#scott softened up after all stars

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

Total Drama Future AU design number 4!

He is 38 in this AU.

He was in prison for several years after All Stars, but he sent plenty of letters to his castmates.

Once he was released, he had a plan to make amends with all of them, but there was one very special person he needed to pay a visit to.

He had to go find Scott, he needed to see if Scott was alright.

After asking around, he finally tracked Scott down.

It was a pretty long drive to get there, but it was all worth it.

When he showed up at Scott's renovated farmhouse, (Thanks to Cameron splitting his prize cash from Revenge Of The Island up amongst the cast members) Scott cried tears of joy and relief when he opened the door and saw Duncan standing there.

Even though they hadn't seen each other in years, their love from All Stars remained.

Scott slept better than he had in years with Duncan by his side.

While they never ended up having kids together, Duncan was happy to live on the farm with Scott and Butterscotch.

[pandapetals]

That Boy Is Mine

logan howlett x afab!reader - angst, logan liking jean, happy ending, feelings hurt, no y/n used, no reader description

Logan sleeps in your bed most nights but ignores you in the daytime. You grow tired of it and make him realize Jean will never want him back.

read on Ao3

Logan slept in your bed most nights, his body warm against yours in the quiet hours of the dark, but come daylight, it was like you didn’t exist. He’d slip out before you woke up, his presence gone as if he was never there. He spent his days avoiding you, acting like the time spent tangled together under the sheets meant nothing once the sun came up.

At first, you didn’t care. It was just casual—no strings, no expectations. You’d agreed to it, after all. It was better than being alone, and Logan... well, he was impossible to ignore. Strong, confident, untouchable in that rugged way that drew you in before you even realized what was happening. So, when he came to you those nights, needing a release from whatever demons haunted him, you let him in, telling yourself it was just physical. Nothing more.

Lately, it had started to feel different. He’d slip into bed, press his lips to your skin, and you’d catch yourself wanting to stay wrapped up in that moment, to pretend like you weren’t just another temporary escape for him. He’d hold you tight while you both drifted off, his breath steady in the silence and for a few fleeting hours, it felt like you were more than just someone to pass the time with.

Then came the mornings. The cold, indifferent distance. His eyes couldn’t quite meet yours when you passed in the hallway, or worse—when they did, and they held nothing. Like you were invisible.

What made it harder to swallow was the way his gaze always found her.

Jean.

You could see it, even when he thought no one was looking. The way Logan’s face softened whenever Jean entered the room, the small, hopeful smile that tugged at his lips despite the way she politely brushed him off every time. His eyes lingered on her as if she were some unreachable star, glowing far out of his reach, but still drawing him in like gravity itself.

It stung more than you wanted to admit.

You’d see him light up around her, his posture just a bit more relaxed, his smile a little warmer. It was undeniable—the longing in his eyes, the way he tracked her movements with a kind of silent reverence. Jean... well, Jean was Jean. Perfect, composed, the object of every man’s desire at the mansion but she was also devoted to Scott. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Logan, apparently.

The worst part was that Jean didn’t want him. Not in the way he wanted her. Sure, she smiled back, but it was always the smile of a friend, nothing more. It was clear she wasn’t interested, but Logan, in his stubborn, headstrong way, couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that.

And you? You were just there, stuck in the middle, letting yourself be used as a distraction, knowing that when it came to daylight, his mind wasn’t on you. It was on her.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. What you had with Logan wasn’t supposed to be serious. Just something to fill the emptiness. After months of it—months of him sneaking into your bed when the nights grew too quiet, only to vanish come morning, months of watching him chase after Jean with that hopeful look in his eyes—you realized you were tired.

Tired of being the backup. Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt.

You were tired of being used.

One evening, you found yourself in the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of tea while your mind churned with thoughts of Logan. You hadn’t seen him since the night before, when he’d slipped into your bed after a long mission, his touch gentle but distant, as if his mind was already elsewhere.

The door swung open, and your heart instinctively skipped a beat, your fingers tightening around the mug when you saw Logan walk in. He wasn’t alone.

Jean was with him.

Your stomach twisted, and before you could turn away, Logan’s gaze met yours for the briefest moment. Instead of the usual emptiness, there was something else in his eyes—a flicker of acknowledgment. Maybe even guilt. He quickly turned his attention back to Jean, cracking some joke that you couldn’t quite make out over the rushing sound in your ears.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look away as they spoke in hushed tones, their laughter a quiet undercurrent that felt sharper than any rejection you’d ever known. Jean smiled at something he said, that effortless, friendly smile that she gave to everyone, and Logan, as always, lit up in response.

It was infuriating.

You had to bite your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but your emotions were already bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Enough.

You set your mug down a little harder than you intended, the ceramic clinking sharply against the counter. Logan’s head snapped up, his attention finally breaking from Jean as his eyes found yours again. This time, you didn’t look away.

He knew. He could see it in your face, in the way you stood just a little too rigid, the frustration practically radiating off you. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy between the three of you.

Without thinking, you took a step forward, your voice low but firm, unable to hold it in any longer. “Logan, we need to talk.”

Jean glanced between the two of you, sensing the change in the atmosphere. “I’ll... leave you to it,” she said softly, clearly not wanting to get caught in whatever was brewing. With a polite nod, she excused herself, leaving you and Logan standing alone in the suddenly too-quiet kitchen.

Logan looked at you, his brow furrowed, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “What’s this about?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as if bracing for whatever you were about to say.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m tired, Logan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Tired of what?”

Your jaw clenched, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Tired of being your backup plan.”

That seemed to hit him. His arms dropped to his sides, and for the first time in months, he looked genuinely taken aback. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Logan. You come to me when you need something—when you need me—but the rest of the time, you act like I don’t exist. You think I don’t see the way you look at Jean?”

Logan’s face darkened at that, but you pressed on.

“I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t matter, tired of acting like I’m okay with just being your side option while you chase after someone who doesn’t even want you.”

“I—” he started, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” you said sharply, your voice shaking slightly now, your emotions finally breaking free. “You don’t get to stand there and act like it’s nothing. Because maybe it was nothing at first, but now? It’s not. Not for me.”

Logan stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry, guilty, or something in between. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his usually impenetrable armor.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice rough, “I didn’t... I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

You crossed your arms, feeling the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. “Then what was it, Logan? What did you mean for it to be?”

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “It’s not that simple.”

You scoffed, the frustration bubbling up again. “It’s not that complicated either. Either I matter, or I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was something raw in his gaze, something that told you he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be. But still, there was a distance—like part of him was still holding on to something, to her.

“Jean doesn’t want you,” you said softly, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. “She never did. You know that, don’t you?”

Logan flinched, his jaw tightening again, but he didn’t deny it.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper now. “You could have something real, Logan. Something that isn’t just a distraction or a replacement. But you need to figure out what you want.”

The weight of your words hung in the air between you, heavy with the unspoken question: Was this ever more than just convenience?

Logan’s eyes searched yours, and for the first time, you saw it—the uncertainty, the conflict. The walls he’d built around himself were crumbling, piece by piece.

Whether he’d let them fall was a choice only he could make.

The silence between you and Logan stretched on, thick with tension. His eyes were stormy now, locked on yours, but you couldn't tell if he was angry or just conflicted. Maybe both. The quiet was suffocating, and you had to break it before it swallowed you whole.

“Well?” you pressed, unable to keep the sharpness out of your voice. “Do I even matter to you, Logan, or am I just someone to fill the space when you can’t have Jean?”

His expression darkened at that, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, voice low, but there was a tremor of frustration in it.

“Then tell me what it is like,” you demanded, stepping closer, your anger bubbling over. “Because it sure as hell feels like I’m just a substitute. And I’m done being second place.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth together. For a moment, you thought he might explode, that his anger would boil over into a full-blown fight. But instead, he exhaled sharply, his voice strained but quieter. “You think I don’t care about you?”

The question caught you off guard, your breath hitching in your throat. You opened your mouth to answer, but the words got stuck, tangled up in the confusion and frustration swirling inside you.

Logan took a step closer, his presence towering, his eyes hard but filled with something more than just anger now. “You think I don’t care about you?” he repeated, his voice rough, a bit desperate now. “I come to you because I know you’ll take me as I am. I come to you because you’re—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration as if he couldn’t find the right words. “You’re the only one who sees me.”

You blinked, the sting of his words hitting deeper than expected. “Then why do you look at her like she’s the one who matters?”

Logan’s face twisted in frustration, his fists tightening again, his knuckles white. “Because I thought... I thought maybe she could make me feel like I used to, before all this shit—before everything went to hell.” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “But she can’t. I know that now.”

Your heart raced as you processed what he was saying. It was raw and unfiltered, and it made you realize that Logan was more conflicted than you ever gave him credit for. That didn’t change the fact that you had been left in the middle of it all—waiting for him to figure it out while you got used along the way.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I’m not asking you to choose between us. There’s nothing to choose. She’s never been yours to have.”

He let out a breath like it was the hardest thing he’d had to hear, but he didn’t argue. His eyes flickered with something you hadn’t seen before—regret, maybe, or the realization that he’d been holding onto a fantasy that wasn’t real.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “You have to stop looking at her like she’s the answer to whatever you’re searching for. Because she isn’t. She never was.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. He turned his gaze away from you, staring at the floor for a long, tense moment as if the cracks in his armor were starting to show.

And then, suddenly, he spoke again, his voice low and almost vulnerable. “I didn’t know I was hurting you. I thought...” He paused, his brows furrowing. “I thought we had an understanding.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tension in your chest grow tighter. “We did. At first. But I can’t keep doing this, Logan. I can’t keep pretending that this is enough when you’re still hung up on someone who doesn’t want you.”

He flinched at that, his jaw working as if he was trying to swallow his pride, but the flicker of pain in his eyes told you he knew you were right.

“I don’t want to be your distraction,” you said softly, your voice finally breaking as the emotions you’d kept bottled up spilled out. “I want to matter.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of your words sinking in. You weren’t sure what to expect—if he’d walk away if he’d try to argue again, if he’d shut down completely. But instead, Logan stepped closer, his hand hovering near your arm like he wasn’t sure whether or not you’d let him touch you.

“You do matter,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges. “You matter more than you think.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. You searched his face, trying to find any hint that he wasn’t being honest, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

“I’ve screwed this up,” Logan continued, his hand finally resting on your arm, the warmth of his touch steady but tentative. “I know I have. And I don’t blame you if you’re done with me. But... if you give me a chance—if you give us a chance—I’ll make it right.”

You blinked, not expecting the sudden shift, not expecting the raw vulnerability that was written across his face. Logan, the man who never apologized, the man who never seemed to care what anyone thought, was standing in front of you, admitting he’d screwed up and asking for another chance.

You wanted to stay angry. You wanted to hold onto the hurt and the frustration that had built up over the months but as you stood there, staring into his eyes, you realized that somewhere along the way, you’d started caring about him more than you’d wanted to admit. Maybe you always had.

There was a long pause, and the tension between you was still heavy but different now. Softer. Uncertain.

Finally, you let out a breath, your anger starting to unravel just a bit. “Logan,” you said, your voice quieter now, “I don’t want to be your backup plan. I don’t want to be your second choice.”

His hand tightened gently on your arm, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re not. Not anymore.”

The words were simple, but they hit deep, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

You looked at him for a moment longer, then slowly, carefully, you reached up and rested your hand on top of his, feeling the roughness of his skin against yours. “Alright,” you said softly, almost like a whisper. “But you need to show me, Logan. Words aren’t enough.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile—something you weren’t used to seeing on his face. “I will.”

The tension between you seemed to dissolve then, replaced by something warmer, something real. You weren’t entirely sure what the future held, but for the first time, it felt like there was a possibility of something more—something honest, something that didn’t leave you feeling like you were second best.

Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you close, and you let him. His embrace was firm and steady, but there was a gentleness in the way he held you, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, you know,” he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but teasing.

You smiled into his chest, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. “I’m not trying to,” you replied, your voice matching his light tone.

For the first time in months, you felt the weight of everything lift, replaced by something softer—something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel with Logan until now.

Maybe this could work. Maybe you could be more than just someone he turned to in the middle of the night.

As Logan held you close, his hand gently running up and down your back, you allowed yourself to hope that, for once, things might finally fall into place.

[llamaqueenprompt]

Beneath City Lights

Characters: Isaac Lahey and Reader

Not Requested

Word Count: 705

Inspiration: "We’re lying on a desert parking level, watching the stars, but we’re in a big city with too much light, so we end up just watching each other."

“Thought I would find you here,” Isaac looked back, seeing Y/n approaching him slowly.

As she laid down next to him, he just kept on staring at her. They were on a deserted parking level, watching the stars, but they were in a big city, so they ended up just staring at each other.

“Why?”

“What?” she questioned him, not losing eye contact.

“Why did you come with me?” Y/n tried to look away from Isaac but he gently pulled her back by holding her chin. “Please look me in the eye when you answer this.”

“Because…” she linked her lips,” I didn’t want you to come alone.”

“I wasn’t coming alone.”

“Come on Isaac,” she sat up, “Can we just stay here in silence?”

He sat up too, “No, I have been wondering this for a long time, I need answers,”

Y/n just looked at him, how could she explain this without bringing back the pain?

“We weren’t even friends,” she rolled her eyes, “I just want to know why you came with me,”

“Remember after Alison died?” Isaac glanced at the ground for a moment before turning his gaze back to Y/n and nodding.

“You told me you talked to her before she went,”

“Yeah, she asked me two things, the first one to tell Stiles to take care of Scott,” she smiled.

He smiled back remembering their friends they hadn’t seen in a while “And the second?”

“To take care of you no matter what, and that’s what I’m doing, taking care of you,”

“And that implies following me to France?” 

She let out a breathy laugh, “Well, you decided you wanted to move here, so I didn’t have that much of a choice,”

“You could have stayed,”

“I could have,” she lay back down “but it wouldn’t be the same, it would feel wrong,”

“Wrong? How?”, he propped himself up with his arm looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she looked ahead, avoiding eye contact. “it would feel wrong to ignore one of her last wishes like this, it would feel like a betrayal, you know?” she looked back at him.

Isaac had never stopped looking at her. He smiled and softly pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear. How could this woman, who had done more for them than they could ever thank her for, think for a second that she was betraying her friend if she didn’t follow him across the world?

“Y/n, you are crazy,”

“What?” she looked confused at him. Isaac just kissed her forehead and laid down next to her.

As they laid there in the quiet, Y/n could feel the weight of Isaac’s words sinking in. The city hummed with distant sounds, but in that moment, the deserted parking level felt like a sanctuary. She turned her head to look at Isaac, her friend, her confidant, the one who had shouldered the burden of a promise made in the shadow of grief.

Isaac broke the silence, his voice carrying sincerity. “You’re not betraying anyone, Y/n. You’re honoring a promise, just like I am. We’re keeping her memory alive by being here for each other.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile, a mixture of gratitude and relief playing on her lips. “I guess you’re right. It’s just sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

Isaac propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her. “You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask for. Alison would be proud of you, just like she’d be proud of me for looking out for you.”

Y/n’s eyes softened, and she reached for Isaac’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Thank you for being here, Isaac. I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate you more than you know.”

Isaac squeezed her hand gently. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. We’re in this together, Y/n, no matter where life takes us.”

They lay there, under the canvas of stars, finding solace in the shared understanding of their journey. The city below continued its restless rhythm, but for Isaac and Y/n, the world had momentarily stilled, giving them a space to heal and remember.

[justlittlelandonorris]

“Right here, darlin’…”

Summary: You try to look after Leonard McCoy after he gets hurt on a mission.

Main Character(s): Leonard “Bones” McCoy and Montgomery “Scotty” Scott

Notes: I’ve never actually seen any original Star Trek shows or movies, but I did finally watch the reboots a few days ago and honestly, I absolutely adore Leonard McCoy. Anyway, this little idea was stuck in my head so hopefully you guys like it… live long and prosper 🖖🏼

Warning: Mentions of wounds and stitches?

“Beam him up, Scotty!” You shout, turning towards the Scotsman.

“But-“

“I don’t care what Captain Kirk ordered you to do… beam him up, now.” You command, your voice dropping to a low and threatening tone.

“Aye, lassie.”

The moment the man in question materialises, you mutter a quiet thank you to the engineer before running towards him. “Doctor McCoy…” Your eyes glide over his body, taking in the wounds and bruises. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” He asks, wincing in pain as he steps off the platform.

“There’s no need to take that tone with me, Doctor.” He turns to you with a glare as you try to support his weight. “Send a message to Kirk,” you turn towards Scotty, “let him know I’m taking Bones to MedBay.”

“Will do, lassie.”

-

With your arm firmly grasped around his torso, you ease the CMO onto a bed as you make your way into MedBay.

“Watch it,” he grumbles in pain as he pushes your arm away. Mirroring his glare, you scoff at his unpleasantness before noticing the wound carved into his side.

“I need to get this stitched up before it gets infected…” You mention, grabbing some supplies from the cabinet. You tug on the fabric of his uniform as he closes his eyes, a deep groan of pain rumbling in his throat. “Sorry,” you sigh. “Is there any part of you that doesn’t hurt?” There’s a subtle hint of humour in your voice as you finally throw the torn shirt onto the floor.

“Here.” He says, voice heavy with sarcasm as he points to his shoulder.

Watching him readjust himself on the bed, eyes still closed tight from the pain, your expression softens as you begin to sympathise with your superior. All of a sudden, a thought pops into your head as you allow it to ruminate.

A playful smile plays on your lips before you slowly lean closer towards the man and place a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. Opening his eyes, he turns towards you with a raised eyebrow as he watches you thread the stitches through the wound.

After a moment of contemplation, he allows a charming smirk to grace his handsome features before pointing to his cheek. “Here.”

With a quiet laugh, you indulge him by placing another soft kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment longer than before. As you pull away, you realise how intimately close you are to the doctor before meeting his gaze, those dark mahogany eyes melting into golden lagoons of honey.

“Right here, darlin’…” He drawls in that southern accent, beckoning you towards him and tapping his lips with his finger. Placing the desired kiss on his lips, you feel his tongue glide over the soft flesh of your lips, begging for more. Allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, his hands delicately brush against the exposed skin of your body, his wounds and sullen temperament long forgotten.

[tracybirds]

30 gentle prompts:

30: "You know I love you, right?"

Dealer’s Choice of characters

Thank you! I don't know what this is, just little musings really, but I hope you enjoy all the same <33

Scott

The uncertainty is wrapped up in old grief and exhaustion, in Scott grabbing the nearest hand, hazy and half lost in memories of all the times he didn’t say it.

“You know I love you, right?”

His brother, his grandmother, his confidant, his friend; whomever is with him feels the intensity of those words, a breath of lucidity between painkillers.

He regrets not saying it enough, he wishes he remembered to say it when life was easy.

A squeeze of his hand, a whisper, a sad hum tells him in return.

We know.

Virgil

He hates the arguments, he always has, but he won’t avoid them, not when his family tries and tries and tries again to leap ahead.

He just wants them to rest, he wants them to heal, he doesn’t want to fight.

Please, he begs them to care, begs them to see the way they all hurt each other when they won’t stop.

He pushes them back down firmly, willing them to hear his words.

“You know I love you, right?”

Willing them to trust him.

Pleading silently, until a glare softens, shoulders slumps, and they find peace once more, another battle fought and won.

Thank you, he whispers. Stay.

I love you.

John

The guilt twinges at him, plucks at his insecurities, the only words he’s ever found himself tongue-tied over.

There’s too much feeling to be contained in four measly letters, too much that John can’t say. He’s always prided himself on finding the right words, and his insides squirm whenever his family say it to him.

It’s so casual, so light on their tongues, with their cheery waves and smiles as they sign off.

Years of thinking and doing and loving, just trying to find a way to thank them and support them and care for them.

But there’s no other way to say it.

“You know I love you right?”

No-one blinks in surprise, no-one asks for more detail he can’t give, and he reads their own silent message and tries to weave it into the fibre of his being.

Love you too.

Gordon

“You know I love you right?”

The words burst out of him, and he feels endlessly foolish in their wake. There’s no doubt, there’s never doubt.

He knows he has an impulsive streak, remembers the endless despair from those around him when he dove into hot water over and over, asking him to think.

He always thought ahead, that’s something he learnt quick, but his mind would be stuck on what needed to be done, heedless of the consequences.

He can’t bring himself to be sorry, not when people live and breathe because his actions, but there’s always an apology on his lips as he leaps forward, an apology in the form of love.

If he has any last words, he’ll make sure they always tell how he loved.

Alan

He doesn’t know if she knew and it eats away at him in the dead of the night. He holds a baby for the first time on a rescue and wonders at this selfish, helpless creature. He knows she loved him, he’s heard it a thousand times, but he can’t talk about the way he loves her, a mere image that he’ll never know.

He doesn’t know.

He needs them to know.

He’ll crawl into a bed after midnight, slide into a seat at dinner, play and laugh and tease and even so, a doubt that’s lived and grown for as long as she didn’t will creep in.

“You know I love you right?”

He asks his family, he asks his friends, he asks the sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.

He’s the youngest and he has to take it all on faith.

I know.

[prompts are here - feel free to send one in :)]

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Farmboy AU Part 7. Jimmy and Scott come to terms with Scott's impending departure.

First | Prev | Next

"Jimmy, come help me in the wheat field," said Jimmy's grandfather.

Jimmy looked up from where he had been helping Scott prune the roses. "Oh, all right," he answered, and kissed Scott's cheek before following Jack. "Gosh, it's almost ready to harvest, isn't it?" he said, running a hand carefully over the golden stalks.

Jack moved between the rows, scanning the ground for weeds. "It is. Scott said he'd be leaving around that time, when he first got here." Jimmy sucked in a breath, and Jack stopped to look at him. "I know you two have gotten...close," he said, and held up a hand when Jimmy opened his mouth to protest. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I just - " He rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't get carried away," he said finally. "Don't set yourself up for heartache."

Jimmy looked toward the house, even though he couldn't see Scott from where they stood. "I know," he said quietly. "I know he's going to leave soon, that this was always going to be temporary. But I want to enjoy it while it lasts." Jack squeezed Jimmy's shoulder, and they finished the weeding in silence.

The three of them sat on the porch after dinner, Jack in his chair with his pipe and Scott and Jimmy on the stairs, watching the sky fade and the stars begin to appear one at a time. "Look," said Scott, squeezing Jimmy's hand and pointing up. Jimmy looked up to see a meteor flash across the sky, and Scott stood and tugged him to his feet. "That's the second one I've seen tonight. Let's go lie down and watch the sky."

Jimmy smiled and followed him away from the house, and when they chose a spot and stretched out on the ground Scott lay against Jimmy's chest and tucked into his arms. They lay that way in silence for a while, watching the streaks of light above. "I don't want this to end," murmured Jimmy.

"It's nice, isn't it?" said Scott. "I like it here. I almost want to stay a little longer."

"You could," offered Jimmy weakly, but the small rueful smile that crossed Scott's face gave him the answer he knew he'd get.

"It doesn't mean I'll never come back," said Scott. "I do revisit places sometimes, when there's something there that's worth it."

"Yeah? Promise?" asked Jimmy, and Scott hummed in response. "Or...maybe you don't have to travel alone - "

"No," said Scott sharply, then softened his voice when Jimmy flinched. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap. But Jimmy," he said, turning to look at him better, "we've only known each other a little over a month. You have a good home here, a good life. Don't be so willing to throw everything away for a stranger."

"I'm not saying it on the spur of the moment," argued Jimmy. "I've been thinking on it. And you're not a stranger. I lo - "

Scott covered Jimmy's mouth with both hands. "Don't." He sighed. "You don't. You can't." He moved his hands to hold Jimmy's face. "I'm just something new and exciting, that's all. Like the general store. And you should let me go, before the novelty wears off and you realize how ragged and dirty I really am on the inside."

Jimmy wanted to disagree, to tell Scott how wrong he was and make him see how genuine his feelings were. But the sheen gathering on Scott's lashes halted the words in his throat, so he settled for pulling him into a desperate kiss before holding him close and turning his eyes back to the glittering sky.

[bamboozledbird]

𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, background Liam Dunbar Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 2.8k Tags: angst, emotions, and feelings. oh my. is theo just flirting to drive stiles insane, i can neither confirm or deny, also if you listen to halloween while you read this don’t clock me Warnings: canon-typical violence/gore, descriptions of drowning, sad boiy hours

Request: #7 from the prompt list you just reblogged with stiles pleeeeeeaaaase and thank you wit all my love on top A/N: you know angst is the way to my heart. thank you so much for the request, and i wholeheartedly accept your love xx

It’s quiet at night. There aren’t many things you like about living in a small town, but the quiet, the stars, the sweet glow of lightning bugs in the summer—those things are pretty nice. Normally, you wouldn’t take a shortcut through the Perserve, not after everything that’s happened over the last couple of years, but there’s just something about a warm august evening that makes everything feel okay again, like you’re still seven and the only monsters you’re afraid of are the ones you read about in books. It’s so hard to find her now, that little girl with missing teeth, the innocence of running through the trees and splashing in rain puddles. She’s been covered up with so much ugliness, so much blood, so much grief. 

You sigh and check your phone. It’s late, but not too late to skip your detour across the splintering bridge over the creek. It’s out of your way, but the cicadas are calling, the breeze is ruffling your hair, and you’re taken hostage by another bout of nostalgia.

Cold Creek Bridge is an old, rickety thing, a health hazard you’d discovered with Scott and Stiles a decade ago after you managed to slip away from three sets of overbearing parents. The wood is still riddled with water damage, rotting in several places, and the structural integrity has always been far too precarious for little kids to be playing on—but that hardly mattered to the three of you when there were rocks to throw and the perfect climbing tree on the other side of it.

You end up sitting on the bridge, dirty sneakers by your side, and your feet dangling over the edge. A little content sigh slips through your lips as you close your eyes, leaning back against your palms. For a moment, you just listen to the soft music of cicadas rattling and an owl cooing at her chicks. 

“You look the same.”

You flinch at the strange voice and whip your head towards the sound of the intruder. It takes a second to place his face—it’s been eight years after all, and he’s only been back for a few days. “Theo,” you breathe, relaxing your grip on your keys. A pretty sorry excuse for a weapon, especially against a werewolf, but it was all you had: three stubby metal claws. A tiny wolverine—you grin a little at the thought and then tilt your head, “I’d like to think that I’ve changed a little since the fourth grade.”

Theo drops down next to you—a bit closer than you’d like, but you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt for Scott’s sake���and smiles at you. It’s so charming, blinding almost, even in the low light of dusk, and you can see why people want to believe him. You can also see why Stiles doesn’t. “You look the same when you’re concentrating.” He leans forward and gently taps his finger just above the bridge of your nose, “You still get that little wrinkle right here.” You blink for a moment, and his finger lingers. His smile softens, “And you’re still the prettiest girl in the room.”

You’re almost too surprised to be flustered. Almost. The back of your neck warms as you rest your cheek against your kneecap, “I’m the only girl in the room.”

Theo laughs, and you like the sound. It’s been a while since you’ve heard anyone laugh, longer since you made them. You can’t remember when everything went so wrong—was it when Ally died? When Stiles was possessed? When he broke up with you after you finally got him back? Maybe, it went all the way back to the night Scott was bitten. It doesn’t really matter, you think; it wouldn’t change anything now. Theo shifts, and he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his thigh, “Prettiest girl in any room. I always thought so, but I was too chickenshit to say it.”

You scoot back a little so that you can turn to face him, mouth twisted up in suspicion. The girl he remembered, the girl you were, she’d believe him—the girl you are has seen too much to take a charming boy at his word. You lick your lips and flush when he tracks the movement of your tongue. His eyes are a confusing color, like they can’t decide if they’re actually blue or green. Either way, they’re unrelenting. Swallowing, your gaze darts to the wooden slats below, and you finally notice the white flowers beside him. “Those are pretty,” you nod towards the blossoms, “lilies, right?”  

Theo lifts the bouquet and strokes the delicate petals with a light touch, studying the yellow center pensively, “They were my sister’s favorite.”

You look down at the water, watching the surface ripple, with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth. It looks so peaceful now. You can’t see the bottom, and the water winks at you with its slow trickle and the glimmer of moonlight. It’s difficult to imagine someone dying here. You reach for Theo’s hand and rest yours on top of his, “It must be hard. Coming back here.”

Theo nods and tosses the lilies into the creek. Neither of you say anything as you watch them float downstream like little white ghosts. You’re struck with the image of Ophelia drowning in a river with wildflowers clutched in her hand. It’s marginally better than picturing a little girl gasping for air through blue lips, flailing under water until the last bubble pops. You let Theo turn his hand over and lace your fingers together, and for a while all you can hear is the sound of your breathing—and then a branch snaps and a solid thud follows. 

Stiles spills out of a thicket of trees, and Liam trails after him with his hands fisted in his sweatshirt pocket and his lips curled into a small pout. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” you hiss, but Stiles isn’t looking at you—not exactly. He’s staring at your hand interwoven with Theo’s, a blank expression on his face. You snatch your hand back and push yourself to your feet, “Are you following me?”

Liam’s head swivels back and forth between you and Stiles like a parakeet with an anxiety disorder, and Stiles…Stiles is still looking at your hand like it’s covered in blood. You shove it into the pocket of your jacket and fumble for your tennis shoes. When you look down, Theo is already there like something straight out of a fairytale—on his knee, dirty Nike in hand, smiling at you like he knows you’re going to say yes. “I think he’s following me this time,” Theo says, gently guiding your foot into your sneaker. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me, Stiles?” 

“Getting your hands off of her would be a start,” Stiles snaps, nostrils flaring. You shoot him a pointed glare, but he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

Theo holds his hands up in surrender and then gets to his feet, wiping the dirt off of his jeans, “I didn’t know you two were a thing. That’s my bad, man.”

“We’re not,” you say brusquely, and Stiles clenches his fists by his sides. It’s been so long since you’ve referred to you and Stiles as a we, in any context. It feels a little like heartburn, knowing that now the only thing tying you to him is your memory. Your history. What you were. It’s all past-tense—it’s all over. Has been for well over a year, and sometimes it still hurts exactly the same way it did the day he left. Crippling, paralyzing, so heavy it sent you to the bathroom floor with his t-shirt in your hands.

You never ended up washing it. You kept meaning to for the first few months, but it smelled like him—like cedar and the first grade, like sneaking in through windows and sleeping next to a warm body—like another memory you didn’t want to erase with laundry detergent. It doesn’t smell like much of anything now, hidden in the depths of your closet behind all the other things you try to forget, and you can’t quite decide if that’s worse than lavender soap. 

Theo flickers his gaze between the two of you, something sharp in his eyes that makes them more green than blue, and then he smiles at you, “Clearly, you’ve got some discussing to do. I’ll take the little squirt home.” Liam squawks when Theo places his hands on his shoulders, something about falling in a hole, and you forget to be worried when Stiles jams his hands into his hoodie and turns around to leave. 

You’re tempted to let him, eyes heavy from lack of sleep and chronic stress, but you end up snarling, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Stiles freezes. You can’t see his face, but his shoulders tense and the muscles in his back go taut, “My problem? What’s my problem?” He whips around, and he’s breathing heavily in front of you before you can blink, “I’m not the one cuddling up to a potential psychopath.” 

Your breath falls in uneven, shallow pants once you register how close he is. You can count his eyelashes, so unfairly long and dark, and you think about waking up in a cold sweat to freckled skin smooshed against your neck. On sticky summer nights, it’d been almost insufferable, the way his body chased yours in his sleep—now, it’s one of the things you miss the most. Swallowing, you take a step back and wince when the wooden railing bumps directly against your spine, “I can't help but find it terribly funny that you think you’re in any position to give me dating advice.”

Stiles clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck jumping under the strain, and looks off into the forest. He stays silent for so long you think about shoving past him and calling Lydia for a ride, but his voice cracks through the chirping bugs before you can gather the energy, “You can hate me, but just…don’t trust him.” His eyes are big, desperate, rapidly flickering back and forth between all the nooks and crannies of your face. For a second, it looks like he’s going to reach out for you, but he just wets his bottom lip and shakes his head a little, “Please.” 

You blink up at him and then let out a rather indelicate snort, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say please.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a wry smile, barely but it’s still there, and he leans against the railing of the bridge, “That can't possibly be true.”

You rest your arm a few inches away from his and smirk at his warped reflection in the creek, “It’s a good look for you. Keep it in rotation.”

Stiles hums a little and picks at some of the faded paint chipping off of a support beam. You tilt your head, watching him struggle with the mouthful of words rolling around his tongue. He rubs his jaw and grips the railing tightly with his other hand, “I want you to be happy. You know that, right? That’s…that’s all I want.”

The confession rests heavily in your stomach like a rotten pit, and you wonder if happy is even possible for you—for any of you. The moment you think things are starting to turn around, everything tends to fall apart. A kanima paralyzes someone, a witch sacrifices some virgins, your possessed boyfriend tries to kill you.  “I don’t hate you,” you finally say, quiet and soft. You sigh and rake your fingers through your hair, “I never hated you.”

Stiles gives you a look and then smiles a little, “Yes you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug and turn to face him, “Okay, maybe a little—but just because it’s written in the ex code of conduct. It’s basically the law when you get dumped out of nowhere.”

Stiles blinks at you with round brown eyes, wide and bottomless. They’re glowing in the moonlight, or maybe that’s just him. “You don’t…” he licks his bottom lip and shakes his head slightly, “you really don’t know?”

You give him a minute shrug and dig the toe of your sneaker into a rotting patch of wood, “You never said.”

“I hurt you,” Stiles whispers, throat raw despite the low volume. You look up from the bridge. His eyes are shut tight, and his fists are clenched by his side. You know that it’s a confession—the guilt is written in every wrinkle and tremor—but you don’t quite understand what he’s confessing to.

Your chin tips up a little as your brows knit together, “...when you broke up with me?”

He shakes his head again and winces, lids still squeezed shut, “When I was…you know…I…he—we hurt you. I couldn’t…I couldn’t look at you. I couldn’t touch you without seeing...without remembering what I did." He's so far away from you now, in a place you can't touch, can't even see. He looks so much older than he is, and you want to scream at the unfairness of it all. He would've become a man on his own, eventually. Life crushes everyone eventually, after all, even the people normal childhoods. You know better than most that trauma teaches, and it teaches quickly—but god he would have fucking grown up without it.

"I can still feel it sometimes," he whispers. "The blood—your blood. I remember everything. The heat, the…” he winces as his tongue curls around the next word, slow and pained, like it has to be pulled out of him with forceps and a scalpel, “power.” He looks like he’s going to be sick, and your stomach twists. “I can hear it too, the way you...choked on your blood, fuck—and god your screams. Yours...fucking you of all people. I never thought—I thought that I couldn't hurt you, like it was physically impossible.”

You drift to his side instinctively and rest your hand on his shoulder after a moment of hesitation. He flinches and opens his eyes, gaze lingering on your hand. The intensity is different this time. Your hand isn’t dripping blood, now it’s holy, his only salvation—but his expression darkens when his eyes trail the length of your arm and land on the puckered, jagged line running over your collarbone. It’s cut off by the neckline of your tank-top, but you both know it continues across your breast. Stiles’s hand trembles in the air and then drops to his side, “You still have the scar.”

Your fingers trace along the line of knitted skin. The nerves are still dead, severed with a blade and pale hands. You can’t feel the sensation of your fingertips brushing over it, but you know it’s there—that it will always be there. It’s a permanent reminder of the worst day of your life, but you’re certain that Stiles wouldn’t guess the right one. “It doesn’t hurt,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over your chest, “and remembering doesn’t either. Not anymore.” You don’t have nightmares about Void, at least, not in the last few months. You’re past all that, have been for a while now—but you’ll always be haunted by the way Stiles looked at you after he came back and the numbness after he left a few weeks later.

Stiles’s fingers tremor when he feels your heartbeat. They stroke over the fading line slowly, almost reverently, and come to stop on the curve of your neck. He cups the lean tendons and presses this thumb against the knobs of your spine, “It hurts me.” His lashes flutter against his cheeks for a moment before he closes his eyes, “All the memories do.”

Shuddering, your head tips forward—seeking the support of his shoulder, but he slips away before you can lean into his warmth. It takes you a few seconds to regain your composure, but eventually you manage to stand up straight. You pull your jacket tighter against your torso and shiver, “I believe you.” Stiles’s brow curves in confusion, and you chew on your bottom lip, “If you think Theo’s hiding something, I believe you.”

He stares at you for a moment that feels infinitely longer than it must actually be, and then something breaks behind his eyes. He looks like he’s about to cry, and you spare his pride by looking down at your shoes. “Why?” Stiles clenches his jaw and rubs at his eyes aggressively with the sleeve of his hoodie, “Why would you…after everything?” 

You search his face until he finally meets your gaze. Your eyes are soft but still resolved, “Because of everything.” Stiles’s lips part and close a few times, and you know the urge to kiss him is as stupid as it is overwhelming, so you give him a little smile and turn to leave.

“He’s telling the truth about one thing,” Stiles says quietly, so quietly you almost miss it as you reach the other side of the bridge. “You are the prettiest girl in any room.”

[crankynewt]

Life Could Be a Dream - Chapter 2

Live in Living Colour Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/N) slowly begins to remember their life with “Pietro” before WestView as they move through the decades, but sometimes knowledge is a curse rather than a blessing.

Pairing: Pietro (Peter) Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: WandaVision Episode 6 spoilers! Read at your own risk!

Author’s Note: Here’s the highly requested second part to Be Okay! You don’t have to read it to understand this story, but it does fill in the gap during the 80s episode and give a little more context into the reader’s mind. Also, the reader’s powers and Halloween costume are highly based off of Starlight from the boys even though I did my best to make it gender neutral, but that’s what I kinda envisioned!

(Not My Gif!)

Your hips swayed as you danced around the kitchen, the sound of The Chords’ “Life Could Be a Dream” filled the room from the record player in the corner your beloved vinyl was spinning on. Chopping pineapple for the jell-o in the bundt mold beside you, you hummed along to the familiar tune as your feet shuffled back and forth on the checkered floor.

A whooshing sound and light breeze behind you tore your attention away from the task at hand. Turning around quickly, you were met with the smiling face of your loving boyfriend, relaxing in a chair with his feet propped up against the kitchen table. His dark jeans were complimented by a letterman jacket adorning his shoulders, his shades of grey complimenting your own and those surrounding the both of you.

“My partner and their impeccable taste in music.” He smirked, arms crossed behind his head.

“My boyfriend and his faster-than-a-bullet superspeed.” You retorted, shuffling over to your man and giving him a playful smack on the leg. “Feet off the table! We’ve gotta eat here in a few hours!”

Pietro whooshed once again, this time with one hand in your waist while the other held yours, finally slowing down enough to gently rock you to the music. Life really could be a dream, and you were experiencing it first-hand.

“What is happening? Where did this come from?!” Agent Woo asked, watching the dancing couple sway as a hexagon framed the image and the words ‘Pietro(Y/N)’ shone across the screen.

“I don’t know! When Wanda recast Pietro an extra broadcast started from inside the hex and this is what the channel’s playing.” Darcy explained, taking a sip of her long awaited coffee as the end credits began to roll. “She must have somehow created another storyline for them.”

“But, wait… Didn’t somebody say that (Y/L/N) went missing before the blip?” Monica commented, pointing at your smiling face on the screen.

“Last I heard was that they got beamed up on that spaceship in New York with Spider-Man and Doctor Strange, but nobody’s seen them since.” Jimmy added, crossing his arms with a furrowed brow.

“Well wherever they were, they’re back in action.”

You woke up with a gasp, shooting straight up as a cold sweat adorned your body. Your nightmare had been something that you couldn’t believe your mind had imagined, it was so real, so dark… 

You had been on a strange planet surrounded by shades or orange and red, weirdly dressed people fighting all around you. At the centre of it all was this purple giant, a metallic glove adorning his hand as he fought the group of you away. 

Before you knew what you were doing you were rushing towards him, hand raised as a tingling feeling ran down your arm while golden light formed around your hand. But your attack was to no avail as with a clench of his fist the giant had opened a red hole in front of you and you began free falling.

“What? What is it?” Pietro grumbled, slowly waking up at your sudden outburst. He sat up as well, rubbing his hand on your lower back soothingly. 

“It was just a dream, babe.” You brushed it off, turning to face Pietro and leaning closer towards him. His eyes still held worry and a bit of disbelief as you played it off, but rather than argue, he just held you close as the two of you laid back down until sleep took it’s hold once more. 

“How much longer ‘till he calls?” Darcy whined, spinning in her chair as the boredom of watching reruns overtook her. You and Peter had just finished your ‘80s episode, meaning that the two of you had just reunited with Wanda and Vision.

“Don’t worry, he’ll call.” Monica replied, and as if on cue the name ‘Jimmy Woo’ was flashing upon her phone screen. She was quick to answer and eagerly pressed the device to her ear. “Woo? What’d your guy say?”

“Scott said that (Y/N) hasn’t been seen since they were on a planet called Titan fighting Thanos. Stark apparently told him that they got tossed in some hole he opened and they couldn’t get them back.” Jimmy explained, the sound of a car moving filling the background as he was already on his way back from talking to Lang.

“You don’t think that he sent her to wherever this new Pietro came from, do you?” Monica responded, Darcy shrugging her shoulders in response.

“I mean, it’s well within the realm of possibilities?” 

“What are you boys doing?” You called from the bottom of the stairs to where Pietro and the twins were playing some video game on the tv, laughing and shouting as they shot at each other. “Piet, why aren’t you in your costume?”

Your boyfriend finally turned to face you and your Halloween costume had his jaw quite literally dropping. You adorned a white costume with a golden star and accents on the front, meanwhile your cape was white with countless smaller stars decorating it’s entirety.

“Wow! Babe, you look… Wow!” He ogled, speeding over to you as his eyes took in your costumed appearance. He ignored your question, Wanda having to bug her brother once more for him to drag Tommy with him to make their matching Quicksilver costumes, their hair slicked up on the sides in an odd way.

Before you knew it the five of you were making your way down the street bustling with costumed kids. Pietro and Wanda were a couple steps ahead of you with the twins, you making the decision to take a minute to appreciate your domestic life while the siblings caught up.

“Unleash hell, demon spawn!” Pietro yelled as the twins went running off to fill their buckets with candy. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, however you weren’t very far behind them and neither twin was making any effort to speak quietly.

“Do you remember when we were at the orphanage when mom and dad died?” She asked, the duo stopping to talk to each other in the middle of the busy road. While you didn’t intend to stop yourself, the sudden confusion that struck your mind left you no other choice.

Orphanage? Why would Peter have ever been in an orphanage when both his parents were still alive?  Wait, Peter? Where was all this coming from?

Suddenly your life was quite literally flashing before your eyes. Getting your powers, joining the Avengers, falling through the portal to another reality, meeting the X-Men… Oh, and Peter. Your relationship with Peter came back in moments, from your first meeting to the day he kissed you after you almost died on a mission. And how could you ever have forgotten your wedding day?! 

“Peter?” You asked out loud. Whether you were calling out to the man who you now remember to be your husband or questioning the memories that you had just regained you weren’t sure.

Your sudden comment caused Peter/Pietro to scoff in disbelief and furrow his brows, meanwhile Wanda’s expression darkened as her eyes glared daggers into your head. 

“Did you just call me Peter?” He asked incredulously, but his face quickly softened as he saw the fear in your eyes. You were utterly dumbfounded, How did you get back here? Last thing you remembered was being at the school, then all of a sudden you were living in some sit-com town.

“Why doesn’t he remember me? Wanda, what have you done?” Your voice wavered, your gaze shifting from Peter to Wanda, who would have already murdered you if looks could kill.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Her eyes flashed red, meanwhile Peter was standing there as if everything around him was completely normal.

“I think you do. Don’t make me do this, Wanda.” Your eyes began glowing as well. There was no way this would be ending well.

[nerdzzone]

-More Hearts Than Mine-

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

Especially when a global pandemic is sweeping the world.

With lockdowns and stay at home orders looming on the horizon, the uncertainty of their situation becomes almost too much for Whitney Taylor to handle. Chris suggests that they quarantine together to avoid any potential separations but, given what happened the last time they spent more than a few brief moments in each other’s company, that could cause more problems than it solves…

Chris Evans x OFC

Sequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Note: I’ve decided to make this five parts instead of four. I was originally going to combine this part and the next one, but I feel like it flows better with a bit of separation between them!

Part One

____

Part Two

The rest of our first afternoon together was spent lazing around. Grayson was tired, but continued to refuse his nap so we kept things low key to avoid any exhausted toddler meltdowns. By the time the evening rolled around, I was tired from the stress of the day myself and since I still had to unpack, I went up to my bedroom shortly after we'd tucked Grayson into bed.

I slept a lot better than I thought I would given everything that was on my mind and when I woke up, I could already hear the sounds of breakfast echoing up from the kitchen. Taking a few minutes to let myself wake up properly, I checked my phone and scrolled through social media before getting up, stretching and heading downstairs.

"Good morning," I smiled, finding Chris and Grayson sitting at the island eating some scrambled eggs while Scott leaned against the counter with a cereal bowl in his hands.

"G'morning, Mama!"

Grayson's greeting was said through a mouthful of food and Chris reminded him that wasn't polite before greeting me himself.

"Help yourself to whatever you want," he insisted. "There's some eggs left in the pan or cereal, whatever you can find. Maybe Grayson will even share his apple slices with you if you ask nicely."

Grayson gasped at that suggestion and frantically shook his head.

"No, Daddy!" He protested. "I don't want to share!"

I laughed as he reached over his plate to move the little bowl of sliced fruit closer to his body where he could keep it guarded.

"Not even one slice?" I asked. "But I'm so hungry!"

"Over there!" Grayson giggled, pointing at the counter.

I turned around and saw a few more apples in a bowl, making me smile as I turned back to the boys.

"But they're not nicely sliced like yours," I pointed out. "How can I eat those?"

Grayson shrugged and plucked one of his apples out of his bowl. He looked smug, thinking he'd won, but he was so distracted while he took a bite that he didn't see Chris' hand sneak over until he'd snatched one of the slices and tossed it to me.

"Catch!"

I did as Chris instructed and Grayson's jaw dropped. An indignant huff fell from his lips as he looked between the two of us.

"That's not nice."

Chris laughed, but I bit back a smile and returned his apple.

"You're right, baby," I agreed, kissing the top of your head. "That was mean, but we were just tricking you. You don't have to share your apple."

"Thanks, Mama."

The frown on his face turned back into a grin and I scraped the rest of the eggs that were in the pan on the stove onto a plate before turning back to the boys once I’d pulled a fork from the drawer.

"So, how do you want to work it with things like groceries while I'm here?"

"Just tell me what you want and I'll order it," Chris told me. "They've started doing curbside pick up pretty much everywhere so I was thinking I'd just do that."

"Oh, that's handy, but I meant like money wise. Should I just transfer you my share or do you want to alternate who pays?"

Chris stared at me for a moment as if he was trying to figure out if I was joking before he chuckled.

"I'm not taking any money from you, Whitney."

His voice was firm, but I furrowed my brow in confusion.

"What? Why not? I can't let you pay for everything."

"You're not still working, are you?" Scott asked. "Or is it different since, as a photographer, you're so far away from whoever you're taking pictures of?"

"I'm not working," I admitted. "I think it would be doable if it was, like, family portraits or something like that, but the big photo shoots involve too many people. Everyone cancelled on me last week or delayed my contracts until at least the summer."

"So, don't worry about paying for anything then," Chris shrugged. "It's not like you're going to eat that much, I think I can handle the cost."

He was trying to do a nice thing. He was a very generous person with those that he cared about, but I wasn't going to take advantage of him.

"I have savings, Chris," I insisted. "I'm not completely helpless."

As if sensing a rising tension, Scott put his bowl in the sink and grabbed his coffee mug before turning to Grayson.

"Hey, Gray, let's go see what cartoons we can find."

Grayson nodded eagerly and Chris helped him down from the tall stool so he could follow Scott out of the room, taking his little bowl of apples with him.

"I wasn't trying to imply that you're helpless," Chris assured me once they were out of earshot. "But you're tiny, I don't think that buying you a few groceries for the next couple of months will financially cripple me."

I tried to temper my defensiveness before I answered him, reminding myself again that he was trying to be helpful.

"I know that, but I don't feel comfortable living here for that long without contributing," I told him. "You already give me more than you need to every month for Grayson."

It was true. Since our custody agreement was that Grayson spent fifty percent of his time with each of us, he wasn't required to pay me any child support. But he did anyway. It was something we’d argued about on and off over the years because the amount that he gave me was way over the top. I appreciated his generosity and I did use all the money to buy things for Gray, but most of it ended up in a bank account that I'd opened for him because there was no way to spend it all in one month without Grayson becoming the most spoiled child in all of Massachusetts.

"I like to make sure he's taken care of."

"Which I am capable of doing with my own money when he's in my care," I reminded him. "But I don't want to start that whole conversation again. I just want to feel like I'm doing my part while I stay with you."

"And I appreciate that gesture, but it won't be necessary," Chris insisted. "You can clean, you can cook, do anything like that to help out, but I won't accept any money, especially while you're not working."

I sighed as he stood up to put his plate in the dishwasher while I put mine on the counter, too distracted by our conversation to eat. I knew it would be a struggle to get him to agree to take money from me, but I wasn't ready to back down so I thought of a compromise and hoped he would accept.

"How about we drop it for now," I suggested. "But if this thing goes on for more than a couple of weeks, can we talk about it again?"

Chris paused and crossed his arms. I could tell that he wanted to argue, but I was relieved when he agreed.

"Alright," he nodded, hesitating for a moment before adding a stipulation to the deal. "But we're going to talk about your car too before you leave here."

"My car? What about my car?"

"Grayson told me that it's not working properly," Chris admitted. "He said it sounds angry sometimes and that you haven't gotten it checked out yet."

I rolled my eyes, guessing that was one of those 'secrets' that he mentioned.

"It's fine," I assured him. "It made a weird sound one time last week when I tried to start it, but it's still working. I was going to take it in, but then all this virus stuff happened and I didn't have chance."

"You need a new one," Chris informed me. "That one is getting old anyway. I'll take you car shopping when things reopen."

I laughed at the absurdity of that statement, but I could see the annoyance on his face at my reaction.

"You're not buying me a car, Chris. The one I have is perfectly fine and if it's not then I will take myself car shopping, thank you very much."

"Why do you get so defensive when I try to help you?" He asked, his eyes shifting into a glare. "I'm not going to accidentally think that you're in love with me just because you accept a nice gesture from me. I can take a hint, Whitney, I get it."

My jaw dropped and I couldn't hold back a disgruntled scoff at his insane change of topic.

"What are you even talking about? This has nothing to do with that," I argued. "I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation if I knew you were going to hold that over me and throw it in my face all the time."

“All the time? This is the first time I’ve mentioned it!”

“Yes, but I’ve not even been here for twenty-fours hours and you’ve already brought it up!”

Perhaps it was my harsh, snappy tone that did it or my very valid criticism of his low blow, but Chris' body language softened.

"I just don't get why you get so worked up when I'm trying to help you..."

"Because I don't need help, Chris," I explained. "I might not be Captain America rich, but I do just fine and I can take care of myself. I can buy my own groceries and if I really needed to, I could buy myself a new car. You throwing money at me for things like that makes me feel like you don't value the success I've had in my career or my ability to manage my finances which is, quite frankly, offensive."

Chris dropped his arms so they were no longer crossed and his shoulders relaxed. Clearly, he'd been getting quite defensive as well and had realized it, whether he would admit it or not. I held my head high, proud of myself for explaining my feelings so well and taking him down a notch, but that feeling disappeared as soon as Chris spoke.

"If you were the richest woman in the world, I would still want to buy you a car," Chris started, looking more nervous than the dismissive, self-assured attitude I was getting moments ago. "I'd still want to buy you anything you could ever need because making you happy makes me happy."

My face fell at his confession and my heart clenched again, knowing what the underlying sentiment behind his statement was. It stung more than any hurtful words could have as the sincerity, the genuine care and appreciation, in his voice was heartbreaking. I regretted not adding a condition to our cohabitation that specified he wasn't allowed to say such nice, guilt inducing things as I stared at him for a moment, trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation that was more polite than just bolting out the door. 

Too much time was passing as his words hung between us so, short of any good comeback to his words, I shrugged.

"If you want to make me happy, let me contribute for the groceries."

It was Chris' turn to look shocked now, as he was obviously expecting a more thoughtful response to his rather vulnerable admission, but he pulled himself together quickly and a dry laugh fell from his lips.

"Nice try, Whitney," he smiled, shaking his head. "But that's not going to happen."

Without giving me any more time to argue, he turned on his heels and walked out the door leaving me alone to wallow in my guilt and wonder how much longer I'd be able to keep up my act of nonchalance.

-

There was a weird sense of restlessness in the house that day. Usually, killing a few days at home would be no big deal but, as soon as the stay at home orders came into place that morning, the knowledge that we were now unable to do anything else made it feel slightly more suffocating.

Chris wasn't lying though when he said that he planned to make this lockdown as enjoyable as possible so we managed to keep ourselves entertained as we planned out some of the things we could do. Chris and Scott were compiling a list of old movies they wanted to watch again, I ordered a bunch of puzzles and books (some more child appropriate and some for the adults), Chris dug out an old wiffle ball set he had from when they were kids and Scott organized Chris' video game collection, pulling out all the good ones like their favourite: Mario Kart.

By the end of the day, we were all feeling much more optimistic about how our time at home would go. Especially Grayson. It was finally starting to sink in for him that he got to spend the foreseeable future surrounded by all his favourite people - something that was unfortunately a rarity for him given our situation. He was bouncing off the walls as he threw his ideas into the mix and couldn't wait to get started on all the fun.

The excitement of the day led to another early night for him and I excused myself shortly after, declining the invitation to start practicing my Mario Kart skills.

After our conversation that morning, I was trying to keep a bit of distance from Chris. I wasn't mad and it didn't seem like he had any lasting feelings of annoyance either, but our earlier discussion proved to me that there was still tension and resentment between us. I wanted to let it settle and give him some space so our small disagreement didn't turn into a full-blown argument. Living together after everything we'd been through would be an adjustment period and easing into it would probably be the safest route.

So, I took myself off to my bedroom and lounged in bed watching some new mystery show on Netflix. I started it thinking it would just be a good way to pass a few hours until a reasonable time to go to bed but as usual with Netflix, I got sucked in and before I knew it, it was almost midnight.

I closed my laptop, knowing I needed to get some sleep as Grayson was an early riser, but I noticed the glass of water I'd taken upstairs with me hours ago was empty and my mouth was dry. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed, taking the glass to the kitchen to fill it up.

I crept down the stairs, assuming everyone would be in bed already, but I was surprised when I got to the kitchen to see the light on. I poked my head into the room and saw Scott sitting at the little island in the middle of the room, a drink in his hand and a melancholy look on his face.

"Hey," I greeted him, alerting him to my presence. "You're up late..."

"I was just FaceTiming with my boyfriend. He's in LA so it worked with the time difference."

"Boyfriend?" I questioned as I headed over to the sink to fill up my glass. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"It's pretty new," he sighed. "We've only been together about a month now."

"That's so exciting! You didn't want to stay in LA and quarantine with him?"

"No, we thought it was too fresh for us to, like, fully move in together and if I was in LA and not living with him then we wouldn't see each other anyway, so I decided I may as well come here."

"That's really hard," I frowned as I pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "I'm sorry that you had to make a decision like that."

"It's alright," he shrugged despite the sad look on his face. "A lot of people have had to make much tougher decisions than that lately."

"That doesn't mean you can't be upset anyway."

"I know, but I'll be alright. I'm just glad we've got so many ways to stay in touch." He flashed me a smile and I was glad to see it. Scott was a good guy and one of those people who was usually so positive and upbeat that it was hard to see him feeling down. "What about you? How are you doing with everything?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sighed. "Do you mean the deadly virus plaguing the world? Or the fact that I'm in lockdown with the father of my child who I have a fairly complicated history with?"

"Both," Scott chuckled as he sipped his drink of what looked to be whiskey. "But I was more referring to being here in lockdown with Chris."

"It's hard, but I'm doing okay. It's just a weird situation."

"It'll definitely take some time to get used to for both of you," he nodded. "He felt really bad this morning. He told me what you said about how offensive it is when he throws money at you all the time and I totally agree, but I hope you know his heart was in the right place. He tells everyone how talented you are, he would never want to belittle your career."

"I know," I winced. "I overreacted a little bit."

"No, not at all!" Scott assured me. "He needed to hear it. I've been on the receiving end of it too so I know how you felt, but he doesn't realize how it comes off some times. He's just trying to be generous and help the people he loves."

I nodded and I knew that I should just end the conversation there. Tell him that I understood what Chris' intent was and leave it at that. But my heart overpowered my brain and I found myself opening up before I could stop myself.

"I just don't exactly deserve to be on that list," I reminded him. "And I shouldn't take advantage of any feelings he might have for me after the decision that I made."

"You really do deserve to be on that list," he told me with a smile. "He's really in love with you."

"Love might be a bit extreme," I scoffed. "He's made his feelings clear, I know he cares about me, but it's not love."

"He's not made his feelings clear enough then," Scott countered. "Because he's been head over heels in love with you since pretty much the moment he met you."

My mouth went dry as my brain fought to comprehend that claim while all my instincts were telling me that it wasn't true. Scott wouldn't lie to me, he wasn't that kind of person, but he could be exaggerating especially since he had been drinking. There was an honesty in his eyes though, a look that told me he was telling the truth, but I couldn't accept it, it just didn't make sense.

"That's not true," I argued. "He only ever saw me as a friend until that one night and that night was a mistake."

But Scott was confident in what he'd shared and he shook his head.

"He never saw you as just a friend. You were his endgame from day one."

Perhaps it was a delaying tactic, perhaps it was a nervous response or I was subconsciously trying to buy myself some time to make sense of what he was trying to tell me, but a giggle slipped out at Scott's choice of words.

"Endgame? Is that an Avengers joke?"

"It wasn't intentional," he assured me with a laugh, but he was quick to get us back on topic. "But I mean it. We had a conversation just a few weeks after you met and he was talking about you like you hung the moon. He's been enamoured from the start."

I couldn't wrap my head around it. He was speaking with such confidence, but the words he was saying might as well have been another language. Knowing what I knew about our situation, how things had unfolded between us, how that first night together went down and the aftermath of it, there was no sign that Chris had been in love with me. He cared about me, that much I knew, but to be in love? That didn't add up.

Especially when I'd had those feelings all along as well. Surely, I would have noticed had they been reciprocated.

I'd fallen silent as my brain buzzed, scrambling for any gesture or obvious evidence that I'd missed that might prove Scott's claim, but when he spoke again, I was pulled from my thoughts.

"Do you not feel the same way about him?" He asked. "And there's no judgment here, I can see both sides. I love Chris and I want him to be happy, but I respect what you're trying to do."

I felt my heart rate spike again as my palms grew sweaty in a way that was becoming annoyingly familiar.

I was aware of the importance of this conversation, but I was also aware that I wasn't having it with the right person. If Scott was being honest then Chris must have had his reasons for not sharing the depth of his feelings with me and it felt sneaky and deceitful that I was finding out from someone else. It also felt wrong that the answer to Scott's question was on the tip of my tongue. Chris deserved to know before his brother, but I was tired. Fighting through this mess all by myself was wearing me down and Scott had always been one of those people that compelled you to pour your heart out to him. He was a better listener than most and I needed someone, anyone, to give me some kind of guidance. So the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"I do feel the same," I admitted, my eyes firmly locked on the glass of water on the table in front of me as I worried I'd be too anxious to speak if I looked Scott in the eye. "I love him very much."

"Then why are you so scared to give him a chance?" He questioned. "Just because of Grayson?"

I nodded, but even I was starting to doubt my own motivations.

"We work together so well right now, but if we give it a shot and someone ends up getting hurt then we might not be able to put our feelings aside and keep things peaceful."

"But aren't you hurting each other every day that you spend in love with each other, but not together?" He pointed out. "Yet, you manage to put Grayson first through all that pain."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

It was an excellent point.

We were both hurting from being apart, it was clear from how defensive we got over silly little things like we had that morning. I could only imagine how Chris felt, but it was hard for me to be around him all the time and just keep things friendly when in my heart I wanted more. I ached at the sight of him every time I dropped Grayson off or picked him up, but we still managed to be friendly and polite through that.

"How many of those drinks have you had?” I teased earning a laugh from Scott. “They’ve made you too wise.”

"Not enough," he joked. "But it's true, isn't it?"

"It is true, but it's different," I insisted. "If we were together and broke up, that kind of hurt can come with a lot of anger. Right now, we might be sad or disappointed about the situation, but there's no anger."

"Oh, there was anger," Scott informed me, grimacing slightly. "After Christmas, when he came back from dropping Grayson off at your house there was definitely anger. He slammed doors, stormed around the house, got drunk off his ass and ranted about it for hours. I've never seen him that upset over being turned down before."

My heart sank at that news. I knew that he'd been upset, but I didn't think he'd taken it that badly. I thought he was just a bit sulky, but now my guilt intensified.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion. "I feel bad enough as it is..."

"Oh, honey, I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Scott assured me, reaching over to rub my back as I forced back the tears that had sprung to my eyes. "But it proves that even if one of you ends up heartbroken, you can still put Grayson first because you just did it."

"I didn't, Chris did," I pointed out after clearing my throat. "If it wasn't up to me, if Chris came to his senses and ditched me for some beautiful actress, then I'm not sure that I could be so forgiving."

"Why would he ditch you?"

As promised, there was no judgment in Scott's voice, just genuine curiosity and I shrugged as I answered.

"Because he could have any woman in America."

"Maybe not any woman, let's not get carried away," Scott smirked, his teasing tone making me smile. "But for such a relationship loving guy, don't you think it's interesting that he hasn't been in a serious relationship in about five years?"

That wasn't something I'd put much thought into, but it wasn't the 'gotcha' moment that it seemed like Scott had hoped it was.

"Not really. He's been busy with work the last few years," I pointed out. "And having a baby with me must have complicated his personal life a bit."

"You complicated his personal life the moment he met you," Scott insisted. "That's my point."

He sounded so sure of himself, but the words he was saying were still hard for me to comprehend. I'd always been so confident in my understanding of our relationship and if I was to believe him, it would shatter everything I thought I knew.

"I just don't see why he wouldn't have mentioned this by now..."

"You know how he gets with his anxiety. He's not always the over confident hotshot that people assume he is," Scott reminded me. "But you'll have to talk to him if you want more information than that."

I let out a sigh as I knew he was right.

"There's a lot that we need to talk about," I admitted. "Thank you for this though, Scott, you've given me a lot to think about."

"Anytime," he smiled. "And I completely respect that you're willing to put Grayson first despite whatever feelings you have. You're a wonderful mom and I would be proud to call you my sister-in-law."

I laughed at his outrageous leap from even considering a relationship straight to marriage and shook my head.

"You need to go to bed, Scott," I instructed. "You've clearly had too much to drink tonight."

"I probably have," he agreed. "But I meant everything that I've said. Think about it, okay?"

I nodded as I slid off the stool I was sitting on, wrapping my arms around him in a quick hug.

"I'm here for you too, you know that right?" I asked as I stepped back. "If you ever want to talk about your situation or vent and complain about the distance, whatever you need, I'm here."

"Thanks, Whitney," he smiled before dragging himself off his stool as well. "Goodnight."

I returned his smile and mumbled a 'goodnight' of my own before heading back to bed with all the new information that Scott had provided echoing around in my head. While it had been a very informative conversation, I wasn't quite sure whether I came away from it with the clarity I was looking for or just more confusion.

-

Part Three

Tags:  @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7​ @hockeychick10

[aesthetic-bbyg]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

▌ 𝘐𝘕 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘊𝘏 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘌𝘚 𝘎𝘖 𝘛𝘖 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘕𝘌𝘠𝘓𝘈𝘕𝘋

▌WARNINGS: swearing, that’s it

▌AUTHORS NOTE: I got got bored and decided to do this, enjoy :)

It was a strange burst of energy that caused you to walk to Stiles house, the idea popping up mid shower and not leaving as you got dressed and ate breakfast. Both of your parents were off at work, the house was empty and quiet, you couldn’t help yourself.

The supernatural was on the down side, nothing to big, the weekend had just started and you need something to cure your bored mind. So there you were walking to stiles house quickly with container in your hands. Five knocks were loudly placed on his door, it took a while and few more loud knocks till Stiles groggily opened the door.

He glared at you through his tired eyes as you grinned widely, “Morning.” You kissed his cheek and walked in placing the container of pancakes on the table. “I brought pancakes, knew you’d be hungry, and you don’t know how to make anything.”

“Thanks.” Stiles mumbled and yawned, at least you’d brought food, that made his annoyed mood from his disrupted slumber better. You frowned when she noticed his expression, now realizing how weird it was to appear at his door this early.

“Sorry for waking you up early, I have a great idea that I need to share.” You quickly explained as Stiles bit the pancake and sat down.

“It’s fine.” Stiles replied with a mouthful as you sat beside him. “Now, share your amazing idea.”

“We go to Disneyland.”

Stiles stopped chewing his pancake and looked at you with a bewildered look, “Disneyland? You woke me up this early to go to Disneyland?”

“Yes.”

“No, if something happens here, Scott will need us. We can’t just go out.”

“Oh, come on! It’s the happiest place on Earth aka the exact opposite of beacon hills. You are literally the definition of Anxiety and need some time to cool off, besides It is only 30 minutes away, if Scott needs us then he’ll call us and we’ll leave.”

“No.”

“Please, stiles, I’m bored and I’m gonna be alone all day.” You pouted, sticking out your bottom lip slightly and stared at him with pleading eyes through your eyelashes.

He let out a loud breath through his nose. “Fine, let me eat first.” He mumbled, once he swallowed his pancakes and got ready you grabbed his keys and excitedly sprinted into the blue jeep. You hurting my stuck the keys into the ignition and turned it on before moving to the passenger seat.

His rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the morning light. Your eyes softened and placed both hands on his cheeks, you pecked his lips. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” He hummed and smiled as he finally began moving, the drive was filled with comfortable silence, Stiles had on hand on the wheel, the other held your hand. By the time you and Stiles reached the city, you couldn’t keep still in your seat. You parked on the second level and began walking, cars were lined up as your footsteps echoed throughout the large parking lot.

“I still hate this.” Stiles muttered as you rolled your eyes and turned around. “Something could happen, with our luck, something will.”

“Stop complaining, it’s Disneyland.” You placed your arms around his neck and kissed his lips, much more tenderly. “If you keep up a good up, I’ll reward you.”

“Okay, okay, let me just.” He leaned back down for once last kiss before sighing in content. “That never gets old.” He smiled widely, “Keepin the energy high!”

After paying for tickets, you both stood hand in hand staring down Main Street and towards the large castle in the distance. A glint of joy in your eyes, a large smile forming, you squealed and began skipping like a child towards the castle, “Do you think they sell dresses in my size?”

—

“We are getting on every damn ride, Stiles.” You said as you both walked towards Tomorrowland, his eyes wandered across the space theme park till he rapidly tapped your shoulder.

“Y/n, Y/n!”

“What?”

“Star Wars!” He pointed at a shop selling Star Wars merchandise. “We have to go in!”

“After Space Mountain, come on the line gets long if we go any soon.” You argued as the boy looked back at the shop and gave in.

After the thrilling ride ended you pulled out your phone to snap a quick picture of image on the screen. Stiles complained that he wasn’t ready for the flash at the end as you teased about the facial expression. The rest of the day was full of joy as you both got onto multiple rides, getting soaked from Splash Mountain, to laughing when Stiles got creeped by the ‘It’s A Small Word’ dolls.

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 11 - Time Travel / Amnesia / Coma

Coma comma revelation

Pairing: James T Kirk x GN!Reader

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Rating: General Audiences

TW: Coma, minor swear

AN: Day 11 of @tropetember. Sorry for the wait, life has been a bit mad. Not the best but hope you enjoy :)

The aftermath of an away mission gone wrong.

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

It wasn’t uncommon for members of an away crew to end up in the sickbay upon their return to the Enterprise. Injuries regularly ranged from small cuts and bruises to native diseases to broken bones. A visit to Dr McCoy was something all members of the crew had to mentally prepare before beaming down. What was uncommon was for people to be in the sickbay for longer than an overnight stay.

Spock and Kirk had both had a couple of longer stopovers following heroic (read: risky) actions. Dr McCoy dreaded either, or worse both of them, being there because they were both hard-headed and constantly tried to sign themselves out against medical advice. Luckily, this wasn’t something McCoy had to worry about with the current resident of the sickbay. What was happening was far more worrying. Because you had been in a coma for 4 days now and nobody had any clue as to what to do.

Running his hand down his face, Dr McCoy’s gaze remained laser focused on the most recent test results, trying to find an answer. Any answer. Even a clue. Nothing. There was nothing indicating why you weren’t waking up.

Sighing quietly to himself he got up and headed to your room, checking on the monitors. He hadn’t even realised anyone else was there until he turned to exit.

Stood leant against the wall next to the door, Captain James T Kirk stood like a sentry. His eyes watched everything in the room, in between regularly checking on you. The Doctor pressed a hand to his heart as he processed his surprise. Had Kirk not been wearing his yellow command shirt, chances are McCoy wouldn't have even noticed him with how still he was standing.

“Jim, you’re the Captain not a shadow” he observed, his normal gruffness softened slightly.

The gentle rebuke received no response from Kirk. He simply flicked his eyes from the body in the hospital bed to McCoy and back again.

It was clear to see that all was not right with the Captain. His uniform was creased, his eyes red. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Jim, you ok?”

A small sigh and a shake of the head is all he receives in response. McCoy props himself up against the wall next to him, a show of silent solidarity.

"They weren't even supposed to be there, Bones."

You'd opted to go on the away mission instead of Mr Spock to allow the Vulcan some time off from Kirk-sitting, and as part of your push to keep at least one of them on the ship at all times. "Cos, you know, regulations" was all you scoffed when someone pointed out that they'd both made a break for it onto some distant moon, leaving you as Lieutenant Commander in charge of the ship.

The additional position had been created to help support the demands of a 5 year mission on the crew as a whole. Given the Enterprise's tendency to have an engineering emergency in the middle of crisis, Mr Scott was often unable to support in the way the Chief Engineer may on other ships. You bridged the gap, allowing Kirk, Spock and Scotty to hand over some of their day-to-day responsibilities to focus on the extreme.

Though they had initially railed against it, they would all now agree that your presence had improved the efficiency of the ship. It also allowed them all some welcome downtime. The crew appreciated that more than they would ever admit in front of the higher-ups. Kirk in particular could get bitchy when he was tired.

Something that no one would have predicted about adding you to the crew, was the depth of the friendships you had formed with the command crew. In particular, you had developed a close friendship with the Captain, despite his initial wariness. You and Jim were regularly spotted in observation watching the stars float by whilst having a drink, or heading to each other's quarters with a holodisk in hand.

Jim, for his part, had been reluctant to get to know you. The Captain of a starship is supposed to be separate from the rest of their crew. But, as with the interpersonal relationships between the crew, the length of the mission had required these expectations be adjusted in the interest of crew morale.

The outcome of the slow blossoming relationship with you was something he had not predicted. Where he always felt responsible when crew were hurt, the shot of ice through his system when he saw you being stabbed with a syringe was much, much stronger. More importantly, his almost visceral reaction had been completely unexpected. He was the Captain, he had to look out for everyone. Yet, he spent every second of the day and night since returning to the Enterprise worrying about you.

Drawing himself back from his thoughts he glances to Bones, who is watching him with a combination of concern and soft understanding.

“We have the best people in the Federation working on this Jim.” He gently grasps Kirk’s upper arm. “They’ll be ok. You’ll get them back.” He pauses then, glancing between the two of them. “Then you can maybe have an honest conversation about the two of you.”

Kirk sharply glances at him over his shoulder before allowing his own shoulders to sag.

“I hadn’t even realised,” he quietly whispers, moving to the side of the bed. He takes your hand in his before sitting down next to the bed. “It’s not allowed, Bones.”

McCoy for his part just smiles at him.

“Never stopped you before”

That gets a small smile out of the Captain as he turns his eyes back to you. He’s so focused on you that he doesn’t even notice as Dr McCoy slips out to head to his office.

-----------

Waking up after being unconscious for an unknown amount of time is, in a word, disorienting. The sickbay lights are bright, your throat is dry and sore and your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool.

It takes you a while to come to but you’re ever so grateful to hear Dr McCoy's southern drawl welcoming you back.

“There you are darlin’, you had us worried.”

You let him run all of his tests without complaint, using the time to orient yourself. It’s not until he’s nearly finished that you notice there’s someone else in the room. You throw Jim a small smile, followed by a grimace as McCoy hits you with a hypospray.

“That should be everything for the minute,” McCoy tells you. “We’re going to keep you in for observation for a few days but your recovery is going as well as we could have hoped.”

You smile in relief at that, and he tells you he’ll be back in a few minutes before he heads out of the room.

After taking a moment to shuffle yourself into a more comfortable position, you wave a hand at Jim to beckon him over. He takes a gentle hold of your hand as he moves closer. It fills you with warmth and you can’t help a small smile.

“Managed not to blow up the ship while I was out of commission then?” you tease, wanting the frown to disappear from his face. He shakes his head in response.

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really left this room.”

You glance at him surprised, and then see the soft expression on his face. Huh. You thought it was just you.

Taking the plunge, you gently tug at his hand until he slides into bed next to you, your head resting on his chest. The beat of his heart starts to lull you back to sleep.

It’s probably best to rest while you can, you decide. You’ve got a lot to talk about.

[blessednereid]

First Line Tryouts

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Mentions/Warnings: Implied Smut, making out, cursing, eating/food mentions, mentions dead bodies, slasher film mention, dementia mention, slight domesticality(?)

Word Count: <4,200

A/N: This took so long im so sorry, tried to sum up the events of ep 1, while adding some isaac moments! Enjoy! LMK If I need to add anymore tw’s or cw’s.

Taglist: @rogershoe Dm me to be added to the taglist. 

~---~---~---~---~

There was a week left until your second semester began. Isaac was determined to thank you for everything you had done for him since he told you about his dad. 

He enlisted Stiles and a reluctant Lydia to help him with the planning. Isaac was going to make a picnic basket with your favorite foods. After that, Stiles would drive him to Lookout Point, and Lydia would take you there right after he gave her the go-ahead to let her know it was ok to leave. 

Lydia would take you to the mall so that Isaac could prepare the picnic basket. He had bought assorted fruits, a platter of ham and cheese pinwheels, passion-fruit fruit champagne, your favorite desserts, and your favorite chips. He packed a picnic blanket as well as two smaller ones so that you both could lay under the stars and watch them dance. 

After everything was packed, Stiles drove him to the point in the woods, and two miles away from his destination, he called Lydia and gave her the signal. 

When he reached the peak, before he could do anything, Stiles scolded him.

"Hey scarf," he barked. Isaac turned his head.

"Don't try anything with my sister tonight, alright? You may not be in the house, but I will still be watching everything?"

Isaac paused. "Aren't you going back to Scott's house?" 

"I have eyes everywhere, Lahey," he stated simply before waltzing away.

~---~---~---~---~

When you arrived, Isaac had everything set up, the picnic cloth was laid down on a flat chunk, the colorful plastic champagne glasses he had bought were carefully placed down on top of the plates, 

When you arrived, Isaac had already laid everything out. The picnic blanket was spread out on a flat chunk of land, and the ceramic plates sat on top of it. There was a bundle of spoons and forks, knives, and colorful plastic champagne glasses for the both of you. 

"I-saac, haha," you chuckled.

He bowed. "Good evening, madame. How can I serve you today?" He walked over to you and led you to the setting. 

"Isaac, you didn't have to do all this, you know?" 

"I know, but you've done so much for me recently, and I wanted to thank you."

You looked at him fondly, and he stared back at you before breaking away to grab the fruit. He fed you a strawberry, and after that, you both took turns tossing berries into the air and trying to catch them. 

~---~---~---~---~

After you both were done eating, Isaac packed all the remaining food (which was a lot) into the basket and tossed you a cover. He pulled you closer to him once you were wrapped in the blanket and laid down to watch the stars with his favorite person in the world. 

"That's Orion's belt, right there," you thought out loud. 

"That's the big dipper then," 

"How do you know so many constellations?" Isaac questioned, and you frowned. 

"I- uh…" 

"What's wrong?" He looked at you with worry.

"It was something me and my mom did before she died. She would go out to the woods with me—" you paused."—and she would show me where all the stars were. Stiles was never interested. My obsession with finding the stars became so big she decided to get me a telescope and a big book of all the constellations." 

"Oh, so I'm guessing it's a touchy subject?" 

You laughed. "It's a subject that brings up memories. To be honest, I haven't tried stargazing since my mom's death. This was nice." 

"You never told me much about your mom…" 

"And you never told me about yours," you hit back. 

"Touché." 

You went first. "Before everything, my mom was…in all aspects… perfect. Every day when we came home from school, she would have lunch ready, even if we already ate, just some chips and cookies on the table for Stiles and me." 

You smiled. "Mom would take us outside to the backyard and play soccer with us, us two against her. I think she would go easy on us." 

"When she got diagnosed, she started becoming less… tolerant of us. She would yell for the tiniest things,  and they didn't hurt me as much because Dad would always remind us that she didn't mean it, but I guess it always hurt Stiles more—"

"How do you mean?" Isaac asked.

"He was always a mommy's boy. One night we went to visit her at the hospital, I went to the vending machine to get snacks for Stiles and me, and he was gone. When he came back, he was crying nonstop. I kept trying to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me.  The next day it was like he just forgot about it." 

You both sat there in silence for a while longer. 

"My mom…. My mom was always working. She had her own business making soaps and perfumes and stuff like that." 

"She would always ask—" he gulped. "—she would ask my brother and me to help her with her orders. We would always make a mess, so after we were done, she made bubble baths for us." He giggled at the memory. "When she died, I guess we all changed a bit." 

"I got a little shier, Camden got more impulsive, Dad just lost his filter. He put more effort into making sure we were disciplined." He saw your eyes squint. "He didn't hit us back then. He just had stricter rules." 

You pulled him closer to your chest, and you guys just stayed there, looking at the stars, and feeling, even more, closer to each other than before.

You broke the silence.

"Isaac…" 

"Yes, Y/N?"

"I love you…" 

He leaned down to your face and pecked your lips.

"I love you too," he smiled.

~---~---~---~---~

"Y/n!" Isaac was trying to wake you up. You had fallen asleep watching Nightmare on Elm Street. You had been desensitized to all the blood and gore because you and stiles would always stay up late and watch slasher films. This was when your dad worked extra shifts at the Sheriff's station, and your mom was at the hospital.

"N/n, Wake up!" 

He grabbed your ringing phone and pulled it up to your ear, despite knowing he would face your wrath for doing that later on. Stiles had just called you for the 4th time that night, and you weren't waking up.

When you still wouldn't wake up, he did the only thing he could think of, as illogical as it was. He laid down flat on his back and rolled over, pushing you off the bed. You woke with a start. 

"ISAAC, WHAT THE HELL!!"

"Stiles has called you 4 times in 5 minutes, and you told me to wake you up whenever someone calls you…" He fake-pouted. 

Your expression softened because you couldn't resist his cobalt eyes, but you were still angry. You answered the phone and shouted at Stiles to release your frustration. 

"Stiles, what the hell, you're across the hall. Did you really have to call?"

"Hurry up and get ready, Dad just went out, and we need to go get Scott."

"Why do we have to follow dad? It's his job."

"Someone found a dead body, but half of it is missing,"

"Ok, I'm coming," You said while putting on your jeans. 

"Oh, and leave the golden retriever."

"His name is Isaac, not 'golden retriever,' Stiles!" you scolded. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, hurry up!"

You finished putting on Isaac's hoodie and turned to face him. 

"I gotta go, love."

He pouted. "Why can't I go with you?"

You went to give him a hug. "We should go with the least amount of people possible., so we don't get caught…" you lied. 

"Is Scott going?" He was always able to tell when you were lying. He knew all your tells and your poker face before you were even dating. 

"Fine, It's Stiles."

"So, I realized. Do I really look like a golden retriever?"

You shrugged and said in a pitchy voice, "An adorable golden retriever?" 

He sighed. 

"Be safe, and come back before midnight, please? I don't wanna go to sleep without you…"

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

"It's the start of first-line tryouts. I really wanna make it this year,"

"I'm sure that you'll make it Isaac, you are one of the most hand-eye coordinated people I know, and at every game, I will be there to cheer you guys on!"

 He smiled at your statement and kissed you. 

"Be sa—"

"Y/N, Hurry up!" Stiles shouted from downstairs. 

~---~---~---~---~

You stayed in the car while Stiles was getting Scott, silently cursing him for not allowing Isaac to come but going to get Scott. 

Scott and Stiles got out of the house and piled into the car. 

"Next time you wanna leave the 'golden retriever,' Stiles, we're also leaving the poodle," you angrily intoned.

Scott took up an offended expression. "Poodle?"

"Would you rather chihuahua?"

"Nevermind..."

"No, we're not leaving Scott. He's my best friend," Stiles said defensively.

"Oh yeah? Isaac is my boyfriend, yet he couldn't come!" 

"My car, my choice of guests."

"Fuck off, Miechyvslaw!"

~---~---~---~---~

"We're seriously doing this?"

"Obviously," you stated simply.

He started driving the car, and they headed to the woods where the search party for the body and the other half of it would be located. 

"You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town," Stiles said.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow."

"Right, cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort," Stiles sassed.

"No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making the first line."

"Hey, that's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one."

You interrupted their bickering. "Just out of curiosity, do either of you know what half of the body we're even looking for?"

"Uhhh-" Stiles stuttered.

"And uh- what if whoever killed the body is still out there," Scott questioned.

"Also, something I did not think about."

"It's comforting to know that you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail," Scott stated. 

Stiles and Scott continued bickering, but soon, you saw a flashlight.

"Shit! Hide!" you warned, but Stiles kept going. You leaped forward, trying to grab his shirt and pull him back, but your dad caught you.

"Hang on. Hang on. These two delinquents belong to me."

Stiles sighed. 

"I told you to hide, you brat!" you whispered to him.

"Daaaaad!" He enunciated. "How are you doing?"

"So, do you, uh, listen into all my phone calls?"

"Not the boring ones," Stiles said. 

"So, where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Wh-who Scott? Scott's home, he said before continuing to ramble.

Your dad had called out for Scott, and when he didn't respond, dragged you and Stiles back to the Jeep. 

~---~---~---~---~

You went back to your room once you got to the house and found Isaac asleep on the bed.

"Izzie!" You grabbed a plush pillow from beside him and whacked him softly with it. 

You went home that night, not knowing where Scott was or what had happened to him while worrying about what Melissa would do to you if Scott got bitten by a coyote and she found out you lured him out there.

He stirred but didn't wake. You groaned and moved beside him.

"Isaac?" you shrilled. "Isaac, you were supposed to wait for me to come back!!"

You shook his body left and right until he woke up groggily.

"N/n?"

He fully opened his eyes and groaned at the comfort that it was you.

"You scared me!" he complained.

You began shuffling towards him and running your hands down his covered pectorals. "Aww… what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Anything?" he said before sucking in a breath.

"Anything, baby," You nodded. 

He pulled you onto his lap and started kissing you passionately, your lips meshing together. He trailed his lips from yours to your cheekbones, then to your jawline, nibbling slightly. You moved your hips forcefully against his, and he brought one hand down to your waist.

"Hey, is this ok?"

You nodded vehemently. 

He pushed your hips back and forth along his while leaving dark red marks towards the base of your neck and your collarbone. He sucked a hickey onto a pulse point, making you let out a moan, which you tried muffling by pressing your lips together. 

He brought his hands to the hem of your shirt and tugged slightly before looking up at you. You replaced his hands and pulled your shirt off of your torso. 

He placed open-mouthed kisses onto the tops of your breasts, causing you to throw your head back in delight. He brought his hand back to the small of your back and shuffled you forwards on his lap. 

He turned you over onto your back and continued to kiss from your chest up. He stood on his knees in front of you and pulled his shirt off of his body. He placed one more brief kiss on your lips before gripping your thighs and lowering down your body.

~---~---~---~---~

Stiles drove you, Isaac, and Scott to school the next day. When you got out of the car, Scott and Stiles were talking about a bite that Scott had gotten when he went to the woods, but he assured you that you wouldn't face Melissa's wrath. 

When you saw Lydia amongst the crowd, you dragged Isaac all the way to her. Lydia had never liked Isaac, feeling like her best friend could do much better than someone who wouldn't even talk to her(you) for extensive periods of time. 

"Hey Lyds!" you said with Isaac's face buried in your neck. He was not fond of Lydia either, not that she had done anything, but he had picked up on her apathy towards him and just decided he would do the same. 

"Hey Y/N! Isaac." You all walked into the building and headed for your respective classes. 

~---~---~---~---~

You had English first, and the teacher was rambling about the dead body found in the woods. 

A familiar faced walked into the room, and you almost squealed. It was your godsister, Allison Argent. You knew that her family was moving to  Beacon Hills, but you hadn't known when they would be arriving. 

Chris Argent, Allison's dad, was your mother's best friend in high school. When she gave birth to you and Stiles, she made Chris your godfather.

You quietly clapped your hands at her appearance. She smiled at you before taking the seat diagonally across from you and right behind Scott. You noticed how when he turned around to give her a pencil, he looked highly flustered. 

Before you could point this out and tease him about it, your teacher began to talk about the novel you were reading as a class.

~---~---~---~---~

When you got out of class, you decided to introduce Lydia to Allison. 

When you both approached Allison, she squealed and ran to give you a hug, almost causing you to stumble. You hugged her back for a good five seconds before letting her go. 

"That jacket is absolutely killer! Where'd you get it?" Lydia asked the brunette.

"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."

"And, you are my new best friend!" Lydia said before greeting her boyfriend, Jackson, who had come up behind her. 

"Hey? What about me? Already replacing me with my godsister?" you asked before you felt two slender arms wrap around your waist.

"Never!" Lydia smiled. "We can all be friends." 

You could hear a girl talking about Lydia or Allison or both, and you decided you would defend your friends. 

You walked over to where she was talking to Stiles and Scott.

"Hey, what's going on over here?"

"Oh, Audrey here was asking what Allison did to already be hanging out with your exclusive clique."

"Uh, nothing? She's just Allison." You said, looking at Scott and Stiles but directing it towards Aubrey. You then turned on your heels and walked away.

You had found that your friends had told Allison about the upcoming party and were just about to head to the lacrosse practice for the day.

~---~---~---~---~

You gave Isaac a good luck kiss before he went out to the field, and Lydia looked at you weirdly.

"What is it?" you asked, rolling your eyes.

"Nothing, Nothing."

"Why do you have such a problem with my boyfriend?"

She turned to look at you. "I don't know, maybe it's because you caught feelings when he hadn't said a single word to you for a week and didn't for another week after you first kissed him"

"It could be that when you asked him out and actually confessed your feelings, he waited a week to give you a response and made you think that he was rejecting you, which made you cry?"  

You rubbed your temples. "Lydia, I explained all this to you. He's a shy guy. He just doesn't talk much to people, and he thought I was playing a joke on him."

She shook her head. "Mark my words, Y/N, he's going to end up breaking your heart, and when he does, I'll be left to pick up the pieces."

You groaned. "Allison, does Isaac look like someone who would hurt me?"

"No? He looks like… He looks like a golden retriever!"

The three of you burst out laughing, and Lydia promised to try and be tolerant of Isaac.

Suddenly, it was Scott's turn to try guarding the goal. He allowed the first shot through before finding his footing and blocking the rest of the throws. 

"Who is that?" Your godsister asked. 

"Hmm… I'm not sure who he is," Lydia said questioningly.

You scoffed. "That is Scott McCall. Stiles' best friend. Why?"

"He's in our English class. He seems like he's pretty good," she said sagely.

She changed the subject. "Speaking of Stiles, how is he? I haven't talked to him since I got back."

"He's-" you tried answering but stopped short. "Wooh! Go, Isaac!"

He smiled at you before going to shoot lacrosse balls at the goalie.

On the final day of tryouts, you and Isaac had done stretches, though he didn't know why, and they had run laps around the field before practice had started.

The coach started talking to the players, and you, Lydia, and Allison sat in the stands. By the time practice was over, Scott had made the first line, but Stiles and Isaac didn't. To cheer them up, you had taken them to their favorite to-go restaurant and bought dessert for them.

~---~---~---~---~

It was a Friday night. You were particularly sad, not only because Isaac couldn't go with you, but because Isaac had his weekly dinner with his dad today. So, he wouldn't even be there when you fell asleep. 

Scott and Stiles had gotten into a fight earlier, so he wasn't going to the party. This left Jackson to drive you, who was taking Lydia to the party. This didn't make you too happy, seeing as how Jackson was a self-entitled bastard who got his status from his family and isn't grateful for any of it. 

You didn't understand how Lydia had decided it would be a good idea to date him. But, you knew that the same way she couldn't change your mind about Isaac, she wouldn't change your mind about Jackson. 

You wore a pink satin body-con dress that reached your mid-thigh. Isaac had picked it out for you when he realized he wouldn't have been able to attend the party. He was ok with it being as short because he knew all the guys there would remember what happened to Garrett Ferrero after he started hitting on you at a party. He had to get nose surgery because Isaac had broken it, and his nose swelled up so large, he didn't come to school until it shrunk.

You paired it with opaque tights with fishnets on top and a pair of red, 3-inch, cut-out heels. As for makeup, you had outlined your lips with a black lip liner and smeared a cherry red lipstick over it. You applied minimal foundation and went for a nude eyeshadow look. 

When you stepped out of the bathroom in your outfit, Isaac nearly went feral. He lightly kissed the expanse of your neck, knowing you would kill him if he messed up your makeup, and he ended up backing you both into a wall. 

You had to swat him away after a few seconds of this affair because you had to leave soon, and so did he, albeit reluctantly. You put a black jean jacket on top of your outfit before heading downstairs. 

He left your house a few minutes before you did, but just before you left, Stiles pulled you aside.

"Hey, Y/N, just watch out for Scott today, and especially Allison." Stiles was overprotective of both of you. Before Allison and her family began moving around, she was like a sister to both of you. You three did almost everything together. 

"Stiles, what's going on?"

He sighed. "Ok, this is going to be hard to explain, but you have to go. So I'm going to give you the brief version right now and explain later."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue. 

"The night Scott got bit by that 'coyote'... it wasn't a coyote. It was a wolf, and wolf hairs were reported on the autopsy of the dead body. Scott has been experiencing heightened senses, and he's been stronger. Y/N, he hasn't needed his inhaler all week."

Your eyes widened. You didn't know what to say.

"So… you think he's a werewolf."

"Better to be safe and absurd than sorry and sad. Tonight's a full moon, and he just wouldn't cancel that date. Just look out for them, you know?"

You bobbed your head up and down vigorously. 

You left the house, and outside were Jackson and Lydia, in the front seat of his Porsche. It was a nice ride but a bit overly embellished for someone who only just got his license.

 ~---~---~---~---~

Later at the party, you had last seen Allison and Scott as they were dancing. You were dancing with your friend, Marya Cullen. She was a freshman, so she didn't really know most of your other friends. You had met her through your job at Forever 21, and you instantly clicked. 

She was really drunk, so you called another one of her friends and asked them to take her home. Marya had given her friends a list of the people allowed to drive her home if this happened. 

It was just as you were putting Marya in the backseat, you saw Scott walking away from her, dazed. While that happened, a mysterious guy who looked much older than you were approaching Allison. 

"Hey, I'm her friend. I got it, thanks!" 

You walked with Allison back to her house after grabbing all your belongings and immersed in conversation, mostly about how weird Stiles was being. Stiles was driving in his Jeep when he saw you coming from Allison's house. You got into the Jeep, and you both went home. 

When you got there, you changed into your pajamas and laid down onto the surface of a cold bed. You grabbed your thickest pillow and pulled it into your arms, trying to create some semblance of a feeling of Isaac laying down with you.

~---~---~---~---~

You awoke to bright sunlight and a buzzing phone by your head. Isaac had been calling you to ask you to let him in the house. You realized it was high time that he gets a key to the front door. 

You went downstairs to greet your boyfriend, and you noticed that he had brought Starbucks. You almost caused him to fall to the floor had he not caught you in time. He set you on the floor and kissed your lips before heading to the kitchen.

He had gotten your regular order, as well as your favorite drink, and he had gotten his order as well. 

You guys say down to just eat and relax.

He took a sip of his iced coffee before saying anything.

"My dad wants me to work at the graveyard," he said, pensive.

You choked on your food. "What?" 

"Well, he said he's cutting off my allowance." 

"So he said I can either earn it by working at the graveyard or stay broke." 

"That's fine, darling?" 

"I know, but I still want to get a job to save so once I turn 18, I can move out. And, he is willing to let me choose my own hours, or really just give me hours that don't interfere with lacrosse practice."

You gave him a solemn look and whined. "But that means we won't have as much cuddle time?" 

"He shouldn't even be in your room," your dad said, approaching you from behind.

"Hi, dad."

"Good morning, Mr. Stilinsk—"

"Isaac," your dad interjected. "It's fine. You can call me Noah." 

Isaac smiled. 

-------fin--------

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Halex fem!reader part 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Lunar Circle?” His jaw clenched. 

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

“Your parents were a part of it.” 

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

To (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), 

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

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

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

We look forward to meeting you, 

Sincerely, 

Praetor Lachlan McLeod

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what are you doing?” 

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

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

“And if there isn’t?” 

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

“Make it look like an accident.” 

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

“Erica.” I nodded, smiling brightly. 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝘛𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, (𝘠/𝘕).

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

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

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

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

𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘥

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

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

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

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

Stiles:

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

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

“Hi, Uncle Noah-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed, “It’s nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Jackson?” My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. 

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“I was on my way to see you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Derek, it’s not Lydia!” 

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

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

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

- 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious?” She asked. 

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

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

“Okay.” She sighed. 

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

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

She peeked out the window, "Which one?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read part 15 here!

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[tracybirds]

Prompt from here - was also inspired this morning by this prompt, so here is my offering with Scott and Jeff as our leading stars. One prompt - a million ways to write it, yeah?

Aftermath of Lucy’s death, a not particularly with-it Jeff and a warning for implied self-harm in the form of disordered eating / sleeping

Anyway someone get this Jeff to a therapist stat.

---

Scott jolted awake, the moonlight streaming into the room from the crack in the curtain. He wasn’t sure what had woken him – the light that fell across his bedspread, the scrape of a door over the swollen hardwood floors, the nervous presence of a brother hovering in the doorway.

He listened hard, straining his ears for even a whisper in the silent farmhouse.

Scott wanted nothing more than to turn over and ignore his prickling conscience, to burrow back into bed and hope that any night-time disturbance would gradually settle into the same warm feeling.

A muffled thud echoed in the dark and he sat upright, certain that he hadn’t been dreaming after all.

He bit back the groan as he stumbled from the bed, searching blindly for his socks, and pulled a robe tightly around him. He crept into the darkened hallway, expertly avoiding every creak he’d mapped out as a child, and paused outside each bedroom door. He hardly breathed, listening for the sounds of a brother in need before he gently pushed the door open.

John was slumped against the window where sleep had won out over the stars. His head was hardly visible under the curtain and condensation sprawled across the glass from his warm breaths. Virgil was snoring quietly, and Scott bit back a grin as he snorted and rolled over in his sleep.

Across the hallway, Gordon and Alan were curled up together, one bed abandoned for the prospect of more warmth. Gordon sighed as Scott stroked his hair, his usually cheeky grin softened by pleasant dreams. Alan murmured, his unheard whispers giving Scott a moment’s pause before he simply kissed his cheek and slipped out from the room.

There was one more room to check, the one Scott had been avoiding.

Sure enough, his dad’s room was empty.

Scott closed his eyes. The muffled sounds were louder now, as of course they must, reverberating up from the study directly below.

He turned and crept down the stairs, trying to ignore the way his intestines wrung and twisted as he walked.

Staring at the solid door, the dim light shining from underneath, he didn’t know what there was left to say.

He hated this, hated the way he was forced to parent not only his brothers but his father as well. He wanted his dad to be the one, standing in the door and demanding to know what he was still doing awake in the dead of the night. He wanted someone to come and tell him that it was enough, that it was time to rest, that he had school in the morning.

He wanted to scream at his mother for leaving them, and then at his father for running away from her.

There was no need to knock. He swallowed the bitterness and opened the door.

Jeff didn’t even glance at him, absorbed in a numbing world of numbers. He pored over documents that seemed to fly off the screens no sooner than they arrived, a dizzying display showcasing how much work he was drowning under.

His clothes hung from his shoulders and his skin sagged sallow in the blue cast of the holograms. Shadows seemed to sink into every hollow of his body and he scrubbed at his eyes, leaving bruising marks of exhaustion beneath them.

With a start, Scott realised they’d hardly seen him since the funeral six months ago.

“Dad,” he whispered, endless emotion compressing his voice into a thin note of sound.

Jeff didn’t look up.

“Dad!”

Jeff startled violently. The heavy desk chair slammed against the windowsill and he swore, standing helplessly torn between fixing the chair and his son. It should have been an easy fix, but Scott could see the doubt and confusion in his eyes as he turned between the two, trapped by indecision.

“I got it, Dad,” he said, walking over and straightening the chair.

He only hoped the crash hadn’t woken anyone else.

“Wha’re you…?”

Jeff screwed his eyes shut, letting his head fall in his hands.

“What am I doing up?” Scott guessed.

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s my question to ask, Dad.”

Jeff was silent, thinking over each word carefully to tug meaning from the simple sentence.

“It’s three in the morning,” he said suddenly.

“Yep,” said Scott. “I was asleep, I swear.”

“Good, good,” he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut. “You have school tomorrow.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Sunday school?”

“We haven’t been to that since Gordon was born.”

“Your mom was so mad at her,” said Jeff, mind full with half-forgotten memories.

“Mad at… Look, Dad, it doesn’t matter.”

“It all matters, Scott, can’t you see that?”

“No! Dad, you’re scaring me!”

And he was, Scott realised. He was shrinking back from this shell that used to be his father. There was none of the easy joy there anymore, none of the confidence and certainty that had shaped his childhood. His dad could do anything, he’d always known it to be true. He just hadn’t realised that ‘anything’ wasn’t just reserved for the good things in life.

“Scaring you?” murmured Jeff, still looking far away. “No, you shouldn’t be scared. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, somebody has to,” retorted Scott, fear boiling over into anger. “Is this what she would have wanted? You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone your family and you promised her.”

His dad cowered in front of him, refusing to look him in the eye, and he hates it, so he hates him.

“I’m calling Grandma,” he said abruptly.

“Scott, there’s no need for that.”

“There is,” Scott shouted, all thought of keeping quiet for his brothers’ sakes leaving his mind. “When was the last time you ate, Dad? Or slept in your own bed?”

“Scott, please.”

He stumbled out from behind the desk, shoulder catching on the bookshelf as he surged forward like a tidal wave, desperate and begging in a way Scott had never seen. In a way he wished he’d never known was possible.

“At least wait until the morning,” his father said, hopelessly trying to grab at his shoulders. “What can she do until then? You’ll only worry her.”

“Get off me.”

He shrunk back from his father’s grasp and didn’t move to help him as he groaned, slipping to the floor.

“Dizzy,” he murmured, not hearing his son’s sharp cry.

Scott’s anger subsided in an instant as he dropped to his knees.

“Dad?” he called, trying desperately not to panic. He should have known, he should have cared more, he couldn’t let an argument be the last thing his dad heard.

“Scott?”

“Virgil, get Dad’s phone, on the desk,” he snapped, not waiting to question his brother’s presence. “Make sure John keeps the littlies upstairs.”

“Is he alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“‘Mfine.”

“Stop talking,” snapped Scott.

The phone materialised in his hand and he noted with no small amount of relief that Virgil had disappeared upstairs without further question.

He swiped across Grandma’s name, pleading with her to hear him across the miles and pick up.

“Jeff?”

“Grandma!”

“Scott?! Where’s your father?”

Her confusion solidified in an instant into sharp questions and Scott answered them all, holding onto his dad the whole time. Jeff flinched every time he spoke, as though he wanted to protest but couldn’t find the energy.

“I’ll be there inside half an hour,” she promised, the soothing balm of her assurance spreading warm inside Scott’s chest. ��I’ll stay on the line, just hold on, and don’t be shy to call an ambulance if anything changes.”

“It’s not that serious, Ma,” muttered Jeff.

“You’ll do as you’re told, Jefferson Tracy,” she demanded. “You hear me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Good. Scott, honey? Saltines and ginger beer. If he can’t hold his food, get help.”

Scott scrambled to do as she said, leaving the door ajar and trying not to hear the low voices that followed him down the hall.

Virgil was sat at the top of the stairs, hugging at his knees and looking much younger than his sixteen years.

“Was he drinking again?” he whispered in a tense voice.

“No,” said Scott, climbing up and sitting next to him. “Just overworked, exhausted and starving himself.”

“He’s going to kill himself.”

“Don’t say that,” said Scott sharply. “Grandma’s coming over, she’ll know what to do.”

Virgil bit his lip, clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“Can I help?”

“No. He won’t want you to see him like that.”

“He won’t want you either.”

“Well, I’m all he’s got,” growled Scott, resentment flaring up again.

He breathed deeply, wrestling the anger back under control.

“Alan?” he asked instead.

“Still asleep. Gordon too. John’s sleeping in Alan’s bed now.”

“He shouldn’t need to do that.”

Virgil shrugged.

“You shouldn’t be up all night looking after Dad.”

Scott grimaced, but slowly nodded his agreement.

“Virgil,” he said quietly, nudging him. “Dad’s gonna be fine too, you know. All that stuff Grandma said, I know you were listening.”

Virgil blinked, screwing up his face, and Scott watched as worried tears dripped onto his folded arms.

“She said he might need an ambulance.”

“It’s just a precaution. He hasn’t, y’know, done anything.”

“But he might.”

“Grandma’s gonna get him help,” said Scott, wrapping an arm around him. “And we’ll help him too, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” said Virgil.

He wiped hurriedly at his eyes and swallowed back the terrible fear that Scott knew was threatening to envelop them all.

“If you say so, I’ll believe it.”

“I do,” said Scott, infusing every drop of confidence into the words.

He stood and stretched, reassuringly squeezing his brother’s shoulder one last time.

“Now, I gotta get saltines. Go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Scott slipped down the stairs, padding his way through the quiet house.

“Hey Scott,” whispered Virgil. “When you come up to bed, can you sleep in John’s bed?”

Scott smiled sadly.

“No problem, Virg.”

[katblu42]

In Pieces

This little thing was trying to distract me the whole time I was writing my Easter Tag fic! It is 4am.  This may not have been adequately proofread!

There was no mistaking the tone of the raised voice emanating from behind the closed door, even if most of the words were muffled.  Scott didn’t dare attempt to get any closer than the safety of the doorway of his own bedroom to hear more.  Seeing John’s cautious approach to the bedroom in question, Scott caught his brother’s attention and beckoned him over.

“What’s going on?” John whispered.

“I’m not sure, but there’s no way I’m going in there to find out.”

“. . . not the first time . . . How many times, Virgil? . . . need to be told?!”  The few words they could make out were enough to tell them how much trouble their brother was in, and a potential reason why.  “. . . in pieces!  . . . priceless antique . . . family heirloom . . . know you are never to touch!  And . . . in my office to begin with!”

The two boys stood silently behind the partially closed door to Scott’s room, ready to push the door to at the first sign of their father’s exit from the room on the other side of the hall.  Neither of them wished to be in Virgil’s shoes at that particular moment, nor did they wish to catch their father’s attention when he was in this kind of temper.

“. . . going to do with you? . . . how to deal with this . . . if your mother was here!”  Scott winced, and John sucked in a long gasp.  That was a low blow so soon after the loss. “. . . you ever learn?!  . . . even look at you right now.”

Not once did Scott or John hear a voice other than their father’s.  In fact there seemed to be very few pauses for any kind of response during the five minute tirade before all fell silent.  When the door across the hall began to open, Scott’s door was swiftly and silently closed.  They were able to hear a murmur in the hall, and John suspected it to be an instruction to “stay in there until further notice” before the door was emphatically closed.

Jeff didn’t exactly slam the door on the way out, but he made sure it was most definitely firmly shut! His blood was boiling.  The boy had been repeatedly told he should ask before pulling something apart to “see how it works.”  Certain things were off limits.  Especially when they resided in his office, which the boys were never supposed to be in unless he summoned them there.  And this particular item was priceless and irreplaceable.  When he’d seen it broken down into dozens of clockwork pieces spread out across Virgil’s bed he had felt himself shaking with uncontainable anger.

His grandfather had given him the curious Clockwork Marvel with the little figures of woodsmen and their axes, saws and hammers, and the little mountain climber at the back. Jeff had been intrigued by it every time he had visited with his grandparents as a boy.  He’d seen it in motion a few times, but not since he was Gordon’s age. Even back then the moving parts had been deemed fragile, so only Grandpa was ever allowed to wind it up and get it going.  It had been given to Jeff when his Grandpa had passed away and Grandma had explained that it had belonged to Grandpa’s father, and had been handed down to him from an uncle who’d been a clock maker.  Jeff’s boys had only ever seen it up on a high shelf behind his desk.  Jeff had never wound it up to show them the movement – in fact he wasn’t even sure he knew where the winding key was.  Virgil had never shown any great interest in the thing, so why now?  

His 12 year old son had stood silently staring at the carpet the whole time he’d been talking to him – well, lecturing him to be honest – and it had only infuriated him more. Virgil had nodded in acknowledgement once or twice, so at least he knew the boy had been listening, but he was still not sure the message had sunk in.  After all, so much of what he’d just said had been said before.  Virgil was old enough now to know better, and Jeff didn’t have the patience to deal with repeating old lessons in appropriate behaviour. Lucy would have handled this better. Hell, maybe if she were here the boy would have had something else to occupy his time.  But she wasn’t here.  He still had to keep reminding himself of that.

He needed a drink.

 That evening when the family gathered around the dinner table there was a notable absence.  It wasn’t unusual for Virgil not to come down for dinner right away.  He would often get so caught up in what he was doing that he’d just forget about meals until the growling of his stomach became too loud and insistent to ignore. Even then sometimes the need to “just finish this little bit” before stopping was enough to override the growling.  No, the unusual thing was that their father didn’t mention the absence.

“Where’s Virgil?” Gordon asked around his first mouthful of food, spitting crumbs onto the table.

“I’ll go find him,” Scott volunteered, rising from his seat.

“No,” their father said, firmly.

“No?”  Scott could barely believe what he’d heard.  His brothers stopped and stared, Gordon with his mouth hanging open, Alan only because John had stopped chopping up his chicken for him. “But -”

“You heard me,” Jeff reiterated.  “He is to stay in his room.”

The subject was closed. The boys knew from his tone, his expression, the subtle shift in his body language that there was no point in saying more on the matter.  The steel that had been in Scott’s eyes and the set of his shoulders took a moment to soften, but soften it did, and the others turned their attention back to their plates.  The mood around the table remained subdued throughout the rest of the meal.  It wasn’t silent.  In the Tracy household mealtimes were never silent affairs, but Scott and John spoke only in response to their little brothers, and Jeff said nothing.

As soon as dinner was finished Jeff disappeared, as was his habit lately, probably to his office.  The boys had all but given up looking for their dad in the evenings.  They cleared the table, Scott took Alan upstairs to get him ready for his bath while John and Gordon argued over who’s turn it was to wash and who’s to dry the dishes.  And the normal night-time routine ran its course without anyone hearing a peep out of Virgil.

Without Virgil to help with getting the youngest two bathed and into pyjamas, forcing them to brush teeth and get into bed, and reading stories those duties kept Scott and John busy. Once Alan was asleep and Gordon had reluctantly agreed to let Scott read instead of Virgil, John went up to the attic nook to unwind with the relaxing familiarity of his telescope and the stars.

By the time John came down from the attic Scott was already sequestered away in his room.  Not yet asleep – John could see the light under the door, which probably meant Scott was trying to catch up on homework before turning in.  He didn’t think much of it as he headed for the room he shared with Virgil, which also had light leaking from beneath the door.

He opens the door to find Virgil still dressed, tinkering away at something on his desk, a few bits and pieces still laid out meticulously on the bed, and completely oblivious to John entering and crossing to his own bed.  There’s no reaction to John moving about the room and getting into his pyjamas.

“Virgil?” he quietly prompts.  “You okay?”

There’s a sigh and a slump of shoulders, but he doesn’t put down what he’s working on or turn around.

“I’m fine.”

“You know it’s almost midnight, right?”  John knows that will make little difference to his night-owl brother.  There is no response, so John tries again.  “You missed dinner.  Do you want me to get you a snack or something?”

“I’m not hungry.” There’s a ratchety clicking sound and Virgil finally puts the object down and turns towards John.  “Thanks though.”

John can see there have been tears at some stage.  The smile that Virgil tries to offer him is weak, and the spark is missing from those gentle brown eyes.  John isn’t sure how to fix what’s wrong and he almost decides to go and fetch Scott, but changes his mind at the realisation that the smile is for his benefit – so he won’t worry about his wounded brother.

“We can talk about what dad said -”

“No, it’s okay.” Virgil turned back to the desk, picking up a tiny screwdriver and adjusting something.  “I screwed up.  But I can fix it.  I’m okay. I promise.”

John doesn’t have to hear the sniffle to know there are more tears.  He closes the gap between them, bare feet padding on the carpet.  He’s surprised to see the little mechanical woodsmen Virgil is tinkering with.  He never realised just how complex their dad’s clockwork ornament really was when broken down into its many parts, but then he’d never been this close to it before.  It was more than half reassembled and he instinctively understood Virgil’s focus.  He placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and gave a simple squeeze.

“Anything I can do to help?”

Virgil shook his head, as John knew he would.  This was something he needed to do by himself.

John left him to it, went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed and returned to find Virgil had turned on his desk lamp and angled it away from John’s bed.  When John flicked the main bedroom light off Virgil was cast in silhouette against the soft glow of the lamp.  John watched him for a moment before sliding himself beneath his bedcovers and whispering goodnight.  Virgil was too engrossed in his repairs to respond.

 Despite the late hour at which he’d dragged himself to bed, Jeff was up in a timely manner the following morning.  Scott was already helping Alan with his breakfast in the kitchen, and Gordon was making a mess of pouring cereal into his bowl.  He stayed in the kitchen long enough to say good morning, make himself a coffee and grab a piece of toast before retreating to his office.  

The events of the previous afternoon were still playing on his mind as he set his coffee mug down on the desk.  His eyes were drawn up to the high shelf where his clockwork woodsmen should be . . . and there it was.  The marvellous little ornament that he’d last seen in so many tiny pieces all over Virgil’s bed the day before was whole again.  It seemed to sparkle and gleam in a way that he didn’t remember it having ever done before.  Intrigued, he carefully lifted it down off the shelf and placed it on the desk. Neatly slotted into its hole in the back of the base was the winding key.  He knew that had been missing for some time.

Suddenly it twigged. Virgil must have found the key.  His mechanically curious boy had somehow figured out what the key fitted into and needed to know what it did.  One thing would have led to another from there.  Jeff knew the old machinery was not working well back when he was a boy, so if Virgil had wound it up he would have seen something was amiss.  The innate need to know how it worked – or how it should work – would have been the driving force behind taking it apart.

Now that it was back together Jeff could see in his mind’s eye how each piece had been laid out in painstakingly ordered fashion on Virgil’s bed.  He should have trusted the boy.  Since he was four or five years old he had never failed to put pack together whatever he’d pulled apart.  (There were a few mishaps with the reassembly before then, but not since.)  But this was by far the most complex, the most finely detailed piece of machinery Virgil had ever attempted.

Hardly realising he was doing so, he wound the key.  Once, twice, three times, just like Grandpa used to do.  Tiny clockwork gears and motors clicked and whirred as the miniature woodsmen swung their axes, beat their hammers and push-pulled their saws. The little, tiny mountain climber worked his tiny pick.  And tinkling metallic chimes played music.  Music! He had never even known his Grandpa’s clockwork machine was meant to play music.

Tears ran down his cheeks. Many childhood memories of gazing at this fascinating ornament in wonder came flooding back.  This was more than he’d ever seen the machine do, more than he’d imagined it could do.  And his talented little boy had done all this in less than a day, brought new life to an almost forgotten antique.

He ran up the stairs, startling Scott, who tried to ask if something was wrong.  Ignoring the inquiry he flung open the door to Virgil and John’s room with a thud of doorknob on wall that woke John, but not Virgil.  

“Dad?!” John’s voice was laced with concern, but Jeff didn’t even register that he’d spoken.  He dropped to his knees beside Virgil’s bed, ran his hand across the back of the boys shoulders as he slept on his stomach, gave the far shoulder a squeeze, and a firm, but gentle shake.

“Virgil?  Son, wake up.”  The boy stirred, mumbled incoherently and tried to roll over. Jeff took the opportunity to sit the boy up and wrap him in a tight hug.  “Virgil!”

This time something in his father’s voice registered with Virgil and he blinked his eyes open.  Seeing, and feeling his father’s tears, and being wrapped in his embrace, Virgil’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Dad?!  What’s wrong?”  His dad was crying and hugging him, something really bad must have happened.  Again.

Jeff pulled back from the hug, gripping Virgil’s shoulders and looking into his son’s eyes, immediately regretting the fear he saw there.  Something else to feel guilty about.

“Son, I’m so sorry!” His hand reached up to stroke unruly dark locks.  “I don’t know how you did it.  I don’t know why I doubted you could, but . . . I,” he faltered, his voice cracking. Virgil stared, dumbfounded.  “Thank you.  For fixing the woodsmen.”

Virgil was enveloped in another hug, and he hugged back, still a little bewildered.  It felt good to have his father’s arms wrapped around him. It had been a long time since they’d had a moment like this, and yesterday had felt so horrible.

“There are still bits that need fixing,” Virgil tried to explain.  “Some of the cogs have broken teeth, there are parts that are just loose because they’ve been worn down.  It should work better now it’s all clean, but it’s not perfect.”

“It works better than I’ve ever seen it.”  He smiled at his son, beaming with pride and pure childish joy.  “I had no idea it was supposed to play music.  I’ve never heard it do that before.”  Virgil’s eyebrows raised.  “You did an amazing job, son.  Thank you.”

[uomo-accattivante]

Congratulations to Oscar Isaac on being named one of the 25 Greatest Actors of the 21st Century by The New York Times!

A. O. SCOTT While I can take or leave the recent “Star Wars” movies, I do have a fondness for some of the characters, in particular Poe Dameron, the resistance flyboy who is the third trilogy’s designated charmer. As Poe, Oscar Isaac is an appealing, easygoing presence in those movies, a guy who seems to know what he’s doing.

His characters aren’t always as lucky, or as sure of themselves, but the man himself operates with the precision of someone who is confident enough in his skills to push himself into risky new territory. The summer before “Inside Llewyn Davis” (2013) was released, Joel and Ethan Coen told us that they had originally wanted to cast a well-known musician in the title role. Instead, they found Isaac, who told them (according to Joel) that “most actors, if you ask them if they play guitar, they’ll say they played guitar for 20 years, but what they really mean is they’ve owned a guitar for 20 years.” Isaac could actually play. When I think about what makes him so credible as an actor, that’s the first thing that comes to mind. Not because it’s such a big deal to play guitar, but because whatever Isaac is pretending to do onscreen — selling heating oil (in the underrated “A Most Violent Year,” (2014); inventing sexy robots (in “Ex Machina”); flying X-wing fighters — I always believe that he really knows how to do it, and that I’m watching some kind of authentic mastery in action.

MANOHLA DARGIS When actors make a profound first impression, they sometimes get bound up with your ideas about what they can do. After “Llewyn Davis,” I associated Isaac with soulful defeat, with an undercurrent of grudging resentment. A few other roles shored up this idea of his innate mournfulness, including his performance as a besieged mayor in the HBO series “Show Me a Hero” (2015). This partly has to do with his broody, romantic looks and how his brows frame his luxuriously lashed eyes. And then there’s his voice, its pretty sound but also how its resonance creates intimacy. Even when he puts nasal in it, his voice retains a quality of closeness, one reason it often feels, sounds, like Llewyn is singing more for himself than the audience. Isaac’s voice also softens his beauty, drawing you in. Sometimes, though, as in “Ex Machina,” he uses that intimacy for something insinuating, sinister.

Isaac has a supporting role in “Ex Machina” (2015), but he’s vital to its vibe and power. He plays Nathan, a Dr. Frankenstein-like tech billionaire involved in artificial intelligence who’s building (and destroying) beautiful female androids. A savagely critical stand-in for today’s masters of the digital universe, Nathan could easily have dominated the movie. Isaac instead keeps his own charm in check, letting the character’s creepiness poison the air. Nathan’s mercurial moods and surprising looks — his shaved head and full beard, eyeglasses and cut muscles — make it difficult to get a bead on him. But when he suddenly boogies down, executing an amazing dance, Isaac lays bare all you need to know about Nathan in the geometric precision of his choreographed moves and the madness in his eyes. It’s 30 seconds of pure genius.

Rent or buy “Ex Machina” on major streaming platforms.

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