#incoming frequency (asks)

[vettedfundraisergaza]

People only seem to pay attention to a campaign when something really terrible happens to someone involved, as if living through over a year of genocide isn't enough to open their eyes. When I ask people to donate and support Gaza, it's because they desperately need help. They have no jobs or income, no homes to protect them from the cold or rain. They live in unimaginable, harsh conditions and still try to survive through it all.

Please, don’t forget the people of Gaza. Help them in any way you can.

Here’s how you can help Islam:

Follow his blog to stay updated on his story during the genocide HERE.

Share his story to raise awareness and schedule his posts to reblog later.

Tag your friends to help spread the word.

Share his campaign with people you know.

Create an artwork about him to help amplify his voice.

Donate to support him and his cause HERE or HERE.

He only got less than $250 this tough month, while his mum was diagnosed with cancer and started her treatment.

@a-shade-of-blue @90-ghost @rainy-fog @northgazaupdates2 @genericusername37 @beefbologna @cipher-of-the-round-table @lonniemachin

@something-writing @goth-claudia @paandaan @nerdytextileartist @lgbtiqrefugeesblog @fearfylsymmetry @soopertiddies @inthecornerofyourbedroom @aurorae-return @depressedthembo @moronicprincess @the-mold-under-your-bed123 @nyenye @linz-creations @koschei-the-ginger @koscheiy @cyclopsboxhead @flowerkith @mbookcovers @sweet-honey-bunnies @dorawnfredread @mysticfandeer @anarchafemme @junipersramblings @palhelp @erectiledisfigurement @vague-humanoid @plomegranate @rainbowywitch @chronicsheepdeprivation @danielladadasworld @win-rrar @shizukateal @sweetsweethate @hexxling @heydreamchild @knavewoods @katherine-isabella @variouscontent @appsa @just-a-small-town-queer @beefbologna @crowlore @genericusername37 @seasonofprophecy @stuffandthangs @irregularbillcipher @torajira @alarming-frequency @an-elegant-void @an-alarming-number-of-bees @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfebfem @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations

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@northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa

[shiftx]

the reason you haven't shifted

harsh shifting information incoming—but maybe that’s exactly what some of you need to hear. (i’m sorry if this sounds blunt, but some people only listen when it’s said like this. love you guys, mwahh!!)

why have i not shifted? because you can only have what you already have.

most people hold limiting beliefs like: - “i was so close to shifting.” - “i didn’t wake up in my dr.” - “i fell asleep.” - “i can’t shift.” - “i want to shift.” - “shifting is hard.” - “shifting is impossible.” - “shifting isn’t real.” - “i can’t find the right method.”

i could go on, but honestly? that’s a waste of time, and quiet literally—i don’t care.

let’s take one of those beliefs: “i can’t shift.”

that belief alone is why you can’t shift. you are aligned with the frequency of “i can’t shift,” and your alignment determines your reality. think of it like this: the moment you first thought “i can’t shift,” you created an energetic frequency—an entity, almost—designed to keep that reality in place. i like to compare it to a death note shinigami that follows you around, feeding on that belief and making sure it stays true.

but here’s the thing: you created it, so you can detach from it. the frequency you’re aligned with shapes your reality, and to shift, you need to align yourself with the state of already having shifted.

so how do you change your frequency? simple: internally shift into the state where you are already in your dr. change your beliefs, thoughts, emotions, identity, and actions to match that frequency. it’s literally just accepting “i am in my desired reality” and persisting in that knowing.

when you think about your dr, remind yourself: i’m already there. when you imagine your dr, understand: i’m already there.

the imagination and reality are one. your internal world is reality.

once you fully shift internally to the state of knowing you are in your dr, you’ve already shifted. your external (which is just an illusion) will have no choice but to reflect your internal state—your dr.

so if you haven’t shifted, this is why. it’s an easy fix. you can change—if you actually decide to. otherwise, keep holding onto your limiting beliefs and see how far that gets you. doesn’t affect me.

if you need more help, my asks are always open. :)

love, shiftx !! <3

(so practically this entire post is just a rant about how you have shifted and you are already in your desired reality right now- title is clickbait 😝)

[s7toru]

you've waited for gojo plenty.

back when you were alive, you'd wait for him to walk through the door you held open. he'd take his sweet time crossing the threshold just to see your polite smile fade away into an irritated frown and for your arms to tremble, not under the weight of keeping the door open, but from the force of holding back a fist.

you'd wait for him the morning of a scheduled detention, after your argument had grown and grown until the noises of barely supressed loathing slipped into higher frequencies and yaga had spun around to throw his chalk at gojo.

you'd wait for him at the front of your favourite restaurant, checking your phone for any notifications with his face on it, and sourly noting the time.

you'd wait for him to win at the claw machine, and wait for him to hand you the prize with a beaming smile, the one he typically adorns when he's smug and bragging. "see," it seems to say. "i can get it first try, i always do."

you'd wait for him outside his dorm door before heading to a mission together, you'd wait for him to ask for a bite of your crepe before you dig in yourself, you'd wait for the vending machine to spit out a second drink knowing that when he sees you holding one, he'd ask for a sip.

it became a habit.

even when he no longer needed you to wait, you find your hand reaching for another bag of chips, another dangling figure from a keychain, another ticket to see your favourite show.

sometimes it drove you mad. all this time, you've naively assumed that nothing, not even change itself, could affect how gojo was around you. you've let all those moments go for granted, and now that time has pulled up to your stop, you realise he's left you behind whilst all you've done was wait.

you had waited for him on your deathbed, but even then gojo never showed up.

the scent of the train station persists under your nose. you wonder how the afterlife was capable of mimicking such a distinct scent, of train exhaust and someone's split drink. it was truly fascinating.

getou nudges you, drawing your attention to the incoming train. you see its blinking lights off into the distance, having just emerged from the heavy fog. "look, someone's getting off here."

curiosity has you sitting upwards, back straightening.

"who do you think it'll be?" haibara wonders aloud, standing up to greet the train.

nanami puts his arm out to catch the boy before he steps over the line. "careful, the train's coming in fast."

"we should still greet them though." you say. "remember how confusing it was when you died, nanami?"

"greeting is fine and all, just make sure you stand behind the line."

you go to walk up beside haibara, chattering happily away at his best guesses, when you remember the figure seated on your left.

"aren't you coming, nobara?"

nobara sighs, her hand creeping up to itch the skin under her eyepatch. "i just don't want to recognise whoever walks out."

"i know, me too. but don't you think they'd want to see you again?"

she clicks her tongue and begrudgingly stands to follow after you.

the train doesn't seem to slow even as it approaches the platform, and the speed breaks through the still air, blowing hot steam in your face. you press your eyes closed at the sensation and only open them again when you hear the engines trail off into a quieter hum.

the doors slide open and you hold your breath unconsciously. you think you might know who it is before they walk through.

gojo steps off. his eyes sweep the small crowd waiting for him, an lazy grin on his face showing a clear absence of confusion, of anything fearful or disorientated. you think any other expression might have looked uncanny on him.

your blood freezes at the sight of him and it bleeds painful when his eyes settle on yours. something brighter spreads his smile wide and his next breath spells your name.

“you waited for me.”

the next words out of your mouth are easy as he draws you into a deep embrace. into his shoulder, the train smell dissolves into a scent you know all too well, and you smile.

“i always do.”

a/n: i think i've gone through three denial phases where i still believe gojo is alive . hopefully this current phase will be the last, i say as i write about him dying

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (v)

FIVE - CHECKMATE

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence, smut, rough sex, minimal aftercare, oral (f receiving), p in v, overstimulation, HEAVY angst

You love Rhysand, with all your heart. He welcomed you into Velaris when you had nowhere to go. He gave you not only a home, but a family—and a loving one, at that. But if there’s one thing you can’t stand about the highest of High Lords, it’s his incessant, never-ending, mind-numbing nagging. If patience is a virtue, then he’s a vice.

Any news, my little liaison?

You can sense the question coming before his talons so much as tap on the cobblestone barriers of your mind.  

Not since the last five times you’ve asked.

You know it’s rude, but frankly, you don’t have the energy to hide the irritation laced so clearly in your tone. In your defense, Rhys has doubled the frequency of his daily check-ins, and between the lack of information you have to share and your feelings for Eris that you can no longer ignore, you’re seconds away from winnowing back to Velaris just to give the High Lord a piece of your mind.

Someone’s feisty today.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl with agitation.

Very. Now if you don’t mind, I have a book to get back to, you snap.

He swiftly replies, Need I remind you that daily check-ins are part of your employment, and that your income is contingent on you doing your job?

You are so going to punch him when you get back.

Don’t pull rank on me, asshole. I’ll get the job done.

The cobblestone barriers go back up and you stare down at the book in your lap with a sour taste in your mouth. Your reading session has effectively been spoiled. But as much as it pains you to admit, Rhys’s incessant nagging doesdrive you into gear. 

After several attempts snooping through the Forest House, you’ve concluded that whatever Eris is hiding isn’t there. So, that leaves one place: the cottage by the waterfall. 

You’ve been putting it off—ever since the night Eris took your virginity. If your emotions were conflicting before, they are at bloody war now. You no longer want any part in this scheme—not when you care for him so deeply, it hurts. But you know that if you return to Velaris now, empty-handed with a week left in your mission, you’ll have no ground to stand on when the accusations come rolling in.

With a long sigh, you set the book down and haul yourself from the comfort of your bed. You don’t want to go to that cottage. Searching it feels like an afront to Eris. However, if you don’t, then the nagging seed planted by the High Lord of the Night Court himself will continue clawing through your thoughts. So, you reluctantly pull on your boots and drape your cloak over your shoulders before winnowing away from that ransack cabin you’re quickly growing to love.

 The kaleidoscope of colors and crashing sounds of the waterfall are just as breathtaking as they were the first time you visited. But they don’t hold the same serenity—perhaps they sense your ulterior motive, somehow dimming their magic. As you make your way to the watermill, you don’t allow yourself to indulge in the natural beauty of this place, or the memories of what transpired the last time you were here. You have a job to do, and it requires searching every inch of that little cottage—if not to quiet Rhys’s nagging, then to satiate your own budding curiosity.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's much easier said than done—letting the mind’s rationality dominate the body’s desires. All those ancient philosophers were fools for thinking that the two entities could be separated, when they are so inherently intertwined.

You weren’t surprised that there was nothing to be found in that little cottage. With a heavy heart, you find yourself perched atop a boulder at the peak of the waterfall, just inches away from the ledge. It feels poetic—physically placing yourself on the brink of crashing down just as your inner sense of self teeters on the edge. 

This place, in all its magnificence, has changed you. Whether it’s for better or for worse, you’re unsure. But you know that you won’t leave Autumn as the same woman who came. Not when you’ve experienced so much. It’s not the sights you’ve seen, or the raw nature you’ve lived in. Rather, it’s the unification of your mind and body, fused together by an otherworldly force you’ve only read about. 

The thought of leaving, of losing that piece that’s been missing for 70 years, makes your chest ache. You don’t want to lose Eris—you can’t. But staying means continuing to live a lie until he finds out who you really are. Staying means losing him indefinitely. 

As you stare out at the falling water, you plead for some kind of clarity. Something to push you in the right direction. The red and golden trees which remind you so much of your mother billow softly in the wind, rustling in a hushed whisper. Your chest tightens with a different kind of pain. It’s now, more than ever before, that you need her here. You don’t even need to hear her voice, just the warmth of her embrace. So, you close your eyes and relax each muscle in your body, from your head to your toes. You focus on the whispers of the trees, the grumblings of the water, and allow light to take you. You can feel it extending from your fingertips, wrapping around your body just as she would. It’s warm—just like her. And as your eyes flutter open, her light flooding your vision, the answer comes to you.

You can’t leave Eris behind with the memory of a female who doesn’t exist. Nor can you stay here, waiting until he figures you out for himself or Rhys comes looking. If you come clean, Eris won’t be forgiving. But at least this way, with all your metaphorical cards laid out on the table, you’ll both have the peace of mind to move on, for better or for worse.

The light surrounding you rushes back into your fingertips and you take one last glance at the beautiful scenery before you, imprinting it in your memory, before winnowing away without a second thought. The dusty cabin greets you as it always does, and you move with purpose towards the pen Eris had once left you on your bedside table. You hastily tear a page from one of Nesta’s books, and scribble onto the back.

Can I see you tonight? 

You pause in thought, before adding,

My filthy little romance books are becoming a bit boring.

A satisfied smile curls onto your lips, and you neatly fold the page in half before setting it back down on the table. Despite the raging storm looming ahead, the little bit of light heartedness puts your poor nerves at ease. You find yourself unable to sit still as you pace around the cabin, your eyes never leaving the note. Goosebumps erupt along your arms when the piece of paper vanishes with a crack. You hold your breath as you wait for a reply—but it doesn’t come. You stare, unmoving, at the spot where the note once sat. You stare at that dusty table until the gold of the setting sun floods through the windows, until it eventually leaves, until you’re left with only the flickering flames behind you lighting the bleak space.

Frustration bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You’ve barely seen Eris since that fateful night in his room. Sure, you’ve had a few visits to the Forest House library since, but they’ve been brief—cut short by his work. Aside from a few passing kisses and fleeting embraces, you haven’t been with Eris in the same way in nearly a week now. As you watch the empty spot on the table, you’re forced to consider the possibility that he may not receive your message, let alone reply; and you have no Plan B if he doesn’t.

To keep yourself from spiraling, you reluctantly tear your eyes away from the table and resign yourself to the kitchen. You redirect your attention by busying yourself with preparing a small dinner. As you rifle through the sparce number of ingredients in your cabinet, you decide that cabbage and potatoes will have to do. You work leisurely preparing your food, all the while keeping an eye on the bedside table in your peripheral. 

Just as you turn the heat off on the stove, a pair of hands grip your waist. Fear courses through you as you whip around with a scream and a knife in your hand. Amber eyes wink back at you, unfazed by the weapon inches away. Your shoulders sag in relief, but you don’t lower the knife as your eyes narrow into slits. Eris plucks the sharp object from your hand.

“I thought you wanted to see me, Little Bird,” he muses, running a finger along the pointed edge.

Your glare deepens, “A little heads up would have been nice. I’ve been waiting hours for a reply.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he twirls the blade in his hand. Your lips part as he raises the knife to your face, tracing the dull edge down your cheekbone, along your jawline, before finally settling under your chin. He tilts it slightly, forcing your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. His jaw is clenched and the typically playful glint in his eye is replaced with something slightly more sinister, exuding a cruel beauty you’ve only caught glimpses of before.

“I know you’re drawn to shiny toys, Little Bird, but you should be careful playing with such sharp things,” he drawls, pressing the blade deeper against your skin, “Haven’t you heard that curiosity killed the cat?”

You gulp as a chill prickles your skin. Despite the impish smirk on his face, there’s something more than mere teasing to his words.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you quip.

A cinch forms between your brows as you try to decipher the hardness of his features. But just as suddenly as the mystery was there, it’s gone. He lowers the knife and sets it down, stepping away from you. He leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He quirks a brow and jerks his head towards the pot of food on the stove, “Well don’t stop on my accord.”

You reluctantly tear your eyes away from his and turn back towards the steaming pot of cabbage and potatoes. You work in a mechanical manner, acutely aware of his penetrating gaze burning holes in the side of your head. Tension is thick in the air. Something is off; your mind screams at you to ask him what’s wrong, but an even greater force keeps the words contained in your throat. He watches as you walk towards the cupboard, standing on your toes to reach the plates on the top shelf. You can hear him shift behind you as you grab two plates and walk back over to the stove. You scoop a modest serving onto one plate, and just as you’re about to scoop out another onto the second plate, his sharp words slice through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

You pause and cock your head towards him. 

“Serving you food,” you stumble, taken aback by the trepidation in his widened eyes, “I made more than I can eat. I know it’s not much, but I figured—”

He strides forward and wraps his hand around your wrist, forcing you to drop the small pot back onto the stove. You wince at the loud clatter of the metal and turn to face him fully. Your eyes are wide with incredulity, irritation blazing.

“What in the world has gotten into you? Have you lost any semblance of manners?” you hiss, yanking your wrist out of his grasp.

His jaw shifts as he grinds his teeth. Eris stalks closer to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. You weakly try to push him away, but his grip is firm.

“Did you forget your little note? I thought you wanted me here for a reason,” his demeanor shifts as he speaks in a low rumble, tracing the tip of his nose along your cheek. He rubs circles onto your waist and trails open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of your face, your neck, purposefully avoiding your lips.

“I do,” you gasp as he nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, “But we need to talk.”

He presses your further into the counter, “I’m not in the mood.”

You frown, “But—”

His lips crash against yours, effectively cutting you off. Your mind is spinning, yet you can’t help but melt into his touch. The kiss is fast and sloppy but addicting all the same. His tongue swipes along your lower lip, and your mouth parts without hesitation. His lips leave yours and he redirects his attention to your neck, giving you a moment to breathe, a moment for the fog in your head to clear.

“Eris, I—”

“Please,” he groans against your skin and raises his head. He presses his forehead against yours, “Please just let me have this.”

For a split second, his hardened exterior falters and you catch glimpse of a sliver of vulnerability—of pure desperation. The pleading look in his eyes tugs at something deep in your chest, urging you to nod once.

“Okay,” you whisper.

 His lips are back on yours quicker than your rapid heartbeat. This time, you hold nothing back, giving yourself to him entirely. You match his fervor, driven by that sorrowful whisper in the back of your mind that this will be the last time. And if tonight will be your last, then you selfishly wish to leave with this last memory of him. So as your lips slide against his, you memorize every part of him: the tickling sensation of his chapped lips, each ridge of his biceps, the silk of his crimson hair.

“You said you wanted me to let loose last time,” he mumbles into your mouth and yanks the zipper of your dress down, “So I’m letting loose.”

He shoves the material down your shoulders and walks you back towards the bed. You let him lead you and match his rhythm, never missing a beat. Your knees buckle as you hit the back of the bed, and you collapse onto it together in a heap. Eris doesn’t waste a second as he unclasps your bra, and you just as eagerly pull off his shirt. You whine when he abruptly pulls away, but your protests catch in your throat as he moves down your body to your breasts. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tangle your hands in his hair as he kisses, sucks, and nips every inch of your flesh. Your back arches as he swirls his tongue around your peaked nipple and flicks his thumb over the other.

You jolt as he strokes his other hand along the side of your breast where black ink is etched into your skin, hidden from his view by your glamour. Heat pools in your gut as his lips trail down your body, your heartbeat accelerating as he inches towards the trim of your panties. Amber eyes flick up to you. He hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his pupils blown wide with desire. 

“Talk to me, Little Bird. Use that sharp tongue of yours,” he rasps.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip to contain your whimper as he stretches the band before letting it snap back harshly against your skin.

“I want you between my thighs. I want your mouth on me, your hands all over my body.” He pulls the flimsy material down and you spread your legs, baring yourself to him entirely. Your voice trembles, but you continue, “I want my lips wrapped around your cock. I want you to fuck me into oblivion. I want it all.”

You gasp as he slides a finger through your slick before circling it around your clit.

“Greed is a sin, Little Bird,” he purrs.

Eris slides his other hand up your thigh, wasting no time as he thrusts a finger inside you. A muffled moan escapes your lips as he curls his finger, all the while continuing his ministrations on your clit.

Even with your mind scrambled you still manage to bite back, “Good thing I’m dealing with the devil himself.”

You’re unable to stifle your cry as Eris lurches forward. He dives right in, his lips wrapping around your clit. He continues curling his finger, hitting that delicious spot deep inside you, as his tongue moves skillfully over the swollen bud. He uses his free hand to spread your legs even wider, giving him complete access to the most intimate part of your body. You tangle one hand in his hair, the other grasping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. You arch your back as he alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue. He quickly picks up his speed, foregoing any teasing, and sinks a second finger into you.

You clench your thighs around his head as you feel the pressure rapidly building in your gut. You tug harshly on his hair in a wordless command to stop before you can finish, but he ignores you. Instead, he buries himself even further, shaking his head as he devours you.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

His teeth graze over your clit, and that’s all it takes for the coil inside you to snap. A pitiful moan escapes your lips as you reach your climax, the orgasm wracking your body so hard you can feel it in your bones. Eris continues flicking his tongue over you, his fingers still moving as he rides you through your release. Unlike last time, he doesn’t stop when your thighs start twitching violently, or when you yank on his hair. A pained cry bubbles in your throat as he keeps going. It’s too much—the overstimulation burns, and your vision starts to blur.

“Eris, please,” you pull again on his hair and he growls against you, “It’s too much.”

He keeps going, even as your thighs close tightly around his head. Black spots dance in your vision, and just when you think you’re about to slip from consciousness, he abruptly pulls off. A sigh of relief passes through your lips and your limbs fall limp. You glance down at him through hooded eyes, watching as he sucks his fingers into his mouth before moving up your body. His tongue flicks out to catch a tear trailing down your cheek.

“I thought you were sinning tonight, Little Bird. Have you a change of heart?” he taunts.

You jolt as his hand reaches down between you and rolls over your clit, swollen red. You grasp his biceps in protest, and he sucks and licks at your neck before pulling his hand away reluctantly.

“I wanted to finish with you inside of me,” you mutter bashfully, a flush crawling up your neck at how quickly he pulled an orgasm out of you.

“Don’t worry, darling. I plan on it,” he mouths at the corner of your lips and rolls his hips against yours, “We’re being greedy tonight, aren’t we?”

You arch your body into his, as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He grinds his hips against yours once more, and you can feel his painfully hard member against your thigh. You throw caution to the wind and wrap your arms around his neck, slotting your lips against his. He responds eagerly, groaning into your mouth as you palm him through the fabric of his pants. You fumble with the fastenings and Eris helps you push the material down in record time, his lips never leaving yours. You slip your tongue into his mouth and simultaneously shove against his shoulders. He flips onto his back, gripping your hips to pull you on top of him. You sink your teeth softly into his bottom lip before pulling away. Eris watches you intently as you gaze down at his throbbing cock sitting proudly against his stomach. He sucks in a breath as you wrap your hand around his member, rolling your thumb over the tip. 

Your eyes light up as an idea crosses your mind, and you lock your eyes with his. His jaw falls slack as you run your fingers through your folds before wrapping your hand around him once more. You use your own dripping arousal as lubricant to move along his length, setting a steady rhythm with the twisting of your wrist. 

“Fuck,” Eris groans, “You truly are sinful.”

You swoop down and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, but before you can take him completely into your mouth, he hooks his arms underneath yours and yanks you back up his body, as if you weigh nothing. He props himself up with his back against the headboard, forcing you to straddle his lap. You pout at his rough handling but can’t contain the moan that pours from your lips as he jerks his hips upwards, rubbing his cock between your folds.

“Playtime’s over, Little Bird,” Eris pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it harshly before releasing it, “I’d rather see you ride my cock like the sinner that you are.”

Something about the low grumble of his words, the way the syllables roll off his tongue, stirs something deep inside of you. You raise your hips up slightly, hovering back and forth over his dick in a teasing maneuver. You snake a hand up his shoulder and around his neck, sinking your nails into the skin of his nape. 

“Those who play with the devil’s toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword,” you whisper sensually against the corner of his mouth.

He grips your hips tightly, steadying you so your entrance hovers directly above the tip of his dick. His blunt nails scrape against your skin in warning, and he bites back, “Speak of the devil, and his horns appear.”

A strangled cry escapes your lips as he forcefully pulls you down, impaling you on his cock. Your head spins at the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness of being seated directly on him. Gone is the softness, the reverence of your first time with him, and in its place an unsatiable beast. He barely gives you a minute to adjust.

“Go on then,” he grunts, blunt nails still digging into your hips.

You force yourself to breathe through your nose as you steady yourself on his shoulders before rising up slowly, until just his tip remains. He pulls you back down again, impatient, and you moan in unison at the spine-tingling feeling. Your brows cinch together in concentration as you repeat the movement, slowly becoming accustomed to the new position. His hands guide you, and you fall into a steady rhythm bouncing on his cock. A spark of pleasure rolls through you each time you bottom out, your clit rubbing against his abdomen.

You throw your head back as Eris’s hands snake up your waist and caress your breasts which bounce with each rise and fall. You increase your speed, but your thighs are beginning to tremble. The sweat on your palms makes your hands slide from his shoulders as you fuck yourself on his cock, struggling to chase that high you both so desperately seek. Sensing your exertion, Eris wraps his hand around your neck in a stabilizing maneuver before bucking his hips upwards. You gasp at the sensation, your rhythm faltering. He does it again, and your hands slip from his shoulders completely. He hits you so deeply, you’re sure that there’s a bulge in your stomach.

A long string of moans passes through your lips as Eris continues bucking his hips wildly. You collapse into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks up into you so quickly your vision spots. 

“Can’t handle the heat, Little Bird?” he pants, “Didn’t think you’d be so quick to give up.”

You whine in protest but remain pliant in his arms as you let him use you. He alternates his pace, switching from long, deep thrusts to short, shallow ones that build up your high before stripping it away in a torturous manner. 

“Fox got your tongue?” he taunts.

You sink your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your cries as he continues his punishing pace. He suddenly stills, but before you can even raise your head from his shoulder, he flips you over so your back is against the mattress, hair splayed across your pillows. Eris pulls out completely, and your cunt clenches at the emptiness. He raises your legs, draping them over his shoulders and pulling you flush to his body. For a split second, everything stops, and all you can see, think, touch, and taste his him. The sweat beading on his brow, the rosy flush over his freckled cheeks, and the distant look in those amber eyes you so desperately want to wipe away. Just as suddenly, he plunges back into you with brutal force. 

A string of incoherent babbles falls from your lips as he drives into you, hitting your g-spot over and over again. You scramble for purchase as he straightens his back and pulls your thighs flush to his chest. A tear slips from the corner of your eye at the back-breaking angle.

“Come on, Little Bird,” he grunts as he drives into you, “Talk to me.”

He leans forward, caging you between his elbows as he folds your pliable body in half. The constant switching of angles is dizzying, and you splutter for words through cries of pleasure.

“I can’t,” you all but sob as you desperately claw at his back.

“Yes you can,” he pushes, “Tell me how much you love this.”

He snakes a hand between you and begins rubbing circles over your throbbing clit in perfect time with the force of his thrusts.

“I—I love it,” you gasp, writhing underneath him as the pleasure rapidly builds to a breaking point.

“I know you do,” he moans, his forehead dropping against yours, “No one else can make you feel this good, can they? No one else can absolutely ruin you.”

Your walls flutter around him as your high looms, just seconds away. You shake your head, tears rolling freely down your cheeks.

“Only you,” you cry, “Ruin me, Eris.”

The wave comes crashing over you so violently it feels like drowning. You have no control over the incoherent syllables stringing from your mouth, the convulsing of your thighs, as for the first time in your life, your body separates completely from your mind. Eris crashes his lips against yours as he quickly follows, spilling into you with a guttural groan that shakes you to your core. He continues thrusting into you in a languid manner, coaxing out both of your orgasms and filling you to the brim. You barely manage to move your lips against his, but he strokes his thumb over your cheek in a gentle, soothing manner—a contrast to the roughness with which he’s handled you tonight. You gradually sink into the kiss as you come down from your high and run your hand through his crimson hair, matching his soft touch.

You breathe each other in, relishing in the taste of him. As the ecstasy of your orgasm subsides, another bone-shattering force takes its place: the bitter reminder that these will be your last moments with the male who has so effortlessly turned your world upside down.

Your chest tightens as he detaches his lips from yours, not ready for it to end. His eyes lock onto yours in a fleeting moment of vulnerability before trailing down to the tears still streaming freely down your cheeks. He avoids your gaze as he wipes them away, one by one, with a tender touch. You raise a shaky hand and brush back his tousled hair in a silent plea for him to look at you, to reveal the storm stirring behind his eyes. Instead he pulls away completely, and eases his softening cock out from inside of you. You wince at the combination of physical overstimulation and emotional dejection.

Eris flops onto his back beside you, his chest still heaving. You tentatively peek at him through your peripheral, and find him staring up at the ceiling blankly. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, head spinning as you debate whether or not to break the heavy silence. You divert your gaze to the flaming fireplace in front of you.

“Eris?” you whisper meekly.

He merely grunts in response.

You wet your lips before continuing, “I have to tell you something.”

The sheets don’t so much as rustle; the only sound that fills the quaint little cabin is the crackling of embers. Still, you continue.

“I’m not who I say I am,” your voice trembles. 

Silence. Blistering, gut-wrenching silence.

You turn onto your side, and your heart drops at the sight before you. His eyes are fluttered shut, long lashes gracing the tops of his cheekbones. His swollen lips are parted slightly, and his chest moves steadily with each deep breath—dead asleep. You squint your eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream with frustration. This was not how the night was supposed to go. You were supposed to come clean, to end things in the best way possible given the complexity of your circumstances. But it seems the universe has something else in store for you.

You stare blankly at Eris as he sleeps, silently willing him to stir. Instead, his breathing only slows further, and soft snores start to sound from his lips. Anxiety creeps up your arms, threatening to swallow you whole. The thought alone of waiting a second longer to confess is all-consuming—but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. As you stare at the strong bridge of his nose, you try your best to reassure yourself. Just one more night, and it will all be over.

You crawl underneath the covers, the chilliness of the cabin prickling your skin, and resign yourself to sleep. But even with the warm comfort of the crackling hearth, sleep doesn’t come kindly—not with your racing mind. You try slowing your breaths to match the steady rise and fall of Eris’s chest. You even try counting imaginary sheep in your head, but each time you reach the brink of consciousness you’re abruptly ripped away, leaving it just beyond your reach. With a huff, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You shiver as your bare feet touch the dust-covered floor. Even with the blazing fire in the corner, the chilling autumn winds seem to sneak through the cracks in the walls of the ransack cabin.

You wrap your arms around your bare body and hastily pull on Eris’s tunic before padding towards the kitchenette. The food you’d prepared for the two of you sits on the counter, untouched. The cabbage and potatoes are cold and bland without the proper spices but do the job, temporarily relieving you from the onslaught of your thoughts and the hunger pains from missing your dinner.

 As you eat, you can’t help but study Eris’s sleeping form. Something was off with him tonight. More than just off—looking into his eyes made you feel like a stranger. After your revelation by the waterfall, continuing with your mission wasn’t even an option in your mind. But after tonight…something’s changed. Eris was so detached, so emotionally distant in a way he’s never been before. 

For the first time during your stay, you saw a sign, a confirmation that he is hiding secrets. Beron’s were hidden in plain sight, albeit contained by a magical ward. But Beron is a hubristic male. Eris, on the other hand, is more covert, more sly and cunning—he is, after all, the Fox himself. It wouldn’t make sense for his secrets to be hidden in the Forest House, where his father could get his hands on them, or anywhere Beron knows about, for that matter. But Eris is far too paranoid to leave them hidden out in the forest or the town, where anyone could stumble upon them. He would keep his secrets somewhere only he knows—somewhere he trusts. Or rather, with someone he trusts.

The fork clatters against the counter and your hand goes limp. A chilling realization dawns over you, your eyes widening and lips parting in disbelief. You are the only person in Autumn Eris trusts. Beron has no idea who you are, let alone where you live. You have no real ties to this court. 

They’re here. His secrets are hidden in this dusty, little, ransack cabin.

The initial shock fades and the loud clatter of metal finally registers. You squint at the male in your bed, watching carefully for any changes in his steady breathing. He must be a deep sleeper, you surmise, as the sound of his soft snores still fill the room. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand from the stool and glance around the small room. Your revelation is so profound, you have no idea where to start.

With trembling hands, you start searching the kitchenette—opening every drawer, inspecting the bottom of the sink, turning over each mug in your cabinet. You move slowly to temper the adrenaline surging through you, careful not to wake the male sleeping in your bed. As you redirect your search to the bathroom, you don’t leave a single spot unturned. And with each possible hiding spot that comes up empty, your hope diminishes a little bit.

Frustration bubbles as you crouch down underneath the bed, only to be met with an empty, dirty floor. Whatever he’s hiding has to be here—there’s no alternative. But after checking every piece of peeling wallpaper, every pocket of your skirts and cloaks, there’s nothing to be found. You plop down in front of the fireplace with a long sigh. You’re technically a genius. Your IQ score is off the charts. But the Fox has you completely and utterly stumped. How hard is it to find a damned hiding spot? You glance up at the red bricks of the fireplace, asking the Mother for some sort of sign. Just a small indication that you’re on the right track, a little—

That brick wasn’t always jutting out.

Your lips part as you study the piece of brick poking out ever so slightly from the rest of the wall. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hands, but it’s still there. Bingo.

You rise on shaky legs, peering behind you to make sure Eris is still asleep. The brick is high, but just within your reach when you stand on your tip toes. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grip the edges and pull. It slides out of the wall like it was never meant to be there. Your stomach lurches as you nearly drop the brick, not having prepared yourself for the weight of it. You set it down quietly on the mantle and look up at the hole in the wall. The sight of parchment peeking out wages a war of conflicting emotions inside of you.

On one hand, you’re elated that after three weeks in this court, just when you were about to give up, you’ve finally found something. But on the other, a part of you was hoping you would find nothing at all. The same part that has grown to care deeply for the male sleeping soundly behind you. The same part that dreads having to leave this place, even in all its cruelty.

You take one last look at the crimson-haired male behind you. He hasn’t moved an inch—in fact, he seems to have sunk deeper into the mattress. With a steadying breath, you rise on your tip toes again and pull out the stack of papers. Your hands are trembling so violently, you can hardly read the letters in front of you.

The first piece of parchment contains notes tracking Koshei’s possible whereabouts, his movements throughout the courts. You read through the scribbled handwriting several times, hoping to imprint it in your memory. Eris doesn’t seem to know more than Azriel has been able to surmise with his shadows, but you store it in your mind, just in case. The next is a series of correspondences with an herbalist in the Dawn Court discussing a variety of deadly poisons. Eris seems to be interested in purchasing an odorless one, undetectable even by his highly trained smokehounds. You presume this to be part of his plot to assassinate Beron, but still make note of the names of the herbs and ingredients to report back to Rhys. 

The third, and final, item in the stack is a neatly folded piece of parchment. You set the other papers down and slowly unfold it, careful not to make any noise. Your heart catches in your throat as you smooth it out and turn it around. There’s one word, written with a sharp precision that contrasts the messy scribbles in his other notes. 

Checkmate.

A stitch forms between your brows as you read the single word over and over again. Checkmate? Your tight grip on the paper loosens, blood rushing from your face. You whip around, and bile rises to your throat at the sight of an empty bed. 

Your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you make a run towards the door, but not quickly enough. You cry out as a force throws you against the wall, your head smacking hard against brick. Your legs give out and you crumple to the ground, but strong arms haul you from the floor and pin you against the wall. 

“Stupid little girl, you really thought you could outwit me?”

You squint through blurred vision, and the deadly look in Eris’s cold eyes makes you wish it had been a killing blow. Scorching flames wrap around your wrists, pinning them to the wall. A wave of nausea rolls through you at the unmistakable scent of your burning skin, but you grit your teeth to keep from crying for mercy.

“Answer me,” he seethes, flames crawling up your arms.

“You figured me out,” you hiss at the unrelenting pain, “What do you want me to say?”

Your eyes shoot wide open as he wraps his hand around your throat.

“I want you to look me in the eye, and repent,” he spits, “And maybe I’ll spare you.”

“I have nothing to repent,” you speak sharply, even with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, “I meant everything I did. Everything I said.”

You gasp as he squeezes your windpipe, forcing a rush of blood to your ashen face, “You think me a fool?” he bellows, “You think I believe a word that comes out of that filthy mouth? You’re out of your depth, Little Bird.”

The nickname that once made you swoon suddenly holds a new meaning. You splutter as his grip tightens, black spots dancing in your vision. You barely register the fire wrapped around your wrists anymore as you feel yourself slowly slipping from consciousness. But before you go, you focus on his eyes once more.

The amber you so love is gone, and as you look into their void, you picture the sweetness of the honey that was once there. If this is your end, you wish to leave with that memory. You shut your eyes tight, and the fire around your wrist transforms into his gentle grip, holding your hands above your head as he makes love to you slowly. The pressure on your throat isn’t his crushing hold, but the words you always wanted to say and never had the chance to. 

You’re fading quickly, but before you go you open your eyes once more. And just when you feel the tips of your fingers going numb, you feel an unmistakable tug, deep inside your chest—a single, shining thread of gold tying him to you. 

“Mate,” you gasp through blue lips.

Suddenly, you can breathe again. The pressure on your throat ceases, the flaming binds on your wrists vanish, and you crumple to the ground in a heap. You cough and heave violently, but nothing comes out. You don’t dare look up from the dust-covered floor beneath you, and you tremble when you see Eris’s knees bend in your peripheral as he crouches down. He hooks a cold finger underneath your chin, yanking your head up to his.

Gone is the fiery anger in his eyes, and in its place, nothing at all. They’re empty—hauntingly so. His voice is level, void of emotion as he speaks.

“It’s time to run back to your master like a good little bitch. If you ever step foot into this court again, I’ll arrange for a long-awaited family reunion with your loving father.”

The shining thread of gold quivers as your heart splits in two. 

You barely register the second-degree burns on your wrists as you twist the silver ring off your thumb and blindly slide it onto his middle finger.

“Beron knows you’re up to something,” your voice is so scratchy it’s barely recognizable, “He keeps logs of your whereabouts in the second drawer of his desk.”

His hand drops from underneath your chin, and with one last look into those empty eyes, you use the little strength you have left to winnow away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You land in the House of Wind just as you left the little, ransack cabin—in a pathetic heap of sorrow. The golden thread pulls taut in protest, and you yank at the neckline of Eris’s shirt—as if doing so will snap that damned string apart. Uneven breaths leave your lips as you rip the fabric down the middle so you can claw at your bare chest. You need to get it out, need to the break the thread, need to not feel him.

Tears finally spring to your eyes, and sobs wrack your body as you pull, kick, scratch, anything to get rid of it. You barely register the panicked voices around you, the darkness enveloping you as Azriel wraps his wings around you to shield your nude form. You can only see clouded tears. You can only hear your pounding heart. And you can only feel that stupid fucking thread.

 Hands wrap around your arms, pulling them from your chest. You kick your legs, trying desperately to free yourself from the vice-like grip. 

“Get Madja. Now,” Rhys’s stern voice sounds like its miles away.

You yank your arms free and keep scratching at your bloodied chest, but just as quickly as the grip was gone, it’s back again.

“I need it out. Get it out. Please. Cut it, break it, burn it, I don’t care. I can’t feel him,” you don’t recognize your hoarse voice as you blubber through sobs.

 Another pair of arms wrap around your ankles, halting your thrashing legs. More hands join, holding the ripped tunic closed over your chest. When another pair of hands holds your head steady, you think you might implode.

Get off, stop touching me, leave me alone, you scream, but nothing comes out. Are you drowning? You can feel the water rushing, flooding your lungs as you desperately try to swim to surface. This must be Death, coming to save you from your miserable existence.

Suddenly, a flash of blinding light fills the air, and you can breathe again. The tears stop, and with your vision clear, you look around the room to assess the damage left in the wake of your storm.

Azriel, Rhys, Feyre, and Madja stand wide-eyed on the opposite end of the room, your outburst having sent them flying backwards. You stare back, eyes cloudy in an almost dream-like state. It feels like floating—your post-breakdown haze. You don’t feel the bond tugging in your chest. You don’t feel anything at all, really.

“Y/N,” Feyre’s tone is soft, like coaxing a child, “You’re hurt. Madja needs to take a look at your wounds.”

You shake your head and croak, “I’m fine.”

“Your hands are burned to crisps and there’s blood all over your head,” Rhys deadpans, earning an elbow in the ribs from his mate.

You raise a hand to the back of your head and feel something wet and sticky. You pull it back to see scarlet red coating your fingertips. A humorless laugh passes through your lips at the sight. You felt the burning on your wrists, the crushing of your throat. But the cracking of your head seemed to go undetected—you suppose you really do have a hard head, as Cassian always says. Your lips stretch into a wide, sinister grin, and your humorless chuckle transforms into a manic laugh. You must look like a madman, driven to the brink of sanity. 

Your laughter halts abruptly and the grin falls from your face as Azriel takes a step forward. You simply stare at him, no emotion in your big, doe eyes. He takes another step forward, and when you make no move to stop him, he continues approaching you like one would a wild, rabid animal.

You don’t protest this time as he crouches down in front of you and unfurls his wings, concealing your body once again. His hazel eyes search yours desperately for some sort of feeling—but there’s nothing there.

“Can I take you somewhere more private for Madja to take a look at you?” he whispers.

The pity in his eyes leaves a sour taste in your mouth. But you don’t protest—nor do you respond. He takes your silence as permission and moves slowly again as he wraps an arm underneath your knees and behind your back. You simply stare up at the ceiling as he rises to his full height with you limp in his arms. Azriel’s shadows dance frantically around him, his wings still curled around your exposed form, as he walks you towards the door of the living room.

You can hear Feyre and Rhys mumbling amongst themselves, but choose to block them out. You can see Azriel’s shadows swirling in your peripheral, checking on your wounds before reporting back to their master. But you don’t so much as blink an eye. You continue staring blankly at the ceiling, even when he sets you down. You let him remove the tattered tunic and wrap a silk night robe over your nude frame. You don’t so much as twitch when he places a soft kiss to your head before leaving you to Madja. 

Madja works quickly, but thoroughly, sensing your itching desire to leave. She asks many questions, to which you either shake your head, nod, or shrug your shoulders. The healer explains what kind of care each of your wounds will require—you think you remember her saying something about a concussion. You all but run out of the room the moment she finishes with you, but regret your decision instantly when you swing the door open.

Big, brown eyes stare back at you. 

You can’t look at her right now. If you look at her, let alone speak to her, then you might feel again. And you can’t risk feeling.

So, you don’t stop. You brush past Mor, the hurt in her identical eyes not registering in your mind. She reaches out to wrap a hand around your wrist but pauses at the layers of bandages covering them. The sound of her protests is muffled by the grain of your haze as you continue down the hallway. You can feel them all staring, but you look at no one, and they leave you be. 

Your room is exactly how you left it: crumpled sheets, books strewn about, and a crackling hearth. But you’re not the same person you were three weeks ago. And you can’t look into that damn fire without losing it all over again.

You sit on the edge of your bed, as far away as possible from the fireplace. Even on the opposite side of the room, you can hear the popping embers, feel the warming rays. You shut your eyes tight, bounce your leg, anything to distract. But it’s still there, taunting. You can’t stay here, in this room. You can’t stay in this house, for that matter—not when everything is a bitter reminder of who you used to be, of what you’ve lost. 

Stone-faced, you rise from the unmade bed and grab a bag from the depths of your closet. You mindlessly throw in a mess of clothes, the rainy-day cash you’ve saved up, and a couple of necessities. You grab a piece of parchment from your desk and scribble a note.

Need to leave for a while. I’ll be back—not sure when. Don’t worry about me.

Simple, but effective. You don’t even recognize your own handwriting as you set the pen down beside the note. The crackling embers of the fire seem to be growing louder by the second, so you hastily grab your bag.

You shut your eyes tightly and will the world around you to twist and fold. You don’t have any particular destination in mind. You’re not sure where you’ll end up—hopefully somewhere far away from here. And as the air contracts around you, you don’t dare look back at the place that once felt like home.

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[earthsparked]

Four hummingbirds, who also had never met

Chapter 1/2 | Chapter 2/2 (You are here) | (Story on A03)

You guys asked, so here's the continuation and finale! <3

-

It was an ambush, and he should have seen it coming from a mile away. A stray signal appearing at the edge of his radar while out on patrol, in an area that Decepticon activity had been reported a few days prior. But nothing concrete to give a clue at what was going on. Bluestreak had only meant to snoop around at a safe distance with his enhanced vision, then call back to the Ark for an update on his orders. Instead, the second he had passed the perimeter of the old, abandoned fuel depot, he was set on by three Vehicons.

He was a gunner, not a brawler, but he managed to damage one of the ‘cons with quick thinking, and caused a second to spin out and crash in the pursuit. He lost the third by pushing his speed into redline territory. He’d called for backup immediately, though there was a concern Soundwave had managed to tap their frequency that morning. Prowl scrambled the Aerialbots.

All that, while Bluestreak hauled aft out of the more heavily-occupied areas. Mindful the whole time that humans seeing what was happening would not only be bad for the mechs’ continued secrecy on this planet, but also dangerous for the tiny organics who called it home. There were a few close calls early on in the chase, but he’d become familiar enough with the surprisingly good human-made road system that he was able to lead the ‘cons out into the middle of nowhere.

His reaction when he spotted your vehicle coming towards him on an otherwise empty road was an ear-splitting crackle of Cybertronian expletives that most ‘bots probably didn’t even think he knew, much less used. He’d left the remaining Vehicon behind, but he had a bad feeling in his gears that he wasn’t out of the rust-pit yet. When his warning systems stopped fussing at him about pushing himself too fast and started screaming about an incoming missile lock from above, his spark sank into his tires.

No no no no! he moaned, snapping into the comms channel again with a direct line to command. Prowl, priority update! Starscream’s on my aft and there’s a human in the area! Repeat, civilian in danger! I’ll try and draw him off but this is really really really bad! Somebody’s gonna get hurt!

Blue wasn’t a strategist, but he tried his best to figure out a solution. His processors ran through a million calculations. He could pull over, transform and try to get a shot off, but that would both blow his cover and could make Screamer crash right into your oncoming vehicle, which was about as sturdy as a first-frame sparkling compared to himself. He could try and block you from going any further, maybe shield you physically – cover be damned – but that would give the ‘con a two-for-one deal with one shot. Higher chance of you getting killed, or at least seriously injured, and he’d almost certainly get slagged.

Or he could put everything he had into running and hope he could get enough distance between you that you’d be out of the attack range when it came, and that Starscream would choose to target him instead of your dinky organic vehicle.

He could run, but he couldn’t hope to outrun a seeker. Option three had the highest chance of you surviving, and the lowest chance of him getting out of this alive. As he got closer, his audials picked up the sound of human music, and your sweet little voice singing loudly and imperfectly along with it. Any other time he’d have turned around and cruised behind you, posing as a human vehicle so he could listen to you. Feel that mysterious, tiny, but vibrant EM field that he’d so far only been able to sense from a distance. He’d wanted so badly to meet one of your kind…

Whatever the others thought of him, he was an Autobot to his core elements.

Right. Getting slagged it is. He put every bit of energy his frame could muster into speed. He caught only a startled flicker from you as he passed your vehicle, and then heard the screech of your tires as you saw Starscream. No no no no you need to keep driving and get far, far, far away!

He couldn't talk to you, but that didn't mean he couldn't talk. Talking was what he was best at. He threw open a comm line.

Hey, Screamer! Think you can catch me? You’re too slow to catch a virus! You call that peashooter of yours a missile array? I’ve seen minicons with bigger bombs! he taunted, while at the same time, shooting one final SOS to the Ark. Better send a medic. Several.

You impudent little nothing! Starscream screeched back at him. You’re not worth the energon in your fuel tank! How dare you! I’ll turn you into scrap!

They were past you. Not far enough, but past you. But the jet was so, so much faster than he could ever hope to be, and there was nowhere to take cover. The trees along the road and open fields offered no respite. Oh, this was going to hurt.

In the last second before his missile lock system threw a glitch from being too close for it to properly calculate the ballistics, Bluestreak ground his gears and lost some tread off his tires, and pulled off a wild mid-air transformation that he hoped would’ve impressed even Sideswipe. He grabbed the ground with one hand, ripping some of the rubber off his servo, slowing him just enough that he can go for his gun with the other. Maybe get a riposte off –

He's not fast enough. The world explodes, and all he knows is pain.

It’s not his first time getting slagged, but eating a missile straight from a seeker at close range is definitely not an experience he’d like to repeat. If he even lives to get the chance.

Half his systems are knocked out. A quarter of the rest are so damaged they’re not making sense. The remainder are all throwing red, red, red until he finally shuts them off like a drunk trying to slam down their phone alarm.

This is bad. Bad, bad bad bad.

Time goes weird, as more and more of his senses blink out as the mechanics involved in them smoke and go black. He hopes the Aerialbots hurry. He hopes the medics hurry. He hopes –

There’s a tiny brush against his shattered EM field, which is screaming all the pain his busted vocalizer can’t. It’s fear and caution, horror, shock and dread. It takes his increasingly sluggish processor way too long to realize that it’s the human. He can hear you speak, though your voice fades in and out of his audials as things involved in his hearing, spark and sizzle.

Stay back, he tries to say, but can’t get his vocalizer to work. He’s leaking energon and other fluids, there’s so much sharp jagged armor in pieces everywhere, he is overheating from lack of coolant and his fans are down and humans’ skin is so so so fragile. He pushes his worry and concern at you, trying to get you to back away, but you can’t seem to feel it. It really is true – humans have EM fields, but they can’t pick up on his?

He forces something barely, barely intelligible through his vocalizer. Yes, he can hear you. It fritzes out before he can warn you away. To his disappointment and yet, secret joy, you come closer. Your sweet voice shouldn’t be laced with such panic. You’re asking him to move, he grasps. To show you that he’s alive. You sound so confused and upset, it sends a pang through his already overwhelmed spark.

Don’t be afraid, he tries to say, only a few of the syllables screeching out before his vocalizer entirely shorts out, and he can’t communicate any more. Or so he thought. Because all the words he might’ve said are washed away when you go still and sudden realization, surprise, joy, fear, grief blast from you like a detonation. His optics are going, but he catches a glimpse of you. You’re so tiny, and you’re so upset. He wishes he could grab you and take you away from this. That you could both go far, far away to where there isn’t a war, and you wouldn’t be leaking that red liquid from the broken glass that’s cut you.

You’re alive. He has to content himself with that, as his emergency systems begin the countdown to stasis lock. He gets a ping from Ratchet that the medics are on the way, but he ignores it, because you’ve come even closer, and you’re alive. You’re so damn cute. Even with something that must be human sparkache radiating from you…

He reaches out with the last of his strength, wanting to touch you. Just once. If once is all he gets, it’ll be enough. And by some miracle of Primus, you reach back. He would smile if he could. Instead, the soft touch of your little servo on his is the only thing that doesn’t hurt. And then nothing hurts, because it’s all gone black and silent. Stasis lock. It was a mercy, at least, that he didn’t have to see you fold over him and weep like you were the one broken.

-

There’s no sense of time in stasis lock. Coming out of it is always confusing, an unbroken moment of being in pain and danger to being in a medbay, surrounded by medics and friends.  Instinctual programming brings weapons systems back online before nearly anything else, with the result that waking mechs often end up causing more patients, themselves, by behaving as if they were still under attack. That’s why the medics always used override codes to lock those systems down.

Bluestreak was familiar with all of that. So it wasn’t a surprise when his very next experience was that of waking up with every single one of his alarms going off in a cacophony of internal and external chaos.

What was a surprise was, the first thing he saw was you. You were there! You were in danger.

No!

He didn’t have to think about it, only act. One second you were smiling at him with wide, worried, wet little optics, oblivious to the threat; and the next you were safe in his servos, clutched to his chest over his spark where the armor was thickest. His systems fought against the medical overrides, and when they tried to push him back into stasis, he burned out several fresh repairs to override the overrides. He rolled over and came up in a defensive crouch, painfully aware of your sudden spike of fear like a blade to his spark. Unacceptable. You had to be protected, you had to be safe. He burned out several more of the fresh repairs transforming his arm plasma cannon, which whined as the capacitors charged. There was a lot of shouting and emergency codes being thrown at him, which he ignored.

Clank.

Bluestreak blasted the thing that had hit his helm the second it touched the ground. Your little voice shrieked, but he’d pressed you so close that you hadn’t even felt the heat from it.

Then his auditory processors finally kicked back in properly, and the yelling turned into words.

Primus frag it, Bluestreak, that was my favorite spanner! Ratchet bellowed. Blue reset his optics. Ratchet had another spanner in his servos, which were now on his hips, as if he’d thought better about launching another attack. There was a melted puddle of slag at Blue’s pedes where he’d destroyed both the thrown spanner, and part of the Ark’s deck plating. Teletraan wouldn’t be happy about the friendly fire.

But none of that mattered, because tiny human servos clutched at him, shivering in his grasp. A swift-beating human spark thready but strong against his chest. Shallow, quick breaths as you vented in fright. You were alive. He’d protected you. You were okay.

Then the thought hit that you were scared. Of him.

All his weapons systems dropped offline so fast that it made him dizzy, and Blue more or less fell to his knees. Blowing out even more of the fresh welds. He transformed his hand back in a rush to more securely cup you in front of him, so he could look at you.

I’m sorry! he blurted, finding his vocalizer scratchy but working again. I’m sorry, little one, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! Please don’t be afraid of me! I’d never ever ever hurt you. Are you okay? Are you injured? You were leaking, you looked so sad!

You were still shaking, beyond words (or worse, too hurt to speak). He looked up to quickly take in the rest of the scene. Ratchet was looking on like a looming stormcloud on Jupiter. The other mech in the room, First Aid, was frozen and watching with his EM field the kind intentionally dampened that meant Blue had scared him, too. Was still scaring him. Oh.

Take them, ‘Aid, he urges, gently lifting you up and out. Make sure they’re okay! They’re shaking and their spark is going so fast, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - !

With Blue back to his senses, First Aid moves smoothly and quickly to reach out for you. But you surprise them all. You burst into tears and cling on to Bluestreak’s hands as if they’re a lifeline. Wrapping yourself up in his touch like the polishing cloth draped around your shoulders. And everything in the room, all three mechs, go still. All focused on you.

-

First Aid had drawn a container of hot water so you could wash all the weird fluids off with a bar of soap from the 32-pack that the “scouts,” whoever they were, had gotten for you. Then with you wrapped in a giant beach towel with brightly colored cartoon fish on them, the medic had carefully given you a look-over with his sensors and scans, and some more gentle poking and prodding. Just to make sure you hadn’t burst anything inside, or broken any ribs or fractured anything else. Like, for instance, your skull.

When you’d finally admitted to having a horrendous headache, and dizziness that the hot bath had seemed to make worse, and a touch of nausea – the medic had visibly had to keep himself from freaking out. More to avoid alarming you than anything, you’re pretty sure.

With a bit of joint research and consultation, and some painless, quick scans that he said could detect changes in temperature and pressure and fluid movement inside your brain, eventually he came to the conclusion you had a bad case of whiplash. But he was going to be re-scanning you every thirty minutes for the next twenty-four hours, to check for any changes to make sure nothing worse was going to happen. If it did, he admitted with a resigned ex-vent, he’d have to hand your care over to a human doctor. That was a worst-case scenario to you, considering you didn’t want to leave. Not while Bluestreak was still in emergency stasis – something like a coma, you’d come to understand with a true sense of the gravity of his condition.

Then began the uncomfortable process of patching up your wounds. You’d had to do some of the doctoring yourself. Even First Aid’s finely-tuned servos weren’t quite able to handle tweezing out tiny shards of glass from your thin skin. There was something he could use to just dissolve the shards, he said, but hesitated to use it when he didn’t know how your body would react. Ratchet – busy tending Bluestreak’s far more critical condition – did have the extra mods to be able to do that sort of delicate surgery, but First Aid didn’t just yet. Something about a lack of resources because of the war, he said, seeming regretful. You patted his hand in sympathy, returning at least a little of the kindness he’d shown you.

You let him help where he could. You allowed him to apply a coating of antibacterial cream to the places you couldn’t reach. A little too enthusiastically, but you tolerated it. You’d realized pretty quickly ‘Aid was the type of person who needed to be needed. Not being perfectly versed in human medicine was driving him up the wall from his desire to help being thwarted.

You didn’t think it was a coincidence that he was studying you the whole while, taking readings (with your enthusiastic permission) and asking questions with the kind of medically detached professionalism that was familiar from any of your past trips to the doctor. You had a feeling he’d be rectifying his lack of knowledge from now on, and decided you’d worry later about probably being turned into a very well-treated guinea pig.

He had topped off the antibacterial cream with a mummifying level of bandages, despite you feeling pretty sure you could get by just fine with band-aids. A few of the deeper cuts on your arms probably needed stitches, but you decided not to mention that, and made do with butterfly bandages. A few scars didn’t seem that important compared to what Bluestreak had suffered.

Finally, after you’d gotten dressed in some very wrong-sized but clean clothes, First Aid had fastened a cervical collar around your neck. Insisting on it, despite your groans that it was uncomfortable. You really weren't sure whether it was necessary, but you were hardly more versed in medicine than he was. And that was when you began to believe 'Aid really was Ratchet’s trainee, because the mech could put his foot down like nobody’s business when necessary. You still couldn’t help scratching at it, feeling rather sorry for all the pets you’d ever forced into a cone of shame, when he shot you a Look every time your hand inched upwards.

A couple of pain pills and one dose of steroids that First Aid very carefully measured out, and every bit of you was just done. No more. You passed out right in his hands. And that was your first day with the Autobots.

The next day sucked. You’d been so sore and stiff you could hardly move, let alone walk. ‘Aid helped you soak in some hot water with Epsom salts, and then had to help you open the packages of food that had mysteriously appeared in a pile. (Bee and Cliff are having fun, he assures you as you tiredly thank him and whoever is running errands for you.) Then you collapse again, but wake up soaked in sweat and screaming with a nightmare. First Aid almost broke the door getting to you. The rest of the night was spent wrapped in a burrito of blankets, drifting in and out against his armor while he read a datapad on human psychology.

The day after that was more of the same, and the one after that, but finally on the fourth day since the Incident you felt sturdy enough on your feet to be up for a little walk around the rest of the medbay. Which was good, because you’d been demanding to see Bluestreak and kept being put off.

He’s still in stasis to give the major repairs time to stabilize, but he’s out of the worst of the danger, First Aid promised you. Until finally he was satisfied with your own recovery enough to give you a hand up to let you perch on the table they called a berth, where you finally got your first good look at Bluestreak.

He wasn’t actually blue, you’d commented, and Ratchet, busy with some task or other at a giant computer, had snorted in such a human way that it had just about given you a second case of whiplash. Not why he’s called that.

You sat with him, admiring what he looked like when he wasn’t that awful, struggling, smoking pile of wreckage. You could see just how much work had gone into fixing him, and had a basis for comparison now of how horribly he’d been hurt. When you wobbled over to his head – helm was the word they used – and curled up beside him, one hand tentatively touching his face, Ratchet had opened his mouth to growl something at you, then thought better of it and turned away to do whatever it was he was doing.

You felt like you weren’t quite real, like all of this was happening to someone else, or that you were seeing it through a screen. Over the next few days, your little circle of unreality expanded. You met Optimus Prime. He’d made one hell of an impression that your dizzy mind was still trying to grasp. He was huge, and deeply kind, and had treated you with a respect that for some reason was nearly shocking. He’d asked after Bluestreak’s status, then your wellbeing, and then gently explained it was too dangerous for them to let you go home just yet. Some of their team had gone out to look for your car and bring it back to base, and found it a smoking, burned-out ruin even less intact than Bluestreak had been. Either Starscream, or some other ‘con had found it and destroyed it. That they’d even bothered meant nothing at all good for you.

He'd left you to numbly process that after asking if you needed anything. You’d asked his help to take care of a few basics – letting your family in another state know you’re fine, you’d just lost your phone, mostly. And letting your job and your part-time delivery gig know you’d been in a bad car wreck and were on sick leave, regardless if it meant getting fired. Because you were not going anywhere, ‘cons or no ‘cons, until you got to finally meet your metal person properly.

You spent so many hours by Bluestreak’s side, despite Ratchet’s huffs about organic contamination, that it started getting a little bit boring. When you started peppering Ratchet with questions, at first he sourly brushed you off.

Why do you want to know? he’d glowered suspiciously.

Because he’s hurt. And I want to know how you helped him. Please?

No. He turned away, making something clatter.

First Aid had eyed him for a time, and then you were pretty sure they’d had an argument over the internal communications system you knew, now, that they all had. It made you feel weird, knowing they were talking in a way you couldn’t understand. The same way it felt strange, knowing that they had an entirely layer of communication wrapped up in some weird energy field that you also had, explaining why it seemed like they could almost read your mind sometimes.

After a few minutes Ratchet had eventually thrown his hands up in a too-human expression of frustration, and gone storming out. But hours later, he came stomping over with a handful of components and devices you’re pretty sure had never been touched by human hands. You sat up, leaning against Blue’s shoulder as he deposited them in front of you.

This is part of a hydraulic system. Bluestreak’s frame has seventeen of them. Most of them non-critical, but necessary. Sixteen of them had to be replaced. I put in emergency fixes to give me time to machine the parts to rebuild the others. I have completed fifteen of the sixteen replacements.

You hopefully hold your breath as he glowers at you. If you can follow directions, not injure yourself more than you already are, and use that crumpled wad of tissue of a processor of yours to a reasonable degree…you can help me with this last one.  

You nearly trip and lose your balance as you stand up too fast, rushing over to wrap yourself around his wrist in a thankful hug. Ratchet! Thank you! So, so much. I’d love to help!

He grumbles something about organic skin oils gumming up his servos but he doesn’t pull away until you do, with a gentle pat to his arm plating. You beam up at him, the first time you’ve really smiled in days, and he’s the first to look away, blue optics turning down as if he’s embarrassed.

My medbay, my rules. Got that, human?

You’ve told him your name, and he hasn’t yet used it, but whatever. You nod enthusiastically, as best you can through the collar of shame, and he narrows his optics as you wince at a twinge of pain. You stop nodding and just tell him yes.

Over the next few days, you learned more than you think you ever did in college. Once the hydraulic replacement was done and neither you nor Bluestreak were on fire or dead, Ratchet seemed to internally upgrade you from “helpless invalid, not to be trusted with own life” to “helpless invalid, not to be trusted with own life, but good with a pair of pliers.”

It turned out that he was a fantastic teacher. Surprisingly patient for a guy who literally threw wrenches at injured mechs. Didn’t blame you for making mistakes and never put you in a position where a mistake could hurt you or someone else. And once you’d gotten past that first hurdle, he never once balked at answering a question. Even the ones that you later wished he hadn’t answered, like how they felt pain, and why they had body parts that turned into weapons, and what happened to their sparks when they died (offlined). But it was a relief that unlike ‘Aid, who was equally curious about humans, Ratchet kept his questions about you related only to your immediate well-being.

Are you refueling enough for your species? Are you recharging enough? You’re not working in my medbay if you’re not. There’s inflammation in your wrist. Does it hurt? What helps it? I’ll get you an ice pack. Take an NSAID. No, put the spanner down, you’re done for the day.

It was nice, really. Your brain fog slowly seemed to melt away as your whiplash injury began to heal, and eventually ‘Aid let you remove your collar of shame. You started feeling more aware and present in your body, and began to wonder if First Aid had had something to do with convincing Ratchet to let you help. As you assisted with small but attention-demanding tasks, all which helped Bluestreak’s recovery, the sense of panic lurking in the back of your mind began to fade. When you fell asleep in First Aid’s clutches, it was because he just felt nice and safe, and clearly enjoyed the company. Not because you’d woken from a nightmare.

Then the day came when they were finally going to let Bluestreak wake up.

-

You’d been allowed to perch nearby, eagerly hoping to see life come back into those optics. Ratchet had explained about the override codes, how they would keep Blue from leaping off the table and shooting anything that moved, because otherwise his defensive systems would kick in immediately and he’d pose an unwitting threat to everyone around him.

After he’d walked you through that, you’d caught ‘Aid looking at Ratchet when the grouchy chief medical officer’s back was turned. First Aid looked oddly smug and pleased, and it dawned on you that maybe he hadn’t just had your well-being in mind when he’d nudged his teacher to take on his first-ever organic student.

And then it all went to shit. One second you were letting your eyes well up with tears at the sight of blue optics flickering on. The next you had been grabbed and rolled over in a dizzying rollercoaster that had you flailing and crying out. It happened so fast and with such force you almost blacked out, your vision going grey around the edges.

Bluestreak! Slag it all, he’s overridden the overrides! How in the PIT! Ratchet snarled, his white and red armor puffed up like a pissed-off rooster. First Aid was trying to calm Blue down, terrified that he might accidentally hurt you, despite clearly trying to protect you. From them. A threat his systems were warning him about, allies that he wasn’t with it enough to grasp were his friends.

Blue, let them go. Please. They’re delicate, and they’ve already been injured once, he pleaded softly, empty servos raised in a display of surrender.

The mech was crouched over you, and when Ratchet swore something foul and did his usual routine of percussive maintenance, the thing they’d been dreading happened as Blue’s plasma cannon fired. You cried out and for an awful second the entire room went still. Ratchet grumbled over his favorite spanner, now a liquid melted into the metal decking (Teletraan crankily sending zaps of electricity to anyone unfortunate enough to be near a terminal, in retribution). First Aid sighed with relief when Bluestreak finally realized where he was and what was going on, and he couldn’t move fast enough to swoop in to rescue you from your rescuer.

Only for you to refuse.

-

You hold on to your metal person. Because even though he scared you, he’d also saved you. Now he was awake after that horrible attack where he’d almost died, and his first instinct is still to save you. You are shaking like a leaf, all that awful adrenaline and fear returned with a vengeance in a way you can't help. But for all that your biology is betraying you, your heart's never felt more full of joy. Because he's alive.

Bluestreak, you say, and he flinches. You don’t like that. You reach for his face, and he slowly obliges, bringing you closer. First Aid and Ratchet hover silently in the background, and you can’t begin to imagine what they’re thinking right now. It would be nifty if you could read their auras or fields or – whatever they were.

Hey, it’s okay, you say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. A tremor runs through his hands, but you know he won’t drop you. I’m not afraid of you, you just surprised me. You saved my life, Bluestreak. I was so happy to see you for the first time, but you were hurt so bad. I thought, I thought you were dead. Offlined, and that I’d never get to –

That’s as far as you get before you learn that mechs can cry, too, as he pulls you into the shelter of his neck, holding you close and ex-venting roughly. You pat his shoulder, thinking of what the inside of it had looked like when you’d replaced the hydraulics. Wires instead of veins, sure, metal instead of flesh. But even on the inside, you’d been right all along. You’d known, and you’d been right. They are people.

You’re all right? he asks, shakily, and when you murmur an affirmative, his eyes go so bright that you can hardly look at them. You’re not scared of me? But – but you were so so scared, and I couldn’t tell you not to be, and I know we’re really different and I’m so much bigger than you, and I’ve wanted to meet a human ever since we came to earth but Optimus and Jazz and Prowl said I couldn’t, we had to hide, and then Starscream – I couldn’t let him hurt you! You’re just so little, and your voice is so sweet, and you feel so much even though you’re so small. I couldn’t let him hurt you.

He says it like a plea for understanding, and now you’re both crying. You don’t see Ratchet and First Aid share a look, and quietly leave to give you two some privacy, now that they know you’re both stable. You only have eyes for your metal person.

I tried to help you and I didn’t know how, you sniffle, trying not to be embarrassed by how emotional you’ve been the past week. Maybe you can blame it on the trauma and injuries. But your heart’s felt just as bruised as the rest of you. Ratchet’s been teaching me. Does your shoulder feel all right? I helped fix the hydraulics.

Blue rumbles something that you realize is a laugh. It feels great! You did a great job! Wow, the Hatchet really let you work on me? In his medbay?! Do you know how hard First Aid had to work to get him to take him on as a trainee? And you got him to do it in just a few cycles? Wow. You must be really smart. Um, I’m Bluestreak. But you already know that. What’s your name?

You laugh, too, through the flood of happy, confused, exhausted tears, and tell him.

That’s so beautiful! What’s it mean? Do human names have meanings? Where were you going that day? Why were you out in the middle of nowhere? What was that music you were listening to?

He stops short and looks chagrined. Sorry, sorry, I know I talk too much, everybody says I do, I just have so many feelings and questions and –

Bluestreak, you tell him, smiling, as you reach to grab his other hand. He lets you, optics bright, armor spotless. Even if he’s going to have to get yelled at by Ratchet for destroying some of his repairs, he can’t remember ever being this happy.

I’d just found you, just met you, and I lost you. I thought I’d never get to hear you speak again.

You squeeze his hands, the same shape and number of fingers as yours, and capable of both the same violence and the same gentleness. This isn’t the end. There’s a road of healing you’ll both have to walk, but now you know you really aren’t alone. You didn’t know it at the time, but you never were.

Blue, I could listen to you talk forever.

[luxiomahariel]

another instance of transandrophobia is that trans men/mascs are disproportionally affected when seeking medical care

We asked respondents whether they postponed or did not try to get two types of health care: preventive care “like checkups” and necessary care “when sick or injured.” We found that many postponed care because they could not afford it and many postponed care because of discrimination and disrespect from providers.

Female-to-male transgender respondents reported postponing care due to discrimination and disrespect at a much higher frequency (42%, sick/injured; 48% preventive) than male-to-female transgender respondents (24%, sick/injured; 27% preventive). Those with the highest rates of postponing care when sick/injured included those who have lost a job due to bias (45%) and those who have done sex work, sold drugs, or done other work in the underground economy for income (45%). Twenty-nine percent (29%) of respondents who were “out” or “mostly out” to medical providers reported they had delayed care when ill and 33% postponed or avoided preventive care because of discrimination by providers.

African-American respondents had the worst health insurance coverage of any racial category: 39% reported private coverage and 30% public. Thirty-one percent (31%) of Black respondents reported being uninsured; by contrast 66% of white respondents reported private insurance, 17% public insurance and 17% uninsured.

when we talk about shit like this we NEED to be listened to and taken seriously:

and most importantly, we need to FIGHT FOR TRANS MEN/MASCS RIGHTS.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 18 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You missed the quality time you'd been spending with your husband as soon as it started to slip away. You were busy with work, and Bradley was being called upon again, just like he always was. But before he prepares to leave, your curiosity gets the best of you.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, oral, smut, talking about trying for a baby

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

As May became June, the temperatures got hotter and the beaches got more crowded, and your evening walks with Tramp became a little less frequent as a result. You also felt like your time with Bradley was starting to become a little more sporadic. Work and other obligations were starting to break into the bubble that the two of you had managed to re-form, and you kind of missed how cozy you'd been.

"I'll be home late on Tuesday, Roo. I have a meeting with Bickel."

"Mav asked me to teach on Thursday, so don't wait for me if you're hungry for dinner."

By the time you got to Friday night, you ended up at the Hard Deck, because everyone kept bugging you to go. And you knew that Bradley was proud of your hard work and the fact that your boss seemed to be lining you up to take over after his eventual retirement. And it wasn't like you weren't absolutely thrilled that Top Gun was entrusting Bradley with teaching their incoming students with more frequency. But you were just craving more of the intimate hours you got used to at home. With just Bradley and a bath with champagne followed by him reading from his notebooks. 

"You want another beer?" Bradley asked you next to the noisy pool table as you shook your head. Nat had already given you two, and you just wanted to go home already. You tried to socialize with everyone a little bit more. Fanboy was about to leave for a long deployment, so you made sure you gave him an extra hug or two. And then Payback showed up with the girl he was dating, so you chatted with her for a little bit. But after another hour, you were feeling antsy. 

Any day now, you were certain Bradley would be telling you he had been chosen for the top secret special detachment. And in just a few more days, he would be on base in Lemoore until the judge made a decision regarding Admiral Dean and Slayer. And there was nothing you could do about either of those things. 

You were also pretty sure you were almost done ovulating right now in spite of your best efforts to try not to think about it. And the past few days had been a bust with how busy the two of you were. The last thing you wanted to do was push Bradley to have sex when one or both of you were tired or clearly not in the mood for it. But there was a tiny bit of doubt that was creeping in, making you feel like this was a wasted month. But on the other hand, just looking at him right now was making you warm. You knew it was probably just your hormones, but you wanted him and his attention all to yourself.

Immediately you set your empty beer bottle down and wrapped your arms around your husband as he talked to his best friend. He rubbed your back as you pressed your cheek to his chest, already feeling a little better. You didn't care if Nat heard you; she was already Bradley's sounding board for so many things. So you smiled at her and then looked up at him as he paused with his beer most of the way to his mouth. 

"Bradley," you said, your voice a little needy even to your own ears. "I love you, and it's been a really long week, and I just kind of miss when we were spending so much time together. Can we go home now and relax?"

Bradley handed Nat his half empty beer and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Can we finish talking about this later?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied with a smirk. "Goodnight, you two."

Then he laced his fingers with yours and led you out of the bar and onto the deck where he immediately picked you up for a piggy back ride. "Why didn't you say something sooner? I thought you wanted to come out and see Fanboy and do the whole Hard Deck thing tonight."

"I kind of did," you said, kissing his ear as he carried you to the Bronco. "But it got old fast compared to being at home with you. It's just been a long week, and I missed you. And I know you'll be in Lemoore in a few days, and then the special detachment is coming up, and-"

"Hey," Bradley said firmly as he set you down next to the Bronco. "I'm right here, and I'm more than happy to take you home and stay there for the rest of the weekend. I'd love to do that, in fact."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "Maybe you can call Nat tomorrow? And finish your conversation with her then?"

"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe I'll be too busy with my wife. Either way, it works for me."

He buckled you in with another kiss before he climbed in and zipped the short distance back home. Then you made a sandwich for a late night snack and cut it in half to share with him. He lifted you up onto the counter and finished his in three bites, and you felt so much better being at home alone with him. You finally felt like you could focus. 

"Are you still hungry?" you asked while he downed a glass of water and watched you finish eating. 

"Not for a sandwich, Sweetheart." His voice was raspy, and the fine hairs on your neck and arms were standing on end as he took a step closer. 

"Oh," you whispered as he leaned against the counter with his hands on either side of your thighs. You ate the last few bites slowly before you asked, "Are you going to tell me what you're hungry for? Maybe it's something I could get ready for you?"

He groaned softly as he kissed the side of your neck and whispered, "I wanna eat your pussy, Baby Girl. Will you let me?"

An hour ago, you had been feeling overstimulated and annoyed. Now you were unbuttoning your shorts and whining your husband's name. Next time you wouldn't wait so long to tell him you just needed a few minutes alone with him so you could feel better. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Bradley said as he sank down to his knees in front of you and helped you out of your shorts and underwear. He spread your legs wide and ran his index finger back and forth across your clit. "Let me enjoy this perfect pussy, and then I'll read to you from my notebook in bed."

He peppered a few kisses on your thigh, then his mouth was all over you. Your fingers gripped his hair as you tried to stay upright while he buried his face in you. "Roo," you gasped as his mustache hit just the right spot. You rocked gently against his face as he licked long stripes up and down before letting his pretty lips settle on your clit. He knew exactly how to get you off, but right now, he was taking his time. 

"Fucking gorgeous," he whispered, looking up at you and smiling before kissing you everywhere. He fucked you expertly with his tongue, and you were afraid you were pulling his hair too hard, but he didn't stop. 

Soft, needy sounds gave way to you begging him to let you come. "Please, Daddy!" 

He grunted and fucked you with two fingers while he sucked on you in a gentle, steady rhythm. The pressure was just right. His rough mustache was perfect. You came, tugging on his hair until he was standing up. His cheeks were rosy, and his pupils were blown wide, and his face was wet from a mix of your pussy and his saliva. 

He was the most handsome thing that ever existed, and now he was kissing your lips with that mouth that tasted like you. This time you were a little gentler as you combed your fingers through his hair while he rutted against you. 

"You just needed a night in with your Daddy. You feel better now?"

"I really did need you," you promised. Then you softly asked him, "Do you want to fuck me?"

He was panting slightly as he muttered, "Of course I do. You're my perfect wife."

You undid his pants and pushed them down a few inches, and he was right at your entrance, ready to go. But he was hesitating, his cheeks growing a shade darker as he swallowed hard. "I'm not gonna last."

He was just that turned on from going down on you. "I don't care," you promised him. You were so relaxed and sated, you kind of felt like you could melt into a puddle on the kitchen island. And then he was thrusting inside you, his hips rolling and pushing your thighs wider. 

He wrapped his hands around your waist and shook his head, and soon he was muttering that he was about to finish. So you leaned back on your elbows and planted your feet on the edge of the counter and said, "I was a good girl all week. Give me a cream pie?"

Your husband stroked your rooster tattoo with his right thumb as he fucked you harder until you were struggling to keep your feet planted in place. "Oh, shit," he growled when he came. Once his movements had stilled, he withdrew from you and smiled. "That's a beautiful cream pie, if I do say so myself. We do some of our best work in the kitchen." 

You were both giggly and a little bit messy as Bradley carried you to bed. When he flipped to a random page in the notebook, you curled up against him. "What am I supposed to do when you're gone again? We have no idea how long you'll be in Lemoore. And who knows about the special mission either."

He sighed and kissed your forehead. "As far as I'm concerned, Lemoore should be cut and dry. I'll drive up with Nat and Bob, and we'll all read our statements. And hopefully that's it."

"And hopefully Dean and Slayer get fucking reprimanded to the letter of the law," you added.

"Well, that too," he said with a laugh. "But I'll be back home quickly, and we don't even know if I'll get selected for the detachment, so let's not worry about that yet." Then he cleared his throat and started to read from his notebook.

"I can't believe how much time I wasted with other women. The few minutes of satisfaction did not outweigh the fact that I didn't really want to get to know them at all. And maybe even worse, the fact that I could tell they thought I was only good for one thing. The more I think about it, maybe I really only was good for one thing."

You cut him off with a kiss and said, "I don't really like this page. I don't like it when you're hard on yourself."

Bradley looked at you with soft eyes and smiled. "Want me to read something else?"

You wrapped your arms around him a little tighter, but you said, "No. Finish this one."

He cleared his throat again and continued. 

"At the time, I guess I thought I was living in the moment, and that I'd have these experiences to look back on someday when I was older. But now I don't like thinking about it, because the main thing I remember is that I was selling myself short in every way. What's the point in having meaningless sex over and over again when what you're actually craving is attention and affection? What's the point in kicking someone out of your bed after an hour when your skin starts to crawl, when all you really want is to find the right person to keep with you all night long?

I don't understand how my wife is so gracious. I really don't get the way she can look at me and see something worth her precious time. But I'm so thankful she does."

You snuggled against him quietly, your thoughts swirling. "Roo? I don't understand why you didn't just try to take me home with you after we met."

Bradley snorted and chuckled as he set the notebook aside. "You mean when I couldn't stop staring at you when we were on base working together? Or you mean the night when we first talked at the Hard Deck?"

You closed your eyes and considered the difference. Jake had asked you out during work hours two days after you met him, but you were already distracted by Bradley at that point. And maybe you'd have let Bradley take you home from the bar, but then you probably would have never gone on a real date with him. 

"I think I would have gone home with you from the bar," you said softly. "If you'd asked."

Bradley's fingers dug into your body as he said, "Then you would have thought I was a joke just like every other woman. And maybe that's why I didn't try my shitty pickup lines or any of my moves on you. Yeah, you and I were flirting, but everything I did and said to you was sincere, because I could tell I was getting your genuine undivided attention. You weren't only looking at me like I could take care of you physically for an hour.  And that was a very rare thing."

"Oh," you sighed, crawling fully on top of him now. You smiled and kissed him until the concerned crease in his forehead smoothed out. "You always make me feel like you knew we would get married someday as soon as you looked at me."

Bradley rubbed his hands up under your shirt. "I think I subconsciously hoped so, Sweetheart. But I had to play the limited cards in my hand just right to even stand a chance."

You were starting to get sleepy now, and his rough hands felt so good everywhere. "What would you have said to me if you just wanted to hookup?" you asked, laughing as he groaned. 

"You don't want to know, Sweetheart. You would have probably laughed in my face and walked away, because I was using the same dumb tactics since I was twenty four."

You kissed his sternum as your mind once again swirled with information. "This is all very intriguing," you murmured as you started to doze.

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

Bradley was waiting on the porch with you after work on Monday evening, his arms wrapped around you as you kissed him. It was a five hour drive up to Lemoore, and Nat was on her way to pick him up. 

"Call or text me when you get there," you said between kisses as your fingers teased and tugged at his hair. "Even if it's late."

"I will," he promised, kind of no longer content to just be making out with you. There wasn't enough time for anything else, even though you were moaning softly into his mouth and letting your hands explore the front of his body now. "Baby Girl," he warned. The last thing he wanted was an erection when he had to leave you in the next few minutes. 

But you just kissed him harder and said, "I love you," and now Bradley was thinking about retiring and spending every night with you for the rest of his life. 

"Fuck," he grunted when he heard Nat's SUV. When he opened his eyes, she was careening into the driveway behind your shitty little car. His best friend was such a bad driver, he wasn't exactly sure why he and Bob agreed to put her behind the wheel today, but he certainly wouldn't mind if Nat totaled your car right now. She came to a screeching halt mere inches from your bumper. At least that disappointment was enough to stave off his boner. 

You walked Bradley to the driveway, and Bob put the passenger side window down so you could chat with them while Bradley put his garment bag in the trunk along with your small overnight bag he was using. If he wasn't back by Wednesday night, he was going to be so pissed off. 

"I made you guys cookies and some blueberry muffins," you told Bob, handing two containers over. Bradley snuck up behind you and pressed himself against your rear end as you tried to have a normal conversation with his friends. You ended up just saying good luck before turning to face him. "You're obnoxious," you whispered. 

"I know. It's just because I love you so much," he replied with a smirk, earning another heated kiss before you pushed him toward the back door. "I'll let you know when we get there."

Bradley had to push snack wrappers and other assorted trash onto the floor with a grimace so he could buckle his seat belt. Nat turned to look at him. "You and your wife are so gross," she said with a laugh.

"Not as gross as your car. Hey, any chance you can put it in drive instead of reverse and then floor the accelerator?" he asked, only half kidding as he looked at your car.

"No," Nat replied as she backed out. "She'd never forgive me."

Then the three of them waved to you, and they were off. Bradley tried to have a muffin without making a mess of the crumbs, but he watched as Nat just brushed them onto the floor while she drove and ate. "You guys think anything will even happen to Dean?" she asked with her mouth full. 

"If everything is good and just in the world, then yes," Bob said in an even tone. 

"I fucking hope so," Bradley added. "If for no other reason than the fact that they are making us go up to Lemoore."

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

On Tuesday, the courtroom was packed with people who were there to make statements against Admiral Dean. There were so many people in fact, that Bradley was surprised this man had been allowed to fuck up this many missions for his own agenda before he ended up in front of a judge in a military courtroom. The benches of witnesses were jammed as Bradley squeezed in next to Nat, and the room was so warm, he didn't know how he'd manage all day in his dress blues. 

"Look at everyone," she whispered as she tugged at her collar. "We'll be here all week."

Bradley had to listen to the two lawyers argue for a bit, but once things started rolling, he was starting to get a solid picture of what was going on here. Admiral Dean moved from the Atlantic Fleet to the Pacific Fleet with a small reprimand after showing clear favoritism to the pilots out of Naval Air Station Key West. He'd cost an aviator her life among a laundry list of other fucked up things, a fact that made Bradley's somach turn. He nudged Nat's leg with his, thankful his friend was still here even though she looked like she was half asleep. 

But once Dean had been placed in Lemoore, things somehow got even worse. Bradley listened to a statement from a pilot who felt like he had been forced into early retirement by Dean. Then there was a weapons systems officer who said she'd been passed over for promotions by Dean because she tried to call him out on his behavior. 

When he, Bob and Nat were called up with the others who had been in the air with Slayer back in April, Bradley had to stand there and feel the glare from two sets of eyes burning into him as he gave his honest testimony of the events of that day. He didn't hold back. He talked about the fact that he had been named the spare when he would have never gone off course like Slayer did. He made sure to make his point when he said everyone in the air was at risk simply because Slayer had been selected for the mission over him. And he ended things by pointing out that by the time he got to the scene of the dogfighting, some of the others were already nearly out of ammunition and fuel. 

He made eye contact with Dean and then Slayer once he was finished, and then Bob was called up. And then Nat was called up. And then all of the others as well. The details that were being recounted could all be pieced together to give an honest picture of what happened that day. Dean should have been squirming in his seat, and Bradley was delighted to see that he was as the day wore on and on. 

Bradley's stomach was growling loudly, and he was annoyed when the judge said, "Let's all reconvene tomorrow morning for final statements and a decision. Everyone is dismissed for now."

"We have to stay another night?" Nat whined, yanking at her tie on the way out of the courtroom. "Just strip the asshole of his rank right now."

Bradley tended to agree with her. What was the sense in drawing this out any longer? He could have been on his way home to you, but instead he was picking up takeout for dinner and walking it back to his tiny hotel room across the street from the barracks on base. He inhaled his dinner while he texted you some updates, and just when he was hoping to call and maybe have some filthy phone sex, he got a call from someone else. 

He sighed and answered. "Hey, Mav. What's up?"

"You're still in Lemoore?" 

"Yeah. Until at least tomorrow," Bradley grunted. 

Mav paused for a beat. "I wanted to tell you in person, but tomorrow night won't give you as much time to prepare. You've been selected. For the special detachment. You'll have to fly out of Miramar by Comanche on Monday morning."

Bradley's heart was pounding with anticipation and nerves. "Where am I going?"

"That's all the information I have. The clearances for this thing are tight to say the least. When you get back down here, you'll need to talk to Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates immediately."

"Fuck," Bradley whispered. "Thanks for the call."

He sat in silence for a few minutes, wondering if he should call and tell you right now or wait until he got home. He collapsed back on the bed, knowing this was the kind of conversation he'd rather have with you face to face, but it would be much worse if you thought he was trying to hide anything from you. He reached for his phone. 

After one ring, he heard your voice. "Roo." You sounded so sweet, he could picture the way you must have been curled up in bed reading by now. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his face with one hand. 

Your soft laughter made him want to touch himself as you said, "Can we talk about how much I want to suck your cock right now?"

"Fuck. Baby Girl. Wait."

Your voice took on a different tone entirely. "What's wrong?"

"Maverick just called me. I'm going on the special detachment. I leave Monday." When you asked him for details, he had none to give you. And when you asked him if he was happy, he didn't really know how to respond. "I think... relieved is the right word for how I'm feeling. I don't want to leave you again, but I do feel like this is something I needed."

And then you told him that you were proud of him.

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

You had a missed call from Bradley plus a new text message when you looked at your phone the following afternoon, but you couldn't even call him back. You were sitting between Cat and Commander Bickel for a video conference with a group in Annapolis. Video conferences were the fucking worst invention. You didn't want to have to look at that bald guy in Maryland picking his nose on a huge screen. And you certainly didn't want to have to listen to this other idiot talk about things that had nothing to do with your lab for hours on end. 

The only good part was the catered lunch, but even that prevented you from calling Bradley back. You looked at the most recent text he sent you saying Dean and Slayer had been sentenced and that he was on his way home. You sent him back a thumbs up. The details would have to wait until later. 

"Come here," Cat said, giving you a look as she jerked her head to the side.

"What?" you asked as you tried to eat your sandwich before the conference started back up for the afternoon. You had been alternating who you ate lunch with when you made it to the cafeteria, and you'd also been trying to give her and Jake plenty of time together this week without being the third wheel. 

"I'm not worried exactly, but... Jake has a lot of women texting his phone," she said bluntly. "Should I be worried?"

You were kind of stunned, not that you really paid much attention to what he used his phone for. "He has other women texting him?" 

Cat nodded, and you thought it wasn't fair that someone that beautiful should look so insecure. "Most of the messages are from phone numbers he hasn't saved in his contacts. And I didn't go snooping, but he's not trying to hide it. He just leaves his phone out, and then I see them."

You felt a little sick. "What are they saying to him?"

"Hey Jake, it's Brittany, haven't seen you at the bar. Or Jake, call me if you want to come over. Or my personal favorite, Wanna come over and fuck?"

"No," you gasped. "Oh my god, Cat. There's no way he's hooking up with anyone else. It's probably just some residuals."

She shrugged and picked at her own sandwich. "Well it's a lot for me. And this is kind of the reason why I didn't want to get involved months ago," she whispered, looking sheepish. 

"I'll talk to him."

"No." She shook her head. "Then he'll know I told you, and I don't want to make him mad at me."

"He won't get mad at you, Cat." You wanted to be reassuring, because you really were sure he wasn't sleeping around. "Is he being sweet to you? And Jeremiah?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. She closed her eyes and whispered, "We slept together for the first time last weekend. It was... it was so good. And he's great with Jer. Like a natural." When she opened her dark eyes again she looked less calm. "I'll talk to him myself."

Then Bickel called everyone back to their seats. "The conference is picking up again," he said in such a monotone voice, you loved him even more for hating this meeting. "Could have been an email," he muttered, and everyone from your lab erupted into laughter as you took your seats. 

You used the minute of confusion while everyone moved around the conference table to text Jake instead of Bradley. 

I sincerely hope you have your text messages under control. 

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

Bradley had already been home for a few minutes when you ran in after work. "Well? What happened?" you asked while you hopped around inside the front door as you removed your boots one at a time.

He was stretched out on the couch staring at the ceiling. "Just give me another minute. Nat's driving did a number on me."

But you strolled over and laid down right on top of him which made him laugh. "I don't want to give you another minute. I missed you."

"I missed you, too." You kissed him and Bradley ran his hands down to your lower back. "And you know I love your ass in your uniform pants."

"What happened with Dean and Slayer?" you asked, not letting him indulge just yet. 

"Well, Dean will not be retiring as an Admiral, and Slayer is on a year-long leave or absence with one third pay."

You smiled instantly. "They stripped Dean's rank?"

"They sure did, Sweetheart. And they are going to force him to retire without benefits."

"Damn," you whispered as you kissed his chin. "He had it coming. They both did."

"Now onto more important things," Bradley said. "Two nights sleeping on that shitty hotel room bed made my back hurt."

"You poor, sweet thing," you crooned softly. 

"I know," he murmured. "I require a bath complete with you and some champagne. And then I'm hoping you'll welcome me back to our bed in the warmest way."

"I think that can be arranged." You got up and started to unbutton your uniform shirt on your way to the refrigerator. "We have one bottle left."

When you turned back, he was already gone, and you could hear the water running in your bathroom. "Seriously?" you asked as you ran in there to find him naked as the tub filled. 

"What? I missed you a lot."

The special detachment was going to feel like forever, you just knew it. And you'd be surprised if he'd be allowed to have contact with you at all for the duration. But that wasn't the only thing that you'd been thinking about this week. After he left for Lemoore, you'd read his notebook from cover to cover, and while you were certainly curious, you didn't want to make him uncomfortable. 

You slipped into the tub and into his open arms, the water just almost too hot to handle as he popped the champagne bottle and took a sip as it overflowed slightly. You straddled his thighs and pressed the bottle to your lips as he started a playlist on his phone. 

"Roo?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

He set his phone down and pulled you close as you said, "I read your notebook while you were gone."

"You'll have it memorized soon," he replied with a chuckle as he kissed your shoulder. 

You took another sip of champagne before handing him the bottle. "I keep thinking about how you said you used to pick girls up before you met me, and..."

He raised one eyebrow as he drank, and then he licked his lips. "Yeah?"

"Well, I'm still curious."

He laughed and shook his head. "First of all, I was a bit of a mess before I realized I stood a chance with you and cleaned up my act. You already know that. And second, there's no way you'd have gone for any of my bullshit, I can almost guarantee that."

"But like, what were your go-to lines? What were your moves?" He tipped your chin up and looked at you closely. "Come on. Just humor me."

"God, Baby Girl. I'm sure it was all really quite embarrassing. Especially when I was younger."

You kissed his cheek and then his lips and you could feel him start to stir against your thigh. "Could you try it on me?" you asked softly. "For fun?"

Bradley's cheeks were pink and his lips tasted like champagne, and for some reason you desperately wanted to know what it would have been like if you met him five years earlier and he tried to get you to go home with him right away. 

He was stroking your tattoo absentmindedly beneath the water as he eventually asked, "What exactly did you have in mind, Sweetheart?"

"Well, there's this bar..."

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

I have been excited about the next few chapters for such a long time! So happy you're here! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 19

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[lyjen]

Under Attack

Summary: Dropped out of high school, joining the army to follow her brother’s footsteps. When the group of soldiers gets attacked while they are flying in the helicopter, (y/n) is the one to try and get them out of the situation. But when they’re celebrating the 4th of july, it brings her right back to that day on the field.

Request by: @shauna-carsley

✨My requests are open! You can send them in by sending me a chat or in “ask me a question” ✨

9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

Afghanistan, 2015

With the sound of the blades of the helicopter slicing through the air, (Y/n) let the scissors slide through the fabric of the soldiers t-shirt.

They were on 10.000 feet high in the air, flying back to their homebase as they picked up wounded and hurt soldiers that needed treatment back on base.

“Base, this is actual. We’re ten clicks out heading back with wounded. Prep the med tents.” The voice of the helicopter pilot sounded through the radio.

(Y/n) placed a piece of gauze on the wound and grabbed the tape from the bag. She held the tape between her fingers as she took a length and tore it off by placing her teeth on the tape and giving it a pull. She could hear her boyfriend grinning by the way she struggled with tearing the tape. “Something funny Buckley?” she asked as she quickly connected the tape with the soldiers skin and the gauze so she could secure the wound from getting dirty and protect it.

“Just admiring your work” Evan smiled as he gave her another glance.

Evan and (Y/n) were together since high school, he was a senior while she was a junior. He would be the one who always got into trouble, which made him a walking red flag. But they became inseparable as they started hanging out more and more together.

Her brother was already in the army, and she looked up at him. She really did.

One day she decided to turn the wheel, and join the army when she was in senior year, she was already getting bad grades, and she already had problems with her parents. So why not make them more angry by dropping out of school and joining the army with your boyfriend, who was also her best friend.

She was now a medic in the army, and helped treat the wounded just like her older brother did.

She focussed herself on the last tape she needed to connect on the gunshot wound of the soldier, she was alerted by a loud beeping sound.

“Incoming!” a terrified voice called through the small space of the helicopter they were in. A rocket had been aimed at the helicopter. The chopper makes a hard left turn, trying to avoid the explosive they had fired. But the chopper was too slow.

The vehicle they were in started to spin as they received a hard bang on the side and the chopper started to fill the space with smoke.

The helicopter made a nose dive, crashing right into the desert sand and they came to a stop and her vision went black.

A loud frequency sound through (Y/n)’s ears as she slowly gained back consciousness. A groan left her lips as she sat down on the floor with her back pinned against the inside of the helicopter. When her hearing went back to normal, she could hear bullets hitting the metal sides of the helicopter, multiple times per second.

She quickly scanned the small space she was in, she was on the floor, with her back against the side of the chopper. “Break, break, break” she spoke into her radio as she pressed the button. “We’re pinned down. Taking fire.” her voice panted as adrenaline started to build up inside her body.

“Two clicks north of our last reported position.” she groaned as she pushed herself up to her feet. (Y/n) moved inside the helicopter, patting the pilots on their shoulder to hear if they were alive and okay. As she heard them groan, she knew enough.

She turned around to face Evan, who was still in his seat.

“Buckley!” She grabbed his upper arm and pushed and pulled him back and forth. “Buck wake up!” she called out again.

It felt weird for her to call him Buckley or Buck. Normally she would call him Evan. She knew the majority of the people called him Buck, and he preferred that. But since she was the only one calling him Evan, apart from his sister and parents, it was like a nickname for him.

Evan’s eyes opened slowly as she patted his cheeks and in his reflex his hand shot up to grab her wrist. “We’re under attack. Come on.”

“We gotta get everyone behind those rocks over there.” She pointed to the rocks that were lightened up slightly by the lights of the helicopter. “Yeah. Copy.” Evan absently said as he realized what had happened just a few minutes ago. Evan was sure he had some bruised and maybe some broken ribs, but he was okay.

(Y/n) grabbed her rifle, which hung on her back and slung it over her shoulder as Evan unbuckled from his helicopter seat belt. “You ready?” She looked Evan in his ocean blue eyes, and her heart made a jump as his eyes connected with hers.

“Ready” he said, determined as he threw his rifle over his shoulder. (Y/n)’s foot stamped against the crushed and broken side door of the helicopter. With one hard kick her foot the door broke open, smooth as butter.

She stepped outside as she aimed the rifle towards the attackers so Evan could jump out after her, with also his rifle in his arms.

“Let’s go!” she said as loudly as she could so her voice would overtake the sounds of the bullets which were swinging around her head.

In order to get more of their people out. She needed someone over at the rocks to cover her, so she could get people out. Some bodies and some wounded but alive. She couldn’t live with herself as people died in the helicopter and their families didn’t have a body to bury.

She wanted to bring them home.

They speeded across the open field as they shot their way through. Evan and (Y/n) dropped down behind the rocks as they made it to the otherside of the field.

“Hey!” (Y/n) spoke up. “Cover me.” she commanded Evan, it wasn't a question. “Copy!”

Evan leans over the rocks, and starts shooting at the enemies.

(Y/n) reaches the crashed helicopter again, as bullets were flying around and hit the side of the helicopter she was passing by as fast as she could. She crouched down and swung her rifle back on her back. When she reached the nose of the helicopter and made contact with one of the pilots in the cockpit. “Okay, time to get out of there. Let’s go.” she said as she tapped his shoulder through the broken door of the helicopter.

“Come on.” she grabbed his arm as she put it around her neck so he could lean on her. A groan fell past his lips as his body dropped down to the ground and he grabbed his arm. “Hey hey! Can you move?” she asked as she tried to get his attention, as he was currently focussed on the pain he felt.

“Yeah.” he panted.

“Get over there with Buckley, I will cover you!” She said as she grabbed her rifle from her back again and started shooting back at the shots which were clearly aimed on her.

The man she helped get out of the helicopter ran as fast as he could to the rocks where Evan was shooting.

“Diaz, I’m stuck!” The other pilot called out. She shot a few more bullets. “I got you!” she said as she made her way towards the other side of the chopper. “My leg!” he groaned as he reached out for it. “The bone broke through” she concluded as she took a quick look at his leg. The bone broke through his skin, snapped in two. ”I got to get a tourniquet on it.” she said as she looked around for something to use as a tourniquet. “This will do.” she gasped as she cut a large piece of seatbelt off with her knife and binded it above the man’s wound as tight as she could so the blood flow to his leg was cut off.

“I have got to get out.” a voice from the back sounded through the narrow space of the helicopter. “Norwahl! Stand down!” she warned him, but he got out of the helicopter as if he was just going to take a peaceful stroll. “Fuck.” she whispered to herself as she just finished up tightening the tourniquet and saw the other soldier walking along the side of the chopper.

“Norwahl!” She called out his name repeatedly as she ran around the chopper to reach her teammate. Her eyes fell on him, as she could see blood splashing from his chest into the air. He falls down on his knees, while the enemies are still targeting Norwahl and (Y/n) now.

Bullets kept on flying around her head, as she pushed Norwahl to the ground and Evan kept on shooting to cover them.

(Y/n) puts his arm over her shoulder. “Hold on Norwahl!” she spoke as she helped him back onto his legs and he leaned on (Y/n) to reach the rocks again. But when she reaches the rocks. A shocking pain ran through her right leg.

A scream fell off her lips as her leg fell down to the ground as if hands came out of the floor and dragged her right leg down to the ground. “(Y/n)!” Evan called out her name with a terrified sound.

When that scream fell off her lips, he could feel his heart dropping down to the ground.

She had to hold on. She had to fight, and drag herself to safety. She pushed her hands into the sand as she pushed herself up on her left leg. She limped towards the rocks as she let herself fall down against the rocks.

“Diaz? You okay?” Evan tried to remain professional. Keeping his emotions to himself as he asked that question. A groan fell past her lips. “Yes. I’m okay.” she panted as she squinted her eyes at the torturing pain her leg was giving her.

“Switch with me Diaz!” Evan commanded his girlfriend.

She crawled towards Evan, and when she was on her stomach next to him, she swung the rifle from her back towards her chest.

They were switching roles.

But when Evan started running across the open field and towards the helicopter, a grenade launcher launched its explosive towards the helicopter and landed a few feet beside Evan’s body.

Evan’s body connected with the helicopter, as if he got pushed in the back. Evan groaned as he rolled onto his stomach, trying to stand up again. He coughed, his ears were ringing of the loud boom when the pin was pulled from the launcher.

The man in front of the chopper needed his help.

The soldier who was dead had to be brought back to his family. They needed to bury his body, not an empty basket. Evan grabbed his arms and slung his limp body over his shoulder and ran.

He ran so hard he could almost feel his feet slipping away from underneath his body.

Evan placed the body of the deceased soldier on the floor against the rocks and slung his rifle back over his shoulder and helped (y/n) with shooting.

“Shit!” (Y/n) said as her rifle refused, she pulled the trigger a few more times, but nothing. ”I'm blank!” she spoke as she got down and pushed her back against the rocks again. Her hand traced down to her leg as she got her gun out of its holder. It wasn’t good enough, but at least it would buy them some time.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Evan cursed as his rifle did the same thing after he shot a few more bullets.

That was it. That was their story.

The bullets were still flying around their heads. He leaned with his back against the rocks, just as (Y/n) did. He could hear her cries, the one that broke him, the one which made his heart drop down in his chest.

Her leg hurts. She saved every single one of them, only to see them die just minutes after the disaster. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears were flowing over her cheeks. She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Evan panted. With every explosion, every gunshot he could feel (Y/n) moving closer.

He grabbed her hand, and let their fingers intertwine with each other. He held on as tightly as he could and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I love you (Y/n), I want you to know that.” At that moment, she only wanted to cry more. This sounded like a goodbye. “No. Don’t do that.” she said as she shook her head. “Our story doesn’t end like this.” she continued as she tightened her grip on his hand, like it was her mission to push all of the blood out of his hand. “I’m afraid it does.” Evan said as he looked her in the eye.

But not even a second after that, a helicopter flew by and started raining fire. They were coming to rescue them. Evan looked up at the sky as a smile spread over his face. “Tell me you love me in a few hours again, Buckley.”

______

“Hey! How was your appointment?” Evan said as (y/n) opened the front door and limped inside.

She shrugged her shoulders as she closed the door behind her. “It was fine. I guess..” she sighed. It wasn’t her best day. She had hoped for better news from her physiotherapist, but unfortunately he didn’t have that for her.

“Are you sure? Because the way you just told me, doesn’t really make it sound fine to me.” Evan said. As he folded his arms over one another and pressed his lower back against the kitchen counter. She really didn’t want to talk about it, which became clear to Evan as she let her keys slide onto the dining table and dropped her bag on the flat surface loudly.

“Hey what’s up?” Evan asked as he could see her face going from a slightly sad one morphing into an annoyed one and she tried to walk away from the conversation.

She stopped in her tracks as her name fell once more off of Evan’s lips. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Buck.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Because I do want to talk about it.” he told her.

(Y/n) knew she couldn’t talk him out of that thought. Whenever Evan had a goal, he was determined to reach it no matter what. And right here, right now the goal was: getting (y/n) to tell him what was on her chest before she could burst and fall back into a dark place.

Her body spun around as she rested her hands onto her waist. “It’s just… my physiotherapist.. he told me that the chances of my kneecap healing are low. Like.. really low. He was talking about fifteen to twenty percent.”

She pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead as she shook her head. She couldn’t believe it. After all the time and effort she spent on physiotherapy, little exercises she had gotten as homework from the therapist and this is what came out. All her hard work felt like nothing now that he told her the odds of the further healing process.

“Wait what?” Evan pushed himself off the kitchen counter he was leaning against.

“My kneecap isn’t healing anymore.” she sighed as she started fidgeting with her fingers, something she always did whenever she was anxious. The bullet she received during saving her team, ended up fracturing her entire kneecap.

Evan moved closer, moving along the kitchen island until he met his girlfriend who was standing a few feet next to the dining table. He laid his hands on her upper arm as he tried to comfort her. “So I’ll probably be stuck with this stupid brace for god knows how long.” She pointed at her hand at her right leg with the brace secured to her knee..

Evan sighed. He didn’t know what to do or to say. He had been there for her these past months, years, just like he promised her on the side of that hospital bed back in Afghanistan. “Come here.” Evan said as he opened his arms and pulled (y/n) to his chest. He folded his arms around her body, he was almost like a human blanket.

She laid the side of her head on his chest as he let his head rest onto her head. His hand rubbed her back, following her spine up and down.

The sound of his beating heart made her body calm down and her anxiousness leaving her body. “You know, a low chance doesn’t mean that there isn’t a chance at all. There’s still hope.” Evan tried to make the best out of it, and pressed a kiss on the top of her hair.

Her arms tightened around his body, it felt comforting standing like this. No flying bullets, no alarms sounding, it was just them. “I know.. it’s just.. hard to be positive after all the time and patience I have put into it.” She mumbled into his chest.

It had been months, years, since the bullet had crushed her kneecap and destroyed her entire career along with it. A lot has changed over the years. They left the army, both of them, (Y/n) because of medical reasons, and Evan wanted to support her and be with her. Evan searched for a new purpose and started with the fire academy, while (y/n) had to take a break from all the action and started applying for jobs that didn’t require putting too much pressure on her leg. So she was now working as a receptionist at an office in Los Angeles.

She didn’t like it, sitting and waiting around. But she didn’t have a choice. Not if her leg was torturing her like this.

“You know, I know I said we would go out today. But, I’ve got a proposal.” Evan spoke up as he looked around the space they were in. “What if.. instead of going out, we did a movie night, hmm?” Evan asked.

She pushed her head off his chest and pressed her chin into it instead, looking up as her eyes met Evan’s. “Are you sure? I mean.. It’s the fourth of july?” she asked him with a soft voice. Evan nodded his head, “Yeah.. It has been a while since we did that, and besides I really don’t have the energy to party right now”.

A smile spread widely on (y/n)’s face. “Ugh, good. Because I’m exhausted.” she sighed as Evan pressed a soft warm kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll make the popcorn” Evan said as he loosened his grip, and moved his hands to her waist. “No you’re not.” (Y/n) spoke up. An offended look flooded over his face, as he furrowed his eyebrows. She straightens her spine as she smiles at Evan’s reaction. “You always burn the popcorn. Let me do it. You can choose the movie.”

Evan looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about his answer. But as soon as his eyes fell back on hers, he gave her a small smile. “Hmm.. okay.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as she wriggled herself out of Evan’s grip and proceeded to walk towards the kitchen.

Microwaved popcorn, it wasn’t that difficult to make, but somehow Evan succeeded in burning the popcorn multiple times. She opened the hot package of popcorn she had just microwaved, filled a bowl with it and added some melted butter to it.

She grabbed the bowl and walked towards the living room, “We’re going to watch Mean girls!” Evan said as he leaned forwards on the sofa with the TV remote in his hand. A chuckle left her lips, “After all these years, you still know how to surprise me-”

Her head shot to the right as a loud bang entered her ears. She was taken by surprise, she was so shocked that the glass bowl she was holding in her hands dropped to the ground and fell into a hundred little pieces.

The colorful fireworks burned onto her retina, as she squeezed her eyes shut when another bang roared in her ears.

“We’re pinned down. Taking fire.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as her hands were starting to tremble. “Woah, you okay?” Evan’s muffled voice asked when he took place in front of her, which she didn’t even notice.

“Buckley!”

Her breathing started to fasten as she looked with panicked eyes through the window and flashes from that night flashed before her eyes. Short, shallow breaths were leaving her lungs. She was terrified.

“Buck wake up!”

“We’re under attack. Come on.”

It’s all coming back to her now, that night she wanted so desperately to forget, but her mind clearly didn’t and couldn’t. Tears were starting to fall down her cheeks as she was still focussed on the fireworks outside.

“(Y/n)!” Evan’s voice sounded over the radio as a scream fell off her lips.

Breathing was hard, it felt as if she had just run the Los Angeles marathon. She brought her hand up to her chest as she tried to take deeper breaths. “(Y/n)!?” Evan’s voice sounded as he tried to figure out what was happening to her. Evan had called out multiple questions to her, that didn’t seem to come through.

But when Evan wanted to reach out his hand, to comfort her and try to help her, she lashed his hand away and stumbled backwards. Her vision was starting to become blurry, she blinked to try and gain back her vision, but nothing worked.

She couldn’t hear any words Evan was asking or telling her, she couldn’t even read his face.

It became harder and harder to breathe, as if her airways were being pushed together and the trachea became smaller with every breath she took. As another bang sounded dull through her ears, she ran.

She ran towards the first door she saw, the closest one of them all.

Their bedroom door.

As she was running, another firework exploded in the air. The explosion made her right knee feel weak and broken again, it made her limp her way towards the door. It was almost like the bullet hit her kneecap all over again.

With a bang she closed the door shut behind her and locked it. A horrifying scream came out her mouth as she cried. Before she could even process what she was doing, her hand lashed out and multiple photo frames hit the floor.

(Y/n) pushed her back against the concrete wall, as she slid down to the floor while she could still hear and see the flashes of that night back in Afghanistan roaring in the back of her mind.

Tear after tears were falling down her cheek as her boyfriend called out her name on the other side of the door.

______

“Hey, thanks for coming so fast.”

Evan opened the front door of their apartment, almost getting pushed to the side as Eddie barged in. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Evan said as he closed the front door.

“Where is she, Buck?” Eddie asked his brother-in-law as their eyes connected.

“Bedroom, I tried to talk with her.. But it seems like she’s.. not here, mentally?” Evan asked himself if what he was saying made any sense. Eddie placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “Okay, I will talk to her.”

Evan nodded, as he ran a hand through his hair and he let out a deep sigh. While Eddie turned away from Evan and walked towards the bedroom door.

Eddie gently let his knuckles knock on the wooden door as he tried to catch his breath. He didn’t have the time to wait on the elevator to reach the ground floor, so he chose to run up the stairs to the fifth level.

“(Y/n)? Are you in there?” Eddie’s voice carefully asked, as he panted and let his hand rest on the doorframe while he let his other arm rest against the door. He waited a few seconds for a response.

Silence.

“It’s me. Can I come in?” He asked as he tried to open the door, which was locked. “Shit.” He cursed as he tried to turn the doorknob, but it didn’t move. “(Y/n).. please.” Defeated he lets his fist fall against the door.

Eddie could hear her crying through the door, the ones that made his heart ache.

“(Y/n) stay away from the door okay? I’m coming in.” Eddie said as he pushed himself off the door and walked backwards to let him create more momentum. He kicked the door in with his right leg, and it swung open.

His eyes scanned the room he had just kicked open. “(Y/n)?” his worried voice filled the room. He could hear the sobs falling from her lips, when his eyes finally found his sister, he rushed towards her.

With her legs up to her chest locked into place with her arms and her head dangling between her thighs, she cried.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Eddie asked calmly as he let himself fall down onto his knees next to her. She shook her head as sobs fell off her lips and slowly looked in front of her. “We’re under attack.”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, “What? No, you’re safe.” he reassured her.

She shook her head. “They’re out there, I’ve heard them.” A sigh left Eddie’s mouth as he realized what was going on here, he let his hand rest carefully onto her shoulder. When his hand connected with her skin, her eyes shot at her brother’s.

“It’s okay” He gave her shoulder a slight, soft squeeze. ”You’re having a panic attack.” Eddie concluded.

“No. That can’t be. I’m.. I’m not crazy.” She said as a tear traced down her face, when she tried to calm herself down as she huffed out oxygen. “It’s okay.. we’re going to get through this.” Eddie says as he grabs both her hands, and looks her in the eyes.

“Take deep, slow breaths with me. Okay?” His thumbs rubbed over the back of her hands as she closed her eyes and copied her brother’s breathing.

“Good. That’s it.” He supported her as she cried through her attempts to take deep slow breaths.

When her breathing calmed down, Eddie sat down next to her, folding his legs over each other. “Now, you want to tell me what happened?” Eddie carefully asked (y/n).

She remained silent as she looked at her legs and fidgeted with her fingers. “I’m not leaving until you tell me, you know that.” he reminded her.

(Y/n) let her head fall against the wall so she was looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head. She knew that Eddie was going to sit there for another twenty four hours if he had to, maybe even days. And if she wouldn’t talk, he’d find a way to get her talking. He may be a firefighter just as Evan, but he could just be as much as an interrogator.

“I was making popcorn.. and when I walked back, I heard fireworks.”

“And the fireworks triggered something.. I get it.” Eddie finished her story. She nodded and a sigh left her mouth. “Fireworks and explosives don’t sound the same. But somehow.. I was back again. In Afghanistan. With a damn bullet in my leg.” her voice was on the edge of breaking down, it was shaking as she tried to stop crying, holding back her tears.

A loud silence sounded through the bedroom.

“I’ve had them too.” Eddie confessed. He could feel his sister’s eyes drawn to him. “Panic attacks, flashbacks..”

“You never told me that.” she reacted. Normally Eddie would be an open book to his sister, and yes she knew that of course he would have secrets. But she wasn’t exactly expecting him to keep something like this from her.

“I know.. I should’ve told you. But the point is.. I told myself I was fine, until I had a panic attack in the middle of a store. And I ended up in the ER with a cardiologist.” Eddie told her as he didn’t look her in the eye.

“ I wish I could promise you that it will get better. But it won’t.” he tells her as he looks her in the eye now. “We chose back then, for that life, for the consequences. And we may as well just have to live with it.”

She knew exactly where she signed up for when she dropped out of high school. Her mom and dad asked her a hundred times if she had thought this through.

“But please, when this happens again. Accept the hands we’re holding out, to keep you from drowning.” Eddie begged his sister. “That’s what you had then, and that’s what you have right now. No one wants to see anyone suffer like that.”

Eddie held out his hand with his palm up towards his sister. She took a glance at the hand he was holding out, and laid her hand on top of his. Her head turned to his as he gave her a small smile.

“Come here.” Eddie says as he opened his other arm and moved the one her hand was resting on towards her back, as she moved hers behind his. “You can always talk to me.” Eddie whispered as he felt her arms tightening around his back.

[beaddie]

AMARANTHINE - Dr. STONE

sum☆: "ᵉˡᵉᵍᵃⁿᵗ! "𝙰𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙴 (adj.) undying, immortal, eternally beautifulIn which Stanley Snyder, Xeno Houston Wingfield, and (Y/N) Ambrose were trapped in an unexpected stone world that had been petrified 3,700 years before. However, they were 'infiltrated' by some foreign brats all of a sudden.Of course, they don't give up without a fight, do they?

warnings:. all characters are 18+!!! violence. language. FICTION!! don't like it? scroll away!! first ever post on this app. english is not my first language, so ugh.(Dr. Stone x Reader)(Dr. STONE : New America City Arc) MANGA SPOILER

(CHAPTER 4) Z=152: Doctor vs. Doctor

As Chrome and Kohaku arrived at their designated vantage point, they were immediately struck by the sheer scale of the enemy factory. Its towering smokestacks and sprawling buildings dwarfed everything around it. Chrome, ever the strategist, was already on the line with the Perseus, relaying the latest intel.

"Perseus, come in! We have a new development," Chrome announced, her voice urgent.

On the Perseus, Senku and the others listened intently. "Got it. No more words," Senku replied, his tone equally serious.

"Right, since we're using radio waves, the enemy scientist could be intercepting our signal," Yuzuriha pointed out, her eyes filled with concern. Tsukasa nodded in agreement.

Just then, the Perseus received another incoming call. Magma, assuming it was Chrome, answered without hesitation. However, the voice on the other end was not Chrome's but that of Dr. Xeno, the mastermind behind the enemy forces.

"Greetings," Xeno said, his voice cold and calculating. "I presume this is your preferred frequency for communication?"

A wave of shock swept through the Perseus crew. The enemy had located their communication channel.

"MWAH HA HA! So you're the big bad guy, huh? You got guts!" Magma exclaimed, his bravado momentarily masking his fear.

"I apologize for my limited Japanese language skills," Xeno replied, his voice laced with disdain. "However, this conversation is not suitable for such primitive minds. I demand to speak with your science team leader."

The crew exchanged nervous glances. They knew who Xeno wanted to talk to.

"Put Dr. Taiju on the line," Xeno commanded.

Taiju, still dressed in his Gen costume, pointed at himself in confusion. "Me?"

Minami explained the situation to Senku, who realized immediately what was happening. "Ah, I see. This is Gen's doing," Senku said, picking his ear with his pinky finger. 

"Guess I'm tagging in for Senku," Taiju announced, his voice filled with determination.

"Taiju here! That's Dr. Taiju to you! So you're Dr. Xeno, huh? Pay attention, because I've got something to say to you," Taiju shouted into the phone. "Shooting people with machine guns without warning... isn't nice!"

Senku, Ukyo, and Yuzuriha couldn't help but chuckle at Taiju's naivete. 'Well, duh,' they thought in unison.

"My apologies," Xeno replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "My soldiers, Stanley and (Y/N), merely wanted to demonstrate the chasm between our respective levels of science."

"Now, Dr. Taiju," Xeno continued, "as a fellow science-pro yourself, you must surely realize... we already possess a Haber Bosch plant."

Taiju's eyes widened in confusion. "A Haber... thingy? That's awesome, Dr. Xeno!" he exclaimed, clearly out of his depth.

Senku quickly intervened. "Don't talk more than you need to, you big oaf, or the cracks will start showing," he warned Taiju.

Minami asked Senku what Xeno was talking about. "What is he talking about?"

Senku explained. "A Haber Bosch plant is a factory that makes ammonia. In short, with just water and air, they can produce unlimited gunpowder and ammunition."

"So that's how they can fire those machine guns all day long!" Taiju shouted into the phone.

"You get the gist, Dr. Taiju," Xeno replied.

The Perseus crew was impressed by Taiju's performance. "Who knew Taiju was such a performer?" Ukyo said.

Yuzuriha couldn't help but laugh. "More like up front and direct," she replied.

"We are a collective of professional adults," Xeno said, his voice filled with contempt. "Unlike your ragtag band of merry youths playing with science. Now, I hope you'll surrender at once and serve me. Nothing more, nothing less. You see, our population is lacking." 

Xeno explained that he didn't have enough manpower to de-petrify the statues and was therefore unable to expand his forces. He offered the Perseus crew a chance to surrender and serve him.

Ryusui realized why the enemy lacked revival fluid. Magma, however, was confused. "What's he mean? They don't have enough people? Why not just wake up the stone statues lying around everywhere?" he asked.

"HA HA! This tells us... they don't know about the revival fluid! Am I right?" Ryusui said confidently.

Xeno, realizing his mistake, asked how the Perseus crew had revived the statues. He was unintentionally revealing his ignorance of the revival fluid.

"Well, we..." Taiju began to explain, but Senku and Ryusui interrupted him. "We'll simply crush your group once we have the manpower to do so," Senku said, his voice cold and calculating.

Senku then revealed that they could have Corn City running with the formula. With that, Taiju rejected Xeno's offer, and Xeno promptly ended the call.

"You're never getting the revival fluid! Request denied, mister!" Taiju shouted into the phone.

"Very well. Negotiations have broken down then. What a shame," Xeno replied, his voice filled with disappointment.

Just then, the Perseus crew heard a noise and looked up to see another enemy plane flying overhead. The enemy had reinforcements.

"<Ooh, that's one whopper of a flagship,>" Stanley remarked, his eyes wide with amazement.

(Y/N), ever the daredevil, climbed onto the roof of the plane and sat in a makeshift seat, her machine gun ready. "<How cute~,>" she cooed, gripping the gun tightly.

Meanwhile, on the Perseus, the crew turned to Senku for guidance. "How can we fight back? We don't have an airstrip," Ukyo asked.

Senku's response was both unexpected and ingenious. "Then we just gotta make one," he replied.

"Where?" Ukyo asked, confused.

Senku pointed at the Perseus. "Here," he said. "We're going to build an aircraft carrier on the Perseus."

The crew was stunned. An aircraft carrier on a ship? It was a crazy idea, but it was also the only way to fight back against the overwhelming enemy forces. Senku announced that he and Kaseki would start building a runway.

"It's aircraft carrier time!" Senku shouted excitedly. "The Perseus is getting a total makeover!"

[ocram-station-admin-and-records]

Now, either I’m very fucking lost, but I think I’ve found you ?

This is callsign: Hyena on approach. Please do not fire on the incoming frame, this was the easiest way to get here.

HYENA

Akhaan Security, hailing incoming frame.

Callsign Hyena, I'm not even going to ask why.

If you have EVA capabilities, please move towards the airlock marked by the beacon transmitting on frequency [encrypted].

Once aboard, you will be escorted to Admin, the paperwork will be dealt with by some poor secretary and we'll get down to business.

-Alexis, Akhaan Security

[quasi-normalcy]

For the record, I don't really think that all people are equal so much as I think that it's a meaningless question to even ask, like "Is orange more than yellow?" More what? What context? Orange has a longer wavelength than yellow, so in that sense it's more; orange has a lower frequency though, so I guess it's less. Except I don't really like either orange or yellow aesthetically, so I guess they're equal. It means nothing.

And how much infinitely simpler is a colour than a human being? Every person is a bundle of traits, almost all of which are desirable (by whom? by me) in some circumstances and undesirable (by me) in others. I say that humans are n-dimensional vectors, but even that's not accurate, since most of these traits can't even be quantified in anything but the most arbitrary of ways. You can't even say the absolute value of one human is greater than that of another because it's an uncomputable quantity.

Acting like you can reduce the rich complexity of human existence to a single scalar value like IQ or income is just fucking insulting to the intelligence.

[ao3wasntenough]

Can you drawing not sam sleep on ultra Magnus alt mode, mad Magnus is like no want wake sam up so Magnus just go back to base with alt mode and sam still sleep on him then meet hot rod, he confuse why sam on Magnus and Magnus say he didn't want wake sam up

HotRod on the radio: PAPA MAG INCOMING WITH MINI PAY-

Ultra Magnus: HotRod you will get off this frequency. You will turn around. And you will never tell anyone.

Later a new protocol would be informed that you MUST tell or inform some superior base staff member that if you have to roll out with Sam. Or you can ask if a fork lift manoeuvre can be made to move the minibot



The mini payload

[narrators-journal]

Dear darling

So, for those of you who lurk and for some reason read and remember my silly little babbling blurbs over on my tumblr, you might recall that I have something of a yandere prompt list I’ve kinda built up. This! Is inspired by that, and I just kinda picked a person at random. Someone outside of persona so that I could feed my ever starving other fanbases lmao. Which, might’ve bitten me in the ass, because I am so insanely rusty on Dazai, holy shit, even with that kinktober ask under my belt, this feels shockingly ooc. But! It’s Yandere, so character accuracy is kinda(?) a secondary concern! Just enjoy this interesting little snippet, I’m sure I’ll eventually post more yandere works for random bitches, I’ve got them on the to-do list, I just need to get the motivation.

CW: Yandere vibes, creepy note format, stalker implications are also lightly sprinkled on top. It’s yandere content, so, hopefully you know the dark implications you are dabbling in.

Dear Darling mine,

I know you don’t know me, but you’ve been on my mind since the first day that I laid my eyes on you. I remember that day very fondly, all around. The thought of your outfit, the scent of you, your hair, it all sticks with me. It haunts me like a ghost. But! A good ghost, a lovely ghost. I enjoy thinking about you day in and day out. It almost gives me the motivation to continue living! And when it doesn’t bring me that joy, I find joy in the thought of the time we’ll spend together eventually, or the inevitable beauty of our double suicide.

And that makes me all the more eager to introduce myself to you, love. It’s been years since I’ve been this energetic and excited for something in my life! In fact, I’ve been so excited to finally have you to myself that I’ve had to resort to spending a lot of my down time making sure my house is as comfortable as I can for your eventual stay with me in order to keep myself from acting too hastily. So, I’ve made sure that you have plenty of room for your hobby, a room all prepared for when you move in, and I’ve even been keeping a list of all your favorite foods and shows so that we can enjoy them together!

As a slightly funny consequence of this method of coping, my work partner is rather proud of me, I can tell in the way he’s lessened the frequency of insults he throws at me. I’m sure to him and my other coworkers it simply looks like I’m simply pulling my life together. Like I’m working on myself and striving to improve my mental health. But, just between you and me, I’m only doing all of this work for you. That is how much I love you, darling. That’s how excited I am to be able to come home to you each day.

Hell, I’d even learn to cook if I could, but it’s like I’m cursed whenever I set foot into a kitchen. Last time I tried, a certain Chibi had a tantrum over some cooking wine I used and a stove’s burner. So, sadly, I think you might need to be the one to cook when you move in. Though, I don’t mind dinners of macaroni and cheese or take-out, lord knows I have the money to spend on that.

In fact! I have the savings and income to ensure that you never have to work again! With my connections and work history, I can give you a very luxurious life with no worry. Which, just makes me all the more excited for the day that you move in with me. I truly cannot wait much longer for the time that we will spend together. All the nights I can have cuddled up to you, the conversations we’ll have before bed, it all keeps me going, darling. And, I’m sure you’ll grow to await those romantic moments too. Of course, after you get through the adjustment period.

But, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I mostly only wrote this little note to sort of introduce myself to you. Not legitimately, though, I work until the evening, and I didn’t want to just wait outside your home like a creeper to say hi when you come home from work. But, I was too eager to wait until I got a day off, so I settled for this little note. Just to let you know that I love you dearly, I’m thinking about you, I’m excited for our time together, and I might move up the planned day of our proper introduction. I love you, darling, see you when the time is right or I lose my patience.

Love, Osamu Dazai

[qingyingpocketlirary]

Snapshot 35

When the weather station had warned of a rough storm coming in from the sea, and the dangers of sea goers getting lost due to the storm, no one said no to babysitting the cats from Sandy’s boat for a night or two, while he was out, helping check for incoming ships and guiding them into the port. As one of the strongest local water Demons, Sandy was permitted to go out in such horrid weather with several others on a ship Megapolis collectively called ‘The Lucky Bell’, each crew member acting as a lifeguard and a rescuer should the worst come to pass, bringing the survivors in from their wracks and tending them on their boats until the storm passed and they could bring them back into shore.

MK, Pigsy and Tang took in four of the older cats, all of whom they were familiar with, Mei took three kittens, two expecting mama cats and an old tom who enjoyed just loafing on Mei when she visited the Boat. Red Son took two shorthaired toms and the oldest cat, while Chi Yue took the still weaning foster kitten and her adopted mother and Bai He, bless her young and still healing self, took Mo as it was not safe for the small blue cat to go in the smaller boat with Sandy.

Still Sandy wasn’t going out completely alone. 

Huntsman was going out with The Lucky Bell this time, at the request of the ship’s other crew members, having witnessed how fast and how quickly the Spider Demon could get a struggling swimmer out of the water around the Dock and watched him help Bai He and the other children playing in the shallows as extra hydrotherapy with Sandy. They admitted they were also down one crew member due to them having suffered an accident in their day job leaving them unable to join, so having someone else who could help get swimmers and drifting bodies out of the waters before the undercurrent and tide dragged them off would be a comfort.

The day started calmly, the sky clear and blue, the water calm and everything seemed normal when they waved Sandy off.

Within the hour, the sky grew dull as clouds drifted in, bringing a bitter wind that turned the gentle waves into crashing surges that drove even the bravest souls away from the port and docks. The news put out a warning, asking people to please stay indoors. No one argued when Syntax hacked the feeds of the weather station, specifically the one that tracked the Lucky Bell’s course and shared the feed with them.

Seventeen hours of waiting, watching and hearing snippets of conversations over the old frequency radio Pigsy and Tang had set up just in case Sandy needed a rescue of his own in the early days, the call came in that the storm was moving on, and when the seas were calmed, the Lucky Bell would return to port.

Two ships wrecked, both middle sized boats, the Fair Lady with twenty to her name on route with imports meant for the food market and the Dancing Lords with twenty five crew members, carrying a shipment of replacement cabling, wires and system parts for the Weather station and several other larger buildings that helped keep Megapolis running. The anchors of the two ships had been torn from the seabed by the force of the storm, and the captains had tried to stir their ships clear of the worse dangers.

The Lucky Bell had done its job, the Water Demons making light work of the raging tide and currents, pulling the lifeboats from the water, going back into the wrecks for the missing members, trapped in the ruins or who’d been thrown from the lifeboats by the great waves. Four rescues with minor injuries, two with broken limbs, and one critical.

The Lucky Bell arrived late in the evening to no fanfare or fuss, the nearest hospital took the critical case for immediate treatment while the rest were checked over on scene, and after a long evening of paperwork, Sandy and Huntsman were able to call them all and assure them all they were safe and would be home for a late dinner. Again, no one questioned it and the plan was made to meet up as Pigsy’s to get dinner and then take the cat’s back to the boat after Sandy texts to say the two were up again.

“No tea before bed?” Sandy asked as Huntsman curled himself into the comfort of the pillows and blankets that filled Sandy’s hammock, making a content chitter. 

“Tired. Sleep first. Tea later.”

“Alright.” Sandy nodded, drinking his own cup down and set Huntsman’s cup aside for later before he also climbed into the hammock, pretending not to be amused by the way Huntsman went limp with a deep purr as he was lifted up and settled instead on Sandy’s chest so as not to be crushed by the bigger male as they slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silktea fluff.

Enjoy!!!!

[poe-dameron-fandom]

Chapter 10

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Injuries and mentions of death.

Word Count: 9.2k

The ground was a dusted white, but not with snow, it was salt. Crait had once been a Rebel stronghold, long forgotten beneath time and red earth. Now it stood again, its battered walls sheltering the final remnants of the Resistance. The bunkers were quiet, the air electric with tension. Leia stood at the far end of the main command tunnel, looking out toward the ridges where the blast door groaned shut behind the last incoming Resistance fighters. Her eyes lingered on the horizon, that old Force-stitched awareness buzzing at the edges of her mind. Something… was coming. Someone… was coming. Behind her, a technician called out, “The signal’s been sent, General. All frequencies. No response yet.” Leia didn't answer.

Poe stood at the mouth of the bunker, eyes scanning the horizon beyond the towering blast door. The air buzzed with tension, every minute that passed without a reply to their distress signal carved another crack into their hope. Nothing. No answer. And then—movement.

“TIE fighters!” came the shout from the lookout station. “They’re approaching fast!”

Poe was instantly alert. “How many?”

“Just a few,” the spotter confirmed. “But they’re headed right for us.”

“Seal the gate!”

The massive blast door groaned as it began to lower, the last sliver of outside light shrinking by the second. Poe hesitated, something in his chest twisting. One of the First Order Escape Pods get inside before the door completely closes.

“Don’t shoot! It’s us!” a voice crackled over the comms.

The gunner beside Poe stiffened. “Sir, I think—” Poe didn’t think he ran.  The pod’s hatch hissed open. Rose and Finn walk out of the shuttle.. “Finn…Rose you’re not dead.. where’s my droid?!” BB-8 launched out, beeping frantically. Poe skidded around the corner just as his droid shot toward him.

The droid collided with his legs. Poe dropped to his knees, scooping BB-8 into a desperate hug. “There you are, buddy. You okay?” But even as he smiled, Poe’s eyes darted to the ship. “Where is she?” Poe asked, breath catching. Finn turned and then you appeared.

Your boots hit the salt ground with a soft crunch, you was trembling and blood clung to your top like ink. Your skin was grey under the Crait sun, your lips dry and cracked. Your steps were slow, unsure, but you kept walking but your vision tilted.

Leia stood frozen as you emerged from the smoke of the pod’s trail, the Force thrummed painfully in your chest. “Y/N,” she whispered and then she ran to you. Poe was on her trail, BB-8 and Finn behind him — and the moment he saw you, he stopped like someone had pulled the air out of his lungs. You looked up at him and smile then your knees gave out. Leia caught you.

“Mama,” you whispered, collapsing into your mother’s arms. Leia gently lowered you to the floor, her fingers brushing your matted hair. “She’s fading,” Leia said, voice hollow. “I can feel her slipping.”

“No,” Poe shouted, rushing forward. “No, no, no. Don’t you dare.” He dropped beside you, pressing his hands to your side, trying to slow the bleeding with the edge of his scarf. “Medic!” he bellowed. “Medic! Bring me everything you’ve got!”

Leia was calm, but her face betrayed her sorrow. “She needs help now. And we don’t have what she needs.”

“We have me,” Poe snapped. “And I’m not letting her die.”

Your eyes fluttered open, barely. You see Poe, sitting next to you, hand still holding yours tightly- like he was scared to let go. He was covered in ash, blood and tears. “You’re here,” you whispered.

“Of course I’m here,” he said. “You stubborn, reckless—” You reached a shaking hand toward his face, your fingertips brushing his cheek. “I told you not to go,” he whispered. “I begged you not to go.”

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” His voice cracked. “You didn’t have to do it alone. You didn’t have to leave me behind.”

You winced. “You would’ve stopped me.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

Your hand dropped to her chest, your strength failing. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate you sometimes,” he whispered through gritted teeth, his face crumpling. “You drive me insane.”

Your lips barely curled “I know.”

Then he grabbed your hand, held it to his chest. “Don’t do this, Y/N/N. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave your mother. We’re here now. Just… hold on. Please.”

You blinked slowly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he choked.

You exhaled softly and whispered. “I came back to you.”

Poe pressed his forehead to yours, voice low. “Then stay. Stay here with me. Don’t make me learn to live without you.”

“I’ll try.”

Behind you, medics finally arrived with supplies — bandages, bacta, adrenaline injectors. Leia stepped back, letting Poe take control but her hands lingered at your temple, gently touching her daughter’s skin. “She’s strong,” Leia said. “She always has been.” Poe nodded without looking up.

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The air in the Resistance bunker on Crait was heavy with anticipation. The walls, old and scarred from battles past, seemed to listen — as if the ghosts of the Rebellion were holding their breath. Outside, the First Order was coming, and inside you sat wrapped in a blanket that did nothing to hide the truth: you was barely holding on.

The medics had done what they could they wrapped your side, sealed some wounds, filled your veins with enough adrenaline to keep you awake but they couldn’t patch your soul. They couldn’t take away the way your hands trembled when you tried to tie your hair back or the grimace on your face when you breathed too deep.

Poe stood across the dimly lit room, back to you, fists on a table, staring at the holomap. He hadn’t spoken much since the medics left and you hadn’t tried to fill the silence. You pulled yourself up — slowly, painfully — from the makeshift cot and placed a hand on the nearby wall for balance. The room spun and your vision blurred but you were determined to stay standing.

Poe turned instantly at the sound of your unsteady footstep “What are you doing?” His voice was sharp, tired.

You straightened. “I’m going.”

“The hell you are.”

“I’m not sitting on the sidelines while this happens. Not again.”

“Y/N, you’re bleeding internally. You can barely walk.”

You took another slow step forward, gritting your teeth. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”

Poe crossed the room in a blink, grabbing you gently but firmly by the arms. “Stop. Just stop.”

Your face twisted. “I’m not helpless.”

“I never said you were,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even the strongest people… they break, Y/N/N. They die.”

You looked up at him, eyes blazing, but rimmed with exhaustion. “You think I don’t know that?”

“You think I don’t feel it?” Poe’s voice broke. “Every time you run headfirst into the flames, you take a piece of me with you. And one day, you’re not going to crawl back out.”

You looked away and he stepped closer, lifting your chin gently with two fingers so you’d meet his gaze again. “I don’t care if the whole galaxy burns,” he whispered, “I just want you alive.”

“I can’t stay behind. It’s not who I am.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her hair back. “I love you for it. I hate you for it. And I’d die trying to keep you safe from yourself.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it Poe was already wiping it away with his thumb. “I saw Ben,” you whispered. “Up there, on the ship, after he killed Snoke. He asked me to come with him.”

Poe stilled. “What?”

“He killed Snoke, for us, for Rey, for… me. But he’s still lost, I saw it in his eyes and I was so tired, Poe. So damn tired for a moment… I almost said yes.” Poe said nothing, his hands tightened on your arms. “I didn’t,” you added softly. “I didn’t go but I wanted to. Just… to stop running.”

Poe leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t ever have to run again. You hear me?”

Your voice cracked. “I’m scared.”

“I am too.”

You stood there in the dim bunker light, heartbeat fluttering weakly against his chest, the world narrowing down to the two of them — bruised, breaking, but still breathing. Poe kissed you. It wasn’t a perfect kiss — not passionate or fiery or beautiful. It was broken. It was trembling. It tasted like blood and salt.  When you parted, he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You stay here,” he said. “Let me fly this time.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ll stay back,” she said. “But I’m not staying down. I can help coordinate with the pilots,  I can use the Force if I have to… to feel where they’re coming.”

He exhaled, defeated. “You’ll be in the command area and with the medics nearby. That’s non-negotiable.” You nodded slowly. “And if you so much as think about sneaking into a fighter—”

“I won’t,” you whispered. “I promise.”

Poe pulled you in again, holding you like you might vanish. “Don’t break my heart,” he murmured. “Not again.”

“Never Flyboy,” you whispered back.

Dozens of massive walkers lined up in formation — their legs sinking deep into the mineral plains. Over them loomed the Battering Ram Cannon, its massive energy core glowing with deadly promise. It was the weapon that would destroy the Resistance’s final refuge, the last nail in the coffin of their rebellion. Inside the mountain base, the Resistance was reeling.

“They’re here,” Lieutenant Connix announced, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stood in the command centre, leaning over the console, your knuckles white. You stood pale and trembling, wrapped in your mother’s cloak — your purple lightsaber at your hip, your eyes fixed on the horizon. You didn’t have to see the walkers to know the weight of them — the dark presence, the sharp ache in the Force. Your side throbbed beneath your coat, a dull reminder of your mortality.

Poe stormed in behind you, helmet under his arm. You turned to him, reading everything in his expression before he spoke — determination, fear, and that reckless hope she’d fallen in love with. “It’s a siege weapon,” Poe explained quickly. “A battering cannon. Miniaturized Death Star tech. One shot will blast through these doors like they’re paper.”

“How long?” you asked.

“Minutes,” Connix said. “Maybe less.”

Finn stood near the entrance with Rose and a few remaining pilots. He turned to face the others, his voice rising in a way it hadn’t before — raw, uncertain, but still brave. “People will come,” he said. “We’ve sent the signal. Someone will answer. We just need to hold them off long enough.”

“That cannon is our priority,” Poe cut in. “We take it out, we buy ourselves time.”

The camera feed showed the old Resistance speeders — rusted, barely operational, scattered across the hangar like relics of a forgotten war. But it was all they had. “I’ll lead them,” Poe said, looking at you. She already knew what he was going to ask. “I want you here,” he said quietly, stepping close. “I need you in the command centre to watch our flank. Use the Force if you have to, but promise me—”

“I’ll stay,” you interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “This time… I swear it, Poe.”

He looked into your eyes for a long moment, searching. Maybe for doubt. Maybe for goodbye. “I hate this part,” he murmured.

“So do I.” and then, in front of everyone, he kissed her — not a long kiss, not a farewell, but one that said you are mine and I will come back. They broke apart as Finn and the others began boarding the rust-buckets they dared to call ships.

“Keep him safe,” you told Rose as they passed.

“No promises,” Rose smirked, though her eyes were heavy.

The airlock doors opened, and the roar of Crait’s surface wind swallowed their voices. You returned to the command centre, pushing aside the pain in your ribs, breathing through the white-hot fire that moved under your skin. Poe’s voice came through the comms: “Alright people, let’s light this place up.”

The speeders screamed across the salt plains — white salt giving way to blood-red mineral soil underneath with every pass. Trails of red streaked behind each speeder like scars torn across the ground. You watched from the command window, headset secured, eyes fixed on the cannon.

“Trajectory stable. They're not focusing fire on us yet,” Connix reported.

“Because they think we’re nothing,” you said, jaw tight. “Let them keep thinking that.”

In your mind, you reached out — not far, just ahead. She could feel Poe. Finn. Even BB-8 — bright like static. Her senses wrapped around them, watching, guiding. Then— A shape cut through the air, banking hard toward the battlefield.

“What the hell—” Connix muttered.

The Millennium Falcon burst into view, weaving between the walkers like it was dancing through blaster fire. You stepped closer to the glass. “Rey…” you breathed.

Poe’s voice crackled through: “Is that—?”

“Yep,” you said, lips curving. “They hate Dad’s ship too.”

The Falcon dove low, drawing fire, leading a squadron of TIE Fighters away from the ground team like bait. Rey had come — not just as a Jedi, but as a friend, a fighter, a spark. The cannon was beginning to charge and you begin to panic, - they are not going to have enough time.

“Suicide mission,” Poe muttered over comms. “Pull off. Everyone, pull back!”

One by one, the speeders peeled away — battered and sparking. All except one. Finn. “Finn, fall back!” Poe ordered. “That's an order!”

But the speeder didn’t slow. It screamed toward the cannon, fire building in its core. “Finn!” Rose cried over comms.

“No—” you whispered. “He’s going to—” Without thinking, you closed your eyes and reached forward through the Force. Your hands hovered above the console, trembling. You pulled, willing the ship to shift, to stop, to veer but you was too weak, too slow. Then— CRASH.

Rose’s ship collided with Finn’s, sending both spinning out of the cannon’s path just before the energy wave fired, the blast rocked the ground. The line went silent. You sank back in her chair, gasping.

“Did it hit them?” Connix asked.

“No,” Megan whispered. “She saved him.”

Through the haze of dust, two figures staggered back toward the base.

You leaned forward. “Open the doors. Get them in. Now!”

The doors slammed shut behind Finn and Rose- Finn carrying Rose inside and getting med supplies. The cannon hadn’t broken through, but it would only be minutes before another shot was fired and they had nothing left to fight with. You turned your headset to the Falcon's frequency.

“Rey, come in.”

Static.

Then: “I’m here.”

“I felt you.”

“I saw you,” Rey replied softly. “I saw everything.”

You closed her eyes. “Ben survived” Rey didn’t ask more she there wasn’t time. They were all still in the final chapter — and none of them knew how it would end. Poe returned, pulling off his helmet, coated in salt and sweat. He didn’t speak — just walked straight to you and pulled you into a tight embrace, you didn’t fight it.

The rumble had started minutes ago — a deep, echoing groan from the sealed blast doors. Dust fell from the rocky ceiling. Sparks flickered along the control panels. Outside, the battering ram cannon powered up again, its glow bleeding crimson through the cracks in the cliff face. Inside the old rebel base, the Resistance stood quiet. Watching. Waiting. You stood at the edge of the gathering — bruised, torn, barely held together by bandages and sheer will. Your blood still soaked through the side of your uniform, but you didn’t care. That pain had dulled and what you felt now was something else entirely. Dread. Hopeless.

Connix checked the final transmission logs again and again. “The distress call went out. Someone had to have heard it.”

“They heard it,” Poe said grimly. “They just didn’t answer.”

The truth dropped like a stone in their chests, they were alone.

You looked at Leia. She sat silently against a support beam, her face tired but composed. There was no panic. No pleas. Just understanding. You swallowed hard and turned away from the others. You slipped behind a pillar and sat, closed your eyes, and reached into the Force.

It was like diving into a storm but you found him — of course you did. He burned like fire in the darkness, twisted and heavy but beneath it all, he was still Ben. Somewhere. You sent your message, letting the Force carry your words like a wind across a canyon.

“Come down here.”

Silence. Then: “Why?”

“Because I need you to, because I’m tired of running from you.”

Another pause. Then: “You’ll be alone.”

“I know. Will you come?”

“Yes.”

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

You found Leia standing in a quiet corridor, watching the flickering remnants of a hollow star map. Just stars. Just ghosts. You stepped toward her. Leia didn’t turn. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“I wish there was another way.”

“There isn’t,” Leia whispered.

Your throat closed as you fought the tears. “I can’t stop him, but I can try… to reach him. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see him, but… I know I have to go.”

Leia turned and embraced you tightly, fiercely. “You are my hope, Y/N Hope Solo. You always have been. Even when you were angry. Even when you were lost.”

“I’m scared.”

“So was I, once.”

Tears slid down your cheeks and Leia kissed your forehead and held your face in her hands. “You’re not alone, the Force will always be with you.” You nodded, unable to speak.

You found Poe next, he turned when he heard you. “Hey. You okay?”

You didn’t answer, you just walked to him and kissed him — not softly, not carefully, but like it was the last time you would ever feel his lips. Your hands cradled his face, trembling as they pressed together. Poe froze, caught off guard, then returned the kiss just as fiercely.

When you parted, he blinked in confusion. “What was that for?”

You looked up at him and began to speak, voice cracking under the weight of everything unsaid. “I loved when you taught me how to fly. I hated it at first, remember? I stalled the X-wing twice and fried the stabilizer.”

“You cursed me out for hours,” Poe chuckled, the smile faltering at her expression. He laughed, but something in your tone caught him. You kept going.

“I loved every night on base when we were hiding out, and we didn’t know if the war would end. I loved how you made me feel human again.”

“Y/N…”

“I love you. I always will. No matter where I am. No matter what happens.”

Poe frowned, his fingers brushing the side of her face. “Why does this sound like goodbye?”

You reached under your collar and pulled out your necklace — the one you wore tucked close to your chest during every battle, from it hung your engagement ring.  You unfastened it and looped it around Poe’s next to his mother’s ring.  “There,” you said softly. “Now they’re together.”

His breath caught. “No. No, no, no—Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I need you to survive,” you whispered. “And I need you to tell our story. If you ever have children… tell them who I was. And how much I loved you.”

“Y/N, stop—” but you was already stepping back.

“You said you hated goodbyes,” you said. “So I’m not going to say it.”

He grabbed your hand, desperate. “No—no. If this is about Ben—if this is about your brother, we can find another way.”

“There is no other way.” Your voice was soft, final.

You walked back into the control room. “Commander?” Connix asked, noticing your stance. You gave a single nod. “I need you to restrain Poe Dameron.”

The room went still. Poe rushed in just as two officers grabbed his arms. “No—NO! Don’t you dare! Y/N! What are you doing?!”

You turned once — just once —eyes locking with his. “This is the only way,” you said, voice cracking. “Please… forgive me.”

He struggled hard, yelling, cursing, his face a mixture of heartbreak and fury. “Don’t do this—Y/N, don’t go!”

“I love you, Poe” and with that, you turned your back on him. You walked to the blast doors alone. As they groaned open, salt wind tearing at your coat, the Force vibrated around you like a song about to end. Ben Solo was waiting.

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The gates behind you sealed with a thunderous groan, metal locking into place. Salt winds howled across the red-tinged flats of Crait, tugging your tattered coat around your legs. The white surface stretched endlessly — snow and ash, stained by blood and war. And there, walking through the haze of smoke and distant fire, came your brother. Ben Solo — no, Kylo Ren — dressed in black like a shadow solidified, the red light of his saber casting a glow across his face. He didn’t raise his weapon. Not yet. His eyes — those same brown eyes you’d known since childhood — studied you with confusion.

“You’re dying,” he said. The words were simple. Cold. “I don’t know why you’re trying.”

You reached behind you with a shaky hand, igniting your saber with a snap-hiss. The purple blade pulsed to life, trembling in your grip. Your wounds screamed, blood still soaked your side, but you stood tall. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Ben scoffed, taking another step. “You’re loyal to failure.”

“I’m loyal to hope.”

“No one answered your call.”

“I did,” you snapped. “I answered. I still believe in the light, Ben. Even after what you’ve done.”

His face tightened, jaw flexing.

“I’m not here to save you,” she whispered, lifting her saber. “I’m here to stop you.”

The clash of purple and red shattered the silence. Your sabers met in a blinding spark, the Force rippling like thunder between you. Despite your wounds, you fought hard — ferocious, unrelenting. Your movements were instinct, raw and graceful. You spun, ducked, and countered — your saber carving arcs of violet light through the dust-filled air.

Ben grunted as you slammed him back, pushing off the scorched ground. “You’re still strong,” he muttered.

You panted, holding your saber high. “I’m a Solo. We don’t go down easy” but pain was mounting — each step was a scream in your muscles, each breath like fire in your lungs. Blood now ran freely down your arm. Still, you didn’t fall.

Ben circled you, “You’re going to die out here, Y/N.”

“Then I’ll die standing.”

The next strike was brutal. He came in high, feinted, then slashed low across your shoulder. You cried out, stumbling back. Your saber fell from your hand, hitting the salt with a fizzling hiss. You collapsed to your knees, clutching your shoulder. Your vision blurred. Ben stood over you now, saber humming inches from your face.

“Do it,” you spat, lifting your head with blood in your teeth. “Go on, Ben. Finish it.”

His brow furrowed.

“You killed our father. You’re killing our mother by doing this. So finish it. Prove to me you’re Kylo Ren.”

He stood still and silent. You glared up at him, jaw tight.

“Kill me. Or prove there’s something left of Ben Solo in there.”

His saber trembled in his grip. Hesitation.

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Poe thrashed against the Resistance officers still holding him. The sounds of lightsabers clashing echoed faintly through the cracks in the rock wall. He could feel you out there— and every second of silence tore another piece out of his soul.

“LET ME GO!” he bellowed, face soaked with sweat. “She’s going to die—!”

“Poe!” a voice snapped. Leia. She stepped forward, her presence still commanding even in her grief. “Look at me.”

He shook his head. “Leia, please. Don’t—don’t let her go like this—”

“She’s not gone yet.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he whispered, voice breaking. “She told me she loved me. She gave me her ring, and I let her go. I let her go, Leia—”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Poe collapsed into her embrace, gripping her like an anchor. His body shook as the sobs came, uncontrolled, desperate.

“She’s all I had,” he whispered. Leia didn’t speak. She just held him as the wind howled outside and the fight raged on.

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

Salt wind stung your eyes as you knelt in the red and white dust, blood spilling freely down your arm from your shoulder. Your saber had long since deactivated, the hilt buried somewhere in the ash beside you. You breathed in sharp, broken gasps, each one dragging daggers through your ribs. Ben stood above you, his saber hummed inches from your face. Red. Burning.

You watched him, unblinking, not with fear but something else. Sorrow, maybe. A grief that dug deeper than the wound in your side. You wasn’t sure if you was shivering from pain or the Force pulling tight around you. And then — you felt it. Hesitation. Ben’s grip faltered. His expression cracked. That tiny flicker behind his eyes — that flicker of Ben Solo.

You felt it like a ripple across a still lake. “Ben,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Don’t do this.”

His lips parted — not in anger — but confusion. He raised the saber slightly… and then—

“Today’s not your day, kid.”  The voice was calm, wry, steady as stone. Both you and Ben turned and out of the horizon, a silhouette approached. Cloaked in black, hair longer now, beard streaked with silver. But those eyes — those Skywalker eyes — burned with purpose. Uncle Luke. He walked toward you, alone, dust swirling around him like he belonged to the storm.

Ben took a step back, fury boiling in his blood. His lightsaber snapped up, turning away from you  and toward the uncle who had once failed him. Luke didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He turned to you instead, nodding once — firm, proud.

“Get out of here.”

You staggered to your feet, legs wobbling beneath your weight. You looked back once more at Ben — not in anger, but sadness. Then you turned and began limping toward the base, every step a war with gravity.

The doors hadn’t sealed yet and Poe was already running. He’d been standing there, wild-eyed, heart thundering in his chest as the battle outside unfolded. When he saw you—stumbling, bleeding, half-dead but still walking, something inside him shattered.

“Y/N!” he choked, sprinting toward you, boots skidding across the red-streaked salt. You collapsed just as he reached you, and he caught you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Why did you do that?” he sobbed, voice shaking with something between rage and heartbreak. “Why did you do that to me?”

You smiled faintly, blood painting your lips. Your fingers curled tightly into his shirt. “I’m saving you, silly,” you whispered. “You’re too important.”

Poe clung to you like you was his entire universe, like he’d never let go again. “I thought I lost you,” he murmured into your bloody hair. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m still here.” you winced, voice thinner now. “Still with you.”

Inside the base, panic and desperation hung heavy in the air. The Resistance had dwindled to the handful around them — scattered, broken, but still standing. Poe was the one who noticed. “The vulptices,” he said softly, turning toward the jagged tunnel where the crystal foxes had once been. “They’re gone.” The others looked at him in confusion. “They’re not in here,” you said. “That means they got out. There’s another way.”

Everyone turned toward the cave’s far end — a wall of rock but Leia’s eyes were on Poe and you. Everyone’s eyes were on Leia for her next orders “Don’t look at me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Follow them.”

You took one shaky step… then another… and collapsed again, barely conscious. “No,” Poe said, catching you before she hit the ground. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Without hesitation, he scooped you into his arms, carrying you bridal style. Your blood soaked into his flight jacket, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even care, he just held you tighter.

Leia walked beside you, taking your limp hand and squeezing it. “You’re not going anywhere without us,” Leia whispered. You blinked, trying to stay awake, trying to hold on.

You reached the rock wall, it stretched impossibly high, sealed tight by fallen rubble. Everyone stared at it in silence. Poe looked around desperately, then back to you. “We need to move this. We need to get you help—”

“I-I can’t,” you gasped. Your body was trembling in his arms. “I’m too weak.”

“No. No, don’t say that—don’t even think that—” you closed your  eyes and you felt it. A spark in the distance. A warmth. Familiar. Rey. “She’s here,” you whispered. “She’s moving them…” And outside, beyond the rocks— A light ignited.

The rocks fell away and a light pierced through the tunnel where darkness had reigned, and Rey stood bathed in it—her arms still raised, face drawn with the immense strain of what she had just done. Behind her, the battered Millennium Falcon waited, its belly open, a final refuge.

“Move!” Poe’s voice cracked like a whip, but he wasn’t moving for himself. He was running with you still limp in his arms, your head rolling lightly against his shoulder. “We’ve got to go—now!”

The remaining Resistance bolted. Finn, Rose, Leia, the remaining few soldiers and droids—all sprinted for salvation. You groaned, your eyes fluttering with the pain lancing through every nerve. Your body was barely holding itself together. Poe adjusted his grip, keeping you tight to his chest. “Hold on,” he begged you. “Just a little more, baby. Please. Don’t you dare leave me now.” Your hand gripped the fabric of his jacket weakly, and Poe blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He had to see where he was going. He couldn’t afford to cry. Not yet.

The Falcon’s ramp hissed open into the chaos of Crait’s final moments. Poe stumbled inside, his arms wrapped around your broken body, your weight terrifyingly light and limp. Your blood was everywhere — soaking into the collar of his jacket, trailing down his arms, dripping from your fingertips like ruby raindrops. Your head lolled against his shoulder, strands of hair matted with sweat, dirt and blood. Your skin — too pale. Your breath — almost silent.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, running through the corridor. “Stay with me. You stay with me. Don’t you dare.”

“MEDIC! I NEED SUPPLIES!” Poe screamed the second he burst into the main hold. Rey spun around, already digging through the emergency crate. Finn and Chewie appeared behind you, eyes going wide at the sight of you — and the blood amount of blood you are loosing. Poe barely heard them. He laid you down on the old bench table like glass, but you let out a sharp, rattling scream.

“Shhh, shhh—Y/N—I’m here,” Poe whispered frantically, brushing hair from your face. “I’ve got you.” but your body arched, a gurgling sob caught in your throat as your hands clawed at your side, your tunic soaked with red. “Maker—Maker, where is all this coming from—” Poe peeled back the fabric and swore. A deep gash, torn along your ribs, was still bleeding freely. “Dammit. Okay. You’ve had worse, right? We’ve gotten through worse.”

He lied, you hadn’t. You tried to speak, to tell him to stop — but your words came out in broken sobs. “P-Poe, don’t… hurts—hurts too much—please…”

Poe froze hearing you beg him to stop was like being stabbed himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have to—there’s no one else—just hold on, sweetheart, I’m gonna fix this, I promise—”

He grabbed gauze, pressure clamps, a cauterizer — his hands slick with blood as he pressed into the wound. Your scream this time ripped through the ship like a blaster shot. Chewie let out a deep, pained groan behind him. “Rey!” Poe shouted without turning. “Heal her. Please—use the Force, whatever you have to—do it now!”

“I can’t!” Rey’s voice cracked. She ran to his side, breathless, her face pale. “I—I already healed her back at Snoke’s chamber. I gave her everything I had—I’m empty, Poe.”

“No…” Poe’s chest heaved. He shook his head. “No, you’re a Jedi, you have to—what the hell is the Force even for if it can’t save her?!”

He slammed his fist against the table. The tools rattled and you whimpered. Rey didn’t respond, she didn’t need to. “Chewie—hold her down!” Poe barked, frantic now. “She keeps twisting, she’s making it worse—just hold her still!”

Chewie hesitated, his eyes wide and filled with sorrow. You was like a daughter to him. He let out a low, heartbreaking growl before nodding and stepping behind you with enormous gentleness, he pinned your shoulders and arms down. You screamed again. The sound ripped through Poe like fire. He dropped the cauterizer. It clattered to the floor.

“No. No, no, no—baby, I’m sorry—I’m hurting you—I’m trying—I don’t know what else to do—”

Your hands scrabbled weakly at his flight suit, fingers coated in blood. “Hurts,” you whispered. “Please… stop…”

“I can’t. I can’t,” Poe said, breath hitching, eyes stinging with tears. “I can’t lose you. Don’t ask me to stop—I can’t stop trying—”

The medics arrived at last, sprinting in with more supplies. “Let us help—!”

“NO!” Poe roared. “DON’T TOUCH HER—get away!”

“Poe!” Finn shouted, coming in behind them. “Let them—”

“She’s mine!” Poe shouted, chest heaving, blood on his hands, his face, his mouth. “No one touches her but me!”

He reached for another clamp, hands trembling violently. “Poe,” Leia’s voice broke through the noise. She was standing just inside the door, a stillness in her presence that cut straight through the chaos. Her voice was heartbreakingly calm. “You’re running out of time.”

“I know!” Poe screamed. “But I’m all she’s got, and I can’t let her go!”

“You’re making it worse,” Leia said softly. Her eyes were glistening. “I know your hands. I know your heart. And right now… both are breaking.”

“She’s bleeding out—she’s not—she’s—” Poe choked and turned back to you. You were shaking violently now. The gauze was soaked through. Your face pale and your breathing barely audible. You screamed again, a broken, raw cry — and then you slumped, limp, unconscious.

“NO!” Poe screams and Chewie let out a massive roar and finally moved, stepping forward and pulling Poe back from the table. Poe fought him — kicking, thrashing — but Chewie held him, wrapped him up in those giant arms like a child in the middle of a tantrum made of grief.

“Let me GO!” Poe sobbed. “She’s still bleeding—she’s still SCREAMING—I didn’t fix it—”

The medics moved in fast. Clamps, bacta injections, a quick stabilizer. One of them cursed. “She's crashing—starting transfusion now!”

Rey came forward, hand on Poe’s arm. Finn was on the other side, holding his shoulder. Poe collapsed between them, breathless, shivering, blood still on his face and in his mouth.

“She’s still breathing,” Finn said quietly.

“But barely,” Rey added, eyes shimmering.

Poe turned, burying his face into Chewie’s shoulder, and sobbed — the kind of grief that claws through the ribcage and never lets go. Chewie made a soft cooing sound, holding him tighter. Leia knelt beside them. “She’s still here, Poe,” she whispered. “She’s alive because of you. But now you have to let others carry her the rest of the way.” He didn’t answer. He just nodded, barely. And prayed — for once in his life — that someone was listening.

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

The Falcon’s lights hummed gently overhead, flickering with the occasional jolt of hyperspace turbulence. In the makeshift-recovery-room, Poe hadn’t moved in hours. His hands were stained with dried blood- Your blood. It was on his sleeves, his knuckles, under his fingernails. It had soaked through his shirt, crusted on the collar, and covered the entire front of the jacket folded over the back of the chair he now sat slumped in — a jacket he once swore he'd never go into battle without. He sat on the edge of the cot, his elbows on his knees, your hand cradled gently in both of his. His thumb traced tiny, reverent circles over your bruised fingers. Your chest rose and fell — shallow, but steady. Machines beeped softly, oxygen hissed. You was alive- barely but alive.

He felt it, a twitch beneath his fingers, a small movement. He straightened instantly, eyes widening. “Y/N?” he whispered, afraid to breathe. “Hey—hey, Princess—are you with me?”

A groggy groan. Eyelashes fluttered and your lips parted. “...Poe?”

It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life .“Oh my god.” His breath caught as he leaned over you, brushing hair from your face with trembling fingers. “I thought—dammit, I thought I lost you.”

Your eyes blinked open sluggishly, bloodshot and dazed, but sharp enough to lock onto his face. You squinted. “You look like you got hit by a Star Destroyer.”

His laugh cracked out of him, half-sob, half-relief. “You’re one to talk. You look like you picked a fight with a TIE engine and lost.”

“I feel like I lost.”

“You scared the hell out of me, Y/N.”

“I scared you?” Your voice rasped, but you gave him a look, the tiniest spark of sass flaring up. “You were elbow deep in my spleen. Screaming. I heard it, even unconscious. You have a very distinct scream.”

He laughed again, this time with wet eyes and his forehead pressed to your. “Yeah well… not all of us are good at watching the love of our life bleed out in our arms, okay?”

Your breath caught softly, then your hand weakly shifted in his, the edges of your fingers brushing the engagement ring — yours, the delicate band, now looped around his neck beside his mother’s. You looked down and smiled. “You’re wearing it.”

“Of course I’m wearing it.” His thumb moved to your wrist. “You gave it to me like it was a goodbye.”

“It was. I didn’t think I was coming back.”

“You don’t get to do that,” Poe whispered, shaking his head. “You don’t get to give me that ring, kiss me like it’s the last time, and walk into death, Y/N. I won’t survive it.”

“I didn’t want you to watch me die.”

“I would always rather be there to protect you than live not knowing.”

Silence settled again, thick with the grief you’d been barely keeping at bay. Poe’s head dropped to the side of your mattress. His hand wrapped around yours  and squeezed. “I—I was hurting you, wasn’t I?” he asked, barely audible.

“Yes,” you said honestly. “But I was dying, Poe. You were saving me.”

“I didn’t know what to do. You kept screaming and I just… I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t watch you break like that.”

“You didn’t break,” you whispered.

“No,” he said. “But I almost did. When Chewie pulled me off you, I thought I was going to lose my damn mind. I was screaming. I was so angry—at the Force, at the medics, at myself.”

“You’re always angry when you care.”

“I’m always angry when I’m terrified,” he corrected, gently resting his hand on your stomach. “And when it comes to you… I’ve never been more afraid in my life.”

You smiled faintly, your lips dry. “You’re kind of a romantic when you’re unhinged.”

“I proposed to you after a fire-fight in the rain, didn’t I?” Poe replied, a small grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Romantic chaos is my brand.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered.

His eyes shut tightly, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Forever,” he murmured, “as long as I get to keep you.”

“You already have me, flyboy.”

Another long silence passed, this one comfortable. His thumb brushed the edge of your pulse, your breathing a little steadier now. His shoulders finally sagged, the weight of hours of panic beginning to melt into exhausted relief.

You watched him, eyes half-lidded. “You know I’m not done fighting, right?”

“I know,” he said.

“But I’m gonna need time to… not die, first.”

He chuckled, voice thick. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not even if I start screaming again?”

“Especially not then.” He squeezed your hand. “You scream all you want. I’ll scream with you.”

You sighed softly and leaned your head a little closer to him.

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much”

He kissed your hand gently. “I know Princess”

You smiled and slowly drifted again into sleep — this time, without pain and Poe sat beside you, silent and still, the jacket forgotten, the war momentarily on pause, and for the first time since the ground fell out beneath him… peace.

The hum of the Falcon’s engines filled the dim light of the medbay cabin. Poe sat unmoving, you still asleep — your body weak but stable, your breathing shallow but steady. Your hand lay in his, fingers still wrapped around his like they were afraid to let go and he wasn’t letting go either.

There was a quiet knock on the doorframe, Poe didn’t answer. It slid open anyway and Finn peeked in, then Rey just behind him. Both looked exhausted — pale, bruised, bone-tired — but their eyes went straight to you and Poe, Finn gave a small smile. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “We brought food. Leia’s orders.”

Poe didn’t look up. “Not hungry.”

“She figured you’d say that,” Rey said, setting the tray down. “But she also figured you’d listen if she said to rest.”

“I’m fine here.”

“She’s still alive, Poe,” Finn said gently. “You don’t have to hold your breath anymore.”

Poe finally looked up — eyes bloodshot, jaw tight. “I know,” he rasped. “I just... I can’t stop hearing her scream.”

They all went quiet and Rey walked over and knelt beside him. “She’s going to make it,” she said. “And she’s going to wake up knowing it was you who refused to let go.”

He swallowed, nodding once and then, quietly, Leia’s voice from the doorway: “Poe.” Leia stood there, calm but firm, as always. The room seemed to hush just with her presence.

“You need a minute,” she said. “Come with me.”

“I’m not—”

“Come,” she said, gently but commandingly. Poe looked at you again. You was still asleep, lips parted slightly as you breathed. He leaned down, brushed his lips against your forehead. “I’ll be back, Princess,” he whispered. “Always.” Then he followed Leia out of the room.

The hallway of the Falcon was quiet, the kind of quiet only found in deep space. Leia led him to the small galley — empty, for once — and poured two cups of something hot. It smelled bitter, dark. Poe sat across from her, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked like hell. She passed him a cup. “You look like someone who just saw half the galaxy fall apart.”

“I almost lost her.”

Leia nodded, sipping her drink. “I know.”

“I heard her screaming,” Poe said, voice cracking. “She was begging me to stop. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just kept thinking if I stopped, she’d die. If I let anyone else touch her, she’d bleed out. I just... I panicked.”

“You fought for her,” Leia said softly. “That’s what matters.”

He stared down at his hands — still stained with dried blood. Your blood. “I didn’t protect her. Not from Snoke. Not from Ben. Not from any of it.”

“Poe.” He looked up at her. “I’ve never seen someone fight so hard to hold onto love,” Leia said. “And I know what that looks like. I saw it in Han, once. I saw it in myself.” She paused, folding her hands. “You know, I wasn’t sure about the two of you at first. She is a Jedi and you were both so fiery, so reckless. I thought you might combust just trying to be in the same room.” Poe gave a small, broken laugh. “But now?” Leia continued. “There’s no one in this galaxy I’d trust more to stand by her side.”

“I almost lost her,” Poe repeated.

“But you didn’t.” Leia reached out, took his hand in hers — small but strong. “She’s alive because of you. She stayed alive because she had a reason to. You.” His eyes welled again. Leia smiled, motherly and fierce. “I know love isn’t easy for Jedi,” she added. “But Y/N is stubborn — more than me, and that’s saying something. If she loves you, she’s not letting go. Not even for the Force.”

“I don’t deserve her,” Poe whispered.

“None of us deserve the people who save us,” Leia replied. “But if they love us anyway... we hold onto them with everything we have.”

Poe nodded, silent tears running down his cheeks. “She’s everything,” he whispered. “And I didn’t even say goodbye before she went out there. She kissed me... she knew. I should’ve known.”

Leia’s voice was warm but firm. “Then you tell her now. Every day. From now on.”

He sat still for a long time, holding the warmth of the cup in his hands. Then, without another word, he stood. Leia smiled. “Go.”

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

Your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the small medbay viewport. The faint ache in your chest told you that you was alive — barely — but alive nonetheless. Your body felt like it had been smashed by a star destroyer and then set on fire. Your shoulder throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and your ribs screamed every time you inhaled. But you didn’t care, you was awake, you was breathing and you are still here.

Your eyes shifted — and there he was. Poe. Asleep. Curled awkwardly in the chair beside you, head resting on folded arms that were braced against the edge of the bed. His jacket, the one you bled all over, was draped over the back of the chair. His hand still held yours loosely — even in sleep, he refused to let go. A smile tugged at your lips and you squeezed his hand lightly. He stirred instantly.

“Y/N/N?” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and emotion.

“Hey, flyboy,” you whispered.

His head snapped up. Bleary eyes locked on yours, and in a heartbeat he was sitting upright, brushing hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your temple, then another to your hand, and another to your shoulder — careful to avoid the dressing. “You’re awake,” he whispered. “You’re awake.”

“I’m okay,” you said softly but he looked at you like you wasn’t — like the storm was still just beyond the hull, ready to take you again. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered.

“I scare you all the time,” you said weakly, smiling. “You’re dramatic.”

He huffed a laugh, but there was no humour in it — just relief. Pure, aching relief. Then you slowly started to sit up. Poe’s eyes widened. “Whoa—whoa—what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sitting up,” you muttered, wincing as you shifted. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Poe said, reaching to steady you. “You nearly died, Y/N.”

“I’ve had worse,” you lied.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I hate lying in bed,” you grumbled, pushing yourself upright with your good arm. Your other shoulder trembled with effort. “I need to move.”

“You need rest.”

“Rest is for people who aren’t being coddled to death,” you muttered, breath hitching as your body protested.

Poe stood and gently pushed you back against the pillows. “Okay, stubborn girl, listen to me—”

“Don’t call me stubborn—”

“You are stubborn and reckless and you keep trying to convince everyone you’re invincible, when you literally bled out in my arms yesterday.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know you’re not fragile.” He cupped your face. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met but strength also means healing. And letting the people who love you take care of you.”

You blinked and shut up, he sat down beside you again, his hand cradling yours once more. You was quiet for a long time. “I hate being told what to do.”

Poe smiled. “I know. That’s why I say it really gently and brace for impact.”

A small laugh escaped your lips — then you winced.

He shifted closer. “That was your own fault.”

“Worth it.”

You sat in silence for a beat, the heaviness between you  finally softening. Then you looked down, saw the blood-stained cuff of his undershirt and your smile faded.

“Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I put you through that.”

His eyes flicked to you, and his expression changed — softened and stormy all at once. “I’m not,” he said. You looked confused. “I mean, I hated it,” he added. “Watching you scream, holding your body together while you bled everywhere, begging Rey for help she couldn’t give... yeah. That was the worst thing I’ve ever lived through.”

“Then why—?”

“Because you lived through it.” His voice cracked. “And if I had to go through all of it again just to make sure you were still breathing by the end of it... I would.”

Your eyes welled. “I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered. “Let someone protect me.”

“You don’t have to know,” he murmured, leaning closer. “You just have to let me try.”

You reached up, threading your fingers into his curls. He leaned his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” you breathed.

“I love you more,” he said, eyes fluttering shut.

“Impossible.”

“You bleeding all over my favourite jacket with that amount of blood was impossible too, but hey—here we are.”

You laughed again — softer this time — and let your hand slide down to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “You’re not leaving again,” Poe said.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I mean it. No more last-minute heroics. No more walking into death for me.”

“Even if you were being really annoying that day?”

“Y/N.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I promise.”

“Good… So... we’re still getting married, right?”

You grinned. “I dunno. You’re a little overprotective. Might be a red flag.”

“Oh really?” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re lucky I didn’t propose again while I was stitching your shoulder shut.”

You smirked. “Romantic.”

“I try.”

Poe had barely stepped away to grab water when the door to the Falcon's makeshift medbay hissed open. The moment you saw the tray of bacta patches and sterilizers in the medic’s hands, you eyes narrowed. “Oh no,” you growled, trying to sit up more. “Not again. I’m fine.”

The medic — a wide-eyed younger woman who clearly wasn’t used to resistance legends glaring like this — hesitated. “Y/N, we have to change the dressings. You’re still—”

“I can do it myself.”

“You can’t even lift your arm,” the medic said gently.

Your nostrils flared. “Well, maybe if you all stopped poking and prodding me—”

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on in here?” Poe’s voice cut through the tension as he walked back in, water in one hand and a very tired expression on his face. He immediately scanned you, then the medic, then you again. “Are you giving our poor med team hell again, Princess?”

“Don’t call me Princess.”

“You’re acting like one.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Poe sighed. Loudly. The kind of sigh that said I love you, but you are a nightmare patient.

“She won’t let me change the bandages,” the medic added helpfully.

“I don’t need you to—”

“You are literally stitched together with luck and spite,” Poe cut in, setting the water down and moving toward your side. “Stop fighting. Let them help.”

“I let you help. That should count for something.”

“Yeah, and you nearly died screaming while I did it. We’re not doing that again.”

As the medic stepped forward again with fresh gauze, you tried to twist away — your shoulder flared in pain and you bit back a curse. Poe caught your hand. “Princess.”

“I swear to—”

“Hey.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Breathe. I’m right here. Let them do their job. You don’t need to prove anything.”

Your lips trembled slightly — not from fear, but fury at your own body for betraying you again. For being weak when you had fought so hard to survive.

“I hate this,” you whispered.

“I know you do,” he said gently. “But you can hate it and still heal.”

You was quiet and then, with a resigned sigh, you leaned back against the pillows. “Fine. But if anyone touches my legs, I’m biting.”

The medic blinked and Poe grinned. “You heard the lady. Side and Shoulder only.”

As they began removing the old dressings, you let out a quiet hiss. Poe instantly took your hand, anchoring you with soft squeezes and murmured words. He didn’t look away once — not when the blood started, not when you winced, not when your nails dug into his palm.

“Next time we do this,” he muttered under his breath, “let’s try not getting you stabbed.”

“No promises.”

“Of course not.”

By the time the new bandages were secure, you was sweating and pale again — but upright, proud, and still defiant. The medic gave you one last look before gathering the tools and backing off. “You’re lucky he loves you,” she said under her breath.

“I’m aware,” you muttered, your eyes on Poe as he wiped a final smear of blood from your temple with trembling fingers. When the room was finally empty again, silence settled between them. He sat on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand, his thumb brushing circles over your knuckles.

“Do I get my jacket back?” he asked eventually, teasingly.

She smirked. “You mean the one I bled all over like a crime scene?”

“That’s the one.”

“No. It’s mine now. Sentimental value.”

He smiled at that, eyes flicking to the floor, then back up to you — shy, despite everything they’d been through. You tilted your head. “What?” you asked softly.

He reached beneath his shirt and pulled the necklace from around his neck — your engagement ring glinting beside his mother’s.

“You dropped something,” he said.

You raised a brow. “So you gonna give me my ring back, flyboy... or you giving it to someone else?” He laughed through his nose, shaking his head, that familiar dimple showing.

“Princess, you are the only person in the galaxy who could bleed out in my arms, traumatize half the crew, insult three medics, and still have the nerve to sass me.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Damn right.”

He slid the chain off his head, and took the ring of the chain and slowly placed it back on your finger- right where it belonged. You both looked at eachother and for the first time in days — in what felt like years — they both let themselves just breathe.

[bambamramfan]

This is a fun read, but I'm confused why so many theorists are coming up with complex definitions and philosophy around what "vibes" are.

Vibes are just a separate form of knowledge. No better or worse than others.

Legible, rational, scientific knowing is certainly one form of knowledge. For any statement posed about the world, you can ask what would measure that statement, and what you think you can predict with it. For instance, if you believe in the elite overproduction thesis, you'd ask if incomes of data science PhDs had fallen, etc. If you wondered how a party was doing, you'd measure like, beers per hour drunken, or how many people were in the building.

Vibes are just, well encompassed by a famous economist's statement:

Look around! How are people feeling and acting or not feeling and not acting. What's the frequency, Kenneth?

This is a way of knowing that is not measurable, and thus will be ignored by scientific logic. (And I'd much rather build a bridge with science than vibes. But I'd rather plan a party with vibes than science.)

We may not have find the right statistical way to prove the elite overproduction thesis but... look around. The PMC job market is flooded by people with degrees they can't use, often our friends or ourselves. If the party has gotten stagnant, we don't need a measuring stick to tell us.

We're currently at a time when lots of people were relying on modernist, rational systems of knowing to address the problems of the world. (The US has higher income than ever! Why would the population be in an anti-incumbent, radical mood?) And like a swinging pendulum, that's going to be when ignored "vibes" will be the most insightful and helpful.

But then, you'll get environments where the "vibes" are not clear, and people disagree about that (does that newcomer to the party have good or bad vibes? Depends who you ask) and some good old scientific measurements will be needed.