#OBVIOUSLY THIS IS THE WORST IDEA EVER. but i don’t even know where to start goddd

[pallases]

what if i just. did not practice for my graphics final <3

[bornwholocker]

Reading flatland and obviously Bill’s home dimension and flatland aren’t exactly the same, but like. Since we don’t know which parts are different I’m just thinking. This is really unorganized and all over the place and probably doesn’t make any sense but

In flatland, it takes a LOT of planning for an equilateral triangle to be born. I’m talking like generations of interbreeding and methods for the fathering isosceles to get as close to equilateral as possible. It’s a huge deal. When an equilateral is created, it’s celebrated by pretty much everyone (for a miriad of different reasons but I won’t get into that). And being “irregular” in any respect is one of the worst things you can be. If you don’t “fix” your irregularity enough, you’re executed.

So imagine Bill’s family working their triangular asses off to have an equilateral kid, to give him a better life, and when they finally do it, he’s got that eye. From what we’ve seen of his parents, they seem to have taken care of him as best they could, but again, it’s been a whole ordeal just to have him, involving the whole community and family, and he came out wrong.

I imagine that’s probably why his parents took him to see the doctor and drink the “juice” that messed with his vision. They thought they were doing what was best for him. They didn’t blame him for his eye, didn’t hate him for it, but they felt the need to fix him, either to please their families or even just bring him to their own standards. The idea of irregularity being wrong is seen as natural and obvious, so they wouldn’t find an issue with trying to change him.

Another thing about flatland is that the mention of any third dimension or any idea close to that is pretty much criminal. (Spoilers i guess) The narrator of the story, a square who saw the third dimension for himself, is eventually locked away for talking about it.

So Bill was supposed to be a sort of miracle baby, I guess is the best way to put it. And when he came out just slightly but irreparably wrong, it was devastating. And then he starts spouting about 3D and the stars and he just wants people to understand, to see that it’s not dangerous, that it’s beautiful. But his parents don’t want him to get imprisoned or worse, so they try to keep him quiet. They give him his juice and his silly straws and wave away any ideas about the third dimension.

Bill was born a disappointment, one of the lowest life forms imaginable, and the only way he was gonna get anywhere in life was by losing his stars forever. He was told that the thing right in front of him wasn’t real, that he should stop talking about it, that he could get in trouble. So he had to show everyone that he was right. He would be a hero! He would be the kid who finally discovered where the light came from, something no scientist had ever gotten close to figuring out!

But in the end his parents were right. It was too dangerous. God bill tragic backstory is so ougrhhhhj grabs alex hirsch by the shoulders and shakes him

[springtyme]

Hey luv, hope all is well. So, I just previously read your spencer x girly!reader and I absolutely loved them. While reading the chess part, an idea sparked.

So if possible could you do something similar where Spencie boy and girly!reader are playing chess and she is obviously frustrated or something because she doesn’t understand. So being the amazing boy wonder he is, Spencer secretly acts like he had no good moves and the reader just starts pointing out the moves he could make not knowing he can clearly see those moves and he lets the reader win making her super excited and happy and immediately sets the board back and starts another game.

I just think it would be so cute to see how Spencer would just gaze at and admire the reader as she is focused and asks questions. If this is too confusing or too similar to the original chess part no worries. It’s simply a mere thought I had. Do with it what you please!!!

Love your works and your blog 🥰🤗

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲 ♡

Thank you so much, hun ♡ I't makes me so happy to hear that you liked the other ones, I've had so much fun with them. And thank you so much for this request, it's such a cute scenario!

Spencer Reid x girly!reader|| Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: Spencer truly can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life. With you, everything just feels so natural, despite him being in completely foreign waters. You keep being patient with him, every step of the way. With you, everything just falls into place, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally fitting snugly into its spot. All he ever want to do is make you smile, even when it means that he has to lose in chess on purpose. Part one & part two 💕

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I was actually in a chess club in school, but we did not play chess, so sorry if the chess parts aren’t very accurate, I tried my best, lol.

Spencer watches you intently, his heart swelling with adoration at the sight of you trying your best. He can see the determination in your eyes, the way you furrow your brow in concentration, and it only deepens the love he feels for you. Your stained lips pouting sweetly as you contemplate your next move

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in your chair with a frustrated expression. “I just don’t understand this game, Spence. I feel like I’m making all the wrong moves,” you sigh, moving your knight in a random direction. “At this point I‘m just making moves for the sake of it.”

Spencer can’t help but smile at your frustration, finding it endearing how you get so worked up over a game of chess. Moving your knight wasn’t the best move you could have made, but he doesn’t want to tell you that, and it wasn’t the worst move either. He reaches out to gently place his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but he lets his fingers linger for a little while. It always manages to surprise him how soft your skin is, and how it feels so warm and comforting beneath his touch.

You look up at him, your pretty eyes meeting his gaze and Spencer feels how his heart skips a beat at the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. Some people use their entire life to master this game, and you’ve only been playing for a few weeks,” he reminds you. “You’re doing great, and trust me, you’re not as lost as you think you are.”

You smile softly at his reassurance. “So, what I’m hearing you say is that if I keep going, there’s still a chance that I can be a big old chess nerd like you?” you tease, nudging him playfully.

Spencer chuckles at your teasing, loving the way you always manage to make him laugh, something he hasn’t always had an easy time with. “Hey, being a nerd isn’t that bad, okay?”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, leaning in closer to him. “In fact, I think it’s kind of cute.” Spencer’s heart flutters at your words, feeling a warmth spread through him at the way you look at him with such affection.

Spencer knows many things, arguably too many things, but he will never be able to understand what you see in him, you’re so beautiful and confident and always so kind to everyone, there is no doubt in his mind that you are way, way out of his league, but he is grateful every day that you, for whatever reason, chose him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he mumbles, a slight blush dusting his cheeks at your words.

“I actually think you’re very cute, you know,” you say playfully, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face with a gentle touch. Spencer can feel his heart racing in his chest as he looks into your eyes, seeing nothing but love and admiration reflected back at him.

He leans in closer to you, unable to resist the magnetic pull that always seems to bring you both together. Your lips meet in a soft, tender kiss, filled with all the love and affection that Spencer feels for you. In that moment, nothing else matters except for the two of you and the way your hearts beat as one.

As you pull away, a smile tugs at the corners of Spencer’s lips, a smile that only you can bring out in him. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

“I love you too, Spence,” you respond, your eyes shining with your own smile, bright and full of happiness.

Spencer will never be able to wrap his head around why you love him, but damn he is glad and forever grateful that you do. If he could travel back in time and tell his younger self that he would find someone as amazing and wonderful as you - that someone as beautiful and kind hearted as you would ever love him, he wouldn’t have believed it, he would probably think that it was some kind of cruel joke. But here you are.

It’s overwhelming, really, the love and adoration he feels for you in every fiber of his being. He never knew he could feel this way about someone, never knew that someone could make him feel so alive and complete. The fact that he feels so at home and normal with another person in his life is beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

But with you, everything just feels so natural, despite him being in completely foreign waters, you keep being patient with him every step of the way and with you by his side, it doesn’t seem so daunting anymore. With you, everything just falls into place, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally fitting snugly into its spot.

“Oh, you got something…” you whisper, almost more to yourself than him. He is confused for a short second, until he feels your thumb brush against the corner of his mouth, wiping away the trace of lipstick that had transferred from your lips to his. Spencer chuckles at the realization, feeling a warm rush of affection for you. “There…” you say with a soft smile.

Spencer can’t help but chuckle at the tender gesture, feeling a surge of warmth behind his chest.

“You can’t keep distracting me like this,” you tease, leaning in closer to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’m actually trying to beat you at this game, you know.”

Spencer’s smile widens at your playful tone, a twinkle in his eye as he looks at you. “Who says I’m going to make it easy for you?” he responds, his voice laced with amusement.

“You did! You literally said that you would go easy on me,” you pout, crossing your arms in mock annoyance.

Spencer laughs, a sound that fills the room with joy. “Okay, okay, I may have said that,” he concedes, “but, I don’t think you really need me to, you know. You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up beating me at my own game someday.”

“I doubt that,” you mumble, looking back at the board with furrowed brows.

Spencer leans back in his chair, watching you with admiration as you study the board, he can see the gears turning in your head. He knows what move he should be doing, the move that could make him win the game, but he isn’t really interested in that.

“Well, it looks like I’m running out of options,” he say, feigning defeat as he moves his bishop into a vulnerable position.

You glance up at him. “You could have moved your rook to that square and set up a potential checkmate in a few moves,”you point out, sounding both surprised and proud that you saw the possible move.

Spencer had, of course, seen that it would have been the right move to make, but he wanted to give you a chance to shine, and to prolong the game. Seeing the pride and satisfaction in your eyes is worth more than winning any game ever could.

“Oh, you’re right,” he says, trying to sound surprised, like he hadn’t seen that move multiple rounds in advance. But he must not be a very convincing actor, and he can’t help but smile as he watches the look of realization dawn on your face.

You roll your eyes playfully, seeing right through his act. “You’re such a goof, Spence,” you giggle, shaking your head in amusement. “But thank you for giving me a chance to show off a little.”

“I guess I just wanted to give you a fighting chance,” he says, leaning in closer to you.

You playfully swat at his arm, a laugh escaping your lips. “Dork,” you tease, but there’s a fondness in your tone that makes his heart swell with even more love for you, and he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, before leaning back again to look at you, his heart overflowing with adoration for you.

You playfully roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of gratitude in your expression. “Well, thanks for the favor,” you say with a smile, moving your queen in a strategic position that surprises Spencer.

He raises an eyebrow in surprise at your move, impressed by your strategic thinking. “Oh, someone’s feeling confident now, huh?” he teases, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shrug nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Well, you did say you weren’t going to go easy on me,” you quip, moving your pieces with a newfound determination.

Spencer watches you closely, his heart filled with pride at the way you’re starting to grasp the game more and more and making better and better strategic moves. He can’t help but admire your intelligence and quick thinking, feeling a sense of awe at the way you surprise him at every turn.

And yes, he might go a little easy on you from time to time, but he can see that you’re starting to understand the game on a deeper level. And that, to him, is worth more than winning a game of chess ever could.

As the game progresses, Spencer can see the determination in your eyes, the way you carefully plan out your moves and anticipate his next move

“You’re really giving me a run for my money, aren’t you?” Spencer remarks, a smile playing on his lips as he watches you strategize your next move. You give him a sly grin, clearly enjoying the challenge. “I told you not to underestimate me, Spence,” you say confidently, moving your knight into a position that puts him on the defensive.

Spencer chuckles, impressed by your bold move. “I should know better by now,” he admits, moving his rook to protect his vulnerable bishop. The game continues, each move calculated and strategic, and Spencer can’t help but admire the way you’ve grown since your first game together.

“Checkmate,” you say triumphantly, a grin stretching across your face as you realize you’ve won. Spencer can’t help but smile back, feeling a rush of excitement and happiness at your victory. “Well done, darling,” he says, leaning in to give you a congratulatory kiss.

“I still feel like you went easy on me, but thank you,” you tease, a playful glint in your eye. Spencer can’t help but laugh, feeling grateful for the opportunity to see the excited smile that is lighting up your face, making your already beautiful features shine even brighter with a sense of pride.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't,” he teases back, a twinkle in his eye. “But regardless, you did really well, I can’t believe how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time.”

You grin at his words. “Well, I’ve had a really great teacher,” you remark. “And he is, like, sooo handsome too. It’s actually wild that I could even concentrate on the game,” you add with a wink before you’re leaning in to plant a sweet kiss on his lips.

Spencer’s heart flutters at your words, feeling a surge of love and adoration for you that he can’t quite put into words, they are too big and too overwhelming to express, so instead he tries to pour every bit of that love and adoration into the kiss that he returns to you.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him as he deepens the kiss, savoring the feeling of being so close to you, of sharing this moment. He might have lost the game, but because of you, he has never felt like less of a loser.

As you both pull away, a smile lingers on both of your faces, and Spencer can’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity and adoration.

“I love you too, Spence,” you respond, your eyes filled with nothing but love and affection for him “Now help me set this board up again, I want to beat you fair and square this time,” you say with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer chuckles at your competitive spirit, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he helps you set up the board once more.

[ephemeraltapes]

burning candle - prologue

chapter: 0/?

pairings: reader x stiles, lydia x stiles, ?

word count: 754

synopsis: a glimpse into the year before, when your biggest concern was stiles finding out about your crush on him.

You tap your pencil against your lip while you listen to your English teacher drone on about the book you were supposed to read for class. You sighed, looking at the clock wondering if this will ever be over.

12:30PM. Only half an hour has passed and it made you groan internally. You glance over at Lydia to see if she was thinking the same thing. When you make eye contact with her it seems you’re both thinking the same thing. You crack a smile at her which she mirrors. She looks down at a paper in her notebook, quickly writing something down before passing it to you.

You open the folded paper. “I haven’t heard a single word she’s said this whole time.” You try to hold back a laugh while writing back a reply before passing it to her. She reads your handwriting and tries to hold back her laughter but she can’t. The teacher stops what she’s saying and turns to Lydia. “Is there anything you want to share with us Ms. Martin?” Lydia raises and eyebrow, “Don’t let my giggling stop you from your boring lecture.” The teacher sighs before turning to her desk and handing both you and Lydia a detention slip. You groan and put your head in your hands.

“Alright, let’s continue.”

As the bell rings signaling the end of your class, you feel a tap on your shoulder as you’re putting your books away in your bag. You turn, expecting to see Lydia behind you, only to come face to face with the boy you’ve been crushing on for ages. Stiles Stilinski.

The brown-eyed boy is saying something to you but you’re finding it hard to listen. You watch the way his lashes flutter against his cheek every time he blinks. He’s so handsome. You’re brought out of your trance as you hear him call your name twice in a row. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink out of your thoughts, “Can you repeat it for me, maybe?” He shakes his head and does so anyways. “Listen to me,” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “you need to help me with the Lydia situation.” Your chest aches hearing those words come out of his mouth. Not this again. “Last idea didn’t go well?” You ask out of politeness, because you already knew the answer.

“Haha. Very funny.” The sarcastic tone is heavy in his words. “I don’t know why your advice doesn’t work. I mean- you guys have best friends for years and you know her better than anyone!” You frown, although it upsets you that his affection is directed towards your best friend you still sympathize with his situation. I mean, who could understand him better than you? You are literally in his exact situation. Although, you think you might somehow be worst off even though Stiles actually knows your name.

“I’m sorry to hear that Stiles. I think she’s really into Jackson right now. Not a day goes by where that man’s name doesn’t come out of her mouth at some point.” You pat his shoulder to comfort him. “There’s no guy out there better than you...” You inhale before continuing, “I don’t know... how she doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.” Your words make him smile, even if it’s just a little bit. “It must be tiring to hear me mope about Lydia all the time. I know I’ve already tired out Scott.” He tries to laugh off his words but you can tell that he’s actually a bit upset from the situation. “It’s normal to want to talk about your crush, especially if you’ve liked them for a long time.”

Stiles laughs at your words. “Then how come you never talk about your crush?” Your eyes widen but you try to shake off his pointed statement. “Well that’s because I obviously don’t have one.” Stiles narrows his eyes at you, you feel yourself start to sweat almost. Why does this feel like it’s going to turn into an interrogation?

“Fine. I’ll let it go.” You let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. You never realized the prospect of Stiles finding out about your one-sided affection for him would have such an effect on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “But you’ll tell me someday, right? Maybe when you finally go on a date with him?” You let out what could be described as the most unconvincing laugh of all time. “Totally.”

[jetii]

Hi! I’m the anon that asked about the SFW/NSFW thing. I had an angsty idea for a Crosshair x Jedi. Reader where they both liked each other, but they never said anything. He injures her during Order 66 and believes her to be dead. Later he finds out she survived, but she has amnesia from when he attacked her. She doesn’t remember that she was a Jedi. She doesn’t remember the Batch and how she battled by their side. She doesn’t remember him.

This can end with the reader remembering and they make up, or you can go the extra angsty route and have it so she never remembers and Crosshair watches as she moves on with someone else. SFW please!

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a while to get to this, but this was harder than I thought. I ended up writing this in a different style than I'm used to, but I think it turned out alright. Tried to keep the word count short but obviously that Did Not Happen. Enjoy!

Forgotten, But Not Yet Gone

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 9,425

Tags/Warnings: Imperial!Crosshair, angst, unrequited feelings, medically inaccurate depictions of amnesia and memory loss

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Killing you was the worst thing that ever happened to Crosshair.

Discovering that you were still alive was a new kind of pain entirely.

And it's one he had never prepared himself for.

He had thought there was nothing left of his heart to break. He thought he was done with feeling anything at all. But seeing you now, in the flesh — and not just the memory of you in the back of his mind...

Crosshair realized he had been wrong.

He had felt nothing for so long. And it had been easier, really. To keep it all locked away. To ignore it. To pretend. He had even been successful, for the most part.

But then, there you were, standing in front of him. And everything came rushing back to the surface.

All of the things he had tried to bury deep within himself. The feelings he had spent years ignoring. All of the things that had made him start to become himself, again. The person he was before the chip, before the nightmare that had been the last year.

And now, as you looked up at him with those big eyes of yours...

Crosshair knew exactly what that emotion was.

You had always made him feel something. Something he had never felt before. Something he was only just now allowing himself to admit. Something he was finally allowing himself to accept.

He’s not sure how long he’s been watching you through the scope of his rifle. So long. Too long.

Long enough for him to realize what he feels.

Long enough for him to know it won't ever go away.

And long enough for him to realize you would never want him again.

Still, it doesn’t stop him from moving. He checks his chrono for the time — he’s been up here for hours, watching the movements of the crowd, and nothing has happened — and stands, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he heads for the ladder.

He has to see you. Even if you won’t want to see him. Even if he knows it will hurt more than he ever imagined.

Because he needs you to know.

Crosshair pushes his way through the crowd, weaving through the bodies. His heart is pounding in his chest. He can hear the blood roaring in his ears. His palms are sweating as he clenches his hands into fists, and his throat is dry.

You don’t see him approach. You haven't noticed him. You're busy smiling and chatting with a vendor over some sort of scrap, the kind of things he used to make fun of you for collecting.

He watches you, the way you gesture animatedly, the way you laugh. You're still beautiful, he thinks, the same way you were the day you left. Your hair is longer, pulled back into a messy braid, and your smile is softer, kinder, but it's still the same.

When he's close enough to hear your voice, he pulls off his helmet so he can hear it more clearly.

You're talking to the vendor about something, the details of the conversation lost on him. The words are just noise in his ears. Your voice washes over him, filling his head, making him ache.

Crosshair stops a few yards away from you. His chest tightens, his heart racing as he watches you. You've been talking to the vendor, completely unaware of his presence. He has to remind himself to breathe, to calm down, to be patient.

Then, you turn around.

He's not sure what he expected to see on your face. Maybe shock. Maybe anger. Maybe even disgust. But you look...pleased. Relieved. Happy. Your smile never falters. In fact, it widens, crinkling the corners of your eyes. Your hand lifts into a wave, and in his stupor he finds his own hand lifting, as if in a trance.

Someone jostles his side as he stands there, staring at you. Your eyes slide off of him and you let out a laugh before a small form launches itself into you, almost knocking you off your feet.

You laugh, picking up the little boy who had run up to you and swing him around, pressing kisses into his hair as he giggles. A moment later, a woman joins you, her hands on her hips, scolding the boy gently for running off.

His throat is too dry to speak. His hands are shaking. The world seems to tilt around him.

Crosshair knows what he feels. He had denied it for so long, tried to tell himself he didn't. But he can't do that anymore. Not when you're here. Not when he's faced with the reality of his feelings for you.

Crosshair can't speak. Can't say anything. Not now. So instead, he watches. Watches the boy squirm in your arms, and the woman smiling at the both of you. Watches as the three of you move on, further into the crowd.

As you move on. Without him.

"CT-9904, report. Why have you left your post?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up and activating his commlink.

"There was a disturbance in the market," he says. His voice is steady, cool, emotionless. Just like it should be.

"And?"

Crosshair looks around. There's no trace of you or the child. You've moved on.

"All clear."

"Good. Report back immediately.”

Crosshair's finger hovers over the button on his comm, the one that will deactivate it. He glances up, once again searching the crowd for any sign of you, but there's nothing.

You're gone, and he's alone. Again.

Crosshair's stomach turns, and he takes a breath, his eyes sliding shut as he speaks.

"Understood."

Every day, Crosshair takes up his post and watches the market, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. And every day, he finds nothing. Every day, he returns to his base, his shoulders heavy with disappointment. He starts to convince himself that he'd imagined you.

That's the only logical explanation. You aren't real. None of this is.

But then, one day, he finds himself watching as you walk into the market. You're holding the hand of the same boy he'd seen you with before, and he can't help but wonder if the two of you are related. If you've found happiness. If you're happy.

It's the first time since finding you that he feels like he can breathe.

He watches as the boy tugs on your hand, dragging you towards a booth, where he's pointing at something, chattering. You're nodding along, clearly invested in what he's saying.

He doesn't look like you. Maybe it's the father. But his age isn't right, either. Crosshair frowns, thinking. How old was the boy? Four, maybe five? It couldn't be your child, not unless you had hidden him from him for the last four years.

He watches as the boy drags you into a crowd. You're laughing, your smile wide, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He'd forgotten how much he loved seeing you smile. Forgotten how it felt.

The only thing keeping him from leaving his post is his fear that you'll be gone the moment he does. So he stays.

The boy is still talking to you. You're listening intently, but your eyes are moving, scanning the crowd. You're nervous, he realizes. You've sensed him, he's sure of it.

Crosshair doesn't dare move. He doesn't know how you would react. You're a ghost. A figment of his imagination, conjured up because he's finally allowed himself to feel something again, but one he can’t bear to look away from

A group of people walk by. A woman bumps into you. Crosshair doesn't have a good view of you anymore. He curses, shifting, trying to get a better angle. He needs to see you. Has to.

You're moving farther away, leaving the market, the boy's hand clasped firmly in yours.

Crosshair moves, quickly, not wanting to lose you. He leaps across rooftops, keeping you in his sights, until the two of you leave the market.

The crowds have thinned. People are going home, to their families, to their lives. Crosshair wonders, briefly, where you're taking your son. What your life is like.

The two of you turn a corner, heading toward the residential district. He follows you, carefully. Slowly. Keeping a distance. You haven't noticed him, which is fine. He wants to be alone with his thoughts. He can't get over how beautiful you are. How perfect.

Crosshair slows, realizing the two of you are stopping in front of an apartment building. You let go of the boy's hand and crouch down in front of him, smiling as you brush his hair from his face. The boy smiles, wrapping his arms around your neck and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You squeeze him, and Crosshair can hear the low murmur of your voice as you talk to him, though he can't make out the words.

You're talking for a few moments, and then you're straightening, ushering him into the building. Crosshair can see the door open, a figure standing in the doorway. The woman from earlier, he realizes. He watches the door shut behind you, his heart clenching.

Maybe it's better this way. You're freer than you've ever been without the Jedi or the Empire. He doesn't want to put you in danger. He's seen what the Empire does to rebels, and he knows what they'll do to you if they discover you're still alive. The same thing he'd failed to do.

Maybe he can be satisfied with knowing that you're safe. Maybe he can live with not having you.

Still, a part of him wishes that you'd turned, seen him. That you'd looked up at him, somehow knowing that he was there.

He'd give anything for just a moment with you.

A moment is all he'd need.

He'd tell you everything. How much he's missed you. How sorry he is for the things he'd said and done. For everything. He'd beg for forgiveness, though he doesn't think he deserves it. He'd tell you how much he loves you, even if it's too late. Even if you're happy now. Even if you'll never be his.

It doesn't matter.

He just needs you to know.

He watches. He keeps his distance, but he watches. Every day. Waiting for you to appear.

He finds his mind wandering more often, thinking about the what ifs. What would have happened if he had never been forced to kill you? Would the two of you have made a life together, away from the Empire, the GAR, the Jedi? Or would he have continued to deny his feelings, pushing them away, until it was too late and he'd lost you forever?

Crosshair wonders, not for the first time, if it's worth it. If staying loyal to the Empire is worth losing any semblance of freedom. His life. The life he could have had.

He has no other choice. They're the only ones who will accept him, who will give him a home. His brothers are lost to him. They hate him, he's certain. They'd tried to kill him.

They've never needed him. They've always had each other. They'll be fine. They'll move on.

Without him.

Like they did after you.

Crosshair tries not to think about that. It's easier to focus on his work. The only thing keeping him sane, the only thing distracting him.

It's late. Crosshair's shift ended hours ago. He'd gone back to his quarters, but sleep hadn't come easily. His thoughts were racing, as they usually were, and the longer he'd laid in bed, the more restless he'd become. So he'd pulled on his armor and grabbed his rifle, and suddenly he was standing outside of your apartment.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

He has to see you. He just...he has to. He doesn't know why.

His fingers flex against the stock of his rifle as he looks around. It's empty, save for a few speeders parked nearby. There's not a single person in sight. He lets out a breath and slings the weapon over his shoulder.

He shouldn't be here.

But he is.

His boots crunch against the ground as he moves towards the entrance of the building. It's not the worst area of the city, but it's not the best, either. It's quiet, peaceful. There's a small garden nearby, a few trees casting a shadow on the door.

He stands outside the door for a moment, looking at the panel next to it. He shouldn't be here.

His fist pounds on the door anyway.

It takes a few minutes, but the door slides open, revealing the boy from the market. He blinks at Crosshair, tilting his head curiously.

"Hello," he says.

"Hey," Crosshair replies, awkwardly. He doesn't know what to say, really. He doesn't have any experience with kids beyond his few encounters with Omega, and she wasn't a kid, not really. "Uh, is your mother here?"

A pair of hands wrap around the boys shoulders and yank him back.

"Sam, you don't just open the door to strangers!"

The woman he'd seen the other day steps into view, a blaster clutched tightly in her hand. Her eyes widen as she sees him. He suddenly realizes how this looks — an imperial soldier, standing at her doorstep, in the middle of the night.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

She raises the blaster, pointing it at him. The boy is staring at him, and his gaze moves to the woman, his eyebrows furrowing. He slips around her and darts away, further into the apartment.

"Wait, Sam—" She glances over her shoulder. "Sam!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Crosshair says, holding his hands up.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone," he says, slowly.

"At this hour?" She looks over her shoulder again, and when she turns back to him, her eyes are wide, panicked.

"Yes. I...I need to speak with her." His mouth feels like its full of sand when he says your name, and he watches as the woman's brow furrows with confusion.

"Who?"

"I need to speak with her. Please."

The woman is silent. She stares at him for a long time, her eyes narrowing, searching his face. She looks like she's about to say something, her lips parting, and then—

"Is everything okay, Maris?"

Crosshair's breath hitches.

Your voice. It's your voice.

The woman — Maris — glances over her shoulder. She takes a breath and nods, before looking back at him. You step into view, the boy at your heels, and stop short, your eyes widening as you take him in.

"We don't want any trouble," you say, stepping in front of Maris, shielding her and the boy. "You can't just—"

"I know."

You're standing between him and the other two, the boy's eyes darting from Crosshair to Maris. The woman has relaxed her stance, lowering her blaster. She's still watching him, wary, but she's not pointing the blaster at him.

"Are you going to hurt us?" you ask softly.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No. I...I need to speak with you."

You're silent. Your eyes are locked with his, searching his face. His heart is racing, and he's struggling to breathe. His armor suddenly feels like an impossible weight on his shoulders.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you nod.

"Okay," you say. "Okay. Come inside."

You turn, ushering the other two inside. Maris looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. He can't blame her. He'd be suspicious of a stranger at the door, too. Especially a strange imperial.

He's surprised when you stop just inside the door, waiting for him to enter. Your arms are crossed, your lips pressed into a thin line. You look nervous.

"Close the door, please," you say.

Crosshair reaches behind him, pressing his palm against the door, closing it. He pulls off his helmet and lets it rest against his hip, his fingers tight underneath the lip.

"You said you needed to speak to me?"

He nods. He wants to say so much. To tell you everything. But the words stick in his throat, and the silence stretches out between you.

"Well, what is it?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning. How can he even begin to explain? How can he start to make up for the things he's done? For the pain he's caused you, for the words he'd said, the insults, the hurtful things. For the fact that he was the one to end your life.

"I—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. No. That's not enough. "I'm sorry," he says, finally.

He doesn't know if that's enough, but it's a start.

"For what?"

Your question throws him. He's not sure what to say. His brow pinches as he tries to think of a response, and the longer he takes to respond, the more annoyed you look.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but—"

"I'm sorry," he says again, firmly. "For...for everything."

Your eyebrows furrow. He watches you, trying to gauge your reaction. But you've always been hard for him to read, with your endless calm and steady presence. It had made him feel less alone, knowing someone else had a handle on their emotions.

Now, he finds it maddening.

"I don't understand," you say, finally. "You show up, unannounced, in the middle of the night, and say you're sorry, but you don't say why. For what? What do you have to be sorry for? How do you even know me?"

Crosshair freezes and looks at you. Really looks at you.

There's no recognition in your eyes. No glimmer of warmth or love, or even hate. Just confusion. And annoyance.

"I..."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

Nothing comes out.

"I...I need to go."

Crosshair turns and heads for the door.

"Wait."

You're still standing between him and the door, and when he gets close, you grab his arm. Your fingers press into the armor, digging into the gaps, the skin on his wrist burning where your hand is touching his.

"Tell me," you say. "Why are you here?"

He looks at you. The confusion is still in your eyes, the annoyance. You're waiting for an answer. You don't remember him. You don't know him. He's a stranger to you, and he has no right to be here, talking to you.

"I shouldn't have come."

"No," you say, "you shouldn't have. Tell me why you're here. What do you want?"

Crosshair sighs, running his hand over his head. His fingers linger on the mottled scar, thumb tracing where the chip was. He knows what he wants to say. But the words are caught in his throat, his tongue heavy, his mouth dry.

"I'm not going to stop asking," you say. "Tell me. Who are you?"

He feels the strange urge to laugh. You always were stubborn. It's not an admirable trait, not normally, but it's something that had always drawn him to you. You were one of the few willing to stand up to him, and now, you're standing in front of him, demanding an answer.

"My name is Crosshair."

Your frown. "Crosshair? Why does that sound familiar?"

He looks at the ground. "That's what my brothers call me."

"Brothers?" You tilt your head, confused. "I don't..."

He looks up, watching your face as you try to figure out what he means. There's a small wrinkle between your brows, the one that appears when you're thinking hard about something. Your teeth worry at your lower lip. You look...

"You don't know me," he finishes for you.

You shake your head, your lips pressed together. "I don't."

"Why not?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he can't help but cringe at the way his voice sounds. Childish. Petulant. He can't stop the way his stomach twists.

You're alive.

And you don't remember him.

You frown. "What do you mean? What does it matter?"

Crosshair looks at you, and he can't help it. His eyes roam over your face, searching.

He wonders what happened. Wonders why you don't remember him. If you'd blocked him out because you were hurt, or angry. Or if it was something else. Something more.

"Because we know each other," he says.

"We do?" You blink at him, and your nose scrunches, just a little. He feels a pang of fondness. "How?"

"We...worked together."

"What? Where?"

Crosshair looks away, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He can't do this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He shouldn't have come. He should have left things alone.

"You don't remember."

"I told you that."

"Then what's the last thing you do remember?"

Your brow furrows, and you're quiet for a moment.

"I...I remember..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. When you open them again, your face is pinched. "I remember running. A battle. People were screaming. I was hurt."

You glance down at yourself, and Crosshair follows your gaze, looking at the spot where his rifle had pierced you.

"What else?"

You look at him. "Nothing. Everything went dark. Then I woke up on a ship, and the people who rescued me, they brought me here."

"And you don't remember anything before that?"

You shake your head. "No. It's just...black. There's nothing there."

Crosshair can feel his heart sinking.

He wonders if the memory loss was deliberate. A defense mechanism, something to keep you from remembering. A way to protect yourself from the trauma. Or maybe it was just a side effect of being brought back to life.

You’d told him once that you could see people’s memories, peel open their minds until they revealed their thoughts and past to you. It was a useful skill in a Jedi, but one you had hated, and never used. Would it work on yourself? Or would it be different, now that you didn't remember anything?

"Are you alright?"

Crosshair glances up at you, and your eyes meet his. He can't look away. Your eyes are searching, searching, searching, and he knows you're trying to understand what's going on. He can see the frustration and confusion written all over your face.

He nods. "Fine."

You sigh. "This is...a lot."

He nods again, looking away.

"Why did you come here, Crosshair?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"But why?"

"Because..." He sighs. "I need to apologize. For the things I said. For the things I did. And for...for this."

He presses his palm against the place where he'd shot you, and you inhale sharply, stepping back. He can't look at you. He doesn't want to see the fear and disgust on your face.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I wish..." He lets out a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "I wish things were different."

You're silent, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. They're wide, shining with unshed tears, and the sight makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

"I don't understand," you say.

He can't blame you. You've forgotten everything. Every moment, every memory, every feeling.

And he can't do this.

Not now.

Not like this.

"I have to go," he says. "This was a mistake."

"Wait," you say, reaching for him, but he steps away from you, heading for the door.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, not looking at you.

The door opens, and he steps out. He's halfway down the stairs to the street when you call out.

"Crosshair!"

He stops, glancing over his shoulder at you. You're standing in the doorway, the light from the apartment spilling out around you.

"Come back tomorrow. Please."

He hesitates, and you continue, a slight smile pulling at your lips, "I'll be here."

Crosshair turns and starts walking again.

"Promise?" you call out.

He doesn't stop, but he raises his hand in a wave. "I promise."

You're already waiting for him.

Crosshair can see you, standing in the window. He watches you, your form shadowed by the curtains. You're holding a mug in one hand, the steam curling into the air. The sight of it is so domestic, so...normal. It feels like a punch in the gut.

He had watched you do the same thing, years ago. Sipping tea as you stood at the window, looking out at the landscape. It was one of the first moments that had made him realize that he felt something for you, beyond friendship.

Crosshair is so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice the boy peeking out from behind you. You lean down, murmuring something, and the boy's face disappears. You take another sip from your mug and step away from the window.

The door slides open, revealing the two of you, and the woman from the other day. She's standing behind you, arms crossed, scowling at him. The boy is holding your hand, and his stare is unabashed.

"Crosshair," you say, smiling. "Come in."

He looks at the woman — Maris — and she narrows her eyes at him, but she doesn't protest. The three of you step inside, and he follows.

The apartment is small, but cozy. It's full of things. Pictures. Sculptures. Pieces of scrap and machinery. Junk, he would have said before, but now, they seem important, somehow.

"Do you want something to drink?" you ask, ushering him towards a chair.

"Water, please."

"Sam, can you get our guest some water?"

The boy nods and hurries to the kitchen.

"So," you say, sitting across from him. "You wanted to talk to me."

Crosshair can feel Maris' eyes boring into him, and he looks up, meeting her gaze. She narrows her eyes and turns away, moving into the kitchen. He can hear the soft murmur of her voice as she speaks to Sam.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"I—"

"Here's your water."

The boy sets a cup of water down on the table in front of him. Crosshair glances at him, and Sam looks away, suddenly shy. He rushes back into the kitchen, hiding behind the woman.

"So," you say. "Tell me."

"About what?"

"Everything."

Crosshair lets out a slow breath. He glances at Maris, who's still watching him from the doorway. Her expression hasn't changed, her face set in a scowl. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. He wouldn't, either.

“Not here," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, frowning.

"Maris, can you take Sam out, please?"

"We'll stay here," she says.

"Maris," you say, gently.

She looks at you, her expression softening. You nod towards the door. She shakes her head and steps forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

"Call if you need anything," she says.

You nod.

The two of them leave, Maris pausing briefly to look back at Crosshair. He holds her gaze, and she narrows her eyes. The door slides shut behind her.

"Sorry about that," you say. "She's a bit overprotective."

"It's fine." He pauses, and he can’t help but ask, "You're close, then?"

"Yes. Maris is a dear friend. She and her brother were the ones who saved me."

"Good," he says. "I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because someone has to look after you."

You smile, shaking your head.

"You were always a protective one," you say, chuckling.

Crosshair feels his heart drop.

You've said something of that nature to him before. Many times. He'd always brushed it off, told you he wasn't, that he didn't care. That it was only his duty to protect you. But you'd never bought it, and you'd always seen through his façade, calling him on his bullshit.

You had always been good at that.

“You said you don’t remember,” he points out, ignoring how his voice shakes.

You shake your head. “I don’t, but...I can feel it. I can feel things. When I look at you, it feels...familiar. Like I should know you, but I don't."

"And what do you feel, now?"

You're silent, looking at him. His eyes roam over your face, and he can feel himself leaning forward. Your lips part, and his eyes flick down, watching as your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

He leans in further, and—

The door opens, and Crosshair sits back, turning his head to see Maris and Sam standing there, the woman glaring at him.

"Forgot my datapad," she says, her tone clipped.

"Of course," you say, rising from your seat. "Where did you leave it?"

She doesn't answer, and instead, she crosses the room, scooping the datapad off the counter. She gives him another dirty look and then leaves, the door sliding shut behind her.

Crosshair sighs and leans back in his seat. You give him an apologetic smile and sit back down.

"You were saying?"

"Right. What do you feel?"

You're quiet, and he watches as your brow furrows.

"Sad," you say, softly. “But also…like I'm home. With you. It's strange. It doesn't make any sense. But I feel it."

He can't stop the strangled noise that escapes his throat, and he closes his eyes, his hands gripping the armrests. He tries to breathe, but he can't, and the world seems to be tilting around him.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Crosshair, please. Look at me."

His eyes snap open and lock on yours. You're staring at him, your face pinched with concern.

"Please," you say, again, and it's too much.

It's the same thing you'd said before, the last time he'd seen you. Before everything had gone to hell. Before the chip. Before he'd shot you.

"I can't," he chokes out, pushing himself to his feet. "I can't."

"Wait," you say, grabbing his wrist.

He freezes. Your hand is warm, and the way your thumb moves over his pulse point makes his heart flutter.

"Let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," you say.

He can feel the tension in his body building, his fingers twitching. He wants to run. To get out of here. To get away from you, and everything that reminds him of what he's lost. Of what he'll never have.

He yanks his hand from your grasp and turns to go, but something stops him. Something familiar. A tugging at the back of his mind. He turns, slowly, and sees you standing there, your eyes closed, your hand outstretched.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

“I—I’m not sure,” you whisper, and your eyes blink open.

The two of you stare at each other, and then you turn, moving into the kitchen. Crosshair follows, stopping just outside the doorway. You're leaning against the counter, your head hanging low, breathing heavily.

"I shouldn't have done that," you say. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"What did you do?"

"I'm not sure," you repeat.

"But you have a theory," he says. You always have a theory.

"I think...I was trying to reach out, to see if I could read your memories. If I could see what happened between us."

"Did it work?"

"I don't know. I tried, but..."

You trail off, and Crosshair watches as you lift a hand to your head, wincing.

"It's like a wall," you say. "Or a wall that's half there. I can't break through."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure," you say. "It's like I'm remembering, but not. It's confusing. And frustrating. I saw flashes of something, but it didn't make sense. None of it does."

"Like what?"

"You. Me. Fighting. And..." You frown. "Your…brothers? They were there, too."

Crosshair swallows. He has no idea what you're seeing. How much of the memory is intact, or if it's even real.

"What else?"

"I don't remember," you say, shaking your head. "It's gone."

He doesn't know what to say. The two of you stand in silence, and he can't help but feel a small flicker of hope. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance that you can regain your memories. That he can have you back.

But that's foolish. He's not a child, and he's not that naive. Hope is dangerous. It leads to disappointment. It's not something he can afford. Not anymore.

"I should go," he says.

"No." You reach for him, grabbing his wrist, and he doesn't pull away. "Please, don't go. I need to know more. Please tell me. Tell me about us. About the things we did. About...everything. I need to know. I have to know."

He hesitates. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

But you're looking at him, and you're so desperate, so vulnerable. You'd never allowed him to see you like this. You'd always been strong and sure. Calm and collected. Steady. Always steady.

This isn't you.

It's not.

But he can't help but feel a small pang of hope. A tiny spark of optimism.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

"Alright," he says. "Alright. I'll tell you."

Crosshair keeps coming back.

It becomes a routine. He stops by the apartment, talks to you. He tells you stories, and he watches as you try to remember, but can't.

Sometimes, he catches Maris watching him. Her gaze is always wary, guarded. She doesn't trust him, and he can't blame her. But she tolerates him. She never says anything, not to him, and not to you, but he knows she doesn't like him.

The boy, Sam, doesn't seem to mind him. He's curious, and he has endless questions. He's a smart kid, and Crosshair can't help but feel a small spark of pride every time Sam comes up with a solution to a problem, or manages to repair something that was broken.

He's a good kid.

He reminds him of Tech.

"Do you have any brothers?" Sam asks one day, his hands covered in grease.

Crosshair's stomach twists at the question. He nods, and Sam's eyes widen.

"I have a brother, too. We don't look the same, but that's okay."

"I have brothers who don't look like me," Crosshair replies, and Sam smiles.

"That's good."

Crosshair smiles back.

After that, Sam starts to ask him questions, about his life, his family. His brothers. He can't help but answer, though he tries to keep it vague, giving Sam the barest details. You watch him, and he can feel your eyes on him. You want answers too, but you don't push.

It's easier when it's just the two of you. Easier to talk. Easier to tell you things. Easier to try and find some way to connect.

Easier to fall back into old habits.

"Do you remember that time on Vanqor?"

"The one where I almost drowned in a pond, or the one where I had to save you from that pack of gundarks?"

"Both."

You laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears. "Yes. I remember. You were such a brat about it."

"I was not," he huffs, and you give him a look.

"Yes, you were."

He can't argue. You're right. He'd been a brat. And an asshole.

But he can't help it. You bring out the worst in him. And the best.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Maybe a little."

You smirk and shake your head, and the two of you continue to chat. The conversation shifts, and he's talking about his brothers. How they used to get into trouble. How they'd pull pranks, and he'd end up in the middle of it. How you'd always had his back.

Crosshair can't help but wonder if this is how it would have been, if the two of you had been able to have a normal life. Would you have ended up together, anyway? Would the two of you be happy? Would you have been able to start a family of your own?

He'd never thought about it before, but now, it seems all too possible.

Too tempting.

"What are you thinking about?"

He looks up, startled, and realizes you're watching him, a faint smile on your face.

"Nothing," he says.

"Tell me."

"It's nothing. I was just...thinking."

"About what?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

He pauses, his mouth going dry. He shouldn't say it. He should change the subject. But he can't.

"What we could have been."

Your expression softens, and your eyes shine with sadness.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I wish I could remember."

"Me, too."

The two of you fall into a heavy silence. The air is thick, and he can feel the tension growing. You're still staring at him, your gaze searching. He's not sure what you're looking for, but you seem to find it, because you stand, and walk over to him.

"Can I show you something?"

He nods, and you take his hand, leading him to your room. He can't help but notice how your fingers fit perfectly between his, or the way his skin tingles underneath his gloves when you touch him. You step inside, and close the door behind you, sealing the two of you inside.

Crosshair doesn't know what to expect, but it's not this.

"Sit."

You motion towards the bed, and he does, slowly, feeling his heart race. You move to a dresser and open the top drawer, pulling out a box.

"I found this," you say, sitting next to him, "a few days ago."

You set the box between the two of you, and slowly, carefully, you lift the lid. Inside is a collection of items - a haircomb, a few pieces of jewelry, a datapad, a pair of gloves.

"What is this?"

"I don't know," you say. "Maris found them in my things. She says I was wearing most of this when she and her brother found me. She kept it for me. I think...I think they might have been important to me."

You pick up the datapad and press a button, bringing it to life. The screen lights up, and you stare at it, your brow furrowing.

"It's locked," you say, frowning. "I don't remember the password."

"Have you tried any?"

"No," you say. "I haven't touched any of this. I wanted to wait for you."

He can't hide his surprise, and you smile, a faint flush spreading across your cheeks.

"I think," you say, slowly, "that they're memories. And I think you might be the key to unlocking them."

Crosshair's breath hitches. "How?"

"I'm not sure," you admit. "But...when we're together, I feel...something. A connection. Like a catalyst. I can't explain it, but...I know I need you."

He feels a warmth spreading through him, and he looks away, his heart pounding.

"Do you think we could try?" you ask, tentatively.

He nods.

"Alright," you say. You pick up the datapad, and hand it to him.

"I don't know if I can," he says, taking the device.

"Please."

He swallows. His mouth feels dry, and his hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath, and then types in a code.

The datapad beeps, and the screen lights up.

"How did you know that?" you ask, softly.

He shrugs. "It was a guess."

"A good one," you say, smiling.

"I'm full of good ideas," he replies, smirking.

You roll your eyes, and the two of you share a quiet chuckle.

"So," you say. "Shall we see what's inside?"

He nods, and you scoot closer to peer over his shoulder. He unlocks the datapad, and a folder opens. Inside are dozens of files - audio, video, and holos. He looks at you, and you nod, indicating for him to click on the first one.

The screen goes black, and then an image appears. It's of the two of you standing in front of a waterfall. He remembers the moment. It was from a mission, the first time the two of you had really worked together. He didn't like you then. Not at all. But he can't deny that you were efficient, and had a sharp eye. You'd impressed him, and the two of you had formed a tenuous bond.

"I took a lot of holos," you murmur, and he can't help but chuckle.

"I remember," he says. "You were a damn nuisance."

"Yeah, but look."

You point to the holo, and Crosshair looks, and sees himself. He's standing next to you, and there's a hint of a smile on his face.

"That's you," you say, poking his shoulder.

"Yes," he replies, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "It is."

You move on to the next file, and it's another image of the two of you. And the next. And the next. Until finally, the holo changes. It's a video. The two of you are in the cockpit, and he can see his brothers sitting behind you.

"We were on our way to a mission," he says as he sees the date stamp. "We'd just gotten the brief."

"Play it," you urge.

Crosshair presses the play button, and the two of you watch as the holo begins.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" you ask, glancing at him.

"Of course," he replies, not looking away from the viewport.

Tech looks over his shoulder, frowning. "Statistically speaking, there is a thirty-two percent chance that we will—"

"Shut up, Tech," Crosshair snaps.

"It's alright," Hunter says. "We'll be fine. We always are."

Wrecker laughs, and the sound is booming in the small space.

"And if we're not, well, that's what we have her for," Crosshair adds, nodding towards you.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, thanks. Nice to know I'm the only one who can bail your asses out."

"You're welcome," he smirks.

You huff and shake your head. "Just be careful."

"Always," he replies.

The video cuts off, and the screen goes black. You're quiet, and Crosshair glances at you. You're staring at the datapad, your expression thoughtful.

"That was...me," you say, slowly. "I can't believe it. That was really me."

"Yes," he says. "It was."

"It was so...familiar," you murmur. "But also...not."

"It will come," he says, softly. "I promise."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because it's you," he says. "I know you. You're stubborn."

"You're one to talk," you say, laughing.

He can't stop himself. He reaches for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You lean into the touch, and he cups your face, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"I've missed you," he confesses.

"I'm right here."

"I know."

"You don't have to miss me," you say, gently. "Not anymore."

He looks at you, and the words are there, on the tip of his tongue.

But he can't say them.

He can't.

Not now.

Not yet.

"Crosshair," you say, softly.

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"What is it?"

You hesitate, and he watches as your brow furrows, the small wrinkle appearing.

"Were we ever...together?"

"Together?"

"Romantically," you clarify.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He drops his hand, and turns away.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," you say. "But...I feel like we were. Or...maybe could have been. I'm not sure."

"We..."

He trails off, and his eyes flick up, meeting yours. You're watching him, your gaze intent, and he knows you won't let this go. Not now.

"No," he says, finally. You look…he isn’t sure how you look, actually, but it has him continuing before he can think better of it. "But we could have been."

"Why didn't we?"

Crosshair looks away, his hands clenching into fists. He can feel the anger, the guilt, the regret, all of it, rising up inside him, threatening to consume him.

"It was my fault," he says, his voice tight.

"What was?"

"Everything," he replies, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is," he says. "It's my fault. All of it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a monster," he snaps.

You're quiet, and he can feel the anger burning in his chest, his blood boiling.

"That's not true," you say, finally.

"You don't know that," he growls.

"Maybe not," you say, evenly. "But I know you. I may not remember everything, but I know enough to know that you're not a monster. I know that you love your brothers. That you care about me. That you're a good man. Maybe not a perfect one, but a good one. One I trust."

He closes his eyes, his chest tight. He can't believe you. He can't. You're wrong. He's not a good man. He's not. He can't be. Not after everything. Not after what he's done.

"It's okay," you say, softly.

"No, it's not."

"Then let me help you."

"There's nothing you can do," he says, shaking his head. "I don't deserve it."

"Everyone deserves to be happy."

"Not me."

"Crosshair," you sigh, exasperated.

He looks up at you, and your eyes lock.

"It doesn't matter," he says, the fight going out of him. "It's too late. We can't go back. I can't change the past. And you...you don't remember."

"I will," you say, fiercely.

"Maybe," he replies, unconvinced.

"No," you say, your voice firm. "I will. I will remember, and I will know you. The real you. I will."

"I don't—"

"Crosshair," you say, firmly.

He stares at you, and he can feel his resolve breaking.

"Fine," he says, finally.

"Good," you say, nodding.

"But you have to promise me something," he says.

"What is it?"

"Promise me you won't push yourself," he says. "Don't try to force it. Let it happen naturally. Promise me."

You're silent for a moment, and he can see the wheels turning in your mind.

"Okay," you say, nodding.

"Promise."

"I promise."

"Thank you," he says, his shoulders slumping in relief.

"You're welcome," you say with a grin.

He shakes his head, unable to stop the small smile that tugs at his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says. "Just...you."

"Me?"

"Yes," he replies, his tone wry. "You're infuriating, and stubborn, and—"

"I'm starting to remember why we never got together," you say, teasingly.

He lets out a startled laugh, and the two of you lapse into silence, a comfortable one, filled with a familiarity and a warmth that he hasn't felt in years.

"Do you want to look at more holos?" you ask, gently.

"Sure," he says, leaning back.

The two of you settle down, and he holds the datapad, while you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. He feels a familiar warmth spreading through him, a sense of belonging, and rightness.

He doesn't know how long the two of you sit there, watching the holos.

He doesn't care.

He's home.

Crosshair keeps coming back.

Every day, he returns. He tells you stories. Shows you holos. Shares memories.

Slowly, things begin to return. Flashes, mostly. Nothing concrete, but the pieces are there. Small ones, at first. The scent of a flower. The sound of a song. The feeling of the sun on your face.

As time passes, the memories grow stronger. Clearer. More detailed.

And still, you continue to search for answers. You ask questions. He answers, when he can.

Sometimes, it's too much, and he can't. When it is, you change the subject, and the two of you talk about other things.

You tell him about your life. About Maris and her brother, and their family. You tell him about the boy, Sam. You tell him about the work you've been doing, helping to rebuild the city.

You ask about his life, too. His family. His brothers. His life before.

He answers, when he can.

As the days pass, Crosshair finds himself falling back into old patterns. The familiarity of it is comforting, and it's easy to pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing has changed.

That you're the same people, with the same lives, and the same goals.

It's a lie.

But it's one he allows himself, for a while.

One day, you're sitting on the couch, the two of you lost in conversation. He's telling you a story, and you're listening, a small smile on your face.

"Wait," you interrupt. "I remember that."

"You do?"

"Yes," you say, eagerly. "Tech and I were working on modifying my armor, and he asked you to go get us some food. You came back, and—"

"And Wrecker spilled paint all over me," he finishes, his voice bitter.

"Yeah," you say, your grin widening. "And then I had to help you clean it off."

"It was a nightmare," he grumbles. "And it took forever. Your damn hands were everywhere."

You laugh, and his stomach flutters. It's a wonderful sound.

"It wasn't that bad," you tease.

"It was," he insists. "It took hours."

"Maybe," you concede. "But it was fun."

"Fun?" he says, incredulous.

"Yeah," you say, your eyes twinkling. "For me."

"You're terrible," he grumbles, though there's no heat in his words.

"You love it."

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he leans forward, and presses his lips to yours.

You freeze, and he freezes, and for a moment, the two of you are motionless, caught in a moment of indecision.

Then, slowly, tentatively, your lips move against his, and his eyes close, and he's kissing you, and you're kissing him, and the world falls away, and it's just the two of you, lost in the moment.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless. Your eyes meet, and there's a spark of recognition, and something else.

Something deeper.

"Crosshair," you whisper, your voice shaking.

"I know," he says, cupping your cheek. "I know."

He kisses you again, and you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. He deepens the kiss, and you respond in kind, your hands tangling in his hair.

The two of you continue to kiss, and he's lost in the sensation, his hands roaming over your body, his fingers digging into your skin.

Finally, the two of you break apart, breathless, and your eyes lock.

"Wow," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. "That was..."

"Yeah," he says, a smirk forming on his face.

You laugh, and his smile grows. Then you grow quiet, and you pull away, turning your head.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft.

"Sorry," you say. "It's just...I'm remembering things. More than before. A lot more. Things I'd forgotten."

"What kind of things?"

"Things we did. Where we went. What we said."

He can't help but feel a sense of excitement. This is the first time you've been able to recall anything concrete. It's a step in the right direction.

"What are you remembering?" he asks, his voice low.

You turn to him, and your eyes are shining.

"Us," you say, softly. "The way we were. Together."

His heart races, and he swallows, hard.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice raspy.

Your brow furrows and you close your eyes, and he can see the gears turning in your mind. He waits, barely daring to breathe.

"I remember us, talking," you say, slowly. "We were on the ship, and I was working on something, and you were sitting with me, and...we were talking about us."

"What did we say?"

"You told me that...you cared about me," you murmur. "You told me that you didn't know how, or why, but that you did."

"I remember," he says, his voice breaking.

"I remember...how I felt," you say. "When you said it."

"How?"

"Happy," you reply, smiling. "It made me happy."

He can't speak. Can't move. Can't think. All he can do is stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Crosshair," you say, gently. "I—"

Before you can finish, the door slides open, and the two of you jerk away from each other, startled.

Maris stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She takes in the scene, and her eyes narrow.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks, her tone cool.

"No," you say, hastily. "We were just...talking."

She doesn't respond. Instead, she turns, and walks away.

You let out a shaky breath, and Crosshair glances at you.

"I should go," he says, softly. "I need to report in before they come looking for me."

"Right," you say, nodding.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you say. "I'll be here."

"Okay," he says, his heart still pounding. "I'll...see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," you repeat, and he stands, heading for the door.

Before he leaves, he glances back at you, and the two of you exchange a brief, secret smile.

Then, he steps out of the apartment, and the door slides shut behind him.

As he makes his way back to the shuttle, he can't help but feel the weight of what just happened.

He can't deny it.

There's no turning back now.

Crosshair makes his way back to your apartment, his mind filled with thoughts of you. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since the kiss. He can't help but relive the memory, over and over, the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of your mouth, the way your body felt pressed against his.

It was better than he'd ever imagined.

And now, he's desperate to see you. To kiss you again. To hold you, and touch you, and feel your skin beneath his fingers.

He reaches the door, and before he can knock, it opens, and you're standing there, your eyes wide.

"Crosshair," you say, and the sound of his name on your lips sends a thrill through him.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy.

You look at him, your expression unreadable, and his stomach churns.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you say, and his worry eases, slightly. But you're not smiling, and he can tell something is wrong.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"It's...I don't know," you reply.

"Tell me."

"Okay," you say, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

He follows you into the living room, and the two of you sit down. You're on the edge of your seat, your hands clasped in your lap, and he watches as your leg bounces.

"So," he says, his voice strained. "What is it?"

You take another breath, and your hands tremble.

"I...remember," you say, slowly. "I remember everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes," you say, a small smile appearing before it falls. "It all came back. It was like a flood, and I couldn't stop it."

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered," you say, a look of awe crossing your face. "I remembered it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between. The missions, the battles, the fights, the arguments. The pain. The loss. The love."

He stares at you, unable to believe what he's hearing.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," you say. "Dead serious."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He can't stop himself. He grabs you, pulling you close, and the two of you embrace, his arms tight around you.

"I can't believe it," he says, his voice hoarse. "I thought...I was sure it would never happen. That I'd lost you. Forever."

"It's okay," you say, resting your head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

He holds you, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Crosshair," you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"I have to leave," you say, and his stomach drops.

"Leave?"

"Yes," you say. "I can't stay. Not now. I need to get out of here. To go somewhere. Now that I know what I am, I—I can't stay. I'm a danger to everyone here."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure," you reply, slowly. "Somewhere I know the Empire won't find me."

"Where?"

"I don't know," you say, shaking your head.

He's quiet, and the two of you lapse into silence. Finally, he speaks.

"I'll come with you," he says.

"What?"

"I'll come with you," he repeats, firmly.

"Crosshair, I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not," he says. "I'm offering. And besides, you need me. I know the Empire, and the ways they track people. I can help keep you safe."

You hesitate, and he can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

"Please," he says, his voice soft. "Let me do this. Let me keep you safe. I can't lose you again. I can't. Not after all this."

You gaze at him, your expression thoughtful.

"Okay," you say. "If that's what you want."

"It is," he says, fiercely.

"Then we'll do it together."

"Together," he says, nodding.

The two of you smile, and you reach for him, pulling him close, your lips pressing against his. He responds in kind, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

You break apart, and his eyes meet yours, and he knows, without a doubt, that this is the right decision.

He's not letting you go again.

Never again.

Not if he can help it.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @kindalonleystars

@cw80831 @qvnthesia @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak @lovelytech9902

@frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @Puppetscenario @umekohiganbana

@resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild

@ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster

@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

@megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony

[miveras]

Drabble: Silent Treatment | JJK

Pairing: jungkook x reader Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff Word count: 1.6k Warnings: none

masterlist

---

“You’re so fucking lazy,” you scream, “Do you ever just look around and think to clean up after yourself once in a while?”

You pick up his worn, mahogany sweater off the floor and into the bucket you struggle to carry with only one hand. You resist the urge to chuck it at him, ignoring you with a scoff. 

You weren’t this angry to begin with, but you couldn’t help it after seeing his reaction to you. This was the second fight you’d had, and this has been the worst so far. He wasn’t listening to you at all, and you didn’t know what would make him finally cooperate. 

Though you shouldn’t fuel the flame, you keep nagging at him to get up and pointing out every one of his wrongdoings in the past few weeks. 

“Just give me a few days. You know I always clean on weekends since I don’t have time on weekdays,” Jungkook replies with a serious tone. You can see it in his eyes, his anger building up by the second.

“Well if you don’t have time, then why are you on your phone? Why aren’t you doing anything then?” you rambled.

He groans in response, obviously annoyed that you keep going back and forth with harsh blows.

After you guys dated for a year, you thought it’d be a good idea to start discussing the living situations. When he told you that his landlord was raising their prices, it posed the perfect scenario for you to invite him in.

Jungkook moved in just past a month, and sure, he was fine the first two weeks. He cooked for you, cleaned after himself, and tried his best not to make a mess. But recently, you’ve caught him being such a horrible roommate that now, you couldn’t stop the hurtful words coming out of your mouth. 

“Shut up…” he mutters in a quiet voice, avoiding your confrontation. He wished you hadn’t heard it but when he hears your feet dragging against the floor, he knew you did. 

But you didn’t choose to answer him and instead, you gave him the silent treatment. 

He enjoyed the short while that you left and came back with a vacuum. For the rest of the week, you guys cut off contact with each other, living in the same house but not saying anything. You even went as far as to eat at a different time than usual, just to avoid him. You weren’t giving this up easily– you wanted him to care, needed him to. You wished he found this just as important as you did.

Over the past week, all you focused on was your job. At work, all you thought about was him– it got so bad to the point where your work friends started questioning you about your sanity. You were constantly zoning out and the lack of sleep didn’t help at all. 

You asked for help from one of your friends: Ara. While writing a paper about the company’s statistical reports, you had a welcome visitor come in– just who you were looking for.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in a bit,” she whines, “I literally missed you so much.” She almost leaps into your arms as soon as she sees you. At least someone was happy to see you. She hugs you so tight you had to push her away for a bit, trying not to pass out from the lack of air.

“Ara, I missed you…” you pout. She notices the sadness behind your eyes, knowing that you’re not usually this affectionate unless you need it. Ara immediately knew something was wrong from the way you were reacting to her presence– though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

You fess up to her about everything, including the words you and Jungkook exchanged. It was pretty harsh, to say the least. Ara understood you, more than anyone else could (except Jungkook of course). 

Her advice to you was to communicate, but it was way harder than it sounded. You couldn’t do it, not now at least.

You tried your best to avoid him by doing literally anything else: going out to work, cleaning, anything. It was pathetic to anyone who wasn't either of you– everyone knew how much both of you guys loved each other, and everyone knows you guys belong to each other. 

You were too stubborn to admit defeat so you waited for Jungkook– who was probably the only person just as stubborn as you, to apologize first. Predictably, it’s been an ongoing problem for more than just a few days.

Whenever it was time to sleep, your heart raced faster than normal beside him. You had already promised yourself not to lean over and kiss him, admire him, or do anything with him as a form of his punishment. But now, it started to feel like your’s. 

Did he even care about you? Did he even miss you?

You hated the way your body couldn’t relax, feeling every nerve pulse throughout your body. You swallow, wondering how long it’ll take you to fall asleep considering your inability to when you’re not embracing something. 

You shifted slightly, missing the way he looked over to you with a worried expression but not having enough courage to do something about it. 

He sighs, turning the other way as well. He decided not to do anything– he was way too exhausted and stubborn to even face you. He wouldn’t know what to say.

---

The next morning, you wake up with the house all tidy– clothes in their right place, no food in sight, all the dishes clean, but you can’t seem to find the one who did it. He must’ve gone to school already.

The following days were all the same. He goes to school, then you, then avoids each other all day, then comes home just to sleep facing opposite each other. I was tired, no doubt. 

He’s stubborn and you’re stubborn. You’d think you were a perfect match until something like this comes along. It’s funny, you think. 

At some point, all you wanted to do was be in his embrace. To feel his warmth all over you. Oh, how you wanted to just kiss him all over and play with his hair until he falls asleep.

As you think about how much you miss him, you wonder how much or if he even missed you at all. You look beside you– suddenly feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness. You almost forgot how much you missed him. 

Unintentionally, your shoulders shake as you try your best to keep in your weeps quiet and breaths steady. Streaks of tears drop to your cheeks, entangling with your hair. You struggle to stop your sobs from coming out, covering your mouth and wiping your eyes to make sure Jungkook doesn’t wake up because of you.

It was truly your last straw. You couldn’t handle being away from him anymore. 

“Y/N…” he whispers, concern written all over his face. You freeze, not being able to comprehend anything at that moment. 

Still feeling groggy and dazed from his sleep, he rubs his eyes to see you clearer. Once his eyes set on you, a small rush of panic goes through his veins, worriedness taking over his body. He parts his lips in shock and slowly wraps his arms around you– not quite sure what to do. 

You feel his arms snake to your waist, kissing your head and muttering soft phrases to calm you down. You wallow in his embrace, slightly embarrassed about your outburst that had him waking up late at night. In a way, you felt ashamed of yourself and your feelings, suddenly feeling more insecure about yourself as Jungkook continues to hold you in silence. 

He felt wrong reaching for you when it was obvious he was who you were upset about. He had a clue on what was happening to you– what you were worried about, but he decided to stay quiet and bring it up later when you don’t look as hurt. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I love you so much..,” his voice trails off as he starts peppering kisses all over your face. You can tell that he felt extremely guilty just by his voice, and his expression sends confirmation of that. 

At this point, you had already stopped crying out of embarrassment, shame, and even comfort from Jungkook.

“I-I’m sorry too,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.” 

“I didn’t get the chance to apologize sooner. I..I was just scared that you’d stay mad at me– then I wouldn’t know what to do” he explains nervously. Rubbing your arm comfortingly, he asks you to stay with him. “I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“Jungkook, I love you too. I hate fighting with you,” you confess. He only smiles in response, though you can’t see his face when yours is buried in his chest. You hug him back in return– both of you exchanging loving glances at each other. 

Jungkook kisses you in the temple one last time before closing his eyes and relaxing his body.

In a few minutes, you both fall asleep in each other’s comfort. You missed him so much even though you’ve barely been apart and he feels the same exact way. That definitely wasn’t the last argument you’d have, but it’d be the last one where he’d make you cry. 

Ara was right– all it took was a bit of communication.

[angstywaifu]

Just One Date - Garrick Tavis x Reader One Shot

So this one came into my asks and I knew I had to do this one first. Thank you for the anonymous that sent this in with some other amazing ideas. I'd say I am sorry for picking Garrick first, but I am not. Hope you guys enjoy it! If you guys have any more one shot ideas feel free to send them through! There will be more of these :)

“Come on Y/N, it’s just one date!” Garrick calls after me as he follows me through the crowd, turning heads as he calls after me.

”As I’ve told you for the tenth time this week, no!” I call back as I weave my way through a small gap in the crowd.

I hear Garrick mumble some swear words as he struggle to get through the crowd as he follows behind me. Yet again Garrick had cornered me between classes, asking me out on a date for Valentines Day. Which was tomorrow. I will give the boy one thing, he was persistent. But nothing about our friendship indicated more than friends. Did I find him attractive as hell? Gods yes. But we weren’t exactly close. I only knew him because of my friendship with Imogen.

”Why won’t you say yes?” He asks. He’s getting closer.

I turn around and he nearly slams into me, stopping himself at the last second.

”Because I won’t” The worst excuse ever. I mentally slap myself for it.

He cocks his eyebrow at me as he looks down at me. “That has got to be the worst excuse ever.”

I roll my eyes and start walking through the crowd trying to get to lunch. We’d all had battle brief so the hallway was more packed than usual. He swears again as he tries to follow me. Unfortunately our interaction has caused on lookers and they easily move out of his way to let him through, obviously wanting to see what happens. He reaches out and grasps my shoulder, spinning around as I lightly smack into his chest.

”Please Y/N, I’m just asking for one date.” He asks, his eyes pleading at me to say yes. “You might even want more than one by the end of it.”

I roll my eyes at the cockiness in his voice at the last part. Behind him I see our friends watching anxiously at the interaction.

”You really think one date is all it’s gonna take to win me over Tavis?” I reply sassily earning a smirk from him.

He steps back and leans down to look at me, still smirking at me. “I won’t even need to finish the date to win you over.”

I close my eyes and sigh. One date. It was just a date. There was no way Tavis was that good. I’d never even seen him go out with a girl here before. All I had to do was go on one date, and then he would leave me alone. It was probably just some dare from Bodhi or Xaden anyway.

”Fine.” I tell him, opening my eyes to look up at him. “Just. One. Date.” Emphasising each word clearly.

”You wont regret it.” And before I can respond he turns and runs back down the hallway.

What the hell did that boy have planned.

The next day comes quickly, and every time I catch Garrick’s eyes he smiles at me, clearly excited for whatever he had planned. We hadn’t spoken since I had said yes to the one date, so I had no idea when or where he wanted to meet me. My questions were answered not long after classes ended. A loud knock on my dorm door signalling someone's arrival. But I already knew who it was. I open the door to Garrick standing there holding a bouquet of flowers. And not any flowers. My favourites. White Orchids. I try to rack my brain of any time I would have mentioned this, but come up blank. How the hell did he know?

”Already left you speechless have I?” Garrick teases as I stare wide eyed at the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

I roll my eyes at him and take the flowers. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself Tavis.” I turn and place the flowers on my desk.

I turn back around to him leaning his arm on top of the doorway as he looks down at me. I swear my jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight. The pose perfectly shows off his arm that is braced on the doorway.

He smirks, clearly aware of the effect he's having on me. "Ready for our date, Y/N?" he asks, his voice laced with confidence.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "I guess so," I reply, trying not to let his charm get to me. "But don't think this changes anything between us. It’s just one date."

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We'll see about that," he says, extending his hand towards me. "Shall we?"

As I take his hand, a mix of excitement and nervousness washes over me. I can't deny that there's a part of me that's curious to see where this one date will lead. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to Garrick than meets the eye. But I won't let myself get too carried away. After all, it's just one date.

As he leads me our of the dorms I catch our friends off to the side watching us. Smiles all plastered on their faces. I go to let go of Garrick’s hand but he tightens his grip as he leads me towards the flight field. As we take the last steps into the flight field I see his dragon waiting for us. He leads me over to him and motions with his head towards him.

”Up you get Y/N.”

I look at him wide eyed. No way did he expect me to mount his dragon. Riders only rode on their own dragons.

“No way. Not happening. My dragon will chuck a fit if I go up there.”

Garrick’s dragon chuckles at us, hot air blowing over the both of us.

”I’ve already sorted it. Chradh is happy to let you up there, and your dragon has agreed as long as she can be nearby. Now up you get.” He playfully shoves me towards Chradh.

I huff but begin my climb up Chradh’s leg, Garrick close behind me. I settle into the spot on Chradh’s back, and freeze as Garrick sits right behind me. His legs either side of mine, his chest pressed up against my back. He rests one of his hands on my thigh, his breath tickling my neck.

”Breathe Y/N.” He whispers.

I let out the breath I had unintentionally been holding, but I yet again freeze as Garrick places a blindfold over my eyes. I go to take it off but Garrick quickly captures my hands in his.

”You will take it off when I tell you to.” He whispers harshly in my ear.

I can feel my heart racing as the blindfold cuts off my vision. The sound of the wind rushing past us lets me know we have taken off. Garrick wraps an arm around my waist, holding me close to him so I don’t fall. I was an experienced rider, but I had never been on a dragon blindfolded, let alone a dragon that wasn’t my own. A mix of excitement and uncertainty fills me, wondering what Garrick has planned for our date. I don’t have to wait long before we land. I feel Chradh lower himself down to a ground. Garrick keeps his arm firmly around my waist as he removes the blind fold with the other. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light, but for the second time today my jaw nearly hits the floor.

In front of me is a clearing that overlooks the valley. The view is gorgeous as the sun starts setting, casting a yellow glow across it. Next to the edge of the cliff is a blanket with pillows set up and what I swear are all my favourite foods, and a neatly wrapped package.

“You sure it won’t take me one date to win you over?” Garrick whispers in my ear, startling me and sending a shiver up my spine.

I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m sure.” I say sarcastically as I remove myself from his grip and dismount from Chradh.

Shortly after Garrick lands next to me, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the blanket and pillows. My thoughts on the food are confirmed as I see all of them are foods I love. Strawberries that I have every morning at breakfast, the cupcakes that Quinn makes when she can find the time, my favourite chocolate from the town near the college, and the sandwiches I make if the kitchen serves the right things. I let Garrick pull me down to the blanket with him, kneeling on my knees as I take it all in.

I look at him and raise my eye brow. “How the hell do you know all my favourite things? Imogen helped you didn’t she?”

I already know she didn’t. And Garrick’s shake of his head isn’t needed to confirm.

”I know you better than you think Y/N.” He starts as he leans forward, arm resting on his knee as he looks at me, “You have those strawberries every morning with breakfast. Everytime Quinn makes those cupcakes you practically jump up and down in your seat. Everytime you go to town you always go and buy that chocolate straight away, and you’re always sad the day after you finish the last piece. And every weekend when they put stuff out to make sandwiches, you always make the same one.”

I stare at him wide eyed. He was right. Down to the very last detail. But how did that explain the flowers?

”What about the flowers? I’ve never told anyone.” I ask, barely above the whisper.

”When we did our RSC training and they stuck us in the woods with the other quadrants, we made camp the first night near a clearing with flowers. I remember you wandering over the the flowers as we set up camp and picked a few. You took them back to the Quadrant with you when we were extracted.” He tells me, not skipping a beat.

But my heart does. He remembered a detail so small from our first RSC mission nearly two years ago. Clearly Garrick has paid more attention to me than I had thought. He reaches out and grabs the package I had noted earlier and hands it to me. The small nod he gives me, signalling me to open it. I open the package carefully, almost scared as to what is inside. I know it is going to be something I love. Theres no denying that after everything he’s done so far. I tear away the brown paper to reveal a jewellery box. I look up at him confused and he motions for me to keep going. I don’t miss the nervous look in his eyes as he watches me. I open the box and my heart skips a beat again. Inside is the ruin stone Liam’s mum had given me. Given to all of us marked ones. Mine had been one of the smaller ones, and I always kept it on my desk. And as I rack my brain, I hadn’t noticed it on my desk for the last week. Ever since Garrick had started asking me to go on a date with him. I pick it up and notice and black leather cord it is now attached to. A Necklace.

“Garrick.. I-” The words get caught in my throat as I look between the necklace and him.

He smiles before he takes the necklace from my hands, leaning forward to fasten it around my neck. As it necklace settles on my chest, his hands move to cup my cheeks, angling my head to look up at his. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest as he leans forward and brings his lips to mine. The kiss starts of slow and delicate as I recover from the shock of the moment. But I quickly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling me closer to him. His arms grab me by the waist as he pulls me into his lap, deepening the kiss. After a long time he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily as we stare into each others eyes.

”Told you I wouldn’t even need one date.”

[e-dubbc11]

Ericca, my love. I come to you with a little idea (and challenge) ❤️

We both know how much you love Frank Grillo, so I had an idea for another one of his characters. Leo Barnes from The Purge franchise.

Reader being a sweet waitress at a Cafe where Leo buys his coffee. They always have polite exchanges, bordering on flirting. Maybe some hidden feelings? Then Purge night comes along and by some freak accident she's trapped outside. And of course Leo is there to save the day. And maybe... a little kiss at the end? 🥺👉👈

A little coffee shop meet-cute meets horror. If anyone can do it, you can. I kept it deliberately vague, cause I want you to have artistic freedom 🤣❤️

Sweet Lily,

I love your challenges for me so so much! I’ve been watching a LOT of Frank Grillo lately and yes, you’re right, I love him 🤣🥵 and Leo is obviously a character I haven’t written for before but I loved this idea and I just think he’s so smexy. I know this wasn’t a sleepover ask but it’s been done for a little while so I just wanted to get it out. I hope you like it and thank you again for sending it in! ♥️♥️♥️

A Call for Help

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Sergeant Leo Barnes x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, little fluff, little smooching

Word Count: 4.1K-ish

Summary: It’s 2 days before the yearly Purge. You’re working in a coffee shop, and your regular, Sergeant Barnes, comes in just like every morning for his coffee.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Leo and I really really liked it. I’d definitely be willing to write for him again. For those who aren’t aware, Sergeant Leo Barnes is from The Purge: Anarchy.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Los Angeles, March 20, One day before the annual Purge

This was probably one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made. Moving to Los Angeles was a terrible idea and you’ve regretted it every single day since you’ve been out here. Smog, crime, and homelessness were just three of the reasons this was an awful place to live, plus you really missed home on the east coast.

No one put on fake smiles there. You missed the scowls and the open judgement of home and now you were living in a place where the smiles were as fake as the boobs.

But your boyfriend had convinced you it would be a good thing. A fresh start in a new city was just what you needed according to him and stupidly, you agreed with him. What a stupid idea to pick up and leave all of your family and friends behind for a man you’ve known for less than year.

However, about three months after the two of you arrived in L.A., you caught him cheating with bleach blonde bimbo with fake tits, fake hair, and who knows what else was fake on Malibu Barbie.

Feeling ashamed and stupid, you knew you couldn’t go home right away plus you didn’t have enough money to leave. You worked two jobs to make the money you needed so you worked tirelessly in a coffee shop during the day and a few nights a week, you tended bar at an upscale gentleman’s club where the clientele handed you ridiculous tips.

You probably didn’t even need to work at the coffee shop during the day because of the money you made at the club but the more money you brought in, the faster you could get back home and leave Los Angeles far behind.

The aroma of coffee was one of your favorite scents, it made you happy and the veteran owned coffee shop where you worked was welcoming and cozy. You didn’t have to pretend to enjoy working there because you actually did. Sure, you had the occasional rude customer that you had to put a fake smile on for but most of the time, it was a pleasure to work there.

When anyone but your regulars would come in, you and your co-workers would try and make a guess of what kind of coffee they wanted before they arrived at the counter. It was a fun game.

No one really ordered coffee flavored coffee anymore though. It was always a hazelnut concoction, or a touch of chocolate, a pump of this, almond milk, oak milk, or whatever the newest trend was in coffee. They all had to have it…except for him.

He only ever ordered a large black coffee and for that, he was your favorite customer.

Sergeant Barnes had deep brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and his eyes were the color of Tennessee whiskey. His golden amber eyes made your stomach flutter every morning when he came in around 8:30.

His thick fingers scratched at the days old stubble on his cheeks after he walked through the door and the raspy tone to his voice made you weak in the knees every time he said “Mornin’, sweetheart.” Plus, his police uniform really did it for you.

Everyone at work knew you had a crush on Sergeant Barnes. You didn’t really try and hide it. The way you jumped to the front counter whenever he walked through the door was obvious to them, not so much to him though.

Biting back a smile, you saw him walk up to the door while everyone behind the counter scattered so you were the only one available to wait on him.

“Real subtle, you guys.” You said.

Jane chuckled and said sarcastically, “Hey, we know how much you loooooove him. We don’t blame you either, your Sergeant is pretty hot.”

“Alright, keep your voice down.” You said with a slight grin. “He’s coming.”

“Maybe he’s just breathing heavy.” Another one of your co-workers said.

You playfully slapped him. “Tim! Shut it!”

The lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you.

“Mornin’, sweetheart. Anyone give you shit today? I can go arrest them if they did.” He said in a lighthearted tone.

A wide smile stretched across your lips and your voice got caught in your throat as you answered, “Uh, n-no. Not today, Sergeant. The usual?”

“The usual…please.” He replied.

You turned around to fill the cup with black coffee and your friends were looking at you, grinning like idiots. Jane tried to make hand gestures to try and get you to engage in more conversation with him.

It was a little morbid but you started talking about the Purge anyway.

“S-so the Purge is tomorrow night, huh? I imagine it gets pretty brutal in a city like L.A.” You said, your voice shaking a little.

Sergeant Barnes took his wallet from his pants and tapped the machine to pay for his coffee. His expression hardened when he heard the words. The muscles in his face tightened as he clenched his teeth and wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup.

“It is sweetheart and you make sure you’re locked up inside before those sirens go off, understand?” He said in angry tone.

You could feel all of the color in your face disappear and you imagined your face was as white as a marble pillar. You folded your hands together and rested them on the counter to stop them from shaking while staring into his sad eyes.

He could tell he frightened you a little, looking at his body language and hearing the gruff tone to his voice.

“Ah, I’m sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to snap at ya. I just want you to stay safe, is all. Ok?” He said softly.

You nodded and said uneasily as you tried to smile, “Y-yes, I-I understand.”

Sergeant Barnes reached for your hand. His fingers were calloused but his touch was gentle and comforting, almost protective in a way.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He said as his brushed your knuckles with his thumb and gave you a warm smile.

He walked out and you didn’t exhale until he was out of sight. That’s when everyone ran up to you making comments to you about how they could tell the Sergeant likes you.

Imitating the Sergeant, Jane said “’I just want you to stay safe.’ Oh my god, he’s into you too!”

“Nah, maybe he was just being nice. He knows I haven’t been in L.A. long so it’s my first Purge out here.” You said.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ok. You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you.” She said.

You replied, “I suppose I will.”

7:00 AM, March 21, 12 Hours Before the Start of The Purge

The morning hours were usually pretty busy and time went by quickly but this morning was different, quieter, slower, which you found rather frightening. Even the air had an eerie feel to it because you knew what was coming…the one night a year where all crime was legal, even murder.

Back home you lived in a small New England town where nothing really happened except in larger cities. The next day, you would see all of the carnage left behind. Vandalism, robberies, burning buildings, the dead bodies…as much as you were hardened by the tough upbringing you had back home, nothing prepared you for what was going to happen 12 hours from now.

And you hated to admit it to yourself but it scared you because you were all alone now. You didn’t have anyone out here to go to feel safe.

It was close to 8:30 and you knew Sergeant Barnes would be in soon so everyone was acting busy, cleaning, preparing online orders, or doing whatever they could to give you space so you could talk to your crush.

Jane checked the time. “It’s almost 8:30, y/n. Hey maybe your Sergeant will ask you to stay with him during Purge hours. He’ll be able to keep you safe then.” She said with a wink.

“Well I doubt it but if you wanna manifest that for me, you’re more than welcome to. My building is pretty secure and I’m high up so I should be ok.” You said.

It didn’t mean you wanted to sit there all night and watch the news because you definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep.

As you wiped down the front counter, you looked up to see Sergeant Barnes getting ready to reach for the door handle. He wasn’t wearing his police uniform though. In place of his uniform, he was wearing a black t-shirt, gray pants, and a black jacket.

You said hello first.

“Good mornin’ Sergeant. You’re not working today?” You asked.

He shook his head, smiled and replied, “Not today, sweetheart. I got some stuff to take care of before tonight. What time are you workin’ until today?”

Warmth spread across your chest and your stomach dropped. Nervously, you replied, “Here? Me? Uh, w-well I’m working until 2 and then I have some errands to run before I go home for the night. Lemme get you your coffee.”

You turned around and poured his coffee into a cup, your hand shaking slightly which he noticed.

“You ok, y/n?” He asked. “Nervous?”

With a hitch in your voice, you replied, “Yeah, well, uh maybe a little.”

“Tell ya what…how bout I check on ya right before the sirens go off, make sure you’re home and all locked up.” He said, sliding his phone across the counter. “Put your number in there and I’ll call you, ok? I promise.”

You felt your shoulders relax and your hands stopped shaking as you typed in your number into his phone. You were feeling better already.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. This is really nice of you. Can I get you anything else for the road? A muffin or a breakfast sandwich, perhaps?” You asked.

“I’m good with just the coffee, sweetheart. Thank you. And y/n?” He said.

You looked up from the register and replied, “Yes?”

“It’s Leo…my first name is Leo.” He said with a wink.

You couldn’t hide the fact you were blushing now. Biting down on your lower lip, you managed to reply with, “Ok…Leo. I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”

Leo brushed your knuckles with his fingers again and replied, “Yes, you will.”

After quickly running to the store for some supplies, mostly food, you headed for home. It was 6:30, plenty of time to walk home and get settled before the sirens went off. But when you arrived at your building, everything was locked up tight. Metal panels were fastened to the side of the building, blocking all of the exits, leaving only the fire escapes open.

You looked at your watch…6:50. There wasn’t any time to find a safe place to go. Looking down the street, you could see figures dressed in dark clothing, sweatshirts with hoods, and wearing creepy face masks, they were just waiting for those sirens to go off indicating the start of the Purge. And you couldn’t be sure but you had the sinking feeling that they were looking right at you.

Suddenly, your phone started to ring. You didn’t recognize the number but remembered Sergeant Barnes said he would call later to make sure you were alright and ready to wait out the next 12 hours. Maybe this was him.

With a shaky finger, you pressed the answer button.

“H-hello?” You said with a hitch in your voice.

He replied, “Hey y/n, it’s Leo. Just callin’ to make sure you’re home and safe.”

There was a long pause because you were trying to regain your composure to answer him, otherwise you were going to burst into tears.

He said your name again.

“Y/n? Hello?”

You finally answered.

“Y-yeah, I’m here Leo. Uh, I’m locked out of my building! I came home and everything was shut up tight, I can’t get in! I don’t know what happened! I can’t get anywhere in five minutes to wait out the next 12 hours, there’s no time!” You said in a scared tone.

Leo barked into the phone. “Where are you?!!”

You told him your address.

“Yeah, ok I know where that is. Try and find a place to hide and I’ll be there in FIVE minutes!” He said.

Tightly hugging the walls of your building, you crept around the corner to the alley. You knew there were a couple of dumpsters you could probably hide behind. He said five minutes which would take you right to 7:00.

You told yourself, “it won’t be for that long…he’ll be here soon.”

There was a small space in between two large dumpsters you managed to wedge yourself into while you impatiently waited for Leo to show up and how was he already so close to where you are? Did he live nearby? Was he participating in the Purge?

A restless shiver shot down your back as goosebumps danced across your skin. The hair on the back of your neck was standing on end as you crouched down low and out of sight while hugging your body to try and stop yourself from shaking uncontrollably.

Just as you heard the sirens, you also heard voices at the end of the alley, none of which were Leo’s.

“I saw her come down here.” One of them said.

Another replied, “You didn’t see shit, there’s no one down here! Let’s go.”

Along with their voices, the sound of a wooden baseball bat being dragged across the pavement could be heard echoing all around you. There was no place left to hide and you could only hope they would get frustrated and leave.

“Wait. She could be hiding around those dumpsters down there. Let’s go check.” He said.

Shit.

You couldn’t make a run for it. There were a lot more people waiting outside the alley than inside plus Leo told you told you to stay there. He was coming for you.

You could hear the footsteps getting closer and your heart was racing as it beat faster and harder against your chest until the sounds of the baseball bat stopped and you heard the voices again.

“You were right. She’s over here and she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she.” He said.

Two of them were wearing these creepy white masks and a third had his face painted white, black circles drawn under his eyes and an upside down cross had been drawn on his forehead. Pointing his machete at you, he silently told you he wanted you to come out.

The ones with the baseball bats began striking the dumpster over and over again, scaring you each time the bats hit against the dumpsters and the loud noises echoed throughout the alley.

The tears came hard and fast. They streaked down your cheeks uncontrollably as you opened your mouth to try and speak to them.

“P-please, y-you don’t wanna do th-this.” You choked out.

One of them that was holding a bat, stopped to look at you. From behind the mask, it had appeared that he had recognized you.

“5C?!” He said.

5C was your apartment number.

You replied, “Yes! Yes! I’m in 5C!”

“She’s always nice to us, man. Come on, leave her alone.” He pleaded.

The leader shoved him out of the way.

“I’ll decide who lives or dies! You got that?!” He yelled.

The other two nodded as the one with the machete started to speak again but was suddenly cut off. You heard three gun shots, then each of them hitting the pavement and crying out in pain. They had all been shot in the knee caps.

“Let’s go! Come on, y/n!” Shouted Leo.

He waved you out from in between the dumpsters, grabbed you by the hand and you started running toward the black car that was parked at the end of the alley.

“Get in the backseat and stay outta sight, understand?!” Commanded Leo.

Out of breath, you managed to choke out, “Y-yes. I understand! But why are you out here, Sergeant? You’re dressed like you’re…Purging!”

Leo didn’t answer you; he just started driving.

“LEO!!” You said, angrily.

“You could just say ‘thank you,’ sweetheart, alright?! I like you but what I’m doing out here is none of your concern.” He said, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

Softly, you replied, “Thank you…thank you for saving me, Sergeant. But you’re stuck with me for the next 12 hours, so can you please tell me why you’re out here, dressed like you are, and why you have a car full of guns? Please, Leo.”

Cowering in the backseat, your eyes met his gaze every time he glanced at you in the mirror. His eyes were the color of amber and right before the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, they reflected in the mirror, matching the gold in the sunset. They were beautiful.

Leo was always very pleasant and nice every single morning when he came in to get his coffee but there was something very sad behind his beautiful eyes. Other than the pleasantries, you didn’t know anything more about him than any other customer of yours…but you wanted to.

He pulled over in an area that seemed pretty safe and parked the car. Making sure the doors were locked, he turned the engine off, and leaned with his back against the window so he could look at you.

Without warning, he told you why he was out tonight.

“My son was killed by a drunk driver but since he technically died on Purge night, the driver got off on that technicality.” He said in a low angry voice and a touch of acid in his tone.

Your heart sank into your stomach and cutting through the silence you said, “Oh Leo…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

That’s why his eyes were so sad.

He replied, “So you said I look like I’m dressed to purge…well, you’re right. I am. I want that son of a bitch dead. He took my son from me and I want him to pay for what he did.”

You placed your hand on top of his. The smooth skin of your palm brushed against the rough dry patches on his knuckles and with your other hand, you slowly and carefully brushed the stubble on his cheek.

“Don’t look at me that way, y/n. I already know what you’re going to say.” He said before you cut him off.

“Well I’m gonna say it anyway, Leo. You’re not gonna feel any better and it’s not going to bring your son back!” You said.

Leo glared at you with his whiskey colored eyes and with a dry bitterness in his throat, he said, “How do you know I won’t feel better?! Huh?!!”

Instead of matching his intensity, you calmly but firmly said, “Because that hole in your heart will still be there when it’s all over. Please don’t do this.”

He didn’t care and he wasn’t hearing what you had to say.

“Listen, I’m gonna drop you off at my apartment. You’ll be safe there ‘til I get back. I disabled one of the security panels at his house so it will be quick, in and out and I’ll be back alright?” He said.

The entire ride back to his apartment, you begged him not to go through with it, to the point where you tried to block him from leaving or at least taking you with him but it was no use.

He left you with a few guns and weapons, just in case but he said he would be back soon and he would take you home in the morning after the Purge was all over.

Leo had secured his place really well so you felt safe but scared for him. You knew it wasn’t going to make anything better, it wouldn’t help him heal, and it wouldn’t bring his son back.

One of the pictures you found of Leo’s son had his name written on the back…Nicholas. He had a very sweet face and he looked a lot like Leo.

Maybe if you had tried harder to keep him from leaving, Leo wouldn’t be out there right now murdering the man who killed his son.

You couldn’t even begin to try and know how he felt but he was in agony and the only way he knew how to deal with it was an eye for an eye. It was too late though and all you could do was sit and wait for him to come back.

You had managed to find some tea and the tv remote control. It was hidden in the couch cushions. Almost every channel was covering the Purge but all you wanted to do was escape from it so you searched until you found a movie that was far from anything that was going on outside.

No matter how many times you’ve seen it, The Wizard of Oz was one of your favorite movies so you watched it whenever it was on tv and no matter where it was in the movie too, you’d still watch it to the end.

At around 12:30 you head keys in the door. You had been too wired to try and sleep so you just drank tea and nervously bit your nails. Obviously, it had to be Leo if he was using keys to get inside but you still didn’t want to take any chances so you positioned yourself in front of the door with one of his guns in your hands.

The door cracked open and you heard a voice from behind it.

“Sweetheart, put the gun down, it’s just me.” He said.

How did he know?

“It’s been hours, Leo. Where have you been?” You asked. “Where does this guy live?! I hope you got what you wanted out of it because—“

Leo interrupted you.

“I didn’t do it.” He said softly.

“What?” You replied in a very surprised tone.

He closed the door behind him and started to walk toward you, stopping inches from your face.

“I could have. I was in the guy’s bedroom, while he and his wife were sleeping. I could have done it but then I kept hearing a voice in my head…your voice saying ‘that hole in your heart will still be there when it’s all over.’ Your voice stopped me from pulling that trigger.” His voice sounded extra raspy.

“Leo—“ You started to say before he cut you off.

He pinched your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilted it upward so you were looking into his eyes and he planted a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry.” Said Leo. “I just wanted to feel something other than hate and sadness. And no one has been able to change my mind once I’ve made up my mind about something but I listened to you.”

You replied, “I imagine that couldn’t have been easy but…I’m glad you did. And I’m not gonna pretend I know what you must be feeling because I don’t but I do know that it wouldn’t have made things any better.”

Closing the gap between your faces, you kissed him. Leo’s lips tasted sweet like caramel and black coffee. His mouth slanted over yours which made your entire body shudder.

Pulling you into an embrace, the two of you stood there in silence for a minute. Leo released a long exhale down the side of your neck, goosebumps erupted across your skin, and he squeezed you tightly against his chest.

“Thank you.” Whispered Leo.

You gave him a warm smile and replied, “You’re welcome, Sergeant Barnes.” Glancing at your watch, you asked, “Well we have about 6 hours left, what do you wanna do?”

As he brushed a stray hair away from your face, he replied, “Well…if you can’t tell, I kinda like ya so I’d love to get to know you better.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as you bit back a smile.

You felt safe in his arms and deep down you knew Leo would never let anything bad happen to you. He rescued you barely knowing anything about you, only that you poured his coffee every morning but he did it anyway.

And in a way, you rescued him too.

Softly against his chest, you whispered, “I’d like that too.”

Tag List: @gijos

[untilwedont]

Under the mistletoe

rq: hhiiii could you do a Ethan Landry x male reader (in a au where there's no killers lol) Ethan is really into the reader. The reader is Anika's brother and they are setting up Christmas decorations in their dorms and Anika finds it the perfect opportunity to get the reader and Ethan closer together.

this is not a smut

m!reader

The season changed as christmas rolled around. only 24 days left and it was finally time to start putting up christmas decor. “Look, i don’t understand why you still haven’t talked to him. It’s the holidays! Like the perfect time to find true love.” Anika said to m/n as they continued to set up decorations. “I don’t want to make the first move. I told you before, i’m over doing that. Obviously it hasn’t worked out before.” you responded back. Anika had been blabbering all day about how it was the perfect time to get into a relationship, and it seemed she wouldn’t stop talking until m/n confessed to the boy that so obviously liked him back. Seriously, it was stupidly obvious.

“okay, first of all, it’s a 50/50 chance. the worst he can say is no! plus, all those boys in the past are stupid and obviously weren’t the ones for you. And secondly, ethan’s super shy, you know that. he obviously won’t make the first move.” she argued back. m/n sighed. Although you knew she was probably right, you couldn’t get youtself to confess first unless you knew he actually liked you.

“okay, well how exactly do I know he likes me back?” you replied. The thought of you and Ethan together did make you smile, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. You knew that usually turned out to be a bad idea to do. Anika sighed heavily. it was definitely over exaggerated. “m/n, the signs are so obvious! i mean from the way he talks to you, to the way he looks at your bodyy.~” she teased, nudging at your arm.

you groaned, “oh my God, please shut up!” you covered your face while with your hands, feeling your cheeks burn. anika laughed, “what? i’m not the only one that’s seen where his eyes wander sometimes.” she teased once more, but before you could punch say anything back, there was a knock on the door, and in came ethan. “speak of the devil..” anika whispered, nudging your shoulder.

“hey guys, whatcha up to?” ethan asked, walking into the dorm room and shutting the door behind him. “oh, we were just setting up Christmas decorations. You wanna help?” Anika asked, setting down some of the decor she had in her hands on the desk next to her. “well actually, i need to go run some quick errands, so why don’t you help m/n finish decorating, ethan?” anika spoke once more, a smile creeping on her face.

you wanted nothing more than to punch the shit out of anika. you knew what she was doing. “well, actually-“ you spoke, but anika quickly cut you off, not even letting ethan answer. “yes? perfect! I’ll be back!” anika quickly exited the room, but not before giving you a sly smirk, leaving you and ethan alone together.

the room was left in an awkward silence for a moment before you spoke up. “well.. i, uh, guess we should finish the decorations.. there’s not that much left to do anyway.” you said, trying to make this situation less awkward. “yeah, sure..” ethan spoke, walking up next to you. he grabbed the pile anika left on the desk and you both began to set the decorations up.

you wanted nothing more than to leave, but this probably isn’t as your only chance with ethan. a 50/50 shot like she said. “so, you excited for christmas..?” you asked, trying to make small talk. usually it wasn’t this awkward, but it was only because you guys were fully alone. no one else was present in the room. “yeah, i guess so. i enjoy the break we get.” ethan replied, setting the decorations up.

“me too. I stressed so much over finals, im so happy that i get to relax now..” you said, laughing a little bit. ethans cheeks warmed, he loved your laugh. he couldn’t get enough of it. “yeah.. i feel like i studied more than I’ve ever done before..” he replied, grabbing another decoration. without realizing, he accidentally hung up a mistletoe right under the both of you (i know, what a coincidence)

“yeah.. it sure felt like it..” you replied before the conversation came to an end, and the awkward silence coming back once more. if took you a while, but when you looked up, you saw the mistletoe. directly under you and ethan. your breath hitched slightly, did ethan really not notice? you pondered for a second, this was your chance to let ethan know how you felt..

“ethan.. hypothetically, if you were under a mistletoe right now.. with the person you liked.. would you kiss them?” you asked, your voice a little lower than before.. and obviously a little shaky. ethan, taken back a little by your question, responded, “uhm.. i don’t really know.. why?”

you fiddled a little with your hands, “because we’re under one right now..” you spoke quickly, and way more silently than before.. but it was enough for ethan to hear you. he quickly looked up, and his cheeks became a bright pink again. “you don’t have to.. y’know.. i-i don’t really know if you like me back, but I thought i’d just take this chance..” you spoke, noticing ethans silence. your voice seemed to have become lower with every word that came out.

“y-you like me back..?” ethan replied. back?! you thought to yourself. “wait, you like me too?” you asked, feeling a little happier, but you didnt want to get your hopes up yet. ethan nodded, “I do.. but- i just didn’t think you liked me.. the signs weren’t that obvious to be honest..” He said. he was right, you rarely ever showed any sign that you liked him. you didn’t want to scare him off, so you kept things chill when you were around him.

“i just.. didn’t think you liked me back.” you said.. a smile creeped on both your guys’ faces. “so.. does this mean i should kiss you..?” he asked since you guys were still under a mistletoe. “i mean, thats what you usually do when theres two people under a mistletoe..” your smile widened.. not only did ethan like you back, but the two of you were about to kiss..

he leaned in hesitantly, as did you.. but eventually the gap between both of you closed, and you felt ethans soft lips against yours..

it was a christmas miracle

a/n: merry christmas eve!!! (Rushed ending 😭)

[i-heart-hxh]

In all honesty why do you think Killua made the number two comment to Gon? I feel like he doesn’t realize how messed up that is to say to someone who has gone through extensive trauma trying to prove himself to a father who also put him in “second place” to something he deemed more important. It was hurtful and I don’t see how that can be repaired now. Even if they do reunite Gon is going to just step on eggshells and fear that even one slip up will cause Killua to just leave him again. Idk I just feel like separation wasn’t the solution here. They needed to talk and then stay together. But “taking a break” rarely works out for any relationship. It also sucks that Gon constantly told Killua how important he was to him but Killua NEVER returned this sentiment verbally so Gon’s just stuck thinking he’s a piece of shit who destroyed his most important relationship. Killua really did just say “screw Gon I have Alluka now”.

Hello!

I don't agree with this interpretation at all; to me, there are a number of complex reasons why Killua made that comment, and I don't think it will destroy their relationship by any means.

This post--In-Depth analysis on the Hidden Reasons behind Gon & Killua's separation scene (ep 147) Why Gon is 'Number 2'--is the best starting point for anyone trying to understand the separation, in my opinion. It's cohesive, uses supporting evidence from the series and demonstrates the careful wording used in the separation, and it makes more sense than any other interpretation I've read of why Killua would make such a comment to Gon. I keep referring back to this post because I truly think it holds keys to understanding the separation that other posts I've seen don't.

In addition to the insight provided in that post--where Killua is trying to put some distance between him and Gon for Gon's safety and well-being, essentially--I also think it's:

a) Partly how Killua is trying to steel himself to leave Gon, by telling himself, Gon, and Alluka that Alluka is his priority for now

b) Part of Killua's campaign of teasing Gon lightheartedly on the topic, to bring it up while at the same time downplaying the emotional effects of what happened between them--because when they're separating is not the right time for them to seriously address it or work through it

I do think the second place comment hurt Gon a little, but...Gon is already aware that he hurt Killua, and after his life was literally saved by Alluka (Nanika), being put in "second place" is not the worst outcome ever, honestly. Plus, it confirms he's still one of the most important people to Killua even after everything that happened between them! Killua is not saying Gon is trash to him now, even though it is a bit of a jab.

I've also said before that I think Togashi had Killua make this comment with awareness that we, as the audience, would be like, "Uh-huh Killua, sure, interesting of you to say this so shortly after you centered your entire life on him for basically the whole series and even seriously considered doing a lovers suicide with this guy..." We're most likely supposed to see it as Killua not being fully honest, even though Alluka does obviously mean a lot to Killua and by necessity she has to be his priority now. Plus, even Alluka herself says she'll give Killua back to Gon after a while. She must have some idea of how much Gon means to Killua, to be so willing to "give him back." I've said this before, but I see this line from Alluka about giving Killua back to Gon as a promise from Togashi to the audience that this isn't forever.

Gon isn't clueless; he knows Killua cares about him even though Killua struggles to express it verbally. The degree of trust and unspoken understanding between them in the dodgeball match is a good (albeit complicated) example of this. The two didn't communicate to the degree they needed to during Chimera Ant Arc, which makes sense because they're young and have their own issues and it was terribly traumatic for both for them, but they also have a good understanding of each other overall, and it's not giving Gon enough credit to assume he has no idea just because Killua hasn't said it. He doesn't know the full extent of Killua's feelings for him, certainly (I hope he will someday!), but he is aware Killua cares about him. Even when it comes to the separation, Killua expressing his pain shows that he still cares about Gon! He's saying that what happened still hurts, because he still cares! He's making light of it, but it's honestly a step in the right direction for him to be discussing it at all. If they can't be honest with each other about how what happened impacted them, they can't heal.

Of course it would be better for their relationship if they talked it out fully and came to some sort of resolution, but neither of them were in a place where they could do that quite yet. Killua is too closed up emotionally and hurting from seeing Gon essentially die in front of him, and Gon needs to recover from essentially throwing his life away and saying those things to Killua that we know he regrets. They do need some time apart to reflect and grow.

Are the two boys in a complicated emotional situation currently? Yes. Do I think this dooms them to never reconnect or heal their relationship? Absolutely not. I see their separation as more of a "We gotta go our separate ways for now because we both have things we have to deal with," (both externally and internally) than anything final. They agree to stay in touch, they express sadness at having to part, they make it clear several times that this is a temporary parting. Why make them clearly unsatisfied with having to part if they're not going to have an opportunity to make things right later?

[elizabethemerald]

Gala Daze DPxDC

AO3

“What a great idea Vladdie!” 

“I don’t know Jack…” 

“Oh I assure you, my dear Maddie that Daniel will be perfectly safe with me. I won’t let him out of my sight for a moment.” 

“Come on Maddie, it would be a perfect opportunity for our Danno to bump elbows with some rich bigwigs!” 

“Well maybe he can talk to them about getting some funding for ghost extermination. Very well Vlad. You can take Danny to Gotham.”

Danny was disassociating. While not entirely a new state of being, a dissociative episode had never lasted this long for him. He had been fully checked out from his body ever since the flight from Amity Park to Gotham. He had been thinking about turning intangible and just letting the plane fly through him so he could go home, when Vlad had leaned over to him to whisper in his ear. Vlad said if Danny stepped even one toe out of line, or did anything to embarrass him, Vlad would overshadow as many people as it took to ensure that Jazz was turned down by every college she applied to. He would ruin her entire future if Danny did even one thing wrong. 

Danny had started disassociating after that. 

His parents had done a lot to hurt him and Jazz. Usually the harm the elder Fentons did to their children was either accidental or unknowing. Like when Jazz was sick for days after the Thanksgiving dinner where Dad tried to fry the turkey in ectoplasm or like when they shot Danny when he was out as Phantom. 

However this time there was no excuse for them hurting their kids. If they ever listened to their children they would know that Danny hated Vlad and Jazz didn’t trust him. The kids had said over and over again for years that they didn’t like Vlad, but no! Uncle Vladdie could do no wrong! Danny and Jazz were just making things up for attention. 

Ancients, Danny hoped that he could keep his nose clean for the trip, he didn’t want to be responsible for Jazz having to give up her dreams of getting into an Ivy League school. He had lost huge swaths of time. He barely remembered leaving the airport and the next time he was cognizant they were heading to the gala in the tailored suits Vlad had ordered. 

Fortunately Vlad loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice, not even Danny or his mom. So he was more than happy to talk to the people around them about Danny and any time someone asked Danny a question he would be the one to answer instead. Vlad kept his hand either on Danny’s shoulder or on the back of his neck at all times so he couldn’t even slip away. 

Now he was talking to some rich fruitloop who kept trying to engage Danny in conversation. Brucie? Wait? Bruce Wayne? Yeah the guy was rich but why would Vlad go out of his way to introduce Danny to this airhead? 

“Well, yes, my son Damian does have many interests, but I can’t say that any of them have to do with NASA's latest satellite.” Mr. Wayne was saying in response to something Vlad had said. Ah. That made sense. Vlad wanted to brag, shove his superiority into Mr. Wayne’s face. Brucie turned to address Danny. “Tell me Daniel, what do you know about NASA's deep space satellite?”

“Uh, I prefer Danny actually, Mr. Wayne.” Danny said. Mr. Wayne’s eyebrows rose marginally considering those were his first words during this conversation. “And I-”

“Yes, Daniel really is attached to that childish nickname, isn’t he?” Vlad spoke up again. “Really Brucie, you would think children would grow up at some point. We should discuss this more over a game of golf next week…”

Danny let Vlad’s words wash over him again. The worst thing about Vlad was he really knew how to push Danny’s buttons. Of course he would bring up the new satellite only to show off to his rich rival, then not even let Danny talk about it. And then insulting him for his name! Prick!

He tried to avoid looking at Brucie’s concerned face. Obviously he was a socialite and knew all about the proper behavior for galas, and Vlad probably wasn’t meeting those social rules. There was a small part of Danny’s chaos-gremlin brain that wanted to say something seemingly innocuous but super sus if you thought about it. Nothing would make Danny happier than getting Vlad investigated for something stupid like tax fraud, but he couldn’t risk Jazz’s career just for spite. Or gremlin urges. 

Vlad moved his hand from Danny’s shoulder down to his lower back. Danny did everything he could to keep the snarl he wanted to make at that action from coming out. He still couldn’t help the full body shudder that shook his frame for a fraction of a second. Vlad shot him a look filled with malice and promised pain so Danny reigned himself back in and put his attention firmly on the floor in front of him. 

Danny clenched his fists, driving his nails into his own palms. He was sure he was bleeding, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t do anything. He hated feeling powerless. You would think that after the portal accident and him gaining actual real powers the feeling would be far more rare, except it happens far too often and he hated it. His hands were shaking with rage and suppressed desire to punch Vlad right in his smug, manipulative, fruit-loop face. 

He chanced a glance up just in time to see a girl melt out of the shadows near the wall. If he didn’t know better he would say she was a ghost with how easily she was able to appear. But she definitely wasn’t a ghost. Perhaps a touch liminal, but not a ghost. And she was watching him. 

Danny tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her and she tilted her head to match. Her eyes flicked to the two adults for only a fraction of a second to confirm they were still engaged in whatever conversation they were having, then her hand came up and she signed for letters in what Danny recognized as ASL. 

“R U O K.” 

She merely looked the question at him. He risked a peak at Vlad, but he was focused on trying to strong arm Brucie into meeting for a golf match and some private drinks. Other than his thumb rubbing circles into the small of Danny’s back he wasn’t paying any attention to him. Danny looked back at the girl who was watching him intently. He gave the smallest shake of his head he could, hoping that Vlad wouldn’t notice. The girl nodded and slipped effortlessly back into the shadows, all but disappearing from view. 

Several more minutes went by of mindless conversation with Mr. Wayne seemingly had given up on trying to get Danny to answer questions. He let his mind drift again to his beloved stars as he began naming the stars in biggest constellations visible in the night sky. 

For a while Danny thought that nothing would come of the mystery girl who had checked on him, until a crash echoed across the hall from the entrance of the gala hall. Vlad finally released Danny’s shoulder to whirl to face the noise. Then to his surprise, Mr. Wayne turned as well to put himself in between Danny and the crash, effectively hiding him from Vlad. At first he thought that was just serial adopter Brucie Wayne’s first gut instinct in a crisis, putting his body between a threat and the nearest black haired kid. 

However, immediately after Mr. Wayne stepped in front of him, two kids appeared out of the crowd, grabbed Danny’s shoulders and started to drag him away. He recognized the asian girl who had signed to him, and the other was, even more surprisingly, Damian Freaking Wayne! That meant that the other girl must be Cassandra Wayne! Sam had made sure Danny knew all the Waynes before the topic of the gala had even come up. Apparently the Waynes were the only people who made the events her parents dragged her to worth it. 

Damian and Cassandra maneuvered through the crowd so effortlessly Danny had to take a moment to check if they were using intangibility. The trio weaved through as the noise behind them got even louder until they pulled him into a back room of the hall where a very tired looking Timothy Drake-Wayne was already there on his laptop. He looked up at Danny in confusion for a second before returning his attention to the computer in front of him. 

“Don’t worry, that noise was just the chandelier in the entrance hall falling. Apparently it couldn’t take Dick’s weight.” Timothy, actual real CEO of Wayne enterprises said. Tucker would be losing his mind right now. 

Cassandra settled Danny into a chair while Damian marched up to Timothy. Danny could finally take a moment to look properly at the Waynes. All three of them wore elegant, likely name brand suits. Timothy was wearing a plain white shirt under his suit jacket while Cassandra and Damian wore black on black suits, though Damian’s did have some green highlights at the lapels and pockets. Timothy looked like his eye bags had eye bags, which Danny could relate to. 

“Father ordered you not to work for the night of the Gala.” Damian snapped. When Timothy didn’t dignify that with a response the youngest Wayne turned back to face Danny. “Vladimir Masters escorted you to the gala tonight.” 

Danny couldn’t help but snort. 

“What a polite way of phrasing that.” He said with a dark chuckle. 

“Would it be more accurate to call you his hostage?” Timothy asked from his chair, where he was still focusing on his computer screen and whatever it was he was working on. 

That brought Danny up short. He tried to stutter out a denial, but Damian quickly spoke over him. 

“Has he hurt you? Threatened you or someone you care about?” Damian demanded. 

“N-no!  He would never lay a finger on me!” Danny was quick to say, trying to project as much confidence as possible. Cassandra moved her flat hand in line across her face. Damian glanced at her and his eyes narrowed at Danny. 

“You don’t have to lie to protect him. We can protect you, our family has resources.” 

Danny shook his head over and over again. 

“I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about it.” He had to repeat himself, the phrase trapping themselves in his mind as he kept saying it over and over again. 

If he told them what Vlad had done to him, Vlad would ruin Jazz’s entire life. He already regularly tried to kill his father, but there was no telling what he would do to Jazz. Danny couldn’t tell them about being thrown into walls during his fights with Plasimus, or the clones Danny had watched melt in his arms under Vlad’s uncaring eye. He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

While he was panicking, Damian had withdrawn, visibly uncertain about how best to approach him. Cassandra and Timothy had come closer, Cassandra had her hand on his shoulder providing a calm, steadying presence. Timothy had closed his laptop and scooted forward his attention now fully on Danny. He made some motion to the others that seemed to symbolize that he was going to be taking point. 

“You’re not from Gotham originally, is that right?” When Danny nodded he continued. “We have some heroes here in Gotham. Believe it or not, we Waynes get kidnapped a lot, get rescued a lot. We know some of the Bats, they could help you.” 

Danny was already shaking his head again. 

“No, no no! That’s even worse. The worst thing that can happen if you Waynes help me is Brucie gives Vlad WE for pennies on the dollar and Vlad gets even richer. But if you get Batman involved, then he could have a man inside the JL. He could turn them against the people, use them as a tool to take over whatever he wants. He could overthrow the Ghost King…”

Now Danny was really panicking. He had muttered the last bit, terror carving its way through him. It would be like the absolute worst of the fight with Pariah Dark and Dan all over again. Danny would have to fight, and maybe kill the Justice League to stop him. If he won, he would have to eradicate Earth’s heroes, and if he lost Vlad would become King of the Infinite Realms. 

“You are talking about mind control.” Damian said, his eyes wide.

“No! Not mind control. Overshadowing. Humans call it possession.” Danny was rambling now. Desperately trying to convince these silly rich people not to get involved. Danny was a lost cause, he couldn’t be helped. All he could do was keep his head down long enough for Jazz to get into her college of choice. The Waynes glanced at each other nervously for a moment and Damian pulled his phone from his pocket. 

“I think I need to make a call.” 

Danny snapped his head up, his attention on the far wall as his breath came out in a foggy puff, like he had just walked into a freezer. He didn't know it but his eyes were blazing green at that moment. 

“It’s too late now.” 

The Waynes all step back or slouch against their chairs. Only a second later the door to their room snaps open, Vlad furious, his once spotless suit now covered in red wine and assorted finger foods. His eyes burned red with rage as he locked onto Danny. Timothy immediately stood to his feet. 

“Ah, Mr. Masters.” Vlad pulled himself back from his rage with difficulty to acknowledge the young CEO. “We were just coming out to look for you. Your ward was grabbed by our security team. Small case of mistaken identity. It's standard procedure during these sorts of events to get my brothers and sister to safety in the event of another terrorist attack. Or worse a Joker attack. Thankfully it seems everything is under control. You may take your charge now.” 

Timothy brushed past Vlad without another comment. Damian glared at him, but he glared at everyone, while Cassandra just stared at Vlad, unblinking, like some kind of demonic cat. Her complete lack of reaction obviously weirded Vlad out even more than Damian’s aggression. 

“Oh I’ll do that.” He grabbed Danny’s arm hard enough to bruise. “Come Daniel. We’re leaving.” 

Danny turned away from the Waynes as he was dragged out the door. He didn’t want to face their pity. At least he did a good enough job convincing them that they can’t help him. Now he just had to last long enough to get back home again. He let himself checkout, ignoring Vlad’s crushing grip on his arm as he dragged from the gala and back to the hotel. 

When Danny next checked in with his body it was to Vlad screaming in his face and burning pain in his body. In Vlad’s furious race out of the Gala after his humiliation he had pulled Danny’s arm out of his socket. And to emphasize his points Vlad would hit him with ecto fire, each hit destroying more of his once nice suit and leaving burns on his body. 

“You think you can just toy with me in front of these richest elite? I will make your life hell! I will make your sister’s life hell! She’ll be lucky to make a living on the street corners of a shit hole like this!” He gestured out to the window, which Danny belatedly realized was open. “I just don’t understand why you make me do this to you, Daniel. Little Badger, you are forcing my hand and I-”

He shrieked as a batarang whipped from the open window. The lights in the hotel room flickered for a second and Batman, Robin and Orphan were standing in the room when the lights returned. Vlad turned to them, furious that they would interrupt. 

“Vladimir Masters. We have some questions for you.” Batman growled. 

“No! I think you’ll find Batman, that I have some questions for you!” Vlad’s eyes flared red. Danny tried to stop him but he was backhanded away

Vlad floated into the air as his ghost transformation rolled over his body. He reached out to grab Batman but before he could several things happened at once. First and most shockingly, Robin drew a katana and cut off Plasmius’ hand at the wrist. Then several voices shouted out at once.

“Azarath Metrion Zinthos!”

“Dnib siht tirips ot sti ydob!” 

“Puer iste spiritus maxime!”

Chains of gold, purple and blazing fire wrapped around Plasmius again and again. The chains dragged him down to the ground even as he snarled and swore at them. A man in a trench coat, a woman in a long black cloak and an actual stage magician appeared in the room, magic sparking at their fingertips. Cassandra had bypassed the battle completely to come to Danny's side, though she did still have her weapons in her hands. Batman turned to address him, ignoring Vlad’s continued vitriol in the middle of the arcane trap. 

“You’re safe now Danny. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you ever again. This I swear.” Batman said, his voice just as serious as it ever was, and for the first time in his life, Danny felt like he could actually believe it when someone told him he was safe. He collapsed to his knees, shuddering sobs shaking his body. He was safe, Jazz was safe from Vlad’s machinations. Maybe this nightmare could finally be over. 

[impish-ivy]

Something I think I’ve only seen someone mention maybe once or twice how Solomon is handling being in the past.

He is incredibly close to Simeon, Asmo, Luke none of which remember him. And the only one who does, Barbatos, hates him.

Solomon, Simeon and Luke are very close, spending their time in the devildom living together. It’s obvious being forgotten by them would hurt, even if he doesn’t acknowledged it. Even now, as Simeon doesn’t remember him he’s trusting him with a big secret—one even at the start of the second season we don’t know.

The nature of Solomon and Asmo’s relationship is up to you, lovers, friends with benefits, or really good friends. Regardless of what you think, they’re very close and their relationship is obviously very important to Solomon. Solomon has previously never mentioned why or how he made a pact with Asmo but he’s mentioned it twice now. Clearly he’s thinking about his relationship and history with Asmo. It’s something he’s been thinking of and he misses his close relationship with Asmo. It’s why even after mentioning how potentially dangerous it could be forging a pact with Asmo right now, he still does it. He misses having that connection with Asmo.

And Barbatos, oooooh Barbatos.

These two have a long history, how far back we’re not sure but it’s fairly reasonable to think it was before he was immortal. Solomon summoned him on the verge of death, and then Barbatos nurses him back to health. Barbatos also gives him his title of Witty Sorcerer, one he’s very proud of. They were close even before Barbatos became Diavolo’s butler and seem to have a father-son like relationship, or at the very least a familiar relationship. Barbatos speaks very highly of him in the OG, saying he trusts him completely and speaks proudly of his intelligence. Which struck me as odd at first because he’s never been the type to speak so openly about his feelings or Solomon. He even goes on to talk about how they met to amplify how highly he thinks of him. Barbatos trusts Solomon wholeheartedly and completely, the fact he hates him so much in NB most definitely hurts Solomon a lot.

The worst is he doesn’t even know why. What did past him do to make someone who loved and trusted him so much hate him? Whatever is was, it was something he never did.

So you can imagine how upsetting that is that someone you love and care about all of a sudden hates you for some unknown reason and you have no idea what happened—you didn’t even do it.

Fortunately it seems that Barbatos is warming back up to him, he (in a roundabout way) expresses concern for both Solomon’s mental and physical wellbeing after sending MC to help the brothers while hungover.

(Lesson 18-A)

I know the main story won’t ever address the emotional implications of their main gag but it would still be nice to see how the people he’s closest forgotten (or hating in Barbatos’s case) him affects Solomon.

But he has 13 still and while on the surface their relationship seems troubled, it’s obvious she cares about him. And Im sure it brings him great relief that even thrown years in the past and probably an alternate reality she and him have the same relationship. One where he can take refuge in her home and she’ll complain and demand he leave but never actually push him to.

[samwinchesterdefender]

sam winchester and dogs - analysis

nobody really seems to talk about this. the other day, i saw that clip of sam and dean going through the memory of the time sam ran away for the first time in a while, and it made me think. we only see sam with dogs a handful of times in the series, at least owning them, and there’s a reason for that— dogs are a symbol of imperfect happiness for sam winchester.

⚠️there will be MAJOR spoilers in this post⚠️

example 1 - bones

we see bones in the episode when dean and sam are going through some of their best memories. one of sam’s is the time he ran away for two weeks and hid somewhere with a dog he found—bones—and lived off “funions and mr pibb”. people often criticize him for this in favor of dean, because dean tells him that john beat him for losing sam. however, people don’t really seem to mention the backstory for this (probably? not all the details line up, but this is seemingly the first time sam ran away) that we got for this later in the episode with sully.

in the episode, we get flashbacks of one part of sam’s childhood: dean and john were on another hunt and wouldn’t let him come with. he had asked sully, “ever think… about running away?” which sparked a conversation about sam’s future which ended in sam deciding to actually run away and ended with a cut back to present day.

sam had decided to run away because he was tired of feeling unvalued and hated the way he was currently living. he didn’t really hate his family— he was just a kid sick of being alone with no promise of change soon. when he ran away, though, he was still alone. he was just alone without promise of dean and john being home in a few days. he thought it would fix his problems, but it didn’t. he didn’t have the greatest relationship with john, but he did love dean. he didn’t really show it as a kid but dean was the only one who showed him real love, and he needed that. he didn’t have that anymore.

this is the first instance sam is shown owning a dog, and it comes after sam ran away for something he thought would fix his life but ended up not really measuring up in the end. he was ripped back from his little adventure right back into his old life. he couldn’t escape. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

example 2 - riot

one of the WORST plot lines on this show. i’ll say that. weird choice for sam. regardless, it stands with the analysis.

we all know how sam hit the dog and went to live with amelia instead of looking for dean. it came from the idea that dean used that one time they had evidently agreed on where if one of them died, the other would live a normal life. personally i don’t think sam would have actually done this at this point in the show, but whatever. dean had lisa and ben, and this was sam’s version. sam’s chance at normalcy. we see bits of his life with amelia develop over multiple episodes, and he was even living with her. amelia made him happy. and they really showed that dog a lot.

the dog lived with them, obviously. the second instance of sam owning a dog. sam was trying to start this new life for himself of being a guy who settles down with someone and lives his life in peace. of course, that didn’t really end up working for him, as he left amelia to go back to hunting.

yet again, we have a dog present during a time sam was trying to escape his problems and start over. sam was starting to get this life for himself that he never really thought he would have, but that he always had as an unattainable dream. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

example 3 - miracle

the final instance shown of sam owning a dog. dean had found this one, which, as we’ve seen from the takeaway of the two previous examples, was actually foreshadowing of dean’s death in the final episode.

unfortunately, we all remember how 15x20 starts with sam and dean in a semi-normal life. they’ve beat chuck. they’ve saved the world multiple times, and lost so many people in the process. they finally get some normalcy, while still keeping up the little hunting jobs. and then dean somehow dies on that damn rusty rebar.

immediately proceeding is what i can remember through heavy tears as an extremely sad montage of sam living his life without dean, permanently, with parallels to earlier scenes in the episode. then we get that shot of sam and miracle watching dean’s body burn.

dean had unknowingly found sam a companion before he died. this was what sam had left of his big brother. a dog. he took that dog with him when he left the bunker, and took care of him until the day he died. they had both loved that dog. sam had gotten a taste of a free life— a free life with his brother, unshackled by world-threatening evils. that was then forcibly taken away from him in an instant. he was once again alone. alone with miracle. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

[championari]

Alright. I said I would write this and I’m gonna stay true to my word.

I’ve been seeing a lot of takes since The Giggle has come out questioning the potency of 14’s ending. People have been citing multiple different times during the reboot era where the Doctor has “settled down” somewhere, from Darillium, the university in S10, to even Trenzalore. However, I think all of these comparisons are apples to oranges, completely missing the details of each instance and how The Giggle’s ending rebukes all of them. 

So, because I cannot leave an inaccurate take alone, I’m going through every single one of these instances and explain why 14’s ending is different from them, in chronological order.

I’m gonna start with a weird one: S7EP4, The Power of Three. Because it provides a good example of all the things we’re going to be talking about. 

Prior to this episode, long time fans already had a good idea that the Doctor…does not do well in monotonous environments, a truth that is consistent across multiple incarnations.

“I don’t do families.”

“Street corner, two in the morning, getting a taxi home. I’ve never had a life like that.”

“Here you are, Living a life, day after day. The one adventure I could never have.”

“Christmas dinner.” “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Oh god I had a terrible nightmare about you two!” [Talking about Amy and Rory having a normal life in Leadworth]

The entirety of The Lodger

“There’s a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there.”

The Power of Three, spells this truth out in bold, montage style marker pen. The Doctor “needs to be busy”. Why, as Amy later asks?

Personally I think this answer varies slightly between regenerations, based on experiences and losses each face goes through. 9 couldn’t imagine a life of peace coming out of a war, a war that he had a major hand in. 10 continues that idea, with the added baggage of losing Rose. 11’s reasoning is a bit subtler: he says to Amy that he is running to things before they go, as if he now understands how short beautiful things last. He’s going from one thing to the next in avoidance of staying to watch things die. 

“And what’s the alternative? Me standing over your grave?”

This doesn’t change by the end of the episode. The Doctor explicitly tells the Ponds that he’s only staying to watch the cubes, and once the threat is gone, he’s already out the door. He only stops because of a potential threat, an idea we will return to in the next example. He even accepts the idea of Amy and Rory wanting to stay behind: “things to do. Worlds to save. Swings to swing on. Look, I know. You both have lives here. beautiful, messy lives. That is what makes you so fabulously human. You don’t want to give them up. I understand.” The Doctor is saying, ‘I know you have lives here, and that I can’t always be a part of that. And that’s ok.’ 

This episode in my opinion is a perfect microcosm of The Doctor regarding this topic, spelling out explicitly why The Doctor can't ever settle down. The Doctor needs to have something to run to because they don't feel secure enough in any place to not allow their altruism outweigh their need to process their trauma. The only thing that could motivate the Doctor to stop, even just for a second, is the promise that their friend(s) will be there too. The next example is the worst-case scenario of this issue.

Trenzalore is an interesting case. When I first heard of it being counted, I immediately shut it down, because Trenzalore was a literal war zone (wars are obviously not a good place for mental health time). But in doing research, there is actually way more baggage contained in this period making it unsuitable for this argument than just that fact. 

Trenzalore was set up to be the Doctor’s final resting place, where they would truly die. It wasn’t the first time a death prophecy had surrounded the Time Lord, and once again, just as with The End of Time, the thing that kills them is, what Davros would later call The Doctor's “greatest indulgence”: compassion. Tasha Leem warns 11 that she will burn the planet upon the possibility of the Time Lords returning, a warning the Doctor takes extremely seriously.

“This planet is protected.”

“Christmas has a new sheriff.”

For 300 years, 11 stayed true to his word. He fought long and hard, for the townspeople and his own. He was celebrated and was loved. But Clara returning with the TARDIS revealed how he really felt about all of it. 

“Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually.”

“But you didn’t have your TARDIS.” “Well, that made it easier to stay.” 

There’s an unspoken sentiment in these words, echoing 11's philosophy in Power of Three: the Doctor will always want to leave, in this case, to understandably avoid his prophesied death. But he doesn’t, because “Every life I save is a victory”. Their compulsion to help, their innate capacity to help those in need. So often it’s been their greatest strength, but here it’s framed as destructive selflessness. 11 has become so wholly committed to helping others before himself that he’s willing to accept his own death. 

Clara correctly calls this out: “What about your life? Just for once, After all this time, have you not earned the right to think about that?” The Doctor didn’t stay on Trenzalore for himself, he stayed for everyone besides himself. It’s only because Clara gave the Time Lords a proper verbal smackdown that the Doctor managed to survive. Had they not intervened, The Doctor would've suffered and died, once again to protect them, despite already saving them from annihilation in the previous episode, Day of The Doctor. Trenzalore wasn't The Doctor stopping, it was a century-long effort to keep satiating the bottomless survivor's guilt they still carried from The Time War.

Darillium is yet another case of looking like a time the Doctor settled down somewhere on the surface. But the details don’t match that conclusion. The entire thesis of 12 and River’s final conversation was about the fleeting nature of their situation. 

“Times end, River, because they have to. Because there’s no such thing as happily ever after. It’s just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard.”

The Doctor says this, cries at hearing the Singing Towers, despite already knowing they have 24 years in a night. Because he knows it can’t last. There’s already a deadline on their moment of peace before it’s begun. Eventually River must go to The Library. 

The final quote of the episode punctuates this: “And they lived happily ever after.” Fading away until “happily” remains. Because they didn’t have their “ever after” and they didn’t “live”, because a person can’t entirely experience life to the fullest with a clock hanging over their head. 

While they got their moment of happiness, it was only a moment. 24 years is just a blink of an eye for a Time Lord, and sure enough, we see by the end of “The Return of Doctor Mysterio”, the next chronological episode, 12 is ready to leap back into the fray. Still the same overall Doctor he was before.

The University is an extension of this. We find out that the only reason he has stayed is to guard Missy in the vault. When 12 tries to mindwipe Bill (an eerie parallel to both Donna and Clara), he directly says: “I have no choice, I’m in disguise. I have promises to keep.” Just like with Trenzalore, The Doctor’s altruism has trapped him somewhere he doesn’t actually want to be. The second he hesitates, he immediately runs after Bill, inviting her into the TARDIS and sneaks off to the universe behind Nardole’s back.

So, now that we’ve gone through each past instance, what’s the connection? What’s the key issue(s) that prevented the Doctor from permanently stopping in any of these cases?

The (fear of) loss of their friends, and the Doctor’s own self-loathing. Either out of fear of the march of time, or the chains that their altruistic nature binds them to, The Doctor always runs away from the picket fence life.

Now, let’s look at 14 and how this ending departs from all other examples.

Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle more prominently explains 14’s origins as a coping mechanism. The reason why 10’s face came back was to retreat to an incarnation that didn’t invoke the loss of The Ponds, Clara, and Bill. The second destruction of Gallifrey and the reveal of The Timeless Child. The Doctor’s avoidance of their trauma has now been made physical, just like how mental stress can often manifest as physical changes or ailments. 

“We stand here now, on the edge of creation, a creation that I devastated, so yes I keep running, of course I keep running!! How am I supposed to look back on that?!”

Already this is a departure from the instances we’ve discussed, because by the very nature of having 10’s face again, it’s forcing the Doctor to ask why. 

“It’s like I'm trying to tell myself something. Like I’m trying to make a point.”

But 14 chooses not to answer it, because answering it means accepting the truth: it’s too much. The trauma can’t be avoided anymore, because The Doctor would always be reminded of what they’re trying to avoid by looking in a reflection. 14 telling Shirley, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” Then asking Donna, “what am I? What am I now?” It’s not because he’s been given a blank slate and doesn’t know what to do with it, like other regeneration stories. In trying to run away again, to bury the trauma and pain, The Doctor has made it more visible than ever, and doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Ironically, the Toymaker causing the bi-generation was the greatest gift he could’ve given the Doctor, because 15 was exactly who 14 needed to see. He’s happy, energetic, full of life and wonder, but also empathetic, understanding and open. He’s the only other person in the entire universe who The Doctor will listen to (well, one person, we’ll get to the other later), because he knows all of the trauma they went through, and yet, made it through ok.

“But you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, because you fix yourself.”

15 is leading by example, their own ‘ghost of Christmas future’ but positive. 14 now has an ideal self to strive towards, a face born from love and empathy. 14 doesn’t have to ground herself out of moral obligation, 15 will now protect the universe. 

But that leaves one question: why Donna? Out of all of the people to settle down with, why her? That’s easy: because she gets it. 

Donna, out of all of the companions the Doctor traveled with, understood the soul behind the legend, because she recognized someone fundamentally similar to herself. One of Donna’s signature character flaws is her horrendously low self esteem: “I’m nothing special.” no one ever listened to her (thanks Sylvia, for at least cleaning up your act later), so she covered up the silence with noise. She held onto whatever indisputable moments of genius she had to drown out the cacophony of voices shutting her up. Wild Blue Yonder explained this perfectly: Donna believes she is both brilliant and stupid at the same time. 

She lives in two contradictory self images at once, and so does The Doctor. The genius and the idiot. The universe’s most fascinating person, and the person who would easily throw away their life for the betterment of others. She’s seen their blinding arrogance/rage (the Racnoss, Jenny) and their crippling self doubt/loneliness, and always met both with empathy and kindness. 

“Doctor! You can stop now!”

“Cause sometimes I think you need someone to stop you.” 

“It won’t stay like that. She’ll help you. We both will.” 

“Is ‘alright’ special Time Lord code for ‘really not alright’ at all?” “Why?” “Cause I’m alright too.”

Donna shouldered the burden of destroying Pompeii, she silently hugged 10 after coming back from Midnight. All because she knew what all of that would feel like in her own life. She didn’t need to know the history of The Doctor and Davros, because she saw her best friend afraid and knew he would want comfort, because she would too.

Even if Dalek Caan manipulated the timelines to get Donna to him, That friendship was completely real to both of them. We saw what Donna was like without the Doctor in Forest of the Dead and Turn Left, and she always felt some level of unhappiness. 15 years removed from them and she still felt as if something was missing. In every future/reality, she always wanted them there. Same for the Doctor too. Within only a few episodes of losing her, 10 started to fall into becoming the “time lord victorious”. 12 looks the way he does because of Donna’s plea to adhere to his name, and save people. Even before 14 came into existence, the Doctor was willing to tell other people how important she was to them, on account of River recognizing Donna by her name: “you’re Donna, Donna Noble.”

Donna didn’t just travel with the Doctor and she wasn’t just friends with them. She completely understood them, their soulmate. Two halves of a greater whole, The DoctorDonna. 14 stayed because there was a more stable incarnation to take his place, and because his best friend would be there alongside him, helping and supporting him through and through. The Doctor stayed because, for the first time in their life, they felt safe. In where they would be staying, and what they would be leaving behind. 

That's why 15 doubling the TARDIS was so significant. In giving 14 her own TARDIS, 15 is allowing his younger self to have what they always removed from the equation: free will. The Doctor can still go anywhere they want, which makes them even more motivated to stay and fix themself. 14 can feel safe staying with Donna, Wilf, Mel, Rose, Shaun, and Sylvia because the option to travel is still there.

And the truly amazing part of all of this is that the TARDIS knew it from the beginning. Was it a coincidence that very soon after 13 regenerated into 14, the TARDIS landed close to where Donna and Rose would be shopping? 

“You didn’t always take me where I wanted to go.” “No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

The TARDIS brought the Doctor home, and this time, they stayed. Because it was a place where they wanted and needed to be. 

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 8/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012

2013 – Bradley

                When he gets the invitation to Top Gun he almost vibrates out of his seat in excitement. He keeps telling himself it’s excitement and not terror. He’s already going to be turning thirty this year, and while he might be a bit older than some of the other attendees he knows he’s unlikely to be the oldest. However he is older than his father was when he attended. He’s already older than his father was when he died and the idea that his father was married and had had a kid is mind boggling to him, because he doesn’t feel anywhere old enough to have either of those responsibilities, even if he’s coming around to the first one whenever he thinks about a potential future with Jas.

>>I got invited to a thing. An elite training thing. It’s sort of a big deal.

>>I’ll probably be busier than usual.

>>Like what?

>>Wait. Rangers? Delta Force? Pararescue?

>>Yeah. Something like that.

>>Fine. Keep your secrets.

>>You’re the one that said you want to keep some stuff for when we meet.

>>Can I change my mind?

>>Ask me again in 24 hours.

>>You’re pretty impulsive.

>>You like me being impulsive.

>>That’s true. I do.

>>Don’t want you to regret it though.

>>End of May isn’t that far away.

>>Assuming nothing happens again.

>>Yeah well. Fingers crossed.

>>Thinking about finally meeting you is the only gets me through some of my worst days.

>>No pressure.

                Bradley squeezes his lips between his teeth, wonders if he should apologize.

>>There is no pressure. I’m just… being honest with you.

>>I’ve had to lie about do much for so long, that even now it’s…

>>Well. I’ll never lie to you. Even if I think it’ll scare you.

>>This is where I get to be myself.

>>But you don’t need to worry about me not liking you.

>>I already love you.

>>Okay.

>>Well.

>>In the interests of being honest, do you want to know a secret?

>>Of course.

>>I’m scared of meeting you.

>>Why?

>>What if you’re not as perfect in person as you are through my phone?

>>Well, I’m not perfect.

>>At all.

>>Do you want me to share some of my gross habits with you?

>>I can do that if you think it would help.

>>Yeah. Go on.

>>Well, a recent one which drives my roommate absolutely batshit crazy, is I leave my moustache hair clippings all over the sink.

>>You have a moustache?

>>Yep. A new one. That long leave period I had last year when we were meant to meet up the second time? I started growing it.

>>Keeps my upper lip warm.

>>Do you look good?

>>I look like my dad.

>>Makes me feel closer to him.

>>I broke down and cried when I caught my reflection because I thought it was him.

>>I think mine is better, but I just wish he was here to joke with me about it.

>>Teach me how to take care of it.

>>All I’ve had are YouTube tutorials and it’s not quite the same.

>>If you’re watching online tutorials it definitely looks good.

>>Vain motherfucker.

                Bradley laughs but doesn’t bother disputing the fact, he likes to look good, and taking pride in his appearance is something that is necessary because it reflects on the Navy. He can’t say that specifically though.

>>What about you? Annoying habit?

>>I leave empty bottles and cups everywhere.

>>Not in the mess hall obviously, but everywhere else.

>>My friends despair of me.

>>I try and remember when I’m elsewhere, but I just keep forgetting.

>>Awful Southern manners.

…            …            …

                His seventeen-week stint at the Navy Fighter Weapons School begins and he doesn’t think he’s ever worked so hard in his life. He studies every waking moment, spends time with the ground crew asking questions about particular aspects of their jobs and their experiences, uses them to piece together a better understanding of the planes, although he’s already got an excellent understanding of most things, his obsession and upbringing in his youth meaning he’s knowledgeable about odd things, which sometimes get a raised eyebrow from one or two of the instructors. He does his best to ignore them.

                He and Jas have discovered SnapChat and started using that, not for conversations, just for staying connected and sending tiny little snippets of their day to each other, letting him know he’s thinking of him. Shots of morning coffee, books where he carefully covers the titles when it’s related to flying, the sky when it’s particularly pretty, his empty bed with the simple caption wish you were here.

                The seventeen weeks come to an end, he comes out on the top and he feels so much. He survived for a start, which is something he can admit now that he was worried about. God, he wants to ring Mav and Ice, and not just to brag, but to hear them be happy for him, although a part of him accepts he definitely wants to rub Pete’s face in it, that he is good enough. Of course it throws everything else into sharp relief and he wishes more than anything he could talk to his dad. He’s sitting in the lounge, just staring at the photos of previous Top Gun classes and 1986 is right there, an image that conjures so many mixed emotions.

                “Lieutenant Bradshaw. Thought you’d be out celebrating the win.”

                “Sir.”

                “Seriously. I’m surprised to see you here and not with the others.”

                “I will celebrate. Just. Having some mixed emotions sir,” he admits.

                “You don’t think you earnt the win?”

                Bradley blinks, because he’s not sure there’s a way to answer that question the right way, without sounding like he’s

                “I think it was an honor to be invited here and challenged by fellow aviators who are excellent in every respect. I worked hard and flew well. Just. Did you know my father died at Top Gun? During a hop?”

                “Bradshaw. I did wonder. Thought it was in bad taste to ask.”

                “No-one asked, but I suspect some are aware. No-one brought it up, sir.”

                “No, they’d probably take your lead on that. Well, I’ll leave you to it Lieutenant. Have a good evening.”

                “Thank you sir.”

…            …            …

>>How did you go?

>>Well, I didn’t wash out and I completed it.

>>That’s a pretty low bar.

>>Didn’t wash out? Pretty sure you smashed it.

>>I love your faith in me.

>>I love you.

>>Of course I have faith in you.

>>What I don’t have faith in is the universe and its apparent desire to fuck us over.

>>I’ve been invited to my own elite training thing.

>>Like, I can’t turn it down, it’s pretty much an order to go. And it’s an honor to be selected, but the timing could not be fucking worse.

>>I’m so sorry.

                Bradley is so disappointed he’s close to tears, but he also knows that when these type of opportunities are offered to you, you cannot turn them down. Ever. Not directly. Except he sort of just did, and his mind is

>>I understand. I totally understand.

>>Doesn’t stop me being disappointed though.

>>I was really looking forward to finally meeting you.

>>You and me both. Waited this long though right?

>>I am getting really sick of us having to say that.

>>I’m starting to get very sick of waiting.

>>I feel like we’ve waited long enough.

>>But I was offered something, I might see if I can backtrack my decline.

>>Shit. Did you turn something down because of me?

>>Well, I asked if I could think about it for a day or two. I was intending to turn them down, but I think I’ll accept it now.

>>Not if I don’t have meeting you in May to look forward to.

>>Nick. I don’t want you turning down things which could help your career just to meet with me.

>>I’m not going anywhere.

>>This goes both ways. I don’t want you turning things down either.

>>I’m sorry – did you just miss the bit where I said I can’t meet up because I’m taking up a training opportunity?

>>Yeah, but you thought about turning it down.

>>Next time don’t think about it, just accept.

>>I’ll always understand your desire to put your career first.

>>What about when I don’t want to anymore?

>>Also this applies to actual guys you sleep with and could have a relationship with.

>>Don’t you dare use me as an excuse to not pursue something if you think it’d be worth it.

>>Then the same applies for you.

>>Fine. Although the guys I’ve been sleeping with have yet to impress me with anything worth writing home about. Or well…

>>Sharing with you. My fantasies are definitely far more interesting.

>>Still think it’s your useless superpower, ability to hook-up with the worst possible guys and just have bad sex.

>>It’s okay. We’ll practice plenty in person when we meet.

…            …            …

                The offer to stay on as an instructor is there, and he’d said he’d think about it. However he really doesn’t want to stop flying, but he also doesn’t feel like he has the necessary skills to train other aviators yet, which is why he’s seriously considering staying to learn from the Top Gun instructors. When he raises his concerns about wanting to keep up his flying while also wanting to build up his experience with teaching and training to a set syllabus he gets a considered look for his troubles.

                “You’re not very much like your father or godfather are you Lieutenant.”

                “Excuse me sir?”

                “I know who you are Lieutenant. I flew with both your father, and Maverick. You remind my far more of Iceman. Cool and collected, little bit detached from emotion when you’re flying.”

                “Sir,” Bradley states, because he’s not sure if he’s asking a question or not. Whether it’s simply an observation or a compliment.

                “I’ll see what we can figure out.”

                The experienced tutors seem to take his interest in training with enthusiasm, recommending readings and setting homework. He learns that some of them have gone on to do Masters degrees in learning or development. He hadn’t expected quite a thorough background as he’s getting, but it’s good. He’s permitted to take flights early in the morning as long as he clears his flight plans with his commanding officer and also has at least three others awake and at least one willing to act as ground crew. He makes decent deals with several of the instructors, some who just prefer being on base that early to prepare for the day and doing it while he flies around is acceptable to them, especially when he agrees to try out any particular maneuvers and tactics in different planes. He loves it and it’s his routine for three weeks before the next Top Gun intake arrive. He shaves off his moustache and then regrets it almost immediately, but he can grow it back the next time he has a decent amount of leave to go unshaved.

…            …            …

                There are twelve naval aviators and Bradley has read all their files. He’s flown with a few of them before, one of them being Bambi and another Coyote. Then he knows Slipper, Knocks, Frank and Truffle. It leaves the other six as unknowns, although he does recognize the names. He has to admit it’s almost more intimidating than going through Top Gun himself, being expected to command the attention of other aviators for lessons, people known for challenging the status quo. The fact that he already knows half of them actually makes it worse, because he knows they won’t hold back. Not that he expects any of them to hold back, but he’s read their files and they’re all good and more than deserve to be here.

                It’s a little awkward, he’s not sure whether he is meant to be hanging out with the instructors, or whether he’s somehow part of this Top Gun class as well. So he finds a weird middle ground, friendly and professional with the instructors, happy to act for them, following their instructions and carrying out flight moves as an example or acting the part of bogey for tactical training. He is even more professional with the Top Gun class, slightly cooler but still friendly enough that he doesn’t think it pisses any of them off, although Bambi does roll her eyes at him more than once and Coyote gives him a quirked eyebrow.

                He and Jas continue to exchange snaps every day, although they both poke fun at the seemingly endless monotony of their current day-to-day lives. Bradley’s same mug of coffee everyday wishing him good morning, and it hasn’t escaped his notice that Jas seems to be in his time zone for the first time ever. Or at least for the first time since he really started paying attention and using Snapchat. They haven’t made any long-term plans to meet-up, not until next year and that’s too far away for Bradley to even know where in the world he’ll be let alone what weeks of the year he will have free which makes him feel a little more irritated than usual.

                “So, your score is the score I have to beat huh?” Jake Seresin says, and Bradley can’t help the immediate spike of annoyance at the words. He shouldn’t, because they’re Navy, competition between them all is something that is drilled into them from the beginning. More so for the USNA, but Bradley’s been around Naval Aviators his entire life and knows how they are, for the most part. Bunch of egotistical adrenaline junkies. Himself included, although he likes to try and temper his own ego by being as friendly and hopefully genuinely likeable as possible. Of course, being professional and maintaining some sense of distance can be difficult when he just wants to roll his eyes and tell the guy to grow up.

                “Just concentrate on your own flying and don’t worry about beating me.”

                They’re all good pilots. Of course they are. But Jake Seresin just seems to take the cast of egotistical and break the mold. He’s just so full of himself and the most annoying part of it is that it’s completely justified. He is that good, but he also gives off waves that he doesn’t feel like he has anything left to learn and Bradley knows he can’t be the only one feeling a little frustrated with his attitude sometimes. He asks the other instructors, in a round-about way, and he gets amused looks and told that he’ll learn to manage that with experience.

                Then there is how Seresin looks. He’s very nice to look at, Bradley isn’t going to lie to himself about it, and he wouldn’t kick him out of bed, however he’d have to like his personality enough first to invite him there, and that isn’t happening anytime soon. Definitely not while they’re at Top Gun, even if he thinks he could ask and get accepted, he doesn’t want to get a reputation for sleeping with students, that would be disastrous. It doesn’t stop him jerking off and thinking about Jake Seresin’s lips around his cock and he sends a couple of pictures to Jas during and after, telling him he misses him.

…            …            …

                Seventeen weeks feels like the blink of an eye and also, somehow, the longest drawn-out torture ever. He’s glad he has flying everyday, because somedays it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. Seresin seems to ask endless questions, some just bordering on disrespectful and he knows the other instructors find his frustration amusing, because he catches their poorly hidden smiles when he privately expresses his frustration to them, so he starts ignoring it as best he can.

                He doesn’t think he enjoys training and teaching enough to want to make this his career, not if every class is going to have people like Jake Seresin in it. He can’t bring himself to whine about it to Jas, not when he knows he’s so busy with his own specialty training, so he does the next best thing and rings Natasha, exchanging pleasantries before just launching into the complaining when she asks how the training aspects are going.

                “I just can’t seem to teach him anything! He just rubs me the wrong way.”

                “Well, you definitely want to be rubbing something…”

                “Jesus Natasha!”

                “What? It’s not going to get you kicked out or anything anymore…”

                “I’m not going to sleep with him!”

                “Would you? If that were an option? Is he hot?”

                “I don’t know. Have you met Jake Seresin?”

                “Oh. Definitely hot. He’s also Javy’s best friend.”

                “Javy huh?” Bradley asks, wanting to steer their conversation away from his inconvenient attraction to the most annoying person he’s ever met.

                “Shut up. At least I know what the guy I’m interested in looks like…”

                “Yeah yeah, whatever. I had noticed they were pretty tight.”

                “Yeah. Tight as brothers. Academy and flight school buddies. Hopefully Javy’s actual brothers are nicer.”

                “Well, they aren’t currently here driving me fucking insane, so that’s already a point in their favor.”

                “How is Javy doing?”

                “He’s good. Everyone here is good. You should be here.”

                “I’ll get my turn.”

                “Yeah you will.”

…            …            …

                “You know, the other instructors, they call you a rooster, because you get up so early so you can get up and fly before class.”

                Bradley grunts, because if he ignores him, maybe he’ll go away. He knows the other instructors call him that, and he doesn’t mind it, because there are far worse nicknames he could have landed himself with. This one has been an almost affectionate one, given to him with a ruffle to his hair and a wink.

                “I wanted to see if you’d be interested in getting a drink.”

                “With you?”

                “Yes.”

                “No, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

                “We’re the same rank,” Seresin states, but Bradley is shaking his head.

                “I’m still an instructor.”

                Seresin’s lip curls, and it’s not in a nice way, but he’s stepping back, hands out in a no harm no foul gesture and Bradley hates that he looks good even when he’s looking pissed off.

                “Your loss.”

                “I think I’ll live.”

…            …            …

                When the seventeen weeks come to an end, he finally allows himself to socialize with Bambi, taking her out for dinner as an apology for being so formal and professional for the last four months. Allows, for a given definition of allow, for her to sweep the floor with him at both darts and pool. Then he takes her back to his place where they make a video call to Natasha and have a proper catch-up. Of course the first thing Natasha asks is if he’s slept with Seresin yet which has Bambi cackling and telling her all about the times Seresin seemed to be an ass solely to try and get Bradley’s attention.

…            …            …

>>You ever wonder what would happen if you did something different?

>>Only every fucking day.

2014 - Jake

[heliads]

LISA YOU DID NOT GIVE ME TIME TO PREPARE FOR THIS!!! However, I already had a few ideas in mind for the next time you opened requests, so:

May I pretty please request a Thorin Oakenshield + gender-neutral reader where the reader is a fairy who comes along on the journey to Erabor because Gandalf thought they needed another magic-user? Reader is a very sweet sunshine who gets along great with all the other party members, but because Thorin doesn’t trust fairies the same way he doesn’t trust elves (because they didn’t assist the dwarves after Erabor fell the first time) he refuses to let them get close to him. However, he does start to get closer to them and develop feelings for them as time goes on, but after the Battle of the Five Armies (where everyone lives, obviously) they can’t find the reader for a while and Thorin is terrified they might be dead. And when they finally find them relatively unharmed Thorin freaks out and confesses his love because he doesn’t want to lose them, and then there’s a very nice fluffy ending??

Of course, if you don’t want to write this, that’s totally cool!! Thanks and I hope you’re doing well!! <3 <3

YESSSS i am ascending to a higher plane thank you for this SUBLIME request

masterlist

The water is wide, the mountains high; no journey worth taking was ever meant to be easy, so you may assume from the first few treacherous days of your travels towards the Lonely Mountain that this quest of yours will be quite worthy indeed. It is not in your nature to spend much time musing on the unhappiness of a time, only to find its merits, but, well, there are far more sources of unhappiness than happiness on this particular journey. 

It would not be too much of a leap for even your optimism to be brought down a notch or two, to say the least. Already, your smiles are lacking a little at the seams; your jokes, not among your finest work.  Patience is stretched thin amongst the company, and the shadow of Erebor is no closer to the tips of your boots than the Shire far behind you.

The Shire was not your home, though, only the starting point. The last member of the company was Bilbo Baggins, your burglar, and he took quite a bit of convincing before he was willing to set a single foot beyond the familiar confines of his home. You’re not sure he was wrong to question the idea of the quest, though, nor if he regrets it already or not. Danger dogs your heels like a bloodhound, plus the rest of the company is nothing like any of the hobbits Bilbo has ever met.

Bilbo Baggins would not be the only one confused by his company, however. As a faerie, you’ve had the opportunity to travel far past the bounds of your city, to meet characters both kind and cruel. The Fae cluster in settlements like elves, but they disperse themselves to the winds, too. Most of you end up tossed to the whims of Fate soon enough, anyway. This was your chance to get to know the world you inhabit, and it appears you’ll get far more of a tasting of it than you ever expected.

It’s not terrible. That should go without saying. You are not unhappy that you are here, nor bitter that you signed the contract to join the company of Thorin Oakenshield when you could have stayed at home to rot. It is a good cause, this, and it will bring you both glory and treasure, should you want it.

The biggest problem, if you were going to be completely honest with yourself, would be that dwarf tasked with managing all of you, Thorin. You get along splendidly with all of the other dwarves, and Gandalf has been a friend of yours ever since you wowed him with a particularly ingenious magic trick when you were small, but for some reason you have never been able to win over Thorin himself.

That is not for lack of trying, not in the slightest. Gandalf was the one who requested that you join the company, certain that having another magic user on their side would not be the worst thing in the world as you passed through dangerous territory and had to take on a dragon later on. You showed up to meet the company with the best and purest of intentions, but Thorin seemed unable to accept the fact that you really wanted to help.

In truth, you don’t think he wanted to accept it. Thorin is displeased with the faeries the same way he’ll never forgive the elves, for the same reasons he’ll glare icily at humans. When Thorin’s kin fell along with Erebor, the faeries didn’t help. Thorin begged for aid, but the faeries did not respond. You’ll never fully know why, nor were you personally responsible for the betrayal, but that does not stop Thorin from treating as if you were the linchpin keeping support from his people.

It doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t have to matter. Thorin’s personal feelings are not why you signed onto this quest. You joined because an old friend asked, and because the idea of helping to liberate the dwarves’ homeland from a dragon seemed like a good thing to do and a fascinating way to pass the time. Faeries don’t take things seriously. They never have.

So, you let your caution with Thorin fly away from you on an eagle’s strong wings, and you throw yourself into helping whenever you can. Gandalf is pulled away from the company soon enough for a myriad of causes, and even Thorin can admit that your magical skills come in handy soon enough. You save all of their lives dozens of times over, and you find real friendship in the company while you’re at it. Nothing a little optimism can’t handle.

Some of the nights get long, though, and the warmth of a covert campfire can only keep your tired frame from shivering for so many hours. They say the bones of the Fae are hewn from diamonds, your blood, the eternal nectar of the gods, but at this moment, you want only the mysticism and riches of a good meal and clothes that actually protect you against the chill. The mountains only get colder as you travel through them, and you don’t think you’ll be able to shake the prick of gooseflesh for decades if not centuries.

You’re on watch at the moment, scanning the dark horizon around you for monsters or orcs while the rest of the company rests. You’ll have another hour or two before you have to wake the next guardian– Bilbo, actually, who’s still snoring with the rest– so you should have plenty of time to yourself until then.

You should, at least. You don’t, because someone here is still awake. You had cast a spell on yourself to amplify sound and sight at the start of your watch so you could spot intruders that much more quickly, which is why you’re aware of one heartbeat other than your own that isn’t in the lull of sleep. When you tilt your head to the side just enough, you can make out someone staring in your peripheral vision.

Thorin. Who else? At first, you feel a rush of indignation bubble through your veins. There’s no reason for him to be awake on a night like this. Everyone is exhausted from weeks of hard travel, but he’s forced himself to forgo rest so he can make sure you are actually doing your job. After all this time, he still doesn’t trust you to do watch properly. It’s infuriating.

Sick of pretending like you don’t notice, you turn abruptly to stare him dead in the eyes. You expect Thorin to do something:  address you, maybe, or do something to acknowledge that he’s been caught, but instead he just holds your gaze coolly for a moment longer before turning on his other side. Half an hour later, he’s asleep.

Heroes. You’ll never understand them. The Fae are not the stuff of legends; your people prefer to linger in shadows and sunlight both, existing for themselves and for the glory of magic. Heroes, quest-leaders, warriors, they were never someone you grew up with. They have different motives, ones you don’t understand. They think they need to watch your back just because it’s the right thing to do. It confuses you, makes you believe things that might not be true. You don’t need someone like Thorin messing with your head right now, but he seems perfectly content to do it anyway.

The rest of the night passes without issue. You finish your watch shift without anything impactful, and rouse a deeply annoyed Bilbo to take over after you. Thorin doesn’t trouble you again, and indeed, the next day he seems perfectly content to act as if nothing had ever happened.

No self-respecting faerie would ever let themselves drop a grudge, though, so you manufacture a way of bringing it up before long. The company disperses in a long line, the slower ones trailing behind while Thorin keeps up the charge at the front. You make your way up to him, waiting until everyone else behind you is sufficiently far away so as to not hear a word of the inevitable quarrel, then cast Thorin one sidelong glance.

“Would you like to tell me why you’ve been watching me?”

Thorin actually stumbles while he’s walking, but manages to right himself just in time. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t expecting him to outright deny it. This past night hasn’t been the only time you’ve caught his eyes on you. It has happened from the very start of the quest, actually. At first, his gaze was pinned to you like a wanted poster, full of judgment and suspicion. Recently, the hostility has gone down, but that doesn’t make him any less willing to look away. His gaze chases your heels as you clamber over rocks, lingers on your fingers as you fight. All this, and he still wants to act as if nothing has happened.

You scoff. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Let’s discuss last night, then. You keep staying awake during my watch. Why? Do you really trust me that little?”

Thorin shakes his head, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the horizon. “I do trust you.”

This does actually come as a surprise. He hasn’t been able to admit it aloud, likely because that would contradict his whole idea that faeries are selfish creatures who left his people to die in the fall of Erebor, but apparently he’s made an exception for you.

“Then why not let me conduct my watch in peace?” You pry.

Thorin jerks a shoulder up and down once, a taut and tense version of a shrug. “I don’t want any lapse in judgment to injure the people I care about.”

You feel your relatively good mood drop. Thorin lashes out often, most frequently when he’s sure he’s only leading his company towards their imminent destruction, so you shouldn’t take it personally. Kind of hard not to, though.

“So you think I’m blind to attackers and I’ll get everyone killed, is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m just worried that there are things out there worse than one of your spells,” Thorin argues, but he doesn’t sound too convincing anymore.

You shove your hands into the pockets on your coat. “You know, I just don’t get it. If you’re this opposed to faeries, why did you ever let Gandalf convince you to let me join your company?”

“I didn’t want to at the start,” Thorin begrudgingly admits, “but that was at the start, like I said. Things are different now.” He pauses, voice heavy with secrets as of yet left unsaid, then adds, “We’re different.”

You think this might be the most honest thing he’s ever shared with you. It makes you feel– a lot, actually. It makes you feel things you have not considered until now. Thorin does trust you and he does have reasons he wants to keep you around. In fact, he might even be counting you among the people he cares about and wants to protect.

You don’t have much time to think about it, not on the road and not even after you reach Erebor and immediately have to contend with an infuriated dragon. Thorin shows you the place after you have a moment of relative peace, pointing out the details his ancestors built into a home that has not been his in quite some time. It is as if he wants you to remember all of it. It is as if he wants it to be yours as well.

Peace does not last forever, it never does. One day, you’re exploring every room and corridor of Thorin’s home beneath the Lonely Mountain, the next, you’re watching army after army pour over the surrounding hills. No one likes power when it isn’t theirs. The thought that Thorin might finally have claim to his ancestral land wasn’t well favored by anyone in the vicinity, apparently.

That only means that you’ll have to fight twice as hard to keep Erebor in the hands of your friends. Even when the elves ride up to your doorstep with the humans, even when the orcs arrive out of nowhere, you stay and fight. Always. That’s what you do for the people you care about.

Thorin had asked once if you were going to leave. He’d posed the question slowly, hesitantly, eyes on any other object in the room except you, but you’d still had the perfect view of the relief on his face when you told him you would stay until it was done. There was still an open question of what you would do when it was over, but surviving a battle of this magnitude was the first crisis to deal with. Anything else could happen later, once everyone made it through alive.

That alone seemed like an impossible task, and by all accounts, it should have been. Never before in your life have you cast so many spells of such strength, saving the lives of your friends and ending those of your enemies all in turn. When it is over, you are covered in blood and ash, utterly exhausted, and injured, but your heart beats, at least, and that is enough.

You were separated from the rest of Thorin’s company during the progress of the battle, drawn out to find the best vantage point from which you could cast your spells. At first, you were going for long distance attacks, lobbing fireballs and extensive charges from a crumbling rooftop, but orcs quickly descended upon you and you were forced to resort to closer quarter magic instead.

Perhaps that is why they thought you were dead. When they could no longer see your spells from across the battlefield, there was no way to tell for sure if you were still alive. You were far away from them, fighting off the last of the enemy, and you didn’t find them for a while.

More specifically, they didn’t find you for a while. Later, you hear that Thorin had been in a sort of frantic haze, going over every rock and stone in his path in an all consuming quest to find you. You weren’t with Fili and Kili, who were immediately folded into the search party, nor were you alongside the other dwarfs. Bard had not seen you. Neither had some of the elves. By all accounts, you were gone. Vanished from sight.

That was the one thing Thorin wanted to hear the least. A body is something you can handle, a final decision. If he could not see you, he assumed you were either dead or about to be, and only his actions could save you. He would run himself ragged trying to find you and stop your death before it happened. He would have forced all the orcs in the land back to the fiery hellhole they came from, fought every monster and defeated every enemy, if it would have stopped a sword from piercing your heart.

And so, when he finally stumbled over a rocky outcropping and saw you calmly casting a spell of healing on one of his cousin’s soldiers. You had turned upon hearing him approach, and the last of Thorin’s terrors left him in one fell swoop. You were alright. He was alright. Everything, although damaged and broken and wholly consumed with ash and blood, would somehow end up okay.

Not much was said. Both of you lacked the words. Too many friends had been lost, not enough saved. Erebor would be protected, though. You swore that oath at the start, back when you joined the company for the first time, and you promise it again now. The Fae will have to wait a little longer to welcome you back. You would like to stick around a for a while.

requested by @starlit-epiphany, i hope you enjoy!

tolkien taglist: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes, @crazyhearttragedy