#i watched 911 three times last year

[thosetwofirefighters]

was tagged by @mooshkat (thank you friend!!) to list 8 tv shows for my followers to get to know me better!

for someone who repeatedly watches the same shows over and over and hyperfixates on certain fandoms, you’d think this would be easy for me but …. it’s not 😂

1. 9-1-1 2. 9-1-1: Lone Star 3. Young Royals 4. The Mentalist (Patrick Jane my beloved...) 5. Broad City 6. The Good Place 7. Black Mirror 8. Disjointed

I will always be re-watching at least one of these, if not multiple (right now, it's Broad City and 9-1-1 hehe)

anyway, since I just watch the same shows over and over again, I'm excited to see what everyone else watches! @wheelsupin-five (I tried tagging two-cut-lines at first lmao) @paqerings @lilbuddie @the-likesofus @shortsighted-owl @poughkeepsies @alyxmastershipper @leslieknopeinthepit

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[chronicowboy]

Buck may not be a paramedic like Chim or a qualified doctor like Hen or a field medic like Eddie. He may not have Bobby's impressive decades of experience or Ravi's desire to take every single LAFD training course there is in his spare time. But he's picked up a lot from his six years with the fire department, so he feels pretty confident in diagnosing Verne with a serious amount of internal bleeding.

But the ambulance has been and gone, back-up hasn't arrived, and everyone else is busy with patients in more critical condition, so Buck crouches down next to Verne and gets to work on starting a line.

"How are you doing, Verne?" Buck asks with a smile. "Any major discomfort or pain I should know about?"

"My back, and my hip," Verne sighs, "but they've been uncomfortable for over a decade now, kid."

"Well, the fact that you can still feel that discomfort is very promising, at least."

"Promising," Verne hums. "Sure, let's go with that." His eyes turn a little glassy, drift, unfocused, somewhere over his shoulder.

"Hey, Verne, stay with me, yeah?" Buck smiles when their eyes meet again. "That's it. You're gonna be okay."

"This isn't the first time I've died, firefighter Buckley." Verne shakes his head with a grimace. "I know how this goes."

"Then, you know you go to the hospital and come back to life," Buck says, a little desperation creeping into his words. He keeps seeing flashes of a pale blue shirt and hearing snatches of a realisation about happiness.

"Maybe when I was your age." Verne smiles weakly. "Got into an accident after picking my best friend up from a bad date. They said I died for two minutes in the ambulance."

"Two minutes, huh?" Buck palpates his ribs to distract Verne as he checks on the rapidly growing bruise on his abdomen.

"You ever died, kid?"

"For three minutes, actually." Buck grins up at him. "Not to brag." Verne huffs a laugh. "I was that firefighter that got hit by lightning."

"No kidding," Verne chuckles. "Pretty cool way to go."

"Oh, very cool, yeah." Buck nods, biting down on his lip as he checks to see if the others are free yet. They aren't. "The trippy dream I had during my coma was pretty cool too."

"Yeah?"

"Well, unsettling more than anything, but, uh, I made it back, so that's what counts." Buck wraps a bandage around the sluggishly bleeding cut on Verne's arm. He winces, groaning, and Buck panics. "You said you were driving your best friend home from a bad date?" Verne nods. "That's exactly what I was doing last night," he snorts. "See that firefighter behind me?" Buck jerks his head at Eddie over his shoulder.

"Diaz?" Verne coughs.

"Yeah." Buck smiles. "His aunt keeps setting him up on terrible dates, I've become his get out of jail free card."

"And what does that entail?" Verne asks, curiosity piqued, more alert than he had been a moment ago.

"I pick him up when there are no Ubers nearby, I call him with an emergency when he texts me 911, I answer the phone when one of the women calls him to schedule a second date and pretend to be his husband." Buck shrugs. "Its a lot of fun."

"Is it?" Verne coughs again, a wet noise that makes Buck's stomach drop. "Is it fun when he goes on the dates?"

"I mean, not really." Buck wrinkles his nose, thinks of that swoop of nausea in his stomach every time Eddie walks out of the door. "But I get to hang out with Christopher, Eddie's son, which is much more fun than a crappy date, you know?"

"Did your best friend watch you die?" Verne asks suddenly.

"I-" Buck blinks. "Yeah, he, um..." He clears his throat. "He was actually the one to get me down from the ladder, the one that got my heart beating again." Verne laughs heartily despite the fact that Buck can see the amount of pain it causes him.

"Oh, kid," he sighs, more of a wheeze. "The best friend I picked up from her date? I felt sick every time she told me about a new man."

Well, at least that's normal then. Buck had kind of been worrying he was going insane.

"Then, I died, and I married her a year later."

Buck remembers watching himself take his first breath without the ventilator from behind a window, remembers the way time had warped and stretched on forever and frozen all at once, remembers how his whole life had narrowed down to that one moment.

This feels a lot like that.

Suddenly, five years of friendship flash through his mind. Eddie's gloved hand in his, the only anchoring sensation in a sea of agony. Eddie's thumb on his neck, warm brown eyes a life raft when Buck had been drowning. Building a skateboard and pushing a kid made of sunshine around the park. The zing of happiness an elf had brought him after the sour curdle of disappointment that had hit him on a fountain. Eddie's hands big and warm on his waist. Eddie's smiles, wide and private alike. Eddie's eyes, always so fond and intent. Quiet discussions in the Diaz kitchen, and teasing banter in the loft. Nights with Chris squished between them on the couch, and the bright lights of a video game illuminating the living room. A legal document and a first name said so carefully. A broken door and a broken man alike. Couch metaphors and lasagnes and steaks and cookies.

Oh.

"I look forward to seeing her again," Verne murmurs quietly.

"Hey, no," Buck croaks. "Its not time yet, it isn't time for that yet."

"I think its been a long time coming, kid."

Verne's eyes flutter shut, his chest spasms with a final bloodied breath, and Buck's world shatters around him.

[lum13]

Not so secret

You didn’t mean it for your relationship to be a secret— people just couldn’t put the two and two together.

Wednesday Addams x fem! Reader

“Oh my god, Yoko, you missed out on so much stuff today in first period.” Enid squeaked, stepping into the vampire’s full view. “I literally couldn’t believe my own eyes. Or- ears, both. My followers will freak out when they hear about this.”

“Enid, your heart is going to burst if you don’t calm down— I can literally feel your heart beating unbelievably fast. What happened?” Yoko stopped in her tracks, looking into the blond’s eyes expectantly. The girl took a second to compose herself from the overwhelming excitement, breathing in, and out, before spilling her words.

“Okay, you know how nevermore don’t usually accept new students mid-term, right? But this new girl barges into the classroom ten minutes late into the class.”

Yoko raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms. “Okay? A new girl mid-term. It’s not the first time it happened.” 

Enid grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as she bounced on her foot.

“But that’s not all— the new girl sat next to Wednesday— the Wednesday Addams..” Yoko nodded, “And during the whole class, the new girl kept calling Wednesday names like love and darling—“ the vampire winced, letting out a worrisome groan.

“So when are we having the funeral?” 

“Oh no— the best part is, Wednesday freaking Addams flirted back!”

“—and I hope we can get along!” Enid watched as you finished your small speech, excitement seeping through her features. She always liked meeting new people— it has always been a part of her personality.

“Thank you, you may take a seat wherever you like.” The teacher smiled at you, before leading you to the seats with a gentle nudge on your back. You quickly scanned the room— before your eyes fixated on a certain raven haired girl. 

You beamed at her, dropping your bag on the desk beside her seat— drawing everyone’s attention.

Uh oh.

Enid gulped, eyeing every movement you made. Watching the two felt like watching a ticking bomb— ready to explode any second. She just hoped she didn’t have to call 911 like last time. 

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” You asked— sending the dark haired girl a playful smile. Panic ran through the class like wildfire as they watched her glaring death at you— Enid whimpered, bringing her hand over her eyes, bracing herself for the chaos that was about to happen. 

A beat of silence continued, before the blond heard her sigh, 

“Wednesday.” The girl responded, rolling her eyes as she did so. Enid gasped audibly— slapping her hand onto her gaping mouth, unable to hide her shock.

“I love your name.” You giggled, “Wednesday is my favorite day of the week, actually. You might just become my favorite person.” 

Enid felt the whole class holding their breath at the pair’s interaction, the tension soaring through the roof. 

Wednesday seemed unfazed, though. Flipping through her textbook, she kept her calm demeanor. 

“Your name is— tolerable, too.” She mumbled under her breath, alarming everyone in the room. 

Only three words struck the classes’ mind: 

What the fuck.

Enid knew Wednesday. Even though she was a bit unpredictable sometimes— she knew well enough to know that Wednesday was not a person to give out compliments to a stranger. Not in a million years did she think it was possible.

That’s why she was in front of your dorm, knocking on the door as she waited patiently for you to answer. 

She heard some muffled shuffles before the door was opened, revealing you— Enid blinked in confusion— with your shirt slightly pulled to your shoulders, cheeks flushing as you leaned onto the wall beside you. You were also panting, she noted.

“Um— how can I help you?” You laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Enid, however, decided to brush it off. You were probably sleeping, she reasoned.

“Sorry to barge in, but I just had to talk to you after what happened today.” Enid grinned, “You should totally confess to Wednesday.”

A pause. You burst out laughing.

“Oh my, but we just met today, didn’t we?” You chuckled, tucking a strand of your hair back. “Very straightforward, I see.”

“No, no— I’m serious. Wednesday that I know doesn’t let anyone compliment her. They usually end up in a hospital most of the time— only the nurse’s office when lucky. And did we forget about her compliment?? She’s totally in love with you, now kiss.”

You giggled at the seriousness in her voice, clutching your stomach as you did so. 

“I must confess to this Wednesday girl then, hm?” You said between your laughter, making the blond nod her head eagerly.

“Totally, one hundred percent. It’s about time she gets a lover, plus, we can finally go on a double date!” She gushed, pulling her phone out from her pocket, before tapping on the calendar app. “Okay, confess to her, and I’ll make the schedule. Just make sure you do it before Sunday.” 

You hummed, amused by the whole situation. You watched as the blond scrolled through the lists of schedules, probably looking for some empty times.

“Well, um, Ajax is probably waiting for me, so I’m gonna go now. Good luck!” Enid chirped, before dashing off. For a moment you stood there, watching her disappear into the dark void of the hallways.

“You can come out now.” You said, turning around to see your lover sliding out of your bed, brushing the dust off of her clothes.

“I am not going on a double date with Enid.” Wednesday growled, her eyes following you as you approached her now standing figure with a huge grin on your face.

“Wasn’t even planning on it.” You smiled, “I still can't believe you said that you liked my name in class, though. Who knew you were such a softie?”

“I am not, a softie.” She gritted out, sending you into a fit of laughter. “I just found it rather amusing to see how my words affected them.”

“Yeah yeah, sure. Not like you love me or anything, c’mere.” You opened your arms for a soft embrace. Your lover rolled her eyes before stepping in.

“Totally not like you love me.” You repeated, “yup— totally.”

You were gifted a punch in your stomach for that.

-extra scrapped scenes

“Love, that’s not how you treat a nosebleed.” Enid’s mouth fell agape as she watched you pinch the tip of the raven haired girl’s nose, bringing your other hand behind her head— tilting her forward as you smiled softly at her. In fact, the whole class stared at the pair’s interaction with fear.

“..thanks.” Wednesday replied, wiping her bloody nose when the crimson liquid had stopped. Your hand let go of her head, humming in reply as you turned your attention back to your textbook.

-

Sorry this was so rushed— it’s 3:30 right now and I can’t think straight.

This was not what I wanted it to turn out. Kinda disappointed in myself for this </3

[chiefdirector]

Breaking and Entering | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven

Tim blinked himself awake. Heavy with sleep he looked over to his alarm clock, mentally swearing at himself for waking up at 3:37 in the morning. He knew why though, the knowledge that they could die at any moment had been plaguing his thoughts, and now his dreams.

He knew that sleep would not come naturally for him for at least another hour. I had always been a bad habit of his. It started when he was still in the military and the constant noise and activity in the base camp kept waking him; usually he would go for a run or do some housework to burn some energy but as he shifted back onto his side, he couldn't find it in himself to leave the bed.

Soft moonlight shone through the crack between the curtains and gently illuminated the (Y/N). She had changed so much in the years they spent apart, it was as if she had lost a part of her soul. When she smiled, her smile didn’t fully reach her eyes, her laugh seemed somewhat hollow, and her demeanour was very guarded. She had begun to pull herself away from Tim’s touches as if she was guarding herself from being hurt. That had briefly disappeared though.

Sleep had restored the peacefulness that Tim had fallen in love with and for a moment, he could pretend that nothing bad had happened.

Slowly, Tim reached across to run his fingers down her cheek and for the first time since he had found her again, (Y/N) didn’t flinch at his touch.

----------

Around 6:30, Tim woke for the second time. This time he was greeted by an empty bed. For a moment, he had thought he dreamed the last days and that he was alone again. His fears faded as he heard (Y/N)’s panicked calls for him echoing throughout the house. Quickly, he grabbed his gun from his bedside drawer and made his way throughout their home.

As he made his way through the house, he looked around for any signs of what could be wrong. He didn’t look long before he saw (Y/N) looking at their backdoor. “Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?”

“The lock,” (Y/N) stood back from the door, allowing Tim to get closer. She watched as he placed his firearm down as he moved to inspect the lock. “It’s been broken. I found the door open. Someone was here last night.”

Tim reached for his gun again. “Crap. Did you check the rest of the house or did you come straight here?”

“I came straight down here, I thought you may want a coffee.”

“Right okay, I'll call 911, and you call Grey. We need to stay here until this thing is reported and added to the caseload. I highly doubt this was a coincidence.”

-----

It didn’t take long for their home to be flooded with cops. Grey had turned up first, he was still in his jogging bottoms and shirt he had been sleeping in. He had rushed out of bed to get to their house, barely taking the time to grab his gun and badge.

It had taken all the reservation he had to not burst through the front door to go find Tim and (Y/N). Instead he tried the spare key (Y/N) had given him when they had moved in and tried it in the lock. He found (Y/N) sat on the sofa, her leg shaking up and down in anxiety with Tim beside her trying to ground her.

“Thank God you guys are okay’” he said, walking into the room, “What happened? I didn’t get a lot of details over the phone.”

“(Y/N) found the lock on the back door broken. Someone had broken in. Nothing valuable has been taken, not that we could think of anyway. However our cabinets have been gone through. I think they were looking for something. And if they didn’t get it, they’ll be back.” Tim said, moving away from his wife and towards Grey. As he got closer, he lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “She’s been like this since she called you. I think she blames herself.”

Grey hummed in agreement. There had been many times where he had talked (Y/N) out of a spiral of self-loathing and distress. He also knew from these times that it was sometimes better to let herself start to calm down alone. “I saw you had a camera doorbell. Did it happen to catch anything?”

“No,” Tim sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “I checked. It was disconnected. I don’t think it’s unrelated.”

“You’re right to not write it off. I’ll mention it to the detectives.” As of one cue, the sound of car doors slamming echoed from the street and into the house. “Both of you, take the day off today. You’ve got a lot to deal-“

“No.” (Y/N)’s head snapped up. “I need to go in. This is my mess. I’m the reason this happened. I need to be there to stop it.”

Grey sighed, “You know we have a whole team working on this. You need to take care of yourself. We’ll have a unit placed outside so you needn’t worry. You’ve had an eventful start to the day, take the time you need to rest.”

(Y/N)’s eyes hardened in a way neither man had seen before. She almost looked like she had been possessed by the personification of rage and determination. “I’ll rest when we catch this sorry son of a bitch.”

——-

“I’m worried about her,” Tim said to Grey after the detectives had taken his statement of events. “She’s changed.”

“It’s been a long time since she’s been home, Tim. Of course change will have happened.”

“You saw what she was like earlier. It was like a switch flipped in her mind. Who knows what she went through all that time, what she did to survive. She doesn’t talk about it; I asked once, I got no response. It was as if she left reality.”

Grey looked over to (Y/N) and then back to Tim. “Do you not think that she should be working this case.”

“No, it’s giving her something to focus on… and the closure may help her.”

“And what if it doesn’t.”

“Well that’s what I’m here for. I’ll always make sure she finds her way home.”

Part Eleven | Part Thirteen

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh  @kmc1989  @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e

Tags are open :)

[azaharinflames]

I fell into the deepest depression I’ve had for years when Buck and Tommy broke up. I just wanted to cry so badly but decades of trauma kept me from doing that. Add on that Trump had just been re-elected, and add in that my Dad had been admitted to hospital with a collapsed lung it just took me down.

I’ve mostly gotten over it. I spent 24 hours writing my idea of a fix it fic (won’t happen on show cause they all suck but it was cathartic). I can’t remember what caused my breakdown but I did end up crying. My eyes felt less puffy after as well.

I understand that it’s a fake relationship in a fake show but something about it spoke to me. And just watch it end hurt me worse. The last time I had actually cried hard was in 2021 when my mother-in-law passed away from COVID. So why did this stupid relationship affect me so much. I feel embarrassed for reacting this badly. I don’t even like to talk to my partner about it because he wouldn’t understand.

Hi, Nonnie! Thank you for your ask.

I am so, so sorry to read that. Listen - it's not stupid. It's not embarrassing So don't think your feelings surrounding it and your reaction to any of it is that, because I promise you: nothing about it should make you feel embarrassed.

Here is the thing: Art, in whatever form, is one of the things that move people the most, historically*. Art is a universal language that doesn't simply exist in a painting or a sculpture but in a myriad of different forms that, especially in the last few decades, have expanded immensely. Art can be a channel for our emotions, can be our choice of escapism, can be the thing we see ourselves reflected in and thus, the thing that we connect to because, hey - that's us. And if we see 'us' overcoming on screen, surely we can overcome in real life, right? That's one of the reasons why representation is so damn important.

Yeah, it was a relationship. But it shouldn't be reduced to just that. Instead of dismissing our feelings by making our issue seem nonsensical and small, let's think - my issue was because a piece of Art I connected to deeply was dealt with in a damaging way. And that carries consequences.

There is also the fact that, I think, for a lot of us, it was more than the break-up. The biggest thing to take into context was the election because it is just a matter of fact that we needed a win so bad that week, and we got the opposite of that. To get a bit more personal, I was already dealing with my town being hit with the worst natural disaster in my country this century, still had to hear from some of my friends to know if they were okay or even alive (fortunately, they're all fine), and I was seeing only tragedy whenever I went online. So this happening hit me really hard as well - but, like you, it was one of the things. Still, I spent three days barely able to take a bite and barely able to sleep, and a week with really high anxiety.

And sure, I did feel silly, but if I do love one thing, I sure do love introspection, I reached the aforementioned conclusion and reflection on Art (let me know if it helped or is a bunch of bs tho).

I think what you're doing, writing a fix-it fic, is amazing! You're channeling your feelings through Art, and I am sure it does feel very cathartic. I haven't written for 911 yet (definitely want to, I have some ideas that could work), but I have some years of writing for Marvel and Seblaine (Glee) on my back, so trust me when I say this is the better choice you could do - channel your feelings through your Art, and you will end up with something beautiful, I'm sure of it.

Sorry this was too long, but I'm here if you (or anyone else) needs to rant, vent, or discuss something (911 or whatever, something else is valid as well)

Take care, Nonnie <3 and all of you as well <3

*I have a bachelor's on this, please trust me on it lmao

[supercalime]

A goodbye post I guess?

Hey yall, i wanted to write something about all of this as this may be the last time I talk about this show. Apologies in advance, this will be long and all over the place cause im using this little essay to get it off my chest and help me calm down my anxiety. Strap in, this will be a doozy.

First off, no matter how sad and disappointed we are, let’s please not stoop down to the level of those fans when it comes to voicing our issues with this situation. Please, let’s not harass, call people names, send them threats, etc. we can voice our opinions in an adult way, and although it fucking hurts and it makes us want to shout from the rooftops and call Murphy, Minear and Stark every name in the sun, we need to be grown ups and come out on top of it.

That being said, I want to first acknowledge how fun and cool yall are. We endured A LOT of shit since april and all that bullshit didn’t stop you from keeping the positivity going. I applaud you all for that. It has been hard. I came in contact and became friends with some really nice people here and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I loved being a part of this fandom and it physically hurts me that this feels like it was all for nothing.

Even though I feel like a fool as well, I hate to see how you are all so sad with this. This wasn’t our fault. We were not naive for believing that this storyline could’ve been great. Don’t blame yourself for being taken advantage of. Because that’s what they did. They saw the opportunity to profit from a community and took it. They are the ones in the wrong. They used us for brownie points and then tossed us away like trash the second they got what they wanted. It’s on them.

What I’m about to say now will sound hypocritical as I’m writing this at 2am while trying to cope with an anxiety attack caused by this very show, but what we can take away from this is that unfortunately, we can’t rely on tv shows for happiness. Yes, that’s a bitter pill to swallow, specially in this political climate as we were hoping for some sort of escape from the horrors of the elections. What i took away from this is that I need to (for lack of a better word) touch grass. I need hobbies, I need friends. All things that I’ve been lacking because fandom stuff is easier. I need to find stuff that makes me happy that doesn’t depend on outside factors. But also I want to make sure that if a show is all you have, that’s okay and is even more okay to feel betrayed. I was an absolute mess a few years ago when a show I adored stabbed their fans in the back, but it gets better. You still get angry remembering you were done dirty but I promise that the memories that stick are the positive ones.

I don’t wanna go on a deleting spree but I also don’t want to be reminded of this hurtful moment as the wound is still fresh, so I’m deciding to reevaluate some things offline, like I did with previous fandoms, and come back when I’m ready. I don’t think I’ll leave tumblr or never watch/talk about 911 again but I need some time and space from it so I can feel better. I don’t want to doom scroll through the tags like I did tonight. What Ryan Murphy, Tim Minear and Oliver Stark did to us was awful, but the best thing I can do is not let these three men influence my mental health. I won’t let a tv show ruin me because it’s not my fault. It’s not our fault to believe that there were half decent people in the entertainment industry that cares about the portrayal of queer individuals. They will have to sleep at night with that knowledge and deal with the consequences from the BoBs. And if these guys decide to humor the BoBs that’s their funeral. It would further show they never cared about representation and just wanted to save face after making so many people miserable for simply enjoying a canon ship. I hope they can see the consequences because I’m not even the target here. I’m hurt for all the queer men that saw themselves in buck and tommy, that even messaged the actors thanking them for their honest portrayal.

In conclusion, here’s my goodbye (for now).

Thank you so much bucktommy nation!

Yall are the best,

Love, Lety 🖤

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Fifty-Three

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues, conspiracy theories.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: I know I left you on a cliffhanger... this was supposed to go up last night but I literally had no wifi... I am so sorrry! HERE YOU GO!

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

tags: @faceless-mirror @missduffsblog @tamtam-elizabeth @witchyweeb34 @tearfallpixie

@wild-child-7747 @shilohrosechicken @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @miamore0570 @emmmm127

@sunsshinesunny @spicywhenspeaking @dontdiganothergravetoday @chick-from-nz @latenightmusiclover

@anameunmusical

Chris was a mess, and it didn’t help matters that the only person that was allowed to even know any information about what was happening to Talia medically right now, was Ricky, as he was her soulmate. Legally he was classed as her next of kin, and Chris was just her boyfriend, that was it, that was all he was ever going to be to her. He wasn’t even sure if they got married that the system was going to change matters any when it registers that she had a soulmate listed ahead of a husband, Ricky would always come first. Ricky had already apologised multiple times since they’d arrived at the hospital, but Chris didn’t care, all he was worried about was Talia. The moment they’d arrived, the Nurse had asked who her soulmate was, with the medical forms in hand, and because Chris had been in a state, Ricky had grabbed them, signing away. It was right, he was her original soulmate, his tattoo matched hers, right down to the placement, it made sense. Of course, now, Chris would never be able to ask for information from the hospital in the case of an emergency, never be able to see her as immediate family… Never…

Fuck, fuck, what was he going to do if something happened to her… If… No, not if, something had happened to her, today!

What had happened to her!?

Ricky couldn’t stand watching Chris lose his mind over the possibility of losing Talia. Yes, losingTalia. He could see the wheels turning in his mind because it was as if it was happening all over again. Last time he hadn’t known, one moment he had had a soulmate he might meet one day, and then the next… The next moment, he didn’t. They were just gone. Dead. Right now, Ricky was seeing him go out of his mind, watching him freak out waiting for information about how intensely Talia was injured. Not that he felt any better, but he was trying to focus on looking after Chris, it was all he could do, otherwise he was certain he would lose it himself. 

They’d called emergency to try to report that something had happened to Talia, right after trying to call Talia herself and the call not even connecting. Unfortunately, when he called 911, attempting to explain he knew something had happened to her was impossible. Rick had tried, he really had, to explain to them that they, he, could feel through the soulmate tattoo bond when she got hurt. Considering what he had felt, that it had to have been bad, that he thought she might have been in a car accident, she’d been driving after all. Basically, he’d been treated like they thought he was a lunatic over the phone, and he’d been royally irate at the dismissal, they wouldn’t even listen to him. 

With Chris beside himself that they didn’t listen, Ricky wasn’t about to give up, so he’d called Jordan and Kyle at the hotel next. They at least, gotten there safely, and she’d already left to get home, the moment they heard something might have happened to Talia were also worried too. Kyle had taken the phone from Jordan then, and insisted they go to the hospital, that if she was in an accident, emergency would use her soulmate as best next of kin without any other contacts. Ricky had swallowed, glancing at Chris knowing that was going to be a kick in the teeth, but hadn’t argued, they got to the hospital, and sure enough… she was there.

Talia had been brought in moments before they arrived, the accident had been bad, the nurse having him signing release forms for life-saving emergency surgery and filling out medical forms. He didn’t know any of her medical details, and had to get Ava on the phone to ask her if she knew anything about if she had any medical allergies, literally while he was filling in the forms. Glancing at Chris from the corner of his eye, pacing back and forth in the waiting room… only to have the other woman and their drummer barrel into the emergency waiting room moments later. Ava rushed over to him, helping him finish the last of the forms, Ricky was glad for the help, not wanting to admit he was half on the verge of breaking himself. He barely knew her food allergies, let alone whether she was allergic to penicillin or latex! Shouldn’t that be in her file? Why couldn’t they have that digital and all hospitals linked up to that, oh wait, of course, that would too much sense, and help too many people. The health care system could never work so smoothly. 

By the time he’d finished with the forms, Vinny had managed to convince Chris somehow to sit down, rather than pace around the room, how, Ricky would never know. AJ had turned up after Ava and Vinny, along with Jordan and Kyle, to keep them company while they waited for news to how Talia was in surgery. Kyle had seen them and just shaken his head a little with a tiny smile, and Ricky had taken one look at the other man and known. As a nurse, they were just a crowd of people sitting in the waiting room taking up space getting in the way, but to Ricky, to Chris, especially to Chris, they were the greatest lifeline in the world right now. 

Ricky had never lost anyone even close to the magnitude that Chris had, and, he didn’t know how he felt about it, even more, the thought of watching someone he loved deal with that loss again. Yea, love… Ricky wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t love Chris, he had for a long time. Maybe it was only recently he’d come to terms of just how much this feeling meant to him. Always just assuming he loved him as a friend, and now, now it was so much more. Then there was Talia, that woman had been pulling at his heart strings in so many different ways since he’d met her, it had been so painful, and traumatising after everything that had happened. He knew she didn’t mean what had happened, but it had, and they had both been trying to deal with the fall-out ever since. 

As he sat in the waiting room with Chris, reaching for his hand, that was when two suited people walked in through the entrance doors towards the emergency nurse's station.  Ricky’s focus was on Chris, enough that he didn’t see when the nurse behind the desk was addressing the well-dressed man and woman towards their group, and mainly, him. Sitting beside Chris, didn’t pay attention to their approach until Vinny across from him called his name, instead looking towards his boyfriend concerned, his head tilted back, fingers laced with Chris’. That was until he was forced to acknowledge Vinny calling his name. Then as he lifted his head, and noticing him nod towards them just as one of the approaching suits took out a flip wallet, and his focus zeroed in on what he saw inside of it as they started talking.

“Mr Olson? I am detective-”

Most of the introductions that followed was a blur in his mind, Rick would admit to that, he was so focused on the police badge in the flip wallet the man was holding… Shit… they were detectives, they weren’t even beat cops. They had detectives here investigating the crash, which meant whatever had happened at the accident had ended in quite the disaster. Had there been some sort of intervention… had someone died on the scene? Had Talia… surely the doctors would have told them first… Ricky swallowed… “Vin, AJ, could one of you sit with-” Standing up with his chair and feeling Chris’ hand tightened as he did.

“It’s okay, I’ll just be over here, I’ll be right back, okay baby?”

Kissing Chris quickly to calm him, not caring for one iota what anyone else thought about him being Talia’s soulmate and kissing Chris at the same time. The only people he was worried about right now, were Chris and Talia, literally no one else mattered, everyone else could think what they wanted.

Walking over with the detectives, he sighed softly as they led him to the far side of the waiting room, where the least of the amount of people were. Ricky glanced back to Chris, Chris who was watching him carefully, well no, like a hawk actually, almost as if he thought he was just going to disappear on him too. Shit.

“Mr Olson, it’s our understanding you are the soulmate of Talia Landon?”

“I am, what happened exactly?”

Why were detectives here to investigating the crash, and not beat cops to talk to him, and waiting to see about whether Talia was out of surgery to ask her questions. Wasn’t that how things went. What could he possibly know about the situation? What would talking to him solve?

“We’re still working that out, you also were in a relationship with one, Grace Adams?”

Hearing that name, and just like that, Ricky’s blood ran cold. He knew exactly why they thought talking to him here could help. Grace, if Grace had anything to do with this then… then… Ricky took in a deep breath to stop panic from gripping him.

“I, ah, yes. We haven’t been in a relationship for some time now. What has she got to do with any of this?”

More than anything, he wished he could have taken out that restraining order out on her, but unless he could prove that she had threatened him, and he feared for his life, he had nothing. He had proof of nothing but a crazed fan and then Grace just disappeared, until now. The male detective continued to speak, answering the question.

“She was the other driver involved in the incident, could you tell us if Talia has had any recent interactions with Grace that might have-”

Ricky cut him off quickly,

“Grace was previously stalking me after faking being my soulmate, and it was only revealed that she wasn’t after I discovered Talia was my real soulmate. Grace blames Talia for ruining our entire relationship, despite the fact I discovered our entire meeting, and her claim as my soulmate, was fake. She led me to believe we were soulmates for some five years, it was nothing but lies and manipulation that she never intended to stop. If she’s accusing Talia of causing this accident, she's lying.” Practically ranting at this point, he didn’t even realise that he was getting so worked up when he felt Chris behind him, his arms wrapping around his shoulders, his cheek on the top of his head. A soft, shhhhh, coming from the taller man in the effort to calm him down. Seemed that Rick wasn’t the only one that could see the other needed the comfort right now. He’d been so worried about Chris, he hadn’t, he just hadn’t… This was all his fault, wasn’t it? He’d gotten complacent. Grace had disappeared and he’d just… No, no he hadn’t forgotten about her, but with her gone there hadn’t been anything he could do until he heard about her, and he hadn’t… not until now. He hadn’t gotten any alerts on her accounts, if she’d activated any of them again, or… any of the friends he knew of… Now Talia was paying the price. 

“Mr Olson, we’re still just asking questions and reviewing all the avenues, evidence along with seeking out any potential footage of the scene of the accident.”

Rick didn’t want to think about the fact that they might be going to this kind of extremes because of how badly Talia had been injured. Why would detectives be working a simple accident sight if they didn’t think there was potential for it to turn into a homicide, wasn’t that how it worked? Or was there something he didn’t know here? What had happened that they weren’t saying?

Taking in a deep breath and reached up, his hand over one of Chris’ in front of him.

“Look, is there anything at all you can tell us, anything at all?”

Because they’d just triggered his worst nightmare, he didn’t even need to wonder if it was Chris, if he’d heard or if he’d just come over because he’d saw Ricky was getting upset. Just thinking about what Chris stalker had put him through, and Grace going after Talia, no, not on.

“At this time, we’re just asking questions if we have anymore, we’ll let you know. Please, you are best, just waiting for Ms Landon and see she how she recovers.”

Ricky swallowed… the fact they were here, and she wasn’t even out of surgery yet, actually pissed him off, and made him wonder how badly Grace was injured… had she been hurt? Or had they talked to her already. Watching them walk away, he found himself walking back to the others and sitting back down with Chris. 

Sitting there with him, it all came down to the last thing in the world he could ever want, would be to lose Talia from their lives. Because he loved her, just as much as he loved Chris, did he? Only, unlike Chris, whom he’d told many times, at least as a friend over the years, he’d never told her. He was going to never forgive himself if he’d lost that chance.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[thewolvesof1998]

Last Line/Tibet Tuesday

Thanks for all the tags! I'm pretty sure I've been tagged by everyone at this point 😂

I do have something to share, this is from a new WIP (I know, I know, I don't need another WIP but I just couldn't help myself and @eddiediaztho is a bad influence) I'm affectionately calling it The Heatwave Fic and it was inspired by me being stuck in the heatwave in London and being delusional from the heat...

Eddie has many regrets in his life, lying on the floor of the cabin in the middle of a heat wave with his six foot two best friend pressing into his side while they were both trying to stay cool under the pitiful breeze of the ancient ceiling fan had the possibility to be high on that list. He turns his head to be confronted with a tattooed and freckle-covered shoulder, he can’t remember when they decided to strip down to their boxers but at the time it had seemed like a good idea, he wasn’t sure about that now considering this was the third time he’d found himself turning to stare at the miles of bare skin.  “Eddie?”  “Hmm?” He drags his eyes up over collarbones, an Adams apple, a chin that had more stubble than usual, lips that Buck had been nervously chewing on and off for the past three days and up until he finally meets eyes as bright as they are blue. So blue in fact that they somehow made his throat even more parched than it already was, he was truly getting delusional from the heat. “Eddie.” “Buck.” “I’m lying in a pool of my own sweat.” He grimaces, “Gross.”  “Eddddiiiieeee” Buck drags his name out in a whine that sounds an awful lot like Chris or maybe Chris sounds an awful lot like Buck, either way, Eddie finds it endearing as much as it is childish. He’s truly lost his mind.  “We have to save water.” He knows what Buck wants, another shower, but they’ve got a limited supply of water and they don’t know how long this heatwave will last.  Buck rolls over to face him, “But I’m so hot.”  Eddie snorts but his reply dies in his throat as his eyes flicker down to Buck’s chest and the way his pecks are squished together in his new position. He wants to bite them, see if they are just as soft as they look. The inappropriate thought causes his cheeks to warm and he can only hope that it blends in with the heat-induced flush that has been present on both of their faces the past few days.  “Just,” He waves his hand in the air, “think about something else,” he mumbles as he trains his eyes up to the ceiling as if the wooden rafters are the most interesting thing he’s seen in years and swears he’s not going to look at Buck until he’s sure he can control himself.  “Like what?” “I don’t know,” He says as he manages a half-decent shrug while lying flat on his back, finding what looks like faces in the wooden beams.  “What are you thinking about?” Buck asks, his voice is low and a little throaty and Eddie blames the lack of sleep for the goosebumps that rise on his arms. Because Buck’s probably just got a dry throat from the heat and here Eddie is lying sexualising his best friend, like a fucking creep. 

And the last line which is a continuation of the above tibet:

Eddie clears his throat, “Uh, that looks like a dog,” He points up to one of the particular doggish faces in the grain of the wooden beams like they’re cloud-watching because he is sure as hell not going to say ‘Oh I was wondering if you would sound like that after I fucked your brains out’. 

Tagging everyone because I honestly don't have the energy to figure out who's already tagged me and who hasn't sooo....

@wikiangela​​ @wildlife4life​ ​ @alyxmastershipper​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @sammy-souffle @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherluciferr @cowboy-buddie @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg

[lamardeuse]

We'll find our promised land

by lamardeuse

911 || Buck/Tommy, Buck/Eddie || Rated M || c. 2700 words

Written for @911actions thanks to the kind donation of captnvalkyrie. Hope you enjoy!

Prompt 576: Fanfiction about Buck and Eddie at their first Pride as a couple with the rest of the 118.

2006

The first time Buck goes to a Pride parade, it's a mistake.

His parents are taking him to the Whitaker Center in Harrisburg to enrol him in summer science camp because he nearly flunked science last year. It's not that he doesn't like science – he loves it, actually – but he's been forgetting a lot of stuff lately, and even though he tried to keep on top of his assignments a few slipped through. His mom read his final report card with her face all pinched and he braced himself for the inevitable lecture.

I swear I was trying my best, but I – I kept forgetting.

Well, your best simply isn't good enough, Evan. Now that Maddie is gone, you can't rely on her to be your memory any more. You have to buckle down and smarten up.

He can't remember a time when he didn't feel like he was stupid every now and then, but lately it's been a near-constant thought, mainly because there's no one around to counteract the voice in his head, a voice that sounds more and more like his mother.

He's been to this place before and liked it well enough, even picked up the brochure for their summer camps and had a look at it the last time he was here. Now, though, it feels like a punishment.

Before they reach Market Street, his father slows to a stop and mutters under his breath.

“Why is the road blocked?” his mother asks.

“No idea,” Dad says. “There shouldn't be any construction, I was just here three days ago.”

“Well, a lot can change in three days,” Mom says primly.

His father grunts unhappily, then turns down another street where he finds a parking garage that's nearly full. By the time they trudge down the stairs to the bottom – because of course the elevator's broken – the mood is tense. Well, the mood's always tense, but – tenser. Whatever.

Evan hears the thumpa thumpa of a disco beat long before they reach Market Street. There are random cheers from what sounds like a huge crowd, which is confirmed when they round the corner and come up against a sea of people.

“Oh, for Heaven's sake,” his mother says.

“What's the parade for?” Evan asks. The Fourth of July is another week away, and he doesn't see an American flag waving anywhere. No one answers him.

And then a float goes by with about a dozen guys wearing really tiny shorts and body glitter and not much else, and Evan thinks, oh.

“We can sign him up tomorrow,” his mother says. “We can come back tomorrow.”

His father's jaw twitches. “We came all this way. I just walked down six flights of stairs and I'm going to have to climb up six flights to get the car. Let's just –”

“Do you really think this is a place for children?” his mother says, a little too loudly if the glares of a couple of people around him is any indication.

“I'm not a child,” Evan protests. “I'm gonna be fourteen in –”

“Evan, be quiet,” his mother hisses.

“And lots of gay and lesbian people have kids,” he blurts out.

“Don't remind me,” his mother mutters.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Evan demands.

“Don't take that tone with your mother,” his father snaps.

“How are we going to get through this crowd?” his mother says. “The museum is across the street.”

“I don't even want to go to this camp!” Evan yells. “I'm not stupid,” he adds, more weakly because he doesn't sound convincing even to himself.

“Then don't act like it,” his father says. They stand there for a minute in silence, watching the parade. There's a car going by now, one of those huge old convertibles. There's a really tall lady in a hot pink satin evening gown and matching gloves up to her elbows sitting in the back seat and waving at the crowd. She looks right at Evan and smiles. Evan can't help but smile back. She looks so happy.

“Six flights it is,” his father mutters, turning on his heel and heading back the way they came.

read the rest at the AO3

[sickofthistoxicshit]

I know it's been a while, but with the new 911 season coming up ( I will not be watching,probably check in every now and again) I wanted to share my own self check of how I view relationships on tv.

After S6 finale, I was like lost and furious, I mean, I wanted and still do want the last 6 years of my life back from 911. (Well three because they didn't always suck).

But I went back to watching normal TV, you know, the kind that portray relationships and are being clear of the direction.

I watched Good Omens, so rooting for that pair, they are the best! And with that cast of unbelievably talented actors, I enjoyed every minute of it. Point is I didn't allow myself to see that friendship as a ship because of how damaged my perception of on screen relationships became after 911 displaying all the right signals, then taking a hard left into a tree at the end of the seasons.

I am not even going to to touch the First Prince of RW&RB, which is essentially a buddie storyline that was followed through to its logical conclusion.

I also thought, maybe I just can't enjoy straight on screen relationships anymore and I'm looking for more.

My sister sat me to watch Bridgerton for the very first time (just S1 for now) I can say with absolute certainty that it dis-abused me of that theory as well, because I rooted and got excited for Daphne and Simon at first sight.

Such a wonderful love story told right!

These are the two prominent tv shows that cemented my belief that it is in fact not on me.

Going back in my head I remember rooting for Catherine and Steve, and almost every one of Danny's gfs (except Rachel, it was clear she'd break his heart again.) In H50.

I wanted Gibson to end up with Andy in Station 19. Never wanted her to end up with Maya or him with Miller.

And even though it didn't need to be said, but was said in a humorous fashion, the writers also made clear that Gibson prefer women.

So it is in fact the flawed 911 writing that got me to give up on all forms of logic of reading tv relationships right.

That I gave up on tv for a while.

But, that being said, I can say I was always attracted to Ryan, but Eddie always got my gaydar to go off. And Oliver is not my type, but Buck is a hot bi firefighter - and that is a thing I already thought in S1, way before Eddie arrived.

So either the writers has no clue what they're doing, or they did and chickened out last minute.

And I finally reached the point where, I throw in the towel, wish you all well and move on.

It is not just about buddie, it is just a buddie post.

If anyone is interested, I can make a whole post involving the "development" of the rest of the og characters, where I say enough is enough.

Either make them interesting again, or bring in new blood that hasn't been first a piece of ass to further Buck's questionable development.

Let me know if you are interested.

The blinders are off and I am not keeping quiet for the sake of followers anymore.

9-1-1 was a great show, 3 seasons ago. They had sparks every now and again in between, but those were few and always demolished in some way by horrible writing choices.

Thank you for a great time, this fandom has been a place to come to whenever I needed to escape reality, I love you all. ❤️

[alaydabug2]

Tag list: @sparklenarniawizard @imobsessed123 @thoughtlescat @ilikebookssomuch

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter Fifty-three

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

Sophie had her arm hooked through Keefe's as they walked into the movie theater. They went up to one of the lines to purchase their tickets.

"Want some popcorn?" Keefe asked.

"I would," she told him.

He turned to the cashier and ordered popcorn and some drinks. When they had their goodies, they headed into the theater.

Sophie leaned her head onto Keefe's shoulder. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. She reached over for some popcorn once the trailers had begun.

Part way through the movie, Keefe started shifting uncomfortably. She lifted her head and whispered to him.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

He shook his head. "No. My arm feels tingly again. It's getting on my nerves."

Sophie was about to apologize for cutting off his circulation, but she realized she was leaning on his right arm. He was moving around the left one, trying to get normal feeling back in it.

It had been a little over a week since the last time it happened. It couldn't be connected... right? She put it out of her mind. He had probably just pulled a muscle while they were all playing lazer tag, and it was taking a bit longer to heal. She leaned against him to continue watching the movie.

Coming out of the dark room once the film was over had Sophie squinting in the light off the room.

Although it was bright inside, she noticed, outside, it was already dark. She threw the trash in the garbage can as she went to walk outside, hand in hand, with Keefe.

She was stopped, however, when he stopped in his tracks. His hand reached up, and his nails dug into her forearm.

Caught off guard, she whipped her head around to see his brows pressed together in pain. His eyes were screwed shut, and his other hand had his nails digging into his palm.

"Hey, what's wrong?" She tried her best to sound calm, but internally, she was freaking out.

He managed to pry his eyes open and grit out, "It hurts."

Sophie felt her breath quicken. She held him by his shoulders to try and stabilize him. "What hurts?"

He couldn't speak his awnser. His only response was to reach up and rub his sternum. That only fueled her anxiety.

Reaching up and brushing hair out of his face, she asked, "What do you need?"

"Bench." The one word caused him to gasp for his breath back.

Sophie scanned the area. She turned him around and guided him to a seat. Once sitting down, she held him close to her.

She wasn't positive about what else she could do for him. Did he need 911?

Before she could spiral any further, his breathing shifted. He sat up from his position, leaning against her, and took in several deep breaths. They sounded shaky but sufficient. He leaned back against back rest.

Sophie tried to disguise how terrified she was, but some horror still leaked out into her voice when she asked, "What just happened? Are you ok?"

He covered his eyes with his hands with a grumble. "I'm not sure what that was. But I'm fine. My head just hurts now."

"I don't know what that was either," she told him. "But you are NOT ok. You need a hospital."

He placed a hand on her arm. "I'm fine now. See?"

He pointed to his face, which didn't seem very fine in Sophie's opinion. His hands were still trembling, and his skin had a sheen of sweat on it. His eyes looked like they had watered up during the fit.

She shook her head. "You should probably go to the ER. There's no way that's good!"

Keefe stood up on shaky legs. "Seriously, I'm good."

She got up and let him lean on her. She pursed her lips. Eventually, she let out a sigh.

"Finee." She held out her hand. "But I'm driving." He gladly handed over the keys.

Climbing into the truck, she started the ignition. Keefe slipped his arm through hers. She could still feel him trembling but decided not to mention it. It was probably because he was coming down from an adrenaline high.

Sophie realized the small issue with her driving home once she got into her driveway.

She was driving his truck. And he still needed to get home.

Reluctantly, she stepped out of the truck. Before Keefe could get in, Sophie stopped him.

"Swear to me you can get home safe on your own."

He took her by the shoulders. His hands were still this time. "I promise to you, Sophie. I can get home, alright by myself."

She nodded. "Text me once you get home ok, alright?"

He nodded. "I will."

He kissed her goodnight. Sophie quickly showered and dressed into her pajamas. When she crawled into bed, she was happily met with a text message from Keefe.

'Hey, I made it home alright. Now you can sleep tonight. ;)'

[jeremiah-fisher]

you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「moments: college, reader insert」

JEREMIAH

— on a monday

. . .

“Jere, I know you’re busy, son, but please call me back when you get a chance. I need to discuss something with you.”

“Second time calling today, bud. Hope you’re doing okay. Call me back.” 

“Number three. I’m still at work but my secretary will patch you through.”

“Jeremiah. This is getting ridiculous. I know you have your phone on you. Call me as soon as you hear this.”

“For God’s sake, Jere. I have enough on my plate with Con and now I have to deal with you, too? Call me back. That’s an order.”

“Don’t bother calling me back. I’ve dealt with it.”

When I was five, my dad taught me how to leave voicemails. 

He had just returned from work and Mom was at the community centre volunteering with one of her nonprofits. Me and Conrad’s babysitter was just walking out the door, and Con wouldn’t let her go. She was the only high school kid who watched two whole episodes of Dragon Ball-Z with him and listened to all his ramblings about it. He was practically in love with her. 

Dad paid her an extra ten for dealing with my brother then sat us down on the sofa. He asked us if we wanted to watch some football with him, but I had another idea. I saw his phone in his pocket and I wanted to call Mom because I missed her. Dad was hesitant when I suggested it, but then he was pulling the phone out anyway. It never took much convincing to get Dad on your side. 

He called her number but she didn’t pick up. So he tried again. And then one more time. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to pick up, Dad decided that I should leave a voicemail. 

With round eyes, I asked, “What’s that?”

“Well, it’s a message you can leave for someone on the phone. Here.” He dialled Mom’s number again then waited for it to go to voicemail. “Okay, it’s on. Tell Mom what you want, Jere.” 

In true excitement, I grabbed the phone from my father and stuck it against my ear like I had seen him do a thousand times. Usually as he was leaving in the middle of dinner. 

“Mom! Mom! It’s me! Jeremiah! Can you hear me?!” 

Dad chuckled and shook his head. “She can’t hear you, Jere. You just gotta leave a message. Tell her what you want.” 

I nodded. “Okay… Mom? I want to say… I love you. Bring me a cookie, please?”

When Mom came home later, she didn’t just bring me a cookie – she brought me a whole box. From the bakery near the community centre which I loved. We had been going there forever. Ever since it opened up years before. Mom loved their muffins and scones, Dad loved their mini cakes, and Con and I loved their cookies: chocolate chip for me and raisin for him. 

Mom died on an early morning last June. It hasn’t even been a year. When it happened, it happened so fast. One minute, Mom was asking if Con would read to her and the next, Nona was calling 911 and we were stumbling into the family car, following the ambulance as it took our mother to the hospital. Everything after that is kind of a blur. I remember it in parts – the nurses, the doctor, Steven, Belly, Laurel, Wendy… and YN. YN who wouldn’t leave my side for even a second. 

When they took Mom away, I thought for sure she would come back. How could it be that my mother existed for my whole life and then suddenly, she didn’t? That didn’t make any sense. 

But then Dad cried and it felt more real. He cried so much that he didn’t look like Dad at all. He wasn’t a crier, and he never encouraged us to cry either. But he cried that day in the hospital and then at the funeral home, and he couldn’t drive at all from all the crying in between so Conrad did. It was just me and him in the front seats while our Dad laid down in the back, clutching Mom’s favourite shawl. Conrad kept mumbling something about that under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out. 

When Dad was composed enough to go back to the funeral home, me and Conrad were alone for the first time. It was night time and the house felt so empty. Empty and sad and a little bit haunted. 

We sat at the kitchen table. There was so much food on it. Trays and bowls and plates from relatives and neighbours and Mom and Dad’s friends. There was so much food that some of it had to be stacked on top of each other. I wondered how we would eat it all, now that our family was down to three people. 

Conrad poured out a glass of milk which he drank in silence. It had to be rotten. No one had been to the grocery store in a while. That whole week when Mom got so sick that even Dad stopped going to work, the last thing any of us thought about was making sure the fridge was full of fresh groceries. 

He didn’t want to talk about it, about how Mom was gone, how she wasn’t coming back, and how it was just us now. Conrad did what he always did, including that night – he went to his room alone. Later, after I finished cleaning the kitchen, I went upstairs to mine. I thought about going to his room, because maybe if we were together instead of apart, we could still hold onto Mom somehow. But when I went to his door, I heard him crying. Big, fat, choked sobs. So I left him alone. 

In my room, YN was tucked under my covers. She stayed with me the whole day, and must have gotten in while we finished up at the funeral. I was grateful her parents didn’t force her to go home. I always need her, but that day, I needed her more than air.

I didn’t say anything to her as I crawled into bed, and she didn’t say anything to me. But when I started crying, too, she wrapped her arms around me and whispered one of my mom’s favourite poems in my ear until I fell asleep.

I stare down at my phone and press ‘delete’ on the piled up voicemails from my father. As soon as they’re gone, I dial an old number and wait until it reaches the voicemail box. I bite down on my lip to keep myself from crying when her voice swims in. Forever familiar and forever gone.

“This is Susannah Fisher! Or Beck, if you know me well enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the phone, but leave me a message and I’ll call you back in a jiffy!” 

I tighten my grasp on my phone and breathe in slowly. “Mom… I… I miss you. Every day. I miss you like crazy. I wish it wasn’t like this.” 

I try not to cry as I turn my phone screen off. In a frat house, the last thing you want is to be caught crying. Even about dead parents. 

Lifting myself off my desk chair, I head to the door and then downstairs to the kitchen because that’s where all the cereal is. It’s half past five and most people are either studying, prepping for a party, or participating in a campus club activity. I’m supposed to head to hockey practice in an hour. We have an away game next Sunday, which Coach says we need to be more prepared for. These days, all the ‘preparation’ has made my body ache. I feel like a sack being pushed around on the ice. The pain gets so bad some days that I miss being tackled on the field when I used to play football. 

“Yo, Fisher! What’s up, bro?” 

I turn around with a spoonful of cereal in my mouth to see Redbird – who’s real name is Tom but only his mother calls him that – stalking into the kitchen with a backpack hitched over one shoulder. He pulls it off and throws it in a random corner, knowing one of us freshmen will pick it up and bring it to his room later. He was always doing that. Even just as a sophomore, he thought he ruled the house. In a way, I guess he did.

“Nothing, man. Just having some cereal.” 

He smirks. “Late breakfast?” 

I had already had breakfast with YN downtown today in some little hole in the wall diner. I had two plates of pancakes and an Oreo smoothie. I was so exhausted after eating that we had to call a cab to bring us back to campus. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” I put my bowl down to set my eyes on him fully. “How’s Jen?” Jen, or Jennifer Munro, is the co-president of our sister sorority, Zeta Phi, down the street. Redbird started dating her a few months ago, and he talks our ears off about it any chance he gets. Half of us think he’s obsessed with her while the other half thinks he just likes the popularity being with her gets him. I’m part of the first half. 

Redbird grins. “She’s good. Studying for some test. We’re gonna head to a party later if you wanna join.” 

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. Have fun.” 

“Alright. If you change your mind, it’s down on Bayton.” 

Once Redbird is gone, I finish up my cereal then head upstairs to grab my hockey gear and my phone. I see a few texts in the frat group chat, a text from Conrad telling me Dad wants to see us next weekend (which I ignore for the time being), and a text from YN telling me she’s with her roommate at the library. 

Daisy: i’m at lindsay

Daisy: nat’s with me btw 

Jeremy: i’ll swing by after practice 

With my eyes glued to my phone, I’m heading out the front door when it opens to reveal someone standing on the other side. Lacie Barone, the social chair of Zeta Phi, smiles at me with all her perfectly aligned teeth on display. I had heard through parties that both her parents are dentists. It’s only now that I see how true it is. 

At 5’4, Lacie is much shorter than me, and she is undeniably one of the prettiest girls in the sorority, maybe even the whole university. The thing is, she knows this, too. And she uses it to her advantage. Before Redbird started dating Jen, he thought he might go for Lacie instead because she flirted with him at mixers. All the guys in the frat thought they could have a chance with her since she never dated anyone seriously, but always teased that she would if she found the right person. 

“Hey, Lacie,” I greet, returning her smile. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she replies, and her voice comes out a bit huskier than I remember it. Not that I talk to her all that much. “Actually, I was hoping to run into you.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you,” she giggles, tilting her head a little to examine me. Then she takes a step closer. Close enough so that I smell her perfume. It’s pleasant, but then again, most of her is. Lacie is one of those girls I would have totally gone for years ago when I was still figuring stuff out. Now, not so much. “As social chair, I’m in charge of planning the upcoming holiday mixer. Do you wanna help me?” 

I’m not an idiot. I know when a girl is flirting with me. I’ve had girls flirt with me since before I understood what it meant. Back in the day, I would return it. I’d entertain it, too, and let it be a means to a kiss or two. But not anymore. Every girl pales in comparison to YN. And suddenly, I miss her. 

I hike my hockey bag up my shoulder which still stings from yesterday’s practice. “Sorry, Lacie. I’m really busy with hockey and stuff. But you could ask Kev or Wren. They’re usually up for this kinda thing.” 

I try to bypass her, but Lacie holds a hand out and places it right on my chest. Then her smile starts to transform into a small pout, as if this is the worst news she has ever received.

“Do you, like, not like me or something?” Her voice comes out a little quieter this time, as if the thought of me not liking her is tragic. “Why do you keep pushing me away when I try to get close to you?”

Tiredly, I let out a sigh. “Look, Lacie, you're a really nice girl. And I won’t deny you’re hot.” This tidbit seems to peak her interest and I regret saying it as soon as it’s out. “But I’m not interested.”

“Why?” 

“I have a girlfriend. Pretty sure you’ve met her, too.”

Lacie’s face twists into agitation and disgust. And suddenly, I’m pissed at her. Pretty or not, if she has something bad to say about YN, she’s nothing to me. 

“Daisy? You mean, she’s not just a friend?” 

I want to correct her and say, well that’s just my nickname for her, but I don't. It’s nice that I say it so much that others have taken to believing it’s her actual name.

“Definitely not.” I try to walk past her again, but Lacie seems to adamant about keeping me here today. Her hand finds my forearm this time. I try to shake her off, but her grip is iron tight. “Lacie, I really gotta go.”

Lacie looks at me with anger lining her irises. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look that way at anyone. “You know, a lot of guys are into me. But I like you. Doesn’t that count for something?” 

I shrug because I don’t know how she wants me to respond to that. Sure, being liked is always nice. Especially by popular girls. My ego definitely doesn’t hate it. But I’m also not sure what she wants me to do about her supposed feelings for me. 

“Thanks for liking me, I guess.” 

Her face drops. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. How about something better than ‘thanks?’”

“Thanks so much?”

Lacie rolls her eyes and walks back down the steps right past me. Then, at the bottom of the steps, she turns to face me again and stares at me with hard eyes. Under the sun, I have to squint to look at her. 

“I’m basically dangling myself in front of you like bait, Jeremiah, and you just don’t get it. What does Daisy have that I don’t?”

I purse my lips. I want to say, ‘a lot.’ But I don’t. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“I love her.”

Lacie clicks her tongue. “You’re a schmuck. When I walk away, I’m never coming back. Believe it.”

I nod, believing her because I know girls like her really do mean it. With another roll of her eyes, she strolls away, swaying her hips a bit, and I just shake my head as I walk towards campus in the opposite direction.

. . . 

YN

— on a wednesday

Fraiser Mont’s campus is giving me a migraine. A proper, nausea inducing, head-spinning migraine. 

I have been standing in the middle of campus trying to figure out where Albert Hall is and no matter which way I walk, I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s not like I’m bad with directions, but I’m definitely ready to claim that the map they gave us during freshman orientation is a total waste of paper. Nothing makes sense and there are so many people and so many buildings and I’ve gotten lost enough times to never want to step foot on campus ever again. 

In utter frustration, I release a sigh and stand back to stare at the digital map standing between trees on the heart of campus. Because my paper one is such a waste, I figure, how bad can the digital one be? But over the last few minutes, it has proven to be much the same as its sibling. 

“God,” I mumble to myself, licking my lips as cold, autumnal air whips my cheeks. It’s only the start of October and I’m not the least bit happy about it. “I’m never getting to class at this rate.”

I’m about to reach inside my pocket for my phone when, all of a sudden, a ginormous weight rushes in, dropping itself on me. Long, familiar arms go around my body, encasing me in a cocoon of warmth I very badly needed. 

I don’t say anything to him as he rocks us side to side. Then his mouth is in my ear. 

“Hey, so,” he starts. “I haven’t seen you, like, all day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I hum, feeling my love for him blind my need to get to class on time. I’m not really looking at the campus map anymore more so than enjoying the warmth of his body holding mine. “So that wasn’t you making faces at me from the door of my chem lab earlier when you were supposed to be in stats?”

“Definitely not. I was in class.” He spins me around and grins while my eyes roll back a bit at his very obvious lie. He had run away the moment my TA saw him. “Okay, so I got to class a few minutes later. Big whoop.”

“If you flunk out, you won’t get a good job. And if you don’t get a good job, I can’t marry you.” I’m teasing and the look on his face is worth all the gold in the world. 

Jeremiah gasps. His mouth actually drops open in genuine shock. It shouldn’t be as funny as it is when I start laughing to myself. “What?!”

I shrug, totally nonchalant. “Well, my parents wouldn’t let me marry a bum.”

“I wouldn’t be a bum!”

“Try telling my parents that.”

He pouts, extra adorable in moments between autumn and winter when his cheeks are a little rosier and his eyes a little bluer. “Your parents love me!”

“Sure. For now.” 

His pout turns into a frown I want to kiss away but I hold myself back. I can’t let him win so easily. Not like he always does because I’m so damn weak for him and his cuteness. “Shit, I’m gonna be stressed out for the next four years.”

“Calm down, Jere-Bear,” I chuckle, leaning up to peck the tip of his Rudolph-esque nose. He always smiles really big when I peck him there and today’s just the same. “We’re going to be fine. It’s you and me, remember?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then he sneezes, and I’m pulling out my pack of Kleenex I keep handy just for him. 

Jeremiah has the absolute worst seasonal allergies known to man. He sneezes so much and so often that you would think he wasn’t born to do anything else. He’s fine in the summers, but when spring comes around, he’s a mess. And during the colder months, he sneezes because of how easily his body falls ill. I started pushing him to take vitamin C tablets to help supplement his awful immune system, but he says he hates the way they taste. It wasn’t until I got him orange flavoured ones that he finally changed his mind. 

“Let me take you to class,” he offers, sliding my backpack off my shoulders and onto his own. When I give him an unimpressed look, he goes, “My next period’s free, I swear on my inheritance.” 

I laugh and intertwine our shaky fingers. We’re both cold and it would be lovely to get out of it and into a lecture hall soon. “I’d marry you for your inheritance.”

“Not my dashing good looks?”

“Nah. What’s beauty to money?” 

He leans down to kiss my cheek. We both smile at each other like fools. “What about the fact that I’ve been stupidly in love with you for my whole life?” 

“I’d tell you you’re bad at math because we met when we were ten so that’s not your whole life.” 

“It’s the most important part.”

At this point, we have walked so far down the road that somehow, we have ended up at Albert Hall. I don’t know how Jeremiah got us here, but I’m thankful.

I stop to look up at him. Just as I suspected, his face is constructed to be full of doubt and pain masked by a simple smile. All our years of friendship have taught me exactly how to read him between the lines. And I’m grateful to be good at that despite all the things I’m bad at. 

I squeeze his hand in mine. “I don’t like being away from you either,” I tell him truthfully, each word honest and a little bit sad as it falls from my lips. I finally understand what this is all about and I hate that he feels this way at all. “But this campus is so big and we have so many classes. We can’t be together all the time.”

His smile finally withers away and he presents a frown which breaks me. “I thought it’d be easier now, you know? We could be together whenever we wanted, like how we were in the summers.”

“I know,” I nod, knowing exactly what he means and how he’s feeling. The summers in Cousins, the ones we used to have with all of us there, are a thing of the past now. In less than a year, life isn’t what we used to know. “But I like missing you sometimes because it feels so good when I see you again.”

He scoffs, but I see his cheeks burn with colour again. “Yeah, well, I don’t like missing you.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

I chuckle, wanting to kiss him in front of everybody, but I hold myself back. I shouldn’t fuss about what others think, but a part of me does. “Obsessed boyfriend alert.”

Jeremiah takes me into his arms again. “That’s right. I’m fucking obsessed with you, YN.” He grabs my face in his big hands and kisses me full on the mouth, right there for everyone to see. Funnily enough, no one seems to care as they head to their respective classes or focus on their phones. It helps me melt into our kiss a little more. When we part, he keeps his face close to mine and rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Wanna know what I’d marry you for?”

“Everything?”

He grins and leans in again to cover my face with tiny kisses. I giggle, feeling so stupidly in love that it outweighs me. “Every–” kiss “little–” kiss “thing.” 

For the next two hours, Jeremiah sits beside me in Albert Hall, playing games on his phone whilst my professor talks about molecular biology and every time I need a destresser from all the concepts being thrown at me, I reach down for my thigh only to find my boyfriend’s hand ready to squeeze mine, and I’m okay again. 

. . . 

JEREMIAH

— on a thursday

Every title on the Netflix homepage starts to blur about five or six minutes into searching for something worthwhile to watch. Usually, I’m not picky. I’ll watch anything so long as it’s not a period drama. But tonight, everything appears lacklustre and I’m struggling to stay awake even though I downed two energy drinks whilst studying earlier. I have a massive exam tomorrow and I’m internally freaking out about how that’s going to go. On the outside, I keep telling everyone I’m majoring in beerology. 

YN is next to me, her fingers tapping away on her MacBook. It’s brand new and pink. As in, someone specifically bought it in that colour for her. I smile to myself thinking about how I saved up every dollar last summer to get it for her birthday and how she got me a pair of Nike AirForces in a matching shade for mine. I never take them off.

Almost absentmindedly, I swing my head her way to watch her study whatever it is on her laptop screen which has captured all her attention. YN is wicked good at keeping her attention on one thing at a time, and never diverting from it. Me, on the other hand, I get distracted by everything. 

“Hey,” I call out, hoping to catch her eyes. But she doesn’t look up. “Are you gonna ignore me all night?”

YN chuckles, but still keeps her eyes glued on her screen. “If I really was ignoring you, I wouldn’t have replied.”

I shuffle my body closer to hers, and settle my head in the crook of her shoulder. I take a look at the screen to see what has her so occupied. It’s an article from an academic journal on neuroscience. The entire page is covered in big words I don’t understand, and it hurts my eyes a little bit.

Confused, I crane my head up a bit to question her. “You’re reading about neuroscience?”

“Yup,” she nods. Her finger pushes down on the arrow key, and the page moves.

“Why?”

“Because it’s interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about it?”

“I don’t know. It just is. What’s with all the questions?”

I tickle her side and she giggles. “I’m bored and you’re sitting here reading about neuroscience.” I don’t say it out loud, but I think it’s really fucking hot that she does that. During the summers, YN would never think about school or studying or books, apart from her cheesy romance novels. But seeing her now, I get to comprehend who she is a whole lot better. And it’s sexy. 

“It’d interest you, too, if you gave it a chance.” 

“Nah.” I lean back against my pillow and bring her into me. Her laptop falls against the bed sheets but now that I’m all over her, she doesn’t seem to mind so much. “The only brain I care about is yours.”

YN reaches up to dig her fingers into my hair. I melt into it a little bit. Into her. “Is that the best you’ve got, Fisher? I’ve seen you flirt with girls. I know you can do better.”

I stare at her. Every so often, YN will make a jab about all the girls I’ve messed around with. Before we got together, I took it as a friend teasing another friend sort of thing. But now, it’s different. It hurts. I don’t want her to think of me as some kind of guy who throws himself at any girl he wants. And what I hate more is that I can’t go back and change her mind about any of it. This is who I was to her and sometimes, it’s who I still am. 

As my mood changes, YN picks up on it quickly, and then she is scrambling to make things right. Her arms fling themselves around my neck, tight and desperate. I watch the remorse take shape on her face, the way it creeps onto her mouth and spills into her eyes. She looks like she wants to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her breath warm on my face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

YN swallows, and I watch the motion in her throat. I need to keep my eyes on her face or else I might just get up and walk out. I’m itching to do it, to put distance between us, even though I know it’s not right. Any distance between us now feels like the end of the world.

Gently, YN touches my hair and pushes it back so she can see my eyes better. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I’m really sorry.”

I shake my head. Then I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. YN grasps me harder, harder than ever before, like she’s afraid I might disappear from right in front of her. 

“You still see me as that guy,” I say quietly, accusation simmering upon every word which exits my mouth. “I’m not like that anymore. Not since you.”

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry, Jere. Honest. I don’t know why that slipped out.” Her nose meets mine as she nuzzles into me, her go-to apologetic action. I melt into it, too, just like always. “I love you so much. Please forgive me.”

Even though the hurt lingers, I find myself wrapping my arms around her body, and when I do, she deflates against my chest, tucking her head into the crook of my neck. I feel her breathe me in–deep, long breaths. When I hear her breath hitch, the way it does when she is about to cry, I hold her tighter. 

Later, the credits of White Chicks are rolling on the flat-screen TV and YN is hiccuping from laughter as she reaches out for her water bottle. It’s black and has a logo of the student union on it. We got a whole bunch during Frosh Week, and YN took to putting them on everything she owns. I have a feeling she might want to be a part of the union someday.

“That movie never gets old,” YN chuckles, setting her bottle aside. I pull her into me so she lands on my chest. For a long moment, neither one of us says anything and I think I’m falling asleep, but then YN starts drawing circles on me and I know she has something on her mind. 

I bring my fingers to the side of her head and brush some strands away. “What’s up?”

“Word on the street is… Lacie Barone has a thing for you.”

I don’t know why, but hearing her say that makes me clamp up. I have nothing to be afraid of or to feel guilty about, but suddenly, I do. I feel bad all over. 

I’m tentative as I ask, “Where’d you hear that?”

“Through the grapevine.” 

I look down at her with an unamused look. 

YN chuckles and sets her chin on my chest. Her slightly awkward smile makes me want to kiss it away. Is this what her earlier comment was about? “Fine. Redbird told me.” A pause hangs between us, and then, almost brokenly, she questions, “She asked you out?”

“Not… not really.” 

“Come on, Jere. You can tell me. It’s not like I’ll be mad.”

“That’s not it. She didn’t ask me out. We just… talked.” 

“Oh, yeah? When?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks ago, maybe? It was before I went to practice. She came over here and we just talked by the door.” I stop explaining to gauge her expression. “Are you pissed?”

“No. Should I be?”

“No! Nothing happened between us. We just talked.”

“Okay, so then, it’s fine.”

“You’re not mad that she likes me?”

YN chuckles. “No. I can’t control who has feelings for you.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “You’re oddly calm about this. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” she says, her finger travelling down my chest. “That Lacie Barone is probably so jealous of me. I get to have you and she doesn’t.”

“YN…”

“Aren’t I right?” YN lifts herself up and slides her hand under the hem of my Fraiser Mont sweatshirt. Her warm, nimble fingers caress my skin in waves of curiosity and desire. I love when she touches me like this–possessive and a little bit crazy. “Because while she sits all alone on her pretty little pink princess bed in her stupid little sorority, I get to be here with you.” Her fingers pass over my stomach, making it do somersaults. I swallow, trying not to get worked up but knowing I’ll fail by the end. “And I get to touch you… and kiss you…” Her fingers work their way up my body, making me breathe heavy until her thumb finds my right nipple. Then I just about lose myself to her, to everything she never fails to make me feel. “...and fuck you, and she can’t do anything about it.”

My eyes flash with desire, unkempt and ferocious. Even when she thought Belly and I had something, YN had never been this vocal about her jealousy. The fact that she feels even the least bit threatened by Lacie should be hilarious, and the two of us should be sitting in bed laughing about it, but this… this is somehow not what I expected and equal parts something I don’t hate as much as I should. 

If the fact that Jeremiah Jr. is chubbing up is anything to go by.

I bite down on my lip in an effort to keep my moans from running loose but it’s utterly useless when YN pulls her hands out from under my shirt and reaches in for a kiss. I grab her by the waist as she lunges herself at me, settling her perfect ass on my nether region. 

Each kiss she gives me is lengthy, wet, and hot. Our mouths feel like they’re on fire; crackles of flame dripping from our lips and onto the other’s. 

“Lift your arms,” she instructs, her voice husky, like she just ran a marathon. 

I bite down on her lip and drag it out with my teeth. I smirk to let her know I will be doing no such thing. “Why don’t you make me?”

YN licks her lips and scrambles for my shirt, dragging it off my body, up and over my head, until I’m naked from the waist up. I meet her gaze for a moment, hoping I can read her eyes, but she won’t let me. The brown of her irises fly over every part of me as she takes me in, as if this is both her first time seeing me this way and her last. Her gaze burns, and rattles me to the core. Each time we do this, I feel like I’m falling in love with her all over again.

“Lacie doesn’t get to touch you,” she murmurs, hesitant eyes finding mine. They’re begging for confirmation and I can’t wait to give it. “It doesn’t matter how she feels.”

“Okay,” I nod, setting my hand in her hair so I can push some back. I’ve always loved touching her hair. I love how soft it is, and how good it smells. Back when her hair was the only part of her I could touch intimately, I took full advantage. And now, it’s muscle memory.

“I mean it,” she presses, and her eyes get that teary look to them again, like she’s really scared. I bring her in for a small kiss, which she returns in desperation. 

I rub my thumb over her cheek, trying to get her to calm down. I don’t know why Redbird told her about Lacie in the first place. I don’t know why I told him. The guys and I were just talking the other night and when they talked about Lacie having a thing for me, I blurted out what happened. I hadn’t expected it to get back to YN, especially not like this. And it wasn’t like I was trying to hide it from her. A part of me knew she’d be hurt if she knew so I kept it to myself. 

“There’s no one for me but you, YN. You know that.”

YN frowns. I try to kiss it away, but she frowns even harder. “I know that, but does she?” Her chest rises as she breathes in and out fast. “I hate that bitch.”

“Woah,” I laugh, tickling her side. “Hold on a sec, babe. What’s with the language?”

“Well, what else do I call the girl trying to steal my boyfriend?”

I’m filled with so much love for her that I grab her in a hug, taking us tumbling down into the sheets. I throw my legs over hers, wrapping us in like a cocoon. Then I start leaving kisses all over her face and jaw and neck, until she’s giggling and trying to push me away. 

“Alright, okay! God! Will you stop?!” 

“No way,” I throw back, squeezing her in close; close enough that I can smell my body wash on her from when she showered here this morning. I don’t know why, but that turns me on even more. “There’s no boyfriend to be stolen, just so you know.” 

“Still…” A lightning strike of something bold and yearning passes over her face, and suddenly, she’s pushing me onto my back and straddling me. When her eyes fall into view again, I warn my dick not to start acting up before I can figure out where this is going. I don’t want to spend extra time in the bathroom again like last weekend when YN was bent over doing pilates on my floor minutes before Natalie, her roommate, called her out for drinks, leaving me all alone to deal with my mess. “Her goddamn audacity is pissing me the fuck off.”

I rub the sides of her waist, hoping to calm her down. “Mm… so, what are you gonna do about it?” Okay, so maybe I’m trying to do the opposite. 

“For starters, I wanna beat her up.”

I can’t help it when I laugh. Just the thought of YN brawling with Lacie is funnier than it should be. And hilariously enough, I know YN would win. All those years of basketball, swimming, and surfing have made her stronger than she looks. And funnier than that is the fact that her fighting for my honour gets me all hot on the inside.

“Baby, Daisy, love of my life,” I tease, adding an extra bit of cheesiness to my nicknames to placate her. “You don’t have to do that. I’m only yours, and you’re the only girl for me.”

The corners of her lips start to lift up in a tiny smile. I press a hand to the back of her neck and pull her down for a soft kiss. It’s sweet at first, our lips together and moving perfectly in sync, but then my dick stirs again and I know I need her real bad. 

YN laughs into my mouth when her ass grinds on me just right. “Excited?”

“You have no idea how much,” I groan, breathing the words hastily. I need her so badly. Now, now, now. I feel like I’ll explode if she doesn’t touch me more. I lift my hips a little to give her a taste of the reckless desire I’m experiencing. “Feel that?”

YN licks her lips, and I know just by looking at her face that she’s just as far gone as me. All she’s wearing is a pair of my old shorts and a green t-shirt. When the tip of my cock meets her mound, I find out she’s forgone underwear and it makes me want to fuck her into oblivion. 

“Y-yeah.”

I don’t know why I say it, but when the words slip out, I don’t regret them half as much as I should because the fire in YN’s eyes is enough to make me want to do it again. Again and again just to see that look on her face. “You think any other girl makes me feel this way?” I say the words slowly, letting each one roll off my tongue carefully so she understands just how much I mean them. How true they are. “I can’t even get hard to the thought of anything but you.”

Her eyes fall shut, and she seems to mull the statement over whilst my dick begs to be paid attention to. “Jere…” she whispers, sounding just a little bit lost. “Promise… promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Promise me you’ll only think of me. When I’m here and when I’m not.”

“I promise.” 

YN opens her eyes, and for a moment, I think she is surprised by my answer but then the expression flies away and all that’s left on her face is pure adoration and… lust. 

She bends her body, and when she gets close to my lips, I think she’ll kiss me but she doesn’t because her mouth is suddenly on my chest and she’s kissing down the length of my torso with pecks wetter than the damn ocean. 

When she reaches my navel, her mouth presses around the point and she kisses me there, her lips moist and perfect. I didn’t know that was a place I could feel so thrilled by but now that I am, I never want her to leave it alone again. 

Her hands find the sides of my sweatpants, and she starts pulling them downwards. Down and down until my cock springs free, slapping up against my skin after being trapped for so long. I let out a breath of relief, feeling as though I ran a marathon even though I’ve been locked away in this room, and on this bed, for ages.

YN keeps her brown eyes on me, and they darken every inch that her mouth moves closer to my tip. I try to hold her line of sight but it’s hard with the way she hovers over my dick like it’s no big deal. She knows how sensitive I am there, and yet she always does this… this teasing game. 

It’s another thing I should despise but I don’t. 

With a hand on my inner thigh, YN leans in and breathes out over my dick. I whine, grabbing her shoulder to pull her closer to where I need her most but she is everything pure evil as she ducks down to kiss my other thigh. 

“Come on,” I beg, hoping she will get on with it. I have never been good at the waiting game, especially not with her. Other guys might love being pulled to the edge and thrown back, but I certainly don’t. I have zero patience for it. “Please… need you so bad.”

YN smirks. “I bet Lacie wouldn’t make you wait, huh?” 

“Babe.”

“I’m just being honest. With all the guys she’s been with… she must have lost some of her patience, too.”

I fold my smile in. I hate that I love this; the way she is isn’t right, but I love it. I’m practically salivating for it. “Are you calling her a slut?”

The tops of my girlfriend’s shoulders rise up, just a little to prove her nonchalance. “Maybe.” Her hand suddenly finds its way to the further up my thigh and closer to where I need her most. She keeps her eyes steady on mine as she whispers, “I can be a slut, too… for you.”

“Oh, fuck.” 

Without a single warning, YN lowers her head. Her hot breath sails over the tip of my dick again but this time, she takes the voyage home. 

The heat of her mouth engulfs me like a burning fire, hold and wild and uncontrollable. I fist her hair, grabbing as much as I can in my hand and away from her face so I can see it better. Every line and scar and all the small pimples she says she hates. To me, she’s the most beautiful person in the entire universe. No matter what she looks like. 

“Shit, shit,” I mumble as she licks a stripe down one side of me. I watch with bated breath as she fumbles around on the bed, searching for something. “W-What are you–”

Her eyes brighten as she seems to find whatever she was looking for, and I feel her smile take form right on my dick. I crunch back numbers in my head to keep myself from shooting down her throat right then. 

YN leans back and licks me softly while her hand drops something into mine. I lower my gaze and catch the sight of my phone on video mode. I stare at her, halfway between terrified and awestruck, and whisperingly ask, “Are you sure?”

YN leans up to touch her lips to mine in a breathless, barely there kiss. When she smiles, it’s wickedly sweet. “Trust me, you’re gonna wanna watch this later.”

I curse out as she slides back down my body.

I press start on the video, aiming to hold it in just the right position to capture the perfection of this moment but I’m shaking so much that the end result may appear more like something off Paranormal Activity than Pornhub. 

A rush of passion flows through my veins each time her tongue presses onto my hard dick, making it chub up and leak just for her mouth to lick up. YN makes a whole show of it, like those girls in the adult movies with their big eyes and sultry expressions. I muck up every second of it like I’m some kind of high I’ll never feel again.

When it gets to be too much and I know I’m close, I grip her head with my open hand and forcibly tilt it down so my cock pushes deep into her mouth. YN groans, whines a little too, and I don’t hold back. I thrust in, my camera hand trembling, and I hit the back of her throat repeatedly. 

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Your fucking mouth, YN… shit! Can’t get enough of you.” 

Even though I’m practically using her like a cock sleeve, my dream-like girlfriend smiles around the base of my dick and tightens her throat, letting me take everything I could ever want from her. Everything she wants to give me.

YN weens off me for a second to take my dick into her palm, but not before slathering it with her tongue. I feel my heart skip a beat. Then two more when she reaches into her panties to produce more wetness. 

Her fingers softly wrap around me as she talks, tugging on me, rubbing me up and down in the best way any guy could imagine being touched. “She won’t ever get to see you like this…” YN dips her mouth down to lick my tip. “...she’ll never get to watch your face change when you…” this time, she wraps her mouth over my tip and suckles, her eyes round and unforgiving on mine even though I’m so far gone, I wonder if it’s the blues she sees or the whites. “...come.”

Her voice is like a command because as soon as the word leaves her, I’m falling over the edge and spilling down her mouth in rivulets of paper white she swallows, happier than she ever was in both my dreams and fantasies combined I grab her by the face and tug her into me, throwing her under my body and leaning in as I kiss her hot on the mouth, not caring for my own taste because all I want, and all I need, is her. 

. . . 

YN

— on a friday

One of the best moments of my life happens minutes before I walk into my last midterm exam of the year in Wentworth Hall. 

There are rows upon rows of desks and chairs and the soggy smell of an old swimming pool next door and I should be scared absolutely shitless about how this exam is going to go but I’m hardly thinking about it when my phone tells me I have been tagged in a TikTok video. The username is from the school’s hockey team, so I open it more urgently. 

The official account of the Fraiser Mont varsity hockey team has posted a new video with all the team members stretched out across various areas of the rink and the locker room. The video starts out with Josh, the team’s defenceman, and one of Jeremiah’s close friends at the frat house. The cameraperson asks Josh who his type is. He immediately shouts, “Kiki Layne!” without missing a single beat. 

The camera then swerves to a bunch of other guys who name their favourite women, most of whom are celebrities. At the very end, the cameraperson finds Jeremiah sitting on a bench, sipping from his water bottle. He looks a little surprised to see the camera in his face at first, and it’s completely adorable. His eyes get so round and attentive. I’m practically melting on the sidewalk. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I’m not enamoured by him. 

“Hey, Fisher,” the cameraperson says. I finally recognize the voice as belonging to the editor of the school newspaper, Archie Rodriguez. “Who’s your type?”

Jeremiah looks right at the camera and grins, big and wide and endlessly gorgeous. “My girlfriend.” In nanoseconds, his teammates jump on his back and pummel him, giving him noogies and slaps on the arms. And even still, through all the ruckus, he manages to find the camera again and winks, saying, “Love you, Daisy.”

I download the video with a giggle and save it to my JEREMIAH <3 folder.

A week later, one of the worst moments of my life arrives and it’s in the form of midterm grades having been uploaded to the university assessment website. I had been dreading the posting all week, after I left the exam room feeling as though I could have done better, and now, my greatest fears are confirmed. 

I’m failing chemistry.

Chemistry–a course I was brilliant at in high school. A course I never worried about ever in my life because everything about it used to come seamlessly to me, binding with my memory like glue so I was never afraid to step into chem class nor take a test. But now? Now, I’m doomed. A single dip in my GPA is threatening to my future. I know that better than I know anything else.

Misery slithers into my veins as I shut the lid of my laptop and stand up. My legs are wobbly and it’s hard to walk at first but eventually, I make it to my closet. I start rummaging through my drawer, under my folded shirts, until my hand lands on a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey I stole from my house the last weekend I spent over there. Dad must have forgotten about it under the kitchen sink and I thought Jeremiah and I could share it sometime. Now, I’m about to drown myself in it alone. 

Alarms blare inside my head as I walk back to my bed. Words like, don’t do this, YN. Don’t. pestering me incessantly with each step I take. The rational part of my brain seems to be working on overdrive. I ignore it, though, and pop open the top, readying myself to take a swig when my doorknob shakes and in strolls Natalie with Jeremiah right behind her. They’re laughing about something and it stops me dead in my tracks. 

I pull the bottle down, away from my lips, but I know I have nowhere to put it. Besides, Jeremiah has already caught sight of me and he looks concerned, which is saying something because Jeremiah rarely ever gets that way, and I usually don’t give him reason to be. 

His expression is deadly calm as he reaches my side, settling down on my bed as he gives me a once over. I begin to roll my eyes at him, knowing he won’t understand what I’m going through, when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

Natalie pretends to busy herself with her end of the room, fluffing her pillows as if they aren’t already perfectly fluffed and perfectly aligned. My roommate is OCD, I’m almost one hundred percent sure.

Jeremiah picks up my whiskey bottle and examines it. His left brow goes up, and then he finds my eyes again. “Were you gonna drink without me?”

Of course he thinks that is what I was about to do. 

“No, Jere, of course not,” I mumble, grabbing the bottle from him and finally taking a swig. He watches me do it and I go slow just for the dramatic effect. I hate that this is who I become when I’m stressed out, but at the same time, stopping myself from becoming this way is next to impossible. “Let’s just have a party, right here, at 10 AM.”

Jeremiah licks his lips and glances back at Natalie who is now fully indulged in the conversation being had without her. They share a look and the next thing I know, she is excusing herself to go do laundry. I scoff when she leaves the room empty handed.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Jeremiah swings his gaze back on me and I read every bit of genuine fear and worry painted across his face. It sparks a semblance of guilt in the pit of my stomach, aiding my distress. I may not give him reasons to worry about me often but this time, I have.

“Why are you drinking? What happened?”

His questions set my heart on fire. The last thing I want to do is talk about what happened. If I do, it will make my losses and my failures and the fact that I suck more real. 

“Nothing happened,” I argue, taking another swig. Jeremiah catches the base of the bottle on its descent down then pulls it away from me completely. “Hey, give me that!”

“No way. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.” He sets the bottle down on the floor and I hmph out angrily. “You never drink outside of parties. What’s going on with you? Did you have a fight with your mom? Or Esme?”

There are a lot of things which can bother a person once they start dating their best friend, and worse, when they start dating their childhood best friend. Someone who has grown up with them and seen all their sides – the good and the bad. 

Before we started college, all the bad seemed to stem from my strenuous relationship with my mother and older sister. They were, in some very vital way, one of the reasons why I looked forward to summers in Cousins the most. Because I could get away from them and have a life outside of the one I lived in Portland, in a house that often felt like it was suffocating me. 

All that bad and more, Jeremiah knows about. Heck, some of it he lived with me. He knows me better than I know myself, every bare inch of my soul. And I know I should be grateful for that. I should be celebrating the fact that I got so lucky to fall in love with someone who knows me so well that he can read even the slightest change in my behaviour. But I don’t want to. Not right now. Not at this moment.

Right now, all I want to do is wallow in my own pity and self-loathing. 

“I didn’t have a fucking fight with anyone, Jeremiah. Chill out.” 

I go to grab the whiskey again but he stops me. I was expecting him to because that’s who he is, but when he throws his arms around me in a hug, I’m left feeling more confused than ever.

He holds me tight, even scooting closer so we’re pressed up chest-to-chest, and he squishes his face in my hair. I smell him everywhere – his shampoo which smells like Asian pears, the subtle hint of cologne on his skin, and his uniquely Jeremiah Fisher scent I love most. And I just… melt. 

The tears come on and I sniffle into his shirt. I don’t say anything and we just sit there and hold each other for a minute. When Jeremiah does speak, he surprises me. 

“We can drink if you want to,” he says, his hand finding its way into my hair. “As much as you want. But you have to tell me what’s going on.” He leans back to look at me. He searches my face for a second then adds, “Is this about the midterm grades?”

“How did you–”

“Mine were posted two hours ago, so I just figured yours were, too.”

I lick my lips to give them some moisture. Even though I’ve had two swigs of whiskey, I feel parched. “And how’d you do?”

Jeremiah rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I’m failing intro to business and barely passing math.” He grins as I just stare at him. “But C’s get degrees, right?”

I huff as I stand to my feet. This is precisely why I can’t talk to him about what I’m going through. He will never understand what it’s like to actually give a shit about school and grades and the future. Jeremiah only thinks in now’s and the present. When we were in middle school, he used to say that he would never work a day in his life because his father had so much money. He never once gave thought to making his own. His attitude even now seems to allude to old statements.

“Babe, I’m kidding–”

“Not all of us are rich, Jeremiah,” I fume, turning on him with flaming red ears and heat coursing through my veins. “We don’t all have daddy’s money to turn to whenever we want. I actually want to go to grad school, and failing chemistry isn’t going to help that!”

“I didn’t mean–”

Everything about this moment is slipping away from me and I’m transforming into a monster as each second passes, and yet, I cannot seem to bring myself to stop. If anything, I get worse. 

“Yeah, I know. You didn’t mean it like that.” I shake my head at him. “Are you ever going to take anything seriously? Or will you spend your entire life just having fun?”

Jeremiah jumps to his feet. His once calm demeanour changes, and he looks just as livid as I do. “What are you so pissed at me for? I didn’t fail your exam for you!”

I stare at him, not believing he just said that. Especially after being so sweet a minute ago. “Fuck you.”

His neck turns a dark shade of red, and his lips tighten to portray bouts of frustration I have undoubtedly flung on him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Just because I’m always nice and understanding doesn’t mean you can treat me like a damn punching bag, YN.”

“Nice and understanding?” I scoff. “Where was the ‘nice and understanding’ when I told you to stop playing video games so loud when I was studying for my test? Or when I told you I had to sleep but you dragged me to one of your stupid frat parties anyway?”

“You could have left any time you wanted!”

“So you and Miss Perfect Teeth could make out behind my back?” It’s a low blow and I know it but I don’t stop to think about the consequences when my mouth starts moving. Not even when Jeremiah looks at me like I’ve struck him with a sword. “I know what your frat brothers think of me. I know they think you should dump me for her. And honestly, why don’t you? She’s gorgeous and fits your type better than I do. She’s rich, too, so she’ll never fight with you about the future.”

In a low voice, Jeremiah whispers, “Where is all of this coming from? I thought we talked about Lacie. I don’t like her–”

“Yeah. For now. When I’m right here. When all of this is still so new. We’ve been together for two years. Two more and you’ll be sick of me.”

“That’s not true. Why are you picking a fight, YN? I love you–”

“And she could love you. Probably better than me, too. She’s definitely smarter. Did you hear she’s basically a shoo-in for Harvard? She’s going to become a freaking aerospace engineer and I’m failing first year chem!”

When the last of my words slip out of my mouth, Jeremiah walks past me and out my door. He doesn’t even glance back. Not once. And with him gone, everything I said comes flooding back and I fall to the ground crying. 

. . . 

Jeremiah hasn’t texted me. All day. It’s like he forgot he has a phone. A phone to call me with or text me with or do anything with. 

After our fight this morning, I was so certain we would go back to our old selves by the afternoon. But when his text never comes, even by sunset, I’m petrified that I ruined everything for us. Again. 

Most of all, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that the apologies outweigh me. I carry them around everywhere I go. It’s a Friday night and everyone on campus is readying themselves for a night in or a night out. There is a distinct buzz in the air, especially for that time between spring and summer. My first year at Fraiser Mont is about to come to an end and I should be celebrating with the person I love most. Instead, I’m walking around campus feeling utterly dejected and sorry for myself and trying to figure out if he and I can ever come back from this. 

Jeremiah and I have never really fought. Not about anything. Sure, we had our differences, like which Star Wars movie is the best or if Chinese or Indian food is better. But none of those differences have been so monumental to have completely upended our relationship – whether platonic or romantic. Now, I don’t know if I can say the same. 

It was so stupid of me to bring up Lacie. Especially since we already talked about it. Jeremiah had reassured me that nothing ever happened between them and nothing ever would. But the ridiculously insecure part of me kept thinking that if our circumstances were any different, there is zero doubt that Jeremiah would go for her. Even Taylor agreed. Belly thought Jeremiah loved me too much, but Taylor said that Lacie did seem like the type to beat a guy down until he submitted. So how long would that be? Lacie may be a year older than us, but Jeremiah’s never been opposed to older girls. He would kiss college tourists all the time back in Cousins.

Worst of all is what happened during my first week at Fraiser Mont and how, every so often, I replay it in my head.

Jeremiah had invited me and Natalie to the rager at the frat house at the end of the first official week of classes. I had meant to go and see his place earlier, but Frosh Week and basketball tryouts had taken up all my time. 

Natalie and I wanted to get dolled up with the girls in the hall, who were all going to different parties around campus, and between pre-gaming and photoshoots, we ended up being late to the party. 

Jeremiah was nowhere to be found when I first arrived, but Redbird was there and so were Wren and Clint. Wren asked us who invited us and Natalie said Jeremiah. Redbird got this look on his face, this look of understanding, and he immediately stuck his hand out for her. 

“Nice to meet ya, Mrs. Fisher. I’m Tom, but everyone calls me Redbird.”

Natalie giggled and shook her head, pushing me to the forefront. “Oh, that’s not me. YN is Jere’s girlfriend.” 

Redbird turned his eyes to me, stared for a second, then blinked twice. The haze of whatever he was drinking seemed to wear off and he finally understood what was going on. 

“Aw, crap. I fucked up. I’m sorry. YN, right?” He didn’t stick his hand out for me and everyone became visibly uncomfortable. Wren and Clint escorted Natalie in, while Redbird said he’d show me to Jeremiah. We walked inside and he kept talking. Over the last year, I’ve learned that Redbird talks a lot. “Sorry about that back there. I just figured when Fisher said he had a girl that she’d be…” Redbird seems to catch himself this time and flushes. “Sorry. I think I’m fucking wasted. I’m talkin’ outta my ass.”

When Jeremiah fell into view, Lacie was with him and they were smiling. Her body was way too close to his and he didn’t even seem to notice. He was talking to her and she kept nodding, taking dainty sips from her solo cup. I didn’t know her name or what she studied or anything else about her. All I knew was that I hated that girl. 

“Fisher! Your girl’s here, man!”

Jeremiah fell away from Lacie at once, grinning as he walked up to us. He threw an arm over my shoulder and tugged me into him, bumping fists with Redbird as he brought me over to Lacie. 

“Hey, Lacie, this is my girlfriend, YN.” 

Lacie nodded and smiled at me. At the time, I wanted to believe it was a pleasant enough smile. That it didn’t mean something awful. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back, smiling too. “Do you go to school here?”

“Yeah. I’m in my second year.” Lacie turned to smile at Jeremiah. “Jere, it was nice catching up with you again.” Her hand landed on his bicep and swept down. I froze, but said nothing. What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey! Get your hand off my boyfriend, bitch!’ “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Jeremiah nodded in return, and I hated that his smile said he meant it. Either he was purposely being obtuse or he truly had no idea that that girl was flat out flirting with him. That she liked him. When he turned to me, I must have appeared peeved because he said, “Hey, you alright?”

I pasted on a smile so he wouldn’t know how I was feeling. I didn’t want our first college party to become an emotional warzone. Besides, that thing with Redbird was natural. It happened all the time when people saw me and Jeremiah together. Back in Cousins, Mr. Roscha once joked that Susannah was like Angelina Jolie with the circle of friends she kept. Even though she never invited the Roschas over for dinner again after that, Mr. Roscha’s comment stuck with me. Is that the way people saw us? Like some big poster board for multiculturalism?

It was the thing with Lacie that annoyed me the most. Lacie Barone pissed me off precisely because she was exactly Jeremiah’s type. Or at least, the type everyone expected him to have. Even when he said I was the only girl he loved, what did it matter if I didn’t live up to the women he actually found attractive?

After walking around for almost an hour, I set myself down on a bench outside of The Lindsay O’Brien Arts and Sciences Library. It is the most high-tech library on campus, with the newest computers and tablets for students. Natalie and I often find ourselves on the second floor, typing away essays or prepping for labs. It’s essentially our second home. There is a Starbucks on the first floor. Without really thinking about it, I gravitate towards it. 

Ten minutes later, I have two frappuccinos in my left hand and my phone in my right. I check Jeremiah’s location and breathe a sigh of relief when I discover he’s at the park down the street. I get on the first bus which passes by, hoping my drinks don’t melt too much. The bus drops me off at the edge of the park and the moment I step onto the sidewalk, I see my boyfriend in a white t-shirt shooting hoops with his frat brothers. 

None of them notice me walking up. They’re all equally as enthralled in the game as the others. The game looks intense and I wonder if I’ll be able to catch Jeremiah’s attention at all. I take a seat on the bleachers and wait, taking sips from my drink every so often. 

I keep my eyes on Jeremiah. He moves so coolly over the court, as if it was made for him to run around on. In high school, watching him play football was incredible. He was so good at it, so alert at all times. His coach thought he might play professionally someday. Even when his dad ignored his games, Jeremiah tried his hardest to be the best. And he was. This past winter, when he played hockey for the varsity team, he was phenomenal on the ice. Each game felt like I was watching a beautiful story unfold. And he seemed happier, too. Happier on the ice than he ever was on the field. 

He’s a jock. He always has been. Sports are what he does best. And I love that about him. The fact that anything he puts his mind to, he does so well in. No matter how much effort it takes.

I’m finishing up my frappuccino when Jeremiah finally walks up to me. He pushes his curls back as he gets closer, moving them away from his eyes. He grabs his drink out the tray and takes a sip. 

“It’s melted–” He ignores me and keeps drinking until half the coffee is gone. I swallow the pain lodged in my throat and timidly meet his eyes. “Can we talk?”

He keeps the tip of the straw in his mouth and asks, “What about?”

“Just… everything.” I know him. I know he won’t make this easy. He wants me to apologize and put on a performance and I will. I’ll do anything for him. Always. “Wanna go get cheeseburgers?”

He shrugs then takes another sip. “I don’t know. My car’s back at the house.”

“Let’s walk there.”

“It’s far.”

“That’s okay. We can talk on the way.” When he doesn’t respond after a few seconds, I turn desperate. “Please, Jere. This whole day has been so crappy. I just wanna eat burgers with you.”

And though he has every right to make me suffer a little more, just a little while longer for all the horrible things I said earlier, he doesn’t. Because that’s not who he is. He waves at his friends and promises to meet up later, and then off we go in the direction of the McDonald’s twenty minutes away.

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything at first. He just keeps sipping on his frappuccino. It isn’t like him to stay so quiet. He must be really upset. And I made him that way. 

We’re about to cross the street when I turn and face him, making myself look at him directly. I need to see him. To see him clearly and remember the promises I made to his mother and myself when she passed away. 

‘I’ll take care of your angel, Susannah.’ 

I reach for his hand and he surprises me by holding mine back. I smile a little, our intertwined fingers giving me a new sense of hope. He’s already looking at me when I lift my head up. “I love you,” I tell him, honest and truthful and real. “I love you more than ice cream and all the sand on Cousins Beach and more than Hayden Christensen in any movie he’s done.” Jeremiah rolls his eyes at the last remark, but the ends of his lips lift up, too. I’m making progress, thank God. “And I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter if she could love you or even if she already does. I love you more. I always have and I always will. I’m sorry I was mad. None of it was your fault and I did use you as a punching bag. I’m really sorry, Jere. You’re my favourite person and I love you so much and I just…” The end of my sentence gets muffled by his chest as he brings me into him for a hug. I breathe him in, in all his sweaty, Jeremiah Fisher goodness. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He kisses my hair. “You won’t. Not ever. Not to anyone.” He pulls away so we’re looking right at each other. “You’re the only girl who never gets mad when I eat the last of her food, so how could I lose you?”

His little joke gets a thunderous laugh out of me and when he lifts my hand up to kiss the back of it, I know we’re okay. Really, really okay. Maybe we will have more of these useless and ludicrous fights in the future but so long as we find one another again, we’ll be alright. 

At McDonald’s, I save one last French fry and as the two of us are leaving the restaurant, I catch Jeremiah by the sleeve of his shirt and force him to look at me. Then I stick one side of the fry in my mouth and he does nothing but chuckle, bring me in by the waist, and chew on his end until his lips meet mine.

. . . 

JEREMIAH

— second year, on a sunday

I’m swamped after hockey practice tonight and truthfully, I should do as Coach recommended and catch up on my sleep in time for the big game tomorrow night, but as it goes, I’m bad at taking advice and I would much rather be in my girlfriend’s bedroom with her feet in my lap as she reads her textbook and I decide between the five different shades of blue nail polish she has. 

“Just pick anything,” she instructs, wiggling her toes at me.

I mull over the choices again. Cobalt blue. Sky blue. Peacock blue. Ocean Blue. Sapphire Blue. So, so, so many blues. Half the time I think these are all the same colour and the nail polish industry is just lying to these girls who buy them. There can’t possibly be that much of a difference between all of these blues. Right?

“Jere, come on,” YN whines, looking up from her history textbook with a flicker of irritation. “The faster you do this, the faster I can get ready and we can go.” 

I pick up the one labelled ocean blue and spin it open. “Alright, princess. Chill for a sec.” I hold her big toe and slowly paint down her nail. “There. One toe done.”

YN looks over her book again and grins. “Why do you always pick ocean blue?”

I gawk at her. “How can you tell the difference between all these blues?!”

“I just can.” She puts her book down and smirks. “Wanna know why I always pick blue nail polish?”

I get started on her other toes. “Because it’s your favourite colour.”

“Yeah, duh. But why is it my favourite colour?”

“Because…” I finish off with the second last toe and look up with a cocky grin. “Because of my beautiful blue eyes.” For emphasis, I make my eyes bigger and blink in rapid succession. “These babies are what made you fall for me, huh?”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t your charming personality.”

I laugh and easily pull her other foot closer. Over the years of continuously doing this, I think I could get a degree in it. I might be as good at painting nails as I am at hockey or football. “Or was it the fact that I gave you a nickname and bought you ice cream?”

“Probably the ice-cream.” I tickle the bottom of her feet and she giggles. “I like blue because it reminds me of the ocean, too, and of being back in Cousins.”

I cap off the nail polish and smile at her. “We’ll go down as soon as school lets out. Deal?”

“Yeah.” 

The both of us have been going back down to Cousins Beach since last year. After Dad tried to sell the house – Mom’s house – it felt all the more important to keep going back, to keep making memories even if the person who held everything together was gone. In a way, being there meant being closer to Mom, too. Her grave was closeby and we could visit whenever we wanted. 

These days, I was thinking about asking Con if he would be okay with me and YN living there permanently after we graduate. I haven’t talked to her about it, but I know she would want to. I can build that surf shop with my inheritance and YN could find some work in town. Most of all, I think we could both be happy there. In the place that started it all for us. And I could marry her there. Kiss her on the beach in front of our families and friends. Promise my life to her like I already have so many times in my heart. 

YN uses her big toe to poke my stomach. “Hey, what are you thinking so hard about?” I grin and lift up that same toe to kiss it. She recoils and makes a face. “Ew! Gross! Do you have a thing for feet all of a sudden?”

“No, but maybe I just have a thing for your feet.”

“You disgust me.”

I lean over her body until I’m right on top of her. Her textbook falls out of her hands, landing somewhere on the floor, and I just take my time to stare at the girl I’ve been in love with my whole life. “I’m disgusting?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, her breath on my lips as she cards her fingers through my hair. I’ve always loved that, that feeling of her familiar fingers floating through my hair. There was no better feeling in the world. Sometimes, it reminded me of my Mom, too, when we would be on the couch and she would read me her poems and run her fingers through my hair for hours. YN leans in until our lips are milimetres away. “I think you’re filthy.”

The next thing I know, I’m sucking a hickey on her chest, she’s moaning my name, and we both forget to tell Natalie that neither of us can make it out to dinner with her and her boyfriend tonight. 

. . . 

YN

— third year, on a saturday

A few girls around school, the ones interested in hockey anyway, have taken to calling Jeremiah ‘sex on legs’ recently. His first two years as a defenceman put him on the map as a member of the Fraiser Mont Boys Varsity Hockey Team, but after this summer, when his Coach asked him to fill in the role as forward centre, the girls have been nothing short of loco. Everywhere you go on campus where hockey is even slightly mentioned, Jeremiah is talked about. And not only that, he is discussed. There is a message board outside the team’s locker room and I have seen more than a handful of love notes for my boyfriend stuck on it over the last few weeks. 

Funnily enough, I’m not jealous. I thought I would be since the Lacie Barone thing triggered me like crazy in first year, but surprisingly, I’m okay. Better than okay. And if there ever is a time I do find myself growing irksome, Jeremiah finds a way to dispel my bad thoughts (usually through physically draining means, which I’ll never complain about).

Tonight, the team is playing their last game of the season. Everyone is on high alert, especially since it’s a home game. The members’ families and friends are all here to witness the brilliant sporting event, and I’m happy that Mr. Fisher actually made it out. I was surprised when he called me to ask for the details last week. He said he would make time in his schedule to come. And then he did. And now, he’s sitting right next to me as I cheer so loud, my ears sting. 

I’m wearing Jeremiah’s jersey. His number is 27, and he always gloats to anyone who will listen that it’s my birthday. I’m sure people are sick of hearing it, but he never stops. He shows me off like I’m better than a trophy. And I guess, to him, I am. 

“YN,” Mr. Fisher says, grabbing my attention as I much on hot popcorn. I bought two bags for us but he has hardly touched his. I guess he’s colder than I am since he hasn’t even taken off his gloves. “Explain something to me.”

“Sure.”

He looks out at the rink, to where his son is nodding at his team member. “Is Jere always like this?”

“Like what?”

“This… cheerful playing hockey?”

I know what he’s trying to ask me, the question within the question he is afraid to voice. That parental regret I have learned is more normal than one would think. Mr. Fisher wonders if he steered his youngest child in the wrong direction when he pushed him to play football, like he did with his oldest. And now, he is thinking in what if’s. 

“Yes,” I nod, full honesty on my tongue. There is no point in lying to him. He doesn’t deserve that and neither does his son. “He is. He loves hockey more than anything.”

“More than football.”

“Yes. He… he loved football, but not like he loves hockey. He’s incredible on the ice, Mr. Fisher. Just look at him.” I smile out at the rink, watching Jeremiah glides across the ice like he was made to do it. “He belongs out there. Even though he grew up not playing it regularly, he’s now playing forward for one of the most exciting college teams in the country. That’s how extraordinary your son is.”

Mr. Fisher doesn’t say much of anything after that. He stays relatively quiet for the rest of the game, except for the parts when everyone cheers. When he cheers, it’s loud and proud and I’m sure Jeremiah whips his head around to hear it. I hold back my tears so I don’t ruin the moment. 

When the game is down to the last minute, everyone is at the edge of their seat. There is one goal standing between loss and victory. The entire arena is deadly silent, quiet in a way that is almost serene. But then Jeremiah focuses and his back bends and when he splits the ice with his shot, it flies right past the goalie and into the net. 

I let out the biggest scream of my life and Mr. Fisher laughs, and when I hug him, he hugs me back. We start jumping up and down together, the arena cheering and hooting and hollering. Jeremiah’s teammates all hit his back and helmet and he spins and laughs and then he’s skating over to the edge and I’m running down with Mr. Fisher right behind me. 

As soon as I’m in his line of vision, Jeremiah pulls the cage up and pulls his helmet off. I throw my arms around him and kiss the side of his head four times, just the way he likes. Then I kiss his lips because I can and because I just heard yet another girl walk by calling him hot. 

“You did so well,” I whisper, feeling so proud of him as he looks at me. I touch his hair and move strands away from his forehead. “We’re partying till dawn tonight.”

A sexy wickness flashes through his eyes. He knows exactly what I’m talking about and he’s just as excited as me. “I thought of you when I took that last shot.” He brings me in by fisting my jersey and kissing me. On my mouth, he smilingly whispers, “And I can’t wait to take so many more after this.”

I giggle as I pull myself away from him, giving his father space to talk to his son. I don’t know what they say to each other but I do know that the genuine smile on my boyfriend’s face is something I’m etching to memory. I snap a picture of them together on my phone and promise to get it printed for both of them later.

Once Mr. Fisher is gone, Jeremiah and I are walking out to the parking lot. We barely get inside his car before most of my clothes are off and I’m moaning his name under the stars.

[f1-disaster-bi]

Continuation of the earlier 911 inspired fic:

There was still blood on his neck when he got home.

His mother was watching him with sad eyes. It had been clear that she had been crying and normally Pierre would be the one comforting her, or he'd be warmed by the fact that his mother loved his boyfriend just as much as he did but not today.

Today he had Lando’s blood on his neck, and he felt numb as his mother approached him gently as if she was afraid one wrong step and he'd break.

"Oh mon caneton", Pascale whispered softly, cupping Pierre’s face gently for a moment, "I am so sorry, but it'll be okay. He's a fighter. Little but mighty"

Pierre just nodded because he didn't have any words left. He had screamed them all out while pressed to the gravel. He had whispered them while he clutched at Lando's cold hands. Used all his words begging him to stay.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Before Felix sees his Papa like this", Pascale kissed his forehead before guiding him to the kitchen as if he were a child again.

"Does he know?", Pierre managed to whisper as his mother grabbed a cloth and wet it before she started to rub the last of Lando’s blood off his skin.

He couldn't look at his hands. He knew there was blood probably caked under his nails that he hadn't been able to get out in the hospital bathroom so he gazed at the ceiling.

"No, I...I didn't know if you wanted him to know", Pascale admitted softly and Pierre closed his eyes.

How did you tell your five year old son that the man he looked at as a second father was possibly going to die?

Pierre knew Felix knew their job was dangerous. He knew they got hurt. He probably understood that more than any five year old should after Pierre had almost died himself over a year ago, but Lando had been there. They might have only had started dating, but Lando had been in Felix's life since he was three. He was the one that stayed, trading shifts with Charles and Pierre’s mother to look after Felix.

Felix loved Lando more than anything, more than Pierre sometimes. How could he rip that away from him?

Pierre almost didn't want to tell him as he walked to his sons bedroom. The blood gone from his skin even if it felt like it was still there. Felix was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the lego set he had been building with Lando just yesterday, and it made Pierre’s eyes tear up.

"Papa!", Felix grinned up at him when he noticed Pierre and he patted the ground beside him, "Lanno here too?"

"No, um, Lando’s not here, mon ours", Pierre cleared his throat, "I...uh, I need to talk to you about that"

"Is he late? He's gonna make 'pagetti for dinner with the cheese bread. He promised", Felix pouted a little, blinking up at him as he wrapped an arm around his on, "Papa? You look sad"

"Cause I am, mon ours", Pierre tried to reassure him but he could feel his tears started to build, "Lando isn't coming home. He....he got hurt at work. A bad man hurt him, and we...we might not be able to see him for a while"

He watched as Felix paused and frowned. Confusion filled his little face, and a little sadness before he was looking at Pierre again.

"But...he'll get better right? He's at the hospital?", Felix asked, turning a piece of lego over in his hand as Pierre nodded, "They fixed you, Papa, they'll fix Lanno"

Pierre just hugged his son close for a moment and kissed his head because if he tried to speak, he was going to break down in tears, and Felix didn't need to see that. He shouldn't be worrying about his Papa crying. He shouldn't be worrying about Lando coming home. He should be like this, innocent and playing with lego so Pierre just nodded.

He didn't tell Felix that Lando might not be coming home this time.

[adawasneverhere]

Reparations pt.1

(@) means the characters inner dialogue that other characters aren't capable of hearing.

July 23 2024 It was Carmen's fifth-teen birthday...It was also the day that her father Kenneth overdosed, she slept until 2:00 pm in the afternoon because Kenneth was being noisy like he usually was at that time and that's what scared her the most anytime it got this quiet he was usually away from the house, and was probably going to leave her with no explanation for three months or so, but this was worse, when she finally opened the door she found him on his back foaming at the mouth lying completely still, from the way it looked he was probably like that for hours while Carmen was asleep, the foam near his mouth was a little dried up. She felt so out of control, all she could really do was stand at the creek of her door and silently watch taking in the last moments of her dad.

Operator: "911 what's your emergency?"

Carmen: "Um.....my...."

She went silent for a moment holding the phone to her ear

Operator: "Hello?"

Operator: "Sweetie how old are you?"

Carmen: "I- I'm fifteen years old."

Carmen was stuttering over the phone

Operator: "Where do you live baby?"

Carmen: "I live at 1589 35 ave North Florida city, our-...my house was just recently painted white."

Carmen had a pace to her voice making it difficult to understand what she was saying

Operator: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, can you tell me what happened?"

Carmen: "My dad isn't moving, he's laying on the floor with dried up foam near his mouth."

She felt a knot in her throat, she felt like she was going to cry

Operator: "We're going to send officers to your location."

Operator: "Are you okay?"

Carmen: "I guess so...nothing happened to me."

Operator: "How long has he been like that?"

Carmen: "I don't know ma'am."

Operator: "Where is your mother?"

Carmen: "I'm not sure, I've never met her."

Operator: "That's okay, what's your name?"

Carmen: "Carmen Avery Maliiese."

She stopped talking because she didn't know what to say, all she could do was silently stare at her fathers cold dead body

The police sirens were getting louder

Carmen: "I think they're here now."

Operator: "If you don't mind I'd like to have a conversation with you when you get to the station, okay?"

Carmen: "Yes ma'am."

She heard a knock on the door and hung up, then she went over and opened the door

There were three officers and a paramedic standing over her all of them had a good height

Carmen: "Hi."

Paramedic: Where is he, and what is his name?

Carmen: "His name is Kenneth Maliiese, I meant was."

Carmen opened the door all the way and pointed at the figure lying flat on the floor.

Officer: "How about you have a chat with me on the curb?"

Carmen: "Alright."

She walked over and sat on the curb.

Officer: "This must be very traumatizing for you."

@ Carmen: "Well no shit."

Carmen: "Yeah."

Officer: "You seem to be very calm about this whole thing."

Carmen: "Yeah sorry, I'm just a little tired."

Officer: "How old are you?"

Carmen: "I turned fifth-teen today."

@ Carmen: Where am I going live now? Where will I sleep tonight? I swear if they put me in foster care I'm done for.

Officer: "Oh...happy birthday!"

It was very obvious that the officer was trying to hide the disappointment in their voice but Carmen didn't find it necessary to mention it.

Carmen: "Thank you."

This whole situation made her uncomfortable so she was thinking of leaving and trying her best to avoid eye contact.

Officer: "Um...how old did you turn today?"

Her mind was so scattered she forgot that they even asked her a question.

Carmen: "Oh, I'm fifth-teen now."

@ Carmen: "Right now I just need a hot shower and a nap."

Officer: "That's cool, you're going to have a sweet six-teen next year."

Carmen: "Yeah-"

She stopped talking as soon as she saw them stringing out her dad in a body bag, the officer quickly stood up and held her hand leading her to the police car.

She could hear someone talking on their walkie talkie.

Unknown: "We checked his pulse, Mr. Maliiese is dead but we still have to-"

They quick turned the volume on the walkie talkie down and started the car.

Officer: "Sorry about that."

@Carmen: "I have ballet practice tomorrow and they didn't even let me pack my bag before we left."

The car was driving as she heard the sound of sirens ringing in her ear enforcing her headache to hurt more than ever, she could see the officer nervously glancing at her through the mirror as if they where trying to figure out what was on her mind

@Carmen: "Maybe I was a bad person in my past life, today has to be the worst day to have a deadbeat mom, I should just play subway surfers so I can get my mind off of this."

She pulled out her phone and played subway surfers to get her mind off of things but her thoughts just kept getting louder and louder

After several minutes the car finally stopped at the police station and all she could hear was this reoccurring buzzing of a fly in her ear, there were no flies to be seen though, she began to thing that it was all in her head

She sat in the empty room they left her in a vacant room, she gazed around the room it had no decor only a loud inaccurate clock on the wall

All of a sudden the door barged open, Carmen saw a woman in her thirties that looked well put together in a work wear outfit with straight tied up hair, it perplexed her but she didn't let it show on her face

Operator: Hi Carmen, I was the person talking to you over the phone. My name is Quinn, do you have anyone to stay with while we rearrange you living situations?

@Operator: I just wanted to see her face at least once, why did I even make the suggestion to interview her when she came to the station? Of course this is my baby, She looks exactly like Kenny.

Carmen: Hi.

*Quinn just took a moment to stare at her in silence, all she could think about was Kenny, Carmen looked exactly like him except as a girl, she had his face, his long legs, his awkward mannerisms, the only feature she had that didn't line up with Kenny was her eyes. Carmen had her mothers dark brown almond shaped eyes, they were so dark that they nearly looked black. Quinn just could't help but stare until she finally came back to reality, Carmen tilted her head a little to meet her eyes*

Carmen: Are you okay ma'am?

*Quinn felt like her mind was going to explode*

Quinn: Yep.

*she was nodding frantically like a crazy person*

Carmen: Oh okay...

*Carmen started avoiding eye contact again*

Operator/Quinn: Can you think of anyone you could stay with tonight?

*Carmen thought about one of the girls she was friends with in her ballet class but disregarded that idea right away because she didn't want to be a pain in the ass*

Carmen: Nope,not really.

Operator/Quinn: You don't have at least one friend?

*There was no response Carmen just stared at her blankly*

@Carmen: Did I not just give her an answer?

Operator/Quinn: Okay, well there's someone your dad listed as your godfather named August Jones, should I call him to pick you up?

@Carmen: I mean that's the only option...

Carmen: Sure, I guess...

Operator/Quinn: Okay, do me a favor and go wait down the hall for me while I call him.

*Quinn gave her a half smile but she could see that she didn't really want to smile at her, she just left in silence walking down the hall and taking one of the empty seats, there was an elderly woman over the counter who took a peak at her.*

*after 30 minutes or so Quinn came over saying that she called her godfather*

Like him- By Tyler the creator featuring Lola Young

[pantsaretherealheroes]

sorry i'm sick and didn't add the first bit! I was tagged in this "get to know you" meme by @village-skeptic thank you!!

last song: someTIMES i feel i've got to BOM BOM RUN AWAY this came on my shower playlist before. also before that i listened to sophie ellis-bextor's murder on the dancefloor which I have personally never forgotten but has gotten a boost from it being in a certain popular film recently

currently reading: A Good Girl's Guide To Murder by Holly Jackson, which i know has a terrible focus group-y title, but is actually very interesting and involves a teenage girl solving a mystery in her town (which is very much my thing) and has been nice for me easing back into properly reading again

last film: Anyone But You i think? it's silly but i had a great time, altho very weird to see a very american romcom take place in australia. and also why the fuck did they not advertise this as an adaptation of much ado about nothing, my favourite shakespeare??

currently watching: Nancy Drew which is fun although not really a Nancy Drew kind of thing it's more like teen supernatural investigations in a small town. not that i'm not into that! And also Percy Jackson and the Olympians, in which I have adopted three children and am about to wage war on two of their godly parents

three ships: well. if you've followed me from anywhere from the last 5 seconds to that last two and bit years, i'm sorry, and it's definitely buck/eddie from 911. also i am similarly insane about syd/carmy from the bear (the 'person you work with who you have an intense and close dynamic with and trust them with the most important thing in your life after not really knowing them all that long' ship dynamic is strong with me) and also lets say percy/annabeth from pjo because it is only the beginning but i know they're gonna fall in love so much!!

favorite color: turquoise or teal blue? or plum.

currently consuming: not much i have covid and also not many groceries until later today

first ship: hmmmmmmm probably something harry potter honestly i do not remember

currently working on: getting better from the ol covid. and writing a little bit :)

tagging if you want @cal-daisies-and-briars @jellicle-ball @rabbimilligan and @manycoloureddays :)