#also in case anyone's worried or curious or whatever; no that tiny star is not fanart

[starsmuserainbow]

Hmm, okay uh, I have no idea what I’m doing here but I feel like everyone needs positivity and so here’s a post where I’ll try to give just that.

First off, happy holidays and a good end of the year to everyone who reads this, I am glad that you’re here watching my blog and perhaps even interacting with me! Thank you for everything, whether that is a simple follow or an occasional (perhaps anon) ask, or actual interactions!

Next, I want to say that everyone that I’m seeing on my dash is absolutely amazing and I admire so many of you and am happy whenever I see you around! I am most likely very happy to have you around, especially if we’re mutuals and interacting with one another. I would probably love to talk with each of you more, but I’m just really bad at smalltalk or anything like that so with most people, I simply default to only messaging them (= you) when there’s something as a reason to do so. Sorry for that!

This goes out to everyone reading this: You’re awesome, I’m honored to have you here and interested in my blog, and I hope that your days or weeks or months will be great because you surely deserve it!

And then, I’ll now follow with a kind-of list mentioning a few people that I want to say more to. Which might sound repetitive because I suck at words in these regards, but yeah. Under a cut for length.

If you see this post and weren’t tagged, please don’t be sad or think I don’t value you being around! I can’t tag everyone, and I don’t have the best mind for things like coming up with someone that I forgot in the moments of writing this.

To not start off with the same names all the time, I wrote down the URLs I wanted to include and randomized the order. So don’t think anything by if you’re first or 5th or last on this list! And once more, I’m bad at words, so I’m sorry if this isn’t sounding too great or like it’s similar for each one.

I told myself to not include anyone that isn’t active-ish at the moment, but I made some exceptions to that because I felt that said person needed to be on my list.

@rogueprinceconsort ~ (I read the post you did recently more or less saying you’re leaving, but I wrote this before that post and it would have felt wrong to erase it from here only because of you leaving!) I enjoy our interactions a lot! They feel like they actually develop a story, which I can’t say for ALL my interactions but definitely for each one that we have going! Which is really cool! You’re one of the only few people where I have the chance to play around with different verses too (well, or at least one different verse, since our other two ongoing interactions are in the mainverses of my muses, but still), and you’re one of the few giving one of my OC-sideblogs a chance as well, and, just, I really am so thankful for it and happy to have you as a mutual!

@untouchable-lightning ~ You aren’t here at the moment, so let me just start this by saying that I hope that things will get better for you again soon! It’s a lot of fun to interact with you and I think you’re a good writer and I’m very happy for our interactions! They are always fun! I did not often yet get the chance to do this other RP-style that I do (the ‘choose-your-option’ one) and you are one of those that allowed me to play through it, and you also interact/ed with my sideblogs too, so a big thank you for that! Our threads also often last nicely long, which is absolutely amazing since it’s a big rarity these days, too. You’re great, and I’m happy that we’re mutuals and interaction-partners!

@miasmarp ~ We’re more or less only starting out interacting and talking and anything basically, but I felt like I just absolutely had to include you because I HAVE A CHANCE TO PLAY ONE OF MY OTHER (non-blog-having, not even an info page or anything outside of one or two ooc posts about them) OCS with you and that’s just like the first time at all (not counting if I do include them as minor appearances in other things, though even there it has only happened one single time so far iirc), and that is just so much fun and just thank you! You’re really cool and I’m happy that we’re mutuals!

@karaoftomorrow (or @yourfavoritesidekick if you’d prefer I tag your main) ~ It’s so wonderful to write with you! It feels like we’re developing stuff in our things really well, and I really like to read what appears from you on my dash! Talking with you is very nice too, and I’m always really happy whenever I see you in my notifications or IMs or wherever! I’m very glad to have you as mutual and am really happy about any and all of our interactions!

@skymade / @siriseen or maybe I should tag one of your other blogs instead but those are the first two I usually think of and I don’t wanna tag more than two blogs for one person xD ~ Sooooooooo awesome! You have so many characters, which all are wonderful as far as I can tell, and I love our interactions so much! I’m always really looking forward to the next reply I get from one of our things, and talking to you is always a delight and I’m so so happy that we somehow found each other! Or well, I guess you found me because if I remember right you followed me first, but yes! Thank you for writing with pretty much all of my characters, you’re very cool, I absolutely love the connections our muses get (especially those where they know one another at a younger time and then ‘now’ meet again too - how cool is that?) and it’s always a joy to see you on my dash!

@azarathian ~ We haven’t really done or spoken that much together yet (or at least I assume we didn’t? There was your old blog but I don’t think we really spoke there, much less did threads or the likes? Sorry if I’m wrong though xD), but I’m so very glad we started! I admire your writing and the thoughts you put into Raven and I think you’re great! Our threads are incredibly entertaining and it’s so awesome to put more story into the situations of or between the episodes of the cartoon, and yes, I’m just very very thankful that we got together somehow and I’m excited for how our threads - and potential future ones - will develop!

@nvertoolate or if I should tag your currently more active sideblog @bloomingtalent ~ It is so absolutely amazing that one of my first mutuals, friends, or however I should call it, still is active on here as well! With most people on here, it’s sadly the case that they’re gone again sooner than later, so it’s especially great that we are still both here! I think I’ve said multiple times before that I don’t think I would even have stayed on tumblr if you hadn’t been around and interacting with me so I won’t go into detail about that yet again, but, yes, I absolutely love our interactions when we do them, and while I don’t know much about Naruto so we don’t really interact that much on your sideblog, I’m still so very happy to have you around and as my mutual! I’m so thankful for you and that we got to interact - and still do! Thank you!

@sewn-cutie ~ Our interactions are always so wonderfully adorable and cute! I love the connection between Starfire and Clementine, and it’s a lot of fun to write any of our things! I’m very happy when I hear from you in an OOC-y way too, like when you reply to one of my posts or in the IMs or whereever! I’m absolutely convinced that you are a great person, and I am delighted that we are mutuals and can interact so nicely!

@legaxies ~ I wasn’t sure if maybe I shouldn’t include you since from how much I can tell it seems you are at the moment more focused onto that theme-sideblog you have and I told myself to not include those that aren’t really active at the moment - but I felt like I had to! I wanted to say that I’m really happy for the things we started, and that I have a lot of fun talking to you when we do! I’m very much enjoying the potential relationships we have started on, and I look forward to hopefully continuing them in some way eventually! (This of course is not meant as pushing you to work on replies or whatever, please don’t understand me wrong here; I just mean this in a way of, if we do get to continue it - if not that’s totally fine too!) You’re doing great with any of your characters (as much as I can judge with not that much knowledge), and I’m happy that we’re mutuals! It’s a joy to interact with you, so, thank you!

@featherchan ~ You’re interacting with me, or did in the past, on pretty much all my muses (I think not on Starlight? But outside of that on all I think), and that means a lot to me! We have some really cool plots going, and you joined in on that event-au-thing I did all that time back too, so that’s very great, and I wanted to say thanks! Our interactions are always fun and I’m happy to write with and talk to you!

@thedoctornumber11 ~ Throughout my time being here, you’re pretty much the only one of the world of Doctor Who that I got interactions going with (I think there was someone on Wildfire once too, but not for very long iirc), and I really enjoy that! I wanted to include you here too because I wanted to say that I’m very very grateful for the nice words or explanations you sometimes throw onto my posts, and for the things you send in to me, and yes just for all of it! Thank you!

@flashgotthis ~ I love our things so much! All the interactions that we did so far were really really really cool, still are, and they often last really long too, and it’s just absolutely wonderful! You’re also one of those that aren’t only talented writers, but also really great artists, and I admire that skill so much! I’m delighted that we are mutuals and interaction-partners, and I look forward to what’s still to come! You’re amazing!

@graceful-cure-swan / @rosecoloredmuses (mostly tagging your sideblog as well to give it, like, some sort of indirect promoing here) ~ You are great! I feel so bad for all the many things you sent me whereas I barely ever send you (or anyone else, for that matter) anything at all, but, I’m also really grateful that you do it, so - thank you! I’m enjoying our interactions very much, I think that both Tsubasa and your other characters are done really well (even if I don’t know that much about each of them or can compare them to their canon versions much), and you’re a lot of fun to interact with! You also give my sideblogs and OCs a chance too, which means very much to me too, so yeah, I’m very grateful to have you as my mutual!

@eterniita ~ We’ve been interacting throughout a few of your blogs already, and I enjoy our interactions! I think you put a lot of love and thought into your characters, and they are great, and our threads are a lot of fun! I haven’t yet checked out your remade blog of your canons again, but I intend to and most likely follow you there again, too! I hope we will still get to more wonderful interactions!

@merveiilles​ ~ I’m so happy that we’re interacting! I love our threads a lot and I’m enjoying every reply that I get or write! You have a lot of characters and it’s really impressive that you do them (as far as I can tell/know them) so well! Your art, that you occasionally post, is also really really amazing and it’s very wonderful that you are so talented! I am very thankful for the nice words that you put onto my posts every now and then, and I am delighted by the threads and connections we are having between our muses!

@symbioteburnout​ ~ I don’t feel like I can say very much here (yet), but I wanted to include you too! I enjoy the things that we got going so far, and going from what I see from you about her I think Andi is a interesting character! It’s always wonderful to me, when people put the effort into characters who might not get as much time to shine in canon as others. Thanks for replying to my opens every now and then, and just in general for being my mutual and interacting with me!

@titansandothersrp​ / @robynrpmain (Now I’m getting frustrated at tumblr again for not letting me tag your main) ~ You are really cool! You’re a great artist, I love to see your work, and our threads are very entertaining! I feel like you’re doing very well in giving the characters you play as more story, more... I don’t know the right word here. Just, that you make them ‘more’, and that’s a really awesome thing. And yeah, like said, you also do art which I think looks really good, and I just absolutely admire people who can do art so well. Thanks for being mutuals and interacting with me!

---

So, and as a nice little bit of words at the end, I guess~ I’m very honored by anyone of you who’s actually interested in me and my writing, I’m thankful and glad to have you around, and I’m looking forward to more amazing things to come in the future with all of you!

#✫ Out of Clurblopf ✫ | OOC #if I'd have had more time to spend on this I'd have searched for some comic-ish background of a christmas-room #(or taken a screenshot from inside the tower and made my own with pics of tree and gifts and whatever) #to have there behind star; but yeah I didn't #I'm very much not content with some of the things I said here - aka I feel like I should have said more - but I'm #not good with words and so this is probably already more than I can usuall say/write to it so uh; yeah #also in case anyone's worried or curious or whatever; no that tiny star is not fanart #it's a sprite from the game 'calling all titans'; so it's from an official thing #I scheduled this to be posted at a time when I'm surely not here; that way I don't need to feel quite as nervous or whatever about it #I still do just as I actually click on scheduling; but; at least not quite as much as when it's out #so yeah; happy whatever you wish to celebrate; and let's all make the next year a wonderful one! #I might reblog this post a few times throughout the next days? maybe on my sideblogs too? I'm not really sure yet #thank you all and I'm grateful to have you interested in my blog and my things and all that

[dorotharry]

tiny dancer ; chapter three

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 4 (coming soon)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pain, angst, nightmares, metal limbs?

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: Well, hello again, honestly after yesterday I really wanted to write again soon so I could start giving more away. Eep so exciting, thank you again for all your support too!! Please feel free to like, repost and comment any feedback, it’s much appreciated :)) Also lets just ignore that infinity war is a thing for the moment lolz. 

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

Natasha. It rang in your ears, there was some familiarity to that name. You kept your face blank, but for some reason it felt like you’d known her in a past life, or perhaps a life you didn’t remember. Though her face gave no indication that she knew either. But a younger version of her face flashed in your mind, only she wasn’t blonde she had bright red hair. You shook yourself from your thoughts, Natasha was a common name, surely you couldn’t know her. Surely.

“Come in,” you responded moving to the side as the women eyed you as she entered. She had to be around a similar age to you. At least in looks, you were at least a century year old in reality. “Did you want something to drink?” You said as you shut the door and gestured to the couch nearby.

The blonde shook her head, taking a seat her gaze still wary. “You’re probably curious to know why I’m here and who I am?”

You nodded as you took a seat on the second couch, it wasn’t often you had visitors.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Avengers,” She started.

That’s where you knew her from! She’d swapped her red hair for blonde and suddenly you felt less confused.  

“I’m a part of it, and our director Fury has been sending me on mission after mission looking for you. It’s only now we got a tip that you were living in Madripoor.”

You almost wanted to interrupt and ask who had tipped them off, but you thought better of it. You rose an eyebrow at her comment, giving her an expression that told her to continue.

“Anyway, I’m here because we wanted to bring you back to the compound. You’ve been hidden away from us for a long time. In fact, the only reason we know you exist is because of the HYDRA files I shared in 2014. We hoped you could give us some intel; we think something big is going to happen again, but we aren’t sure if it’s HYDRA or something else.” She looked at you again, a serious expression on her face.

Yours matched hers. “You should know I don’t do that anymore, I don’t work as an assassin,” you began suddenly feeling more vulnerable as the terrible things you had done came back up in your memories.

Natasha cut you off sensing your distress. “We aren’t asking you to, we just need your knowledge. Whilst I know Fury wants you to join us in the long run and start fighting again, we also respect your decision not to if that’s what you want.”

You looked at her sceptically, had she not heard what you had just said? Plus, now your cover in Madripoor was blown, if the Avengers knew where you were then surely it wouldn’t be long until every other government in the world would too. You were sure there were many people who wanted you dead.

As if she had heard your thoughts Natasha spoke up again, “don’t worry, if you turn down helping us, no one but Fury and I know you’re here. Not even Steve.”

You silently gasped, you had forgotten about Steve in these brief moments, he was captain America back then, in fact he was still Captain America. Even if you would be throwing yourself back into the line of fire, maybe it would be worth it to see your old friend again. Would he want to see you though? After everything awful thing, you had done. Your eyes began to well again, but you didn’t want Natasha to see you vulnerable.

“Fine.” You spoke sternly looking at the woman in front of you, “I will help, but only if you promise that you avengers will protect me. There’s a lot of people who want me in chains.”

You could see the hint of a smile on her face as she listened, “Don’t worry y/n, we have ways around that,” she smirked. “I don’t exactly have the cleanest record either.”

You nodded, standing up. You knew now if you were leaving that you could never return to Madripoor. If you chose not to fight with the Avengers after helping them, then at least you were sure they could protect you and finally you could maybe be back home. “Where to then?”

Natasha told you to get anything valuable, some clothes and anything else you felt you needed. Luckily for her, you always kept a duffle bag with everything you needed if you had to leave under you bed, along with the shot gun that had been in your hand this entire time till.

You walked to your room, grabbed the duffle bad and your other favourite weapons in another bag and returned in under a minute. Natasha let out a chuckle, she should have known an assassin was always prepared to flee. Something they all knew, never get too comfortable.

Natasha led you out of your apartment, you close the door behind you both and follow her. It felt strange to be taking from directions from anyone else. Besides HYDRA you had always been the person in charge, choosing what you did without direction. But unless you miraculously knew how you’d be getting back to the Avengers compound this seemed like a time you would have to not be stubborn.

She led you to a jet, gesturing you to get on before she did herself. She walked to the front closing the door and sitting in the pilot’s seat. “Feel free to have a sleep.” She said casual pointing to the bed next to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled going and lying down. After having no sleep, you wouldn’t complain, and it would save you having to make small talk with Natasha. Plus, usually you didn’t have nightmares in you ever occasionally napped.

Natasha answered a call and began telling someone (who you assumed was Fury) that you were coming back with her, just as your eyes were filled with the darkness of sleep.

1943

You woke up once again your entire body in pain. Although this time it was different, and though you remembered where you were much of your memories were feeling fuzzy. Like someone had attempted to begin removing them.

That couldn’t be possible though, could it?

There was an ache on your face, remembering your last memory before you had been engulfed in darkness again. You were sure there would be marks from whatever machine had done that to you, wincing at the thought of the pain again.

But besides there being the same pains you had felt before, there was something different. You were still restricted by your arms and legs in the same position but now you had a heart monitor attached, the faint beeping being the only noise you could hear in the silent and dark room. This wasn’t a room though, it was a lab you knew that now, and you were a lab rat to the red skull and his scientists. Why would they care if my heart is still beating? You pondered.

Once again you pushed against your restraints in an attempt to get out, the leather digging into your skin causing you to wince due to how in pain your body already was.  But again as you’d thought earlier, there was something different, yes your arms were wincing at the pain from the leather but your legs felt nothing. You moved your toes and felt no sensations. It was as if they were numb. What had HYDRA done?

As if on cue the laboratory door opened, the same scientist from before entering and two soldiers following behind him. The door slammed closed as the soldiers stayed there on each side of the door. Just in case you got out of your restraints again.

The scientist shuffled forward. “How are you feeling y/n? I realised I forgot the other day to introduce myself, I’m Arnim Zola but you can call me Doctor Zola.”

You sneered as his friendly attitude, causing him to frown. “I can’t feel my legs.” You responded in a harsh tone, “Why?”

“Well y/n, I told you that you would become a soldier for the red skull did I not? Now I understand you’re a ballerina but there’s something wrong with this. You see you always want to be perfect, and what makes you not is among many things your feet.” He looked down proudly at your legs.

The words rang in your ear. Your harsh glare to seem mean had softened as your eyes began to water. “Wh-- what have you done?” You began blubbering, your chest fell up and down panic striking your lungs.

“I’ve made you perfect.” He responded without remorse. Instantly he signalled for the men that had been stood by the door this entire time to come over. They did so, grabbing parts of your body so you were even more restricted that you already were as Doctor Zola walked to the foot of the table you were on. Slowly he undid one of the leather straps restricting your leg. You couldn’t even feel him doing it, your senses not working.

He lifted your right leg so that you could gaze down and what you saw only made your panic attack rise. You shrieked at the sight before you. Your eyes welling more and more with tears. You could hear the heart monitor beginning to pick up in noise, as you heart raced.

From halfway down your calf was what looked like a metal leg and foot. It looked exactly like what legs should be, but it wasn’t. It was silver and cold. Down the side of your calf nearing your ankle was a red star.

Tears rolled down your face as he placed your leg back down strapping it back up, then signalling the men holding you down to move away again.

You would have preferred to die then lose your feet. Your mind wandered as your chest rose and fell so quickly that the world around you began to spin. Would you ever be able to dance again?

Doctor Zola was now next to you again, his face held no remorse, in fact all you could see was pride. Even though the world was spinning, and you couldn’t focus on him you knew he didn’t care. “Don’t worry y/n, after today you won’t care about this. You won’t even remember who you are, only who we tell you are. From now on you aren’t y/n anymore. I’ll see you again when you’re ready to comply.”

The same machine from earlier then began to make noises lowering down to your head. Doctor Zola began rambling Russian words you couldn’t understand, the immense pain began again, and you screeched out in pain.

Present day; 2017

Gasping for air you shot up on the bed on the jet. Natasha looked back at you and instantly you dropped your fearful expression into one that was unreadable. No one would know your nightmares, no one could know you had weaknesses.

Luckily her gaze didn’t last long as she spoke up, “We’re here.” She was just glad she wouldn’t have to wake you up. She stood up, you following her lead out of the jet and towards a large white building with a big ‘A’ on the side.

“Jeez subtle.” You scoffed muttering under your breath.

She rolled her eyes at your comment but proceeded to walk into the building. “I’m sure you’ve heard about most of us. So, I feel there’s no need to explain to you, our names.”

She was right there, of course you knew their names, the whole world did. You hummed in response. She led you both to two big double doors pushing them open as you trailed behind. You may have been as assassin but that didn’t mean you were particularly keen on meeting new people, especially all at once. It took a while for people to come to your liking.

She stopped and you stood almost completely behind her looking down at your hands. You never looked at your feet anymore. The noise of all the voices talking amongst each other suddenly stopped and you could feel all of their eyes on you both.

“Everyone this is y/n, she’s going to help us with our current task we’ve been working on.” She spoke sternly but giving them all a small smile.

You raised your head reminding yourself to not be vulnerable and narrowed your eyes as you scanned them all. Of course, most of already knew who you were having read your files when she released them; each giving you sympathetic looks mixed with fear. But not Steve he never had the heart to look at yours and Bucky’s files. If he ever saw you both again, he knew in time you’d tell him.

Finally, you were met with a familiar set on blue eyes, not the ones you had fallen in love with but still ones who once meant so much to you. Now you weren’t so sure.

Steve looked like he was going to die of shock, as he stared at you with such intensity.

He took a step towards you, “y/n?”, his eyes searching for you to show some sort of emotion. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. You took another step back, away from him, the hurt instantly flashing across his face, but as soon as it was there it was gone.

“Hi Steve.”

- 

A/N: ooo we love the tension. how does reader know Natasha?? is it just cause she's an avenger or is it something else? I’ll guess you'll have to see *evil face*

P.S. we’ll see Bucky again soon I promiseeeee

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@maybe-a-marvel​ @thatredlipped-classic​ @flightsandfantasy​ @7minutes-tomidnight​ @rebelemilu​ @cataves​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #buck #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barns x reader #marvel #marvel fans #mcu #mcu cast #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #steve x reader #steve rogers #black widow #natasha romanoff #Bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian x y/n #bucky barnes x you #Bucky fic #female reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

[cutieodonoghue]

the edge of hope (2/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1

Second chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Marshal

Peli Motto was a small woman, whose brown curls were wild and free atop her head. Her hands were on her hips the instant the ramp to the Razor Crest extended downwards.

Her worker droids seemed eager to get to work on the ship, chirping and chattering as the steam from the engines exhausted, three of them with tools in hand at Peli’s side. She shooed them away, but he shrugged, saying, “May as well let them have at it.”

In a sling he’d constructed of fabric, he held the Child at his side, and behind him, both Omera and Winta followed onto the flat white sand of the hangar bay. 

The trip had been seamless, and he’d actually found that he enjoyed getting to spend the idle time listening to Winta tell stories about life on Sorgan. Omera had been quiet, but her smile was kind when he mentioned that the Child had begun trying to form words. Nothing substantial yet, but Din was sure he’d get there eventually.

“I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos…” Peli paused, surprise in her features at the sight of the Child slung off to his side. He adjusted it so that the Child could see her more clearly, slowing to a stop before the woman. “Oh, thank the Force! This little thing has had me worried sick.”

Peli reached in, grabbing the Child without permission. He squeaked, little noises that Din had learned indicated that he was curious.

“Looks like it remembers me. How much do you want for it?” She paused, eyes finding Omera standing at his side. She softened slightly. “Guess your crew’s grown since the last time you were here, too.”

Din glanced over at Omera and Winta. In a way, it felt like he was introducing them to an old friend, even if he and Peli weren't quite friends- or were they? 

Maybe they could find themselves on Nevarro and meet up with Karga and Dune at some point. Omera would probably like to see Cara again.

He nodded at Peli. “We’re here on business. Need your help.”

"Hold on. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your new crew members?"

Omera stepped forward, smiling kindly. "I'm Omera. This is my daughter, Winta."

Peli grinned. "Peli. It's good to meet you. Anyone who travels with Mando here is a friend in my book." Lifting an eyebrow at him, she snarked, "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Din turned his attention onto the Child still held snug in Peli's arms.

“I’ve been quested to bring this one back to its kind. Can you help?”

“Oh, wow.” She scoffed and gave her head a minute shake. “I’ve never seen any like it. And trust me, I’ve seen all shapes and sizes in this town.”

 “If I can locate another of my kind, I can chart a path through the network of coverts.”

Peli looked him up and down. “You’ve been the only Mando here for years from what I can tell.”

“Where is Mos Pelgo?” Omera spoke up. “We’ve heard that there is one there.”

“Oh. Boy, I haven’t heard that name in a while.” Peli frowned. “It was wiped out by bandits. Once the Empire fell, it was a free-for-all. I didn’t dare leave the city walls. Still don’t.”

“Can you tell us where it used to be?” Din asked.

“R-five!” Peli called out. “Bring the map of Tatooine!”

The droid did as was requested, with only a mild admonishing by Peli. With the holo map displayed, the hangar manager gestured to the markings.

“This is a map of Tatooine before the war. You got Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, and up around this region, Mos Pelgo.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Well, it’s there. Or, at least, it used to be. Not much to speak of. It’s an old mining settlement.” She turned, looking at the Crest. “They’re going to see that big hunk o’ metal long before you land.”

“You still have that old speeder bike?”

Peli looked at the group of them, already chastising him for the idea before she could do it with her words. “You can’t all fit on one speeder bike. How about we find you one more? The ladies can share.”

Din turned to Omera. “Do you think you could ride a speeder with Winta?”

With a little breathless smile, she shrugged. “I used to race speeders. Why not?”

Suddenly, he was desperate to learn so much more about Omera, but there was no time.

“Where’d you find this one?” Peli teased with a wink. “I know a guy. Let’s get you on your way.”

-

Omera’s speeder bike had a sidecar where Winta sat, strapped in tight. They rode behind Din, whose attention was dead-set on getting them well on their way to Mos Pelgo before the suns set.

As they traveled the sandy dunes of Tatooine, Omera smiled to herself beneath the scarf she used to cover her mouth and nose. It had been a long time since she’d last ridden a speeder, but it felt natural to be back at it again. Winta seemed to enjoy it too, giggling loud enough to be heard over the whirring of the engine. 

Swiftly, it seemed, dusk came upon Tatooine. Din slowed when they spotted a group of camped out Tusken Raiders, all gathered around a fire with something cooking on top of a spit.

“I think we should stop. Ask for directions.” Din spoke just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the bikes. “They know this land.”

Omera nodded in agreement. “Do you speak their language?”

“I speak a lot of languages.”

It was all he said, as if it was the most casual thing in the whole of the galaxies to be well-versed in a lot of languages. She resolved she’d have to ask him more about it later.

Din led them into the camp with one hand held up in an act of peace. The Raiders had banthas grazing, something that drew Winta’s attention. Having slowed her speeder to a stop behind Din, Omera withdrew her scarf and smiled softly at her daughter.

“They’re called banthas.”

Winta’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Do you ride them?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Omera confirmed, keeping her voice quiet.

Din spoke to the Tuskens, gesturing with his hands as he went. It seemed the Tuskens found whatever he had to say amenable, returning to the campfire with a gentle gesture of kindness made with one of their staffs.

The Mandalorian turned to them. “They would like us to join them.” 

He stepped toward their speeder and helped Winta out of the sidecar. Omera watched with so much intensity that it prevented her from climbing off of the bike herself. It was endearing to see that he cared.

As soon as Winta had set her feet on solid ground again after a day of riding through the desert, he turned to her. “You alright?” 

Omera smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

Swiftly, she climbed off of the bike and moved to reach into one of the pouches on the side, where she’d stored some food for them to share on their journey to Mos Pelgo. After handing Winta a ration of food, she took her by the hand to walk with her toward the strangers.

She and Winta kept quiet, sitting opposite of Din at the fire that was mostly surrounded by Raiders. Din spoke with them. His knowledge of their language was entirely fascinating to her.

The discussion wasn’t very long, and once it was over, the Raiders took their food that had been cooking and retreated to their banthas just beyond a hunk of rock in the earth so that they could rest.

The fire still crackled between them, giving the armor Din wore a warm orange tint. Beside him, the Child sat, still keeping his unyielding focus on his father.

“They say it isn’t far from here,” Din told them. “Just a few more hours. We can make it by midmorning tomorrow.”

“Did they say if there were people still living there?”

He nodded. “They say it’s a small community.”

Omera looked at Winta. Her daughter kept her gaze on the sky, scanning the stars above them. It must have been a lot for her to take in. A new planet, with new creatures and beings. New languages that didn’t make sense to her mind.

She put her hand on Winta’s back and soothed her by rubbing a gentle circle with her palm. 

“How are you feeling, my love?”

“Tired,” Winta admitted. She scrunched up her nose as her focus returned to her. “We were riding the speeder bike for so long.”

“I know.” Omera smiled sympathetically. She bit down on her lip, thoughtful, and then looked at the rock just opposite them beyond the fire. “Come with me. We can lean back against the rock and try to rest.”

Together, they stood and joined Din on his side of the fire. Winta sat against the rock first, and Omera followed. When she did so, she was surprised to see that the Child stared back at her, his head tilted with curiosity.

“Are you tired too?” she wondered.

The Child made a noise, a little blep. Din scooped him up and stood from his little stool made of a chunk of rock. He moved to join Omera, settling down close enough to her that she felt his shoulder touching hers.

The Mandalorian adjusted his son in his arms, cradling him, and then looked at her. “I’ll keep watch. Just in case.”

“You should rest too,” Omera said. She didn’t want him to carry the burden of being the sole protector of their group. She wanted him to know that he had an equal in her. “I can keep watch for a little while.”

The Mandalorian shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” 

She sighed a little, but nodded regardless. Omera brought her arm around Winta, the girl already eager to lean into her side so she could sleep cushioned by her. 

Gently, Omera allowed her head to fall onto Din’s shoulder, and she felt him go still, as if surprised, but he didn’t say or do anything. 

Then, she heard him sigh softly, and his voice was quiet, “Sleep well.”

-

Almost as soon as the twin suns of Tatooine rose, they were on their way to Mos Pelgo. Feeling not so refreshed from what amounted to a nap or two sitting upright against a rock, Omera felt confident that they would find what they were looking for.

Their arrival caused somewhat of a stir in the people of the tiny town, especially as they slowly rode their speeders through it in search of another of Din’s kind.

“Do you think they’re here?” Winta asked nervously.

Din remained quiet as he surveyed their surroundings from just ahead of them.

Tucked into a pouch that hung from the side of the speeder, the Child peered around at the faces of the onlookers. His little ears twitched at all of the sounds of the new town. Omera could tell that he was incredibly happy to be on an adventure with his father. He’d worn a smile on his face since they landed on Tatooine.

Din slowed to a stop before the town bar and climbed off of his speeder without any further thought or discussion, moving toward the building with intent.

Winta, her carefree girl, very nearly followed after him, but Omera slowed her with an extended hand. Together, they made for quite the crowd. Part of her wondered if it would be sustainable in their search for a Jedi.

“We’ll wait outside, Winta.”

Winta huffed a dramatic sigh, throwing her head back as she folded her arms to her chest. “But Mama, we’re here to help.”

“I don’t think we’ll be very helpful if we get in the Mandalorian’s way.” 

Omera climbed off of the speeder, watching with curiosity when she spotted the Child climbing out of his little pouch to go join Din in the bar. She made no move to stop him. Din was his father, and she was only a friendly face to him.  

As Omera helped Winta out of the sidecar, Winta’s brow furrowed. “I’ve heard you say his name. Din. Can I say it too?”

Omera glanced into the open door to the bar. She saw three figures within, but the light from the suns was too bright for her to know if Din had found who he was searching for.

Looking to her daughter once again, Omera shook her head. “We can ask him. But not yet. He has a lot on his mind right now.”

Taking Winta by the hand, they moved to stand by the door of the bar, off of the sandy road that cut straight through Mos Pelgo. The small town was surprisingly populated for having no markings on any map. In some ways, it reminded her of the village they lived in on Sorgan: a tight-knit group of people from all walks of life, all gathered to form one community.

Just opposite them on the other side of the road, Omera spotted a woman with a baby, swaddled against her chest. The child’s head was all she could see, but she couldn’t help but take compassion on their mother, who struggled to lift a container filled with water up onto the porch of the dwelling.

Their eyes met from across the sandy divide and Omera smiled, her fingers having fallen to the small swell of her belly as a reflex. It seemed the woman found kinship with her, offering a kind smile in return.

There was a great rumbling of the earth that forced Omera into protective mode. She grabbed for Winta as the ground shook and listened as fearful townspeople scurried away from the main road and into their homes as fast as they could.

Suddenly, an alarm blared, but it did not give nearly enough forewarning of what was to come.

Din and another of his kind, donning an aged and worn sort of armor, but who wore no helmet, stepped out of the bar.

She’d learned from Din that Mandalorians wore their full armor in the presence of others. It seemed there was still something for them to learn about Din’s kind, if this man was indeed a Mandalorian.

The sand began to move, as if swallowed by the ground, starting at the far end of town. Swiftly, a creature hidden by sand burrowed straight through, dark and powerful. 

From what Omera could tell, it was a sand dragon, scales the color of the sand. She was sure it had plenty of sharp teeth that would destroy anything that stood in its path, including an innocent bantha just beyond the town’s outer rim.

The dragon made a noise, a moan, and then it was back beneath the surface, burrowing away from Mos Pelgo as if it got what it came for.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun, but the ground still vibrated in the creature’s stead.

Without the alarms blaring, the townspeople began to make right their main road. They worked in teams to reset fallen equipment, to survey the damage as if this were something that happened often. Omera’s heart sank for them.

“Are you alright?” Din’s voice returned her focus to him.

She nodded, realizing that she still held onto Winta as if something was about to happen. She gently released her daughter, glancing past Din to the man in green and red Mandalorian armor.

“We’re fine.”

“Now, hold on,” the man said, a polite smile curling at his lips. “Just who might you be?”

“I’m Omera. This is my daughter, Winta. We’re traveling with the Mandalorian.”

The man looked at Din thoughtfully for a beat. Then, nodded at Omera. “Cobb Vanth. I’m the Marshal of Mos Pelgo.”

“It’s good to meet you, Marshal.”

She had the feeling that Cobb Vanth wasn’t truly a Mandalorian. He seemed carefree in the armor, as if not sworn to any sort of creed. The way Din stared after the Marshal made it clear even without seeing his facial expression: he didn’t trust him.

“That creature’s been terrorizing these parts since long before Mos Pelgo was established.” Cobb said, gesturing to the town street. “Thanks to this armor, I’ve been able to protect this town from bandits and Sand People. They look to me to protect ’em.” He eyed Din. “But a krayt dragon is too much for me to take on alone. Help me kill it, I’ll give you the armor.”

Pausing thoughtfully for a moment, Din seemed to consider how he would do such a thing. 

“Deal. I’ll ride back to the ship, blow it out of the sand from the sky, use the bantha as bait.”

Cobb Vanth shook his head. “Not so simple. The ship passes above, it senses the vibrations, stays underground.” He paused, seeming to know he had Din where he wanted him. “But I know where it lives.”

“How far?”

“A few hours at most.”

-

They rode speeder bikes following Cobb Vanth’s lead straight into Tusken Raider territory. The Tuskens, they soon discovered, had been trying to rid the valley of the krayt dragon, but hadn’t been successful.

As they all sat around a fire in their small village on a tall ridge, Omera listened to the Tusken leader explain to Din that the dragon had taken a home that they would visit come the morning. 

Winta lay curled at Omera’s side, sleeping to the sounds of discussion and a warm fire. On her other side, the Child sat, his ears perked at the chatter. He seemed deeply interested in what was going on, but especially in the sound of Din’s voice.

Cobb Vanth clearly had some qualms about the Sand People, his fears coming out in frustration that ended with Din rising to his feet and blasting a brief stream of fire from his flamethrower between the two parties.

Silence fell over the group for a moment before Din spoke in Tusken again.

“What are you telling them?” Vanth asked, still catching his breath from his anger.

“Same thing I’m telling you,” Din said coolly. “If we fight amongst ourselves, the monster will kill us all.” 

When there wasn’t any conversation left to be had, the Tusken leader made a gesture to Din and their people retreated to their homes a few hearty paces away from the fire.

“We’ll rest here for the night,” Din explained to her and the marshal. 

Pride wasn’t quite the only thing she felt, having watched Din spend the past several hours bridging the gap so that two groups of peoples could not only communicate, but form a bond in the shape of coming together to fight for a similar cause.

Cobb Vanth rose from his perch by the fire and nodded. “You were… very helpful today, Mando. Apologies that things got so heated.”

Din nodded his head once at Vanth, but said nothing in response. Omera stared into the flames of the fire as the marshal’s footsteps faded into the near distance. Perhaps he needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Come here, kid,” Din’s voice brought her attention away from Cobb. He stood from his previous spot across the fire, moving to be closer to her and Winta. With hands outstretched, he took his boy into his arms. “Time to sleep.”

The Child made a little noise in protest and Din shook his head, sighing heavily. He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small metal ball, holding it between his fingers for just a second before giving it to his son.

The responding coo was enough to make Omera smile. 

The Mandalorian settled himself and his son on the ground beside her, taking care to ensure that the boy was more comfortable than he was. 

There was no doubt in her mind that he was a good father, and he would continue to be, even if she chose not to share the secret she carried within her.

So easily, her mind retreated back to the fact that she still hadn’t told Din. She knew she shouldn’t tell him right then, not with his head in the midst of such a deep, complicated problem. However, soon, she’d have no choice, and that was something that terrified her.

It was dangerous to love a man whose life was one mission, one fight, one danger after the next. She’d learned this once before, with Winta’s father, and had been determined that she wouldn’t allow it to happen again. 

Yet, her heart yearned for him anyway. 

“Is all of this really for a suit of armor?” Omera asked quietly.

Din turned his head toward her. “It’s Mandalorian armor. It doesn’t belong with him.”

Omera smiled thoughtfully. She shifted just slightly, enough that their arms brushed. “I think you can’t help but solve every problem that comes your way. You can’t help but help people.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s kind.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “You are a good man, Din.” She paused, smiling a little when she took notice of the Child sleeping in his arm. “And a good father.”

The Mandalorian was silent for a moment. His voice cracked when he spoke again, soft, just for her, “I’m trying.”

-

Just shortly before morning arrived on the sandy planet of Tatooine, Omera woke up. She checked on her companions and quickly discovered that the children both remained soundly asleep. 

The Child rested beneath Winta’s arm like he belonged there, making the tiniest noises that made her smile. The visual was a warm reminder of a time to come, when Winta would get to cradle her new sibling as they slept.

Din was nowhere to be found, but Cobb was still asleep as well, hands tucked together against his chest while he laid flat on the ground. 

Omera stood so that she could stretch. It wasn’t easy to sleep on the ground and her body made sure she knew that. With a small grimace, she felt the tell-tale signs of a friendly bout of sickness tickle at the back of her throat.

The Sand People had shown them where they could relieve themselves in private, so she made her way to the space between two rocks and unceremoniously got sick.

By the time she was finished and had pulled herself back together, the suns had finally poked their way past the horizon. As she emerged from the space between the rocks, she saw the Mandalorian. He stood talking with one of the Tuskens, though his attention very quickly shifted onto her.

Averting her gaze with the smallest twinge of embarrassment, Omera walked back to the campsite. Winta had risen for the day and sat up with her arms wrapped around her knees. She stared blankly ahead of her, very clearly just as exhausted as Omera felt.

“Morning, Winta.” Omera managed a smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Not so good.” Winta scrunched up her nose. “The ground is very hard.”

Omera hummed. She went to their speeder bike to grab a container of water from a pouch at the side. When she joined her daughter on the ground, she had a hearty sip to wash away the taste of bile from her throat.

“I don’t suspect we’ll be sleeping on the ground for very much longer,” Omera told Winta. “Do you want some water?”

Winta nodded. She handed the container off to her daughter and peered over at Din. The Mandalorian made his way toward the camp, hands on his hips like he was in charge. His arrival to the camp made his boy toddle toward him with arms outstretched.

“The Tuskens said we have to ride banthas to the sarlacc pit.” 

He leaned down to pick the Child up and settled him into one arm. It was so natural how he fathered his boy.

“Really?” Winta asked eagerly. Suddenly, she was wide awake and ready to see what the day held for them.

Din nodded once. “They’d like us to leave soon, so if we’re all ready…”

Winta was on her feet in an instant. “C’mon, Mama. We get to ride a bantha!”

Omera laughed. She stood again and met Din’s gaze. Her heart skipped an unexpected beat and her belly swooped. 

“You’ll have to teach us how. We don’t have any experience.”

He tilted his head slightly at her. “Well… it’s pretty simple. I don’t know if you need a lesson.”

Omera lifted a shoulder and smiled at him. “Humor us.”

When they were given a bantha to share, Din helped direct them. “You first, Omera. Grab the horn on the saddle. It’s like riding a speeder.”

Omera did as she was told, careful with the mighty beast as she slung her leg over the saddle and put both feet into the stirrups. Looking down, she saw Winta beaming with delight.

“Me next?”

“Here.” Din held out his hands in preparation for grabbing Winta from behind. “I’ll help.” 

The Mandalorian hoisted Winta up into his arms and Omera helped settle her onto the saddle in front of her. When Winta was secured, Omera held onto her tightly, arms wrapped around her middle.

Winta giggled with the brightest kind of happiness. 

“Thank you,” Omera said earnestly to the Mandalorian. 

Din nodded at them. “You’re welcome.”

When their banthas began to move, Winta gasped and laughed again. Din glanced over at them from his and Omera swore she could almost see his smile. 

-

After visiting the sarlacc pit, they returned to the village on the tall ridge for another evening of discussions. The Tuskens showed them that they’d come up with the bare bones of a plan by literally using, well, bones. 

Diplomacy between the people of Mos Pelgo and the Tuskens continued well through the night, arguments and ideas exchanged with tense looks and words spoken through the Mandalorian.

Omera cared for the children as best she could, supervising as they played and drew figures in the dirt. When it came time to eat, she prepared a small meal of soup for the Tuskens to thank them for their kindness. 

As she ladled out a second bowl for the Child, she listened to Din speak with Cobb Vanth. It was apparent that tensions were still high, but she had a feeling Vanth would be unable to keep fighting off the sand people, should he want the krayt dragon to leave his people alone.

Cobb pivoted on his foot, reaching up to scratch his beard in thought, and walked away, leaving Din alone to speak to the Tuskens.

When they seemed satisfied, Din approached the Child, who sat on the ground with his bowl of soup between both hands. 

“He’ll come around to your plan.” Omera stood to ladle out a bowl of soup for the Mandalorian, fresh from the pot over the fire. “He’s just too proud to admit he needs help.”

She held the bowl out for him to take. “It isn’t much, but it will fill you for the night.”

“Thank you.” For a moment, he didn’t take it from her, simply staring at her instead. When he finally extended his fingers to take it, he asked softly, “How are the children handling all of this?”

“As well as any child.” Omera smiled a bit when she recalled Winta’s soft sighs of boredom earlier in the night. Now, she laid on the ground sound asleep. “Winta has already learned so much about the universe she could never learn in her lessons at home. She loves the banthas.”

Din chuckled. “I heard.”

Glancing over at Din’s son, she found him staring up at them with his teeth exposed and a happy giggle. Omera had learned quickly that the boy found the most joy in the simplest moments. He liked being a child, something that he’d never be able to have. Not truly.

“He loves to hear your voice. I think he would be happy anywhere you were.”

Din sat on the ground beside the Child, earning the boy’s affection in an instant. Omera joined them, drawing her knees toward her chest so she could rest her cheek upon them as she gazed after the man she loved.

He adjusted the bowl in his hands. “The plan will only work if we all work together. I worry that won’t be possible.”

Omera’s heart ached. “You’ve done all you can. It’s up to them to see this for what it is.”

The fire crackled and she shifted to allow herself to get lost staring into it. Her mind drifted, thoughts of the future echoing through her mind in a pleasant daydream. 

“The Tuskens told me they were thankful for your kindness today.”

She smiled softly to herself. Looking at Din again, she wondered aloud, “When did you learn their language?”

“I was taught many languages as a child. It was part of my training.”

Omera hummed in understanding. Between them, the Child waved his hand at her, as if trying to get her attention. “Hello, little one.”

“He likes you.”

She flashed a smile at Din. “Since we’re part of the same crew, I’m glad. It would make for difficult travels otherwise.”

Din laughed through his nose, barely enough to humor her. She had the feeling that he was unsure of how to act with her. If she were being honest, she wasn’t exactly sure either. 

She had joined him on this mission out of a deep desire to know if they could be together. She wanted to learn if his time on Sorgan had merely been a gift that should have been cherished for what it was.

So far, she’d found that traveling with the Mandalorian brought her more comfort than she’d thought it could. 

For so long after he left the village, whether she meant to or not, she’d waited for him to return. As the days had passed, she wondered if he could possibly feel the same way she felt for him. It was nice to think that maybe he did. Why else would he have invited her to come with him?

His fingers caressed the rim of his bowl of soup, a reminder to her that he wouldn’t eat it unless he could remove his helmet, something that would require him to be alone.

Carefully, Omera lifted his son from where he sat between them into her arms and cradled him against her chest. 

“We’ll turn away so you can eat.”

With a brief look around to check their surroundings, Din nodded.

Omera turned away from the Mandalorian, focused on the babbling Jedi child in her arms. He put a hand on her cheek and she smiled at him.

“Are you getting tired yet?” she asked quietly. “Winta fell asleep a while ago.”

The Child’s fingers moved away from her face and he blinked slowly, revealing that he was indeed getting sleepy. Omera lifted her fingers to the wrinkled top of his head and soothed him.

Softly, she sang the words of an ancient lullaby, a song she’d sung to Winta when she was a newborn baby. A song she would sing one day to the child growing within her as well.

As the verses of the song came to an end, she hummed the melody, gently swaying with the Child in her arms. His eyes had fallen shut, but she could tell he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

After a few more minutes, she rested her palm over his belly and lowered her lips to the top of his head. “Sleep well.” 

“You have a beautiful singin’ voice, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

Omera looked up at the sound of Cobb Vanth’s voice. He approached the fire with his hands settled on his hips.

She smiled at his complimentary words. “Thank you, Marshal.”

The Marshal of Mos Pelgo turned his attention to the Mandalorian. “It’s nice to see a family tight knit as you are. Got some really good kids, too.”

Slowly, she shifted in her spot, turning to see Din again. He’d replaced his helmet, the bowl empty on the ground beside him. 

“Thanks.”

The Mandalorian didn’t correct Cobb. She wasn’t sure what he would correct him with. They weren’t technically a crew. They weren’t technically a family. They were more than friends. Perhaps the best thing to say was nothing at all.

Cobb slowly slunk towards them, settling himself down on a boulder across the fire from Din. 

“I’ve given it some thought. The deal is too good for us to pass up. We lose the dragon. Our town can return to life as normal. And, we get an ally in the Tuskens, as strange as that would be.”

“All they’re asking is you keep the peace,” Din said. “Think you can manage that?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Then tomorrow, we’ll go back to Mos Pelgo and get prepared for a fight.”

Cobb flashed them a smile, nodding his head. He looked at the pot hanging over the fire. “Somethin’ smells real good.”

“Oh, you can have some,” Omera smiled back at him. “I managed to pull some soup together.”

“Anything beats the roast mystery critters we had last night. Much obliged, ma’am.”

As Cobb helped himself to the soup over the fire, Din suddenly rose to his feet and walked over to his speeder bike. He grabbed something from a satchel hanging off the side, obscured in the dark. When he returned to the fire, he knelt at Winta’s side and covered her sleeping body in a blanket. Omera smiled at the kindness of the act.

Din lingered for a second when he stood, his attention on the Child in Omera’s arms, and then he was back at her side, his shoulder brushing hers.

Omera looked at the Mandalorian, listening as the fire crackled, and found that he focused on her. 

They didn’t need to talk. She shifted closer to him and rested her cheek against the cool of his armor. Her gaze comfortably returned to the fire in front of them. Din’s fingers found her knee, as if it were his way of welcoming her intimacy.

“Do you want to help during the fight?” Din asked, his voice quiet.

Omera didn’t need to think about it. She was here to help Din on his path, and that path now included a fight with a krayt dragon. As scary as it was, she knew deep within her very soul that they would be capable, especially with the help of many.

“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”

The Mandalorian’s fingers flexed a little on her knee. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She smiled to herself, unable to help it. “Me too.”

-

With the Marshal of Mos Pelgo willing to try the plan that the Tuskens pulled together, they returned to the sleepy town with the intention of drafting an army composed of every townsperson. 

It wasn’t easy. There were some hard words and tense arguments. As they began to saddle up their banthas, a few of the townspeople fought with the Tuskens, but Cobb Vanth was quick to calm things. 

Hopefully, the tensions between the two groups wouldn’t be a sign of things to come.

When they arrived at the abandoned sarlacc pit for the second time, Omera and Winta helped the townspeople with their elaborate trap in the ground. There seemed to be a confidence that built over the course of the morning, as they crafted the trap that would ensnare the great krayt dragon.

When it came time for them to execute the plan, she retreated to the distant line at the back of the fight, where Din and Cobb Vanth were waiting with a few of the Tusken leaders.

With the Child in her arms and Winta at her side, Omera felt nervous. She hadn’t wanted to bring the children along, but Din promised that when it came time for the dragon to be baited, Winta and the Child would be tucked away, protected from the violence to come.

None of them imagined it would fail. In fact, there was no choice. They had to succeed.

Din approached her with a rifle in his hand. “We need you to shoot.”

Omera nodded once and took a deep, steadying breath. It was time for them to wake the dragon. She lowered the Child into Winta’s arms. 

“Go to the little alcove we found earlier. I’ll come for you when it’s safe. Don’t be afraid.”

Winta bobbed her head and was on her way, fast and easy, with no arguing. It was good, Omera thought, that she wasn’t any older, lest they have a fight over if she could stay and be part of the battle.

Omera took the weapon from Din, their fingers brushing ever so slightly during the pass. She didn’t like to shoot, but this was part of the agreement she’d made with herself when she decided to leave Sorgan to join Din. She would defend herself, and her children. 

“We’ll stay back here. Hopefully it doesn’t get too messy.”

The Mandalorian had planted the roots of confidence in the army gathered at the entrance of the abandoned sarlacc pit, but now, they would all have to work together to find victory in that confidence.

At first, the plan seemed to work. The dragon emerged, its roars angry, and it was eager to snack on a few of the Sand People that couldn’t move fast enough. Each life lost made Omera’s heart ache all the more. 

The Tuskens deployed their spear launchers, tethering the dragon to them by rope so that they could try and pull it towards them. It wasn’t an easy task.

The creature slithered in the sand closer to their charges, but not quite close enough to make the hit fatal. The Tuskens yelled in their language, clearly getting a little bit frustrated, and Din cursed aloud.

“Dank farrik, it’s going back in.”

The Tusken Raiders began screaming, frantic, and they all watched with bated breath as the dragon began to slink backwards, the rope of the launched spears popping free and dragging a few of the raiders back with the monster.

“It’s retreating.”

“I’m going to hit it,” Cobb Vanth said. He held in his hand the button that ignited the charges they’d set.

Omera’s eyes widened. “There’s only one shot. Don’t.”

“We’ve gotta get it out first,” Din agreed. 

Even though it was logical, Vanth gritted his teeth and shook his head at them. For now, he was complacent. 

The dragon seemed stagnant, lingering in a backwards-forwards shifting position. The townspeople began to throw explosives at it and a line of fighters fired their weapons. It noticed the people on the ground and slithered forward once, letting out a great roar.

This time, its jaws descended upon one of the people of Mos Pelgo.

“Now?” Cobb asked Din with a wavering tone.

“Not yet.” Din’s voice was level and calm. Practiced. He knew what would work. “It’s gotta come out further.”

Another deep-bellied roar. The Tuskens used their spear launchers a second time with zealousness, sending several into the beast’s head so they could pull it forward.

The body of the beast slithered forwards, roaring and moaning as it went, clearly trying to break free. One of the ropes snapped from the mechanism it had been tethered to, sending three Tuskens skyward, and the krayt dragon lifted its head out of the sand, roaring as if in warning to all of the offending fighters.

It dove forward, a sickly green bile spewing from its mouth onto the retreating army. 

“Almost. Almost.” Din kept a level head in the midst of what seemed to be a near failure. As soon as the beast settled onto the ground again, he shouted, “Now!”

The detonator beeped and the charges ignited, prompting the krayt dragon to let out a pained roar as it slithered down and backwards into the sand again. Silence. A great cloud of dust filled the air.

But it didn’t feel like a victory.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Vanth finally said.

“Me either,” Din agreed.

As if hearing the conversation, at the top of the mountain that towered above the entrance to the pit, the dragon sprung to life, lurching forward from the rocks, roaring at its enemies as they began to fire upon it with blasters. Then, more of the green acid spit from its mouth onto the group of innocents below.

Omera pulled the trigger of the rifle, aimed at the dangerous beast, but she was sure she did absolutely no good. It did seem that their explosion had caused it an injury, but in its annoyed state, it seemed more volatile.

“It’s picking us off like womp rats,” Vanth uttered. “Let’s get after it!” 

Rushing backwards, away from the mess of the battle, Omera focused on the creature in her sights and listened as the two men in armor took off by jet pack, soaring closer to the beast as it writhed in the rocks. They fired at it, but even at close range, their weapons seemed to do no damage.

The dragon lurched at them and the duo flew back onto the ground with the majority of their forces. As they did so, the creature disappeared, burrowing down through the rock, and for a few heart-stopping moments, they waited for it to reappear again.

When it did, it attacked the group from the side.

Omera watched through her scope as Vanth used his armor to release a missile at it. The explosion drew the dragon’s attention toward the group on the ground.

She saw Cobb pass Din the detonator. Then, he used the end of his gun to force Vanth’s jetpack to take off, launching him high above the ground in a cloud of smoke.

Slowly, the krayt dragon moved like a predator seeking out its prey. The townspeople fled, and so did she, scattering around with haste, but Din stood still. 

As she helped a fallen townsperson stand to their feet, Omera focused on Din, her eyes narrowing and her heart racing in her ears.

The Mandalorian stood in front of a bantha, who had more smarts than he did, struggling to get free and run far away from the dangerous dragon, but Din grabbed the rope, tugging at the creature to get it to stay put.

And then, it happened.

Omera’s eyes widened in disbelief when she watched Din get swallowed whole by the great dragon. Its teeth seemed all the sharper as its mouth descended upon the man she loved. 

Then, as if it hadn’t done anything at all, it disappeared into the sand.

Her breath caught in her lungs and she stopped breathing. The world felt absolutely silent and gone around her, even if the battle still raged on.

Feeling entirely numb, Omera stumbled backwards, unable to continue moving with the rest of the fleeing army. She instead watched the ground where the dragon had disappeared with a palm pressed to her rapidly beating heart to see if maybe, maybe Din had a plan. 

Maybe he hadn’t just run straight into the belly of a krayt dragon with an explosive bantha and no other thoughts in his head.

After a handful of seconds that felt like an eternity, the ground began to shake. The dragon burst from the earth, releasing a roar of pain, and she saw Din soaring out of its mouth with his jet pack. 

In the next instant, there was an explosion that shook the entire valley, a violent shockwave emanating from the beast as it was torn apart from the energy of the detonation.

With a relieved gasp for air, Omera closed her eyes and allowed herself to smile. They had been successful. The dragon had been slain.

From his spot flying above the explosion, Din flew toward her, settling on the ground with ease.

She approached him swiftly, clamoring to touch him, as gross is it would be. He dripped with green fluid from the belly of the creature, but all she cared about was knowing that he was alive; that she could touch him and know he had survived. 

Her fingers settled on the braces of his forearms and she held on tight. She finally felt as if she could breathe easy again.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Din apologized instantly. “It was the only way.”

Omera shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

For a few seconds, they stared at one another, not saying anything at all. Her mind felt empty, but she was so full of gratitude and adrenaline-fueled joy that she almost wanted to admit to him that she loved him.

Reality settled in before she could do something so out of place. She pulled away from the Mandalorian and took a half step backward. 

“Let’s get the children,” Din said. “We should probably head back to the ship as soon as we can.”

Omera smiled. “Your son will be anxious to see you.”

When they approached the small alcove where Winta sat, cradling the Child tightly to her chest. Their eyes both lit up at the sight of them.

“Mama!”

Winta scrambled to her feet and eagerly handed the Child to his father before she wrapped Omera in a snug, tight hug.

“Are you alright, my love?” Omera asked, cradling the back of her head.

Winta nodded. Omera kissed the top of her daughter’s head and looked up in time to see the Child with his hands on Din’s helmet, cooing warmly as Din cradled him in the crook of his arm.

“Alright, alright,” Din mumbled. “You’re excited. I get it.”

Omera chuckled. Winta detached herself from her and went to Din. Her arms went around his waist, hugging him just as tight as she’d hugged Omera. He seemed surprised, but with a glance downwards, he put his hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” Winta asked him. 

“Yes. We defeated the dragon.”

Omera couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of Din with both of the children wrapped in his arms. Her heart felt impossibly full, somehow, after having very nearly broken just minutes ago.

“What will we do now?” Winta asked, her smile bright as she stepped away from the Mandalorian. 

“We’ll return to the ship,” Din said. “Keep looking for another of my kind.”

Winta nodded. “And we’ll go too?”

Omera and Din exchanged glances. She could tell that he was just as curious to know what she thought of the mission they’d found themselves on and if she wanted to continue on the path forward.

She’d been nervous that something like this would happen when she agreed to come with him. A near-death experience was likely in the daily agenda of a Mandalorian. Even so, she had faith, perhaps blind, that Din would take care of them, and that this journey would give them a tighter bond.

“Yes,” Omera agreed, “we’ll go too.”

Her daughter beamed up at her, then looked at Din. “Since we’re still going to be traveling together, what should I call you?”

The Mandalorian hesitated for a moment in silence, probably debating whether or not he wanted Winta to know his name. “You can call me Din.”

“Din,” Winta repeated. “Okay.”

“Don’t say it among strangers,” Omera said gently. “Out of respect.”

Winta bobbed her head with understanding and reached for Omera’s hand. 

Omera took a steadying breath. After the day they’d had, she felt tired and wished for a place to rest, but it was likely they wouldn’t have any rest for a while. 

Almost immediately, the Tuskens got to work carving up the fallen dragon in the sand. It smelled awful, but it was a relief to all that it was gone now. 

They offered them a hunk of meat from the dragon, thanking them for their part in the execution of the plan, and Din secured it to the back of his speeder bike.

Once they found Cobb Vanth, the man followed through on his end of the deal he’d made with the Mandalorian. He gave Din the armor with a smile, not one ounce of remorse in his features.

“This was well-earned.”

Din took the well-worn suit of armor and added it to his growing collection of gifts on the speeder. 

“It was my pleasure.”

Cobb turned to Omera and Winta. “Thank you for your help. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He looked at the Mandalorian for a moment. “I’ve never seen someone act so quick on their feet like this man here. You should be proud.”

She couldn’t help but smile fondly, casting her gaze onto Din. “We all worked together. We should all be proud of what we accomplished today.”

With a bright grin, Cobb shook Din’s hand. “I hope our paths cross again, Mando.”

“As do I.” 

“You too, Omera.” Cobb winked. He took a few steps back, gesturing to the Mandalorian with a tilt of his head. “Keep an eye on this one. He’s nothin’ but trouble.”

Omera laughed. “I will.”

Once they were all settled on their speeder bikes, Omera gave Din a nod of approval and a smile that reflected the contentment she felt. 

They hadn’t found a Mandalorian on Tatooine, but instead, she had seen him lead the once divided valley into peace. How lucky was she that she could be on a journey with someone capable of accomplishing something like that? 

Din was ever so patient, waiting for her to give him the all-clear. “Ready to go?” 

Omera nodded again. She lifted her scarf from where it rested around her neck to cover her mouth. “We’ll follow your lead.”

#mandomera #din x omera #the mandalorian #my writing #the edge of hope #weeeee the adventure begins!

[tangledinmdzs]

you belong to me, junior quartet hcs

junior quartet soulmate headcanons (modern au)

these are a bit long, but i hope you all don’t mind (also i hope you won’t mind the little formatting things i’m working on hehe)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨���˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lan Sizhui

the timer

the moment that Lan Sizhui met you, he knew that you would be someone important to him

when his parents had become friendly with the family down the street and had introduced him to your smiling face, there was no turning back from there

he’d always adored you, long before the timer appeared on your 12th birthdays

and even after that, when the craze of estimates and soulmate countdowns swept through your school he still felt the same lingering ease of being beside you

Sizhui was fine with the mystery of the very big digits on his timer but you had been curious and had dragged him along on the estimation and soulmate guiding journeys that all the kids were crazy about

with some math, he figured out that his timer was set for only 6 more years from now, when he would turn 18.

you were more than jealous, because you had to wait a whole 4 years after him, destined to meet your soulmate at 22

“ahh that means it could be anyone in high school! you’re going to have your first love be your soulmate! that’s so romantic” and you would go on and on and on about all of that, young love and such things

he’d just laugh at you but let you immerse yourself in whatever you wanted to your heart’s content

high school years pass and go like a short rainstorm. 

you and Sizhui grow up together, laughter together, stay together despite all the world’s turbulences

Sizhui doesn’t meet anyone that stays longer than a week, even as his time drops day by day

the years pass by faster than you would imagine and on a wintery January morning, Sizhui wakes up on his 18th birthday to notice that his timer is counting down hours instead of days.

he’s a little shocked, a little scared

what if he met/was destined with a complete stranger

could that happen?

the smallest part of him hopes that isn’t the case

and then that small part of him is reassured by the fact that he would at least be spending some part of the day with you

out of the many traditions that you both have made, you always promised to celebrate each other’s birthday together

the little cute gifs and texts won’t cut it

just the thought of you eases his anxiousness and he anticipates the night that you guys have together

but as the evening gets later and you show no sign of showing up he begins to get worried, then fearful, then anxious

and even though it’s his birthday he ends up pacing by the front door when every call and text that he sends to you is left unanswered

his dads are worried too, you’re not usually like this and they hate seeing their only son so worried

they end up calling your parents only for them to be confused on your whereabouts and now everyone is worried

Sizhui can’t imagine anything happening to you and his fear is heightened by the late hours that’s approaching

he’s too worried about your well being to really notice that the timer on his wrist only has minutes left instead of hours

it is nearing 11:47PM and Sizhui is hurriedly shrugs on a winter coat and scarf, ready to just go looking for you himself

his dads are against it, one lost kid is already a enough of a worry 

but he doesn’t listen, can’t listen 

you’re his best friend for god’s sakes it’s not like he could just leave you

and he’s ignoring his parents commands and pulling the front door open just as the timer on his wrist runs out

in the snowy backdrop of early January five minutes to midnight, you stand with rosy cheeks and a bright smile with a big bag in your arms and a warmth in your eyes

“i was waiting on line for the release of this and i didn’t realize people took so long to wrap things and then the creators ended up being there so i had to fight some people for their signatures... but i’m here! i didn’t miss Sizhui day!” you explain in tumble of words and shove the bag unceremoniously into his shellshocked arms

“i know they’re your favorite game series! so this is all for you” you tell him, smiling widely at his face

he blinks at you, the incessant ticking at the back of his mind finally silent after so many years

Sizhui puts the bag down without even opening it 

without another word he pulls you close to him, holding you tight

his timer has finally ended

but your countdown steadily ticks on | || ||| [pt 2]

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Lan Jingyi

writing on skin

you didn’t know who your soulmate was, but whoever they were must be the biggest cheater you’d ever meet

almost as early as you could have been able to contact your soulmate, your skin had been littered with writings of all different kinds

it had started off as little occurrences that slowly got heavier as you both continued on your academic careers

at one point the notes had gotten so bad that you had to resort to wearing long sleeves just to cover up the array of words that were on every inch of your arms  (even the occasional stomach)

all your friends always wondered why you never contacted this soulmate of yours

some acquaintances recommended the idea to you like you couldn’t have thought of it yourself.

of course you wanted to contact this person; tell them to lighten up on the writing a little bit

but was there even any room to write? would they even be able to tell the difference between your handwriting amidst all of the chaos of their notes?

besides this person also seems incredibly sly to be able to get away with such methods of learning for a long time

so you go along with it until you can’t

in your final year of college, the sleeve of words that don’t belong to you almost cost you your diploma

you’d been accused of cheating from your professor and had to go through a deep and painful trial to plead your innocence

it was something that lasted nearly a week, since plagiarism and lack of academic integrity were the highest of offenses at your college

your truth was finally realized when the higher ups on the board realized they couldn’t wash the writing off your arms and you provided the evidence of different handwritings

the trial had been so demanding and draining and it wasn’t even your fault!

and in your anger after the whole ordeal, you don’t think

you return to your dorm room, take out your big blue sharpie and retaliated to your soulmate for the first time by writing STOP on your left arm and  CHEATING on your right. 

you leave the large letters on for a the rest of the night, even when you get weird looks from your roommate for it

that night goes on normally until you’re about to go to sleep and you look down at your arms to realize that the sleeve of tiny scribbles are scrubbed clean from your skin

al that’s left aside from your blue sharpie is a single answer on your right arm, written in the handwriting that you had come to know better than your own for the past few years

i don’t cheat

you huff a disbelieving laugh at that and seeing that your arms are mostly clear go and wash off the blue sharpie

when your soulmate’s answer still remains, you answer them even though the night is late

what does a person do with so much notes on their arms if not to cheat?

your response is written in dark black, neat handwriting despite the fact that you’re writing at an awkward angle and place on your arm

after a few moments, words begin to appear

it’s so weird seeing words appear randomly on your skin, especially when they happen before your eyes

taking notes on the body saves paper

the answer truly makes you have a loss for words and knowing that you were awake, your soulmate probably felt the awkwardness from the silence that lapses for a bit afterwards

it just helps me concentrate better

but i’m assuming you’re not a big fan

and from that you guys start a conversation long overdue, years overdue

you learn that his name is Lan Jingyi and despite the unconventionalities of his work ethic, he had a bit of a charm when he was writing to someone with an answer

morning comes to both of you before you realize

and this time when your arms are filled, it is with many answers, instead of just questions

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Jin Ling

with one touch

you had never gotten a bruise in your life

which was a kind of funny considering that you were had been training in your father’s dojo since you could walk

then again in your world, only when you touched your soulmate would that purple greenish ugly color come up 

and since you were the star pupil of your father’s martial arts dojo, it’s not like it was ever easy to land a punch on you anyways

anyone that ever did never was you soulmate

and they’d be dead meat ‘immobilized’ (if not by your retaliation or your sibling’s overprotectiveness or your father’s judgement, the possibilities were endless)

but the point was, you had never gotten a bruise in your entire life, so you definitely didn’t know what it even looked like until you were changing out of your gi and your older sister pointed out the large bruise on your shoulder

you’re surprised

you hadn’t even felt any pain from it

but as you stand with your back to the mirror looking at it back and forth you wrack you brain for every person that you had come into contact within the last few days

the only person that comes to mind is one of the newest recruits to your father’s dojo, an aggressive punk by the name of Jin Ling

he’s not a good fighter as much as he just fights a lot

but you vividly remember being pushed hard when you had to break a fight between him and another student the other day

you hadn’t realized that he had actually pushed your shoulder then

you figure that you’ll know for sure when he comes to the dojo for practice tomorrow

the next day arrives and when you’re setting up the mats for everyone else, Jin Ling ends up being one of the earlier arrivals

and since no one’s there yet, you end up asking him to do something that you don’t usually ask people

but it feels like the only way to know for sure if he is your soulmate or not

“spar with me” you invite him when he returns to the main room with his uniform on

he’s more than surprised; he’s the new kid on the block, you’re the seasoned veteran and the sensei’s kid

when you sense his hesitation, you egg him on with “nothing to be scared of; i’ll go easy on you”

and when you look at him, you notice how his eyes darken at your jab

even though you’re a brown belt and he’s just teetering around yellow

the dojo ends up welcoming the next batch of students that come in with a very bruised up Jin Ling

you’re a little bit better off, though your hands are a little battered up

there’s no pain, luckily, just the ugly color of the bruise of a soulmate touch

and even when Jin Ling glares at you as your father goes through the forms for the day’s lessons, you know that he can’t deny the marks on him can only be made by you

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Ouyang Zizhen

first words tattooed on your wrist

Zizhen’s always been a bit of a romantic 

living in a society where all the movies play out picture perfect scenes of confessions has given Zizhen all of the back up that he needs in order to be prepared for his soulmate

he’s one of those people that make you read a specific quote he’s set out before initiating conversation (he’s just that prepared)

but what he isn’t prepared for is what he’d be saying to his soulmate

so one dreary autumn morning, when he walks into the cafe you’re working at bleary eyed and sleep deprived

 Zizhen is not in the state of mind to be meeting his soul mate

when he comes up to the register, he begins ordering his usual chai tea latte with all the specific condiments as you listen in

as he’s talking you feel a little tingling on your wrist and don’t think much about it, not even asking him anything else when he quietly hands you his credit card to swipe

you’d always been a quiet person, and your boss was always on your back for not going through all of the employee procedures but you don’t pay that any mind

but anyways, only when you’re in the middle of making his order do you finally realize

you sleeve slips up a little bit as you’re making the tea and you notice a little paragraph written in beautiful swirling script on your wrist

you’d almost burned yourself at the fact and put one and one together

some dude just placed a whole order as your soulmate quote

and you’re angry

when you’ve finished making the chai latte you hold onto the drink tight as the guy from before comes back for his order

but just before he gets it, you snatch the drink far from his grasp and pull down your sleeve showcase your newest soulmate quote

‘i’ll have a medium chai tea latte, light on on the cream with two pumps of vanilla, no water and switch out normal milk with soy milk. also with extra cinnamon”

when Zizhen realizes that you’re his soulmate his very actual soul wants to leave his body because:

the moment that he’s been waiting for has finally come

also you’re so cute!!!

but you face looks stormy and sullen... i mean who wouldn’t be, you just got an starbucks order as your soulmate quote  (and only a very very specific group of people would find a blessing in that and you were not one of them)

you wanna just call him ‘dickhead’ and make it even, but even that seems light in comparison to the entire chai tea latte order that he places on your wrist   

f o r e v e r

but you’re in for a treat, because, Zizhen’s always been a too much of a romantic

you take some time off from your shift to make a plan with this dude, because there was no way that you were gonna read the cheesy soulmate quote that he wanted and have everything be dandy

you learn that Zizhen is his name and that he’s much too romantic; so romantic in fact that he proposes a solution in comparison to your soulmate quote right away

“do you have a favorite recipe or something that you like to eat? you can read the recipe to me so that i’ll have it on my wrist, and i’ll know how to make it!”

he sounds so excited that it lightens the order on your wrist a little

the gesture softens you a bit (read a lot)

but you’re also mildly peeved that every time you look at your wrist its a beautiful beautiful calligraphy of a specific order of chai tea latte

so when you guys begin dating, you give him the silent treatment on your first few outings together

but through every date together, from movies to restaurant, you learn that Zizhen is a very easy going and compassionate guy, easily filling in for the empty space that would have been your voice

similarly, Zizhen wonders and lingers on the sound of your voice, but also finds himself falling deeply for your laugh

it’s amazing the vibe that you guys create together and this is without you talking yet!

after a few weeks of going out together, you’re sat across from him in a small homey cafe when you say your first words to him

in the end, there is no big recipe written on his wrist; you read the exact quote that he wants to have

because you know how much it means to him to have that on his skin

when you’re finished, Zizhen realizes that what he was searching for wasn’t even the perfect quote to be said

it was the fact that the person he had grown to love had said it to him

and even though there’s no recipe etched onto his skin, he has the rest of eternity to remember all of your favorite recipes to the depths of his heart

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

#mo dao su zhi #mo dao zu shi #mdzs manhua #mdzs live action #mdzs juniors #mdzs x reader #mdzs headcanons #mdzs fic #lan sizhui #lan yuan #jin ling #jin rulan #lan jingyi #ouyang zizhen #lan sizhui x reader #jin ling x reader #lan jingyi x reader #ouyang zizhen x reader #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fan fiction #mdzs reader insert #reader insert #mdzs x y/n #mdzs junior quartet #mdzs au #mdzs modern au #mdzs soulmate au #tangledwriting

[gguktarts]

decathect | jjk (2)

1. to withdraw one’s feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss

summary: if one thing was clear to you when you first met Jeon Jungkook, it was that he would never love you. at least, not the way you wanted him to.

pairing: jjk x reader genre: unrequited love au || angst || little fluff if u Squint || drabble series word count: 2.2k parts:  « previous | 2 / ? | next » cw: kinda unhealthy depictions of a crush, & jk is a fuckboy w lots of tatts and long hair. note: well,, i don’t like this one bUT here yall go!!! breaky breaky eggs and heart bakey ey :’)

Being late to class was the first of the signs, you should have known. It didn’t impact your grade in any way, but the reason behind it certainly stirred about some changes.

While Jungkook still remains a part of some of your days, lately it’s a less common occurrence. You figure maybe it’s his doing, that your face must have given you away that day, that he must have figured something out and that whatever he knows doesn’t sit well with him, but deep down you know it’s your fault.

It’s not that he’s avoiding you, but that you’re avoiding him–as well as the images that still haunt your memory. So, whenever you see him in the halls you turn and walk away just a tiny bit faster, and when you guys speak, you only voice out what’s necessary. It’s gotten to the point where you worry over him thinking you’re mad at him, when in fact you are not. You’re not upset that he kissed someone, how could you be? Jungkook is more of a stranger than he is a friend to you, and he owes you nothing. And it doesn’t matter that the constant reminder makes your heart drop all the way to your feet, nor that despite everything your stomach still battles the fluttering butterflies his smile cultivates and nurses. It’s actually that last part that annoys you out of all, the one that triggered your flight response.

Even now, sharing your favorite takeout at Tae’s, it’s clear you’re more closed off with him than usual – even when the subject is as ridiculous as VHS porn. Actual, physical VHS porn, all property of Taehyung. He apparently went on a shopping spree early in the morning, which explains the two thick tapes inches from his plate. They’re keeping the lot of you some extra company.

“I just can’t believe you bought more, honestly. And with real money,” you mutter in disbelief, amusement painting your tone. The fact that Tae not only owns (and buys) them but also keeps them in pristine condition is not something you understand. He doesn’t even have a VHS player. "You know the internet exists, right, babe? And with better quality.”

A look at the colorful cases makes you visibly cringe. There’s far too many freed titties and schoolgirl skirts for your liking. “They’re probably as bad as the old ones aren’t they…”

Tae’s eyes widen with a hint of betrayal; his chopsticks pointing at you in accusation. “They’re HISTORIC, ok? Like beanie babies... And they only cost 3 dollars each—”

"How would you know if hyung’s tapes are bad or not?” Jungkook’s voice interrupts, doing nothing but throwing you under the bus with the teasing question.

You blink, for a hot second forgetting you haven’t told Taehyung about that specific day a few months back. He was gone all day doing who knows what, while Namjoon and yourself, under the tight reign of curiosity and the profound liberty of a free evening, went over the most ridiculous titles he owns. It’s the sudden look of suspicion he gives you what brings back the fact to surface. Right. You’re the one with the VHS player. He knows that. 

From your peripheral Jungkook’s inquisitive gaze pierces your skin, distracting you from the way Namjoon’s posture straightens with the reminder. He hasn’t said a single word to stop you, though, so you take that as a sign.

“Joon and I watched them,” you confess quickly, slurping on some stir-fry noodles with a small, apologetic smile playing on your lips. “And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but Tae, they’re terrible. Except maybe… Eaten by the Big Bad Wolf, I guess.”

The name makes Jungkook break out in giggles, a sound so cute you have to press your lips together just to not grin along with him. Whining, Taehyung swats the younger’s arm before whipping his head to look between Joon and you, more pouty than angry.

“First of,” he begins, “Eaten by 2BW IS good. You guys are just uncultured about the rest. But more importantly, you two? Both?” 

None of you deny it. Joon simply grins apologetically and shrugs, far too busy gulping down his meat to do more than that— he knows Tae won’t do anything to him, he’s too valuable a roommate. Instead, you hear Jungkook voice out a tiny surprised “huh” before any words leave him. 

“I didn’t take you for the type to watch porn, Y/N.”

You still mid bite, eyebrow raised as you’re forced to glance his way. “Because I’m a girl?”

“No, it’s just… you don’t strike me as a sexual one, I guess?”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t say it to hurt you, you know that. It’s not like his phrasing should hurt you either, but somehow, it still does. It’s easy for you to skip past all you should be thankful for—that he doesn’t sexualize you, that he doesn’t consider you an option for the fuck-and-go experiences he tends to have, and that maybe, just maybe, therefore you’re not seen as disposable. All of those, while in ways reassuring, are drowned out by a single underlying fact: in a world where Jungkook knows not love but lust, where his touch is reserved for only the bright who catch his eye, you’re but a white dwarf to his starry gaze, all but faded and extinguished. Nearly a dead star, you’re empty of whatever he searches for, of whatever he wants, and so what little he gives you are never meant to get.

The thought rings around your eardrums enough seconds for your smile to drop and your teeth to clench, but you’re quick to put on a mask of vague confusion and annoyance. Even your tone comes out dry.

“Jee, thanks? I’m flattered I can contain my hormones in check.”

“It’s because you’re never here when she’s ovulating–she gets hornly as hell,” Tae counters just when the youngest opens his mouth, eyes on him before they settle on you. His gaze goes soft, as if asking if you’re okay in between the jabs, speaking the words he isn’t. But you’re too busy almost choking, heat spreading from your ears and along your cheeks, to notice it. The thought that he spoke to shut Jungkook up not crossing your mind. “I don’t really understand why you never do anything about it, love. Could literally be getting love-fucked right about now.”

“Taehyung, what the fuck?” you squeak, embarrassment threatening to consume you, but thankful nonetheless it’s a type of distraction. You don’t see Jungkook blink in confusion, nor his repeated whisper of Tae’s new word. You focus on the way Namjoon pinches Tae’s arm. It earns him a glare and a yelp.

“Leave her alone, man,” Joon chides, making you smile again without entirely understanding the look they briefly share. 

“What? She knows I love her,” Tae says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He’s always quick to butter you up with it. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. But if we could just shift the topic to something besides my non-existent love life I’d love that even more." 

"What?” Joon opens his mouth after a blink, suddenly intrigued because as far as he’s concerned, you were practically dating last you spoke to him about that. Only, you weren’t–aren’t, and even if he is on your side in this conversation, he’s too big of an information hoarder (read: gossip) to let it go from the get go. “But I thought the date with Jaebum went okay?”

You give him a look. “Date? We were studying for our midterms, like I told you.”

“Oh, I thought– but he looks so interested in you…”

Taehyung nods along, “Yea, whenever he sees me he asks about you.”

“Wait, are we talking about Jackson-hyung’s friend?” Jungkook asks, tone mildly curious. You drown the words out, but his voice still makes your throat close up for a few seconds longer.

“Yup,” Namjoon confirms, “You know him?" 

"Never actually talked to him, but Yugyeom hangs with him from time to time. Seems nice enough,” Jungkook shrugs, turning to you with a soft, encouraging smile. “I don’t know if he likes you but if you’re interested I could ask–”

“I’m not,” you snap, jaw clenching. Your fingers stiffly hold onto the chopsticks, a flimsy attempt at ignoring the way your bones hold your heart before it slips and falls. And it does fall, because you can already feel the sickening feeling pooling and spreading from your stomach and along your limbs. You notice it so quickly that you remind yourself, like a mantra, that this is ridiculous, that you shouldn’t even be feeling this way. Yes, he doesn’t like you. You knew that already, Y/N. Going from point A to point B, it’s logical he doesn’t care if you date anyone, that he encourages it as long as you’re into it. But you don’t want his kindness.

Hurt flashes over Jungkook’s gaze as you stare him down, but it’s gone so quickly you’re unsure if it was there in the first place. Still, the thought you might have caused it doesn’t sit well with you. It quickly forms a lump in your throat, making you swallow before softening your features.

“I’m– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an ass,” your voice comes out a whisper, and you turn back to your plate. Jungkook’s own “it’s okay,” is too soft your ears. You know you have to behave normally, quickly. So you press your lips together and offer them a dramatic sigh to at least begin to sound believable. 

“I’d just rather none of you did anything. I already know he likes me, he’s asked me out before,” you confess, voice somehow unwavering. It gives the push you need to put on a mask of indifference as you look head on, not at Jungkook but at Joon. He looks surprised, but remains quiet. “And no, I didn’t accept. He is nice, but I–I don’t like anyone like that at the moment.”

It takes effort to finish the lie, to hide the sting in front of them–in front of him– but you have more than one tell. And Taehyung knows each and every one very well. The soft rebuke, the intensified interest in your noodles as the lie flowed through your lips. Tae knows you, sometimes better than you know yourself, and he knows he has to do what he does best: he shifts the tone. 

“That’s okay. You’re too good for him anyways. But none of that matters because I just remembered something I find absurdly unforgivable,” Taehyung says, face going completely serious. His eyes are fixed on you with such intensity you wonder if he’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe, or his mom’s secret strawberry cheesecake recipe, which seems less likely. Instead he lets out the shrillest whine, “you did not tell me you love me back. Now explain to me, how am I supposed to continue on? What will inspire me now, huh?”

And just like that, the tense air begins to clear out.

“Eh, you’ll live,” you joke, physically unable to push back the tiny smile lighting up your face at his antics.

“Not like you’ve painted anything in ages, anyway,” Namjoon adds, teasing. 

“Well, if I had any of my own paint,” Tae mutters, giving Jungkook a pointed look, “maybe I’d find some inspiration.”

Jungkook scoffed, “I have two tubes total, not your entirely collection, hyung.”

“Yes, but you have my favorite ones! Amethyst Shards and Indigo Fields are so hard to find, too…”

“I’m almost done with them anyways, just pass by tomorrow and pick them up,” Jungkook snickers, eyes crinkling at the other’s pout.

“Fine, but show me what you’re working on.”

Taking the moment to drift away, you grab the already empty plates and take them to the kitchen. It’s Namjoon’s turn to wash the dishes so you leave them be, and return to both of your boys huddled around Jungkook’s extended hand, phone on display. 

You don’t know what you expected to see, but it’s definitely not the portrait of the girl he was kissing the other day. She’s laying on her side, naked on a bed of violets, and you can’t deny she’s beautiful. Your heart sinks further than before as you take in the level of detail he poured into his work, into her. The way her hair falls over her arms and tangles with the leafs underneath, the way a form of innocence is reflected on her eyes. They’re elements you see only because he sees them. Did she change his mind about relationships? Does he like her, just the way you like him? You don’t know– you don’t know anything at all. 

You feel like puking your insides out. And you’re aware you’re at the end of the rope for the day, that the thin line is about to break, and that you can’t hold back the water pooling behind your eyes for much longer. So like usual, you try to flee.

At the very least you compliment his work, genuinely amazed by his ability, but that’s the last you can do before the masks starts to crack. You don’t register his grateful smile, nor anything after that, really. You just give Tae an offhand excuse you don’t really process, and without waiting for any sort of response you scurry out of the room, vision blurry.

By the time you’re inside safer walls, tears have already stained your cheeks.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jungkook x y/n #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #drabble series: dct

[kaeldra]

一 (One)

Summary: He's not entirely sure how she managed to work her way into his heart so completely, and maybe he's making a mistake, but he wouldn't change it for the world.

The first part in my Hikari and the Wizard: A Hundred Words series! This series is a collection of one-shots centred around the Wizard and Hikari from Harvest Moon: Animal Parade, with each chapter based on one of the most commonly used Kanji in Japanese newspapers. All part of the same timeline, though not necessarily written in chronological order.

This fic can also be read on Ao3!

In all his time on Castanet, the Wizard has never been particularly inclined towards socializing. The fact that he shows his face in town at all is actually something of a recent development, and there are days he wishes he had remained hidden in the depths of Fugue like his hot-headed counterpart. While most of the townsfolk have thankfully stopped gawking at him every time he sets foot outside his secluded home atop the hill, he still feels like a bit of a spectacle, like some strange and exotic creature that will never truly belong. He tells himself he doesn’t mind the solitude, and most days that is true. It leaves him with endless hours in which to study, to gaze at the sky littered with stars, to simply be and owe nothing to anyone.

But then there are the days where the loneliness gnaws at the pit of his stomach, and the familiar company of his books and baubles isn’t enough to soothe the ache of an otherwise empty heart. There are days he wishes he could rewind the clock, go back to the time when his master was never more than an arm’s reach away, always watching over his shoulder and correcting him when he fumbled his spellwork. On days like these, he almost wants to go walking to the Witch’s house knowing full well he’ll be yelled at for trespassing, just for a reason to use his voice. But he never does.

The day the strange new farm girl comes knocking on his door, all smiles and rosy cheeks, he’s surprised to say the least. Despite his reputation among the townsfolk for fortune telling, it’s a rarity that anyone actually stops by. She strolls in almost as if she owns the place, and the Wizard has half a mind to send her right back out. Can’t she see he’s busy? He tries telling her as much, hoping she’ll get the hint and come back another time (or preferably not at all), but she stubbornly persists.

Once he realizes that she intends to return the Witch to her human form, he has to admit he’s intrigued. He knows by the little orange sprite fluttering about her shoulders that she’s the supposed saviour of Castanet, the one that will bring the island back from the brink of despair, but he’s still impressed by her unwavering determination. Even when he gives her the list of ingredients necessary for the spell, which even he thinks are a bit of a chore to obtain, she simply nods and promises to be back soon with them, offering another smile as she lets herself out.

Less than a season later she’s back, hibiscus, cornmeal, and butter in hand. She pushes the ingredients into his arms, and he’s left staring at her in surprise for several heartbeats before he realizes what’s happened. The girl is bouncing on her toes and obviously eager to get going, so he sighs resignedly and tucks the ingredients into his cloak carefully before following her out the door.

As they pick their way through Fugue, she somehow wheedles out of him that he likes the peculiar mushrooms that grow there and begins bringing any she finds to him in the days afterward. The gesture confuses the Wizard, but she seems so sincere that he can’t turn her away. They’re very useful in any case, and if he doesn’t have to go to the trouble of finding them he’s not going to complain. When she learns he has a soft spot for coffee she starts to bring him cups of it on the days in between.

After the girl helps him retrieve his prized crystal ball, he quietly admits to himself that he’s starting to think of her as something like a friend. She doesn’t seem to mind that he’s a man of few words and easily fills the silence with chatter about her farm, the townsfolk, and everything in between. Strangely enough, he finds himself looking forward to whatever she has to say each day.

Without realizing, the Wizard begins to fall for her. It’s been a long time since he’s felt anything resembling love, and when he finally does grasp why he’s so happy to see her every time she visits he can’t help but be a little scared. He knows all too well that loving someone is one of the easiest ways to get hurt. But he doesn’t think he has much choice anymore, and so he lets himself fall.

In the seasons following, he wonders if perhaps he’s making a mistake in courting her. She is undeniably happy whenever they are together, and her cheeks grow adorably red if they so much as hold hands, but he still feels she’s wasting her time with someone like him. It would be better, he thinks, if she could love someone who doesn’t shut himself away from the rest of the island. Someone who isn’t destined to outlive her by centuries.

The day he finally brings himself to tell her his worries, she surprises him yet again by being angry, of all things. She takes his face in her hands and forces him to meet her gaze before telling him in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t want to be with anyone but him. Eyes softening, she adds that it isn’t good to keep everything bottled up like that. She settles against his side with the assurance that she’ll always listen to whatever he’s worried about, and his heart constricts almost painfully in his chest.

She proposes to him not long after, and while he had wanted to be the one to make that gesture, he’s secretly glad. This way he knows with absolute certainty that it’s what she wants, and she’s not just saying yes out of obligation. It erases that last bit of doubt in the back of his mind, and he accepts wholeheartedly.

They have a quiet wedding with just the two of them, in the darkness of Celesta Church. Her dress glows softly in the moonlight, and the Wizard thinks it’s the happiest day of his life.

After just a few weeks of living in her small farm house, he realizes he was a fool for ever thinking he was better off alone. The loneliness that made his entire body ache is little more than a memory. When he shudders awake from a nightmare with chills running up his spine she’s never more than an arm’s reach away, pulling him closer and murmuring reassurances until he falls back to sleep. In the evenings she often sits beside him as he reads, peering at the unfamiliar symbols with curious eyes and occasionally asking a question. Each time, she falls asleep on his shoulder and has to be carried to bed, but he doesn’t mind.

She is so vibrant, seemingly endless energy constantly spilling forth and driving her to do bigger and better things. As soon as the first rays of sun peek over the horizon, she's up and moving. He tries to help by learning how to cook, hanging the laundry out to dry, offering to water the crops while she tends to their ever-growing collection of animals. It never feels like enough. She does so much more, and is never as tired as him.

Of course, he knows that she won't be this way forever, as much as he dreams and hopes and prays. He knows that her strength will begin to fail, her hair will become streaked with grey. He knows that one day her heart will cease to beat and his own will shatter into a million tiny pieces like the stars he loves to watch. Even so, he cannot bring himself to regret allowing himself to love her. She has made his life immeasurably brighter, simply by being near. She is the one, the only one for him, and he never wants to let her go.

#Harvest Moon #Harvest Moon Animal Parade #Harvest Moon AP #Harvest Moon Wizard #Harvest Moon fanfiction #idk how to tag this #Hikari and the Wizard: A Hundred Words #I'm nervous weeeeee #kael writes #also this is full of cheese I'm sorry

[fallinfor-youreyes]

Like The Stars Miss The Sun

ao3

Sometimes, he lets himself think about her.

Usually, it’s late, when the kids are asleep and the sun is no where in sight, and he finally has a few moments to himself. Times when isn’t thinking about training the kids, or wondering if they finished their homework, or scouring the internet for food that is healthy and will also keep growing teenagers strong. Times when he should really be trying to fall asleep but old habits and training die hard, as he’s learned, and sometimes, he feels more awake when the sun is down and the the sky is black. Side effect of being raised by Bruce “I am the night” Wayne.

It’s then, when he lets himself think about Kory. And by let himself, he means finally allows himself to deal with all the thoughts he’s had about her all day come to the front of his mind, because for a few moments, he can. He doesn’t have to worry about other things. So he lets himself think of her, and where she is and what’s she’s doing and how she might react to things that are happening. Like Rachel learning to control her powers, or Gar turning into new animals every few weeks, or Jason not acting like dick for 2 minutes every once in a while, or if she would be able to help Rose stop walking on eggshells around the tower.

Dick Grayson know’s he lives a pretty dangerous lifestyle, but he thinks these moments, these silent, stolen moments when he thinks of Kory’s smile and her laugh and the way she knows what he’s thinking sometimes even before he does are the most dangerous parts of his day. Because, they are almost normal. For a few moments, he can be a 28 year old guy who may or may not be pining after beautiful, terrifying woman. Until he remembers he’s actually a somewhat retired superhero who is currently training a new class of superheroes, who may or may not pining after a princess of an alien planet.

They are dangerous because his life has never been normal. Because he has never been normal. Because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking about her.

His thoughts get more dangerous the longer he hasn’t head from her. The sometimes in the middle of the night have started creeping into other parts of the day. Like when he’s coming back from the farmer’s market and hopes, that maybe, just maybe, he’ll open the door this time, and she’ll be sitting on the couch, smirk on her face, green eyes full of mischief and stories. Or when he’s making dinner and he thinks about making extra just in case Kory pops in. Or when he’s teaching the kids a new training routine, and he pauses in the middle of an explanation, stupidly listening as if she’ll appear behind him and tell him he’s doing it wrong, step in saying “here let me show you should actually do it.”

Or when he stops a half a footstep away from opening the door to his bedroom, trying to banish all thoughts of Kory tangled in his sheets, fingertips dancing down his chest as he tells her about everything and anything.

Dick tries to chalk it down it to the fact that he hasn’t heard from her in 3 months. That part of him is just curious about what she has been up to, if she is planning on staying on Earth, if maybe, just maybe, she’s thinking about him too.

It’s dangerous but no matter what he does, he can’t seem to get her out of his head.

Part of him knows that whatever they had for a few brief weeks would have ended in flames and blood and disaster. Part of him knows it's a good thing it ended like it did, careful, safe, smiles on both their faces.

But the other part of him, the much less logical side of Dick Grayson, can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he kissed her by the car that day. That part of him wants to know, wants to wonder.

That part of him never wants to stop thinking about Kory ever again.

xXx

Sometimes she lets herself think about him.

By sometimes she means most of the time.

By most of the time, she means too much of the time, Dick Grayson is invading her thoughts in ways she did not give him permission too.

Kory knows there is lot about herself that she does not know. A lot of her time before earth and on earth and before she ran into Dick and Rachel and Gar and everyone else is a mystery to her. One she plans to figure out a remember. But, knowing so little about herself, she likes to think she has some sort of control over her own, current thoughts. But apparently her brain has a very different idea.

She’s up with the sun in the mornings, way to early in her opinion, but it happens every day without fail, and every day without fail, the smallest, most annoying part of her brain has a wish. That this time she will open her eyes and Dick Grayson will be there, softly snoring, his face peaceful, some part of his body tangled around hers.

It’s an impulsive thought. One she cannot shake free of. Even though she knows it's mainly her fault that it is just a thought, not an actual action. He asked her to come with him. In his own, round about way, eyes almost pleading with her as he casually said the car had enough room. But she said no. Because she needs to figure out who she is before she can do something as impulsive and reckless as allowing herself to get dangerously close to Dick Grayson. They both need to figure themselves out.

She spends too much of her time not allowing herself to think about him. Which means alot of her time is spent thinking about not thinking about him, which sometimes makes her want to fly all the way out to California to punch him in the face.

And the thing is, she knows where he is. The last time Donna had talked to him, her told her about San Francisco and Titans tower, which led to Donna telling her about the original titans, and now, Kory knows where he and the kids are. She has a decent idea about what they are doing, and it lends itself to her imagination more than she cares.

So she distracts herself. Donna has plans and lets Kory stay in her spare bedroom. When they are not tracing down criminals or the occasional meta human, Donna helps her translate her notes from the storage locker, and they try to figure out her life before she woke in the Vienna and the guns and whole plot to kill Rachel.

And when they aren’t doing either of those things, Donna is showing her Earth. She knows what is like for things to be foreign and unfamiliar and she’s opinionated and funny and Kory trusts her. It’s a hard thing for her to do, learn to trust others, but she Donna has her back, even if she make fun of her music choices. She knows thee best food trucks and drags her to all the fun dancing clubs, and sometimes, she smiles, and Kory can see just the smallest amount of Dick’s smile in hers, and Kory wonders if that’s something that happens with all siblings, blood related or not.

Which leads to her thinking about her own family who she can’t remember. And also, sometimes, (most of the time, too much of the time) leads to her thinking about Dick. Dick and his stupid smile, and his stupid fluffy hair, and his stupid, perfect, magical mouth. Dick and his family, before and after and now. Dick Grayson and Rachel Roth and Gar Logan and her, their tiny, broken, disaster of a family that somehow grew in the space a few weeks, a family that she misses, that she thinks about too often. A family that could be hers if she wanted.

A family she hasn’t heard from in about 3 months.

Donna asks her where she wants to go next and she says Florida because it’s warm, but California is also warm. Warm and has her family, and Dick, and his stupid, perfect, magical mouth.

Part of her wants to go to California. Part of her wants her impulsive morning thoughts to be a reality.

But the other part of her, the more logical and political part of her wants to run. Run away and never look back, because she knows it can only end in disaster, one she doesn’t think she would be able to pick up the pieces from.

But, before either part of her can weigh the pros and cons, everything goes to shit.

xXx

“What do you mean Kory’s missing?”

Donna makes a noise on the other end of the phone, one that sounds an awful lot like she is kicking something rather hard, but he waits for her to explain herself.

“I told you. Shimmer. Tacos. Roy. No tacos. No Kory. I’ve called all my contacts in Florida, and used just about every ounce of pull with anyone to see if they’ve caught a glimpse of her. But nothing. She’s just gone. I know it’s shitty timing with Dr. Light but I can’t leave Chicago. Not without knowing she’s okay.” Donna sighs, and then kicks something again, and Dick presses his head into the kitchen counter.

All of his thoughts about Kory Anders turn to a slow sort of panic. Kory is missing. Dr. Light is sending light bombs after them. Hank and Dawn are having some sort of argument he hasn’t figured out yet. Rachel is definitely hiding something from him, and he still doesn’t know how to talk to Gar, and Jason is a whole natural disaster bundled inside a 19 year boy, and Rose still won’t tell him who she’s running from, and he’s only one guy. One guy who was almost having a good few weeks.

He should have known. Things were starting to feel normal.

“Dick?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” He drops his head to the counter again, this time with more force. Kory’s missing. Has been for 2 days. And he didn’t know. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

He can almost see Donna’s glare the second the words are out of his mouth. “It’s been two days, Dick. You used to disappear for weeks when we were kids, so I was giving her the benefit of the doubt for a few days before I called in the calvary.”

“Your right, I’m sorry, I’m just-“

“Worried,” Donna says. She knows him better than almost anyone, and sometimes hates it. “You’re allowed be. But you’re also not the only one.”

“I know.” He sighs, resists the urge to kick something like Donna has been doing for most of the conversation. “I’ll see if I can find anything out from over here. Keep me updated,” he says. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, and tries not to think of any of the terrible scenarios that instantly are forming in his mind. “Please.” The word slips out from his mouth without his permission, broken and hopeless.

“Of course. And Dick,” Donna says, stopping him just before he hangs up on he. “If anyone can take of themselves, it Kory.”

“I know.”

He drops the phone onto the counter much like his head, almost hoping it cracks. But to do that he would need to chuck it at the wall, a few times, probably, and he doesn’t have the energy for that at the moment. Kory is missing. Kory could bee in danger or dead and he’s been too worried about everything going on in the tower to even think consider Koriand’r, alien princess who can shoot fire from her hands, finding herself in danger.

He wants to fly to Chicago. He wants to track all of the steps that led to her being there one minute and gone the next. He wants to know where she is. He needs to know if she’s okay.

But he can’t. Because he has his own problems and his own dangerous situations, and he has four teenagers he needs to keep safe from a bad guy he thought was stopped already, and he still hasn’t made dinner for the night.

Dick wants a lot of things. He doesn’t want normal, because that’s not who he his. That’s not who the people he loves and cares about are. But he wants safety, or at least some semblance of it. He wants the kids to be safe, and he wants Kory to be safe and okay, and he wants for the world to stop spinning so fast for single moment so he can breath.

He thought working things out with Bruce and letting go of the darkness inside of him would lead to something new, something better, something slightly less stressful.

But it hasn’t. At least, not in the way he wanted it to. And he doesn’t know what to do, or how to move forward, and for a second he wants almost normal again. But almost normal led them here to this mess. So he doesn’t know what he truly wants, and that only makes him want to smash his head into the counter until he has an answer, even if that answer is being unconscious.

“Dick?” Rachel’s suddenly behind him, probably able to read his mind or feel his stress through the walls. He knows he needs to tell her about Kory, and why Dawn and Hank are here, and why someone blew up their car, but he can’t seem to bring his head up from the marble yet.

“What happened to Kory?” Rachel forces herself next to him. He lifts his head and she’s staring at him with a glare that could rival Donna’s, and it give him enough motivation to push himself from the counter.

“I don’t know yet.”

Before he can say anything else Gar and Jason come into thee kitchen bickering about something, and the Rose comes, hovering by the door and Hank and Dawn follow the sounds of Jason and Gar’s argument until the kitchen is full and for a split second, Dick pretends its because everyone is hungry and they are here to talk about dinner.

But that’s not why they are here.

So he tells them, about Dr. Light and about Kory and everyone looks at him for a plan.

He doesn’t know how to tell he doesn’t have one.

xXx

She lets herself be embarrassed over being taken down with a single taser for about three minutes.

It was Tamaran taser, which lets her be slightly less embarrassed.

And then she turns that embarrassment into rage, and embarrasses everyone who thought sending one person to drag her back home would be enough.

She remembers bits and pieces about who she is. More than she used to but still not enough to really know who herself, so she gets him talking first, until she learns enough for even more memories to slowly unlock in her brain. Gets him talking until he’s close enough for her knock him out and tie him up, more efficiently than he did with her.

She kicks himself for good measure, hoping she’s hit him hard enough to stay asleep while she searches for her phone.

Kory gives herself a moment to be proud of herself. And then another to think about how proud Dick would be for her not killing him, even when he definitely deserved it.

She finds her phone and then rolls her head, working out the cracks and tension as she thinks for a second. A moment.

Really, at this point, she knows exactly what she wants.

She types in Donna’s number first.

“Oh , my god. Are you okay? Where are you?” Donna is talking a mile a minute and Kory is only able to confirm she is alive before Donna is off, asking questions she doesn’t give her time to answer.

“Donna. I’m okay. Stop for a moment.” Kory says, and Donna stops, taking a shaky breath that Kory can only barely hear over the phone.

She tells her where she is, and that she needs to know if there is somewhere they can keep him for now, and Donna goes into tactical mode, and she talks to her until she’s running through the door of the warehouse, wrapping Kory in a hug before she even hangs up the phone.

“I knew you didn’t go to Florida,” Donna says. “God, we were so worried.”

Kory doesn’t miss the we but she ignores it for the moment. “They are going to send more. So we should interrogate him a bit, figure out as much as we can.” She twists the ring on her finger, trying to figure out the best next steps.

Logically, she knows she should stay here in Chicago, figure out exactly what Tamaran has planned for her.

But, realistically, she’s been trying to figure out the fastest way to San Francisco since she first tied her assailant up.

Donna kicks the man, and he slumps over in the chair. “I know a place were we can keep him.” Donna breaks out into a smile, turning back to Kory.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Dick has a nice place in San Francisco. Which works out perfectly.” She pauses pulling out her phone again, and Kory is able to glimpse a terrible picture of Dick on the screen before Donna presses the phone to her ear. “Something’s happened in California.”

xXx

Donna tells him she’s found Kory and that she’s okay, but for some reason, it doesn’t sink in until she’s there, standing in his door way, hair straight but still in her signature fur coat.

And he just, stares.

Because, Kory is here, Kory is okay, Kory is standing in his door, the beginning of smile stretching across her lips.

He’s forgotten just how breath taking she is.

And suddenly, he’s forgotten how to breath.

“Oh, my god.” Donna rolls her eyes and pushes past the both of them. “Nice to see you too, Dick. I’ve dropped our friend in the sub zone. Thanks for not changing the locks.” She pats his cheek as she side steps him, and then it’s just him and Kory, still standing in the doorway, because he is still processing that she’s here. This isn’t one of his day dreams.

It had been two days since Donna called him, telling him Kory was okay and that they were coming to San Francisco, ‘friend’ included. Two days of Dick trying to come to terms with the fact that Kory was coming, that she was going to be here, that everyone was going to be together again.

Two days of Dick thinking maybe, just maybe, they could all make it out of this mess okay.

“Hi,” he says, rather eloquently. It comes out breathless. He wants to punch himself in the face.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Kory asks. She has a cut down the side of her cheek that’s halfway healed, and he wants to know who hurt her, wants to know what happened, needs to know that she is actually okay.

But instead, he steps aside, and her smile grows, and she lets her eyes travel around the room before spinning herself back to him.

“So this is where you’ve been the past couple of weeks.”

“Yeah. I’m sure the kids will take you on a tour as soon as they possibly can.” He wants to take a step toward her, but he doesn’t know what their protocol is anymore. He’s never really known, but now it feels like there’s a three month sized wall between them, and he doesn’t know how to start breaking it down.

“Hmm.” She hums, eyes still roaming before dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Any chance of you being the one to show me around?”

And, fuck. Kory Anders is literally two steps away from him, real, and alive, and flirting with him, and fuck he’s missed her. Dick closes the space between them in two second, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, thumb ghosting over the cut on her skin.

“Pretty sure the kids would severely injure me if I tried.”

Kory’s eyes flutter shut and wants to kiss her, wants to pull her into his room, wants to know everything about her last three months. But there’s seven other people in the house and about 18 different problems that need to be taken care of so he can’t.

He knows they only have a few moments before Rachel and Gar crash into the room. Only a few moments before everyone swarms and the he has to start explaining Rose and Dr. Light why they are all here. Only a few moments with Kory by themselves, a few moments to take in that she is alive, and she is okay, and she is here, before the peace is broken.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He asks, words barely a whisper.

Her eyes shoot open, and there’s a split second of fear that he is able to catch before she blinks it away.

“Will you tell me?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. Because he will. Because he finally wants to.

He wants a lot of things.

“Later. After the kids are done with you.” He can hear Gar’s footsteps now, so he presses a quick kiss to her forehead and then takes a step back, just before everyone else bursts into the room and then Rachel is in Kory’s arms and Gar is wrapping his arms around them both, and there is at least 10 different things that need to be figured out right now, but Dick feels something close to peace.

Everyone is here, and there is the smallest degree of safety in this moment, and together, all of them, will figure it out.

They’ll make a plan, and everything will be okay. Because this is their normal.

xXx

Kory wakes with the sun, and allows herself a single moment for an impulsive thought. It’s the same impulsive thought she’s had for weeks now. The one she keeps trying to banish but can’t.

She’s going to open her eyes, and be in Donna’s spare room, alone. And that’s okay, because she’s used to it by now, thinking about Dick Grayson when she shouldn’t.

Kory opens her eyes.

Dick’s arm around her waist tightens just slightly, and there’s the smallest worry line between his eyebrows that she would try to flatten if she knew it wouldn’t wake him up.

This isn’t a thought. This is real. Dick Grayson is wrapped around her like a cocoon and she’s in his shirt, and last night he talked to her, about everything and anything, and she told him what she had learned about herself.

This is real. She is here. And if Dick Grayson is going to be taking up too much time in her thoughts, then she wants to at least be able to tell him about at the end of day.

Kory studies his face until his nose scrunches up. She knows he’s awake, but he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, almost like he’s afraid that he will and she will be gone.

She knows the feeling.

“Good morning,” she says, a whisper almost lost in his giant room. His eyes are still closed the the side of his lip quirks up. Kory smooths of the worry line between his eyebrows, letting her hand slip down his face until she can press the side of smile with her thumb.

“I’m going to kiss you know, Dick Grayson.”

His eyes pop open, and then she’s kissing him, and he rolling them over until he can cage her between the bed and his arms, and this, this is what she has not let herself think about. Because nothing compares to the real thing.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, lips brushing over her skin as he kisses his way down her throat.

Kory tangles her hands in his hair and sighs, pulling his lips back to hers. “I’ve missed you too.”

#titans #titans fic #dickkory #dick grayson #koriand'r #my fic #this is my first time writing them

[slxyangel]

Pain and Noise (Duff x Reader)

Summary: I was fed up with just about everything that constituted my life, so I started playing.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, mentions of violence, swearing, panic attack.

Wordcount: Almost 5k

A/N: First fic I ever write, I am nervous and this was originally in Spanish, so be nice with my best try of a translation. Enjoy :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

The pain in the back of my hands was intense, searing, and growing worse with every minute I spent holding the drumsticks and unloading my rage over the drums in the studio. The accumulated tension stiffened my fingers, the muscles in my arms were numb and it had been a while since I started feeling my nails spiking my own skin because of the pressure I was putting on it. I didn’t care; I preferred to feel that rather than the anguish that had been threatening to rip off my chest these last few weeks. I don’t know how much time I spent like that. What I do remember is the pain. And the noise.

I also remember sitting on the stool during a little while the guys were out, I’m not sure what for, maybe to grab some food or take a break. They had been working on the album for months, and these days of polishing, re-recording, fixing and tuning everything up for the final version were being especially hard; they deserved a breather. “And so do I”, I told myself while I held Steven’s drumsticks and gave it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He, as any other percussionist, didn’t like it when someone else fiddled with his instrument, not to mention if it happened without him being around to control it. I could only hope that he didn’t show up in that very moment and caught me, because I don’t think I would have the strength to explain him every thought that was circling my head the moment I decided to play his drums, and even less not to drown the whole story with my tears. I mean, come on, it was only going to be a little while.

I had been working with the band practically since the recording process for Appetite for Destruction began. I was in my last year of university, and needed an internship to complete my learning agreement, and, I still can’t comprehend how, my best friend’s father got me plugged-in in Geffen Records. They were the ones who decided that the best option for an audiovisuals student was in the recordings for a young rock band’s debut album. This is how I ended up being Mike Clink’s personal assistant and hanging out with Axl, Slash, Izzy, Duff and Steven. The chemistry had been practically automatic, I got along with them pretty quick and, even though I started being basically the coffee girl, I was always very comfortable in such a creative and carefree environment.

I remember those first days in which Mark, my boyfriend, used to drive me to the studio in his car. I could drive, of course, but my new job seemed almost more exciting for him than it did for me, so he insisted in getting me there, picking me up and making me tell him every little detail of my brand-new work life. He was thrilled when I told him how I had spent twenty minutes of my first day talking with Slash and he had shown interest about my studies, my reasons to be there and my general life. “If we’re gonna work together, we might as well be friends”, he said. The guy told me that he had a snake, that his parents were artists and that’s why he had always been so involved with music. He also said he got his first guitar when he was 15 and that he and the guys ended up together out of sheer coincidence, but they had realized they were the perfect combination, so they were really excited about their new project. It was there that I realized I was in the right place and, even if, worst case scenario, the rest of the band hated me, at least I had a new friend.

However, my worries couldn’t be any more unfounded. Once I had talked to Saul, the rest of it went smoothly. Axl was quite a character, for instance, a guy you felt like looking at. Wherever he was (because he couldn’t stand still for a second), your eyes would be glued to him. He had an enviable magnetism no matter what he did: singing one of their songs, bringing order to the mixing desk, finishing off half a liter of Jack Daniel’s… He was the kind of person who seems out of reach from every one of us mortals but, deep down, is a cinnamon roll. Our first interactions (mostly his, let’s be honest) were filled with double intentions. In any case, now that I see it in retrospective and compare it with the way he treated other girls, I came to think that this was his way to know women in general, his default mode. Actually, those anecdotes of conversations I had with the vocalist were worth a fair dose of laughing for Mark and me during our more than usual supermarket-pizza, Ben-&-Jerry’s-ice-cream dinners in the flat we shared. Over time, Axl’s phase of blatant flirting with me faded away, making room for a really close friendship between the two of us.

Izzy, on the other hand, treated me almost as if I was an experiment. Do you know the feeling when you arrive to a new school but the year has already started and everybody is curious about you? Well, that was more or less how the guitarist reacted to my incorporation. He had never been too talkative, or, at least, not as much as the rest of them, so my first days with the brunet can be summed up to him joining conversations between me and someone else, to learn a bit more about me without having to ask directly; to my hand-waving gestures and his responses raising his chin or his eyebrows; or to him offering me drags of his cigarette from time to time, while we waited for the rest of the guys to record their tracks so we could all go partying together. It was interesting. It was entertaining. It was even funny to see us unfolding, adapting to each other until we gained full trust. We could argue that his more reserved, almost wary personality and my own, more explosive and versatile, complemented each other as two puzzle pieces; one had what the other lacked.

And, while Izzy complemented me, Steven understood me. We were two peas in a pod: energetic, chaotic and jam-packed with energy. Basically the kids in the team. Like two naughty twins, we loved to terrorize the studio. We threw stuff at each other, we laughed like crazy, we yelled from one corner of the room to the other the dumbest, most absurd shit you could imagine… One of the activities I enjoyed the most was to scare away the chicks from him. Some afternoons when he was chilling on the couch, unaware and concentrated on hitting on whatever girl he had just met, I arrived, seated next to him on the couch and went full on clingy-ass-girlfriend with him: handsy and unbearable. I interrupted the groupie and put up with Steven’s deadly glares until, after a while, the girl took off, sometimes walking towards one of the other guys, sometimes straight to her house. The drummer always got mad at me when I did this to him, but his anger never lasted for more than ten minutes.

And then there was Duff. He was something else, something different. I had never had such a connection with anyone, and even less with anyone I had met for so little time. Duff had his own light, like an extremely bright star, and I was flashed by it but, at the same time, he irradiated a delightful kind of warmth, too nice for me to voluntarily step away. He was fun, he was compassionate, he was sensible, he was a little bit mad and he made everything unspeakably easy. The rest of the band spent their days saying that we should have sex or betting on whether we were or weren’t conscious of the sexual tension they assured was too obvious between us. At first, we either told them to fuck off or went along with it, but without giving it much of a second thought. At the end of the day, I was dating Mark, who I adored, and Duff knew it. We were nothing but friends, like the rest of the guys.

Weeks went by and I kept getting closer and closer with the bassist: we talked about everything and anything, we told each other countless anecdotes from our lives before arriving to L.A., and he even sometimes helped me with the paperwork. More than once, even though smoking was allowed in the studio, the two of us stepped outside to do it, and a break that was meant to last for 10 minutes ended up being one hour long. When this happened, Slash had to come out for him, wielding his guitar and threatening to smash it on his head if he wasn’t back inside in the following fifteen seconds. In fact, some of those days when it took me longer to finish my job he would stick around and offer me a ride home before he headed to the club, so that Mark didn’t have to come pick me up that far that late.

Of course, it was all being too good to be true. The first day this happened, when I arrived home in “some other dude’s car, instead of a fucking taxi”, Mark’s own words, I found a version of my boyfriend that I didn’t like one tiny bit: wary, silent and mean. When I asked what his problem was I already saw the answer coming, but I just refused to believe he was going to get all possessive over such a nonsense, he had never behave like that. That night we went from yelling at each other to the silent treatment in a matter of a few hours, and the next day, when I got to the studio in my own car for the first time since the guys knew me, that place looked like goddamn press conference. They took less than two minutes to notice I was a little bit off, and less than five to tell me “Dump him, fuck Duff”. I couldn’t help but laugh. I hadn’t broken up with Mark, we had just argued; I would speak to him and we would fix things; that’s what couples did. Bitch, you thought.

For the next few days everything seemed to have turned back to normal: my boyfriend and I were okay, he said he was sorry and begged me to let him apologize by being my chauffeur again. I didn’t quite feel like rocking the boat after that night, so the idea of not driving myself to work didn’t seem that bad, until the days Mark started arriving a little earlier each day. Five minutes, fifteen, half an hour before my cutoff time, as if he had to make sure I went back home with him, as if he had to keep an eye on me. In fact, one of the days in which he arrived with a bigger margin of time, he decided it was a good idea to wait inside the studio while the band was recording, and argued that “it would be a lot more boring to wait in the car”. Over the last days, the guys had noticed how pissed it made me the fact that he was chasing after me, behaving like an asshole and little more than tying a leash around my neck, so Axl stepped up and asked him to leave, since the guy wouldn’t listen to me. I have to admit I was surprised with how calmly the vocalist took the intrusion, taking into account his normally short temper. He told Mark that “it wasn’t his problem if he wanted to be his girlfriend’s chauffeur, but he couldn’t simply burst into a private property as if it was his house, and even less when they were working.” To be honest, that was one hell of a comeback, because if the singer had exposed the real reasons why he wanted him out, the other one would have clutched at straws to the philosophy “She is my girlfriend, you don’t get a saying on this.” But on his argument and on his turf, Axl had the upper hand.

Despite all the efforts, Mark told him to mind his own business and that, if the redhead kicked him out of the studio, he would be behaving like a total dick. Then, as if the destiny was trying its best to fix things, sarcasm be sensed, Duff showed up in the anteroom where we were. As soon as my boyfriend saw him, his eyes started blazing, and it only took the bassist telling him he had to leave and that I was still in my working hours so I wouldn’t go with him, for his fist to connect with Duff’s jaw in a nasty jab. And hell was fucking raised.

Axl pushed Mark, who was holding my arm with the same hand he had punched the blond with two seconds ago. Not letting go of me, he tackled the vocalist, mumbling something I can’t remember. Then he walked towards the front door, grabbing me with him. “Let’s go. Now”, he ordered. His fingers dug into my skin with such anger and despair that I could already feel the bruise forming underneath, and I was half shocked, half scared shitless. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get in the car with him and I didn’t want any more punches either, but in any case my limbs were not responding to the commands my brain tried to make, whichever they were. It was then that, halfway across the room, before reaching the door, Mark stumbled and fell, finally releasing my arm. The first thing I saw when I lifted my eyes was Duff standing there, with his mouth covered in blood, shaking his right hand once and breathing heavily.

- If you ever touch her again like that, I’ll kill you.

While Mark was trying to get up, Slash stormed in from the recording room. He had seen the events of the last two minutes from his position behind the glass, and he wasn’t going to take any more of that shit. Right before the other one went ballistic attacking the bassist and blood started to hit the fan, Saul grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kicked him, literally, out of the place. Once the metal door had closed between Mark and us, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I vaguely remember I started hyperventilating, on my knees, on the floor, and the sound of punches hitting metal on the outside was all but helping me calm down. As tears streamed down my face and I frantically run my fingers through my hair, a hand started trailing my back. It was a soft touch, slow, really slow. Making its way upwards and then going back down, over again. The noise level had considerably decreased, and now all I could listen to were whispers, the sweetest whispers coming from the mouth of one single person. “Shhhh, easy. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here. Breathe.” Little by little my quick and superficial breathing became steadier, and after a few minutes I was able to stand up to sit on the couch. The beating on the door had stopped, and I realized all the guys were surrounding me, worried look on their faces, as Duff, seating beside me, still had his hand in my back.

_________________

It had been two weeks since that day. After the incident, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be under the same roof as Mark, and even less with the fight still recent. Who knows what he would do to me as soon as I crossed the threshold… The guys profusely insisted that I could stay with any of them, but they let me use their phone to call my best friend when I told them I would be in very good hands with her. Laura received me with a warm hug the moment she saw me, and that night, at her home, we cried, we ranted and we ate ice-cream until we couldn’t take any more. I have to admit that, given the circumstances, she managed pretty well to get me into bed feeling kinda happy. But of course, nothing lasts forever. I was about to graduate, with no home (the foster-bed in Laura’s house didn’t count), no boyfriend and no plans of work, projects or future in general; ahead of me there was a massive precipice with seemingly no ending. Besides, the production process for Appetite was coming to an end, and so did my internship and the months of togetherness with the band. Now was the time for press conferences, concerts and, if it all went well, the tour. To be honest I was super happy for them. I had seen the birth of that album, and I was blindly certain that with such a masterpiece they were bound to success. It was inevitable. But in any case, that meant the end of what had given me the most joys in the last four months and, if apart from all the financial and emotional stability I had gained during my college years, someone took that away from me… what did I have left?

__________________

After that much time hitting the drums, I had ultimately interiorized the beat so much now I was just reproducing it on loop, with my eyes closed and breathing heavily. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize the door had opened and someone had stepped into the studio. Suddenly I felt how, behind my back, two hands softly landed on my shoulders. I didn’t stop playing. My arms moved now with less vigor to the beat I had marked from the beginning, while those fingers gently traced small circles in the back of my neck, comforting me.

Duff.

It had to be him, I was certain.

Little by little I reduced the speed of my movements, gradually, until I completely stopped playing. When I left the drumsticks on the snares and turned around in the stool I saw him. He was standing there, right in front of me, asking with his eyes, a calm and expressive look on his face. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped my lips. He was worried about me.

- Good thing it was you who entered, and not Steven – I said, half jokingly, as I stood up, hoping to relax the tension built up between us.

- Yeah – he laughed softly. – Had it been him he would have ripped the drumsticks off your hands and hit you with them.

I laughed too, quietly, bitterly. This was too much for me. The words we never said were floating around, like a thousand needles falling into a tailspin above us; eventually, they would have to land. The worst part was that I didn’t know if I craved that moment or, on the contrary, dreaded it.

It looked like he had read my mind when he slowly, almost asking for permission, held my hands. I startled a bit with the contact, but I let him go on. Duff looked at them for a second before he noticed the tiny wounds I had unconsciously inflicted on myself digging my fingernails too hard a while before, at the drums. Without saying a word, he started caressing them very softly, as if he wanted to calm, more than my physical pain, the sentimental one. He was breathing deeply and slightly frowning. He was concentrated in trying to make that feeling disappear, the confusion, the guilt, the fear… the stream of emotions that had been threatening to break me for some time now. He looked me in the eyes. In that very moment, the temperature inside the room raised a few degrees. We were really close. So close I could feel his breath on me, listen to his heartbeat accelerating with every second that went by, see how his lips lightly parted, practically not at all, only a hint of the thought that filled our minds in that place, in that moment. Then, almost involuntarily, as an instinctive reflex, I stretched my neck upwards. That was the only sign he needed to make the already scarce distance between our lips disappear, and kiss me.

The contact was slow, sweet and full of longing. Our lips moved rhythmically, perfectly fitting on each other’s. Duff was still holding my hands, and I could feel my breath accelerating progressively. I released one of my hands and placed it on his neck, stroking the hair on his nape and helping myself keep balance in my tippiest toes. He saw my struggles and moved his free hand to my waist, firmly holding me so that I wouldn’t fall. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to be closer to him, even more. Everything that I hadn’t been able to do and that had bottled up inside of me was now too overwhelming, and I didn’t want to fight it anymore. Our kiss intensified, we hungrily enjoyed each other, panting. The next thing I knew was that Duff had placed his hands on the back of my thighs and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned my arms on his shoulders, so I could keep kissing him while he crossed the room and sat on the leather couch, with me straddling his lap. He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, slightly lifting the hem of my dress, as if he was testing some boundaries that I hadn’t set and, at this point, I didn’t plan to.

I was euphoric, nervous and loaded with desire. In a burst of braveness or lust, I’m not entirely sure, I started to buck my hips, back and forth, following a slow path at first, which progressively accelerated. The friction of my underwear in direct contact with his leather pants was about to drive me mad, and I couldn’t stop. His hands, which a moment ago were on my hips, guiding them, started moving over my lower stomach, tracing the edge of my panties in painfully slow motions. His breath was also heavier, somehow ragged, and I felt him hardening beneath me. His lips were stuck to the base of my neck, lightly sucking as I, with my eyes closed and lips parted into a silent “O”, gently pulled his blond hair. My core grew more sensitive by the minute, and when I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold the moan trapped in my throat anymore, his fingers touched my most sensitive spot, turning my steadily rocking hips not that steady for a moment.

In a matter of seconds, and with his hand working wonders between my legs, I got rid of the dress, which only bothered, and the perspective of my almost absolute nudity on top of his entirely dressed body made me shake with arousal. His free hand took care of my breasts, now exposed, as I dug my nails into his shoulders, underneath the sleeveless shirt he was wearing.

-  Take it off – I managed to blurb between gasps.

-  What? – Duff seemed confused, too concentrated on something else for having been able to follow the road of my own thoughts.

-  Your shirt, take it off. I want to touch you.

A shit-eating grin lit up his face right before he separated in a quick motion from that piece of clothing and threw it somewhere else. Immediately after, in a total change of the atmosphere, he laid back on the couch and, placing his hands behind his head, said:

-  Then touch me.

I didn’t hesitate for a single second. My hands flew to his shoulders, his arms, his shoulders again and went down his chest as I peppered kisses all over his lips, jaw, neck, collarbones… I took my sweet time while swinging my hips against the fabric that separated my pussy from his erection, and my nails traced a descending path down his torso, really slowly. I could notice how he was growing desperate; I felt his breath, now turned into a subtle growl, against my hair; I realized how shortly he had managed to keep his hands off me, since now he was caressing my flanks, my back and my chest. When I reached the cord of his pants with my fingers, I slowly undid the knot that tied them together and slipped my hand underneath, without stopping my hip motions. The very moment I found the base of his length, a soft grunt escaped his lips. He was driving me insane.

After a while arousing each other, we couldn’t stand the teasing any longer and Duff took the first step to getting rid of the clothes that were still around. I stood up and took off my sandals so that he could slide my panties down my legs, grazing my skin along the way. He also let go of both his pants and sneakers, tossing them on the carpet. Our moves were clumsy thanks to eagerness and anticipation. I once again sat on top of him, in our initial position, only now there were no clothes in the middle of the road. I could feel him against me. Touch. Friction. Desire. His expert fingers moved now freely over my core, as he left little love bites under my left ear. I kept on rubbing his cock, fully hard and a bit wet, while, with my other hand, I held on to his hair for dear life. We were close, really close. It felt as if every centimeter of my skin was on direct contact with Duff. He was everywhere, every corner, every goosebump, every scar… With all this overstimulation, my moans filled the room, and I didn’t have enough sanity to realize anyone could come in. I was a mess.All of a sudden, right when I was seconds away from cumming, his hands disappeared from my core. Even though I couldn’t see myself, I was sure in my eyes one would be able to read the anticipation and confusion.

-  Wait – he said in a desperate whisper -. I want to feel you, I want to be inside of you.

If he hadn’t stopped touching me a moment before, I am sure that sentence would have sent me to the wildest of orgasms, but it wasn’t the time for my sweet release. Not yet. He put his hand right next to mine, on his cock, and, with an almost unbearable slowness, he brought the tip of it to my entrance. A trembling sigh fell from my lips and we looked into each other’s eyes. Then, I gently let my hips descend on his lap, and he completely slid inside of me, letting escape an unearthly growl that gave me chills. He had dropped his head back, leaving his neck and collarbones exposed to me, but I had my eyes closed as I tried to control the delightful contractions that were about to take over me. I felt him inside of me, extremely deep. As if we were two pieces of the same puzzle, as if we had been manufactured specifically to be together. Now THAT was overstimulation. Once my body had adjusted to him, I started motioning my hips up and down, holding on to his shoulders so that I didn’t lose the limited balance I had left. He once again was looking at me, with his hands on my waist as I kept the path. Close, very close. His arms slid around me and I kissed his lips eagerly. Our moans died in one another’s mouth while the movements became faster, erratic, frenetic. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep my sanity, I was almost raving with pleasure, and the moment our lips broke away to take air and we looked at each other, nose to nose, without stopping for a moment, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I came with a flashing intensity, pronouncing his name countless times, asking God knows who for this moment to last forever. I couldn’t stop screaming, and when Duff begged my name and I felt his liquid warmth filling every bit of me, I saw white.

_______________

His hand stroked tenderly my naked back while my breath came back to normal against his neck. The same as that day, but at the same time entirely different. I was still on top of him, he was still inside of me. I hadn’t yet gathered the strength to pull him apart from me, but he didn’t seem willing to get separated either, so we stood like that for a while, I don’t even know how much, but I don’t care. This felt utterly intimate, intense, extremely ours and totally apart from the rest of people, from the rest of things. It was a parallel universe inside of a crystal ball. It was the embodiment of all that was right. What we had been, without knowing or admitting it, even to ourselves, waiting for all this time.

#duff #smut #angst #guns n roses #duff mckagan #oneshot #imagine #fanfic #reader #fem reader

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – A Human Crewmate - Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – At Last

A/N – OMG! OMG! OMG! THIS FIC IS 101 A4 AGES LONG, THAT IS THE SIZE OF A SMALL BOOK. Based on a lot of head-canons from @rocksinmuffin and @straightouttacybertron so extra special thanks to them for that.

Warnings – NSFW-ish, like there’s nothing major, just mentions the previous chapter’s sex.

Rating – T

Swerve stood outside the hab-suite for a long time, mentally preparing himself to not only reunite with you, but also to move in with you once more, as a couple this time. He tried to force his pedes to move, but they remained stubbornly cemented to the floor.

He couldn’t help thinking about how the last few cycles felt like a hyper-realistic dream instead of reality. The two of you had spent a drunken night together, though Swerve regrettably couldn’t remember it. He’d run away from home, which sounded terribly juvenile when put like that. You’d come to his rescue, saving him from himself. It was only within the last hour that Swerve had gotten out of the med-bay, though he would rather forget that part, considering the telling off he’d got from Ratchet, and now, after what felt like an eternity of laborious repairs, Swerve was about to have all his dreams fulfilled; he would finally have a real relationship with you, in place of the one he’d built up in his imagination.

In all honesty, Swerve still couldn’t believe it and that was exactly the problem stopping him from opening the door, taking you in his arms, and never letting go. Although he would never be able to forget the words you said to him, those enchanting words ‘It’s all I want right now,’ it was still hard to believe you were referring to a relationship with him.

The problem was, it would have been all too easy for those ever sweet, yet terrifying words to have all been a lie to save his life. If that was the case, Swerve wouldn’t blame you, you were a good person, and what good person wouldn’t say exactly what someone suicidal needed to hear to save them from themselves? If the positions had been reversed, Swerve would have said exactly the same things to save a sorry aft like him.

He pressed a servo to the door, as if touching it would make going in any easier. For all he knew, Rung was in there, waiting to hold an intervention at your request and what would Swerve do then? Try and laugh it off probably, then he’d pretend everything was A-Okay, though he wouldn’t be able to be your roommate anymore, and life had already proven that he was clearly unstable without you. Primus, he dreaded the currently imaginary meeting with Rung, despite knowing you would never call for such a thing if you thought he was going to be alright.

Swerve tried once again to bring himself back into the present and enter the room, but as it turned out, his paranoid thoughts were not done with him. It wasn’t so much that he thought you couldn’t be with a mech, it was that he didn’t believe you could want him of all mechs. If anyone, you ought to be with someone cool like Blurr, or somebody respectable like Rung, or even somebody rich like Cyclonus; those were mechs who could offer you the galaxy. What did Swerve have to offer? A mediocre bar and a bit of Earth knowledge; scrap, he was a joke.

Shivering, Swerve opened his communicator, replaying a voice-mail that he’d got from you while in the med-bay.

‘Hey Swerve, how’re you doing? Ratchet told me that they’re going to be operating on you today and let me tell you… you better come home soon… I miss the best bot on the ship.‘ You chuckled, and it sounded as though you were doing so to dispel your own concerns. If Swerve had to breathe, his breath would have caught in his throat right then, knowing that you were worried for him; it was more than he ever could have asked for. You sighed and Swerve could almost see your face, trying not to cry on his behalf, ‘Look, I mean it when I say come home safe and sound, I’ll be waiting for you.’

The message alluded to so much, yet it left much more unsaid. To anyone else, it would have been a message of the purest love, but to Swerve it could have just been a worried friend. All the same, his spark pulsed rapidly whenever he heard you say that you were waiting for him. He’d replayed that message repeatedly while he was in med-bay; he could have recreated it perfectly from memory alone if he wasn’t so lucky to have it stored in his personal files.

He smiled bittersweetly, yes, whether as a friend or something more, you were waiting for him. Apprehensively, he opened the door, ready to discuss all the things the two of you had put on hold until this moment.

The second Swerve entered the room, coolant sprung to his optics and for once, he was speechless. A giant sparkling banner hung up with the traditional ‘Welcome Home’ painted on it, surrounded by hearts and stars. As if the banner wasn’t enough, you were asleep on his berth in your day clothes, hugging to a photograph of him and you together as if your life depended on it. It was clear that you’d waited up as long as you could before exhaustion took over. Swerve examined you with devoted optics, crying with happiness as he noticed that you were covered in more glitter than the banner was. Between the banner, you on his berth and the photo in your arms, Swerve knew everything was real, he loved you, and you were at least willing to give a relationship a chance with him; it was an opportunity he would not waste, he would cherish you every click of every cycle.

He took a picture of you, storing it in his memory files before thinking about what he should do next. Part of him wanted to wake you up, but the other part wanted this moment to last forever. Carefully, Swerve held his servo over your shoulder, preparing to rouse you gently awake. He hesitated, spotting an angry red burn mark on your arm. He bit his lip, guilt worming its way into his spark, unwelcomed but unavoidable. He’d seen that injury when you came to him, you’d burnt your arm when climbing through the vents to get to him; it was his fault that you’d been hurt both physically and emotionally. Swerve pulled his servo away from you, the burn serving as a tiny reminder of what would happen when you eventually did wake up. Sure, you would initially be happy to see him, but then the hard-hitting questions would come, and Swerve wasn’t prepared to answer them.

He desperately wanted to talk to you, but he knew you wouldn’t share his view that he’d spent enough time wallowing in sadness and that it was time to be happy; you deserved answers to the questions you were bound to have, but Swerve hoped to avoid them, at least for a little while. Gently, he brushed a finger against your hair, remembering the first time you’d allowed him to do so; it all felt so long ago now. You stirred slightly at the touch, mumbling in your sleep before rolling over with a yawn and settling back into your dreams.

Thinking of all the things he wanted to have with you Swerve had a wonderful idea, one that he wished to share with nobody else but you. Making as little noise as he could, he grabbed your datapad, leaving a short message on it and placing it beside you. Barely resisting the urge to kiss your forehead, Swerve left, looking forward to the moment you would wake up and go to him.

With a yawn and a stretch, you woke up, somewhat achy from the hard berth beneath you. You hadn’t meant to sleep there, you had just been waiting for Swerve to come from whatever nerve-wracking operation Ratchet had him in and you’d felt so close to him being where he recharged, then you must have fallen asleep because you didn’t remember anything else after that.

It was only when you stood up for one final stretch that you noticed the Datapad beside you. You knew you hadn’t left it there the night before so decided to take a look at it, your heart fluttering when you saw a message from Swerve.

(Y/N), I didn’t want to wake you. Please, come to me at the bar.

Yours always, Swerve.

XXX

You were simultaneously ecstatic that Swerve was recovered from his injuries, exasperated that he’d chose to go straight to the bar, curious at what he was planning, and anxious about whether he was faring well mentally; it was a difficult amount of emotions to keep up with. Deciding not to waste any more time than you had to, you hopped over to your wardrobe and grabbed the first items of clothing at hand, a plain green shirt with a lemon on it and some jeans. You grabbed your hoverboard and sped hastily to Swerve’s.

Upon reaching the bar, you were glad to find it still wasn’t open to the crew. Maybe Cybertronian recovery wasn’t the same as human recovery, but you still hoped Swerve would take things easy for a while; it also meant you would be able to talk to him one on one without any unpleasant interruptions.

At the sound of the door opening, Swerve looked up from the table he’d been cleaning during his wait for you. Although you weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy, he couldn’t take his optics off you, finding you even more bedazzling than he usually did. A goofy grin spread across his face. He was about to approach you, but you beat him to it, running straight at him as fast as you could and jumping into his arms, hugging him as tightly as possible, only able to reach halfway around his body with your small arms.

“H-hey there,” Swerve stammered, caught off guard by the warm welcome. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

“Oh God,” You cried bittersweet tears. “I know Ratchet said you’d be okay, but I was so worried and then it took forever, and I didn’t get a call or anything and I couldn’t call him because what if he was still fixing you and-”

“Hey, hey,” Swerve patted your back, leaking coolant once again at your unexpected reaction. “Don’t you go crying over me, ‘cos now we’re both at it-”

You burbled an ungraceful laugh, burying you head in his chassis and mumbling, “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a mess right now. I just- I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Swerve croaked, resting his head in your hair and delighting in the touch and scent until you finally pulled away, wiping your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“Then you come back, and I cry like a baby,” You laughed, stepping away and trying to clear your mind and remember all the things you wanted to talk about. “Hey… I um- We have some pretty important things to discuss. Should we sit down or- I don’t- I don’t know where to start but- um Gosh I wish I’d prepared myself for this- Uh do you-”

Swerve pressed a digit to your lips, “Shh, not now.” He pulled away anxiously, awaiting your reaction.

“What? Swerve, sweetie, we have to talk about this. You could have died-”

“I know! I do and I promise, we will talk about it, it’s just- Primus- Is it alright if we have just one night to ourselves? Please… I think after everything, we at least deserve one good night together, right?”

In your heart you felt that you shouldn’t avoid such a heavy topic, one that had endangered Swerve’s very life, but the way his optics bored into you tugged at your confused emotions. You sighed, “You better keep your word, Swerve, I mean it!”

Swerve nodded somewhat giddily, glad that you were about to go along with his idea, however unwitting you were to it. “I will, you have my word as a bartender.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that formed to see Swerve so lively again, though you promised to never forget just how good he could be at hiding his emotions. “Alright then, so… I can see you’ve got something planned, what is it?”

“Well, if you’ll come with me my lady, I have the best seats in the house booked,” He offered his servo which you took gladly, and Swerve couldn’t help wondering if this was how Chromedome felt when he held Rewind’s servo because of the height difference.

“Why thank you kind sir, though I must wonder how you managed to get us booked into the best bar this side of the galaxy.”

Swerve winked, glad you were joining in his game, “Well, it’s a little-known fact that I know the owner.”

“You don’t say.”

“Oh yeah, me and him go way back, we were sparklings together.”

“Well, that explains how you managed to book the entire place.”

An uncontrolled high-pitched laugh escaped Swerve as he escorted you to the booth in the back. It had been decorated with a string of fairy-lights and roughly folded metal flowers which had been hastily painted presumably while you were sleeping. There was also a faint earthy aroma coming from a wet pot of mud under the table, which you knew Swerve had put there to remind you of home. Overall, it didn’t look like the most romantic setting in the world since Swerve was no great craftsman like Ten, but the effort he’d put into everything threatened to make you cry again.

Fortunately, you managed a grateful smile that lit up your entire face, “It really is the most beautiful place this side of the galaxy.”

Even though you were perfectly capable of climbing onto the chair yourself, Swerve played the roll of the perfect gentleman, saving you the effort by lifting you onto it before seating himself. From under the table, he pulled a large platter, lifting it to reveal what you could only assume was his first attempt at food. Despite the questionable items before you, you didn’t want to insult Swerve’s hard work so when he offered you a plate, you took it.

“Ah, so your super-secret plan was-”

“A dinner date!” Swerve beamed, though a shadow quickly contorted his face into a fearful mask, “That is if you were still up for trying this that is. I mean, I probably should have asked first and stuff. Primus! Are you here because you feel pressured? I mean, if you are then don’t worry about me, I’m a grown bot, I don’t mind if-“

“Hey,” You reached over the table, grabbing his hand with both of yours, “I’m glad to be here; it’s just you and me tonight Swerve.”

He swallowed, feeling both nervous and excited now that you’d confirmed it was a date. ‘Don’t screw this up, for once in your life, do not screw this up,’ He reminded himself, and yet, despite your comforting tone, something was still bothering him.

You couldn’t help but be thankful for whatever Swerve was going through in his processor because it meant you didn’t have to eat the lumpy, charred food in front of you that seemed to be bubbling, at least not for now. “What?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Swerve pulled his servo from yours, holding it to his helm where it wavered slightly, “We’re up here.” He moved it to his chassis, “Like we should be down here, but we’ve gone past that,” he raised his servo back up to his helm, “But we’re here already.”

“Um, Swerve… what do you mean?”

“I mean-” Swerve blushed and rushed his sentence out in a hurried mumble, “Wealreadydidit.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Wealreadydidit.”

“Um, I didn’t quite get that either.”

Swerve buried his face in his servos, “IT! We already did it! We interfaced and I can’t even remember doing it. Primus, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He pressed his face against the table, ashamed he’d brought up such a delicate subject at all, and so tactlessly at that.

You said nothing and Swerve heard a small thud as you got off your chair. He resisted the urge to sob, knowing full well that he’d scared you off with his crude complaint. Of course you’d left, any sane person would have. He cursed himself; you hadn’t even been there a few clicks and now it was over. Then, much to his surprise, he felt you press against him, having just climbed up to his side of the booth. He didn’t know what to say, so he bit his tongue before he could say anything else stupid.

“You know… I get it. You’re a good guy Swerve and as far as I can tell, you have a lot of ideals about how relationships should work, and to be honest, you’re probably right. Most people would call it old fashioned, but I think it’s romantic. Um… Maybe, we could just forget that we um… did ‘it,’” You said, careful to use the same term as he did in case you embarrassed him further.

“Primus, why are you so damn perfect? I just said I can’t remember ‘it’ and you’re okay with that? Like what if I did something wrong and… Wait! Did I? Did I do something wrong or was it um… FRAG!” He lifted his helm up in shock, “First I ruin the date and then I make it worse by asking how I was? What kind of self-obsessed dumb-aft am I?”

You bit your lip, glad he was distracted because you didn’t really want to answer the question. What would you say anyway? ‘Yeah Swerve, don’t worry, both of us were too shit-faced to have any control so it was pretty short-lived, but it did scratch a well-developed itch. Next time if we’re not drunk, we’ll get it right.’

You didn’t know what to say to get things back on track and Swerve continued babbling about interfacing throwing in some self-depreciating comments that you longed to distract him from. Hastily, you did the first thing that came to mind, standing up on the chair and crushing your lips against his. Swerve’s body went limp momentarily, his processor stating numbly, ‘Oh, this is happening now.’

In all the time he’d known you, he’d planned a world ending kiss, under the view of the stars which would make the entire universe sing and dance, but as it turned out, you’d done it first and all to shut him up.

Finally, his mind came back to him, practically screaming, ‘KISS HER BACK IDIOT!’

He quickly wrapped his arms around you, resting one on the small of your back and the other on your waist. He felt dizzy at the taste of you so sweet and exotic, yet familiar, your lips like everything else about you were wonderfully soft.

It was over much too soon as you pulled away for breath. “Feeling better?” You asked with a playful smile.

Swerve giggled somewhat idiotically, nodding so fast you thought his head might come off.

“Good, because if you keep kissing like that, you have nothing to worry about.”

You kissed him again, daring to slip a little tongue in, and feeling warm and bubbly, delighting in the fact that kissing Swerve felt so wonderfully right, like he was what you’d been missing all your life.

Swerve rolled his tongue over yours giddily, trying to memorise every part of you. His processor no longer roared at him, instead he only had one relieved feeling as he leaned back into the booth, bringing you with him so you rested atop his chassis; that thought was, ‘At last.’

Rewind giggled to himself, going over the prank again in his processor. It was quite funny that Riptide of all mechs could have come up with such a great idea, and even better that it would be such an easy task for a TV expert like Rewind; all he had to do was change all the ship’s monitors to one of those hilariously bad Spanish Earth dramas, no big deal and there was only one place left to hit up.

Forgetting stealth for much preferred speed, Rewind laughed hysterically, the sound dying in his vocaliser upon running into Swerve’s where Swerve himself had you pressed against the bar as the two of you made out.

“(Y/N)!” Rewind screeched.

Swerve pulled away from you, and the two of you looked guiltily at the small bot in front of you.

“REWIND!” Swerve squawked, annoyed to have been disturbed in his sanctuary.

“Oh my God,” You breathed, embarrassed to have been caught at something that was supposed to be secret at least until things were under control.

“YOU,” Rewind pointed at you, “AND HIM,” he jabbed his finger at Swerve.  “YOU’RE A THING! PRIMUS IT’S HAPPENING- IT’S HAPPENING!”

“REWIND,” You jumped from the bar, grabbing Rewind’s arms and shaking him, “Stop freaking out.”

“BUT YOU WERE DOING STUFF! YOU WERE DOING STUFF WITH SWERVE! SWERVE WAS DOING STUFF WITH YOU!”

“Yeah we were,” Swerve said somewhat dreamily.

“Not helping Swerve,” You reprimanded, though Swerve still looked a little smug about the revelation.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning your attention back to Rewind, “Look, you can’t tell anyone about this Rewind! Me and Swerve, we’re uh- we’re trying to keep things under wraps, y’know? Until we figure things out a bit more. Promise me you’ll keep this secret, ‘kay?”

“Uhhhh,” Rewind shuffled from your grip nervously, “I um- I can’t.”

“What? Why not?” You demanded angrily.

“’Cos well uh- It’s kind of funny actually-”

“What is? What’s funny Rewind?”

“Well I um- It was Riptide’s idea and uh- I was in here to do a prank and um-”

“SPIT IT OUT, REWIND!”

“I WAS LIVE-STREAMING THE ENTIRE THING, I’M SORRY,” He covered his face-plate, ashamed.

You took a deep-breath, afraid of what Rewind was saying, “Rewind… Sweetie… Who um- Who’s seen this?”

“Uh well, pretty much everyone at “Visage’s” right now… Do you um… Do you want to say hi? We’re still live.”

“OH MY GOD, GET OUT, NOW!”

Rewind didn’t have to be told twice, he ran faster than he knew he could, fearing your wrath despite the fact you were only human.

You glanced at Swerve, sighing exasperatedly, “Look, I get it, you’ve always wanted to be on TV, but do you have to look so damn proud of yourself.”

Swerve tried to look a little remorseful at his actions but found it impossible. “Hey, you’d be proud too if you pulled a total babe, now come on, let’s get back to the hab-suite before things get crazy.”

“Too late for that,” You mumbled, waiting for Swerve to transform, then climbing in and letting him drive you to your room.

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#more than meets the eye #mtmte #transformers #transformers idw #transformers mtmte #maccadam #the lost light #ll #lost light #swerve #swerve x reader #swerve x human reader #reader #reader insert #rewind #chapter 19 #at last

[jokersmild]

I still owe a number of things, but I wanted to take the time to explain my interpretation of the Joker's romantic inclinations - particularly in regards to Harley Quinn and Batman. Heads up that this is incredibly long, hence the readmore!

To understand the Joker, you have to first understand that he is completely and utterly insane. That's not to say that he doesn't follow logic or make rational decisions, simply that if normality is a spectrum with pale house, picket fence, a 9-5 job, and two pets on one side, the Joker is on the exact opposite side. He is the embodiment of chaos, and so he cannot feel 'love' or anything similar in the way that the average, mentally sound human can. Love is something that he's capable of processing - he loves jokes, he loves violence and death - but when it comes to loving creatures that are alive, what he feels would be more comparable to curiosity in varying levels. At his most curious, you have Batman and Harley Quinn. His least curious would likely be harmless animals, newborn babies, and mundane tasks. The more curious about something the Joker is, the longer he keeps it around, and the more he attempts to mold it to fit a shape he finds most pleasing.

I'm sure most of you who have read this far already know the story of how he came to meet Harley Quinn, but just in case, I'll summarize briefly. She worked as a psychologist fresh out of college at Arkham and talked her way into getting Joker as her first patient. She wanted to write a story on him to gain fame and fortune, but he ended up seducing and manipulating her, turning her into the Harley you know today. The reason he put so much effort into twisting her into something he finds pleasing is because he saw her potential on their very first meeting. The Joker is incredibly intelligent, especially socially, and is capable of picking up on the subtlest of hints. He spent (likely) somewhere around a year as he patient, testing her, prodding for minute details like her favorite colors, her hobbies, and her grades in school, and given all that time, he was able to learn enough about her past and personality to successfully get inside her head. The more she fell for his lies, the more she stretched as he pulled, the more he wanted to do more. She became an experiment of sorts, a test to see just how much he could change this prim and proper pencil skirt wearing doctor to someone like him - a murderous clown who views life as a joke. When she finally snapped and became 'Harley Quinn', he had intended to toss her aside, since his test had been a success and there was nothing more to see. But she continued to surprise him. She proved herself to be competent as a henchman where no others had before, she proved that she could match his pace, complement his theatrical appearance and mannerisms, and that she had far more to show him than he'd thought possible.

A fact worth noting is that the Joker never intended for her to fall in love with him. He doesn't suffer from any self esteem issues (in fact, it's quite the opposite as he has Narcissism), but he assumed that a woman nearly half his age would have no interest in an asylum inmate. When she first showed signs of romantic attraction, Harley genuinely surprised him. The Joker's past has never included romantic relationships (note, I mean the Joker and not the man he was before), and he never intended it to aside from his pining for Batman. He wasn't sure how to react for the first time in ages, and it was the fact that she was able to render him speechless and stunned that began his spiral into what he later realized is love. After she joined with him, after the months of pet names, hand holding, hugs, and soft kisses on cheeks and foreheads, the Joker realized that he enjoyed her company. And not in the way that he enjoyed a crying, screaming victim's, but not entirely dissimilar to the way he felt about Batman. The Joker wanted to keep her around, keep her happy (as he does so enjoy her laughter and excited squeals), and name her his number two. Once he came to that conclusion, he became ill. He knew that it wasn't 'The Joker in love with Harley Quinn', but rather, the man he was before (Jack, John, or Arthur if you please) in love with her. She appealed to what tiny scraps of sanity he had left. Harley showed him unconditional affection and kindness, she was patient with him, supportive, and an ever present source of camaraderie. Sure, she had fallen for The Joker's clowny antics, but she fell for the glimpses of sanity that only she had been able to see. The Joker worried that keeping her close would ease some of the symptoms of his insanity, that he would cease to be 'The Joker' if he and Harley remained an item. So he attempted to kill her. And when she didn't die, he learned that she was no pushover - he had turned her into something near an equal. At that point, he had little choice but to keep her close. She knew his secrets, had seen him cry of all things, and he had unknowingly given her power over him that no one else, not even Batman has. He loves her, not just his sanity, but even the Joker himself came to love Harley for her tenacity, insanity, bloodlust, and theatrics. It makes little sense why he would abuse her as he does if he loves her, but the Joker, as I mentioned, does not process love in a sane way. He continues to test her to this day, and the most common test is of her loyalty. No one is a constant in his life aside from Batman, the other Gotham Rogues shift from friend to foe in moments, and he'd convinced himself she would be the same. You could say that he's incapable of accepting that he's loved, and because he refused to believe she would stay with him, he continued to prod her in search of the button that would trigger the 'leave' response. Now that he found it and she has truly left him, he can't accept that, either. He made her, his tests are the reason she is who she is, and she will always love him. She has to love him, because his sanity will always love her. It's similar to not knowing what he had until it was gone - although he knew what he had, he simply wasn't capable of carrying the weight of love.

In Batman's case, the Joker loves him because he created the Joker. Think of it as a sort of... accidental 'Mad Love' scenario. In many of his origin stories (the Killing Joke being my primary inspiration), Batman led the Joker to the chemical vat, and his dark and brooding nature is what encouraged the Joker to take on a light and jovial one. They are day and night, light and shadow, and the Joker feels Batman completes him. A world without Batman simply wouldn't make sense (a concept he's currently struggling with here in isola), as you can't have a left hand without a right. It would just be a hand. Batman would just be a man dressed as a bat, and the Joker would just be a clown.

The main point to take out of the differences in the Joker's feelings for Harley and Batman, is that the Joker is obsessed with Batman. Their relationship is one of need. It is the stage on which the Joker's theatrics take place and Batman's stoic and determined nature shine. What he feels for Harley isn't need, but rather, comfort. He doesn't have to put on a show for her like he does the rest of the world. He doesn't have to wear the lipstick or the suit for her to see him for who he truly is. If our resident Harley wants to explain her feelings for the Joker, she's more than welcome to as I can't speak for her interpretation, but what I do strongly believe is that Harley will continue to love the Joker because he's the first person who looked at her and saw her, not what she presented. They have this in common, the ability to understand one another as no one else can, and thus they will always be connected - whether it's romantic or platonic. They claim to despise each other, and while Harley is more likely to be vocal about her hidden desire to care for him, the Joker feels the same. He's said as much to her on a few rare occasions, even though most only see his aggressive and violent behavior toward her. That's just one aspect of his emotions, and it's crucial to keep in mind that the Joker sees himself as an actor, the co-star alongside Batman, and he's nothing if not dedicated to performance. He has many faces (no pun intended), and there are as many Jokers as there are comics, movies, and shows he appears in. Each writer has their own opinion, their own ideas, and I have mine.

In conclusion, I ask that you take a moment to consider that the Joker is more than he appears. Yes, he is a serial killer and a terrorist dressed as a clown. But he is also a man whose wife and child died the day before he fell into a vat of toxic chemicals that forever altered his physical and mental state. I don't want anyone to sympathize with him - The Joker is intended to be a truly terrible and awful villain, someone who feels not a single ounce of regret, unlike Harley who sometimes feels guilt for her actions and draws moral lines. There is some small piece of who he once was deep down inside, but it's not going to surface. He will have no redemption arc. He will never be a good person. But there is, was, and always will be the potential for him to be a good partner. Whatever happens in Isola will remain a mystery until it happens, as sometimes plans go awry as muses run rampant, but I thank you for reading this to its conclusion, and for attempting to see the small flickers or goodness he shows toward Harley in rare and vulnerable moments. Because even though the Joker represents true evil and rampant chaos, even the darkest depths must have light somewhere nearby - otherwise how would you compare its darkness?

#ǝʅᴉⅎ ʎɯ uᴉ sʇᴉ IMPORTANT !! #sǝʅᴉɯs ⅎo ʇno OOC !! #[ this is so long... ] #[ also I'm posting on mobile! Formatting will be done once I'm home.] #ABUSE MENTION CW #MANIPULATION MENTION CW

[centeris2]

Rebecca decides to make Scott her new friend project. Scott doesn't know how to handle friends.

“You know, I can help with the bridge. Or get you some help,” Rebecca startled Scott Buttergood when she spoke behind him.

“I don’t need help. What would you know about building a bridge anyway?” Scott snapped. He was not in the mood, another setback and sabotage by CHILL had made Junior and his father more irritable than normal, and with Robert hiding somewhere in a field Scott was the one who got the brunt of the anger.

“Well I repaired the bridge connecting the Harvest Counties and Silverglade. I also worked on the bridge connecting New Hillcrest to South Hoof,” Rebecca informed him, leaning forward in the saddle while Midnightwarrior sniffed the ground.

“Right. Anything else? Saved the world?” Scott asked sarcastically, put off when Rebecca laughed darkly.

“That’s a work in progress,” she said with a smirk.

“So, if it’s not the bridge, what do you need help with?” she continued when he said nothing.

“What?”

“My someone needs help senses were tingling,” she joked, “so I thought I’d drop by.”

“What are you going to do, build the bridge for me?” Scott rolled his eyes.

“Yeah sure,” she smiled.

“What?”

“What? I asked if you needed help, and if you need me to build the bridge-”

“Why would you do that?” Scott asked suspiciously.

“Because you need help? Duh?” Rebecca shrugged.

“But why would you help?” Scott asked again, bewildered by her intentions.

“Because I like helping people. What is so strange about that?” Rebecca asked with a grin. She knew what was strange about it, no one helped the Buttergoods if they could avoid it, as the Buttergoods never did any favors for anyone.

“I can build my own damn bridge!” he snapped, feeling insulted.

“Alright, do you need any materials? Reports written?”

“No I don’t need any of that!” Scott shouted this time before he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down so his face was hidden by his wide brim hat.

“Having trouble with the bridge?” she asked politely. She knew they had been having trouble, but she had not been responsible for it.

“What does it matter to you?” he grumbled.

“Well considering I would like to use this bridge without risking a jump to my death, helping you with the bridge helps me.”

“So that’s why you want to help so bad,” he sighed, finally understanding. At least until she shook her head.

“Nah, I just know you’re used to hearing selfish reasons and accepting those. This bridge would help a lot more than just me, and you’d be able to spend your time on things you actually enjoy.”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Scott groaned.

“The rock around The Great Thunder is too unstable, it crumbles and gives way. It’d be better to put the anchors for the bridge beyond the rock so you have a secure connection. Suspension cables may be a good way to support the structure, since you won’t be able to put any supports underneath into The Great Thunder.”

Scott stared at her for a moment before he took off his hat and fanned his face. Standing around in the summer sun got very hot.

“Alright, Miss Rebecca, what do you want?” Scott asked, not commenting on her suggestions. They were good though, he should get some cables and figure out anchor points further from the edge.

“Damn, I was hoping to get you to smile. You look like you need one,” Rebecca pouted.

“What?”

“You question me a lot, am I really that strange?” Rebecca teased.

“Absolutely,” he said without second thought. She was very strange.

“I hope that means I’m not boring at least, now then, do you want to get out of here?”

“What? Err, what do you mean?” he elaborated, now self conscious. Why was he saying what so many times? He sounded like an idiot! He wasn’t an idiot!

“You and I both know you won’t be getting any work done on this bridge, so why not hop up and run away with me for a bit? At least to get you away from your family.”

Scott didn’t know what he was doing. But he found himself behind Rebecca on her Jorvik Warmblood, cantering away from Butter Hill.

“So where do you want to go? Country? City? Little town?” Rebecca asked, not sure where to go.

“As far away from there as possible,” Scott muttered, glancing back at the Buttergood mansion on the hill.

“I think that would be Jorvik City then,” Rebecca decided out loud, pushing Midnightwarrior faster, the three of them thundering through New Hillcrest and across South Hoof. Scott looked around in awe, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been to South Hoof, or anywhere outside The Harvest Counties. It seemed so silly, it was all just a few miles away, yet he was kept up in that tiny little pocket of Buttergood land.

“Is this what it’s like?” he muttered as they crossed the bay to Fort Pinta on the ferry.

“Hmm?”

“To be able to run free?” he was glad he was sitting behind her so she couldn’t see his blush.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” she asked instead of answering him.

“And go where? Aside from the stables and a few shops there isn’t really anywhere to go in Harvest Counties.”

“And I’m guessing Junior keeps you busy,” she assumed, Midnightwarrior carrying them off the ferry.

“Yup. Junior always needs something. Or Daddy,” he said the word bitterly.

“Am… am I going to get you into trouble?” she asked, worried now. She had heard very nasty things about Junior and Valdemar Buttergood, she hoped they wouldn’t punish Scott.

“They’ll have to notice I’m gone, which they probably won’t. And what are they going to do? Make me sleep in the tool shed? I do that already, it’s not bad with a few sleeping bags on the ground for cushion,” Scott wondered why it was so easy to talk to her. Was this how it was with people who weren’t his family? He was so used to dealing with his blood and the GED tramping around their property. It was strange talking to someone who wasn’t sneering at him like he was worthless.

“Well I’ll try to get you home before they notice,” Rebecca said in an upbeat voice, freezing a bit when Scott grumbled.

“It’s not home,” he corrected her. He felt her tense up at his harsh tone and he felt a wriggle of guilt in his stomach.

“Sorry, you didn’t- you don’t know,” he apologized and she relaxed.

“You’re right, I don’t. I can’t imagine what your family life is like. I’m sure you and Robert are the only two that have a positive relationship anymore, or maybe I’m just making assumptions,” she added in case she was wrong.

“Not really, he and I don’t really talk much. He’s always sneaking off to Crescent Moon Village or New Hillcrest, he seems happy though, like he has friends,” Scott said a bit sadly. Somehow Robert had managed to escape the scorn and disgust of the nearby farms and towns, everyone there seemed to love him. But Scott? They glared at him, whispering snide comments, he was just another no good Buttergood to them, just the same as Junior and Father.

“Isn’t that the bus?” he realized they had cantered beyond the bus stop, leaving Fort Pinta behind.

“I thought we’d go all the way to Mistfall and catch the bus there. More nature and open air,” Rebecca informed him.

“Ah okay. Aren’t you hot in those gloves?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at her gloves and long sleeves completely covering her arms.

“Nope!” she answered with a smile, “what, you have a hand fetish and want to see my hands?”

“What? No!” he stammered, wondering why she would ask such a thing. But she laughed at his response.

“So what do you do? In your spare time I mean. You can’t spend every waking moment doing Junior’s bidding,” Rebecca asked to change the topic.

“Internet and books, mostly,” he admitted, embarrassed.

“What kind of books?”

“Legends, mythology, cryptozoology, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh! Fun! I’m a sucker for Greek myth myself, but I’d love to learn more about Jorvik’s legends. Aideen is particularly fascinating,” Rebecca said with a funny grin.

“Yeah, Jorvik has some weird stuff, experts can’t really figure out where some of the legends around here come from, they don’t seem related to Norse or Celtic mythology. Or Greco-Roman.”

“Oh?” Rebecca asked, curious and still grinning.

“One theory is Aideen is a mix of Etain and Minerva, some sort of virgin horse goddess. But there is evidence of Aideen existing in ancient Jorvik tradition before the Romans or the Vikings, or even the Celts. Jorvik is also one of the few places where a cult has remained into modern times. Most pagan religions essentially were wiped out by Christianity, but Aideen always maintained a cult here, even getting written into the major religions by the people who live here,” Scott feared this was getting too weird, but Rebecca was listening eagerly, looking back at him. Somehow Midnightwarrior knew where to go.

“What do you mean? Worked into the major religions how?” Rebecca asked.

“Identifying Aideen as various angels or saints or whatever, that sort of thing,” Scott shrugged.

“Interesting… how do vampires and werewolves fit in?” Scott didn’t answer immediately, looking at the forest around him. It was so green and quiet and the plants were so big. And there were so many animals, he couldn’t believe the underlying chatter of birds and rodents.

“Huh?” he asked, realizing she had spoken.

“Vampires and werewolves? Are they like witches and magic where they exist?”

“Well of course! Why wouldn’t they?” Scott declared, bewildered by her doubt.

“There are plenty of weird things around Jorvik, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ran into a werewolf one of these days.”

“You should be worried about vampires more than werewolves,” Scott pointed out, surprised when she smirked back at him.

“I’m not so worried about you,” she teased.

“I’m not a vampire!” he protested.

“You are rather pale and keep covered, and you have a very defined facial structure,” she continued to tease.

“You think I’m a vampire?” he asked, now curious.

“Not really, but you would definitely make a good classical Dracula for Halloween or a costume party! Now then, we are here!” Rebecca declared, Midnightwarrior coming to a halt. The pair dismounted and Rebecca gave the horse a pat.

“Have a good day!” she bid her horse and he walked up a ridge to watch and graze.

“You’re just going to leave him?”

“Yeah he’ll be fine,” Rebecca said with a wave of her hand, “if something happens he’ll let me know.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asked but did not get an answer as Rebecca grinned at him. A bus approached and she got on before he could press her for details.

“Oh, where do you want to go in the city?” Rebecca asked, realizing she didn’t have a destination in mind.

“I don’t really care,” he admitted.

“Aideen’s Plaza might have some fun book shops. Governor’s Fall probably does as well. I haven’t seen a bookstore open in the mall yet, although they do sell books at The Purple Pony, if you’re into comics and novels.”

“Hey, you kidnapped me, you pick,” he pointed out, fighting back a smile.

“Oh. Oh dear. I didn’t plan for this responsibility,” Rebecca admitted, biting a finger as she thought.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Umm, Aideen’s Plaza is quieter, and I wouldn’t mind looking around bookshops if you don’t.”

“You kidnapped me, you pick,” it was getting harder for him to fight a smile as he teased her and she got flustered, not wanting to bore him.

“Well you said you like books, so, bookstore?” she offered, still not deciding for herself.

“Your pick,” he said again.

“Aideen’s Plaza,” she finally decided, clearly still worried about boring him.

“Ah. So that’s why it’s called Aideen’s Plaza,” he muttered when he saw the big statue in the middle.

“Yup! Now I have no idea where a bookstore is so start looking!” she declared.

“I’m just going to follow you,” he let her know, hiding a smirk when she pouted.

“Making me do all the work,” she muttered in mock annoyance and pretended to stomp off, Scott trailing behind her.

“There’s the inn, the dance studio, the shop vendors, the flower shop, the cafe,” Rebecca muttered, ticking off the locations she knew in her head as she made her way toward the fountain.

“Now, if I was a bookshop, I’d be in one of the creepy back alleys,” she decided out loud, making Scott snort.

“Sounds like a great idea.”

“Ehh, this place is nothing compared to Pier 13. The worst that’ll happen is a pigeon or fox might try to steal food from your pockets,” Rebecca warned him, picked an alley, and headed off to explore.

It took a bit of alley exploring but they did, in fact, find a small tucked away second hand bookshop. It was like all second hand bookshops should be: dusty, cramped, and felt like home.

“‘Keeping Aideen’,” Rebecca picked up a book and read the title, studying it for a moment before she opened it and read a bit while Scott looked through the piles. There were all sorts of books, fiction and nonfiction, new and old.

“Ah, that’ll get you in trouble with the Keepers,” the bookkeeper told Rebecca with a grin. Scott blinked, bewildered. He could have sworn the old man tending the shop had pink eyes for a moment.

“Oh? It’s anti Keepers?” Rebecca asked, her interested piqued.

“Aye, heh, it’s anti trappers alright,” the bookkeeper agreed with a smirk, “give me something nice and I’ll let you take it,” he offered.

“Hmm,” Rebecca reached into her bag and dug around.

“Do you have any empty bottles? Or cups?” she asked, pulling out a purple flask. The bookkeeper’s eyes widened and he nodded, digging around for one.

“Noach Cranepoulos! Are you trying to barter instead of getting money for books again!?” an angry voice came from the back before an elderly woman appeared from behind a curtain of beads.

“Sanna!” the bookkeeper, Noach, whined, an empty cup in hand.

Scott stayed silent and had no idea what was going on. Did Rebecca carry booze with her and use it to barter?

Sanna glared at the bookkeeper and looked at Rebecca, purple flask still in hand. The old woman’s expression changed from fury to shock, pale eyes darting between the flask and Rebecca’s face.

“Oh,” she whispered, “I have a clean jar in the back.”

And with that the old woman disappeared, sounds of clanging and drawers opening from behind the beads.

“What sort of moonshine do you have?” Scott whispered to Rebecca, and she just smiled at him and handed the flask to the old man behind the counter. Sanna appeared once more, and Noach poured clear liquid into the clean bottle presented to him. Scott didn’t smell anything, and the liquid was clear. It looked like water. Half a flask of water was worth an old book?

“Let us know if there is anything else, any resources, and we’ll be happy to find it for you!” Sanna promised, eyeing the clear liquid with a gleeful grin, as Noach handed back the flask and Rebecca closed it once more.

“I’m sure I’ll be back for more, now if you don’t mind we’ll keep looking around!” Rebecca said with a pleasant smile, nudging Scott to resume browsing.

Scott busied himself looking at books, finding many old and tattered books on legends and myths of Jorvik, but he realized he didn’t have any cash on him.

“I can cover,” Rebecca muttered to him when he opened his wallet and found no cash inside.

“Oh no, that’s fine!” he hissed, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry young man! She more than paid for a dozen books!” Noach from the counter called, causing Rebecca to return to the counter and put her backpack on the dusty wood.

“I’m glad I found you guys, I had no idea you were here!” she told Noach, digging into her backpack once more.

“I am glad you found us as well, it is an honor, and if you need anything-” Noach promised, his voice stopping as Rebecca began pulling out crystals.

“Sanna!” Noach called, the woman coming back out and gasping loudly.

Scott looked over, seeing blue and pink crystals in Rebecca’s hands. What the heck?

“I think you two may have use for these, consider it an open tab,” Rebecca offered. Honestly Rebecca had never met them before, but she knew Sanna and Noach recognized her. They had magic, they knew magic when they saw it. And Rebecca knew finding teachers and trade partners would be beneficial.

“Oh!” Rebecca remembered while the old couple remained silent in shock, “my friend, Scott, he is interested in myth, legends, creatures, that sort of thing. I’m sure he’d appreciate something on werewolves or vampires, if you have anything specific.”

Scott found himself offered obscure books he had never heard of hidden in cobwebs and corners of the shop. “The King’s Vampire”, “100 Years of Blood”, “The Day of the All Flesh”, “Son of Moon”, “Vultures and Wolves”, the pile got taller and he felt overwhelmed.

“Where did you get all these books?” Scott managed to ask in slightly afraid awe. His fear grew with the wide smiles of Noach and Sanna.

“You are a believer, aren’t you?” Sanna asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Well, yes, of course werewolves and vampires and all that are real-”

“You’ll enjoy this!” Noach dropped another book on the growing pile in Scott’s arms.

Rebecca, meanwhile, stood to the side and giggled.

By the time Scott managed to get out of the shop he had over a dozen books, but thanks to Rebecca they would be mailed to Rebecca’s stable. Not Rebecca’s place, her stable. Where did Rebecca live?

“So, want to find another bookstore?” Rebecca asked with a grin, Scott going pale.

“No. No. I don’t know how you found that one but I’m bookstored out for the day, thank you,” Scott reassured her.

“Well do you want to go back yet?”

Scott grimaced at the idea. The bookstore may have been overwhelming, but it was still early in the day and he did not want to return to Butter Hill yet. Or ever, for that matter. But at least not yet.

“Would you prefer something a little more modern?” Rebecca teased.

“A little less dust would be nice,” Scott admitted, fighting back a cough.

“Alright, let’s go to Governor’s Fall!” Rebecca declared, leading him to the trolley.

“What was in that flask?” he asked as they traveled.

“Oh the purple one? Dew collected from flowers around Valedale.”

“I’m sorry- what.”

“It’s quite valuable to some people,” Rebecca informed him with a smile, amused by his bewilderment.

“But, it’s dew, how-?”

“Ah! We’re here already! Do you want ice cream?” Rebecca cut him off, smirking at him. Scott was intrigued by her grin, there was something very strange about her. Using water and crystals to buy books weren’t normal things.

“Only if I get some answers,” Scott pouted, following her off the trolley.

“I’ll answer what I can, which isn’t much,” she warned. He grumbled but accepted it, and grumbled more when she covered their ice cream.

“So, I think I know what you are going to ask,” Rebecca started as they sat in the sunshine outside, “I’m very interested in Aideen and magic, I find them to be fascinating topics and would love to learn more. So I try to be friendly and offer valuable magic items to people who I think will be able to teach me more. That’s why I carry around dew from flowers and crystals from Dino Valley.”

“Are you a witch?” Scott whispered, happy she was explaining but desperate to know more.

“That, I don’t know. I’m more aligned with the Keepers, and they don’t look fondly at witches, but I don’t know the difference between a woman who does magic and a witch. So, maybe?” Rebecca said with a shrug and got a scoop of her ice cream.

“The Keepers,” Scott muttered.

“Yes, they are quite active as a cult, and very interested in magic, or things with magical properties at least,” Rebecca explained.

“Are you a druid?”

Rebecca’s expression turned sour and she ate another bite of ice cream before she answered.

“My position with them is… complicated. I don’t think I’ll ever be one, I ask too many questions, and I’m not good at following orders,” Rebecca said bitterly. “That’s why I’m going elsewhere to learn.”

“Do you know any magical creatures?” Scott asked eagerly. It was something he wanted to know and Rebecca clearly didn’t like talking about the druids.

“Unfortunately no, not that I know of,” Rebecca said, smiling once more.

“So, like, can you do magic?” Scott scooted his seat closer, his voice getting lower.

“Kinda? Not really? But yeah? It’s nothing I’d want to do in public though, and I don’t really have control of it. I don’t think the druids want me doing my magic at all, not until they know they can control me.”

“Don’t you mean know that you can control it?”

“No.”

Scott glanced down and took a bite of ice cream, not sure what to say to that abrupt answer. The druids were clearly a bad subject for her.

“Why are you still wearing gloves? We’re not on a horse anymore,” Scott tried to joke and change the subject, and instead he was bewildered when she went pale, looking at her covered hands.

“I prefer to keep them on,” she muttered and swallowed, hiding her hands under her legs.

Scott stared at her, studying her, trying to reconcile everything he knew about her.

“Who are you?” he said when he couldn’t figure her out.

“Huh?” she tilted her head to the side, confused.

“You are just… everywhere. You’re normal then you’re magic then you’re smiling then you’re bitter and then friendly and then cold just… what… who are you? How do you do it?” Scott asked.

“I…” Rebecca winced and rubbed the back of her neck, looking away, “there has been a lot going on in my life. So I apologize for acting erratic, I’m just trying to stay positive and happy so I don’t break, you know?”

“You make it sound like you’re trying to stop the apocalypse,” Scott muttered, startled when she laughed too hard.

“Yeah, that’d suck wouldn’t it? Move to a new country across an ocean from home, try to get into a college after flunking out of the last one, be completely alone and not know a single person, and then try to save the world. That’d be some shit,” Rebecca kept laughing, so hard she started to tear up.

Scott had no idea what she was going through, but he had a feeling she was being completely literal. The druids, her hands, saving the world, they were all sore spots that made her hurt. Now he couldn’t tell if she was crying from laughing or laughing to cover up her tears.

“Do you like clubs?” Scott asked suddenly, desperate to distract her before she dissolved into tears.

“Like, riding clubs?” Rebecca asked, hiccuping and rubbing her face.

“I mean like nightclubs. Or bars or something?”

“Uh, yeah. Not that big a fan of alcohol unless like, I know I can get to a safe place to sleep. I prefer drinking at home so I can just crawl into bed. Why?” Rebecca asked, confused.

“Well, we’re in a city, I don’t want to go back home yet, there is bound to be some good nightlife around to keep us entertained.”

“Is this a date? Or as friends?” Rebecca asked, skeptical. Scott didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of having friends.

“I… wait! You brought me out here! I should be asking you!” Scott realized and Rebecca grinned.

“Are we friends yet?” she smirked at him.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You know what the word friend means, right?” Rebecca asked, confused now.

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t? I don’t know what it feels like to have a friend,” Scott admitted.

“It feels, umm, warm. And safe. It’s someone you can trust, someone who you are happy to be around,” Rebecca tried to explain.

“Huh,” Scott thought for a moment, “that seems like a terrible thing.”

“Oh? Oh. Being vulnerable and trusting, that’s not something you really grew up with, is it?”

“Trust can be taken advantage of, weakness will be used against you,” Scott explained what he had learned from his father.

“Fear is the best way to ensure obedience,” Rebecca commented.

“Sounds like you know it too,” Scott muttered.

“I understand it. Understanding how people work, think, philosophies and codes they operate by, they are important things to know, sad though they may be.”

“You sound like you’d make a good politician or something,” Scott tried to joke.

“Heh, that’d be a nightmare. My life is already a mess I can’t imagine trying to manage policy and government,” Rebecca smiled again.

“Well, it’s okay if you don’t consider me a friend, so long as I was able to help you by getting you away from your family for a bit,” Rebecca continued and resumed eating her ice cream.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Scott informed her.

“Alright, we’ll party the night away,” Rebecca grinned and ate the last bit of her ice cream, watching him while he finished his bowl.

“First I’m going to want to leave stuff in the mall lockers,” Rebecca asked. Carrying a backpack around was not the best idea when clubbing.

“They have lockers?”

“Yup! Free to use, though you have to bring your own lock. It’s great for when you don’t want to carry your purchases all over the city!”

They headed to the mall and sure enough, the lockers were there just as she had said. She shoved a couple items into her pockets and then locked her backpack safely away.

“Won’t the mall be closed by the time we finish at the nightclubs?” he pointed out.

“Meh, I know how to get in,” she reassured him. Knowing the security guards and the janitors had its perks.

“Now! To figure out where the nightclubs are…” Rebecca clapped her hands and looked around, as if there would be directions conveniently placed on the walls.

“So, do you like Western riding or do you just like the cowboy aesthetic?” Rebecca asked as they wandered the streets, looking for nightclubs.

“Heh, both, though there isn’t much western riding to do in southern Jorvik,” Scott complained.

“I know a few people who set up courses, there aren’t many but at least it is a start,” Rebecca offered.

“Oh really? I would appreciate it, where are they?”

“Josh in Moorland has a simple pole course set up a pole bending course. Marley set up a barrel race at his farm in Silverglade. There is a traveling western course for Morgans, but I have no idea how often those show up. Oh, and there is a zombie themed pole bending race in the mountains between Valedale and Firgrove.”

“Zombies.”

“Yes, there are lighting effects and smoke and fake blood and everything,” Rebecca explained, amused by his confusion.

“I guess three, um, kinda, races are better than nothing,” Scott muttered.

“I guess Western is more of an American thing, which makes sense,” Rebecca shrugged.

“Yeah, have you ever done it?” Scott asked.

“Well I learned on a quarter horse using western tack, but I never got above a trot. I never competed in any events until I got to Jorvik. But it always looked fun. All horse riding looks fun,” Rebecca said dreamily.

“I guess I know why you came to Jorvik,” he teased, nudging her.

“Is that a smile I see?”

“No!” he sneered and looked away.

“Aww, I was hopeful. At any rate yeah, I came to Jorvik to attend the Hippological Institute, so definitely here for the horses,” she smiled.

“Earlier, you said something about, uh, not doing well in college, was that hypothetical or…?” he didn’t want to pry into sensitive subjects, but he was curious. She definitely didn’t seem to be the common 17 or 18 year old who came to Jorvik for the horses.

“Yeah, that… that’s kind of what happened. I didn’t flunk out, but I did withdraw before I could. I just… I got sick. In my brain I mean, very depressed and anxious and just not good. It took me years to recover and function again.”

“College isn’t for everyone,” he tried to offer some solace.

“Yeah, and I just felt like I was drifting there. I tried to pick a degree and I couldn’t settle. I wanted to learn, but most things I wanted to learn I didn’t want to make a career out of, or the careers I could have made out of it were unappealing to me. I tried a science degree, an English degree, and finally settled on a Classics degree. But it seemed like my options were become a Latin teacher or go on to grad school and go into law. I realized just because I loved learning a topic didn’t mean I could, or would make a career from it. But with my mental health falling apart and my grades plummeting, I just… withdrew from school and, honestly, everything else.”

“It seems like you’re in a better place now, since you are going to try school again, and you’re here,” he tried to be supportive.

“I’m absolutely terrified of going back to school. I tried going back to school, I tried getting jobs, full time or part time, I couldn’t keep up with anything. And then I got this dumb idea to move to an entirely different country to try to attend school? My parents thought I was nuts when I told them I applied to the program here, and we were all surprised when I got accepted. Heh, listen to me rambling about my problems! I’m not very good at giving you a fun distraction from your life,” she apologized and blushed, self conscious of how much she was talking about personal history.

“I don’t mind, it’s nice to hear someone else’s problems for once. Not that I enjoy hearing about your problems, not that I mind! It’s just a shame you have them!” Scott tried to explain without sounding like an asshole, making her laugh.

“It’s a bit refreshing thinking about my problems, actually, I’ve been so swamped with everything since I got here that I’ve barely been able to think. It is oddly comforting thinking about how small and personal my problems are compared to other peoples. Like yeah, my brain is broken, but that is a personal problem that I can deal with, it won’t kill me.”

“Do you at least feel better now that you’re here? Or do you still feel like you’re drifting?”

“I’m still terrified and anxious, but I’m supposed to be here. That’s comforting.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain, a guess the easiest way to put it is magic. When I first met Midnightwarrior, I just… I felt like I had come home after a long time away. I don’t know how school will go, I don’t know how I’m going to afford a place to live or how I’ll stay in Jorvik, I just know it’ll be okay as long as I’m here with Midnightwarrior.”

“You really love your horse,” Scott noted.

“Yes, I love him like he is my own soul,” she said with a funny smile, and again Scott got the impression that she was being literal but he didn’t know how.

“So are we just going to keep walking past this nightclub?” Scott asked, trying his hardest not to smirk. For some reason he didn’t want to smile, it felt like he would lose a challenge somehow.

“I’m ready to go in if you are!” she chirped and the pair got in line, showed their IDs, and got into the pounding music and flashing lights.

Talking was difficult due to the noise, which lead to a great deal of shouting. Rebecca got herself water that she drained in one go, shouting that she wasn’t dumb enough to leave a drink to dance, while Scott got himself a proper alcoholic drink.

“A what!?” she shouted with a laugh, not sure she heard the name right.

“Adios Motherfucker!” he shouted back and pointed to the bartender making it. Rebecca looked and her jaw dropped when she saw the mix of drinks going into the glass.

“You’re gonna be gone!” she yelled with a laugh.

“It is named well!” he laughed, quickly covering his mouth to hide his smile. She smirked but said nothing. He scowled at her and took the drink from the bar, taking a sip. Yup, he was going to be fucked up if he drank this too fast, or had too many.

“Hey,” she shouted, grabbing his sleeve and pulling on it to get his attention, “how are you when you drink?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like are you an angry drunk, do you get nasty, sleepy, giggly? That sort of thing? I want to know what I’m dealing with if I’m responsible for getting you back safe,” she explained, clearly worried.

“This’ll be the only one, I promise,” he didn’t know why he said that. When he had a chance he would drink quite a bit. But she was right, he wasn’t getting himself home, she would have to deal with him. She had enough to deal with, he didn’t want to add his drunk ass to the list.

“Okay! Awesome!” she looked visibly relieved and gave him a double thumbs up.

“Do you want me to wait for you while you finish your drink? It’d be spilled on the dance floor,” she asked and he waved for her to go, giving her a thumbs up while he turned on his bar stool and watched her, sipping his drink slowly. They should have eaten real food before doing this, the alcohol was going to hit him hard. He was just going to have to go very slowly and chow down on bar food. But he didn’t want to leave Rebecca alone on the dance floor long, he was already losing her in the crowd and saw a guy get off his seat and follow Rebecca into the dancing horde.

Rebecca, meanwhile, had found a group of women to dance with. She couldn’t make out their names in the shouting and dancing, their slurred speech didn’t help either, but they pulled her into their circle, grinding and laughing. She glanced back at Scott and waved at him, giving him a thumbs up so he knew she was doing okay. He returned the gesture, glad she had found a group to be with.

Scott forced himself to drink slowly, and managed to only drink a third of his glass before Rebecca fled the crowd to get another drink of water.

“I’m in the wrong clothes for this!” she shouted with a laugh, long jeans and long sleeves did not mix well with a packed dance floor.

“You should have another glass!” Scott suggested after she drank the new cup from the bartender. She nodded and motioned for another water.

“Are you having fun at least?” she asked, worried.

“Yeah, been ages since I’ve had good booze,” he said, catching his smile before it could appear. No. No smiling. He was not going to smile for her. It was a challenge he would win.

“At least you are getting something out of today!” she pointed out, happy that he was having a good time, “I guess I’m not so bad, even if I’m not your friend!” she teased.

“I never said you were bad!” he pouted and she stuck out her tongue at him and nudged him with her elbow.

“Oh! I love this song!” she shouted and dove back into the throng of dancers. Without her there to see he let himself smile. This was all so new and foreign to him, spending time with someone and actually enjoying it. He liked it, but he had a bad feeling it wouldn’t last. Good feelings never lasted, not for Buttergoods. His smile soured at that, turning into a scowl and he took a drink.

“Hey!” shouting and nudging got Scott’s attention and he looked up at a man he didn’t know.

“That chick you were talking to, you her boyfriend?” the man shouted.

“What? No!” Scott said before realizing that was the man who had followed Rebecca into the crowd before. But the man had left as soon as he got the answer he wanted.

“Aw fuck, he better not fuck with her,” Scott muttered, trying to see Rebecca in the mix of bodies.

Fuck booze, he’d feel terrible if Rebecca had a bad night because of a creep.

Now how to find a short woman in a crowd...

Thankfully Rebecca was dancing with her hands up, the only arms with long sleeves and gloves on, and Scott grabbed her by the hand so he could get to her in the crowd.

His stomach dropped when he saw her expression of terror at being grabbed by an unfamiliar hand. When she realized it was him she relaxed and smiled, squeezing his hand, getting closer to him.

“Ready to dance?” she screamed, and he had to guess her words based on her lips. Oh no, he really liked looking at her lips. He nodded dumbly, suddenly not sure what to do at all. What did he do with his arms, or his legs, or the rest of him? Did he jump? Did he sway?

She grinned at the look of confusion on his face and grabbed his other hand, pulling him so that they were pressed together.

“Just move! I don’t know what I’m doing either!” she reassured him before she began bouncing and moving. She loosened her grip on his hands but he held fast. He didn’t want to be swept away from her, and the touch felt… nice? She returned the gesture and held firm to his hands, but he liked how it felt. It was secure, but he didn’t feel like he was being crushed.

Scott found himself mirroring her, bouncing and moving his hips and shoulders, trying his damnedest not to smile down at her as she beamed up at him.

A hand clapped down on Scott’s shoulder, making him look back and catch a glare of the man from before, at least until the man shoved Scott to the side.

“Excuse you!” Rebecca shouted, insulted by the stranger’s rudeness.

“Dibs!” was his response, along with grabbing Rebecca and grinding into her.

“Get off!” she shouted while Scott returned the favor and grabbed the man’s shoulder, pulling him away.

“She’s not interested!” Scott yelled, ducking out of the way when the man tried to punch him in the face.

Scott was totally down for a bar fight and squared up. That was the moment Scott Buttergood learned something very important: Rebecca fought dirty.

The man barely had time to realize Rebecca had grabbed him, his attention on Scott until her knee slammed up into his crotch. He yelped in pain, slumping forward. Rebecca pulled to the side, out of the way, and slammed her elbow into the man’s back, using all the weight she had to drop him to the floor.

“I said get off!” she shouted at the groaning man on the floor, the club goers around them staring in shock, some of them cheering.

“Well fuck,” Scott muttered, now feeling a bit silly that he was all ready for a fight, fists up and everything.

Rebecca cast him a look and shrug before beckoning him over.

“Sorry about that,” she said as though it were her fault, and they resumed dancing, Scott now a bit afraid of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, wondering how she was so calm.

“Yeah, he didn’t hurt me,” she said with a shrug, “I guess you like holding hands,” she teased.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he glanced away, pretending he wasn’t holding her hands again.

“Do you know the phrase touch starved?” he shook her head at her question. Touch starved? He must of heard her wrong. She pulled her hands from his and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He was stiff, bewildered. Should he hug her back? How long was she going to hug him? Why did she hug him? Was she trying to seduce him? This seemed like a long game for seduction if she was just holding his hands and hugging.

She let him go and pulled away, and when the pressure of her body and arms left his gut kicked him into moving, and before he could process it he was hugging her. She held him again and just swayed gently, not saying anything as he tried to figure out what he was thinking. It was nice. Why was this nice? Physical contact was bad. It had been bad since his mother passed. It was weak, it was vulnerable, it was just… wrong. The only physical contact he should really have was when fucking someone. And even then, he didn’t want to feel vulnerable and exposed.

What was he doing? Why was he holding her close, resting his head on hers, smelling her hair, what was this?

Disgusting. That’s what his father would say. Disgusting and weak behavior. Physical contact had been about control for so long, was he surrendering to Rebecca by doing this?

He swallowed hard. There were too many people, too much noise, he couldn’t breath, there wasn’t enough air.

Rebecca was gone from his chest, his hand felt sweaty in hers. He stumbled after her, led by her hand. He managed to notice an abandoned glass at the bar and wondered if it was his. He didn’t reach for it, he didn’t think he’d be able to grab it. Rebecca was doing something, her hand was gone, where was she? Where did she go? Why did she let go? He could see her at the bar handing cash to the bartender. Paying. You had to pay. That’s right. They didn’t like when you didn’t pay your tab.

She had noticed Scott had gone pale and was breathing hard, shaking as he held her. He didn’t respond to her questions, he didn’t confirm that he was okay, so Rebecca got him out of there. Luckily he followed in a bit of a daze, blinking and looking around when he realized they were standing outside in the cool night air.

“Scott? Are you okay?” he realized she was talking to him and he looked down at her, thinking for a moment before nodding.

“I… weren’t we inside?” he blinked and shook his head, looking around. The nightclub was across the street. When had they crossed the street?

“Yeah you got weird, you stopped responding and you looked sick. Here,” she gave him a bottle of water, “I got it when I payed the tab.”

He didn’t realize how wonderful water tasted, but he managed to stop before he drank all of it.

“Thanks, I, uh, thanks,” he didn’t know what to say. Rebecca took him by the hand, he was more aware of it this time, and she led him down the street a bit and stopped them at a bench.

“Feeling better?” she asked when they were both sitting down. She picked his cowboy hat off and fanned his face.

“Thanks, and yeah. I don’t really know what happened,” he admitted, ashamed.

“Maybe you overheated? I know I was getting close,” she muttered and began to fan herself with his hat, “I just asked you about touch starved and you just sorta, stopped responding.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he confessed. It sounds a bit like a vampire thing, being starved and needing touch.

“Well basically humans are social beings, we need touch to stay healthy. If a human goes too long without positive touching it can affect their emotions and mental wellbeing. You start craving physical contact, hence, you’re touch starved,” she explained.

“So what, everyone should fuck once a day so we all stay happy?” he said with a bit of a scowl.

“No, positive touch isn’t always romantic. It can just be holding hands, hugging, brushing up against a friend or family member, just someone you are close to and comfortable with.”

“Heh, right. Why are we talking about this again?” he asked, getting a bit uncomfortable. He knew why they were talking about it, he just didn’t want to think about it.

“Well at first I was teasing that you are touch starved and that’s why you wanted to keep holding my hands.”

“At first?”

“Now I… I don’t mean to pry into sensitive subjects. I just wonder when you last had a hug. Or are hugs and physical displays of affection also weakness?”

“Of course they are! Affection is being vulnerable, and clouded judgement, and…” he stopped when she put his hat back on his head and she chuckled.

“So yes, you are very touch starved,” she said a bit teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. She nudged him with her shoulder and offered her hand for him to hold. He grumbled and rolled his eyes.

But he still took her hand.

“Does it count if there is fabric, or does it have to be skin on skin contact?” he asked, glancing down at her black gloved hands.

“Was that a weird way of suggesting sex?” Rebecca asked, eyebrow raised and amused.

“I. Uh. Well. No. Did you...? Gloves. I meant your gloves,” he stammered. This was so much in one day he didn’t know if he’d be able to function if it escalated to sex.

She sighed and looked at her gloved hands.

“I don’t like showing my hands because it brings up awkward questions,” she confessed, “questions I am not allowed to answer.”

“They’re just hands? What, do you have robot hands or something?” he asked, more confused than ever.

“Heh, that’d at least be cool, but no. No fancy prosthetics hands for me,” she complained before she took a deep breath and placed her free hand in her mouth, biting the fabric with her teeth and pulling her hand free from the glove.

For a moment he was silent, staring at the silver streaked hand. He couldn’t quite tell what he was looking at until she dropped her glove into her lap and offered her bare hand to him.

“It’s beauti…” the compliment stopped as he realized what the streaks were. He thought perhaps they were some sort of birthmark, only for horror and pain in his stomach to replace the awe with terror. They were scars. Thick, terrible scars that covered her hand and disappeared down her wrists under her sleeves.

“What-” he stopped himself. She said they brought up awkward questions, that was probably one of them.

“How far do they go?” he decided on asking instead, hoping that wasn’t prying. She pulled her hand from his, crossed her arms, and pulled off her long sleeved shirt. He was glad there as a tank top underneath, he didn’t know how he would react to her being topless. How would anyone react to that?

But his moment of panic was replaced when he saw that both arms had silvery scars racing down her forearms.

“Ahh, that cool air feels good,” Rebecca purred, happy to finally cool off. She pulled off the last remaining glove and plopped the clothes beside her on the bench.

“So yeah, I’d rather not have people coming up to me in public asking about my hands,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Can… may I touch them?” he didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t want to upset her.

“I did offer you my hand to look at,” she said with a smirk, flexing her hand and presenting it to him.

Earlier that night he had seen her drop a man larger than her to the ground in two moves, now she was shaking, twitching when he took her hand and felt the scars. He turned her hand over, inspecting it from all angles, trying to figure out what had happened. He traced the silver trails down her arm, stopping when she shuddered at the touch and her breath hitched.

“Looks like I’m not the only one hungry for touch,” he teased, and she shouted in victory. Shit. He had smiled.

“Yes!” she shouted, jumping up and fist bumping the air, “I got you to smile! I got you to smile! Doesn’t it feel great to smile?” She asked, hands on her hips and smirking at him, leaning toward him. He could lean up, it would be so easy to kiss her. But what if he only wanted to do that because of the touch starved thing?

“Aww, there it goes,” she sighed, “what got you so serious?” she asked, reaching out and touching his face where a smile had been moments before. Her skin was rough from work, split and calloused, even with the gloves on to protect them. Oh fuck, he mentally swore to himself. Did she know what she was doing to him?

“You okay?” she asked, withdrawing her hand when he shuddered and exhaled heavily.

“No,” he muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling it back to his face. What was he doing. He needed to stop. He needed to get a grip. This sort of physical contact… it was bad. Shameful. If he wanted sex from her he should shove her down and fuck her from behind, not this... sweetness! Fuck, he didn’t even know if he wanted to have sex with her, he just wanted her hands on him.

She knelt down and touched his face with her free hand. He grabbed and held fast to both, feeling her gentle pressure, the worked skin, against his jaw and cheeks. He turned his head slightly and brushed his lips against one of her wrists.

He needed to stop.

He pressed his lips against her wrist, kissing the scarred flesh, feeling her pounding pulse through his lips.

He needed to stop.

“May I touch you?” her voice was so soft, so tender, so gentle, so all the words that were everything he didn’t know. How could it be, in one day, everything was so different?

He needed to stop.

“Please,” he whimpered, surprised he could sound so needy, so desperate, but oh fuck. Maybe she had been right, maybe she had come to help him, he just didn’t realize what he needed.

She pulled her hands away from his face, her fingertips trailing down and unbuttoning his shirt. His heart pounded, had he always breathed this hard? He was anxious, and maybe even scared, of what she was going to do.

But fuck, the cool air felt amazing on his bare chest, and then there were her hands. She was so careful, barely touching him as she reached under the fabric and around his back.

His father could go to hell for ever making him afraid of a hug. Fuck being vulnerable or exposed or weak or whatever, it didn’t feel like that at all. It felt safe.

She hugged him, not from a very comfortable position on the ground, but Rebecca had a feeling she wouldn’t be holding it long. Scott’s breathing was hard, he was practically panting as he held her close.

“We should head back,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to go back there,” he confessed, voice hitching. He didn’t understand why he was tearing up, but he didn’t want to start crying or let her see.

“You can stay with me, if you don’t mind sleeping in a break room of my stable,” she offered.

“I’d…. please. I’d like that.”

He let her go so she could grab her long shirt and gloves. He didn’t touch her as she said hello to a security guard and waltzed into the mall for her backpack. He was practically shaking, but he didn’t touch her on the bus ride back.

He was distracted when they got off the bus, Midnightwarrior standing there waiting for them without tack. He didn’t ask how the horse had gotten its tack off and placed it in a neat pile. He stayed quiet as Rebecca tacked up Midnightwarrior and mounted. He tried to stay calm when she offered him a hand up.

He almost had a semblance of self control until he was sitting behind her on the Jorvik Warmblood and she leaned back against his chest and told him he could hold her. He gripped her, afraid he was squeezing her too tight, but it felt so good just to feel her against him. He loved how she felt against him, how her hair tickled his nose and lips, how she smelled. He tried to keep his hands stationary, he fought back the urge to feel more of her, but he wanted her to feel just as good, just as safe, as she was making him feel.

But if this was just her helping him… what if tonight was it? He swallowed hard, afraid to mention it.

He had to let her go when they reached her home stable, and he stood quietly, albeit fidgeting a bit, as she untacked Midnightwarrior and gave him fresh food and water. Scott wondered if she always had the stall doors open, horses wandering around.

“Food and water is in there, there is a sink in there, beware of the seals by the way they sleep in that area, bathroom is over there,” she pointed out important things he might have cared about if his mind wasn’t spinning in circles.

“Rebecca,” he bit his tongue. No he shouldn’t ruin this. He shouldn’t bring it up. It’d be okay if it was just tonight. If this was all he got he would be fine.

“Yes, Scott?” she asked.

“I-” don’t ask don’t ruin it, “I had a good time tonight.”

Saved it!

“So did I! Thanks for letting me kidnap you!” she said with a chuckle.

Okay, he just had to stay cool. Stay calm. Don’t-

“Is this a one time thing?” he blurted, wincing and mentally kicking himself as soon as he said it.

“Huh?”

“Today, tonight, I… ugh,” he groaned and rubbed his face, resuming his vaguely frustrated but pretending not to care pose he so often assumed.

“I was hoping we could do this again. Since, you know, friends hang out with each other, and I consider you a friend at the very least,” Rebecca spoke for him, blushing a bit.

“Friends?” he mumbled, unsure how to feel. He didn’t want to rush past friend right into something more, but he also wanted… he just wanted to touch her. To whatever extent she would let him.

“Or, you know, whatever, we’ll see what happens,” Rebecca added, blushing harder now and looking away.

“So, uh, over here is the tack room and also where I sleep,” Rebecca started up again, now a bit anxious, not quite sure where this was leading.

“So, um, I, uh, figured since you probably still want some, um, touching, we could just, you know, sleep next to each other in here,” she winced at the phrasing, knowing it was awkward.

“Feel free to use the shower stall to wash, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that will fit you,” she continued before it could get too awkward, ”I’m going to change out of, you know, these clothes.”

She didn’t want to use the word flee, but that is exactly what she did, running to her closet and grabbing pjs to sleep in before she changed in the privacy of the other tack room. Rebecca had to take a few deep breaths. This was not how she expected the day to end.

Scott was equally stumped, and found himself standing helplessly in the hallway outside the tack rooms. He took a deep breath and started pacing around. Should he take a shower? He didn’t have anything clean to change into. Should he grab food? He couldn’t stand the idea of food right now. He caught himself in a mirror in the rec room. He was a Buttergood, and a damn fine looking one at that, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath, straightening up. He had been a wreck all evening, and Rebecca had taken care of him, now it was time for him to be in charge and take care of her.

“Are y-” “AH!” “Sorry!” Rebecca apologized for startling Scott, and she fought back a snicker at his yelp, “were you going to take a shower?”

“No! No, I don’t have anything to change into after so, I figured, not much point,” he explained. Calm. Breath. Suave. “Unless you wanted to shower together,” he suggested with a grin.

“I mean, I’m okay with that,” Rebecca said with a shrug, masking her internal screaming.

“Maybe later,” he managed to squeak, “it’s been a long day, we should, you know.” He was trying desperately to hold on to that calm suave feeling he had when peacocking in the mirror.

“Alright, let’s go,” she opened the door to the tack and bedroom, passing through and holding the door open behind her. He followed her through, trying to stay calm. He was not going to be overwhelmed, he was going to show her… something about control or sexiness or something he couldn’t remember anymore as the door closed.

“So, Mister Skin Hungry, do you still want that hug?” she asked as she rolled out the bedrolls and blankets she used as a bed.

“No,” he managed to say without a quiver in his voice.

“Oh?” she flattened out the top blanket and looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

“I want to touch you,” he didn’t know how he managed to say that while looking into her eyes.

“Ah, I see,” she drawled, standing up and walking over to him, “Is this you wanting to get back some control?” she asked, taking off his hat and hanging it on a shelf.

“I want you to feel it too,” he whispered, amazed that his voice was almost gentle in its huskiness. He didn’t want to be any louder, his quiet voice drawing her in, making her lean closer to him.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said with a smile before it faded, her lips parted, her eyes on his lips.

“Scott,” she whispered and looked up to his eyes, “touch me.”

And he did, rushing at her and holding her close, his lips on her neck, her shoulders, her face, her mouth. She moaned and arched into him, pressing into his chest and leaning her head back as she panted. He held her, his hand catching them as he got them onto the blankets. There were so many things he wanted all at once, he was dizzy trying to keep focused on one thing at a time. How could he only do one thing when she was pressing her hips into his, her arms slipping under his shirt to get to his skin.

No. He needed to be in control, he couldn’t let her make him go crazy.

He pulled away from her hands, throwing his jacket and shirt to the side and undoing his belt, getting rid of that as well. He took her hands in his own, lacing their fingers together so she could no longer touch his chest. He leaned back down, pressing against her, thrilled by her eager smile as he stretched his arms forward, pulling hers over her head. Ideally he would chain her hands so she couldn’t touch him so he could focus on making her feel good, but he would have to make do with one hand holding her hands above her head so she couldn’t interfere.

He kissed her neck, listening to her breathing, feeling her pulse, and moved his hands from hers, so he was holding her hands fast above her head. Her breathing hitched and quickened and he smiled against the crook of her neck. He could feel her wrists flexing in his hand, wriggling and trying to escape. She felt wonderful, moving and writhing against him, and his free hand slowly trailed down her chest.

“Let go,” it was so quiet he wasn’t sure he really heard it.

‘What?” he lifted his head from her neck, surprised to see her face pale, expression blank.

“Let GO!” she screamed in panic, breaking her hands free and shoving him off her.

“What? What did I-?” he stopped and swallowed hard as she curled into a ball, facing away from him.

“Aw fuck,” he muttered, realizing he had done everything wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be about control or power, he wanted her to feel the same safety he had felt. Instead he had turned it into a power trip. He was just another Buttergood who ruined things because they couldn’t stop thinking about being in total control.

“I’m sorry, I… I got caught up in thinking I needed to be in charge, instead of just… I should have just made you-”

“Have you ever been tortured?” her question stopped him in his tracks. He realized this wasn’t just about him, this was about her.

“No,” he muttered. He wanted to get closer, he wanted to see her face, but he didn’t want to do more harm.

“Eight days. Eight days I was strung up by my hands.” He didn’t think he could look at her face now, feeling sick. What the fuck had happened? Who would do that to her?

“Don’t… don’t ever,” she hissed, “just… not my hands… don’t hold me down by my…” she hiccuped, sobs coming out before she could stop them.

“I swear, it won’t happen again,” and he meant that. He was going to do better. He was going to be better. He didn’t want to make her cry ever again.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Food? Tissues?” he asked, wanting to get out but not wanting to just leave her.

“Water,” she managed to croak. With a reason to leave he made himself scarce. He stared at his reflection, disgusted by himself. Control. Power. Being in charge. All the things that were important to Buttergoods. Those had no place with him and Rebecca. He wanted to make her feel safe and warm, he wanted her to feel like he was her friend.

But could he ever really get away from it? He was a Buttergood, could he change his ways?

He knew he had to try when he retrieved a bottle of water and entered the tack room again, Rebecca clutching herself and panting. He cracked open the cap so she could open it easily, and he placed it where she could see it.

“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to say that enough, I won’t be able to undo what I did. I’m a Buttergood, a family rotten and vile through and through. I don’t know if I can change that. But I’m going to try. I promise, I’m going to try to be better than my family name,” he promised her, not looking at her. He shouldn’t look at her, he shouldn’t even be near her. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near her, or count her as a friend.

She sat up and reached for the water, taking a long drink.

“Can… can we just… hold each other? No kissing or… anything?” she mumbled, shy.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, cautiously sitting next to her on the blankets. Should he touch her, or let her make the first move? He decided to be wary and instead slipped under the top layer of blankets. The tack room was not a warm place at night. He rested on his side, facing her, eyes closed. He was going to let her do this when she was comfortable.

After some time her breathing returned to normal and she crawled under the blankets with him. She leaned her forehead against his chest, her breath hot and ragged as she calmed down. Her arm was cold against his skin as she draped her arm over his waist, holding his back. He followed her lead, gently resting his arm over her waist and his hand resting against her back.

She relaxed into him, falling asleep. Scott, however, couldn’t sleep. Being this close, her touch, she still managed to make him feel warm and safe, even after he had upset and hurt her. He wanted her to feel that same. He didn’t want her to be scared, he didn’t want anyone to hurt her ever again. But whatever she was involved in, whoever she was up against, was something beyond him. He wanted to hold her forever, and he wished he could make her feel safe enough that she wouldn’t tremble and whimper in her sleep.

#/sso #My Work #My Writing #fanfiction

[theprinceandagcd]

we were crazy, tragic and epic and so amazing

companion piece to “I’ll always wear the crown that you gave me” -- Bellamy’s perspective of Clarke’s birthday and the morning after 

words: 5,558 also on ao3

we were golden, we were fire, we were magic and they all knew our names all over town we had it made in the middle of the madness we were neon in a grey crowd

 It’s not like Bellamy didn’t know that Clarke’s birthday was coming up. The date is one that’s been etched into his mind since he was fourteen, and it’s been marked on their calendars every year since Octavia was ten, usually adorned with hearts or stars or something.

Still, when Octavia starts a conversation three weeks before its arrival, Bellamy is shocked that it snuck up on him, shocked that even with her relative absence lately, he still managed to let her birthday get so close without him noticing.

“Since she’s turning 21, I figure we can just take her out for the night, maybe get her one of those signs to hang around her neck with a list of things to do. She’s drank before but, you know… it’s a rite of passage, basically.” Octavia sits down on the other side of the couch from him, and he feels like she’s watching him closely. He doesn’t glance over at her, just in case.

“You can save the speech. You gave it to me two months ago when you turned 21.”

She grins. “Cool. So, that sound good?”

He hesitates, hating that he even has to ask the question, but he isn’t as sure about what Clarke does these days. “Is that what she wants?”

Octavia’s eyes sharpen and she’s staring at him in a way that is becoming increasingly prevalent. He can never quite place it, but he thinks that it’s just her way of trying to decipher if he’s okay, if missing Clarke is actually going to drive him crazy or not.

“Yeah, it is.” She gives him a half shrug, and now there is definitely pity in her expression. “I know you miss her, Bell. She misses you, too.”

He nods, no words forming on his lips as an all too familiar ache settles into his chest. He does miss her. Ever since earlier that year, when she changed her major against her mother’s wishes, she’s been busy more, so often that he rarely gets to see her. He texts her every now and then, tries to keep up with what she’s doing, but it isn’t the same as having her around all the time.

Thinking back, he can’t even remember the last time he actually saw her in person.

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

Octavia smiles, her gaze breaking away from his face and focusing on the TV.

Bellamy stares down at his lap for a while, though, thinking about grabbing his phone and texting Clarke, ask her how her weekend is going so far, check and see if she has any projects she’s working on. Is that too much, too desperate?

He doesn’t know anymore.

His screen flashes and he almost expects to see Clarke’s name, but instead it’s Gina calling him. He knows he should probably answer it, but decides against it. The sadness coiling in his stomach is settling deep and he’s sure she’d be able to sense it. She’s pretty perceptive about things relating to him, usually.

The only thing she hasn’t figured out is that he’s in love with his sister’s best friend.

------

When he and Gina get to Octavia and Clarke’s apartment on the night of her birthday, Clarke is trying to put an earring in her ear, brows furrowed in concentration. He thinks he sees her glance their way, but she seems much more interested in pouring a round of shots. She downs her before anyone else can even touch one, and he grins at her.

“Little fast there, huh princess?”

“I can handle it,” she tells him, and her eyes narrow in on the tiny box in his hands.

“I thought we established presents this year were buying me drinks downtown,” she says with halfhearted distaste, but he can see the curiosity in her eyes. He shrugs, trying not to show that he’s actually nervous now, wondering if she’ll still appreciate the gift even though she had tried to tell everyone not to worry about them this year.

“I’ll still buy you drinks, too. Promise,” he says, and it seems to satiate her because she takes the box from his hands.

Bellamy watches in silence as she opens it, picking up the tiny paint palette charm inside of it. He’d come across it only a week ago, sitting in display case at the jewelry store down the road, and he figured it would look nice on her bracelet that he’d gotten her. Now, he tries to assess her reaction as she holds it up to eye level.

It takes a second, a moment of her staring at it, but then she smiles. It’s small, just the tiniest upturning of the corners of her mouth, but it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I always wondered if you’d ever add to it,” she says, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. His heart jumps hard in his chest.

“Well, I figured major life events were good. Graduation, changing your major to something that you actually want to do…”

Her grin widens and then suddenly she’s there, tucked underneath his chin with her arms around his waist. He hugs her back, trying to keep himself from holding too tightly, from blabbering about how much he’s missed her as the warmth of her body surrounds him. It’s been so long since he’s seen her, much less gotten to touch her, so he’s starting to wonder how he’s ever going to let her go when Octavia speaks.

“So, one more shot for the road?”

Clarke pulls away, and he doesn’t dare look at Gina for fear that she’ll see through him, see that just being near Clarke is making his head spin.

(He was stupid, so stupid to think that he could ever get over her.)

“Here, I’ll put it on for you,” he says to distract himself, hands reaching for the charm. He attaches it easily, barely even thinking about the way his skin buzzes where it touches hers, and then they head over to where Octavia is pouring another round of shots. They all clink their little glasses together and he tries not to look at Clarke, tries not to keep checking to see if she’s looking at him, if it’s her eyes that he feels following him.

It’s probably not. He’s probably just making it up.

When Octavia hands Clarke a plastic crown to wear out for the night, he watches her pin it into place with a smirk on his face. She keeps her eyes on him, too, a playful glare in them.

Once she seems content with its placement, she points an accusatory finger at him. “Bellamy Blake, even think about touching this crown and I swear to God—“

A burst of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, and when he catches sight of Gina’s raised brow, he shrugs, trying to maintain some semblance of a casual expression. “Try to tug a girl’s crown off one time, and she remembers it for a lifetime, apparently.”

Gina’s head tilts, eyes curious, but Octavia is ushering everyone out the door, so she doesn’t have the time or space to ask whatever question was hiding behind her expression.

(Probably for the best.)

------

Clarke is already pretty tipsy when they leave, so by the time they’ve gone to a couple of bars, she’s tripping over her words and her feet, giggling every few seconds in a way that only drunk girls can manage. While Raven, Octavia, Wells, and Lincoln all seem to be doing just fine themselves, she attaches herself to his side as if she needs him to function. She latches onto him when they move to another bar, using him to keep her balance as she walks, pressing her laughter into his chest, arm snug around his waist or hooked tightly through his elbow.

She pokes his rib at one point, grinning up at him. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

He laughs, biting on his lip to try to hide the way her words are echoing in his mind. “You’re my favorite, too, princess.”

“I meaaan it,” she drawls, and he has to look away from her smile, from the way her eyes are shining as she looks at him. “You’re my favorite person, like, ever.”

“Thanks babe,” Octavia says dryly from Clarke’s other side, looping their arms together.

“I love you, too, O,” she giggles, leaning a bit toward Octavia for a minute, pressing a sloppy kiss into her cheek. Octavia scrunches her nose, but lets Clarke hold onto her for a second, arm wrapping around her shoulders. It doesn’t last—some seconds pass and then she’s clutching tightly to Bellamy once again, tucked into his side like she belongs there.

Bellamy nearly forgets Gina even came with them, but a little after midnight, she pulls him to the side while everyone else has walked in the direction of the bathrooms. “Hey, I think I’m going to head home.”

He feels his cheeks flush almost immediately, guilt rushing through his veins because he knows it’s his fault. He should have at least tried to make sure she was having a good time, too. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’m the shittiest boyfriend ever.”

Gina shrugs, her smile sad. “No, it’s okay. I’m just… ready to head out.”

He can tell that there’s more, that her mind is working overtime on something. After a glance over his shoulder to make sure that everyone else is still absent for the moment, he takes a deep breath. “Is everything okay?”

She seems as if she’ll shrug it off for a moment, but then her eyes lock with his and she shrugs again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t belong here with all of you.”  

“That’s not true,” he tells her, guilt accumulating higher by the second.

Gina fixes him with a look that’s nearly exasperated, but it’s definitely tired at the very least. “You’re in love with Clarke, and she’s in love with you. And I’m just in the way.”

It takes him a second to register what she’s said, but his automatic reaction is to shake his head. “She’s not, Gina. It doesn’t… we’re just friends.”

Now, she almost looks amused. “But you are in love with her.”

He opens his mouth to counteract it, but one look in her eyes and he knows that it’s pointless. He sighs. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you, that I can’t… It’s not like it matters anyway. She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Gina’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re wrong. I think that’s why she stopped coming around, Bellamy. Because of me. I had considered it before, but… seeing her tonight, with less control over her expressions and words, now I’m pretty sure.”

He’s sure his confusion is still plastered on his face, but his heart is frantic, racing to an unknown destination. Taking a breath is almost difficult. It’s not true— he would have known if that was the reason. He knows Clarke, knows how she operates. She’s just been busy, that’s all. Plus, if Octavia knew, she would have told him, right? Or would that be breaking Clarke’s trust, to tell him that the girl he’s in love with loves him too, just because they’re best friends?

“She’s just been busy,” he says, part of his mind begging Gina to let it go. His chest physically aches, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to let himself think that there’s even a possibility.

“Bellamy, you’re not that stupid.”

Octavia chooses that moment to walk up, and Bellamy looks behind her to find that the other members of their group at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Why does my brother look like someone slapped him in the face?”

It takes him a moment to realize that, apparently, Gina isn’t going to answer.

“Gina thinks that Clarke… likes me.” The words seem to fall flat, but Octavia’s eyes flash, bright and aware and less under the influence of alcohol than he would have expected.  

“And I know that he loves her,” Gina adds quickly, but it’s the first time he registers that she doesn’t seem extremely upset or anything.

“It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t feel that way.” It’s all he can do to repeat the words, to try to maintain some semblance of reality in his head, to attempt to keep his world turning on its axis like it’s supposed to be. That’s what is easy. That’s what keeps him from going crazy.

“Well, at the very least, you love her. And I don’t want… I don’t want to be in this, not like this. Not when you’ll never look at me the way you look at her.”

He opens his mouth with every intention to argue the point because it feels like what he should do, but then he really looks at her.

And she’s right. It isn’t fair to her to be hung up on someone else.

He sighs, looking her in the eyes when he says, “I’m sorry. I do really like you.”

It’s not the best thing to say, he knows, but it’s honest and all he can think of at the time. Gina tilts her head, gaze surprisingly affectionate. “I know, I’m not mad, Bellamy.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm, leaning up to press a kiss to cheek and lingering for only a moment. “Good luck, okay? I’ll see you around. Bye, Octavia.”

She starts to just walk away, but he remembers that she rode with them downtown and grabs her elbow. “Hey, wait, please. Do you need help getting home?”

Gina shakes her head. “Already ordered the Uber, it’s outside. You guys have a good night.”

Once she’s gone, Bellamy turns back to Octavia, who has her arms crossed over her stomach. Her eyes are glued to a spot on the floor, hard and intense. “You love Clarke?”

He shrugs, but knows there’s no sense denying anything now. “I mean, yeah, but… it doesn’t matter. What Gina said isn’t true, right?”

Octavia’s expression shifts until it’s almost… sad? He can’t tell for sure.

“You’re an idiot, and I need a drink,” is all she says before she turns sharply on her heel and heads back to the bar, where Clarke, Lincoln, Wells, and Raven are clinking their cocktail glasses together. He follows slowly, settling next to the bar beside Clarke while keeping some space between them, if only to try to maintain his sanity.

He’s pretty sure Godzilla could come crashing into the bar and he wouldn’t realize it, his mind too far away, his emotions too thrown off balance. He watches as Clarke sips on her drink that he can tell is a little watered down, likely thanks to Lincoln or Wells, trying to think back on the past summer, on the way his texts had gone unanswered more often than not, how Raven and Octavia would show up on the weekends without Clarke with them.

The way Clarke had left his house so quickly on the night that Gina showed up, the day she’d officially changed her major. He had always just assumed she felt bad for supposedly crashing his date, but maybe that wasn’t it at all.

Clarke turns to him as if she’s just realized he’s there, grin wide as she offers him some of her drink. He takes a sip just to confirm that it’s nearly all sprite and not much vodka, and then hands it back to her. “You should probably drink some water,” he tells her, and she scrunches her nose.

“I’m just fine, Bellamy Blake, thank you very much,” she says, but she trips over her words a little, giggling when they don’t fall off her tongue correctly.

When she asks about where Gina went a few minutes later, he doesn’t tell her the truth. Not yet, not when she’s drunk, not when she might not remember the conversation anyway. So, he just tells her that Gina went home, that she was tired and ready to turn in for the night.

Clarke nods once, looking a little confused before she wraps herself around him, arm low around his hips, lips grazing his jaw when she whispers, “If I was your girlfriend, I don’t think I’d ever leave you.”

She seems to forget that she’s said anything as soon as she’s spoken, and he lets himself look down at her, for the first time letting himself really wonder if maybe Gina was right. When she sees him looking at her, she just pokes at his cheek with her pointer finger and laughs, collapsing into his side.

Getting Clarke into bed once they’re back at the apartment takes both him and Raven—him getting her into her room, Raven getting her changed into PJs, both of them getting her settled in. He leaves water and Tylenol on her nightstand and, once he’s sure Raven has left the room for good, leans down and kisses her forehead.

She’s already nearly asleep, and he knows she probably won’t remember it in the morning, but he thinks he sees the corners of her mouth lift into a smile.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to give him hope.

------

Bellamy wakes up long before anyone else in the apartment, and he spends nearly an hour reading lecture prep material before Octavia pads into the living room, settling next to him on the couch.

“My head kinda hurts,” she says, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“Crazy how that works when you don’t drink water.”

She groans softly. “You’re a jerk.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Am I better if I make you some breakfast?”

She smiles, eyes still squinted. “Yes, please.”

Octavia settles herself on the counter while he cooks, silent for a long moment. “Are you going to tell Clarke?”

He doesn’t look up from the pan of scrambled eggs in front of him. “Are you?”

The pause that lingers makes him nervous, but eventually, Octavia sighs. “No, I won’t. But I think you should.”

And that’s the only things said until Lincoln comes in, thankfully redirecting the conversation. Octavia is whining about her headache and Bellamy is telling her she should have drank water when Clarke shuffles into the kitchen. She looks adorably rumpled, last night’s curls falling flat around her shoulders and the narrowness to her eyes showing evidence of her own hangover.

He smiles easily, easier than he would have thought considering that the moment he saw her, his heart burst into a frenzied beat. “Morning, princess. Hungry?”

The gratefulness is obvious in her expression when she nods, and when he hands her a plate of eggs she smiles before hopping onto the counter next to Octavia. He can hear them having their own little conversation, but he’s stirring another three scrambled eggs into the pan for Raven, trying to decipher whether or not he should say something to Clarke while making sure he doesn’t burn the food.

She’ll likely find out eventually, probably sooner rather than later, that he and Gina broke up. Whether or not to tell her the real reason is another question entirely. No matter what Octavia says about staying quiet about it, both of them keeping something like that from her would be difficult.

But maybe worth it.

Last night was the first night they had felt relatively normal in ages, and he doesn’t want that to be ruined for the possibility that she might want him, too. He spent an entire summer missing her—he doesn’t want to have to go through anything like that again.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly jumps when Clarke speaks, a little louder than when only talking to Octavia. “Did Gina make it home okay? I’m sorry she got tired.”

He looks at Octavia, who gives him the highest eyebrow raise she can muster through what he assumes is still a pretty nasty headache. He wonders how much of his inner turmoil she can sense, how much of his distress she can decipher just from the look he’s giving her.

Clarke looks back and forth between them, and he recognizes that she’s trying to figure out what she doesn’t know, what their looks are communicating. He can practically feel her brain working overtime, trying to fill in pieces that she doesn’t have, gaps in her memory that tequila and vodka sprites put there. “What? What’s up?”

“Yeah, yeah she did,” Bellamy says before she can question any further, slowing his actions of putting the eggs on a plate to buy him some more time before he has to look at anyone again.  

It’s quiet for a long moment while he does that, the silence falling and lingering, settling into the room and making his palms sweat. Octavia is the one who finally breaks it, and he hears her feet hit the floor as she speaks. “I think I still need some rest. C’mon, Lincoln, we can watch Netflix on my laptop in my room.”

Octavia and Lincoln disappear and the quiet returns. Unable to fathom looking at Clarke just yet, Bellamy takes his time washing out the pan and the plates that Octavia and Lincoln left, taking Clarke’s once she’s finished eating. He dries them slowly, puts them up in the cabinet behind her, wipes the counter a little, until finally, he leans back against the stove and lets his eyes slowly trail to her.

She’s still sitting in the same place on the counter, brow lightly furrowed as she stares at her lap, though now he can’t tell if it’s due to her thinking or due to her alcohol induced headache. What catches his eye, however, is that her attention seems to be focused on the silver charm bracelet on her arm. She’s turning one of the charms between her fingers absentmindedly.

He’s never seen her not wear this bracelet that he got her, not since the day he gave it for her a few years ago. Seeing it on her wrist always made him smile, because if her constantly wearing it was any indication, she loves it. Still, his stomach is in knots and he doesn’t know what to think anymore, so when he takes a step forward and reaches up to brush his fingers against it, he asks, “Do you really like this thing?”

Her lips twist a little, though it doesn’t quite look like a smile. “Bellamy, I don’t care for jewelry that much. But I’ll probably wear this bracelet every day for the rest of my life because you gave it to me.”

“Really?” Even as he asks the question, he realizes that she’s telling the truth. Clarke doesn’t wear jewelry. She has a necklace that he’s seen her wear a few times, one that her dad got her when she was little. Sometimes she wears earrings, but Bellamy is pretty sure she can’t own more than five pair. Yet, he’s never seen a day that his bracelet hasn’t been wrapped around her wrist.

Clarke picks her hand back up and toys with the crown charm again. “Yeah,” she says, and even though she doesn’t look up at him, even though she gives the tiniest shrug of her shoulders as if she’s trying to lighten the statement, he can feel the honesty of the reply.

He can feel himself staring, shocked at the realization that him giving it to her is what makes it so special to her. He’s suddenly feeling like the room is way too crowded even though they’re the only two in it—his heart is pounding in his ears and he’s suddenly leaning much more toward saying something, towards telling her the truth.

Because maybe Gina was right. Maybe he is an idiot.

The biggest one on the planet.

But maybe, even if she doesn’t feel the same way, it doesn’t have to ruin them. Maybe they’ll be okay. They always have been, after all.

He takes a breath, trying to figure out what words to use, how to approach what is probably the scariest thing he’ll ever do, the riskiest chance he’ll ever take.

(But he’s so in love with her, so completely in love with her, and maybe he should have done this a long time ago.)

“Gina broke up with me last night. That’s why she went home.” It’s not giving anything away yet, not giving her the truth of the matter just yet, but he watches her closely, wanting to gauge her reaction, to see if her response gives him any information.

Clarke’s mouth falls open for just a moment and then her brow furrows, her head shaking a little. “I’m so sorry, Bellamy. I—“

He can hear the guilt building in her voice, and he shakes his head before she can go too far. “It’s fine. It’s not like that or anything, and it wasn’t because of last night in particular, not really. It never would have worked anyway.”

“Oh.”

She’s not looking at him, even though he’s sure she can feel his eyes. It’s hard to read her, hard to break through the stoic nature of her expression. They’ve spent so much time apart, and now instead of being able to decipher her actions easily, he’s left trying to decide if this really is the best decision. He nearly backs out a dozen times, his mind screaming at him that it’s too much, that there is no way he can just casually tell Clarke Griffin that he’s in love with her.

(How does she not already know?)

“She broke up with me… because I’m in love with you, Clarke.”                    

Her eyes jump to his immediately, and her body flinches as if she’s been shocked. She’s searching him now, he can tell, eyes moving over his face as if she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. Otherwise, she’s completely still.

And she doesn’t say a word.

He starts panicking a little in the silence, heart jumping into overdrive as he races to try to find a way to maybe take it back, to laugh it off, because that is not the reaction he was hoping for at all. But he knows there’s no way to go back, no way to unsay the words that he’s spoken into existence.

So he rambles instead.

“It was just the way we were acting last night, I guess. You kept telling me… that I was your favorite person and… you kept hugging me and it… I guess she saw through any pretense I tried to keep up and called me out on it, but I think she knew before last night. That’s why it never would have worked. It’s always been you, I think.”

He figures she’ll say something to stop him, laugh it off herself and tell him he’s crazy, get angry because he’s throwing this on her while she’s hungover, punch him in the face. Something. Anything. But she’s still completely silent, her eyes still on him but now they look… almost cautious, like she’s waiting for him to pull out a knife and stab her to death.

It’s turning into his worst case scenario pretty quickly and he has no idea what to do about it.

He runs his hand through his hair out of habit, the words that tumble from his lips nearly incoherent, barely even sentences at all. “She told me that… she thinks you feel the same way, that she thinks that was why you stopped coming around so much lately, because of her. I told her she was crazy, but... But she seemed really sure, and then Octavia said she was right, too. Actually, Octavia told me I was an idiot, so… I don’t know. I guess I’m telling you, to see if it’s true. And if she was wrong, or whatever, it’s fine. You’re like… my best friend and I get that this is probably weird because we kind of grew up together but… If you don’t feel the same way it doesn’t have to change anything, and—”

“Bellamy.” Her voice finally stopping his is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even before she continues. “You idiot, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

It takes a second for the words to process, for him to understand that the apprehension he thought he’d seen in her expression has vanished, replaced with a smile that is almost a smirk. He feels himself relax a little, his heart slowing to normal speed for the first time since she came in the kitchen to begin with.

“Really?”

Her nod is short, the barest movement of her chin. Her grin widens slightly, but she ducks her head like she’s trying to hide it. “I… sort of figured you knew, honestly. And I thought you just saw me as another little sister.”

“Maybe I did, at first.” He inhales deeply, glancing away from her while he comes to terms with what she’s said. His head is reeling, spinning a little with the understanding that she does love him, too. He gathers his composure and turns back to grin at her. “But I wouldn’t offer to kiss my sister.”

She shoves at his shoulder, and he smiles, but then he takes a minute, picks up her hand slowly, as gentle as he can manage. He doesn’t hold too tightly, doesn’t want to ruin something that he’s just found because he rushes into it.

“I’m crazy about you,” he tells her, meeting her eyes because she needs to understand how deep he already is, how deep he’s always been. “And I only even dated Gina because… I realized earlier this year how bad I had it, and I didn’t want to risk what we had for just a chance that you might feel the same way, so… I was trying to convince myself I could get over it, you know? But then you stopped coming around and… I missed you so much, princess. Not seeing you drove me crazy.”

Clarke seems like she understands, turning their hands over as she smiles, looking far away for a moment. “I just couldn’t see you with her. It hurt too much. At least at first, but… not seeing you drove me crazy, too.”

He smiles just a little too, holding her hand more firmly now, hesitations slipping away. “Sorry that I was an idiot, princess.”  

She grins, nothing but happiness in this upturn of her lips. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Not too late?” he asks, shifting a bit closer.

She shakes her head and then pulls him all the way to her, between her legs where she sits on the counter. Her proximity makes his breath catch in the way like just before you make the first drop on a roller coaster. “For you? Never.”

Despite the way his heart is pounding and the excitement coursing through his veins, he leans in slowly, wanting to savor the moment. After years of imagining what it would be like to kiss her again, and years of wishing he could, he surprisingly doesn’t want to rush now. He’s slow in the way his lips press over hers, in how he trails his hands over her sides, fingers grazing her jaw, one hand taking up residence on her hip as she seems to tug him even closer, even further into the cradle of her hips. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry either, her hands traveling leisurely over his chest, shoulders, and back, then up into his hair and scratching lightly into his scalp.

Getting lost in her kiss is effortless, so easy that he nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice speaks from just behind him.

“Fucking finally.”

He doesn’t let her go, just turns his head to look over his shoulder at Raven. Her eyebrow is raised and she seems in perfect health, no signs of post-alcohol misery anywhere in her expression or body language.

“Apparently I’m an idiot,” he tells her with a shrug, and even though he can feel how obnoxious his grin is, there’s no way he can rein it in.

Raven had never directly asked him about Clarke or how he might feel about her, but he’s always wondered if she had an opinion at all, or if she, unlike Octavia, had just kept hers to herself. Now, he figures she certainly had an opinion, if her answering smirk is any indication. She pats him on the shoulder as she reaches over to grab her food. “Hope you weren’t expecting an argument, Blake,” is all she says before slipping back out the kitchen door.

His laugh is nearly giddy, and he muffles it into Clarke’s hoodie, holding onto her tightly. She holds him there, resting her head on top of his. “You think my sister will say I told you so?” he asks her after a minute, shifting just enough to look up at her.

She laughs a little, her smile bright. “Maybe just a little.”

#bellarke #bellarke ff #my writing #the 100

[positivepsychologyinterventions]

Inside Schizophrenia: A Look into Possible Links Between Violence and Schizophrenia

An in-depth look at violence and its relation to schizophrenia. Is violence a symptom of schizophrenia? Do mass attackers always have schizophrenia? Are schizophrenics dangerous?

Studies say people with schizophrenia are more likely to be a victim of a crime than the perpetrator. However, James Holmes, the movie theater mass murderer, was said to have paranoid schizophrenia. And a person can plead not-guilty by reason of insanity in court. This seems to be contrary to the idea of non-violence in mental illness. Host Rachel Star Withers, a diagnosed schizophrenic, and co-host Gabe Howard delve into these intense subjects in this episode of the Inside Schizophrenia podcast. Officer Rebecca Skillern, the senior trainer within the mental health division of the Houston Police Department, joins as a special guest to explain police protocol in answering crisis emergencies and what people with schizophrenia, and their loved ones, should do when an episode puts someone in danger.

Highlights From ‘Violence & Schizophrenia’ Episode 

[01:48] “Have you ever killed anyone?”

[03:21] Stigma is not knowing.

[07:10] Consequences of people finding out you have schizophrenia.

[14:22] Not guilty by reason of insanity.

[17:33] Paranoid schizophrenia and mass attackers.

[24:00] Has Rachel ever been violent due to my schizophrenia?

[25:30] Guest interview with Officer Rebecca Skillern.

[27:22] How is a mental crisis team response different than a typical police response?

[31:00] What to do if I need help for a mental health crisis.

[43:55] During a mental health crisis, what do I want to happen?

[46:00] Confusion and fear during an episode.

About Our Guest

Officer Rebecca Skillern, the senior trainer within the mental health division of the Houston Police Department, joins as a special guest to explain police protocol in answering crisis emergencies and what people with schizophrenia, and their loved ones, should do when an episode puts someone in danger.

She is an expert in CIT Training (Crisis Intervention Team) which is a program that provides the foundation necessary to promote community and statewide solutions to assist individuals with a mental illness and/or addictions. The CIT Model reduces both stigma and the need for further involvement with the criminal justice system. CIT provides a forum for effective problem solving regarding the interaction between the criminal justice and mental health care system and creates the context for sustainable change. Learn more by visiting www.citinternational.org.

Computer Generated Transcript for “Violence and Schizophrenia” Episode

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Announcer: Welcome to Inside Schizophrenia, a look into better understanding and living well with schizophrenia. Hosted by renowned advocate and influencer Rachel Star Withers and featuring Gabe Howard.

Rachel Star Withers: Hello, listeners, could a change in your schizophrenia treatment plan make a difference for you? There are options out there you might not know about. Please visit oncemonthlydifference.com to find out more about the benefits of once monthly injections for adults with schizophrenia. Welcome to Inside Schizophrenia. I’m Rachel Star Withers here with Gabe Howard. Today we’re going to take an in-depth look into violence and schizophrenia. Is violence an actual symptom of schizophrenia? Do mass attackers always have schizophrenia? Basically, are schizophrenics dangerous?

Gabe Howard: This is fascinating because it comes up so incredibly often and I imagine that as somebody who lives with schizophrenia people that believe this particular misinformation campaign or myth or misunderstanding sort of visit their fears onto your life. Is that fair?

Rachel Star Withers: Yes, I’m very open about my schizophrenia and not just online and in podcasts but everyday life. OK. Most people who meet me as far as more than once, not just random strangers and I’m just screaming it out. But if you work with me you probably know at some point and I get a lot of different like crazy questions. Some people have asked me like, “What do you see colors?” Yes. I’m not colorblind. That has nothing to do with schizophrenia at all. Oh but the weirdest I’ve gotten that I’ve never quite understand why is, “Have you ever killed anyone?” 

Gabe Howard: Just do they just straight up? When they’re asking questions about schizophrenia. Do they come straight out and say, “Have you killed anyone?”

Rachel Star Withers: No this is like something they lead up to. It’s like OK I’ve been like I know her you know and we’re finally talking and maybe I feel like I can finally ask this question. That would be offensive if I asked right away. But I’ve definitely been thinking about it for the past three weeks I’ve been working with her

Gabe Howard: So it’s on their mind from the moment they find out that you have schizophrenia? I mean when they find out about your illness this is something that pops into their head almost instantly?

Rachel Star Withers: I personally think so.

Gabe Howard: And does it worry you? Is it a concern?

Rachel Star Withers: To me, it doesn’t worry me. I always like to turn it into a joke. People say, “Have you ever killed anyone?” Not yet. I should like to just kind of pause there for a long time, take a nice deep breath and slowly turn my gaze to them and score right. But.

Gabe Howard: But that’s something that you have of course the privilege to do.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes.

Gabe Howard: I mean it

Rachel Star Withers: Yes.

Gabe Howard: You know just both by way of being. I’m trying not to say a tiny little white woman but . . . But you know what I mean. You don’t look physically imposing. It does. Does that make sense?

Rachel Star Withers: No, it does. Yes.

Gabe Howard: I mean if you were, if you were a giant man. If you were you know a giant African-American male?  But if you weren’t as articulate or funny or as approachable or as friendly this kind of a stereotype would be? It could be really impactful to your ability to find a work or a job or housing if they think that you’re dangerous.

Rachel Star Withers: Oh absolutely. You know people hear the word stigma and you always associate it with something bad like. Okay well stigma must mean that everybody thinks schizophrenics are violent or have killed people. But I think a lot of it is also you just don’t know anything. Like the unknown. Like I don’t know what this person is capable of. I don’t know much about schizophrenia so yeah on such and such TV show that was the killer and that I think is more scary than anything.

Gabe Howard: So you think that people are taking their ignorance essentially because they don’t know if you are safe or unsafe.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. And it’s one reason that I go out of my way to be so open about my schizophrenia. And that’s a luxury that I have. You know certain jobs I can’t go around saying that if I were to work. So I’m not saying everybody with a mental disorder should you know just tell the world hey guess what. I mean right now I’m working on this podcast with you, Gabe, Inside Schizophrenia. I don’t think I would get fired if anyone found out I actually had schizophrenia.

Gabe Howard: In this particular case it was an advantage. Obviously the show was looking for somebody who had a lot of knowledge about schizophrenia. Somebody who was open to talking about schizophrenia and somebody who was living publicly with schizophrenia. Do you believe, Rachel, that the people who think this are just mean malicious people who just dislike you? You sort of alluded to the fact that you think that it’s just all misunderstanding?

Rachel Star Withers: I’m not going to say all of it’s misunderstanding. There’s horrible people all over the world who are going to believe whatever they want. But I’d say the majority of the people who’ve actually asked me the question, “Have you ever killed anyone?” They weren’t mean people. It was just kind of like someone who was genuinely curious and honestly didn’t know anything about schizophrenia really except for the media.

Gabe Howard: Once you do your humor thing and I agree with you I think that humor has a lot of benefits. It diffuses situations it makes people comfortable in a way. After that sort of dissipates and people are like OK now I’ve realized that accusing you of killing somebody or even thinking that can be really hurtful. Do good conversations come out of that and how do you handle those?

Rachel Star Withers: I usually like to follow that with actually people with schizophrenia are more likely to be the victim of a crime than to be committing the crime and people be like. “Oh really?” Like it that’s just kind of like oh they’re like completely kind of change their thoughts like I just had no clue. I’m like Yeah. So it’s a nice little segue into some fun learning.

Gabe Howard: When you say that people with schizophrenia are more likely to be the victim of a crime, do people believe you? Did they give pushback? Do they ask why that is?

Rachel Star Withers: No one in real life has ever challenged me on that, but definitely over the Internet. People write, “Well, that’s just stupid. I don’t see how that’s possible.” Or they’ll say well schizophrenics hurt lots of people. And I just say again that goes back to kind of not all of it’s ignorance is just refusing to want to look at facts and believe what is true.

Gabe Howard: I think that everybody in America understands why comforting lies are better than uncomfortable truths in the short term. I would rather have somebody tell me that I’m completely right and I don’t have to change. That’s really really easy. But of course you can’t grow and be open to new experiences and the danger of believing these things about people with schizophrenia is that you may be avoiding a diagnosis yourself because after all if you believe that all people with schizophrenia are violent and you think that you might have it, you’re thinking to yourself I’m not violent therefore I don’t have to go get help. You could think this about a loved one you could think Oh my God I’m really worried about my son, daughter, niece, nephew, brother, sister, or best friend but they would never hurt a fly. So I’m not going to get them a diagnosis. I’m not going to take them in . How does that strike you?

Rachel Star Withers: Back years ago the very first time I sat my parents down I tell them Look I have went to the doctor and this is what happened. I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia. My mother did not want me to tell anybody, like anybody. When I made the first video I did about schizophrenia she was mortified and she repeatedly was like, “You can’t talk about this, Rachel.” And she was so scared that I was gonna get kicked out of college, that no one would ever hire me, that people would be scared of me. Which is just, you’re never going to get married, you’re never gonna have a job, you’re never gonna finish school. All of those things weren’t real reasons for her to think that, it was just she was frightened of what that word labeled on me. You know what it would do when other people saw that label.

Gabe Howard: So she was more concerned about the reactions of the general public than she was about the illness that you were battling? That does add an extra layer though, right? If everybody thinks that you, and then by extension your family, are violent or dangerous or scary that makes it that much harder to get care. Because like you said, your family’s initial thought was OK how do we manage this information. It wasn’t, how do we manage the illness?

Rachel Star Withers: And I think whenever you have something like a mental illness versus a physical illness you know some sort of disorders and whatnot obviously run in families. But if you hear oh well that person their daughter has schizophrenia they kind of tend to think Oh I bet the whole family’s crazy. My parents never came out and said it. But I think they were worried that if people found out I had schizophrenia they were going to assume my brother did also. So I’m not only potentially ruining my life, but I could be ruining my little brother’s life because well she has it why doesn’t he?

Rachel Star Withers: And it is. It’s a very scary diagnosis to get. And if you aren’t used to anything with mental illness, you’re not used to hearing about bipolar, you’re not used to even hearing about depression, and then suddenly you got schizophrenia on the line. I feel like that can really scare a family.

Gabe Howard: Do you think that the number one reason that people are scared of schizophrenia is its link to violence in pop culture in the media and in the minds of the public?

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. I think it’s just, and I always say this, that schizophrenia it is just a scary sounding word. It has a Z in it. Like it just sounds like oh my gosh. It’s just so great. I have I’m writing in a movie like Oh man I’m gonna have the character say schizophrenic or schizophrenia and she’s automatically like whoa. And I’ll even have people try and combat me online and they’ll say well you’d understand because most crime and what not it’s caused by people with mental illness and you know you have to be crazy to go and do all these bad things. Yes I believe a lot of us just in the world, not a lot of schizophrenics, but a lot of people in the world we do suffer from different things. You know if you are in a relationship and you get your heart broken you’re probably going to have some depression. It might not be long term depression and it could be just related and it might have you know ease up after a few months but you’re going to go through some sort of mental situation that is not just optimal mental health. However when you have crime, I think an easy way to just explain it is say, “Oh, they were crazy. Oh, they had schizophrenia. Let’s ignore the fact that they were on drugs. Let’s ignore the fact that they’ve already shown issues with let’s say beating their wife and things like that now because they have schizophrenia.” There’s no other health issue that automatically is linked to violence the way mental illnesses are.

Gabe Howard: I have often postulated that one of the reasons that people are so quick to believe this is because extreme violence. I mean your mass shootings your you know even just murder in general. It is so far outside of the realm of what a typical person is comfortable doing. I understand why people are like well. Doesn’t that have to be mental illness? I mean taking somebodies life is extreme. I mean it’s just really really extreme. There has to be a component of mental illness in there, but that’s not actually what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about does schizophrenia make you kill people? Does it make you hurt people? Is there something innate about the illness that violence is a likely outcome? And that’s where it gets tricky right. Because nobody is saying that people with schizophrenia have never committed a violent crime. You’re just saying that the majority of people with schizophrenia have never committed a violent crime.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. When you have people mental illness or you’re specifically talking about schizophrenia and you know the majority of us don’t hurt anyone. You’re like, “Well, Rachel, I mean but some of you do.” That still sounds scary. But not all husbands beat their wives. Some of them do but not all of them and that’s not going to keep me from getting married. That’s not going to keep me and or most people from finding a husband.

Gabe Howard: But when it comes to mental illness, we’ve decided that somehow that connects. That all violence is caused by people with schizophrenia and that connection just doesn’t exist in any study that’s been looked at and it’s kind of scary that people are so desperate to believe it. Why do you think that people want to believe this so much?

Rachel Star Withers: I think one of the main reasons is just being able to say somebody who did this horrible thing has mental illness. It makes you feel safer. OK. So I don’t know anyone personally like that so I can feel safe and if I ever met anyone like that I could obviously tell you know they’re like twitching and screaming and things. That’s the person I should be scared of. You know you hear these horrible stories of like a disgruntled employee who comes in and unfortunately does something you know very violent at the office. And a lot of times are like well so-and-so he was suffering from depression for so long. Well you know he was being treated by a psychiatrist. It’s never oh he broke his leg last year. You’d be like well what about him breaking his leg?

Gabe Howard: And even in the cases of schizophrenia the very very very tiny percentage of people with schizophrenia that do have a dangerous or violent outcome. They’re almost universally uncared for or untreated. They’re almost always left to their own devices with a very very very serious illness that isn’t being maintained or managed.

Rachel Star Withers: And many times that’s unfortunately being self managed by taking illegal drugs. So that plays a big part in it. Also we talk about mental health. Mental health is for everybody. Like that’s just a blanket term for all of us and too many people hear it and think oh well you only need mental health if something is wrong with your head. And it’s not. It’s working too much. You know that work life balance with your family. It’s being able to enjoy being out with people, like mental health is so many things. It’s not just dealing with disorders.

Gabe Howard: But to bring it back around to schizophrenia, another thing that comes up a lot is that people say that people with schizophrenia are trying to get away with the bad things that they do and there’s always sort of devolves into a not guilty by reason of insanity defense. That we can’t trust people with schizophrenia because after all, even if they severely hurt, attack, maim, whatever somebody they’ll just be set loose tomorrow because they’ll plead not guilty by reason of insanity and that’s why we have to crack down on this problem. How do you feel about that?

Rachel Star Withers: First I think I mean I watch tons of the judge shows. As you know I’m a huge Judge Judy fan although I rarely hear the insanity defense used on her show but still huge. Just love court dramas and whatnot and all the time we hear the insanity defense. OK. If you’re watching Law & Order as you like that’s a lot of the times what they end up going with. In reality though it’s not as common. It’s actually used in less than 1 percent of U.S. cases. So this isn’t something that’s constantly being thrown out is the insanity defense. Well, oh, I couldn’t have done this. Oh, I didn’t do this because of. It’s a very small percentage that actually used this defense. And of that it only has a 26 percent success rate and 90 percent of that 20 percent those people were already diagnosed. So it means that was somebody who already had a diagnosed mental disorder and something happened.

Gabe Howard: And to be clear those people don’t then just go home. They’re not back out in the community in the public. They go to state hospitals rather than prison.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes.

Gabe Howard: So the best outcome for a not guilty by reason of insanity defense is that you go to a state mental hospital versus state prison. So pop culture has sort of misled us on this one again where again I think that the average person believes that you plead not guilty by reason of insanity and then you go home and nothing happens.

Rachel Star Withers: Or I think though there I hear is oh they’ll go to like a hospital for a few months as if that’s it. Three months instead of a life in jail. Now it doesn’t work like that.

Gabe Howard: It is true that somebody may get out of a state hospital before they would get out of a state prison sentence for example. But it’s very very rare that it’s used. That’s number one. It’s not successful three out of four times. And when it is successful, it’s a very high threshold to be met. So that’s probably not the worst thing. As you said this happens all the time on Law & Order. It’s always the twist in that in the courtroom dramas et cetera. And maybe television isn’t the best place to get information about how life with schizophrenia works.

Rachel Star Withers: No. Going back to stigma being not knowing though most people don’t actively seek to learn. You know we’re given all this media and that’s just what they consume. So that’s what I believe to be true. It seemed like it was a really true movie I saw, they had like a judge. Seems right.

Gabe Howard: Let’s switch gears slightly. Everything that you just said was about fictional movies. You know you’re talking about you know your courtroom dramas and your reality TV. I mean stuff that I think the average person really should understand is fictional. But now let’s talk about media portrayals. This is the news. This is the evening news, the prime time news. This is expected to be factual. And one of the things that we hear about on the news all of the time, especially in the wake of some national tragedy, you know a mass shooting for example, is the term “paranoid schizophrenia.” This happened because of paranoid schizophrenia. It is almost a verbatim headline for many many examples of violence and schizophrenia.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. It’s like if you have schizophrenia that’s bad, but paranoid schizophrenia? Well that’s just give up. That’s the worst. That’s also my official diagnosis. However they do not use those subtypes anymore. That was dropped in 2013. But as someone who has a piece of paper that says paranoid schizophrenic on it, it’s unnerving to me to hear it in the news because I feel like my heart drops every single time and you’ll hear them especially I always think of James Holmes. He was the guy with the the Batman movie went in and unfortunately shot up a theater and we all got to see him on TV and he had like orange hair. Not helping, OK. And he has this crazy look in his eyes and we find out he’d mailed out things to the school counselor and it was just like telling everyone he was crazy. He actually used the insanity defense and he was still found to be legally sane and he is someone who they’re flat I’ll say this guy was a paranoid schizophrenic. The court said, yes, but that didn’t cause him to do all this. So even though like that diagnosis is slapped on things there’s probably a lot of other diagnosis. We could probably also say he was depressed. We could probably also argue the fact that he just failed out of college, that pushes a lot of people over the edge. We could probably argue the fact that he was an extreme comic book nerd. Which as a comic book nerd also, I wouldn’t want to go down that route but I know like a whole bunch of it like a little basement people just gasped.

Gabe Howard: That was one of the things that came out during the media coverage. Just how much time he spent alone reading comic books and how much he loved the comic book culture and superhero culture. Yet Marvel movies are still wildly successful. The most successful comic book franchise ever because when people said that this one person consumed a lot of comic books and then was violent and committed a mass shooting in a theater people didn’t say oh well we have to be worried about all people who read comic books. No. People understood that that was this person’s story. Not everybody’s story. Again it’s not the same way people think about schizophrenia and as you said schizophrenic or schizophrenia, it sounds like a scary word. And then you put paranoid in front of it. Well we all know that paranoia is bad. You’re a paranoid schizophrenic and you can see why people are drawn to these stories. Here in a few moments we’re gonna talk to police officers about what they see because they’re the first responders for people who are having a crisis because of mental illness. How do you think that their comments are going to line up with how you feel? And as a person who lives with schizophrenia, how do you feel about the police? Knowing that in general society is blaming people with schizophrenia for large amounts of violence?

Rachel Star Withers: Well first I do want to make it known if you weren’t sure that I am a white female. I’m 5′ 7″ so taller than some women but yeah not like freakishly towering over everybody and all of my encounters with police for the most part have really been good. I’ve never had the police called on me over any issues. Really the only time I’ve called the police have been situations where things have happened, twice when someone was having a heart attack in front of me and I called 9 1 1 and they were not coming for me. They were immediately rushing in to save the guy both times. So it’s hard for me to kind of fully to fully express how I feel because I know so many other people have different interactions with the police and I’m very lucky that I have not been in situations where you know no one called the police on me as at hey there’s this crazy girl outside my house and she’s screaming up to the sky. My grandfather had Alzheimer’s and the neighbor, before it got we realized how bad it was. The neighbor called her boyfriend who was away at work and said I’m really scared. There’s an old man out here and he’s screaming at the house and he wants us to turn the lights on to the night sky. She was terrified and we are just very blessed that she called her boyfriend and the boyfriend immediately called us as opposed to calling police. And I can only imagine if they would’ve pulled up. My grandfather out there you know not understanding that the lights aren’t off, it’s just nighttime and we were able to calm him down. I know people rolling up to him as police officers would not have calmed him down. The 90 year old World War II veteran, I imagine he would have like dove in their fists up swinging. So I don’t want to just be like oh well it’s gonna be great for everybody because it’s not and I personally have not had a situation where I’ve been at let’s go with receiving end of the police being called on me.

Gabe Howard: Please pay attention to this information from our sponsor.

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Gabe Howard: Rachel, before we bring on our guest I just have one big big question to ask you. Have you ever been violent because of schizophrenia?

Rachel Star Withers: I have been violent. I have not ever been violent because of my schizophrenia. The closest I would say that had to do with my schizophrenia was as a teenager me getting just upset. Not really understanding what was going on, and my father trying to control me and not physically harm me in any way, but yes trying to physically control me. Like kind of grabbing me and me thrashing and becoming violent towards him. At that moment, again, not physical abuse really on either side, but I was just like me reacting to him grabbing me trying to control me where I was you know moving or radically screaming at the time he thought that’s what he needed to do. And then I flipped out even more. Those are the only times I can think of in my life where the schizophrenia and the violence was connected at all. I’m real big into boxing. I have an incredible amateur competitive record of 0 and 1.

Gabe Howard: But I don’t think when people consider violence they consider combat sports. The type of violence that we’re talking about, I mean I

Rachel Star Withers: Yes.

Gabe Howard: I know that you also wrestle alligators and you’re a stunt woman and you set yourself on fire. And I understand that you can make an argument that those are violent acts, I suppose. But I mean sincerely, have you ever flipped out at a mall? Have you ever started throwing things at people? Have you attacked a stranger? Have you ever been unable to control your own body in a way that was physically dangerous to those around you?

Rachel Star Withers: I have not. No. I’m 33 years old and it’s never been an issue for me and I don’t foresee it becoming an issue with me.

Rachel Star Withers: For our guest today we are excited to have a senior police officer Rebecca Skillern. Rebecca tell us a little bit about your training, your experience, what it is that you do.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: I am the senior trainer within the mental health division at the Houston Police Department and myself along with my two co trainers provide the crisis intervention training within our department and also to outside agency personnel.

Gabe Howard: Now the crisis intervention training I think a lot of people might be more familiar with its acronym C I.T. Can you explain when somebody hears CIT, to kind of what that means for a police department.

A large portion of what CIT means is that we provide specialized training for our personnel so that when they encounter people who are having mental health crises they can better and more humanely respond to those individuals so that we work to get them into appropriate treatment and care rather than criminalizing their behavior and putting them in jail which is not helpful to them.

Rachel Star Withers: I had no clue that a police department would have an entire section for mental health. Is that common with police stations or bigger cities?

Officer Rebecca Skillern: It is, I wouldn’t say common, but it is becoming more common. It is something that’s been in the making within our police department for going on three decades now and it’s something that we have built over the course of time. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. It’s something that smaller agencies are still working to establish and a lot of agencies both within Texas and outside of Texas are working to establish mental health units or sections within their departments to better respond and to also train their officers and other personnel so that they can keep them safer when they respond to these situations.

Rachel Star Withers: How is a mental health division, or crisis team of that sort, how is that a different response than let’s say a normal police response?

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Traditional police responses include kind of a fact finding mission you get in and you get the information you settle it and you move on and you get back into the calls or service loop and continue to respond to criminal activity. We work in a different world today where there are a lot of other elements that do not or should not involve making arrests when people go into crises for instance, people don’t pick up the phone and call their therapist they pick up the phone and call 9 1 1. You know, if a family member is losing control, and they’ve been diagnosed with a serious mental illness, even sometimes when they’ve not yet been diagnosed. But when things are getting out of hand people are calling 9 1 1 they’re not calling the local mental health authority, they’re not calling the person’s psychiatrist. They’re calling the police because they’re scared and they want help. What we’re doing with crisis intervention is we’re training police officers to better be able to recognize those situations for what they truly are. And in essence we refer to it as officer safety training because with officers being more educated about what they’re dealing with they are able to remain safer. They are also able to better de-escalate the situations and get the people who are in crisis into appropriate care and treatment rather than putting them in jail.

Gabe Howard: One of the things that you said is that you’re working to help decriminalize mental illness but you are still the police force. So I think it creates maybe some confusion in the community that hey if the police are coming and somebody has a mental illness, ipso facto a mental illness is criminal behavior. Can you talk about that a little bit because I know that the public can be very confused about what it means to live with mental illness.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: The public is very confused about what it is or what it is like to live with mental illness. Many of the people who have mental illness live their lives every day. They are managing their illness and they are doing what they need to do to take care of themselves. And there’s not a problem. Where it becomes a problem where law enforcement gets involved is when they’re not able to manage it as well as their counterparts and people get scared. The bottom line with law enforcement is we’re here to protect and serve. It’s not just about making arrests. It is sometimes protecting people from themselves and sometimes protecting people from their family members. We do get called when people go into crisis and we do respond to those situations because we are trying to protect the community. We’re trying to protect individuals from self injurious kinds of behaviors as well. And so we do get called for things like that and we do respond to things like that. We want officers to be better capable of handling those situations and to verbally de-escalate rather than having to engage in like hand-to-hand combat with people. We want them to be able to use their verbal skills. We also want them to be able to identify situations where they can get someone into a treatment regimen rather than into the criminal justice system. It takes a lot more and is much less economically responsible to try to treat someone in the criminal justice system. Then it would take or be to treat someone within the community.

Rachel Star Withers: Okay. I love that answer. Awesome.

Gabe Howard: Yeah. Thank you.

Rachel Star Withers: I have a question. I do have schizophrenia and that is what this whole podcast is about and I have different you know yes I have depressive types episodes that I go through psychotic episodes. So let’s say that I’m scared I’m going to hurt myself or I’m scared I might you know hurt somebody else and it’s a pretty intense feeling. And what would you suggest I do right away? What do you like what is my protocol for how I should react?

Officer Rebecca Skillern: If you are in imminent danger of hurting yourself or someone else, I would suggest that you call 9 1 1 and that you ask for a crisis intervention trained officer to respond to you. I would also encourage you to make sure that you are not near any kind of weapon and would want to make sure that when you do you let them know what you’re wearing that you don’t have any weapons that you respond well to if you respond well to a certain kind of approach let them know that as well. If you don’t respond well to a certain kind of approach let the call taker know that you know I need someone to come out here who’s not going to use loud voices. There’s someone who is going to be able to be calm someone who’s trained in crisis intervention would be ideal. I don’t have any weapons but I have thought of hurting myself and or someone else and I need help.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: When I was reading about the training and what you all do as far as like telling people how to prepare, I guess, for the police coming was to turn on all the lights in the house. I just thought that never occurred to me to do that. But yeah I could see that being really important because I’m usually creeping around in the dark and so I like to have the other lights low and I don’t. That’s just it never occurred to me. That was interesting right.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: It had the lights on. Make sure if you have any tests that you have them secured so the officers aren’t going to have to contend with that. It would also be important to make sure that you don’t run up to the officers and that when the officers approach they can see your hands so that they can make sure that there aren’t any weapons on your hands and feel confident with that. It’s sometimes easier said than done when you tell someone to please stay calm especially if they’re actively hallucinating and delusional. You know a lot of times there will be a theme with people who who experience psychosis that the government is out to get them. You know it’s real important to reassure yourself they’re here to help they’re here to help. They’re here to help. And to repeat that out loud to them sometimes too because officers, like anybody else, are human beings and they may become reactive if they’re caught off guard. I understand you’re here to help. Here’s what I need. Here’s what’s going on. You know please help me because I don’t want to act on this. I don’t want to do anything but you know this is what I’m thinking this is what I’m feeling. So just to be forthright with what there is and also to identify if you have a diagnosis to say I have a diagnosis and this is the medication I’m supposed to be taking and hopefully they will ask questions like, “When was the last time you had your medication? Have you had any breakthrough symptoms?” You know hopefully they will have been through the training and know the follow up questions to go through as well. But if they don’t be prepared to offer that information even if you’re not asked.

Gabe Howard: I really like of course all of this information and I think it’s all very very helpful. But as you kind of alluded to it it’s going to be a tall order for somebody who’s in crisis hallucinating and experiencing symptoms that are so intense that they needed to call 9 1 1. So it sounds like this involves training maybe the people that you live with or your family or your friends your support staff. Do you have any advice for how somebody living with schizophrenia can help their loved ones understand that it would be very beneficial that if they do need to call nine one one they say all of those things? Other than listening to this podcast.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Right. We actually at the Huston Police Department we worked with our local mental health authority and we put together a mental health emergency assistance guide which is a one page form. One side is English one side is Spanish, and it gives basic information like this with the contact numbers but it also says when calling 9 1 1 here’s what you should do. And when law enforcement arrives here’s what you should do. The other piece is that I would highly recommend that family members be part of the treatment team, be part of that support system, learn about the illness. You know, attend NAMI, attend the family to family meetings to become educated themselves because oftentimes family members can be the biggest hindrance to getting the person help.

Rachel Star Withers: Oh yeah.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: And we encourage family members look if you have a family member who’s experiencing this in his or her life then become educated about it because it’s going to be a very important piece for you to help that person manage their situation. Help your family member by becoming educated, by knowing what to say when you call and ask for help by even the individual him or herself can write the basic information down on a piece of paper so that if they do go into crisis and a person comes to respond to a call a law enforcement officer response to the call they can hand them that piece of paper. They may not be able to communicate exactly what’s going on with them in that moment in time but if they have that piece of paper they can hand it to him and say, “Here, read this.” And it’ll give the officers some information about what might be going on with the person.

Rachel Star Withers: Got it. So.

Gabe Howard: Thank you thank you.

Rachel Star Withers: In our society unfortunately the term schizophrenia gets kind of thrown around a lot on people who necessarily don’t have it. We have all the issues obviously with school shooters and different things and then everybody who’s ever taken a psychology class suddenly can diagnose. People looking at all of that, I say in the media in general it’s made people really scared of the word schizophrenia and hearing that somebody has it. Do you think with all of your training that schizophrenics are responsible for all of this violence in society?

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Absolutely not. In fact that’s one of the biggest misnomers and one of the biggest things that kind of drives the stigma associated with mental illness is that people don’t know. In fact they’re ignorant. But ignorance is something we can educate and get rid of. People with mental illness are no more likely to be violent than the average person. In fact statistics show that people with mental illness are probably more likely to be victimized rather than perpetrators of crime. The stigma is one of the many things we work to try to educate amongst our law enforcement personnel so that we get rid of some of those false belief. Their false beliefs not based on fact. Thinking that people with mental illness are more violent than the average person is just something that’s clearly someone not being educated. The media does not do justice to mental illness because they do often portray people with mental illness to be much different than what the reality is. You look at movies like split or Shutter Island or something like that and people get this idea that someone with schizophrenia has to be completely out of it in order to be diagnosed with schizophrenia when that is just certainly not the case. More often than not people with schizophrenia or major depression or bipolar disorder can be productive contributing members of society given the opportunity and having the people around them who support them and learn to understand how the illnesses affect the person.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Awesome. Thank you very much for that response.

Gabe Howard: That is wonderful. Thank you.

Rachel Star Withers: So I don’t live in Houston. How do I found out about my local law enforcement agencies protocol when it comes to a mental health crisis?

Officer Rebecca Skillern: I would recommend calling them call and find out. Do you have a crisis intervention team? Do you have a police and Mental Health Collaborative Program in helping train the personnel on your department in how to better respond to people with mental illness?  Is there an PMHC in essence? Is there a Police Mental Health Collaborative? Do your officers receive something beyond the basic mandated training or is it optional or is it mandatory for them to get fully trained in crisis intervention so that they can offer a more humane response to people who are living with mental illness?

Gabe Howard: Wonderful. I really like what you said about you know listen the police are there to serve and protect not just to track down criminals or arrest people. They’re there to help people who are in need. And that goes along with that. You know if you have a question about your local police force we should be empowered to call up and ask you know ask the question ask about CIT, ask about mental health training. Ask about the things that we need and if they don’t have it in your area you know advocate for those services because it’s probably a you found that it’s been vital that it’s been vital and helpful in Houston.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Absolutely. And it’s a strong selling point to law enforcement agencies to help them understand that it’s just as much about officer safety as it is about keeping those in our community safe. Having the training so that an officer is better capable of understanding and identifying what they’re dealing with when they encounter someone is priceless. Having that available to your personnel, which keeps them from encountering situations you know full force hands on straight off the bat, and instead teaching them verbal de-escalation skills and how to pay attention to the signs and symptoms that may be visually present that they don’t recognize or they don’t understand because mental health is not traditional for law enforcement training and getting training around mental health issues is not something that is part of your standard law enforcement training protocol. Although, it should be especially in today’s world because more and more people are going into crisis and officers are the ones responding to those crises and it’s much better if they go in knowing what they’re dealing with then if they go in cold turkey not understanding it and just see it as a fight.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Got it got it. Well I definitely have to thank you so much for coming and talking on our podcast today. Very awesome information. It’s really nice to know from somebody who has a serious mental health disorder. It’s nice to know that there are people working in the police department trying to, I don’t want to say. Learn more about me? But, you know, learn the best ways to address these different kind of crisis that might come up, right.

Officer Rebecca Skillern: Well, Rachel, I want to applaud you as well because you represent a very large portion of our community. It’s not just you. One in four people will experience some form of mental illness at some point within their lives. You’re not just a small portion or a token portion of our community you are our community as well.

Rachel Star Withers: Awesome.

Gabe Howard: Wonderful.

Rachel Star Withers: You make me feel all warm and fuzzy. Thank you.

Gabe Howard: You should, Rachel. You are incredible. Thank you so much for for being here and agreeing to do this and helping to get the word out.

Rachel Star Withers: We really appreciate you so much for coming and talking with us today it’s so rare that you get to talk to a law enforcement official like this and really kind of learn the other side of things, so thank you so much. That was really great for them to come on here and talk with us. Really giving us a side to the police and how they operate that you normally don’t get to see or know about.

Gabe Howard: It is true that a lot of people living with schizophrenia feel, a lot of people living with mental illness, feel fearful of the police so it’s wonderful when you know people like officer Rebecca can help us and talk to us and give us information so that both sides can get what they want which is for all of us to be safe. Which kind of leads me to a question that I have for you, Rachel. We talked about what police officers really need and want so that police officers can feel safe and get the best outcome. You know great information but as the person living with schizophrenia, what do you want to have happen? I mean other than the police not need to be called. But the police need to be called. A crisis has occurred. And you’re involved. Rachel, this is your only answer from yourself. What do you want? What do you want to have happen?

Rachel Star Withers: For me watching various you know we have so many people now that whenever there is a police altercation there’s someone somewhere filming it. Whether we’re saying you know someone’s chest cam on a police officer or just someone standing by filming the situation. And a lot of the ones that I’ve watched online I feel like that the officers come off very aggressive right off the start. Whereas if you’re already kind of mentally off and if you can tell this person may be causing a disruption but they aren’t like they don’t have a gun or a knife. They’re not actively hurting anybody is to come up a little bit calmer. I know that whenever I’m mentally off everything is more intense. So if you get mad at me I’m going to think it’s like 10 times worse than it is. If you’re hollering at me it’s almost like I can’t take it. The noise is so loud and I kind of freak out. When I was a teenager, it was just everything would become too much and I would be hallucinating. I would be getting confused and my dad would get you know angry not understanding this. And again, he grabbed me but I everything was just too intense. So I would just react. So a lot of it is just knowing to interact with somebody who is in a psychotic episode or a mental health crisis calmly. Just doing your best to stay calm.

Gabe Howard: You’re really a big proponent of de-escalation.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. I’d much rather have someone calm me down and kind of back off away from me even but just kind of let the situation calm even maybe let it. I said get it out of my system because I’m not talking about a violent situation getting out of my system but just that energy okay and letting everything calm down for a second. It’s me I usually once everything else is calm I said sort of slowly start to kind of chill out to be okay. No one’s trying to hurt me, I’m safe. And if you’re out there and you’re thinking you don’t have schizophrenia or mental disorder you might be like, “Well, Rachel, you should have known you were safe or whatever.” But no, a lot of times I have my hallucinations I’m seeing very scary things. I’m hearing very confusing things and I don’t necessarily know that I’m safe. And if on top of that I got someone trying to grab me, it’s horrifying. So just being able to do whatever you can to just calm the situation. It works great.

Gabe Howard: It’s an interesting point that you just sort of raised there. You said you know I’m not calm, I’m not in my right mind, I’m in crisis because of schizophrenia. And then I have somebody try to grab me. Your exact words were, “somebody tried to grab me with everything that’s going on.” And you might just think that you’re in danger. You might not realize that it’s a police officer, or you might not realize that it’s somebody who’s trying to help you. And this is where we sort of get into the nuanced discussion about schizophrenia and violence because, for example, if a police officer tries to bear hug you to keep you safe, and then you punch that police officer, that will be seen as violence against a police officer or assault on a police officer. But from your perspective, from the perspective of somebody who’s not in their right mind, somebody who’s living with schizophrenia, you’re just trying to defend yourself and get away because you feel deeply deeply threatened. You’re not actually trying to harm a police officer in any way. Do you think that’s some of the misunderstanding when it comes to why people are so afraid of people with schizophrenia and why you may be accused for so much violence?

Rachel Star Withers: Yes on some level. Definitely not all of it. To kind of give you an idea though, I mean I’ve had times where I didn’t recognize my mom. So yeah, I totally might not recognize that this person dressed in all black, similar to my hallucinations which are usually black figures, is, you know, somebody good. All right I might not realize that this is a good person or this is a helpful person coming to assist me or assist those around me by helping me get under control. And I just might react wrong. That’s why I’m so glad we have these crisis intervention teams where police are learning to tell the difference between somebody who is actively violent trying to hurt others and then somebody who is in the middle of a mental breakdown and can’t understand what’s going on around them.

Gabe Howard: One of the things that we heard the officer say is that people with schizophrenia are in fact not responsible for all of the violence and in fact not even responsible for most of it or even a significant portion of it. As somebody who lived with schizophrenia how did that make you feel to hear the police acknowledge this?

Rachel Star Withers: When senior officer Skillern brought that up it makes me feel really good to know that not just advocates of schizophrenics, or people who work in mental health care. People with family and friends of schizophrenics are the only ones that are working to make a difference that it’s even the police officers that are working to make a difference in this kind of this issue alone. Violence in schizophrenia that they’re actually that hey we’re the ones who respond to the violence so we know firsthand and know it is not just about having schizophrenia is what makes somebody violent. When we were putting the show together I think when the most interesting things is when we’re looking for a police officer to speak with us. They came from Houston, Texas. I kind of was thinking maybe be a more liberal type state like California or maybe even like up in New York would have started this program or like a small town where yeah there’s not many of us. So it’s pretty easy. You know there’s only five police officers and only 20 people in the town. But this came from like Houston, Texas where you think of you know everybody gets a gun. Cowboys and Walker, Texas Ranger. And that’s really awesome because they see the value in it even while still being tough on crime.

Gabe Howard: I couldn’t agree more Rachel and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t surprised too. And it’s nice to know that crisis intervention training exists. And I really like what officer Rebecca said when she said, “Look the role of police is not to enforce laws. The role of police is to keep people safe.” And I think that’s a message that really needs to get out there more because I think when we’re talking about misunderstandings and the general public the role of policing and the role of law enforcement might be misunderstood as well. And I think it does come to the detriment at people with mental illness and of people with schizophrenia. So I’m glad that she was here.

Rachel Star Withers: Yes. She was awesome. This has been inside schizophrenia. Thank you so much for listening to us. Like, share, subscribe, and thank you for tuning in.

Announcer: Inside Schizophrenia is presented by PsychCentral.com, America’s largest and longest operating independent mental health website. Your host, Rachel Star Withers, can be found online at RachelStarLive.com. Co-host Gabe Howard can be found online at GabeHoward.com. For questions, or to provide feedback, please email [email protected]. The official web site for Inside Schizophrenia is PsychCentral.com/IS. Thank you for listening and please share widely.

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[drizzyofaqua]

(The North American Network) Chapter 6: It Was (Not) Me

William just waited until his turn. 

He had a feeling that the demons would keep testing houses until they found the right one, the one that would break under the strain of their efforts. He did his best to keep these thoughts hidden from the others, but he just couldn’t ever hide anything from Gerald. Gerald would always check up on him whenever he saw that he was looking troubled, never faltering a single time. William found it a little annoying, a little suspicious, but a lost part of him found it incredibly comforting. It was a kind of comfort he could not get from his friends, and something he’d so dearly missed.

As the days went on and life returned to what could be considered normal, William began looking forward to talking to Gerald like he looked forward to talking to Frederick or Matt. Having an actual friend in person who wasn’t teasing him for being the youngest moderator in one way or another was an entirely new experience, but one he could get used to.

Still, in the back of William’s mind, the doubts lingered. They didn’t only relate to him and his friends, but to Gerald as well. William could not overlook his strange behavior, like he was almost trying too hard to fit in despite being around for a while. He feared what getting involved with Gerald might entail, but he wanted to keep an open mind. He just needed to try to be careful.

Nothing good can last forever, though. Life has a way of breaking those that try. ----------------------------------------------------------------

“You know you can’t keep this little façade of yours up forever, right?” Gerald asked.

It had been a while since the attack on safe house eleven, and no attacks had happened since. Bugs were still pretty bad, but William always had Gerald to rely on when one was too big. He hadn’t earned respect since the other moderators knew he had help, but at least he wasn’t burdening anyone. At least, he hoped he wasn’t.

“I can at least try to,” William responded after downing the rest of the water in his glass at dinner.

“You can, but you probably shouldn’t,” Gerald informed. “It’s probably going to blow up in your face.”

“I just…I don’t want to bother them,” William explained. “Everything’s been going so well lately and I’d rather not drag the mood down.”

“William, listen up,” Gerald said with a snap of his fingers, signifying that he wanted William’s full attention, which William gave. “If those guys are really your friends, then trying to soothe your fears will be far more important to them than some silly atmosphere. Communication is important in any relationship and all that. You hear?”

“I hear,” William said with a slight nod. “I hear.”

“Great! Now how about you tell them what’s up as soon as you can?” Gerald asked.

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it tomorrow,” William confirmed.

“Perfect! I’m gonna hold you to it, though,” Gerald promised, his usual, toothy, silly grin on his face.

“I know, I wouldn’t expect a single thing less,” William snickered.

“Now get to bed,” Gerald advised, standing up. “I don’t want to see you being replaced by a grumpy zombie tomorrow!”

“Aw, come on, I don’t act like that too much!” William playfully protested, standing up as well.

“Keyword being ‘too much’,” Gerald teased.

“Hey, you know I don’t eat people!” William chuckled, unable to keep a straight face.

“Well, you got me there,” Gerald gave in, giving William a friendly smack on the shoulder. “Get to bed before you turn into an actual zombie.”

“Yes sir!” William said. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The giggly glow that sat comfortably in William’s chest after his talk with Gerald vanished when Frederick refused to talk to him.

It was a silly thing to get nervous over, but before that day, Frederick had not missed a single beat. He was always on top of things, always knew exactly what to say, and always answered William’s messages. Upon looking at the clock, it was clear that Frederick should be awake. He’d altered his sleeping schedule just to be able to check on William before he turned in for the night. Just in case Frederick was still asleep, though, William decided that maybe he should wait a little bit longer…

That’s when the alarm sounded.

It was a startling, screeching thing that was accompanied by bright red lights. William jolted, the computer tile falling out of his hands. This…this had to be a drill that no one had told him about. He jumped out of bed and ran out of the dorms to see everyone around him also panicked and confused. Was this a drill that no one had been told about? He supposed that could be a good tactic to test if everyone knew what to do, even if it was a little sudden.

Everyone scampered in different directions, trying to hide or see what was going on. William was trying to get to safety like this was a normal drill when he heard Gerald calling desperately for him.

“I’m over here!” William called back, his voice barely being audible in the fearful chatter around him.

Gerald pushed through the crowds and grabbed William’s shoulders, making sure he was looking him dead in the eye. The expression on his face was rather unsettling. His face was serious and stern but his eyes showed just as much panic as the ones belonging to those around him.

“William, thank goodness I found you…” Gerald said. “Listen to me. This is no drill. There is a real demon inside this safe house and we need to go. Come on.”

William froze up. Gerald took his hand to make sure he wouldn’t lose him and began to swiftly walk him to the nearest bunker, but William didn’t notice. Something deep within his subconscious was stirring.

Finally, he snapped out of it. He dug the soles of his shoes into the floor, putting up enough resistance for Gerald to notice.

“William, this is serious, we need to go!” He demanded.

“There’s something I have to do and I have to do it NOW,” William explained in an even more serious tone. “Let me go. This is very important.”

“It can’t be more important than saving your skin. We’re going,” Gerald growled stubbornly.

“It’ll save all our skins!” William protested, his green eyes alight with a new fire that Gerald had never seen. “I just need to get home. If you’re really so worried, you can come with me, but we need to leave now!”

There was a roar. A loud, deafening roar. Gerald and William both winced, having to cover their ears. The others in the building had to do the same. Some of them even ended up fainting. Whatever kind of demon was out there was definitely some kind of brute, probably a large one judging by the horrific bellowing it did. It ended up working out in William’s favor, at least. The second he felt like he could move again, he ran.

William ran out of the NAN HQ and was immediately faced with a terrifying sight. There was indeed a demon inside the safe house, a massive one with a gaping maw and tiny, smoldering eyes. It was hunched over, and seemed to be resisting every attack the safe house’s defensive squad was dealing to it. Its massive black void of a body just absorbed everything and it struck back with equally vicious force.

William prayed it would not see him as he bolted past. Luckily, if it did see him, it was too busy with the little mosquitoes of defenders that were picking away at it. He climbed up to the second level and ran inside the old, crumbling house.

There was no one inside, which only made things easier for him. The house was dusty and smelled of rotten wood. It was splintered and slanting, everything broken, toppled, or both. Old, faded pictures were cracked and ruined on the floor. Wallpaper was peeled down to the floor, and not a single painting from William’s youth remained. Times really changed since he was a kid.

He couldn’t dwell on nostalgia, though. He needed to grab something, and grab it fast. He ran to the kitchen and opened the empty pantry. Inside was a locked safe that needed a key, just as neglected as everything else. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

William couldn’t have been more than seven years old. His father, Franklin, was going to show him something he was dying to see while his mother, Annabeth, was training for future hunting missions. The little safe in the back of the pantry had always made William curious. He’d asked about it multiple times in the past, but Franklin and Annabeth always said that he’d find out when he was older. Finally, he was older.

Franklin took a key out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock, turning the key and unlocking the safe. He opened it slowly, only to further build suspense along with the little tune he was humming. William laughed and pushed him.

“Come on, dad! Lemme see!” he whined.

“Alright, you’ve waited this long,” Franklin caved, opening the safe all the way.

William gazed with wide eyes upon the weapon inside. It was some kind of sniper rifle that was downgraded in size to be not too much larger than a normal handgun. It didn’t look too extravagant, but to William it was amazing and new.

“This tiger will be yours one day,” Franklin said.

“Really, dad?” William asked, turning to his father with an expression that could outshine the stars.

“Yes, William,” Franklin replied, looking from him to the weapon. “You can use it to fight off those nasty demons and protect your family and friends.”

“Like you and mom do?” William asked.

“Exactly like your mother and I do,” Franklin repeated, smiling.

Franklin let William get a good look at the gun before having to lock the safe again. William protested, wanting to use it right then, but Franklin insisted that the gun was only for emergencies. He showed William the key after locking the safe.

“See this key?” he asked. “Don’t lose this key. It’s the only one we have, and you don’t want such a good gun to go to waste, do you?”

“Not at all!” William said. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah, right…the key.

Where was the key, again?

William frantically searched his pockets. No, no, no, no…he lost the key. He must have dropped it…no, wait. He straight-up forgot to bring it.

Words could not describe how frustrated he was with himself. Just this once he could maybe be more than just the youngest operator of the NAN in his safe house. Worst of all, he ran off all high-and-mighty and now that he was there, he couldn’t actually protect anyone. Stupid, stupid William…

“There you are!”

William looked up from his descent into intense regret to see Gerald running over to him, a stern glare in his eye. Just what he needed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack! Do you WANT to get killed?” Gerald scolded harshly. “Do you know what could have happened in the demon wanted to hurt you? There wouldn’t even be any of you to bury! We need to get to a bunker-“

“I know what would have happened!” William suddenly snapped, raising his head to meet Gerald’s glare with one of his own. “I…I know…” his eyes softened and he looked towards the safe. “I just really needed something in there…it’s really important to me and…I s-swear, it’ll help!”

Gerald looked from William to the safe and sighed. There was not any time for this, and it seemed like the fastest way to do this was to just go with whatever William was going on about. Besides, it could actually be important instead of some little heirloom or something.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” Gerald said, taking out a strange little device that was no larger than a pocket knife. He put it up to the lock, and a little metal arm shot into the mechanism. There was some quiet twisting and tinkering sounds before the arm retracted, leaving the safe unlocked.

William stared in disbelief at what he’d just seen. He’d seen advanced technology, sure, but never anything like a mechanical lock picker! Gerald gave him a light smack on the back of the head to bring him back to his senses. From there, William was on autopilot.

He opened the safe and pulled out the old gun, praying that it still worked. He didn’t even know how to use it, but he did recall his father saying once that it operated like a normal handgun, which he already knew how to use thanks to his old caretaker. Those days before the tragedy…those days were the ones that stuck out most to him.

He did a swift check to find ammo already inside the gun—common practice for an emergency weapon. He rushed to the nearest window, seeing the massive demon snarling and swiping at the remaining defenders. William took careful aim. At the very least, if this shot didn’t kill it, it would give the brave souls left alive some much-needed time. Once he was sure the shot would go where he wanted it to, he fired.

It was a direct hit. The demon didn’t die—probably due to its massive size—but it distracted and alarmed the beast. It behaved more sporadically, but it was much less fit to defend itself as it had no idea what to do. William aimed another shot and fired again. A less direct hit but the reward of another confused roar told William that it worked regardless. Another shot, though this one was much less on-target because of the demon’s thrashing. That was alright, though, the defenders had the rest in the bag.

William stared down after the demon fell, feeling incredibly proud of himself. Maybe this was what closure felt like? It was possible, but those feelings soon faded and were replaced by immense anxiety when people started looking for where his shots came from. William began feeling overwhelmed, and backed away from the window. He’d been taught how to use a gun, but he’d never actually used one until then. He didn’t know if he wanted the responsibility, he didn’t want to be associated with the job that took his family from him. His stomach began to twist and a lump began forming in his throat.

Gerald whistled and clapped. “Who taught you to shoot like that?” he asked. “Heck, I didn’t even know that you-“ he cut himself off when he noticed that William was beginning to tremble and hunch over. “…Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer and heavy with concern.

“…Don’t tell them,” William whimpered meekly, trying to stop the impending tears. “Please…please don’t tell them it was me…”

“What?” Gerald asked, incredibly confused. “Why wouldn’t you want them to know that you fired those shots? They’ll praise you, kid!”

“Please…just don’t tell them,” William sniffled. “I don’t want them to know it was me…I really don’t…”

“William, turn around and look at me,” Gerald coaxed.

William turned, a hand to his face to try to block his tears from view. He was trying to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to break down completely. Not in front of Gerald, and certainly not in that old house.

“Okay, how about we sit down? You look like you’re going to fall over,” Gerald said.

William didn’t say anything, just sat down as suggested, almost like he’d been waiting for permission. Gerald sat down as well. This was a little bit better…

“You know, you never did look at me,” Gerald said. “Come on, it’s okay to cry, no need to hide it from me.” A slight, amused smile. “Lord knows how many times I’ve cried in my life.”

This time, William hesitated. In the end, he did lower his hand. His eyes were shadowed by a deep sorrow that made Gerald pity him even more. Even if he wasn’t looking at him, it was good enough.

“There, that’s a lot better,” Gerald said. “Now, how about I rephrase my question? What’s the matter?”

William took a shaky breath and whispered something too quiet for Gerald to hear. Gerald decided to change course.

“Okay, never mind,” Gerald said. “Never mind all that. How about you think about what I told you earlier tonight at dinner? Remember how I said you shouldn’t hold in all these troubling things?”

A slight nod was the response.

“My point still stands,” Gerald said. “If whatever’s bugging you is bugging you this much, there’s no shame in breaking down for a little bit. You don’t need to be strong for anyone right now.”

And again, it was as if William was waiting to hear that.

He gave up trying to hold his sadness back, hung his head, and began to cry. He was quiet about it, either by nature or to make sure no one on the outside heard him. The volume of his sobbing didn’t change the fact that Gerald’s pity for him only continued growing. Unsure of what to do, Gerald stayed put. He wanted to comfort William, but he didn’t want to crowd him. So instead, he spoke.

“There you go,” he whispered. “That’s good. This is good. You’re okay, William.”

“D-don’t…” William hiccupped. “Don’t t-tell…please…”

“I wouldn’t even think of it,” Gerald replied gently. “You’re safe.”

#Aquatic's scrawlings #The North American Network #RIP Filler now things get REAL #First chapter without chatlogs too so that should tell you how serious things are #This has been sitting around for a while but I didn't upload it because I wanted to fix the ending #William needs a hug and a warm blanket #Gerald's doing his best and also apparently has a weird little lock-picking swiss army knife thing #yeah he isn't what he seems