#I know it's a very sensitive subject and it's hard and it's emotional and complicated but you can't just ignore basic principal

[james-is-nasqueer]

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[cannotflyarc]

fogg's insane asylum for lunatic women.

disclaimer.

i am not a historian, just a girl whose had an interest in historical mental institutions for almost as long as i've loved this musical. as time has gone on, however, i've become more and more upset with the portrayal of fogg's asylum. the movie presents it as some kind of crack house filled with mad women ( all arranged by hair color? ) reaching out and grabbing at whoever comes by. the musical doesn't do much better. while what anthony said about fogg's isn't far off as to what the general public would think about them, "she's trapped in these with all those screeching, gibbering maniacs!" that's not exactly the case. i have been putting together headcanons about fogg's asylum for several months now. i've done extensive research on actual patients, i've read books, etc.

much of this is based on ten days in a madhouse by nellie bly. bly was a reporter in the later 19th century who was assigned to go undercover in a mental institution and report back with what she found. her expose can be found online as a pdf. the language isn't complicated, especially for the 19th century, and while it is a hard read at some points, i very much recommend it. bly interviews the patients and victims of abuse and learns their story. while some of the language is very much of the time, she actually understands the brutalities of a victorian mental asylum.

because of the nature of mental hospitals during the 1840s and johanna as a character, be warned that this meta goes over some very difficult topics such as: abuse of all kinds, torture, eating disorders, period sexism, mental subjects, miscarriages, menstruation, trauma, sexual abuse, illness, drugs, drug withdrawals and chronic pain. due to the length of this meta, i will put individual warnings over each section.

i will be adding onto this meta as i learn more. i don't know everything and there are some sections that likely reflect that. please bare with me as i learn. i do not condone the period attitudes towards women or those who are mentally ill during this time.

many thanks to darks for helping me figure out some details. thank you to misto and jasmine for your support and from keeping me from loosing my mind. thank you to so many of my good friends for supporting me as i wrote this.

despite my sometimes dry tone, keep in mind that this is a century different from our own. they did not have the resources and technology and research that we do know. they were doing the best they could with what we had. this does not excuse their abuse, but it does shed light on why some of treatments were the way they were. i want to give justice to a fictional mental hospital as best as i can. without further ado, fogg's insane asylum for lunatic women.

word count from this point: 6,980

introduction.

warnings for period typical sexism throughout this entire section.

ladies in their sensitivities, my lord / have a fragile sensibility / when a girl's emergent / probably it's urgent / you defer to her gentility - ladies in their sensitivities, sw.eeney t.odd: the d.emon ba.rber of f.leet street

women are often referred to as the fairer sex. the more vulnerable and emotional roughly half of humanity. it should come as no surprise that women made up most of the population of bethlem royal hospital, more often known as bedlam. it's not often you hear of a lunatic asylum made specifically for men, is it? more often there are strictly female asylums or the men and the women are separated into two different wings or even two separate buildings both managed under the same people. bedlam was meant to hold 120 patients, however, overcrowding was a frequent problem of the institution and there were many more patients on the waiting list. because of this long waiting list and the overcrowding at london's most (in)famous insane asylum, most hospitals popped up in and around the city. fogg's insane asylum for lunatic women among them.

fogg's was initially founded by dr. john fogg to compensate for the large amount of the mentally ill ( and homeless and unwanted wives and disabled people ) in london. fogg's is located a few miles west of london, just on the outskirts. this is pivotal since if there is ever an escape, it is dangerous for everyone involved if one of the patients gets into the city. this way, they won't be able to directly find their way into trouble and the police have a better chance at finding them. though this was mostly for the comfort of the citizens of london, who weren't exactly keen on the idea of a madperson running about their neighborhoods.

dr. fogg's son, alfred was the superintendent of the asylum. he was a businessman, not a doctor and introduced ideas to make a profit. this includes selling the inmate's hair. he left most of the dirty work to the doctors, nurses and other staff. doctors weren't willing to put up with the harsh conditions of the asylum and slowly slipped away, which alfred hardly noticed. he died a rich man.

jonas fogg was the nephew of mr. albert fogg. seeing the problems within the madhouse, he began visiting other asylums. this gave him brighter ideas to institutionalize fogg's. the patients would follow a schedule. the patients would be in uniforms. the patients would be divided into different wards accordingly. despite all these changes, jonas fogg is still a mortal man. he doesn't mind the sound of coins jiggling in his pocket. he kept the practice of selling hair, seeing to it himself to make sure that money went straight into the palm of his hand.

judge phillip turpin and jonas fogg met briefly at a pub. mr. fogg not being a stupid man made an agreement with the judge: if judge turpin is to sentence any insane woman, let him send her to fogg's insane asylum for lunatic women. into fogg's humble and loving care. judge turpin agreed and so began their arrangement.

entering.

warnings for period-typical sexism and medical topics.

"i found her! i found johanna! that monster of a judge has locked her away in fogg's asylum. oh, mr. todd she's in there with those gibbering, screeching maniacs!" -anthony h.ope, s.weeney to.dd: the dem.on b.arber of fl.eet s.treet

it is not uncommon to come across some wide-eyed, mysterious woman who seems to be distant from this reality and it is not uncommon for such a woman to find her way into an insane asylum such as fogg's. these poor, mad women need help. ( and they need to get off of society's perfectly straight cobblestone streets. )

reasons for being admitted included, but were not limited to:

learning disabilities

menopause

"domestic trouble"

women doing into debt and unable to recover from the trauma of that

asthma

blindness

deafness

postpartum depression

mental breakdowns

down syndrome

they were sexually abused

they were trying to go to a workhouse, but ended up here

being suicidal

violence

self-harm

grief

sex/sexual dysfunction

fancied other men than her husband

if you come across a woman that fits the description above, please contact the police immediately. they understand what to do in this situation. a judge may see to them and they will have the poor, mad soul seen before a doctor who will ask a series of questions. a standard questionnaire may include questions such as:

"what drugs are you taking?"

"are you married?"

"have you participated in any sex work?" ( although, in a much more dignified manner )

"where are you from?"

"is this your first fit?" ( meaning: is this the first time you've made everyone think you're a lunatic? )

"how old are you?"

"what do you do for a living?"

"how much money do you have?"

the doctor will examine the throat and tongue at this point. once the doctor deems her insane, the police will wait with the woman until an ambulance can arrive for her to take her away. one of the police officers will accompany her as well as a doctor who arrived with the vehicle. the doctor will do his best to soothe and ask any more necessary questions.

once arrived at fogg's, two men will be there to assist the patient inside where she will sit through another examination preformed by a doctor. he will ask similar questions to the ones above. he will examine her lungs and heart. the patient will be lead to a long hallway to be seated next to her fellow patients. thus begins her long stay at fogg's.

johanna experienced a slightly different experience getting inside. after turpin confronted her about her plans to slope with anthony, bamford had to drag her out of the house kicking and screaming as she frantically tried to get away. she was supposed to marry anthony on monday. instead, she was shoved and locked into a carriage as she frantically tried to find a way out of it. inside was bamford as her police escort and a doctor inside that she did not learn the name of. she was dragged inside by bamford and another member of fogg's security. after a brief examination which she tried frantically to escape from and had it not been for bamford's hand on her knee, she thinks she would've been able to get away, she was put into solitary confinement for the night.

solitary confinement is a common punishment in prisons and has been since what may as well be the dawn of time. humans are naturally social creatures and don't do well on their own. to be separated from any human connection can have devastating psychological effects on the human mind. this was also a common punishment at insane asylums. johanna was put into a white, windowless, padded room with a stiff board for a bed and no one around to hear her frantic pleas for help. she was allowed out in the morning. that long, sleepless night was only the beginning of her stay.

daily schedule.

"for i know the plans i have for you, declares the lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." - jeremiah 29:11

this old testament verse was written by jeremiah. in this chapter, jeremiah tells the jews in babylon to prepare for seventy years of captivity, but is a verse known for its hope and comfort; to realize that suffering has an end. this verse was inscribed to the front of fogg's asylum as a way to bring an idea that the suffering would end.

johanna thought it was ironic.

she wasn't far off: most women who were sent to fogg's didn't make it out alive.

however, she wouldn't see it until after she was let out of solitary. at about 5:30am, two nurses stomped into the cell. before johanna could realize what was happening, they stripped all of her clothes off, threw a uniform at her feet and left with the demand that she get dressed. johanna could only stand there in silence for a few months, unable to grasp what had happened. this was a different kind of vulnerability. with the judge, there was a hole in the wall. she had seen his eye peering through it. but these were women who fought against her weak protests and left her cold and naked. slowly, she began to pull on each of the layers:

a pair of holey stockings

an underskirt of coarse, dark cotton that fell about six feet longer than the actual dress

a cheap, stained, white calico cotton dress that tied with strings around the waist and fell into a straight skirt

asylums tried to be as self-sufficient as possible which meant the patients themselves sewed the uniforms. it is difficult to imagine allowing people who might be at risk of self-harm or have suicidal tendencies to be allowed with scissors and sewing needles. this was greatly overlooked or ignored.

once johanna dressed, the nurses returned to bring her to join a long line of the other patients. they stood two-by-two. each woman wiped her arms and face down with a wet rag before passing it to the next one --- even ones with skin rashes shared their rags with women with perfectly healthy skin. johanna got lucky and got her rag after a healthy woman, but watched in horror as others were not as lucky.

benches were brought in by the nurses. once the patient was done with their rag, they sat down when a nurse would begin to yank through their hair with a rough comb. johanna again tried to run away from the scene, but joined her fellow unlucky women to be met with the comb. however, one of the other nurses stopped the one with the raised comb at her hair. johanna's hair was obviously much healthier than the other's and could catch a hefty price for it --- and perhaps, if they were the ones to tell mr. fogg about this, he might allow them to get some of the cut when the wigmaker came in next. before the nurse could continue combing ( albeit, much more gentle ), johanna politely requested for them just to braid it instead, which was a rare instance of a wish being granted during her stay.

johanna was then rushed to another bench where she waited next to the other patients in complete silence. talking would get their ears smacked, as she quickly learned. they got back into lines of two-by-two before gathering into the breakfast hall.

breakfast consisted of:

a bowl of cold tea

slice of buttered bread, though buttered bread would be given upon request

saucer of gruel

food was almost entirely uneatable. the bread was black and hard. the butter made one's stomach upset. the tea was more of pink color. the gruel was the closest thing to actual food provided, but was mushy and didn't sit well.

despite how terrible the food was, the patients devoured it. they learned to be desperate as this could be taken away from them as a form of punishment. johanna looked away from her food for a second, needing a moment to close her eyes, but when she looked back her bowl and saucer were empty.

once breakfast was over, the nurses struggled to gather the appropriate wards back together and trudge back to their rooms. again, it is important to remember that the asylums tried to be as self-sufficient as possible. this meant the patients also preformed the daily chores. they were given assignments by nurses which included:

sweeping

dusting

making beds

at times, closing the windows

johanna was not raised to be this self-sufficient. she knew how to clean her room at home and the birdcage, but she swept in a confused haze and at a much slower pace than the other patients, something the nurses scolded her for.

once chores were done, they were served a weak and foul cup of tea. this was the most nourishment johanna had that morning. this was around 10am. new patients, such as johanna, were lead to yet another appointment with a doctor. she pleaded her case. she was not insane. she was not her mother. but to no avail. the doctor listened to her heart and to her lungs. he asked a few questions in between flirting with the nurse. the nurse measured her ( 155.58cm or 5'1" and a quarter ) then the nurse told her to get on a scale. this caused johanna to panic and make another attempt at the door. the doctor called for some assistance from the nurses in the hall, who eventually got her on the scale. the doctor said her weight loud and clear for her. after a few more questions and another look at her tongue and throat, she was escorted back to the room.

once tea was over, nurses passed out moth-eaten shawls and white straw hats. arranged into their typical two-by-two pattern, they set out on their daily walk around the premises.

this was one of the best ways to peak at the other patients in other wards at the hospital, but one stood out in particular: a group of patients tied at the waist with a nurse leading them up front. this was hall nine. that ward was located in a separate building than the rest of the asylum, having been built during alfred fogg's reign to be used as a better infirmary. instead alfred made the decision to house the most dangerous and most suicidal patients there. more on them later.

at noon, everyone was gathered back into the cafeteria. dinner's food included fish boiled in water and soup that was more broth than vegetables or meat.

after dinner, the patients gathered into a sitting room with long benches that had no backs. johanna was confused at first when nothing happened other than sitting, but when a patient dared to whisper about how uncomfortable the benches were, a nurse was quick to smack her ear.

from one to three pm, these mentally unstable, stable, or somewhere in between patients were forced to sit on hard, backless benches, doing nothing. as nellie bly said, it would make any sane person go mad. or any insane person go further insane.

the head cook for the staff would bring the nurses fresh fruits and dried delicacies for the nurses to snack on while all the patients could do were try to ignore their grumbling stomachs as they looked on, knowing there was good food, but they wouldn't serve it to them.

by 3:30 pm, patients were once again gathered into the dining hall for a brief snack of gruel. after this, it was back to their rooms where the nurses would put to work on sewing projects. johanna was rather good at this as she'd been sewing all of her life and masted how to make her own undergarments, nightgowns and could make a basic dress. it was mindless, quiet work, though johanna was used to it. the nurses, however, did not like it when she hummed to herself.

5:30 pm meant it was time for supper. dinner was usually a main course of some sort of meat such as mutton or beef and potatoes served with a side of limp vegetables or sour fruit like prunes and buttered bread, though unbuttered bread would be given upon request. just like with any of the meals, any food was fought for. sick patients couldn't stomach the food. healthy patients became sick from it.

evenings could be the most pleasant time of the day if the nurses were in a good mood. there was a piano in one of the rooms which the patients would gather around and request that other patients play it for them. once her fellow patients learned she could sing, johanna was frequently requested, which she obliged to. lullabies were usually what the patients wanted to hear. in some wards, there might even be little dances which the male doctors would join them for. the evenings were a time to feel like normal people again, enjoying the little entertainments that they used to before they had stepped foot inside fogg's.

at eight pm one bath nights which were once a week , patients were filed into bathroom, which was quite literally a bathroom. a large room filled with tubs for the patients. they were ordered to strip their clothes off.

johanna refused to. her body had been seen by too many people already, something she should have the ability of only giving that to whoever she trusted. the judge, the nurses, the doctors, everyone. she felt sick at the thought of all of these patients seeing her so exposed as well.

the nurses did not put up with this. they forcefully stripped her down as they had that morning. johanna quietly wiped away her tears of shock.

the water was ice-cold and murky from the dirt of the patients who used it before her. baths were only allowed once a week. the water was not changed between patients. the nurses would cruelly scrub away at the skin with a small piece of soap that somehow felt dirty. this soap was used on the face and the hair, as well. her skin went from turning blue from the temperature of the water to bright red as the nurse scrubbed. another nurse poured a bucket of freezing water over her head to get her hair. johanna was yanked out of the tub and another nurse shoved a thin shift over her while she was still dripping wet.

it was necessary to settle in for the night as soon as possible. however, it was nearly impossible to catch a wink of rest. night nurses would come in every half and hour, they would loudly gossip to their co-workers, their heels clacked against the floor. johanna could hear a group of night nurses talking about her one night. but it wasn't only the nurses who kept her up.

the other patients, for the most part, weren't mentally well in some capacity. they were deemed insane by victorian standards, though by today they suffered from depression, anxiety, another mental illness, some sort of trauma, etc. there was one old woman who shouted about murder and getting the police all night. another begged for god to let her die. one claimed to dream of her mother taking her away and said that meant her mother would be there today to take her home. her mother never came.

the windows were open. the beds were hard. the patients laid on oilcloth. the sheet they were given didn't full cover patients of average height. and then they were awoken at 5:30 am to repeat all of this.

johanna sang. while the other patients yelled or cried themselves to sleep, she knew the only way for anthony to find her was for her to sing. he knew her voice. that's how he found her the first time. she sang lullabies and the song the beggar woman used to sing below her window. she sang about birds and of the freedom she was so close to having. she sang about love and she thought of anthony when she mumbled those pretty lyrics of everlasting devotion.

he would come for her one day. she would marry anthony on sunday.

sickness.

warnings for sickness, medical malpractice, drugs ( opium skip the section on morphine and laudanum ), drug withdrawals ( skip the sections on morphine and laudanum and the paragraph under that ), blood ( skip the section on bloodletting ).

"she told me that she had just gotten up from a sick bed. her appearance confirmed her story. she looked like one who had had a severe attack of fever. 'i am now suffering from nervous debility,' she said, "and my friends have sent me here to be treated for it.'" - nellie bly speaking of mrs. louise schanz, patient at blackwell's lunatic asylum

sickness was rampant in such institutions. during nellie bly's stay at the woman's lunatic asylum at blackwell island for her expose, she befriended a young woman named tillie mayard who had suffered from a fever to the point where her friends believed she went insane from the illness. they sent her to the asylum. miss mayard was still ill when she was brought to the island. she felt worse and worse as time went on. another young woman got sick because of the poor food. the nurses tried to feed her more of this food, which she refused because she couldn't stomach it especially when she was ill.

even if a patient sought them out, it was rare that a doctor would actually listen to a sick patient pleading for help. the nurses would tell such a patient to stop and the doctor would seek them out later. they never did.

when a patient was actually treated for their ailments, they were given similar treatments to what anyone else during this era would have been given, although usually at a much larger ( and unhealthier dose ) to get the patient to be quiet. these included:

bloodletting: doctors would make a small incision in the arm ( at the elbows was common or sometimes in the wrists ). patients were given a pole to squeeze until a sufficient amount of blood spilled out. the pole allowed the veins to pop more. it was collected in a bowl, under the incision. this practice came from the belief that the ailment was kept in the blood. bloodletting allowed the toxic blood to be separated from the body, thus healing the sick person. the body would be ready to make new, clean blood to fight whatever sickness remained. barbers tended to preform this procedure, but as fogg's was low on staff, they entrusted nurses to do it instead of having to hire a barber.

morphine: this is a strong opiate found in opium. morphine could be injected to treat pain such as menstrual cramps, morning sickness, asthma, headaches and shortness of breath. because it's an opiate, it is also highly addictive. one study conducted by the lancet named it the most addictive substance followed by cocaine and nicotine. withdrawal symptoms are intense and go through several stages. a large overdose can lead to death, however under the circumstances in fogg's, there wasn't proper treatment for overdoses and the nurses would rarely do anything about it if they accidentally gave a patient too much. the first reported case of morphine being used as a poison happened in 1822 when edme castaing was convicted of murdering a patient with a morphine overdose. it isn't known how many patients at fogg's met the same fate either on accident or on purpose.

laudanum: this was the ibuprofen of the 19th century. ten percent opium with up to fifty percent alcohol, it was often mixed with honey or other spices to make it more bearable on the tastebuds and used to treat all sorts of ailments: menstrual cramps, headaches, toothaches, diarrhea and slowing down breathing. it would make the user feel drowsy and euphoric, as these are side effects of opium. the more a person takes opiates, the more that person will need the next time as tolerance will quickly build up. it is highly addictive and causes intense mental impairments where the user will seem to be in a daze and be disconnected from real life. laudanum had two main uses in fogg's: sedate patients and treat pain.

withdrawals would be brutal if a patient's body and mind began to rely on these opiates. they can be intense enough to cause death. it should not be understated how brutal these drugs can be, but it's also important to remember that they didn't have better medicines. victorians did the best with what technology they did have. in fogg's, nurses tended to take advantage of these to deal with the patients.

nurses were not properly trained. these were typically unmarried women who were in need of a job. they couldn't take temperatures properly and rarely provided the help their patients needed.

treatments.

warnings for abuse and torture throughout this whole section, hyperthermia ( skip the section on ice baths ), forced drugging ( skip the section on forced drugging ), forced feeding and eating disorders ( skip the section on forced feeding and the paragraph below it ).

"i would like the expert physicians who are condemning me for my action, which has proven their ability, to take a perfectly sane and healthy woman, shut her up and make her sit from 6 am until 8 pm. on straight-back benches, do not allow her to talk or move during these hours, give her no reading and let her know nothing of the world or its doings, give her bad food and harsh treatment, and see how long it will take to make her insane. two months would make her a mental and physical wreck." - nellie bly, ten days in a madhouse

this is often the most infamous widely-spoken about parts of 19th century mental institutions. the lobotomy ( a surgery used to severe connections in the brain's frontal cortex, which could leave the patient needing to be institutionalized for the rest of their life ) is a common example in the brutality of these hospitals. however, that procedure wasn't performed until 1936. nonconsensual electric shock therapy wasn't adopted until the late 1930s. fogg's, like other victorian mental hospitals, used treatments such as:

restrictions/isolation: this included solitary confinement as discussed earlier and the use of straight jackets. straight jackets were usually made of canvas and when worn, a patients arms would be wrapped around their front and the back would be closed so it was impossible to get out without insistence. straight jackets weren't given out to any patient, though. these were used in cases where nurses became afraid a patient might hurt themselves or others. or, in some cases, if the patient tried to escape.

ice baths: hydrotherapy peaked in the 1850s. several different "types" of baths were invented during this period. it was already becoming popular beforehand. there were certain ways of bathing for lower back pain, for head colds, for period pains, for labor in childbirth, etc. certain kinds of baths were believed to help the mentally ill or disabled as well. however, this was done without the patient's consent. later in the century, turkish baths were used to help patients. however, this did lead to an incident in 1889 when several patients were killed due to poisonous gas. warm baths were also used to calm down the patients or for melancholic ones, but this was less frequent to the ice baths. these were used for those were who "aggressive" or "excitable." a patient would be shoved into the bath, sometimes with restraints over the tub so they wouldn't be able to get out. the nurses would pour more of the ice water on them. they would be left there for hours. this caused some patients to pass out or even die from hyperthermia. there were other methods of ice baths developed, but this was the most common at fogg's.

forced drugging: see above under treatments in the sickness section. patients were frequently sedated to calm them down or if they refused to sleep. typically, morphine was used in fogg's. johanna was unable or refused to sleep most nights. eventually, the nurses interfered by having a doctor inject morphine into her veins. she became reliant on that to be able to sleep.

forced feeding: this was the last resort for patients who refused to eat. in fogg's, most patients who refused to eat were ignored by the nurses and wouldn't get any treatment until a doctor caught on. loss of appetite was common among patients suffering from melancholia and grief as well as some paranoid patients who because of delusions believed the food was poisoned. tube feeding hadn't been invented yet so force-feeding patients would be used with a wooden spoon. a doctor would place a wooden spoon in the mouth and gently rotate to a right angle to keep the mouth open, taking care not to break any teeth. another spoon would place liquid or semi-solid food into the mouth. beef tea, raw eggs ground meat, custards, milk, ale, brandy and sherry would be used to feed the patients. some patients who were refusing to eat would be shown the force feeding process which usually prompted them to start eating.

johanna was not given a chance to be shown this. since she felt like she had little control over her life anymore, this triggered her eating disorder. out of the blue one afternoon while they were sitting, johanna was taken into a doctor's office and force-fed. this was one of the most traumatic parts of her visit. it happened a few times over the next week which made her sick. she made a deal with the doctor that she would start eating again if that meant she wouldn't have to be force-fed. she began taking as little food in as possible without dying. she was afraid of the threat of being force-fed again, but couldn't stomach the food was that served.

abuse.

obvious warning for abuse, mainly physical. skip this section entirely if you are sensitive to that topic.

"there isn't much fear of hurting you. shut up, or you'll get it worse."  -miss grupe, nurse at blackwell's lunatic asylum during nellie bly's investigation

it cannot be understated how abusive fogg's asylum was. these places live on in infamy today because of the abuse that happened within their walls. medical malpractice and nurses who weren't properly trained led to many premature deaths. ignorance played a huge part in why the mentally ill were treated like prisoners and like criminals. the causes of mental illnesses like depression and anxiety weren't known nor were proper ways of treating them.

on johanna's second day, an old woman in her hall suddenly collapsed during their sitting hours. when she was unable to get back up, the nurses verbally abused her and hit the poor old woman. eventually, they grew tired of her "antics" ( her crying and begging ) and threw her into the closest in the room. all of the other patients could only sit in horror as they listened to the old woman sobbing and screaming to be let out.

a few months in, one patient eventually got frustrated with mindlessly sewing and asked if she could go for another walk. at that, a nurse pushed her to the ground. another stepped on her fragile ribs until two of them cracked. when the doctor heard, they told him it was because that patient had rammed into the wall over and over again while the nurses tried to get her to stop it.

but the worse of the abuse happened in hall nine.

hall nine.

warnings for physical abuse throughout this entire section, warnings for mentions of chronic pain, spinal injuries, drowning and choking. this section if you need to skip it can be summarized with: johanna was physically abused by the nurses to the point it left her with chronic back pain.

"...to be corrected when they're naughty and rewarded with a sweetie when they're good." -jonas fogg

as described before, hall nine was another building of the hospital. johanna was brought to hall nine after accidentally slicing her arm open with a pair of sewing scissors. she hadn't slept at all the night before since the nurses hadn't injected her with any morphine. she hadn't even realized what happened. a nurse went over, grabbed her arm and showed another nurse. they began to vaguely question her which johanna didn't understand since she delirious. the next day during sitting time, a doctor approached johanna with further questions and had her come to his office again. after a brief examination, the doctors told the nurses to bring her to hall nine. this was when she perked up. she knew what hall nine meant.

she argued with the doctor. the scissors were an accident. she didn't mean to cut herself. she wasn't suicidal.

the doctor ignored her. the nurses checked her into hall nine.

the evenings were spent sitting. they were not allowed to sew. she was not allowed to sing. the nurses were much more cruel.

there were several times, the nurses would choose a patient they hated for little to no reason ( they were loud, they attempted to hurt someone else or themselves, they talked to their neighbor, etc. ) since johanna was quiet, they had her watch the windows and warn them if a doctor was coming. she didn't know if she should let the doctor come save the patient or if she should warn the nurses. another patient allowed the doctor to come. when the nurses were caught, they quickly fibbed. that patient was beaten so brutally, if it weren't for another patient whose late husband was a doctor, she would have died.

two and a half weeks into her stay at hall nine, she suddenly broke down. the weight of everything she experienced so far came crashing down. johanna wasn't able to keep as clean as she tried to be. she was afraid of them cutting off her hair since she could easily strangle herself in it if she tried. she was hurting. she wasn't allowed to sing. she wanted anthony to find her.

the nurses pushed her to the floor and beat her with a broom handle. they jumped on her lower back, injuring her internally. they tied her arms and feet. they threw a sheet over her head, twisting it so she could not breathe. they threw her into a bathtub and held her under the water until she passed out.

johanna woke in the infirmary. the nurses nor the doctors told her what was wrong with her. all she knew is that the pain in her back was so unbearable that she could not move. she wasn't able to swallow well to the point where another doctor had to come in and force feed until he discovered that it physically pained her to swallow. she was given some helpings of broth.

the injury in her back is what we would call a compression fracture in her spine today. this is a type of broken bone that can cause your vertebrae to collapse, making them shorter. because of johanna's eating disorder, her bone density is much less than the average human, making them more suspectable to breaking. she was lucky that her lower back didn't break altogether. she was kept in the infirmary for a few weeks until she had a slightly easier time swallowing solid foods and her back started to get better. she wasn't exactly aware of this time since she was on laudanum for most of it to ease her back pain.

she has a very faint memory of catching a fever from the patient next to her ( since beds were kept close together due to overcrowding in the infirmary ). for this, the doctors gave her a bloodletting while they thought she was asleep. johanna was not. this made her panic, but was unable to protect or fend for herself due to side effects of the drugs.

this compression fracture causes her to have lower back pain for at least another year since victorian medicine didn't have proper back braces. wearing a corset once she was out both helped and did not help. it kept her spine straight which eased the tension on her lower back, but caused pressure at different points of her back.

once she was well enough to go back to typical asylum living, she was bathed and brought to hall four. away from her two and a half hellish experience in hall nine.

johanna.

warnings for mentions of anorexia ( skip the paragraph that begins with "refusal to eat" ), self harm mentions ( this is accidental self harm, but skip the paragraph that begins with "harming oneself" ), sexual assault ( skip the paragraph that begins with "mr fogg was contacted beforehand." ) and a discussion on weight and bmi ( skip the paragraph that begins with "johanna was ninety pounds when she came to fogg's." ).

"poor child. she needs so much correction. she sings all day and all night and leaves all the other inmates sleepless." -jonas fogg

turpin picked out fogg's as a punishment for her disobedience not only because of his agreement with the owner, but also because this hospital was designed specifically for women. with a lack of men, there was less of a chance she would disobey him again. fogg's would "teach her a lesson" but, as he assumed, wouldn't leave her so unattractive that he would no longer desire her.

bamford came four times. the first under turpin's orders. this was about a month into her stay. it was long enough that turpin hoped she would be begging and pleading to return home to marry him. johanna refused bamford's offer. despite her having been bathed an hour prior to their meeting and given a new dress ( as was customary --- they didn't want any of the visitors to believe their patients were being mistreated behind closed doors ), he could see the horror of her brief stay in her eyes. he left, shaken to the core. the next was two weeks later. johanna refused him again. the next was another month later. despite how skinny she'd become ( for a girl who was already barely ninety pounds ), she refused. the last was another month later when bamford pleaded with johanna to let him bring her back. turpin was upet, but most of all, bamford couldn't get the image of his little annie in johanna's shoes. he felt horrible about the abuse she'd suffered. johanna refused.

in 1863, a superintendent at the royal edinburgh asylum, dr. david skae developed a system of diagnosis of the mental kind. these included: congenital insanity, epilpetic insanity, insanity of adolescence, climateric insanity ( menopausal ), insanity of pregnancy, insanity of lactation, hysterical insanity, traumatic insanity, general paralysis and insanity of unknown cause, among others. the medico-psychological association made their own list: mania, melancholia, general paralysis of the insane, epileptic mania, congenital defect with epilepsy, congenital defect without epilepsy and dementia. since this wasn't about fifteen years after johanna was diagnosed her official diagnosis included:

female hysteria: a common diagnosis for this time. it could be sued for a wide variety of mental ailments such as postpartum depression, pre-menstrual syndrome, or if a relative wanted to get rid of a female relative.

refusal to eat: anorexia would not be officially made a diagnosis until later in the century when queen victoria's personal physician did a case study. her refusal to eat would be a sign of "insanity" and the doctors and nurses could use it against her. during meals if a nurse wasn't too preoccupied, sometimes she would come around to where johanna was sitting and mock her for her skinny disposition and about how little she ate.

harming oneself: this would be added to her diagnosis after the sewing scissors incident that lead her to be kept at hall nine.

mr. fogg was contacted beforehand. he was prepared to meet johanna the second day she was at fogg's. he introduced himself. later on, johanna would learn that he had a habit of being unable to keep his hands to himself. that was a fact she quickly learned. he took every opportunity to touch her, to proof his dominance and control over her. it was humiliating. later on, johanna would whisper to anthony that her frequent meetings with mr. fogg made her felt like she hadn't left turpin's house at all. his excuse for meeting with her at least every two weeks came from the fact that they were low on doctors. fogg knew he needed to keep johanna alive for turpin to keep with their agreement.

johanna was ninety pounds when she came to fogg's. when she was in her infirmary, she was at her lowest at sixty-seven pounds. by the time anthony found her, she was seventy-one pounds. her bmi at her lowest was 12.7. a healthy bmi for her height is 17. she was severely underweight. her bmi by the time she escaped was 13.4, still severely underweight. she lost twenty-three pounds during her stay and barely survived.

in the end of march, anthony was finally able to find johanna. bamford was right about to visit her again, but changed his mind after seeing anthony. johanna's plan worked: anthony heard her singing.

a day later, anthony disguised himself as a wigmaker. he came into the asylum and anthony directed fogg to where he saw johanna. she made no noise. anthony grabbed her. fogg threatened both of their lives. when anthony hesitated, johanna didn't: she shot fogg.

her nine-month stay in fogg's shook johanna to her core. it would be another long few months of getting settled into plymouth, trying to recover from such trauma and trying to live a normal life. because of her nightmares and her reliance on opium, johanna would struggle to fall asleep at night. she had an increased fear of doctors and refused to see any for the pain in her back. the next few months and years would be difficult despite her newfound happiness, but she would thank god every night for the rest of her life that she escaped. even if it meant she had to shoot fogg.

johanna would never take a bath or a good night's sleep for granted again. she is safe, but some nights, her mind brings her back to fogg's. she's beyond grateful for the support she has and her slow, but steady healing process.

[trillscienceofficer]

🌈🌿🎀💞💌 - pick and choose if you don't wanna do all!

Thank you so much!!

🌈is there a fic that you worked really fucking hard on that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

Answered here :)

🌿how does creating make you feel?

Ouf, complex question. I've tried not writing at various points in my life, thinking that it was childish, what's the point anyway and it's not as if anything I make is particularly good or relevant... but despite these rationalizations not writing always made life tangibly worse for me. I used to fill notebooks with stories as a teenager, I left word documents full of half-written fic in all the computers I've ever put my hands on, it's just something I do. That said though... putting something on paper is usually a distressing emotional roller-coaster for me. I know this sounds fucking overdramatic for someone who writes silly Star Trek romance fic but it's just the way it is! I oscillate between almost 'manic' episodes of elation to depths of despair previously not known to man, and the difference between them can simply be 'reading an opinion that disagrees on the approach I've taken in the story I'm currently writing'. I love talking to other writers (it's what made me start posting fic publicly in the first place, I want to talk to people with whom I share interests and sensibilities) but if I have the wrong conversation at the wrong time it can make me stop writing for literal months. I probably should work on that and make writing less of a sensitive topic because this is definitely a me problem lol, but I'm also not exactly sure how to put more emotional distance between me and the act of making up a story with characters I love. Something I'm definitely thinking about, nonetheless!

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

I care about these characters so much and the amount of thought I put into them and the relationships between them shows in what I write.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

Characters for sure, they always come first for me. I care about grammar as well, though this is a complicated subject (how exactly I am proficient in English is a question I'm very afraid to ask, even to my beta readers when I have them). I'm not a big plot person, but I always try to have a central 'conflict' in every story I write, something that helps bring out the differences and similarities between the characters involved. Figurative language is admittedly not among my main concerns, and lately I feel like I should concentrate more on prose, I realize my writing can be too dry sometimes. Worldbuilding is complicated for me... I feel like anything I make up ends up sounding silly, so in general I try to keep things close to canon, or at least close to interpretations of canon that can be recognized.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

This question kills me because I'm writing the assignment for an exchange right now and I can't really share anything that would make the fic recognizable! But I definitely AM excited about it, as well as a little apprehensive because it's for a fandom and characters I haven't written about before. Stay tuned ;)

fic writer asks

[denimbex1986]

***** (out of 6)

"I See Dead People."

All of Us Strangers is based on the1987 novel Strangers , written by Japanese author Taichi Yamada. Strangers is a horror story, or more precisely a Kaidan (traditional Japanese ghost story), in which the protagonist Hideo Harada meets a couple who look exactly like his deceased parents. They form a friendship, but after Hideo's health begins to fail, he discovers that the pair are actually two ghosts that are zapping the life out of his body.

In My Life

Strangers was first made into a film in 1988 under the title The Discarnates , directed by Obayashi Nobuhiko. Now the British director Andrew Haigh has made his own interpretation of Yamada's story, in which, among other things, he has drawn inspiration from his own life and has chosen to drop the horror element altogether. A very poetic and sensitive film has come out of it.

Always on My Mind

Adam (Andrew Scott) is a middle-aged screenwriter who lives alone in a large empty phallic tower block in London. Adam's parents died on Christmas night when he was just 11 years old and it has left a huge void in his soul. In order to process his grief, Adam has therefore set about writing a story about his parents and his childhood. At first it's hard to find inspiration, but then Adam gets the idea to seek them out, in 1987... It turns into many, long talks. Among other things. about Adam's sexuality, loneliness and guilt.

Just the Two of Us - Strangers

In the midst of solitude, Adam meets the approx. 20 years younger Harry (Paul Mescal), who looks confusingly like Adam's father... At first, Adam rejects the young stranger who shows up drunk and horny on Adam's doorstep one late night. Later, however, the two men find out that they need each other's company and they start a sexual relationship. The question is whether Adam is emotionally brave and, on the whole, can give himself 100% to Harry, whom he has only just met after all.

Heart of Darkness

All of Us Strangers is a meditation on grief, loneliness and love. These are some heavy subjects that set thoughts and emotions in motion in the audience. The big philosophical question of whether our main character died in his own way together with his parents is quite thought-provoking and the problem of how to move on and let go of the past in order to make room for and let the present in is a quite recognizable feeling, which not only deals with grief as a result of death, but also in many other facets of life.

Dream reality

The reinterpretation of Yamada's story is not perfect, there is some student food about Haigh's navel-gazing when it comes to the whole love part that he has added, but All of Us Strangers has a lot of good elements and moments in it. I am especially fond of the dreamy/meditative atmosphere the film moves in, where you never quite know what is real and what is fantasy, because both parts have equal importance in this story.

The Talented Mr. Scott

It is the talented Andrew Scott ( Sherlock , Fleabag , Specter and the upcoming Netflix series Ripley ) who runs the show in All of Us Strangers . He masterfully handles Adam's many complicated emotions with impressive authenticity and a heartfelt vulnerability that resonates with the audience. As Adam lost his parents at the age of 11, one can imagine that there is a certain delay in his mental development, and Scott elegantly incorporates this into his character.

Triangle of Sadness

Of course, Scott isn't alone in telling the tragic story, he gets the perfect mental counterpoint from Claire Foy and Jamie Bell as Adam's late parents, while Paul Mescal as Harry gives him, let's just say, the physical counterpoint that completes this separate triangle drama.

All of Us, Strangers

If there's one thing you can learn from All of Us Strangers , it's this: Get to know your parents, you never know how long you'll have them. In itself a simple message, but one that is quickly forgotten in our busy everyday life, where we all too often take things for granted. So it's good that Andrew, Haigh and Scott can remind "all of us strangers" about it.'

[mariacallous]

Before emigrating from Ireland to teach in England in 2006, I assumed British people would know as much about me as I did about them. I was put right just one year into the job, in an east London staffroom, when a colleague teased: “Why the salad, Jen? I thought you Irish loved a potato.”

Contrary to the stereotype, Irish people don’t just happen to love potatoes. Pushed on to infertile land in west Ireland, most notoriously at Oliver Cromwell’s command, farmers had been encouraged to grow the ill-fated crop by their British colonisers. But when the blight came, little was done to help them. The resulting Great Hunger brought the death or emigration of 2 million people – more than a quarter of the Irish population – between 1845 and 1852.

Potato jokes aren’t funny to me – government turning its back on its own people during a time of crisis rarely is – but I heard dozens of similar gags during my 12 years in English and international British schools. They were never nasty – they just came from a place of absolute ignorance. Rubbing shoulders with colleagues in history departments, I quickly came to a realisation: while Irish students arguably learn too much about Ireland’s colonisation, British students certainly learn too little.

In every Irish classroom, children are reared on stories of oppression and rebellion. Every child understands the intricacies of Anglo-Irish relations. As a secondary English teacher, I can’t avoid plays, novels and poetry dealing with our complicated relationship with Britain. Irish students leave school with the historical and emotional weight of colonisation on their shoulders.

Compare that to Britain, where teaching English rightly involves texts focused on class, misogyny and injustice, often set around the second world war, but rarely relating to Britain’s relationship with Ireland, despite Ireland’s literary clout and proximity.

In 2016, my school embarked on a project on the British empire. Irish media were consumed by the centenary of the 1916 Easter Rising, a historic turning point in the fight against British rule. Naively, I offered a book on the subject to our head of history – it was returned to my desk the following morning. I should have known better.

Studying Othello in my A-level English class, we had a debate on race. I asked my intelligent, wonderful students whether white people can experience ethnic prejudice as seen in the play. No, they said. “What about Britain’s treatment of the Irish?” I asked. They looked at me blank-faced – of course they did. In response, I told them about the infamous signs my grandfather saw while living in London in the 50s: “No blacks, no Irish, no dogs.”

This failure of British schools to teach students anything about Ireland has far-reaching consequences. For one, if educated British people do not understand the difference between Ireland and the United Kingdom, they cannot understand Brexit. Take the Conservative MP Andrew Bridgen, who in 2018 confidently declared English people had a right to an Irish passport due to the common travel area. Or how about Boris Johnson, who, when concerns were raised about the possibility of a hard border, brushed off fears as “pure millennium bug stuff”, and later as a “folly”. Try using that word to any of the families and communities affected by decades of violence and devastating loss.

Even now, as Ireland and Britain continue to grapple with highly sensitive trade agreements in the wake of Brexit, knowledge of this kind matters. In June, Liz Truss, then foreign secretary and probably Britain’s next prime minister, summed up so much when, with a straight face, she pronounced taoiseach as “tea-sock”. In delicate negotiations, considering the historical British policy of eradicating the Irish language in Ireland, it’s paramount that elected politicians, at the very least, get Irish names right. When Queen Elizabeth spoke a few words in Irish at a state dinner in Dublin Castle, the former seat of British power in Ireland, she did something very significant. She showed Irish people and Irish culture her respect. Politicians must look to their recently deceased and beloved monarch for inspiration in this regard.

While British people are taught not to know – not to care – about Ireland’s history, Irish people carry the pain of it around with us. Every political gaffe, every time an Irish celebrity is wrongly claimed as British, every mix-up of Britain, Ireland and the United Kingdom – every time it happens, is corrected and happens again – sets our relationship back. It makes Irish people feel as if their nationality, their distinct cultural difference, is a detail too insignificant to learn about. Yes, it’s time we move on – but to do so requires respect and knowledge on both sides.

[nerdyfan1]

Why I love Tie Dye Blossoms

Found it so funny how I’ve here for and I never explained my Gumball otp. Especially considering it’s such a niche one too and like never see it anywhere besides one dude on TikTok :,)

I’ve been way too ship negative lately so fuck it talking about a ship I actually like.

To start out I feel like it important to establish both of these characters and their personal issues cus it the basis of how this came to me.

Tobias

Ok first of all I think we can all admit Tobias kind of a mess right? Like his life sounds really complicated and he doesn’t have the best support group. With very few exceptions the other kids to hate him or not really make an attempt to talk on a level he can understand. Meanwhile he lives in a home with a very neglectful family.

His mom encourages really bad behavior in him, his dad and mom seem to be in an unloving marriage where his dad will when given the opportunity will ditch her (can’t imagine Harold treating Tobias any better), he grew attention seeking from constant neglect from them both and his sister is basically a non presence.

Not to mention The Point as an episode is kind of telling. The most obvious being how many of these chore Darwin and Gumball were doing. Keep in mind these chores were given to Tobias by his parents he just telling the brothers to do it so he continue play the computer game.

He’s also very sensitive and masking really hard. Like really hard. To the it’s pretty obvious. The mask has dropped a little and we have seen that emotional before in the show. The best example from the series I think is season 3’s The Move. Sure it’s a joke but, also it’s good to notice how quick he was to start crying over something that normally seems so minuscule. Tobias even tries to change the subject after realizing he’s so clearly crying then runs away afterwards.

This especially is very important to acknowledge. Tobias lacks confidence and is very sensitive however is hiding it all from other ppl. Idk exactly what is causing him to do that but, make an estimated guess it’s probably something he developed from living with dad for so long. His dad is very sexist and probably the type to shaming for his emotional and sensitive said. Tobias may not agree with his dad but, Tobias probably got this one ideal shoved down his throat by Harold.

Something that is easier to believe when you take into account the other kids weren’t already nice to Tobias already. He probably felt pressured into hiding his true self for a long time.

Long spiel I know but, important to establish all the personal issues Tobias as a character has.

Leslie

Ok now let’s establish Leslie’s character. Which seems funny cause on surface level they seem pretty well put together. Honestly I will one day make an entire post about Leslie on his own cus I feel like there so much to about her. However for the sake of this post I just gonna talk about one specific I find important. The self image issues.

Going back to The Petals I realized Leslie seems to put a lot of his self worth into how other ppl see him and how pretty he is. There so many lines in it before the brothers try to good the gardening book where he mops about this. It’s technically handling it better but, that’s because he’s hiding his own insecurities from himself. Not willing to address literally any of them.

As soon as he starts looking ugly he goes to the dressing room and cries about it. Apparently for weeks.

So Leslie need to like for how he was past the looks because he saw something in him past it all and help.

Ok now let’s talk about them together

This is such an easy ship to set this up well to. Tobias finally tries to start asking guys out. Mostly cus he started desperate. Look there only so long Tobias can keep going for the same girls in his class. After a while he was gonna realize those kids don’t like him in that way. He goes for a few different guys and gets shut down. Eventually Tobias’ starts getting so desperate that he goes for the guy he never had a chance with. He starts to flirt with Leslie.

Cus of Leslie’s naturally curious and sassy personality he’s the first person to flirt back. And finally starting to feel validated. They slowly grow close after this doing this little routine together. They then start actually dating Tobias actually likes him. Tobias finally was given a chance. Leslie found someone who likes him past his lucks.

Now Leslie has someone who starts to show him to value his thoughts. Tobias sees how happier Leslie is just being himself even if not everyone likes that. And he can finally put an environment where his mask can actually drop all together. Their get the benefit from each other and mutually benefit from each other.

Idk I like this idea so much I think they contrast enough to work dynamically yet sharing similar personal struggles to draw each other together. As a bonus they got a little jock x cheerleader thing going one there.

[leafbarrett]

uhhh I got tagged?

I got tagged by @flowercrownsylveon apparently, so have a thing

Are you named after anyone? I don't... think so? Not my deadname, at least. My chosen name is adapted from the fairy familiar in FF14.

Do you have any kids? Nah. Never had interest in it.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Not a ton, and when I do it's very overt.

When was the last time you cried? I get a bit teary-eyed very easily, especially since I started hormones. The last time I properly cried was watching Nimona, and boy did I. I felt so understood, and it brought out a lot of bottled-up emotions.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? This is a hard question to answer, honestly? Social interaction is complicated and hard and I have to do a lot of self-regulation and micromanaging things. I've even managed to internalize some of the process. What I actually notice first is both context-sensitive and something I'm not fully cognizant of myself.

Eye color? Green-hazel!

What sports do you/have you played? None on an official level, so to speak. The closest I got was taking a swimming course at one point.

Any special talent? If I have it I don't know of it offhand.

Where were you born? The US of A, and I hate it here. >>;

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. If I want to be afraid of something or see a sad ending, I just have to look at real life.

Do you have any pets? 4 cats adopted my family: Pops, Brown, Gray, and technically Mama (who is to this day feral and stays outside). They were initially placeholder names, but they ended up sticking.

How tall are you? I'm 5'7".

What are your hobbies? Video games and writing!

Favorite subject in school? Uhhhhh... gosh. Hard question honestly. Looking back, physics was pretty fun, and I enjoyed my programming classes and game design classes too.

Dream job? no thanks

not gonna tag anyone here, anyone who sees this feel free to follow in my steps I guess. I know that's not entirely in the spirit of the thing but I always get anxiety about these things ^^;

[yourmidnightlover]

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

-

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

taglist:

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@muffin-cup

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@spencerreid9

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@calm-and-doctor

@the-local-pendeja

@spencersrose

@spencersmagic

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@pastelbabygirl19

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[funkymbtifiction]

Hi Charity! I hope you are having a good day :) I wanted to ask a question but I am not really sure if it can be explained by MBTI, but it's kind of my last hope since no matter how much I ask people around me if they experience something similar, they don't. 

So, my thoughts are not really connected to my feelings. For me, if someone asks me what I think and what I feel about something, it can be two completely different things. I usually don't feel emotions strongly in general, so I default to saying my thoughts but sometimes, when the situation makes me really emotional, these two clash very hard. 

I feel the disconnect especially strongly with negative emotions, for example, I can persuade my mind into thinking that there is nothing to be angry about, but I still feel angry for some time. But to me, this anger makes no sense, since I understand that there is nothing to be angry about. Or, for example, sometimes I ask for reassurance from my friends, and even though I know that they are objectively lying in saying that everything will be okay (because nobody has this guarantee and all), it still makes me feel nice.

It's a little hard to explain, but I've been this way my whole life. Not my parents nor any of my friends experienced it. I would say that I mostly trust my mind over my feelings, since you can say a lot of mean things in the heat of the moment, and I think it's better to communicate with people with your head cold, if for some reason I want to talk about sensitive subject that is important to me. This whole thing makes me come across as very cold and calculated, as I've been told, which is a little disappointing to say the least :( I feel more "in control" of my thoughts than my emotions since I can reason with them, and come to the most correct conclusion, and with feelings... The only thing I can do with them is usually repress them and pretend they aren't there at all, so they won't complicate my life. 

Thank you! All work you put in this blog is seriously amazing! I am not sure but I hope it's something that can be explained at least by MBTI, since it dives into your relationship with feeling and thinking. 

This is 100% normal for a thinking type, so I would look into TJ/TP. It sounds like you are rationalizing away your emotions rather than just experiencing them, and that you know they are 'irrational' even while you are having them, which MIGHT indicate Ti/Fe (IXTP). Being pretty emotionally detached, but also wanting outside comfort and affirmation from time to time is normal for ITPs. You could also be a 6w5/5w6 or even a 9 (ignoring your anger, but unable to suppress it, despite knowing it's irrational to be angry). :)

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Skinny Love (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: hello again. I'm in love with Kakashi this mans makes me heart go wild I swear. Hope you like seeing him on ur dash lol. Shy reader who is too afraid to confess how she feels to Kakashi. This is only part one and is essentially just fluff. The second part will be all angst and sadness so beware.

Ps. It took me so long to get this one done. I was struggling to find the right words.

Word count: 4000

"Come on, sensei. You like him," Sakura laughed, poking her superior in the arm. The group of women stood outside the training grounds after a day of hanging out and working on their jutsu. On occasion Y/N enjoyed taking the girls out and spending time with them. It was a relief to be away from all that testosterone. If only for a short time.

She just shook her head, smothering down the embarrassment she felt creeping up her neck. Her stomach churned whenever she recognized her feelings for the man. It was just so intense. "I would never feel that way about a coworker, you know that, Sakura."

"But he's not just a coworker to you, is he? He's also your close friend," Ino hummed.

"Perhaps, but haven't I taught you that it's bad to let emotions get in the way of work?"

The blond rolled her eyes, turning to fully face one of her sensei, who she would argue was deeply in denial. "Seriously why does it even matter? Kurenai-sensei and Asuma-sensei literally had a baby together. You should definitely tell Kakashi you like him."

Y/N tossed her head back against the wall, sighing. "Girls, I really don't like him. He's just my friend. He's nice to me and I appreciate that, but that doesn't mean I want to date him or anything." Her voice shook and clearly she had been caught.

She was always so bad at lying.

"Whatever you say, Y/N."

"It's just something I'd rather not dwell on, Sakura. I'm sorry for being so private about it, but it's a sensitive subject for me," the woman confessed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

"It's okay! You don't have to apologize. We get it! Feelings can definitely be complicated."

"I-I," she started, about to explain herself, but instead she rethought what she was about to say. There was no reason to actually reveal how she felt about the man. These times were tough, and there wasn't any room for making things even more messy with relationship drama. Y/N was more than happy just pretending they were friends and nothing more. As long as she had him just to talk to, she would be fine. As long as he always made it back alive, there was no reason to complain.

"You're right. Feelings are too complicated," she muttered, feeling herself practically deflate as she did so. Y/N was beginning to think she was just the one making everything complicated when it didn't have to be. Skipping around and lying about her feelings. Kakashi wouldn't ditch her if she just said something, she was sure of it.

Just as Sakura was about to reply, the voice of the man in question chimed in from down the path, "Y/N, we were looking for you."

"Yes, the third wheel to our tricycle of youth!"

Y/N felt a smile grow on her lips at the sounds of those voices, especially Gai's exclamation of youth. He was awfully weird, she thought, but that was what kept him so interesting. She turned to face the men walking in her direction. "Kakashi, Gai! What's up? The girls and I were just finishing our training."

"We're going out for drinks and thought you might like to join."

"Sounds great. It's been a long time since the three of us went out. For some reason we never have off at the same time anymore."

"Yeah, it's a shame. Missions have taken over our lives lately," Kakashi said tiredly. It was true. They really never had a second to rest. It was beginning to take its toll. Those were the consequences of war though. "How have you been?"

"Good, I, um..." she began, her eyes trailing up to Kakashi's. He watched back intently, patiently, and she felt something in her chest flutter up. He was always so handsome, she wondered how she could go so long without seeing his face. She just wanted to leap forward and give him a hug, wrap herself up in his warm arms for just a little while. That wasn't an option though, so she settled on some simple words. "I've missed you."

His eyes softened barely enough to be noticeable but she saw. Her heart continued to flutter up in her chest and she sighed, clutching her hands tighter behind her back. No doubt the girls standing just behind her were hyper-analyzing all their interactions, especially after revealing they held an interest in the pair's relationship.

He didn't have the chance to reply though, as Gai was the one to chime in. "Why thank you. I have to say, I've missed you as well, my kunoichi friend."

"Thanks, Gai." Even if the statement wasn't exactly pointed toward him, she was happy she had been missed.

"No problem! Now I hope you young ladies don't mind if we take L/N off your hands."

"No no. It's not a problem, Gai-sensei. I'm sure our moms want us home for dinner anyway. It's getting late after all."

"Yeah, we'll see you later, Y/N-sensei." The pink haired girl waved ss they started to make their way in the opposite direction toward town. Ino paused for a moment though.

"Don't forget what we talked about. You really shouldn't be so shy; it's gonna be okay," she said softly. Y/N sighed, nodding her head as if to say fine. In reality, she wouldn't do anything different. She wasn't feeling very open to changing herself or facing any of her fears. "See you around."

It was kinda sad that Y/N found comfort and support in a bunch of 15 year olds. She was an adult, couldn't she talk to other adults about her problems. These girls were just so accepting and she didn't feel awkward talking about immature things like crushes. Any other adult would just be too wrapped up in their own lives to care too much anyway.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing, Kakashi. We were just talking about random stuff. You know how curious they can be."

"You go out there and fight rogue shinobi every week. How could you be shy?" The green beast asked.

"It's really nothing. They're always assuming things about me. I'm reserved, but I wouldn't say I'm shy, per se…" She stopped to think for a quick second, tapping her foot on the ground. "Actually, I would say I'm just more conscious of the things I say and do than most other people. Not a bad thing at all."

Kakashi nodded. "It's good to keep a level head."

"Exactly. I'm Level headed. Thanks, Kakashi."

"Now let's head off to the bar! Sake for everyone!" Gai cheered, throwing his fist up in the air. She nodded, walking up beside the pair as they started off toward the restaurant of their choice, which she hoped was her favorite one with the tastiest fruit juice drinks. She was willing to put out good money to have one good, tispy night of drinks and snacking. It had already been weeks since she had a night off, one time wouldn't break the bank.

She stood to the right of them, just beside Kakashi. Every now and then she found herself drifting just a bit too close to him, her natural gait leaning toward the left. At one point, she found her hand skim dangerously close to his and she snatched it away to keep herself in check. Holding his hand perhaps was a dream of hers but she wasn't going to actually try anything.

It wasn't that she was afraid of Kakashi. Quite the opposite actually. She cared for him so deeply it sometimes made her stomach churn when she thought about it. He was her friend for ages, ever since she could really remember. He was one of the only people she could sit with and feel completely enveloped in a warm comfort, free of judgement and deceit. Gai as well, but Kakashi was different.

Maybe he could be a bit of pervert, and even sarcastic at times, but he was never rude. He had changed over the years from being a know-it-all, little jerk to someone everyone liked and admired, a kind and brave soul.

Unfortunately, it took bouts of death and loss to come about this change, but she wasn't going to ignore it. He was the best man she knew, and it only seemed natural she fell in love with him. He would probably never feel the same way. He had better things to worry about and other women to long for. He didn't have his entire life to wait around for a shy woman like herself. That was okay.

As long as he was alive and well, she would be happy.

Maybe one day she would gather the courage to grab his hand, to run her thumb over his knuckles and feel the callouses against her skin. Maybe one day she would have the courage to confess how she felt. Not now, but one day when she was comfortable.

"You okay?" He asked, pulling her out of her deepening thoughts. "You're walking really slow and uh, your hand…" The man motioned to where she was clutching her wrist against her chest.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just uh, my wrist is sore from training." She worked her hand in a circle, pretending to stretch it out. He rolled his visible eye, knowingly.

"Sure. Always skipping around the real issues."

"I'm really okay. I was just thinking hard about something."

"Anything to do with what you, Sakura, and Ino were talking about?" he suggested, raising a brow.

She groaned. He always knew what she was thinking. It was definitely one of his best and worst qualities depending on the situation. In this case, she felt awkward as she was so lost in thought about him. She felt like a fool. "Maybe it was. But that was girl time and now it's drinking time. Different topics of discussion."

"Well, mind telling me what's got you so caught up? It's gotta be important."

"It's personal."

"Ah, I see. Well, that's fine. When you want to talk about it, I'm always around."

There was silence for a moment, her thoughts running wild in her head. He was so kind, it wouldn't be bad to tell him how she felt. He would let her down easy, surely. And Gai would be there to cushion her embarrassment, no doubt. He would make things less awkward somehow. She was sure of it.

It was crazy. No way she would say anything. Definitely not.

"I'm interested in someone," Y/N found herself blurting out before she could stop herself. She just felt so much pressure building up in her chest and the only way she could relieve that feeling was to tell him something, anything about the predicament she was in. She wouldn't tell him exactly how she felt and about who, but she could vent.

Damn, all this and she didn't even have her first drink. That man really did something to her.

The men stopped in their path, their heads turning their attention solely to her. She felt her neck and cheeks begin to heat up and her palms start to sweat. Why would she say that? Dammit. She really was a fool.

"Really? Who?" Gai asked. "He'd be a fool to reject you, of course, beautiful flower of the leaf! You do not have to worry!"

"Gai...it's really not that simple. He is, um, out of my league, I guess you could say," she muttered nervously, rubbing her palms together to ease her anxiety. "He's just well, I don't know, the perfect guy ever."

She could feel Kakashi tense at her side, and her eyes scanned over him. He didn't look out of the ordinary but his energy had definitely changed. Strange.

"No one is out of your league, don't you dare say something like that! If he doesn't let you down easy, I will use my fists of justice to defend you! Tell me who this mystery man is."

"This is what Ino meant when she said you were being shy. You aren't going to tell him, are you?" Kakashi asked, and she noticed the bit of annoyance in his tone. She wondered if he was just upset she was talking about such silly things when they were ready to start drinking. She felt embarrassed. They were adults. Adults don't talk about this kind of thing. He doesn't want to hear about the guys she's interested in, or how she feels about them. Maybe Gai would be interested in it, but not a cool guy like Kakashi.

"Of course not. Like I said, he would just reject me anyway, there's no point," she told them. "And Gai, I can't just tell you who it is. You know you're a loud mouth; you'd go around telling everyone." She really didn't believe Gai would do that to her. He was far too conscious of others feelings for the most part. She just couldn't risk Kakashi knowing. She would keep it a secret from him.

"Oh come on! Just tell us! I'll help you out, be your wingman!"

"Maybe I'll tell you another time. When I'm more confident in myself."

"Well, what is it that has finally caught out dear friends heart in a web of love? Tell us!" Oh man. He really was nosy sometimes. He meant well, but occasionally he just didn't know when to stop. Kakashi kept his mouth shut because he understood she was getting uncomfortable, that or he was growing annoyed as she suspected.

Regardless, it was nice to get some of this off her chest, even if it was risky business.

"I don't really know. He's smart and considerate, and very brave. He's handsome as well, that's a plus," she smiled, listing off the things she liked about the man standing right in front of her. It felt so exhilarating, talking about her feeling so openly. It was terrifying and relieving at the same time. Y/N exhaled as she thought about him again, "He just makes me feel happy when I'm in my worst moments, that's all. I mean, what else could I ask for?"

"I see! He sounds like a good guy. Can't wait to meet him," he laughed until his eyes widened and he leaned in a bit closer to her face. He pointed his finger at his chest and questioned, "Unless of course, I already know him. It's not me, is it?

She found herself smiling just a little, her lips curving up at the absurdity of it all. "No definitely not. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm wounded, but I understand. My youthfulness is just too strong for you."

As she thought of something to say, she began to question just why Kakashi hadn't said anything really at all. It was strange of him, letting the other man do all the talking when normally he asked her questions and at least tried to engage. Maybe he was feeling tired or bored with the conversation. She had to change the subject.

"So uh, let's get a move on before all the good booths are taken, yeah?"

"Actually, I'm getting tired. I think I'll just head home for the night, get ready for my mission in two days," the white haired jounin sighed. They both looked over to him, surprised, but Y/N knew why he needed to go. She had upset him somehow. So much for a fun night between the three of them.

"Kakashi, come on! Don't bail on us now!"

She took a step back and her eyes trailed up to his, which were narrowed, not angrily just as if he had been hurt or confused she couldn't tell which. "Oh, are you sure?" Her heart was sinking in her chest seeing him so conflicted.

"Yeah. Got a headache, too."

"Ah, okay. Well, I'll see you around sometime?"

"Yeah."

"Goodbye, rival. Hopefully you are feeling better tomorrow and we can have a real night of drinking indeed!"

And with that, he left to his apartment, leaving the other two behind. She felt her stomach begin to turn uncomfortably, sick from the thought of Kakashi just leaving them like that. He seemed so angry, she couldn't help but think it was all her fault. It wasn't in his nature to act that way.

They had already spent so much time apart already that it was tugging at her heart strings. She felt like they rarely saw each other anymore. For him to be angry at her and leave, that meant they would just see each other even less than before. It seemed like a nightmare come true. She really did miss him, like she had said. She missed the fun they would have together and the conversations they shared. She just missed him and there he went, gone off again without so much as a real goodbye.

The woman clutched at her stomach, feeling the tossing and turning overtake her sense with nausea.

Suddenly, before she could contain herself, tears began dripping down her cheeks, and she sucked in her breath. Hot tears warmed her cheeks, and frantically she wiped them away from her cheeks. Her arms wound around her waist and she hugged herself tightly inward, almost as if she would turn into a ball if she could.

"Y/N, what's wrong?! What happened?"

"It's Kakashi," she whispered, trying to keep herself from crying anymore but it only got worse.

"Kakashi? Because he left? It's okay, we can go drinking another night or-or you and I can just go alone. No problems," he tried to say but it wasn't going to work. She didn't want to go to dinner with Gai and she didn't want to wait until tomorrow, or whatever the next time they would all be together. She was being stupid and selfish, acting like a spoiled little baby with all this crying. She just couldn't stop herself.

"It's not that. There's something I haven't told anyone. I don't know what to do."

"It's gonna be fine whatever it is. Just calm down."

"No, I can't. It's so bad, Gai. I'm in love with him, it's him, and now he's mad at me and I don't know what I did wrong," she confessed, feeling all the words slipping out so easily. How is it that such strong emotions could just cause her to think so irrationally and just let something like this happen? A bout of confessing every feeling she had to her friend who may or may not go and relay all this information to Kakashi. It was stupid. She was just being stupid and reckless.

He nodded carefully, moving to take ahold of her shoulders to steady her. "It's gonna be okay. He's not mad at you, I promise. I know Kakashi and I'm sure he really was just feeling sick."

"Gai, I just...I don't want him to ever leave me, even over something stupid like this."

"Trust me, you don't have to worry about Kakashi leaving you. He would never do something like that. You are one of his closest friends. There's almost nothing you could do to make him do that, especially if you always have good intent at heart. Trust me, you really don't ever need to worry," Gai explained trying his best to reason with her. "You two do everything together. He never stops talking about you! He would never let you go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am one hundred percent sure!"

"I-I need to go find him. I need to make sure he's not upset with me," she said as she pushed herself away from him. He waved to her as she started in the direction of Kakashi's apartment.

"Goodluck on your mission, Y/N, not that you'll need it."

______

Kakashi was just about to enter his apartment when she dashed up the stairs and turned the corner, going so fast she nearly slid into the wall. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he froze in his spot, not turning the key to the door just yet. Her face was flush and chest heaved. He could tell she rushed on her way.

"Y/N, did you run all the way here?"

She stood, catching her breath after just having run all the way across town to find him. Her heart raced as she looked up at him, and she clutched at the railing of the stairs for support. "I wanted to say sorry for whatever I said to make you angry with me. I didn't know I was being insensitive."

"I told you I was sick," he replied, but she knew better. And he knew she did. He wasn't dumb. They knew each other better than that and there was no pretending.

"I could tell that was a lie. I know you were angry and I felt terrible."

"Were you just crying?"

She exclaimed back, holding a hand over her heart to maybe try and ease the racing heartbeat, "Maybe. What about it?! I was hurt that I'd offended my friend, isn't that tear-worthy?" She took a few more deep breaths through her mouth, letting the air fill her up and calm her down. "Why were you so upset?"

"It's not important."

"No, no. It's important to me!"

The man paused, thinking over his next words carefully. He very well knew the real reason he ran away from their conversation like a coward. He actually thought it was obvious. It wouldn't hurt for her to know. He sighed, "If you really want to know. It's because I was tired of hearing about your love life. It's not exactly an entertaining subject."

She knew it but admittedly she would be lying if she said she didn't feel her heart break a little at those words. He didn't care about her feelings enough to just sit there and listen to her talk for a couple minutes? Was she that annoying? So many thoughts ran through her head, and each one made her sad. "I just didn't want to go a whole night with Gai talking about it," he added. "It's nothing to do with you."

"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine," he brushed off her apology. "I'm the one who asked about it in the first place."

"Why- why wouldn't you want to hear me talk about other men? Why would that be a sore subject for you?" She asked, her curiosity spiking up through the roof. It was strange, the whole situation. He had never backed down from a personal chat before, only this time.

He felt like a deer caught in the headlights suddenly. How was he supposed to reply to that without blowing his cover. "I just don't like the whole romance thing."

But they both knew that was a lie. He read romance for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But if he wanted to keep his secrets, she would let him. There was no need to pry. She just hoped he would trust her enough in the future to explain what he meant. Secretly, she wished that it was because he was jealous. That he didn't want to hear about another man because he wanted to be that guy, her lover. It was a wild thought, a hopeless theory meant to be thrown out, but she could fantasize.

"Kakashi, we're still good? As friends and all? You'll go out with me and Gai another time then?"

He nodded, his lips quirking up into just a tiny smile. It was characteristic for her mind to go straight to the worst case scenario. He replied, "Of course. Like I said, it's not that bad. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. I'm glad. I really thought I messed up this time."

"I don't think there's anything you could do to make me hate you," he sighed, leaning his shoulder against his door frame. "The day I let you go is the day I die, Y/N."

She smiled, closing her eyes and finally taking a relaxed breath. It was done. He wasn't angry at all. He still cared for her and everything else she could hope for. As long as they could remain friends, it was all gonna be okay. She laughed, "That's what Gai said. Should have listened to him, huh?"

The both nodded and suddenly they were enveloped in a peaceful silence for a while. She stared down at her feet and he watched her quietly, admiring the way she could be so miserably shy yet so adorable at the same time.

"Do you wanna go catch dinner? Or uh, just drinks like we originally planned, if you want," he asked, running his hand through his hair. Her eyes brightened at the question, and he'd be stupid not to notice the new shine in them.

"Do you want to go find Gai first?"

"Actually, how about it just be you and me this time? We'll catch Gai tomorrow morning for breakfast instead."

"Two meals in two days...I'm not made of money."

"It's on me. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, jeez. So nice of you, Kakashi. Thank you! Where are we going?" she asked happily, walking up to him and rolling back in the balls of her feet.

"Wherever you want to go."

"I feel like I'm getting the special treatment. I'm so excited," she cheered, pulling him in the direction of the stairs by the edge of his sleeve.

He just smiled. It was all he could do. He had the most beautiful woman in the entire world in front of him ready to go on a not-exactly date. They were only friends, and she reaffirmed that today when she mentioned she was interested in someone else.

But for now he could pretend they were a thing. That they were dating and that she loved him and he could openly love her back. He would take her out to dinner and kick at her ankles under the table just to annoy her. And he would take a sip of her drink and pretend it was too sweet for him and watch as she struggled to drink a sip of his liquor.

And after he walks her home that night, he would hug her tight to his chest and he would think about kissing her, to pull down his mask for just a split second and press his lips to hers, but he would refrain. It just wasn't the right time. Maybe there would never be a right time either, and that was okay.

As long as they could have nights like these, as long as he would feel her in his arms, he was more than happy. He was in love.

Part Two is up.

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 2

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous) Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

Chapter Summary:  You're started to settle in with the Bad Batch. Introductions are in order, but one in particular leads down a path you never expected.

read it on ao3 | or read more below

You had said goodbye to Rex only a few minutes prior. He had wrapped you in a tight hug and told you not to get into too much trouble, and you had to try really, really hard not to start crying in front of your new squad. He’d waved as you entered their transport, and instead of dwelling on those emotions – loss, sadness, anxiety – you’d pushed them to the back of your mind. You learned long ago that acting as if they didn’t exist wouldn’t help anything, but right now, you needed to compartmentalize. You hardly knew these men, and you didn’t want to freak them out by sobbing about leaving your best friend behind.

The men in question had since been introduced to you by Hunter. The tall, slender clone who liked to lean against the side of the ship like some half-baked deathstick dealer was Crosshair, a sharpshooter and sniper. You probably should have figured that, judging by the tattoo that encircled his eye. When Hunter introduced you, he had made a noncommittal noise, looked you up and down, and then decided you weren’t very interesting, instead walking his way back to the cockpit. You hoped he was just antisocial, and didn’t hate nat borns, or women, or something.

The big burly one was Wrecker, who had wasted no time in offering you a big smile and a firm clap on the back. Honestly, you thought he was going to hug you – and maybe he was, and then he thought better of it.

“You’re our new Jedi, huh?” he had asked with a broad smile? You offered him a somewhat hesitant one back – he was intimidating, after all. He was broad and muscular like you had never seen on a clone before, and the large scar that encompassed half of his forehead and a good portion of his scalp was distracting. It made him look hardened and dangerous, but with his jovial tone, you soon found out he was anything but menacing.

“Yeah, guess I am?” you answered with a nervous laugh.

“She’s a force-sensitive, Wreck, not a Jedi. She doesn’t answer to the Council.” Hunter had clarified. You were somewhat shocked that he cared about the difference – but, then again, he had seemed pleased that you weren’t a part of the Order, likely because it meant you had less rules to follow.

“Oh, yeah!” Wrecker had grinned, clapping you on both shoulders now, as he leaned down to grin at you. You had laughed a little harder, because you were starting to see now, by both his force signature and in his voice, that he was really just a big goofball. “I never liked the Jedi anyway!”

“Weren’t you just expressing how excited you were for ‘our new Jedi?’”

That had come from the one with the glasses – er, goggles? You weren’t exactly sure what they were, or if he needed them for his bad eyesight or just tactical reasons. Either way, he adjusted him on his face as Hunter introduced him as Tech. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what his specialty was – much like it was easy to deduce that Wrecker liked to punch things in addition to blowing things up. Tech, of course, handled a lot of technical issues and data – but you were actually shocked at the fact that he wasn’t, well… tiny.

Tech was taller than Hunter, and even Rex, as he peered down at you through his glasses. He took your hand and shook it – you could tell just by his grip that he was used to intricate work – robotics, droid work, rewiring datapads – fiddly things that required a steady hand. You had nodded politely to him as he greeted you.

The last member of the team, and perhaps the most elusive, was Echo. He was paler than the others, and studded with prosthetics – most prominently, the jack that his hand had been substituted with. He had an aura about him in the force that spoke of pain – not the pain of war that the rest of the squad exuded, no. This was a deeper pain, something profound and lasting, and you had a feeling it had to do with that arm, and the bolts in his skull, and the way his cheekbones still looked sharper than that of even Crosshair.

“You’re from the 501st?” he had asked, after Hunter had led you to the cockpit and left to look at something in Tech’s travel plans for the route to their next mission. You were alone, but Echo still gazed out the front of the transport into hyperspace, his flesh hand fiddling with the textured armrest of the captain’s chair.

“Yeah – I’ve worked with them for the past year, most of the time. I get contracted out from the unit to do a lot of stealth work that the Jedi obviously can’t be pulled for. Stuff like this, I guess,” you shrugged. Echo had hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at you, almost curious.

“Were you with the 501st when Captain Rex last worked with… Clone Force 99?”

The wording was strange. Rex had mentioned to your that this squad usually referred to themselves as “the Bad Batch” due to their mutations. But Echo was more cautious – he almost hesitated on the name. His force signature didn’t give away much more – it only told you that he was being careful with his words, that he didn’t trust you quite yet. Which, honestly, was to be expected.

“No. Anaxes, right?” Echo nodded, and you shook your head. “No – I was on a stealth mission. Well, I guess it couldn’t really be called a stealth mission… I was working with a pirate named Hondo Onaka. Think I might have rather been on Anaxes.”

You chuckled, trying to make light of it. You knew Anaxes has been a mess, and honestly you had felt horrible leaving behind the 501st in order to take on what you considered a useless political mission. You knew the campaign had been long, grueling, and complicated, and you always felt guilty when you weren’t by Rex and Anakin’s side to help with something so important.

“Ah,” Echo made a soft noise, picking at some scoring marks on his socket arm. You bit your lip at the awkwardness that permeated the room, the conversation stagnating at Echo dwelled on… something.

“I used to be a part of the 501st,” he finally admitted, glancing up at you. His eyes said more than his lips – there was sadness, there. It was hidden behind his soldier’s veneer of indifference, but you could tell by the way he looked at you that his transfer to Bad Batch hadn’t been as straightforward as your own.

“Yeah?” you asked, sitting down in the co-pilot’s chair next to him. He nodded, sighing, relaxing into the chair before shooting you a glance.

“Yeah. Made ARC trooper at one point. Me and Fives – me and Fives.”

His eyes had gleamed the first time he said it – but as he repeated Fives, his face fell, and your own did as well, your first clenching.

“Oh,” you breathed, and he glanced at you, ducking down to try to make out your expression.

“You knew him?”

“He talked about you – I had – I’m stupid,” you laughed, trying not to think about Fives. You hadn’t known him or Tup long before the incident, but Fives had showed you the ropes, along with Rex. You got along with him easily – he had been funny, and kind, and if he tried to flirt with you a few times you just put it up to you being the only woman available.

You remembered him talking briefly about Echo – he had only mentioned Echo once, with gritted teeth and a set jaw, mumbling something about a previous mission, and how he and a fellow ARC trooper had handled the situation. You could tell that it pained him to mention his comrade – that this Echo had likely died – and you didn’t press the subject. You knew, even then, that Fives didn’t deal well with loss. Ironic, then, how he was the one to cause so die, to cause the grief himself.

“I worked with him, before…” you gestured vaguely, and Echo nodded, not wanting you to mention Fives’s death himself.

“He thought I died at the Citadel. Everyone did,” Echo sighed, staring out at the hyperspace lane. “Maybe I did.”

You stared at him. In the force, his emotions were a tangled mess – grief, both for Fives and himself. Pain – not only physical, but emotional, spiritual. You couldn’t fathom what happened to him – you could look at this physical evidence of his cybernetic appendages, more similar to those of a droid than any prosthetics you had seen before. You could see the pallor in his face, the way his cheekbones jut from his face, how he had squinted far too severely in the light of the Coruscanti sun. He had been through something that you couldn’t fathom, something you would never truly understand, even if he did wish to explain it to you.

But despite that, you could still feel him in the force. When he spoke of Fives – the way his signature sparked let you know that he didn’t just know Fives. You could tell they had worked together for years, that they had likely grown up together. The rest of the Batch – their signatures sang in harmony because they had grown up together, because they had known each other for many years. And you initially hadn’t caught onto Echo’s dissonance – the way that he was trying to fit in with them, but how he didn’t fit in quite as easily as the other men. And now you knew why. It was because, while he had changed, he still held onto those bonds. Rex, Fives, the rest of the 501st – even though whatever Echo had endured, those were still his brothers.

“Not completely,” you mumbled, looking down. You could feel Echo’s eyes on you, so you sighed and continued. “You – you still care about them. Those men. They may not be your men anymore – and I guess they aren’t mine, either – but you care for them. That has to count for something.”

When you looked up, Echo caught your eye. His expression was unreadable, and his signature betrayed nothing. He was hard to read already – the cybernetics clouded your judgement – but you could tell that he didn’t exactly know what he thought of your statement.

“Yeah. Maybe it does,” Echo mumbled to himself, staring out across hyperspace, as stars flew by, exploding behind his eyes as he contemplated his place among them.

After that, the silence wasn’t quite so awkward. It was comforting, almost. You knew that it wasn’t the same – that although you and Echo were both former members of the 501st, that the circumstances were wildly different. But you still felt a kinship with him. Because he still knew Anakin, and Rex, and Fives, and Jesse, and Kix, and all the others. Because he probably played the same drinking games you had with the men, he had fought beside them as you did, and he had watched them die, as you had. You knew he wasn’t ready to talk, and perhaps he never would be. But if he ever was, you would be ready to listen.

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@killtherandomness @pastelpanda19

[flying-nightwing]

Gentle - Jason Todd

Hi people! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything, honestly it’s been a hectic two months and I barely made it out alive lmao. But Jason was never too far away in my mind, don’t worry kids. So this is something I’ve been wanting to write for some moments now, and I came through, well, right about now. 

I haven’t really written something axed on the emotions/feelings like that, once again I’m trying to expand my style to new stuff. This is my first hurt/comfort that was actively trying to be that, and yet another take on Jason because I’m a simp. This is also very, very soft. I hope you’ll enjoy xx

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 1731

Warnings: mention of blood, Jason being heartbreakingly insecure and vulnerable, allusion to the effects of his trauma.

Summary: Being with Jason Todd often comes with its own load of complicated hardships, but you would never let him go through it alone ever again. 

You barely heard him come back.

You had a sharp ear and a light sleep, which means you always knew the moment Jason came back from patrol. Usually it would be followed by the sound of the shower and him joining you in bed, but sometimes it would not. And those times were usually when things had gone bad. 

Quietly, you got up from the bed and navigated the apartment in the dark. By now, your feet knew the way without needing the guidance of your eyes. Only the light from the stovetop was turned on, casting a weak glow on the common area. You could dicernate Jason’s still body on the couch, still in full red hood gear with the exception of his helmet. He knew you were there, of course he did, but he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t, you figured. Hard nights did that to him.

With a pinch in your heart, you went and knelt in front of him, just not touching him yet. His eyes were open and glossy, staring into nothing. The instances where you found him like this had become rarer in the last years, but they still happened. You were just glad he wasn’t pushing you away anymore. He once told you to just stay asleep and not bother with him, but you could never. Secretly, he was grateful for it. He would never tell you how much, though, because he didn’t want to make you feel like it was something you had to do for him.

“Hi babe” You spoke in a whisper, making you slide his eyes to you. You could see the hurt in them, reflected in the blue of his irises and the red of fatigue and frustration around them. His beautiful expressive eyes that could hold so much love could also hold so much pain at times. It wasn’t fair. “It’s okay. You’re okay now”

You didn’t expect an answer. He had a tendency of getting non-verbal in these situations.

“May I?”

You raised your hand lightly, and he gave you a little nod. Slowly, you enveloped his gloved hands in yours with one hand, while you pushed back a wild streak of hair out of his face with the other. You kept your touch light, knowing he would be already over sensitive as it was. He closed his eyes, enjoying the much needed comfort you provided him. You could feel the almost dried blood on his hands, the tensions in his jaw, the hurt coming off of him in waves. Not physical hurt, you were pretty sure he was unscathed beside the few bruises or cuts here and there. 

“Can I help you with it?”

He breathed out unevenly. The question really meant let me help you, it was a plea for you to help him feel better. Only a little while ago he had actually allowed you to take care of him at his most vulnerable moments. Still, he nodded again. You pulled yourself on your feet and gently helped him to sit up on the couch. Without rushing him, you then helped him stand up beside you and lead him to the bathroom. You kept the light dim so as not to hurt his eyes and guided him in front of the sink. In a slightly better light, you could see how tired and battered he looked. It must have been one of his worst nights ever since you had known him.

You began undoing his gloves first, taking off the blood and dirt soaked material from his hands, then pulled off his leather jacket that you threw in his Red Hood hamper. You could deal with it tomorrow. You turned on the tap to warm water and gently guided his hands under it. You softly rubbed the red and brown colors from his skin, letting the grime disappear down the drain. You made sure to wash it all; between his fingers and under his nails so he wouldn’t have to look at it at all when you’d turn off the tap. 

You carefully dried his hands with a towel before you moved to his shirt. You began pulling it off and he helped you pass it through his arms when it was too high for you, and the piece of his suit joined the rest in the hamper. Blood had seeped through the fabric, mixing with the sweat to taint his chest light red. You moved him to the toilet, where you softly pushed him down on the closed lid. You then damped a washcloth and came back to him. His eyes met yours as you gently washed away the remnant of a gruesome and violent night on his face. His glance meant everything, it was a little stitch on the wound to see your action seemed to help him feel better. 

You moved to his neck and chest, kneeling in front of him once again. You repeated your actions there, your hand still careful and steady. He closed his eyes and sighed, and you felt his muscles untense just a little bit. You observed his scars as you went, still wondering after all this time how he was so strong. It amazed you how he could pull through every curveball life threw at him, and how he could still remain the good man he was today despite all of it. As you washed down his arm, you picked his hand and left a little butterfly kiss on his wrist that made his breath hitch. Then you trailed up the inside of his arm with your lips until you stopped mid bicep. You met his bright eyes and slowly reached for his cheek. 

“How can you even look at me?”

You tilted your head at his quiet words, a saddened smile on your face. “How could I not?” You spoke back in a whisper. “You think your scars are ugly, but you’re so wrong. They write your story in a language very few understand, like a holy text kept in a secret temple meant to be worshipped. You’re strong and passionate, rash and beautiful. And never, remember that, never will I look at you with anything else than the adoration you deserve” 

The light of the bathroom reflected the tears pooling in his eyes like crystals as you rubbed your thumb on his cheek. He leaned into your hand, and his long eyelashes brushed against your finger when he closed his eyelids. He didn’t need to say anything more, you understood what he was trying to communicate. It was why he loved you so much, why he let himself be vulnerable around you. You were patient and kind, always there to help him up. You weren’t blind to his flaws but you accepted him as he was, not as everybody wanted him to be. You understood, which was more than he could say about most people in his life.

And when you looked at him like that, like he was your entire world and universe, he couldn’t help but feel safe. He didn’t have to run, fight, or survive. It was like he could breathe now, like he could finally live. And it scared him, it scared him so much because he felt like he had never truly left that coffin six feet under ground, until you began digging out the dirt to reach him. He was lost in the best kind of way, trying to figure out what to do with the sunrays that finally warmed his entire body after being subject to the coldness of the grave for so long. He was helpless to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to end. 

You stood up and grabbed a new washcloth, warming it under the tap and returning to Jason. You passed over his face again, then his neck and his chest to wash away the remnant of diluted blood on his skin. You placed a light kiss on his shoulder before you helped him up again, then helped him out of his tactical pants. You grabbed your washcloth again, but he gently stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Go back to sleep, my love” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I got it from here”

You stared into his eyes, trying to find a clue that he was trying to hide away. But he was way calmer now, his eyes did not hold as much hurt as when you had found him on the couch. His glance was tired and exhausted, yet soft and loving. “Only if you’re sure” 

He nodded, blinking slowly. In any other circumstances, it wouldn’t have convinced you that he didn’t need your help. But for now, it was enough. Just the fact that he had it in him to speak was the indicator you needed. You retreated to the joined bedroom and slipped under the covers that had almost gone cold in the little time you were out of them and rested your head on the pillow. Your eyes softly closed, not yet completely succumbing into sleep yet. The soft noise in the bathroom played in the background like a muffled speaker, keeping you conscious just enough to check on him from afar. After a moment, the door opened and the light shut off, followed by quiet footsteps coming your way. The covers lifted and the bed dropped, then you opened your arms for Jason to crawl into them. His skin was still a bit cold from the hand wash, but the warmth of your embrace made him sigh against you. You caressed his hair as you fought not to fall asleep just yet, but your movements became slower and slower. The world around you started to fade at the first birds began to sing outside your window, their songs gradually lulling you to sleep.

Just as you were on the edge of consciousness, you hear the faintest whisper reach your ears. Two simple words that yet meant the world, especially coming from Jason. Admitting he needed help was something big for him, and even more expressing gratefulness at something he thought he didn’t deserve. That little spoken note guided you to a peaceful sleep with your lover safe and sound in your arms, or at least for tonight. Two simple words that didn’t need to be explained.

“Thank you” 

[semi-imaginary-place]

fe3h claude and edelgard talks adapted from discord (discussion was before three hopes' release)

claude and edelgard have complimentary personalities, they cover each other's weaknesses and enhance their strengths, a friendship between them would help them both grow as people. I have rambled extensively on the subject if anyone wants to hear about it. also you know if they teamed up they'd be too powerful. they had to be nerfed for the sake of having a game to play.

it hard to imagine them ever teaming up in three houses exactly because those trust issues run so deep. edelgard has control issues shes very much my way or the highway although claude isn't the type to be controlled which forms an unstoppable force v. immovable wall paradox. it would sure take them some character development to become friends in the canon timelines. so i actually made up a whole college au a few years back because it'd be easier if those two didn't have quite as much baggage.

in fe3h its implied that the revelations with byleth were what pushed her to speed up her plans from the recovery of the sword of the creator and byleth's crest to rhea allowing people into the holy tomb and in few3h we do see that with edelgard starting her plans 2 years later.

i don't think dimitri would have made things better, if anything he's make things worse. for one he's so caught up in his own head that he can't see anyone else's problems. he would have just put the two on edge. dimitri's obsession with edelgard is also very one sided because he's projected all his complicated feelings about patricia/anselma and the tragedy of duscar on to her. ex: on yeah the 12 year old locked in a dungeon and tortured totally orchestrated the assassination and coverup of a foreign monarch. dimitri also very much runs on emotions while edelgard and claude run on logic with an idealistic core. while claude and edelgard are easily on the same wavelength, there's an inherent communication gap between them and dimitri which claude would be willing to cross because he's rather friendly and sociable but edelgard would not. they would both be so bad at it. you remember how it went with bernadetta and marianne? sure they got there but i was a very very rocky road. they're both so clumsy and dimitri is very sensitive (and murder-y)

I do think there is some limited potential for edelgard and claude in the fe3h like they both like boardgames. there's the questions of whether edelgard would be able to overcome her initial wall of seeing claude as a threat and instead see him as a potential asset and ally. you see this in most of her supports where she's evaluating her classmates as potential allies in her dream. a proactive approach if you will. while claude is always playing defensive trying to interact with other while deflecting about himself. a reactive approach. this is the base foiling aspect of their dynamic where edelgard is proactive and direct but bullheadedly stubborn and one she decides on something she will continue to pursue it to the end even when situations change and that original plan is no longer the ideal one. where as claude is constantly changing his plans in reaction to new information which makes him incredibly flexible and unpredictable but because he holds his cards so close to his chest theres a good chance that all his scheming will fall through and amount to nothing because he dosen't allow any of the work behind the scenes to be shown. Edelgard and Claude are at their cores very similar! its what makes them very compatible! different approaches but same heart.

as we see in edelgard's supports with manuela and others she doesn't necessarily hate all religion. at the beginning of their support she doesn't really get religion but her goal isn't to destroy all religion. she just hates how the central church has enabled and supported various injustices in fodlan and the unlimited power it and rhea wield. coupled with her buying into some agarthan propaganda about how monsters (nabateans) are secretly controlling the continent with no care for actual humans. Claude similarly is like agnostic, he doesn't really care about the personal beliefs of people, actively encourages a diversity in belief systems but he hates the central church for how it has enabled and supported various injustices in fodlan. Both don't really mind religion but want the central church gone and rhea dead. i read someone else's analysis a while back about how cf and vw are similar in that in both edelgard and claude must ally with a force they would rather be rid of (central church/agarthans) because they require their power for a greater purpose.

at heart claude and edelgard really are similar. both of them are dreamers and idealists who wish for a better more just and equitable world. which is the tragedy of it all, if only they'd talked they'd find that their dreams are quite compatible with each other. I think they'd even get along too since both are rather appreciative of both intellectual and cultural pursuits. In each others lives as friends edelgard wouldn't tunnel vision as much, claude brings a wider perspective to edelgard's drive and ambitions. edelgard brings a conviction and determinination, and while claude isn't necessarily lacking those i do think sometimes it'd do him good to pick a direction and stick with it openly. they compliment each other!

when it comes to trust edelgard has one big wall and claude has many smaller walls in layers like an onion. with edelgard its pretty cut and dry you're in or you're out. you see this in her byleth supports where after some initial distrust, after she left byleth in she relies on them quite a bit. oh and then there's her lapdog hubert. with claude its like he'll let you get a glimpse to deflect from something else. claude's actually very insecure. i think tina has brought it up before but if you saw claude among a normal group of people you be like wow what he went through was messed up and you'd see that he's hurting. its just that edelgard and dimitri are both so.... yeah... that claude looks well adjusted in comparison. they're ... mmm not loud... but more obvious with their trauma so its not quite as easily to see claude's insecurity and how many of his actions can be explained by it. its like edelgard with block an attack head on and claude will keep evading forever. neither know how to be open and emotionally intimate so they're clumsy as hell about it.

while claude isn't dead outside of his route like dimitri and edelgard are, he doesn't get off as scott free as a lot of people think. he more or less lost everything he had spent the last ~7 years building. and as i said he does all his scheming behind the scenes unlike edelgard who does more in the open, when he fails like this he has nothing to show. claude tried just as hard a edelgard he bet it all in the end and lost it all. (claude's habit of making increasingly risky bets the more dire it is another discussion). he lost most if not all his potential allies between gronder, myrdin, and derdriu, he lost his chance to be the head of change in fodlan, and he returns to a home that hates him with nothing to show for his efforts. that's crushing, he staked everything he had on his dream and he failed. because that wasn't just a literal battle for claude it was a test of his ideals, could a world free of hate like he dreamed really exist? and in addition in those 7 years he was in fodlan, he enemies have been amassing their power basses and expanding their connections and he comes back without any of that. claude outside of vw might have his life but he doesn't have much else, he's back to square 1. and can you imagine the strength it takes to keep smiling through that pain to get up again and not give up

oh yeah hubert is totally a bad influence and enabler in my (informed) opinion. he encourages all of edelgard's ego driven tendencies and ideas of grandeur like that she's special and chosen and fated to bring revolution to the world and be its Great Just Benevolent ruler. nevermind that the agarthans are likely encouraged some of those ideas as well. that she's the only one that can do this which drives her to never back down, never listen to anyone else opinion. because of course she is always 100% right and can never be wrong. not to mention all the stuff he does behind her back in her name. "he gave in completely to the idea of being her protector and hidden hand. ". hubert wants what's best for her but he too is only human and can only see things from his perspective

claude only knows how to interact with people in terms of exchanges so he feels that he has to give something. or like in marianne's support he offers up a secret of his in apology for prodding too much and oversteppingahh the long hard road of communication and mutual understanding~! claude's very well intentioned it says something that so many of his supports are about him trying to help people. even if he does it in a roundabout or clumsy way or like leonie's supports where he tries to help washing dishes even though he doesn't know how (one of the first signs he's someone important. i initially though he was from a hidden border town like balthus, but why does some commoner not know how to do dishes? and why would he have a personal battle instructor?). he's both scared of being vulnerable and yet also really wants to connect with people i think this part of him is interesting. "Hilda shatters that belief [that people only interact because they want thing out of him or to harm him] by sacrificing herself for him, since death is the ultimate end of anything being 'helpful' to you." yup and that claude failed to grasp that is very painful and very good. that he didn't realize how much he meant to others until it was too late. since judith and potentially others do the same. "if you think about how he sees 'connection' as asymmetric: he needs others to put trust in him while (as he thinks) they cannot really love him, while he can love but not trust. Vulnerability is something you'd be willing to show people that truly care for you, and he's worried about whether anyone really cares"

[obxcunt]

Love bites || (8)

pairing: jj maybank x reader [eventually] || rafe cameron x reader

warnings: SMUT, typos, cursing.

summary: it was supposed to be a good summer for you, the last one in the obx before going to college, the last one with your friends and family. Unfortunately, a sudden and mysterious death is about to completely change your life, pushing you directly into a brand new world and into a very sexy vampire’s arms.

part seven || masterlist || part nine

You were now both in the living room, sitting on the couch next to each other, your legs resting on JJ’s laps. “I—“ He cleared his throat. “You’re okay?” He asked, again. “Do you need anything? Does it hurt? Maybe you—” You chuckled lightly, head falling against the couch.

“Look at me, JJ.” You said, your eyes searching for his deep blue ones. “I’m fine.” You murmured, again and again. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

He scoffed. “I— I can’t help it.”

Kiara and Marcus walked in the living room together and seemed a bit worried. JJ turned his head in their direction, frowning. He could tell something was wrong, Marcus remaining silent and looking away.

Marcus had long brown hair, dark eyes and a beard. He looked like a cowboy, lost in the wrong generation. You discretely looked at the older man, wondering how old he was.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” The witch asked.

“I— I’m fine, just tired and still a bit confused.” You touched your head, grimacing. “But my nose isn’t broken, that’s cool.”

“What’s wrong, Marcus?” JJ asked, nervous. “What happened outside? Did you catch him?” Marcus remained silent. “What’s going on?”

“We have a problem.” Marcus replied. “He’s way too fast and strong, we are clearly dealing with a newborn. He’s going to come back here.”

Kiara moved closer. “And, we don’t understand how he even managed to get inside the house.” She said. “Maybe another witch helped him or something. However, me and my dad are the only wizards living on the island.”

“Wait, what?” You asked. “He— He’s gonna come back?” JJ instantly turned to look at you, his hands reaching out for yours as they were resting on your thighs. “But— But we are not prepared for this, he could—”

“Unfortunately, this is a pretty common thing in our world.” Marcus interrupted. “This boy is different from us, he’s a hunter.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking back at him. “He’s dangerous and he’s not going to leave the island anytime soon, not until he gets what he wants.”

You sighed. “Me…” You murmured, tears emerging again. “Fuck—” You looked down, holding JJ’s hand.

The blond shook his head. “Hey, Y/N.” He leaned his head closer to yours as you looked up again. “I’ll never let this guy approach you ever again.” He promised. “Don’t worry, you’re—”

“This isn’t about me, JJ!” You said. “I— I don’t care about myself and the possibilities but—” You paused, licking your lips. “What about my parents, huh? What if, he comes back to my house, and kills them?” JJ sighed, looking straight at you. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I’m gonna stay with you, close to your house, drive you around whenever you need to move.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ll be your bodyguard.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll find a solution, we can’t let this guy live any longer.”

“No, no, no.” You objected, eyes widening. “I don’t want you guys to get hurt.” Marcus scoffed. “It’s— It’s dangerous, what if you—”

“It’s not negotiable.” Marcus interrupted, crossing his arms. “We need to kill this guy, this week.” You sighed. “We can’t deal with him and Ward at the same time, it has to be done soon.”

Kiara and JJ nodded. “We’re gonna have to establish a plan.” She turned back to Marcus. “Let’s do this tomorrow, we should get some rest now.” She turned back to JJ. “Also, the spell won’t last forever.” She added. “You won’t be able to enter the house without her permission first as soon as you leave.”

“You should stay here for the night, JJ.” Marcus suggested. “Since her parents are coming back tomorrow, it’s not safe for her to stay here alone.” The blond vampire nodded. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the Chateau, we’ll have a reunion.” He looked at you. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“I— Yes.” You replied. “It was nice to meet you too, sir.” Marcus chuckled at the nickname before exiting the room with Kiara, the brunette waving at the two of you.

“Okay, let’s go upstairs.” You said once they were done.

You both took the stairs in silence, secretly enjoying each other’s company. JJ didn’t say anything, but he was really happy to be with you tonight. However, it wasn’t easy for him to control himself around you sometimes: his strong emotions tempting him constantly.

“Welcome to my bedroom.” You joked, closing the door behind him. “It’s a bit messy, i wasn’t expecting anyone.” You admitted, scratching the back of your head.

“Oh, really?” He teased, smirking as you smacked his arm. “It’s really pretty.” He said, looking at the lamps around the bedroom: giving a cozy atmosphere to the room. “Is that you?” He asked, pointing at some pictures on the wall, right above the desk.

“Yes with my mom.” You moved next to him. “We were at my grandparents' house, it’s a few hours away from the island.” You explained, the blond humming as he looked at the other pictures.

“I—” He narrowed his eyes, clearing his throat. “I don’t see your dad, anywhere.” He said, before looking at you. “You— You don’t like him very much, right?”

You sighed. “We— It’s complicated.” You walked away, sitting on the bed. “We used to be close, but not anymore.” JJ turned around to look at you, feeling bad for bringing up the subject. “It’s getting worse.”

“I— I’m really sorry.” He said, making you smile. “I should mind my own business.”

“Don’t be silly.” He sat down next to you, taking off his boots. “You wanna learn more about me.” He smirked, nodding. “We jump directly into the sensitive subjects.” You both laughed, getting comfortable against the headboard. “He— He cheated on my mom five months ago.”

“Oh.” JJ murmured. “Does she—”

“She knows about it, she forgave him.” You laughed nervously, looking away. “I can’t believe it, it’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Maybe— Maybe she wants to give him another chance to save your family.” You looked at him. “I’m not defending him, he’s an asshole but—” He paused schrugged his shoulders. “I’m not very good at this—” He laughed nervously. “Maybe, they both realized how important their marriage was. Maybe he’s faithful now, maybe he doesn’t want to lose everything.”

“I don’t know.” You said, sighing. “They’re always fighting, arguing over the most random things.” You smiled sadly, playing with your fingers. “I always end up in the middle.”

JJ wanted nothing more than to wipe away the sad expression on your face. “If— If you need to escape one day, or want some peace.” You looked back at him. “You can come to the Chateau, wherever you want.” You hummed, smirking. “I— You can hang out with us, especially me.”

You both laughed. “Oh, right.” He winked, making you laugh even more. You smacked his arm. “How could a sane person turn down such a nice offer.” You smiled, fleeing his gaze for a second.

“Exactly, Y/N.”

You both calmed down, looking at each other with intensity. Butterflies were emerging in your stomach at the sight: the beautiful vampire caressing your cheek with his thumb. You wanted him so bad, noticing his eyes full of desire moving down to your parted lips. You both couldn’t deny the attraction anymore.

JJ seemed fine on the outside, fighting an intense storm made by his emotions on the inside. His brain was telling him to leave, to run away from here. His heart was telling him to kiss you, to listen to his own desires for once. He wanted you so bad, no matter how risky and dangerous it was. You were this beautiful forbidden fruit to him and he was dying to finally taste it.

But, as soon as you moved closer: his nose brushing against yours, his whole body tensed up and he pulled away from you.

“Oh…” You murmured, heartbroken. “I— I’m really sorry. JJ.” You added, touching your trembling lips. “I— I thought you liked me.” You laughed nervously. “I’m ridiculous.”

“Wait, what?” He asked. “Shit— I do.” You looked back at him, frowning. “I like you, Y/N.” He breathed in and out. “I— I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in my entire life before.”

You blushed at his words. “I don’t understand.” He wanted to tell you the truth. “What’s wrong, JJ?”

“Remember, back in high-school, when you punched Rachel Green in the face?” You nodded, still frowning. “You did it, because she was calling me a Dirty Pogue.” He swallowed hard. “I— I’ve been in love with you ever since.”

Your eyes widened. “Wha— What?” You were extremely confused, shaking your head. “This doesn’t make any sense, you were ignoring me in high-school and at parties. I thought you had a problem with me back then.”

“You’re a Kook.” You rolled your eyes. “I know, it’s ridiculous. But, you were hanging out with my enemies all the time and—” He sighed. “You had a boyfriend back then.” You grimaced at the memory. “I was admiring you, in secret. I was always looking at you, thinking about you. You were making me nervous. But, this was before, through my human life. Everything is different now.”

“I’m so confused.” You rubbed your face. “You don’t like me anymore, now?” He shook his head. “Because you’re one sexy vampire, you probably had sex with beautiful vampire women and i’m nothing more than a boring human girl.” He laughed nervously at your words. “That’s not funny.”

“I— I haven’t had sex in a while.” He admitted. “Vampires’s emotions are way deeper, which means that my desire for you became even more important and stronger.” Your lips parted, cheeks heating up. “It means that my need to feel you is consuming me even more than it was before.” You were breathing heavily, a violent heat igniting your whole body. “But, this is completely different from human relationships. If we start, who knows what could happen. I could break your bones, while fucking you too hard. I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. “Holy shit—” You breathed with difficulty, one hand moving to his neck to pull him closer. “I— I don’t care, kiss me.” He chuckled, both hands moving to your waist.

“Don’t say that.” He said. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“You’re torturing me, JJ.” You said back, moving to his lap, sitting down right on his crotch. “Please—” He growled as you moved against him. “One kiss.”

“If you keep doing this—” He sighed, licking his lips. “We both know, it won’t be just a kiss.” You smirked, pressing your forehead against his. “JJ…” He loved hearing his name in your mouth and loved even more how eager you were to feel him. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“Shit.” He breathed.

In a second, you were getting slammed against the bed: back pressed against the mattress in a gasp. His body was hovering yours, standing right between your opened legs. His mouth moved against yours through a passionate kiss, your hands moving behind his neck to pull him closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning against him as you felt his hand caressing your bare thigh before firmly grabbing it.

He pulled away, his lips moving to your jawline and neck. He wasn’t out of breath, unlike you, he was unstoppable. You moaned against his ear, sensing him gently biting your skin. He pulled away, sensing the urge to bite you, his eyes turning darker and teeth coming out.

You opened your eyes. “What’s wrong, JJ?” He looked away, not wanting you to see him like this. “Hey, look at me.” He groaned, shaking his head to chase his dark thoughts away. “Hey, it’s okay.” He looked back at you, expecting another reaction as you caress his cheekbones and kiss him softly. “It’s okay…” You repeated quietly, his eyes softening at the sound of your voice. “I trust you.”

He kissed you again. “I— I wanna try something.” You didn’t say anything, waiting for him to make the next move, which he did: moving down and kissing your thighs. “Can— Can I?” He asked, ready to take off your pyjama shorts and underwear.

“Yes, please.” You said, whining as you felt the cold air against your skin. “Shit—” You moaned, head falling back against the pillow as JJ’s hands firmly grabbed your thighs, the feeling of his cold rings against your burning skin making you shiver. “Please, do something.”

He couldn’t believe it, this wasn’t another wet-dream, it was real. He made sure you couldn’t move, holding you tightly against the mattress, his head placed directly in front of your heat. He kissed your bikini-line slowly, wanting to tease you, the anticipation building in your body and driving you crazy.

He moved down. “Better be loud, baby.” You moaned at his words. “I want the whole island to hear you.” You hummed, biting your lower-lip.

“Fuck—” He moved his tongue between your folds, licking all the way up to your clit: sucking on it and looking straight at you in the eyes. “JJ—“ You cried, gripping on the sheets.

He continued devouring his favorite meal with pleasure, trying his best to remain calm as he bruised your thighs with his rough fingers: which made you moan even louder. His tongue wandered through your heat, while your fingers were playing with his soft hair: your whole body shaking at the sensation. He used his thumb against your clit, his tongue focusing on the entrance as he listened carefully to your moans.

“I’m— I’m gonna cum, JJ.” You murmured, looking down at the beautiful vampire between your legs. “Fuck!“ You moaned, his thumb moving fast against your clit, making you shake in euphoria as you tried to close your legs on him. “J— JJ!” He smirked against your wetness, savoring the way you taste. “Oh my god… You’re amazing.”

At midnight you were cuddling him, falling asleep in his strong arms, your arm around his waist and your head resting on his bare chest: using the sound of his heartbeat as a lullaby. He played with your hair and kissed your head until you were peacefully snoring, looking at you with adoration the whole night.

——————————————————————

tag-list: @prejudic3-deactivated20201112 @thestorysofargone @ifilwtmfc @callmeimpetuous @katiaw2 @iccyyyybitch @agirlwholovescoffee @hvrcruxes @magicwithaknife @obxmxybxnk @lus-shh @bibliophilewednesday @k-k0129 @acvross-the-universe (tumblr won’t let me tag some of u guys!)

[thegreenwolf]

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 17 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-16 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. Chapter contains canon-typical violence and descriptions of injuries. Reference to past abuse. Please exercise caution if this is a sensitive subject for you. Also - I promise there's a happy ending, but it might take a bit of angst to get there. For those who have kept up with this fic, sorry for the delay in updating - grad school has kept me busy, but regular updates should resume.

Words: 5.1k update, 80.9k total.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Image credit to my love @knivesareout as she makes beautiful things and supports my writing.

An eternal thank you to @soyelfuegoquearde for beta'ing my baby and giving me constructive feedback.

And love to @bdavishiddlesbatch and @louderrthanthunderr for all of their love and support.

"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone ideal as we area corrupt. But what if such a being were one day to turn around and love us back? We can only be shocked. How could they be divine as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us? If in order to love, we must believe that the beloved surpasses us in some way, does not a cruel paradox emerge when we witness this love returned? If they are really so wonderful, how could they love someone like me?" - Alain de Botton

The universe felt brighter as you traveled through it now, suspended in space and time within the secure confines of your roaming home. You continued to watch the stars streak past you on every journey, still feeling just as entranced by them as you had on the first flight from Chandrila — but it was even more of a beautiful and brilliant thing, as you now had the incomparable comfort of being known, and being loved. For a brief moment, you had worried that your admission of love would make things complicated, awkward, unbalanced; but your fears had been completely dismissed and rendered unnecessary, as it had brought you and Din closer than you could have imagined.

It was the little gestures and moments throughout the day that allowed those fears to be quieted. His hands would brush along your body in passing; he brought you a blanket to the cockpit after seeing you wrapped tightly around yourself to fight off the chill; he would gently tuck away the stray pieces of hair that fell across your face. And you became less reserved in showing your affections as well; you would often drape yourself across the back of the pilot’s seat and over his expansive shoulders as he navigated the Razor Crest through the atmospheres of new planets and hyperspace. You would bring him food and water, reminding him to take care of himself in ways that he often forgot to. And the two of you spent more time encased in the security of darkness, to the point where you joked that you might develop night vision. Very few things can grow in the absence of light, and yet here you were, your love thriving in this unexpected place.

You found that you didn’t necessarily feel as though you were missing anything, by not being able to see his face. Your love felt whole, comprehensive, and possibly even more valuable as it was so unconditional in its nature; you would love him endlessly, and you didn’t need a face to assign that love to, as he was so much more than the anatomical structure that existed behind the helmet. Somehow, the darkness felt more freeing than the light. The comfort and security of the darkness offered you both the opportunity to be completely and entirely exposed; no helmet, no clothing, no beskar, no self-doubt. It was infinite in its nature, and allowed for infinite possibilities.

How beautiful, these little infinities you had created together.

And while you never held any regrets for the life you shared with Din, you understood that some things were not worth repeating. You didn’t offer to help with a job again after Corellia, and it was a decision that you had come to by yourself. Again, you held no regrets for what had transpired on the industrial planet as it had been the catalyst that had brought the truth to the surface, the truth about your love, but it had left some wreckage in the process. Your sense of self-preservation and fear had been reignited when the Twi’lek had made unwanted physical advances, and although you knew you were safe now, it was challenging to quiet that instinctual part of yourself that had risen up, desperately seeking to sustain your hard-won survival.

Following the events of Corellia, you started to have the occasional nightmare, your mind resurfacing old wounds and memories that you had worked to let go of and leave on Chandrila. You would have dreams of the torrential thunderstorms of Eadu, threatening to drown you as your family watched, making no effort to help you stay afloat. You would feel the radiating pain of Orron’s blows throughout your body, every old wound somehow reemerging and aching anew. Sometimes the terror and pain of the nightmare was quick to pass upon waking, but there were some occasions in which you woke up crying and thrashing, a scream trapped in your constricted throat. Sometimes, you would wake up shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, chest heaving as the tears flowed; upon waking, you were always disoriented and scared for a moment, until you realized you were still at home and you were still wrapped securely in Din’s arms. You knew Din hated seeing you like that, tearful and distressed, and you didn’t want to cause any further hurt to yourself or to him. So you made the decision to no longer act as bait.

There was no sense in reopening old wounds, and creating new ones in the process. If you were to live with these pains, you could at least avoid inflicting them onto others.

Din had been supportive of your choice to no longer participate in bounties. He had reassured you that he still believed in your capabilities and value as a companion, but agreed that the reduction in stress would be worth the reduction in payouts. It had been tough to find a way to keep yourself occupied and still feel like a valuable, contributing asset; you knew you would never be content to simply exist here, offering nothing to Din except your body. While your originally agreed-upon partnership ended up not lending itself to you becoming a bounty hunter, you were not about to become a deadbeat, indolent passenger either.

The first few weeks after Corellia were alright, as you found odd jobs around the ship that you could tend to; repairing sagging panels, cleaning away the cobwebs, reorganizing equipment. These were tasks that you could manage, even with your limited mechanical and engineering knowledge. But eventually, as time wore on and your journeys carried you further along, you started to run out of tasks that could be done on the ship. Needing something to do, you then turned to managing additional business responsibilities, hoping to relieve Din of some of the stress that he carried on those broad shoulders. You kept a more organized, detailed record of his jobs and finances, and made sure there was an appropriate stock of supplies to support the Razor Crest’s three travelers.

And then there was the kid — you quite often found yourself managing him.

Following your journey to Bardotta, something had awoken in both you and Grogu; it was as if a creature that had laid dormant for many years had been awoken from its hibernation, and had returned with renewed strength. While you felt this change deeply within yourself, it presented itself most visibly in Grogu and his increasing abilities. You frequently had to search for him within the ship, as he had been working on learning how to cloak himself as you once had, adding this to his other skills. He was not able to fully vanish into his surroundings as you were, but he was decent enough at camouflaging himself to the point where you once had a panic attack that he had managed to escaped the ship into the wild forests of Dantooine while under your supervision. He was also experimenting with bringing larger and larger objects to his small green grasp, most noticeably larger and larger portions of food, or other comfort items like blankets. His growing curiosity and expansion of power hadn’t been allthat concerning until a particularly rough tantrum, during which he pushed both you and Din a good three feet back from him, without ever laying a hand on you. The changes occurring could no longer be denied or ignored, and you understood you would have to confront them at some point.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Your best attempt at navigating this next step was to seek out knowledge in a different format; as Din’s travels occasionally brought you to larger cities, you would spend a portion of the layover browsing the city’s libraries and book stores, if they existed, poring over the texts to see if there was any history, legends, instructions, or insights that could be obtained. You had very little success at finding anything that taught you about Force powers and how to use them, however you had managed to find several interesting texts that chronicled the historical power struggle between the Jedi and the Sith. You had heard whispered stories and legends as a child, tales of heroes and villains who carried out the unending battle of good versus evil.

And as you read of these wars and conflicts, you came to an interesting conclusion — depending on the perspective of the available source material, both Jedi and Sith could be considered good, or evil.

Thinking back to Ixxith’s teachings about the importance of balance, you could understand how these two diametrically opposed sides were continually fighting against the scale of the universe that sought balance. From your wide assortment of readings, you understood that the universe itself truly held no favor for good or evil, Jedi or Sith, and it only ever sought an equilibrium — and yet the universe’s occupants insisted on living within one extreme or the other, the scale never allowed to settle at a place of peace and balance.

You enjoyed studying the texts that you had managed to acquire, and learning more about the history of those with abilities like you, even though it may not have been the specific knowledge you had set out to find. Occasionally, you would talk with Din about the things that you discovered in these books, which prompted him to share more about the history of Mandalore and their role in the galaxy’s history and development. This newfound, strengthening point of connection between you was beautiful and valuable in its own right, even though it may not have offered much help for corralling yourself and the kid’s behaviors.

Reading had given you something to do during the down time while Din was working, and while the kid was self-contained or safely entertained. You had never had much time to dedicate to your own hobbies and interests before, and it was refreshing to be able to have your own passions that you could pursue as you desired.

Having few travel expenses of your own, you were still living quite comfortably off of the bounties you had profited from, and you were able to purchase the things that caught your eye or interest. This led to a steadily-expanding corner of the cabin that became yours as it was occupied with stacks of books, piles of blankets, an assortment of snacks, and a respectable wardrobe. The fresher also now showed evidence of your residency, as some of your specialty products had found their way to the shelves and the shower; silky lotions, a nice brush, hygiene products that didn’t exist in the shape of a bar. The Razor Crest was gradually becoming a shared space, a shared home, and were someone to step foot onto the ship, they would be able to determine that the fearsome Mandalorian was no longer maintaining a solitary existence.

This change in Din’s lifestyle was becoming more and more clear to outsiders as you now frequently accompanied him to his negotiations and trade-offs with Karga when on Nevarro. The older man had been excited by your reoccurring presence, and while he had teased Din for it in the beginning, he had since relaxed and always welcomed the two or three of you with a genuine smile. And with each visit to the volcanic planet, Din grew more comfortable with claiming your relationship openly; he almost always kept a hand on you, tracing pressured circles into your skin, or if you were seated with some degree of privacy, gently stroking the inside of your thigh from underneath the table as a tease for what was to come. There were rarely moments in which you were left alone, and you found you preferred it this way. While Orron had once insisted upon keeping you within arms reach, out of his own need for power and control, you understood Din’s motives to be different. He wanted to protect you, wanted to show you off, just genuinely wanted to be with you because he loved being with you. And you also knew that he would never deny you an opportunity to venture off on your own, to explore the town or take Grogu to play with the local children.

Today had been no exception to that truth; as Din and Karga haggled over upcoming bounties, you grew bored and restless, and decided you would prefer to stretch your legs with a walk around town, and feel some sunlight on your skin as it was a fairly nice day. You squeezed his knee gently, getting his attention before nodding your head to the door of the cantina, where the three of you had gathered for this business dealing. Din nodded wordlessly, trusting you to keep yourself safe and return to him when you were ready. This unconditional sense of trust was new to you, but you loved every moment of it, and loved Din for offering it so readily to you.

You excused yourself from the table and strolled out of the bar, knowing that Din’s eyes had followed your entire journey through the tables and patrons until you exited into the bustling town center. The sunlight felt nice on your skin, and the slight breeze kept the air from feeling heavy and stagnant around you; you stretched your limbs and you felt the cracking and popping of your joints. You needed breaks like this, to be able to physically stretch your body and keep it limber and in shape.

And yet, despite the small space of the Razor Crest, you had still found ways to keep your body moving; Din had certainly made physical exercise more enjoyable. You thought back to all of the nights that had now been spent on the floor of the Razor Crest, as your exhausted bodies had collapsed into one another; you loved every minute of the physical exertion the two of you created, but your body needed more. It needed to run, jump, stretch, bend, without the constraints of the small cabin space. But Maker, did making love with Din feel like the most glorious and exhilarating use of your body; you marveled at every moment of passion the two of you shared, holding nothing back in the pursuit of giving the other what they desired.

You were brought back to the moment by an oddly dressed man bumping into you; you turned to apologize, as you had been the one to have stopped in the middle of the street, but they had already run off by the time you looked for them. Shrugging, you carried on with your afternoon expedition. You had intentionally chosen comfortable and lightweight clothing today, knowing it would offer a nice opportunity to stretch your legs. As you strolled through town, you felt yourself start to pick up your pace gradually until you were jogging along at a decent speed, leaving the town behind you as you ascended the black volcanic hills that surrounded the area that had since become familiar to you. From atop the hills, you could see the cantina, the school, the marketplace, and off in the distance you could see the Razor Crest as it was undergoing refueling and maintenance.

Continuing to run for a while, just along the outskirts of the city, you relished the feeling of the breeze against your skin; while Nevarro was hot and the air somewhat sulfurous due to the volcanoes, it was still a nice change from the recycled air of the ship, and was certainly better than some of the atmospheres of other planets you had journeyed to. You could feel the lava rocks and ash shifting beneath your feet as you ran, offering just enough resistance to make your heart race and your lungs expand with forceful, concentrated inhalations.

Having now circled about half of the city, watching the landscape change from your position above it, you settled down onto a spot that offered some dry grass to sit comfortably on. You waited for your heart rate to slow back to a resting pace, and stretched your limbs out around you, loving the bit of soreness that came along as your muscles stretched and contracted. You allowed yourself to rest here for a while, clearing your mind as you worked to let the Force flow through you, just as Ixxith had taught you. You could feel the Force moving through you gently, almost like a breeze passing through an open window. You settled into this feeling, into the peace that it offered, as silence and tranquility had become rare within the steel confines of your home. Relaxing, you only barely noticed the breeze that seemed to push and pull the air through your lungs, as you sank into the comfortable silence for a while.

Sensing a growing chill in the air, your eyes opened to scene around you. The sun had begun its descent behind the volcanic hilltops and you knew it was time to be on your way, to return to Din and Grogu, to your home and to your bed. Pushing yourself up from the ground, you brushed off the dust and debris that had pressed into your body and clothing, before starting a comfortable pace down the hillside and back into the city.

As you passed some of the houses that made up the outskirts of the city, you could sense that something, or someone, was watching you; turning to look all around, you didn’t see anything unusual. You tried to shake off the feeling as you navigated yourself down a familiar city path, shifting your focus towards your upcoming reunion with Din; thinking of the way he had pinched the inside of your thigh earlier shot your heart rate right back up to its previously racing pace.

And yet there was a persistently odd feeling around you though, one that you couldn’t seem to shake, even with the thought of Din. Deciding to trust your gut, you stepped down what seemed to be a quiet alleyway to take better stock of the situation around you and determine what was causing this unsettling feeling of observation. No, observation wasn’t the right word. The word that came to mind was stalked. Like something was hiding in the shadows and corner of your vision, keeping in step with you but never being revealed. You scanned the street you had just been walking through, trying to find whatever was causing this unease, this growing sense of danger —

And then you felt a large hand grasping your forearm like a steel trap, crushing your wrist as whoever this was pulled you further into the alley and into the seclusion that it offered.

Whirling around as your free hand having found its way into a fist, you intended to punch this unexpected attacker in the face; but before you could complete your movement, a grey and leathery hand grabbed your entire fist and wrenched it away, but maintaining a tight hold on your hand to restrain you. Looking up, you saw a terrifyingly familiar humanoid face.

Maxir Bragant had been a close companion and business partner of Orron Jakar, and you had spent more time around this Delphidian man than you ever cared to recall. He had been a frequent visitor to your shop, and the individuals who he dumped onto your cot for healing rarely survived due to his brutal and unyielding attacks. Being quite fond of cleaving into others with his axe, there was generally very little you could do to improve his victim’s odds of survival; you were no miracle worker, and you recalled how you had been beaten mercilessly for your failures. As you looked down to see that very same black axe strapped to his belt, you felt bile and fear rise up in your throat, not confident that you would be able to escape the crushing grasp of this towering man who now had both of your arms restrained.

His voice hissed out coldly, as his pitch-black eyes stared into yours with the same kind of fury and hatred that you had often seen echoed in Orron’s icy blue ones. “What a surprise to find you here,” he laughed, and the sound turned the very blood pumping through your veins to acid, to ice. He sneered at you, lips curling back to reveal the same ugly grin that showed up in your nightmares. “Figured you’d know better than to show up in a town like this. But, you were never a very bright one, were you?”

You bit your tongue, trying not to snap at that bait that he had flung out to you; you knew he wanted you to respond, wanted you to get mouthy, so he would have an excuse to discipline you, just as Orron once had. He wanted an interesting fight — you knew that he thrived on crushing the life out of a terrified and desperate soul, and you were not going to give that to him. You needed to ignore his jabs, verbal and physical, and focus on how to get yourself out of this situation, how to alert Din, or the Marshal, or any bystander who could offer you some sort of reinforcement against what was surely about to be a horribly painful and ugly fight.

Bragant used his leverage to pull you in closely to him, and you could smell the putrid odor of sweat and blood that radiated from him. It was nauseating and made your head feel dizzy, but you couldn’t let this get to you, couldn’t let this throw you off. From this positioning, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to use your upper body to fight him off as he had your arms secured; making a quickly-calculated decision, you brought your knee up forcefully into his groin, and as he bent over in pain with a groan, he released one of your hands. Gods, was it satisfying to see this motherfucker writhing. Having some more leverage and momentum now, you kicked into his sternum forcefully, his massive body flying backwards into the stone wall behind him. You turned to run, willing your feet to move faster than the stars you had watched in hyperspace — but he recovered faster than you expected; you had only made it about four or five steps away when he wrapped his rough, scarred arm around your neck and brought your writhing, desperately fighting body up and into his, pressing his back into the wall to keep you out of sight.

“Stupid bitch,” he spit at you, and you could see the flecks of blood and saliva that landed in the dust around you, standing out in stark contrast to the dark volcanic ash. “Did you really think you’d get away with it, killing him?” You felt the cold and rough-hewn blade of his axe pressing into your chest, a jagged corner digging in just enough to make you gasp as it pierced your skin; the blade was pressed dangerously close to your heart, and you had seen the force with which he could swing his weapon.

“Still curious how the fuck you got out of there like you did, vanishing like that; but we’ll have plenty of time to ask questions when I bring you back home. There are a lot of people that have been missing you.”

You could sense the sick and cruel smile on his face as he pictured what would surely be a gruesome, horrific, and torturous death.

No. No, you were not going to go out that way. Not on his terms, not on Orron’s. Not like this.

You thought about the horrors that would await you if Bragant was able to bring you back to the cartel. You thought about the sickening fear and sadness that Din and Grogu would feel at your unplanned and unexplained departure. Thought about how Din would cut his way through each and every formidable cartel member trying to bring you back to him, to bring you back to safety, to bring you back home. Thought about how one man wouldn’t be enough to fight off an army, thought about how Din would die trying to bring you back, just as you had nearly died bringing him back on Bardotta.

Thought about how the love between the two of you would threaten to shatter the galaxy.

You thought about how Bragant had called the cartel home, and the anger that coursed through you felt as though it was moving through your very bloodstream, each desperate beat of your heart pushing that anger further and further into your body, fueling your muscles and your strength until it was threatening to burst forward from you like a seismic charge.

“Home?” You screeched, the words tearing their way through your throat with vitriol.

“Home?! You keep that word out of your goddamn fucking mouth!” You screamed forcefully, your voice echoing against the stone and clay walls; you heard a loud crack, and the wall that Bragant’s body was resting against collapsed in on itself.

This disruption and destruction caught Bragant by surprise, and he fell backwards into the pile of rubble that your anger alone had created, releasing you from his grasp in the process. Your chest was heaving as you inhaled deep lungfuls of air, feeling the oxygen feed more and more power to your body — you felt invincible, impossibly strong and powerful — and vengeful. Every violent revenge fantasy you had ever had came rushing back to you, as you saw the tidal wave of your abuser’s blood overtake the world around you.

Here was a man who had contributed to your pain and destruction, who had killed countless people with no mercy — and now, you didn’t have a single ounce of mercy to extend to him. And you were at peace with that.

A blinding hot, red wave of fury overtook your body, crashing around you and drowning out the fragile sense of humanity that was desperately clambering to stay afloat. It was as if you were possessed, as you watched your arm extend before you, muscles twitching beneath skin as your fingers pointed in Bragant’s direction, before your hand found itself curled into a tight fist. Your nails dug into the palm of your hand, and you could see redness dripping forth from it — and you saw Bragant’s writhing form being lifted from amongst the stones, until he was levitating in midair. His hands clawed desperately at his throat, and the sight of his now-bulging eyes filling with terror felt beautiful.

With a final, overwhelming rush of immense power, your wrist pulled your hand inwards to your body and you heard a nauseatingly satisfying crack reverberate through the alleyway as Bragant’s eyes went dark and his body went limp, collapsing onto the pile of rocks and clay beneath him with a dull thump.

Your head began to spin as the energy that had previously flowed through you was suddenly ripped away, and you felt as though every cell of your body was now collapsing in on itself in slow motion; the sky above you and the ground below you tumbled throughout your field of vision, spinning both together and apart as your body connected with the dusty floor of the alleyway.

You could vaguely see a blood red stain spreading in your field of vision. Whose blood was it?

Throughout all of the endless spinning and disorientation, your eyes eventually came to rest on one comforting and familiar sight — a tall figure clad in beskar rushed to your side, but you couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel the hands that you knew were on your body, couldn’t feel the shift in your form as you were hauled into his arms. Couldn’t feel the heavy breaths and terrified words that spilled around you, as your head lolled to the side in his arms. It felt as though the link between your mind and body had been snapped, like a harp string tuned too tightly, and as the universe continued to tumble through your field of vision, you closed your eyes tightly and prayed for it all to stop.

Stop. Stop.

Stop.