak again.

"Thank you very much to everyone." His voice came shortness of breath by the effort. "Don't forget to check our website. The poll to choose the song for next week’s duet is still up. You're the best guys!" he shouted enthusiastically, gaining a new wave of applause.

Emma hurried to the side of the stage where Killian would appear, standing at her usual spot. Her heart was beating hard against her rib cage, her skin tingling in anticipation. The moment he stepped down from the stage, she began to walk in his direction, her smile so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

What Emma saw next, however, left her paralyzed, unable to keep walking, her previous smile faded in an instant. Before Killian noticed her, he was surrounded by two fans, two very enthusiastic girls who kept smiling at him, touching him, and interposing her vision.

Dammit!

She hesitated for a second, but suddenly she turned in the direction of the bar, an urgent need to ingest some alcohol settled in her stomach. She wasn't jealous. Not at all. Who am I kidding? A wave of unfounded jealousy seized her, making her good mood disappear, giving way to the sullen mood of the previous days. She sank onto a stool as far as possible from the bar area where Elsa kept Liam company while he was serving.

"Robin!" She gestured with her hand to get her co-worker's attention. "A shot of tequila, please."

Robin raised an eyebrow, a gesture that reminded her of Killian too much. Shit! Shit! She was so fucked up... "Are you sure? Your shift is not over yet. Also, aren't you still taking medication?"

Emma groaned inwardly. What happened to everyone lately? Why didn't they leave her alone? "I don't need to take pills anymore but I'm still convalescing and I'm taking a break. Would you like me to go behind the counter and serve it myself?" She hated herself the moment her words came out of her mouth in such a sharp tone. The poor guy was just doing his job and worrying about her. It wasn't his fault that she was hopelessly in love with her best friend but was such a coward that she could not confess her feelings.

Robin raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture before finally pouring her drink. "Do you need to talk? I'm quite busy right now," he pointed around, "but I can bring Elsa."

She shook her head, one of the corners of her lips moving subtly upwards while she raised her glass in a toast.

Before attending to one of the customers who was demanding his attention, Robin leaned over the counter, approaching her to be heard. "Everyone missed you on stage today, but imagine how a certain person should have felt all alone up there." Robin offered her a soft smile, putting the bottle in front of her before finally leaving her alone with her thoughts and her bad mood.

Great. It seemed that everyone had agreed lately to make insinuations about them. Far from cheering her on, that caused her fear to increase. What's wrong with me? She took the contents of her glass in one swallow, hoping that the liquor would drag all these mixed feelings down.

She was aware that her behavior was totally childish, but she couldn't help feeling disappointed because that was their moment, the moment the two always shared. Right at the end of his performance whether or not she was with him on stage or below, the first thing he always did was hug her. It was their thing. And today, of all days, the moment was even more justified. But it was all ruined by a handful of fans. Although she didn't blame them, obviously, because who wouldn't fall for a guy like him?

Emma was about to pour another shot when suddenly, she felt two strong arms around her waist, a warm body leaning on her back and an unmistakable scent penetrating her nose, making her feel a little dizzy. "I was looking for you, Swan." Killian's words whispered in her ear sent a chill down her spine and a wave of heat toward her very core.

A sigh of relief escaped her throat, not caring at all that his display of affection was perhaps too intimate. She rested her back against his chest, her hands gently caressing his forearms, getting him to tighten his embrace. "Uhm, it looked like you were busy with those girls; I didn’t want to interrupt."

The chuckle that bubbled in his throat tickled her ear. "We're a bit jealous, aren't we?" Killian withdrew his arms and walked away, sitting down on the stool next to hers. She missed his contact instantly, but she straightened her back, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Keep dreaming, Jones." Nevermind the fact that I am, of course...

"Have you been drinking?" Killian cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, pointing at the empty glass on the counter and causing Emma the urge to roll her eyes.

"I don't have to take medication anymore if that's what's bothering you." Emma paused as an idea formed in her head. "I was waiting for you to join me, to toast in honor of your performance, and to thank you for your dedication."

"About that." As he spoke, Killian leaned over the counter to reach the compartment for the glasses and grabbed one of them. His movement caused his shirt to move up a bit, exposing an area of his lower back. Her fingertips began to tingle, longing to touch that patch of revealed skin. "It was the least I could do, given the circumstances." Emma had to blink a couple of times, trying to focus on his words.

It was a difficult task. The way he was looking at her with such intensity made it almost impossible to restrain her impulses and throw her arms around his neck as her mouth devoured him. Instead, she tried to distract her mind to avoid doing anything she could regret later. It was all in vain, though, because all she could think of was that, thanks to the new unexpected plan that Elsa and Liam had brought to her attention, they were going to spend next Monday night together again. She wasn't quite sure what the intentions of both Liam and Elsa were, but, despite her emerging suspicions, she wasn't going to give up the opportunity to spend as much time as possible with Killian. Even if it would almost be like torture to her. A sweet torture, actually.

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Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

This would be the last chapter that I posted in the original version, so from here there will only be new content. I hope you like it. What to expect in the next chapter? New flashback with a new song included. This chapter also includes one of my favorite scenes so far. And... movie night may not go as expected...

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan #cs au #damn you for making me love you #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs au ff #mayquita writes #my cs writings

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sdottkrames · 4 years

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Queen of Hearts: A Mentalist Fic

@comfortember Prompt 2: First day/night.

Summary: A year with Jane and Lisbon’s little girl. (Spoiler alert: everyone is in love).

Notes: This is a two part fic. Chapter Two will be up towards the end of this month, so stay tuned!

Read it on AO3: here

Again, if anybody would like to be tagged, let me know. I hope you enjoy!

Day One

Teresa woke up that morning, normal as anything. Patrick was already up as per usual, sipping his special tea. He shot her a happy, golden smile, making her heart melt. She wandered over to him, running her hand through his curls.

“Good morning,” he murmured, and handed her a cup of coffee, just the way she liked it. Somehow, he always made it better. She had a theory that he hid some really expensive coffee somewhere, but she knew he’d never tell her if she asked, and knew better than to try and find it. She’d never be able to outwit Patrick.

She sipped her coffee and smiled over the rim. “Hey.”

It was a quiet moment. Sweet, simple, and full of love. But then it was shattered with the sensation of water running down her legs. Teresa nearly choked on her coffee.

“Teresa, you alright?”

She shot him a look filled with terror, and placed a hand on her stomach. Her brain was short circuiting. She’d faced serial killers, guns, and knives without hardly a blink. But delivering a baby? Very new territory.

Patrick understood the message, and understood her inner panic. He quickly led her to their bedroom where he threw her some sweatpants and grabbed the overnight bag they packed a week ago while she changed.

She focused on breathing through the fear and pain as Patrick sped to the hospital, surprised to find she was grateful for his erratic driving for once.

At 1:37 PM, Cameron Angela Jane came into the world. She had eyes like her father and hair like her mother. Patrick cried, Teresa cried, Cameron cried (of course). In short, there were a lot of tears.

Teresa and Patrick had gone back and forth on names for a long time. She had wanted, of course, to honor Patrick’s late wife or daughter somehow, but Patrick had also been insistent on honoring Teresa’s family. They decided on Cameron, after Teresa’s mother, and Angela, after Jane’s wife. There had been tears then, too.

Aside from the first few minutes, Cameron was surprisingly quiet for a baby. Once she had been bathed and nestled into her mother’s arms, she settled instantly. The doctors had her nurse right away, and the little girl was asleep within seconds once her stomach was filled.

Teresa felt her heart shifting and swelling to make room for this beautiful, precious baby like her stomach had done for 9 months before.

She couldn’t take her eyes away.

“She’s so perfect,” she whispered, sniffling back a few tears.

“I know,” a quiet voice beside her said softly, and Teresa looked over at the only person that could possibly make her happier than the little bundle in her arms. Patrick.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?”

“Well, you did most of it, love,” he grinned, his eyes so filled with happiness and love, in such stark contrast to the sadness and bitterness that had filled them when she first met him.

She offered him the bundle of blankets, and watched tears fall as he took their daughter ever so gently and stared at her with such adoration and wonder.

Patrick tore his eyes away to look at Teresa again, and the hospital bed squeaked as she shifted to let him climb into it with her, carefully maneuvering so he didn't wake his precious cargo. She snuggled right up against his side, laying her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh. Feeling whole, and content, and incredibly exhausted, she let her eyes droop.

Patrick noticed, observant as ever, and gently kissed her forehead. “You should rest,” he whispered, and quietly started to hum until both his girls were sleeping peacefully.

One Month

Patrick and Teresa moved around each other like a practiced machine. Cameron (or Cammy, as they’d taken to calling her) was sleeping. But only for about another 45 minutes. They needed to get everything done before their world became completely absorbed by Cammy again.

Not that they would complain. They had created a habit of watching her sleep when they were supposed to be sleeping, missing precious time because they only got three hours at a time. .

“What is it about babies sleeping that’s so cute?” Teresa had asked one night as they stared at their sleeping daughter, twin looks of adoration on their faces.

“I don’t know. I was the same way with Charlotte, though. I’d stay awake all night just watching her sleep if Angela didn’t pull me to bed.”

He’d been talking about his family more lately, Cammy brought up memories of another little baby girl, and Teresa gave his hand a squeeze. She was relieved to see no sadness on his face, just wistful memories, and then Cammy yawned and he melted, and even the wistfulness faded.

But it wasn’t bedtime. It was naptime, and they were in mission mode.

Since bringing Cammy home, their normally (relatively) clean house had been a mess. Dishes left in the sink for days at a time, baby toys and blankets and diapers littering the floor, and their laundry hamper overflowing. But they developed a system, and Saturdays’ naps are for cleaning house.

Patrick grabbed the laundry from their room (tip toeing past the nursery) and Teresa took it from him with practiced precision as he continued down the hall to the kitchen. Once the wash was going, she started picking up the living room.

They finish and collapse onto their couch with 10 minutes to spare.

“We’re getting better,” Patrick murmured, sliding down so his head was in his wife’s lap and his legs hung over the armrest. Her hands started running through his curls of their own accord and he smiled softly as his eyes drooped.

The peaceful moment was broken 5 minutes later as cries began to erupt from the nursery, and Patrick immediately sat up. “I got her.”

While Teresa relaxed back into the couch, Patrick made his way down the hallway.

“Hey, little dove. Good morning!” he cooed as he opened the door.

The nursery had become one of his favorite rooms in the house. The walls were a beautiful, light mint blue, which made the white furniture and curtains stand out. (He’d insisted on the blue. It was Charlotte’s favorite color.) He picked up the sniffling baby from her crib and laid her on the floor to change her diaper.

“How’s my little angel, huh? Did you have a good nap?”

Cammy cooed in response, and Patrick couldn’t help but coo back. He smiled at his daughter. (His daughter!) And then something amazing happened.

She smiled back.

Forgetting about the diaper, Patrick called “Teresa! Come here!” He winces when he heard her running, panicked by the urgency in his tone.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you, but…she smiled at me! Her first smile!” he said excitedly, gesturing to their still bottom-naked little girl, who was flailing happily on the floor.

Teresa smiled at her baby. “Did you smile at your daddy, huh?”

Cammy’s nose wrinkled as she smiled again, this time directing her smile at her mother. Both her parents smiled back.

Three Months

Cameron had her mother and father completely wrapped around her finger. They both loved her more than they thought it possible to love anyone and would give the world to her if they could.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t want to hand her to someone else to deal with sometimes, too...particularly when she started screaming at 3 in the morning.

“Patrick, your daughter’s awake.”

“No, we both know she wants you, not me. She’s going through a phase ,” he mumbled, turning over in bed to face his wife, his eyes still determinedly shut. “And I got her last time, anyway.”

Teresa groaned as she got up for the third time that night, padding over to the bassinet at the foot of their bed.

Cammy had been sleeping through the night for the last month, much to the amazement and excitement of her parents. She’d nurse before she went to bed, then Teresa would nurse her before she and Patrick went to sleep, and she would be good for about 6 hours. But lately, she had been determined to not sleep for more than two hours at a time.

To top it off, she had, as Patrick complained, been going through a phase where she only wanted her mother. If Patrick so much as looked at her in the middle of the night, she cried impossibly louder until he handed her to Teresa, then she settled down into her normal volume of crying (which, spoiler alert, was still very loud).

In short, Teresa was exhausted.

“Cammy, I love you, but you are making me crazy!” she muttered, picking up the squalling baby.

When the same thing happened the next night, and the night after that, Teresa started to get really desperate. She’d had rough nights before, sure. Calls in the middle of the night to go to a crime scene, nightmares (hers and Jane’s), even getting up with her brothers when she was still at home raising them. But this had hit another level.

And Patrick could tell.

He tried, of course. He tried to get Cammy and pick her up, but nothing he did stopped her from crying. The only way any of them got any sleep was when he gave in and handed her to Teresa. He had no idea what to do, and it was a strange feeling.

Then he got an idea.

It came to him suddenly. Everyone loves to drive with me , he’d joked once to Cho. Driving had always been soothing to him, and he remembered Angela mentioning a friend had driven around to soothe her baby once. Cammy always fell asleep during car rides, anyway.

So, the next time Cammy started screaming, he quickly hopped out of bed and slipped on some shoes.

“I’m going to take her for a drive, see if that helps,” he said to answer the confused look his wife shot him. “Go back to sleep.”

She nodded gratefully and sank back into her pillows.

“Alrighty, little terror, you’re coming with me.”

Cammy protested her car seat. Loudly. But Patrick persisted, refusing to lose a battle to a 3 and a half month old. Once she was buckled, he began to drive. He didn’t pay much attention to where he was going, just hummed along to the classical music he had put on hoping to soothe his daughter.

Slowly, her cries decreased in volume, then turned to whimpers, then stopped altogether.

“Hey, princess, there you are,” he cooed at her, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. To his relief, Cammy shot him a gummy smile instead of her usual angry yell. “Oh, a smile, huh. Thank you. This car ride thing must really be working.”

He turned onto another street, then another, mostly paying attention to the way Cammy’s eyes started drooping and her head started lolling against the side of the car seat. She tried to fight it. Every so often, her eyes would close, and she’d determinedly open them again. But soon she had to give in.

“Finally,” Patrick sighed when her eyes closed and stayed that way. He glanced at the clock. 4:37.

After a few more minutes of driving around to ensure she really was asleep, he made his way back to their house and parked the car, but didn't get out. A car was definitely not the worst place he’d slept, and he didn’t want to chance taking Cammy out and waking her up. Besides, if she stayed in the car with him, Teresa could finally get more than 3 hours of rest.

Soon, he drifted off to the quiet sounds of Mozart and the snuffling sounds his daughter made, and decided they were some of his favorite sounds to go to sleep to.

#mine #comfortember 2020 #the mentalist #i just really love them okay?#I'm trying to figure out a good time to post things #what time exactly is TBD lol

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stevemoffett · 3 years

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A Hard Nap, The Fall of Math, The Star Wars Holiday Special, Disco Point, and There You Are

In January last year, I noticed a sign in myself of the same cancer my dad had back in 2008. Unlike the usual symptoms that set off my paranoia, it wasn’t some vague feeling, it wasn’t an intermittent pain, and it wasn’t a general ill feeling—it was clear and unambiguous, out of the ordinary and one of those symptoms that, if you google it, is under the list of “call your doctor if you experience any of the following.”

It was also nonspecific: this symptom could mean cancer, but it could also mean about five other cancer-unrelated conditions. I called for an appointment that morning with my general practitioner, who said that the earliest available date was about two weeks later.

I knew that the only way my fear would be effectively relieved was with the one sure-fire diagnostic tool for this type of cancer, one that’s recommended for everyone, but not until about age 50: a colonoscopy.

For the two weeks before my GP appointment, I mentally prepared for death. For the record, I do this every time I interpret my body’s signals as cancerous, but the mental preparation usually stops after a few days when the symptom either goes away or when a clear alternative cause presents itself. This time, I didn’t get that kind of relief and, in fact, the symptom repeated more than once between setting the appointment and going to it. Each time, it was like an intrusive thought come to life: you’re going to die. You’re going to go through surgery and chemotherapy like Dad and you’re either going to die early, or find out like he did that the cure is worse than the disease, or maybe you’ll hang on just long enough to experience both.

Winter mornings in Texas can sometimes be surprisingly cold. While stepping out the door on a midsummer morning is like walking into someone’s hot exhale, as you might expect, a 33-degree morning is more like a slap in the face. When I packed everything I figured I’d need to move here a couple of years ago, I threw away my winter coat, thinking, I won’t be needing this anymore. (The coat was also about ten years old at that point.)

My first winter in Texas, I layered a bunch of shirts underneath a light jacket and wore a scarf on freezing days. The second winter, I decided that I’d had enough of being cold. After all, I rationalized, here in Texas it was monetarily possible to never have to feel cold again if you really don’t want to. So I bought the warmest coat I could find, an unstylish, bulky parka made by Caterpillar, the company that makes construction vehicles. No more layering, no more checking the weather before leaving in the morning. I could just put this coat on and not worry about it.

But now, under the shadow of a cancer scare these January mornings, wearing the big coat made me feel less like I was smarter than the weather and more like I was trying to smuggle a terminal disease wherever I went. Under my coat, tie, button-down shirt, undershirt, skin, fat, and muscle, something was growing silently in the dark. While maybe it had slipped up and showed some of its handiwork to me, it was already too late to do much about it now.

Since it has affected my life several times before, and since it is such an exquisite mixture of dread and uncertainty, cancer is one of my mind’s biggest bogeymen. I feel personally insulted by the idea of it. I treat you so well, body—why would you betray me? Was I not nice enough? Is this poetic justice for my vanity? Is it, as the old anecdotal saying goes, due to my worrying?

Not only did I feel like I was smuggling cancer under the big coat, I was also warming it up by drinking my coffee. I was feeding it directly when I ate something too sugary. And I was probably even giving it an evil sense of satisfaction when I got stressed out about it. If I was able to keep my mind off it by working in the lab, mixing and pipetting, using kits, and doing arithmetic in my head, it would come crashing back into focus when I was pulling my gloves off to wash my hands.

I pulled up incognito mode on my phone’s browser during my breaks, googling “5-year survival rate colon cancer age 35.” “Cancer staging colon prognosis.” “Colon cancer smoking.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack in college.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack 18 years ago.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack after seeing Luke Wilson smoking in The Royal Tenenbaums.”

At home, I suddenly started noticing the expiration dates on my nonperishables. What will last longer, I thought, the freshness of this baking soda, or me.

I knew I wasn’t going to be comforted by the first GP visit. After all, they’re usually the first stop to a specialist, unless you have a PPO insurance plan, which I don’t. The doctor listened to my symptoms and family history. “Well,” he said, “Given your history, it’s a good idea to refer you to a GI. But, you seem like you lead a healthy lifestyle otherwise, with none of the other risk factors, so we’ll see what he says.”

I made the GI appointment and had to wait two more weeks for it, with the same circular worrying and googling. At the GI appointment, I sat in the waiting room, the youngest patient there by a few decades, and I felt a little bit ridiculous. On the other hand, I’d also just read a harrowing story about a woman in her late 20s who had colon cancer and died from it. That was a real person, I thought, who at the first phase of it probably went through all the same feelings I was now, the I’m-being-ridiculous and is-this-worth-the-time-and-vacation-days, all the way up until her diagnosis. Not just because I was scared, I felt a pang of sympathy. A disease of the old picking a victim from the young is terrible luck.

And I figured, if it could be her, it could be anyone. But most of all, it could be me.

That last bit, I think, is one of—one of—my greatest flaws, the vanity of always thinking that the worst things will happen to you, in spite of the odds. It’s a way of making yourself feel special, but it has no upside. You don’t feel confidence with this type of special-feeling. In fact, you’re more likely to be timid and self-centered, and you just come across as weird to the outside observer. They might think, There’s only a few steps between that guy and Howard Hughes. Somewhere, deep in your mind, they think: Wires are crossed.

Shortly before I went in, another patient arrived, a man around my age or maybe younger who, despite a dozen or so free seats, declined to sit down. My name was called, and I passed a sign on the way to the back that said, “If you have recently traveled to China and have a fever you must let our staff know.”

This doctor’s exam rooms had floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind you’d see in a movie, instead of the usual dull and bulby, off-white plastic exam room interior. A Spanish medical student came in to give a pre-appointment questionnaire and to take my vitals. He asked, in much better English than I could have mustered in Spanish, “So. There is some blood in they crep?”

When he came in, the GI repeated what my GP had said, and since he was also the person who would be performing a colonoscopy, he said I should set an appointment for one with him. I managed to get a date three weeks later.

From other people’s stories, I knew two things about colonoscopies: they are no fun, especially the night before, but the general anesthesia on the day of the procedure, on the other hand, is fun. I was nervous enough on the day before that I actually asked someone at the pharmacy for help finding the items I was looking for: Polyethylene Glycol (or PEG, which we use all the time for lab experiments, and which I was going to have to drink 2 liters of), Gatorade, and laxative pills. I had to take about 800% of their recommended dosages, each.

The bodily effect of those chemicals was dramatic, and I will spare the details. The worst parts of it, I found, were the generally exhausting physical toll it took, and the feeling by the end that I had some kind of dangerous sodium imbalance: I was sweating between my fingers, for example, but the rest of me felt as dry as paper. At 10PM, I was too tired to do anything, but too nervous to sleep for more than a few hours.

One smaller worry that I felt the next morning, as I took a selfie in my hospital gown to send to a friend back home, making a backward peace sign to show off the IV sticking into my hand and also how brave I was being, was that I might just die right there on the table from the general anesthesia. Part of my grad school research was on Propofol, the most-used general anesthesia nowadays (which, incidentally, also killed Michael Jackson). This was the same drug I was to be given.

I’d never been fully put under anesthesia before. It was astronomically improbable that I’d have an adverse reaction to it and die (and by the way, Michael Jackson abused it, using it far outside of medical praxis—if you’re afraid to get a colonoscopy yourself, don’t be, it could save your life), but keep in mind what I said about my vanity.

“Hey, I’m really scared,” I told the anesthesiologist. He said something, muffled by his mask, that sounded like, “It’ll be all right.” Then he busied himself with a syringe, connecting it to my IV. He depressed it about a third of the way. “This should help you,” he said.

The last thing I said was, “Whoa…I feel it.”

After what felt like a hard, late-afternoon nap, I said, “Hello?”

My head was wrapped with something. When I touched my face, I could feel that there were cotton pads underneath the wrapping, holding my eyes shut. I guess that at some point either mid-procedure or after, my eyes had opened, unseeing, and they’d done this to keep them from drying out. “Hang on, sir,” I heard a nurse say, and my head was unwrapped.

“It’s over?” I asked.

“You’re all done,” he said.

“Gimme a minute, please,” I said, my South Jersey accent peeking out. “I feel a little weird.”

Eventually, I sat up. Two of the nurses helped me stand, and I pumped my arms like I was lifting light, invisible dumbbells. As I put my glasses on and looked around, I thought that they all seemed like they were fighting to not smirk. What did I say while I was blacked out? I wondered, with a twinge of panic, before deciding that it would be worthless to speculate. It could have been anything. There are literally millions of possibilities. Again—it would be worthless to speculate, I told myself, firmly.

An Uber driver, I had been told by hospital staff during a consultation, was not a legally strong enough party to take responsibility for me at discharge. Someone I knew would have to escort me to my apartment. Also, they said, they really would do that thing where you’re back in your own clothes, and they push you to the exit in a wheelchair when you’re all finished. After my procedure, my co-worker stood waiting in the discharge zone with his car as an orderly wheeled me out of the hospital exit. I stood up from the wheelchair and got into the passenger seat of his car, for some reason more aware than usual of the heat coming from the vent and the smell of the car’s leather upholstery. “I still feel weird from the anesthesia,” I said to my friend.

“I’ll bet you do,” he replied.

It was about lunch time, and I had taken the rest of the day off from work. When I got home, I ordered a pizza and lay on my bed. I ate the pizza and watched Star Wars. I had not felt any euphoria when I woke up, I thought hollowly. And my first solid meal in almost forty hours tasted unremarkable. I was still groggy, but not in a pleasant way. I felt cheated.

The hospital staff had put a manilla envelope into my hands as I left. It contained sheets of images the doctor had taken during the procedure. Once lucid, I leafed through them and compared the thumbnail-sized images on printer paper with googled images of cancerous tumors viewed through a colonoscope, trying to diagnose myself.

A couple of the images on the papers had shapes that looked weird, with what seemed like variations in the texture or color of my colon wall that to me, at least, appeared one hundred percent fatal. It was another two weeks before I had a follow-up appointment to go over them with the surgeon.

“See this?” The GI said, two weeks later, pointing to one of the images that had seemed completely normal to me, unlike other ones I had thought were much more scary and unusual-looking. “That’s a low-risk polyp. Of course, now it’s a no-risk polyp, ‘cause it’s gone.”

This medical episode ended only three or so weeks before the whole world changed, but I was all the more grateful for that. If I’d waited to be checked out, then I would have been weighing whether it was worth getting tested against the possibility of being infected with COVID.

The doctor recommended that I get a colonoscopy every five years from now on, but added, “If you want, you can go earlier than that.” I told him thanks, but once every five years sounded fine.

I wrote about the first seven weeks of the pandemic in my last entry. After that, May and June passed in the same way as March and April had. I went back to work in mid-June for two weeks before the first summer COVID spike closed things back up. I continued to play Quake, and I continued to fret about my family.

I had a job interview for a position in northern Maryland in April. I didn’t get it, but I had a good idea why I’d been turned down: the position wanted people with proven math skills. Which makes sense—for the last few years I’d said repeatedly that I wanted to have a job that involves less lab work and more data analysis. This was one of those jobs.

My graduate program gave me a degree in “Computational and Integrative Biology.” Sometimes I shorten it to “Integrative Biology,” or “Computational Biology,” but I always feel sort of dishonest when I tell people my degree. (Apparently this feeling is common among grad students). My own reason for feeling dishonest was because, in any other college, the work I was doing would probably just fall under normal old “Biology.” While it was true I had done course work that reflected “Computational and Integrative” Biology, they were courses taught in a remedial way.

When I say remedial, I mean that they were courses designed to get biologists up to speed on how to do higher-level data analyses with their experiments. For instance, in my “Biomath” course, we went over ordinary differential equations and graph theory. Those are both intermediate-level math types, ones you’d encounter in the later part of an undergraduate math degree program. Throughout that course, there was a lot of handwaving whenever I asked questions.

“Eh…,” the professor might have responded to something I had asked, “that requires a lot of background explanation we don’t need right now to handle the problem here. Just take it as a given for what we’re working on.”

In grad school, it’s common to be well-versed in only your narrow little research tunnel that leads outward to the edge of “known” biology. But a few times each month, several of us students would head to the bar down at the city’s waterfront after work to talk about our research. It usually began with a complaint—“This is the third time this kit wouldn’t work this week and it takes twelve fucking hours to run it each time,”—but to give us a more context for their problem, whoever was griping would have to go back and start at the beginning, recounting all the steps leading to their experiment’s failure.

This was a useful exercise, since a pair of new eyes on your work meant that at least you could get feedback on how to better relate the subject matter when you talked to a non-science audience, and at most, you might get a real solution for the problem you were bumping up against.

But I would sometimes get privately upset, as I sipped my beer and glanced out the window at the river, when a math-centered Computational and Integrative Biology student would start talking about their research. As someone who feels an unpleasant, TV static-like anxiety in my chest the moment I see letters in italics, or one of those big, orphan sorority sigmas following an equal sign during a math seminar, this upset feeling was directed at myself. Because, as a result of my insecurity, I would start listening to the beginning of the math student’s explanation of their research, trip over the first unfamiliar term I heard, lose the thread of what they were talking about, give up, and zone out. The math students, overall, just seemed light years ahead of me.

A critical vocabulary word that I began to mentally tie to the situation—slumming, these math types were slumming when talking to us biologists—was the grain of sand to my insecurity’s oyster. By the time I got my diploma a few years later, it had developed into a little pearl; now I had the feeling that I was, relative to those who’d come from a math background, a fake computational biologist.

Unhelpfully, the people in charge of hiring for the jobs I want nowadays seemed to agree. All the job listings I was interested in applying for made me feel the same panic that advanced math symbols on powerpoint slides did. The subjects they wanted their applicants to have experience in—machine learning, deep learning, regression analyses—were all frightening, impregnable terms, reminding me either of some kind of giant machine made up of endless tubes and valves, all spitting dangerously hot steam, or of a highly secure, underground bomb shelter that requires fingerprints or eyeball scans to get into. I knew from my previous learning experiences that if I didn’t understand the fundamentals and learned only the higher-level, applied stuff, it was just going to make me feel unworthy, and I’d forget it at once.

But summer had come—it was midsummer now, in fact. The pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, so what was I going to do if I didn’t start learning something? I ended up registering for three classes at a community college back home, which offered their fall semester online. For two thousand dollars, including textbooks, I got a spot in Introductory Statistics, Linear Algebra, and Calculus III.

Calculus III was a risk. I’d taken Calc I and II in undergrad, now about seventeen years ago, and I had earned Bs back then. I didn’t remember much of the material from either class. I’d tried watching Khan Academy videos at various points in the meantime, but could never stick with it. I’d watch several videos in a row, feel like I understood things, try a practice problem, get it wrong, and forget about it after a day or two. But now, I had put actual money into it and, in a few months, a grade would be spit back out, so this time I had real skin in the game.

But I had misgivings that I was too old to learn new stuff, or that I would be one of those students I remember when I was in undergrad, the older students who would grind class to a halt with their endless questions. Or maybe I would get worse grades than I had in undergrad, despite taking things more seriously now.

Two of the classes were taught asynchronously, meaning each lecture was a video that you could pause or replay at your leisure, and all tests were take-home, but the other class, Statistics, was done over Zoom. You might think a Zoom class could be a better way to learn—clarifying questions can be asked immediately, for instance—but for me, at least, it was not. Instead of focusing on the material being taught, the whole time I’d be thinking, “They can see me. Everyone here can see me. I can see me, and I have a dumbass expression on my face. Can they tell that I have a bedsheet instead of a curtain over my window blinds?”

My mind wandered during class just as much as it had while sitting in a lecture hall when I was eighteen, but now, these classes were held later at night, after I’d been working all day and had eaten dinner. As a result of this, and the fact that I find Statistics to be boring when it’s taught as a series of don’t-worry-about-how-we-derived-it formulas to plug numbers into, I did the worst in Statistics.

But Calc and Linear Algebra were more interesting. When I watched the class videos, I got familiar with the disembodied voices of the teachers, who each seemed to be trying to do an impression of Khan Academy videos. My Calc teacher, with his strong Vietnamese accent, would punctuate every few lines of derivation or proof with, “So what does that mean then?” Every time—new topic, new chapter, new problem, exactly the same tone of voice: “So what does that mean then?”

Eventually, in my head, his cadence merged with the tones of Woody Woodpecker’s laugh, and I began saying it to myself as I did chores around my apartment. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d half-sing at my garbage can liner as I cinched it shut. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to a wrinkled button-down shirt, enjoying the pepper shaker-y smell of my iron when it’s turned up to its hottest setting. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to the window blinds, when considering whether I should replace the bedsheet I’d hung there with an actual curtain, before answering myself that No, this apartment is too temporary for something as tony as curtains.

Sometimes I’d say it three times in a row, like Woody Woodpecker himself:

“So what does that mean, then?”

I kept a Google Sheet of how much time I spent doing work for each class, and found that I averaged about 20 hours a week total. That broke down to approximately an hour and a half each weekday, and on Saturday and Sunday I would go for about six or seven hours each. I’d get up at 7:30 those weekend mornings and brew a pot of coffee, then sit taking notes and working through every part of each assigned homework, not moving on from a problem until I understood everything about it.

I think that those Saturday and Sunday mornings may have been the happiest I felt during the year 2020. In the middle of a difficult Calc problem, not having the answer yet but certain I was on the right track, while also buzzing on caffeine, as a beam of early horizontal sunlight hit my kitchen backsplash and filled the apartment with more brightness than all my lightbulbs put together, I for once did not feel worried. I was unworried about my parents, my sisters, my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and all the pets. Unworried about COVID, or cancer, or the work stresses of the week. Unworried about getting older, about being alone still, or about enjoying being alone too much; unworried about letting all of this time go by and still feeling like real life hasn’t started; unworried about my dad having another stroke, or about my mom just suddenly up and dying out of nowhere, or cancer, or whether my hairline is changing, or the fact that my heart has been skipping a beat sometimes lately, or whether my friends who I speak to on the phone were getting sick of me, or whether I am too graphic when I describe symptoms I am afraid mean I might have cancer, or whether my apartment neighbors will keep me up with their noise again tonight, or whether the tooth sensitivity I feel drinking cold water lately means I need to risk a dentist visit during a pandemic, or whether I will be able to have healthier boundaries with my parents whenever I return to the northeast, or whether I’ll ever feel truly satisfied and content, or whether I’ll ever feel actual joy some day, or whether my hang-ups, and anxieties, and fears, and regrets about my personal and professional choices will end up all ganging up on me at once, or, of course, whether at any given moment, I might have cancer.

My attitude going into the classes was that I would disregard whatever grades I got and simply aim for as much comprehension as possible. But about halfway through the semester, I lost my nerve and began to think of my grades as a direct indicator of my level of understanding. So I started fretting about my grades, and on days of Calc III exams during the second half of the semester, I took vacation time so I could spend the whole day working on them.

It got a little crazy toward the end, but finally, it was over, and I managed to get all As. That made me happy, even if I knew that that kind of satisfaction is a bit immature. But I felt like I was making up for some of the sins I had committed as a college student, my laziness and my previous lack of appreciation for education finally, in a small way, absolved.

I spent Christmas here in Texas. When I think back on Christmases from previous years I find that I can remember the past two years very well because I flew home and packed a lot of family and friend time into a few short days. Before 2018, though, I can’t remember any specific Christmas well enough to recount anything that happened on the day.

But when I was a little kid, I remembered each Christmas perfectly, mainly due to the gifts I got and the room where we put the Christmas tree—where “Christmas happened”: in 1990, it was in the back room and we got a magic set, and also my brother pretended to faint when he saw he’d gotten Reebok Pumps. In 1991, it was in the family room, and my brother and I got the Nintendo game “Base Wars.” In 1992, it was in the living room and we got a Sega Genesis along with the game “Sonic 2.” In 1993, it was in the family room again, and I got a Hot Wheels Key Force car, and my brother got the Genesis game “Hard Ball 3 With Al Michaels.”

In 1994, my grandfather died a few weeks before Christmas, and we got a Sega CD. That was the year I became aware that the Christmas spirit was vulnerable to external forces, one’s first experience with death being the most offensive of those forces, and after a few months I also became aware that a hot new gaming console like the Sega CD could “fail,” slipping into obscurity with a small and unremarkable library of games. As a result, the indestructible-seeming sheen of Christmas fell away, leaving behind a better idea of what Christmas really is: a bare, thin-glassed lightbulb plugged into the middle of the year’s darkest period. After 1994, I can’t really remember what happened each Christmas.

This past Christmas will always be memorable, though, because I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day pretty much doing one of three things: playing Quake (yes, that hobby still refuses to die), watching something Star Wars-related, or video chatting with my family. At any time when I wasn’t speaking to family, I had Christmas music playing in the background, including while Star Wars was on. I turned the heat up in my apartment to 75 degrees and enjoyed how money-wastingly hot it was getting, until my nose started to bleed from the dry air.

I want to take this opportunity to say that I much prefer Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. Christmas Eve is generally all anticipation and guest arrivals, buoying the mood long into the falling night. From the viewpoint of Christmas Eve, any miracle might happen the following morning. But then after a late, over-buttered breakfast on Christmas Day, there’s nothing much else to do except think about cleaning up and regret how much you’ve eaten. The “anything could happen” feeling is now all gone, collapsed from a dazzling infinity’s worth of possibilities down to one homely outcome.

I hadn’t put up any decorations for my apartment, unless the Christmas music can be considered a decoration. This ended up being a good thing, though, since I didn’t have to take anything down once the holiday was over.

I started taking walks pretty early in the pandemic, my first walk happening after about one week of lockdown. That day there was a surprisingly large amount of people also walking. We all stayed far away from one another, since none of us were wearing masks—the width of even a modest suburban Texas street is still impressively wide, so there was no safety issue. I always took the initiative to be the one who crossed the street if I saw someone, exaggeratedly swinging my arms as I crossed so the person walking toward me could see my intentions even from far away. I did this because I figured it would be harder for the dog-walkers to wrangle their dog across the street and get out of my way, and the people without dogs were either old or were walking in a group.

In the beginning I was walking maybe twice a week, which then became three times, which became five. It held at five times a week during the fall semester because I’d have to be on Zoom from 6:30-8:30 PM Tuesdays and Thursdays, which took up the whole span of time in which I would usually walk. Nowadays, no longer taking classes, I walk every night.

For a while, I tried to get home before sunset, because I’m afraid of being hit by a car in the dark. After the clocks shifted back, I had to choose between walking earlier, during rush hour when everyone was arriving back at their houses from work, or waiting to walk until after the sun has set. I ended up buying one of those reflective construction worker’s vests for $8 on Amazon and waiting for nighttime. I feel like a dork when I wear the vest, but most of the people walking at night who I see are also wearing reflective clothes. Theirs are more chic than my vest, though, looking like they were ordered through an expensive fitness-wear catalogue. I’d buy the same type, but to me, walking is a meditative, solitary act, and I don’t want to feel that I’m catering to externalities like looking stylish while I’m trying to feel solitary. It also acts as a tacit acknowledgement that I’m not a criminal: “I’m making myself as visible as possible! I’m not casing your houses to break into them later on!”

Even though the focus of COVID is on the transmission of disease through shared, respired air, I still pay a lot of attention to contaminated surfaces. When I go out anywhere, I have a routine: first, I put on my going-out clothes (newly clean), then my shoes, which are possibly dirty, since I have to re-tie them sometimes with unwashed hands, so before I touch anything else after tying my shoes, I wash my hands. Then, I put on a mask, turn off all the lights except the one at the front door, pick up my keys with my right hand, slip my phone into my left pocket, and walk to the door. I put my keys in my right pocket (my wallet is already there), open the door with my right hand, turn out the light, step out the door, and take the keys out of my pocket to lock the door with, again, only my right hand.

I use my right hand pretty much everywhere outside—to push or pull open doors, to open my car to retrieve something from it, to open my mailbox and carry my mail in—because I know that if I use my left hand, my phone-operating hand, I’m going to have to put the phone into a little UV light phone-sterilizing box that I bought when I get home. And for some reason, I feel like it’s a small moral failure to have to use that UV box, so I try to keep my left hand from touching anything except for the phone. But I know that if I drive anywhere, all bets are off—both my hands touch the steering wheel, my left hand touches the car door handle while getting out, and I push open doors with both hands whenever I get somewhere. I’m sure that my left hand ends up touching something that may have SARS-CoV-2 on it as I carry out an errand, and therefore into the UV box my phone must go when I get home. But, when I go out to walk, there’s a good chance that I won’t need to touch anything with my left hand between leaving the apartment and coming back. If that’s the case, I can use my phone freely while walking if I want to, but when I get home, I can still just take it from my pocket and place it on my desk, no ultraviolet sterilizing waves needed. But of course then I still have to wash my right hand.

The walk is the same route every night now. It’s a vaguely circular, level 2.7 miles, starting northbound, bearing west, south, then east. It takes about forty minutes for me to walk the whole thing, plus or minus four minutes, depending on how warmed up I get while walking. My heart rate generally goes up to about 115 beats per minute for most of the walk, according to my watch, then spikes to 135 as I climb the stairs to my fourth floor apartment at the end.

Insulated by the sound of music or an audiobook on my headphones, and with my hands stuck in my pockets, actually holding onto the cloth pocket linings themselves, I feel less like a person on a walk and more like someone steering a large, inertia-filled thing—a sailboat that I have to tack against an unfavorable wind, or a bobsled whose blades I have to turn out of deep ruts on the ice. But despite feeling bodily awkward, I find suburbia to be a soothing place to move through. I really don’t understand how some people think of the suburbs as some kind of dystopia, to be honest. My neighborhood has wide streets, as I mentioned, and the houses are almost all ranch-style. The trees, like the houses, are shorter than they are in the northeast. Some of the trees look more like very tall shrubbery. As for the ground, the blades of grass are wider, and the soil is just a bit sandier. Sometimes, I see two-inch-long cockroaches, what people back home would call “water bugs,” creeping across the sidewalks.

I can’t remember the names of the streets on the walk, except for Forrest Street, which I noticed once when I saw the street sign while I was running and it made me think of “Run, Forrest, run!” and Kenilworth Street, which has the same name as a street back at home. Other than those, I only know points along the route by the informal names I’ve assigned to them. There’s a road where it changes direction from heading north to heading east, and it looks over a little park. The lack of houses there gives an unobstructed view of the western horizon. For that reason, I call that part of the route “Sunset Bend.” At another point on the route there is a house where, in the beginning of lockdown last spring, a family was always outside, the parents sitting motionless in Adirondack chairs while their kids all went nuts on the front lawn, playing with the sprinkler, or doing hopscotch, or sitting at one of those tiny plastic picnic tables, playing some board game. That part of the walk I called “Kidville.”

There were other houses that were always so inactive, so abandoned-seeming—the blinds were always closed and there wasn’t a car in the driveway—that I started to wonder if anyone lived there at all, and whether maybe the neighborhood association was mowing its lawn to stave off the shabbiness. But after the switch from walking in daylight to nighttime, I saw that some of those houses, while still shut up and silent, had lights on inside in rooms not facing the street. Looking at those houses is like staring into the vents of a space heater in a dark room.

Eventually I started thinking about how the walk is exactly 2.7 miles. Then, idly, I realized that if you multiply 2.7 by 30, you get 81. That number of years, eighty-one, seems like a decent amount of years to hope to live—it’s not greedy, you’re not asking for a hundred years, for example—but also, maybe when I get closer to 81, there will be better medical treatments and 81 will seem younger. Assuming that doesn’t happen, though, I think of 81 years as more or less “a complete life.” It is very sad, but not exactly a tragedy, to die at 81.

With this in mind, I started translating the distance along my walk to human ages. For instance, 1.0 miles into the walk, times 30, would equal 30 years. And 1.2 miles times 30 would equal 36 years, which is how old I am now. Since by the time I’d discovered this “conversion formula,” the walk was already so familiar to me that I had a very good perspective on how far into the walk any given point felt—the precise moment when I sense that I’m transitioning from the middle to the end phase of the walk, for example. So when I came up with the multiply-by-30 conversion formula, I was interested to see exactly what part of the walk 1.2 miles, or 36 years old, corresponded to.

The answer is that it was later in the walk than I’d hoped. The moment I reach 1.2 miles is long past the most scenic parts of the route; it’s just after a left turn that puts me on a long straightaway of modest houses leading to an arterial road, known to me as the hook-around part of the circuit where in past walks, I had thought, “Now I’m on my way back home.”

Over the next few evenings, I noted other points, ones that had come before the 1.2 mile marker, and compared them to parts of my already-lived life: I graduated high school at 0.6 miles into the walk, which was the beginning of Sunset Bend. I got my master’s degree in a spot where, at nighttime, a streetlight shines through the leaves on a tree, giving the street a dance hall, disco-ball kind of lighting (hence, “Disco Point”). That friendly, lighted patch of street, with a jaunty-looking house standing next to it, makes it my favorite part of the walk. As for points I have not yet reached: still ahead of my current age distance, at around 1.5 miles, is Kidville, but I haven’t seen anyone in the front yard there in months now.

Toward the end, almost back home, there’s a large school property. I’ve never seen anyone on the grounds, except for the occasional person who sneaks onto the running track to jog it. Along one of the fences that borders the school, in springtime last year, someone started zip-tying laminated sheets of paper with jokes written on them to the chain links. The jokes are all clean, and pretty lame—these days it seems like almost all kid-friendly jokes are just puns, like “How did the farmer find his wife? He tractor down!”

One time, I saw a kid about ten years old on his bike, riding along the sidewalk and stopping to read each joke. The fence ends at a small park for toddlers. There’s a big plastic sign at the entrance of the park, faded but still legible, that has a boy’s name displayed on it. Below his name is written a tragically short span of years, and below that, a message: “This park is dedicated to the memory of (the boy’s name), and to all of the little tykes of (the neighborhood).” Whoever it was putting up jokes on the schoolyard fence stopped replacing them with new ones some time during the fall, and I walk too late to ever see anyone playing at the playground. Well, that’s not quite true: very rarely, around 9 PM on warm nights, I might see what appears to be a young mother scrutinizing her phone as her kid swings in the dark.

I haven’t been to the gym to lift any weights since lockdown started. I’ve been able to do cardio in my apartment, but the result of all the cardio and all the walking is that I’ve lost a decent amount of lifting strength, as well as about ten pounds. This is consistent with how life in general has evolved: I have also reduced the list of spaces I travel to, leaving my apartment only to go to work, to pick up groceries, and to walk through my neighborhood. My body, and the edges of my life, have gone through a great miniaturization, but my perspective has adapted with it—each feature within this smaller space seems more detailed, and the day’s moments are of a finer grain. Inside my apartment, I have realized how much the lighting affects the atmosphere, and as a result the mood, so I can change which lights are on when to reflect the mood of each time of day. When I walk at night, sometimes I have the same feeling I did the week before I moved here from New Jersey, a sort of farewell feeling. That feeling started in the fall as a dessert-like flipside to my happy mornings spent doing math homework. Those evenings, I also felt like I was saying goodbye, to a more insecure, more ignorant version of myself, I guess. Nowadays, I get the feeling that I’m saying goodbye to the person who had, until now, always feared that he was missing out on things.

There will be a time, closer to now than now is to the beginning of the pandemic, when I will leave Texas. I will be happy and relieved to return home, whenever that is. But at the same time, there’s a new feeling that is starting to take root, and it’s a weird one: for all the hardship that the pandemic has presented to me, the anxiety for my family and the limitations it’s put on my mobility, social life, and career, for more than ten months now, its most memorable effect, unless I’m affected by the illness itself, will be that it made me love my neighborhood. I have walked more than 500 miles of it over the months, and scores of miles remain to be walked before I move away. I’ve walked during steaming afternoons, during cloudy sunsets, in pre-dawn twilight on cool mornings, and during soft, breezy evenings. It’s always picturesque, pleasant, very green. The houses look inviting, and the dog-walkers wave to me. I listen to music that suits my mood and do the geographical equivalent of palm reading. That’s all, really.

Can a person love a place? Feel gratitude toward landscaping, houses, parked cars, and people viewed only from a distance? Can someone feel affinity to a fox seen in a churchyard and streetlights shining through leaves in the night? Affection for lawn mower exhaust, for the noise of an approaching SUV slowly carving out a bend? Love for landmarks that correspond to moments in one’s past, or to moments that one might encounter in the future?

There will be a time, I hope, when my years in Texas are far in the past. But some day, I will hear a song, or see a house with a certain architecture, or smell a variety of grass, and Texas will return to me. At the same time, I also hope that it isn’t too overwhelming. I’ve found that I can never tell how potent a memory of a particular time or place will be until there’s a lot of distance between me and it. Sometimes, a memory will come gently, settling on me like a haze, ready to be indulged, even laughed at. In such cases I turn up the music that brought the memory, or take a luxuriating whiff of the scent, and I think back on the time, feeling only a little bit sad.

But other memories swoop down like some kind of predatory bird, and in those cases, the nostalgia feels more like the punch of the bird’s talons in the back of my neck. The sense of missing is so strong that it feels less like nostalgia and more like a distilled, portable homesickness. Ridiculously, I’ll even want to return to the memory’s time and place, despite knowing that in reality it had been fraught with pain or unease. Which makes the sneaking feeling growing during this time, at this place, all the more uncanny. I mean, all that this span of time has been, is me, and some terrain, and the wind, and the light of the sun or the moon. No one else. My nostalgia for anything before this was always about times and places with other people. So who will I be missing?

Someone once said, Wherever you go, there you are. But now, I wonder: is that really true?

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