#the dreaded affirmative action conversation

[nahoney22]

The Right Guy***

Crosshair X F!Reader X Tech

word count: 5k

With two guys fawning over you, you’re left in the difficult position of picking the right one for you. But, something tells you that you always knew who.

warnings: NSFW so 18+ only. Female reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, mutual pining. Mentions of jealousy, brother rivalry, love triangle trope (no clonecest), Tech is rejected, slight bitterness, embarrassing moment, fluff but angst, swearing, aftercare, not proofread. This is primarily a Crosshair centred fic.

authors note: request for my incredible friend @raevulsix - love u so much and everything you do. Enjoy. ♥️

Never in a million lifetimes would you fathom the notion of two people fighting for your affections. Yet, as you inadvertently eavesdropped on Crosshair and Tech engaging in a heated exchange one night within the cockpit of the Marauder, you realised the gravity of the predicament rather quickly.

Initially, a glimmer of satisfaction twinkled within you. It was almost as if you were exalted, relishing the fact that two men who were more or less polar opposites were locked in a contentious rivalry over you.

However, that moment of self-smugness swiftly vanished, replaced by a profound sense of dread as you comprehended the complete unintended consequences of your actions. To the best of your knowledge, you had not deliberately misled anyone. You had maintained a civil and friendly demeanor towards all the Batchers, but evidently, certain emotional attachments had formed with two of them.

Rather than revealing yourself upon hearing their argument, you stealthily retreated to your bunk, resolute in addressing the situation in the morning. However, the dawn couldn't arrive quick enough. You lay awake, restlessly tossing and turning for hours on end, fixating your gaze upon Crosshair's adjacent bunk and Tech's elevated one directly above yours.

“This is so stupid.” You grumbled to yourself in a huff, not meaning to speak aloud which is why you let out a small shriek when a voice replied.

“And what would that be?” You sat up abruptly, narrowly missing hitting your head off the bunk above and stare over at Echo’s form at the end of your bed.

“Crap, sorry Echo. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head dismissively, “dumb and dumber however…” his voice trailed off, hinting that he was well aware of the cause behind your restless state.

You sank back into your bedding, rubbing your hands wearily over your face. "Echo, I honestly had no idea any of this would happen," you lamented, frustration seeping through your voice.

Echo chuckled lightly as he settled himself at the end of your bed. "It ain't your fault. Those two have had their sights set on you for quite some time."

A warmth spread within you at his words. "Really?" you couldn't help but inquire, finding no reason for Echo to lie to you.

Despite the tumultuous nature of two brothers currently turning against each other in the cockpit, again comes a self-centered thought as part of you couldn't help but revel in the fact that one of them, in particular, held feelings for you.

He had captured your attention from the very beginning, but you knew it was best to remain silent about your attraction. After all, you were simply stationed as their medic, and forming attachments was frowned upon and of course, complicated. However, there was something undeniably magnetic about him.

"Yes, really," Echo affirmed, drawing you out of your thoughts. Both of you trained your eyes on the cockpit door as it suddenly hissed open, revealing Crosshair stealthily making his way to the opposite end of the ship. Before disappearing from sight, he cast you a - dare you say - meaningful glance. You exhaled deeply, relieved that he hadn't overheard your conversation. Turning back to Echo, you posed the question that weighed heavily on your mind, "What should I do?"

Echo appeared equally perplexed, finding himself at a loss for an answer. While he had witnessed the occasional squabble over girls during his time with the 501st, this situation seemed to transcend just mere disagreements over a girl at 79’s.

"I don't know," he admitted, a hint of uncertainty coloring his words. "Perhaps you should talk to both of them. Express your feelings about the situation and make it clear that you want no part in their rivalry."

Observing a flicker of apprehension in your eyes, Echo's own widened slightly. "Unless... Do you feel differently?"

Preferring not to disclose which of the two had captured your feelings, lest rumors being spread, you thanked Echo for the chat. Settling back into your bedding, you willed your weary body to succumb to sleep, hoping that dreams would offer respite from this mess.

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

As the morning arrived, you awoke to Hunter gently shaking your shoulder, urging you to prepare for the upcoming mission. However, all movement ceased as the familiar sounds of another altercation erupted from the cockpit.

Furrowing your brow, you composed yourself and secured your hair tightly in place before cautiously approaching the scene.

"I'm simply stating that she would be better off accompanying me on this mission. I'll require her assistance,"

“Oh yeah? And why is that, Tech?” Crosshair snarled at his brother, who remained engrossed in his datapad, visibly annoyed by his younger sibling's persistent questioning and obvious jealousy.

"There are numerous tasks for which she is highly capable. Sending her with you to scout the area is a futile strategy and a waste of her abilities," Tech replied matter-of-factly. Both of them were aware of your presence, yet neither bothered to turn and acknowledge you.

You sidled up beside Wrecker, whispering up to him, "What's happening?" His response came in the form of a chuckle.

"They're fighting over ya."

Shifting uncomfortably, you observed the ongoing bickering about who should be your partner. "Again?" you muttered to yourself more than to Wrecker.

Eventually, you reached your limit and stepped in between the warring brothers. "Can you two please speak to me as if I'm actually here?" you asserted, your gaze shifting between them. Their mouths snapped shut as you glared at each of them with equal intensity. "And to answer your questions, I'll be partnering with Hunter," you huffed and walked away before either of them could utter a word.

"Nice one," Crosshair grumbled to his goggled brother, who merely sighed and shook his head.

"I believe she's irritated with both of us. It also hasn't escaped my notice that she overheard our argument last night as she was going to bed," Tech mumbled, adjusting his goggles on his nose before ensuring he had all the necessary equipment before the departure.

Crosshairs frown remained etched on his face as he watched you storm off, accompanied by the rest of the team. His heart pounded in his chest, a foreign sensation that revealed his nerves—a feeling he was unfamiliar with. He understood that the odds of winning your affection were slim, especially with Tech as his rival. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if you wanted nothing to do with either of them.

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

"You want to talk about it?" Hunter's voice broke through your thoughts as you scouted ahead together, lost in your own world. His words resonated, not requiring his enhanced senses to detect the tension in the air.

"There's not much to say," you grunted, pushing through some bushes. "Other than the fact that things are incredibly awkward for me."

Hunter chuckled, parting some foliage and helping you through. "Why don't you just tell both of them that you're not interested? Simple."

If only it were that easy.

Hunter swiftly picked up on your sudden silence.

He stopped and looked at you, unscrewing the canteen attached to his hip and passing it to you. "Unless you feel differently?"

"Funny," you replied, mouthing him a quick thanks as you took a drink. "Echo said the same thing."

"So, you have feelings for them?" Hunter's surprise was evident, yet not entirely unexpected. "Don't you think it's best to tell Crosshair and Tech that?”

You sighed, "Of course I like both of them," you rolled your eyes, aware that the time had come to address your true feelings. "But... I like Crosshair more, okay?"

Hunter's reaction was a mix of surprise and understanding. "Why don’t you let him know?”

“But what about Tech? How do I tell him I prefer his brother?” You groaned, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you, more stressful than the war itself.

Hunter hums thoughtfully, attaching his canteen back to his hip as you both proceeded ahead, “Tech would not take it to heart. He may be a little bitter but not as much as Crosshair would be.”

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," you muttered miserably.

As you both crouched down, surveying the settlement you were tasked to infiltrate, it became clear that it was too early to approach without detection. Deciding to wait it out until nightfall, Hunter informed the rest of the team via comms to exercise the plan.

"So," Hunter began, getting comfortable on the ground and removing his helmet, placing it aside. "Why Crosshair?"

Blushing, you found it difficult to put your feelings into words. You shrugged nonchalantly. "Are you really asking me this?"

“Yeah,” he smirks, “it’s kind of interesting that out of any of us, you settle on the one who doesn’t really speak.”

You chuckled and nodded, understanding his point. "He's just... different. In a good way," you said simply, not wanting to delve into the depth of your emotions and explain why you believed he was the most remarkable person you knew.

“Sure he doesn’t talk much and he’s a stubborn git, but I just like him, y'know? He’s always been nice to me and I just feel a type of way around him.”

“I’m aware,” Hunter replies coyly which only adds a heat to your blush. Of course he knew. He probably heard the way your heart rattled against your rib cage when Crosshair walks on by.

You're tugging at the grass on the ground, almost like a small child when she’s feeling bashful about her feelings. "And he's quite attractive," you whispered quietly, more to yourself than to Hunter, but he heard and stifled a laugh.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear that," Hunter chuckled, playing with his knife idly during the wait.

"What, and boost his ego? I don't think so," you replied, joining in the laughter. However, your amusement quickly faded when a snapped twig caught your attention. Mortification washed over you as you looked up to find none other than the subject of your conversation leaning confidently against a tree.

"You can't boost my ego about something I already know," Crosshair smirked from behind his helmet, his voice modulated, further unsettling your already unsteady heartbeat.

Hunter looks between the two of you, his frown deepening as he scolds his comrade, "And why aren't you at your post?"

Crosshair pushes himself off the tree and strides toward you, standing in front of you and causing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. He then crouches down, intensifying the intimacy of the moment. "Well, Sarge, I would've stayed if I hadn't overheard a certain someone confess their feelings for me."

Your brows furrow, attempting to suppress the sinking feeling of being overheard. "How did you hear?" Hunter inquiries on your behalf, relieving you from the need to find words that seem to escape you.

Crosshair nods towards his wrist, directing your gaze to his device. Horror washes over you as your eyes widen. "Hunter! You left your comm on?" You slap at his wrist, disconnecting the transmission, and feel a sense of despair at the turn of events. If Crosshair heard, then... Oh no. Tech.

"So, you have feelings for me?" His helmet hissed as he removed it, while Hunter discreetly walked off, leaving you two alone to have a brief conversation and is likely hitting his head against the tree at his stupid mistake.

You fidget with your fingers, feeling a mix of nervousness. "I really didn't want you to find out this way... I'm sorry."

He chuckles, a dark and captivating sound that sets your heart ablaze. Must he be so enchanting while you're in the midst of embarrassment? "Do you not think I feel the same about how you found out about me liking you? Arguing with Tech?"

"I suppose not," you respond, averting your gaze, finding his intense stare too much to handle. But then his hand gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. We don't need to hide it," he whispers, his face now just inches away from yours.

Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, embracing his closeness and the warmth of his minty breath. "No," you sigh shakily, filled with eagerness at the prospect of Crosshair possibly, finally, kissing you, "I suppose we don't."

He inches even closer, his nose grazing against yours as his breath intertwines with yours. His composure remains steady, displaying his calmness amidst your own trembling knees. Thank goodness you're seated.

His lips ghost over yours, but suddenly, a pang of realization hits you. "Wait, no." You pull back, meeting his concerned gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, a tinge of nervousness evident in his expression at your sudden rejection.

"I... I should really talk to Tech first. I owe him that much," you explain, grappling with the weight of your decision. It doesn't feel right to fully embrace Crosshair when another man is vying for your affections. You want to handle this situation with honesty and fairness. "I need to talk to Tech before moving forward."

Crosshair observes you and absorbs your words. "You know, that's one of the many things I like about you, kitten," he compliments, his finger gently grazing your chin. "Always so selfless."

You mentally moan at his touch, the subtle gesture melting your resolve. However, you know you must focus on speaking with Tech and hope that he doesn't resent you. It doesn't feel right to leap into a relationship with Crosshair while another man's emotions are still at stake. "Thank you," you rasp, watching as he stands and readjusts his helmet on his head.

"When you're ready, you know where to find me, princess.”

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

"Tech, can I talk to you?" you ask, trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn't immediately look up, engrossed in his work. It's hard to tell whether he's avoiding eye contact with you or simply immersed in the task at hand.

"Is this in regard to what was said over the transmission?" he replies, still not lifting his head to meet your gaze. Your stomach swirls in guilt as there was a mix of disappointment in his tone. Though, there was also a heavy sign of acceptance too.

You’re somewhat relieved to find that Tech is willing to have a conversation with you, despite the tension that had hung in the air between all of you since the awkward revelation. He remains focused on his task under the control panel as you approach him.

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry that you found out this way. I wanted to tell you to your face, but-"

"There is no need for the apology," he interrupts, finally sitting up and wiping his hands against his legs. He looks up at you, holding a spanner in his hand. "I am not entitled to receive an apology when it is I who should be saying sorry."

You tilt your head in confusion. "What for?"

He starts twirling the tool around in his hand, speaking calmly. "Well, Crosshair and I arguing about our feelings for you is not how I would have wanted you to find out about my own unexplainable feelings for you. Although you prefer Crosshair, and I fail to understand why he has captured your affections more,” he trails off with a subtle eye roll but notices the look on your face.

“I... I am simply happy if you are happy. I won't be distant from you, aside from keeping my feelings in check. You are still, and always will be, my friend."

You decide not to delve into the reasons why you like Crosshair, as Tech is already aware of them. Instead, you express your gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness and understanding. You're a good man, Tech."

He responds with a touch of modesty, twirling the spanner in his hand. "That is subjective, depending on the person... but thank you nonetheless. I hope Crosshair treats you the way you deserve to be treated." A small hint of a smile graces his face, and thankfully, you detect no signs of hatred or bitterness, aside from his genuine confusion about your preference for Crosshair.

You stay and chat for a while, engaging in casual small talk that eases the tension between you. It feels good to have a normal conversation with Tech, reaffirming the friendship that underlies everything. As for Crosshair, you held back for a while.

Just because you cleared the air with Tech doesn't mean you’re comfortable enough to jump into Crosshairs arms straight away. So with a few flirtatious gazes between the two of you, it isn’t until a week or two (you can never tell when you’re away doing missions) when the two of you get a chance to talk. Alone.

The Marauder is quiet, the others having left to do something or other when you decide to stay behind. It had been a hectic few days and even though there was still a small amount of tension left between Crosshair and Tech, overall it was better than before.

As you sat on the steps of the Marauder, gazing up at the scattered stars, a familiar noise caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Crosshair emerging from the distance, his talon frame unmistakable. The thrill of knowing he had come back just to see you coursed through your veins, but a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, wondering if there was something more serious driving his return.

"You're back early," you commented, your voice steady as you tried to maintain a cool demeanor.

"Problem?" he replied, stopping at the foot of the steps, a playful smirk gracing his features as he towered over you once again.

"Not at all," you smirked back, though you couldn't help but hold your arms over your chest, attempting to conceal the unsteady rhythm of your heartbeat. "But why are you back?"

His gaze locked onto yours, studying you intently as he slid his rifle off his shoulder, letting it thud onto the floor. With a toothpick hanging between his teeth, he plucked it out and held it between his fingers. "I had to see you."

You gulped, feeling your shyness overwhelm you as his presence grew closer. "Oh yeah?" you managed to say, your voice betraying your nerves.

Crosshair chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes as he sensed the mix of excitement and nervousness radiating from you. Flicking the toothpick to the ground, he slowly leaned in, causing you to slide back against the steps as his hands landed on either side of you. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the intensity of your connection.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice laced with desire and a touch of vulnerability.

Your heart races as Crosshair leans closer, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. The space between you feels charged with anticipation, and you find yourself becoming acutely aware of every breath and every beat of your heart.

You maintain eye contact with him, a mixture of curiosity and desire in your gaze. The tension between you both is insane, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement deep within you. After all, you felt like you had been waiting for this moment forever.

His voice, deep and velvety, sends shivers down your spine as he continues, his words laced with a hint of playfulness. "I couldn't resist the thought of seeing you again."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you feel your own nervousness dissipating, replaced by a growing sense of comfort in his presence. "Well, I can't say I'm disappointed to see you either."

Crosshair’s hands, strong and steady, remain planted on either side of you, creating a tantalizing closeness that makes your heart flutter. His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, his own breath mingling with yours.

As the air crackles with unspoken desire, you gather the courage to speak. "What really brought you back, Crosshair? Is everything alright?"

His smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Everything's fine, darling. I just couldn't stay away any longer."

The electricity in the air is palpable as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. His pet names he gives you make you weak and excited. Your breath hitches in anticipation, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you.

But instead of closing the gap, Crosshair surprises you by pausing, his gaze filled with a newfound tenderness. "Do you still want to wait a while?”

You melt at his words, despite his intense demeanour he is effortlessly so soft and courteous of you. You reach up, gently placing a hand on his cheek, your touch warm against his stubbled skin. "I don’t think I can wait any longer. I can’t get you out of my mind."

He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding and closes the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips.

His kiss is soft and chaste, pulling back to see your dazed eyes. “Kitten, do you truly want me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, leaning up to kiss him, “I want you. I need you.”

He kisses back with urgency, your fingers tangled in the short tuffs of his silver locks. The steps you're leaning on are uncomfortable but you didn’t care as long as it was him you were kissing on them. He positions himself between your legs, knee pressing accidentally to your core that emits a soft moan from you.

He smiles against the plumpness of your now slightly bruised lips, “Did that feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” you sigh, not at all embarrassed at obvious signs of your arousal.

He leans down, kissing the softness of your neck as his hands find your waist. “Have you ever been touched down there?” His words are raspy and sent shivers down your spine.

“Not for a while,” you admit, breathless. “You can touch me...”

Crosshair is slick, his hand coming down between both of your legs as he gently cups your pussy through your pants and groans in satisfaction at how he can feel how aroused you got so easily. “You’re dripping already, aren’t you? You’ve been wanting me for the last two weeks haven’t you?”

You cracked a short laugh, “try the last few months.”

Something snaps in Crosshair at your words because in a second your pants are being ripped from your body and tossed caressly onto the ground. He pulls away from the trail of kisses he was planting along your neck and down your body. He lowers himself on the steps and you shudder at the cool night air fanning against your exposed body.

Slowly, he hooks a finger in your panties and pulls them to the side. The look on his face is no better way described than enamored. “Oh kitten, you’ve got a very pretty pussy.” He sighs softly, his breath fanning against your sex that has you chewing hard on your lower lip.

“It’s all for you, Crosshair.” Anticipation lingers in the air until he begins to slowly stroke a digit against your soaked lips, collecting your slick on his fingers that he admires with his trained eyes. You were about to tease him, wondering if this had been a fantasy of his when he curls a finger inside of you.

You gasp at the sensation, Crosshair looking up from between your legs with fire in his eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes,” you moan, propping yourself on your elbows to watch as his wrist turns and starts to pulse in and out of you simultaneously, “fuck that feels really good.”

He smirks in satisfaction, continuing to dip his finger in your wet heat prodding bluntly at your soft insides that have gone slick and trembling. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you clumsily try to rock back onto his dexterous hand. “Eager, sweetie?”

“Can you blame me? I’ve w-wanted you - this - from the start.” Crosshair smirks, the waver in your beautiful voice causing a small bead of precom to leak from his cock. He crooks his finger, stroking your special spot.

Crosshair's whole body was shivering as you, someone he had adored for so long, cries out in pleasure and drips down his wrist. You’re being perfectly responsive to his touch. “That’s it darling,” he whispered, inserting another finger as he looked up at you, seeing your head tilted back, eyes closed, “I want you to look at me.”

You obeyed his order and looked back down at him, hips rocking vigorously as his fingers stretched you out. You lock eyes, something that felt more intimate than what he was doing to you. Or so you thought until he started to lick your pussy. “Oh Crosshair, baby…” you whine at the sensation of his warm, thick tongue.

He revels in your whimpers, moaning against you himself as he laps up your juices, slick glossing over his chin but he didn’t mind at all. “You’re delicious.”

Reddening at his words, your hand lands on the back of his head, gently guiding him as you eagerly ask for more. He was right, you were eager. His tongue flicks violently over your clit, causing you to curse and moan loudly that echoed around the mountainous region. “That’s it kitten, don’t be shy about expressing your wants.” He chuckles, vibrations tickling you pleasantly.

“M-more, please.” You beg, eyes glossing with tears as your release starts to teeter on the edge, the pleasure being too much.

“As you wish,” Crosshair mutters, curling a finger back inside you all the while lapping at your little pearl. “You’re mine, I’m so glad you’re mine.”

If it wasn’t for the feeling of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you’re certain your legs would be shaking at his words and not his actions. “What if the others see us?” You whisper, caring but also half not caring.

He pulls back, looking up at you with sopping wet lips and a smirk, “Then they’ll witness my princess cumming on my tongue,”

He grips your thighs, burying his face back in between your legs when your orgasm hits. Your climax shook your entire body, stars blurring your vision and not just the ones above you both. “F-Fuck, crosshair!”

He pulls away, teasingly sucking on your clit and retreating with a small pop as he watches you come down from your high, caressing your legs gently before picking up pants and gently sliding them back on you.

Both of your breathing is shallow and rough, especially yours, as you find solace in each other's arms. "Are you okay?" he whispers into your hair, his voice filled with concern and tenderness. He lifts you, settling you into his lap and wrapping his arms securely around you.

"Yeah," you reply breathlessly, feeling a wave of exhaustion washing over you. "That was amazing."

He grows quiet, the weight of the situation hanging in the air. Sometimes after such intimate moments, silence speaks louder than words. Eventually, he breaks the silence. "I know the others will be a little confused about us being together."

"Oh? So there is an 'us' at least," you muse, trying to alleviate some of the tension you sense in him. "But can I ask why you think that?" You approach the topic with sensitivity, aware of the serious undertone in his voice.

He blinks, his gaze shifting from you to the stars above. "As they say, I'm not much of a 'conversationalist'," he begins, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "So they're gonna wonder what exactly it is we have in common."

You nod slowly, understanding his concern. But you're not bothered by others' opinions. All that matters is the connection between the two of you and how you can nurture and build your relationship. "I've always enjoyed our chats, even when you didn't speak to me for the first week."

He huffs in amusement, retrieving a toothpick from a small pouch and placing it between his teeth. "I have to admit, I was shy."

You raise an eyebrow in slight shock. The idea of Crosshair being shy seems almost unimaginable. It's as if he can read your thoughts because he playfully nudges you. "Yeah, yeah, odd right?"

Shaking your head with a smile, you lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "That's quite sweet, knowing you were all shy and cutesy around me."

"Cutesy is not the word I'd use," he rolls his eyes playfully, gnawing on the toothpick, "but I think it shows how willing I am to open up to you. Or how easy I find it, anyway."

Your heart flutters at his words, appreciating his willingness to show moments of vulnerability. You watch him, captivated by his features. Despite their sharpness, there's a softness in his eyes that melts your heart. He's truly beautiful.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, not turning to you but sensing your gaze upon him.

"Can I have a toothpick?" you inquire, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

Slowly, he turns to look at you, his gaze lingering on your lips and then returning to your eyes. "You know I don't share."

Yet, he reaches back into his pocket and retrieves a toothpick, handing it to you. "But I suppose I won't mind sharing one or two of these with you from time to time."

The two of you continue sitting under the starlit sky, locked in each other's embrace.

Masterlist

tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr r @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone e @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @imalovernotahater @the-good-shittt @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Sarah D. (The author writes pseudonymously to protect her family.)

Published: Jun 6, 2023

My Daughter’s Therapist: You Were Wrong

It has been some months since you and my daughter had the last of four sessions. In the third session, I was invited to sit in on a discussion of the effects of T, testosterone, on a human female body. You smiled calmly as you led us through a series of PowerPoint slides, explaining that my daughter’s reproductive organs would atrophy, that she would grow a beard, that her voice would deepen, and that “the phallus” would become enlarged. I sat listening, summoning all of my own skills as a clinical psychologist to not let a tirade loose at you in front of my brittle and fragile seventeen-year-old.

Between your third and fourth (and final) session with my daughter, you and I had a one-on-one conversation wherein I believe you recognized that this mother and this family were not going to easily or willingly surrender this child to whatever gender transition services you were prepared to refer her for after just three forty-five-minute meetings.

I asked what it was specifically about my daughter that convinced you that medical transition would be the right course of action to relieve her distress. You said, “He has gender dysphoria.” I said, “She has an eating disorder, body dysmorphia, and ADHD, all of which seem to have some overlapping features with gender dysphoria. Why wouldn’t you assess for and treat those before triggering any kind of medical intervention?”

I asked you what happens if my daughter, upon taking T and going through the changes you described, is not relieved of her dysphoria. What if her feelings and symptoms of self-loathing, dissociation, anxiety, depression, and self-harm become exacerbated? You visibly cringed at my questions and responded that most people who transition are satisfied with their results and don’t regret their decision. I asked where I might find peer-reviewed longitudinal studies that suggest that affirming and facilitating social and medical gender transition produce happy, well-adjusted teens and young adults. You said you would gladly send me links to those studies. The links never came.

I was clear, perhaps brutally so, that affirmation of male gender identity would not be the focus of your subsequent sessions and that you would instead help her explore her discomfort with her now almost fully developed, curvy female body. You would talk with her about her anxiety, her depression, her giftedness, her sense of alienation from her peers at a highly competitive suburban high school, and the impact of the pandemic at such a pivotal point in her life. In other words, you would work to slow the transition train way down.

“In a way, though, I’m glad for my ignorance, because I believe my forceful early pushback saved my child’s life. I would not take any of it back” — Sarah D.

Thinking back to that conversation, I feel a delayed sense of dread, as that was before I knew that major medical and mental health associations, the law, and key players in our state and federal government [in the United States] had also adopted a gender identity–affirming stance, albeit for their own personal and political purposes. At the time, I was unaware that, in some instances, parents had been reported to child protective services just for refusing to address a child by his or her chosen name and preferred pronouns. In a way, though, I’m glad for my ignorance, because I believe my forceful early pushback saved my child’s life. I would not take any of it back.

With an abundance of unconditional love, real psychotherapy, solid psychiatric care, and some long-overdue changes in her personal and social life, my daughter is coming into her own as a quirky, witty, gender-nonconforming young adult. She is grieving as she sheds her preoccupation with chemically and surgically transforming her body into something that would never result in her being male. She will not have to live out her life in a Frankenbody. No dry and shriveling vagina. No beard or male-pattern baldness. No irreversibly thickened vocal cords. And no enlarged and exposed clitoris. You called it a phallus, but she would never pee or ejaculate from her clitoris. It is anatomically impossible.

‘So close to being stolen’

A critically important thing that we learned along the way is that my daughter, like many other young people who declare a transgender identity in adolescence, is on the autism spectrum. She was diagnosed by an experienced child and adolescent psychiatrist and is now coming to understand how certain aspects of her autism resulted in collapsing and narrowing her focus into gender identity as a way of explaining and coping with what made life so difficult for her during her middle and high school years. She is learning to reconcile being socially awkward and having idiosyncratic interests and will be better for it, as she inhabits her full adult self at some time in her late twenties. She is a brilliant and beautiful human being whose entire future came so close to being stolen from her by the gender-transition industry. It is alarming that a generation of gifted children who may be on the autism spectrum is being sterilized in what amounts to a eugenics experiment with the participation of big-name medical and professional institutions and to the benefit of a novel category of mental health practitioners: gender therapists like you.

Had my daughter continued on the path she was on when you were her therapist, she would be well into a regimen of weekly testosterone injections and eventual surgeries that would not have resolved her gender dysphoria. That diagnostic category was included in the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) as a way of validating the experiences of a very small percentage of the population who suffer with lifelong feelings of discomfort and disconnection with their biological sex, all while creating billable codes for gender clinics and mental health professionals. (See psychiatrist Jack Drescher’s 2014 article “Controversies in Gender Diagnoses”, in which he remarks that “it is difficult to find reconciling language that removes the stigma of having a mental disorder diagnosis while maintaining access to medical care.”)

I know this because one of the experts on the DSM-5 workforce on gender dysphoria is a long-time friend who is, himself, appalled at what has come from this diagnostic category that he, no doubt with the most compassionate of intentions, helped forge. It is disappointing that he is hesitant to come out on the side of best and safe practice and to publicly state that gender exploratory therapy is NOT conversion therapy—that, in fact, putting so many young LGB people on a fast-moving conveyor belt to medical transition is the latest iteration of gay conversion practices.

Our daughter was not “assigned female at birth.” She was born with the full complement of normal female sex organs and all the eggs that her ovaries will release over the course of her fertile years, regardless of whether or not she ever chooses to become a mother. We expected as much because prenatal DNA testing let us know unequivocally at ten weeks of gestation that we were having a baby with XX sex chromosomes in every cell of her body. And no, she isn’t “intersex.” Her phenotypic features reflect her Southwest Asian genetic heritage, and she is fine and healthy just as she is. Nothing about her body is or has ever been out of place. If the gender-transition industry is anything, it is profoundly racist and disturbingly sexist.

I believe that the medical fast-tracking of children and young adults who self-identify as trans is a contemporary twist on American individualism taken to its point of absurdity. We are now in a situation where corporate wolves are passing effortlessly as progressive sheep. The needs of institutions for staying relevant and projecting themselves into the future trump any fidelity to stated guiding principles. And a parent’s need to protect her child’s mind and body trumps any and all political affiliations. Our wallets and our votes will speak for us.

* * *

It is now September, and my daughter and I have been living in a city in the former Soviet Union since mid-August. She is connecting to her roots, her land, and her cultural heritage—to rich and lasting sources of identity that synthetic hormones and manufactured gender ideology were threatening to undermine and replace. She recognizes that going down the path of medical transition would have made her into a lifelong patient and held her back from so much joy and freedom that she now has access to. She is coming to terms with the inevitable losses that growing up brings and discovering facets of herself that she would never have had if we had taken your advice and initiated medicalization. Gender ideology would have had to become the central focus of her intellect and creativity for the rest of her life.

“Here, no one is compelled to participate in a mass delusion that requires thought control and speech policing” — Sarah D.

It helps that the local language, which my daughter is quickly absorbing and starting to speak, is devoid of gendered grammatical markers. I think she is relieved to not have to ask or answer questions about “preferred pronouns” and such. Here, no one is compelled to participate in a mass delusion that requires thought control and speech policing. They had more than enough of that during seven long decades under Soviet rule. Simply put, people have more pressing daily challenges and live highly interconnected social lives as a result. When you fall, passersby stop to help you up and dust you off. As do other young people, my daughter feels confident walking around the city on her own at all hours. She increasingly feels safe and at home in this city and in her body. And I grow more hopeful every day that removing her from a culture that would pathologize normal developmental struggles and push costly and irreversible medical treatments will enable and reinforce long-term remission of gender dysphoria and trans ideation from her life.

I took the unpopular risk of holding my child’s ambivalence and keeping it alive rather than surrendering her to a process that would make her the docile object of bogus “affirmation” and “celebration.” Affirming and facilitating social and medical transition, by far the less conflictual path for parents who have the financial means, would have gained me temporary status as the heroic mother. And while I became the target of so much hatred and rage for many exhausting months, she never lost sight of the fact that her father and I were the ones who truly had her back; that approval from social-media groomers, “glitter families,” and gender clinicians could never be a replacement for her own self-esteem and her family’s unwavering love.

Let me close by saying that things are changing in parts of Europe and in the United Kingdom. In the U.S., a growing movement of parents and ethical clinicians, most of whom are lifelong progressives and active supporters of LGBTQ people and causes, are organizing and becoming vocal with their outrage and rejection of gender ideology and the unsupported diagnostic claims and harmful treatment practices it has given rise to. When the lawsuits start coming, this will be exposed as one of the biggest medical scandals in history.

It is only a matter of time.

==

Trans the gay and autism away.

[my-timing-is-digital]

The gesticulation that proceeded his onslaught of questions, of the copious issues raised, cautioned him, informed him that he had, inadvertently or by habit, launched himself and the recently harvested Captain into a fundamental, and potentially infinite cycle of inquisitions, and that it would be advisable to shut up. He did not possess knowledge pertaining to Picard’s processing capabilities, and should restrain himself from overexerting his former Captain’s synthetic brain — was it positronic in design, like his? Or had the scientists endeavoured to retain at least some tincture of authenticity that tied him to his human origin, his human restrictions? More questions, but those would have to be postponed to a more opportune moment — one where he had not already dispensed dozens of enquiries consecutively.

Nevertheless, this realisation had been delayed by 5 seconds, and therefore, his mouth was still agape with the intention to elongate his interrogation. He promptly closed it and eased back into the chair a bit, though his upper body remained slanted, bent into Picard’s direction. An apologetic furrow in his brow and a compunctious lustre in his chartreuse eyes reigned over his synthetic countenance as he acknowledged the message the Captain had attempted to convey, and he regarded the older man as he repositioned himself on the chair opposite him. The parameters of his auditory sensors recalibrated to register every single word that would be enunciated by him — he did not wish to be negligent in his pursuit of acquiring fractions of whatever particulars he would share with him.

The confirmation that his friends, his found family, had survived the unfortunate encounter with Shinzon and his machine of total mass destruction relieved him of a great burden, and the strain that had formerly sculptured his features with dread and anticipation, now progressively dissipated, receding and evolving into the inexplicable compulsion to reunite with the others. Everything in due time, or one step at the time — or whatever idiom humans deemed appropriate in this context.

Data did not avert his gaze in a subservient fashion, acknowledging his insubordination, his bold deeds of heroism, but rather preserved his composure, a fierce and inexorable determination scintillating in his optical components, interwoven in the artificial tissue of his bioplast sheeting. If they were ever to find themselves trapped in the jaws of similar circumstances, a similar adversary, he would do it again; he would do anything to guarantee the continuation of his friends, his family; he would save them, even if that meant terminating his own existence in the process.

‘It was the only logical and ethical course of action I could configure, Captain,’ he countered serenely.

During the momentary pause the Captain incorporated in their conversation to address Soji, the android assessed his memories meticulously, filtering them expertly, assessing them based on relevance and importance until he found the evocations leading up to his annihilation. As anticipated, a considerable portion of the files had been corrupted, in all likelihood destroyed by the explosion, just like his corporeal form...

The familiar interior of his Enterprise-E quarters lingered in his peripheral vision, his alabaster-coloured digits twiddling with the small access port in his brother’s neck, notifying the prototypical Soong-type android of his pending deactivation, which would last for an indefinite period of time. B-4’s audible confusion, a hint of trepidation laced into the cadences of a voice identical to his own...

Picard’s voice guided him back to the present. An inclination of the head to affirm his inference; he required a preliminary overview, a succinct recapitulation of the salient developments that had occurred these past 15 years — a more scrupulous research he could conduct himself, whenever he got the opportunity.

Quietly, he listened to the Captain’s account of the tragedies that had transpired in his absence, and for a moment, one that elicited the impression of extending further into the expanse of time than indicated by his internal chronometer, he was struck by a form of sentimentality that dated all the way back to the Academy. The comprehensive lectures about Earth history, Federation history, Starfleet history, history of other Federation member planets, history of technology... It had a similar sense of familiarity to it, albeit all the incidents Picard elaborated on had taken place in a shorter timespan, which, of course, did not make it less devastating than the innumerable wars fought on Earth, or in interstellar space...

Throughout the duration of the recount, Data appeared unresponsive, insouciant, his facial expression inscrutable, unaffected. However, the opposite was true. The unimaginable magnitude of the loss of life, both organic and synthetic, was abhorrent, overwhelming, and he was convinced that had he possessed the ability to convert his thoughts into feelings, emotions, tears would have poured down his face, yellow tainting pristine bioplast. He should have been there for the artificial lifeforms, he could have fought for their rights, could have advocated on their behalf, he could have protect them... Or, at least, he could have tried; the Federation’s comportment was appalling, and based on their irrevocable obstinacy, it would plausible that they would have prohibited him from justifying the androids’ malfunction, from collaborating on a project and research the cause of their collective malfunction extensively, diligently.

Unfortunately, the Captain did not permit him to breathe and recuperate from the synopsis painting the horrid incidents of the last decade, and bludgeoned on, talking about Dahj’s demise. For the first time during Picard’s narration, the android averted his gaze, and he wondered: how could he mourn for someone he was not acquainted with? Had never conversed with, never co-existed with... Perhaps it was his fundamental respect for life, in all its editions, that drew his attention to this specific aspect of mortality, of life... and death... Or perhaps it was because she was his daughter... If only he had been there, to keep Dahj and Soji safe... Then, they would not have been separated and they could have been a proper family.

This auditory sensors were still accumulating data, but the content became more and more unfathomable, nonsensical. Romulan armada? His daughters the harbingers of a Romulan community? Prophetic warnings? Extra-synthetic life protecting nascent synthetic life from their creators? End of organic life by the hands of androids? His mind was reeling — perhaps he had overestimated the abilities of his new systems, his new body —, desperate in its endeavour to concoct logical explanations, to connect the dots in the vast and intricate lattice of his positronic matrix. He could not.

Enveloped by deep cogitation, Data eventually raised his chartreuse eyes back up to the Captain, nodding his head in deliberate comprehension. He would require more particulars, but for now, this prefatory elucidation appeased his inquisitiveness.

A minuscule smile, timid and doleful in nature, quirked the corners of his mouth upward; he was grateful for the Captain’s explanation, but was not yet capable of articulating words that could adequately harness the sincerity of his gratitude.

‘As unorthodox and uncharacteristic as this may sound, Captain, I do not know what to say,’ he began softly. 'In retrospect, had I not sacrificed myself, all of this might have been averted... Or would my perpetuation not have made any difference and is my hypothesis a mere show of hubris?’ he contemplated his predicament for a several hydraulic circulations. ‘How does the Federation regard androids, at present? Are we still outlawed? Illicit technology?’

As much as he wished he could walk over to Soji and provide her with the parental support she required, it was imperative that he received the answer to his concluding enquiry, which was synonymous with the question: Are we safe? Or will the Federation, despite its immaculate exhibition of solidarity, proceed to hunt us down and retire us?

Leave it to Data to ask every question all at once. Unlike Soji, Picard is accustomed to this sort of inquiry and he just smiles as he retakes his seat. He gestures with both hands, a silent request that Data slow down--although, admittedly, he's not having any trouble formulating answers for him. Synthetic technology at work, he supposes.

"Everyone is safe," Picard assures him first. "The Scimitar never made it out of the Bassen Rift."

Picard takes a slow breath through his nose and gives Data a reproachful look. It is mild, though, tempered by years of grief and the clear delight of having him back.

"You pulled some truly daring heroics, Mr. Data," Picard explained. "And…in doing so you saved my life…and lost your own. You transported me to safety and, in my stead, detonated the thalaron generator. You destroyed the warbird and yourself in the process."

Soji, who waited in the doorway with Agnes, had never heard the account from Picard. She imagines if he'd told her before now it would have been lost to that wistful regret of his. Now, while Soji can hear some of that in his voice, it's been brushed aside in favor of delight. It was nice to finally hear a story about Data that wasn't a eulogy.

"In the meanwhile, well, quite a lot has happened," Picard added and glanced back at Soji and Agnes. Agnes had the good grace to look away, expression shifting with the tug of shame. Soji, who had been listening with a soft smile, immediately stood up straight. "Would you care to tell it? It's your story, after all."

The way Soji's heart dropped into her stomach must have been reflected on her face because Picard only looked at her another moment before nodding and turning back. It was reflex that had him sweep the table in front of him with the back of his hand. Once that is complete, he folds his hands in front of himself and answers Data's remaining questions. "I'll keep us to the relevant parts. I'm sure you can catch up on the details later, and faster than I could ever hope to provide them," Picard begins.

"The star of the Romulan homeworld began to collapse into itself, it was going to go supernova and, despite the centuries of tension, they asked for the Federation's help. Unfortunately, while we were in the middle of relocation efforts, there was a catastrophic attack on the Utopia Planetia shipyards on Mars."

Here, Picard pauses a moment and tries to conjure an explanation that will satisfy the need without treading into opinion or offending.

"Every android worker in the shipyards simultaneously turned on the organic workers. They slaughtered hundreds in minutes then set their stations to overload and detonate, destroying the yard, the ships, and their remaining coworkers. The casualties on Mars were staggering and that attack, unprompted, brutal, and so near to headquarters? Command immediately recalled the Fleet…including the ships attempting to move the population of Romulus to safety." Picard's stony expression made it clear how he still felt about that, but Data deserved nothing less than the whole story.

"I pushed back on the decisions that followed the attack, tendered my resignation as a gambit…but they accepted it. Almost immediately there was a Federation-wide ban put in place: studying, creating, and operating in any capacity with synthetic lifeforms was strictly outlawed. I couldn't advocate against it as strongly as I liked, retired as I was, and still trying to evacuate the people of Romulus on my own."

"They turned their back on Starfleet's ideals, succumbed to fear, it cost countless Romulan and synthetic lives. They cowered and the galaxy became a dimmer place for a long while."

He sighs and then a sort of painful fondness crosses his face.

"After the supernova...I'd resigned myself to while away my remaining years at the vineyard, but then I got the strangest visitor. An oddly familiar young woman, distraught and lost, just showed up one day. She told me that she knew me, that something inside her told her that she would be safe with me."

Soji hadn't expected to hear about Dahj, she'd never asked and never been told and, all at once, she had to step away from the door. It was mostly symbolic, she could hear them from a hundred meters, but it made her feel a little better to retreat from the spectacle. Agnes spent another moment in the doorway and then moved to join her. They ended up across the room, looking out a window at the plaza while Picard continued.

"Her name was Dahj and she was your daughter. Such an impossible, wonderful thing--your daughter on my doorstep? I could hardly believe it. She was in trouble, being pursued by a Romulan cult called the Zhat Vash. They ambushed us at the Archives, in the heart of San Francisco, in broad daylight. Dahj saved my life but perished."

"Words cannot convey how sorry I am that I couldn't protect her. I will regret that failure for what remains of my life." "When I discovered she had a sister? There was no time to hesitate--I found a ship, a few friends, and went to find her. Unfortunately, locating her required tracking down the man who helped construct them both: our old friend Bruce Maddox. He was in a state when we found him, tangled up with criminals, sold off to the Tal'Shiar, but he told us where to find Soji before…he too passed."

A magnanimous explanation, but Agnes had repented for the hasty actions she'd been driven to. There was no reason to open that wound, it had only just begun to close.

"We found Soji working right under the noses of the Zhat Vash, but she'd been discovered. We arrived just as an attempt was made on her life. I first saw her when she broke through the deck plating above and dropped right in front of us. We escaped, but only just, and with the Romulan Armada on our trail. Soji managed to get us here--to Coppelius--before the Romulans arrived. If she were less clever, they'd have beaten us by days."

"The Zhat Vash were convinced that your daughters were the harbingers of their apocalypse. That Dahj and Soji heralded the end of all organic life and…they were nearly right. The synthetics here were able to interpret the Zhat Vash's prophetic warnings into a message. An offer from extra-galactic synthetic life to protect any naecent synthetics from their creators. The synthetics here built a beacon to summon them--they were desperate and afraid, staring right down the barrel hundreds of warbirds. They were backed into an impossible corner and it seemed like the only option."

"It was Soji who put a stop to it, who decided to trust in me, if not Starfleet. She destroyed the beacon herself while the Romulan Armada took position above the planet. If the fleet had been slower, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but they arrived and made a show of it. They did what was right." "This planet and its inhabitants are safe, now, in no small part because of the courage of your daughters--a feature they clearly inherited from you, my friend."

[allthislove]

I wanna come back to the affirmative action thing, because I’ve been thinking about it for a while and the shit bothers me, okay?

Racial intelligence is a myth. Positive or negative, this is not a real thing. I’m going to talk about the Model Minority Myth and bit here, and also how Black people, especially Black Americans, are seen as inherently stupider than other people.

On one end of the spectrum, you have Asian people, who do well academically. People talk about them like they’re inherently better at school, or smarter than other people.

On the other end, you have Black people, who are thought of as bad students, stupid, incapable of succeeding in school without the assistance of affirmative action.

Neither point makes much sense, because they ask the person listening to imagine that neither Black nor Asian students have individuality. They can’t succeed or fail because of their own merits, but that their success or failure is because of some thing encoded into their DNA. 

In reality, this is socialization. Before I get into this, I wanted to remind the world that Black women are the most educated demographic in America, today, and so what I’m about to talk about is (thankfully) changing, but let’s take a look at what factors help create both of these myths. 

Asian families, especially immigrant families, tend to push education. It’s almost a virtue. Getting good grades became important for some Asian immigrants because they wanted their children to have their best chance. Immigration is hard. Many immigrants (not just Asian immigrants) come here and have to completely start over. Degrees they earned in their home countries sometimes become useless, here, especially if they’re not fluent in English. They often came to this country and had to initially work very menial, hard labor or dirty task jobs that Americans didn’t want. So, they pushed for their children to do well academically, so that they could become something better when they grew up. 

So, right from the start, Asian parents are pushing for their kids to do extremely well in school.

What happened to Black kids, then? People never seem to tell the full story, here, but when I thought about it, it was obvious. I’m working on a play, right now, about Black people in the American South around the time of the first World War. The main character is a young Black woman who “finished” school at the 8th grade level because there wasn’t a school that taught Black people after that in her area. This wasn’t just some random thing I made up for my play. This is the situation that Black people lived in for a very long time, after Emancipation. While some HBCUs were being founded (thought many of them were initially just seminaries or agricultural schools) many parts of the country just didn’t have places where Black people could learn after a certain point. Couple that with a country that really doesn’t give a crap if Black people get good educations and education just never really became the most important thing, for us. 

Black people valued a lot. We valued our stories. We valued our culture, which we built ourselves because most of our original cultures were stolen from us. We valued music. But, we never got a chance to be socialized to value education, because education was not available to us. And then when it was, it was often subpar.

So, right away, you have two completely different situations. One group, largely immigrants who have everything to lose and access to education; education being one of the main reasons to even come here. One group, brought here on slave ships, enslaved, freed, and then kept from good education for decades, if not an actual century. 

The other factor in Asian academic excellence is that, especially at the college level, you have the top students coming to the US specifically to study at American universities. So, already, you’re skewing the numbers.

Anyway. So, Black people weren’t socialized to treat education with the reverence that many immigrant families do. So, once we started to get better access to education by the mid 1960s, most Black people just didn’t find it to be a virtuous thing to have good grades. Good or bad grades are just a thing. Don’t get me wrong. Black parents still get happy when their kids get an A, and upset when their kids get an F. But it was never treated as this all-encompassing thing. It just is what it is. 

Couple that with, you know... a lot of socioeconomic factors that a lot of Black people still live in, and grades and scores just aren’t that important. 

The thing is, that is shifting. A lot. Like, almost the sharpest course correction Black Americans could have. As I mentioned before, Black women are the most educated demographic in America, now. Why did this happen? I’m not exactly sure. A lot of people credit the emergence of images of Black success on TV in the 80s with shows like The Cosby Show and A Different World with sparking this shift. More Black kids saw that it was possible and therefore more Black kids went to college. The thing, though, is that that’s still mostly Millennials and Gen-Z. Meaning barely 1 generation of Black people have started to become more educated. Which also means, like... we haven’t had the time to see what the impact of this is going to be.

The Model Minority Myth for Asians is decades old. Black people even being able to go to PWIs is shorter than the Model Minority Myth. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is... Black people aren’t more educated because education went easier on us than other people. We’re more educated because we’re capable, and we never were not capable. 

Again, affirmative action makes sure you’re not overlooked because of your race. It doesn’t magically create a spot for you just because you’re Black, and especially not because you’re Black in spite of you being undeserving. And the other thing Affirmative Action doesn’t do is change your grades. If a Black student earned a 4.0, they earned the same 4.0 as and Asian student with a 4.0. Black students succeed or fail on their own merit, not because they’re Black. 

And as for poverty... poverty is incredibly difficult to escape, no matter your race. I’m not the best person to speak on Black poverty, because I’m not poor and I grew up comfortably middle class with two college educated and professional parents, so yeah, but I can say that because I grew up like that, it was far easier for me to go to any 4 year college and earn any degree I wanted than it will be for some poor kid living in the projects with a single parent with a GED. I’m not sure why people act like Black poor people are an example of why Black people are inherently bad or stupid. First of all, you can be incredibly good and incredibly smart and still live in the projects and be poor. Second of all, the existence of bad people in the Black race doesn’t mean that all or even most Black people are bad. Third of all, nobody is stupid, and if they seem “stupid” to you, something else is going on. A lack of education. A cognitive disability. Something. “Stupid”, like “crazy”, is a dismissive, and often ableist, word, and basically means nothing. 

And since I brought up the Model Minority Myth, I think I should mention that it’s also very harmful to Asian people, especially students. One, it’s dehumanizing, and makes people hold Asian people to impossible standards that obviously every Asian person can’t meet. And two, it misses the experiences of Asian people who didn’t come here for academic reasons, many of whom don’t have the same “education as a virtue” thing that many specifically East Asian or Indian immigrants have. Like, people who came here as refugees instead of exchange students. Many of those people find that they get left behind by the myth, teachers offer them less help because they’re Asian and are supposed to be “smarter than everyone else”, and they end up falling into a sort of gap. Many of them drop out, and the cycle of poverty continues. And I guess a third, big problem is that it makes colleges and universities judge Asian applicants more harshly and hold them to a higher standard than everyone else, which means that unless you’re a high flying Asian overachiever, you might have a harder time getting into college than your white or Black friends. 

So, anyway, what I’m saying is that assigning a certain intelligence level to someone based on their race is bad and like... America really has a big problem with race and we need to fix it.

Also, we need to do better, as a whole, about understanding why we have the misconceptions that we have. It’s really frustrating, for me, to constantly feel like I have to prove I’m not stupid to strangers because they all assume I am because I’m Black. Or at least less intelligent than they are. And to have to defend my two degrees constantly because old Duck Dynasty looking white guys think I didn’t earn them because of affirmative action. To have to constantly explain that a Black person’s A is the same A as anyone else in the class, because, while teachers do sometimes grade on a curve, it’s not given racially. And that if you answer a question correctly, it’s correct. And if you solve an equation correctly, you solved it correctly. And that the answer doesn’t change for Black people, and that the work isn’t easier. 

And I think people know that it doesn’t make sense, because when you think about it logically, it doesn’t make sense that one group of people is inherently stupid or that another is inherently smart. We understand individuals. We know lots of people, each of us. We know someone who isn’t bright at all, we know someone who is incredibly smart, we know some people like this who are the same race as each other, and even the same race as us. We know they’re different because they’re individual people, and that they don’t represent our entire race. So, why, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, can we not... as a society... yet understand that race effects our conditions, but does not dictate the type of person we are in the slightest?? Good, bad, smart, pretty, not smart, ugly, short, tall, funny, boring, brave, scared, energetic, whatever the hell... THESE ARE TRAITS THAT MAKE UP INDIVIDUALS, NOT RACES. Race is a lie we tell ourselves to explain why certain people share certain physically features and/or geography. Nothing more. We have built entire societies around this lie, and like... I’m not naive enough to think that race will no longer be a factor any time soon. Some people are far too hung up on their racism for us to truly move on as a society. But I also know that, for us to begin the process of moving on from it, we have to be honest about how it has shaped our society and stop this thing of blaming people for the conditions the society forced on them and how it affected them through the generations. 

This was a lot, and I’m not sure if it’s clear, but yeah. All of this shit is more complicated than you want it to be, and people don’t fit neatly into little stereotype boxes. You have to get that shit out of your head and learn to both see individuals AND understand how history shapes our present reality. 

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else?  You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity- 

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

[toosicktoocare]

emergency contact

pt 1 of 2 and also found on ao3!

(i promise i’m not ignoring my prompts- this idea just kinda popped into my head)

“Hi, may I speak with Mr. Evan Buckley?”

Frowning, Buck pulls the phone away from his ear. He doesn’t know the number; however, the area code is local, so he can probably rule out a scam call. At least, he thinks, the woman on the other line sounds very much real and not a robotic recording about to lead in with a cruise ship he didn’t sign up for.

“Uh, yeah. This is Buck—I mean Evan. This is Evan Buckley.” He clears his throat. He can hear a lot of background noise—a lot of muffled speaking, intercoms crackling. He’s heard it before, but he’s struggling to equate the noise to a particular memory, only having a small rock of dread burrowing low in his stomach to go by.

“Hi, Mr. Buckley. I’m Nurse Johns at LA General. I have you listed as the second emergency contact for Christopher Diaz.”

Buck’s stomach bottoms out, leaving him nauseous, weightless, and far too cold despite the LA sun beating in through his window and warming his bed. He shivers and forces himself upright in bed, muscles rigid, jaw a tense, jutted line.

“His father,” Buck starts into the phone, shaky, “Eddie—Edmundo Diaz—”

“—didn’t answer. You’re next on the list. Sir, if this is incorrect, I’ll need to move on to the next person—”

“—no!” Buck jerks to his feet, nudging abandoned clothes around with his foot until he finds a pair of gym shorts. “I’m… His father’s on a shift with the LAFD. Is Chris okay? What’s going on?” Composure, he thinks, is out the window. Then again, he’s never been capable of the whole ‘cool, calm, and collected’ thing when it comes to Chris. He snags the same shirt he tossed to the floor when he climbed into bed this morning after his 24-hour, a short-sleeved, blue shirt, and slips it over of his head, careful of his phone.

“Sir, I can’t disclose that over the phone.”

“Right,” Buck mutters, nodding more to himself. “I’m on my way now. Tell Chris—tell him Bucky’s on the way, okay?” He ends the call, taking the steps down from his loft two at a time. He’s only faintly aware that he’s shaking, and the rock of dread’s grown triple in size and sits heavily against his gut. He fumbles with his keys, pockets his wallet, and just remembers to slip on a pair of sandals. If he weren’t moving against a rush of fear, he’d take the time to give a mental ‘look who’s laughing now’ to everyone who’s made fun of the sandals in the last two months since he purchased them, but, the fear is a cold hand that’s pulling on him, disrupting his thoughts, chiseling against his composure.

He doesn’t dwell. He races out of his apartment, and in seconds, he’s in his jeep and whipping out of his parking spot. He knows LA well, knows the traffic patterns, and he’s unfortunately hitting lunch rush, which, he thinks, is probably similar to some twisted second layer of hell. He wishes, more than anything in this second, that he had an engine, that he could dominate the road with the power of a siren, but his jeep will have to suffice. Still, his grip on his steering wheel is tight, his knuckles fading white, when he hits the first of many red lights.

He uses hands-free to call Eddie, not surprised to get his voicemail after only two rings.

“Eddie! Chris is in the hospital—They didn’t give me any details, and I’m on my way now. They called you first. I’m next on the list?” Buck pauses briefly on that, gets lost in that fact, but then he shakes his head. “Look, he’s at LA General—just get there when you can, okay?”

He ends the calls, somehow feeling even worse, and then he tries Bobby. Logically, he knows that if Eddie’s not answering, Bobby probably won’t either. Still, when he’s teetering on the edge of panic, Bobby can talk him down, can ease him safely back to the present.  

“Buck?”

Buck’s foot slips a little too hard on the gas, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Bobby? Bobby! Where’s Eddie?”

“Currently? He’s probably making his way back to a second story window, hopefully with one of the victims of an expansive house fire.” A pause. “What’s going on, Buck?”

Buck peers around, swallows back a groan at the cars on every side of him. “Look, can you get Eddie to LA General ASAP?”

“You’re at LA General? Are you hurt?”

“No! I mean, I will be, but it’s not me—it’s Christopher. Bobby, I don’t…” Buck sighs, drags a free hand down his face. He can feel his lungs constricting. The pressure of panic’s a bitch.

“They didn’t say anything over the phone. They tried Eddie first, and then they called me. I’m—”

“—Buck, take a breath. I’ll get Eddie there as soon as possible. You be careful driving there, okay? Keep us updated.”

Buck comes back down to earth with a low breath that’s been trapped in his lungs. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, and he means it, pushing his gratitude hard into the two words. The call ends, and Buck forces his focus onto the road, onto making it to the hospital in one piece because Christopher needs him.

***

Concussion.

It’s the only word Buck keeps coming back to. He’s being led down hallways that are too bright, too loud, and annoyingly familiar, and the nurse is explaining that Christopher took a tumble at school and is currently being monitored for a possible concussion. Buck nods when appropriate, offers a few non-verbal affirmatives, and then he’s stopping before two large, glass windows, and behind them, Chris is sitting in bed chatting with another nurse. His hand finds the glass, fingers spread out, anxiety spread even to his palms.

“You’re welcome to go in. We’ve told him you’re coming.”

Buck nods absently. He’s going to go in—of course, he’s going to go in. He just needs to take a single second to fully capture the image of Christopher alive and breathing in his mind, an image that can break through the muddle, clear his head, bring breath back to his lungs.

“Mr. Buckley?”

“Sorry,” Buck mutters, nodding. He turns when the nurse opens the door for him, and he wills away any and all fear etched deep in his face the second he crosses over into the room.

“Bucky!”

“Chris!” Buck’s no stranger to concussions, so though animated, he keeps his voice soft, and he walks toward the end of the bed, glancing at the clipboard. “How’re you feeling, bud?” He asks, satisfied to see that the doctor’s notes are promising.

“My head hurts.”

“I bet it does,” Buck mutters, sympathetic, and he drops onto the edge of the bed, one hand resting atop Christopher’s covered knee. “What happened?”

“Me and Caleb were playing firefighter, and I fell down a step.”

Buck sucks in a sharp breath, holds it in his lungs to brace for the familiar wave of guilt that’s soon to tangle in his breath, jab past his rib cage to his lungs. “Is that so?” He settles for, breathless, and Christopher’s face falls, his eyes dropping to his lap.

“Don’t tell dad. He’ll get mad.”

“Chris—”

“—Mr. Buckley, I presume?”

Buck’s never been more thankful for a doctor to walk in for he wasn’t sure how to unpackage Christopher’s quiet plea in a way that wouldn’t be considered as overstepping Eddie’s parental authority but also in a way that wouldn’t have Christopher demanding he leave.

“Uh, yeah—It’s Buck.”

“Okay, Buck. Want the good news?”

“Will it be followed by bad news?” Buck asks, one brow arched, stomach twisting. “Because his father—”

“—no bad news today,” the doctor interrupts, and Buck huffs out a quiet sigh of relief and gives Christopher’s knee a squeeze. He gives a nod, and the doctor plucks the clipboard up.

“Christopher’s been cleared of a concussion. He’s got a few scrapes and bruises, and his head will probably hurt for a few more hours, but otherwise, he’s fine. I’ll leave a note at the front desk to begin the discharge papers. He should be out within the hour.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Buck mutters, and he nods when the doctor and nurses exit, giving him space to breathe; though, he’s not sure how much he can actually breath encompassed in four, blinding walls that bring back a pressing dark cloud of memories.

“Buck?”

Buck blinks slowly, peels his gaze from the door to see Christopher smiling softly at him, poking at his side.

“Can you lay with me?”

Buck eyes the small bed, mentally works round the best way to squeeze in, to maximize Christopher’s comfort, and he slips his sandals off and climbs onto the bed, impossibly gentle when he adjusts Chris. When he’s got Christopher against his chest, he sighs, and Christopher sighs with him, content, safe.

***

“That’s the last of them, Cap,” Eddie coughs lightly, tugs his helmet off. His lungs burn faintly from smoke inhalation. It’s not bad by any means, but he’s dabbling with the idea of having Hen look him over anyway.  

“Should I help with fire…” Eddie’s words trail off when the 122 pulls up onto the scene, their members already hopping out of the engine and working the hose. “Was backup necessary?” He glances back over his shoulder. Sure, the fire’s large, but he doesn’t think it’s classified as a level high enough to warrant local support.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie whips back around, squints at Bobby. “Yeah, why?”

“Let me clarify: are you okay to leave the scene right this second, or do you need to a look-over now?”

Eddie’s still struggling to read Bobby’s tone for it’s always frighteningly composed, even in the face of emergency. “I’m okay now.” He nods slowly, and then Bobby’s turning on his heel and wordlessly gesturing him toward the engine.

He slips into the back, pausing to see Bobby sitting in the back with him, stationed across from him.

“Cap, what—”

“—have a seat.”

Eddie sits slowly, slips his headphones on, and then the engine’s roaring to life beneath him and pulling away from the scene. He’s alone with Bobby because Hen and Chimney left earlier with a patient, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s in trouble for something. He replays his actions at the house fire, yet he can’t find an error that would warrant a private conversation with Bobby.

“Buck called,” Bobby finally says, and Eddie drags his gaze from the cars moving onto the road shoulders, now finally tuning in to the fact that the sirens are wailing overhead still, the engine demanding the street with the shrill sounds and flashing lights. The sirens shouldn’t be on unless…

“Is he okay?”

“Buck’s fine. The hospital called him because Christopher was brought in. They tried you, and he was next on the emergency contact list.”

There’s dread, Eddie thinks. Dread when he rides up to a call and gathers the first, initial assessment of the situation. And then there’s bone-deep, crippling fear—fear that twists in his gut, pools into his lungs, walls around his heart. It drains the blood from his face, freezes his muscles, steals his breath, and buries his mind in a series of what if scenarios that range from grim to downright terrifying.

“Eddie, breathe.”

He does, but only because his mind is trained to respond on command to Bobby’s voice. The breath he sucks in his short and cold, and he finally reaches in his pocket for his phone. He’s got four missed calls, three voicemails, and a series of texts from Buck, all fairly close in time to the other.

He goes through the texts—he won’t be able to hear the voicemails right now, and he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach Buck’s panicked, broken voice.

[From: Buck] Chris is okay. He fell at school and hit his head

[From: Buck] no concussion. Doc said he can be discharged within the hour

[From: Buck] I’ve checked him over. There’s a bruise on his side I want to keep an eye on but otherwise he’s okay

[From: Buck] we should talk about why he fell

[From: Buck] but not until later! Sorry that last text sounded weird…

[From: Buck] discharge in 20 minutes. I’ll bring him back to yours if you aren’t able to come yet. I still have the spare key you gave me

He’s blinks around the tears pooling in his eyes, swallows thickly. “Buck said he’s okay. He fell at school.” He’s aware his voice is shaking, and then Bobby claps him on the knee.

“That’s a good thing.”

It is, Eddie thinks, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. He works on his breathing, controlling it, counting breaths, but when they pull up to the hospital, the fear comes back, muted now, but still there, always there.

He hops out of the engine, Bobby not far behind, and in just seconds, a nurse is guiding them back. When he reaches the door and looks beyond the glass to see Christopher curled up against Buck’s chest, he breathes, deeply and fully, for the first time since he pulled himself up into the engine. Relief, he thinks, is the singular image of the two most important people in his life safe and together.

***

“Christopher!”

Buck whips his gaze from his phone where he’s got a story pulled up to read to Christopher, and he slowly turns Chris over just as Eddie rounds the bed and pulls Chris to his chest tightly. He notes, to himself, that Eddie’s in full turnout gear, that he’s got soot smudges on his face, that his jaw is a set, unwavering line jutting against his skin.

“Daddy!”

“¿Estás bien, hijo?”

“Sí.”

Buck wordlessly slips from the bed, toes his feet into his sandals. He crosses his arms and backs away from the scene, feeling all too overwhelmed, suddenly suffocated despite the brush of relief before him, and then Eddie’s looking toward him, frowning, eyes unreadable, and Buck offers a small smile.

“The discharge papers,” he motions toward a stack of papers on the end of the hospital bed. “I’ll bring my jeep around.”

“Wait, Buck—”

Buck slips out of the room, eyes cast to the ground, and he bumps right into someone, his hand coming up to fist around the turnout jacket and his head dropping against a shoulder.

“You okay, Buck?”

There are so many ways Buck wants to say no, but the one that’s most alarming, one that’s been a nagging twinge in his lungs, is the one he opts for. “I don’t think I can breathe.” His voice is breathless, and then Bobby’s guiding him with a hand to his back toward the nearest exit. The second he bursts through the double doors, he sucks in a sharp gasp that breaks way to a few coughs, and he’s being gently eased onto the edge of the sidewalk.

“Easy, Buck. Breathe with me, okay?”

Buck meets Bobby’s eyes, nods, and drags his gaze down to Bobby’s chest, watching the steady rise and fall, mimicking it, until the fog clouding his brain breaks, leaving him far too tired. His shoulders slump, and Bobby claps a hand to his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“I didn’t know…” Buck sighs, dropping his face into his palms. He can hear his therapist’s voice reminding him that he’ll feel better if he’s more open with others. “I’m really overwhelmed right now.” He can feel Bobby’s hand tighten around his shoulder, a wordless sign to continue. “Just… Getting that call that Chris is in the hospital really freaked me out. I know he’s fine, but just… He’s the last person I ever want to see in a hospital bed.”

“Now you know how I feel every time I get a call that you’re in the hospital.”

“Bobby,” Buck groans, lifting his head to match Bobby’s smile.

“You look tired—I don’t imagine you got much sleep before the call?”

“A few hours,” Buck admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not sure I’ll get back to sleep anytime soon. I’m exhausted, but it’s definitely going to take some time for the adrenaline to die down.”

“Do you need me to take Eddie and Chris back?”

“Nah,” Buck drags himself up to his feet, yawning. “I’m going to need to physically see Christopher safe in bed before I can even think about unwinding.” He can see one of the engines not far off in the parking lot, and he laughs quietly. “Though, I bet Chris would love to be back in the truck.” He frowns at Bobby’s turnover gear. “Did you leave right after a call?”

“I requested the 122 to come in for backup.”

Nodding absently, Buck looks back toward the doors they came from, and he crosses his arms, fingers digging into the skin. He knows that he’s taken all necessary steps when faced with an abrupt situation, yet he can’t shake the underlining burn in his stomach that he overstepped, that he didn’t get here fast enough, that he should have added a step, or even removed one, when getting here.

“You did good today, Buck.”

His shoulders slump, tension falling with them, and he huffs out a low sigh.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

***

“You keep looking at him like he’s going to disappear.”

Buck jumps; he didn’t hear the shower cut off, nor did he hear Eddie slip into Christopher’s room behind him.

“I keep thinking he might,” Buck whispers, and Eddie tugs at his arm, urging him up from the chair he’s got pulled up to Christopher’s bed. He lets Eddie guide him from the room, but when Eddie tries to ease him onto the couch, he digs his heels into the floor, and Eddie turns to him, brows furrowed.

“Buck—”

“—when were you planning on telling me I’m second on Christopher’s list of emergency contacts?”

Buck doesn’t miss the deep, calculated sigh Eddie breathes, and he opts to remain standing when Eddie sinks down onto the couch, only watching wordlessly as Eddie runs fingers through his damp hair.

“It was Chris’s idea.”

Buck blinks slowly. “What?”

“After the tsunami. When we were leaving the hospital, he mentioned how you saved him. He said he wanted you to be the person who comes to save him again.” Eddie pauses, rubs smally at the shirt fabric just above his chest. “I resisted at first—I told Christopher we couldn’t ask something that big of you, but I’ve seen countless times since then how far you’ll go for him, so I called and had you added second on the list.”

Eddie takes in a low breath, and Buck’s mutely envious because he can’t do the same.

“If I can’t get to him, it needs to be you.”

Buck’s struggling to pick something to focus on. His heart wants to chase the heat of Eddie’s words, yet the guilt, as it always is, is an overpowering force that leaves him shaking his head, backing up until the back of his leg hits the coffee table.

“It can’t be me.” He watches Eddie’s face fall, but Eddie still nods, understanding even now.

“I get it. I should have asked first. I know it’s a big responsibility—”

“—what?” Buck shakes his head again, crosses his arms. “It’s not the responsibility. You know I would do absolutely anything for that kid. It’s the fact that it’s my fault he ended up in the hospital today.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, lips in a firm line, and Buck knows this look well—it’s Eddie’s way of signaling for Buck to continue, knowing well that Buck will finish on his own, that he doesn’t need verbal prompts to guide him toward his point.

“He was playing firefighter with one of his friends at school, and he fell down a step.”

The silence that follows feels thick enough to clog Buck’s lungs. He wants to sit—his legs are shaking, but if he sits, he can’t flee as fast, and he just knows Eddie’s going to ask him to leave, to not come back. And, Buck thinks, Eddie should. Eddie should yell at him for filling Christopher’s mind with stories from work, for encouraging this imaginative behavior that dropped him onto a hospital bed.

“Is that it?” Eddie says instead, calm, and Buck frowns, jaw opening and closing, struggling for words.

“I mean, I’m waiting for the part where you tell me how this is your fault,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck sinks onto the coffee table at this, not trusting his legs to hold him upright.

“Eddie, I’m constantly telling him stories from work, glorifying the job, painting all of these verbal, detailed images that fill his mind and plant ideas.”

“And you think I don’t?”

“Eddie—”

“—Buck, we have the same job. If Chris asks me what I did at work, I tell him. I spare him the calls that don’t go in our favor, but otherwise, I tell him.”

Buck blinks slowly, mind operating around 30% capacity, and Eddie leans forward, cupping a hand to Buck’s knee.

“No one’s at fault. Kid’s got one hell of an imagination.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re not mad?” Buck expected yelling. He expected to get kicked out of Eddie’s house, and yet, Eddie’s calm before him, relaxed, a little tired around the edges, but he’s showing no signs that he’s seconds from blowing up.

“There’s nothing to be mad about.”

Buck can only blink at Eddie. He’s faintly aware that his eyes are watering, and then Eddie’s pulling him back up by the arm.

“Okay, we all know by now that you get sappy when you’re tired.”

Buck stops in the doorway when Eddie steps into the bedroom, watching as Eddie pulls back the covers and motions toward the bed. He shakes his head, one hand gripping tightly at the doorframe.

“Eddie, I’m not taking your bed. You should be with Chris. I’ll go—”

“—Chris will want you here when he wakes up. Plus, it doesn’t take but basic math to realize you’re working on only four hours of sleep after a 24, so you’d be doing everyone a favor by shutting up and getting in the damn bed.”

“Eddie.”

“Buck.”

Buck holds Eddie’s gaze, breaking it after a few, heavy moments with a weighted sigh. He shuffles toward the bed, kicking off his sandals and climbing in on the side farthest from the door, knowing that the side closest to the door is reserved for Eddie, to accommodate Eddie’s needs to be the first to act if something happens.

The bed is heaven against his sore body, and the second his head hits the pillow, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The adrenaline is fully fleeing now, leaving him exhausted to the core in more ways than one. He blinks slowly, watching as Eddie climbs into the other side of the bed, sighing loudly, and he rolls toward Eddie, studying the way Eddie gingerly rubs at his chest for the second time.

“You give your oxygen mask to someone during the house fire?” Buck asks around a yawn, and Eddie nods.

“It wasn’t for long.”

“You didn’t get checked over.” It’s not a question; Buck knows, based on the sight of Eddie arriving at the hospital looking rough for wear and donned in full gear, but Eddie still responds.

“No, but I’m fine.”

Buck forces himself up on one elbow, frown deep, brows furrowed. “You should get checked out now. I can call Hen—”

“—did you forget I was a field medic?” Eddie arches a brow, and Buck sinks back against the pillow.

“No, you always find a time to remind me. You can’t check yourself over, though.”

“And how many times have you ignored a fractured rib because you ‘checked yourself over?’” Eddie fires back, and Buck groans, draping an arm over his eyes.

They fall silent, and Buck’s body is urging him to give in to the fatigue draping over him. Still, he can’t fully settle. The adrenaline of the last hour and a half is a flame that’s almost completely burned out. Still, it flickers smally, and he rolls onto his side, watching Eddie.

“The bruise on Christopher’s side. We should—”

“—I looked, and we iced it until he fell asleep. Now, please shut up and sleep.”

[mrsbrookegillespie]

+Homework+ Luke x Fem!Reader

(Not My Gif)

Description:When Y/N’s progress report comes out it seems as though their mom isn’t happy with the letters that follow each subject. So when they have to cancel on her friends band rehearsal to do their assignments it leads to an interesting encounter with the brunette guitarist of Julie and the Phantoms.

Warning: Stress, school, bad grades, mild angst, mostly fluff. 

+Homework+

Luke is not someone to judge another for having bad grades, considering what his report cards looked like, and the fact he dropped out of high school at seventeen. But, Y/N has two more years left in school, despite her age, and frankly… She’s struggling. “What’s this?” her mother asks, showing her an email.

“Those are… My grades?” Y/N shrugs, avoiding the small letters that labeled her as dumb, and lazy.

“Y/N! You need to start getting serious about this. You’re going to flunk out!” Y/N internally winces at her mother shouting at her. “I’m very disappointed about this…”

“Well,” Y/N starts. “I’ll do it!” She bites her lip, sliding away from her desk. “Tomorrow,” she adds, looking at the time. “I promised Julie I’d watch band practice today.” Her mom gives her a blank stare.

“Y/N! We’ve been very laid back with you, you’ve never been grounded or anything, but right now I want you to stay at home, and get your missing work done.” 

“But--”

“No!” 

Her mom closes the door on the way out, leaving Y/N feeling the stress of school. She grabs her phone, clicking Julie’s contact. “Hey! Are you almost here?” Julie asks.

“I can’t make it…” Y/N breathes out.

“What?!” Julie exclaims. “But, you promised to be here today, we’re performing tomorrow, you know?” The disappointment radiates through the phone.

“I know! And I will be there for that, because that’s really important, but I just can’t make it today.” Y/N is too embarrassed to say the reason why. Julie has amazing grades, and is insanely talented, and she might be a little jealous of that, mostly because she gets to spend extra time with Luke who Y/N has heart eyes for. But, his eyes are for someone else. Julie.

“No, she’s not coming,” she answers the muffled voice in the background. “I don’t know!” she groans. “The boys wanted me to ask you if you’re okay, which are you?” 

“Yes! I’m fine, just go rehearse, even though you guys don’t really need it, I know you’ll rock tomorrow--” Y/N gets cut off by her door swinging open.

“Y/N! Homework! Now!” her mom orders.

“I’m just telling Julie I can’t make it,” Y/N argues. “I gotta go.” 

“Oh, okay, well, we all miss you over here,” she affirms.

“Yeah, I miss you all too, but we did see each other today, so… I miss the boys.” 

Julie laughs. “I’ll tell them that, especially you know who.” Y/N can sense Julie’s smirk when she speaks. 

Y/N chokes on a bit of her saliva. “Julie! I-I have to go.” She hangs up. “Why me?” she asks whatever higher power could possibly be listening to the teenage girl. 

She plops down on her desk chair.

“What to start with?” Her eyes scan her To-Do List she’s already made, it’s not as much as she thought, but it’s definitely time consuming and very boring. Some of her teachers have already reached out to her, but she chooses to ignore their offers of help. She’s scared she’ll say something they’ll find stupid, or won’t understand. 

And so she has to skip her favorite part of the day, to do Algebra, and History and Biology, and…

“So, why couldn’t she come today?” Luke asks, tuning his guitar on the couch.

“Eh, I didn’t ask her,” Julie admits. 

“Why not?” Luke gives her a pointed look, his movements faltering.

“She would’ve told me if it was that important,” she claims. She looks off, before seeing him go back to his previous state. “Luke, you've been tuning that guitar for half an hour, I think it’s good.” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“So, Y/N really can’t come today?” Reggie asks, saddened over the news. “But, she never misses a rehearsal unless it’s family, or school related.” 

Luke finally stops, setting down his guitar. “Wait,” he starts. “Didn’t progress reports come out today?” 

Everyone looks at him weirdly. “How do you know that?” Alex questions, spinning his drumstick.

“Oh--uh.” He scratches the back of his head. “When I visited Julie at school the other day, I heard something about it.” 

Julie turns his head towards him. “Are you talking about when Y/N said something about it to Flynn? A couple feet away from us? Yeah I heard her too, because I was facing her.” She crosses her arms. “I think someone has a crush,” she teases, smiling widely.

“What?!” A subtle blush paints over his cheeks. “I don’t like Y/N like that, she’s--she’s just a good friend.”

“Oh come on!” Alex joins. “It’s so obvious, don’t think I don’t notice when you stare at her.” He sends a wink to Luke.

“Or when you talk about her,” Reggie adds. “Which is all the time.” 

“Just tell her,” Julie advises. 

“Tell her?” Luke repeats, giving her a look of disbelief. “I don’t think you’ve guys noticed, but I’m dead, and she’s very much alive.” 

“So?! Everyone knows you two are completely in love with each other, so give it a shot,” Julie urges, also knowing her friend's infatuation with the guitarist.

Luke chuckles. “She doesn’t like me, she rarely talks to me, to be honest I think she hates me.” 

“You rarely talk to her,” Julie points out. “And ‘to be honest’ I think she thinks you hate her.” Luke’s posture caves hearing Julie’s words. “Are we going to get started now?” 

Everyone nods. 

Throughout practice Luke found his mind wandering back to the previous conversations the band had. A warm feeling would build in his stomach for a movement when he would think about the fact that Y/N likes him, or at least his friends think so. “Luke!” Alex shouts, snapping Luke out of his thoughts. “Practice is over,” he informs.

"It is?!” His eyes widened when an idea popped into his mind. “Well, won’t you look at that, it is over, and I completely forgot I made plans, bye!” Luke poofs out, landing in a girly room, but has a certain vibe to it.

“Luke!” Y/N shrieks, putting a hand over her heart. “What are you doing here?” she whisper-yells.

“T-the--” he snaps his fingers. “The guys wanted someone to check in on you, and Alex is hanging out with Willie, and Reggie is Reggie so… I volunteered.” He sways back and forth against his ankles. “Sooo… How are you doing?” He strolls up to her smoothly, placing an arm on the back of her chair.

“Luke… You are a terrible liar,” she asserts. “But, if you really want to know. I’m not doing too well.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“School,” she sighs. “We got our progress reports, and I’m not doing too well.” She tries to hide the paper from Luke.

“Y/N, don’t be embarrassed, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” He plucks the paper from under her arm. His reassuring smile slowly faded. “There’s… Room for improvement?” He shrugs.

“Get out,” Y/N mutters. 

Luke’s heart plummeted. “What?” 

“I said get out,” she repeats, harshly. “I get it, I’m dumb, and I’m lazy, and I don’t do my work. I get it. So, just leave.” Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “I’m serious Luke.” Her voice cracks a little.

Guilt washed over him when he saw the effect his words take on her. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He reaches out to hug her, but he instead goes straight through her.

Y/N doesn’t notice his attempt of this action, instead boring her eyes at the paper in front of her. “Luke, I said just go.” She rubs her forehead.

He didn’t move though, he instead started looking over the paper she hadn't touched. “Twenty-three,” he answers.

“What?” she chokes out.

“The answer, it’s twenty-three.” He looks at her, a little self-conscious. “Look, just because I didn’t have the best grades, or didn’t do work, didn’t mean I was dumb, so stop telling yourself that. We’re not so different you know.” 

She scrunches her face. “How’d you get that?” she asks. “The answer to the question.”

His eyes light up when she accepts his explanation, not asking him to leave again. “So… I just did…” 

He talks through the problem, asking Y/N if she understands when her eyes widen. He noticed she does that when she’s getting confused, or is not fully processing the words. As they go through each subject, him helping her, or giving his opinion on things. She started to find herself smiling, and having fun? “Wow,” he whispers, reading a poem. “You just wrote this?” 

She nods. “Yeah, I know, it’s not that great.” 

“No! It’s really good for something you wrote in five minutes,” he compliments, rereading the poem in his head. “Who knew you were such a romantic?” he teases.

Y/N feels her cheeks warm up. “That’s actually the first time I’ve heard that.”

“So, who’d you write it about?” he asks. He partially dreaded asking the questions. He didn’t want to picture her ever describing someone that wasn’t him in such a beautiful context. “C’mon, you can tell me, what am I going to do? Tell my ghost friends.” 

Y/N giggles. “I--uh… Someone?” It comes out more as a question.

“Name?” 

“Why you want to know so bad, huh?” she blurts, with a smirk. “Why? You jealous?” She knew he wasn’t, but the thought made her whole body catch on fire.

Luke, surprised by her sudden cockiness, sends her a smirk right back. “Well, what if I am?” 

She scoffs. “Yeah, right,” she murmurs.

He tilts his head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She gives him a ‘really’ look. “Luke, c’mon…” She waits for him to say something like ‘you’re right, I’m joking’, or anything along those lines, but he just stares back with the same intensity she has.

“What do you want me to say?”

The question lingers in Y/N’s mind. I want you to say you like me. That’s what she wanted to tell him, that’s what she wanted to hear. “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Absolutely nothing.” 

He cracks a smile. “Just tell me!” After that he keeps repeating it over and over again.

“I want you to say you like me!” she shouts. 

His eyes widened, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable, he seemed in awe of the situation. “Why are you shouting?” Y/N’s mom asks, rushing in.

“Because I’ve gotten ten assignments turned in!” Y/N cheers trying to ignore Luke giving her a big smile, seriously, it’s scary how wide it is. 

“I like you too,” he whispers, her heart dropping. It’s like he couldn’t contain his little secret for any longer, but now it leaves Y/N impatient as her mom stares down at her on the bed. 

“That’s good! she assures. “Though it would’ve been better if you turned them in on time, but at least they’re in.” Y/N nods at her mom's backhanded compliment. “Anyways, dinners ready.” 

“Ah, yes.” Y/N shuts her laptop. “I forgot humans have to eat.” 

“Can I stay?” Luke asks.

“In my room,” she answers.

“You’re going to eat in your room?” her mom asks.

“Can you?” Luke perks up, hearing it. “Just say you want to finish your work, because you’re already in the groove, or something!” His eyes are pleading Y/N to stay with him, leaving her almost speechless.

“Y-yeah,” she stutters. “There’s a few more things I want to do before I call it a night, and I’m kind of in… ‘The Groove’,” she discreetly ridicules the boy next to her that’s invisible to her mom's eyes.

“Okay, just come down when you’re ready.” 

Y/N sighs of relief when she hears the door shut quietly. “So, you like me?” She was slightly breathless from the beautiful boy so close to her.

“Yeah,” he responds. His eyes didn’t meet hers though.

“You don’t seem sure,” she judges. 

His gaze locks with her. “I’m just nervous,” he reveals. “You make me really nervous. I thought you hated me just an hour ago, and now…”

She gapes at him. “I thought you hated me!” 

“That’s what Julie said,” he adds, pointing towards her.

Y/N jolts her body away from him. “You spoke about me with Julie?” As if she summoned her, Julie’s contact lights up her phone. “Hello,” she answers.

“Is Luke over there?” she asks. “Sorry! Hi, it’s just the boys were worried.” Y/N sneaks a glimpse towards Luke who can’t seem to take his eyes off of her, it’s like he’s trying to memorize every single part of her body. 

“He’s not, but I had a question for you.” Luke looks at Y/N confused as to why she lied. “Did you guys talk about anything earlier? He was acting weird, and you know with you being good friends with him, and us being the best of friends, I wanted to know.” 

“Oh my God!” she exclaims. “He was out of it the entire rehearsal after we told him you weren’t going to be there, and he was all worried, and concerned, it was adorable. Dude is so in love with you it’s insane. I mean even Reggie and Alex were talking about how he talks about you, and how he stares at you, and how he’s so invested in you. I’d say he’s obsessed.” 

Y/N lets out a victorious hum. “Good to know, well, I’ll let you know if I see him--oh wait, he’s right next to me, thanks for the info.” Y/N hangs up.

“She told you about rehearsal didn’t she?” He plays with the rings on his fingers, a nervous habit he picked up.

“Yep.” Y/N pops the ‘p’. “She said you’re obsessed with me.”

“Not true!” he argues. “Sort of…” He pouts. “Not in a creepy way though!” He tries to grab her hand, but it goes straight through. “This will be interesting.” 

“Yeah,” Y/N agrees. “But, we’ll get through it…” 

Luke then learned one thing about himself that night. He was touched-starved.

[chaotic-noceur]

with a thousand stars in the sky, why did you choose me?

pairing: Sukuna x asexual!Reader (sex-repulsed leaning)

summary: because sometimes, you just need someone else to tell you that asexuals deserve love too

warnings: hurt/comfort, discussions of sex and asexuality, mentions of sex, soft sukuna, insecurity, reader cries at some point, sex-repulsed ace centric cuz that’s the way I lean.. sorry 😓

a/n: I’m really hesitant to post this cuz I don't wanna exclude sex-positive aces cuz they’re valid too but also, there’s a maybe 2% chance that someone needs this so I guess I’m hurling this into the tumblr void and seeing what happens?

Asexuality is a subtle thing. There’s nothing in the way you hold yourself that gives away your identity. There’s nothing in the way you dress that boxes you into a stereotype. There’s nothing in your actions that immediately earns you a label — regardless of its legitimacy.

Asexuality is a subtle thing. And you experience its weight in subtle ways.

You feel it in the way media sells the appeal of sex. A subtle mockery of your unimportance. You see it in the way society instils the necessity of sex. A subtle affirmation of your inadequacy. You read it in the way that strangers declare their desires. A subtle reminder that you will never fulfil them.

Sukuna is many things — grumpy, hot tempered, even arrogant at times; but he's also observant, especially when it comes to you. He notices the tightness of your grip when you hold onto him, as if begging him to stay. He notices the sorrow in your eyes, as if conveying a silent apology. He notices all the little changes, but he says nothing. He says nothing because he doesn’t know what to do, and it’s easier to claim ignorance than admit ineptitude. He says nothing because he doesn't know where the conversation will lead, and he doesn't know what he'll do if he loses you.

So Sukuna sits, and he watches. He watches and he waits. He waits for the dam to break, for the hurricane of emotions to make landfall, and for the mask to shatter.

Thunder rumbles in the distance when the needle finally drops, piercing his heart in it's landing.

"Why did you choose me?" Your voice is muffled against his chest, but it doesn't hide the uncertainty in your tone, nor the tenseness of your shoulders. Sukuna draws patterns against your spine in an effort to calm your nerves, or his — he isn’t sure.

His brows furrow and he lifts his head slightly to look down at you, letting out a "hmm?" as he does.

You push off his chest then, gaze falling to your lap as his hand slips from your back. "It's just that... I can't give you what you wan-" you swallow the lump in your throat before repeating, "I can never give you what you need. I -" Sukuna moves to protest but you cut him off. “No, don’t try and tell me that you don’t want sex. I’m not stupid Sukuna, I know you’re not...” broken, is what you don’t say as you gesture to yourself. “But there are so many people out there who wouldn’t even think twice before agreeing to sleep with you and yet..."

As the pieces fall into place, Sukuna resists the urge to growl at your logic. He had known what being in a relationship with you meant when he had agreed to be with you — asexuality and all. He never expected anything from you that you weren't comfortable with offering and he was prepared to take care of himself whenever the need arose. He had told you as much too. But it would seem that you need a reminder that his love for you stemmed beyond a physical desire.

How should he tell you that his world gets a little brighter every time you smile at him? That his heart a little lighter every time he hears you laugh, especially when it's because of him? That the hole you'd carved into his defences get a little bigger every time you tell him you love him; and every time that you don't but your actions say it for you? How should he tell you that he doesn't think he truly knew what love meant until he fell in love with you?

Instinctively, Sukuna wants to smother the firestorm of emotions that had engulfed him. But with a look at your expression, he knows that you need something concrete right now — something you can remember, something you can replay in your mind when you need it, something you don't need to decipher.

Sukuna sighs before sitting himself upright. He takes your hand in his, holding on lightly enough that you can pull away if you wish. You do not. "Because," he begins as his other hand comes to rest under your chin, tugging your gaze up to meet his, "despite what everyone else says, love isn't always about sex. Because you love me for me, and not because of my muscles."

You huff out chuckle and Sukuna tugs on your interlocked hands to pull you a little closer, dreading the space that had formed between the pair of you. "Because," he breathes as he runs this thumb over your knuckles, "I didn't know what it felt like to be chosen until I met you. Because..." Sukuna wishes now that he was better at words, but Yuuji was always the talker. "Because you wake up everyday and love all the parts of me that I had grown to hate and remind me why they’re worth loving." Your lips pull into a shy smile then and Sukuna swipes at the tear that rolls down your cheek.

"Well, someone has to." Sukuna rolls his eyes before pulling you into his chest. He gives you a minute to settle into a comfortable position before securing his arm around your waist.

“I love you, stupid,” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your temple, "and I'm not leaving any time soon."

pls lemme know if i made mistakes!

[yandere-toons]

"The Warners have a nightmare of the reader leaving them and wake up to find them gone. They have a panic attack, only for the reader to come back and explain that they were at the grocery store."

Yandere Warner Siblings (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: psychological manipulation, toxic mindsets.

A.N. - Last mistake.

Platonic:

Yakko pretends to have a conversation with his friend while preparing to go outside and search for them. His facade of confidence crumbles the second he hears the door open, and he rushes forward in a wave of confused apologies and inquiries about their earlier whereabouts. The eldest sibling refuses to leave their side for the next few days, fearing that the dream was an omen.

Wakko devours every scrap of food he can find and never leaves the couch, using the television to distract himself from the notion that his friend has abandoned him. The sight of them entering the water tower is met with quiet happiness, but a massive weight is lifted from his chest. He suppresses the lingering dread and combats it by tailing his friend whenever they leave.

Dot is desperate to prove that her dream has not predicted reality, leading to her either swiping someone's phone to call her friend or waking her brothers to form a search party. She is rushing out the door when they step inside and proceeds to beg for an affirmation of their bond. The Warner Sister insists on accompanying them for any future nighttime escapades, and she develops a habit of waiting for her friend to fall asleep before sleeping herself.

Romantic:

Yakko is consumed by fears of inadequacy and spends the night pacing and muttering to himself. His partner's return spells relief, yet the tremor in his voice refuses to yield. The thought that they were planning on vanishing into the night but changed their mind torments him, prompting him to amplify his usual efforts to pamper them.

Wakko sits in front of the door and watches it for hours, hoping that his partner will return. He sees nothing wrong with their relationship and fails to understand why they would leave him, so he acts as if they are returning from a lengthy vacation. The toon complains about the loneliness their absence fostered and attempts to dissuade them from leaving the tower anymore.

Dot sheds many a tear of frustration before collapsing onto her bed and sobbing. She floods her partner in promises to be better, but her remorse evolves into a rage when they reveal the nature of their absence. Yells dominate the night as she forbids them from leaving the water tower, infuriated that their actions caused her to doubt herself.

[morganaspendragonss]

For bthb what abt a flash back of TK’s first overdose? it seems like he’s had that happen before

holly's august extravaganza day 11: start again from the beginning

not sure if this is exactly what you wanted anon, but i hope you like it anyway!

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: flashbacks

ao3 | 1.1k | pre-canon to episode 1, drug abuse, overdose, flashbacks, implications of suspected suicide, alternating time lines

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. Some might call it a father’s intuition—there are, after all, numerous reasons why someone newly-engaged might be running late—but the hard truth is that they’ve been here before.

Owen sits a few more moments at his desk, trying to convince himself that he’s wrong, that TK is going to walk in any second now. But he doesn’t appear, and, besides, TK is usually fairly punctual—certainly never this late. This is something he’s never done before.

Except once.

*

Owen taps his foot, checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. TK is supposed to be meeting him for dinner, or was, twenty minutes ago. It’s entirely possible that he’s forgotten, but Owen has sent him enough messages asking where he is for that to become a non-issue. Equally, he could have been delayed at the Academy, but as time ticks on, Owen becomes less and less certain in his convictions on that.

He hasn’t missed TK becoming more distant lately. He supposes that’s what comes with a kid growing up and moving out, but it’s more than that, he knows it is. Teenage rebellion wasn’t enough to describe TK’s outbursts at that age, and adult independence doesn’t even begin to cover whatever’s going on now.

With a heavy sigh, Owen pulls out his phone and calls the lieutenant in command—he’s not above using his own position to get information on his son.

“This is Anderson.”

“Anderson, it’s Strand. I was just wondering if you were still in session at the Academy.”

Anderson sighs, his raised eyebrow practically audible. “Owen, if you’re calling to ask about TK, just say so,” he says. “You’re not subtle.”

Owen winces—he supposes it is pretty obvious. He keeps his silence, which seems to be confirmation enough for Anderson, not that he ever really needed it.

“Please don’t make a habit of doing this, but just this once, I can tell you that TK didn’t show up today.”

He freezes, a cold dread washing through him. “He call in sick or something?” he asks, swallowing, hoping against hope for an affirmative.

Another sigh. “Nope, not a peep. Whenever you do see him, do me a favour and tell him that kind of behaviour won’t fly, not now and definitely not in the future.”

“Sure thing,” Owen says tightly. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t know what’s going on with his son, but it can’t be anything good. The erratic behaviour, the standoffish-ness, and now this… It doesn’t make any sense.

He heads off to TK’s apartment like a shot, his bad feeling growing with each passing second.

*

When TK doesn’t open the door, Owen’s suspicions are all but confirmed. Part of the curse of being a firefighter is becoming a very light sleeper, so he would have heard the banging even if he were asleep. And there’s no way he stayed over at Alex’s; it’s too far away, plus, according to TK, they haven’t met up there in months. It’s fishy, if you ask him, but TK never does.

Owen doesn’t waste any time calling the crew down—he knows what’s happening now, and if he’s wrong… Well, then he’s wrong and TK will be fine.

But Owen’s pretty sure he’s right.

Even so, despite the familiarity of the scene, despite the fact that he knew it was coming, Owen’s breath is still stolen from him when they break into the apartment and find TK face down on the floor.

He doesn’t think he starts breathing again until TK does.

*

A team of paramedics is already at the apartment when Owen gets there. One of the firefighters accompanying them blocks the doorway, preventing him from entering, but Owen sees enough for the final pieces in this ugly jigsaw to come together.

Pills scattered across the floor. TK’s roommates with pinprick pupils, their blinks slow as they passively watch the chaos in front of them. And TK, spread-eagled on the ground, an ambu bag over his face and a paramedic performing compressions on his chest.

His son is overdosing.

Owen feels frozen, trapped in a nightmare as memories of the past few months—years, even—flash through his mind. The acting out, the pulling back, the strange moods… They were all signs, all happening right under his nose.

And he missed every single one.

He watches on fearfully as the paramedics administer Narcan, as the room goes quiet save for the hiss of the ambu bag. Each second in which TK remains still, his chest unmoving, feels like an eternity, and Owen’s heart beats frantically in his chest as he waits, and waits.

Owen Strand is not a praying man, but today he sends pleas up to any god who might be listening for TK to be given another chance.

And, somehow, by the grace of god—or, more accurately, a team of paramedics—it works. TK gasps back to life, his eyes flying wide and his chest heaving, and Owen almost collapses in relief.

He takes careful note of the shame in his son’s eyes when he jumps in the back of the ambulance, but he doesn’t remark on it. There will be a time for difficult conversations and remedial actions later; right now, Owen has to be there for his son.

Something, he’s beginning to realise, that he’s failed to do for a long time.

*

TK is released from hospital by nightfall, on the proviso that he has someone to watch over him for the next couple of days. That’s no problem—Owen has no intentions of letting TK out of his sight for the foreseeable whether he likes it or not. Though, right now, TK seems entirely indifferent on the matter, and on everything else.

He’d answered the doctor’s questions with short, one-word responses, just barely avoiding a psych eval and a stay in the mental ward. Owen is grateful for that, at least, but there is a part of him that wonders.

Wonders what could have caused TK to throw away years of sobriety, to go so far as to— Well. He doesn’t know that TK intended for it to end the way it did, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought it. Given what he does know about the situation—which, admittedly, isn’t much—and about TK’s history, it’s not a stretch to believe that last night might have been something of a final straw.

Whatever the case, it’s abundantly clear that Owen has, once again, failed. Something has to change, and this time, it has to be something big.

Deputy Chief Radford’s card is burning a hole in his pocket, and suddenly Owen knows what he has to do.

[toyboy-molloy]

reddie + practice date

These were the best nights, when it was just the two of them, Richie and Eddie, snuggled together under a large blanket watching their favourite childhood movies together. It was rare they got to do this anymore, what with Richie being busy with his comedy and Eddie meeting with lawyers finalising his divorce; they made a pact to always set aside at least one day for each other, like the old days. Best of friends.

They were halfway through The Princess Bride when Eddie began to get rather fidgety, occasionally glancing up at his friend. Richie was engrossed in the classic, shoving popcorn into his mouth every now and again. After a little while, Eddie cleared his throat nonchalantly.

“Hey, Rich?” Almost instantly, Richie sat forward and paused the movie, focusing his full attention onto Eddie. The other man was sidetracked by the action, frowning in confusion, “what did you do that for?”

"Eds, I’ve known you for years. I know you wouldn’t interrupt this unless it was something legit,” he smiled at the look on Eddie’s face when he mentioned his hated childhood nickname. He ruffled his hair playfully, “remember when we were fifteen and I said Westley was hot and you threatened to cut my dick off?”

"Oh, yeah,” Eddie mumbled, flushing slightly at the memory; he’d neglected to mention it had more to do with jealousy than anything else. Nevertheless, he continued somewhat nervously, “I just wondered, do you think it’s too soon for me to start...dating again?”

Richie had been dreading this conversation. Of course Eddie would want to start dating the second he was out and proud and free of his ex-wife. He wanted to say ‘no’, tell Eddie that he was wasting his time and he’d never fin anyone worthy of him, but even he knew that was selfish. Eddie was his oldest and dearest friend, he deserved the truth.

“that’s not my say, dude. Only you can say when you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready,” Eddie contemplated, chewing his bottom lip. Richie had to look away, he was just too damn cute, “the thing is, I’ve never dated a guy before.”

“You’ll be fine,” Richie smiled tightly, trying not imagine Eddie on a date with some other man. He shook his head, “I can’t imagine there’s anyone out there who wouldn’t want to date you.”

Eddie looked up at him, his big eyes wide and hopeful, “would you go on a date with me?” Richie stared down at him in shock, his mouth agape. Before he could open his mouth, however, Eddie was speaking again, practically begging his stunned friend, “please, just so I know what to expect. I haven’t been on a date in years. I don’t know what I’m doing. Please, Richie.”

Jesus, he was so fucked. Richie wasn’t sure his heart could handle helping Eddie prepare to woo other men. But he couldn’t say no to him. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged, “sure, I’ll bro date you. I’ll sweep you off your feet with bromance, man.”

“Really?” At Richie’s affirming nod, Eddie flung himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck, “thank you, Richie. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he pulled away, smiling, “you don’t have to go overboard, though.”

“No, no, you want a run through of what a real date will be like, you’re getting one,” if this was his only chance, Richie wasn’t about to ruin it. He held his hand out and Eddie took it, the two of them shaking on their agreement, “never let it be said Richie Tozier doesn’t know know how to treat a guy. I’m gonna spoil you like any dude worthy of you should.”

“Wow, I’m already a little wooed,” Eddie chuckled and settled back into his seat to resume the movie, cuddling up to Richie. Oh I haven’t started yet, Richie thought with a smirk as he pressed play.

-

They set a date for the weekend. Eddie had expected to be nervous but as the week drew to a close, he was more excited than anything. Richie told him he’d booked a fancy-ish restaurant and to wear ‘something pretty’. He rolled his eyes at the text but he couldn’t help but smile as he found his favourite suit - the smart blue ensemble he’d worn to Ben and Bev’s wedding reception (Richie had made one or two drunken comments about how good he’d looked that night).

Saturday night came quicker than he’d expected and Eddie found himself pacing frantically in front of his mirror, checking his watch. Richie had gone out hours ago, refusing to tell him where he was going only that he expected Eddie to be ready when he got back. He almost sprinted to the front door when he heard the doorbell chime. Eddie skidded to a halt and tugged on his jacket, taking a deep breath as he opened the door. He greeted by the largest bouquet of flowers he’d ever seen.

“Eddie Spaghetti,” a voice said from behind the flowers, “special delivery.”

“I said not to go overboard,” Eddie took the flowers, unable to stop smiling as he thought about Richie purchasing them, just to make him smile, “but thank you, they’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t get used to it. Most guys won’t make the effort,” Richie adjusted his glasses nervously, watching as Eddie placed the flowers on the kitchen table. And he was wearing the suit that had nearly made him confess everything all those months ago. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to get away with it again. He’d been so distracted by staring at Eddie he hadn’t noticed the other man staring at him intently. When Eddie didn’t say anything for a moment or two, Richie glanced down at his own floral-patterned red suit self-consciously, “what?”

Eddie shook his head, blushing, “nothing, sorry, you look amazing.”

Richie blushed, too, lost for words. He offered his arm to Eddie and led him outside towards the car that was waiting for them. Eddie recognised the driver as Steve, Richie manager, who’d clearly been bribed into doing Richie this favour. He mumbled a greeting and set off for the restaurant. Their conversation was casual and pleasant and Eddie found himself relaxing, enjoying himself. By the time they reached their destination, Eddie was holding Richie’s hand like they’d been doing it for years.

-

“A risk analyst?” Richie said enthusiastically, leaning over to swipe another fry from Eddie’s plate, “that sounds so interesting. What does that involve?”

Eddie smiled, “nice try but I’ve been informed my job’s rather boring. I’m more keen to hear about you being a comedian. I just can’t picture it.”

“Eds, baby, you wound me,” Richie playfully clutched at his heart, pouring himself another glass of wine as Eddie chuckled cutely. He didn’t expect to be enjoying himself as much as he was. He didn’t want the night to end, “if you must know, I’m very famous and hilarious. Not to mention modest.”

“I’ll have to look out for your stuff,” Eddie said with a smirk; he was starting to have fun with their little game. Something in the back of his mind was telling him it wasn’t going to be like this with anyone else but he ignored it. Instead, he watched Richie peruse the dessert menu, “if I can remember your name.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you remember my name,” he said with a wink, snapping the menu shut. Eddie swallowed, taking an urgent sip of his wine. Richie seemed oblivious to his predicament, offering him the dessert menu, “I’m gonna get the chocolate cake.”

Eddie nodded, opting for the banana split. They always shared desserts anyway. The conversation turned casual again as they pretended to ask about each other’s family, hobbies and interests. Eddie ‘learned’ that Richie liked doing impressions and voices, even if he wasn’t that good at them. Their desserts arrived and they naturally halved portions, sharing without asking.

“Okay, real talk,” Richie said, waving a forkful of chocolate cake around as he spoke, “if this was a legit date-date, like not practice or anything, would you let me smash?”

Eddie paused, his own chocolate cake sitting forgotten at the end of his own spoon, “what?”

“I’m just saying, what are my chances here?” Richie said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair confidently. Eddie folded his arms, preparing to lie through his teeth.

“Well, you’ll have to work a little harder than this,” he gestured at their table, “I’m not easy,” he watched as a smile spread across Richie’s face. He waited until Richie was tucking into his dessert again before deciding to torture him a little bit, “but you’re cute, I’ll give you that.”

“You think I’m cute?”

Eddie gave a minute shrug, nonchalantly scooping a helping of banana split onto his spoon before popping it into his mouth, “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

The sight of Richie’s dumbstruck gaping expression was incredibly satisfying and Eddie was going to carry it with him forever.

-

The walk home was nice. The night air was light and gentle but Eddie was too busy concentrating on how big Richie’s hand felt in his. He’d been the perfect date, offering him his coat as they began their walk back to the flat. They’d been walking in silence for a little while, just enjoying each other’s company. But Richie was never one for being quiet for too long.

“so, how did I do?”

“Very well,” Eddie said honestly, squeezing Richie’s hand in reassurance, “I had a great time. I don’t remember the last time I went out and just had fun. Thank you,” he looked up at Richie, smiling warmly, “I really needed this.”

He nodded once, turning away. They were almost home when Richie spoke again, “did you wish I was anyone else?”

“No,” Eddie said honestly, smiling almost sadly, “I don’t think I’d have a good time with anyone else. Which was kind of the whole point really,” they reached their apartment building and Eddie followed Richie to their front door. He was deep in thought, his fears coming back as they reached their home, “it will be different with someone else. I just hope it’s...good different.”

“Yep,” was all Richie said. He immediately headed for the fridge, grabbing the bottle of wine and downing several gulps. Eddie just stood in the doorway, ringing his hands nervously. He wanted to tell Richie he didn’t want anyone else, that everything he’d ever wanted was standing right in front of him trying to drink himself to death. Richie suddenly span around, a desperate look on his face, “hey, you know what would be funny?”

Eddie blinked, confused at the sudden change in Richie’s attitude, “what?”

“If you, like, never meet anyone for real and we keep doing this? Just going out on dates all casual and shit. Wouldn’t that be nuts?”

“What, nothing changes?” Eddie questioned incredulously, moving towards Richie. The other man nodded frantically, replacing the wine bottle on the kitchen side. Eddie folded his arms, “we just keep going on these ‘bro dates’?”

“I’d love that,” thankfully Richie was slightly drunk and Eddie always knew when he was lying if he’d had a drink. He raised an eyebrow, smiling at the cute flush in Richie’s cheeks, “for totally non-selfish reasons, I’d love that.”

Eddie nodded, stepping that little bit closer, “I’d change one thing, though.”

“Yeah, like, like what?”

And Eddie kissed him. Richie, shocked as he was, kissed back with all the enthusiasm of a drunk guy reciprocating his feelings, his hands fumbling to hold Eddie close. The separated when it became apparent that Richie was crying.

“S-sorry,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his suit. Eddie batted his hands away, gently wiping Richie’s eyes himself...which just made him cry even more, “I just- I legit thought you...you wanted someone better.”

“I think I’d die single if that was the case,” Eddie smiled, his own tears beginning to escape. He pulled Richie into a hug, leaning up to kiss his forehead, “I love you.”

Richie mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘I love you too’ into his shirt. They stayed there in the kitchen, holding each other and swaying slightly as Eddie hummed a calming tune. They were going to be okay.

[lilhawkeye3]

At Arm’s Length

Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: You’re not as alone in the universe as you think you are.

Part 3/10 [previous chapter] • {next chapter}

Warnings: none

A/N: there are so few gifs of Wolffe, this is a crime smh. Tags are in comments, I’m sorry if they didn’t work!

You’re drifting.

Your mind floats somewhere between awake and asleep as the world continues around you like a river surging around a lone rock. In these moments, you just exist.

Unless you don’t anymore. Maybe this is what becoming one with the Force feels like: being aware of the universe continuing on its path while you remain in a haze.

It’s hours later— or maybe days, could even be years, you can’t remember how time passes— when you feel a familiar presence brush against yours. It’s fierce and burning, but exudes warmth like a flame, despite the fear and guilt and grief that’s making it flicker. It’s a curiosity to you, but just like an insect, you can’t help but be drawn to its light.

There’s voices around you— at least, you think there are. They could just be figments of your imagination... but something about them feels too unpredictable to be products of your mind.

Besides, from the snippets you were able to hold on to, they were probably aimed at you anyways.

You karked up... you need to fix this.

And yet... you don’t feel as if anything needed to be fixed. Wolffe was alive, and you’re no longer a nuisance to him, the battalion, or your Master. A net win for the galaxy, you suppose.

Keep an eye on them.

The presence you’ve been so focused on began to move away, so you turn your attention to the steady, pulsing light that remains behind. You’ve been so enthralled by the first life that you hadn’t even noticed the second, and you instinctively reach out in apology.

This one surprises you, however, as it seemed to brighten as you brush against it soothingly. The response makes you wish you could remain longer, but by now you felt yourself tiring, your hold weakening.

You withdraw back into yourself and let your mind rest.

~~~~~~

The next thing that triggers your awareness is a strong Force presence close to yours. Its calming thrum ebbed and flowed like the tide, as if it were lapping against you carefully, seeking any form of response. You let it continue for a little longer before meeting it with a cautious extension of your own signature.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you found yourself being cocooned in your Master’s presence, and yet, despite your general present detachment from emotions, a part of you fills with longing. It’s been so long since he’d comforted you in such a fashion.

My padawan. That was certainly his voice ringing softly through your oblivion. Can you hear me?

It takes several moments for you to summon energy to respond. Hello, Master.

You gave us quite the fright, young one. His tone is filled with palpable relief, something that has you confused.

I’m not sure what you mean. Aren’t I dead?

You think he chuckles despite not feeling any humor come from him. No. You’ve been in a bacta tank for 16 hours. Medic Heat and the Jedi healers think it is time for you to be taken out to recover more naturally.

Oh. Your reply is soft as he coaxes you further towards the waking world. Alright.

Open your eyes, young one.

The world is a murky sea of blue-green as you awake to find yourself surrounded by bacta. It takes a moment to gather your surroundings, but you quickly focus on your Master’s form where he stands in front of your rank, his taloned hand pressed against the transparent surface.

You manage a small smile before the medic team begins the process of pulling you out.

~~~~~~

Master Plo waits at the edge of the room as you’re settled into a hospital bed and hooked up to several monitoring and regulating machines. Once Heat declares you settled and the medics leave the room, he comes to stand at your bedside.

“Wolffe— is he alright?” Your voice is raspy from nearly a day of disuse when you break the silence.

Master Plo dips his head in affirmation. “Commander Wolffe was unharmed.” His voice is filled with pride as he continues. “What you did was very brave, my padawan. You truly have the selfless heart of a healer.”

You’d shrug if you weren’t hooked up to so many wires. “I just...” You trail off lamely as you search for a suitable answer. “I just reacted.”

“Hmm.” His hum is ambiguous in meaning to you, so you try not to dwell on it as you sink further into your pillows. “I believe there is an overdue conversation we need to have, young one. But it will wait until after you have recovered.”

You try to keep your expression light as your Master caresses your knee reassuringly despite the pool of dread that begins to settle in your stomach. Perhaps your time on the ship was truly limited due to your actions. Still, as sleep began to embrace you, you couldn’t find it within yourself to regret what you’d done.

Wolffe was alive. You could rest knowing you’d succeeded.

“Okay, Master,” you mumble before finally letting your eyes flutter shut.

~~~~~~~~

Plo Koon softly sighed as he watched you sink into a peaceful slumber, the rhythmic beeping of the machines in the room thankfully keeping him from being left in utter quiet.

An overdue conversation, indeed. He shouldn’t have put off beginning your final training for your Knighting for so long. He’d seen too many inexperienced Jedi lost to this war, and had wanted to keep you safe for as long as he could.

This had been a rude wake-up call for him, however, and Plo finally had to face the reality their lives had become. Even he could not keep you safe.

What kind of Master did that make him?

Apparently, one who was able to raise a bright child into a caring and courageous adult.

He couldn’t have been prouder of you.

Plo snapped out of his thoughts as his vambrace communicator beeped. He answered it hastily. “This is General Koon.”

“General, you’re needed on the bridge.”

“I will be there shortly,” he promised before switching it off. Not for the first time, he loathed his wartime duties, now because they kept him from staying at his padawan’s side.

But your life was not the only one under his care anymore. You were safe, and he needed to focus on his troops for the time being.

“Rest easy.” He reached out to softly stroke the top of your head. Maybe you subconsciously recognized his affectionate touch, as your body relaxed further in your sleep.

You would be alright for now.

Plo reluctantly exited your room, the door quietly sliding shut behind him as he made his way back towards the head of his ship.

[kojinnie]

Maybe, One Day, We Will | Jean, Sasha & Connie

Summary: Before the defining Raid of Liberio mission, the Survey Corps was instructed to write their wills, and Connie reminisced the night he talked about life after the war with Jean and Sasha when they were younger.

Tags: Canon universe, coming-of-age, light angst, bittersweet.

Set: The night before Battle of Shiganshina District, parallel to Eren-Mikasa-Armin’s talk on the steps.

WC: 3.1K

A/N:  My tribute to the trio that holds a special place in my heart. Consider this my ode to all of us whose heart has been broken by Chapter 138. A slight nod to conversation in Chapter 137 (No spoiler, don’t worry!)

I suppose memory wore off eventually, and if I’d be lucky enough to survive this contemptible war, my only hope is one thing: to never lose the gift of memory over moments I hold dear in my heart. Especially the memory of that one night. The night before Shiganshina.

Connie Springer put down his quill as he marked the end of a sentence. He was quite surprised with how far bolder was this paragraph compared to its precedents, he smiled and remembered one of the things his mum said when he was younger, something about how one’s action is nothing but a mere reflection of one’s feeling, and perhaps Connie took the importance of that paragraph over the others and that’s why he put so much pressure on his quill upon writing that down.

He looked over his shoulder to catch Jean pondering over his paper across the room, looking visibly puzzled on what to write, “Oi Jean, you finished?”

He shook his head, grunting, “This feels so absurd.” The tall man leaned to his desk and dragged his gaze upwards, “To be so young and writing your own will.”

Connie hummed from his desk, affirming Jean’s dismay. The whole predicament the two men find themselves in were indeed absurd, albeit predictable. They both knew that to be immersed in the eyes of war mean bruising with deaths countless times, but with the war advancing at unprecedented rate, the notion of mortality grew even more palpable before the soldiers’ eyes. It was no surprise that at one night after a debriefing with the high-ranking officials, Hange finally caught up with the prospect of dying. The first time they had ever been so sure of death, regardless whether it would be immediate or later in this godforsaken war. The thought led Hange to saying before the rest of the Survey Corps, “Maybe we all should write our wills. To leave something behind, you know? Just in case.” Everyone remembered how the Commander threw a reassuring smile amidst such vivid qualm among them, “What could be more fulfilling than to have our stories and legacy passed down?”

And so there they were that night, all of the Survey Corps, taking their night off to write their will before the D-Day tomorrow: The Ambush of Liberio.

“Jean,” Connie called again. There was only the two of them in the common room, the rest were scattered all over Mitras. Taking their own space to write their own piece of mind before the mission, “do you remember the night before Shiganshina?”

The sounds of scribbling ceased immediately from Jean’s end, as he sighed, almost painfully, “Yeah, of course.” Jean found it eerie that there was a misplaced lightness in Connie’s voice, when his own was drowned in unspoken distress, “What about it?”

“I’m writing about it on my…” there was a hesitation in Connie’s words as his mind finally caught up with how unbecoming his reality was, “…will.”

The man of Ragako continued, “I hope after we’re gone, whoever reads this would know that we were once kids,” Connie’s voice dropped into a heavy murmur, “that had something to live for, yeah?”

Jean nodded his head as he forced a smile, although Connie wouldn’t be able to see as they were sitting opposite each other, “Sounds great. Something to prove that I’m not a suicidal maniac. Do you think Sasha is now writing about it too?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I’ll write about it too.”

             The noise from the dining hall finally subsided after the soldiers headed back to their quarter. Despite having tonight’s tasty feast and the raucous fun that most of these soldiers were not as privileged to have often, the lingering dread remained visible among them for what awaited them tomorrow. These men and women were to head for battle against creatures they barely understood, and to reclaimed the district that most thought to be unsalvageable with the horde of titans roaming freely within.

There were also murmurs about a menacingly gigantic beast titan, one that had took the handful lives of their comrades. One that had mystical power to summon and control titans all it pleased. One that was so frightening that the brass in the likes of Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman were not at ease to disclose to the rest of the soldiers, leaving them in the dark of what may happen. The murmurs about the beast titan were persistent and these soldiers, no matter how hardened had they grown by deaths and battles all their lives, were all equally afraid.

Among them were three teenagers, barely made it out alive after their last encounter with the seemingly mythical creature. Now bound for yet another mission, they scrambled out of the dining hall. The tallest among them was slightly limping, leaning for support from the two others.

“Guys—” Jean grunted, followed by a disgraceful whimper as another step sent a sharp sting to his stomach, “—thanks for the help but would appreciate if it came sooner.”

They stopped and finally sat around when they found a comfortable spot underneath a building’s canopy, looking over to the city steps that glimmered underneath the full moon’s lights. From afar, they could see Eren, Mikasa and Armin sitting together down the steps, although the Shiganshina trio weren’t aware of their presence.

Jean finally let out an audible groan as he sat on a deserted wooden crate, the two others found comfort on the cold cobblestone.

“As you know, I was in no position to do so.” Sasha shot a jeer at Connie, to which he replied with a remorseful grin, “Sorry Sash, you were acting crazy—”

“—BUT IT’S MEAT! How could you take away my happiness like that, Connie!” the shriek was lunatic indeed and the bald boy just cackled, mouthing yet another apology for tying her up to the pole earlier tonight. Sasha was not amused, obviously, but she eventually caved in as she let out a long, deep sigh, retreating her head to Connie’s shoulder, “Could’ve been my last meat, you know?”

“Nonsense,” Jean snorted, still inspecting his stomach that was bludgeoned by Eren’s fist earlier. He would only finally surrender to the pain where no one would see other than two of his most trusted comrades.

“Yeah, Sasha. Nonsense.” Connie repeated, turning his head to Jean as he sought for reassurance, “We’re gonna survive this one. Right?”

There was a brief silence between them. It was clear that despite their best hope, they were thinking the possibilities of meeting their lethal ends with this mission. The idea of being young had never crossed their minds before – how they should not be thinking of their own death, how they should cast hope for the future – these were some distant ideas that they never got acquainted with. For these young soldiers, there were moments when they passingly imagined of being in their adulthood and what would they do by that time; but to their surprise, along with it often arrived the feeling of remorse, as if their wish to live on were nothing but wishful thinking. They had been conversant with death too early in their lives, and it had become a recurring visitor that they had to greet reluctantly.

“I really hope so…” she mumbled, her eyes gazed afar at the trio down the steps, “Must be hard for them, isn’t it?”

“Them?”

“Yeah,” Sasha raised his head from Connie’s shoulder and scooted over so she could look at both Connie and Jean, “I can’t imagine having to put up with such burden, returning to their decimated district.”

“Poor Armin and… Mikasa. And then there’s that maniac,” Jean scoffed, “he better does his job right. Tch. Such great power on meekly little hands—”

“—Jean,” the interruption was unprecedented as it was stern, Sasha was looking directly to him, “Cut it off, alright? It’s no use.”

There was a brief look of surprise from Jean that he immediately masked with a low chuckle, joined by Connie who was quick to disperse the tension.

Connie and Sasha knew how Jean felt about himself, and how hard he fought his own inner battle. His nightly mumbles of the regret and grief about the passing of Marco, and how he wished he had been better and stronger for tens of his fallen comrades. In those treacherous hours, often slipped through his lips ‘If only I had the power of the titans, I could have made a difference.�� or the seemingly vengeful, ‘If only we didn’t have to save Eren so many times.’ They both knew how calculating, cautious and capable Jean was, and how much he felt overshadowed by unfortunate circumstances, or how he’d always felt like he could have done more if only he had been given the chance to. Each time he succumbed into the dark clouds of his mind, Jean and Sasha was the voice of reason that brought him back from his own demon, ‘For greater good,’ was the convincing phrase that the two of them uttered to Jean, and for greater good did Jean thrived to drown his individual desire and pursuit.

“Let’s just focus on each other, okay?” Connie spoke reassuringly, trying to maintain the lightness in his voice no matter how somber had his heart grown to be, “The three of us. Let’s keep each other safe, okay?

There was a quick yet solemn unison between Jean and Sasha, “Okay.” they said, before a deep silence ensued. From afar, they could hear the sound of Armin from down the step, he was standing and babbling enthusiastically to Eren and Mikasa about the vast prairies of boundless salty water – where merchant could spend their whole life collecting its salt yet it would never deplete. The three of them let silence hung among them as they listened to Armin, and each tried to picture how marvelous the discovery would be. How beautiful, how magnificence would that feeling be. The greater good beyond the wall.

Intuitively they turned to look at each other and the smiles were poignant on their faces, each engulfed in their own thoughts. For a moment the idea of a vast world out there brought a keen warmth inside Connie’s chest, before it was abruptly ceased by the recognition that he no longer had anyone to return home to and tell the story about his journey. Sasha could read the pain that was growing to be visible on Connie’s face, she reached for his arms and squeezed it playfully, “Connie, don’t you think Armin’s crazy?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?” the two exchanged confusion, the similarity their minds shared was uncanny, “Don’t you think so? What kind of weird place would that be? Boundless prairie with water that never runs out of salt to mine… He’s crazy. Maybe knocked himself on the head too hard on the last mission.”

And then the three of them burst out laughing in the kind of humor only they would understand. Jean slid down from his seat and embraced his two friends closely, muttering under his breath, he spoke deeply, “I care so much about the two of you guys…”

There was no audible ‘We do too’ or the likes of it in their friendship for they already knew how they felt about each other. Sasha knew that the forest had long gone for her, and she knew that her home had now resided in the shared battles and journeys with her two best friends. She had accepted the fact that her days would never return to normalcy in the forest like what she had hoped in her early cadet days, but the thought that she would share these days as a soldier with Jean and Connie –no matter how awful or hard would those days be— never failed to bring her at ease. The thought of it made her smile again as she said, wondering, “What do you guys want to do once the war ends?”

The two boys looked at each other, puzzlement was quick to show. When would the war end? They all thought, as each of them had different imagery of what post-war life would look like. For Jean, it would simply look like his childhood: the return to that warm omelet lunch cooked by his mum, laid out on the dining table of his home that he hadn’t been for years, and the faint sound of his mum caressing his hair, ‘Eat well, Jean-boy!’; For Sasha it would simply mean a stroll down the market, buying all the juiciest meat she could buy, and then cook it for the town’s orphans. She thought of chopping down the oak tree behind her old home in the forest, and turned it into the largest dining table she had ever seen, so it would house enough seat for each orphan in the district; As for Connie, after the malady of Ragako, he thought hard what kind of life would he lead after the war ends. For a while, he had thought how meaningless would that be to stay alive after Ragako had been done for. ‘But maybe,’ he thought to himself one day, when he saw Jean and Sasha argued intensely about the best type of dish that eggs could be made into, ‘Maybe I could stay alive just to hear these two idiots argue every day. Maybe I could keep on fighting for everyday’s little, precious moment like this.’ Connie finally knew what kind of post-war life would he like to have: A future where he would no longer have to fight and kill. To have nights when his slumber would be soundly and peaceful, without the voices of death and miseries ringing inside his head no more. He hoped that one day he could tell the tales of his youth to all his grandkids, and how he defeated all the monsters with his two best friends.

“I think this might sound lame but,” Jean broke the silence, “I think I wanna buy my mum a house in the capital. She might like the fancy dwelling, you know.”

Jean and Connie nodded, acknowledging how close was Jean to her mum, and how there was no day passing without Jean regretting his bad behavior towards her during his insecure cadet days. Sasha giggled a little, to the confusion of the two boys, “For me… Maybe I wanna get married.”

The boys suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, as Connie shrieked, “You—Sasha Braus? Married—to what?”

Sasha kicked the boy’s shin, making Connie whimpered in overdramatic tone, “Of course to a living, breathing man, you idiot.”

“Come, come Sasha, tell us what he’d look like,” amidst his laughter, Jean tried to hype her up, “so we would know what to look for.”

The girl looked up to the starless night and mumbled to herself, “Hmm… maybe… a cute… blond man…” her wondering was quick to be cut-off by the boys’ yet another voluptuous laughter.

“Whoa Sasha, that makes neither of us then! Are you sure?”

“So, like—Armin?”

“…or Commander Erwin?”

Sasha blew a raspberry in disapproval, but carried on with her imagery of whom to marry, “…who likes to cook and also good at it…”

The two boys were still immersed in their own laughter while patting Sasha’s shoulders teasingly, “Let’s stay alive together so we can meet your blond cook one day, okay?”

Sasha giggled to herself, drawing her knees to her chest and hid her face in a childish embarrassment. Jean turned to Connie and nudged him on the waist, making him flinched, tickled, “Oi Connie, your turn.”

He fell to a deep, prolonged hum, before shrugging his shoulder, “I don’t know, maybe something simple.”

“Like what?” Sasha asked, raising her face from her knees.

“Maybe I want to write a book,” Connie said, her mind wandered, “and maybe live close to you guys. Maybe I can try your mum’s legendary omelet, yeah, Jean?”

Jean chuckled in approval, letting Connie to continue, “I’ll have the neighborhood kids –or my own grandkids— come over to my house and listen to our deadly attack on titans. I’ll have Armin come over too since he’s a great story-teller.”

The three teenagers fell deeply into their imagination of how pretty that picture would be. Jean sighed, letting the two others know that there was still a sour fruit hanging in his mind, “Do you think one day someone would write a story about all these?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you think they’ll mention our names too? Jean Kirstein, Sasha Braus and Connie Springer…”

“Probably.”

“Do you think anyone would root for us?” Jean asked again, “Obviously we don’t have the power of the titans, nor are we humanity’s strongest soldiers…”

The three of them drowned into yet another deep silence. Their eyes stared afar at Eren, Mikasa and Armin who were getting ready to leave, secretly mirroring their own to them.

“Hmm,” Connie hummed, ever characteristically so, he maintained the keenness in his voice, “maybe someone would root for us because we remind them of themselves. Just ordinary people who thrive…”

Jean raised his brows as he looked at his best friend, “Even when we’re greeted with struggles beyond compare?”

“Exactly.”

Sasha chimed in, “Even when sometimes it feels like it’s beyond our ability…”

“We keep on fighting. Right, guys?” Connie threw his smile to the two fellow soldiers whom he had grown to love and care for, more than he had to himself, “Because that’s what matters, right? As long as we put the effort, we give our own meaning to this futile fate of being alive.”

“That’s right.” – “Yes, Connie.”

Connie sighed, this time it was the sound of relief, “I’m grateful.”

“For what?”

“For the two of you. You both are the only family I have left.” There was still a stinging pain in Connie’s words, but he was finally at terms with it. He had made peace with his grief, and it was visible to both Jean and Sasha as they hug the shorter boy closer to even a warmer embrace, and finally, they laughed again.

“Or maybe we can rebuild Ragako after this?” Jean sparked the idea, sending a glimmer of hope into Connie’s eyes, “Find the cure for your mum, and let’s live closely together there. We can be neighbors. You said there’s plenty of boar for Sasha to hunt, right, Connie?”

Sasha squealed in excitement to which Jean responded by a loving pat to his brunette hair, as he spoke again, “And maybe we can go to Sasha’s house for dinner every night since his husband’s a good cook.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Let’s stay alive, guys.”

“The three of us.”

“Yeah.”

“Together?” – “As long as we can.”

And so that night, they laughed and laughed. For once, under the starless skies they became what they had not been able to become: children with child-like wonders. Casting hope for tomorrow, they were there to laugh at the odds and to live their lives so well that Death would tremble to take them.

A/N: Hi guys, I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think! Comments or reblogs are highly appreciated, like so so much.

Out of all angst fics I ever read, my heart hurt the most writing this down. Truly, what an ending for them by Yams.

Credit: The last line was derived from Charles Bukowski’s publication.

[sly-merlin]

KILLING ME - 4

(minor friendly chapter)

pairing : law student! Reader + yuta

Genre : angst, mafia au/arranged marriage au

Warnings : none.

Words : 5k

Summary:

"life's never fair y/n. Realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life."

Or

"curiosity got the cat hitched"

K.m masterlist

A/n : this series is totally minor friendly now. ✨

Previous morning in Taeyong’s office

“What was that for!” taeyong questioned jaehyun, clearly annoyed by his previous hostile mannerisms towards you. Jaehyun was on the receiving end of taeyong’s infuriation immediately after you departed from his office with doyoung.

“What!?” Jaehyun tried to act oblivious to Taeyong's accusations.

“Why were you trying to scare her? Escort ring! For fucks sake Jae, I expected better from you.”

“But it wasn’t a dead loss. And even you went along in the same wagon, so don’t put everything on me alone.” Jaehyun justified himself by shrugging his shoulders lightly. “And admit it! She was giving you a hard time. That bitch was not buying anything!

Taeyong knew jaehyun was right. Your unsatisfied replies and never ending enquiries were exasperating him, but he would rather preserve his precious ego than admitting that to jaehyun.

He ruffled his well-made hair before replying to Jaehyun, who was expecting some gratitude with a smug face.

“I-- just be careful and refrain from doing and saying anything that might put a dent in my plan. It’s a chance Neo would never get again. So be patient and don’t go around opening your mouth about this to anyone.” jaehyun reluctantly nodded,not hearing what he wanted but his affirmation calmed taeyong’s nerves. He couldn’t trust jaehyun entirely but his options were limited.

All the pieces were in the right place, for now. Nothing could go south right!

But jaehyun couldn’t completely understand the rationale behind Taeyong’s design.

and nor could the figure standing outside, completely hidden from the insiders.

The dread of the forthcoming finals substantiated the shortage of vacant seats in the kwanjeong library. You tried your best to arrive as expeditiously as possible for a person who partied, got abducted, arranged her own marriage, and again partied in grief, all in spam of about 34 hours. Finding no available seat, you decided to settle down on the floor. You gulped your cup of Americano in one go and began with the donut. As per a wise saying, Caffeine and sugar were the best combination as a breakfast for someone trying to get through their day with only 4 hours of sleep, the intellect being none other than your own self!

Yesterday was a pretty long day. Though you were worn out from the adventures with wonwoo last night, your brain wasn’t exhausted enough to shut down properly when you tried to close your eyes.The flashes of the events had shrouded you with a mixture of regrets and worries. What was the guarantee that you won’t end up dead tomorrow! What if taeyong was lying! But the fact regarding moon industries was absolutely legible. Maybe you should get a restraining order or something! But the existence of a person is necessary for that and yuta was a fucking corporate in the public eye and you were sure taeyong held some powerful position in the rich hierarchy as well, otherwise, covering the shits without revealing their true identities was not the job of some measly gang leader. There was more to taeyong than what someone could perceive just by looking. Will you be considered one of them now! After the little stunt that landed you straight into yuta’s life, you weren’t sure that he’d not strangle you in sleep. And What were you going to say to them? Chelin, yeom, guk, yeong.

and your thoughts spiralled from taeyong,yuta towards chelin and your friends and didn’t rest anytime before 4a.m. Waking up at 8 sharp , you took a shower and made your way towards the library.

And now you were here. 2 students passed your figure indicating that there were 2 vacant seats. Finally, after 15 minutes. They might have been the overnight students, you thought and walked inside before anyone else could claim the treasure. You had to find a new topic of thesis and do some research for an international paper your professor was writing, and you being his designated so-called subordinate had to help him, involuntarily of course. But in this world, the student who could refuse their professor’s demands was yet to be born! Marking the place by placing your bag, you started the search for last month’ law journals and digests. One and a half hours passed, but you couldn’t find anything on the international court of justice i.e. what your professor hadn’t already included. The urge to go out was profusely weighed down by your own sentiment of avoiding your friends. So you decided in favour of swallowing the bitter pill.

5 hours passed. The vibration of the timer in your phone prompted you to run off and get some food. It was already 2:30 and the lack of real food was making the tasks harder than they already were. Stepping outside into fresh air, instant regret of not bringing an umbrella washed over you. The sun was too bright unlike your mood and walking all the way to your favourite canteen would end up in you getting another headache. But you silently wished that every being from yesterday’s party was suffering from the same treatment of the over-the-top optimistic planet. why to suffer alone!

“Shortie” you lifted your head, spotting the combo of buy 1 get 1 free, heading your way.

“Where were you the whole day? And if you aren’t going to pick calls then please do that poor thing a favour and sell it!” yugyeom barked while running his hand through his hair.

You shrugged jungkook’s elbow from your shoulder and replied “I was busy with prof. Joong’s work. And I have to be somewhere after 4 so I was a bit-

“Joong should adopt you already man!” Jungkook interrupted, nudging your sides with his fingers.

“ but I thought he wanted to be her sugar daddy!” At that gyeom gave a serious and stern look to kook, pretending to ponder over his statement for a second and then suddenly they both started laughing, hands hitting you everywhere to support their doubling figures.

“Get away from me, idiots!” you shouted, trying to get away from them. Once they were done with showing their exaggerated emotions, you all giggled together in unison. they were wearing their fundraiser t-shirts, you noticed.

“When is the fundraiser?”

“At 5. But you won’t be there to support us cause you are busy with your daddy!” kook exclaimed while bumping your shoulder with his arm.

“I didn’t say I’m going for Joong’s work and no, he’s not my sugar daddy, doofus. I’m busy with tutoring. I missed someone’s Saturday class so—

“Okay, chill tiger. You need to breathe. It’s a boring event anyway.” gyeom said in a comforting tone, interjecting your rapid fire speech.

“I’m gonna have lunch, are you two going?” you suggested.

“Yeah, it’s our break and Yeong and Minjun have eaten already, so that leaves you!” kook pouted when gyeom mentioned his boyfriend’s name.

“Let’s go! I want my sugar” your dramatic pout made yugyeom pet your hair lovingly and the three of you started walking on a stone pathway on the way to the canteen.

“Where’s your umbrella?” jungkook asked you. He knew how much you hated walking under the sun after the drinking escapades.

“I forgot but let’s not talk about it. it’s making me grumpy.”

“Okay! but why don’t you cover your head with that scarf instead.” he said pointing towards the silky material around your neck.

“Naahh, it ruins my fashion” they gave each other a puzzled look, shrugging their shoulders for they both couldn’t gather the reason for your weird behaviour.

At lunch, you talked to them about the fundraiser and gave your own contribution for the noble cause. The conversation with them progressed too easily and for about an hour you forgot about the turmoil in your life, which was still unknown to them.

After parting away, you went straight to your professor to show him your progress. He took note of the materials you found on recent cases and dismissed you without showing any gratitude. Not even a word of appreciation.

A ping!

Jaemin: noona, doyoung hyung is picking you up at 4 but he won’t enter the campus. Be out at 4!

You let out a frustrated groan at his text. You had only met him once, when he conferred upon you the honour of connecting your phone to his server but that was not the only favour you received! He also saved his contact number with various hearts that you obviously removed after reaching home. you could only pray to heavens that he won’t be there today as well!

You made your way to the library again, this time to work on your thesis. The time passed faster than you thought. The alarm you placed earlier vibrated, indicating it was 4 already! You hastily made your bag and ran out of the library. It took 10 minutes to reach the gates of the campus. When you passed your dorms building, the idea of ditching doyoung and going to bed sounded tempting but as usual, nothing was going your way these days. You felt like the old catch 22 was in action.

You passed through the gates and looked around the road to find doyoung's car but he was nowhere to be seen. While you were scanning the whole area, a low voice called your attention.

“What are you finding, I’m right here under your nose” a voice said through gritted teeth.

Yes, he was indeed sitting in the car right in front of you and the only one you missed apparently. You walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat, the tinted windows hiding you from the outside funfair.

“What took you so long? It's 4:15 already.”

“I don’t have a car like you so I walked myself here and it’s not like I did it purposely anyway.” You contended, the annoyance in your voice matching his own.

“Whatever, we are already late so turn around. Taeyong would be mad.”

“No I’m not turning around. First that cloth bag, then the handkerchief you tied on my eyes yesterday, its painful man. I’ll lose my eyesight this way. And I can navigate the whole city from this place, you can’t hide your dungeon from me now” you reasoned. He didn’t tie your hands yesterday but your eyes were still covered.

“Then give me your scarf. I’ll cover your eyes with your own choice of article. It’s not painful or else you won’t be wearing it right! he said mockingly, pointing towards your neck.

“Umm, this scarf is act-

“Give me that already. I have some other things to handle as well.” assessing your options, you hesitantly removed the scarf, turning around to face the window immediately. Doyoung tied it across your eyes, checking the knot twice and tapped your shoulder. As you turned around, doyoung’s doe eyes widened, if that was even possible. Your collarbone and neck, which was visible through your v neck top, was covered with pretty purplish bruises. You fidgeted with your hands, flustered, feeling his eyes on you. But he remained quiet, focusing on the task at hand.

The whole drive was quiet and though your hands were not tied, you kept them on your backpack, hesitant to start any conversation. The car stopped finally, the mixed feelings coming back. The same process followed. He guided you inside but this time you passed only one door and the walk was quite shorter as well.

As doyoung was about to remove your scarf, a hand stopped him, or that was what you understood from the movements at that time.

“Silky scarf, blindfold and hickies haan! Being kinky doyoungie. She’s your sister-in-law. Show some respect boy!” a voice remarked, the air around your face suddenly filled with chocolate and coffee. You hiccupped all of a sudden, earning a chuckle from the unknown presence.

You tried to reach for the blindfold, but your hands were caught mid-air, the said hands removing it. You blinked your eyes a few times to make out the figure’s face. He was standing, mostly bending to match your stature, face smiling to show all of his teeth.

Yuta.

You, surprised, took a step back but instead bumped into the one behind you.

“I’ll take over from here, doyoung.” but fortunately, he didn’t budge. Your hold on the backpack tightened, your eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. The only thing in your view were his baggy pants and white sports shoes.

But yuta could see only you and nothing else. Taeyong wasn’t the only one awaiting your arrival. Yuta was equally anticipating you. His night was just as sleepless and anxious as you. He was afterall at the other end of the rope.

He raised your head, fingertips lightly grazing your chin. His hooded eyes roamed around your face like he was expecting you to show some contempt , hatred,nervousness! He straightened up abruptly and started tying the silk around your neck. You flinched at his touch but he remained void of any reaction. His half denim jacket and white t-shirt hid you from the surroundings, his arms almost engulfing you. He repositioned himself to match your height again, arms crossing against his chest.

“Looks like someone had a fun night.” and in a second, his honey smile changed into a smirk, letting go of any trace of earlier softer expressions. And the look on his face was enough to scare the shit out of anyone.

“Stop yuta” a taller man you recognised from yesterday as Johnny, pushed yuta aside from your view. It was then you saw that everyone was there. Including the one you were yet to encounter.

Your eyes wandered from one side to the other. Johnny let you inspect.

“Doyoung, what was the need to cover her eyes?” Johnny whispered to doyoung, breaking your trance.

“Why is everyone nagging me so much” he whined in a screeching voice.

“Karma bitch” Johnny pointed his forefinger towards him before giving his attention to you.

“Hey, how are you y/n.” he asked, his cheerful voice totally in contrast with the weather of the room.

“I’m- ummm.” you cleared your throat before continuing. “I’m fine Johnny. As fine I can be.” you mumbled the last part but he surely heard you.

“You remembered my name!” he clapped, his eyes turning into crescents. You gave him a tight lipped smile in return, waiting for some instructions. As if on cue, taeyong’s loud voice graced your ears.

“Come y/n. make yourself comfortable” he indicated towards the couches that were almost already occupied. Johnny gestured to you to proceed, walking with you. You passed yuta who was still smirking and sat on the single seat available next to taeyong. You placed your backpack on the large table in the middle of the room. It looked like a normal living room for guests, just with too many couches to accommodate the gang. You felt like an uninvited because apparently everybody was watching you like a hawk. Their stares changed sight only when yuta came to take a seat on one of the couches, exactly opposite to yours. You met his eyes briefly before turning your face towards your bag again.

Who knew the rusty zips of your bag were so interesting!

“So y/n I thought you should meet everyone. You are going to be part of this family soon. Better get acquainted with all.” taeyong addressed you while he sat on his couch majestically like a king. You heard a dry laugh and if you had to guess it had to be from jaehyun or yuta.

You didn’t understand why he wanted that. You were just a risk till yesterday and now means to discipline yuta.

And why all the formalities if you were gonna leave anyway.

“I’m going to leave anyway, taeyong. So I don’t see a need to do it!

You were too consumed to notice how your sentence turned all the heads around you. Some started giving side eyes to each other. There was something they were all missing.

“I said you could leave. But not without my permission. So, you’d be stuck for now, maybe till months or years.”

You gulped at his words. Taeyong turned your only hope into a distant dream. Maybe you were too foolish to gauge the situation.

“You want something to eat or drink before we continue” he asked in a sincere voice. Shaking your head, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to stop them from moistening. There was nothing more embarrassing than to cry in front of a bunch of strangers who didn’t give a shit about you.

“No, please continue.” you emphasised again to not draw any more attention to yourself than already was. And you internally thanked Taeyong who continued as if you weren’t just gonna cry!

“You will move in with yuta on Saturday,” it was Monday. “The wedding ceremony would be held in the morning. So you have a few days to prepare, everything from your dress to every other thing you need shall be arranged. Just name it and you’ll have it!”

Wedding ceremony! That was not on the plate!

“I don’t want a cerem-

“Leave the bullshit ta-

You and yuta both cut off each other simultaneously. You glanced at his side, finding him already piercing his gaze into yours.

“There’s no need for it. The paper signing is enough. It’s not like we are in-

You knew taeyong understood what you were trying to say, so you didn’t continue. But you were already having a feeling of superiority over yuta for being the first to offer your opinion. It felt like a payback for flustering you earlier. You refrained from facing him again, your body turned towards taeyong only, but you felt satisfied with the thought of him being riled up.

“Oh, but I want a ceremony taeyong and mark is going to be the best man. He’s so excited. You can’t do that to him!” yuta emphasised through the variation in his voice. You knew he changed his argument purposely , but you maintain your cool, opting to ignore him . bear and forbear.

Taeyong raised his eyebrow at you but you shook your head again.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea. It’s not a normal one anyway so why pretend!” you held your ground.

“You aren’t getting married to a mannequin.” yuta retracted. “I’m getting married as well and don’t anyone dare say that I made a mistake and blah blah. At last I’ll be hitching so I want a ceremony and Japanese at that!”

Oh yeah, he was Japanese. You have missed that as well.

All the other men in the room, 9 to be exact, were nodding at everything that was being said. They were unable to decide whose argument was worth taking side for. Finally Johnny spoke-

“I think y/n is right” looking at nowhere in particular, he continued. “What’s with pomp and show when it’s nothing more than an agreement”

“But if yuta hyung wants it, then why not. They are going to live together, he should have his say as well.” It was Mark who took yuta’s side. He didn’t know why but watching yuta losing ground urged him to support his brother.

You looked briefly at the boy who just argued with Johnny.

“He’s mark y/n.” taeyong said the answer you were looking for. “And he’s Jungwoo, jeno, doyoung, you have already met him, then jaehyun, johnny, renjunie, hendery. Others are busy so you’ll meet them some other day probably.”

A few waved towards you, including Mark, who shyly withdrew his hand quickly. They all probably hated you as there was no other reaction towards a person who almost put your life in danger!

“Can we get to a middle ground now? I’m already getting tired of this” jaehyun grumbled, leaning into the couch.

“Ok so, he wants a celebration of a lie! What about me then? You are all here but I have no one. I’m alone and probably will be. Because taeyong, you haven’t told me how am I going to reveal this to my friends? I may not have a family, but still there are people close to me. They are my best friends, roommate, and many others who need to know! How am I going to explain to them that their friend who didn’t even have a boyfriend, is getting married suddenly? I don’t even have parents to cover it with an arranged marriage. How to convince them? Give me a way and I’ll agree” you pointed out the very important detail that they were missing. But they needed to know that there was other side of the paper as well and your reasons were not just a cry in the wilderness.

Nobody made a sound. Everything went quite like a dark night until-

“I hope this is not the calm before a storm!” you looked over to see the person who broke the silence. It was another young man coming with a food trolley, probably from the kitchen.

“I thought we have a guest so I prepared some coffee and donuts. I hope you like sweets y/n” the man was smiling ear to ear, seeming too happy with your visit.

“I-

“I’m kun.” he introduced himself and you shook his hand. He seemed too polite for a criminal. “Have this and tell me how it is” he forcibly handed you a dessert plate with a chocolate glazed donut. You took it out of politeness but felt a bit weird to be the only one eating it. You watched him with quizzical eyes as he took one for himself and sat on the arm of your couch. Everyone was now staring at your movements.

“Eat it, eat it. These are for you and me only.” he cajoled.

You decided to take a bite and then place it back just to stop the awkwardness.

As you bit it from one side, your brain short circuited. “Holy shit, bro. What is this sorcery.” your genuine and innocent reaction made Kun laugh loudly, some of the others joined in as well.

“Thank god, you like it! I’m so glad you aren’t one of weight conscious ones, otherwise it’d have been weird.” he started munching on his own piece.

“I’m a sugar bear. I can’t live without sugar. I just had a donut in the morning but it was bleh compared to this. You are a master chef bro.” and for a minute you forgot the previous tense environment. Everyone was glad that Kun came to save the situation and except to you, it was known that obviously he heard everything from the kitchen.

“You ate one in the morning! Then it’s the last one you’re getting. Everyone help yourself. She’s not having any more!” as if they were waiting, everyone except mark and yuta picked them up.

“Mark” Kun motioned towards the tray and he grabbed one as well.

“What if I was allergic to chocolate, kun” you asked him while finishing your treat.

“Oh please! Even ten eats it.” he laughed to himself at his reference, which went over your head.

“Now coming to the point.” Everyone looked at taeyong who was already done with eating. “Y/n doesn’t want anything special so it’ll happen like that. No!yuta, lemma speak. And you y/n, it’s upon you to make your friends believe. Make up a story or do whatever you want. You don’t want to tell them about the wedding. Fine with me but do let them know at least that you have a boyfriend that you are moving in with! It’s on you both to make this arrangement believable.

“okay , sho now I shuggenly hab a voyfiend” you started speaking without even finishing the bite in your mouth. you continued once you chewed it.

“won't they be suspicious. They know exactly what I do and what I don’t. It’s almost impossible to put a façade in front of them.”

“Oh please, don’t tell me they even know from where you got those hickies” jaehyun’s curt statement was a hit below the belt. Kun was about to scold him when you elaborated his statement further to prove that he was doing nothing but burning his own fingers.

“Yes, actually they happen to know. When, where and from whom I got these. Anything else you want to ask?.” he rolled his eyes on your reply, busing himself with the delicacy instead.

“They don’t know yuta. So if you want you can introduce him to your people. He won’t be posing any problem, take my word for it.”

“I’ll go with you if you also accompany me,that I guess would be a problem for you. You don’t want to be seen with a criminal, or do you!” yuta jabbered. He was trying to push your buttons to measure your limit. But little did he know that you were far from being that easy.

“I just said I don’t want a wedding. I’ll agree to anything that is reasonable and is not degrading to me.”

“Ok then, nobody would force you to do what you don’t want.” Taeyong decided to take matters into his own hands now. “And we’ll organise a small, very intimate gathering at taeil’s office to celebrate as yuta wants. And you’ll be introduced as Mrs. Nakamoto to our corporate world.” taeyong finished gauging both of your reactions. The surname was foreign and cringing to you. But it was going to be yours, so there was nothing you could do, for now.

“What do you mean ‘our’ corporate world.” you got puzzled at his choice of words.

“You’ll find out soon and it's nothing scary, don’t worry.” Kun responded on behalf of taeyong this time, handing you your cup of coffee. “Tell me if it’s cold, I’ll-

“No it’s totally fine.” you assured him, without even taking a sip. He was being nice enough already.

“If my opinion has no value, then what am I even doing here!” yuta shouted, getting up from the seat.

“yut-

Before Kun could say anything, he stormed off. Mark tried to follow but taeyong stopped him from doing that.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a hot head.” Johnny laughed in between his bites.

You only nodded, sipping your coffee. You were glad he was gone. Sugar has always done wonders for you and it was having the same effects now as well. You were able to think more rationally now.

“One more thing” you furrowed your brows at taeyong. What was left now! “Do you want any specifications in the house? It’s my responsibility. A wedding gift you can say. If you need anything like extra closet, a more spacious kitchen-

“Kitchen?” you let out a brief chuckle at that. Everyone’s eyes were on you now. “It’ll be totally fine if I don’t even get a kitchen. I can’t cook anything besides ramyeon and salads. So I won’t even need that.”

“You are a student. Don’t you know anything basic.” It was Jungwoo who spoke in the sweeter voice than Kun's.

“No. I grew up in an orphanage and they provided us everything. I left when I started law. So all in all, I never had anyone to teach me. That’s why if you want to know best food trucks and restaurants in the city, I’m your best option.but, if that yuta knows how to cook, ask him about the kitchen.” you spoke nonchalantly .But you didn’t realise how uncomfortable the air had become. a heavy silence took over the light atmosphere.

“I’m sorry noona” Jungwoo apologised sheepishly.

“It’s fine. After all there are some things that your hacker can’t find out. only I can tell you those.” saying that, you faced taeyong again. “But if you insist, I can always use a study room.” you tried to enlighten the mood again.,ppp

“Ok. I’ll find something suitable for you both.” you hummed, not knowing what to say anymore.

“Can I go back now?”

“Yes, doyoung will drop you.”

“No, I’ll go with her.” Johnny said, grabbing your attention. He didn’t look sulky like doyoung so, it’d be fine, you guess.

They said you goodbyes. Mark seemed hesitant to even look at you, but you couldn’t care less. He was just a stranger after all.

Yuta couldn’t realise why everyone was trying to be so nice to you. Till yesterday, he was allowed to put a gun on her head but now every being was against him. He didn’t know why he was so furious at Taeyong, to force him to marry you or for dragging Mark into this mess. Taeyong knew how to play dirty, but yuta never thought he’d use his own brother. There was no option for him as well, as taeyong has said. He showed interest in a fucking celebration to contradict you, but you were not backing down and that felt like a punch to his gut.

He drove towards his stress reliever. The infamous Japanese club, the only place where he could drown his sorrows.

The club was packed despite it being Monday. That was one thing he liked about it, you’ll never be disappointed in this place.

“ゆた!” The hostess chimed seeing yuta. “久しぶり” [ long time, no see!]

He signed her to give him 2 shots. She did as told but her gaze was following yuta’s, which rested on her cleavage. He came here only for 2 things after all.

He gulped the drink in a second without blinking an eye.

“バックルーム” [ back room]

She wasn’t someone to be told twice. She handed her hand towel to her co-worker and followed the path. Who was she to reject him after all?

He drove back silently again. The relief he felt was all dissipated now. Instead his mind was already wandering towards you. Your headstrong attitude was troubling him. his plans were all down and out. He hated you , from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You acted like you were invincible but he knew it was just a mask to protect yourself.

He had noticed how you rubbed your eyes to hide your disappointment for you didn’t want to appear weak. All he had to do now was to find a vulnerable part of you, to hit you where it’d hurt the most. It’d be last time he lost to you.

Afterall, beginning is always easy, it is continuing that’s hard!

[andyquynhnickyjoebookernile]

Joe & Nicky (Part 2)

[Part 1]

Another thing the TOG fandom has picked up on is that while Joe might be the more romantic one, Nicky isn’t exactly subtle about his feelings for Joe. Like, in a single conversation, he calls Joe his destiny and the love of his life. Then his expressions throughout that whole “Nothing that lives lives forever” conversation is very telling.

Apparently, some people were wondering if they would follow through on the whole sleeping cuddled together thing but as far as I was concerned the follow through was never in doubt, the only thing that was a surprise was in regards to what shape it would take.

I still can’t imagine that the very next conversation we have featuring these two has Nicky taking a bull-dozer to everyone’s doubts. This conversation is literally too much, because it goes on to establish Joe and Nicky as an inter-racial, inter-faith couple who literally were on opposing armies in the CRUSADES, like I can’t even begin to fathom just how much these two much love each other to overcome such seemingly insurmountable odds.

But, more than anything what got to me was that Nicky is blatantly flirting with Joe when he replies to Joe’s “We killed each other” with “Many times” like this guy has zero chill when it comes to loving Joe, Zero.

And the worst part is that, these aren’t even the most romantic moments between them, like the worst is yet to come.

The Van Scene – God, how do I even begin to tackle that scene.

First of all, hands down it is the most romantic scene I have ever witnessed on screen and that is saying something because there are whole movies devoted to romance which don’t even come close to the level of emotion these two display in this scene. Like, how do you even come to terms with what this scene is.

From the very first “Nicolo” and that shoulder graze to that kiss, every beat in this scene keeps compounding the effect till your heart bursts with the sheer emotion coming across the screen.

Marwan Kenzari deserves a fricking Oscar for that performance because he fully committed to the scene. For anyone who couldn’t comprehend what their relationship must be like, he gives you the most effective crash course possible. Like, this is who they are, this is how much they love each other, this is how much it hurts to imagine life without the other even though you have been together for centuries, you still want more centuries together. This love which is as deep as an ocean and maybe even deeper because you can never find the end of it. It conveys all that and more.

I have seen that scene so many times but it manages to get me every time because it is just so sincere, that it’s heartbreaking and I feel like crying typing this because it is an overload of emotion that is just staggering in its depth.

I feel like I have almost memorized all the lines to the scene because it hits so hard, like it just goes all out and decimates everything in its path with just how powerful it is.

And it’s the little things that make the scene, the way Joe is speaking Italian when he is trying to get Nicky to wake up and then when he’s trying to get himself oriented. Like, the whole “Destati – Sono qui” thing is romantic as is but this train has no breaks and it keeps going.

In the middle of all this and amidst hostility from the guards, Joe decides to appeal to the guard’s humanity and tells him “I need to know if he’s okay”. Considering what follows we often overlook how powerful this statement is, I need to know if he’s okay because that’s the only way I’ll be okay. Like how will I figure out when I should release this breath I’m holding if I can’t ascertain that he’s okay. Like, that statement is in itself loaded with implications.

Then the dreaded question followed by Nicky’s not this again face, like the last thing you want to know when you have barely managed to orient yourself to your surroundings is the fact that you are surrounded by people who are biased against who you are from the get go.

The thing with that particular question “What is he, your boyfriend?” is that it is something you are supposed to vehemently deny. The question frames itself in such a way that it lends itself to denial irrespective of what the truth might be. It also plays into that whole if you show emotion you are somehow a lesser man thing, it’s also a rhetorical question, no one asking that question in that tone actually wants an answer to it, it’s a question that’s supposed to make you cower and afraid but well that question had clearly never met Joe.

He systematically takes the question apart and renders it powerless and he does it by showing them a glimpse of the love that lives under his skin, the love that is a living, breathing thing, a force unto itself, something so powerful it can’t be denied and he nails it.

Even though on the surface it’s about answering a question, we can all agree that the answer is meant for Nicky and Nicky alone. It’s Joe’s attempt to remind Nicky that no matter the situation they find themselves in, Joe loves him and no matter how dire things become as long as they are together they can get through it all. It is love wrapped in reassurance wrapped in comfort.

But, the sheer honesty and sincerity of it is staggering and makes the moment so poignant.

“I love this man beyond measure and reason. He’s not my boyfriend.”

This is where he turns to Nicky.

“He’s all and he’s more.”

It’s painful to experience so much emotion and the only one who could have taken this confession of love and known how to respond perfectly was the person this devotion was directed towards.

“You’re an incurable romantic.”

God, and that kiss. It is the biggest affirmation of their love and the fact that even when things seem dire they will always have this. Always.

The thing that really surprised me later is that Joe and Nicky haven’t had a single moment alone since the start of the film till they are strapped down together in a lab. Also, this is the first time when they are talking to each other, unobserved by others and the scene is so good.

I like how Nicky’s mind works. I mean the scene starts with Nicky dismissing his worries with the line “as much as I like to watch you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake” and Joe immediately turns it around to make Nicky laugh.

Joe like really gets Nicky, two times so far he has managed to diffuse the tension with his words and he makes Nicky just brighten up. Someone already pointed out that this is the first time Nicky laughs so openly, like these two instinctively get each other.

Well, then comes the Malta conversation and like I can’t get over the amount of innuendo they were able to compress into five words.

“Oh, that time in Malta.”

Like, it makes me laugh, it’s such a gooey scene.

These were the things that stood out during my first viewing. Tumblr has been amazing in educating me about “Nicky’s death scene” like that has been dissected and studied every which way. But, it is worth mentioning that the moment Nicky wakes up he touches Joe, first and foremost reassuring him and then immediately gets up to go help Andy.

These two are so incredible. I feel like there are lots of reasons for that. But, I think I want to do a quick recap of everything I missed the first time that made the sense the second time.

So, first off, this movie presents Joe and Nicky as a unit since the very first time Andy mentions them. Her question is just that – Joe and Nicky? The next significant moment is at the kill floor, the first thing Joe does on waking up is look towards Nicky only to find Nicky looking back, unfortunately they don’t cut back to Joe which would have made this even more apparent but they do share a look.

The next thing I can’t believe I completely missed on my first viewing is the way they fight. Truthfully, do all action movies, do this, like Nicky and Joe fight like they are telling a story. They are literally fighting half a fight that only makes sense when you put them together and they do it so effortlessly, that it feels so natural that you can’t even tell the amount of years spent fighting together that must have gone in to make this work so flawlessly.

Since the very first fight where they are completing each other’s moves and especially in the case of Nicky, keeping track of Joe’s weapons because Joe seems to discard his weapons before Nicky manages to get his hands on another one, like they are that in sync that they know how to complete each other’s moves instinctively.

Hands down, this was one hell of a phenomenal decision to have their very fighting style say something about their relationship and has this even been done before, like it’s one hell of a statement but like with everything it just builds up their story and their relationship even more.

Again, these two are incredible. Like, god I love them so much and this is just what we get in the movie like this is literally the tip of the iceberg they have a millennia worth of story beneath this and it shows.

These two are so incredibly in love but at every turn their love makes them stronger.

The movie sets these two up so well like even imagining these two together in a potential sequel has me breaking out in squeals, like literally if they make out, if they so much as touch one another, in fact forget about touching if they so much as look towards one another, it will be the best thing to happen ever. Because now we know just how deep this particular well of love runs which also, makes separating them a very interesting scenario but I would literally give anything for them to get some alone time in the next one, because I will probably die from the feels but it will have been worth it.

[justauthoring]

No Reason To (43/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

A/N: next part will be the last part of season 6A! which im very excited for because i cannot wait for stiles and y/n to reunite so i can get back into writing them together lol! nonethless, i hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 06x07 & 06x08

Honestly, you figured Scott should let Malia tear Theo apart.

If anyone deserved it, it was him. Him more than anyone else. After all he’d done, to you, to her, to the rest of the pack... If you had claws, you’d tear him apart yourself.

But of course, Scott, no matter what, isn’t heartless. No matter what anyones done. And before Malia can do any real damage to Theo, him and Liam are rushing forward to pull her back and try to her calm her down. One look at her tells you she’s angry, more angry then you’d thought, not that you blame her. Like at all. Her eyes are blazing bright blue, her claws are still out, and she lets out a growl to even that of Scott.

“Slow down, okay?” Scott orders, voice firm but soft; understanding. Never tearing his gaze away from Malia, he attempts to assure her; “he’s going back in the ground.” 

Good.

“You can’t!” Liam argues almost instantly, voice pitching in panic. It pulls your gaze on him with a blink, for the first time processing that it was Liam who had pulled Theo up from the ground in the first place. It was Liam who brought him back despite everything he’d done.

“And why the hell not?” You cut in, stepping forward from the spot you’d been cowering in. You hadn’t, until this point, had the courage to really make yourself known. Regrettably, Theo still had that kind of power over you. But, at the possibility of Theo not rotting away his life in hell like you’d thought, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore. 

You step past Scott, meeting Liam directly in the eye with a harden look of your own, arms crossed over your chest with a scowl. “He deserves to rot there for eternity,” you spit, anger overcoming the fear and terror you’d felt only moments ago. You even dare to glance Theo’s way, his eyes already on your own as you glare at him.

“He remembers Stiles.”

I remember Stiles.

“Y/N remembers Stiles.” Malia growls, speaking aloud exactly what you’d thought. “Scott remembers Stiles. Lydia and I remember Stiles.”

Inhaling deeply, Liam shakes his head; “the Dread Doctors knew all about the Wild Hunt. He can help us.”

“Or he could kill us.” Scott reminds.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff; “which he’s already tried.”

“Correction,” Theo cuts in, causing your eyes to snap to him sharply. “I only ever tried to kill Scott.”

Scoffing, you spin round to him. “You should be rewarded,” you huff, shaking your head.

“He’s my responsibility,” Liam interrupts before Theo can respond to you. “Noshiko gave me the sword.” he raises said sword, gesturing it to you all.

“It’s so awkward when mom and dad fight,” Theo sighs.

“Shut up.”

You’re not surprised that you, Malia and Scott all yell it at the same time.

“You all are right,” Hayden eases, stepping in beside Liam to defuse the tension. “If Theo tries anything, we’ll send him back to the Skinwalkers. But for right now...--”

“He goes back now,” Scott interrupts, without question.

“Except Liam’s the one with the sword,” Theo reminds.

“Shut up!”

Scott steps back, pulling Liam with him. And you, not wanting to even look at Theo for another second easily follow the two, stepping into the living room. Almost instantly, Liam turns around to face the both of you, expression pleading as he shakes his head; “do you not trust me?”

“I don’t trust him,” Scott corrects, “do you?”

“No,” Liam answers instantly, “but I think we can use him.”

“Remember who he is.” Scott tries to explain, his hands falling out before him, stressed. “He got into your head and you tried to kill me.”

“And when that didn’t work, he did kill you,” you add, meeting Scott’s eyes before quirking a brow over at Liam. “And Tracy, and Josh, and his sister.”

“But this might be our only chance to get Stiles back.”

“Can’t we just try to find somebody that we at least trust?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “I think we’re getting close,” you whisper, turning to your brother for affirmation before turning back to Liam. “I really think we are.”

Shuffling on his feet, Liam shakes his head. “This might be a mistake,” he admits, “but you don’t know that yet. And you,” he turns to Scott, “made mistakes when you were learning to be an Alpha.”

Frowning over at Scott, you sigh.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I made a lot. But we don’t have time for mistakes. I... I can’t lose Stiles.”

You blink at the desperation in your brothers voice, your lips parting in shock. You’d known that Scott cared, that he wanted Stiles back just as badly as you (especially when he started to believe you)... but this was the first time he really seemed to want it just as badly as you. To a point where he felt like he was going to go crazy if he didn’t find Stiles. It was exactly how you felt, and honestly, it felt nice to know you weren’t alone.

That you weren’t the only one who couldn’t lose Stiles.

“So we should try anything we can to save him. Right?”

Scott turns to you, his expression reading help. To help give him an answer. He wants you to tell him what to do. But the truth is, you have no idea either, You don’t want Theo back just as much as him, maybe even more. But, even if you felt like you are getting closer to Stiles, there’s no actual guarantee that you are... and Liam was right. There was a possibility Theo is the one that could bring Stiles back -- as ironic as that is.

But he played you all like a fiddle, and you didn’t trust him enough (or at all) to know he wouldn’t again.

Shaking your head, you sigh, your expression reading: I don’t know.

He sighs, and the two of you seem to just share an unspoken conversation. Then, turning to Liam, Scott’s shoulders fall; “convince me.”

-

“You... You understand, right?”

With ease, Scott nods. As if there was no doubt that he did. “Yeah, yeah. Of course I understand.”

You glance back towards the kitchen, eyeing Theo for a moment who simply just stands there, under the close eye of Hayden and Liam. The latter two were working on the final touches of the plan. But you couldn’t really seem to focus on them, “I just..,” and you pause, turning back to Scott as you meet his eyes. You words leave you with a shaky exhale, struggling to find the words. “I can’t be near him. Not yet at least.”

Scott steps towards you, setting his hand on your arm comfortingly. “It’s okay, Y/N. Go do what you have to do.” Then, he smiles, bright eyed. “You were right. You’ve gotten closer to finding Stiles then any of us.”

Biting your lip, you glance down at your feet, shifting slightly, before slowly glancing back up at Scott. “You think?”

And again, without a doubt, he nods. “I know.”

“Okay,” you nod, inhaling deeply with a newfound confidence. You meet your brother’s eyes with certainty, mimicking him and smiling up at him. “You do what you can and I... I’ll do what I can. And... we’ll get him back.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

-

“Yeah, Lyds, i’ll be right there.”

“You sure? I don’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” you assure with a smile, even if Lydia can’t see it. Fixing the sleeve of your shirt, you pause before making your way out the door. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Lydia breathes, and you can almost picture the relief in her eyes. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“See you in a few.”

With that, you pull your phone away from your face, hanging up the call with Lydia before shoving your phone in your back pocket. You glance around your room once more to make sure you’re not forgetting anything, before finally making your way towards your bedroom door, moving to pull it open. But just as your hand is hovering over the doorknob, it suddenly is pushed open from the other side, you having to stumble back to avoid being hit by the edge of your own door.

A gasp of surprise leaves your lips, brows furrowing in confusion before your gaze flickers up to meet Isaac’s familiar blue ones.

“Jesus, Isaac!” You breathe, setting a hand against your chest to calm your suddenly racing heart. “You nearly hit me with the door. Not to mention, scared me half to death.”

Isaac doesn’t really react. All he simply does is invite himself into your room, shutting the door behind him. You watch the action with a blink, stunned and questioning if you’d really just witnessed what you think you did. Turning around only to find Isaac sitting on your bed, you realize, yes. Yes, you had.

“Just invite yourself in then, I guess.”

“Where are you going?”

Your brows furrow, “to Lydia’s.” You explain, before adding with a tilt of your head, “not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“We never officially broke up.” Isaac reminds and when you think about it, he’s right.

“Well,” you mumble, “it was implied.”

Isaac stands up then, and there’s something about his posture that feels off. You feel your body react almost on instinct, muscles tensing at the look in his eyes. He seems angry, for what you’re not sure, and the way he stalks over to you makes you take a step back, curling into yourself.

And you hate it, cowering like that. You felt like you were far past that point in your life, but looking up at Isaac now and meeting his eyes feels like meeting your father’s eyes. The eyes that you still saw even when you tried to pretend you were stronger and braver then that. And you suddenly feel like a little girl again, defenseless, scared, helpless. Even if you know you shouldn’t. Even if you knew you had the means to hurt Isaac if he ever tried hurting you, you felt scared. Immensely so.

Maybe, part of it, had to do with this instinct, this feeling, that this was so unlike Isaac. That the Isaac you knew and loved, had never, ever treated you like he was and had been. That you knew, deep down, something was wrong. And unbelievably so.

Isaac steps forward, grasping your arm in his own and squeezing similarly to how he had in the library that day. Except, for some reason, you don’t have the strength to force him away like you did last time. “Does this have to do with Stiles?” Isaac asks, voice low, raspy. 

“No,” you lie, swallowing thickly. 

His grip tightens, squeezing painfully.

“N-No, I swear,” you stammer, “it doesn’t.”

What is wrong with you?

What are you doing?

Why are letting him treat you like this?

You are better then this.

Isaac leans forward, his grip easing just a bit but not enough for you to pull his arm away. He uses his other hand to pull you closer, hand falling on your waist and tugging. You fall against him with a gasp, your head instinctively tilting as he moves to press a harsh kiss against your neck. Your lips part as he nips harshly, it pinching slightly as your hand falls over his own in response. 

He finally lets go, hands moving to the hem of your shirt, moving to pull it off.

You pull away instantly, breath halting as you step back. You hesitate on meeting his gaze, unsure, before finally you blink up at him, licking your lips. “I’m... I’m sorry, it’s just... I promised Lydia i’d be there soon and i’m already late, so--”

“Go,” Isaac cuts in with a shrug, “I’ll see you when you’re back.”

You nod, potentially rushing out of your own room a little too quick, practically running down the steps. You don’t stop until you’re in your car, leaning against the steering wheel with heavy breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. You were confused, beyond so and hurt. But mainly, you were disappointed in yourself. Disappointed in the fact that you hadn’t even tried to fight for yourself at all.

But you couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after seeing your father in his eyes, or rather, not after just seeing Isaac and knowing, just by instinct, that you cared for him. Deeply and beyond so. And even if it made absolutely no sense for Isaac to treat you that way, because it felt wrong and weird and unlike anything you’d ever experienced with him before, it was Isaac.

And you loved him.

-

“You know that kid, the dead kid from Canaan?”

Pausing at Lydia’s words, you slowly nod, unsure of what direction she’s taking this conversation in.

“Okay,” Lydia nods, shifting in her seat as she meets your eyes firmly. “His mother conjured him,” she continues as you nod, remembering. “To fill the void she felt after the Wild Hunt passed through Canaan.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, nodding, your eyes narrowing as you try to understand what Lydia’s trying to get at. “And?”

“What if Sheriff Stilinski is filling a void?”

Your eyes light up with realization, instantly understanding her meaning. “With Claudia.”

“Yes!” Lydia exclaims, voice eager at your understanding. She probably thought her reasoning was crazy, but after the things you’ve witnessed, you’d probably be the one person to truly believe her. “I mean, so many things don’t make sense.”

You nod, “she had a fatal disease, but then she’s fine.”

“You said she said her Jeep was stolen twenty years ago,” Lydia clarifies, to which you nod, “but it’s Stiles’.”

Pausing in thought, you think of that wall, that day with Claudia. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when I peeled that wallpaper.” You add, turning to Lydia with wide eyes and a shake of your head. “She was more than angry. I think... I think she was scared. Like she was protecting a secret.”

Lydia’s nods, before pausing, faltering. “What... What if Sheriff Stilinski needs this, though? What if... What if this is his way of coping?”

Shaking your head, you swallow thickly. “What if Claudia being here is preventing him from remembering Stiles?”

“Y/N,” Lydia calls gently, meeting your eyes directly. “If Claudia isn’t real, you don’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“But... who will?”

Lydia sighs, shaking her head.

Then, a thought occurs to you. “Lydia?”

“Yeah?”

“What if Isaac is my void?”

She blinks at that, confused. “You think Isaac’s dead?”

“I don’t think he’s dead,” you shake your head. “No. I just... i’m sure that i’m in love with Stiles. And it feels like... It feels like I have for a long time. And there’s these memories, memories that aren’t clear, but feel so real. Of me... me and Stiles being... together.”

“Okay,” she whispers, “but what about Isaac?”

“Isaac... feels wrong.” You mumble, biting your lip. “I mean, when i’m with him, it feels wrong. Every time I look at him, I feel like it should be Stiles there instead. And... And every time he finds out i’m trying to find Stiles or if I bring him up, he gets... he gets so angry.”

Your eyes fall shut as you think about what had happened before, before you left.

Lydia frowns, “is that why there’s a bruise the size of a hand print on your arm?”

You blink, glancing down at your arm. You hadn’t even realized Isaac had left a mark. Slowly raising your other hand to touch your arm, the tips of your fingers ghost across your skin, frowning. 

“It’s why I was late.” You whisper, avoiding Lydia’s gaze.

“Did he hurt you, Y/N?”

It’s clear Lydia’s concerned. You don’t even have to look at her to know that. But Isaac isn’t the main problem right now, and you don’t want her concerned or telling Scott and having him worry about you.

“No,” you interrupt, “not a lot, at least. It was just a small fight.”

Lydia frowns at you.

“And I was just thinking,” you shrug, “maybe i’m way off.”

“Maybe not,” Lydia assures, smiling softly at you. “It’s not completely unreasonable.”

Nodding slowly, you swallow thickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

-

Walking past Stilinski, your steps are slow as you walk into the room. Your eyes wander around you carefully, eyeing everything you possibly can until you’re completely inside. It’s cold and barren, and it feels wrong for this room to be so empty.

So... lifeless.

One look at Sheriff and you know he agrees.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?”

Swallowing thickly at his words, you nod.

“God,” Stilinski breathes, voice pitching in distress. “It was on the blueprints! It was here when we moved it. I--That was eighteen years ago.”

A burst of cold air rushes past you the second Stilinski finishes speaking. It catches your attention instantly, and it’s almost as if your feet move on their own as you slowly turn, turning around to the wall behind you. Your eyes widen, sniffling when you see a bed. A bed you recognize as Stiles’. A bed you swear you’ve spent nights on before. With him. In his arms...

You take a step forward, and then you catch sight of something out of the corner of your eye. Turning your head to the right, your lips part at the sight of a cork board and clear white board. And as you continue to circle, you lower your eyes and find a table with a single chair. It fits. It feels right. Feels like exactly how Stiles would’ve left it before he was taken. It feels like it’s still there.

“Y/N?”

But then, you blink, and it’s gone.

“What is it?”

You spin around, panicking when it’s all gone. When the rooms empty again.

Lifeless.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t understand how you knew this was here,” Stilinski exclaims, shaking his head. “If you want to discuss the possibility... that I had a son... “ He pauses, and your heart wells with hope again at his words. “I’m listening.”

-

“So, wa-wait a sec. This woman, ‘Lenore’, she conjured up her dead son?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “She was the only one left.” You explain, voice soft, words choked. “Lydia thinks... I believe she had to fill a void. So, she filled it with her son.”

“And you... you saw this kid?” He doubts.

“We all did,” you remind, “he was real. He was there. Right in front of me.” Hesitating a moment, you pause, swallowing thickly. “But...--”

“But what?”

“She was there when everybody was taken. She saw it happen. But she didn’t wanna believe it.” Meeting his eyes, you sigh, “she wanted to believe in her son.”

Eyes narrowing, Stilinski pauses; “what are you trying to say?” And he pauses before speaking, stammering over his words as he gestures behind him at the shut door. “You think Claudia is not real?” He scoffs and you avoid his gaze, inhaling sharply. “You think I made up some phantom wife?”

“You’re afraid to remember him,” you whisper.

“She’s a flesh and blood woman,” Stilinski argues, voice pitching. “She’s real. Everything else here is just... is just speculation. Conjecture. It’s just--it’s a theory based on a...on a ghost town.”

His words echo, drifting in the silence. You’re not sure how to respond, not at all. Because what you said was true, he was afraid to remember him and you didn’t know how to convince him otherwise. You’ve tried time and time again, and it’s always backfired in your face.

Gaze lowering, you blink as something catches your eyes. It’s a chair, placed directly behind Stilinski. On it, is a lacrosse jersey similar to the one your brother has. Only, this one has the number ‘twenty-four’ and the last name ‘Stilinski’.

Lips parting, you step past Stilinski, making your way over to the chair. You feel your eyes water, your hands shake as you reach for the jersey. But yet, a soft, sad smile curls onto your lips at the sight of it, a gasp leaving your lips when you physically are able to touch the jersey. You can actually grab it, feeling the material between your fingers and hold it close.

So that’s what you do; you pull it off the chair and towards yourself. You grip the jersey tightly in your own fingers, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you press your face against it, a tear falling down your cheek as you breathe in. And you swear, you can smell Stiles. Can remember the touch and feel of him when you hold the jersey close.

You spin, turning to Stilinski with hope. However, just by looking at him, you can tell, he doesn’t see the jersey.

And just like that, it disappears. But you can still feel it in your hands. It’s... It’s still there.

“You don’t see anything.”

“I see a deeply disturbed young woman.”

Inhaling sharply, you ignore his words. “You’re afraid to remember him because you’re afraid of what it means.”

Inhaling sharply, Stilinski shakes his head; “why do you care so much if I remember him?”

Sniffling, you whisper; “because you loved him.”

Lowering your hands, you hold the jersey in your right hand, throwing it towards Stilinski. The sound of whipping from the movement echoes in your mind, and you blink as it leaves your hands and Stilinski catches it. Holding it in his own hands as he stares down at it in disbelief.

-

“You’re going to bite Stiles?”

Meeting your eyes, Scott swallows thickly. “To get him through the rift.”

Then, moving, he walks over to the table, where it’s all mapped out. “It’s the only way,” he explains to you, breath halting as he nods, as if to assure himself of the fact.

“Just to clarify,” Peter speaks up, causing you to roll your eyes. It was bad enough you had to deal the with re-occuring existence of Theo, but add Peter to the equation? You were sure you were going to go crazy before you ever managed to get Stiles back. “Are you planning on biting everyone in the train station?”

Though, regrettably, he did have a valid point.

“With Stiles back, he’ll be able to help us figure out a plan.” 

“He’s good at that,” Malia assures, causing you to smile gently.

“So,” Peter continues, your smile fading. “The plan is to get Stiles to come up with a plan.”

Malia’s smile falls, and she rolls her eyes, “you can shut up now.”

“Malia,” Peter calls, making his way over to her. “Look around. We’re the only ones left in Beacon Hills. If they take us, Lydia will be the only one left to haunt the place.” 

Turning to Lydia, you sigh, setting your hand over her own in a offer of comfort.

“That’s why i’m the only person that’s going in.” Scott explains, causing you to blink over at him in surprise.

“What, Scott--”

“Liam and Hayden will stay here with Mason,” he cuts in, sending you a sharp look. “As long as somebody is left in Beacon Hills, the Wild Hunt can’t move on.”

“I like your plan, Scott. I really do,” Peter assures mockingly. “Especially the part about turning Stiles. But it can’t work.”

“How do you know?”

“Logic,” he offers, “life experience.” He shrugs, then turns to Liam, as if reaching out for the boy to understand his point. “Liam, what are the odds he’ll get taken? What if Stiles isn’t there? What if there’s no Beacon Hills for you to come back to?”

“You got a better idea?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, “it’s called ‘run like hell’. So, leave in five?”

Malia steps towards Peter, and you turn to Scott. “I hate to admit it, Scott, but what if he’s right?” You ask, setting your hand over his own to bring his attention on you. Meeting his eyes sharply, you sigh. “I mean, there’s no guarantee any of this will work. And I can’t lose you too.”

“It’ll be fine,” Scott assures softly, taking your hand in his own. “I promise.”

“--I didn’t promise you I’d help commit suicide.”

Scott turns away from you, turning to Peter as you huff, shaking your head. “If you can’t help us,” Scott calls, “we’ll find it ourselves.”

“Scott,” Peter calls, “I admit that you have a flair for beating the odds. But, this? You don’t walk away from.” He shuffles back, moving towards the door. “You run.” And with that, he leaves.

Inhaling sharply, you swallow thickly.

-

“When you were here before, how long until the Ghost Riders showed up?

“A couple minutes.”

Inhaling sharply, you sigh; “that’s reassuring.”

“What’s a rift supposed to look like?” Malia questions, two steps behind Scott.

“If it’s a tear in the fabric of our world,” Lydia starts, “theoretically it could look like anything from a microscopic black hole to a free-floating Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

Tilting your head, you slow to a stop, meeting Lydia’s eyes. “That’s reassuring.”

She simply just shakes her head at you, the four of you forming a circle, before you all seem to just glance upwards. The same idea popping into your heads at the possibility of it being... 

“I really hope it’s not up there.”

Sighing, Scott shakes his head. “Let’s split up.”

You all follow without fault, walking in separate locations. Only problem is, like the others, you don’t really have the slightest clue what you’re looking for. Like, at all. And all you really see around you just trees and bushes and grass and really, just... green.

“Hey!” Scott calls, pulling your attention on him with a blink. “Over there!”

It’s a tunnel. To what you assume leading down, into the sewers.

“Well then,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “The rift’s not above us...”

“It’s below.”

-

“I can’t see a thing.”

“Phone flashlights aren’t really the best then, I guess.”

Lydia simply just shakes her head at your tease.

“It’s gotta be down here,” Scott cuts, stepping past you to take the lead. “Somewhere.”

Scott and Lydia turn left at a passage way, and you notice Malia moving right. So, instinctively, you move to follow her, only she makes it about a half step before she walks into something invisible which knocks her back harshly. You rush to catch her, wrapping your arms around her whilst trying to keep your own balance so you both don’t go tumbling to the ground.

Turning around to both Lydia and Malia, you huff; “found it!”

Lydia steps forward as Scott helps you pull Malia up to her feet. She stops directly in front of the barrier, pausing for a moment before mumbling; “it’s remarkably similar.”

“To what?”

“To the Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

-

“He followed our scent.”

“I followed your desperation.”

Scott takes a step forward, to which you’re quick to follow, eyeing Mr. Douglas carefully before you.

“We’re all in a tough spot,” he continues after a moment, “desperate to get inside and save everyone and hoping to find a way to stop this army of the dead. We all want the same thing.”

Inhaling deeply, Lydia rolls her eyes. “He has a point.”

“If he doesn’t kill anyone.”

“Else,” Scott corrects, “if he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

Mr. Douglas shakes his head; “all that matters right now is getting through the rift.”

“Then,” you speak up finally, gesturing to the pole in Malia’s hands; she holds it up for you. “You’re out of luck.”

“The rift burns anything that tries to pass through it,” Lydia explains, glare stern.

“Perhaps not everything.”

Your eyes widen when Parrish walks up behind him, transformed into the Hell-Hound. He lets out a sharp growl at the four of her, eyes shining green, fangs out. Inhaling sharply, you turn to the others, shaking your head.

Lydia takes a step forward, “Jordan.”

She tries to reach out to him, but it doesn’t work.

“If the Hell Hound can open the rift,” Mr. Douglas begins. “we all go together.”

“You’re the bad guy,” Malia reminds incredulously, “i’m pretty sure helping you is a bad idea.”

Mr. Douglas rolls his eyes. “Good guy. Bad guy. When has anything ever been so black and white?”

“World War two.”

Blinking at the new voice, you find yourself stunned as Liam comes running beside you all, out of breath. He slows to a stop next to Scott and you, turning to face you both. “He’s a Nazi,” Liam adds, expression reading warning. His words cause you to blink in surprise, turning to face Mr. Douglas in disbelief. “He wants the Hunt for himself. He wants his own supernatural army.”

With that, Mr. Douglas lets out a sigh, letting go of the rolled up whip, and flipping it out in what you assume to be threatening.

“We’re not letting you through that rift.”

“‘Not letting me’?” He repeats, “I see. You still think you have a say in the matter.”

He cracks his whip, and you stumble back as Scott pushes you behind him, to avoid being it as he’s cracked with the whip. You blink as he does, managing to gain your balance as Scott’s eyes shift, glowing red, and he lets out a roar, directed exactly at Mr. Douglas.

Just as Scott lunges forward, Mr. Douglas cracks his whip. In the next second, a hand is wrapping around your wrist and pulling you out of harms way. You blink over at Liam, offering him a small nod of thanks before turning back to the others. You meet Lydia’s eyes, before nodding at her when it’s safe and helping her over to where you are. Malia does it next, falling in front of you three as you all turn to face Scott.

Mr. Douglas continues to crack his whip, flipping it towards Scott but he manages to slip past, running over to where the rest of you are.

However, Mr. Douglas doesn’t relent.

In German, he calls for Parrish, who, regrettably, easily follows his command, letting out a growl as he simply walks past you, moving towards where the rift is. You blink, surprised despite all you’d been told when he simply grips onto the invisible force, pulling it in half... somehow.

“Parrish, stop!” 

Scott is ignored and when he tries to rush forward, Mr. Douglas simply cracks his whip, which gives Parrish the time to open the rift. Completely. As the former steps towards the open rift, Parrish turns to the five of you, letting out a load roar that is clearly directed at the five of you.

But then Mr. Douglas calls something in German, something you clearly don’t understand and Parrish backs off. Moving to follow him into the rift. Once it’s safe, Malia calls out and you all rush forward. But you’re a second too late because the rift already shuts before you can get through.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head.

And then, in the next second, two Ghost Riders are walking through.

-

“Liam, take Y/N and Lydia to the bunker!”

“What!” You exclaim, eyes widening in disbelief at Scott’s words. “No, I can--”

Liam doesn’t let you finish. He wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you back with Lydia and him, the former helping guide you back as well. You try to fight them, but as you glance back, managing just a quick glance at Scott, you know he’s just trying to protect you. You and Lydia and Liam of course, as well. 

And honestly, you don’t know if you can help. Or if you’d just get yourself killed, or worse, taken.

Liam keeps pulling you until the three of you fall against a wall, stumbling over because of how fast you’d been running. You chance a glance back the way you came, relieved that it didn’t seem like any of the Ghost Riders had managed to follow the three of you.

“That roar wasn’t promising.”

“Well,” you speak up, swallowing thickly. “They rarely are.”

Lydia nods, “keep going. Keep going.”

However the three of you only make it a few more steps before you come to a halting step at the sight of a Ghost Rider, directly in front of you. Instantly, you step in front of Lydia and Liam, pushing them behind you as you hold your arms up next to you. You swallow thickly in fear when the Ghost Rider raises it’s gun, pointing it directly at your head.

Yet, he never shoots. He cocks his gun before pulling it back.

“What’s happening?” Liam whispers, panicked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia calls, shaking her head.

“Just stay behind me,” you warn, glancing back at the two of them quickly, nodding at them. “Follow me.” You take a step forward then, slow, making sure to keep both Liam and Lydia tucked behind you as you try to keep as much distance from you and the Ghost Rider as possible.

It just watches you all, never doing anything. It feels like it’s eyes never leave your own.

Then, at the opposite end of the hallway, you stop.

“It’s afraid of you,” Liam breathes, “one of you... Both-Both of you.”

Turning to meet Lydia’s gaze, you swallow thickly.

You seem to share the same look. A passage of understanding. Even if both of you don’t truly understand.

-

Your eyes fall shut as the call reaches the dial tone once more. Your head falling to your hands as the automated computed messages speaks again. It’s driving you crazy.

It makes you feel like you’re going crazy.

But Scott won’t stop trying to call mom. He hasn’t stopped for a while now. And you couldn’t handle it anymore. Not anymore. You couldn’t handle any of this. You were done with it all. 

Your mom... your mom had been taken.

“Stop calling her!” You burst out, shocking everyone, including Scott as he moves to call Melissa one more time. Your eyes snap to his from the other end of the table, eyes sharp as everyone turns to look at you in surprise. You’re normally the calm one. The composed one. But right now, it felt as if you might explode, especially if you had to listen to your mother’s cell go to the dial tone one more time.

“She’s not going to answer,” you add, voice sharp and loud as you meet Scott in the eye directly, shaking your head. “She’s gone.”

And Scott just stares back at you, eyes watery, lips left parted, not sure what to say or do. He’s defeated. Just like you.

Malia steps forward then, steps slow and careful, eyes soft. “She’s gone,” she nods at you, taking a seat next to Scott, “but she’s still alive.”

Biting your lip, you force back the tears that threaten to fall, glancing down at your hands.

Liam hesitates a moment before speaking, and you know his gaze is on you. “What do we do now?”

“We hide from them,” Malia starts, shaking her head.

“What about Lydia?” Liam reminds, standing up. “The Ghost Rider was afraid of her.” You watch him walk past you, over to her, before he takes a seat next to you, meeting your eyes. “And you, Y/N. He was afraid of you too.”

You just shake your head.

“It wasn’t fear,” Lydia explains, taking a seat at the table as well. Directly in front of you. “It was... almost like reverence.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Scott says simply.��“The rift is gone. We’re the only ones left in Beacon Hills.”

There’s a knock on your door. Your eyes flicker up, watching as Stilinski slowly steps in, eyeing all of you carefully before moving to stand in front of you. He inhales sharply, and something about the look in his eyes, and the look he sends you specifically, catches your attention. Causes you to step up, focus completely on him.

“I have a son.”

Lips parting, you blink.

“His name is Mieczysław Stilinski. But we call him Stiles... I remember.”

Blinking, you swallow thickly, eyes lowering to your hands. 

“When Stiles was a kid, he couldn’t say his first name. Not sure why. It pretty much rolls off the tip of the tongue. But, uh... the closest he could get was ‘mischief’. His mother called him that until...” He pauses then, and you understand why.

“I remember when, uh... when Stiles first got his Jeep.” He gestures to you, meeting your eyes as you smile lightly, nodding. “It belonged to his mother. She wanted him to have it. The first time when he took a spin behind the wheel, he-he went straight into a ditch. I gave him his first roll of duct tape that day.” Letting out a light chuckle, you nod. “He was always getting into trouble. But he always had a good heart. Always.

“We’re here tonight because my goofball son decided to drag Scott, his greatest friend in the world, into the woods to see a dead body.”

You turn to look at Scott, noticing the tears in his eyes as he shakes his head at Stilinski. “How did you remember?”

He takes a step forward, “it started with Stiles’ jersey,” he glances over at you and you nod. “Then I found the red string for his crime board. Finally, his whole room came back and all the memories.” He pauses, solemn, and your brows furrow when he focuses in on you. “And Y/N?”

Sitting forward, you nod; “yeah?”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out. Your eyes narrow in confusion when he pulls out a box, flipping the lid open before pulling out a necklace. A small, simple silver chained necklace with a small Lily flower pendant. You blink as Stilinski offers it to you, taking it gently and slowly in your hands. You glance down at it, your eyes watering, before glancing back up at Stilinski in question.

“It was meant for you,” he explains softly, “I think Stiles was going to give it to you before...”

Lips parting, you glance back down at the necklace, sniffling lightly.

“After I found that,” Stilinski continues. “The strangest thing happened.”

“What?”

“I swear I saw him. It’s like... something opened, right there in the middle of the room. Just for a moment. And then it was gone.”

Turning to Scott, it’s clear you know what he’s thinking.

“A rift.”

Malia shakes her head; “I thought there was only one rift. We saw it disappear.”

“You remembered Stiles,” Scott explains, gesturing over to Noah. “And then a new rift was created.”

“If the Sheriff can do it--”

“Maybe we can,” you finish, nodding over at Lydia.

“But that rift closed,” Liam reminds, shaking his head.

“Then we’ll open it again.”

“How?”

Scott leans forward, hope flooding his gaze. “By remembering Stiles. We have to remember everything.”

-

Part 44?

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