#also fun fact! I did get into another smaller/one-day con that I was asked to sign up for when I was at this con! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stopeatingwhales · 3 years ago

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real estate x damon albarn

THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE TYSM ANON <333

Pairing: 1998 damon albarn x reader

Warnings: none :))

Word count: 3.104

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Searching for a home to share with your partner is one of the most fulfilling yet extremely stressful experiences. To prior discussion and awareness of the reciprocity of feelings you have for one another, a mutual agreement is conformed in the idea of wanting to invest in a space where you both can start anew, and begin a segment in your lives which in hope can progress until the very last breath. From being in a relationship with Damon for quite a significant amount of time - and having him inhabit my apartment for many a year - it was quite transparent that we had both worn out the flat, to the point that it was wearing us down. To be able to start fresh, in a new space, grants the ability of us to create the life that we had always manifested together - notwithstanding the fact that we had loved where we had lived at the time, it was simply the element of growth and the need for a change between our relationship. As you get older, mature more into your thirties, simple doings like getting drunk every friday night after a long, dragging day of work and intoxicating your body with countless shots of pure ethanol, losing all ability of processing any cognitive skill, becomes more of an impediment than going out to release the burden placed on your shoulders from the entire week of pure hindrance - and not to mention the hangovers. If we had perpetuated ourselves in the same routine that had been occupied as long as the decade induced in our twenties lasted, not only would it morph a lifestyle of monotonous sadness, but it leaves no ground for the chance to mature, the chance to experience all else that this world, this life can provide. It defeats the purpose of life, as existence is never steady; it is a continuous development between life stages, and an inevitability. To not accept the philosophy of life, proves a lack of purpose in your existence. Life is fleeting from the moment a baby opens its mouth for its first cry, and to distract one’s self from the thought of the end, we comply with life as it blossoms.

Me and Damon were visiting the second home that the real estate agent had been showing us. It was beautiful; a much larger space in comparison to the apartment we had in the heart of Camden - a place where the life of the party never comes to a halt, so getting to sleep was quite a challenge some nights, as well as it being an actual house. We decided upon the fact that we should search for houses instead of another apartment as we had endured living in a one-floor apartment for years on end, and to be able to have more space where you could rest your feet, not have clutter at every corner of the room, would be a dream. As I wandered around the upstairs floor, I walked into the master room, where I had found Damon standing, gazing out of the window which conveyed the most picturesque landscape of freshly cut grass, accompanied with the sun’s glisten to allow the richness of the green pigment to blossom even more. It felt like a stupor admiring the beauty that was portrayed forth, like an over emphasised memory from your childhood, in which every little thing seemed to be so enticing, full of pure feelings of euphoria, where there had been not a care in the world for anything except your own - merely just that significant moment that had been playing out. From the repetitive reminiscence towards those specific memories, things seem to feel a little more bright, full, happy, than it had been before, as if it was your mind toying with the fact that you may not feel as elated as you were when everything had been handed to you from unconditional love and care. “What do you think of it?” I asked Damon, as I sat myself on the mattress laid on the bed frame.

His figure didn’t move from his admiration of the nature. “It’s alright,” he mumbled, just audible, before stepping away from the window and turning to face me, his back now resting against the warm glass surface. He seemed quite uninterested with the house itself, which had happened with the house we visited beforehand. All he seemed to do was pull faces or rest on the couch after looking around a couple times. “Let’s go visit the last place, see if we get anything better.” A hint of annoyance had been laced in his words, confusing me slightly. I had the urge to question him, see if there was anything bothering him, or if he had begun to doubt wanting to get a house together. The simple thought had shattered my heart a little, as if it had been trodden on by accident, though accidental pain seems to hurt the most. Attempting to brush the everlasting thought away from my mind, I nodded slightly, getting up from the mattress and walking out of the room with him.

As we reached the last property, it had only seemed as if things had gotten progressively worse in Damon’s demeanour. He walked around the building alongside me, leaving snide comments here and there about specific things that didn’t appeal to him from the interior. However, the home that had been presented to us seemed almost perfect for the both of us, a place that was created out of the utmost creativity and affection for the right couple to walk in and begin their lives together. This home was illustrated to have your heart sink into the ground, seep into the mud underneath as if it were quick sand and completely engulf your mind with it, a hypnosis so intense that regardless of the pricing you would sign any form sent your way. By having been with Damon for the past couple years, I knew him more than a reasonable amount to understand that there had been something else causing him to project such a detest towards our property-searching the entire day. There was not a single flaw in the architecture, as if the residence had been created as a welcome to Eden’s garden subsequent to your soul’s departure, except it had been built in the wrong heaven. A single step in the building had your jaw cascading to the wooden flooring, your mouth empty yet so brimmed with compliments, mesmerisation aching to escape your throat, though you could not muster any form of ability since it had been utterly hushed by the construction’s elegance that you didn’t want to damage any part from speaking, even in a mere whisper.

“What do you think of it?” I asked, my mind gaining déjà vu from the question I had repeated at every residence we had stepped forth into. We were wandering around the kitchen, which had an island separating it to the living room. It was a very large, open space, and the thought of not dividing rooms with brick walls, like the kitchen and living room, having them conjoined except separated with a countertop was very thoughtful. It removed the feeling of being trapped into such a small room, needing to wander through many doors twisting knobs and pushing the wooden frames in order to get into another corner of the premises, and made living much more free and easy. It's extremely draining by living in a space for many a year that it begins to close in on you, as if every single time you walked in it had gotten tighter, more smaller.

Turning my gaze to watch Damon wander around the living side of the room, I placed my hands on the countertop, sucking my cheek in as I attempted to think of something that may be bothering him, minus the stress of the entire house hunt we were doing today. Stress from work? Perhaps he got into an argument with a friend? Got up on the wrong side of bed? It was a pure mystery. My gaze was fixed on him until he connected eyes with me, a hand placed on his neck as his fingers grazed the back of it lightly, an attempt to relax himself. “It’s the nicest one we’ve visited,” he replied, walking over to me slowly, also scanning the large room as he did. “The amount of detail that went into designing this is mad.”

A small smile crept up on my lips as he stopped by the countertop, that now being the only thing in which dividing us at that point. “It’s perfect for us, don’t you think?” I asked quietly, admiring the craftwork that had been delicately carved into the ceiling.

“I think we should think over what we want before we make that decision,” he replied as our gazes matched once again. Looking up at him, a confused expression spread out on my face, but before I was able to speak up he had carried on. “Don’t take that the wrong way, but I don’t want us to rush into things and have us regretting something we could’ve easily thought of if we gave ourselves time.”

“We have spoken it out, haven’t we?” I questioned him, now taking a step back and folding my arms together. Everything about Damon today felt so off, the thought of him not wanting to share a place with me sinking into my thoughts again as I tried my hardest to battle it out of my mind. “You agreed that it was time for us to search for something new, together, and that’s what we’re doing, is it not?”

An exasperated sigh left his lips as he stared at the ground. At this point I had begun to get frustrated with his overall mood - this was supposed to be a fun experience together, but the feeling of him weighing the cons was more visible than his thought of the pros. “I don’t want to argue here, let’s just keep looking around.”

The build-up to the argument had seemingly debunked itself, at Damon’s command. Indeed, we carried on looking around, though this time I had decided to admire the place alone, which had been made very clear when I had pushed past him, not with much strength to cause damage, but enough to cause a point once I left the room. The upstairs floor was no different in beauty and elegance as the ground floor embodied. It would be a simple wonder to think how much time, dedication would be taken into creating such a masterpiece; it was so magnificent that you’d practically feel guilty for stepping foot inside. Glad I took my shoes off once I walked in, then.

After spending what seemed like all eternity having my eyes fixated on the embellishment surfaced all around, picturing what furniture would suit in far right corner, the middle of the room, what would hang on the wall, I headed to the ground floor, refreshing my memory of the delicacy that had been portrayed everywhere. My pace was slow, as if my mind was taking mental pictures of the palace to be able to look back in my memories for later, when me and Damon would discuss which place suited us the most. The market was quite tight at the minute, seemingly every person in the industry and in our lives growing up and deciding upon starting new chapters of their lives, which is why we were extremely lucky to be able to have such a place offered to us at the minute, surprising as it had not been taken by some conservative wanting to waste their money on a place where they probably wouldn’t walk inside. I saw the estate agent in the living room, who immediately made eye contact with me as I stepped into the room, a grin spreading out across her cheeks almost instantaneously. “Nice, right?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful,” I replied back, engaging myself in the ceiling’s artwork once again, thinking for a moment before choosing the right thing to reply. My thoughts had then been distracted from Damon’s footsteps heading towards the pair of us. He stood beside me as I gazed up at him, swallowing lightly before I knew what to say. “I think we’re going to head home and think about everything first, before we make any big decisions.” I added, my gaze never leaving Damon’s side profile.

“That’s completely alright, you have until the end of the week to make your decision, I’ll put this place on a reserve.” She replied, followed by our thanks as we walked out of the elegant building and headed home.

~~~

Me and Damon hardly spoke after we got home as I needed to finish up some work that was overdue from my job. Damon had nothing else planned for the rest of the night, so he stayed in the living room, providing no extra distraction for me to prevent any extra pressure or stress so I could be able to complete everything as quickly as possible. I overheard the television in the background, and the occasional phone ring, every call being for Damon it seemed as his deep voice followed after the repetitive rings of the phone line had come to an end. Oftentimes I envied his freedom due to his occupation being a musician, however a lot of the time his job seemed quite enclosing and tiring. Having to constantly be away from home, not being able to have an easy way of stability from the constant movement to a different country every couple of days, sometimes even every single day. Though, arriving in a new country every morning does seem quite fun.

After I had finished up all my work, I changed into my pyjamas and headed to the living room, welcoming me to the sight of Damon, who had now dozed off on the couch, his hair quite messy from shuffling around in the same spot, his skin illuminating a golden glow, courtesy to the warm light being omitted from the lampshade beside him. Part of me didn’t want to wake him due to how relaxed he looked, though I knew he would be more comfortable waking up on a mattress rather than an old leather couch. I turned the television off, quietly tiptoeing around his sleepy body, then crouched down slightly to shake Damon so he would wake up. “Come to bed, love.” I whispered, causing his eyelids to flutter open softly as he stretched his arms out unintentionally, conveying his exhaustion, a small smile spread out across his lips once he was greeted by me in his sight. Helping him get up, I allowed him to walk into our bedroom in front of me, turning the light off after we both left the room. There was no light on in the bedroom, except the shine of the moon seeping onto the bed covers due to the curtains never being shut. Once we both made ourselves comfortable under the duvet, we turned our bodies to look at one another's, Damon’s tired eyes evident due to the eyebags surrounding them, though he was more awake now after moving around a little. “I know you’re tired, but what was wrong with you today?” I asked quietly, regretting speaking as soon as the sentence had rolled off my tongue.

A large sigh escaped his throat before mustering a response towards my asking. “I’ll be honest, the houses were very nice, but I didn’t like any of them.”

“None of them? How come?” I replied, attempting not to raise my voice out of shock.

“Because I want to start this part of our lives with a house big enough for us to raise children,” he admitted, staring deeply into my eyes. “I want the perfect house for us, but I haven’t been able to find it at all, and it’s so frustrating.”

A grin spread across my face as I reached to embrace his face with both my hands. "Damon, it doesn't matter the style of the doors, how big the living room is, or whether there's two or three bathrooms," I began, allowing my thumbs to lightly graze over his cheeks. “What matters is enjoying our time together, and the lives that we'll lead together as parents, raising our children,” A large beam spread across his face from my reassurance, compelling me to give him a soft peck on the lips before carrying on. "If you can picture the house of your dreams, it isn't your dream house. Your dream house is something that you shouldn't be able to picture, something that you can't fixate upon in specific, because it carries such beauty that you will only know you have achieved, once you've got it."

“Does that apply to everything?” he asked, mumbling, his voice now soft as if the love of the moment had been seeping out of his mouth.

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Then that means I’ve got the girl of my dreams.”

“Oh shut it you softie.”

“What? It’s true, love.”

“I can’t wait to start a family with you.” I mumbled absentmindedly, a light sigh leaving my mouth, repeating all that had just happened these past couple minutes.

“Likewise, darling,” he replied, bringing his lips to my face to kiss my temples gently, the feeling of his kiss lingering on the skin, my heart filled with pure elation and adoration for the man in front of me. “Spoke to your mum today.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, she called whilst you were doing your work so I just told her you were busy, then she decided on having a conversation with me instead,” he replied, taking a hold of my hand and playing with my fingers, his gaze focused on the action. “I love your mum.”

A laugh rumbled out of my throat. “You say that every time you speak to her.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I love your mum more than you do.” he jokingly replied.

“What?” I scoffed, a smile spread on my lips. “I never said that!”

“Well you certainly implied it.” he joked, raising his eyebrows as he awaited a response.

“Shut up, go to sleep.” I laughed, partly serious as the fatigue from all the walking we had done began to kick in my body.

“Only if you give me a kiss.”

“I just did!” I answered back, shifting my body so my back was to him.

“You’re the worst.” he replied, annoyance laced between his words, causing my smile to widen.

“Thanks, lovely.”

#this was so cute guys im dead #keep sending requests :)#damon albarn x reader #britpop #blur #blur band #90s #nineties #my writing #fluff #damon albarn #band imagines

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silkling · 4 years ago

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And Birdie Makes Three

Earth was a magnet for anything Cybertronian. Wheeljack would swear by that for the rest of his life. He’d only intended to visit Earth for a few days. Help Team Prime kick some ‘Con tailpipe, catch up with Bulkhead, have fun messing with the Doc-bot. Yet, here he was, roped into some sort of recon/retrieval mission. This wasn’t exactly his idea of a fun time. But, he had offered to help when he’d come to this little mudball, so he supposed he couldn’t complain too much.

Apparently, Ratchet had caught a Cybertronian signal headed for some remote Earth desert. From what he’d been able to tell, the good doctor had said that the signal was strange. It wasn’t the type of signal that would come off of a proper ship, so it was something else, something smaller. Personally, Wheeljack didn’t care what it was. All he cared about was the second part of the report: that the signal indicated another bot was on board whatever vessel was set to crash planet-side.

So, Prime had sent Bulkhead and the little scout to check it out, and asked Wheeljack if he’d be up for going along. How could he have said no? Besides, if it turned out to be a fight then of course he’d want to be there! Unfortunately for him, a fight was not to be had. The ground bridge had malfunctioned and dropped them a few miles off, and they’d had to drive the rest of the way to the predicted crash site. When they’d finally arrived, the vessel, which Wheeljack could now see was an escape pod, had already crashed. Apparently, whoever had been inside had also already been greeted by ‘Cons, because the terrain around the pod spoke of a rather violent battle.

The sand was soaked with energon, and the ground was strewn with vehicon and eradicon bodies. A large, thin piece of metal from the pod had been ripped off and used as a makeshift weapon; Wheeljack could see how, whoever had been in that pod, they had used to to gouge and hack at several of the dead drones. A few paces away, the offending piece of metal was stuck through an eradicon’s face. Beyond that, many of the bodies looked like they’d been killed by some sort of blaster or gun. Many more looked like something had ripped at their throats and left them to bleed out. A few were missing their helms altogether. Nearby, what had once been a large rock formation was now rubble, and the largest surviving boulder had deep gouge marks in the stone. On a few of the corpses, the edges of the escape pod, and the boulder, Wheeljack could see faint blue paint transfers.

“Primus,” Bulkhead said. “Whoever was in that pod, they sure did a lot of damage. Think the ‘Cons got them?”

Wheeljack crossed his arms, optics narrowed. Something about this was….eerily familiar. But from where? “Maybe.” he said after a moment. “Doubt it though.”

“Yeah? How do you figure that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

“Uh, guys?” Bumblebee beeped. “Hate to break this up, but you know what this means, right?”

Bulkhead blinked. “What do you mean, Bee?”

“If the ‘Cons came to get this bot, and the bot reacted like this to them,” he answered, gesturing at the scene around them. “Then whoever was in that pod is probably one of ours.”

Wheeljack perked up. “You known, kid, I think you’re right.” he grinned. Oh, now this was going to be fun.

He wondered who it was. The Terror Twins? Maybe, but the pod looked like it’d be cramped for two. Jazz? This was definitely within his ability to pull off, but something this violent wasn’t really his style. Ironhide? He definitely had the skill set to pull off carnage like this, and he would actually commit such a level of violence if he was pushed far enough. Pits, it could be a lot of mechs. It could even be one of the femmes! There was no real way to tell. Wheeljack did want to meet them and shake their hand, though. This level of chaos and destruction was honestly impressive.

“Alright.” Bulkhead spoke up. “So it’s one of ours. But the question now is, where are they?”

Oh, he just had to ruin to mood with his pertinent questions, didn’t he?

“There’s no way to tell.” Bumblebee beeped. “We just have to wait and see if more clues pop up, I guess. I hope we find them soon, though.”

That, Wheeljack could agree with.

——————————

Bulkhead was distracted. Miko knew the other humans couldn’t pick up on it, but Bulk was her best friend and she knew him. So when she said he was distracted, she meant it. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t like he wasn’t doing his job, or was getting in trouble in the field because of his distraction, but it was definitely affecting his life at base. He was so…quiet. Ever since that mission in the desert, where they’d come back without the mystery bot, he hadn’t been able to focus on anything he did with her. Miko was starting to get very annoyed with it, actually.

Which meant it was time to get to the root of the problem. And, luckily for her, no one was in the secondary chamber of the base today, which she and Bulkhead had taken over to use to practice their music when they got kicked out of the main room. Which meant now was the perfect time to brooch the subject with her giant metal pal.

“Hey, Bulk!”

He startled at her call, blue eyes darting down to fix on her. “Miko? Do you need something?”

“Yeah!” she put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been distracted ever since the desert. What’s the deal, big guy?”

He blinked slowly, then sighed. “That obvious?”

“Just to me!” she said cheerily, clambering up to perch on his knee. “So, what’s the deal? Spill!”

“It’s something Wheeljack said. At crash site, there was, uh, a lot of carnage.” he said. She could tell he was picking his words carefully to avoid going into too much detail. That was no fun! “And, well, Jackie mentioned some of the damage looked familiar, but he couldn’t figure out from where. And he’s right. It was familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well,” Miko kicked her legs. “You guys said it was probably a ‘Bot, right?” At his nod, she continued. “Then maybe it’s familiar cause it’s the damage caused by a specific ‘Bot?”

Bulkhead made a noise of frustration. “We kind of figured that. But that’s the problem. We just don’t know who.”

“So, you know they’re a ‘Bot, and the damage they did was really familiar to you and Wheeljack, but you can’t figure out which ‘Bot and from where the damage is familiar?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“Hmmm…” Miko tapped her chin. “Yeah, okay. Now I see why you’re distracted.”

He chuckled, lightly tapping her head with a finger. “Thanks anyway, Miko.”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.” she said, distracted herself now. Now she was lost in thought, and over the same conundrum as Bulkhead!

Just who was this mystery Autobot?

——————————

The day had started out peaceful. Frankly, Wheeljack had been bored. Which was why he was quite thrilled with where it had gone, in the end. Ratchet had found an energon mine, and Optimus had asked him, Bulkhead, and Arcee to go check it out and collect what they could. They’d come, and they’d managed to get quite a bit of energon piled up by the time the action had started.

There has been the sound of a ground bridge, and then Breakdown had stepped out from it, followed by a gaggle of vehicons and eradicons. And then, of course, the clash began. Breakdown had gone straight for Bulkhead, and that left Wheeljack and Arcee to take on the drones. For a while, he’d let his processor blank, his frame moving on reflexes alone as he struck down an ‘Con who came into range of his blades. He didn’t notice anything around him as he fought, his swords cutting through armor and limbs and throats alike.

When he next looked up, Bulkhead had backed Breakdown into a corner. So much so that the former Wrecker had been forced to call for a ground bridge and retreat. But, of course, these were Decepticons they were dealing with, so nothing could ever be easy. Less than a minute after Breakdown had been forced to flee, another ground bridge opened and spilled out a horde of vehicons and eradicons.

“Scrap.” Wheeljack hissed.

This wasn’t good. True, the drones are easy to take down, but in large enough numbers they started to wear a mech down. They’d probably get out of this fine, but it’d be cutting it close. Arcee gave a fierce cry as she dove back into the fray, and Wheeljack exchanged a nod with Bulkhead before both Wreckers joined her. Working together, they managed to thin the horde down until there were few left.

And that, of course, was when things went wrong. Arcee had gotten too close to the edge of a nearby cliff edge, and one lucky shot her her stumbling back and over. Bulkhead reacted quickly, lunging forward and shooting out his wrecking ball for his teammate to catch. Wheeljack, meanwhile, roared and lunged forward to take out the rest of the vehicons so they couldn’t offline his friend while the big green lug was distracted.

Too late, he realized he’d forgotten about the eradicons in flight above him. In fact, he didn’t even realize they’d been there until he heard the sound of blades rapidly slicing through the air and the snarl of a powerful engine. Then there was the sound of blaster fire, and eradicons dropped to the ground around him.

Before he could look up or turn around, Wheeljack heard the sound of a transformation sequence above him, and then a heavy metal form dropped to the earth at his back. He whirled around, bringing his blades to bare, ready to slice the helm off whatever ‘Con had tried get the drop on him.

He froze, his swords mere micrometers from slicing into the throat of the offending bot, and then he slid his battle mask aside and grinned fiercely.

“Well well well, look what the turbo-fox dragged in!”

——————————

Will was not having a good day. The higher ups were getting uppity about the ‘Bots. About Wheeljack in particular, actually. They kept throwing a fit that the Wrecker wasn’t a permanent addition to Team Prime, and that he came and left as he pleased. Apparently, their displeasure was rooted in the fact that having another Autobot on the team more permanently might make them end their war a little earlier. The pencil pushers up in Washington just didn’t understand that matters were a little more complicated than that. Of course, they also refused to listen when he tried to explain that he, nor they, had any say over how the alien military handled its individual soldiers. And when Wheeljack kept leaving, they kept getting angry. Then they took that irritation out on him. Hence, he wasn’t having a good day.

He had come down to the Autobot’s base to talk to Prime about some of their more recent missions. Including the one in the desert. None of the bots had actually cleaned up the mess left behind there, and some humans had recently stumbled across it. It had been….fun, to explain that away. So, he was here to remind Prime to be a bit more careful about leaving messes on battlefields where humans might stumble across it. Will had also been ordered to try and convince Wheeljack to stay, though he wasn’t holding his breath on that one.

As he leaned against the railing, talking with Prime, he heard noise from Ratchet’s direction. The medic was talking to someone, probably one of the bots who were out, and then he was opening the ground bridge. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack came through, carrying cubes of energon, and they set it all in the corner. When Ratchet went to turn off the ground bridge, Bulkhead stopped him.

“Just a second, Ratchet. We have a guest coming in.” he said, seeming cheerful.

“A guest?” Prime spoke up, frowning.

“Yep!” Wheeljack grinned. “He’s one of ours! It’s the ‘Bot from the escape pods!” he gestured at the ground bridge, and all eyes turned to it.

Will heard the metallic sound of Cybertronian footsteps, and then a form appeared, silhouetted against the light of the ground bridge. The bot walked forward, and as the ground bridge powered off Will got his first good look at Earth’s newest Autobot.

“Optimus, everyone, this is Whirl.” Bulkhead said, grinning. “He’s a Wrecker, like me and Jackie.”

Whirl certainly looked like he’d fit in as an elite soldier. The blue Autobot was tall, with digitigrade legs, and pincer-like claws in place of hands. His arms were a little odd, and Will was quick to realize he seemed to have some sort of rotors in each arm. His most startling feature, however, was his head. He had a cylindrical head, and no face to speak of. Instead, he had a singular, large golden eye set into the center of his head. He also had thin, sharp protrusions coming off his back, which Will swore looked like helicopter blades. Hell, even the bot’s feet were strange, looking like someone had bound the front claws of a bird’s talons and left the back claw alone.

For a second, the Autobot base was silent. Then Nakadai broke it.

“Another Wrecker?” she gasped, racing down the stairs of the entertainment nook and running up to the new bot. “That’s so cool! You look awesome! It’s really great to meet another bot, especially another Wrecker like Bulk and Wheeljack! Your claws look sharp, I bet you can do a lot of damage with them! Tell me, how many ‘Cons have you taken on with them?” she asked, excited.

Whirl startled, blinking down at her. “Oh, hey.” he spoke. “You’re one of those little organics. I didn’t know you guys kept some of the locals around.” he said, directing the last statement at Bulkhead.

“We don’t.” the green bot replied. “These guys are…a special case.”

Whirl shrugged, then turned back to the excited human at his feet. “Fine by me.” he chirped, crouching down. “Hiya!” he greeted Nakadai. “You’re very energetic! I like that!”

Nakadai cackled, clearly thrilled that the large bot was matching her energy. “I’m Miko!” she thrust her hand out.

Whirl blinked again, and then his eye was curving into a thin arch that Will swore was his approximation of a smile. “Oooh, I’ve seen this with you lot!” God, the new guy sounded giddy. “It’s how you say hello!”

Whirl held out his own hand, letting Nakadai grasp the tip of a single claw in hand before waving his hand up and down slightly. She laughed, her whole body pulled along with the movement, and let go once he stopped. Once she was stable on her feet, he reached out and very carefully tapped the tip of one claw against the top of her head.

“I like you!” he announced. “Any tiny organic brave enough to run up to the Whirlybird gets an okay in my book!”

Wheeljack laughed, walking over to his former teammate as the blue bot stood back up. He slapped Whirl’s back with a grin. “Well that’s good, because the humans are kinda a fixture here, so if you wanna stay you gotta get used to them!”

Whirl responded to the slap by punching his claws against Wheeljack’s shoulder. “Rough as always, Wheelie?” he said, the edge of a growl under his voice.

“No!” Bulkhead cut in before Wheeljack could respond. “No brawls in here.” he scolded.

Both the other bots pouted. Or, well, Will thought Whirl was pouting. It was hard to tell. “You’re no fun.” they said together.

Off to the side, Prime made a sound that Will knew to be the Cybertronian equivalent of clearing his throat. “Whirl.”

Immediately, that odd head snapped in his direction. Prime continued. “I am pleased that you have safely found your way to us. I must ask, however. How did you come to find yourself on Earth?”

“Is that what this fun little mudball is called?” Whirl made an odd clicking noise. “Neat.”

“Whirl.” Prime prompted again.

“Right.” he said. “See, I was actually a few star systems over. Had my own ship, ‘cept I crashed it. Managed to make it on my own, but then the ‘Cons found me. Was running low on fuel and not in the best shape, so they managed to nab me. Took me to this big ship, I think they were planning on sending me to old Megatron cause of our history.” Here, he waved his hand and clicked his claws in a gesture Will could only call dismissive. “Managed to get out, and I hijacked an escape pod. Next thing I know, I’m crashing on this planet and waking up to a ‘Con welcome party! I dealt with them, of course, and then went to figure out where I was! I scanned a new alt-mode, then lay low and tried to figure out the whole deal with Cybertronians here. Then I stumbled on Bulky and Wheelie, and here I am!” he finished, throwing his arms up partway as if in celebration.

Prime blinked, clearly trying to sort through the information. “…you have history with Megatron?”

“Unfortunately! Megzy hates me! I’m positive he wants to see me die very painfully!”

Will really didn’t understand how he could say that so cheerfully.

“I…see.” Prime clearly did not. Nonetheless, he continued. “You have had a long journey to come here, Whirl. I regret to inform you that Megatron is also on this planet, but if you would care to stay and join the fight then my team will welcome you.”

Whirl blinked, lifting a claw to tap at his chin. Did he have a chin? Hell if Will knew.

“Megzy’s here, eh? Well, it’s not like I was trying to avoid him anyway.” Whirl shrugged, then his eye curved in that grinning arch again. “What the Pit, I’m in! I’d be happy to join your little crew, Prime!” he chirped, his arm coming up to snap a salute.

Except as he did, it caused the armor plates under his arm to shift and reveal a wound leaking energon near his armpit. The blue of the energon was similar enough to his paint that it hadn’t been noticed in the excitement, but now as a drop of it fell to the ground, the wound was definitely noticed.

Ratchet in particular was honed in on it. “You’re injured?” he demanded, taking a step towards the new arrival. “Why didn’t you say anything? Let me take a look at that, I can repair it.” he grunted.

Whirl stepped away from the medic, his eye narrowing. “You’re a medic, yeah? I’ve heard a lot about the famous Ratchet.”

“Yes, I’m a medic.” Ratchet snapped. “Now stay still and let me look at you!” He made to get closer.

“No need, Doc! Just point me in the direction of the medical stuff and I can take care of it! I’ve treated myself plenty of times before!” Whirl said cheerily.

“Oh no you will not!” Ratchet growled, reaching for the other bot.

Whirl made an odd noise then, one that made every bot in the base go still and stare at him. His engine seemed to snarl, and his armor shifted and flared, making him look significantly larger. The rotors in his arms spun to life, a high pitched humming filling the silence. His eye focused on Ratchet, the protrusions at his back twitching.

Slowly, Ratchet backed off, raising his hands and taking a few steps away. He pointed down the hall to where the makeshift medbay had been set up. “Down that way.” he said calmly.

After a beat of silence, Whirl relaxed, the harsh glow of his eye fading as he nodded and trotted off. Once he was gone, Will spoke up.

“What in the name of Sam Hill was that?”

“A threat display.” Arcee supplied helpfully.

“Threat display?! Are you saying he threatened Ratchet? Prime, did you just invite a bot onto your team who’s a danger to the people here?” Will demanded.

“No!” Bulkhead yelped. “It’s not like that! Ratchet pushed too far.”

“How?!”

“I did.” Ratchet agreed. “He was clearly uncomfortable around me. I should have backed off when he first gave signs of discomfort.”

“He still threatened you!” Will yelled.

“I would like to know why as well, Bulkhead.” Prime said seriously.

“Whirl’s not a danger to anyone here.” Wheeljack said, sounding dead serious.

“Then what was that?” Wil demanded.

“Whirl…doesn’t really like medics.” Bulkhead said, sounding hesitant. “I think he might even have a fear of ‘em.”

“What? Why?”

Wheeljack snorted. “You all saw him. Why do you think?”

Will didn’t know what that meant. But there was silence for a moment, and it seemed like the other bots did know what that meant.

“Oh.” Ratchet was quiet. “That’s….yes. I should have predicted that.” he sounded almost faint.

“I see.” Prime murmured, tone somber.

“Oh, Pits. I didn’t even think of that.” Arcee seemed deeply uncomfortable.

In the corner, Bumblebee beeped something and shifted, refusing to look at anyone.

Will exchanged a look with the kids, who were clearly as confused as he was. Then he turned back to the bots. “Prime! What’s the deal?”

“It is not my place to say, Agent Fowler.” he said grimly. “I do apologize for causing confusion, but that information is Whirl’s alone to share.”

“But he’s not a threat?” Will said carefully. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he was smart. He could read between the lines. Whatever Whirl’s deal with medics was, it was related to some sort of trauma. He wouldn’t pry, he knew better.

“No, he is not.”

“Then I guess I should go inform the powers that be that there’s a new bot in town.” Will sighed, stepping back and heading to the elevator.

Oh, this was going to be fun to explain to higher ups, he could tell already.

—————————-

Whirl found the makeshift medbay easily. After that, it didn’t take him long to weld the gash under his arm. He used a rag to mop up the mess of energon on his armor, then tossed it aside and looked around. He couldn’t help but feel out of place. He’d seen the rest of Prime’s team. They were all Normal, were all Good and Unbroken. Whirl…wasn’t. He was Wrong, was Shattered and Twisted and Bad. But he had to keep going, didn’t he? It wasn’t like there was much else he could do. Not with the War raging on.

The copter bot sighed, his optic shuttering as he sagged where he stood. He was tired, okay? He’d been fighting for so long. He’d left the Aerial Corps because he hadn’t wanted to fight, he hadn’t wanted his life to be defined by violence. He’d been Good and Whole, back then. Back when he’d still had his hands and his shop and his watches and clocks. Back before the Senate stole it all from him.

The memory of his loss burned through him, white-hot and raging. His engine snarled, and before he realized what he was doing he raked his claws along the wall, drawing deep gouges into the metal. He stared at the damage, his engine growling with pent up aggression. He had to fight. It was all he knew. Ever since he’d lost his watches, all he’d known was violence, violence, and more violence. Now, it was the only language he knew, the only thing he understood. He lived and breathed violence, and with every passing day the storm raging in his helm grew worse.

Whirl wasn’t sane. He was well aware of that fact. But what was he supposed to do about it? There were no psychologists, not among the Autobots or Decepticons. Even if there were, he wouldn’t go. His thoughts were his own. He wasn’t about to bare his spark to some soft little processor-doctor in the vain hope it might help. It wouldn’t. He knew that. Medics, of the psychiatric kind or otherwise, never wanted to help him. Even when they had to treat him to save his life, it was always the bare minimum he needed before they kicked him out of their medbay. Medics weren’t good. Not to him, never for him.

He stared at the damaged wall for another beat, then turned his helm away and walked out of the room. He stopped, surprised when his exit was met with the sight of Bulkhead. Immediately, he forced his EM field to project cheer and humor, forcing down the exhaustion and melancholy that he knew had been wrapped in it before. No one could know. Everyone already knew ol’ Whirlybird was insane and prone to fits of violence. He wouldn’t let them know how bad off his processor actually was. It would make his end goal for the end of the War easier to get away with. He didn’t want to be helped. “Help” was usually just another excuse other bots used to hurt him anyway.

“Bulky!” Whirl chirped. “Fancy meeting you here! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Don’t tell me the Prime asked you to escort little ol’ me?”

Bulkhead seemed mildly confused but mostly amused. “You’re still the same Whirl, aren’t you?” he grinned. “No, but Jackie and I got one of the spare rooms here set up for you. It’s only got a berth in it right now, but if you’re staying on Team Prime you’ll need your own space.��

Whirl blinked, cocking his helm. His winglets fluttered at his back. “Awe!” he cooed. “You shouldn’t have! I’m flattered!”

He chuckled, then gestured with one large hand. “This way. I’ll show you were it is. Optimus said you can rest and regain your strength for the rest of the day, but tomorrow he’d like to talk to you and explain our situation here.”

Whirl set off to follow the big green bot as he walked off. “Fine by me! It’ll be nice to recharge in a berth again! Lemme tell ya, the ground on this mudball isn’t comfortable at all!” he complained. “I made the mistake of recharging in some of that organic plant matter once, and I’m still picking out organic bits from my seams!”

Bulkhead chuckled, grinning over his shoulder. “Yeah, Earth can be pretty messy sometimes. It’s a pretty neat planet, though. I think you’ll like it, especially the humans!”

“Well, if the rest of the tinies are anything like that Miko one, then I probably will!”

“Miko’s a class all on her own.” Primus bless him, Bulkhead seemed proud of that. “She’s my ward. Optimus assigned her and the other two children to three of us when they accidentally discovered our secret.”

“Awe, you’re like a proud creator. That’s adorable, Bulky.”

“Wha-no!” he sputtered, field flaring with embarrassment. “It’s not like that! I just take care of her while she’s here! She’s a good kid.”

“You’re not helping your case, buddy.”

Bulkhead groaned, coming to a stop in front of a door. “Oh, just shut it, Whirl.” Despite the harsh words, there was no true anger in his voice. “Anyway, this is your room. I’m going to go join the others. You’re free to do what you want.” he said, then spun on his heel and hurried off, likely to escape further teasing.

Whirl stared after him in amusement, then opened the door and slipped in, letting it slide shut behind him. As Bulkhead had said, there was only a berth in the room, but he could add to it as time went on. Besides, right now he only needed the berth anyway. He padded over to it, and let himself fall face-first into it. He kicked his legs and flopped around to get his whole body into the berth, then rolled and twisted until he’d gotten himself wrapped in the mesh blanket that had been left on it.

He was tired. He’d been traveling for a long time without proper recharge. He could deal with the things to come in the morning. Right now, he just wanted rest. Whirl sighed, optic slipping shut as he relaxed. In the silence of the room, he let his processor wander, slipping from thought to thought until recharge took him.

And as day turned to night and and rest of the base bedded down, Whirl slept on, dreaming dreams of all the things he had been, and all the things he could be.

———————————————————————————————————

So, I don’t really have an excuse for this. I like Whirl. He was fun in Cyberverse, and when I realized he existed in other media I got excited. Full disclosure, I didn’t read the comics. But! I do know a bit about him from other sources. So this was my interpretation of Alligned Continuity Whirl. Idk if I’ll continue this. I might, it was all very self-indulgent.

But, anyway, let me know what you think! I hope y’all liked it. Whirl is fun to write. He’s going to be a horrible influence on Miko, just know that in advance.

Until next time, folks!

124 notes · View notes

kuroopaisen · 5 years ago

Text

the in-between | i (kuroo tetsurou)

➵ it took you and kuroo 24,000 words and 69 pages of pure behemoth far too long to learn that love was never singularly defined. it can be both striking and understated, sudden and unhurried, gentle and all-consuming. and most of all, it can be anything else in-between.

wc: 9k (part 1 of 3)

warnings: f!reader, good old f2l (do i write anything else?), depictions of anxiety & depression, cursing

a/n: i cannot thank @w-yuren enough for all the love and care she poured into beta-ing this :( i’m honestly so touched you worked through this absolute monstrosity w me (and put up w my incoherence) ren u deserve the world <3 (also @jupiturde erin ilysm thank you for reading this over So Many times you’re incredible!!)

m. list | ch. 1 ↠ ch. 2

"I'll help you," Kuroo sighed. "On one condition."

The scant bit of confidence you’d worked up was starting to crumble. You clenched your fists, steeling yourself. At this point, you're willing to do just about anything.

"Manage the volleyball team for a while."

Your face fell. "What, really?"

"Mhm," Kuroo nodded, still slouched over his desk.

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh."

This wasn't quite how you’d expected the situation to go. And quite frankly, you were just upset that you were even in this situation in the first place. But, who wouldn't be?

Begging Kuroo Tetsurou to help you with chemistry wasn’t a situation you’d envisioned yourself ending up in. But, something had to be done about those abysmal exam marks. Your grades in everything else were fine; good, even. Certainly high enough to earn you your spot in Class 5. But that chemistry grade was something to be concerned about. Your homeroom teacher had warned you as much on the very first day of the school year.

And for the handful of weeks since, you’d been driving yourself mad trying to think of a solution. Hard work had only gotten you so far, and none of your friends felt they were competent enough to tutor you. You needed help – desperately.

So there you stood, in front of the desk of a boy you’d never had a proper conversation with before, asking for his help – all while uncomfortably aware that this was cutting into his lunch break.

You hadn’t quite known what to expect from this interaction. You weren't really friends, after all; you’d been vaguely aware of him over this past year and a bit, but knew little, if anything, about him. All you knew was that he was topping the grade when it came to chemistry, and therefore, turning to him in this time of need might help.

You hadn't expected this ultimatum.

"Why?"

It was a genuine question.

"Hm?"

"Why ask me to be your manager?" You asked, tilting your head at him. "I know nothing about volleyball."

"You'll learn."

You frowned. "This is the only way you'll tutor me?"

"It's not the only way," Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow at you. "But it'd certainly bump it up my priority list."

The worst thing was that it didn't even seem like he was trying to be a dick.

Right, you thought. Pros and cons.

Cons: being a manager would eat up a lot of your time. Presumably. Maybe. You didn't have any real idea.

Also, it would mean spending a lot more time around sweaty boys. That sounded kind of gross.

And what time did practice finish? Walking home after sunset was always a little scary. Certainly scary enough to stoke a bit of anxiety.

More importantly, it sounded like responsibility. Maybe you were overestimating just what being a manager meant, but it sounded like there was plenty of stuff you could mess up.

Pros: it'd look really, really good on your college applications.

Just like a passing chemistry grade would. Which you weren't going to get all on your own.

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at you. “Just a couple of months. And I’ll be your resource to use as you please.”

You blinked at him, baffled at his choice of phrasing.

“How about you just drop by practice this afternoon?” He suggested, balancing his chin on his fist. “You can get a feel for it.”

You sighed.

“Alright.”

You were willing to do just about anything, after all.

✧ ✧ ✧

Teenage boys, no matter how polite or kind or accommodating, are always scary in packs.

That little revelation came to mind as you pressed yourself meekly against the wall of the gym, watching a gaggle of boys running back and forth, jumping and hitting and shouting. Part of you wanted to melt into the wall, hoping that none of these giants would pay you much attention.

You’re painfully aware of one of them staring at you; a first-year, judging by his use of honorifics. He’s tallish, but not enough to be scary, with close-cropped hair and grumpy eyebrows. There’s a certain intensity to him – he seemed like the sort of person with too much tenacity for his own good.

And yet, he seemed terrified of you. Was he the sort of boy who couldn’t talk to girls?

You smiled to yourself. Such dichotomy in one personality, huh?

There was another boy that caught your eye. A quiet one, with chin-length black hair who seemed to want to sink into the ground. He didn’t look like the sort of boy you’d expect to find on a high school sports team. He was a little shorter than everyone else – except for Yaku, who’d greeted you quite amiably when you’d first arrived.

But Yaku seemed like he wanted to be there. Like he enjoyed it. This kid? He looked like he just wanted to melt into the shadows. He always flinched whenever anyone called out to him. Hell, he seemed to flinch even when someone so much as looked at him. Was he okay? Should you ask if he’s okay? Should you point him out to Kuroo? But Kuroo had already spoken to him a few times…

Well, checking in with people’s well-being would be part of your job as a manager, right? It’d be your duty to make sure that the club members were doing okay.

But practice was still going. You’d have to put a pin in that thought.

The third years were frightening, as expected. But, you felt as though your upperclassmen would always be somewhat scary. The captain had traded a handful of words with you – hellos, nice to meet yous, a what are you even doing here – but he hadn’t made any particular point to help you out.

That job was left to the coach, who, thankfully, seemed quite kind. You had said very little to him, but you could tell that he loved his job just from the serene smile that graced his face as he watched his team go at it.

Practice was over before you knew it. The sun was setting outside the windows, the sky blushing orange. You bit your lip. Maybe you’d be able to get home before it got too dark…

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the gym floor. Maybe you should try talking to one of the boys… Yaku had always been friendly. Maybe he’d tolerate a conversation with you? Oh, what about Kai? He’d been very quiet, but he seemed nice… There was Kuroo, too…

You pressed your lips together, eyes scanning over the gaggle of boys in front of you as your mind ran through the pros and cons all at once.

You frowned. The third years were yapping at that quiet boy; whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem exactly friendly. You froze. Should you do something? Was this normal? Was it a problem? He looked terrified – not that he showed it outright, but it was in his eyes.

Kuroo was standing behind him, saying something to one of the third years. You couldn’t quite hear them, but Kuroo’s expression was… cold. Not confrontational, just unyielding. Whatever he’d said, the third years stalked away.

You watched closely as Kuroo’s expression softened as he looked at the shorter boy. He looked concerned. Were they friends?

“Oi, manager chick!”

You cringed. It’s one of the third years – not the captain, but someone you’d noted had quite the nasty serve.

“Help clean up!”

“Right!” You gave a quick half-bow, your head flicking around almost frantically as you looked for something to do.

You settled for collecting stray balls, rushing them back to the ball bins. All the while you watched the sky darken beyond the gym windows – and with it, your anxiety began to blossom.

By the time you were picking up your bag to go home, the sky was positively black. You bit your lip as you stared out the gym windows, your eyebrows a little furrowed.

“Hey.”

You looked up, a little startled. Kuroo, forehead slick with sweat and cheeks tinged red from exertion. You resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose. Being this close to a sweaty teenage boy wasn’t high on your priorities list.

“What’d you think?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel.

You shrugged. “Seems intense.”

“But you don’t hate it, right?” He smiled. It’s hopeful. Almost pitifully so.

You bit the inside of your cheek. In truth, you didn’t. There’s something quite fun about watching them play volleyball up close. They all got so into it. It was always nice, watching people care about something so deeply that enjoyment seeped through every part of their being.

“We’ll see,” you said. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He smiled brightly at that half-promise. Brightly enough that you knew you didn’t want to let him down.

This side of him was already a far cry from that trickster-like figure you’d negotiated with this morning.

“Hey, uh…” He cleared his throat, one hand finding its way to the back of his head. “I was wondering… did you need me to walk you home? I know it’s getting kind of late, so…”

You felt something that’s not quite elation, but certainly a bit more intense than relief. Tokyo’s a safe enough place, yes, but that fact’s never enough to quell the anxiety you’d always felt from walking home in the dark.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You tried to make your smile look relaxed and natural, but you knew some hint of tension had made its way in there.

“Cool,” Kuroo said, giving you a little nod as his eyes scanned your face. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, slouching down a little. Was he… trying to make himself smaller? “But, uh… where do you live?”

By some miracle, it’s not all that far from his place. You caught the relief on his face, even if he made an effort to hide it. Would he really have walked you all the way to your house, even if it wasn’t in the same area?

He didn’t give you time to think about it, turning around and waving a hand in the air.

“Hey, Kenma!”

Your brows rose instinctively as the shy kid scurried over, head hunched down and hands stuffed into his pockets.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo smiled, nodding at him. “He’s my next-door neighbour.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah,” Kenma nodded in a quiet response, not quite able to meet your eyes. You didn’t press it. You offered him your name quickly, a bit like an afterthought, but Kenma gave you a little nod in recognition.

“You guys ready to go?” Kuroo looked between the both of you, tilting his head at the door.

You glanced over at Kenma. He didn’t glance back.

“Yeah,” you nodded, relieved that you wouldn’t have to walk the dark streets on your own.

✉

[YOU] 7:21 PM: hello! Is this kuroo?

[Kuroo] 7:34 PM: you got it

[YOU] 7:36 PM: thank goodness! I just wanted to say, thank you for walking me home today. I was a bit worried about it, but I didn’t want to impose

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: not a problem. I’m more than happy to do it again tomorrow

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: since you are coming to practice, right?

[YOU] 7:40 PM: Sure :)

✧ ✧ ✧

Kuroo Tetsurou hadn’t been what you’d expected.

For one thing, he’d actually made good on your deal. You’d half-expected him to bail on tutoring you – though you couldn’t exactly say why. But, you supposed it would be hard for him to dodge the ire of his club manager. Regardless, he dedicated most afternoons to helping you study.

You’d meet up in the library before practice and you’d always start with chemistry. He was actually kind of good at explaining the concepts to you in a way you understood, without all the bells and whistles. He had a way of simplifying the concepts to their bare bones. That’s not to say that it wasn’t difficult; you still felt like you’d been left far, far behind. But, Kuroo was something of a comfort.

Somehow, you’d end up working on other subjects. Apparently, Kuroo’s surprisingly bad at literature. He was doing well enough, but it was something he just couldn’t wrap his head around. Maybe you’d been a bit gung-ho about offering your help, but you were just glad you finally had something to offer in this arrangement. Even though you were still managing the volleyball team, overwhelming as that could be sometimes.

But, you’d made a deal, and the whole manager business was less scary than you’d first thought. And you felt that with time, you’d get the hang of it. Maybe.

More often than not, your study session before practice wasn’t enough time to cover all the content you needed. So, sometimes, you’d continue it after practice, holed up in the library until you got kicked out. Kenma usually stuck with you guys, sitting in the corner with whatever game console he’d brought that day.

And without fail, Kuroo walked you all the way to your house every night. And during those walks, you talked. Rather animatedly.

“What I’m saying is that the divide between the arts and the sciences is arbitrary,” Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “When they work together, incredible things happen. Genuine art happens.” He cocked his head at you, that perceptive grin of his spread across his face. “You’d really disagree with me on that?”

“I didn’t say I disagree,” you grinned. “I’m just surprised that you’re not one of those sciencey people who thinks that the arts are worthless.”

He scoffed at that, shaking his head. “Excuse you. I’ve got more nuance than that.”

“Sorry for doubting you,” you giggled.

“You better be.”

The thing you’d been most surprised about, above everything else, was just how enjoyable it was to talk to him. How easy it was to get lost in a conversation that most of your other friends might get bored by. It’s not that your other friends treated you badly, but Kuroo had a way of naturally drawing out your thoughts, and he usually treated them with enough respect to engage with them. Of course, there were times when he loved to tease, and you’d learnt to not take it too personally.

Kuroo Tetsurou was far more interesting than you’d first given him credit for. And you felt kind of bad for that. You’d known he wasn’t just some dumb jock – he wasn’t topping chemistry for nothing – but you hadn’t expected him to be so… clever. So playful. So fun to talk to.

You were beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could end up being quite close to.

✉

[YOU] 10:41 PM: hey, kuroo?

[Kuroo] 10:46 PM: what's up?

[YOU] 10:47 PM: i was just wondering, why did you ask me to become manager?

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: oh ahaha

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: i thought having an extra pair of hands around would help the coach out a bit

[YOU] 10:48 PM: wait really

[YOU] 10:48 PM: that's it?

[Kuroo] 10:50 PM: ??????

[YOU] 10:51 PM: you were so seedy about it!

[Kuroo] 10:51 PM: was i?

[YOU] 10:52 PM: i–

[Kuroo] 10:53 PM: :)

✧ ✧ ✧

“Kenma wants to quit.”

Your head shot up, turning to Kuroo with wide eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, one hand raking through his hair. “The third years have been giving him a really rough time.” He bit his lip, glancing at you. “You’ve seen it yourself.”

You swallowed. “I hoped I was just being too sensitive, but…”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand down his face. “They’re such assholes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. The third years had almost made you want to quit in the early days. They were scary, sharp, unrelenting. But they’d left you alone pretty quickly once you’d settled into the thrum of your responsibilities.

Kenma hadn’t been so lucky.

“Is he okay?” You murmured, brows knitted together. “I mean, I know he’s getting picked on, but is he… is he… I don’t know…”

“I get it,” Kuroo sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about that sort of stuff.”

You set your pen down on the dining table, shifting in your chair to face him directly.

Practice had been cancelled for the afternoon, and Kuroo had bustled you out of school before you even had a chance to ask why. You’d been surprised when he had asked if the two of you could study at your place that afternoon – and some part of you had dreaded what your parents might say about you bringing a boy home – but you’d conceded. He’d seemed stuck in his head; something not unusual for him, but he’d been just withdrawn enough to pique your concern.

This must’ve been why.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I don’t want to push him too hard or anything, but I don’t think he’s making the right choice.”

You bit your lip.

“Why?” You asked, feeling bold.

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want him to quit,” you said. “Other than the obvious.” You sat up a little straighter, grabbing your notebook and picking up your pen. “We can brainstorm together.”

“Other than the obvious?” He tilted his head at you.

“You know,” you shrugged. “I know you want him to stay around because he’s your best friend, but... there’s more to it, right?”

“Well…” Kuroo swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back in his chair. “We’re not gonna get very far without him.”

You scribbled that down quickly. “Why’s that?”

“He’s a good strategist,” Kuroo said carefully, “And he’s great at running through all the potential outcomes on the spot. And nobody on the team’s as observant as he is.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you transcribed. You weren’t narcissistic enough to think you knew Kenma better than Kuroo did. Nor did you want to presume you were closer to the second-year than you actually were. But you wanted to help.

“Why don’t you… explain that to him?” You asked, peering down at your notebook.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… just tell him the logical reasons you want him to stick around,” you shrugged. “I think he’d respond well to that.”

“I guess…” Kuroo pursed his lips, looking at you with a frown.

“What I’m trying to say is that… maybe putting it into terms that’ll resonate with him is the best way to go.” You weren’t quite sure if your point was getting across. You just had to hope that he understood.

“I get you,” he nodded, crossing his arms. “I dunno if it’ll work though.”

“He’ll listen to you,” you mused, propping your hand on your chin.

“Huh?”

“It’s obvious you mean a lot to him,” you shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t really use his words to express that.”

Kuroo blinked at you, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

“I mean, he’s stuck it out with volleyball this long, hasn’t he?” You smiled at him, watching his cheeks grow even pinker. “That’s because of you.”

He cleared his throat as he looked down at his lap. It was strange to see him so… speechless. He was the sort of person that always had a comeback. You were never able to get a one up on him. Sincerity, however, seemed to be his hamartia.

“I just… I wanna go as far as I can with this team,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, me and the other second years… when we first joined the team, we were asked about our goals.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “We all said that we wanted to win nationals.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was telling you all this. He didn’t know where it came from. But he knew he’s grateful to be able to just talk. To share this with someone.

“Yaku and I used to fight all the time,” he smiled sheepishly, casting his gaze at you.

“I can see that,” you giggled. There was always a little fire between the two of them; it’d given you a good laugh many times.

“It was kind of stupid, but… we got over it. We learned to work together,” Kuroo sighed.

“I feel bad for poor Kai,” you smiled.

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah…” He sighed as he leaned over the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Nekoma used to be hot shit, you know.”

“Did we?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Made it to nationals a couple of times. But, we sort of… fell off. We haven’t been as good as we could be for a while. And… I want to change that.”

He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing. “We can’t do that if we don’t work together. And I know that sounds obvious, but… we need to focus on our teamwork more. We’ll only be great if we all learn to rely on and trust each other. We’ve gotta make the best use of all our strengths while covering our weaknesses.”

You nodded, making a little noise of agreement. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to him. This side of Kuroo – this genuine, honest one – was quickly becoming your favourite.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sitting up straight. “Didn’t mean to ramble at you there.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You shook your head. “Ramble all you’d like.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you for that, but he was smiling.

“Hey, Kuroo?” Normally, you wouldn’t have thought to ask the questions that were currently poking at the back of your mind. But he’d just been so honest, so open with you in a way he’d never been before. Maybe it was okay to be a little bit curious. Just this once.

“Hm?”

“I have a genuine question,” you said, folding your hands in your lap.

He looked at you, pouting a little.

“Why volleyball?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow creased ever so slightly. Usually, he’d just dodge a conversation like this; not because he was particularly embarrassed by it or anything like that, but because he didn’t want to talk about himself too much. He didn’t want to be rude and dominate the conversation.

But, you were asking. And, you seemed genuinely interested.

A little bit of sincerity wouldn’t hurt, right?

“My family moved here when I was pretty young,” he said, shrugging. “And I didn’t really… know how to make friends. Before I moved, I’d been part of a volleyball team. All my friends were on it, and… I had to move away from them.”

It was a little strange, trying to pull up all these memories. And trying to condense them was harder than he’d expected. “When I first met Kenma, we just played video games. I didn’t really… know how to talk to him. But he agreed to play volleyball with me, and that made things so much easier. I had something to talk about.”

You smiled to yourself, the image of a shy little Kuroo more endearing than it should be.

“I even convinced him to go to a weekend class with me,” he smiled, looking down. “You know, I even remember when I first met Coach Nekomata.”

“Huh?” You frowned.

“The old coach who used to work here. Rumour is he’ll come out of retirement sometime soon,” he smiled.

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand.

We bumped into him at one of those classes,” Kuroo said. “He told me, ‘do what you love, and success will come.’ I still think about that.”

Do what you love, and success will come. Yeah, that definitely sounded like something that’d resonate with Kuroo.

“Anyway, I joined the team in middle school, and that made it a lot easier to make friends,” Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t know. I love volleyball. Have for as long as I can remember. It’s fun. And… it helped me connect with people, even when… even when I couldn’t find the right words.”

He looked at you, a bit more tentative than usual. But, you were smiling, your chin propped up on one of your palms as you listened to him talk.

“Believe it or not, but I was a really shy kid.” He didn’t know why he’s still talking. And honestly, he’s a little embarrassed by it. But, you’re still listening. And for that, he’s grateful.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you grinned.

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?”

“You think so much,” you mused, looking upwards. “But, like… in the way introverts do, you know?” You blushed, looking down at your hands. “Well, I mean… I tend to overthink everything I say, right?”

“No, really?” Kuroo gasped, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Shush,” you shot him a half-glare, suppressing the urge to stick your tongue out at him like a child. “It’s just that… I see a little bit of that in you, too. Not… massively, but it’s there.”

You couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t one you’d seen before. And honestly, he wouldn’t know how to describe it himself. He was caught between the relief at being seen, at being understood, and the embarrassment of being called out. People didn’t tend to pick up on that part of him – and yet, you had.

He wasn’t used to being the one getting read.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I really didn’t mean to ramble so much.”

“Oi,” you giggled, “I said it’s fine, didn’t I?”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s nice that you care so much about the game.” You were smiling at him. Nothing unusual. But the look in your eyes was so genuine, so bright that he could feel his face burning up from looking at it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, breaking eye contact with you. God, he really didn’t know what to do in conversations like these. “Anyway, should we get back to chem?”

✉

[closet introvert] 9:22 PM: so

[YOU] 9:25 PM: so

[closet introvert] 9:25 PM: i think i’m gonna try to talk to kenma after school tomorrow

✧ ✧ ✧

If there was one thing you were fairly decent at as manager, it was looking after the first and second years. Bit by bit, you’d worked up an adequate rapport with each of them, and you had most of their personalities sorted out. Most importantly, you knew what to do when they were down.

You just had to let Yaku rant – let him shout and gripe and swear, and he’d be okay. Kai liked a constructive conversation, had in soft, measured tones, and offering a solution or two. Yamamoto wanted fire and conviction, a challenge to do better, to be better. Fukunaga liked a distraction, something to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Kenma liked to be left alone to sort things out for himself – but you were permitted to make him a care package or two.

You’d known Kuroo long enough by now to know that he was rather reticent when it came to his own feelings. He wasn’t the sort to talk about them upfront; you had to peer at the silences and the spaces between his words to find out what he really meant. You had to look at his behaviour; he was never too straightforward. That sort of thing seemed to overwhelm him.

That presented a bit of a problem. If he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, he simply wouldn’t. He’d deflect the conversation, or downplay how he was feeling. Sometimes he gave you bits and pieces, but he rarely spilled his true thoughts and feelings. They were exceedingly difficult to draw out of him – he had to offer them up himself. And most of the time, he bounced back pretty quickly from his more melancholic moods on his own.

But not today.

Kuroo wasn’t exactly loud. At least, not in the same way Yamamoto was – or that rambunctious wing spiker from Fukurodani. It was well within Kuroo’s abilities to be obnoxious, but he wasn’t loud. But even for him, he was being uncharacteristically quiet today.

Practice had gone fine, as far as you could tell. Nothing had gone obviously wrong, and nobody had gotten injured. From your perspective, things had even gone well. Admittedly, your knowledge of volleyball didn’t run particularly deep just yet, but you were trying your best.

Kuroo was usually so bright after practice, always grinning or cackling at something despite his exhaustion. Half the time he’d point things out to you, explaining certain moves they’d practised or formations they were trying out.

But today, he’d just picked up his bag dourly, waiting at the door for you and Kenma to leave. He’d said very little on the walk to the train station when usually he’d be rambling about something or other. You and Kenma exchanged a look; he was just as concerned as you were.

And just like you, he didn’t know how to breach the conversation.

“So… how do they even work?” You asked, blinking down at Kenma’s DS screen.

You couldn’t stand the silence for much longer. And you knew that a sure-fire way to get Kenma talking was by asking him about video games – especially optimization.

“EVs are gained by defeating specific Pokemon,” Kenma murmured. “If you defeat a Pokemon with naturally high HP like Chansey, you’ll gain EVs towards your own HP. However, you can only gain 252 EV’s towards any one stat.”

You nodded, opting to let him ramble. Usually, Kuroo would’ve led the conversation between the three of you. But, you’d valiantly taken that task up yourself today – and the easiest way to help things go smoothly was to get Kenma on a roll.

“You can gain a maximum of five-hundred and twelve total, so realistically you can only optimise two stats at a time,” he continued, eyes still glued to his screen. You took a moment to glance at Kuroo. He was staring out the window of the train, his expression worryingly forlorn. Was he even listening?

“IVs are a Pokemon’s innate capabilities.” Kenma was still going. You made an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, nodding. “A Pokemon with a high attack IV will have a naturally higher attack stat than a Pokemon with a low attack IV, even at the same level.”

On the one hand, it was nice to know that Kenma was comfortable enough with you to ramble like this. It was also nice to see Kenma talking freely; a rare and precious sight.

On the other hand, it just made you more stressed about Kuroo. He hadn’t breathed a word the entire ride. He hadn’t even taken a moment to gaze fondly at Kenma while he was rambling. And he always did that when Kenma was on a roll.

You managed to ask enough questions to fill the distance to Kenma’s house. He was speaking more than usual. That much was obvious, yes – but even for a Kenma that was geeking out, this was unusual.

And with the way his gaze kept flicking to Kuroo, you knew it was because he was truly, deeply concerned.

Kuroo still made somewhat of an effort to say goodbye to Kenma, despite his mood. The usual “make sure you don’t go to sleep too late, okay?” and “make sure you drink enough water, so you don’t get a headache.”

But before Kenma walked through his front door, he looked at you. And when you looked back, he held eye contact. Then he looked very pointedly at Kuroo, who was staring up at the sky. By the time you turned to look at Kenma again, he was already scurrying through his front door.

“You ready?” Kuroo asked, now looking at you.

You nodded, half-jogging to join him on the street. Even today, even when it seemed like he just wanted to go home and sleep, he was still walking you home. Sure, your house wasn’t all that far from his, but he still went out of his way every night, just to make sure you felt comfortable.

That quiet thoughtfulness was part of who he was. You’d seen him direct it at Kenma all the time.

The same Kenma who’d just sent you a silent plea.

The Kenma, who never looked you in the eyes for longer than half a second.

The Kenma, who had just asked you to speak to his best friend.

That was all the push you needed.

“Hey, Kuroo?” You murmured.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You asked.

Kuroo looked at you, one eyebrow raised. He was torn.

Should he really burden you with this? Was it right for him to worry you again?

But you’re looking at him with such genuine concern, such genuine care. And the advice you’d given him when he was worried about Kenma had been both helpful and effective. And surely, you wouldn’t have asked that question if you didn’t want a proper answer, right?

Fuck it, he thought.

“I feel like I’m not measuring up,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “My blocking hasn’t been improving. And I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to work on my read blocking but I just can’t get it down. I can’t even fix the problem because I don’t know what the problem is.”

He took a deep breath, his steps slowing to a stop. “I convinced Kenma to stay on, but I’m not a team-mate he can be proud of.”

“Kuroo…”

You looked at him, cloaked in the shadows of the street. His gaze was cast at the ground, his brow furrowed and the smallest of pouts on his lips. You wanted to hug him, but you weren’t sure if that’d help.

You didn’t quite know what to say. You knew what it was like to get caught up in your own insecurities – you were sure most people did. You knew he couldn’t see himself the way you saw him; tenacious, hard-working, passionate.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. No, that was too soft – too wishy-washy. “I know that it… seems kind of silly for me to say, but you are.”

You clenched your fists to steel yourself, taking a step closer to him. That got his attention – he looked up at you, eyes slightly wide.

“You feel like you’re not measuring up, or that you’re not improving… but I don’t see it that way.” It was true. You watched him push himself harder each and every day, improving little by little. And when he wasn’t, he’d learn from those mistakes.

“It must be easy to lose yourself on the court, but from where I’m standing… you’re improving every day.” Your eyes searched his face, looking for any indication that your words were having some kind of impact.

“And… you don’t need to be the world’s best middle blocker, you know?” You said, tilting your head at him. “You’re good, Kuroo. And you know you’ve got space to improve – that’s your strength. That makes you a team-mate worth being proud of.”

He was staring at you, eyes still wide. The dim light of the street hid the blush on his cheeks. For that, he was thankful.

“Uh…” He felt like he should say something. But he didn’t quite know what. ‘Thank you’ would’ve been the natural response, but those words just wouldn’t come.

“Sorry,” you blushed, your nerves finally catching up with you as you looked away from him. “I didn’t mean to… push your boundaries or anything like that, but… if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Had you overstepped his boundaries? Had you made him uncomfortable? Those questions plagued you for the rest of the way home, Kuroo still quiet and reticent at your side.

You hadn’t overstepped his boundaries at all. Kuroo just couldn’t find the right words, even as you closed the distance to your house.

In all honesty, he’s touched. Touched that you cared so much. Touched that you reached out, even though he could tell how nervous you were. Touched that you were paying that much attention.

As he walked through the door of his own home, he couldn’t get the image of you looking up at him so resolutely out of his head.

He’d have to thank some deity above for the fact you were bad at chemistry, wouldn’t he?

✉

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: hey so uh

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: i just wanted to say thanks

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: for listening to me be all emotional like that

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: i put a lot on you but you were really nice about it

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: so yeah

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: thanks

[YOU] 10:59 PM: NO! DON’T APOLOGISE!

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: !?!?!?!

[YOU] 11:00 PM: honestly, i don’t mind! and i’m happy to listen :(

[YOU] 11:00 PM: i’m here if you need to talk to anyone, okay?

[japan’s okayest tutor] 11:04 PM: you too

✧ ✧ ✧

You were alone.

Your sobs were the only sound fracturing the fragile silence of the empty gym as you slumped against the wall, your knees brought up to your chest.

Why did you have to fuck up so bad? You’d managed to survive your first year with no drama, the only cause of concern being your studies. They were overwhelming enough to deal with on their own. You’d certainly felt down about your grades and whatnot before, but those ruts were a little easier to pull yourself out of. ‘They’re just grades,’ you’d try and tell yourself. ‘You can improve next time. And they don’t define you as a person.’ Even if you didn’t quite believe any of that, it was nice to have some rhetoric to at least attempt to counteract those thoughts.

But now? Now you truly felt alone. Like no-one cared about you.

You felt like you deserved it. Like anyone who cared about you was wasting their time. Like you were taking up their time and attention undeservedly.

It was all too overwhelming.

The pain choked you. Every thought, every feeling you’d been trying to fend off for so long ripped through you like an arrow.

Fuck, why couldn’t you just hold yourself together? Why did you have to be so weak?

You let go. And you cried. And cried. And cried.

The sound shattered the vacuous silence of the gym. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, letting your sobs rack through your body.

Your throat was sore.

Your eyes stung.

You were alone.

And you deserved it.

“Woah.”

You froze. You knew that voice.

“Hey.” Kuroo knelt in front of you, his hands finding their way to your forearms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He was knelt in front of you, eyebrows knitted together as his eyes roamed your face.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Shit, why was he here? Why hadn’t he just headed home?

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You didn’t want to worry them.

Kuroo’s arms found their way around you, coaxing you gently towards his chest. You collapsed into him, burying your face in his chest.

Fuck, that didn’t help at all. Your sobs came with more voracity, rawer and harsher than they had been.

He just held you, chin propped on your head and one hand rubbing your back. He didn’t say anything; he knew you didn’t need that right now. He knew that in moments like this, it was nice just to be held. To feel like someone’s there.

And then slowly, breath by breath, everything seemed to calm. Your sobs grew softer and softer against his chest, his gentle hums setting a new rhythm for your fractured mind. He was grounding you; each touch, each sound was an attempt to bring you back down to earth. You could tell it wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, crouched awkwardly in front of you while holding you to his chest, but he stayed.

He stayed until your breathing had levelled out, and your grip on his shirt had loosened.

“There you go,” Kuroo murmured, letting you go. He shifted to sit next to you, and you immediately missed his warmth. You found a little comfort as he looped an arm around your shoulder.

You took a long, shaky breath. You weren’t sure how long you’d keep it together for, but you were glad for the reprieve.

“What are you doing here?” You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have made him worry about you.

“You didn’t show up for our little study session,” he said, eyebrows knitted together. “I tried texting you, but you didn’t respond. And I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Shit. You’d forgotten to tell him you’d ‘headed home early.’

“I was worried about you,” he murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You swallowed roughly, the guilt bubbling up in your chest.

“I’m sorry–”

“No.” Kuroo shook his head. “Don’t apologize. If you need to get it out, you need to get it out.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. Your knuckles blanched pale as you clenched the fabric of your skirt.

“And,” he swallowed, “if you need to talk to someone… I’m here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt everything rush back. The fight. The loneliness. The insomnia.

Kuroo didn’t need to hear this. And you didn’t want to burden him with this.

But God, you needed to talk to someone.

“I- I had an argument with Hana,” you sniffed, fingers playing with the hem of your jacket.

You could barely remember how it started. Something stupid, probably. Something immature. But it had blown way out of proportion, and she wasn’t speaking to you anymore. You’d been spending your lunchtimes alone, behind the gym or in an empty classroom. You didn’t have the strength to face the rest of your friends, nor did you know what she’d been telling them.

It had struck at the worst possible time, too. The usual anxieties about grades and the future had been compounding recently. You’d been a bit more down than usual, and this whole Hana debacle had exacerbated that. You were usually able to manage feelings like this, finding ways to keep your head above water.

But not this time.

“I just,” you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “I just feel like something’s missing. And, and I’m… there’s… there’s this gap in my heart, and I don’t know how to stop feeling so empty.”

You took a deep breath, feeling it tremble through your body. “But… but I also just feel so numb.”

And all of it, even the numbness, was overwhelming. No matter how desperately you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. Nothing worked. You’d lost too many nights sitting at the bottom of your shower, letting the water run down your back as your mind ran in the same repeating circles.

You were exhausted.

“And part of me,” you swallowed, your throat rough and dry as your emotions tried to hammer themselves into something coherent. “Part of me feels like… like it’s wrong to feel like this.”

God, that felt stupid. Stupid, but true. On top of everything, you felt defunct.

And frankly, you couldn’t say why. Was it shame? Guilt? Something else?

“Hey.” Kuroo’s voice was low, almost soft as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel,” he murmured, “You shouldn’t feel guilty about that, okay?”

He felt you tremble as you tried to take a deep breath.

He knew that your pain wasn’t a one-to-one reflection of his own. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to understand exactly what you were going through.

But he knew what it was like to be a small child, so afraid, so alone, without an understanding of what was really going on around him.

He knew what it was like to feel as if something was missing, like there was a constant gap in your heart. He’d felt that way when his parents had split up. He’d only been a kid, too young to properly comprehend why that had been happening.

All he had known was that his family had crumbled to pieces around him. And then his mother was gone, half a world away with little more than a kiss on his forehead as a goodbye. He hadn’t been ready for it. He had felt like he might never be.

That feeling of separation had followed him, even into his teen years. It was quieter now, a half-whisper on the bad days. Usually, he could ignore it, setting his mind to more productive concerns. But, it never quite disappeared.

Kuroo knew what it was like to be lonely.

And he hated seeing you go through the exact same thing.

Lonely. Afraid. Probably hoping that someone, somewhere, would acknowledge your pain.

That was the worst part. Wanting your suffering to be known. Wanting someone to look at all of it, to see it for what it was. But no matter how palpable that desire was, how desperately you wanted it, it was too terrifying. To speak up was to be a burden. To speak up was to expose yourself to pity; and that was always the last thing you needed.

Pity’s useless. All you were asking for, all you really wanted was understanding. Acknowledgment. To have someone see.

He knew exactly what that was like.

“You, uh…” The sentiment caught in his throat, somehow both persistent and reticent.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

They were the very words he’d wished someone had said to him all those years ago. The words he’d wanted someone to offer him, a child who didn’t know how to reach out. To cry out for help.

And in that moment, with his arms around the manager who had looked after him and his boys so well, Kuroo felt that call.

✉

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: hey

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: how are you feeling?

[YOU] 8:45 PM: alright

[YOU] 8:45 PM: i ate dinner and i’ve just been watching youtube

[YOU] 8:46 PM: and i’ve been drinking a lot of water

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: i’m glad to hear that

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: make sure you get an early night, yeah?

[YOU] 8:47 PM: i’ll try

[passable at best] 8:47 PM: and if you need anything, please text me

✧ ✧ ✧

"Come to the temple with me."

The surprise was evident on your face. You’re glad he couldn’t see you. "What… just us?"

"Yeah." There's a pause. An almost painful one. "I couldn't get Kenma to leave the house, so…"

You pretended you weren’t disappointed. If anyone could see you, they wouldn't be convinced.

"Oh, well, uh…" Your fists curled into your nightgown. "Sure."

"Great!" You could hear the smile in his voice. It's the one you like best; full of sunlight, pure and whole. The one that reached his eyes. "I'll, uh… see you at eight?"

Usually, if someone had called you at seven-thirty in the morning, you would've simply ignored them. But when you’d seen that it was him, you’d answered immediately. The lack of hesitation was almost frightening.

There was no reason that your fondness for a certain Kuroo Tetsurou should scare you. You just knew that you adored the guy. In less than a year, he’d become one of your favourite people. And, he’d been such a solid support for you. Of course you’d go to the temple with him.

But as you stood at the temple steps, swallowed up by a coat and two jumpers, you wondered if anyone was worth being this cold for.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You glared up at him, nose embarrassingly red.

“What?” He groaned, hands dug deep in his pockets.

“It’s cold.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Hey,” he grinned, reaching up and ruffling your hair with a gloved hand. “You could’ve said no.”

You huffed. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Well, I’m touched,” he chuckled, looking up at the sky. “It’s a nice morning, though.” He looked back down at you with a grin. He was far too peppy for this hour of the morning. “You ready?”

The walk up the steps was almost laborious, given just how cold it was. Your breath misted in front of you as you told each other about your first dreams of the year; he’s still regaling a tale about Kenma turning into a dragon with five heads and chasing him through the streets of Tokyo by the time you reach the fortunes.

You tried to shake off the superstitious jitters as you carefully chose one of the knots on the string. Kuroo showed much less care.

As you read the fortune written out on your strip, you let out a surreptitious sigh of relief. You looked at Kuroo, tilting your head.

“What’d you get?” You sniffled. You hoped you wouldn’t get a cold from this.

“Bad luck,” he said, turning the strip towards you.

You snorted. “Oh, ow.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression said otherwise; it was that half-grimace he had whenever he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. Or that Bokuto had done something cool.

“Really?” You grinned, tilting your head at him. “You’re not bothered by it at all?”

“Alright, what did you get then?” He peered down at you, puffing out his chest.

“A little luck.” You held your strip towards him, and he scowled.

“Bad luck’s more exciting,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be mad about it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow. “God just likes me more.”

“Oi,” he huffed, ruffling your hair with a cold hand.

“Hey!” You wacked his hand away, but he just cackled.

“Anyway, you’ve forgotten the most important part of a temple visit,” he yawned, looking back at the fortunes lined up on the strings.

“Hm?” You frowned.

"You gotta make a promise," he sniffled, his fortune scrunched up in his hand.

You pouted, your hands dug deep in your pockets. A promise, huh? Did he mean a wish? You weren’t about to argue the point. He’d win it, anyway.

“You go first,” you mumbled, a little embarrassed by the fact that nothing was coming to mind.

He paused, staring at you for a moment. You squinted back, perhaps half as a challenge.

"Hm," Kuroo puffed his cheeks out, looking up at the sky for a moment. "I promise… to always be there for you. No matter what."

You blushed. What sort of promise was that? And why did it make you feel like… this?

Thwump!

You were only half aware of it as you punched him in the stomach.

“What was that for?” He wheezed, hands clamped on his stomach as he stumbled back a few steps.

“You can’t say things like that!” You whined, feeling the colour in your cheeks growing deeper.

“Why not?” There was something a little too genuine in his frown.

“Because I was going to say something really lame!” It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and Kuroo had already worked his way under your skin. And you weren’t entirely sure he’d meant to. “If I knew you were gonna say something like that, I’d’ve said it back.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You still can, you know.”

“Oh.” Yeah. You could.

That was all he needed. In an instant, that familiar grin was once again adorning his face, and he was towering over you. A little closer than maybe was appropriate.

“Is that… a blush I see?” Oh, he looked far too pleased with himself. You had half a mind to punch him again.

“Shut up,” you huffed.

“Aw, have I made you all embarrassed?” He grinned, ruffling your hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words spoiled by his fake pout.

“If you don’t shut up, I won’t say it,” you threatened, glaring at him as resolutely as you could. The weird twang in your chest made it more difficult than it usually was.

He shut his mouth immediately, eyes a little bigger and much more expectant than usual.

“Kuroo Tetsurou–”

“Are you about to propose?”

“You know what? Nevermind–”

“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” His shoulders were slouched towards you, head tilted to the side and a bright smile on his face. “I’ll shut up.”

You took a deep breath. It certainly felt a bit like you were trying to propose to him. You shuffled that thought out of your mind as quickly as you could. Once again, Kuroo had put you in a situation you hadn’t quite anticipated.

“No matter what comes, and no matter how irritating you are–”

“Hey!”

“–I promise that I’ll be there to support you,” you managed to say, cheeks flaring and fists clenched. “I… really care about you.”

You couldn’t bear the look he was giving you. It was the look you’d give something you positively adored – something you believed would bring nothing but light to your life. It was a look so full of affection that you felt like you might shatter beneath it.

He reached out and wrapped you in his arms, pulling you gently into his chest. You snuck your arms under his jacket, circling them around his waist. You’d done it mostly on instinct, but you weren’t upset about it. It’s warm, and it’s nice, and you didn’t want to question it.

There’s too much to worry about – studies, volleyball, the fact that it’s really not all that long until you’re third years. That took precedence. Whatever’s going on here – whatever this was – couldn’t take priority.

All you knew for certain was that you loved Kuroo Tetsurou. In what way didn’t matter. And this in-between, this unnamed space was comfortable. And, as far as you could tell, it belonged to both of you. If he didn’t want to say anything about it, then neither did you.

✉

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: hey hey

[YOU] 5:21 PM: hey hey hey!

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: no don’t do that

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: anyway, i just wanted to make sure you’re practicing appropriate after-cold care

[YOU] 5:21 PM: why do you always have to phrase things Like That

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: no idea what you’re talking about

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: anyway, drink a tea or two, stick a heat pack (or seven) in the microwave, and rug up

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: can’t have you going and catching a cold

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuuwritersnet #once again what are tags #i didn't want to cut this up but it got Too Long i'm so sorry #n e way hope you like it??#the in between

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maxineswritingcenter · 4 years ago

Text

You Saved Me - Derek Halex fem!reader part 14

-------------

For the first time in a while, I woke up happy. Sure, the situation we were all in was no reason to be happy, but I would take waking up next to Derek over anything. In this moment anyway.

Derek hummed in his sleep, nuzzling his face into my neck. I smiled, turning my head a little to press a kiss to his cheek. He opened his eyes that seemed to sparkle when he smiled.

“Good morning.” He mumbled, pulling his arms away and sitting up. I turned on my back and pouted up at him.

“Someone doesn’t like cuddling in the morning?”

He got out of bed, getting dressed, “Any other day, yes. But I have something to do this morning.” He threw a shirt in my direction. I caught it, got out of bed and dressed myself.

“I’ll remember that.” I took off my clothes that I had worn throughout the night and pulled on Derek’s shirt. It was soft cotton and it smelled like him. It was a little big so it would have to be tied with a ponytail holder. I looked over, seeing my jacket hanging up on the back of his door, “Mind tossing me my jacket?” He grabbed it off the door and tossed it my way. As it flew through the air, an envelope fell on the floor. Derek stared at the envelope and picked it up, looking it over.

“Oh my god, I completely forgot about that.” I took the envelope from his hands. It had some water damage but the words were still readable on the outside.

“The Lunar Circle?” His jaw clenched.

“Yeah, do you know anything about this?” I asked, opening it up.

“Your parents were a part of it.”

“Really?” I grinned, opening up the very official looking letter.

To (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N),

We send our condolences in the matter of your parents passing, all of us here at the Lunar Circle cherished your family and we think of them fondly.

As two of our founding members, your parents were meant to travel to our facility to discuss relations between them and the clan of hunters in your area, the Argents. Since they have passed, this duty falls to you - the sole survivor of your clan.

We will have a messenger arrive soon to bring you to Shetland, in the northern Isles of Scotland. Please pack warm.

We look forward to meeting you,

Sincerely,

Praetor Lachlan McLeod

I read the letter aloud, Derek was becoming more and more stern.

“I mean, it seems like they want me to go whether I like it or not. But I think they would be able to take the rest of the spell away so I could remember.” I smiled and looked up. The smile dropped, “But you don’t seem as enthusiastic as I do.”

“Only werewolves who get invited can go. I can’t go with you.”

"I mean, they probably wouldn't care. You're my partner."

“That’s not the point.” He walked back to his dresser, grabbing his leather jacket that he had draped there.

“Then what is the point, Derek?” He didn’t answer, walking out the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” I called, storming after him.

He stopped abruptly in the hall and turned around, “The point is that I can’t be there with you. I can’t stop any of those people from taking you away from me.”

“Are you insinuating that I would cheat on you?” I glared.

“No.” His face softened, “But they could use the spell against you. A condition that they could have would be to break our bond so you can get your memories back.” He held my face in his hands, making me look up into his eyes, “I want you to remember, but I want to be there for it.”

“You said I’m stubborn. Maybe I could convince whoever is going to show up that I need you to come with me.” I smiled, “I’m gonna go home and look through some of the stuff from my house.”

“I’ll call you after I get done here.” He kissed my nose.

“And what are you doing?”

“Erica’s getting Jackson so we can test if he’s the kanima.” He started walking again.

“Uh and what if he is?” I asked nervously, “Listen, I am all for killing him on a good day but you can’t kill him. There has to be a cure.”

“And if there isn’t?”

Rubbing my temples, I thought for a moment. Pros: - No more kanima...No more Jackson... Con: Prison for Derek. Regardless of morals, the kanima was dangerous to everyone.

“Make it look like an accident.”

As I made my way out of the depot, Erica was walking in, dragging Jackson by his bicep.

“Erica.” I nodded, smiling brightly.

“(Y/N).” She smiled back. It seemed like after the kanima attack there was a silent understanding between the two of us.

“Wait!” Jackson called, trying to get out of her grasp, “Wait! (Y/N)!” There was a sick part of me that was going to think about his calling to me for help later and smile.

It was late morning when I got home. Stiles had given me hell through text but that was just how he showed his love. The next thing was to stop staring at the cardboard boxes that held the remaining pieces of my life that had been stashed in my closet. Out of sight, out of mind since I really wanted to distance myself from the memory of my parents death and all of the fact that my parents had unfairly taken memories of my life away. I understand that they did it to protect our family, but at the end of the day... that didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

Time to bite the bullet. I kneeled down in front of the closet and pulled out the box labeled: (Y/L/N) Evidence #24. I looked over my shoulder to make sure the door was closed, then grew a claw on my pointer finger to cut the tape on the box. Was that lazy? Of course, but I think anyone in my position would. I took a deep breath and opened the box. I wish that I was hit with a wave of nostalgia, the smells of home, but all I could smell was smoke.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the sides of the box, “Come on, don’t cry.” I sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Blowing out air, I opened my eyes again. Inside the box were photo albums. I took out the one I recognized most, it was a dark teal color with our last name in gold cursive font. I traced the letters fondly. Opening it up, I saw pictures with my parents from when they bought this house, bringing me home from the hospital, pictures of my parents and Stiles’ hanging out. They all looked so happy, they were laughing and having fun. I lightly touched Aunt Claudia’s smiling face. It was still hard to believe that she was gone, but she was sick... She couldn’t live like that any longer. I flipped through the book, watching Stiles and I grow up. Birthdays, slumber parties. Slowly Scott popped up in the pictures until we became a trio. But Stiles and I were always together. Which made me wonder how much of my life was missing if he was the only friend I could remember.

The rest of the box was documents that had been found in the safe in the basement. It was a miracle that had found the safe since it had been hidden in the wall. Deeds, marriage license, birth certificates, social security. In the next box, there were some of my baby things. But this box has become more interesting. Family heirlooms that I had only seen once when they were being cleaned. At the bottom of the box was a wooden box that I definitely didn’t remember.

“Jack pot.” I smiled and lifted it out of the box. It was a dark stained wooden box with intricate vines and flowers decorating the borders. There was a stamp burned into the top. My last initial in a full moon, stars randomly placed around it.

I opened the clasp, lifting the lid open carefully. There was a glass bottle, sealed with teal wax. The neck of the bottle was wrapped in twine with a bronze charm, on the charm was a wolf. It was filled with dried herbs and what looked to be a lock of hair, my hair. I set the bottle aside, wanting to bring it to Deaton to figure out what was inside. But I was fairly certain this was the spell jar that took my memories away. The next thing inside that I pulled out was a scroll, sealed with the same teal wax and this time the crest was more visible, it was the same crest as on the box.

I carefully removed the wax from the paper to not break the seal, unrolling the papers. The larger of the two was a family tree, more family that I could even imagine that I had, going back ten generations. But the tree got smaller and smaller until I was the last branch. I am the last member of my family. That made me feel more alone than before.

The next paper was more recent looking and it was addressed to me.

𝘛𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, (𝘠/𝘕).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘱, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩.

𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯. 𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 - 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘞𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘴. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 ��𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦,

𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘥

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, making sure my tears didn’t smug the ink on the page. They acknowledged that they did wrong and they were planning on reversing the spell. And seeing my mother’s handwriting again? The best.

In the bottom of the wooden box was a white package that had been faded yellow. The package was labeled with the name of the local pharmacy where you could also get photos developed. I took out the thick stack of photos and gasped. Christmas morning when I was twelve, I was looking up into the camera but my face was hidden by the glare coming from my eyes. Another picture had me with a wrist brace on, a thumbs up and a smile. Then the next pictures lifted my spirits. It was pictures of Derek and I. From the time we were toddlers until six years ago. Smiling, laughing. Some where he was in his basketball uniform, others when I was in my lacrosse gear. It seemed like Derek was just as much a part of my life as Stiles was. There were pictures of me with Laura Hale, we were on the floor cross legged while she sat behind me, braiding my hair. There was another where I was holding a little toddler on my lap, who I could only assume was Cora. There were even baby pictures of me with this woman I couldn’t recognize...but something told me that it was Derek’s mother Talia. Wait, Talia Hale. I never knew that name before. I was starting to remember. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to remember more.

But these pictures were important to what I needed. I slipped them back into the package and grabbed the vial, putting them in my bag.

I started walking down the stairs, feeling happier than this morning, but it all went away when Stiles’ text message. The first was a picture of Lydia at the front of Finstock’s class with someone help me written on the board from an hour ago. The next was a message that had come over that minute.

Stiles:

Isaac and Erica are testing Lydia to see if she’s the kanima... And I think she failed.

I got downstairs and was stopped by Uncle Noah in the kitchen, his arms were crossed over his chest. I was definitely in trouble.

“Hi, Uncle Noah-”

“Where have you been?” Straight to the point.

“Busy. With work and stuff.” My lying was not getting better. I tried to walk past him but he called my name.

“(Y/N)” I stopped, slowly turning around, “I know you’re an adult, but I promised your mom and dad that if anything happened to them that I would protect you. I mean, you’re gone all day and all night. I get vague text messages after hours.”

“I’ve just been busy with work, that’s all. Believe it or not, Coach puts in long hours-”

“Now, why am I having trouble believing you?” He looked up at the ceiling as if the answer was written there.

Probably because I’m lying, I’m actually a werewolf, one of many in this town and we’re fighting a teenage mutant murder lizard that may or may not be Lydia, you know Lydia, the girl Stiles was in love with?

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been working long hours on four murder cases and overworking your brain.”

“Is this about that Lunar Circle thing you got in the mail? What is that thing anyway?”

I sighed, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. If it were nothing, you would say that it’s junk.”

I sighed, “It’s a group my parents were a part of and they want me to go there.”

“To Scotland? No way.” He shook his head.

“What? You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m an adult.”

“You are apart of an open murder investigation where the murderer is still at large. I can’t in good conscience let you leave the state, let alone the country.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” I glared, “I am a legal adult, I am not a suspect, I can leave whenever I want.”

“Not true. As a part of the agreement with your parents, if they were to be killed, I am to be your guardian for six months, no matter how old you are.”

I pulled at my hair in frustration, “That’s ridiculous!”

“Call it what it may, but that’s what your parents wanted.”

“Screw what they wanted!” I snapped, “They took everything from me!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He barked back. I sighed in frustration, grabbing my keys off the counter and storming towards the door.

“Hey! We’re not done talking!” I kept going, “(Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), you get back here!”

I opened the door and looked back, “YOU’RE NOT MY DAD! STOP ACTING LIKE IT!” I slammed the door shut and hurriedly got into my car. I gripped the steering wheel hard, the plastic cracking against my palms. I shouted into the wheel, breathing hard to make sure I didn’t turn in the car. After a few minutes and a lot of breathing, the anger turned to guilt. Uncle Noah was just trying to make sure I was safe and what I said wasn’t fair. He treated me like his own and I should appreciate that more. I’m just relieved I didn’t see the look on his face when I shouted at him, I’m sure I would never be able to get his face out of my head.

My cell phone ringing brought me out of my thoughts, I pressed answer and held the phone to my ear.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“(Y/N)?”

“Jackson?” My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Duh.” He said in his usual douchey way. Just my luck, the last person I wanted to talk to was calling me.

“What do you want, trust fund?” I put the phone on speaker and started driving.

“Look, we need your help. We need you to distract Derek.”

“No problem.” I hung up the phone, driving the short drive it took to get to the depot.

I leaned against the doorway leading into the depot, grabbing Derek’s jacket as he walked out.

“Where ya goin’, Der?” He looked back at me, backing up.

“I was on my way to see you.”

I smiled, “How coinvent. I just got into a huge fight with my Uncle which I’m sure you felt and I found pictures of us together that I wanted to show you.” I held up the package of photos.

We had gone back inside the depot, sitting on his mattress. Derek turned the bottle in his hands to get a look at all the herbs inside, “I can see monkshood, mistletoe, salt. Not sure what the rest is.” He handed the bottle back to me. I filled his empty hand with the package of pictures. He took out the stack. He stared at the pictures for a long time, almost like he was memorizing them.

“I lost all my copies of these photos in the fire.” He smiled as he looked through them, “Did you remember anything?”

“Just one thing.” I handed him the photo and his mother holding me, “I remembered her name, Talia.” He stared at the photo, his face changing.

“She’s so young here.” He whispered. I rested my head on his shoulder, looking at the photo. She was smiling at me in an exaggerated way, her dark hair tucked behind her ear. She was so beautiful. Derek looked over at me, then out the window. He set the photos down slowly and stood up. Shit.

“You were sent here to distract me, weren’t you?” He stared down accusingly. He felt betrayed, a feeling I didn’t like giving him.

“I came here to show you the pictures.” I stood up to face him.

“That may have been what you wanted to do originally, but on your way here they told you to distract me so I couldn’t kill that monster.” He gritted his teeth, moving towards the door at a determined pace. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“Derek, it’s not Lydia!”

“How do you know that?” He spun around, his gaze was menacing, but he didn’t scare me anymore, “She failed the test, the kanima venom didn’t affect her. It has to be her.” He slammed the door of the depot open, walking out into the night with me hot on his heels.

“And what if it’s something else? You told Scott to trust his instincts and I trust mine, it’s not Lydia.”

“I’m doing this to keep you safe, keep them all safe. Isn’t that what you want?” There was a growl in his voice. I stopped following him, opting to get into my car and speed to Scott’s house.

I pounded on the front door when I got there, praying that they hadn’t completely padlocked the door yet. Stiles opened the door and pulled me inside, slamming the door shut behind me.

“I thought you were distracting Derek.” He whispered.

“I was. He saw through it.” I whispered back. Stiles looked out the window, a grim look on his face. I looked out the opposite window and saw Derek standing outside, with Boyd, Erica and Isaac behind him. I looked back and saw Allison standing in the hall.

“You need to tell Scott to get here right now.” I looked back on the window, reaching over and touching Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’s me. You need to get here right now.”

Allison was staring down at her phone, her other hand occupied with a small crossbow.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“I think...” She paused, “I think I have to call my dad.”

“Are you nuts?” I asked. I mean, what could the pack outside do without drawing the attention of the police, not much. Derek wouldn’t go that far... Or at least I hoped he wouldn’t.

“But if he finds you here, you and Scott-”

“I know.” She cut Stiles off, clearly frustrated, “But what are we supposed to do? They’re not here to scare us, they’re here to kill Lydia.” She said the last part a little quieter. Jackson and Lydia were upstairs doing... whatever it is exs did. I wouldn’t know, my ex was dead haha.... I wish there was therapy for people like me. Were there werewolf therapists?

After staring at the pack for a while, Stiles spoke up.

“I have an idea. Shoot one of ‘em.” Allison and I looked at him.

“Are you serious?” She asked.

“Stiles, if they get in, I’ll handle it.” I said, not really believing myself.

“You can’t take a whole pack by yourself. That’s literally impossible. I think.” He said, “We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it! Or at least give it a shot, right?”

“Okay.” She sighed.

“No, not okay, have you ever heard about how you’re not supposed to poke the sleeping bear. Shooting one of them would be like-like whacking a sleeping bear with a baseball bat.” I said, very not okay with the plan.

"They don't think we're gonna fight, one of them gets hit, guarantee you they'll take off. So just shoot one of them." Stiles said. In theory, yes. In practice, probably not.

She peeked out the window, "Which one?"

"Ummm...Derek. Yeah, shoot him. Preferably in the head."

“Stiles, are you trying to kill me?” I shoved him, having to pull my arm so I didn’t use my full strength. He yelped, holding his arm.

"If Scott's able to catch an arrow, Derek definitely can." Allison said, looking out the window.

"Okay, um, just shoot one of the other three then."

"You mean two." Stiles and I stared at her like she had three heads.

"I mean three." Stiles said. We smushed our cheeks together to look out the window at the same time. Isaac was missing.

“...Where the Hell is Isaac?" Stiles asked, looking around. Isaac had left his position besides Derek, probably when we were trying to figure out a plan.

“I’m gonna go protect Lydia.” I backed away from the door and ran upstairs, I got into the room right as I heard the crashing downstairs. Isaac had gotten in.

“Why are you here?” Lydia said, she breathing was quick and she was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Me?” I looked around, “Where the hell is Jackson?” I saw Scott’s open window. That slim ball ran at the first sign of danger. I grabbed her hand, pulling her into the bathroom. I closed the door quickly and locked it.

“What’s going on?” She whispered, tears falling down her face.

“Someone’s breaking in.” I lied, “Just stay quiet.” I put a finger to my lips. I could hear growling and shouting, a body being slamming into the door hard. I pressed my body against the door, hoping my body could keep it there.

“Hi-hi- I need the police.” I looked down, seeing Lydia on the phone with the cops. I groaned under my breath, blocking out her phone call to try and listen to what was going on outside.

“Stiles! It’s here!” I heard Allison shout. My eyes widened. The kanima. It was here, it wasn’t Lydia. I backed away from the door and started to unlock it.

“What are you doing?!” She shouted. I held out my hand.

“I’m gonna keep you safe. You have to trust me.” She stared at my hand, “Look, Stiles trusts me. And I know somewhere inside of your cold exterior you know Stiles would never let you get hurt. So if you don’t trust me, trust Stiles.” She stared a moment longer before taking my hand and pulling herself up.

“You will not mention this to him.” She huffed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I opened the door, leading Lydia through the house and out the front door. And when we got outside, I stared at all of them in confusion.

Isaac and Erica were both on the ground, Derek, Boyd, Scott, Allison, and Stiles were staring at the roof as police sirens were getting closer.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!” Lydia shouted.

"It's Jackson." Scott whispered. I stepped off the porch and looked at the roof, the kanima was on the roof, slithering just out of sight.

--------------

Read part 15 here!

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the-green-maiden · 4 years ago

Text

Supernatural Fair Fight Livestream Recap with timestamps

(based off of the notes I took while watching live. any errors are mine and not the fault of the cast or abrams)

21:01 Panel Starts. Misha introduces panel- Stacey Abrams, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padelecki, Erik Kripke, Berto the ASL interpreter.

21:02 Stacey Abrams talks about how she got into SPN. Talks about running for governor(?) in California(?), having trouble gathering support/campaign funds. On a particularly bad day, ends up watching SPN in her hotel room. Loves it, ends up watching the whole show after this. Quotes “Even if it’s hard we can’t stop” and “who else is going to do this” and talks about keeping going.

21:05 Kripke: “Wow”

Ackles: “That’s one of the most beautiful interpretations of what we do, how we tell the story.”

21:06 Kripke: “Grateful we could provide inspiration”

21:07 JarPad: *reiterates above* joke about how “Kripke’s writing is questionable at best.”

21:08 Misha: “The reason we tell stories is to inspire people” creates an allegory about the ‘invisible enemy’ of voter suppression with the invisible enemy trope common in storytelling. “As we made the show, we were taking inspiration from [Abrams]”

21:09 Kripke asks Abrams to tell more about Fair Fight

21:09 Abrams talks about a secretary of state(?) [whose name I didn’t catch but who JPad refers to as ‘Lucifer”] who was in charge of voter registries in Georgia who wrongfully removed thousands of voters from lists, closed essential polling locations, and prevented people from voting, which disproportionately impacted POC and youth voters, and led to 8+ hour wait times in remaining locations. Abrams tells of how her and FF acted to fix this and change the whole system for the better. “If this becomes about politicians, no one is going to care, but when it becomes about people’s [list of basic rights and essential services]...” “...Patriotic belief that democracy means that if you’re eligible to vote, you get to be heard. Fair Fight is committed to ensuring that every voter in the US has the right to vote, and we are pretty good at it.”

21:16 Misha voices concerns about Trump’s attempts to make the 2020 vote counts seem unreliable.

21:17 Abrams gives an in-depth history of voter suppression in the US, committed by both parties at various times, including restrictions on mail-in votes, ID laws, and something about the voting rights act.

21:18 A bunch more panelists join in, including Jake Abel, Felicia Day, and a number of other SPN cast members.

21:19 Abrams says that in Texas a gun license is a valid id to vote, but a college id is not. “Everyone should get to participate, not just the chosen.” Mentions that she has not seen the final 3 episodes yet, request no spoilers until she logs out.

21:22 Kripke thanks Abrams for her political work.

21:22 Felicia Day says she was very excited to meet Abrams at Dragon Con.

21:33 Misha and Kripke try to move panel along to comply with Abrams limited time availability.

21:24 Rachel Miner “We all admire you [Abrams], you’re our hero.”

21:25 JPad gives a long speech thanking Abrams that was too fast to write down verbatim. “It’s important that everyone have their own voice” says it’s an honor to meet Abrams.

21:26 Bob Singer asks a question about Purdue(?) not showing up to a debate.

21:27 Abrams gives a detailed answer about swing states, swing voters, the lack of swing voters in Georgia, and the relatively small impact that Purdue(?) missing a debate would have on his numbers. Long speech about mail-in voting.

21:29 Sebastian Roche asks a question about run-off votes. Abrams answers.

21:30 Rachel Miner asks a question about voter registration descrimination against people w foreign names.

21:31 Abrams talks about how this has happened and what Fair Fight is doing to combat it, and how Fair Fight’s legal actions have managed to significantly reduce the amount of mail-in ballots thrown out for having difficult to understand names on them.

21:33 Shoshanna Stern thanks Abrams for her efforts in making voting more disability accessible.

21:34 Abrams answers, gives more info on the subject and the importance of having accessible voting locations.

21:36 Jim Beaver says it’s wonderful to be able to talk to Abrams, etc.

21:37 Abrams realizes her time has just about run out, and says thank yous and good byes. Mentions that tomorrow is her birthday. Multiple members of the cast wish her a happy birthday. More goodbyes from everyone, and thank yous to and from Abrams. Abrams exits call.

21:39 Kripke and Misha encourage people to donate to FF

21:41 Misha and Jensen rib each other, joke about an open bar.

21:41 Misha “Now we’re just going to waste your time for half an hour now that she’s gone”

21:42 Curtis Armstrong tells a short story about his mother, who was a voter activist in Detroit and Switzerland, and how nice it was to see Abrams talk.

21:43 Trivia intro. Multiple jokes made at the same time about state capitals.

21:44 Jim Beaver “When my kid was 7, I asked her the capital of Vermont and she said V”

21:44 Kripke asks semi-serious question about what JPad wore as protection in the ball-crusher Japanese game show scene in Changing Channels.

21:45 JPad “A thimble. A mini-thimble. No, a cup.” says something else about the cup.

21:46 Ackles “Our special effects team likes to go above and beyond”

21:46 JPad comments about real fear in that scene

21:46 Misha tries to get trivia back on track. “Without powers, what does Dean say Cas is?”

------[Baby in a trenchcoat]

“Other name of the Impala?”

Julie McNiven guesses “A special place”. Someone calls out “baby”

-----[Metallicar]

“Name of Sam and Jess’s friend who goes with them to the bar in the pilot?”

Even JPad, who was in the scene, does not know. Kripke comments that it was named after an irl friend of his from Tiuanna, named LUIS.

“5 works Kripke ripped off for SPN?”

Everyone guessing at once, including: Animal House, On The Road, Good Omens, Constantine, Star Wars, and several others.

“What herpes medication does Sam have to do a commercial for?”

[Herpexia]

21:52 JPad and Julie rib each other about herpes meds, and argue whether the term is prescription or subscription for medication. One of them brings up the example of having a subscription to dog food.

21:52 Jake Abel “What if your dog has herpes?”

Misha “I only hope that Stacey Abrams has tuned in”

Seb makes another joke about state capitals, then asks JPad the capital of Albania.

Jared has no idea, guesses ‘new albania’

Seb “Tirana” talks about having lived on a boat, presumably near Albania.

Rob Benedict: “Thanks for tuning in”

Bob Singer asks who knows the story of Seb getting a massage at VAncouver airport.

Jared (paraphrased) “We all fly through Vancouver airport a lot. Just past security there’s a massage place [with the chairs where you face the floor].” One day JPad and Ackles went through security and saw Seb getting a massage. They go over, convince the masseuse [who knows them all at this point] to let JPad take over. Seb does not notice, despite the fact that the masseuse is a small woman and JPad is holding his hands weird to try to make them smaller. JPad says he put his hands down Seb’s back and up his shirt, and Seb still did not notice, just making a noise and saying ‘very nice’. JPad gets as far as groping Seb’s ass before Seb notices anything is up. This is still the middle of a busy airport.

21:58 Seb “It was strangely sensual. Thank you, Robert, for bringing that up.” “I was perturbed for the whole flight back.”

Ackles “Another highbrow story”

Seb “It’s really fun being on that set. It really is” Claims they are also serious sometimes, to which there is laughter in response.

Ackles “It going to be like that on The Boys, Krip?”

Kripke “No massages to completion”

Seb “Wait there was no completion”

Krip “Saw photos of [Ackles’s] supersuit today”

Multiple jokes from several people about Ackle costume for The Boys being assless, crotchless, entirely made of paint, and cowboy-themed.

22:01 Misha “time for about 5 minutes of outtakes”

Someone jokes about adding ‘give Seb a massage’ as a donation tier.

Misha thanks the fans, says he loves and misses all the cast. Asks Rob B to sing.

22:02 Rob B “tune into my radio show” [for singing]

22:03 Misha announced that $225,000 has been raised for charity so far in the stream.

More thank yous from everyone to everyone, including the zoom team.

22:04 Seb “Vote out Mitch McConnel:

Jensen “Such as British accent to tell us who to vote for”

Seb “I’m half French half Scottish”

Jensen and Seb joke about scottish and french alcohols, and how they can’t be mixed.

22:05 Kripke thanks the fans for 15 years. Everyone else joins in on thanking fans for 15 years.

Jake Abel “There was a big gap in there for me somewhere”

Seb asks if Jake was in the first season.

22:06 Jake “3rd, 5, and 15”

Seb gives long thank you speech.

Jensen talks about how the cast is sticking together “This group is not being dispersed”...”I take comfort in knowing this” jokes that they’re stuck together whether they like it or not.

Misha “Like herpes”

Felicia “Genital or otherwise”

22:07 gag reel begins, including Misha’s ‘on-camera finger, Jensen falling off a chair “furniture could use some work”, Jensen failing to pick a lock for a very long time and Jared asking ‘Cas” to open it, Jensen saying ‘hail misha’ instead of ‘hail mary’, Misha failing to keep a straight face while looking at Alex Calvert, Jensen eating something too hot(?), and more that someone has probably already uploaded in full anyway.

21:13 stream ends.

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pjstafford · 4 years ago

Text

Letter to The Truly Like Lightning Book Club

I’m a person who likes to write, but I know I sometimes make spelling or grammatical mistakes which annoy people. I apologize in advance.

I do tend to be pretty open and honest about my feelings and I do feel deeply.

I kind of like social media to be upbeat and positive. I don’t really like to knock it too much when it isn’t. What’s the point!? Social Interaction between humans is sometimes problematic no matter what form it takes.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When it is triggered I have a flight response. On Twitter that means making my Twitter footprint smaller. I want to be smaller to protect myself. Yesterday, though, it seemed like I was being told that as small as my footprint had gotten, I wasn’t small enough. What do I do now? How small can I go before I’m gone.

I truly don’t know where to go with something that is not a life threatening problem, not a rocket science issue, but is a little thing about a book club. I believe it was The Who who sang this is not a social crisis, but just another tricky day for you. This morning is a Tricky day. I am really wondering...

Do we cancel the book club?

Do we have a steering committee to organize it differently?

Do we go off twitter?

Do we have a different facilitator?

Should I leave social media, maybe shave my head and take a vow of silence?

How I feel about this is extremely foolish and really desperately sad with just a smidge of anger.

I feel foolish because I thought the book club was going really, really well. I have loved the discussion. It has deepened my understanding of the book which I already enjoyed. It’s been fun. Imagine my surprise to find out there are issues. The sad and angry piece is a little complicated. So let me put the issues out first since that is what the club needs to discuss today. This is the fourth book club I have facilitated on Twitter. It has been my most pleasant experience until today. Every club has been formatted exactly the same. Apparently this one might need some restructuring.

1. When is the appropriate amount of time following a book’s publication to allow to pass before doing a public book club where people who may not be in the book club could still see the discussion? People who might read the book in the future or had started the book and wasn’t as far along might have spoilers. It’s a valid concern, but Twitter isn’t known for being a spoiler free zone. If a program drops on the East Coast two hours before my time, before I can watch spoilers exist on Twitter. However this book dropped February 2 and we waited until March 1st to begin the book club. We have a # but when people respond they don’t always use the #. Also some people don’t follow me and they are not part of the book club but because people retweet the questions they were showing up on people’s timeline when they didn’t want them there. So the compromise we arrived at was no body can retweet any question or response and every response must have the #. I’m still confused, though, about the rules. Movies/television =immediate spoilers acceptable, books= a month to six weeks is too soon. I was told it’s not a matter of rules but being nice. Ok. I want to be nice but what is the appropriate time because sometimes I don’t read a book for years? If we postpone the book club for six months, a year, three years, thirty? With the compromise reached, why do I care? Because why are we being so quiet and circumspect about a book I think people ought to know about and read. Sometimes social media helps create a buzz. What a shame that a book club that is reading the book critically and in depth is, to some degree, being told to not be so loud because, you know, Twitter is a spoiler free zone. To be clear, I think the persons who raise the concerns did so for legitimate reasons and out of concerns for future readers of the book, but when we talk about the reasons I am sad and angry you will see why this upset me we much. it’s not their fault but I responded poorly and I’m still coming down from my PTSD spiral.

2. Perhaps, the problem is that Twitter isn’t the appropriate forum for a book club. Maybe Discord or private messages or zoom. Yes. This is the fourth book club I’ve hosted on Twitter. I was asked in March last year if I would start a book club due to quarantine. They’ve all been successful so far. Why do I feel so silenced? Again I don’t think the person who suggested this meant anymore than oh, let’s solve the spoiler problem. But I have a particular reason for not wanting to be silenced.

3. Some people have read the full book already and want to talk about the book in its entirety. I see that. I really do. I just have never had a book club like that. That means waiting longer. Some people like the chapter a day. Should we do multiple book clubs ?

4. Are the questions too serious? The subject matter is complex. Would a different facilitator be more appropriate? One who wouldn’t highlight the controversial and serious issues!

Why am I sad and a little angry? Why did my PTSD kick in outside of it being a bad year and a stressful time at work and I’m tired? Haven’t had a day off I a long while. (No complaints I have a job). I’m tired.

April 2017 I started the Twitter account @hearteyes4david. I had help but it was mostly me. I kind of love David Duchovny’s writing. I have blogged about it and have said someday he will have a break out novel. I believe Truly Like Lightning should be it. But the account showed love for all things David and I believe it gave some fans some fun. I enjoyed being a part of it. We had newsletters and contests. But for me, I an first and foremost a fan of David’s writing. I write. I admire writers. His writing should not be diminished by his other careers. In March of last year with the lock down I was asked to facilitate a Miss Subways book club, then the lock down went on so we did his other two books. Twitter and hearteyes have been my happy place in this year. It’s hard when your happy place feels threatening.

I was fortunate enough to get an advance digital copy of the book to read. Wow. Different! Great! It is not because I am 😍. This is one of the best books I’ve read this century. I am an avid reader. I have a critical eye. I wrote a spoiler free review. Almost immediately a fan contacted me. Because of spoilers you shouldn’t have posted this. Why don’t you do a DM for those who are interested? Don’t do spoilers. It’s a spoiler free review. This fan continued to tell me that it would be best not to post about the book. ( you know, spoilers). Then fans who had not read the book but knew for a fact that every other page was full of sex scenes and drugs and it was essentially exactly like Californication (not remotely) started saying nothing should be posted on the 😍 page about this book. Then a fan who hadn’t read it complained about how it handled religion and said it would cause her personal pain to see anything about this book on the 😍 page. I kept saying. I actually don’t care if you read it or not. My suggestion is you mute, block or unfollow the account if you don’t like the content. “But the pain, could we at least not do the book club? “. 🥺🥺🥺. I was convinced that rather than have the controversy on the 😍 page I would choose to leave my happy place account I had created to start a small account and my fan related activities became far more focused. It might not seem like much, but the decision to leave 😍 was hard, but I wanted to talk about this book. These aren’t the only reasons but the three pronged fans really angry at me for a book I didn’t write which wasn’t even published yet was challenging during the holiday season of 2020. I made my Twitter footstep smaller. I passed the account to Charmion who is doing great.

So then I waited till March to talk about the book. In the meantime “fans” who hadn’t read the book, immediately started to spread lies and mistruths about the book including selective out of context screen shots. So much for “Spoilers”. Still I waited until March. So now I have a smaller account followed by 100 people which very few “super fans” know about and about 5-7 of us are talking about this book. That’s it. For 18 days we have discussed the difficult, complex flawed characters and how the book demonstrates that these characters actions caused harm to other characters and yet left us with empathy for all. We have not always agreed. It’s a book club. Reading one chapter a day.

Yet somehow we are too loud. My tweets were being retweeted. You know, have to be concerned about spoilers. Were there 15 hate filled tweets from people who shared screen caps they were sent of random out of context paragraphs, people who proudly say they haven’t read the book, don’t need to, they’re experts, 15 for every one of mine. Of course. But I’m too loud. You know. Spoilers

So I am sad. Desperately so. I walked away from an account I had poured a lot of love into because I believed in a book I wanted to talk about. After being pretty involved in the fandom, my current activities are pretty narrowed. I’m not sure I can continue to facilitate the book club. I guess my days involved in “fandom” outside of being a fan are drawing to a close. My happy place is kind of gone.

I’m angry because this book deserves to be critically read on its merits. I’m angry because I don’t like my voice to be silenced. I’m angry because I think there are fans who actually like the book who are in fact concerned about spoilers, but they don’t realize by silencing or at least quieting the discussion of fans who have read and want to discuss the book, they are only allowing the space for the haters voices to be heard. I’m angry at myself because every step of the way I should have handle this differently. I’m angry because I shouldn’t care so much. It’s not a Jan 6 insurrection, climate change, or world peace. It’s a book by an author who don’t need me to fight these battles.

Finally I’m simply confused about where or what to do. With an account of 100 followers some people who don’t follow me think I’m too loud because I’m posting about something they don’t want on their feed (David’s book) and someone might repost me. Because I feel threaten by people telling me too get smaller my response is to try and get smaller. So I shouldn’t post about David’s book because there are people in he fandom who don’t want to see posts about David’s book. Ok. I should come on Twitter and never interact because that way no one will ever see a post from me they don’t want to see🤷‍♀️. Mercy, I’m on a lobbyist, have you guys seen the political stuff I post on my other account? Yep, probably just the fandom stuff I need to walk away from except for, you know, being a fan, but never discussing it.

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hazbinextgeneration · 4 years ago

Text

Into The Casino Ch8

A silence fell onto the three in the car. Those seemingly glowing red eyes calmly met her own worry filled purple ones. The fact that he was so calm in his reply was scary enough as it is but that's not what scared her most, it's the fact his answer was that nothing down there was free. Which meant he wanted something from her- He leaned forward slightly and held out a hand to her. "How about a story in exchange?" She stared back...Well, wasn't expecting that. He chuckled at the confusion on her face. "Oh come now. You can't blame me for being the tiniest bit curious, after all you only gave a small drabble to the entire tale?" "...E-Excatly what story?" She got a bad gut feeling at his laugh.

"Yours of course. I can't help but wonder how a pure little thing like you could possible anger a Goddess so much that you'd end up in a chaotic place like this." His smile widened as he saw the suspicious look on her face. "You can't blame me for asking. I have to know everything about the ones I employ, as an employer you should know that the ones I hire also reflect on my company." Her suspicious look faltered a bit. I mean, technically that was true. You wouldn't want to come back somewhere where you didn't like the people working there, and it didn't sound like he was anything but curious. Then again you could never know with things like this. Would something bad happen if she didn't say anything? Would it be unwise to say anything at all? Try to change the subject? Looking back to those blood red eyes, she decided to play It safe and go for something in the middle. "W-What's there to know?" She straightened up and attempted to brush it off like her death wasn't really anything important with a shrug. "My stupid consort killed the beloved pet of a God, he lost everything and I being the oh so engaged lady at the time got d-dragged into it all!" Whoops! Mistake one. Showing emotions. That last few words seemed to get some emotion into her. Because right now she was staring at the floor and it almost looked like she was about to cry. His brow rose and he hummed at the mixture of anger and sorrow in her features, well this was a surprise turn of events. Now wasn't it? It was interesting to see something other than just intimidation or fear on those little features. Don't get him wrong. It was glorious to see such traits he could mold to his use, but it would get tiring if he couldn't get some resistance out of her after all. Where would the fun be then or the glory? An easy win was nice but a rewarding one was much better satisfying.~ He calmly hummed and leaned back into his seat. A fake uninterest coming over him with a shrug. "Lots of lovers doom their spouses down here. It's a sad but common story amongst the crowd...but of course-" His eyes flashed an underlining tone. "Not many people can clam the tragity of the romantic tale gone wrong. Most go on with their new strengths gained from it." "I don't have anything like that." Mistake number two. Admitting you're weak in the presence of a stronger demon. She had just unintentionally admitted she wasn't very strong willed or at least didn't have much magic to begin with. Which was exactly what he was hoping she would say. Internally he smiled, but on the outside he gave a very convincing surprised look. To which cyber smiled and rolled her eyes at as she silently continued to watch play out. Oh Lou, such the actor. "On come now. Surely you must be mistaken. A thing like you must have some remarkable talent if you survived this long down here." Without looking up she just shrugged and leaned back into the seat. "Not really. All I can do is teleport and explode when Im scared enough, not like it's even useful." His smile slowly returned. "But...It has killed before? Right?" She shrugged again. "Only a few times, haven't been out long enough to keep count." Mistake number three. She had unintentionally made herself the target of another demon's sights. Whether or not dangerous doesn't matter. His smile came back in full swing. OH! What a naïve little delight this was, and WHAT a convenience for him. He would have to remember to thank whatever good luck sent this opportunity his way because this was more delicious than any drug he could possibly eat! Cyber must've been reading his thoughts because she smiled along with the obvious thought plastered all over his face. POWER!! He could gain control over the entire neighborhood with this new tool by his side, all those angry faces of the ones who dared to ever threaten him, turning into ones of fear. Begging for mercy before they would be forever be turned into piles of DUST!! "Lou?" His attention was snapped back to the smaller demon next to him who was nudging him in his side. Cyber nodded her head towards the open car door and he realized they had stopped driving. "We're home." ******************************************************************************* Music blared about around the club and idiots danced and partied to it. He never really did like the whole setting of drunken morons dancing or the flashy lights, or the shady looking people in the corner who would stop and stare you down if you even looked like if you were eaves dropping on your conversations. But the pay was good and his husband worked here. So in some ways the pros outweighed the cons in his opinion, but being Rita's little errand runner all the time definitely wasn't what he signed up for when he agreed to this whole manager position. And he also ran into his most hated person in hell so now that made his day a million times worse. They carried the bags through the tight nit crowd and towards the employee's only door behind the bar. The door was pushed open and the two made their way in. "It's about time you two showed up. What took you so long?" "Shut up, Jasper! I had enough of today as it is." He growled to the lazy demon laying on the lounge's couch and headed towards the table in the corner. Throwing the bags onto it and heading to the employee's fridge above it. His partner being more cool headed watched with a raised brow as Charles helped himself to the canned ice tea in the back. At least he wouldn't have to worry about him getting drunk and angry today. "What crawled up your skull and died this time?" "Can it, Jasper. He's not in the mood." The demon mumbled 'When is he ever' but sank back down into the couch, rolling his eyes, he glanced back to Charles who was downing one of the tea cans. "Babe. Take it easy on those. Last time you spit some out of your eye socket." The can was slammed back to the table and the ghost skeleton slumped onto the table. "I can't help it. You know what I think about him. I don't care what Rita says, Im going to kill him one of these days." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Him who? He paused and looked around. Ans smiled. "Well speak of the demoness. Hiya Bosslady." The small lady standing there gave them both a raised brow and he shrugged and leaned back onto the table. "Got your stuff. Don't mind the 'extra baggage' we brought along." Rita smiled amused at him and sashayed her way over to his side, grabbing one of the bags as she did and bringing it down to peer inside. "I trust there wasn't any trouble?" "No." "Yes!" She peered back up at Charles with a questioning look and he gave a small growl. "Horrible wilted leaf." "Oh, it's just Lou again." She tutted and looked back to the bag in her grip. Honestly Charles could be such a drama queen about the whole thing. Even just mentioning the plant demon around him was enough to- excuse the term- rattle his bones for the rest of the week. Which happened fairly often if she wasn't mistaken. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time than just mope on him?" "She's right. Cheer up, Baby." He gave the skeleton a playful shove which earned him an annoyed glare. "Oh come on.~ Don't be like that. Could be worse. You could've ended up with a furry fetish like plant boy." That one earned him a couple chuckles from his husband finally, making him smile wider. "See! I knew you could do it." "Furry fetish?" Rita gave him a questioning look before chuckling and pulling one of the more expensive looking clothes out of her bag. "So he finally convinced...oh what's her name- Midnight to fall for him. Heh. Ever persistant." "No actually...Well I don't know, but that's not what I was talking about." Rita giving him a 'What do you mean' look made him shrug before continuing. "Looks like he got a new toy ta mess with. Don't know what he's gonna do this time though. Mostly horse around. hehe." "Really?" Interest peeked in her voice. Well of course this wasn't any of her business, the opportunity to snoop around and get a leg up on her frenemy-.....rival was always too good to pass up. Besides, it was always fun to tease him and get under his skin given the chance. A smile curled on her lips. "Oh. Well he wanted an answer from me anyways. Maybe it's time I do a little wellness check on his place." "Are you sure it's just not to see the lovebug-" "SHUT UP, JASPER!!"

All characters except Amalfia belongs to @palettepainter

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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MTMTE #21: The Sound of Breaking Glass, a prose story- James Did, in Fact, Put That Baby in That Robot

It’s after the fight with Tyrest and his goons, but before Cyclonus stabs Tailgate with a sword for medical purposes. The portal has stopped working, Skids isn’t making any sense, and Rodimus is about to do one of the scariest things you can do as an adult person.

He’s going to make several business-related phone calls.

Perceptor trying to be funny is the oddest take I’ve seen in a bit. I was completely unaware that he had a sense of humor.

Rodimus is looking pretty rough from that nonsense he pulled in the space-crucifix, but he doesn’t want to bother Ratchet, since Tailgate’s still looking like he’s gonna bite it at this point. Besides he’s still got work to do- he fully intends on getting the space bridge back in working order.

The bridge, unfortunately, isn’t making it easy for him; thing’s falling apart and bursting into flames at random intervals.

Rodimus wants to make the last few days at least somewhat worthwhile, a sentiment that Minimus catches onto, and doesn’t seem to agree with. What would it mean, if they were able to say “well, Tailgate, half a religious order, and the concept of trust in the law are dead, but at least we got to finish off our road trip in record time!”? Food for thought, Minimus, I’ll give you that.

Brainstorm runs through the room like a maniac, over the metaphorical moon about something, as he interrupts the conversation. Once he’s gone, Minimus asks about his outer shell, I guess because he feels naked without it. As he collects his belongings, Rodimus brings up their earlier conversation, and reaffirms that he wants to make up for what’s happened. Minimus acknowledges his words, but doesn’t really offer anything in return.

Back over on the Lost Light, we get subjected to a title drop.

Rung is meeting Fort Max in the hollowed-out remains of Swerve’s, because his office is full of corpses. This is a sort-of continuation of their conversation in the brig, where Rung forgave Fort Max for being a big part of why he got shot. They have a brief discussion about where Max’s head is at, and whether or not he’s ready to get back into the workforce after the nightmare hellscape that was Garrus-9. Rung seems to think that the fact that Fort Max is considering his mental health in the first place is a good sign, and offers his services should he be needed.

Too bad they’re going to have to tele-con, since Fort Max is being sent off the ship for his new job.

Over at Rodimus’ office, Rodimus considers hiring Atomizer to redecorate his pad- even though they seem to have very similar tastes when it comes to paintjobs- because he just isn’t feeling the sick flames and hot pink interior anymore.

I see Rodimus is taking the “no fun allowed” route to personal growth. Wonder how long that’ll last.

He has a think about the last conversation he had with Drift before he threw him off the ship, the memory laced with “Overlord murdered a lot of people because of me” guilt. Drift hadn’t been thrilled about the prospect of Rodimus’ inquiry, and made that much known, then volunteered to be the scapegoat. Rodimus hated this idea, horrified by the idea of letting Drift take the fall for him, after all the work he’d put in to try and be liked by people after the whole “Deadlock” thing.

Then Drift revealed that he’s got another reason for not letting Rodimus get kicked off the ship.

Back at Swerve’s, the man himself has made an appearance, interrupting the meeting between Rung and Fort Max, and proceeding to make a fool of himself by way of slapstick. It’s okay though, because he’s too high on actually feeling good about himself for once in his miserable life to feel physical pain.

Rodimus more or less insinuated this exact idea back in issue #17, and it made him so upset he was about to close his bar completely down over it. Good to see our robot Pagliacci bouncing back so nicely.

Brainstorm enters the scene like a vengeful spirit, and I guess Rung and Fort Max just disappear into the aether as he has a little chat with Swerve. Turns out that someone went and took a peek inside the super-secret, possibly-sun-destroying briefcase Brainstorm keeps on his person at all times, and he wants to know who. It was probably a little easier to swing than usual, given that Brainstorm had given up the springs on the clasps of the thing to help break everyone out of moon jail, and he probably had to take at least a little time to recover from his soul halfway evaporating out of his eyes.

Swerve makes a joke, because he has a lot of trouble handling serious situations, then we get confirmation that Brainstorm kidnapped a fucking zygote from the moon.

Brainstorm has a baby inside him.

James, I’m begging you, we can’t keep doing this.

Later, Ratchet’s checking on Tailgate after his stabbing/stabbing repair/cybercrosis cure injection.

Swerve what the FUCK do you think you’re doing with that medical biowaste?

Minimus comes in, looking very silly, as he’s having a heck of a time putting the Magnus Armor back on.

Minimus would like some help getting dressed, and, because clothes for space robots seem to skew more towards body parts than anything else, he’s come to the best doctor on the Lost Light.

(Nobody tell First Aid I said that. I fear his wrath.)

Ratchet is surprisingly handy with the Armor, and it’s revealed that he’s known about Ultra Magnus actually being a completely different, much smaller guy, since the very start.

As in, when Tyrest first started pulling this nonsense.

He didn’t say anything to anyone because he didn’t see the point, then lets Minimus know that he’s his favorite, which gives him a much-needed ego-boost. Minimus wanders off to go put the rest of his clothes on, leaving Ratchet to pull a body out of the morgue that isn’t dead.

Later, on Luna 1, we get to see Rodimus get bummed out about the baby moon not flaring back up. It’s not for lack of trying- he’s crawling around on the ground, rubbing his face in the dirt, all while Getaway watches- but it doesn’t seem like the babies are coming back. Getaway thinks it’s weird that it just kinda turned off, but then again this wasn’t exactly a typical situation, now was it? He tries igniting the Hot Spot himself, planting the first seed of his primus apotheosis diagnosis years from now, then asks our dear captain what’s next on the agenda.

Rodimus, saddened by the loss of literally a billion lives, shakes out his pocket onto the ground.

Don’t worry, the Matrix was in there, so it was totally respectful of the dead. Fort Max rides up, playfully threatening to arrest Rodimus for littering, and we finally get to know what his new career path is.

Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord.

Also, he brought a friend.

Red Alert, jumping right back into his work, has decided to stay with Fort Max on Luna 1, to chase bad guys and help the Circle of Light recover/prepare for attack. Then he tells Rodimus to turn his phone back on, because Perceptor’s been trying to call him for a while now.

Back at Tyrest’s sweet digs, Perceptor’s gotten the communications system working, and is ready to call Cybertron. Cybertron, who probably thinks they all died back in issue #1, despite Blaster’s best efforts in issue #13 and #15. Blaster did not help with this project, probably because he was busy getting his tiddy compartment fixed.

Perceptor dials, everyone wonders what Bumblebee’s been up to, they get their hopes up, and we get one hell of a reveal for anyone who hasn’t been following along with the sister series up to this point.

Ah, that’s right, I’ve got to do a lightning round for RID, don’t I?

In the Postscript of this prose story, we meet Outrigger, a member of the Circle of Light who will be established as a big honkin’ dork the more we learn about him. He’s just run into Red Alert’s office to tell him about Tyrest having moved. This is a very odd occurrence indeed, as Tyrest was shot in the spine, and should not be able to move.

The two of them head over to where Tyrest is being held, only to find he’s disappeared from a locked room.

Well, shit.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #mtmte #remain in light #issue 21 #the sound of breaking glass #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

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wherepoetswentodie · 4 years ago

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This is a thing I’m working on that will not see the light of day for ages because I feel guilty for being bad at updating and also this seems to be the only thing my brain likes to write at the minute so

----

Connor McKinley did not see the point in health class, virtual baby dolls (that might have been possessed by Satan himself, or at least a close friend) and going to BYU in the fall. What he was going to do, however, was go to health class, look after a virtual baby doll (that might have been possessed by Satan himself, or at least a close friend) and pretend he was going to BYU when (if) his parents asked, but actually get into the University of Michigan.

But as he sat in health class - a class of six people, so he wasn’t sure it could even be called a class - he was beginning to think that maybe he’d prefer to be at BYU. Which may or may not have been a death sentence for him. He had never quite worked out how homophobic it really was and hoped that he never would have to.

“Do you think this teacher is ever going to turn up?” Nabulungi, his best friend and ‘girlfriend’ when his aunties were curious, asked.

“I hope not,” Connor sighed, “I don’t trust babies,”

“They’re not real babies,”

“Somehow that makes it worse,”

He glanced around the class, trying to remember if anyone there had ever thrown homophobic abuse his way. Chris Thomas and James Church definitely hadn’t, considering they were his best friends and Chris was practically sat in James’ lap. He looked towards the back of the room and immediately groaned, shocked that he hadn’t heard Arnold Cunningham before he’d seen him. Or maybe his best friend, and unfortunately attractive republican, Kevin Price had finally worked out how to keep him quiet.

Connor might have actually tried to talk to him if it weren’t for the fact that his dad was the (incredibly homophobic) Governor of Utah

“Arnold Cunningham is in this class,” Connor muttered to Nabulungi who immediately brightened up and turned around to grin at him.

“He’s cute,” she whispered.

“No.” Connor said, “Nabulungi. No. Don’t. No. Don’t even look at me. I can’t believe - him? You think he’s cute?”

Nabulungi rolled her eyes and suddenly had a coughing fit that sounded an awful lot like “Steve Blade,”. Connor tutted and turned back to the front of class, if not just so he could pretend that his best friend didn’t have a crush on Arnold Cunningham of all people. He thought that he’d be able to deal with her liking Kevin, and that would probably come with a healthy dosage of hate crimes for all involved.

“You know if the teacher doesn’t turn up in 15 minutes we’re legally allowed to leave,” Arnold piped up.

Connor rolled his eyes and Nabulungi had the nerve to laugh and turn around to talk to him. Deciding that he should try and stop her before things got too serious, Connor turned around, only to lock eyes with Kevin who was looking between Nabulungi and Arnold like he’d never seen them before. Or maybe he was just shocked that someone was actually showing interest in Arnold. Perhaps he was just glad to find someone who might take Arnold off his hands. Connor had never really understood why the two of them were friends.

“You know Naba likes Arnold?” Connor whispered to Chris and James.

James frowned at him, “Who do you think she was out with when she couldn’t come out with us last weekend?”

Connor gaped at him, “Seriously? Are they - Are they dating?”

“I hate you,” Chris said, “Do you ever listen to any of us? That was their first date!”

“I thought she was joking,” Connor muttered, slumping in his seat and trying to block out the sounds of his best friend flirting with someone who dressed up as Luke Skywalker when he went to Comic-Con.

God, he hoped that Nabulungi wasn’t going to start going to Comic-Con with him. He was pretty sure that he’d have to stage an intervention. A little bit like the one that she had staged for Chris after his sugar addiction had stopped being a cute personality trait and had become a genuine health concern.

“Did you ask me to take this class because of Arnold?” Connor asked quietly.

“No, I asked you because someone needed another class to graduate or someone won’t be tap dancing around Michigan next year,”

“Are you going to Michigan, buddy? So’s Kevin!” Arnold said excitedly.

Connor froze and turned around to look at Kevin, who’s eyes were also wide, “University of Michigan or Michigan State?”

“University of Michigan,” Kevin said quietly, “You?”

“Same,” Connor mumbled, “I’m guessing you’re not doing musical theatre?”

“Probably economics. Or business. Or whatever else it is republicans do,” Chris said, “Oppress minorities?”

Before Kevin could argue back, presumably to tell them that he wasn’t going to be majoring in oppressing minorities because Connor didn’t think that was a valid major (if it was, he was definitely going to the wrong university), the door opened and their teacher, Mr. Name-Connor-Couldn’t- Be -Bothered- To- Learn walked in.

And even though Connor wasn’t going to bother to learn his name, he was thankful that he was their teacher. He was old, and retiring that year, which meant that he was long passed caring about actually teaching and would most likely pass them all without even looking over any of their work. They had basically signed up for another free period, and Connor was already planning on using this hour to work on his book and maybe even convince James to take some new headshots for him. Surely looking after a fake baby doll wasn’t going to be that hard. There was probably an off button that Connor was more than prepared to utilise.

“Get in pairs,” the teacher grumbled at them, “I don’t care who,”

Connor turned to Nabulungi with the intent to ask if she would grant him the honour of being the mother of his baby, just as she turned to Arnold to ask if he would be the father of her baby. He watched in horror as Arnold gleefully nodded his head and proceeded to stand behind Connor’s chair in a way that he understood meant ‘Please move’.

“Chris,” Connor said quickly, “Wanna-”

“No can do, buddy!” Chris said brightly, “Price needs a partner though,”

“I hate you both,” Connor told them before sitting in the seat that Arnold had previously.

The fact that Kevin didn’t seem all too excited about their predicament didn’t make Connor feel much better. Sure, he didn’t want to partnered with Kevin, but that was because he didn’t want to work with a raging homophobe and Kevin probably didn’t want to be partnered with him because he didn’t want to work with a raging homosexual.

Not that Connor really thought that he was a raging homosexual, but he had long since learned that homophobic republicans (Governor Price sprang to mind), didn’t see a difference between the tiny pride pin that Connor dared pin to his jackets and the Drag Queens that worked in gay bars. It was oddly progressive, in a way.

“Can you at least pretend to not hate me?” Kevin asked, “It’s not my fault Arnold’s dating your best friend,”

Connor rolled his eyes, “Can you actually not hate me? It’s not my fault I’m gay,”

Kevin glared at him for a second before he stood up to go and grab a baby off Mr. What's-His-Face’s desk. He completely bypassed the lone ginger baby in favour of one with dark hair, which Connor took as the first hate crime of the project. Perhaps he could do a second, smaller project on the side where he kept a tally of how many hate crimes Kevin committed over the next week.

And when Mr. Name-Connor-Really-Should-Learn told them that they would have to stay over at each other's houses in an attempt to really drive home the experience of parenthood, Connor predicted that the final total of hate crimes would be a lot.

“Sir?” Kevin said, sticking his hand in the air, “Why do we have to stay at each other's houses?”

“Because, Callum, we don’t want to encourage single parenthood,”

“My names Kevin,” he said impatiently, “But you’ll encourage gay parenthood?”

“He didn’t mean it like that!” Arnold said quickly, turning around to glare furiously at his best friend, “He just - He meant...He meant from like a Mormon point of view,”

“So still a homophobic point of view?” James asked lightly, “I’m not gonna sit and listen to him whilst he constantly attacks who I am!”

“I wasn’t attacking you,” Kevin snapped, “I’m just - my dad would-”

“-kill us all given the chance?” Chris said.

“My dad wouldn’t like it if he knew!” Kevin said quickly.

“Don’t tell him, Corey. What do you think he’s gonna do? Kill you?” Mr. Connor-Wanted-To-Say-Brown said, “You’re practically an adult, sort it out yourself,”

Connor sighed and slumped in his chair, glaring down at his desk. He wasn’t sure what was worse; spending a week with Kevin at his own house with his homophobic parents, or spending a week with Kevin and his homophobic parents at their house. Both seemed equally as bad and a very good excuse to throw himself in front of the school bus.

“You’re not staying at my house,” Kevin said quickly.

“Cute that you think I want to stay there,” Connor said, “I’ll give you a ride home,”

“I’m at swim practice after school so I’ll meet you there,”

“I have rehearsal,” Connor said, “I’ll meet you at my car. It’s the-”

“I know what your car is,”

“Oh,” Connor said with a frown, “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll...I’ll see you later,”

--------

“Do you think I could steal this dress once we’re done?” Nabulungi asked, twirling around in her Belle dress.

“When are you ever gonna wear a bright yellow ball gown again?”

Nabulungi shrugged, “Target?”

Connor snorted and turned to stare at himself in the mirror. Playing the Beast was fun, but the costume certainly wasn’t. He blew some fur out of his mouth and turned to glower at Nabulungi, as though his quite terrible costume was all her fault.

“I’m uncomfortable,” he said, taking the mask off and dropping it onto a chair, “It’s really annoying that I can’t turn into the Prince halfway through instead,”

“That defeats the point of the show though. She falls in love with him when he’s a beast, not when he’s a Prince,”

Connor scrunched his face up, “That feels illegal,”

“It’s not real,” she reminded him.

“Never realised that, thanks,” he muttered, eyes darting around the room until they came to stop where they always did: on Steve Blade.

When talking to any of his friends, Connor assured him that he was very much over Steve Blade and was not at all bitter about the way that everything ended. In reality, he was very much not over Steve Blade and was extremely bitter about the way everything ended. It made playing the Beast opposite his Gaston extremely easy; their fight scene never felt forced and Connor felt like he didn’t need claws to rip his head off. Spite was enough.

Nabulungi tutted when she saw where he was looking and punched his arm.

“No.” she said, “Stop thinking about Steve Blade!”

“I’m not!” Connor exclaimed before very casually adding, “He text me last night,”

“If you text him back-“

“I didn’t,” Connor said, lying effortlessly, “I ignored him. I’m not gonna go back to him,”

Nabulungi huffed a little, “Good. He got what he wanted from you,”

“My virginity?”

“Yes,” Nabulungi said bluntly.

Connor sighed and turned away from Steve, thankful that he hadn’t done anything that suggested they had been talking for most of the previous night. Though that might have been because he was terrified of Nabulungi, Chris and James and didn’t want to get on the wrong side of them. (Again).

Not that Connor himself wasn’t scared of his friends, sometimes. Especially where Steve Blade was concerned. Still, there was nothing quite as terrifying as an extremely irate Stage Manager in the form of Chris Thomas. The only person he hadn’t shouted at all day was James, even though he was extremely behind in his set painting duties. Connor had gotten one entrance wrong and Chris had described, in great detail, how he was gonna murder him.

“Oh my god,” Nabulungi said in a hushed voice, “Did you know Elizabeth was still choreographing?”

“Huh?” Connor said, “I thought someone else had taken over. Chris said she was too ill,”

“Well, she's here,”

Connor glanced over at the door and unintentionally winced as Chris wheeled his twin sister in. She looked worse than the last time he had seen her, and even then he had found it too difficult to look at her.

The school had invited her back to choreograph the show (an unspoken “one last time” hanging in the air), and she had gotten through the first two weeks of rehearsal before she had to leave. Now, with only one week to go before their first performance, having her come back seemed pointless. As he thought about it, Connor realised it only seemed pointless to him because he (hopefully) had more shows in his future. It was very unlikely she had any.

“Hey, Liz!” Connor said cheerfully as Chris wheeled her over, “How are you?”

“Dying,” she said bluntly.

Connor froze, immediately looking up to Chris for some help. Elizabeth laughed and rolled her eyes.

“It was a joke,” she said, “Sort of. How are you finding the choreography?”

“Fine,” Connor said quickly, happy to steer the conversation away from death, “Yeah, fine,”

“‘Fine’ unless we’re talking about Tale as Old as Time,” Nabulungi said, “Which is really all he needs to do,”

“Drop me in it, why don’t you?” Connor muttered.

Admittedly, Connor was terrible at ballroom dancing. If he wasn’t tripping over his own feet, he was tripping over Nabulungi’s feet and if he wasn’t tripping over Nabulungi’s feet he was tripping over her dress. It only served as a reminder that he probably shouldn’t have been playing the Beast. He would have been more than happy with the ensemble, or maybe LeFou at a stretch, but Nabulungi had convinced him to audition for the lead, just because they’d probably never have a chance to play opposite each other again.

“I prefer tap dancing,” Connor said after Nabulungi had finished explaining that the rather large bruise on her thigh was a result of Connor falling right on top of her when he had tried to pick her up.

“Come on, then,” Elizabeth sighed, slowing getting to her feet, “I’ll help you,”

“Uh, what are you doing?” Chris asked.

“Teaching Connor how to dance, why?” she asked, taking Connor’s hand.

“You can’t! The Doctor said that-“

“-I still have 6 months,” she reminded him, “What’s one ballroom dance going to do?”

“Drop her, and I’ll kill you,” Chris snapped, before rushing off to snap at the poor lighting techs.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the back of Chris’ head as she placed Connor’s hand on her waist and began counting him through the steps. It was a lot easier, being taught by someone who actually knew what they were doing (the new choreographer had not offered much help outside of ‘smile!’).

“You are good at this,” she told him once the song had ended, “All you need is more confidence in yourself,”

“I don’t think ballroom dancing is my thing,” Connor sighed, “and also not dressed like this,”

“Dancing is your thing, Connor,” she said firmly, holding onto his arm as she, if possible, grew paler, “By the time you finish college, you’ll be top of your game,”

Connor smiled and helped her back to her chair, hoping that Chris wasn’t going to commit a crime because he had tired her out. Not that Connor could blame him for being so overprotective; he couldn’t imagine watching his siblings slowly die, and he didn’t even like them that much.

“You didn’t have to be here,” Connor said, sitting next to her and watching a run through of Gaston.

“I know, but Christopher can’t say no to me anymore,” she said, “and he always drives me to McDonalds afterwards. Plus-“ she broke off suddenly, frowning, “I can hear a baby crying,”

“Wha - oh, shit,”

Connor jumped to his feet and hurried underneath the bleachers. He had hidden Brigham the baby underneath there in the hopes that he wouldn’t be too loud. Kevin had point blank refused to take him to swim practice, and Connor was starting to think that he would be learning what it was going to be like to be a single dad.

“Sorry,” Connor said, awkwardly rocking the doll, “It’s my baby,”

“Health class?” she asked.

“Yep,” Connor said miserably, “He’s called Brigham,”

“Who’s your partner? Naba?”

Connor scoffed, “I wish. No, it’s Kevin Price,”

“The Governor's son?”

“Yeah...”

She stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny but - oh, sweetie. Are they still doing the thing where you have to stay with your partner?”

Connor sighed and nodded, “I’m not going over to his house. Lord knows I don’t need to meet Governor Price,”

“So...he’s going to yours?” she asked in a small voice.

“It’ll be fine,” Connor said hurriedly, “My parents don’t need to know,”

When Connor finally got out of rehearsal and spotted Kevin awkwardly hovering by his car, he thought that his parents probably wouldn’t be too angry if Kevin was the boy he brought home. As this thought crossed his mind, he remembered exactly who his parents were and what they expected of him. They’d probably get angry if Joseph Smith himself was the boy he brought home.

Not that Connor would want to bring Joseph Smith home. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with the whole Prophet thing.

“How are we gonna bring him home?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know. He’s a doll. We’ll just put him in the back,”

Kevin tutted, “You can’t drive a baby home like that! I’ll hold him,”

“You know he’s not a real baby, right?” Connor asked slowly.

“I’ve never failed a class in my life, and you’re not about to make me,” Kevin snapped, taking Brigham into his arms.

“Alright, chill,” Connor muttered, “It’s not that deep,”

Kevin spent the majority of the car journey to Connor’s house glowering out of the window, Brigham held tightly in his arms. If it weren’t for the fact that Kevin was also male, it might have been the closest that Connor ever got to being straight. He had lost count of the amount of couples he had seen (mainly at Church), who so obviously resented each other but had had a child together so that they could live up to the Mormon standard.

It was probably the life that Kevin was going to live, and Connor felt sorry for him until he realised that he was homophobic and suddenly couldn’t care less.

As soon as Connor pulled up outside of his house, his mouth went dry and his palms became sweaty. This was not at all unusual, but it was even worse with Kevin being there with him.

Taking a deep breath, Connor got out of the car and waited for Kevin to do the same. He was taking an awfully long time, holding Brigham close to his chest as he carefully got out, and Connor wasn’t sure he could last a whole week without committing a felony. Or if Kevin could last a whole week without committing a hate crime.

“Are you gonna come in?” Kevin asked.

Connor’s neck snapped up to face Kevin, who was standing on the front porch.

“Get off there!” Connor hissed, lurching forward to grab his arm and yank him backwards.

“Watch the baby!” Kevin yelled.

“Shush!” Connor whispered, glancing up at the house and dragging Kevin around the side of the house when he saw someone inside - probably his mom - start to pull the curtains back, “Don’t yell!”

Kevin frowned at him, “What the heck is your problem, McKinley?”

“How long have you got?” Connor muttered.

He walked around the back of the house to where the basement door was, quickly unlocking it and shoving Kevin through it before one of his parents made an appearance in the back garden. And he couldn’t help but curse his best friends, because it would have been beyond easier to have just moved in with Naba or Chris for a week.

Kevin stood awkwardly in the middle of the middle room and it suddenly occurred to Connor that he was probably used to places that were more...grand.

“Is there a reason we’re in your basement?” Kevin asked, “Are you going to murder me?”

Connor tutted and walked over to his makeshift kitchen (a mini-fridge, kettle, toaster, microwave and mini-grill on top of his chest of drawers), beginning to make his usual after school snack of two Poptarts and a can of Redbull. If this was also occasionally his dinner, no one needed to know.

“Do you want anything?” Connor asked.

Kevin shook his head as he gently laid Brigham on Connor’s bed, “I brought something,”

“You don’t trust my cooking?”

“I follow a strict diet,” Kevin said, “I’m a swimmer, remember?”

“Oh, yeah...” Connor muttered, dropping down onto one of the beanbags that Mr and Mrs Thomas were kind enough to donate to him, “There’s an airbed for you. I’ll blow it up later,”

Kevin nodded and perched on the edge of Connor’s bed, his eyes darting around the room. Connor picked at his Poptart, feeling increasingly awkward. He would suggest that Kevin stay at his own house and lie to Mr. Teacher-That-Connor-Would-Probably-Never-Know-The-Name-Of, but he had a feeling that Kevin was not one to ever break the rules.

“Why are we actually in the basement?” Kevin asked, “Shouldn’t you tell your parents your home? And that I’m here?”

“No,” Connor said, “If it were up to them, I wouldn’t be in the house,”

“Um...”

“I’m gay, they don’t like it, they moved me into the basement because it makes them feel less guilty than if they actually kicked me out,” Connor shrugged, “on the rare occasion that I do actually see them, they remind me that once I’ve left for college, that’s it. I’m out, for good,”

Kevin stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Connor clenched his jaw and looked back down at his Poptarts, wondering if there was a worst person to have this conversation with. He didn’t even like talking about it to his friends, never mind someone he barely knew and who definitely hated him in the same way that his parents did.

Thankfully, Brigham started wailing and Kevin was too distracted to ask Connor anymore questions.

It was definitely going to be the longest week of his life.

#fun fact: I don't realy know what governors do but I am going to find that out before I publish this #I feel like America has too many political offices #Like calm down #For the sake of most of the world #and my fanfiction #kevin price #connor mckinley #elder price #elder mckinley #my writing #tbom #tbom musical #bom #arnold cunningham #elder cunningham #nabulungi hatimbi #arnaba #churchtarts

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

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Up in Flames chapter 8 - Future on Hold (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 2980

( Previous )

A few quiet days followed. Day by day they got to know the mecha that called themselves Decepticons, from the Seekers to the grounders, gestalts and the few solitary mechs that existed in their ranks. They couldn’t say they felt like they belonged, not really—not yet—but… There was something painfully familiar in what the Decepticons were and how they conducted themselves. They brawled for the smallest of reasons, not in the vicious smackdown kind of way, but just to test each other to solve arguments and disagreements. Or just for fun. It wasn’t all contained to the training room.

That… Sat well with the brothers. It was their knee jerk reaction too, as hard as it now was to give into it after spending the war with the Autobots drilling into them that violence wasn’t acceptable.

Despite the fact there was a whole war going on, and that was inherently violent. But no, that was to be limited to the battlefield, and to training.

The Decepticons clearly didn’t think the same. They didn’t go out of their way to injure each other, but punches were exchanged frequently, dents given rather freely. They were more savage in the training room too, from the times the twins went to watch them practice��from the times they were roped into the training themselves. The ‘Cons were eager to test their mettle without the risk of getting offlined in the process. Slag, they had a whole queue of mecha waiting to fight them. Seekers, members of the combiner teams, mecha both big and small(ish).

The Seekers weren’t in their element on the ground, but the twins knew that didn’t mean they were bad at hand to hand. They weren’t.

But they weren’t frontliners. They weren’t trained specifically to take enemy on in close quarters, nor were they mecha with a background in the Pits. They were Vosians, proven soldiers, but not hulking gladiators or industrial workers. The twins could beat them.

They could beat most of the gestalt members, too. Swindle never stood a chance, Brawl fell to Sunstreaker, Blast Off as well, and the Stunticons sans Motormaster wanted to gang up on the both of them, only to end up all over the floors.

They were good. They knew they were, and they didn’t need to hold back near as much as they were used to in training. Don’t kill—almost everything else was fair game.

But… There were the likes of Motormaster, Onslaught, and the triplechangers too. Maybe they would’ve had chances against them if they’d fought together, but one on one Sideswipe didn’t stand a chance against Motormaster despite how good of a fight he put up. There were cheers and clapping as they went against each other, but in the end it was Sideswipe who ended up pinned to the floor—a position of certain death if this had been real and no one else would’ve saved him in time.

Sideswipe won against Astrotrain, but barely, and only to end up back on the floor when he squared against Blitzwing.

Onslaught wanted to fight Sunstreaker, a challenge the twin gladly accepted, and pits, but Sunstreaker fought well. Of course… He didn’t give it his all. Onslaught taunted him, asking after his glitch, said how he might even stand a chance if he gave in to it and fought him with all he had.

Sunstreaker growled but denied the gestalt leader, and like this, fighting without using the bit of an extra gear he possessed… And he was too good at what he did to be distracted when his spark surged with something that wasn’t him. It was small, but he could feel it, riding on the rapid pulse of his own spark as the excitement of a proper fight coursed through him.

Someone else seemed to be appreciating it too.

Onslaught won, eventually. They were both venting hard by the end of it, both covered in injuries by the time Sunstreaker was tossed to the ground one final time and didn’t manage to get up and out of the way fast enough.

“You’re competent,” Onslaught said to him from his position above him, his red optics bearing down on him with intent. “You would be an asset to the Decepticons if you fought.” Oh, didn’t he know that much. Everyone knew it.

Onslaught tilted his helm at him, his face unreadable on account that none of it was visible, but his field had a curl of amusement in it that really grated on Sunstreaker’s nerves. “Remember what I said,” the tank said in parting before getting off of him and walking off, leaving Sunstreaker to pick himself up from the floor.

He could only mean the whole matter of Sunstreaker’s usefulness. He snarled at Onslaught’s retreating back.

This was probably going to keep coming up, wasn’t it? They knew Megatron wanted them to fight even if he wasn’t pushing the matter—yet—and what had he said to Sideswipe?

It wasn’t too late for them to really turn Decepticon? Make up for the war they’d spent fighting for the wrong side?

Was it the wrong side?

It wasn’t the right side, that was for sure, but maybe there was no right side. Only a side they had belonged to, and the side they should belong to.

But he wasn’t ready to dedicate himself to that. He wasn’t ready to fight for another cause he didn’t believe in.

Why? Had it been any different with the Autobots? Fighting just for the sake of fighting, and not because they had any interest in forwarding Optimus’ cause?

Why wouldn’t he do that again? Why did he suddenly want meaning for why he fought?

That damn thought was going to haunt him for all eternity at this rate. Sideswipe was, once again, prattling away as they walked the ramps towards the belly of the ship, and if that didn’t give him flashbacks to similar trips taken in the Ark’s corridors, he didn’t know what would. Sideswipe was still Sideswipe, cheerful, chatty… But something was also unraveling in him. Not in a bad way. More like a knot he’d had in him for so long finally beginning to undo itself.

Sunstreaker felt more like he had a knot forming, rather than one loosening.

Slag all of this.

He was thinking too hard, he thought once they’d closed themselves in their quarters for the evening. Sideswipe was happily playing some game or another on his datapad while Sunstreaker laid on their berth, his servos behind his helm, glaring at the ceiling as if the metal it was made of had personally offended him. It was getting late, but for as long as he was feeling this restless—not physically, but mentally—neither of them would get any recharge.

Sideswipe was perfectly fine with that, utterly entertained by the rpg he had picked up. Something about romancing an alien and shooting other aliens. The usual.

And they weren’t alone anymore, even as they were. That thought spun in his helm too. He didn’t feel it anymore, but it had definitely made itself known during his moment of greater excitement.

Like he’d said to Thundercracker. Soon, with how many months it had already been since his ignition.

It appeared that soon was here now.

They were both distracted and utterly unprepared for their door to suddenly swoosh open. Sideswipe glanced up in alarm and Sunstreaker shot to sitting. Megatron had always pinged before he opened the door to let himself in…

But it wasn’t Megatron. A figure far, far smaller traipsed into their room, the door closing on his heels. His visor glowed in the gloom, lighting the smooth grin underneath.

“Jazz?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, abandoning his game entirely. Sunstreaker frowned, but his confusion was quickly morphing into suspicion—and a hint of concern.

Jazz played the friendly game very well, but anyone with half a wit knew he was dangerous.

“G’evening, my mechs,” the saboteur greeted them, not waiting for invitations of any sort before plopping himself onto the chair at their desk, folding his arms onto its backrest and facing them with that damned grin. It was about as permanent as Sideswipe’s.

They’d always gotten along with Jazz. It was hard not to.

But Jazz was an Autobot presently on a Decepticon ship. “What are you doing here?” Sideswipe went on to ask in an urgent whisper. It was late enough that there wasn’t likely to be more than the skeleton crew online at this hour, and likely none of them on this deck of the ship, but pits. Did they want Jazz to be found, or did they not?

Would they get in trouble if it became known Jazz was here?

Would they be in trouble if they didn’t let it become known?

“I came to talk with ya,” Jazz replied frankly. “Boss bot, and really everyone else of the Command too, is… Kinda worried with the whole circumstance of ya leaving the ‘Bots.”

Sunstreaker scowled. “Optimus already talked with us about that,” he reminded with a snarl.

Of course, he knew exactly why the Autobots wouldn’t believe what they’d said then, and Jazz went on to give that exact reason. “Wit’ ol’ Megs hoverin’ over your shoulder the whole time. Excuse if it’s hard t’believe ya were able to be wholly truthful.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “I really didn’t and don’t give a slag he was there. I spoke the goddamn truth.”

Jazz didn’t react to that in any satisfying manner. “There’s no bugs or cam’ras here. Ya can speak freely.”

Sideswipe guffawed of all things, and Sunstreaker dragged his servos down his face. “I’ve spoken freely every fucking step of the way, alright? He’s never put any words in my mouth, ‘cause I fragging well wouldn’t let him.”

“So ya really feel it’s best for ya to stay here, wit’ the ‘Cons?” Jazz asked carefully.

Sunstreaker growled again. They’d been over this already, he didn’t really feel like repeating himself.

He did anyway, just so the slagging Autobots would leave him the frag alone. “Listen carefully because I’ve made my choice and I expect you lot to fucking respect it,” he snarled, jabbing a digit at Jazz. “Here’s how it is: the Autobot rank and file won’t want me back,” Jazz opened his mouth to say something, but Sunstreaker lifted his servo to silence him before he could speak, “Don’t even try to interrupt me. You know it as much as I do.” Out of all the officers, Jazz was the one with his audial to the ground.

And Sunstreaker didn’t doubt he was right in this one thing, not after what the whole slagging war had been like. “We were always outcasts, and now that’d reach a whole new level because of what I did. We’d have no hope of fitting in ever again, especially not after we didn’t manage to do that in the first place.”

Jazz stayed quiet now. Good. “Second, there’s the sparkling. The Autobots would treat it like crap. Maybe not everyone, but there’d be bound to be several someones who wouldn’t be able to overlook who its sire is.”

It still remained too, that Megatron wanted the damn thing, and looking how little he had let anyone stand in his way when it came to starting the whole war and whatnot… Yeah, he was going to have the sparkling.

Not that Sunstreaker disagreed that was the best course of action, anyway. “I’m not going to put it through the same shit I’ve dealt with ever since we joined the Autobots. It’s better off with Megatron.”

“You seriously believe that?” Jazz asked after Sunstreaker paused long enough that he had the chance. Sunstreaker glared, but the saboteur continued. “No offense, but it’s Megatron. I don’t know what exactly is going on between ya two, but don’t ya worry at all that he’d mistreat it? Warp it? Do who knows what to it?”

Ah, yes, his lover, the scourge of Cybertron and the most evil fragging mech in existence, right?

But was there a chance Megatron would do something like that? Maybe, but Sunstreaker merely shrugged. “There’s a good chance he won’t, too. It still has better fragging chances with Megatron than it does with the Autobots.” At least Megatron wanted it. The Autobots didn’t. The Autobots, aside from a few select individuals, didn’t want him or it.

Could he confirm that with certainty? Of course not, without going to test it out for himself.

But after spending the war with them, he had a pretty good idea of what the Autobots were like. He trusted his ability to make truthful predictions by now, based on their past actions.

Jazz stayed quiet for a good moment, looking at them without any hint of what he was thinking. Sunstreaker maintained his glare on him even through his disquiet.

“Sunstreaker,” the TIC eventually said, looking more earnest than Sunstreaker had ever seen him. Though with Jazz, there was no knowing how honest any of that was. Mech was an actor by trade. “Ratchet brought it up, and I think he might be right... That your carrier coding has activated and’s warping your thoughts.”

Sunstreaker growled, his optics flashing. “Ratchet said that, huh?”

Jazz didn’t react to the threat he posed. “It’d make you predisposed to the sire.” Would it really?

And what, the Autobots now believed that his thoughts were only there because of some strings of code taking control of him?

Was there any making them believe he thought this was for the best? That he wasn’t acting, or affected by some slagged protocols that were twisting his thoughts and muddling his true judgment?

He fragging well didn’t feel like anything of the sort was going on. “What about Sideswipe? His frame’s not carrying,” Sunstreaker pointed out.

“Ratch didn’t know about that. He’s never ran into split-spark twins carrying before,” Jazz answered, and continued after the briefest of pauses that didn’t at all give Sunstreaker the time to say anything, “If ya’d let me check, I could confirm whether or not that’s the case in either of ya. Ratch also said that it’s possible yer so uh… Messed up, honestly, that the protocols ain’t activating at all.”

“I’m not letting you into my head,” Sideswipe said immediately, and Sunstreaker nodded along. It would’ve been questionable at any point in time, but especially now that they didn’t even belong to the same side.

“I only wanna help, twins,” Jazz said with feeling.

Don’t trust it.

“Well, you’re not helping,” Sunstreaker snarled. “I’ve made my damn decision and I’d fragging well appreciate if all of you started to fragging respect it,” he continued, but… Slag. One of his servos came to press against his helm, the… Fog. His thoughts ran into walls, rattling around in his head until he couldn’t make sense of them—as emotion began to win over and his engine revved harder.

Sideswipe was the one to speak up then. “If this comes up again,” his brother said quietly, but firmly in a way that wasn’t much like him at all, “There will be consequences for whoever brings it up. We’re staying here, the sparkling will stay with Megatron once it emerges, and that’s final.”

Jazz stayed quiet for a moment, and blessedly didn’t keep arguing the point. Sunstreaker cycled several ventilations, trying to steady and center himself.

He was rather successful with it, much to his personal pleasure.

“What will ya do once the sparkling emerges?” Jazz still asked. Sunstreaker made a face, but was the one to respond.

“I don’t know yet, but whatever it is, it won’t involve the Autobots.” He glowered at Jazz, like he hadn’t done enough of that yet.

Jazz nodded, slowly. “If yer sure.”

“I’m sure,” Sunstreaker snarled. “Now get out before I let the whole ship know you’re here.”

“And make sure the command knows our stance. We won’t have any more of this. Gets old real fast, you know,” Sideswipe added, frowning himself.

Jazz nodded again, sighing. “If yer sure,” he repeated, getting up from the chair. “I’ll let Optimus an’ the others know—Ratch and ‘Hide too.”

Oh, fucking low blow. The inside of Sunstreaker’s fragging helm surged and so did his body flash off the berth. He found himself standing on the floor next to their berth without much memory of moving there.

At least Jazz had frozen in place, recognizing exactly what was happening and what a hazard it was. Oh, the TIC would have no trouble subduing him, but chances were he wouldn’t be able to do it quietly enough to not alert others to something being amiss. Sunstreaker didn’t know how he’d gotten aboard the ship, but no doubt he’d like to leave as stealthily as he’d arrived.

“Out,” Sunstreaker ground out, and Sideswipe growled behind him too.

Jazz nodded one more time. “Take care,” was all he said before the door opened for him and he slipped out.

And gone he was.

Looked like he hadn’t been here to assassinate them after all.

Sunstreaker collapsed back onto the berth, clutching his helm in both servos. Sideswipe was scrubbing his servos along his face, puffing out an aggravated round of air.

Yeah, they couldn’t say they were too happy with this. Why were the Autobots so insistent with this? Did the command, Prime at the helm, really think they had any desire to return? Couldn’t Optimus just believe that his troops weren’t as good and innocent as he would’ve liked them to be?

From the start that wasn’t their experience with the red faction.

“Just kick their ass if they try again,” Sideswipe muttered at him. “I’ll help.”

Sunstreaker snorted. Yeah, that sounded good. Megatron would probably help them too.

Wasn’t that a thought, fighting together with the mech they’d opposed the whole war.

But things had changed.

By the pits how they’d changed.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #jazz #sunstreaker #sideswipe #fic #2020 #ashes #up in flames

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nellie-elizabeth · 4 years ago

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Grey's Anatomy: Tradition (17x15)

Sometimes Grey's Anatomy has something really true and good to say, but they say it in a hokey sort of way. This episode had a lot going on that kinda... jumped the shark in terms of the cheese factor for me. Let's dive in.

Cons:

First of all, Jackson's last episode was kind of a letdown. It was only in seeing it that I realized how disconnected he felt from most of the remaining leads on the show. He had a personal goodbye with Jo, which I liked, and was probably the moment I felt the most connected to Jackson leaving. But when he was talking to Meredith, it occurred to me that these two haven't had any intersecting story-lines that really mattered in years. They kept showing flashbacks to Jackson in his earlier days on the show, surrounded by people who are all no longer there. He doesn't feel woven in with any of the core cast. Then, he drives away at the end, his last conversation as a regular cast member happening with Koracick of all people? I don't know. It just felt like an anticlimax to me.

And speaking of Koracick, was this his exit from the show as well? He's moving to Boston? What a bummer. I've genuinely enjoyed his character so much, and I feel like there was so much left to explore with him. Putting him in a room with any other character really enlivened a conversation. He brought such different energy from any of the other characters. What an unceremonious end, if so. If not, I hope he's a character that pops back in here and there, maybe updates us on Jackson, April, and Harriet. That could be a nice compromise.

Say it with me: I don't like Owen and Teddy. Jesus, I just do not care. When I saw them kissing I literally said "noooo" out loud, and it's not because I feel anything about them as a couple and I'm "against" it or anything, it's more just the "noooo" of realization, that we're going to have to spend time with these characters again, and all the shittiness that they bring out in one another.

That feeds into a smaller complaint, which was that I found it very odd that Owen was telling Link that he's going to be trapped at Meredith's house, even now with Meredith going home. It was like... weird guy banter, and Winston was there too, and it was like all the men having a laugh at Link's expense... I just found it really uncomfortable that Owen was the one doing this, when Owen and Amelia have such a fraught (and annoying) history. I don't know. Maybe that's a nitpick.

So now we go to Grey's Anatomy having something good and true to say, but pouring on the cheese just a bit too much. The story about respecting native traditions and how often they have bad experiences in big hospitals was a perfectly adequate one, but it was told in a paint-by-numbers fashion. I almost wanted something a bit more nuanced, like maybe some genuine distrust from the patients instead of everyone being 100% nice and pleasant and nothing going wrong. A happy ending for this story was much appreciated, but it felt like a rote way of telling a story and exploring a theme. Still, it's good that they bring attention to issues that a lot of people (read: white people) want to ignore.

Pros:

There were lots of things I enjoyed seeing in this episode, even if the whole thing didn't come together for me.

Like, for example, Koracick's speech about being privileged and wanting to be an ally. Like, really step up and really help out. This was another moment of potentially hokey writing, but the performance sold it, and I liked that Jackson accepted it for the genuine offer that it was.

I also like seeing Jo thriving in her new specialty, with Carina as a potential mentor, although she might be leaving the show? Or at least not around as much anymore. Over on Station 19, evidently she's gotten engaged, so... good for her! And Jo talking to the baby in the NICU, the one she's totally going to adopt, made me really emotional. I want only good things for Jo!

Nico was nowhere to be seen this week, after Levi left him in the lurch after his "I love you" a few weeks back... but we do see that Helm is really struggling, and Schmitt wants to help her out. This was a small little thread, but I do like the idea of Schmitt and Helm living together. It continues on my thread of what I sort of wanted for Levi, where if they're doing a romance with Nico, Nico needs to sweat about it for a bit first.

Meredith is back! She spends the episode with people coddling her, nervous to tell her about Andrew's death, saying goodbye to Jackson, and getting to go home and reunite with her kids. All of it was perfect and wonderful. The moment when Bailey and Richard come to tell her about Andrew, Meredith seems to suddenly know, and we hear the sound of crashing waves in the background. That was just lovely. And she and Jackson's conversation was great too, although I stand by what I said about Jackson's final moments on the show not quite working for me. But it was fun, a Grey and an Avery, these two important legacy families, talking about what they learned from each other, and what they taught one another.

And then of course Meredith is home, Amelia is freaking out because the house is a mess, and Meredith says it's perfect, just the way she wants it. She eats donuts and her kids tell her everything she's missed while she was away. I'm really impressed with the way the kids have felt like more of a presence in the past season or so, and I hope that continues to be the case.

Richard is going to officiate Maggie and Winston's wedding! I felt so many warm fuzzies in my heart over that little moment. Richard worrying that he'd overstepped, and acknowledging that the relationship boundaries between himself and Maggie had always been a little uncertain. And then Maggie and Winston asking him to be the one to marry them to one another... oh gosh. This show can still really get to me sometimes. That made me happy.

I think if I had to say my overall thoughts on this episode, I'd say a lot of the things that happen have implications that I don't enjoy. But then watching some of it play out, I did like it. So the way Meredith reacted to the news of Andrew's death was really touching, but I'm still pissed that Andrew died. Jackson had a couple of solid moments, but overall his swan song didn't hit the mark. Koracick's speech was decent, but the fact that he's apparently leaving is annoying.

So yeah. Grey's still has plenty to keep my attention, but this episode wasn't one of the greats!

7/10

#review #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy review #greys anatomy #greys anatomy review #grey's abc #greys abc

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silkling · 4 years ago

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Hi Silkling, could you please write a TFP story where Sierra discovers the Autobot's secret and joins up with Team Prime? TFP never really did much with her, and I think that a shame. I think Smokescreen would make a good partner for her.

Absolutely! Great to see you again in my ask box! :D your last prompt was super fun to write to, so I’m looking forward to this one! Now, I admit, I never paid much attention to Sierra, and the show didn’t give us a lot to work with, so I’m going to have to come up with some of her characterization. And I agree. So I’m mashing her with Smokescreen. It’s gonna a be great. I love Smokescreen very much! I even have a whole AU of my own for him. He’s a tiny happy dumbass and since Sierra has basically no canon personality, I can make her be his long-suffering but still very fond best friend.

———————————————————————————————————

Sierra had been having a good day. Emphasis on the word had. It was the weekend. She had packed a small picnic, grabbed her favorite book, and hopped on her bike. She’d ridden out to the popular hiking trails, intending to take a short hike and finding a nice place to spend the afternoon with a her novel and her snacks. The sun was out, the weather was great, and she had nothing to do today. It was perfect. So, of course, the laws of the universe demanded that something go wrong.

‘Murphy is a cruel bastard and and I’m going to punch him in the face when I see him in the afterlife.’ She thought viciously, staring up at the hulking titan that had just crushed her lunch and bike under a single massive metal foot with a sense of numb disbelief. ‘At least I still have the book.’ She ignored how the thought echoed with a note of hysteria as she shoved said book into the messenger bag over her shoulder.

“Are you Sierra O’Niell?”

She was only slightly surprised when the massive robot spoke. Because why wouldn’t the giant robot that had just moments ago been a jet be able to speak? Honestly, what even was her life at this point. She was more concerned with the fact that the thing knew her name. Her initial instinct was the demand how it knew her name. But she’d seen the movies. She knew that would only confirm it’s suspicions.

“Who?” she forced herself to ask instead, surprising herself with how steady her voice was. It was the shock, she told herself. It had to be. It was making her emotionally numb. “What are you?”

The robot seemed startled, before it snarled something that was most definitely a curse. It started speaking, though not to her, and it took Sierra a moment to realize it must have been talking over some sort of built in communication system. “-wrong human, Soundwave! This pathetic fleshling you pointed out to me doesn’t even know who I am talking about.” It paused. “What do you mean it’s not the wrong human? I just told you-“ it cut itself off. “Ah. I see.” A sinister grin twisted at metallic features. “Thank you, Soundwave. I will return with my prize shortly.”

Oh, Sierra did not like the sound of that.

Sure enough, the robot turned to face her when it was done. “It seems you lied to me, little fleshling.” it sneered. “My associate tracked the signal of your personal communications device. You humans never go without it, I’ve been told.”

She blinked. “You hacked my phone?” she sputtered, and oops, she’d just confirmed her identity. ‘Stupid, Sierra.’

It’s face twisted into a cruel expression of glee. She did not like it. “Indeed.” It began bending down, and then a large hand was reaching towards her. “You shall be coming with me, human. Soundwave has seen how Jackson Darby is fond of you.” it purred. “You will make a lovely bargaining chip against that pathetic human runt and his Autobot protectors.”

And wait, this was because of Jack? How did he come into all this? If this thing was after her because of him, that had to mean he knew about it and it’s…friends. Did robots have friends? She didn’t know. And wait, Autobot?

She stiffened, scrabbling away from the large metallic hand, shunting those questions to the back of her mind to be answered later. Escape the terrifying metal monster now, murder Jack for pulling her into this later. Clearly though, the robot disliked her attempt to flee because it only growled and stepped towards her again.

That’s when she heard the roaring of a powerful engine. It made the robot pause too, and they both looked to where the sound came from. Then, over the crest of a hill, a white and blue sports car came flying in. It had red accents and bold 38s painted onto its doors. Sierra was impressed. She was no car person, but even she liked this one. Only, the car started breaking apart once it hit the ground, unfolding and growing into the form of, you guessed it, another robot.

Sierra despaired for her luck. ‘Murphy is going to die a second time for this. He’d better be prepared.’ She thought with vicious hysteria.

Except, to her great surprise, the new robot didn’t try to help capture her. No, instead it rammed full force into the tall jet robot that had tried to snatch her up. Said jet yelped before quickly getting back to its feet. Sierra heard the should of metal and gears shifting, and saw the newcomer’s large hand change to some sort of weapon, though not one she could recognize.

“Terrorizing humans now, Starscream?” it taunted. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you always were one to sink so low.”

The first robot, Starscream, apparently, snarled in outrage. “Pathetic Autobot!” it roared, and oh, so this newcomer was Autobot?

Except, from the two names she’d heard already, that didn’t sound like the type of name these robots seemed to have. She did notice the little face badges they wore, the white bot bearing a red one proudly on its shoulders while the jet robot wore a smaller, pointier face on its chest. So maybe those had something to do with the whole ‘Autobot’ thing? Hell if she knew. Sierra was clever, and she’d always been good at puzzles and mystery solving, but she didn’t have enough information for this whole…thing.

“I’m not the one who’s picking on defenseless humans, ‘Con!” the car robot barked, smirking at the skinnier jet.

The jet only snarled, lifting an arm that she was just noticing had a freaking missile attached to it, and the white robot stilled briefly, before shooting her a frantic look and oh, would you look at that, she seemed to be right in the blast radius of the missile, and oh god she was going to die-

Except, there was that shifting sound again, but much larger, and then car robot was leaping towards her. It hit the ground in car form, it’s driver door open as it slid sideways in her direction, and then she was swept up into it and the door slammed shut. Tires squealed, and then they were peeling away to the sound of a missile screaming and impacting where they had been a half second before. The jet roared in outrage, but the car robot was speeding straight towards civilization, and it seemed to want to avoid that because when she glanced at the rear view mirror she saw it leap into the sky and transform before flying away.

Sierra slowly sat up from her ungainly sprawl, pulling the seatbelt across her chest on reflex before sitting back against the driver’s seat and wheezing. Her heartbeat, which she only just noticed had been thundering wildly in her chest, started to slowly calm, and she had to force herself to take deep, even breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Now, Sierra wasn’t an irrational girl. She was among the top students of all her classes, she was smart, she knew a lot about various topics, and she had a good understanding of how people worked. She was clever, she knew she had a good head on her shoulders. She kept some of her interests closer to her chest, and she played the good, polite, quiet girl for the adults, because she wasn’t without manners, thank you very much. All that meant, though, was that she wasn’t prone to screaming in terror and running like a madman when she was freaked out by something. She would prefer to understand something rather than be irrationally terrified of it.

This, though? This was a bit much, even for her. As her heartbeat calmed, a sense of nausea built in her throat. “Excuse me, robot?” she squeaked. She wasn’t even sure if she could communicate with it while it was in car mode, but it was worth a shot.

“It’s Smokescreen.”

What?

“What?”

“My name is Smokescreen. Not “robot”.”

It sounded miffed. Which, okay. That was fair. If someone called her just “human” she’d probably be upset too. Hell, she had been upset when that other one, Starscream, had called her a “fleshling”. Smokescreen’s voice also sounded very male, and she paused before asking.

“And you’re not an “it” either, then?”

“No, I’m a mech.” A pause. “Uh, a male, by your definitions.”

“Okay. Smokescreen. Well, I’m Sierra, and as grateful as I am for your rescue you should really, really stop and let me out. Humans don’t handle extreme stress very well and I’m about to be sick.”

“Sick?”

Oh god, did robots even get sick?

“I’m about to vomit. Which means I am very close to expelling internal body waste, and it will be right in your seats if you don’t let me out so I can barf behind some rocks.” she informed him tightly, fighting down a gag.

There was a brief moment if silence as Smokescreen seemed to process her words, before he turned off the side of the road, drove behind some rocks, and popped open the door. “Please don’t be sick in me.” Oh, now he sounded sick. Sierra felt a little bad.

She didn’t say anything to that, instead stumbling out of the car and out of sight, before promptly bending over and tossing her breakfast. She gagged on bile, and after a moment of pause to make sure there was nothing left in her stomach, she stood and made her way back to where Smokescreen was waiting. She pulled her water bottle from her bag, taking a sip and washing out her mouth with it before spitting it to the side, and then she proceeded to drink everything left in the bottle. She tucked it away, turning to her impromptu ride, and opened her mouth to speak, when-.

“Oh slag.” He beat her to the punch.

She was confused, recognizing that as a curse of some sort, and then she heard the beeping from his radio.

“Um, hold on for a minute, alright? I gotta take this.” He sounded anxious, and didn’t give her a chance to answer before there was a click as he did just that.

She heard muffled noises over the radio, though she couldn’t make out the words being said.

“Um, yeah. There was a ‘Con signal. I was close so I checked it out.”

More radio noises, angry sounding ones.

“I know, I know! But I was closest and no one would pick up their comm. so I thought I should st least check it out! It was a good thing too, Starscream was there and he was about to snatch up a human!”

A pause, and then an explosion of garbled noise from the radio. Sierra got the feeling that Smokescreen was wincing.

“Well what was I supposed to do? Let her be taken? Plus she’d already seen him so it wasn’t like seeing me was going to do much damage!”

A growling noise, followed by a hiss of static.

“Yes, Ratchet. I know. And I am sorry, alright! I know I went against code again but if I had waited a human would’ve been in Deception hands and as new as I am to this planet, even I know that’s bad!”

Wait, planet? Was this giant ass robot an actual alien? That…honestly made sense. With that day she’d had, she wasn’t even surprised. Smokescreen was still having his discussion with…whoever was on the other end.

“Yes, I’ll bring her back to base. I’m not going to apologize for saving her, though.”

More angry static.

“Yeah yeah. I get it.”

He sounded tired, defeated. Sierra felt bad, and wondered what was being said to make him sound like that when he’d been so bright before.

“No, you don’t need to send a ground bridge. I’m close to the base anyway. I’ll be there soon.”

There was a click as Smokescreen disconnected from whoever called him, and then she could tell he was talking to her when he spoke next. “Mind hopping in? I gotta bring you back to base. The boss can explain everything. I promise you won’t be hurt or anything.”

Sierra hesitated for a moment, then sighed. She knew she probably shouldn’t, but at this point what was the harm? Besides, her gut instinct was telling her that, based on what that Starscream character had said about Jack, she wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt. Not if Darby spent all his free time around these weird alien robots and came back fine. Mind decided, she slipped into the car’s open door. It shut on its own, and she buckled herself in once more.

“Thanks.” He sounded grateful. And then he was driving off.

He wasn’t saying anything, and neither was Sierra, and she let herself be alone with her thoughts. They drove for a while, and Sierra let herself enjoy the landscape that passed by Smokescreen’s window. He really was a nice ride, she mused. Sleek and fast, and his engine purred quietly as he drove along the highway. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew his car mode was a good one.

Soon enough, they were coming towards a large mesa. Smokescreen drove right toward its side, not even slowing as he approached, Sierra tensed, about to protest, when a previously invisible door opened in the rock face. She shut her mouth, her eyes blowing wide. Oh. That explained that. Their base was hidden in plain sight. Which…she supposed was fitting, for alien robots who disguised themselves as cars and jets. Smokescreen took them through a tunnel, and then they were coming into a large central chamber. Sierra peeked out if the window to see two other robots there. One, stocky and painted in red and white. The other…was absolutely massive. He towered above the red and white bot, and she had a feeling he’d tower over Smokescreen too. He was broad as he was tall, with wide shoulders and a heavy looking chest, his metal armor painted in red and blue. Sierra didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew that this large one was a he, a mech, as Smokescreen had said.

The door at her side popped open, and after brief hesitation she unbuckled herself and stood up. There was that sound of transformation behind her, and she glanced back to see Smokescreen rising to his feet in his robot mode. Then a voice spoke and she snapped her head around to see the large bot speaking.

“Greetings, young one. My name is Optimus Prime. My companion is Ratchet, and you have already met Smokescreen.”

Ratchet. That’s who Smokescreen had been talking to earlier. “I’m Sierra.” she said after a moment. “Sierra O’Niell.”

Optimus tilted his head downwards in her direction. “May I inquire why Starscream was attempting to abduct you, if you know?”

“You’re very polite.” she remarked dryly. “He said something about wanting to use me to get to Jack Darby, so that he could in turn use Jack to get to the “Autobots”. I’m guessing that’s you guys?”

Optimus shared a look with Ratchet, then looked back at her. “Indeed. Myself and my team are Autobots. Starscream is a Decepticon. Our factions are enemies, I am afraid.” he explained. “We are not from your world, Sierra O’Niell. We hail from a planet called Cybertron. Our two factions were at War on our home, and that War destroyed our world. The Deceptions came here, searching for energon, and we have followed them to keep them from destroying your planet and it’s people in their quest for it.”

Sierra turned that over. She’d guessed they weren’t from Earth, so that wasn’t a surprise. The rest of the information was new, though. And appreciated. “What’s energon? And how does Jack fit into all this?”

Optimus sighed. “Energon is an energy source, and the very lifeblood of every Cybertronian.” he explained. “It is a natural resource that was once common on our home, and somehow Earth too produces it in great abundance.” he explained. “Jackson, Miko, and Raphael became involved with us by accident. They were seen with my Autobots when they mistakenly were pulled into a battle with the Decepticons, and the Decepticons assumed they were our allies. In order to protect them, we took them under our watch and guard to ensure they could not be harmed.”

So, Esquivel and Nakadai were part of this too. She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d seen the cars that picked those two up, now that she thought of it. Speaking of which….

“Jack’s motorcycle is an Autobot, isn’t it? And Miko and Raphael’s cars?”

Optimus hummed. “Indeed. Arcee, Bumblee, and Bulkhead were the ones to initially partner with and save the children in that first encounter. After they were brought into the fold, it made only sense to assign them as their Autobot guardians.”

Sierra nodded as she took that all in. Then she frowned. “I’m involved now too, aren’t I? I would have been involved regardless, if the Decepticons were really after me, but Smokescreen saving me just means my involvement is going to be more pleasant than it otherwise would have been.”

Optimus and Ratchet shared yet another look, before casting their gazes to Smokescreen. The white bot fidgeted under their combined stares, head ducking and looking uncomfortable. “While we are not pleased that the youngling acted on impulse and charged into battle against protocol, we are pleased that he saved your life, young Sierra.” Optimus said after a moment.

Sierra blinked. “Youngling.” she repeated in confusion. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting him into trouble for saving me, are you?” she asked heatedly. The very idea insulted her.

Optimus twitched as if startled, then rumbled a soft chuckle. “Youngling, yes. It is a term used by Cybertronians to refer to those of us who are not yet fully grown. Smokescreen is the equivalent of a human teenager.” he explained. “And worry not. In this instance, we can overlook the breach in regulations. It would send a poor message to punish a bot for upholding the Autobot creed.”

Sierra relaxed at that, nodding. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to want to have a discussion with you later about why you’re letting teenagers fight in a war, but I know now isn’t the time.” she said threateningly.

Both older bots startled back and her tone and words, and Smokescreen squeaked from behind her. She turned and drew a harsh line across her mouth before he could say anything, and she watched as he stared, slack-jawed, before closing his mouth with an audible clack. That done, she returned her attention to the apparent leader. There was one more thing she wanted settled.

“You said the others got guardians, right?”

A nod.

“Well, if I’m going to need one, and something tells me I will, then I want this one.” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Smokescreen.

Optimus’s eyes narrowed in what she realized was a faint smile. “If Smokescreen agrees, then I have no issues with that.” he hummed. “All I ask is that you remain here until our liaison with the human government arrives. Agent Fowler will want to discuss some matters with you before you return home.”

Sierra blinked. So the government knew about all this. That was good to know. It meant she wouldn’t get in trouble for conspiring with aliens if it ever came to light. She could also understand why they kept this whole thing a secret, even if governments hiding things from the public wasn’t always a good thing. In this case, it was a good thing.

“As long as I’m home before my curfew.” she agreed.

Another bow of that great head, and then Optimus was turning to stride away. Presumably to make contact with this Fowler. That left her and Smokescreen with Ratchet.

The stocky bot glanced at them, then turned to that odd console she’d noticed earlier. “Smokescreen will show you around.” Was all he said, waving them away with a dismissive flip of his hand.

Sierra, taking that as her cue, turned to the youngest bot. She thrust out her hand. “What do you say? Partners?”

He seemed confused, before slowly crouching and extending his hand to tap a finger to her palm. “Yeah, sure.” he seemed a little awed that she’d want to partner with him.

She smiled. “Good. In that case, why don’t you give me a ride and show me around your base?”

Smokescreen seemed confused. “Ride?”

“On your shoulder. I’d like to see it from your perspective.”

He blinked, then shrugged and put his hand, palm up, on the floor. Sierra took that as her que to climb up, and he carefully transferred her to his shoulder. Cool. Very cool. She just wanted to ride on the giant alien robot, and now she got to. That was cool.

She saw him look at her out of the corner of his bright, shining blue eyes, and she smiled warmly. “Well? Show me around your home, big guy. I’d like to get to know you.”

Smokescreen perked up, the little protrusions on his back wiggling with his apparent joy, and Sierra grinned a little wider. Oh, he was cute. How a giant robot could be endearing, she didn’t know, but he did it. He was sort of like a puppy. A giant, metal, alien puppy. She held on as he started walking, and she listened with half an ear, processing and noting what he told her as the rest of her mind turned over the events of her day.

It had been stressful, and scary, but now that it was all done and she was fine…

‘Yeah.’ she thought, watching her new partner eagerly show her around the small, hidden base he called home. ‘I think I’m gonna like it here.’

———————————————————————————————————

And that was that! I hoped you like it! It was fun to write. The show didn’t give Sierra a last name or a real personality, so I had to kind of do that bit myself. And I was right! I did enjoy writing this. The prompt inspired me to write this faster than I thought I’d be able to. I do not expect to be able to fill a prompt this quickly again. Unfortunately. Also, Sierra is definitely going to be the straight man to Smokescreen. He’s going to need it. Badly.

Until next time, friends!

#silkling request fics #request fic #tfp #transformers prime #tfp sierra #tfp starscream #tfp smokescreen #smokescreen #tfp optimus prime #Sierra joins Team Prime #smokescreen is her partner #maccadam

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braveboldbasra · 5 years ago

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my college decision experience II

Hello bees!

I’m part with part two of my college decision experience story. I just finished my freshman year at university studying Neuroscience (pre-med). When applying to schools last year it was stressful enough without a worldwide pandemic so I wanted to share my story in hopes of giving some insight into what deciding college is like.

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a college counselor or an expert in college admissions. I’m reflecting on my experience to provide insight on the process. I’m also reflecting on the AMERICAN college admission system.

---------------------------------------------APPLICATION TIMES-----------------------------------------

The biggest piece of advice I can give any student applying for college is take advantage of THE SUMMER before your SENIOR YEAR. This time was when I truly took time to consider my future which was scary in hindsight, but I found ways to make it fun.

First: Testing

The not so fun part is testing and I used the summer to patent and pull up my test scores. It’s a great time because I don’t have other school work and can focus on testing. I took about two tests over that summer. The one thing to remember is that since it’s the summertime, there will be less test location available. I had friends who had to go to a different state to take their test and driving at like 4 am is not a vibe ;). I recommend picking test dates at the beginning of the summer because there will be more locations. It is really nice to have testing done in the summer because trust me things get intense after that.

Visit/Tours

The best way to get a feel for the campus is always to visit. Sadly due to current circumstances that may not be possible. That’s what is great about technology. I couldn’t visit most of the schools I applied to and that made me lose a lot of perspective. That’s what’s great about virtual tours. I also recommend talking to current students if possible. Some schools have programs where you can pair with a student, talk to them or video chat to get a realistic perspective of what life is like. This is a big thing that is very useful especially in the case you cannot visit. There’s no problem in asking questions.

Let Senior Year Begin……………………………………

When senior year started I had a general list of schools that I wanted to app;y to, but not definite. One resource that was incredibly beneficial was college visits. This when admission officers from different schools visit your school. Now this may not be available in every high school, but in some cases, universities will post when they are in the area on their website. I got information on a visitation for the school I currently attend at another local high school and I actually got a free application from it. If you don’t see such information on their website, CALL THEM. Universities have phone numbers for a reason, to call and inquiry for information that can help in this life changing decision. Since school events are kind of up in the air, calling is a great way to see what this school has to offer.

Pros and Cons List Are Friends: I know I love lists and organizations, but honestly a good old spreadsheet can sometimes be your best friend. I applied to a total of 11 schools. To some that is a lot, and to some that’s not enough. For me, I can come up with this list based on factors I discovered while touring and researching schools. Now these factors are subjective to the programs I wanted to partake in.

Factors: Financial Aid/Scholarships, Campus Size, Diversity, Study Abroad, Undergraduate Research/Clinical Work, Jobs, Academic Support

This wasn’t everything that I based my decision on. There was also the X factor. That gut feeling you get when faced with someplace new. I am a STEM major who wants to go into medicine. While doing research into different schools, I looked at not only good programs for my major, but what they can help in view of my future. I’ve always wanted to do research and travel, but also am not oblivious to the fact that anatomy and chemistry might be a challenge. This list took me months to make, so take your time and find what’s important to you.

From here I compared these factors for all my schools on a spreadsheet while also counting the biggest factor being money. I was able to boil down which schools I wanted to apply for to 11.

Application Process: I used the Common App which is really useful, but also confusing, but the biggest thing in applying especially to a lot of schools is organization and pacing. There was a lot of essay to fill and a lot of files to send. What I did was separate the more important tasks like finishing the overall common information versus university specific essay. Then I prioritize when schools I applied Early Action and which schools I applied Regular Decision. From there I chose the applications that took the least amount of time to do first. Remember some schools require multiple essay prompts especially if you want to apply to Honors or Speciality programs. It’s all about timing and organization. Now applications are expensive to apply. The reason I was able to for so many schools was I got a fee waiver from Common App. These you can request to throw out your school or if you got a fee waiver for the SAT/ACT you can inquiry one for applications. Also be mindful of documents like transcripts and test scores. Sometimes they can take longer than the Common App and can cut the deadline short. I recommend submitting documents before your application because they do take longer and if you wait you may have to spend an extra $75 express delivery. When SENDING IN applications, it’s okay to keep an eye on those document statuses, but not too close. Once you send it in though, leave it to the college admission powers!

Now Some REAL TALK……………………..

College admission is a system filled with unfair subjectivity that favors rich and connected people. I am grateful for the schools I was accepted into, but it was no piece of cake.

I got into my dream school. I have known of this school for a while.

Close, but still far away from home. Challenging, but had the familiarity. I was really excited because it made me feel like all my hard work in high school paid off, but this is where that unfairness comes into play. I had applied to financial aid months prior, but there was an error. So I redid my financial aid on the phone and papers. Mailed them within a week of the paperwork made available. I was patient until about a month from decision day. I spent the following three weeks on the phone with their financial aid department until decision day where I was hung up three times. At that moment I committed to my current school. I would like to say this was isolated, but there are a lot of stories like. I learned that my dream school, not so much a dream school. It was terrifying and heartbreaking because I thought I made the best choice. Turns out I did. I committed to a school that I have family that went to it and I live down the street from. It tends to get a bad rep at my high school because I went to a competitive high school where a lot of students go to name brand schools. The thing is no matter the name is on your degree, what matters is having a degree. Don’t let anyone make your future feel smaller. I made that mistake and it caused pain. Your future is up to you. Don’t let anyone control that.

I hope that everyone is staying safe at home and to all the students out there, I hope this helped. I went through a tough decision process and I made some mistakes, but I wanted to share it because everyone deserves as much as a fair chance at their future. I wish you luck on all your future and feel free to leave questions and I’ll help in any way I can.

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sonicrainicorn · 5 years ago

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Only Us (Part 2)

Part of the Berry Done AU

Words: 10459 Desc.: Thomas and Logan have always been close. From the moment Logan was born, Thomas swore he’d do anything for his baby brother. Unfortunately, it was a promise to be taken to the extremes. (First part here) TW: Character death (mentioned), anxiety attacks, attempted rape/non-con (mentioned), relationship abuse, there is also exactly one (1) swear word

I’m actually a little sorry for this one.

///

It must have been a day after the funeral. Logan was in his room, laying stomach down on his bed with his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to do anything. Thomas was in the kitchen making cookies from scratch. Unlike Logan, he needed to do something. And then there was a knock at the door.

Logan didn’t think much about it at first. Yeah, it was a little weird, but maybe it was important mail or someone who tries to sell stuff. That happened sometimes.

He heard Thomas open the door and... let that person in. Okay. That didn’t normally happen. Still, it might not have been important. Maybe. Yeah, okay, Logan was curious now. He rolled out of bed and shuffled to his door.

There was a deep voice coming from the other side that he didn’t recognize. He didn’t focus on the words at the moment, he was more focused on the voice and the millions of questions it gave him. Who was it? Why were they here? What could they possibly want?

He tried to be as silent as possible as he snuck out the door. He didn’t want anyone hearing him for fear that they may stop talking. He learned recently that adults stop talking about important things when they see that a kid is nearby. But he wanted to know those important things. He peeked down the hall.

Thomas sat with a man at the dining table. The man wore nice clothes, but nothing that could be considered fancy. He looked serious, though. Thomas didn’t seem too happy about what he had to say. And then Logan heard the words “emergency foster care”. This man was a social worker.

Their mother had no siblings. There were no aunts or uncles or cousins to take them in. Her parents died before either of the boys had a chance to know them. There was no one to fall back on.

He and Thomas were going into foster care.

“We’ll try to be contacting your father as soon as possible,” the man explained. “But until then, you will have to be placed with an emergency foster family.”

“No,” Thomas said, borderline indignant. “I can take care of Logan myself. I-I helped raise him. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry, but this is how it has to go. You two have to be cared for by a legal adult.”

“I’m going to be a legal adult. I turn eighteen next week.”

“And when that week comes you get to see him as much as you wish.”

Logan didn’t want to hear this anymore. He may have been young, but he knew what was going to happen. They were going to separate him and Thomas. The likelihood of someone wanting to take care of two teenage boys was slim. And when Thomas turned eighteen, he’d be free to leave. But Logan would be stuck. They wouldn’t see Thomas as a suitable guardian. He had no job -- no source of income. He was still in high school.

Going over all the facts made Logan feel... something. He felt his chest tighten and his legs go weak. There was a pressure pushing down on him, making everything seem too small. He needed to get out -- he needed to stop hearing this.

He ran back to his room and shut the door. He dove under the covers of his bed like a scared little kid. Maybe that’s what he was. All he was was a scared little kid who cried at things he couldn’t stand up to. Who froze up and ran away when he heard things he didn’t like.

He tried to wrap the blanket tighter around himself to drown out his thoughts. They were too loud. He couldn’t breathe. It was like his lungs forgot how to expand and contract on their own. They were doing too much of one and not the other, and he couldn’t focus enough to fix it. He knew he had to fix it, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. It was too much -- everything was too much. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand it. It was too much. He couldn’t do it.

“Logan?”

That was Thomas. Focus on Thomas. Answer Thomas.

He couldn’t answer Thomas.

The edge of the bed dipped. “Logan -- hey -- I need you to listen to me, alright?” His voice was gentle. “Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, and breathe out for eight.”

Logan tried to follow the steps -- he tried so hard. He couldn’t do it. He was choking. “I -- I --” A sob escaped his lips instead of coherent words.

“Alright. We’re gonna try something else, okay? Focus on me, Logan. I know you can do this. You know your room, right? What are five things you can touch?”

Logan knew one. “B-blanket.” Associate. “Bed.” Keep going. “P-pillow.” He kept track with his fingers. Using his brain was too hard. “Sheets.” He stretched out his arm to where he assumed Thomas was. “You.”

Thomas held Logan’s searching hand. “That’s good. You’re doing great. What are four things you can see?”

He peeked his head over his blanket cocoon. “Wall.” Expand. “P-poster.” Elaborate. “Th-the Doctor Who one. And the Winnie th-the Pooh one.” One more, “You.”

Thomas smiled. It erased the concern on his face for a brief second. “Three things you can hear.”

“My breathing.” It wasn’t as heavy anymore, though still a bit ragged. “My alarm clock -- but only in the morning.” It was easier to think -- to talk. “And your voice.”

“Two things you can smell.”

“The cookies in the oven.” Things were better. “The flour you dropped on your shirt.”

Thomas glanced down at the rather large white patch clinging to the front of his shirt. “That’s kind of embarrassing... Anyway, one thing you can taste.”

“Nothing that would be sanitary.”

Thomas chuckled. “That’s a safe answer.” He squeezed Logan’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Not like I’m dying.” He sat up. His limbs were wobbly. “How did you know how to do that?”

He shrugged. “You learn a thing or two when you get older.”

Fair enough, Logan supposed. He crawled closer to Thomas and put his head on his arm. It felt better to be near him. “What’s going to happen now?”

Thomas sighed. “We’re going to have to leave.”

“Right now?”

He didn’t say anything, but that was an answer in itself.

“Oh.”

He squeezed Logan’s hand again. “I’ll help you pack.”

They were allowed to bring whatever they could carry. Their social worker didn’t help. He made it seem like they needed to leave as fast as possible. Logan didn’t want to leave at all. But they left. It wasn’t until the house was fading from view that he realized Cara’s guitar was still in his closet.

~~~

Their emergency foster family was nice enough, but Logan was more glad about getting to stay with Thomas longer. It was an older man and woman. There were pictures of them with two kids. A boy and a girl. Logan assumed it was their children. He noticed a newer picture of the girl in a college graduation gown. There was another one with the boy in a suit and a woman next to him wearing white. He didn’t know why they’d want to be foster parents when they had their own kids -- emergency foster parents no less. A position where you get traumatized kids dropped off at your doorstep under short notice.

But they were nice. They let Logan and Thomas be alone in their room. And that was another thing Logan was glad for. Sharing a room. He didn’t think he’d be able to be apart from Thomas.

They sat on a bed together, not saying much at first. It was a rough month.

Logan had The Phantom Tollbooth clutched tightly to his chest. He was afraid to put it down. He didn’t want to forget it like another important item of his. “I left my guitar behind,” he muttered after the long stretch of silence.

Thomas paused. “I’m sure we’ll get it back.”

Logan didn’t know how to respond.

“Do you wanna see something?” Thomas asked with a small smile.

“Sure.”

Thomas hopped off the bed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a large photo album.

Logan couldn’t stop the grin growing on his face. “You brought the photo album?”

He shrugged. “I just felt like I needed to grab something.” He sat back on the bed. The album was meant to mimic a thick book. It was dark blue and squishy with the edges being worn down from use. It was mostly baby pictures of both boys, which made it their mother’s favorite album. There were other pictures, but mainly baby pictures. “Wanna look through it?”

“Yeah, I like making fun of you.”

Thomas scoffed. “Whatever. Don’t act like you don’t have any embarrassing pictures in here.” He flipped it open to the first page.

The very first picture was of Thomas and their mother. She sat in a hospital bed with her newborn in her arms, smiling softly at the camera. She looked a lot younger here. Like the same age as Thomas and his friends. It made Logan realize that he didn’t actually know how old his mother was when she was first pregnant. He never noticed how much younger she looked compared to other mothers.

“She looks like a kid,” Logan couldn’t help but mutter.

Thomas frowned a bit, eyes glued on her face. “She was.” But he didn’t elaborate.

Regardless, the first few pages of the album were of Thomas. Their mother would pop up every once in a while with a large smile that made Logan’s heart ache, but it mainly focused on Thomas. There was his birthdays, his first day of school, him just being a little kid. And then there was another picture taken in a hospital. A story frozen in time.

Thomas sat on the hospital bed next to his mother, hanging close to her arm. They both smiled down at the little bundle she held. A newborn Logan. They gazed at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“I forgot how tiny you were,” Thomas commented with a hint of amusement.

“I’m still tiny,” Logan replied bitterly. He was one of the shortest kids in his grade. Cara was half a head taller than him.

“Well, when you were a baby you were a lot smaller than you should have been.”

“I was?”

“You were born a few weeks early.”

“I was?”

Thomas laughed a bit at the repeated phrase in the exact same cadence. “Yeah. But maybe you just got stuck with the short genes. You were a healthy size by the time you were one.”

Oh, lame. He was going to be short forever.

“I guess we won’t know for sure until you’re all grown up.”

That was less lame.

Thomas turned the page. His hand froze on it. There was a picture of their dad. It was one of the only ones Logan had ever seen of him; he smiled at the camera with Thomas in his lap. It was a small, polite smile. It wasn’t a large grin like their mother’s. Or a radiant beam like Thomas’s. It was subdued. It didn’t bring as much joy with it. Logan wondered if that’s what he always smiled like, or if that was something he did for pictures.

“Do you think he’ll take us in?” Logan brought himself to ask.

“I don’t know.” He turned the page.

On the fourth day, they finally had a permanent solution. They had a new social worker come in — a woman named Miss Janelle Wilton — to tell them that their father gave up legal custody. He didn’t want anything to do with them. The only thing to do now was put them into foster care.

And once again Logan found himself not understanding. He never had a dad before. He wasn’t familiar with the concept. But weren’t dads… supposed to want their children? Why didn’t their father want them? He noticed Thomas get angry at the news. Thomas was rarely ever angry. But the moment he heard that their dad gave up on them, he could barely restrain his fury.

They were going to be placed with foster families tomorrow.

Families.

More than one.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Wilton said. She seemed genuine about it. “We were unable to find a household willing to take both of you.”

Even though Logan knew that would happen, it still hurt to hear. This would be his last night with Thomas. Maybe ever. And he didn’t know what to do.

“I can’t believe him,” Thomas exploded as soon as they were alone in their room. It startled Logan. “He didn’t even want to try.”

Logan didn’t know what to say. He had never seen Thomas so angry before. He didn’t want him to be angry, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better. Unlike him, Thomas knew what it was like to have a dad. He knew how dads were supposed to be. Apparently, dads were supposed to try.

Thomas began to pace the length of the room, clearly doing it in an attempt to cool off.

Logan crawled onto his temporary bed and watched him. He still didn’t know what to do. He ran his thumb along the spine of the book in his arms. “Did you think that he would?” He got himself to speak at last.

“I don’t know — maybe. I hoped…” He sighed. “I wanted to believe there was at least something good in him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He paused, eyeing Logan briefly as some of his anger escaped. “I —” He sighed again — “I never told Mom about it, but I ran into Dad last year.” He ignored the wide-eyed look Logan gave him. “Honestly, he seemed more surprised to see me than I was to see him. I had no idea why. It wasn’t as if I expected him to be there, either.” He crossed his arms, his anger reigniting. “I was out with Valerie and Terrence — not exactly a witch hunt — yet he acted as if there was a reason I was there. Evidently, he didn’t want the kid he left ruining his date.”

Logan caught onto the bitterness in his words but decided not to comment.

“I tried to be nice to him. I tried to see the best in him. He's my dad so he had to at least be nice. But then he told me why he left. And it was stupid and selfish, and it was all because —" He cut himself off, catching sight of Logan. And his face softened a bit.

He tightened his hold on his book. "Because what?"

His face softened further, and he sighed yet again, his anger going out with it. "It doesn't matter." He sat beside Logan. "It was a dumb reason, anyway."

"Well, I don't think there's a smart reason to run away from your kids and wife."

Thomas snorted. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Later that night, neither of them could sleep. Dread hung in the air between them. The knowledge that they would be separated tomorrow stung with a bitter, almost palpable taste. Rather than stew in it alone, Logan decided to slip out of his bed and into Thomas's. Thomas turned his head to look at him.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’re just a baby boy,” his voice tapered off into the ‘I’m-talking-to-someone-way-younger-than-me’ tone — which Logan always loathed. And Thomas knew this. He only ever did it to be annoying. To add to this, he kept cooing about his baby brother. Referring to Logan directly as his baby or little brother was another thing he did to be annoying. He wrapped his arms around Logan and squeezed him tight, continuing his baby talk.

“Noo,” Logan whined. He tried to wriggle out but found he had no room. It didn’t help that he still had his book between his arms. On instinct, he almost called out for his mom for assistance, but instead he said, “Stop it. I’ll bite you.”

Thomas sighed as if it was the most ridiculous quest to befall him. “Fine.” But he didn’t let go. Logan decided not to comment on this. “You know,” he started softly after a moment, “whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll make sure to find my way back to you.”

Rather than risk bursting into tears coming up with a response, Logan buried his face into the crook of Thomas’s neck. He didn’t want to leave. Thomas was all he had left. After that, what else could anyone take from him? The few possessions he was able to grab before he left the house? What did those things mean in the end? He didn’t want things he wanted people. He could lose everything he ever owned, but as long as he had Cara, or his mom, or Thomas, then it didn’t matter. But that wasn’t his circumstance.

“Are you holding something?”

They both moved away enough for Logan to show his book. “I don’t wanna put it down,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Did you want to read it?”

“Um…”

“Or do you want me to read it?”

He nodded and handed the book over.

Thomas turned on the lamp beside the bed. He positioned himself so that Logan was still close, but he was able to hold the book with both hands. “‘There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself — not just sometimes, but always.’”

~~~

Before Logan left, he grabbed a photo from the photo album. He did it when Thomas wasn’t looking. Like it was some secret. But he didn’t want to be told he couldn’t take one or be judged on what he decided to take. He took the first picture he saw. Thomas’s fourth birthday. They were sitting at the dining table. Thomas was on his mother’s lap with his usual wide smile. She had her chin resting on the top of his head with sparkling eyes. The cake was decorated with blue frosting and topped with a number four candle.

He put it in his book.

He didn’t talk the whole way to his foster family. He didn’t even talk when he got there. There was no amount of coercing or gentle words that would get him to open his mouth. He just held his book close to his chest and kept his eyes cast on the ground. They left him alone soon enough. Not that it mattered.

His room was small. Light peach walls empty of any personality. Logan supposed he was meant to fix that, but he wasn’t going to. He didn’t want to get comfortable here. He didn’t want to stay. He wanted to be home. He wanted Thomas. He wanted his mom.

But there was nothing to be done about that.

When April 24th came around, Logan felt absolutely miserable. He was alone. He wanted his mom. He wanted to see his brother. It was Thomas's eighteenth birthday. His mom said eighteenth birthdays were special. It was meant to be special, but now they weren’t even together. He wondered if Thomas was doing okay. Was he at least having a good birthday?

Logan rolled on his side and stared at the empty wall. "Happy birthday," he whispered. The first words he said since being separated. And no one was there to hear them.

On the other side of town, Thomas laid in bed, absolutely miserable. His foster parents asked if he wanted to celebrate his birthday, which was nice, but he declined the offer. He didn't want anything to do with his birthday. This would be the first birthday without his mom's homemade cake. The first birthday without Logan jumping on his bed to wake him up in the morning because "it's your birthday, you gotta be up early!".

He missed them.

He regretted taking those little things for granted. He'd do anything to hear Logan run down the hall and burst through his door, interrupting his sleep. He wanted more than anything to see his mom act like her cake was still a surprise even though he always got the same one for seventeen straight years. But he didn't have that. He was alone.

~~~

Two years.

Logan stayed in the foster care system for two years. During that period, he had been forced to move houses a few times. Not as much as other kids, he was sure, but more than twice was still a lot. Many families were nice. Others not so much. The people that weren’t as nice were the ones that got rid of him the fastest. They told Miss Wilton he was a problem child. He was difficult to deal with.

Well, Logan didn’t know what they expected. He had his family ripped away from him. It wasn’t as if he was going to get over that with their faux generosity. Besides, all he did was not talk. Apparently, adults didn’t like that.

Miss Wilton soon came to realize that Logan wasn’t the problem. Anytime someone complained after her discovery, she would give the foster family a fake sweet smile and apologize on Logan’s behalf, then be on her way with Logan in tow. Logan noticed that she gave a lot of adults fake smiles. Her real smiles she gave to Logan and other kids.

She could also be snarky, so Logan ended up liking her.

The last family she found for him he stayed with the longest. They were more understanding than the others, which was a relief. But those last few months were filled with something a bit more important.

Thomas was trying to get legal guardianship.

It was tough and long, and Logan had never been so impatient in his life. Miss Wilton took him to the final court decision. And he almost cried right then and there. He saw Valerie and Terrence. Familiar faces that he hadn't seen in two years. Faces that followed him through his childhood. He didn't realize how much he missed them.

And then he saw Thomas. They stared at each other with wide, unbelieving eyes. Thomas smiled. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. Logan was reminded of home.

After that, the day was a blur. He remembered it being stressful. Of course it was. Strangers were deciding his future. Adults he didn’t know were choosing if he got to stay with Thomas or not. Putting it that way made it seem so silly. Thomas was his brother. Why shouldn’t they be able to live together? They’ve been together his whole life. It wouldn’t have been fair to come to any other decision.

Thankfully, whatever deity had forced them into this situation decided to side with them that day.

Miss Wilton showed genuine excitement and relief at the brothers being together again. She was happy that their permanent home would be with each other. Because she was happy, Logan knew he should have been happy too, but he just… couldn’t believe it. Not yet. Since the moment Cara left, his entire life had been going downhill. There was no way it would pick up now. He was half convinced the universe would pull a mean trick and he’d be ripped away from Thomas again.

But nothing like that happened. Miss Wilton helped Logan pack his things and took him to Thomas’s place. It was surreal to hear that Thomas had his own apartment. When last they left each other, Thomas hadn’t even begun to consider moving out.

When they got there, Miss Wilton explained some things that Logan tuned out. He caught a snippet about someone coming to check on them sometime soon, and maybe she said something about Logan, but he didn’t pay attention. He was too busy gazing around the room. There were a few things he recognized from the house — the couch, the dining table, the TV, the pictures — and he wondered what else had made it. Logically, he knew not everything could fit in here, but part of him still hoped. He liked being surrounded by familiarity.

Not long after, Miss Wilton said her final goodbye. Logan was sort of sad about it. She had been a constant presence in his life for two whole years. But he assumed her saying goodbye was a good thing. It meant that he had a permanent home to stay in.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Miss Wilton said before she left for good. “But I hope we never see each other again.”

Logan agreed.

She gave him one last, genuine smile. Then she left.

“She seemed nice,” Thomas said after a moment.

It then occurred to Logan that Thomas didn’t spend as much time with her as he did. To respond, Logan simply nodded.

There was a slight twitch of a frown at the nonverbal response, but he masked it with a smile. “Well, come on. Let me show you to your room.”

Logan trailed after him without a word.

Thomas talked for both of them on the short way there. He mentioned how he tried to get as much stuff from the house as possible, but he couldn’t get everything. That didn’t mean he didn’t try, though. “Valerie and Terrence helped out a lot. Oh — and Joan. They’re a co-worker of mine and they live a few apartments down. I’m sure they’d love to meet you — well — after you get settled.” He opened one of the doors.

One of the first things Logan saw almost made him drop his book. Cara’s guitar. It was resting on his bed, waiting for him. Before he rushed over to it, he decided to look around. It was almost like he never had to leave. His posters were on the walls, his little bookcase was there — even his bed sheets were the same. He dropped his book on his nightstand, finally feeling safe enough to let it go, and he opened the guitar case. It looked the same as when he left it.

That’s when reality started to sink in.

This was real. Logan was here with Thomas. He was allowed to stay here. There wouldn’t be any more strangers he had to live with. There wouldn’t be anymore wishing — begging — every night for Thomas to come back like he promised, hoping he hadn’t been forgotten or left behind. This was real. And he was here. Thomas didn’t break his promise at all. He found his way back.

Without realizing it, Logan started crying. He was home. He ran to Thomas and hugged him. They almost crashed to the ground from the sheer force, but Thomas was able to keep them upright. “I missed you,” he said at last. “I missed you so much.”

Thomas hugged him back, holding him close. “I missed you, too.”

~~~

Despite being together, things were still difficult. Money-wise at least. Thomas wondered how the hell his mom ran a house with three people when he had a hard enough time in an apartment with two. She must have been magic. Or maybe Thomas just sucked.

He tried his best, really, but that didn’t make things easier. Sometimes things were difficult to overcome despite a positive attitude. Everything costed money. And that was the worst. He had to pay for food, clothes, gas, rent — and that was just the basics. That didn’t count the school supplies Logan needed, or the phone bills, or the cable bills, or all the other bills that seemed to exist.

There wasn’t ever much spare money lying around. Almost everything Thomas earned went to pay for something. He didn’t have much to save, and that didn’t seem like it would change anytime soon.

He tried not to let Logan know how stressful this all was. The poor kid had been through so much already, he didn’t need to worry about his older brother. He didn’t like to think of it as lying, but he sort of… stretched… the truth. A little bit. Enough to be believable. Logan was a smart kid. He’d figure it out if things started to not add up.

So Thomas never let it get to that point. Did he have to get two jobs? Yes. Was he unable to work anywhere better because he only had a high school diploma? Yes. Did he know that having a higher education would get him a better job? Yes. Was he going to punch the next person in the throat who said that to him? Probably. He wanted to scream that he couldn’t afford to get a dang higher education because he had to raise his brother and put a roof over his head. There wasn’t enough freaking time in the day to earn money and go to school.

But he didn’t do that. He held his tongue and thanked that person for such wonderful advice that a million other people have said before.

People sucked sometimes.

Regardless, Thomas did the same things he always did. He took Logan to school, he went to work, he cooked dinner, he went to work again, then he slept. Interlaced, of course, was paying for things that needed to be paid whenever it was needed. One day, he noticed something. It was a small thing; he would have missed it if he wasn't paying attention.

"Logan, are you having trouble seeing?" They were stopped at a light on their way to Logan's school. It was way early, and he was super tired, but this seemed kind of important.

"Uh…" Logan stopped squinting out the window. "No."

That wasn't believable, but he dropped the subject for the time being. It wasn’t until later that night that he decided to push it.

“Hey, bear,” Thomas called from the kitchen. He grabbed two identical boxes of noodles out of the cupboard. From far enough away, they were hard to tell apart. Thomas sometimes mixed them up at a glance. “What kind of pasta do you want?” He stood at the doorway and presented the boxes.

Logan, who had been sitting cross-legged on the couch doing homework, looked up and immediately grimaced. “Um… the one on the right.”

“Which one is that?”

“Uh —” Thomas could tell he was trying not to squint — “the good one.”

Thomas lowered the boxes with a frown. “You can’t see it, can you?”

“I can see it. Just… it’s a little blurry.”

“How much is a little?”

Logan hesitated, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “I can make out the shapes but I can’t read it.”

Thomas frowned further. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you.” He focused on the papers before him. “You’re always so busy, and I know money gets tight sometimes, so I figured if I didn’t tell you it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” Thomas sat beside him. “I’m the adult here and it’s my responsibility. We have insurance for a reason, you big goof.” He threw his arm around him and pulled him in for a side hug. “Next time something’s wrong or you have a problem, tell me, okay?”

Logan gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

~~~

A new student entered Logan’s grade near the end of the school year. Logan only found out because they shared the same English class. He thought it was unlucky to join a new school so late in the year, but that wasn’t any of his business. Not like the new kid would care about his opinion anyway.

Unfortunately, the teacher decided to sit the new student beside him — even though there were two other seats available. Logan cursed his bad luck and kept his head down. He didn’t want to interact with anyone. Ever. He hadn’t made another friend since Cara left.

Unfortunately again, this kid didn’t care.

“Hey,” he said with a charming smile. “I’m Percival.”

~~~

So clearly Logan was gay.

Who knew.

He found and read different books on different sexualities to try to understand his confusion. He felt most comfortable identifying as gay, but the tiny section on asexuality in one of the books was always in the back of his mind. Okay, so, it was still sort of confusing, but saying he was gay felt like a good fit. At least for now.

When he mentioned it to Thomas off-hand, he said — and Logan swears he’ll never let him live this down — “Oh, shit, me too.”

It caught him so off guard that he laughed until he cried. Never, in his entire life, had he ever heard Thomas curse. And the first time he did was because they talked about being gay. Somehow that seemed very fitting.

But the tiny, little factoid that Logan left out — just a small detail — was that he and Percival were dating. Telling Thomas he was gay? Yeah, sure, easy. Telling Thomas he had a boyfriend? No. Nope. That would be a disaster. He’d probably freak out about it. In more than one way.

So that was his little secret for the time being. Until he was ready.

Well, it turned out the joke was on him because he accidentally let it slip about four months into their relationship. Like a dang fool.

He didn’t mean to. At all. But once it was out he couldn’t take it back. As predicted, Thomas freaked out. He demanded to know the details at the same time he tried to give advice. It was embarrassing and unnecessary and Logan would have preferred to sink into the earth than experience any second of this onslaught. Worst of all, Thomas wanted to meet him.

It wasn’t that he thought Percival wasn’t someone to meet his family — he was very sweet — it was just the thought of Thomas being an embarrassing older brother. Which he was. If he let them anywhere near each other he’d probably end up dying of embarrassment.

So he tried to push it off at first. It wasn’t necessary right now. Wait a little longer. But it turned out that Percival was on Thomas’s side. Logan felt betrayed.

They (well, with great reluctance on Logan’s part) settled on meeting up for lunch on the weekend. Logan insisted that Thomas bring Joan so that he could have someone to talk to in the inevitable event that Thomas started being embarrassing. He knew it would happen no matter how many times Thomas said it wouldn’t.

“Well that was fun,” Percival mentioned after the whole ordeal was over. They were by themselves now, walking through a park to Percival’s house.

Logan rolled his eyes. Predictively, Thomas had an embarrassing older brother moment. Thank God Joan was there to reel him back a bit. “That’s easy for you to say, you don’t live with him.”

Percival laughed. “Still. We should do it again sometime.”

Logan refrained from rolling his eyes again. “I’ll have to think about that.”

Then Percival stopped. He looked down at Logan with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Logan opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get the chance. Percival ducked down and captured his lips.

He wanted to suck in a sharp breath of air — an automatic response of surprise — but he didn’t. At least, he didn’t think so. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was sudden. A pressure on his mouth he wasn’t familiar with. The new, strange feeling of someone else’s lips. It was like fire, and teasing, and strawberry lemonade. And then it was over.

Percival pulled back, but their lips still brushed together when he whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

His chest fluttered.

~~~

Logan was sixteen when he realized something was… off. He didn’t notice where the feeling was coming from at first. Things between Thomas and him were fine. They weren’t currently struggling for money. All of Thomas’s friends were doing okay. What was left? Why did he have a bad feeling looming over his shoulder?

He wished he could have said that he pieced it together quickly. He wished he could have said he narrowed it down after going through every single option. But he didn't. He… he just didn't.

He didn't even know. It happened so subtly — like a pot heating bit by bit unbeknownst to the poor frog. Except Logan was the frog in this scenario.

He couldn't tell you what the first hint that the water was boiling was. It wasn't as easy as saying, "it started when he did this" because it all seemed okay. Everything was okay. He thought it was at least.

And then, all at once, it was very not okay.

Approaching their first year of being together, Percival wasn't as sweet anymore. Well, he was. But not all the time. Sometimes he said things that were a little too mean. Sometimes he brought up things he knew Logan was insecure about. Sometimes he didn't even seem like the same person.

But it was fine. He always apologized or made it up in some way. And Logan always forgave him. Again. And again. And again.

He felt like an idiot to not notice the pattern.

From there it only escalated. Suddenly, it felt like everything Logan did was criticized. Nothing he did was good enough or worth the effort to look at.

"Anyone can play guitar. It's easy."

Logan was inclined to agree, but coming from someone who didn't know how to play any instrument — let alone a guitar — felt belittling. It completely ignored his years of practice. Still, Logan shoved the guitar in his closet.

"Why does it matter that you won that scholarship?"

He wanted to say that Thomas was proud of him. But he didn't. Thomas was proud of anything that Logan did, though. It must not have been that impressive.

"I hate when you wear that shirt."

He kept it at the bottom of his drawer.

"Remember when you failed that math test?"

He studied every free minute he had.

"Your laugh is annoying."

He tried not to laugh again.

The first time Percival hit him was a surprise. It sort of seemed like an accident, but Logan was never sure. He wasn't sure about a lot. But even Percival seemed a little shocked after he did it. Logan wondered, if he had spoken up then, would it have ended there? Did his silence on the matter convince Percival he could get away with it? He didn't know.

It was almost two years into their relationship. He must have done something wrong.

Logan shuffled into the apartment. The place where Percival hit him the previous day started to appear a lot more visible as throughout school. To add to his bad luck, Thomas wasn't in his room. He tried to slip by but was caught before he made it to the hallway.

“Hey, Logan,” Thomas chirped. “Come here it feels like I haven't seen you all day.”

Logan hesitated. He could say he wasn't feeling well, or straight out refuse to turn around, but that wouldn't work out in the end. He couldn't hide this forever. Taking a deep, silent breath, Logan turned around.

The smile fell right off Thomas's face. “Oh, my God.” He rushed over to Logan. “Oh God, bear, what happened to you?” His hands hovered around Logan's face as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. It made Logan a little nervous.

His hands soon found their place cradling Logan's head. “What happened to your face, Logan?”

The anguished expression of his brother almost made Logan want to tell the truth. Almost. “I, uh, I fell.” That couldn't have been believable.

“Please tell me the truth, bear.” Thomas furrowed his brows in worry. “Unless you fell down some stairs, I don't think your face should look like this.”

Logan pulled himself away. “I-it's nothing. I just fell.”

“Logan —”

“I'm fine, Thomas.” He retreated to his room.

But that statement became less and less true with time. As the injury on his face changed colors to a more noticeable bruise, Logan found himself with others. The new ones were places less obvious and often hidden with articles of clothing.

All the while Logan tried to convince himself everything would be fine. Percival was a knight of the round table — a hero from Arthurian legend. But if that were true… then why did it feel so wrong to be near him? People don't flinch when the hero gets mad. People don't cower when a knight goes to see them. All the fear made Logan miss the talking. It had become subtle insults toward Logan recently, but that was better than fearing another injury.

Logan held on for a few more days. Each day he came home more tired than the last, with Thomas increasing his worry, until one day he couldn't take it.

He hauled himself through the front door. He dropped his backpack on the ground and went straight for Thomas.

Thomas was looking down at some papers but glanced up when he heard the noise. He gasped and dropped everything to be by Logan. “Are you okay?”

Logan wiped his tears and shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, bear?” Thomas tried to reach a hand out to Logan but stopped when he flinched. “What happened?”

“Percy, he — he —” Logan wrapped his arms around himself. Sobs were choking him. “I-I didn't want to do it, Thomas. I didn't w-want to. H-he tried to make me. I was scared. I-I ran away — I ran away from him.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm sorry. P-please don't be m-mad. I'm sorry.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to do. God, he was suddenly aware of how young they both were. He didn’t have infinite wisdom or a sense of direction like a parent should. He was barely going to be twenty-one next month. Something terrible must have been going on and Thomas wasn’t equipped to handle it.

“L-Logan, hey.” Thomas kept his hands to himself. “Let’s try to calm down, alright? I’m not mad at you, kiddo, I have nothing to be mad at you for.”

“B-but I —”

“Shh, it’s okay. We can sit down and talk, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

They sat down on the couch together. Logan hugged himself like he would fall apart if he stopped and Thomas tried to get him to breathe properly. It took a bit, but they got there. At least enough to not be so alarming. Then Logan told him everything. He showed him every bruise, mentioned every bitter conversation, and even what transpired today.

“We were just talking,” Logan explained. He was no longer crying, but the effects of it still altered his voice. “Everything was fine. It felt like things had gone back to normal — he was sweet and told me nice things, but apparently, there was an ulterior motive.” He tightened his hands into fists. “He wanted… he wanted to…” He sucked in a breath. “He wanted to do something I didn’t. I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen. I, I didn’t know what else to do so I ran.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? How do you even respond to that? This was his little brother. It wasn’t happening to anyone else, it wasn’t a story he heard about someone, it was happening right here — and it was his brother. He couldn’t imagine Logan going through this that whole time. He didn’t even want to think about what caused him to run all the way home. It was all so… awful. And he felt awful about not saying anything, or noticing sooner, or —

“It’s okay.” This wasn’t about him. It was about Logan. “Sometimes the best thing to do is get out of there as fast as you can. You made a smart decision.”

“It doesn’t feel like one.” Logan curled into himself.

Thomas pushed down the sick feeling in his stomach. “It is. He wasn’t listening to you so you did the only other thing you could think of. You got somewhere safe. It’s okay to run away sometimes, Logan — especially if you’re in danger.”

Logan remained silent.

Oh, Thomas wanted to hug him so bad, but he refrained from doing so.

The next day, Percival knocked on the door and asked to see Logan. Thomas tightened his grip on the doorknob to stop from doing something he’d regret. “He’s not here,” he responded in his usual cheerful tone despite the fact his blood was boiling. “He went down to the library to grab something. Would you like to leave a message?”

Percival smiled politely. “No thanks. I think I’ll just meet him down there.”

“Sure thing.” Thomas resisted the urge to slam the door in his face.

Logan was frozen in the kitchen. The only thing separating him from the front door was a wall. He didn’t dare to even breathe until he saw Thomas in the doorway. Before either of them could think to say anything, Logan’s phone started to ring. He felt his blood run cold.

“Don’t answer it,” Thomas said softly.

He didn’t.

That wasn’t an isolated incident, as it turned out. Percival came back the next day to ask where Logan had been — claimed he was worried because his calls were going unanswered. Thomas handled it with surprising grace, having a believable lie at the ready, but it wasn’t enough. Percival kept calling and when that inevitable day came where Logan had to go back to school, he couldn’t avoid him. And Thomas wasn’t there to help.

Nothing happened besides subtle anger and vague threats. Logan knew that the only thing saving him was being in public. He knew that once school was out, that there would be little time to get away. Percival wasn’t patient. So he sent Thomas a text to pick him up right as school ended. It wasn’t as if he would say no — he was wary to let Logan go to school at all — but Logan was still scared. Thomas was already doing so much for him. He didn’t want to push the limit.

Thomas: I could get you right now

As much as that appealed to Logan, he couldn’t. He was already making Thomas miss work to pick him up after school. Having him pick him up now would just be worse. He declined the offer, insisting he was fine. For now.

Once the final bell rang, Logan was the first one out of the classroom door. He wasn’t normally one to be so eager to leave, but right now he wanted to get home as soon as possible.

A hand grabbed his shoulder once he spotted Thomas’s car. "Leaving so soon?"

Every muscle in Logan's body froze. He let Percival spin him around to see his displeased face.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he continued. "The least you can do is come over so we can catch up on lost time. I was wondering what happened to you."

"I was busy," Logan mumbled. He tried to stand his ground, but Percival was more determined than him.

"Well, you're not now. So come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Logan couldn't respond. He couldn't move away.

"Hey, Logan!"

Oh, thank Christ.

They turned to see Thomas running up to them. "We gotta help Joan set up their place for Talyn, remember?"

Logan had no idea how Thomas could lie on the spot like that despite hating lying so much.

"But Logan was just saying how he was going to stop by real quick." His fingers dug into Logan's shoulder. "Right?"

"Sorry, but this has to be done by — like — yesterday." He offered his hand out to Logan, who took it gratefully. "Maybe some other time."

Percival relented his hold. "Sure. Some other time."

Thomas flashed him a smile and dragged Logan back to his car.

Before they even got to the apartment, Thomas was already devising a plan to keep Percival far away. First thing first, Logan needed to be transferred to another school. There was no way he was spending another second of forced interaction with his abuser. Second, there needed to be a phone number change.

Logan listened to his near-ranting as they walked up to their apartment. He didn't have any input. What was there to say? This was a sucky situation from all angles.

"You'll have to stay with Valerie until this whole thing blows over."

That caught Logan's attention. Panic hijacked his senses, and words were leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "No! Please don't leave me somewhere. I don't want to be away from you."

"Logan —"

"Please. I, I can't be alone again. I'll do anything. Whatever you want — I'll do it."

"Oh, no, Logan —"

"Don't leave. Please. Please don't leave. How will I know when you'll be back? What if I have to get moved around again? What if you're gone for good this time and I don't see you again?"

"Logan, stop." Thomas cupped his face with his hands. Firm, but gentle. Just to get him to stop his erratic movements and focus on something. "I'm not going to abandon you, okay? I'm…" He studied Logan's face. "Alright. We'll both go to Valerie's. I'll have Joan keep an eye on the place." He wiped Logan's cheeks of the tears he didn't even notice he shed. "I'm not leaving you, bear."

For the first time in several days, Logan hugged Thomas.

~~~

“Well, since you just fell for me you should probably know my name, at least. I’m Patton.”

~~~

Logan was nineteen when he met Patton. He was nineteen when they started dating. And he had never felt… more like a kid. Patton was silly, and kind, and loved dumb puns. Whether he knew it or not, he was helping Logan unlearn everything Percival taught him. It wouldn’t be perfect. There would still be emotional scars that would never heal, but he would be able to function again. He wouldn’t start every day in fear of what would happen. Patton made things okay.

They had been dating for exactly a year when they kissed for the first time.

It was in the evening. Logan was planning on spending the night so they were in Patton’s room (Logan had to answer at least twenty different texts from Thomas to assure him that he was fine and he’d call if anything happened). It felt like sleeping over at Cara’s again; there wasn’t much of a plan to go to sleep, just to have fun. At around midnight, Patton sprung up from his spot on the floor and excitedly claimed to have an idea.

Logan didn’t even get the chance to process what happened before Patton was searching through his closet. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” He pulled a box out and grabbed an even smaller box from within it. “My parents sent this to me before they found out I took in Emile and D. And, well, you know what happened after that.” He took out a globe-like projector and plugged it in before shutting off the lights.

“Patton —” the rest of his words died on his lips when Patton turned it on. Dozens of specks showed up on the ceiling. Like someone took a paintbrush and flung white paint across the room. Then he noticed that some of those specks weren’t random. They were constellations. These were stars.

“That’s a lot better than I thought it would look,” Patton laughed. He sent a grin over to Logan. “What do you think?”

Logan tore his eyes away from the ceiling. He tried to bite back a smile, but he couldn’t help it. “I think it’s wonderful.”

Patton gave him that look again. Like he mattered more than anything in the world. He did it a lot, but Logan still didn’t understand why. He continued to study Logan’s face before asking softly, “Can I kiss you?”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his chest, yet he still nodded. He practically melted when it happened.

It was gentle. A soft presence against his mouth that was different than anything before. The unique, strange feeling of someone else’s lips. It was like fresh chocolate chip cookies, and the Jabberwocky poem, and guessing the names of random dogs on the street. And then it was over.

It took Logan a second to open his eyes again.

Patton was a breath away, his eyes sparkling under the synthetic stars. “Was that too much?” He backed up a fraction more.

Logan pulled him in for another kiss.

~~~

Patton wasn’t supposed to know that Logan could play the guitar. Truth be told, he hadn’t touched it in a while. But he opened his closet to put something away, and there was the case. He didn’t think much about it; it had been in there so long already that he ignored it.

But Patton didn’t.

He spotted it and gasped so loud that Logan felt his heart shoot to his throat.

“I didn’t know you could play guitar!”

Oh crap. Logan glared at the case like it made its presence known on purpose. “Sort of.”

“Can you play something for me? Please?” He brought out his puppy eyes and kind smile. “Just one song.”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really not that good.”

“Normally, I take your word for things, but not for this. I have to hear for myself.”

Logan held back a grimace. Patton was determined. He may drop it now, but he’d bring it up another time, and another until eventually, Logan caved. “Fine.” He grabbed the case, ignoring the pang it sent to his chest at the thin layer of dust. “What do you want to hear?”

Patton resembled a puppy trying to hold in his excitement. “Something simple.”

Sure. Simple. He could do that. He sat beside Patton after taking the guitar out. It looked the same way he remembered. A bit older, and out of tune, but still the same. He almost forgot why he stopped playing it. As he placed his hands over the strings he remembered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. As his panic rose, he tried to formulate a way to back out, but then he noticed Patton giving him a patient smile.

He couldn’t tell Patton why. That could change everything.

It was just one song. He could do that. He pushed all his fear far, far down and started strumming.

Hey there, Delilah What's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away But, girl, tonight you look so pretty Yes, you do

He kept his head down the whole time. He couldn’t bring himself to look up as he noticed every single mistake he made. He half expected to be stopped when he got to the second verse, but that didn’t happen. Patton didn’t interrupt him or utter a single word. Not until he finished, at least.

“That was so good!” He clapped. “You’re amazing.”

Logan’s cheeks turned hot. “Not really. It’s just a guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Even if that were true, not everyone can play and sing at the same time.”

Well. Maybe.

Later, after Patton left, Logan saw Thomas sitting on the kitchen counter. “So I heard you serenading Patton earlier,” he muttered with a smirk around his coffee mug.

“Shut up.”

~~~

If someone told Logan that he'd end up marrying Patton, he would have been convinced they were lying. There was no way Patton would stay with him that long. Patton was wonderful, and sweet, and caring, and good, and Logan was just… Logan. There was nothing spectacular about that.

But as it turned out, Patton thought he was the most wonderful thing to grace his presence.

They did get married.

Logan couldn't believe that it happened. He was in disbelief the whole day. It didn't sink in that Patton chose him of all people until that night when they gazed up at the artificial stars on the ceiling. This was real. Patton wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. He could have had anyone else but he chose Logan.

And Logan was so glad that he did.

It had been such a long time since he felt this happy.

~~~

The social worker helping them with the adoption process was Mrs. Rachel Hernandez. She was nice. She reminded Logan of Miss Wilton.

Even with the kind assistance of Mrs. Hernandez, Logan was still very nervous. And now for several reasons. The very first and obvious being he wasn't sure he'd be a good dad — actually, that was most of the reasons. Another reason, unrelated to that, was the whole process reminded him of being torn away from his brother. It was silly, he knew, but the connection was still there. Along with all the anxieties it brought.

A lot of these kids were like him; stuck in an unfortunate circumstance that they had no say in. Logan was considered a lucky one. He got to return to his family. These kids were up for adoption because they weren't as lucky. He knew how it felt to lose everything you were familiar with and be thrust into the hands of strangers.

Then one day, after months of waiting, they had a match.

"I understand you were only intending to adopt one child," she started, and Logan wondered for a moment if this was how his first foster family was talked to when the prospect of siblings came up. "But Roman has a twin brother. We'd prefer to keep them together, but if you're adamant about only one then —"

"No," Logan blurted out before he could stop himself.

Mrs. Hernandez and Patton stared at him in wide-eyed shock. He normally kept quiet during these talks unless he had to answer something. And he never rose his voice like that.

His cheeks flushed. "I mean… I would prefer to not separate any siblings."

Mrs. Hernandez turned to Patton for his opinion.

"Uh," he tore his eyes away from Logan. "Yeah. I agree with that sentiment."

After everything had been dealt with, they left the office. But when Patton sat in the driver's seat, he didn't start the car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "So…" he started casually. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Logan pretended to be interested in the parking lot.

"You know what."

Ugh, it would have been so much better to ignore it. He sighed. "When I was put in foster care, they separated me from Thomas. So I know how it feels to not have your brother with you during one of the most stressful times in your life."

There was a pause. "You never told me that."

Logan shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel any worse for me than you already did."

Patton fumbled for a response, but in the end, he couldn't seem to find one at all.

The day they met Roman and Virgil, Logan was instantly reminded of being at Miss Wilton's side all those years ago. They were hesitant — scared — and didn't say a word. Logan knew better than anybody what they must be feeling.

Maybe that was the real reason they spoke to him first.

"Daddy!" Roman marched into the living room, a tiny scowl on his face. It was a day before their eleventh birthday "Virgil touched my stuff!"

"I did not!" Virgil shouted from the bedroom.

"Then why is it missing?"

"You didn't put it away."

Logan rolled his eyes. They had a habit of yelling across the house to each other. He blamed Patton. "Roman, if you're going to argue with your brother, at least do it in the same room."

Roman huffed and crossed his arms. "My color pencils are missing and I haven't touched them."

"Where did you leave them last?"

"In the room."

Logan stood up. "Let's go look for them, then." He followed Roman back to his bedroom. He still shared with Virgil. They didn't mind it yet, but Logan had a sneaking suspicion it would start soon.

Not even two minutes in the room and Logan found the color pencils. "They're right here."

"Oh." Roman took them with a sheepish grin.

"I told you you didn't put it away." Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. "This is why I'm Daddy's favorite." To emphasize his point, he hugged Logan's side.

Roman gasped dramatically. "No you're not — I am." He dropped his color pencils and rushed to Logan's other side. "Tell him I'm your favorite."

"Well, he's not because I'm his favorite."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Daddy!" Roman tugged on Logan's shirt. "Which one of us is right?"

"Neither of you. I don't have a favorite." He smirked at their disbelieving pouts. "You're both my little beasties. It's hard to have a favorite when you're tearing up the place all the time."

They took offense to that, blaming each other for the messes they made (together) and insisting that they were the good twin and the favorite because they cleaned up. It was only interrupted by the front door opening.

Roman gasped. "Dad's home."

"I'm gonna ask him who his favorite is." Virgil took off.

"It's gonna be me!" Roman followed after him.

Logan smiled at the commotion they created.

~~~

He sat on the bed with his wedding ring clasped tightly in his hand. Angry, hot tears still rolled down his cheeks and he hated it. He wanted to stop crying. It had been hours — why was he still crying?

He unfurled his fingers. There were indents in his palm from how tight he held his ring. He wanted to throw it. Break it. Do something to it. But he knew he would never bring himself to do anything he thought of. It would only upset him later.

So he put it back on.

It didn't feel right there anymore, but he couldn't bear to lose it.

He let the tears fall even as they turned from angry to distressed. He was an idiot, wasn't he? He should have known this life was too good to be true.

He wasn't destined to have a happy ending.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #thomas sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logicality #sibling prinxiety #relationship abuse tw #toxic relationship tw #attempted rape/non-con mention #anxiety attack tw #berry done au

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