#sir this isn't how you process loss

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

"Great..."

or: Dean going through his own version of 'five steps of grief'

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Two: Convergence

Chapter WC: 10,048

Chapter Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of war, blood and medical stuff, child injury, i am not an expert in the Force or in medicine, there are good things in this chapter i promise, very good things some would say

A/N: i have the unfortunate habit of making everything a three-part ordeal. what was originally just this chapter has ballooned into three, last week's chapter and then next week's. thanks for being patient with me, we'll get our man back soon enough. though this chapter isn't without a little bit of Rex 👀

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Nadiem, 20 BBY

A hand shoots up from the rubble, clawing at the air and reaching desperately for the sky.

“Over here!” you shout, and two of your men rush forward and dive into the mess, their hands working furiously to clear the rocks and debris. A cry of pain comes from somewhere within, and the clones move faster, their hands digging and pulling, tossing the rocks aside.

The air burns your throat as you lift your arms and call on the Force to aid their efforts, using it to clear a path. The rubble shifts and moves, and soon, a gap appears. Screwball dives forward and pulls a body free, dragging them out into the open.

“We've got a live civilian, sir," he yells. "It's the kid."

You release a breath, your knees going weak.

The battle was over, and you had just begun the process of evacuating the civilians, the area cleared and the wounded accounted for, or so you'd thought. A nagging feeling had settled in your chest, and it was only after the first transport was off the ground that the source of the disturbance became apparent.

It had been a little boy. Just a boy, buried beneath the ruins. You hadn't sensed him until it was almost too late.

You watch as the men lift the small body and begin carrying them towards the aid station where Wise is waiting. Screwball lingers, his gaze locked on the ruins.

"Are there others?" you ask.

Screwball shakes his head. His helmet is smeared with dust and grime, nearly obscuring the twin flames painted across the sides, and you frown when you notice a gash along the edge of the helmet's visor. You reach up and brush a finger along the split metal, a shiver running down your spine.

"I'm fine, sir," Screwball assures you, his voice low. He glances at the aid station and takes a deep breath. "We've got more important things to worry about."

You can't argue with that. There's a flurry of activity in the distance, and the distant shouts of medics and wounded carry through the air.

You let your hand drop and nod. "Take Dash and do another check. Then report to Wise so he can patch you up."

Screwball doesn't hesitate. He's off, calling for Dash, and you watch as the two clones make their way through the ruins, checking every corner and every shadow. A few others join in the search, and it's not long before the entire company is involved, digging through the wreckage.

Once they're a safe distance away, you allow yourself to collapse, your legs giving out and your body hitting the ground hard. You close your eyes and take a moment to steady yourself. The pain is excruciating, a constant ache radiating throughout your entire body. Your head feels like it's going to explode, and every breath burns. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you can't stop shaking.

This is the worst you've felt in a long time.

It's the aftermath of the battle. The adrenaline is gone, the battle rage spent. It leaves you weak, your limbs heavy, and your mind foggy. The weight of what happened is pressing down on you, the enormity of the destruction bearing down on your soul. You can't shake the feeling of wrongness, the sense that something is missing.

You know it's the darkness. You can feel its absence, its loss. You don't know how, or why, but you know that this is the price you've paid for holding back the tide of the dark side.

But that's nothing new.

You've had that feeling for weeks.

The vision flickers through your mind, the images sharp and vivid. The screams echo in your ears, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils, and the taste of blood coats your tongue. You can't shake the image of Rex holding a blaster to your chest.

For a moment during the battle, you'd thought that would be the end of it. That the vision was about to come true. That this was the beginning of the end.

But no. It's still a long way off. You still have time.

Maybe it’ll never come.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to the present, and you suck in a sharp breath. Your eyes open, your hand falling to the hilts of your lightsabers, but the sight of a familiar gold-and-white helmet eases the panic.

"It's okay," Snap murmurs. "They're safe."

You sigh and let your shoulders slump, the exhaustion washing over you. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Thank the Force," you whisper as you turn  and find him kneeling beside you. You're not sure how long he's been there, but worry is emanating from him. You touch his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm alright."

"Sure you are," he says, his tone flat. "Come on, let's get you up."

He lets out a breath, his gaze shifting to the battlefield, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. Snap pulls you to your feet, and the two of you stand, surveying the carnage. The fighting has stopped, the smoke has cleared, and the wounded are being treated. But the damage remains.

"We'll need to send a team down here," you say, more to yourself than to him. "Clear out the rubble and get the rest of the supplies unloaded. Make sure the survivors have food and water."

"Booker's taking care of it," he assures you. He lets his hand fall from your shoulder and looks back at the battlefield. "Once the wounded have been cleared, we can start the repairs."

"Good," you murmur as you sigh and run a hand over your face. Your skin is slick with sweat, and the dirt and ash cling to your fingers. You grimace and wipe your hand on your robe. "C'mon."

The two of you step back into the street and join the rest of the attack battalion. The fighting is over, but the work is far from done. Nadiem is a mess. Buildings have collapsed, the roads are filled with debris, and the streets are littered with the bodies of droids and clones alike. The dead will need to be collected, their armor removed and their bodies given a proper burial.

It was a victory, but it didn’t feel much like one. Nadiem is a remote world, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The only reason the Separatists were here at all was because the Republic had chosen to defend it. Now, it was nothing more than a scar. A reminder of a war that had gone on too long.

Master Unduli, Barriss, and their men had come and gone, leaving you behind to handle cleanup, and in some ways you're glad for it. Being left to do what is necessary has always suited you, and with Luminara gone, there was no longer any need to maintain the facade. No more pretending that everything was fine. No more pretending that you could ever be the kind of Jedi Master she is.

You and the troopers have a routine now. Every time a battle is over, you go through the same process. Check for survivors. Treat the wounded. Collect the dead. Dispose of the fallen droids. And, finally, begin the rebuilding. You've done this a dozen times in the past few months, and the process has become rote.

The only difference now is the size of the battle. It's bigger. Worse. And the carnage is even more gruesome.

Still, the men don't complain. The full brigade is spread out around the city and the countryside, and Booker and Wise have been working tirelessly to get the injured into transports and the supplies delivered. You've made it a point to thank them both, and each of the men under your command, but you know the words are never going to be adequate.

These men have risked their lives for you, over and over. They've fought by your side, protected you, and supported you. You're grateful for them, and you're determined to repay their loyalty in whatever ways you can.

For now, the best you can do is keep the fighting going. To protect them, and to ensure that they are ready, no matter what comes. No matter how dark things become.

Your feet stop, your gaze lifting to scan the ruins. The buildings are a mixture of stone and metal, the facades crumbling and the windows blown out. There's no power. No lights. Just a thick darkness and an eerie quiet that's only broken by the sounds of your men trudging through the streets.

“What a mess," you murmur. You take a deep breath, your hand coming to rest on your chest. It hurts to breathe, a sharp stabbing pain in your ribs. "This is going to take days to clean up."

Snap nods, his helmet tilting toward the horizon. The sky is streaked with orange and red, the clouds heavy and dark. Night is coming. The air is still, and the faint smell of smoke lingers. There's no wind, no breeze, no sign of life. The city feels like a tomb.

”Yeah," he agrees, his voice quiet. 

He reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His free hand runs over his face and his buzzed head, his fingers lingering on the tattoo at the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I hate this," Snap mutters, and you study him, his words making your chest ache. He gives a slight shake of his head, his hand tightening around his helmet. "I hate it so much."

"I know," you murmur.

You look away, trying not to let the emotion show.

In the early days of the war, the clones had been enthusiastic and eager to fight. They had a purpose. Something to believe in. And their dedication and passion was infectious.

Now, after so many months, that passion has shifted into a grim determination. One borne of necessity and the need to survive. To protect their brothers. It's still there, and it's still strong, but there's an exhaustion and a resignation. An acceptance.

It's a reality you don't like to think about.

The truth is, this is all just a stepping stone. It's a path you know you have to walk, but a path you hope will eventually lead to a place where your men no longer have to fight. No longer have to sacrifice their lives. No longer have to die for a cause they didn't choose.

It's a goal, a distant hope. But it's a hope that you'll do anything to see realized.

You glance over at Snap and see him watching you, and there's something in his gaze that you can't quite place.

"Is everything alright?" you ask. "You seem...off."

He sighs and drops his gaze, his hand tightening around his helmet.

"No," he says, and his shoulders slump. "But I think it will be. Eventually."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he blinks. Snap's hand tightens on the back of his neck as he looks away, his gaze returning to the crumbling streets, and you can see his expression softening.

"There's a group of kids playing a game a little ways down the street," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "I…I'm afraid they'll get lost, or hurt."

You smile and rest a hand on his upper back, giving him a gentle pat. "Go. Keep them safe. We can handle the rest."

His gaze lingers on yours, and he smiles, his eyes lighting up.

"Thank you," Snap murmurs.

"You don't have to thank me," you reply. You return the smile and push him lightly toward the group of children, who are gathered around a small crater. "Just get out of here before I change my mind, Captain.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. He's off, jogging down the street, his armor flashing in the dim light. You watch him go, your smile fading with every step he takes until he's nothing more than a blur of white.

Then you close your eyes and let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging. Your hand reaches into the folds of your robes and grabs hold of the smooth stone hidden there. It's warm to the touch, and a familiar peace settles over you, faint, but enough to aid you in pushing the fear and grief away.

Ever since your vision, you've found yourself reaching for Yaddle's necklace more often. Holding it in your hand. Clutching it tight. Trying to find the same calm, the same peace that she seemed to exude. The same certainty.

But it's difficult. So difficult. And you've begun to wonder if there will ever be an end to this war. If you'll ever have the chance to make things right and give the clones the lives they deserve. To find peace, and justice.

The thought is troubling, and you shake it away, focusing on the here and now. You take another deep breath and exhale slowly, letting the darkness settle back into the corners of your mind, and the necklace falls back into your tunic. You turn and continue on your way, heading for the center of the city.

Your footsteps echo off the buildings, the silence broken by the occasional shouts and whistles from the troops. You can hear the rumble of speeders in the distance, and the distant cries of the wounded. The air is thick, heavy with dust and ash, and you find yourself coughing, your eyes burning.

"General!"

You look up and see Booker approaching. He's carrying a crate full of ration packs, and he looks exhausted, his hair disheveled and his mustache unkempt. But there's a hint of satisfaction on his face, and he's moving with an ease and grace that's been absent in recent months.

"You look like shit," you quip, and he snorts.

"Speak for yourself," he retorts. He comes to a halt and sets the crate down, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The medics have got everything under control, and I think the last transport should be leaving soon."

"Any issues?"

"None worth mentioning," he replies. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he scans the surrounding area. "Dash has already started working on the comm tower. The rest of the supplies should be here soon. Hopefully, we can get the power running and the civilians can start settling back in."

"And the wounded?"

"We're bringing the ones who can make the trek to the aid station in the next town over," he says. His eyes return to you, and there's a flicker of concern. "Are you sure you don't want to join them? You look like you could use a breather."

You shake your head.

"I'm fine," you assure him.

His lips thin, and he doesn't look convinced. He glances at the crate and picks it back up, balancing it on his hip.

"Well, if you won't rest, at least take a ration pack," he says as he throws one of the packs at you. "You've barely eaten anything since we landed."

You catch the pack and turn it over, the plastic crinkling. Your stomach rumbles, and the realization that you've gone most of the day without eating suddenly hits. You hadn't noticed.

Booker chuckles and shakes his head, giving you a small salute.

"I'm gonna make another round, check in with the guys," he says. "Let me know if you need anything."

He's off, disappearing around the corner, and you watch him go, the ration pack still in your hand. You look down at it, the hunger pangs intensifying, and you sigh. You’ve all been eating nothing but ration packs and instant caf for weeks now, interspersed with the mess hall meals served on your ships. The Oracle, Utterance, and Pathfinder are all more than adequate, and the crews have done their best to make sure you have food that's edible, but it's not the same. Nothing tastes right. And as the days go on, you find yourself looking forward to that dinner with Rex more and more.

The thought sends a wave of warmth through you, and you smile, tearing open the pack and taking a bite.

You'll need to talk to him soon, you know. Tell him the truth. About the vision, about the darkness, about the fact that you love him. But as always, the timing is off.

You haven’t seen Rex in person since you were on Coruscant, and the only communications have been brief exchanges via holo. It's not a conversation you want to have through a screen, and the distance has been a blessing. It's made it easier to hide the truth, and you're grateful for the opportunity to have time to think, and plan, and prepare.

Rex has his own struggles, and the stress of the war is wearing on him. His missions have become more dangerous, and his responsibilities have increased. It's no longer uncommon for him to disappear for days with no communication. None of those stints were as long as the two months you’d spend in the jungle on Drongar, comm silent and cut off from the galaxy, but it had still felt like an eternity.

But, he'd come back. Every time, he'd come back.

The last message you received from Rex was encouraging, promising a dinner and a drink and a hug the next time you were both on Coruscant, and despite everything, the thought had put a smile on your face.

The fact that he's still interested, that he still wants to be with you, means more than you can say. And even if he can't admit his feelings, or doesn't want to, you're grateful for the chance to be close to him, and the fact that he's willing to try.

You take another bite and let your gaze wander. The street is mostly empty, and you can see the beginnings of repairs beginning to take shape. Apparently, Screwball is capable of more than blowing things up. His expertise with demolitions and architecture has proved useful, and he's already barking out directions to a group of clones and civilians as they work to repair the damaged facade of a nearby building.

It’s a relief to see something be created instead of destroyed for the first time in days, and you find yourself breathing a sigh. You tuck the wrapper into the folds of your robe and turn on your heel, heading towards the aid station. The sun is setting, and you want to check in with Wise and make sure everything is going well before the darkness settles.

You speak into your comm as you walk, fielding reports from the other battalions about their progress and their efforts. It's been a long day, but things are starting to come together. It won't be long before the civilians can start returning home, and you'll be able to return to the ships, and maybe even return to Coruscant, if you’re lucky.

The door to the makeshift aid station creaks slightly as you shoulder it open, and the smell of blood and bacta washes over you.

What used to be a small schoolhouse is now a large triage unit, with rows of cots filled with injured civilians and clones. Medics are scurrying around, attending to the wounded, though there isn’t a droid in sight, as per Wise’s instructions. He claims it’s easier on the wounded civilians, but you both know it has more to do with his personal distaste for droids.

It seems the worst of the injuries have been treated, and the remaining patients are being tended to. You make your way around the room, taking deep, steady breaths and trying to spread a sense of calm, the way Master Yaddle taught you. You stop to offer a reassuring word or two, but most of the injured seem content to just sit quietly, the exhaustion and the pain apparent on their faces.

"Sir."

A voice calls to you from across the room, and you turn to see Wise approaching, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks haggard, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dull, and he stops a safe distance away. The usual grumpy scowl has been replaced with an expression of weariness and worry, and your chest tightens.

"What's the status?" you ask, and his eyes dart over your shoulder, toward the far wall. 

You follow his gaze, and your stomach clenches at the sight of a boy asleep on the cot. His head is wrapped in bandages, his arm is in a sling, and there are several bruises and cuts on his exposed skin. You recognize him as the boy Screwball and his men had pulled out of the rubble. You can't help but wonder if he has any family left, and your throat constricts.

"He's stable," Wise mutters. He rubs his neck, his expression grim. "We lost a few more on the transports, but I've got the worst of them under control."

Your eyes snap back to him, alarmed by his tone. His words are flat, his voice monotone, and his usual sarcasm is absent. You've seen this before. Many times. It's a look of resignation, of acceptance, and it never means anything good.

"How many?"

"Six," he replies. He sighs and rubs his forehead, his hand trembling slightly. "And that was just today. It's only a matter of time before the number rises."

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He's staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, and his fingers drum nervously on his leg.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. His eyes dart to yours, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"It's not your fault," Wise mutters, but the words are hollow. "It's not anyone's fault. It's just the way it is."

"I know," you answer quietly. "But, still...I'm sorry. You're doing all you can, and—"

"Hey," he interrupts, his tone softening. "It's not your fault, either."

You don't reply. You know he's right. You can't blame yourself for every tragedy that happens. But it's difficult, especially in the wake of the vision. Especially after days like this.

"It's fine. Really,” Wise continues. He takes a deep breath and takes your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it drop to your side. “It's just part of the job. You know that."

"Yeah," you murmur, and a heavy silence stretches between the two of you. Wise shifts awkwardly, his gaze returning to the boy on the cot, and you know the conversation is over. There's nothing left to say. No more platitudes or reassurances. Just the grim reality of the situation.

You watch him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the exhaustion in his gaze, and after a while, you let out a heavy sigh and straighten.

"You should rest," you tell him. "The others, too."

"Yeah," he agrees, running a hand over his face. "I think we could all use a few hours."

"Get some sleep," you order, and he nods and turns, making his way through the rows of beds. He murmurs something to the other medics, and they nod, moving away from the cots and heading for the door. 

Wise lingers behind, and your eyes follow him as he goes around the room, checking the IVs and adjusting the blankets, a tenderness and care in his movements. He stops by the boy's bed and places a hand on the child's forehead, his thumb brushing a strand of hair away. His shoulders slump as he pulls away, pinching the bridge of his nose, and a wave of sadness washes over you.

Wise is the last of his batch, and he's seen more death and destruction than most. He's spent most of his life in Kamino’s sterile medical facility, watching his brothers die from defects that never should have existed and training regimens that were meant to break them. The sight of a child, so young and so full of promise, is no doubt bringing back a host of painful memories, and it's all you can do to hold yourself together.

“Wise," you call, and he starts, his head whipping towards you. He blinks rapidly and straightens, his expression hardening.

"Sir."

"I'm serious," you say. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," he says, his voice low. He gives a slight shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the bed. "Right."

“You should go now while you can. I'll watch him,” you offer.

"No," Wise protests, his eyes moving back to yours. His jaw tightens, and a spark of defiance appears in his eyes. "Sir, you need sleep, too. You can't—"

"I'm fine," you assure him, holding a hand up. "Besides, I can't sleep right now. My mind is...well, it's not quiet."

“And you think mine is?”

The sharpness of his tone catches you off-guard, and your mouth snaps shut. Wise pauses, a flash of regret crossing his face, and he clears his throat and gives a slight shake of his head.

"Just...just let me stay. Please. I...I don't want him to be alone."

"Wise—"

"Please," he says, his voice cracking. His eyes are wide, pleading, and you know there's no point in arguing. Not now.

"Fine," you relent. He lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax. “I guess we’re both staying, then.”

Wise doesn’t argue. Instead, he just nods and moves around the bed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the sleeping boy. He settles into the seat, his hands reaching out and gripping the sides, and you make your way across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him.

The boy doesn’t stir, and the silence is deafening. You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your head drops, your eyes closing, and for a few minutes, you sit like that, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors and the faint rumble of the engines and voices outside.

It's peaceful, in a strange sort of way, and you can feel yourself drifting off, the exhaustion and the adrenaline crash finally taking their toll. It's tempting, the thought of giving in, but you fight it, knowing that the nightmares are waiting just below the surface. Ready to swallow you whole.

The darkness has been a constant companion, a weight hanging over your shoulders and a threat always lurking just out of reach. Ever since the vision, the fear has been almost overwhelming, and it's all you can do to keep the paranoia and the anxiety at bay.

The only time the darkness abates is when you’re around your men, and you’ve spent more time than you probably should surrounded by them. Playing Sabacc. Training. Talking. Doing anything, really, that would take your mind off the darkness and the visions and the ever-present threat.

The truth is, they have become your lifeline. Your source of light and hope and strength. Their presence is a reminder of the goodness and the beauty of the galaxy. Of the things worth fighting for. Of the reasons to continue, even in the face of the darkness.

There's a reason you were given this brigade, and not another. It's not a coincidence, not a fluke. You know that. The Force has led you here, to these men. And for whatever reason, they need you, too. They have a purpose, and so do you.

You're not sure how long it is before Wise breaks the silence, his voice low and rough.

"I couldn't save them," he mutters, and you open your eyes, glancing over at him. His face is drawn, his gaze fixed on the child, and his shoulders sag, his eyes moving to the floor. "I...there were so many. And, I just..."

His words trail off, and he takes a shuddering breath, his head dropping into his hands. They slide up, his fingers digging into his scalp, and he exhales a ragged gasp. 

"It's not your fault," you murmur, and his fingers tighten, his head shaking. You reach out and rest a hand on his arm, your thumb finding the spot between the plates at his elbow, and you can feel him tense.

"I could have done more," he mumbles. "I should have done more."

"You did all you could," you assure him, and he shakes his head again. "Wise, there was nothing you could have done. You can't save everyone. And that's not your responsibility. That's not on you. You have to understand that."

"I should have done more," he insists. He pulls back and meets your eyes, his own red and watery. "They deserved more. Better. I..."

He sighs, his hands rubbing his face, and you lean forward, your grip on his arm tightening. You're not sure what to say. There's nothing you can say. Nothing you can do. So instead, you reach out with the Force and wrap it around him, hoping that your presence, your support, will be of some comfort.

"The men...they don’t understand,” he mutters, his hands falling into his lap. "They're different. They didn't...they never saw the others. The ones that didn't make it."

His voice is barely above a whisper, and his gaze falls to the floor. You can see the tears glistening in his eyes, the emotions threatening to burst free. But he doesn’t cry. Instead, his hands ball into fists, and he looks back at the boy, a grim determination crossing his face.

"I'll save this kid," he mutters. "I have to."

"I know," you say quietly, and his eyes flick to yours, the pain and the anguish reflected in their depths. "And you will."

"He didn't ask for any of this," Wise murmurs. He shakes his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "He's just a kid. Just a fucking kid, and now, he's..."

His voice cracks, and he lets out a choked noise, his eyes closing as he struggles to breathe.

Your hand tightens on his arm, and you pull him towards you, wrapping him in a hug. He stiffens, his breath catching, and for a moment, neither of you move. Then, slowly, his arms lifts, his hands coming up and gripping the fabric of your robe. His face presses into your shoulder, and his shoulders shake, the tears soaking through the thin fabric.

You close your eyes, wrapping him in the warmth and the safety of the Force, and hold him, your hand moving up and cradling the back of his head. You can feel the weight of his grief, the pain and the loss, and it's almost too much. But somehow, you manage to stay strong. To hold it back. To stay in control.

It’s easier, you think, to help someone else deal with their pain. There’s something in it that calms the darkness, something that pushes it aside, and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief. You may be haunted, you may be a wreck, but this...this you can handle. This is something you can do.

After a while, his silent sobs subside, and his breathing slows, his body relaxing in your embrace. You keep him close, holding him tight, and it's not until his grip loosens and his head shifts that you finally release him. Your hands come up to cup his face, wiping away the tears, and you give him a small smile. Wise isn't the only brother who has ever cried in your arms, and you know better than to think this is the last time.

You reach into your robes and retrieve a cloth, handing it to him, and he accepts it with a quiet thanks, his voice hoarse.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be," you reply easily. You lean back and fold your hands, resting them in your lap. "We all need a good cry now and again. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Wise huffs a laugh, wiping his face and blowing his nose.

"It's been a while," he admits, his cheeks flushed, and you hum in response.

"Guess you were due."

"Guess so," he grunts. He takes a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs, and he lets out a heavy sigh. "Thanks."

"You don’t have to thank me. I'm just glad you trust me," you say, and his head jerks up. He opens his mouth, a protest forming on his lips, but you hold up a hand, silencing him. "No, it's true. I am. And I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. But I want you to know that I'm here. I may be your general, but I’m also your friend. Whether you want me to be or not."

Wise scoffs and rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile.

"I don’t think that’s how friendship works, sir," he points out, his eyes returning to the boy. His brow furrows, and he reaches out, brushing the hair away from the child's forehead. "Not that I'd know."

“Yeah, it’s…a pretty new concept for me, too," you admit. "But I think I'm getting the hang of it. You should give it a try."

He laughs. It's a short, harsh bark, and his hand falls away. His gaze turns inward, his expression pensive. After a while, he lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his forehead.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

He huffs a breath, shaking his head.

"I guess you're not the worst," he concedes. "For a Jedi."

"Wow, thanks," you reply dryly.

"I mean, at least you're not Skywalker," he continues. Wise lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "That guy is a fucking mess."

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, and his mouth curves into a grin, the first genuine smile you've seen in days. You’re a little delirious, maybe, but you can't help the laughter that spills from your lips.

You haven't seen much of Anakin lately, or any of the other Jedi for that matter, but you've heard plenty of rumors. You have no doubt that Rex has seen more than his fair share of reckless behavior and dramatic stunts recently. It's no secret that Anakin and Ahsoka have gotten themselves into more trouble than most, and the image of Wise being assigned to the 501st instead of the 419th has you struggling to breathe. 

“You should’ve seen him when he was a Padawan," you say after your laughter subsides. "He made me look sane and rational."

"You're shitting me," he deadpans.

"Not in the slightest," you reply. "Trust me, it's better that you ended up with us. He'd probably drive you insane within a week."

Wise snorts, the grin fading.

"I didn't ‘end up’ anywhere," he says quietly as he reaches out, fixing the corner of the child's blanket. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze darts away. "I chose to serve with you. It wasn't an assignment."

"I...well, that's..." you stammer, his words catching you off guard. He clears his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and you blink a couple of times. "Oh."

You had assumed he was assigned, the same way Booker was. And the rest of the men, for that matter. That the Republic had decided to pluck him from the clutches of the Kaminoans, and the recommendation from Booker and Rex had only helped seal the deal. You had never considered that he had actually chosen to be here, and the realization is almost more than you can take.

"I wanted a change," he mumbles, and his fingers drum nervously on the side of the cot. "Booker and I talked about it, and...I knew it was a risk, but, well, we're clones. Risks are part of the job. And you're the best we've got."

"Oh."

You don't know what else to say. The words are stuck in your throat, and it's all you can do not to start crying, too. He chose this. He chose you. He came to the 419th because he thought you were the best, and he was willing to risk his life and his future to fight alongside you. Not because he had to, not because someone ordered him to, but because he wanted to.

And, if that isn't the biggest sign of respect you could ever receive, you don't know what is.

You take a deep breath, swallowing hard, and Wise shifts, his gaze fixed on the blanket.

"Don't let it go to your head," he adds, his voice gruff.

"I'll try not to," you murmur, and his gaze flicks to yours, the corners of his mouth curving upward. He looks tired. Exhausted, really. And a little sad. But there's a hint of fondness, too. A sense of affection.

You smile back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest, and the two of you settle back in your seats. Neither of you speaks, and the silence stretches on. It's not long before a yawn escapes your lips as the exhaustion finally catches up with you, the weariness settling into your bones. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you lean your head back, resting it against the wall. 

You can feel Wise watching you, and after a while, his chair creaks, and you hear his footsteps receding. You don't open your eyes. You're too tired. Too comfortable.

It feels like no time passes before you're suddenly being jolted awake by a noise, a soft whimper. You start, your eyes snapping open, and for a moment, you're not sure where you are. There's a blanket draped over you, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the monitors above the bed. You blink a couple of times, taking in your surroundings, and your gaze lands on Wise, slumped over a nearby desk, his face pressed against his folded arms.

The boy is still asleep, but his forehead is creased, his eyes moving behind his lids. There's a sheen of sweat on his brow, his breathing rapid and uneven. The monitor above his head beeps in warning, and a low groan escapes his lips as his hands scrabble at the sheets, his legs kicking.

You leap from the chair and cross the space between the beds in a flash, your hand reaching out and grabbing his wrist. You can feel his pulse racing, and the bandages are wet with sweat. The beeping intensifies, and the boy starts thrashing, his head shaking from side to side, and his eyes snap open, his gaze unfocused.

"Kid?" you whisper, your fingers brushing the damp hair off his forehead. He whimpers again, his body going limp, and his eyes close, his head lolling to the side. "Shit. Wise!"

Wise jerks awake and straightens, his chair falling over as he leaps to his feet. His eyes land on the boy, and he crosses the distance between the beds, his hands reaching for the bandages around the child's head.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's gonna be okay," he murmurs, his eyes darting to the monitors. "Help me sit him up. I'm going to have to change the bandages and check the wound."

You nod, reaching for the kid's shoulder, and the two of you carefully roll him onto his side. Wise reaches for the bandage on the back of his head and gingerly peels it away, exposing a nasty gash, the edges blackened and bloody.

Wise sucks in a breath, his eyes widening, and his hand moves, gently parting the hair and touching the area. He pulls a medscanner out of his belt and runs it over the wound, his brow furrowed in concentration. He mutters under his breath, his fingers prodding the area, and a curse escapes his lips.

"What? What is it?" you hiss, and his gaze snaps to yours. He holds the scanner out, and the display blinks rapidly, a long list of words flashing across the screen. You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the information, but the medical terminology is unfamiliar.

“Subdermal hematoma,” he mutters. His hand moves away, and his eyes dart to the child's arm, his lip curling. "And an infection. He's going to need a bacta tank and a brain surgeon. A real medical facility. Now."

You hesitate, knowing that it's impossible. There are no facilities nearby, and the only ships are transport vessels. They have no medical capabilities, and the journey would be too risky for a child this young. Even the Venators' medical bays are no substitute for a proper infirmary, one capable of performing a procedure this complex. 

"There has to be something," you insist, your hands moving to the boy's shoulders. He's still, his breathing shallow, and you can feel the panic rising. "Something we can do."

"There's not," he replies, and his voice is flat. "It's not like the Republic is going to send in a team of neurosurgeons to save a kid from a planet that they've abandoned."

"Wise..." you begin, but the words die in your throat. 

You know he's right, and it hurts, a dull ache spreading through your chest. This child, this innocent kid, will die because the Republic has forsaken him, and there's nothing you can do about it. 

You look down at the boy, at the blood and the bruises, and the anger wells up inside you. It's not fair. None of this is. He doesn't deserve this.

"We can't," Wise mutters. He leans over the child, his hand moving to the IV port in his arm, and he begins to remove it. "It's too risky."

"No," you gasp, and your hands shoot out, wrapping around his wrists and pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's over," he says simply. "He's not going to make it, and you know it. It's better if we just—"

"Stop it," you snap, and the words echo in the room, reverberating off the walls. Wise stares at you, his eyes wide, and you tighten your grip. "Stop it. Now."

He doesn't answer, and you can feel him trembling beneath your hands. Your grip tightens as your mind races, trying to come up with an answer, a solution, a way out. But the truth is, there isn't. Not for this. Not without a miracle.

The realization hits you like a blaster bolt, and you glance at the child, your chest tightening.

There's only one option, and it's not a pleasant thought. You know the risks, the consequences. But if there's a chance, even a small chance, that you can save this child, you have to take it. You owe him that much.

You take a deep breath and let go of Wise's wrists, your hands falling to your sides.

"I can heal him," you murmur.

"What?" Wise hisses, his eyes narrowing. He leans back, his gaze searching yours. "You can't be serious."

"I can heal him," you repeat. "I've done it before."

"General, no. I—"

"It's fine," you insist. Your hand moves to the folds of your robe, reaching for the necklace hidden there. "I can do it. Just trust me."

He stares at you, his eyes flitting between the wound and your face, and you can see the conflict on his features. He's torn, his medical training and experience telling him that it's not a viable option, that it's not a risk worth taking. But there's something else there, too. A glimmer of hope, a spark of desperation, and after a moment, he nods, his eyes hardening.

"Will it hurt him?"

"No," you assure him, and his shoulders slump. "Not if I do it right."

"Okay," he says. He reaches into his belt and pulls out a pair of gloves, tugging them on and moving around the bed. "Let's do this."

"Lay him down," you instruct, and Wise gently lowers the child onto his back. You kneel beside the bed and take a deep breath. Your eyes close, and you reach out, feeling for the child's pain. His agony is palpable, the wound a source of searing heat, and you can't help but wince.

“Just so you’re prepared,” you murmur, your hands hovering over the child's head. "I might pass out. If I do, just make sure I'm not bleeding anywhere."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me," you mumble, and you place your hands on the boy's head. The Force flows through you, a wave of warmth and light washing over the room, and the child gasps, his eyes opening wide. His body tenses, his hands clenching the sheets, and a soft groan escapes his lips. "Just keep an eye on me, and if I start bleeding from the ears or nose, try not to panic."

"Oh, that's comforting," he mutters, his voice tight.

"I'm serious," you say, and his fingers flex.

"So am I."

You shake your head and ignore him, turning your focus inward. Your breathing slows, and the world around you fades with each breath.

The sounds of the room disappear, replaced by the steady musical hum of the Force, a chorus of voices and energy, and you let the music wash over you. It's beautiful, intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the song, letting it guide you.

Your hands begin to move, finding the places where the wound connects to the child's mind, and you reach out, sending tendrils of your fading energy into the damaged area.

As soon as you make contact, you’re pulled under. 

It feels like drowning, a current pulling you down, and it's all you can do to keep from being swept away. You fight against it, struggling to stay afloat, disoriented and terrified. Pain lances through your skull, and the world seems to shift and spin, the colors and the shapes morphing into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.

There's a ringing in your ears, a high-pitched whine that grows louder and louder, and the pain intensifies. It's a blinding agony, and you cry out, your mind trying desperately to process the flood of information, to fight against the torrent and take control.

It's a losing battle. You're no match for the power of the Force, the connection between the child's mind and yours. The strength of it is overwhelming, and it's all you can do to hang on, your thoughts and memories becoming muddled and distorted. Flashes of your vision, your childhood, the Temple, the men, the darkness, Rex. They mix and meld, twisting together, and you let out a strangled scream.

You’re grasping at the threads, chasing, trying to hold onto them, but they slip through your fingers, dissolving into smoke. It's impossible. There's too much, and you can't find the answers, can't make sense of it all.

And then it hits you.

The memory of Yaddle, her calming voice as she instructs you to be the current, to give yourself over and allow the Force to flow through you. To be the leaf, to let go of your expectations and allow yourself to be carried along, to trust that the Force will show you the way.

You take a deep breath, focusing on the song of the universe. The rhythm and the melody, the steady beat, and the hum of the energy surrounding you.

And you surrender.

The darkness rushes in, and for a moment, you’re consumed. The world disappears, and you find yourself adrift, alone and afraid. But the fear is fleeting. You're not scared anymore. You know what to do.

You can feel the Force now, the song and the current, and you let yourself drift. There's no resistance. No fighting. No struggle.

The child's presence is a bright light, a beacon in the void, and you focus on it, letting it pull you closer. As the distance between the two of you lessens, the world around you starts to materialize, the images and the feelings solidifying. You can see a golden field, a meadow filled with strange plants and flowers, and the sun is shining, the air warm and fragrant. There's a distant sound of children playing and laughing, and a gentle breeze blows, rustling the leaves of the trees.

It's peaceful, and you can't help but smile, the sight of the meadow a welcome respite.

For a moment, you simply stand, taking it all in. It's not the first time you've seen this place, but the past glimpses of the vision have always felt like just that—glimpses. Fleeting and brief, the memories coming in flashes, hazy fragments of a larger picture. 

But this time, it's different. This time, it feels real, the details sharp and the colors vivid. And perhaps more importantly, there is no sense of urgency, no need to flee, no fear.

This is a place of safety. A sanctuary.

You take a deep breath, the smells of the meadow filling your lungs, and the warmth of the sun settles over you, easing the aches and the pains that had plagued you since the battle. You let your eyes close, a soft sigh escaping your lips, and a wave of contentment washes over you. You can't help but marvel at the simplicity of it all. The calmness.

The feeling is so familiar, and yet, so foreign.

It's been a long time since you've experienced such peace. So long, in fact, that you almost forgot how wonderful it is. How amazing it is, to not be afraid, to not have the weight of the galaxy resting on your shoulders. To simply be.

A soft voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. The last time you had this vision, you turned too quickly and saw nothing. But now, there's no fear, no panic, no anxiety. Only calm and acceptance.

And finally, there is no surprise.

You already know who’s standing behind you.

"Rex," you breathe, and he gives your shoulder a squeeze. 

You open your eyes, and he's there, the sunlight bathing his features, his skin glowing and his eyes filled with warmth. He looks so real, so tangible, and the urge to reach out and touch him is almost irresistible.

Rex smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he gives a soft chuckle.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks. His tone is gentle, but there's a hint of teasing, a spark of mischief, and your mouth curves into a grin.

"I don't know," you admit. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to find you," he replies. His brow furrows, and the sparkle fades from his eyes. "I was worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," you assure him, and he snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I know.”

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. You’ve had this conversation many times, and you’re certain you’ll have it many more. Round and round in circles, the two of you going back and forth, neither able to let the other go.

"I'm glad you found me," you whisper, and his fingers dig into your shoulder, his hand moving down your arm and his fingers entwining with yours. He steps closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm always going to find you," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "No matter what."

The words hit home, and you can't help but smile. It's a sweet, gentle reassurance, and it's exactly what you need. What you've always needed. The simple reminder that someone cares, that someone loves you, even if the rest of the galaxy seems against you.

And it's not just anyone. It's him. Rex. The man who's been by your side since the beginning, the man who's been fighting alongside you, the man who's loved and cared for you despite all the obstacles and challenges. Despite all the risks and the dangers. The man who's always had your back, no matter what.

Your gaze flickers to the field, the sun and the grass, and the thought hits you. This isn't just a dream or some hallucination. This is the reality you've been craving. The peace and the serenity. The freedom. The quiet, simple life you've been longing for.

You want this. You need this.

And if the Force is showing it to you, maybe...maybe there's a chance.

Your gaze flicks back to his face, and the hope blossoms in your chest, the possibilities unfolding before you.

You could have this.

It could be possible.

But before the idea has time to take root, a voice calls your name, the faint echo shattering the moment. Rex's brow furrows, his fingers tightening around yours.

"That's not good," he mutters, and you frown, his words snapping you back to the present. The memory of the child, the injury, and the wound flash through your mind, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I have to go," you murmur, and he nods. "I don't want to, but..."

His hand comes up, cupping your face, and his thumb rubs your cheek.

"I know," he murmurs. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, a warmth blooming beneath his lips. "Just be careful."

"Always," you whisper, and he chuckles. He leans back, his gaze meeting yours, and his eyes sparkle with affection and pride.

You smile, the warmth spreading through your chest. There's a lightness to him, a calmness and a happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, and it's almost too much. There’s still a tiredness in the way he holds himself, a heaviness to his shoulders, but there's no darkness. No pain or sorrow or fear. Just him.

And it's beautiful.

A small, contented sigh escapes your lips, and he grins, the dimples appearing.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, his words filled with the conviction that only a true believer could muster. You nod, knowing that he will, and you give his hand a final squeeze before stepping away. His hand slips from yours, his fingers trailing across your palm, and when you turn, he's gone.

There's a gentle tugging at your hand, and you look down, surprised to see the child next to you, his eyes wide and his face flushed. The rest of the vision falls away around you, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, surrounded by a swirling, hazy mist.

He's so young, and the realization sends a pang through your heart. He looks up at you, his lips turning down, and he wraps his arms around your leg, pressing his face into the fabric. He's trembling, and you place a hand on his head, your fingers gently brushing his hair.

"It's okay," you murmur. "You're safe."

His eyes dart to yours, a question in their depths, and you nod, offering a small smile. His shoulders relax, and he releases his hold, looking up at you expectantly.

"Are you ready?" you ask, and he nods. You smile again, reaching down and taking his hand, and the two of you walk into the fog.

There's a light shining ahead, a small pinprick, and the boy moves a little faster, his steps sure and determined. You reach out with the Force, parting the mist, and together, the two of you step through.

The world rushes in, a sharp intake of breath filling your lungs, and your eyes fly open. 

There's a pair of hands on your shoulders, and they're shaking you, the grip almost painfully tight. You blink, the bright lights and the noise of the schoolhouse coming into focus, and you find yourself staring up at Wise. His eyes are wide, his face pale, and he's saying something, his words garbled and indistinct.

You try to reply, but your tongue is heavy, the words stuck in your throat, and you settle for a simple shake of the head. It's all you can manage, and it's clearly not the response Wise was hoping for.

"Shit," you hear him mutter. "Shit."

He releases you, and your head lolls to the side, the motion sending a wave of nausea through you. You gag, bile rising in your throat, and Wise curses again, moving to grab a wastebasket and thrusting it in front of your face. You retch into it, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief as the contents of your stomach are expelled. The taste is disgusting, and the smell is awful, but the nausea and the dizziness begin to abate.

You cough and sputter, and Wise takes the basket, placing it aside.

"Wise," you mumble, blinking a few times and trying to clear your vision. "Did it work?"

He looks back at the boy, his expression grim. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, and the ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

"It did."

The relief that fills you is overwhelming, and you can't help but laugh, a giddy, slightly hysterical giggle escaping your lips. You reach up and wipe your mouth, wincing as the pain in your head spikes, and you slump, closing your eyes and trying to catch your breath.

"You're bleeding," he grumbles as he kneels next to you.

"It's okay," you tell him.

"Like hell it is," he snaps. His thumb swipes under your nose, and the familiar copper tang fills your mouth. He presses a handkerchief to your face, holding it against the stream of blood, and you reach up, covering his hand with yours. "You could have killed yourself."

"Worth it, though," you manage, and his eyes narrow.

"You fucking—dikut’la, dini’la jetii," he curses, his free hand gesturing wildly. He lets out a string of profanities and insults, the words mixing together until you can't even distinguish individual phrases, but you’re too busy laughing to care, the joy and the relief overpowering any concerns.

You've never done that before, not like this. Your attempts at healing had always felt forced, like you were trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. But this time was different. 

This time, you had given yourself over, and the results had been incredible. Not just the success of the procedure, but the feeling, the way the Force had flowed through you, filling you with peace and light. It had been...indescribable. Wonderful. A feeling you hadn’t felt in so long.

But the moment is short-lived, the euphoria giving way to the pain, and you groan, your head throbbing. Wise is still ranting, his voice rising in volume and intensity, and you can't help but wince.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you mutter. You push his hand away, the cloth soaked with blood, and lean back, propping yourself against the wall. "I'm sorry."

He snorts, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

"No, you're not," he grumbles. "You're never sorry. You just...you..."

His words trail off, and his gaze drops to the cloth. Wise shakes his head, his eyes returning to yours, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"You scare the shit out of me, you know that?"

You offer him a weak, bloody smile.

"Aw, we are friends, aren't we?" you tease, and he huffs a laugh, his eyes rolling.

"If anyone asks, I'll deny it."

Wise clears his throat and hooks his hands underneath your arms, lifting you up and depositing you in a nearby empty cot. You wince, the sudden change in position causing a fresh wave of pain, and Wise frowns and reaches for a cloth and a bowl of water.

"You should get some rest," he tells you, wringing the cloth and dabbing at your nose. The water is cool, and you let out a sigh of relief. "I'll watch him."

"Mmhmm," you murmur, your eyes already drooping. You lean back, the pillow supporting your head, and your eyelids slide shut. "Wake me if anything changes."

"Sir, yes sir," he mumbles, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You're about to reply, but the darkness is already pulling you under, the exhaustion taking hold, and before long, the world fades away.

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[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Enforcers - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Dirty compromises and dead dreams...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"What about the Firelights?" Sevika asks. "Old Giz was their nexus. Now he's dead. But there's still a double-agent somewhere in our network. They've stolen from our warehouses before. Now that we're on the ropes, they'll try again."

"It won't happen."

"Sir—"

"Every single warehouse, silo, and strongroom will be under heavy guard. Not the conventional blackguards, either. Enforcers."

In the glass, Sevika's reflection falls still. The way a corpse would, in the final moments of rigor mortis.

"Enforcers?"

Silco nods. "The Council are pacified by our projected profit margins on medicinal Shimmer. With the Safeguard Act signed, they're content to believe Zaun will play nice. But with a disaster of this scale—and their investments so close to the ground—they'll need reassurance." He keeps breathing: in and out. The pressure in his lungs intensifies. The Monster gnashing at the bars of its cage. "For Topside, the only surety more sacred than a contract is an officer of the law."

Sevika says nothing. He'd expected a hot surge of rage, and refutations that would ricochet off the walls, before she cut a sweeping retreat. But she isn't angry; she seems unable to muster the willpower.

As if, after everything last night, her well of anger is dry.

"Enforcers," she says again. "On our turf?"

"The crisis-management troops. Not the standard-issue."

"It doesn't matter. We can't trust them."

"Which is why we won't give them free rein. They'll be housed in barracks aboveground. They'll be assigned to patrol specific locations. They'll be answerable directly to the Captain of the blackguards, and the Captain will report to you. Any infractions will be handled internally. They will be supervised at every step."

Sevika shakes her head. "We can't trust them," she repeats, with sharper emphasis. "You know that."

"Trust isn't a concern."

"Isn't it?"

Silco's stare cuts crooked as a guillotine's blade. "They will not be given leeway. They will be treated as guests: welcome, and cordially, but only for a set period of time. We'll not give them reason to linger. But while they are here, we will make use of them. They'll be assigned to territories where the Firelights are known to frequent. Their presence will sow panic. The Firelights will think twice before risking a full-frontal attack." He keeps breathing: the pressure is a bolus in his throat. The Monster's ire, a slush-pit of acid. "Until the Shimmer is harvested, and the fresh crop is ready for export, we'll need our goods protected at every stage of the process. No break-ins, losses, or theft. The Council needs to see Zaun as stable. Otherwise they'll reconsider their investment. Others will follow. We cannot let their cowardice be our downfall."

"But—"

"This is not a luxury, Sevika. It's a last resort." The bolus grows bigger, and the Monster is frothing in the darkness. Gods, how he loathes himself for pleading impotence when he'd like nothing more than to throttle every single one of them. It's a prostitution of principle, and his pride cannot sanction it. But his city's backed into a corner, and the only way out is through. "I know that Enforcers are the enemy. I know they've been the enemy, and they always will be. But we are on the verge of collapse, and there's no other recourse. If the Firelights take advantage of the instability, or if the Council's doubts turn into full-fledged panic... then everything will have been for nothing." He exhales: hard and slow. "We must make the best of the cards dealt."

"Sir—"

"I want you to personally oversee the Enforcers' deployment. Establish their routes, and ensure their discipline. I will not abide a reprise of the past." 

"And if there is?"

"Then we'll see the bastards gutted like fish."

The way they should've been on Bloody Sunday.

He hadn't kickstarted the slaughter that night. But it was still his fault. It was his wiles, his weapons, and his callow wargames that had tipped Topside off. They'd gotten a whiff of blood and descended into a feeding frenzy. And the bodies had piled up until there were none left to bury.

Nandi among them.

He'd sworn, that if Enforcers ever set foot again on Fissure soil, he'd tear them apart, bit by bit. That if Zaun was free, it would be free in every sense. Free from Topside's predations, free from their meddling and their murdering. Free to choose a better path, one unstained by the sins of the past.

Now here he is. Making his bed with the bastards that butchered his folk.

What a fucking joke.

In the glass, Sevika's reflected visage is grave. She can sense the unshackled darkness in him now. Sense, more keenly, that unlike last night, it won't be as easy to mitigate. But she doesn't shy away. Doesn't balk at his callousness, or the price he's demanding—from her and the city.

Her bedrock pragmatism is too well-entrenched for that.

She's always known that Silco is not a good man. But it's strange to see her look so cored-out by the knowledge.

I'm sorry, he could say.

Except the sheer inadequacy of the phrase is laughable. Sorry doesn't begin to touch the carnage of past and present. She'd never accept it, either. And, deep down, neither would he. He's not a man who apologizes: not for his ambitions, or the means that drive him to see them through. He's never owned a white horse, or waved a white flag, and he never will. Because there's no such thing as a fair fight; no justice in letting the enemy draw the first blow. Speed and necessity are his only edge: an edge that'll kill, and keep killing until he's the last man standing.

That's the only way to make amends to the dead. To make sure that the living don't join them.

"It will be a nightmare," he says. "But not the end."

Sevika meets his eyes in the glass, and nods.

"Understood, sir."

It's not an endorsement. It's not even a concession. But it's the acknowledgment he needs.

[holly-louisexox]

Ribcage X Andy Biersack- Part 28

Masterlist

"There's one thing you should know about me Delia Vincent, I don't date. Got no heart to break and emptiness is safe, keep it that way."

He was adamant in his choices...

...But then things changed.

Author's note:

Trigger warning: Contains mentions of SA and lots of medical talk that could make readers uncomfortable. Things like this are never your fault, please be kind to yourself and feel free to message me if ever you need a chat.

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

"It's good to see you looking well, Miss Vincent." Officer Davies smiles as he walks through the door of Delia's hospital room "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Delia nods squeezing Andy's hand slightly to indicate the nerves she was feeling deep down, Andy responded by squeezing her hand back as if to tell her it was okay and to remind her that he was there.

"We just have some questions to ask you, I will be making notes but everything that is said in this room will also be recorded for evidence." Officer Davies states before looking towards Andy "Sir, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?"

"No! I'd rather Andy be here with me." Delia insists.

"Okay." Officer Davies lets out a sigh before regaining his composure "The man that we arrested yesterday, you said he's the one who kidnapped you, did you know him beforehand?"

"No. I accidentally walked into him outside the bar as I was leaving, he insisted on hugging it out and then he covered my mouth and nose with something, I got dizzy and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a locked bedroom." Delia confesses as she watches Officer Davies make notes in his book.

"Okay, so there is the likelihood that he drugged you. Were there any signs you experienced that could indicate you had been sexually assaulted?" Officer Davies continues to question Delia.

"No, no signs, but he did kiss me quite harshly... When I pushed him off me he slapped me." Delia instantly lets go of Andy's hand to fiddle with her fingers as she looks down. She was bargaining, she felt that she deserved to be slapped after pushing him off her.

"Hey," Andy speaks quietly as he lightly strokes Delia's arm, making her look up at him with tears slowly running down her cheeks. "This isn't your fault, you did not deserve any of this."

"He's right Miss Vincent, none of this is your fault." Officer Davies confirms "Are you okay to continue?" 

"Yeah." Delia sniffles wiping her eyes. "Please let's continue."

"Did Mr Todd say anything that could indicate that he was dangerous or linked to the murders of the other women?" Officer Davies hesitates as he looks at Delia, this was always the hardest part of his job.

"He said that he wanted someone to spend his life with and that the other women were not worthy, so he disposed of them." Delia chokes. "He said I either worship him or I end up floating in the Seattle ferry landing pier. Before Andy got to me outside the gas station he also asked for one good reason why he shouldn't kill me and dump my body there... said I'd be a loss to the world."

"Thank you for your time Miss Vincent, we should have enough evidence to prosecute him, we'll be in contact with Mr Eagleton if we require anything else." Officer Davies wraps up "I'm going to suggest to the nurses that we run some tests for any traces of sexual assault. With these tests, if there is anything that you are uncomfortable with you can decline."

"Thank you." Delia forces a smile, allowing Officer Davies to leave the room satisfied.

"Come here." Andy whispers as he sits on the hospital bed before pulling Delia into a tight hug and allowing her to cry into him "I'm so proud of you Delia. Everything will be okay now, I've got you."

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

"Okay, Delia sweet, I'm going to need a urine sample so I will leave this pot in your ensuite, just let me know when you've filled it. I'm also going to have to take some internal and external swabs, is that okay?" Dr Lopez talks through the process trying to bring comfort to her patient. 

"That's okay." Delia nods, she wants this over with and to go home to her parents.

"Andy, You may want to step outside for this." Dr Lopez suggests; she had seen many men squirm at this part.

"No, I'm okay." Andy nods before turning to whisper to Delia "I won't look."

"Andy." Delia giggles which makes Andy send her a wink.

"Looks like you'll be in good hands when you leave here Delia." Dr Lopez smiles at the two of them. "Anyway, I'm going to need you to put your knees up and feet flat on the bed. This might feel a little bit strange."

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

"Okay, we got food and coffee as I imagined you two are sick of hospital food." Shevy grins as the group enter Delia's room, like they had promised, they were back to visit as soon as they were allowed to be.

"You guys are the best." Delia smiles as she eyes up the food Shevy had put in front of her. "Thank you."

"How are you doing honey?" Shevy asks looking at her best friend.

"Honestly, I hate that I have to spend another night here, I just want to go home and see my parents." Delia sighs before popping a chip into her mouth.

"Maybe this will cheer you up." Lonny speaks up before showing off a perfectly wrapped gift that he had been hiding behind his back "It's from all of us, Andy included."

"Was that the phone call you said you had to step outside to take earlier on?" Delia asks Andy as she raises an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe." Andy smirks "Open it."

Taking the gift from Lonny, she carefully pulls the wrapping paper away to reveal what the box was- a brand new purple iPhone 14.

"You guys!" Delia gushes looking between everyone in the group "You shouldn't have! I can't accept this."

"You can and you will Delia." Jake grins "The police had told us that your old phone had been rendered useless. This one will require you to get a SIM card, but we needed a way to stay in contact with our favourite sound technician, we're going to need you on the next tour if you're up for it."

"You all are the best, I could kiss you all right now." Delia continues to grin.

"Maybe save that for Andy, I'm not sure Alice would be too pleased with that." Jinxx jokes.

"Jinxx." Andy shakes his head whilst laughing slightly.

"I'm just saying bro!" Jinxx laughs putting his hands up in surrender whilst the rest of the group join in on the laughter.

"D, we have so much to catch up on!" Shevy grins sitting on Delia's bed and stealing her hand away from Andy's.

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

"I just spoke to the nurses and they've said they will likely discharge you tomorrow afternoon." Andy informs Delia as he shuts the door to the room behind him.

"Thank goodness!" Delia smiles before her smile instantly drops "What happens after this?"

"We go back to the hotel, pack our things and we'll likely catch flights the morning after." Andy explains, deep down he knew what Delia was asking,  he just wanted to hear her say it more clearly to make sure they were on the same thought track.

"You know what I mean Andy, I know you do." Delia frowns slightly "What happens between us after this?"

"I don't know." Andy sighs as he sits on the bed and takes Delia's hand. "That night at the bar, when I told you that it was you I was always thinking about, I was telling the truth. I also told you that I've been a wreck without you, that was also the truth. I think it's your turn to tell me the truth."

"I remember waking up the morning after the second time we slept together... I don't really know how to describe it, I felt safe, I felt like I finally belonged somewhere. When I was locked in that bedroom at Sam's house you're all I could think of, even though I'm not religious I begged for some higher being that would allow you to find me. When I finally did escape all I wanted was you, I needed you to know I was okay and for you to come and pick me up and hold me in your arms; that's the reason I phoned you and no one else in the group." Delia confesses before looking down at their intertwined hands. "I just don't know where we go from here. Sure I've dated other guys in the past, but none of them were serious. I've been so focused on my career that I never really tried for a serious relationship."

"I'll be honest, I don't really know how the whole dating thing works either. Me and Juliet were married for just over 5 years before we split. I've spent about 2 years not wanting to commit to anyone because I was scared of getting hurt like that again." Andy explains "But I meant what I said to your mum, I won't leave you unless you tell me too. We can figure this out together, yeah?"

"Together." Delia repeats feeling a smile tug at her lips.

"Come here." Andy whispers as he brings his other hand to gently cup Delia's face before slowly closing the gap between the two of them, allowing their lips to join in a gentle kiss. All of the heat and anxiety that hovered over the both of them proceeded to melt away into nothingness as that final hurdle was broken. Andy was then pulling away reluctantly before resting his forehead against Delia's as they both smiled at each other again. "I've been wanting to do that for a while now."

"I've been hoping that you would." Delia whispers back, enjoying the moment, enjoying the presence of him.

"You truly are the best thing that has happened to me, Delia Vincent." This time it was Delia who initiated the kiss and Andy did not hesitate to kiss her back. 

Andy thought he had found his true love in Juliet. Sure, he had a tough childhood and he had his issues but he wasn't unhappy. He had met Juliet in the light and she had left him in darkness. With Delia, Andy finally realised what it felt like to have found a true connection with someone. She had met him in the dark and was able to bring him back to the light, she was his light; he would do whatever it took to keep her fire burning.

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

Delia had fallen asleep about 30 minutes ago and Andy had remained awake, trying to piece together everything that had happened that evening. Delia does share his feelings, that's good and what he wanted to hear, but he did not know how to feel about it or where to go with that next. Regardless, he had to try, if not for his sake for hers, he had to find a way to remain close to her. 

"I'll be back soon, I promise." Andy whispers to a sleeping Delia as he gently removes his hand from hers; holding her hand feels like a miracle. He thought it was only a dream but here he was holding her hand often and he wanted more of it, he craved more of her.

After walking through the hospital and stepping outside where the cold air hit him, he was amazed to realise that he had not once gone outside to smoke since Delia came back into his life. Sighing to himself, he pulled out the menthol vape and his phone; there was a high possibility that he was going to need a vape with the conversation he was about to have.

"Andy?" The voice on the other end of the phone is immediately shocked.

"Hey, mum." Andy spoke calmly.

"Honey, we've been so worried. Are you okay?" His mum asks with worry clear in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Andy speaks "I'm really sorry for cutting you and Dad off for the last year, it was a horrible thing for me to do."

"It's okay son, myself and your father should not have put all that pressure on you and tried to get you to date again. We're equally to blame." His mum speaks softly.

"I was actually wondering if I could come and visit you and Dad over Christmas. Would be nice to see you both again." Andy is sincere in his words "Also I've met someone this tour, she lives in Ohio and I would like you both to meet her. I want her as more than just another fling."

"Oh Andy, of course, it would be so good to see you again." Andy could hear the tears in his mother's voice "Tell me, what is this girl like?"

"Well, she's stubborn but caring, amazing at what she does, even if I haven't given her enough credit for it... And she's everything I didn't know I needed until now." Andy admits to his mother as he feels a smile form on his lips at the thought of Delia.

"It's so good to hear you happy again, son. She sounds wonderful, I can't wait to meet her." Andy could hear the smile in his mother's voice. 

"I need to get back but thank you, Mum. I love you." Andy continues to smile.

"I love you too Andy."

Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. For the first time in forever, Andy was suddenly understanding that. He had spent so long sleeping around and feeling empty but now...

Now he was finally realising what it was like to be himself again. He knew that no relationship was all sunshine, but he was prepared to share the umbrella to brave any storm that tried to hit him and Delia. He could not lose her, not now, not ever.

[oro-junestar]

how much more fucking time do i wanna waste on you

"I’m saying that lgb people have the right to freedom of association and political autonomy. Which cannot remain intact with forced grouping with the TQ+." why even cut out trans people in the first place? there is no possible reason that does not have transphobic ideology behind it. the struggles of LGB and TQ+ folk go hand in hand, and we've historically been unified in our struggles for our rights. Don't try to erase that. I wonder, what would you say to the many LGB who are supportive of TQ+?

"And honestly? If a group oppresses another group, that by definition makes them an enemy." There are many straight people who are supportive of us. Are they our enemies too? We're fighting for equality, not superiority. "But thanks for trying to transplain homophobia to me." i'm bi too but ok

"If you did research before running your ignorant ass mouth--" What about right here in the United fucking States where the Republicans are making it harder for us to live by denying our healthcare? What about countries that don't recognize trans people at all, that don't ban conversion therapy, or have heavy restrictions on our recognition? The very fact that surgery is required to legally recognize gender change at all is oppressive because it's a severe roadblock in the transition process, especially for those who can't get it because of financial or other reasons.

"completely disregarding safety and fairness regulations and preventing women from having their own sports leagues" no one is doing that. women's sports is fine. if you did research before running your ignorant ass mouth, you'd find that trans people perform on an equal level as their cisgender teammates and opponents and win and lose just like any other athlete. there aren't any men in women's sports, only cis and trans women. "Nothing is stopping you and other trans identified folk from creating your own sports category." people barely watch women's sports anyway, who would wanna watch trans sports?? funding a separate transgender sports league would unfortunately be a huge financial loss. there's no good reason to even create a separate league anyway, because trans people are doing perfectly fine in sports as they are now.

gender is an artificial concept. We are not assigned our biological sex either, it’s observed. you know gender has always been around and has always had a heavy influence in how society works, don't play dumb. gender has always been separate from sex; for example, why is femininity often attributed to wearing dresses and makeup? not because of any biological reason, that's for sure. and gender isn't observed between our legs, sex is. you need to be able to make the distinction between sex and gender or else you are just delusional.

"Science does not prove that humans can change their biological sex." again, sex is not gender, and sex is irrelevant in most social contexts. when you're talking to a person, you don't look inside their pants to determine whether to call them sir or ma'am, you generally make a guess based on how they present, what they're wearing, what their name is, things like that. "And it does not prove the innate existence of gender." gender is a WELL researched, highly accepted concept across all of health, psychology, and philosophy. gender has always been around us, don't act like you've never seen it before.

"Heterosexuals cannot identify their way into being homosexual" no one is doing that. trans people can be any orientation. if a trans woman likes women, she is a lesbian; if a trans man likes men, he is gay, etc. also nice fucking use of "trans dogma" again even though i've made it clear we are not a dogma, we are human beings.

"So is lgb autonomy and freedom of association" if your sole purpose is to exclude people that you're irrationally repelled by, then is it really "freedom" or is it just that you're an asshole? you have the freedom to say you hate trans people, but that doesn't free you from the consequences of being an asshole.

"You’re saying, essentially, that trans people are infallible angels who can do no wrong and are never homophobic?" nope, i'm saying that this just generally isn't a thing that happens. there might be a few crazies that do i guess, i've never heard of those kinds of people, but you're trying to paint this delusion that ALL of them will screech and call you a bigot if you don't want to date them. i think you're the one who needs to get real. and i never said trans people are "infallible angels", we are human and we make mistakes like any other. you assholes like to paint us all as perverted demons, which we also obviously aren't.

"how can someone misgender you if gender doesn’t even exist? Not everyone believes in gender and you shouldn’t force them to either." hey, question, do you get alot of moss growing under there? do the worms like to come and swing by sometimes? must be cozy living under that rock of yours. the concept of gender has been around for so long, in fact, trans people and nonbinary identities have existed for a long time too. we didn't have proper terminology to describe ourselves until recently because historically we were always labeled as degenerates and sinners, but the vague concept of third genders and gender change have always been around.

"This coming from people who insist on referring to women as uterus havers." nope, we don't do that. not all women have uteruses, and not all people who have uteruses are women. if we want to refer to women who aren't trans, we simply say cis women. if you don't like that label, then you're just an asshole. the Latin prefixes trans- and cis- are opposites; trans means 'on the other side of' and cis means 'on the same side of'. cisgender simply means not transgender, and that's that.

"Criticizing trans views and policies is not “hatred” or “dehumanization”. It’s called critical thought." if you seek to deprive our ability to coexist with our LGB allies, then what else do you seek to do to us? by your insistence on calling us a "dogma", it's clear that you do not see us as valid human beings. you think that we are somehow an ideology that's imposed on people by the government or something, but we're just people who have been around throughout human history and have been suppressed by your disgusting so-called "critical thought". don't try to dodge your vile hatred with petty wordplay; you are not a critical thinker, you are a reactionary dipshit who disagrees with actual science and philosophy and just wants to see us erased. you are no better than the homophobes you pretend to hate.

By cutting out the TQ+, you also cut out:

-Intersex people

-Two-spirit gays and other culturally connected gays

-Gender nonconforming people

-Those who are questioning their sexuality

-Gays, lesbians, and bi's who are supportive of trans people

-Millions of kind, loving, supportive humans who have gone through indescribable, traumatic abuse and wish to build a safe, welcoming community

Why are you so eager to exclude and belittle people? Why do you tell them they 'don't know what real struggle looks like' when their healthcare, their future, and their lives are under attack? Do you truly value 'love', or do you just want to swat away as many people as possible? Why do you continue to hide under a rock and dig yourself deeper into festering hatred, when you can simply come out and support people who can help you?

Wouldn't it be easier to unite with our trans and nonbinary friends to help defeat the growing threat of genuine fascism in our country? Those conservative Christian nationalists and white supremacists who tell you you're "one of the good ones" would gladly turn around and shoot you in a heartbeat, because when they say they're fighting the 'woke gender ideology', they'll mutter in the same breath that you gays are 'degenerates', 'sodomites', and 'animals'. Why would you side with the villains, who see you the same way they see us?

We cannot let oppression continue in any form. We will all be on the winning side of history as we step closer to ending the cycle of hatred and bullying. Open your hearts and minds and you'll find that the everyone around you is just as human as you, and are more similar to you than you'd think. Trans people are people, just like you, and we need your help and support just as much as you need ours.

Isn't it neat how people who are supportive of all LGBTQ+ identities are also kinder, more loving, more empathetic, and more caring towards their friends and loved ones? Just something to think about.

Love wins. Trans rights are human rights.

[transformation4life]

Do The Chul Dance!

"Alright Darren, get ready!" The dance director shouted with his megaphone.

Darren the scrawny white man walked onto the stage.

"Okay Darren, we need you to do something like those KPOP stars now chop chop!" The director waved his baton.

"U-Um sir... I don't... watch KPOP-"

"Nonsense! Just feel it in your body!" The director interrupted Darren.

"N-Not to be mean sir but I'm just a an american white guy..." Darren isn't korean let alone someone that's ever left the U.S. so he wasn't sure how he could "feel it in your body".

Infact this whole gig was weird from the start. Darren was an amateur dancer and was trying to find a bit of work to fund his student loans and this job just came to him on a phone ad one day.

Dance like a star!

Get money and change your life!

K-Star~

The tagline was a bit weird but money is money. But now... he was at a loss.

"Now now darling, how about you put these on!" The director got out of his chair and handed Darren an impressive pair of shades with Darren reluctantly putting the eye covers.

"Let's take it from the top! Show your korean gusto, Darren!" The director shouted into the megaphone once more

"S-Sir... like I told you before I-I'm america-"

"What are you talking about my good chap? Being korean was part of the sign up process. You are 100% one!"

"But I'm not-"

"You are Korean. Always have been," The moment the words left the director's mouth Darren's new shades began to glow and Darren's body began to change.

Darren lost a bit of muscle as he became a bit skinnier while his face was restructured to be much more authentically korean with narrower eyes, a bit plumper lips and slimmer nose. The final physical change for now was Darren's becoming a bit tanner. Memories of being on American soil all Darren's life were replaced with memories of korean city skylines and immigrating at age 20. Despite it all he's somehow pretty good with english but still stumbles from time to time. Darren's mom was always enamored with american names so she named his son with one.

"Ah, right. So sorry! Don't know what came over me!" A korean accent quickly overtook Darren's former voice like it always been there.

"No worries no worries! Now you said your name was Darren correct? That's not a very korean name is it? Why did your parents choose it?" The director gave a curious smirk.

"Oh! Well my mom has always been fascinated with american culture so she named me something american so she felt like it was always a part of her life-"

"Good. Great. Fantastic even. Just one tiny problem with that. It says on this paper here your name is 황철순..."

"Hwang Chul Soon? Like the famous bodybuilder? Oh please the fact we're the same race is more insane than anything let alone me sharing the same name as him-"

"Your name is definitely 황철순," the shades glowed again as Darren's or rather Chul's timeline was changed to fit the director's vision.

Chul's mother never had a knack for american culture. Instead it was just pure coincidence that he would share the name of famous South Korean Bodybuilder Hwang Chul Soon. Chul felt like he never deserved the name and yet he still had it.

"Apologies. I slipped up again... yes... my name is 황철순... But can we get to the dancing now? You've been asking a lot of questions-"

"It's all part of our process for a perfect korean dancer, Chul! Just a bit more now!" The director smiled

"Okay... what else do you want from me?"

"Hmm... how well do you know your korean?"

"I was born and raised there so I would say it's about as perfect as it can be..."

"Excellent! How about your english? Doing good on that front?"

"My english? Not too bad... I do fumble a bit sometimes though,"

"그래서 당신이 말하는 것은 당신이 더 이상 영어를 몰라도 괜찮다는 것입니까?" (So what you're saying is that you wouldn't mind not knowing english anymore?)

"어… 뭐?" (Uh... what?)

"당신은 더 이상 영어를 모른다," (You don't know english anymore.) The shades shining glory returned and absorbed all knowledge of the english language from Chul. Despite immigrating to America he never quite figured out the language so he stayed in mostly korean immigrant areas leading to this korean dance company.

"...더 이상? 그래 내가 영어를 전혀 못하잖아..." (…Anymore? Well yeah I don't speak english like at all…)

"좋아요! 스타가 될 순수한 한국인!" (That's right! A pure korean that will be a star!) The director was being especially loud this time.

"어… 그래? 난 널 위해 한 번도 춤을 춰본 적 없어-" (Uh… yea I guess? I haven't even danced once for you-)

"나는 당신의 조급함을 이해합니다 하지만 여기서 거의 끝났습니다. 조금만 기다려줘 알았지? (I understand your impatience but we're almost done here. Just wait a bit for me okay?) The director gave a look that gave Chul chills in his spine.

"자, 당신의 체격을 어떻게 설명하시겠습니까?" (Now, how would you describe your physique?)

"오, 별거 아니에요 선생님… 저는 평생 체육관에 가본 적이 없어요. 황철순 같은 사람과 이름을 공유하는 것조차 의욕이 없었어요-" (Oh, it's not much sir… I've never been to the gym all my life. Even sharing a name with someone like Hwang Chul Soon I've just never been motivated to-)

"무의미한 말! 당신은 신의 체격을 가지고 있습니다! 누구나 당신이 되고 싶어할 것입니다!" (Nonsense! you have the physique of the gods! Anyone would want to be you!)

"부럽긴한데 근육이 거의없어서..." (I'm flattered but I barely have any muscle… ) Chul twiddled his thumbs in shame

"나한테 거짓말 할 필요 없어 철. 카리스마처럼 근육이 엄청나다!" (You don't need to lie to me Chul. your muscles are huge just like your charisma!)

"선생님… 저는 그 둘 다 가지고 있지 않습니다-" (Sir... I have neither of those-)

"신의 근육과 고기 가득한 근육과 HIGH 카리스마," (You have the muscles of gods and the pecs full of meat and HIGH charisma.) The shades shone like never before as Chul began to pack on muscle at an alarming rate.

First there was the massive biceps, then the faint appearance of a sixpack with Chul's back widening soon as his neck become thicker and his adam's apple more prominent. The star of his upper half began to show itself as his flat rack became massive chunks of meat that could rival the most gifted of women. Chul got a bit taller as his swishy pants rode up exposing the thicker legs that he just obtained. A smirk overcame Chul as his hairstyle become much more suave and he threw his lousy shirt side exposing his new muscle body and charisma.

"알아차리셨다니 다행입니다! 이제 충분히 말하고 더 춤추세요!" (So glad you noticed! Now enough talking and more DANCING!) Chul's new charisma immediately showed itself as Chul began to show his moves.

"내가 찾고 있는 바로 그 철! 나를 위해 밈 댄스를 해주세요!" (That's the Chul I'm looking for! Do a memey dance for me!) Chul nodded and began his routine.

"그리고…. 플렉스!" (And... Flex!) Chul walked up to the stage and flexed to the director.

"잘했어 철! 당신은 당신의 분대에 완벽합니다. 당신은 내일 시작합니다." (Great job Chul! You're perfect for your squad. You start tomorrow.) The director stood up and clapped.

"이런 기회를 주셔서 정말 감사합니다 선생님. 내일 봐요!" (Thank you so much for this opportunity sir. See you tomorrow!) Chul waved goodbye to the director and left the building.

With no one in the room the director began to laugh manically.

"Heh... another transformation complete I almost surprise myself with my power. I'm going to have the greatest bodybuilding dance group known to HUMANITY!" The director laughed even harder.

"Poor ol' Darren..." The director pulled up a picture of Chul or rather Darren.

"He doesn't know anything... how much happier he is now."

[nayeoniiz]

Are You Wet Right Now?

heeseung x fem! reader

thanks for 120+ followers here's a smut that's been collecting dust (^^) as always pls ignore any errors

overview: kinda cold authority figure mr.lee😩 idk, oral (male receiving), filming sexual activities... idk what it's called, corruption kink kinda?? age gap, both legal

word count: 2.2k

the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence as you sat in mr.lee's office. you had been called down for a reason in which you didn't want to know since there were so many things you could have been called for. neither of you spoke as you looked at him, seeing he had a serious look on his face while typing on his computer. just the sight of it was making you more scared to be in there. "do you know why you're here?" he asked finally as he slowly looked at you.

displeasure began to fill the air as you sat there trying to figure out what you'd recently done. of course, to your bad luck, nothing was clicking. you shook your head silently, avoiding eye contact with him. "hm.. really?" he pressed, being discontent with your response. you were unsure now, but your answer stayed the same.

"well, you were caught smoking and drinking on campus, darling," he said, making your breath hitch. to say you were terrified was an understatement. you were absolutely mortified. you began to wonder how this could have happened. your friends swore that they had found all the camera's blind spots. hell, you were even sure of it yourself. you felt your heart begin to race as you looked at him. his emotions weren't as clear as yours were.

you were going to get in real trouble this time. "look. you already know school policy. we're going to have to notify your parents," though you knew this would eventually happen, you were stunned as if this was something new to you. you looked at him in dismay, thinking of any way to get out of the situation.

"what?! you can't do that! look… i..im sorry, mr.lee. i promise i won't do it on campus ever again," you pleaded, worried about the punishments you would get if your parents were to find out. it was eating you alive sitting there knowing you knew you'd be a goner soon.

"sorry isn't going to fix things, ms.l/n," heeseung turned away from you and went back to his computer. "i get it, really. school is hard, but why couldn't you just relieve your stress somewhere else?" he began typing the report on his computer; a small smile tugged at his lips every time he would glance over to you who was stiff as a board, looking at a loss.

"please, sir! i'll do anything, just please don't tell my parents..." you begged on the verge of tears. you've already been getting in trouble with your parents because of your professors, but now the highest position of power of the school? they would be sure to kick you out.

you didn't realize what your words had done to him until you heard his breath hitch, as well as his fingers going still from typing. his lips formed a thin line before he got up swiftly walking toward the door. "anything, huh..." he smirked, locking the door as you watched his back.

you were confused to say the least, but you mustered up a quick yes. "i'll have to lock the door if that's the case." this time you didn't say anything. you just watched as he walked back to his desk, pulling out a camera, eyes widening in the process.

he set it up before walking to stand in front of you. "you'll really do anything?" he asked. you nodded, not saying anything. his gaze was intimidating, and you didn't know if you liked it or not. "i want you to know that if you back out i'll have to finish the report. answer with words, darling."

"i-ill do whatever it is, just please..." you looked down at the floor only for him to lift your head up with his finger on your chin. "good girl," he said, giving you a comforting smile to which you returned.

"i want to record it to look back at later." he whispered before he hit the record button on the camera. the smile left his face, being replaced by a stern look. it made your heart race with all kinds of anticipation. "unbutton your shirt, baby," he ordered, making your heart race.

tears began to well in your eyes as you quickly started fumbling with the buttons. "don't rush, it's okay. it's just you and me.... and the camera," he said in an attempt to comfort your bit of uneasiness as he intently watched your every move. you couldn't help but to let the tears spill as you stopped unbuttoning your shirt for a second, feeling embarrassed. "don't cry, you wanted this."

you sighed, slowing the unbuttoning process. once the shirt was unbuttoned you shamefully dropped it on the floor next to you. he stood still, eyeing you carefully before he spoke again. "now get up and take your skirt off." you felt so small now, contemplating on whether you should listen or not. "if you don't want to do it, we'll both get in trouble," he spoke out. he was right, and you didn't want any of that.

standing up, you unzipped the side of your skirt letting it fall to your ankles. you carefully kicked it next to your shirt before sitting back down. he stayed quiet, you noticed his demeanor changing, though you couldn't read it. "spread your legs," he ordered, his tone staying the same, low and demanding. you obliged, slowly opening your legs open in the chair.

his breath hitched as he eyed you once again. "now get rid of the bra." you looked at him horrified, you wanted to cry more.

"why are you acting surprised? you should've known this was next," his voice held no mercy speaking to you. closing your legs, you began to unbuckle the bra from behind, adding it to the pile of clothes you created.

the cool air made your nipples harden, you tried to bite back any more tears that had threatened to spill. now, you weren't going to cry out of fear, but out of embarrassment. this was the first time somebody has ever been able to look at your body in this way. and the way he looked at you with an unreadable expression worsened it. you felt insecure.

he breathily sighed. "who told you to close your legs?" slowly opening your legs again, you hadn't even realized that you closed them to begin with. he looked down and bit his lip. "are...are you wet right now?" he asked, making you glance down.

of course. you knew you were trying your best to be reluctant, but you couldn't help but to find him attractive. you always had feelings for him, now these feelings were raw and apparent to the both of them. and you were embarrassed. "y/n... i thought you were just a bad girl. but you're worse... you're a dirty girl," he said palming his bulge, throwing his head back at the feeling.

"take them off," he managed to breathe out. you nodded, slowly pulling them down, way slower than you had with your other clothes. the change in the atmosphere made you enjoy yourself more. the desperateness he was starting to show fueled the ego you were so sure you had lost only a few minutes before.

now it was you making him come undone. "you're driving me crazy. go faster." you smiled pulling them all the way down, some juices separating with the panties as you discarded them to the clothing pile. "god, have you done this before?" he asked, to which you shook your head.

yes, you always found yourself reading about these things happening in books, but god it felt better being able to actually do them in real life. he walked over to you, kneeling down where your legs were open, allowing himself to take in your natural aroma. "hmm.. so pretty.." he mumbled before he planted a small kiss on your clit, standing up again.

he positioned himself nicely in front of the camera before unbuckling his belt. he unbuttoned the button and unzipped the zipper before pulling his pants all the way off. you watched carefully, seeing how hard he had become. you grew nervous when he started to tug at the hem of his boxers. "wait!" you said abruptly, making him stop and look at you. "i've...uh.. i've never... really seen..."

"you've never seen a dick before?" his eyebrows furrowed while another smile formed on his full lips. you nodded feeling small under his gaze once again, all your confidence left your body. heeseung smiled at the fact that he was the one getting to take away a part of your innocence. usually he wasn't into those kinds of things, but knowing he'd have to be patient for once while he leads the way... it made him rethink why he wasn't interested in it before.

on the contrary to both of your thoughts, a part of you was cursing your parents for the child-lock they had on all your devices. and with them with 24/7 access to your wifi and search data, it was impossible to get around it. they're the reason you don't know anything sexually the way other girls your age do apart from the books you read.

"get on your knees and take your time, baby," you nodded, getting out of the chair to position yourself in front of his lower region. he pulled his boxers down fully, and started stroking his cock with one hand while he used the other one to push down on your bottom lip as a signal to open your mouth.

"look at this," he said, slowing down his strokes with a small hiss. "you're the reason why i'm so painfully hard. aren't you gonna fix it?" his words were still stern, but when you looked in his eyes, you saw a change. god, he was looking at you with desperateness and admiration... the way you had always looked at him.

you removed his hand, immediately replacing it with your own as you stroked it the way you saw him doing it. he was huge. you didn't think you'd be able to please him the way he'd be expecting and it worried you. yet even with your insecure thoughts, he threw his head back at your movements, smiling at you with hooded lids.

"fuck... yeah, just like that..." apart of heeseung felt like this wasn't enough. but for you, he was going to ease into it. "h-how is it for your first time?" he asked. you looked up at him with your doe eyes and smiled. "it's... bigger than i anticipated." he smiled at that.

"do you like it, though?" he breathily asked, to which you nodded. you couldn't lie, you were really enjoying yourself now that the situation is in your hands, at your will. "now, start sucking," he said, making you smile, nodding as you opened your mouth allowing him to enter himself gently.

you began sucking as best as you could, though he seemed dissatisfied. "don't use your teeth...and try swirling your tongue." you took his advice as he gave it. the pants and small moans he let out were more than lovely, it encouraged you to take in more of him, which pleased him even more. he grabbed a handful of your hair, looking in your eyes for permission to which you granted.

"if it hurts you can pull away," he said almost lovingly to which you responded with a nod. he began to slowly thrust in your mouth, gripping your hair to keep a steady pace. again, his head was thrown back as small moans left his lips. "god, you're amazing," he quickened the pace. "fuck, y/n. you're doing so good, you're doing so good."

you loved every second of it. though you got choked up and gagged at times, you felt so good, this felt so good. you tried your best to keep your sucking in sync with the thrusts, hoping it would emit more pleasured sounds from which worked.

"i can't- i can't hold back. i'm gonna cum," not even a second after he announced it, a warm stream of liquid flowed down your throat making you choke up again. he thrust a few more times before he pulled out again, not being able to stand the pain of overstimulation.

"get up," he ordered sternly. you stood up looking into his eyes. he wiped the mixture of tears, saliva, and semen off of your face before grabbing your chin to look up to him. the two of you stared into each other's eyes before he pulled you into a kiss.

you two kissed for a while before he pulled away to look you in the eyes. "you did so good, baby. especially for your first time..."

he trailed off as soon as he saw how you were dripping onto the floor. "am i the reason for that?" he asked, making your face feel hot. "you're so dirty..." he reached down with his fingers, taking a swab of some of your juices to his tongue, tasting it. "it tastes good, too... everything about you is delicious.. you're driving me crazy.."

he pulled you in for another kiss, this time you took your opportunity to add tongue to which he didn't deny. when he pulled away he pulled some of your hair out of your face. "maybe this can be a weekly thing...next time... ill please you."

"yes sir..." you replied, going to pick your clothes up. he recorded up until the both of them put their clothes back on. he pulled you close to him by your waist, looking you in the eye. "don't worry about the video, it's for our eyes only...now get back to class."

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

PLAYING WITH THE BOYS - B.B

PART 17; IN THIS GAME, PEOPLE GET HURT

Warnings: fighting, near death, mourning

Summary: its finally time to get into the dogfight and she isn't ready to lose what she loses at the end.

Wordcount: 1.3k

Robin knew that the dogfight was going to be difficult for everyone but she seemed prepared, almost too calm. She wasnt sure if it was confidence in her squad or adrenaline pumping through her veins but she knew that they would get through this.

“You ready Dime?” Payback asked, his voice tense and she nodded.

“Let’s rock and roll,” she said and he chuckled at her use of phrase before jumping right into action.

It all felt like a blur as they dodged in and out of the plane fire and she had to admit that she missed the feeling of the adrenaline coursing through her veins as they evaded danger.

Every time one of the team would managed to evade aa missile the would all feel a little bit of relief before realising he cycle was going on and on and at this rate, nobody was going to be safe.

“Smoke in the air!” Payback called out and she reached down, pulling a lever and then pressing the red button next to her, setting the flares off as they destroyed two of the missiles that were heading their way.

The panicked voices were all flooding into the comms system, voices overlapping as they all tried to communicate and warn their friends wheeere the missiles were, they didn't want to lose any friends today.

It felt like they had been fighting for hours and hours by the time that she heard the first real tone of panic from Rooster as he let out a yell, exclaiming that he had three on his tail and as he pressed his flares Barron, the sound of an empty canister ran through everyone’s headsets.

“I’m out of flares! I’m out of flares!” She heard Bradley exclaim and the words made her heart sink in her chest.

If he didn't have any flares then this missile was going to take him out and she began to panic, her body tensing as she tried to think of anything he could do.

She could hear the panic in his voice and he declared once again that he had no flares left. That’s when she heard another plane explode and she turned back, hands pressed against the window of the plane as she saw the smoke flooding the air.

Her heart sank as she realised that it was Mavericks plane that had been shot down, he had flown in front of the missile and had saved Bradleys life, probably killing himself in the process.

“Does anyone see him? Does anyone see him?” Bradley asked, his voice clearly distressed as he tried to find Maverick.

None of them had seen a parachute and they all knew that meant that he might have gone down with the plane. Bradley was clutching to straws trying to find him and nobody wanted to mention that there was a chance that he didnt make it.

“Dagger one is down,” a voice rang out over the comms, the static of the system filling their plane. Everyone was silent, grieving the loss of Maverick, a man who had become such a parental figure to all of them.

She couldn’t even begi to imagine how Bradley must be feeling knowing that the only thing he had left of his father and the only father figure he had was now gone, saving him.

“All daggers floating ECP must come back to base immediately,” that same voice from before announced.

Bradley shook his head, his heart constricting in his chest as he tried to find a way to get him back, “What about Maverick?” He asked, clearly pained by the potential death of another father.

She heard Hangman ask to come help Maverick and for the first time in a while, she coul see the desperation to be able to help someone, that he wasn’t such a bad person father all.

There was a pregnant silence afterwards and she could almost see Admiral Simpson debating over whether they shoud go or not, “Negative spare,” the voice that she recognised as cyclones said and everyone shook their heads, disagreeing with the higher ups decision.

“But sir, Maverick is still out there,” Robin bartered and he cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.

“Negative, we are not losing anybody else today,” he said, the tone in his voice indicating that the decision was final. They were leaving Pete behind.

“Mavericks gone Rooster, the bandits are closing in, we can't go back,” she tried to plead with him. As much as she wanted to go out there and save him, she knew that they were going to come back from that.

“Rooster, he's gone,” Payback said, trying to reassure his friend. He also knew the odds and Bradley wasn't going to survive this as well.

She had known him long enough that she knew when he was about to do something reckless. Yes, she wanted to go back and help maverick because she knew in her bones that he was alive but she was with payback and her team and she couldn’t let them down or jeopardise losing anyone else.

The silence after her statement told her enough and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. He was going to go after maverick and there was no0othing that she could do to stop him.

“All of you are ordered to come back to ask immediately,” Simpsons voice said over the comms and she knew he wouldn’t listen to it.

Everyone was beginning to head back and she could see that his plane was hanging back. “Dime,” he whispered, his voice muffled through the telecom system and she shook her head.

She didnt want to hear a goodbye because he shouldn’t be leaving, he shouldn’t be risking his life and their future together for this because they didnt even know if maverick lived, nobody saw a parachute.

“Robin baby,” his voice cracked at the end and she didnt want to listen but she did, hands pressed to the glass as she looked back at him, “I love you, remember that, but he's all i got left,”

She watched as his plane turned away and she just sat there, unable to tell him that she loved him back because she couldn’t imagine that he was actually going to do it.

“I love you Brad,” she said, her voice quiet but he had, a sad smile on his face as he made his way to where Maverick was last suspected to be.

Rooster knew that if he died today saving maverick life, he would have disappointed and made his father proud. But he knew he was going to come home to robin and in his mind there was no doubt.

They all sat there in silence, the monotonous drone of the planes filling their ears as they watched one of the members of their team fly away to save a man who was most likely dead.

There was a crackle of static over the comms and that’s when they heard the dreaded news, “Dagger two is down,” the voice over the comms said and she froze, body tensing up completely.

Bradley had been shot down and she knew that in this terrain, there was a small chance of him making it. She let a single tear roll down her cheek, holding back all the emotions to be strong in front of the team.

“Let’s go to the base Payback,” she said, her voice cracking at the end.

Everyone else was silent, nobody knowing what to say to make some sense of what had just happened or to console their teammate knowing the man that she loved probably wasn't going to come back.

Series Masterlist. Chapter 18

A/N, so I know this has taken a very long time to get done but I recently watched the film again and thought that I had to finish it so here is the near end. I'm going to try to finish it soon but I can't promise anything. But thank you for all the support so far and I hope you enjoy the rest of this :)

Talglist:

If you want to be added just message me or send me an ask or comment, I don't mind

@n3ssm0nique @sparrows-corner @littlewhiterose @serrendippity @clairejpg @marytvirgin @uglyratlmao @daniekay7190 @callistoluvssleep @hockeypuckspost @sydneejean @ipractical-joker @storyteller-le @mmkkzz @theforevermorereject @anolddayslover @rosemarytownescarter @dcamelia @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @maggiescarborough @pulisvertz @srry-itshockeyszn @nickie-amore @schoollover @commxnderwolffe

[brooklynislandgirl]

As gently as she can, she uses voice commands to dim the lights so they might not create coronas in his vision and thereby increasing the amount of added discomfort he has to suffer. His gaze is palpable as any caress she's ever endured and she isn't sure whether or not she finds that disagreeable. It might amuse them in different ways to find some sort of sympathy. She feels a deep wave of empathy roil through her once again when she comes perhaps too close. Hears the way he speaks. Each word feels as if it is pried from a closed fist. "I commend you, Sir. Too often a patient comes to rely not on merely the relief of certain medications but it becomes something of a wild fire beyond control. We've made great strides in treatment but sometimes--" she pauses and half closes her eyes before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. You of all people don't really need a lecture on addiction." She makes note of the very faint viridian hue beneath his skin and chooses the exact spot next to his carotid artery, a space he exposes for her, as the site for the hypo-spray. She uses the self-distraction of his conversing with her to administer the medication. Though it is a painless process Beth has noticed that often times patients tense up in the seconds leading up to dosage. It is the anticipation of pain rather than the reality that does it every time. She can't imagine the days of barbaric medicine when sometimes the cure was worse than the sickness. "No, Commander," she says and the whisper soft voice would be the same one the good Doctor would tell him was her natural timbre. Her face remains neutral. There is no offense taken at his words nor is there the set of brows and mouth that suggests she was about to argue in any way. Her eyes remain mild, her entire affect one wishing she could soothe the pains that must be excruciating and give him comfort. "Though meditation can often help, I was actually thinking a more therapeutic remedy. Sometimes it can help to massage the scalp, neck, and shoulders. The same nerves that signal pain can be disrupted by different stimuli. It's something I would like to think I'm fairly good at, if you'd like to try it Commander. I would also suggest a glass of wine in the evening at least four hours after taking any medication. It pairs well with a hot shower or bath when such luxury is available." Not exactly cutting edge medical science, her recommendations border on folk remedy. "Again, you have my deepest sympathy Sir. Often times pain can be so agonising that one can barely breathe."

How she comes by this so earnestly is nothing she explains. Nor does she seem like she will unless he asks her directly. As far as privacy goes, Beth has much in common with the Commander though it doesn't occur to see it in that light. Beth never expected to find herself aboard a star ship. That had always been her brother's dream. The vast reaches of space and surrounded by stars. Touching the heavens in ways few could imagine. She was more the terrestrial sort, content to spend her days near the sea though she would have gladly followed him anywhere. But then he had died and Beth? Her head, her heart had never stopped screaming. Never ceased to feel empty and void of all life. Her mother threw herself into her work, serving as a diplomat amongst new civilisations. She can't recall the last time they were in the same room together. And the Admiral? He was the one that insisted she join Star Fleet's medical corps. She had never had the courage to disobey one of his direct orders. And now here she is. Her losses still hang heavy. Robs her of sleep. Of appetite. She has seen the very same shadows that lurk under his eyes reflected in her own mirrors, but she tells herself most surely that chronic pain of any sort can do that to a body, even one not entirely human. Very carefully, she puts one delicate hand on his shoulder, feather light and barely there. "It should be kicking in any moment now, Commander. Can you feel any relief or are you still…?" She doesn't finish the statement, doesn't think she has to. It's an intuitive leap of logic and maybe she feels it could be insulting if she continues talking at all. She hopes he doesn't take it as a brisk brush-off "If you like, I can have you absolved of duty for a few hours so that maybe you can get some rest far from the maddening crowd."

IF THE CREW CHOOSES TO VIEW him as impenetrable, then he holds no preference place to correct them. The perspective only benefits him and it is a keen advantage he would prefer to maintain when reality would shatter that image—

—truly imperfect or vulnerable; a liar, a thief.

Retaining a facade of control has been engrained into his body through years of discipline, stood neat even now, leans lines as he wars with the weighted tension that has drawn and born itself inside his mind.

                         Nodding once, Spock folds passively into the nearest bench, simultaneously stiff and distant of his prized focus. In truth, he had avoided coming here — he should have alerted Doctor McCoy fifteen hours ago — pushing forward until the strain on his mind demanded it. The cost has mutated his precision, slowed his hands. At this juncture, his thoughts are nearly nebulous, torn between too bright lights and the sweeping sound of her voice.

All of it rings, harsh in his ears, and bordering on something much too soft for Spock to acknowledge in his present state.

It helps to concentrate on the Nurse’s movements. Resting his hands on his thighs, Spock sets to watch her as she prepares the cocktail. There are few with full access to his medical records, even fewer possessing the knowledge of what his people have come to endure. Vulcans are historically private — this is private — Spock has been no exception to the need for reservation.

Yet he finds himself deliberating on whether to provide Nurse Riley with further information to fulfill this purpose and speed his relief. The ache has become intolerable — thus the only reason for his presence — amber liquifying into a muddied ochre, pooling away from him like melting wax to an open fire.

He stares at the hull across the room.

“ I confess I have no desire to become dependent on its effects, ” he tells her. And still, the admittance burns him as he tilts his head fractionally, exposing his neck. He knows there is no logic in reticence; pride is illogical. It may bring him greater consequences than blurred vision and exhaustion.

Spock exhales quietly.

                         “ My present request was never a willing outcome. However, if you are at all intending to suggest alternative methods not unlike meditation, I must disagree. ” His eyes return to observe her response. He means no offense. It is indelicate assumption he makes. But experience — in addition to the Nurse’s implication of his infallible nature — tells him that she will likely consider it in that manner nonetheless.

“ Meditation has failed to curb my discomfort at this — intensity. ”

Another burn of truth.

[afarcry5fromstraight]

6, 12, 15, 19, B, and D for Chloe and Theo? :D <3

AHHHHH thank you! Sorry it took me longer, these were super fun <3

OC ask list

6. Do they consider laws flexible or immovable?

No Law has ever stopped Chloe from doing what she wanted to. She may be a deputy, but boy does she wear a set of gray glasses. Chloe’s specialty is bending reality to fit her needs, and she will go to inhumane lengths to run away from herself.  In the beginning, she’s chasing an idealized version of herself. If she could make it as a deputy, it would all have come together.  Only it didn’t. Nothing came together, and nothing got easier at all. In fact shortly after starting to look inwards, the reaping began and her gray glasses did more good for her than harm. She stopped trying. 

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can't quite reach? 

Chloe has never taken a liking to input from anyone. Positive reinforcement and negative reinforcement the same, she loathes control. Emotionally cornered- there's really no telling how Chloe will get herself out. Impulse control is not her strong suit.  She will fucking reach it, if only to make it stfu- or kill herself in the process. Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam In short, she doesn't deal well, if at all.

 15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? 

Chloe rehearses very few things. She’s slowly learning that shutting her mouth is smarter, albeit far less funny. She uses humor to deflect from her crippling loss of identity. 

19. What is their favorite number?

17! Her brother was born on October 17th. 

B. What inspired you to create them?

Chloe is my first oc  :’)  She my little trauma baby. I've read fics for over a decade, and used to write a long time ago. Got the big sads for a long ass time. 2022 started my “fuck it, im a cringe-goblin-type-human and imma roll with that”. Turns out that just allowing yourself to do what makes you happy is really fun! I write mostly wump, but lately the worms have been giving me some fluff too. 

D. Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

Shes pretty much always looked the same, minus a slightly varying hair style!

6. Do they consider laws flexible or immovable?

Theo considers his laws immovable. What he himself considers to be law and believes in isn't exactly clear to everyone else, though. 

12. How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can't quite reach?

Theo is actually a very patient man, even if he doesn't look it at first glance. Physical violence and a punitive structure may have given him his opportunities, but he played them smart and made sure the fences were in his favor before making any moves. At any point if Theo feels pushed past his last resort and cornered, his very flexy elastic patience snaps. He becomes a very ugly and unforgiving man forcing hands whichever way he pleases. He is a logical man however, and generally will pull away before reaching that point.  For everything else, sneaking off either into the valley for some endorphins or the henbane for a blunt. When that isn't enough, he buries himself in work, mental or physical. He's avoidant. I could've left it at that.

 15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? 

Theo doesn't rehearse, he unfortunately just says some WEIRD theater-kid level shit. Here is a list of bizzare Theo quotes I have been DYING to share, just not ready to share the fics quite yet <3 (they are all Norwegian proverbs that are even more bizarre when translated into English).  “-to make cabbage of something” “Speaking through the liver-” “-to swallow some camels” “I have a hen to pick with you.” “All you're going to do is step in the salad.”  “-in the butter’s eye” “Sir, there are owls in the moss.”

19. What is their favorite number?

Theo's favorite number is 9. He likes that 3 goes into it evenly. There really isn't more to it than that.

B. What inspired you to create them?

There is such a massive gap in lore I couldn't NOT make a Chosen oc tbh. Getting to make my own little inner military system has been super fun. Originally I got tired of media making every autistic a monotone asshole. So I made Theo an asshole in the most direct way. Hes a dick JUST BECAUSE. No need to cover it in some ableist excuses. Calling all assholes autistic makes you an asshole, okay? Alright. Sorry there wasn’t supposed to be a lil rant there, whoopsies. 

Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

Theo has pretty much always looked the same as well. Over the last few weeks I've found myself fine tuning his build, expressions, etc. Over time his nose has just become more broken I think. 

[hollanderfangirl]

Let me go |Harry Holland|

Pairing: Harry Holland x Therapist! Reader

A/N: so I'm not a therapist and I've never been to therapy, well if you don't consider the sessions with my psychology teacher. All of what I've written comes from what I've learnt in psychology class, reading books and listening to other people's experiences.

Warnings: talk about death, panic attack and it's just really sad

Word count: 3.3k, this is my longest fic yet :)

(Sorry for the shitty moodboard I just had to post this fic or I would have lost my mind)

Harry Holland walked through the halls of the clinic, not really sure why he was here. Well he knew why he had come to see a therapist but he wondered how he put himself in this situation. He had been locking himself inside a glass cave built out of hopelessness for months, his friends and family were greatly concerned about him but he refused to take any help. He had always been stubborn, he never asked for anybody's help. He hated the look of pity on people's faces. He hated people showing him sympathy. He was more than this. He didn't need anybody. He can pull himself together, he just needed time.

But it wasn't helping. Burying your feelings in has never helped anybody. Putting on a smile everyday in front of people and crying himself to sleep, Harry found it more and more difficult. His mum had sensed it and told him to go and see a doctor. He had resisted it at first. 

"Please do it for me, Harry. I cannot see you like this, at least for my satisfaction," Nikki had said. "Just go for a trial session and if you like it then you can continue," but of course he wasn't going to continue. 

Now as he stood in front of the receptionist, he was reconsidering his decision. 

"Yes, do you have an appointment, sir?" 

"Huh?" he seemed lost. "Yeah..yeah" 

"Just wait here, I'll inform Dr Y/l/n" 

"Your know what, cancel the appointment. I- I don't need help" 

"Oh but this is just a trial, Mr Holland" 

"Yeah but I don't-" the receptionist was already at the door, muttering something to the woman inside. 

You step outside to see a curly headed man, he looked pleasant but his eyes looked sad. Those were the eyes of a person who had seen immense grief, someone who had been miserable for a long long time. 

"I'm sorry but I don't need therapy… I didn't realise this before, I -I shouldn't have come here" 

"Oh Mr Holland, this is just a trial right? Let's just have some coffee. This isn't therapy yet" you smile at him. 

"No I really-" 

"Okay then, give me half an hour. If you still feel the same way, then you can leave. Half an hour is all I want from you, Mr Holland" 

"Alright" 

You lead him into your chamber, closing the door behind you. He sits down on a couch across from you, your desk separating you both. The first step of therapy- resistance. People always resist therapy at first, they feel like they don't need the help or maybe seeking help makes them weak. They don't feel like opening up to a complete stranger. How can they? How can they open up their most vulnerable state to a person who they barely know? But slowly and steadily, a rapport is made. A therapist has to be very careful and empathetic. They have to be trusting. Someone who people can turn to. Someone who they can relate to. Someone who understands them. Someone who would just listen. 

"So, your mother sent you here. Right, Mr Holland?" 

"Just- just call me Harry" 

"Okay then Harry, tell me" 

"What do you want me to tell you?" 

"Everything. Start from the beginning" 

"Well I- do you… do you really think I would-" he hesitates. "Who do you think you are? Why do you think I should pay you to listen to my goddamn life story here?" 

"You're not here to tell me your life story," you say politely. "I'm here to help you and I can do that only if you would let me" 

"Well guess what? You cannot help me, I knew I was wasting my time," he gets up and starts to walk away. 

"I asked for half an hour of your time, Harry" 

"Well I don't fucking care" 

"Harry, please listen to me. All I ask is half an hour" 

Little did he know, this half an hour was going to change his life. 

Something about your tone made him stay. He sat back down on the couch, turning away from you. 

"Okay, so if you're not going to talk, I will," you sigh. "So, you have suffered a great loss, someone you loved dearly?" 

"Yes," he still didn't look you in the eye. 

"Who was it?" 

"My…my friend. Girlfriend" 

"And when did this happen?" 

"A year ago" 

"How have you been holding up?" 

He thought of giving another vague answer. How the fuck do you think I'm holding up? I'm fucking dying every single day. 

"Uh- it's been a little better, I guess. It's not as bad as it used to be" 

"Well that's a start. And do you still think about her?" 

Every goddamn minute, lady. What do you want from me? "Yeah sometimes" 

"And how have you been sleeping?" 

I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly for months. If I sleep I see her coming back to me. "Alright I guess" 

This wasn't going anywhere. You thought of recommending him another doctor but something about him charmed you. He was a man who should have been living a great life but his grief was tearing him apart. You had to help him. You felt a strong connection to him, you felt determined. No, I have to help him. I just have to.

"Harry, do you feel like you're responsible for your girlfriend's death?" it was a straightforward question, you had been trying to get something out of him but he wasn't ready to. 

He looked at you dead in the eye, yet could not get any words out. You could sense the anger building up inside him but it wasn't projected at you, he was angry with himself. 

"I….. " he took a few deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists. "Yes" 

"Why is that so?" 

"Fucking hell! Are you for real? She died, okay? And I wasn't there… I wasn't there.. " he was tearing up. "I should have been the one to die! Not her! Not anybody! Everyone just leaves me in the end!" he was full on shouting, letting out everything he had been holding inside himself for a whole year. He had tears in his eyes.

You handed him a box of tissues and he was gasping for breath. When he had calmed down, you both sat in silence for a few minutes. 

"You know, Harry, my friend died the day we had a fight. She was my best friend. I knew her ever since we were three. It was a silly argument. We should not have fought about it. But we did and I told her I wished she would just go away… and then she did" it was painful for you to remember this, but time does heal everything. 

"I'm sorry," his voice was low. "And I'm sorry for all those things I said" 

"No it's alright, that's what you're here for. And besides, it's nothing compared to your loss, Harry" 

"No. It- it's not a competition. Suffering is not a competition. It must've been really hard for you, Dr y/l/n," this was the first time he had addressed you. 

"Call me y/n," you smile at him. "And yeah that's very true. We often blame ourselves, you know, it's very common. We cannot be angry at them so we get angry with ourselves. Even though we know deep in our hearts that there was nothing we could have done" 

There was a long silence. 

"She went out for a drive, that bastard drunk driver," he spoke up. "And I was just resting. She asked me so many times to join her but I wanted to sleep" 

You nod at him and he continued. "That's…the reason I'm not able to sleep. Every night I close my eyes, I think I'll wake up to that phone call" 

"Well yes I don't blame you, our brains sometimes don't process things that come as a shock. And then it just keeps on haunting us forever. Do you believe in life after death, Harry?" 

"Well I don't know what to believe" 

"Have you- felt her? After she was gone?" 

"You'll think I'm crazy" 

"I'm a therapist, it'll take you much more than that to convince me you're crazy" 

"I sometimes talk to her. Like what would she think about this particular situation. Or just that I miss her so much. I don't get any responses but I just try to think like her?" 

"Yeah, that's quite normal actually. People think they need to 'get over' someone's death. But that's not true. You can never really get over something like death" 

"And what does getting over even mean? Like you just forget them? Moving on with your life just means that you think they were never a part of it" 

"Well you're both right and wrong. Yes we must remember our loved ones who are not with us anymore but at the same time, we have to let them go" 

"How? It's too painful" 

"I know. But do you believe in the concept of souls, Harry?" 

"Yeah I mean," he shrugs. 

"The soul is considered to be immortal. And groups of souls tend to travel together. Even if you don't know it, some way, somehow, they're always with us" 

He says nothing but his eyes looked softer now. 

"And just think about it, think of her seeing you like this. Do you think she could have handled you being so miserable?" 

"She would have been heartbroken" 

"Exactly. So do it for her, for yourself. For both of you to feel peace again" 

"Yeah" 

You look at your watch. Half an hour was up. 

"So, Harry. Your half an hour is up. Is there anything else?" 

"Yes, um we can talk about it in our next session?" 

You smile at him. "Of course" 

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

After that one half an hour session, Harry was a changed man. He was still mourning, he was still miserable but he had hope. For the first time in a long time, he thought he could actually go on with his life, he could finally feel peace.

The week went by smoothly. Harry tried to make himself busy, by surrounding himself with people and always working. He was still getting nightmares but he was determined to sleep. He was sleeping light, afraid of what deep sleep might show him.

Meanwhile your life was exactly the same, you went on with your day treating people, talking, helping them. You loved your job, you loved the sense of satisfaction you got after patients they told you they were finally better. Every person was a challenge, and you knew there was a gem hidden inside every one of them. All of them had immense potential but life hadn't been kind to them. You felt disturbed and it broke your heart to see people hurting. And you would do anything to make it better for them. To help them.

You couldn’t keep Harry out of your mind. You were thinking about him all day long, awaiting your next session with him. What if he cancels? What can I do if he does? Why am I thinking about him? He had this air around him, a magnetic pull, which was pulling your closer and closer towards him. And why is he so damn attractive? No I should not think about him that way. It was the first and foremost rule of your profession. Never get emotionally attached with your clients. It was a professional relationship and must remain that way.

When he came into your office the following week, you could sense the change in him. You felt proud that a single session made such a difference. There was no arrogance in him, he didn’t seem angry anymore. He was calm and better.

“So, Harry. How was your week?”

“It was good, I’ve been shooting my new short film and it’s coming out to be okay so far”

“Alright and how have you been sleeping?”

“Not that good to be honest. I still get dreams, uh bad dreams”

“What do you see in these dreams?”

“I see the accident scene….again and again, it’s the same dream. Sometimes I see her, she talks to me and all that”

“Hmm and have you talked to your family? Your friends?”

“Yeah I talked to my mum…and my brother”

“What did they say?”

“They said they are here for me and will always love me”

“Yes and I don’t doubt that, Harry. You have a lot of people in your life who love and support you. Embrace that”

The session went by smoothly, he opened up to you about his life, everything about the girl he loved so much. About his family, his career. You found yourself staring at him, taking glances at his hands which he constantly moved while he talked. You noticed he was shaking his leg the whole time. Stop staring, y/n.

Wow she’s so beautiful. And thoughtful. And funny and understanding. What am I doing? She’s my therapist….but…why couldn’t I have met her before? Why didn’t I meet her when I was normal? Would things have been different? But then again, I would have never met her if I was normal.

Things seemed to get better, as the weeks progressed, Harry was becoming more and more like his old self again. But there was a feeling of regret, he thought this was wrong as if he were forgetting her. But you were there to guide him, to tell him that this is what life is. It never stops. No matter what happens, you will heal. Someday, sometime. And each day we progress towards it.

And then it happened. The call came at 1 am in the morning. You were sleeping and you were tired, you had been working all day and just needed some rest. You wouldn't have picked the call up but something told you it was important. That you should pick it up.

“Hello?” you yawn.

You just hear muffled breathing for a few seconds.

“Hello? Who is it?”

“It…it’s me…Harry”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” you thought what could have happened at this time of the night.

“I just- can you-” he sounded like he was choking.

“Harry what’s wrong, you’re scaring me”

“I… can’t… breathe,” you hear him sobbing. ”I had… that… dream, I feel like I’m…going to…die”

“Harry, listen to me. You will be okay. Yeah? Just take deep breaths and sit tight. I’m coming to you”

You search through his file to look for his address. When you find it, you rush through the front door and drive to his house. You were on the phone with him the whole drive.

“Just keep breathing, Harry. Deep breaths, okay?”

To your surprise, the front door was unlocked. It looked like he had gone out into the street in the middle of the night. You search through rooms to find him, and you see him curled into a ball at the corner of a king size bed. You touch his shoulder and he flinches.

“Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s alright”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” he was crying, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes looked small and they looked red from the lack of sleep and of tears.

“It’s alright, Harry. Just come here, it’ll be alright,” you pull him towards yourself him and he buries his face into your chest and you held him, stroking his hair and telling him it will be alright.

“That’s it. Let it out, Harry. It’s okay to cry”

You both stayed like that for another 15 minutes. He couldn’t stop crying and you knew he needed that. He had been holding everything in for so long and it just came out like an explosion tonight. You wiped his tears and made him meditate for a few minutes.

He fell asleep and you stayed up all night, looking at him. He looked so innocent while he slept, and cute too, you thought hiding a blush, even though nobody was there to look at you.

That night, Harry finally felt at peace. He was finally able to sleep. He had no nightmares, just a peaceful dream. He saw his girlfriend, running away from him in a white dress with her hair flowing in the wind.

Please don’t leave me, darling. I love you.

I know you do Harry, but you must let me go. I will always be with you. I will always love you. It is time you start caring about yourself, you must let me go. It is time.

No! don’t leave me!

And he woke up. Something about this dream told him that she was right. It was time. He was finally ready to let her go. For both of their sakes.

He went down to find you sleeping on the couch. He was hesitant at his thoughts but deep down he knew he was falling for you. Am I just using her to cope with my loss? Or do I really love her?

You opened your eyes, looking at Harry sitting on the ground, pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Good morning, how did you sleep?”

“Better. Really really better. I- I don’t know how to thank you, y/n and I’m so sorry”

“Hey it’s alright, and I’m glad I could help,” you smile. “I should go now, I have to get to work”

“Let me make breakfast and let me drive you to your house”

“Oh no it’s okay I can-”

“I owe this much to you, y/n. Let me”

“Okay”

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

It wasn’t until another week when Harry had his next session. You had been thinking about him all the time, you were confused, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. But he….who am I kidding I’m in love with him.

When he walked through the door on a Thursday morning next week, he looked healthy and happier than ever. You felt a sense of happiness yourself, therapy is always beneficial to both the patient and the therapist. Every person is a deep universe, their thoughts, experiences, pain, joy, everything. Empathising with clients is a great learning experience, it becomes a part your personality. It becomes a part of you.

“Hey y/n”

“Hi Harry”

“So my week as been as it’s always and I’ve been feeling a lot better ever since that day…and that dream” he had told you about the dream he had the night you watched him sleep. He seemed to completely change after that, he let go of the intense emotions he had been carrying around.

“That’s very good and you’ve made a lot of progress since our first meeting”

“Yeah…I have”

The session went on as usual, he talked about everything that happened, he started fighting with his brothers again, which he hadn’t done in a long time and even though they were pissed off at him, they were happy to have him back.

“Um Harry,” you say at the end of the session. “I think-” you try to choose your words correctly. “I think it’s about time you start seeing another therapist, yeah?”

You see his face drop. “wh-why? I’m doing so much better, is..is it because of that night? I’m so sorry y/n”

“No it’s not that. You and I both know what’s happening between us, it’s wrong for a therapist to get emotionally attached with her patient. I’m sorry, Harry”

“So you’re saying that you’re becoming emotionally attached with me?”

“I..I’m-“

“It’s alright. I understand y/n”

“Yes, thank you. This has been great”

“So… now that you’re not my therapist, can I meet you for coffee this evening?”

“Harry-“

“Half an hour, Dr y/l/n. Just give me half an hour of your time, if you still feel the same way, I’ll never bother you again”

“Uh-" you hesitate. You knew you should have said no. You were going to say no. Yet the words which came out of your mouth were “Okay then, it’s a date”

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

Taglist:

@mischiefmanaged011 @notsosmexy @perspectiveparker @justanothermarvelmaniac @amorhollands @thisetaernallove @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @peterspideysstuff @musicalkeys @theliterarymess @ilarbu @hollands-weasley @tombob2005 @tommysparker @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @parkerpeter24 @more-like-reyna @hollandbroz-n-haz @aqiise

[pink-writer-girl]

Search For The Fae- chapter 1

The fog was thick and the night was crisp in the town of Yggdrasil Barrow, though the fog carried even more tension that particular night. A young woman with short, wavy strawberry locks took a deep drag of her cigarette. She exhaled slowly, the cloud of smoke disappearing in the fog. Her cigarette burned low but provided a small light in the fog. Though her eyes were partially hidden by her hair, her expression was grim. She watched as men dressed in police uniforms moved in and out of what appeared to be a normal suburban house. Bright yellow police tape blocked off any nosey but concerned civilians from stepping over the property line.

"Another one missing," one police officer muttered with a pitiful shake of his head.

"This happens every few years. You’d think we’d have some leads by now," said another, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.

But they didn't. And after almost 100 years since the town’s founding no one had the slightest clue about what happened to all those missing children. The strawberry-haired woman put her free hand in her pocket to shield it from the cold as she took another long, deep drag of her cigarette. She put the butt in her empty smoke box and slid the box into her coat pocket as she solemnly made her way to greet the police officer stationed at the door as she made her way in.

Though she was inside the house the temperature didn't differ much from the outside. The cold within the house was something felt more in the soul rather than on the skin. It was something she was familiar with: the feeling of an invader’s presence, or a person’s lost warmth. The woman's solemn eyes scanned the walls of the plethora of pictures of the household’s family as she walked down the hall. A mother, a father, a sister, and brother. She kept her eyes on the brother, though. While the family appeared to grow more loving and happy as the years passed between these photos, the brother seemed to grow more physically distant from the others.

His happy smile started to get smaller and smaller and seemed to diminish to almost nothing as the years went by. As she peered closely at the brother, the young woman swore her eyes were playing tricks on her when she thought she saw a glimmer of an unnatural color in the boy’s eyes. “What—”

"Detective Nole!" A voice called out to the woman, making her blink and just shake her head. When she opened her eyes again, the brother’s eyes had returned to normal. Just a trick of the light, she thought. As she hurried into what appeared to be a white-walled living room, an older salt-and-pepper-haired man wearing a white button-down shirt turned to look at her. The wrinkles under this man’s eyes showed years of experience with cases like this, and they didn’t look like the cases were getting any easier. 

"Chief Rowan," the woman said, looking toward the married couple standing nearby. The man looked to the two detectives while rubbing the back of his wife, who had not spoken or even looked up since they had been there.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brice, this is Detective Resistance Nole," Rowan said as Resistance made her way to stand next to the chair. Mr. Brice raised a brow at hearing her name, which didn't surprise her. She had been getting looks like this most of her life. Mrs. Brice, who previously hadn't shown any hints of interaction, finally looked up and gave a puzzled expression at the name she heard. 

"Your name is Resistance?" Mr. Brice asked, wondering if they were pulling his leg. 

Resistance let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes before presenting her badge to the couple. "Do you believe me now?" Both of them looked puzzled,  but when they saw the name inscribed on the badge, they nodded.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brice, I know you've probably been asked this question more than once already, but as you know the first 4 hours after a minor goes missing is the most critical. So I want you to tell me everything that happened today before your son Jeremy went missing and what led up to it,” The green-eyed woman asked as she sat in a chair opposite the Chief. 

Mr. Brice removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Just like I told your Chief and the other officers: I came home and my wife was making dinner. Our son Jeremy was locked up in his room as usual." A bit of annoyance crept into his voice at that part; some obvious tension existed between father and son. “By 7, his mother called him down for dinner, but when he didn't respond we thought he was having one of his fits.” By now Mr. Brice was looking quite distressed. “I knocked on his door to the point of breaking it down..." He paused to wipe his face. "He was gone… No trace of him… He was just gone…"

Mrs. Brice started to tear up slightly. "He… He had been so distant lately, but we never thought he would run away…" she said softly.

Resistance looked at the other woman as she took notes. "When you say distant, what do you mean by it? Your son is 13, right? Was hanging out with the wrong type of kids, or maybe there’s something going on at home you haven’t told me about?" The detective looked into Mrs. Brice's eyes. There was something wrong with them. She looked quite out of it, but she didn't appear to be on any discernible substances. It was like there was a cloud of sorts blocking her thoughts, with the way her eyes were dazed and how she stared blankly in different directions. 

Mrs. Brice shook her head "No, no, nothing like that... Jeremy has always been a good boy. Yes, he could be a bit shy at times, but he was so talented." She smiled brokenly. "He had the voice of an angel. He was in the school choir you know. So beautiful…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes became distant again. 

"Nothing I never heard before, yet so familiar somehow." Resistance frowned slightly and looked towards her chief, who shared her look of confusion.

Mr. Brice wrapped an arm around his wife. "I'm sorry,” he said to Resistance. “She hasn't really taken Jeremy's..." He paused, evidently trying to search for the right word. "...situation very well." 

The detective just looked at him, her eyes full of sympathy. "No parent can rest when their child is missing.” She paused. “I would know," she told them.

" You… You… have children?" Mrs Brice asked in a quiet voice, not really looking at Resistance, though.

Resistance turned to her. "I do. A daughter around 6," she told her gently. 

"A little girl…" A ghost of a smile flickered on Mrs. Brice’s face. "Just like Holly, dear…" She looked at her husband, her expression almost dreamlike. Mr. Brice just looked at her with a somber expression.

"Mrs.Brice, could you possibly tell your version of events before you husband got home?" Resistance asked the dark-haired woman, believing there was more to this story then it seemed.

Mrs. Brice blinked a little, looking at her. "It was a normal day… I got Holly and Jeremy ready for school... Though it took longer to get Jeremy about the house." 

The Chief spoke up. "Why? Did he sleep in?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

Mrs. Brice shook her head again. "No… He was just so distant. He barely responded to me. He just stared out the window humming a song... A beautiful song… I’ve never heard it before." She smiled dreamily again. "I ran errands, then brought the children home from school... Jeremy barely spoke at all. He only hugged me and told me he loved me before going back into his room."

This piqued Resistance’s interest. “Did he do this often? The staring off into space while singing?" she asked both his parents.

"Jeremy was in choir, so it was common for him to practice," said Mr. Brice. 

“But this was different altogether…" his wife finished for him. 

Resistance leaned back in her seat, processing all of this. "Mrs. Brice, what time was it when you last saw your son?" 

"Oh, it was…" Mrs. Brice’s voice trailed off as she tried to remember. "I… I don't… recall," she said. Her eyes became very distant and unfocused, and her husband furrowed his brow in worry.

"It's alright,Mrs. Brice. We can stop for now," the Chief said as he held up a hand. He was concerned that the distressed mother was going to have an emotional collapse.

The female detective didn't fail to notice the small head of a child with curly black hair and Tinkerbell dress pajamas peeking around a doorway at the adults conversing down the hall.

"Would your daughter Holly know?" Resistance asked, making Mr. Brice look up at her. "She was in the house today. What did she tell you?"

Mr. Brice adopted a defensive posture. "Alright, I think we’re done with questions for now. As you can see, my wife is in no condition to answer more. Just please find my son,” he said shortly. He turned to his wife and said in a much softer tone, “Let's take a rest, alright?" He began leading Mrs. Brice out of the room, and she followed him like a zombie.

"We understand, sir. We will do the best we can," the Chief said before shooting Resistance a look.

Resistance got up up go out the door with her senior officer, though she didn't take her eyes off the little girl lurking at the end of the hallway until the moment she walked out the door.

“Ressy, what was the point of asking those questions about the daughter?" the older man said rubbing his eyes. Mr. Brice already has a lot on his plate with his almost catonic wife and his missing son." He watched her stare into the house. 

“The little girl knows something, Rowan. Children always know more than what they first appear to," she told him seriously.

“How do you know, Ressy?" 

“I could see in her eyes…" she told him simply. Oh, yes… She could see the same loss and dread she had seen in herself back then.

The Chief sighed deeply at this. ”Ressy, you know this isn't Lu—“

"I know sir." She cut him off. “I’m not deluding myself by seeing my missing little sister in a missing 23-year-old-boy," she told him firmly as she looked back at her notes. “Besides, didn't you notice how the mother was acting?” she pointed out to the Chief as they walked off the property. 

The older man sighed deeply then hummed in thought. "Yeah, she appeared to be a little… Out of it," he put simply. "I thought maybe her husband gave her something to calm her down.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked back at the house as it receded into the fog behind them. 

“She wasn't on something, at least she didn't appear to be,” Ressy commented, putting a hand on her chin. She had seen people under the influence before during her time as police cadet, and even more so living with her mother growing up… Her sister's disappearance didn't exactly make that part better. “But it seemed like she didn't understand where she was or what was happening clearly, like she was in some sort of bliss." 

The Chief just sighed as he patted her back lightly. “Just go home for tonight, Resistance. Go hug Lorelei. I'm going to hug my girls for sure," he said, turning in the opposite direction which led to his old grey Honda. He got in the driver side while Resistance got in on the passenger side. The young woman just stared at the small town as they drove by. It was very gloomy that day, considering the circumstances. It seemed like fog followed whenever they had an unfortunate event. A town named after the fabled tree of life didn't seem so lively. One of the disturbing reminders of it was all the missing posters of children literally covered all the walls, posts, and shops. Children that went missing over the years… It was like a sick attraction: the town of children spirited away. It also served as a “boogeyman” to scare the surrounding towns’ children into behaving, or else they would be sent to Yggdrasil Burrow.

Ressy dragged her feet to her apartment door when the Chief dropped her off at home. Her keys jingled in her hands as she unlocked the door. Inside, she greeted the babysitter, Rachel, a college student with blonde hair, brown eyes, and sun-kissed freckled skin. “Was she any trouble?” Ressy asked as she paid Rachel for watching her daughter for the day. 

Rachel shook her head as she took her bag and the money offered to her. “Nope! We had a lot of fun! We made grilled cheese, and got really imgative with drawing,” she said as she stepped out the door. "Oh, she has an imaginary friend by the way.”

Ressy blinked at this. “Wait, what—“

But by this time the younger was gone, and Ressy shook her head, sighing. Sometimes the blonde was so immature. Considering her age, that wasn’t surprising, and it didn't make her a bad babysitter. Lorelei had a hard time with keeping one due to her "strange" behavior…

Ressy picked up a lot of the artwork that was scattered around the room. “Looks like you guys didn't pick things up again." She shook her head, sighing deeply. Lorelei, though young, had great talent. It made Ressy smile looking over the colorful pictures of pastels and many fantasy creatures. Her daughter had always had a fascination with them. One drawing caught her eye; it appeared to be a shadowy humanoid coming up the stairs. 

"Hi Mommy!" 

The older woman nearly jumped to turn around to face her daughter. "Oh! Lorelei, sweetheart, don't do that,” she said, sighing in relief but holding her chest. 

The little girl had eyes of hazel and dark brown hair which had a hint of dark purple in it. She also wore a white t-shirt and purple pajama bottoms. "I'm sorry, Mommy" she said guiltily.

Ressy kissed her daughter’s head "It's okay, sweetheart," she said before going back to pick up the pictures. "Looks like you had fun today," Ressy said, looking over the pictures. 

The little girl nodded as she helped her mother. "I'm sorry, Mommy, I forgot about them," she said monotonously. Resistance’s daughter didn't really express emotions like other children. Of course she loved and felt empathy but she seemed much more mature than other children her age. 

"They’re very pretty, sweetheart," Ressy said, picking her daughter up and then sitting on the couch with Lorelei in her lap. "Did you make these with Rachel?" 

Lorelei nodded as she yawned. “I saw them in my dreams." She pointed to each of the pictures as she rubbed her eyes. 

“What about this one?" her mother asked, showing the picture of the dark humanoid. 

"That’s my new friend. He tells me many stories," she said, drifting off to sleep on her mother. 

Resistance became a little concerned at this. "Friend? Lorelei, what do you—?” She cut herself off, seeing her daughter asleep sighing deeply in sleep. "It's been a long day for both of us, huh…" she muttered, getting up with her daughter with a groan before dragging them, both to bed. "Better clean up tomorrow…" she said, too tired to bother with the mess.

Little did she know, outside in the fog, a dark figure stood in the middle of the street looking into their window... watching them.

Art by: BrinBrin(Ghost)

Story by: Pinkroseutena

Editing by: @poorly-drawn-skeks

Art by: BrinBrin(Ghost)

[angsty-edgy-emo]

With War Comes Love

Title: With War Comes Love

Genre: Fluff, Angst, SFW

Pairing(s): Innefable Husbands, Aziraphale x Crowley

Warnings: War Mentions, Cussing

Chapter: 1/?

"Such a pity, isn't it, Aziraphale?" A familiar voice chimed in from behind. It slithered its way right beside a light haired man, taking in the horrid sight of a smoggy battlefield. What a horrid sight it was. "It really does make you wonder why your 'Almighty' made humans in the first place." It said teasingly with a smirk. "Well, there is no use in war, to think they're fighting to see who will win even though both parties experienced loss. You of all people should know that, Crawly." The angel replied to the demon along side him. It was actually Crowley. He got a name change, Crawly sounded rather squeamish in his defense.

"It's Crowley and what's bad about war anyway? They are fighting for a reason and that reason is that they want their land for themselves. They want to be a free, independent country." Independece. Freedom. Being able to do what you want sounded a like a nice thing that won't just be handed over was a thought that crossed Aziraphale's mind. It really isn't easy to be a free-standing country. They want independence, yet they are still not ready. Atleast, that's what it seems like for me.

"They just need help with their governing, they should be thankful that the Americans are trying."

"Yet they started war, Angel... They have been held colonized for almost twenty years. They deserve to be free. If they need help, they could just ring the Americans and ask. It's not that hard." That sounded like balderdash, yet it was sort of a good suggestion.

"Heneral!" A shout from the distance caught Aziraphale and Crowley's attention. The man was pointing at them. He was from the other side of the war, a native of the land they were in. "Oh no, that sounds like trouble." Aziraphale said worriedly to the man beside him. They needed to find a way out quickly without meddling with human transactions.

"You there, You are Englishmen, yes?" The young boy held a long sword, a bolo as they called it. The question was coarse, yet understandable. He stood with a man who was older and had a different uniform, it was more formal and forward. They stood speculating the couple who were, in fact, english. "Why, yes we are. You see, Heneral we came here because my friend here would love to tell you something right, Angel?" Crowley gave Aziraphale a nudge in the right direction. It was all up to him now.

"Oh, well... Um, our head offices would like you to know, by a miracle, that the war is over. We are declaring peace! No more... fighting or guns, please." Emphasis on the word miracle, it really did take one. Firstly, he spoke the native language of the people, for them to understand better. It was said their language was sincere when heard. Secondly, Aziraphale did an actual miracle for that and for the fighting to stop.

"How did you speak in their native tongue?"

Crowley asked, impressed of what the angel did. The men stood there shocked, suspicious if I dare say so. They didn't know what to make out of it.

"If so, why did they send you? Why can't they say it themselves?" The Heneral said in a suspecting tone. "Heneral, maybe they are one of their leaders. If what they say is true, the other ones should be coming right here at the moment." In fact they were. News spread like wildfire as the say it. Their people were informed that war was over and that they were ready to cooperate with their people.

"Papa! Papa! You're safe! You can come home to us now! I missed you!" A child came rushing to the young man. It made him drop the sword and kneel dow for the child to reach out to him. A hug, they called it. It was one of the many human actions that indicated affection. Crowley stood smiling at the little family. "Your son?" He asked the young man. "Aren't you a little too young to have a child?" He gave the child a warm smile, which was quite infectious. The child smiled back, giving off a warmer and more brighter vibe

As you might not know, he was very fond of children, not it that sense anyway. He just simply sees himself in them. Crude. Creative. Lively. The young man's fierce expression melted into a timid, and somewhat embarrassed one. "Yes, sir. He is my child. The eldest. The missus and I went off together on our own without our parents' approval." Love was a very bizzare, yet beautiful for humans. So it was for angels and demons as well. "Excuse me, but what did you call this process again?" The man spoke in his native tongue if you didn't notice it. "Um, tanan, sir. Means, to run away with someone you want to be with." Crowley grined at the word. He wanted to do that with Aziraphale someday.

Aziraphale finished exchanging answers and questions with the Heneral. He saw Crowley conversing with the young man from earlier, they were having a rather lovely chat with the child tagging along. The child pointed at the angel, which caused his father and the demon to cut off the chat they were having. "A-are you the- one of Englishmen. U-um..." The child stammered. It seemed that he was having a difficult time speaking in english. "It's okay, little one. It is my pleasure to make peace with you!" Aziraphale gave the child a pat on the head, in return, he got a warm embrace. It was a wonderful thing, peace. It can get the most unlikely of people together.

Prompt by: @my-life-is-a-god-damn-mess

[himi-wiz]

Definitely believe in this and really Mori's greatest sins with Dazai is treating him like he would treat and guide a younger version of himself.

Same for his reaction to most of the younger generation really, it's just "Oh? You're interested in this? Well then, here's stuff to help you out!"

//cutely gives them the means to learn and raise themselves up through advice and tests to watch them grow but also teaching them how shit the world can be by being manipulative himself so he would act as a foil against them

It's like fully supporting a kid who goes "I want to be batman" and teaching them martial arts, gifting them appropriate gadgets and showing them how and where to best fight crime, and **arranging for their parents to die to complete the ritual of becoming batman** — knowing full well the kid will get hurt and traumatised by what they wanted.

But it's all a good learning experience right?? They got what they wanted???

And so Dazai wants something like for Mori to be dead, Mori really went: Sure okay and teaches him tactics and shit to eventually kill him.

Sir, why are you like this? (Head in hands)

Unfortunately we all know Mori's an awful awful person with a horrible sense of morality viewing the most extreme methods of eliminating a thread as acceptable because it's cleaner this way. Sure, there are other viable methods to not lose so much but Mori seems to prefer the route of "no pain no gain" and that necessary loss is okay. Especially when he's sacrificed and shackled himself to doing this job for his own desire — to serve others in the name of a greater cause like peace and stability — so Mori naturally assumes if there's something people believe enough to do anything for, they'll do it and he's here to speed up that process.

Yeah uhh, stop projecting man. You're thinking a bit too highly of Dazai really to assume he'll hate you and the Mafia that much enough to wreck it apart like what you assume in your delusional final plans lmao

So overall, it feels like Mori goes: Ah, so you're struggling with this? Well then, let me help you by giving you the necessary push and support to complete what (I think) you should do!

Just look at him dragging Atsushi from giving up and showing Sushi the right direction in Anne's room:

Also Mori:

//Goes ahead to give Yosano a push by shooting her soldier friend and either she sticks to her guns and lets him die so he stop suffering like she wants to or she does "the right thing" like what Mori believes she wanted to do **("I just want to save people's lives")** and heals him.

That one is definitely abuse to mould poor Yosano into what he thinks she wants and also someone who he is able to utilise. No sugar coating that.

With Port Mafia members however, like Dazai, Chuuya, even the younger PM gen like Akutagawa, Higuchi or the Black Lizard youngsters who are used to death, violence and the loss of humanity however, this is less of an issue. They have no particular misgivings of how Mori is using them and shaping them with his guidance and hints of how they could be for him. Win-win situation for them most of the time that they both gain something from this exchange but it just doesn't work out for Dazai when he isn't too interested in being a prop for Mori when he doesn't see the value in living like that or living at all.

dazai and mori

henlo im still dying a bit so im sorry i haven’t been on to post much :< but tonight on this episode of “i cant stop thinking abt this so im gonna write” im gonna talk abt dazai and mori’s relationship. 

i have a feeling that my opinion will be heavily disagreed with, but it is my speculation based on reading bsd. i currently don’t have the time or energy to get evidence to back up my claims, so i apologize in advance for that ;; i will reblog later with screenshots & quotes. but for now, i hope u enjoy!

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[overbyjama0-blog]

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