#It Has by winston; but has even going ''hey he seems to be getting closer to / choosing to spend more time with this apparent Better

[unproduciblesmackdown]

thinking of [thinking & talking of the rian & winston dynamic] while reading the short study article "“This Was Just How This Friendship Worked”: Experiences of Interpersonal Victimization Among Autistic Adults" as thinking & talking abt things re: winston billions has Been something of a framework / touchstone for doing so re: [autistic experiences] more broadly....from going "dare i say winston is Autistic" (yes) to "sure he's established as being in a duo with this coworker who's insulated as he's vulnerable & supported as he's undermined as an already unfavorable foundation to the dynamic, & then as it plays out we see it's unilateral, with winston being hurt on purpose onesidedly for fun or to push him to do (or not do) something, left to 'just roll with it' onesidedly after such treatment, put down including around other people, Only getting less hostile, more constructive treatment when & while that's what happens to be what rian feels like, Not when he feels like it, b/c that's what he feels like all the time & only gets sometimes just out of frame laughing too, all while the basis of this is rian doing what she wants at any point while winston can only respond "accordingly" and Put Up With It and be disappointed while having no real recourse but to possibly give up on the relationship entirely, which doesn't even necessarily extricate him from being used / bullied here....but what about 'i mean is it That Bad(tm)' and 'i mean but did the victim respond with perfect strategy' and 'i mean but does the person hurting/using them feel like they're justified & normal actually' (ofc they can & do any/all thee time" lol like. yes.

anyways and some fun banger quotes in general, as stated re: [of course this is also like, talking about Anything irl too]

Forster and Pearson5 asked autistic adults about their experiences of relationships and understanding of mate crime, which is a form of interpersonal victimization perpetrated by those considered friends (“mate” is a British slang term for friend).1,2 Participants outlined the challenges that they faced building genuine, reciprocal relationships and their experiences of victimization. They also spoke about their difficulties identifying unreasonable behavior from others, and heightened social compliance. These findings were consistent with previous research into relationships16–20 and peer victimization among autistic adults.6,21

Participants in this study also explicitly suggested that a personal relationship between the perpetrator and victim was more insidious than bullying alone, as it could make it harder to spot disingenuous behavior. This aligns with the suggestion made by disabled scholars that terming interpersonal victimization as “bullying” can make it appear “low level” in nature.22–24

The difficulty in identifying manipulative and implicit social intentions can be explained through the lens of the double empathy problem.25 The double empathy problem posits that differences in communication style can lead to mutual difficulties in understanding between interlocutors. Autistic adults have self-identified how these bidirectional breakdowns can lead to problems with reading below surface-level social intentions in other people, and have shared concerns over their potential for being manipulated.20,26 The double empathy problem helps to frame these concerns as an interaction between the person and context, as opposed to an innate vulnerability.27

[...]

Theme 2 drew together three subthemes, centered around how the participants perceived what had happened to them. They focused on their difficulty in trusting their instincts around what is acceptable social behavior, often giving others the benefit of the doubt at a detriment to their own needs. They also highlighted how difficult it could be to recognize victimization, and how they felt when they did not recognize it. Finally, the third theme focused on the notion of compliance and how it had pervaded their situation.

[...]

Questioning their own input had meant it had taken them time and support from others to process a situation, only recognizing later what had happened to them: “otherwise having peace and time to focus on myself and my other friends (as well as support from a few close friends), I soon recognised that both ‘friends' had been abusive towards me from nearly the beginning of our friendship” (P.15, man, 26).

[...]

Some participants said that they struggled to spot negative social intentions and identify abusive behavior (theme 2.2), or trust their own judgment about other people (theme 2.1), which is consistent with some previous research.26,51 Some of the participants seemed to blame themselves for not “spotting” the abuse while it occurred, labeling themselves as oblivious, however, a participant who did recognize that they were being manipulated during the situation itself also said it made them feel naive. It is worth noting that the ability to retrospectively identify abuse and the ability to spot abuse “in situ” are not the same, but that they may lead to the same emotional response.

[...]

Some participants said that they struggled to spot negative social intentions and identify abusive behavior (theme 2.2), or trust their own judgment about other people (theme 2.1), which is consistent with some previous research.26,51 Some of the participants seemed to blame themselves for not “spotting” the abuse while it occurred, labeling themselves as oblivious, however, a participant who did recognize that they were being manipulated during the situation itself also said it made them feel naive. It is worth noting that the ability to retrospectively identify abuse and the ability to spot abuse “in situ” are not the same, but that they may lead to the same emotional response.

There are also multiple factors that can affect both identifying abuse and knowing how to deal with it. First, the ability to pick up on often subtle signals exhibited by abusers, particularly in situations where coercion is used, requires knowledge about what a good healthy relationship looks like. Comments from some of our participants were indicative of victimization beginning early in childhood, perpetrated by parents and caregivers. Abuse from those who are meant to care for us and “know better” can impact on the ability to recognize unacceptable behavior in others later in life.52

Spotting these signals can also rely on not taking people at “face value,” and engaging in continuing reflection on what someone has said or done. For an autistic person who tends to be straightforward in their communication style and who says what they mean, it might not occur that someone they are interacting with is being disingenuous. This can be explained through the lens of the “double empathy problem.”25 The double empathy problem recognizes that difficulties in inferring the intentions of others do not need to be labeled as a social “deficit” or “one sided” to recognize its impact. It is important that we draw upon the double empathy problem to find ways of supporting people who feel they struggle with understanding social intentions without pathologizing this difficulty.

Second, identifying abuse can also be impacted by our perceptions of our own contribution to the situation. Several participants highlighted the experience of gaslighting and invalidation from perpetrators, and this had led some people to question their perception of the situation and blame themselves. This made it harder for them to recognize that what was happening was abusive, and to put a stop to it or leave the situation. Our findings did suggest that a good support network and time/guidance to introspect could be helpful in recognizing abuse.53 This is consistent with research showing the importance of peer support systems47,54 and suggests that it is important to support autistic people in developing good-quality relationships.18

Third, even if someone can identify abusive behavior, this does not always result in knowing what to do about it, or feeling like you have a choice to change the situation, which our findings around compliance (theme 2.3) highlighted. Some participants discussed feeling like they needed to appease perpetrators, or avoid confrontation, which is consistent with previous literature.5,21 However, this was not the only reason for compliance, and the circumstances that contributed toward it were often complex. Some participants complied out of recognition that it was the only way to maintain a semblance of safety within risky situations, for example, having to comply with the demands of others to avoid physical harm. For other participants, power dynamics were present that made the situation they were in more complicated, for example, the perpetrator was a family member.

[...]

A recent study examined the experience of trauma and PTSD symptoms in autistic adults, finding that the experience of “bullying” was one of the common traumatic life events reported by autistic people who had increased PTSD symptoms.48 The authors argue that autistic people may be more likely to experience trauma from events outside of current PTSD diagnostic criteria, which is not unlikely given the sustained stigma that many autistic people experience.63,64 Some of the acts that our participants described as “bullying” and being “taken advantage of” included domestic and sexual abuse, and financial exploitation.

There may be considerations to be made here about the way in which we ask questions about negative life experiences, and how different questions may elicit different responses. The line between abuse, bullying, and more nebulous concepts such as “being taken advantage of” is not particularly clear, and we know that bullying can have incredibly negative effects on an individual.14 However, it is important that future research acknowledges that despite autistic people being labeled as “literal” in their communication, they may downplay their experiences through the terminology they use.

[luvluvdally]

MEETING DALLAS

Ive never been the type to fall in love.

Especially with a boy who wouldn't be able to love me back.

My Parents weren't around. Ever.

Ive never known them, My grandparents raised me.

My Grandfather is a respected man he built his construction company from the ground up.

He was able to give me and my mom.

A comfortable middle class life.

It was pretty boring.

To me It seems like to be present and known.

Was to be a "Greaser" Or "Soc".

Im not exactly anywhere near them.

My grandmother is a strict old soul.

My Grandparents weren't that old despite being grandparents.

They were in their late three when I was born.

My mother had me at sixteen.

She dropped me off and left when i was only a week old.

My dad was a man even older than my grandparents.

We don't talk about it much.

My grandpa likes to help anyone he can.

So when a family of five, Tragically and suddenly becomes three young "lost boys" as he said.

He took the olde one "in" and gave him a job.

The younger one two.

He some genius and was hired to tutor me.

It embarrassing to have a kid younger than you

treat you like you below him.

Even though I knew that was never his

intention.

__________________________________

It was a boring Friday late afternoon.

I was heading to Ponyboy Curtis house.

I liked his name it was unique, it was nice to know someone with a unique name.

Like me my name is Estrella.

Star.

My middle name is luna.

I liked my name.

It was the only thing that made me feel special.

It was also the most my mom ever did for me.

Estrella, Luna, Smith.

__________________________________

I got Pony's house.

I knocked on the door expecting the same

greasy hair boy as usual.

But I saw a brunette, it seemed like he didn't care much for his hair.

Or first impressions.

He was only wearing a pair of dark blue jeans.

"Hey darling, what brings you here" He smiled.

I clutched my books bringing them closer to my chest.

Looking down I quickly and quietly let out.

"Im here for Ponyboy curtis, sir".

"Sir, Com'n don't be so formal doll"

He reached out and grabbed a strand of my hair twirling it around his finger.

"don't" I whispered screamed pushing his hand away from me.

I didn't really want to.

"Hey dal cut it out" Pony came pushing past

him.

"Hey, Star come in" He continued.

I nodded my head walking in.

I felt His Eyes on me, as I walked past him.

Setting my books down on the table.

__________________________________

The whole time me and Pony were doing our tutoring session he didn't speak.

He just sat there staring or watching TV.

I looked up from my notebook to look at the time.

5:15pm.

"Hey pony, Its time" I nudged his shoulder still looking at the clock.

"Mmhm" Pony rarely talked to me unless needed.

"For what" I heard a the familiar voice I now knew as Dallas Winston say.

I turned over to him.

Not to respond but to study him.

Dallas Winston, Tulsa's bad boy with a record so long he has two folders full downtown.

There was something about him I thought.

There just has to be.

I was shook to out of my thoughts by his words.

"So, is that a yes? Pone what with this gal she just stares".

I was completely confused.

"What? I think it was the loudest I've ever spoked around Pony.

"He wants to know if you'd like to go get cokes as the dingo, But i told him that your curfew".

"I can ask" I interrupted.

I think pony was shocked that was

talking so much.

I got up and headed to the phone.

I looked over to Dallas, He was putting his shirt and shoes on.

As I picked the phone off the hook and dialed the only number I could remember.

"Hello" I hear my grandmother say.

"Hi gram, Pony and his friend invited me to go get some cokes" I was quickly cut off with a slur of questions.

Who, where, you know curfew and who again.

I lied a little to her.

"Umm some friend he's over here to keep an eye on Pony so I think Darry trusts him" I knew that would convince her.

She loves Darry

__________________________________

We walked to the Dingo.

I was the only one not talking.

Never been much to talk at all.

Juts didn't like it.

I felt an arm around my shoulder.

"What up with this broad man".

Broad, I thought to me it was not a simple way to describe a woman.

"Im not a Broad" I pushed his arm off me.

"What with you? Ever heard of personal space?!"

I looked at him expecting a hurt or angry emotion plastered on his face.

But it wasn't that.

He was smiling at me.

"I think I like this broad Pone".

I finally knew then,

what was under all that bad bot act.

It was New and Intoxicating.

I've never felt this was about a Someone before.

Let alone a Boy.

__________________________________

I Hope you guys like this one.

I love it.

So far Im not sure where this story will end up.

- With love Cynnie

[drabbles-mc]

Whatever You Can

Opie Winston & Sister!OFC (Veronica Winston)

For Day 8 of @whumpril 's 2023 Challenge: comfort food

Warnings: 18+, angst, grief, alcohol

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I know I write a lot of sibling dynamics when it comes to my OCs. And I love them all and no one can stop me from writing them and making more 😂 But there is just something sooooo specifically tragic about V and Opie that I love so much. I feel like I've put so much of me into her character in the pieces I've written for her and she has such a heavy heart but a good heart. I love her. Also, its a completely separate fic from this one, but I picture this taking place in the same universe as This Fic if you're interested in more angst lmao

SOA Taglist: @littlekittymeow @i-just-read-stuff @fuckyeahopie @justreblogginfics @garbinge @fanfic-n-tabulous @camelia35 @winchestershiresauce @artemiseamoon @passionatewrites @buckybarneshairpullingkink @mijagif @paintballkid711 @frattsparty @jitterbugs927 @nessamc @camelia35 @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Opie saw his sister’s motorcycle parked in the driveway before he even pulled in. Over the years, he’d grown to be able to spot the sleek white bike from yards and yards away. He was trying to take a deep breath as he cruised his own bike in to park next to hers. Given the circumstances and the state of everything, it was perfectly reasonable that she would be at his house. And yet, he had still been thinking, almost hoping that he was going to come home to more emptiness.

Cutting the engine on his bike, he swung his leg over and started to make his way towards the front door, removing his helmet as he went. It was hanging limply from one hand as he reached forward with the other to pull the front door open. He allowed himself a moment of hesitation, like he was really going to turn and walk away from his own house, before finally closing his hand around the doorknob and pulling it open.

When he stepped inside, everything was quiet. He couldn’t hear the kids, not even distantly like they were in the backyard. The television was off, no radio playing music throughout the house. It was nearly silent. Silence was what he expected when he was home, especially over the last few days. But Veronica always brought some kind of noise with her. She always either had a movie playing on the television, or made sure that the radio was on. If a place was silent while she was in it, she must’ve really been feeling the full weight of all that had happened. No one would be able to blame her for that at this point.

Opie kicked off his boots at the door, discarding his helmet there as well. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should call out to her, announce himself somehow to let her know that it was him and not someone else, but he just couldn’t seem to force any words out. He padded through the house, quiet to an impressive degree for someone his size, for someone who had so much weight currently resting on their shoulders.

Once he got closer to the kitchen, he could start to hear a little bit of noise. It wasn’t ruckus, but he knew that she must’ve been getting up to something in his kitchen while he was gone. She had always been one to try and stay busy, but there was no way that she was going to allow herself to have any kind of downtime at this point.

She heard the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet, and greeted him without turning around to face him. “Hey.”

If he hadn’t already been concerned about her for the myriad of other reasons the universe gave him at the moment, Opie’s worry meter would’ve spiked the second that she didn’t look at him when she said hello. He stepped in closer to her, standing right behind her and towering over her the way he did everyone in their family except for his father.

“What’re you doing here, V?” he asked, skipping over the pleasantries entirely. He didn’t have the energy to even try and pretend, especially not with her.

“What does it look like?” she retorted, still not turning around.

Reaching forward, he gently rested his hand on her shoulder. “Look at me.”

She froze for a moment, not turning around, not continuing to fuss with the pans that she had situated on the stove. Opie couldn’t see her face but he could imagine that she was trying to get herself together a little bit. She sniffled and shook her head at herself before finally turning around, causing Opie’s hand to slip from her shoulder.

Opie’s heart had been in a constant state of crushed ever since he had seen Donna’s body laid out on the blacktop a few days before. But the look on his sister’s face as she stared up at him was like another punch in the gut that he didn’t need, one that he hadn’t been ready for. Her lips were turned down in their usual sad frown, her brown eyes heavy with sadness, red and glassy from tears both shed and unshed.

Veronica knew better than to think that Opie was going to start some big, deep conversation about everything that had been going on. She knew that he wasn’t going to want to talk about the funeral, or Donna in general, or the club. If there was one thing in the world she knew about, it was her brother, and that’s why she didn’t wait for him to ask questions before giving the answers to them.

“Mary, uh,” she reached and wiped at the edges of her eyes, like that would stop new tears from appearing, “had to run a couple errands. So I told her to take the kids with her and I would get dinner situated while they were out.”

“I coulda made dinner,” Opie countered.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t have, though.” Her voice didn’t have any malice to it—she was simply stating a fact.

“V…”

“It’s fine,” she followed up, her voice soft. “You know me—I just, I need to be doing something useful.”

Opie knew that it would’ve been the perfect moment to thank her for helping so much with the kids over the last few days while everything had been hitting the fan, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he nodded to the stove behind her and asked, “What’re you making?”

“Mac and cheese.” She saw the look of confusion on his face and rolled her eyes, a smile almost starting to tug at her lips. “From scratch. All your boxes of Kraft are still in the pantry.”

“You could’ve used them.”

“I know. I just,” she shrugged helplessly as she looked back at the stove, “comfort food, you know? Figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Need help?” he asked, knowing full-well that she had it completely under control.

“No. I got it.” She saw him about to take a step back, most likely to head off and lock himself in his room at least until their mother and his kids got back, if not longer. She spoke up before he could step too far. “Could use some company, though.” She paused for a beat when she saw his hesitation. “Please.” She let out a sad laugh. “The only adult I’ve been able to talk to in the last forty-eight hours has been Mary.”

His facial expression didn’t change much, but her remark got a bit of an amused huff out of Opie, a sharp exhale through his nose as he shook his head and went towards the fridge to grab a beer for himself. “Sounds rough.”

Veronica just gave what she could of a smile as she nodded and turned back to the pan on the stove that she had been preparing to put in the oven. Opie leaned back against the counter a few feet away from her, silently watching as she got everything ready. It wasn’t until that moment that Opie realized that everyone had been checking in on him, because of course they would, even if he didn’t want them to. But apparently no one had been going through the trouble of tracking down his sister. He’d never admit to it out loud but he knew that that was the price she paid for being the one of the two of them who knew how to keep it together and take care of everyone during a crisis—no one was offering to help take care of her.

“Kids were okay at your place?” he asked.

She nodded as she pulled the oven door open. “As okay as they can be. I’m not sure, you know, how much all of it has really sunk in yet.” She set the pan in and shut the door. “I’m sure it’ll come in waves for a while.”

“Right.”

She set the timer on the oven before following Opie’s lead and getting herself a beer from the fridge. She hadn’t been drinking at all, despite the fact that she had definitely been wanting to, because her niece and nephew had been staying at her place. She popped the top of the bottle and brought it to her lips, not getting nearly as much relief or satisfaction out of the first sip as she had been hoping for. It was a lot to ask of one beer.

She leaned so that one of her shoulders was resting against the closed door of the fridge. She was facing Opie as he leaned back against his counter. She stared at him while he stared at the floor. Opie wanted nothing more than to go and lock himself in his room, sit on the floor because he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep on the bed. But Veronica never asked him for anything. If him standing there silently was something that he could give her, something that she wanted, it was the least he could do after everything.

He had no idea how long the two of them stood there silently like that. He couldn’t bring himself to look over at her, to see the sadness on her face that he couldn’t do anything about. He couldn’t bring himself to confront his own feelings about it all let alone someone else’s.

Even though he wasn’t saying anything, Veronica could feel the tension and restraint rolling off of him like waves at high tide. It felt like if he was going to drown underneath it all, he wasn’t going to be going down alone.

“Ope?” his name came out cracked with emotion, but still a soft whisper.

It got him to finally look over at her. His frown deepened when he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Yea?”

Setting her beer bottle on the counter, the glass bottom clattering louder than it needed to, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He hesitated for a moment, his intense desire to be alone, to withdraw into himself, battling it out with logically knowing that he needed to be there for his sister. Finally, he got his arms to cooperate as he draped them over her shoulders and hugged her back. He could feel her tears soaking through the fabric that covered his chest—it was the realest thing that he’d felt in days.

Sniffling, she turned so that her cheek was resting against his chest rather than her forehead. Blinking a few more times, inadvertently causing a few more tears to fall, she forced out, “We can’t lose you too.”

He wished that he had something profound or at least comforting to say in response to that, but he didn’t. Even if he tried to string something together, Veronica had never been one to fall for his lies. She might not call him out on them, but she never believed them. There was no use in trying to spoon feed her platitudes now.

Minutes ticked by filled with more silence. Veronica peeled herself away from Opie, wiping fresh tears from her face as she did. She found herself leaning right next to him, the outside of her arm brushing against the outside of his. Grabbing her beer bottle, she took a long drink out of it before letting it dangle from her hand in front of her.

Finally, she said, “I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but you can’t do it all on your own.”

He shook his head. “I’m not planning on anything.”

She waited for him to finally give her a small glance. Her voice came out with more certainty than it had for their entire conversation. “You can’t make your kids lose the only parent they have left in the process of getting even.”

“Getting ev—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice quieting again. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Opie.” She paused and when he gave a nod of assent, she went on, “Whatever the details of this shake out to be, I know someone is going to pay for it. And, and they fucking should. But not if it kills you in the process. Not if it puts you back inside. Your kids don’t deserve that.”

“Nothing’s happening, V.”

“Not yet. But it will. So just, please, okay?”

Even if Opie had wanted to say something in response to that, the timer going off would’ve put a stop to it. Turning around, he reached and shut it off, the lack of beeping sending the house back into silence. Rather than addressing anything that his sister had just said to him, he said, “Come on, dinner’s ready. Mary will be back with the kids soon.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Veronica knew and tried to accept the fact that it was all that she was going to get from Opie for the night. Grabbing the oven mitts, she nodded towards the upper cabinets as a signal to Opie to open them. “Grab the plates for me, then.”

The two of them moved around each other with the ease of two people who spent more time together than not. It’d been a long time since they lived under the same roof, but some muscle memory never went away. Opie watched as his sister used her foot to lift the oven door closed while she held the pan in her hands, the sadness on her face giving way to focus for just a brief second. And in the moment, as fleeting as it was, they were just a brother and sister getting dinner ready for their family. No tragic backstory to be found.

The sound of Mary's car in the driveway brought them back to reality. Veronica looked over at him as he went through the motions of getting glasses and silverware out.

“You promise?” she asked, not elaborating because she knew that she didn’t have to.

He couldn’t lie to her. So, he promised what little he could as the front door opened. “I’ll do what I can."

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Open Space

There's just so much space.

That's all I can think about walking between the cafeteria on the first floor of my dorm and Winston Hall for my first class of the day. The space. There's too much of it.

I'm sure it's an asset during the spring and summer - all that expensive greenery, flowers lining the sidewalks, cherry trees blooming, so full of life.

But I started here in January, and the space is all very cold, and right now the only thing I can see around me is snow. It falls from the sky, and a persistent knife-like wind throws it in every direction. Snow covers the dead grass, snow lays on the giant, gnarled corpse hands that won't be growing cherries anytime soon, and snow obscures my vision any further than the next lamppost.

My fingers are almost numb, and my backpack feels heavier than it has any right to be. I'm maybe a third of the way to class.

I can just barely make out a figure ahead, moving the same direction as me, a bit slower. It's just a darker spot in the haze, but it's the closest I've seen to a person this whole walk. It's mostly a commuter school, and only a madman would commute through this.

Right now, the sidewalk is more or less clear, though the falling snow is trying its hardest to change that. The school plowed the walkways overnight, making banks of snow on either side. When the sky kept falling later, they plowed again. And this morning, they did it again. Now I'm walking through a slowly-filling canyon, walls almost four feet tall on either side of me, and the snow beyond those mounds, spread as far as my eye can see - admittedly not far - isn't much lower than that. Wisps blow off the peaks of the canyon walls, but not enough to deplete them significantly.

My toes are starting to lose feeling now. Why didn't I wear boots?

The figure ahead is a bit clearer now - a bit closer. Seems to be limping a bit; probably why I'm catching up so quickly.

On my right, a large shadow looms - some building whose name I haven't learned yet. In every other direction, more space.

My breath is almost freezing to my face as I walk into it. I wonder if I could talk right now. I give it a try, targeting the person in front of me.

"Hey! Wait up!" I yell, pleased that my vocal cords do not freeze in place on the first syllable. But the words seem flat, lifeless. The cold air and open space scatters them to the wind.

The person does not pause for a moment, though it is still favoring one side. I can see the figure is not quite symmetrical. A shape warps one side. A backpack, I assume.

My feet suddenly lose sync, and I stumble on ice, falling sideways into the drift on my right. I throw my arm out instictively, and I never touch the ground. The snow packs under my palm, and slides between my bare fingers.

I let out a yell as my skin burns from the cold. My voice seems to vanish instantly into the wind, like a puff of air spread equally throughout an endless void. I scramble to my feet. No gloves. Why did I think this was a good idea? I dressed like an idiot today.

I start moving again, just a moment later, and I see that the figure has stopped. I can't be sure, but I think he or she is looking back at me. I only get a few steps before it starts moving again, in that awkward, limping gait. "I'm okay," I call, no longer surprised that I get no reaction. I'm probably silent to this person in this weather, in this space. Though it does seem odd that I'm this close now, and still nothing.

I'm getting impatient and increasingly cold. I jog - carefully, lest I discover more hidden ice.

The figure grows closer, though no less indistinct. I can hear my steps plop and crunch. His seem silent. I've come to conclude that this is a "him." Something about the way he walks or carries himself is decidely not feminine.

I begin to wonder if he can see anyone ahead of him, and if they're as hard for him to make out as he is to me. I begin to wonder if he's going to the same building, or even the same class, as me. And for some reason, I begin to hope he isn't.

There's a chill, deeper and unrelated to the biting wind and cold, and I wish I hadn't jogged so close. I don't think I want to see -

But it's too late. I'm about twenty feet away, and I can see him clearly.

He's wearing the same shoes as me - canvas tennis shoes, a terrible choice. He's bundled up all in black, a ski mask covering his face - I assume, since all I can see from this angle is where his ear isn't - and not a bit of skinor hair is showing on the back of his head or neck.

And it's not a backpack…

It's a duffel bag. It looks heavy. That would explain the limp.

And as noise-devouring as this space is, I think he can probably hear his music just fine through those earbuds he's wearing.

I wonder at my fear or paranoia. Cold can mess with a person's brain, I've heard. I believe it now.

And I think I might catch up and tap him on the shoulder just to say hi. Just to have some sort of human contact in the vastness.

I take two long strides, and hear a pop. My constant, distant companion goes down hard on one side. I run faster, deciding to forget that he left me behind in my moment of need. Friends are made in situations like this.

I'm almost there when things start happening. Maybe they aren't simultaneous, but it's hard to order them now.

There's another pop.

My new friend's head explodes within his shredded ski mask.

The ground advances on me suddenly as I slip. On the way down, my eyes take in the fresh bright red chunks in the snow wall to my left, and the deeper yet more subtle red in the puddle - frosted, old, frozen for hours - that has put me into this position.

I feel my shoulder and part of my arm crack as I land, but the blinding pain is dulled by the worse one when my head bounces off the pavement.

I hear a cough.

In the next instant, I see, sideways, a hole, or a tunnel really, a bit larger than a man, dug into the canyon wall now in front of me. It's just big enough for the man who is in it, dressed all in white, face draped in a white cloth mask. There's something black in his hand.

Some part of my brain sees the barrel and part of the stock, while the rest tries to deny it.

There are vertical marks in the icy snow of the tunnel wall to the man's left - notches, tally marks. There are quite a few. I count ten in a fraction of an instant, but there are more. So many more.

Cold, pain, fear.

A click.

"No," I say, far too quietly, the open space greedily eating my words. "Please wai-"

Credit to: Lasergoose

[dallysnecklace]

can you write an angsty Curtis!sister story where she gets targeted by the socs and tries to be strong but gets out numbered? and then the gang gets very mad? ty 💕

I Don’t Understand

Pairings: Curtis sis x Curtis Gang, Curtis Sis x Dallas Winston (Established Relationship)

Summary: request

Warnings: blood, cuts, beating, bruises, fighting, undedited

I hope this did your request justice! Sorry for taking to long to get to it anon. <33

“Okay. It’ll be 70 cents.” Your twin brother Sodapop said, giving you a look.

“Do I really have to pay?” You gave him your puppy dog eyes, pleading.

“Yes, Y/n. Do you want me to get fired?” He shot back.

“Jeez, okay here.” You dug in your purse and pulled out your wallet. You handed him your due and started for the door with your Snickers bar.

“Be careful Y/n! Socs ain’t staying on their side no more!” Soda yelled at you as you pushed the door open, wanting to leave.

“I will. Love you twin brother.” You said, not being able to hear his response.

Life had been kinda crazy for you these past few weeks. Ponyboy had been jumped, causing a rumble, and still Socs weren’t staying on their side.

Your boyfriend of about one year, Dallas, gave you his extra switch for you to be safe. He mentioned how the Socs, “Don’t give a fuck if your a girl.”

All of this had worried you, but you had an amazing support system, and plus it was daylight. Nothings going to happen in the middle of the day to a girl.

You were walking home, taking a bit more of a scenic route. You always loved nature and being around it all alone, and this route was perfect for that. You were going to meet up with Dallas on the way home so you two could hang out later. You were excited to see him, so your step picked up a bit. You became distracted as you thought about the boy you called yours.

He had asked you out almost two years ago, but it took around 8 months of convincing Darry to let you two go out. Although Dallas may seem rough around the edges, he has a soft inside. This soft inside is something he really only showed to you, making your connection very strong.

While you were daydreaming, you didn’t notice the Socs coming up behind you. What a grave mistake this was.

“Hey!” One of the spit.

You turned around startled by the loud sound, “oh, hi?” You said, knowing that you had to be nice to get out of this. You couldn’t put up a fight against five Socs.

“You’re the Curtis sister, right?” One of them stepped closer. You could smell his expensive cologne.

“Yeah, I was just getting home actual-“

He stepped closer and grabbed your arm, squeezing tightly.

“You’re going to stay here so we can teach your brothers a lesson.”

He quickly threw you on the ground, and the others surrounded you. Out of reflex, you grabbed for the switch Dallas gave you, and took out the blade.

“Oh no! She’s got a blade! Oh so scary!” Another said, sarcastically.

As one came to grab it from you, you sliced his arm, pretty badly.

He still grabbed the blade from you, and held it against your neck, ignoring the slice in his nice sweater.

“Look little girl, we just want to know where your brothers and boyfriend are. You won’t get in any trouble.”

You didn’t understand why he was asking you this, maybe something had happened? But you weren’t going to tell him.

“I don’t know where they are.” You said, gritting your teeth.

The one asking the questions drew back his fist and punched you, hard. You face whipped to the side, and you felt blood start to come out of your nose and mouth.

“Now I’ll ask again, where are they?” He said.

“Like I said, I don’t know asshole.”

It might’ve been a mistake calling him an asshole, but in retrospect you felt pretty badass calling him that.

He pushed your back on to the ground, and straddled you, punching your face over and over again. At this point all you felt was pain. You were sure your nose was broken, and maybe even your eardrum popped.

The other ones took the knife and made an incision right above your eyebrow, sure to leave a scar.

You realized that you had meant for Dallas to meet you a few blocks away, so maybe he would hear you if you screamed.

“HELP! DALLAS PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE IM RIGHT HERE PLEASE COME OVER! ITS Y/N!” You tried yelling things that he would recognize, but in your state it was hard to.

Luckily he did, and ran towards you. He was expecting nothing horrible, they wouldn’t do that to you would you? Nah, you’re his girl, no one would do that.

However when he happened upon the scene, his jaw dropped.

Your blood littered the dirt road, turning the dry soil a dark brown. You were laid out, flailing back and forth as some guys kicked you.

“What the fuck are you doing to my girl?” Dallas asked, making all heads turn to him.

He took out his bluff heater, and pointed it at the guy who was punching you.

“I swear to god ill fucking kill you if you don’t leave right now.” He told them, nudging his head towards their car.

All of them ran, speeding off into the now setting sun.

Dallas immediately ran to your side, dropping to his knees and accessing the damage.

It was pretty gruesome. Maybe even worse than Johnny’s beating a couple of months ago.

He some something drip onto his shaking hands, and realized it was one of his tears.

You opened your non swollen eye, feeling your head being lifted into someone’s lap.

“Dal?”

“Hey hey hey I’m here doll we’re going to get you help.” He cooed, petting your hair with his shaky hands.

“Dallas I’m scared, please it hurts everywhere. Im scared Dallas what did they do to me?” You started crying, trying to open your swollen eye.

“Don’t be scared I’m going to get you home, okay? I need to pick you up.” He said, gently pushing his arms under your legs and back.

“This is going to hurt okay? Im sorry.” He said as he picked you up.

You winced feeling your ribs ache.

Dallas walked to your house the fastest anyone probably ever has.

The gang was already worried. You and Dallas were supposed to be home 30 minutes ago. Darry was pacing back and forth while Pony and Sofa sat on the couch, knees bouncing. Twobit was sat on the floor with Steve, both drinking a beer to de stress. Johnny sat in Darry’s unused chair, holding his legs close to him. He was worried for his best friends.

Dallas kicked open the door, holding you in his arms. As he walked in all eyes turned to him, and you.

Sodapop started to sob the moment he saw your figure covered in blood, and Ponyboy just sat there Shellshocked.

The rest of the gang stood up moving away from the door so Dallas could get in.

“What happened?” Darry asked, grabbing you and setting you down on the couch, with your head in Sodapops lap. He was so quiet it was almost hard to hear him.

“I heard her scream from down the road. Five Socs were beating her. She passed out on the way here.” Dallas said, wiping tears away from him face, trying to put on a tough facade.

“Ponyboy go get the first Aid kit right now.” Darry ordered Pony, making you wake up.

“Soda?” You said, looking up at your twin.

“I’m here Y/n, you’re home safe we’re takin care of ya.” He brushed your hair away from your bloodied face, more tears rolling down his face.

“It hurts, so badly.” You said.

“I know honey, it’s gonna be okay we’re going to fix it, just go back to sleep okay?” The nickname from your childhood made you smile, and slowly fall back asleep.

By the time they had fixed you up fully you passed out again, Somehow your nose didn’t break, and no teeth were broken. Your ribs were definitely bruised, but other than that you were okay. Darry had stitched up the cut above your eyebrow, being very careful. You told them the boys who did this to you, and you could see the red flow throughout the room.

“Dallas?” You we’re still laid out on the couch, but Dallas, and the rest of the gang was in the kitchen, talking quietly.

They were already planning on how the beat the fuck out of the dicks who did this to you. They knew where they were right now and we’re just about to leave.

He ran in, and kneeled by your side.

“Hey Doll, everythin’ okay?” He said, looking into your eyes.

“Can you hold me please? I just need you right now.”

Dallas was conflicted. He wanted to take his anger out on the people who did this to you, but you also needed him right now. He knew that he could beat those fuckers whenever he liked, and that he needed to be with you.

“Okay doll, one second jus gotta finish somethin up.”

He whispered, returning back to the kitchen.

“She wants me here right now, but the rest of you guys beat them so bad that they can’t even walk.” He said, eyeing all of them.

“You know we would do anything for her. We’re going to beat the life outta them!” Two bit yelled.

Pony knocked him on the head silently telling him to shut up.

“Don’t worry Dallas. You stay, she needs you right now.” Pony said, locking eyes with Dallas.

“Okay, bye, guys.” Dallas says walking back into the living room where you are.

“Can we go to my room?” You asked.

He silently said yes by picking you up and walking you to your bedroom, placing you on your bed, and joined you, taking off his shoes.

You cuddled into him, embraced by the safety he conveyed for you.

“I love you so much, Dallas, thank you for being there for me.”

“You know me and the rest of the guys would do anything for you? You know that?”

You looked at him and nodded, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, careful not to break your split.

You fell asleep, holding onto him tightly.

When the rest of the guys returned home with bruised knuckles, Dallas smiled.

All of the guys came over to your sleeping figure and gave you a kiss on the forehead, to show their adoration for you.

These guys would do anything for you, and you are so greatful.

[deadmans-girl]

“You’re Welcome” - Dallas Winston (The Outsiders)

(i do not own this GIF)

who: Dallas Winston (The Outsiders) and female Soc y/n

genre: fluff, action

part: 1/?

content: dally protects you from two strangers at the theater

DO NOT REPOST!

never in your life did you think you would be in Dallas Winstons line of vision. you never will forget the first time he saw your face. you were walking into a diner with a couple of your friends. he was leaving with a few of his. he was making a joke to one of the guys and he held open the door absentmindedly, still conversing with his buddies. you thanked him as you walked in and he nodded in the place of a “you’re welcome”. he caught a glimpse of your face as you walked by and he smirked to his friend. he paused before he tapped you on the shoulder to say properly: “you’re welcome” with a raised eyebrow and a slanted smile. you turned around to smile at him as you and your friends went further inside. his friends started to tease him by playfully shoving him. you giggled as he put the shortest one into a headlock and the others had to try and pull him off of him. even your friends started to tease you as you were staring at him through the glass. you tried to conceal the blush that erupted on your face.

ever since that day, he couldn’t get your face out of his head. secretly he would hope that when he was in public he would bump into you again. you also secretly wished that he would find you, somehow or someway. you just didn’t know how long it would take to find him again. after some time, you started to forget about the boy that held the door open for you. until one day.

about six months later, you and your friends decided to go catch a movie at the drive-in. you weren’t particularly excited to see the movie that was playing that night. bored, you got up to “use the bathroom” as an excuse to walk around.

you walked into the store part of the building that offered drinks and popcorn and various candies. you found yourself in a more secluded section of the shop and continued looking around. as you browsed the items mindlessly as you continued to stroll further. you noticed a boy a little ways down that seemed to be eyeing you. you tried not to let it bother you too much, but you felt incredibly uncomfortable by this. you felt his eyes stare deep into your back as something in your gut told you that you needed to get out of there. quickly.

you started backing away, keeping your eyes on the boy, but you gasped when you felt your back hit something…or someone. you collided with another boy who you hadn’t seen before. at this point your head was screaming at you to run but your body was frozen in fear. you could smell the alcohol on the kids breath. they were obviously drunk. the first boy was tall and lanky, but the second one was shorter and more muscular.

“hey, gorgeous. waddya say you come home with us tonight, eh?” he said slightly slurred. you turned and backed away faster but his friend caught up with you before you could get away.

“yeah, baby, cmon. we’ll have a good time” he said with a greasy smile. he grabbed onto your arm and you cried out in pain. you yelled for them to stop but they wouldn’t let go. you had never been so scared in your life.

“-alright thats enough!” said a voice from behind you. you whipped your head around to see a familiar face. he looked at you and your tear stained expression for a second and he become considerably angrier. he got closer to the man and knocked his arm away.

“hey what the fuck is your problem, man?” the first guy said.

“oh you wanna know my problem? how about you dont touch a lady when she doesn’t wanna be touched? dig it?” he practically spat. his words were so menacing it even made you feel tense.

“ha! you’re just mad we’re gonna steal your girl, huh? mind your own business, hood” the second guy said, laughing. they were testing him. you looked up at the boy to see his jaw tighten. quickly, he socked the second boy in the face, cleanly breaking his nose. he cried out in pain as the first boy started to charge him as well. the boy evaded his swing and punched him in the jaw. at that moment, both boys were incapacitated allowing you to escape.

“follow me. run.” the boy said to you. you nodded in agreement and let out a little yelp as he grabbed your hand and ran. you couldn’t help but smile a little from the sudden adrenaline rush and the mysterious, dark haired boy holding your hand.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[impala666]

T.G.I.F

This is my first ever time writing New Girl things. This is a Nick Miller x reader one shot about the both of them doing it in a particular area that they never actually talked about (Nick’s office at the bar). It started out strong, but I started getting tired towards the end so I hope it isn’t a train wreck. I was hoping that there would be more New Girl/Nick Miller stuff on here, but since there isn’t I will make it so.

You have done it! You had successfully finished another work week which meant now you could go visit your man at his bar. Well, of course you visited him practically every day, but since tomorrow was the weekend that meant that you had nothing you had to wake up for in the morning. You could go home with your boyfriend, and most likely spend the whole day in bed in your pajamas. “Hey guys!” You quickly greeted every one of your friends. Schmidt, Winston, Cece, and Jess. You had been friends with Cece and Jess for pretty much your whole life. You even moved with them from Portland to L.A many many years ago, then you met the crazy men you called your family when Jess finally decided to leave Spencer and moved in with Schmidt, Winston Bishop, and a man who would turn out to be very important in your life, Nick Miller. The grumpy, 50 year old man in a 30 year olds sexy, chubby body, who can make you laugh on any given day or almost make you die laughing whenever you are having a bad day. You and Cece thought that Jess and Nick were going to have the thing that went the distance, but apparently that’s not how things turned out. Because as you heard the others greet you, you snuck your way behind the bar and wrapped your arms around the bartenders waist as he leaned over and looked over the books that held all of the information that had to do with The Griffin, which he owned a small chunk of now. 

“Ah!” Nick let out a small and slightly embarrassing little shriek when he felt a pair of small arms wrap around him. “Hey,” the man smiled down at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you closer to him so he could press a quick kiss to your lips, but it lingered for a second longer before he released you. But only so far, according to Schmidt and Winston, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and who cared if they were right. 

“Ha! You fall for that every time.” You laughed and smiled brightly up at him.

“That is because I always have to tell you that you can’t be behind here because the insurance only covers me, Cece, and the other workers here.” Nick lectured you as he took you by the hips and lightly pushed you back out on the other side of the bar. He dropped his head in defeat when Nick looked at you and you just looked up at him through your lashes, batting them, with a blank face. “But I guess I should know better by now that you’re gonna just keep doing it.”

“You really should,” you nodded. 

“I can’t believe it took this long for you to realise that no one can say no to the one and only Y/N.” Jess joked, but only a little. She always admired that you were able to think of something that you wanted, but she knew that you always struggled with your self-esteem and building yourself up. But that was what made you and Nick perfect; even though the both of you had those similar qualities Nick and you always managed to cancel that part of yourselves out and build each other up. Nick looked at Jess while she said that, but then quickly turned to look back at you.

“I know, what a dummy,” you joked. And Nick could tell that you were kidding because the look on your face never changed. You had a dopey smile on your face, while your eyes shimmered like he was the most perfect person in the world. He didn’t think so, but he never liked to argue with you so he just let it be. 

“Take a seat and I’ll get you a drink,” as Nick spoke you found a bar stool next to Schmidt. Before you knew it your favorite was in front of you, cold, and waiting to be enjoyed. You clinked it with Schmidt’s drink in silent cheers before taking a long awaited sip. You let you a relieved sigh; your weekend had officially started. “I really wanna stay, but there’s some stuff for the bar that I gotta take care of.” The man looked at you apologetically. “Oh, it’s fine. I get it,” you waved it off.  “If I need you I know where to find you.” “Damn right, you do.” Nick smiled in agreement. With that he quickly drummed on the bar then turned and grabbed the books and went back to his office.

*******

It was late enough in the night that the entire bar was mostly empty besides Nick who was still in his office working and you. You were still sitting at the bar, all the others had gone back to the loft not too long ago. But you hadn’t seen your boyfriend all day so you decided to hang back with him and wait. However, as you sat at the empty bar by yourself you started to get bored, who wouldn’t. Plus there was always something you had wanted to try, and with the whole bar being completely empty it was the perfect time. So of course when you got up from your seat you grabbed two tumblr glasses and Nick’s favorite whiskey. You entered the office, standing in front of Nick’s desk as the man looked up from one of the books with his face in his palm. His eye looking out from between his fingers. But that quickly changed when he saw you walk in and the whiskey in your hand. You placed the glasses on the desk, poured two glasses, then took it upon yourself to walk around the desk and hand him his glass. After taking your sip of the burning but wonderful liquid, you placed your glass down and wrapped your arms around Nick’s shoulders and resting your hand on his chest. Gently rubbing as you brought the side of your face to his; your lips behind his ear. “How’s it going?” You wondered.

“Good, I think I’m finally almost done.” Nick answered leaning back into you as he ran a hand down his face, then took a sip of the whiskey you brought him. Knowing how badly he was going to need it. The man took one of your hands on his chest and kissed it before he stood up to find something in one of the filing cabinets that he needed. “Did everyone leave for the night?” He asked with his back to you as he ruffled through the cabinet.

“Yeah, and I locked up everything for you.” You let him know, to which he thanked you. “Uh, Nick?” Nick hmmed in acknowledgement. “Since everyone’s gone, there was always something that I’ve wanted to try.” Nick finally turned around, and what he found immediately made him drop the sheet that was in his hand float to the ground. Nick was now looking at everything scattered on the ground around the desk and you sitting on top of it with a not-so-innocent smile. 

“Really?” Nick asked, but the smirk on his face wasn’t helping him seem nonchalant. You bit your bottom lip and nodded. “You wanna do this too?” More excitement grew in his eyes.

“Yeah for a whi-” you were attacked by passionate lips on yours and your neck and hands gripping your hips.

“I love you! I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” What Nick said made you started to laugh, but the way he was kissing you and the way his lips travelled on your neck and jaw had you losing your laughing and leading you into moans.

“Oh, I love you, too.” You told Nick as your hands quickly rushed to the top button of his flannel shirt.

“Okay, okay,” NIck said out of breath. “Less talking, more removal of the clothes.” Once all was gone, Nick had you laying down on the desk and him on top of you. ‘Well,’ you thought. ‘If only Friday had come sooner.’

[cades-outsider]

Johnny Cade X Reader

Warnings: None

Broken

Most of your days consisted of spending time with the Curtis's. It was just a known thing, you were also the only girl in the gang and they protected you with their lives.

It made you feel so special, they wanted you to feel special because you were the only girl they would ever allow in the gang. Even some of the boys girlfriends didn’t know the gang nor you.

You even got along with Dallas, not many people get along with Dallas Winston and that’s saying a lot. Dallas didn’t just like you because you were a girl and had all the parts, but he liked you because of your personality. You were apart of them and you understood them like no others.

You were also kind of like the mom in the group, when they got into rumbles you would patch them up and take care of them.

You could say that your favorite person in the gang for sure though was Johnny Cade, also known as johnnycakes.

He hardly joined the rumbles, only when they really needed him. Ever since he got jumped by bob he was jumpy to most touch. So fighting wasn’t really in the picture right now.

It was bad enough his parents treated him like they did, but the socs on the other hand was enough to make someone weak and broken.

Johnny would mostly hang out with you during rumbles, you would talk, laugh, and joke around to the point where you started falling in love with the puppy eye'd boy, also another nickname for Johnnycakes.

You really didn’t know how to express your feelings, the only think you knew how to do was ignore people that you liked.

It was a coping mechanism that you had set, it also made everything awkward though. The constant avoiding made forceful comments awkward and even Johnny could feel it.. of course he could.

It made him feel like he was more broken that he realized, though the mechanism you used made you feel better about your feelings it hurt Johnny more, it made him think you wouldn’t ever want to be seen with him or be with a broken boy like him.

He was very insecure in that area, his confidence was definitely not low. From the constant pain he would receive from his own parents and socs just lowered his confidence, therefore he was super quiet so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself.

With that being said you were at the Curtis's along with the rest of the gang, including Johnny of course. He kept the group together.

Dallas started joking around and talking with you, you started interfering back and sparking conversations with him, little jokes here and there but all platonically considering your love for a certain puppy eye’d boy.

Suddenly Johnny felt very left out, he was the only one in the group that wasn’t speaking. It seemed that no one realized well to him, you noticed it but you didn’t know what to do.

Johnny was sitting right next to you, so it made it harder to ignore his heating presents. You were practically touching arms and legs, you could feel the heat radiating from his body and it sent goosebumps up your skin.

Your breathing started picking up once your brain realized everything, your heart sped up until suddenly that warmth was replace with cold air as Johnny got up, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking outside on the porch.

A few seconds later you excused yourself and decided on checking up on Johnny, walking outside on the porch you close both the screen door and the main door wanting to have as much privacy as the thin house could maintain.

The sound of the screen door closing caught Johnny’s attention from blowing smoke up in the air. You didn’t condone smoking to much, but somehow Johnny always looked so hot doing tricks like that.

You walk over to the rocking chair beside him and take a seat, "hey Johnny" You awkwardly say.

"Y/n" he tilts his head towards you.

You sighed as you let silence fall over you two, "ya know, I never thought I’d say this but I really like you Y/n" Johnny finally admits looking up from playing with his fingers.

Your heart drops as you realize you practically ignored him and he felt the same. "I guess you ignorin' me confirmed you don’t like me back" He says, and you can practically hear the hurt behind his voice.

"Johnny I-" you don’t even get to finish the sentence before Johnny speaks back up.

"It’s okay Y/n, I understand I’m to broken for me to..." He sniffles, getting up stuffing his hands in his pockets and rushing down the street.

"Wait! Johnny!" You speak up rushing towards him, but he doesn’t stop walking except he speed up his pace.

"Johnny!" You finally catch up to him gently grabbing onto his arm and stepping in front of him.

You get a good look at his face, he has tears forming from his eyes. He turned his head away from you, embarrassed from showing you weak feelings.

"Johnny look at me please..." You trail off, using your finger to guide him to look at you. Eventually he does.

"I’m sorry I didn’t say this before, but I love you to Johnny" You admit with red cheeks.

"Really? You’re not just sayin' that because you feel bad?" He sniffles.

"Of course not, I’m in love with you Johnny Cade" You smile grabbing his hands and interwinding them, bringing your body’s closer.

Johnny blushes as he pull you in a much needed hug, he digs his head in the crook of your neck "I’m in love with ya' to Y/n" He states shyly.

You both pull away from the hug, gazing into each other’s eyes "can I kiss you?" You question, wanting to make sure incase you overstepped any boundaries.

Johnny nods and you seal your lips together, his lips press firmly but still gently agains his chapped lips, he tasted like smoke and vanilla and honestly it was addicting to you.

He places his hand on your jaw and pulls you in closer, you both pull away gently "wow you taste' good" You blush.

"I’m sorry that sounded weird" You confirm scrunching you your nose, Johnny blushed as he lets out stutters of words.

"N-no it’s great' you taste wow'" Johnny blushes as he looks at the ground.

"Wanna' go to the lot?" You question grabbing his hand.

Johnny nods as you began your journey to the lot, if anyone would have told you that you would be here 5 minutes ago you would have laughed, but not anymore and you were thankful for that.

_______________________________________________

This was requested by @peachymelon69

[sihtricswife]

Johnny Cade x Fem!reader, Dallas Winston x Fem!reader.

summary: Johnny has a crush on the reader and Dallas knows this, he approaches her and tries to sweet talk her but instead she asks Johnny out right in front of him.

warnings: bit of swearing, rejection which is pretty triggering for Dallas.

English is not my first language! Book descriptions!

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

"Hey Johnnycakes, you do know nothin's gonna happen from just starin' at her right?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. Of course he knew that, but he wasn't confident enough to actually ask her out so he chose to stick with admiring her from afar.

Dallas didn't really help with his confidence problem, in fact he just made it worse. It was like he was sucking all the confidence out of the air and refused to share it with someone who needed it.

He decided to play with the situation a bit when y/n stood up from her table at the café and came walking past them to exit the building.

Just as she walked by Dallas stood up and blocked her path to the door. He smirked charmingly and fiddled playfully with the toothpick between his lips, his signature move. It usually made all the girls swoon but y/n just looked annoyed. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, putting her weight on on foot and cocking her hip out. She stared right back at him and her vicious glare almost made Dallas recoil.

"What do you want Winston, I've got places to be and things to do." She demanded, smiling sarcastically. The boy in front of her simply chuckled and looked at his friend who was sitting at the table, looking uncomfortable and slightly jealous,

"Whoah Princess, no need to be so hostile," When she didn't say anything and just continued to glare at him he went on, "Go out with me, we'll get some drinks, watch a movie, and when you're home with me I might get to see what's underneath that pretty little dress. What do ya say?"

Y/n had to hold herself back from strangling the blond, she knew about Dallas Winston's shenanigans with almost all the girls in town and she wasn't about to be added to that list.

Her cold glare turned into a sweet smile and she took a step towards him, putting her hand on his chest, "You know, I get why all the girls fall to their knees before you, unfortunately-" She paused and stepped even closer to him, sliding her hand from his chest to his neck and leaning close to his ear. Then she brought her knee up and hit him right in his groin causing him to double over in pain. Still leaning close to his ear she continued in a low voice, "My type ain't arrogant juvenile assholes."

Johnny, who was still sitting at the table, snorted loudly, but looked down shyly when y/n looked at him. She smiled softly at him, a genuine smile, and then she spoke up, "Your friend Johnny over here is though."

Y/n had seen Johnny staring at her a couple of times and she was definitely intrigued by him. He was handsome, with his tanned skin and his dark eyes. His long hair falling over his forehead almost always hiding his face. And unlike Dallas he didn't go around harassing every soul he came by. He seemed sweet, but he was incredibly shy. Luckily for him, y/n wasn't.

"So how about you Johnny, wanna go out with me?"

Jonny was shocked to say the least, the girl he had been pining over for weeks had just asked him out. He was still as a statue for a couple moments, when he finally did speak up his voice was quiet and timid,

"Uh, yeah, yeah definitely."

Y/n smiled widely and pushed Dallas, who was still recovering, away from her.

"Great, meet me at the Diary Queen, tomorrow night. 8:00 don't be late." With one last smile to Johnny and a pat on the back to Dallas y/n walked out of the café.

Johnny was smiling brightly when Dallas sat back down in front of him. The older of the two looked completely lost. His shock was evident in his voice when he perked up again,

"What the hell just happend?"

[unproduciblesmackdown]

if i've posted it once i'll post it again [this relayed experience re: someone being autistic = Winston (Billions)]

[bi-bard]

Through Every Nightmare...-Will Graham Imagine (Hannibal)

Title: Through Every Nightmare...

Pairing: Will Graham X Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 1,700 words

Warning(s): Nightmares, mentions of manipulation, mentions of mental illness, cussing

Summary: (Late Season 1) (Y/n) wanted the best for Will. Always had. So when (Y/n) gets a hint that others are fighting to tear him apart- whether they were aware of it or not- (Y/n) had to step up and draw a line in the sand. Evil can only go so far when good actually stared it in the face. 

Author’s Note: Hey... look what’s been added to the list!

Please consider supporting my Ko-fi account. It would mean a lot to me. If I know there are people interested in it, I’ll get the monthly donation part set up. 

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/khoward0 

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

I happily scratched one of the dogs behind their ears as I fix my sleeping bag. The dog stepped closer, starting to lick my face, making me chuckle. 

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I looked over to Will as he spoke.

“I figured it would make both of us more comfortable,” I replied, standing up completely. 

“So the long scarf is going to be more comfortable?”

“A light piece of fabric versus a whole human body? Yeah, I think the long scarf would be more comfortable.”

“I see your point,” he chuckled. 

I waited for him to lay down before grabbing the long scarf from my bag. I tied one end around his wrist and held up my arm so he could tie the other end around mine.

“Would you mind telling me the method to your madness,” Will asked. I pulled my arm, making his move as well.

“When you have a nightmare or start sleepwalking, I’ll feel you pull on my arm,” I explained. “I’ll be able to help you sooner.”

“Where’d you get this tip?”

“An old friend did this with his mom when he started taking care of her,” I shrugged. “I just thought that it would be helpful.”

“Thank you,” he grinned at me. I nodded one before laying down and getting comfortable. 

“Goodnight Will,” I said softly, noticing him shifting with his blanket.

“Goodnight, (Y/n),” he replied. 

A few hours later, there was a sharp pull on my arm. I instantly woke up, coming to my senses. The dogs were almost all surrounding the bed, worried about their owner, especially Winston, who had started nudging me with his nose. 

“Will,” I said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey, Will.”

He sweating a lot and shaking. He was still pulling away from something. I gently touched his arm, hesitantly shaking him. 

“Will,” my voice was a little louder. With a sigh, I grabbed his shoulders and gave him one solid shove. I sat back as he sat up quickly.

He was panting, trying to focus on what was around him. His dream had muddled with reality for a moment before he looked at me. The next thing I knew, I was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. Will hid his face in my neck and I gently ran my fingers through his hair as I hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, sounding like he was near tears. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” I mumbled. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Slowly, his breathing calmed down. I switched from playing with his hair to rubbing his back. He seemed to pull me even closer.

“Do you want some water or anything,” I asked. He shook his head. “Okay, let me at least get you a new blanket.”

“Don’t go,” he begged. 

I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me, “Okay, I won’t.”

I don’t know how long we sat like that and I didn’t care. I just wanted to know that he was alright. That’s all I ever wanted. 

--Time Skip--

A few days later, I found myself at the door to Jack Crawford’s office. I gently knocked, waiting for him to tell me to come in. I shut the door behind me carefully and sat in the chair on the other side of his desk.

“May I ask what this is about,” he asked.

“It’s about Will,” I said. “I don’t think he should be in the field.”

“If this is about him becoming disoriented, I’ve been told that he’s fine.”

“That’s not it, sir,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry but I don’t think you’re being told everything. Will is having intense nightmares and he’s having episodes of sleepwalking. I believe that the intensity of these episodes are at least partly due to the work he’s doing in the field.”

“Has Will told you that he’s having trouble?”

“Does Will commonly admit that to people?”

“Agent Crawford,” I turned around to see Dr. Lecter in the doorway. 

“Dr. Lecter, come in, we were just discussing Will’s current mental state,” Jack said.

I looked away, now looking towards the floor. I didn’t have any evidence but I had a feeling that Hannibal had also been manipulating Will in some way. I noticed the startling connection between Hannibal’s therapy and Will’s behavior. 

“Sir, I was just looking out for a co-worker,” I explained. “I’m sure that Dr. Lecter and Dr. Bloom would agree that the field is taking an obvious toll on Will.”

“I have to agree Agent (Y/l/n),” Hannibal added. “The field is a dangerous place for him to be.”

“Will is saving lives,” Jack replied. “I wouldn’t ask him to do something if I didn’t think he could handle it.”

“You’re willing to risk Will’s life for others,” I asked. “Not just physically, you’re asking him to sacrifice his stability for your work.”

“I believe you’re speaking out of term, Agent,” Jack glared at me. I clenched my jaw. “Now, I suggest you leave and calm down before I get angry.”

“One more thing, Sir,” I asked. He nodded. “I’ve spent almost a week with Will. I’ve watched his nightmares and his sleepwalking episodes. He doesn’t just wake up a little sweaty. He’s cried and broken down. He’s absolutely terrified... not of what he saw but he’s scared of his own mind. I can only help so much without your support and Dr. Lecter’s support. I’m sorry for overstepping but I don’t want him to fall over the edge for you.”

“Have a good day, Agent,” Jack said bluntly.

I stood up and walked out quickly, trying to hide any emotion that could’ve shown on my face.

“Agent (Y/l/n),” I turned around to face Hannibal. “I’m glad someone else said something. Jack has yet to listen to my suggestion that the field is hurting Will.”

“I was just looking out for him.”

“I can assure you,” Hannibal grabbed my arm as I tried to walk away. It was like he could sense how I felt about his work. “We are on the same mission here, (Y/n). We both just want to help.”

“I’m sure we are,” I faked a smile before turning and walking away. I just wish I knew what Hannibal was doing.

--Time Skip--

A few days later, I was standing in the waiting room of Hannibal’s office. I knew it was risky. Something deep in my stomach made me think that this was a dangerous situation to be in. I straightened my spine as the door of the office opened.

“Agent (Y/l/n), what a delightful surprise, come on in,” he stepped out of the way, letting me walk in.

I only walked in as far I had to in order to get through the door. I simply stepped to the side to let Hannibal shut it after me. 

“May I ask what this is about,” he asked, walking towards his desk.

“I want you to know that I’m not accusing you of anything and I’m just asking questions,” I explained before asking anything. “But my questions are going to be blunt... why are you manipulating Will?”

“Well, that certainly sounds like an accusation,” Hannibal chuckled. “Why do you think I’m manipulating him?”

“His episodes,” I said. “I know the work in the field has also harmed in but it all happened so fast. I just want the truth, Hannibal.”

For a moment, I thought I saw something similar to guilt flash across his face. It’s gone as soon as it’s there, “As far as I can tell, you love Will, yes?”

I nodded.

“You’re in love with him?”

I nodded again. 

“I promise that I don’t have any intention of harming Will,” he placed a hand on my shoulder. Deep in my gut, I didn’t believe what he was saying but I couldn’t argue with him because I didn’t have any evidence. “If I’m overstepping, or I’m doing more harm than good, tell me.”

“I will,” I said bluntly. “Never doubt that.”

“I’ll be sure not to,” he grinned. “I have a patient coming in soon. I do hope that I get to see you under better circumstances next time.”

“Me too,” I nodded once before turning around and walking out. 

I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. Especially because I didn’t know where to go from here.

--Time Skip--

“Hey,” I said as I walked into Will’s place. I scratched the dogs’ heads as I walked in. Will was standing there with his arms crossed. “You look like an angry parent.”

“Why the hell did you go talk to Jack,” he asked.

“Because you’re obviously not okay and I’m tired of waiting for him to notice,” I explained. “If you’re looking for an apology, you’re not going to get one.”

“Hannibal told me that you saw him too,” Will added. He took few steps closer to me. “He said that you admitted something interesting along with your question of whether he was manipulating me or not.”

“What was that,” I asked, trying to ignore the shock that I felt when Will held eye contact with me.

“That you loved me,” he said, stepping even closer. “That you were in love with me.”

“And if I were?”

“Being willing to sleep on my floor would make a lot of sense,” Will smirked. I think he had just noticed how close we actually were.

“Will,” I said softly. He hummed. “You’re making eye contact.”

“I know,” he replied, grinning at me. “Can I...”

I nodded. Will leaned down and kissed me gently. I felt my cheeks heat up as I carefully touched his sides. He cupped the sides of my face. I pulled back slowly, letting out a breathy, nervous laugh. Will smiled at me. 

“Will you... stay with me tonight,” Will asked, “not in the sleeping bag but next to me in the bed.”

“Sure,” I nodded. “Of course. Whenever you want.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “For everything.”

I grinned and kissed him again. I felt like my efforts had some value. I was doing something right. I was trying to help him... and he knew that.

And that meant everything to me.

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

Masterlist

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[ttorystory]

Mare of Easttown 1x05 Fix it Fic

tv show: Mare of Easttown

pairing: Colin Zabel x Mare Sheehan

spoilers: ep 5 - Illusions

summary: No one except the bad motherf*cker gets killed because we live in a happier world where killing Evan Peter's adorable character is illegal. We can hurt him a lil' bit though. Because we like to suffer-- or at least I do. I'm so sorry. But it's for the bOnDinG reasons, you know.

warnings: shooting, blood, swearing, Colin's cute smile

word count: 1,086

A/N: OH MY GOD, IT'S HAPPENING. I've written my first ever fanfic in English. So it's like, elementary school level of English for which I apologize in advance. BUT I strongly encourage you to let me know about any and every one of my mistakes so I can fix them right away! It'll get better in the next chapters, I promise (I hope). Yes, I do plan a few more chapters. I mean, this is really just a short one, because I wanted to write an ending that episode should have had. But I wanna see Mare visiting Colin in hospital. I wanna see their second date. I wanna see Colin having the future he deserves.

Okay, so that would be all from me for now. If you decide to comment, whether in a positive or a negative way, I will be very grateful. Thank you and enjoy the fic.

“Mare.”

She turns her head towards the quiet call and glances over the table. In a pile of unwashed mugs and other garbage, there is an ashtray full of cigarette butts, and a half-empty pack.

Winstons.

This place is stinking from the very start and her suspicion is growing with every passing second.

“Zabel,” she whispers, reaching to her belt and reminding him there is nothing there, as she is officially still suspended. “No gun.”

It is a signal that it is he who has to be prepared if anything goes down with the odd guy. Her gaze follows the direction he’d gone, awaiting the music to stop. But her colleague quietly addresses her again.

“Mare.”

His hand outstretched, he is handing her his gun. Mare hesitates for a second, but there isn’t much time to discuss the topic, so she just takes it and hides it under her jacket quickly.

Besides, Mare knows it is a good move. She trusts Zabel and she knows he is capable, but he doesn’t have that much experience. God knows if he ever actually used the gun out in the field before. In some situations, it’s either you or the other man, and if you wanna survive you have to act quickly. And this situation? She has a bad fucking feeling about it.

Her intuition is proven right when only minutes later the bastard, Mr. Potts, shoots Zabel. He would have killed him on the spot if she didn’t shoot the man at the exact same time, diverting the bullet.

After a few endless minutes of shooting and fighting, Potts finally drops dead. Mare sinks down to her knees, panting. Those poor girls are screaming upstairs but she knows they can wait a little longer, now there is nothing to cause them any more harm. There is a person though who needs more acute help.

“Zabel!”

Her colleague is half lying on the floor, half leaning on a cupboard, squeezing his left shoulder and shaking. Mare hurries to him, taking her jacket off so she can cover him partially.

“Zabel, it’s over. Help's on the way, okay?”

She takes off her shirt as well and tries to tie it around his shoulder somehow so that the wound would stop bleeding. Zabel groans in pain but holds still.

“You’re hurt,” he says softly, panting.

Mare gives her bleeding wrist a quick look. The adrenaline running in her veins caused her to forget the injury. There is probably some small wound on her face as well, but it is nothing compared to the risk Zabel is exposed to at the moment.

“Yeah, well, you’re more hurt. Keep the pressure here,” she says, pressing his palm onto the coverage of the wound. The bleeding seems bad, but the bullet didn't hit any important organ. The police and ambulance will be here in no time. He should be fine. He has to be.

“I knew why-- why I was giving you-- the gun,” Zabel continues through the pain, his eyes looking and their hands pressed on his shoulder.

“Well, there’s gonna be a shitload of paperwork about this mess,” she smirks gloomily. Two officers - one of them off duty - injured, one dead weirdo, two missing girls being held in the attic. Mare brushes some hair away from her face, checking if there is blood on her fingers. This might be the first time she is kinda glad she is suspended.

“Mare, you-- you saved--”

Even though trying to say something, Zabel’s head starts falling to a side as his eyes are slowly about to close. Mare grabs him by the chin immediately.

“Hey, hey, eyes up! Stay with me, Zabel! The ambulance is here in a minute!” she orders, the tone of her voice urgent, while still holding his chin and trying to keep his gaze focused on her face.

A smile appears on the young man’s face.

“‘course I wanna stay with you… Mare.”

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes in disbelief. “You’re being smooth now?”

That adorable, boy-like smile of his. Giving it to her even while basically fighting the loss of consciousness. What a dumbo. Her lips curl into a faint smile, too.

Glancing away, Mare realizes that girls who had been silent for a while are making hell of a noise again. And she knows why right away - there are police and ambulance sirens roaring nearby, approaching them finally.

Mare moves herself closer to the door so she can kick it more open. Swiftly she returns back to her colleague, whose head and hand are falling, obviously tired, again.

“They’re here, Zabel. You gotta hold on,” she urges him, one hand pressed on his wound, the other slapping his face slightly. She can hear several vehicles stopping outside of the house.

“Look at me, Zabel. Zabel! Colin!”

He mumbles something right just as the police officers and paramedics burst inside and the room around Mare starts to fill up.

Someone helps her to her feet, other people are taking care of Colin. She hears names and ranks, she tells them theirs, and then they are taking her outside, but she has one more important thing to say.

“There’re girls... they’re locked upstairs!” she shouts to the officers, turning backward partially. “Katie! Katie Bailey and…”

“That’s okay, ma’am, they’ll look into it,” a paramedic assures her, as he is guiding her to the ambulance. Mare sees Colin lying on the medical stretches, being taken to the vehicle alongside her.

“You okay?” she asks when he is next to her, even though he is lying with an oxygen mask over his face and eyes barely opened. She looks at the other paramedic. “Will he be fine?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Don’t you fucking dare dying, Zabel!” she says warningly. She thinks she hears him murmur an answer and it calms her down a bit. He just can’t die. He won’t.

She sits where the paramedic tells her to and she lets him treat injuries, not listening to what he is saying to her.

People around her should stop fucking dying.

“Maybe you should lie down?” the man suggests.

“I’m fine.”

He’ll be fine as well. He has to be. They’ll take care of his shoulder and he’ll get through it.

She spots an officer coming up to her. She knows her, it’s Sergeant Diane Gibbson from this district.

Fuck, she’ll even go on another date with him if he asks.

Sergeant nods in greeting.

“Mare.”

[clanoffetts]

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

Chapter III

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blossoms.

warnings/things to note: swearing; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); no use of ‘Y/N’; my fc for Paz is Winston Duke, I don’t describe Paz too much at the moment, but just know that’s who I picture!

word count: 6.4k

karyai - main living room of the covert - a big chamber for talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack.

ba’vodu - uncle/aunt

-

The birds of Yavin IV’s song was calming as you came into full consciousness. The sleep from the night before was much needed, and very refreshing. You opened your eyes and looked to where Paz had been before you’d fallen asleep. He wasn’t there. Neither was your sleep mask. “Kriff!” You flung your body onto your right side, looking away from Paz’s side of the bed.  

Shit. Shit. Shit. You’d told him you wouldn't look. Hell, you told him it was impossible for you to look. And here you are, no mask over your eyes. What if he’d been there? After all the time you’d spent convincing him to share the bed with you, that it’d be safe. Sure, you hadn’t actually seen him, but the possibility frightened you. You couldn’t violate him like that, even if it was an accident. You couldn’t live with yourself. 

A few minutes of deep breathing later, you got out of bed, and headed into the ‘fresher. You wanted so badly to take another shower, to relax under the water, but you knew it was important to save water, not sure if the covert had water to spare for your journey. You’d have to be content with washing your face and pretending. 

You stared in the mirror, into your own eyes. You replayed the night before: the vibroblade that now sat with your stuff, the idea of Paz taking you to his home and meeting his family, learning his traditions. The pure bliss you were in as you fell asleep, and then the violent jerk of the morning’s close call. Your eyes were no longer as tired as they had been when you’d looked at yourself last night. 

You threw on jeans and a shirt, and finally left the safety of the ‘fresher. Would Paz be mad about the mask coming off? He was so hesitant as it was, you were terrified that this would push him away, make him realize that there’s too much risk in a relationship with a non-Mando. 

“Kebiin’ika?” Paz called as he heard the door to the bedroom open. 

“Yeah?”

He stood up and met you halfway between the room and the common area. “How’d you sleep?” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a half hug before leading you to the table you’d sat at the night before.

“Pretty good,” you said, taking a seat. “Paz?” He hummed and sat down a bowl of some type of porridge in front of you. “Are you mad at me?”

The helmet snapped up to look at you. “Why would I be mad? If you think you broke the towel rack in the ‘fresher, you haven’t. It’s always been like that.”

“No, Paz,” you said. “About the sleep mask. It came off last night. I’m so sorry, I thought it would stay on. I’m not really a wild sleeper so I don’t know how it happened, but I understand if you’re mad at me-”

“Kebiin’ika,” he says, cutting you off. You suck in a big breath, not realizing how long you’d been rambling. “It’s not that big of a deal to me, it was an accident. You didn’t see my face, right?” 

You nodded. “Right.”

“See? No creeds broken,” he says. He can tell you’re still a little shaken up, and moves to lay his large, gloved hand over your small one. “If I didn’t trust you, mesh’la, I would’ve slept on the cot. I knew the mask came off when I woke up this morning, but I trust you enough that I know you wouldn’t use the opportunity of me being asleep to look, even on accident.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you swear you could hear a smile on his face. “Are you sure? I know I didn’t see anything this time, but I would understand if you want me to take the cot from now on.” He ushered you closer to him, his arm around you. It was a bit awkward with all his armor and clothes, but the heart was there. “Kebiin’ika,” he said. “I’m comfortable with sleeping the way we did last night as long as you are. I’m not worried.”

You sighed, leaning into him. The beskar was cold and you just wanted to feel him, his warm skin. “Ok,” you say. “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”

“Good,” he replies. “Now, why don’t you finish eating while I call the covert. Tell them that I’ll be there shortly to pick up some of our supplies, ok?”

You nodded, and he let you out of his embrace. While spooning the food into your mouth, you watched him at the hull, punching some numbers into his gauntlet and then speaking in what you assumed was Mando’a. It was such a beautiful language, especially coming from Paz’s mouth. And he spoke it with a pride in his voice that he didn’t have when speaking Basic. 

“Alright, mesh’la,” he said as you got to the bottom of the bowl. “I’ll be back soon, no more than two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“Yes, two hours,” he laughed. “It may be sooner, but you never know. Mandalorians take a long time to say goodbye.”

You smiled at him. “Alright, have fun,” you say.

“Oh, I will,” he replies. You watched as the mountain of blue beskar exited the ship and mounted the speeder the two of you rode the day before. A lot has changed since then, you thought. Before you knew it, Paz Vizsla was gone and a dirt cloud took his place.

-

Paz’s ride back to his home didn’t take too long at all. And when he arrived, he spotted Din and Grogu on some rocks outside the entrance. 

“C’mon, Grogu,” Din is saying. “You can do it.” Grogu sat on a rock opposite Din, with his eyes closed. In Din’s hand was Grogu’s beskar ball. Grogu and his ball were inseparable. 

As Paz dismounted and began walking towards the hangar, Grogu’s eyes shot open and he let out an excited shriek. Paz didn’t speak fifty-year-old-toddler, but he figured it was something along the lines of “ba’vodu!”. 

Din turned around, too, and stood. He picked up his little foundling and greeted Paz half way. “How was your evening?”

“Nice,” Paz says. “Yours?”

Din nods. “Mine was ok, but I don’t have a pretty mechanic in my room like you do.”

Paz rolled his eyes. “Din, it’s not like that.” 

Grogu made a sound of protest. “Hm,” Din said. “My Jedi son seems to think differently. He’s never wrong about these things…” Din teases. 

Paz stops just as they’re about to open the blast doors. “Din, Grogu,” Paz says. “Just between us?”

“Just between us,” Din says, and Grogu babbles. 

Paz sighed, was he really doing this? He was. “We’re courting.”

“I knew it!” Din exclaims, and Grogu laughs. “I knew it, Paz. So what’d you give her?”

Paz patted the empty sheath. “Vibroblade.”

“Classic,” Din says. “What will you propose marriage with? Something of her homeworld’s tradition? Or wait and exchange blades that Armorer makes?”

Paz shakes his head, and he’s smiling beneath his bucket. “Maker, Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Though he figured it’d be blades. You didn’t seem too fond of being reminded of Alderaan. “But I’ll put your name in if we need a wedding planner.”

“You better,” Din replies. “Armorer will want to know, too.”

Paz nodded. “I know. I’m not sure I’ll tell her this time. I don’t want word getting out.”

“She won’t tell anyone, you know that.”

“I know, but still,” Paz said, finally punching in the code and opening the doors. “But we’ve got a covert of eavesdroppers.”

There was a child tending to one of his chores just inside, and as soon as he spotted Paz, he practically lunged at him. “Paz!”

“Hey, ad’ika,” Paz says, taking the young kid up onto one of his arms. “I didn’t get to see you yesterday!”

“I know,” he said. “My buir had me at home practicing math. Math! Can you believe it?”

Paz laughed. “Knowing your buir? Yes, yes I can.” 

The group walked further inside the winding the halls of the covert, adding new people to their crew as they saw them. Eventually they reached the karyai, and everyone got comfortable on the many cushions, chairs, and sofas littered about the room.

Paz stayed standing. “Sorry, everyone,” he said when he noticed their disappointment that he wasn’t going to be there long. “But I’ve got my end of a deal to hold up, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” Paz noticed that at the mention of a her, helmets turned to the side, looking at each other, silently gossiping. 

“Then come in here, Paz,” Armorer says, at the doorway to her forge. “And we’ll discuss what you need.” 

Paz obeyed, making his way through all the Mandalorians relaxing in the karyai. He closed the door behind him, and sat at Armorer’s table. “We’ve compiled some things for your journey,” she says. “It’s not much, but it’s what we have. It’s in the hangar, I’m sure Clan Djarin would be happy to assist you in taking it back to your ship.”

“I’m sure it’s more than enough,” Paz replies. “Thank you, Armorer.”

She nodded. “Now, how happy was your mechanic at being left on the ship for so long yesterday?” 

Paz could hear her smirk. “She got bored. Wasn’t there when I got back,” he said. “I almost lost my mind, but she was just in the little town, shopping.”

Armorer let out a soft chuckle. “And you’re trying to tell everyone you aren’t smitten? Maker, Vizsla, I’d think you’d be better with convincing by now.”

Paz sighed. “You’d think.” 

Armorer’s stare bore into him. For Mandalorians, it usually wasn’t intimidating when another looked at you through their visor. It was normal. But Armorer’s presence was different, she was intimidating. “Where is your vibroblade?” 

Kriff. “It’s right here,” he said, patting the sheath on his left side, where his second vibroblade sat. 

“No, not that one,” she said. “The one I forged for you when you donned your helmet. I swear you had it yesterday.”

Well, he might as well tell her at this point. She wouldn’t believe that he’d lost it, this blade had Mandalorian and Vizsla carvings in it, he rarely used it in combat. “Don’t tell anyone this,” Paz said. “I want it to be a secret for now, ok?”

She nodded. 

“I gave it to her. The mechanic.”

Armorer sucked in a breath so sharp that her vocoder picked it up. “As a courtship proposal?” Paz nodded. “I wish you both many blessings, many warriors,” she said. Paz didn’t know if you wanted warriors, but Armorer’s blessings were traditional, and carried a lot of weight.

“Thank you, Armorer,” he replies. “I will pass along the message.”

“If you two are courting, then why didn’t you bring her here? Are you still going on your journey?”

Paz nodded. “She has unfinished business in the Hosnian system,” he didn’t tell her what business. It wasn’t his place, and Armorer understood. “We’ll be back, though I’m not sure when.”

“Long hyperspace travel will be good for your relationship.” Armorer entered counselor mode. “Building trust and love.”

Paz always felt a bit awkward when she became a psychologist. So he just nodded. “Anyways, you said the supplies were in the hangar?” 

She nodded. “Take care of her, Paz,” she said. They both stood. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Paz repeated. 

Paz exited the Armorer’s workshop. Back in the karyai, some people had gone back to their rooms or to tend to their duties, but many still sat around. “Din?” Paz said to his friend.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t happen to know where Bezza is, do you?”

Din nodded. “Last I saw she was in one of the sparring rooms.” Paz thanked him and headed off down one of the long corridors towards the training rooms. 

All the sparring room doors were open except one. Paz opened it gently, and looked inside. Bezza wielded the beskar staff Din had brought back with him. She was sparring with a reprogrammed droid, the only one in the covert. Paz watched with pride as she jabbed at the droid, careful not to hurt it too much. There were still children that would need to learn from sparring with the machine. 

As she landed a final blow, the droid declared her the winner, and she backed off. Paz clapped from his place at the door. “That was very impressive,” he said. “You’ve gotten used to the armor quite well.”

“Paz!” She dropped the staff and walked towards her friend. “No one told me you were here.” 

“That’s probably best,” Paz said. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not repeat it, ok?”

Bezza nodded. “Ok. But if you tried to bring a Loth-cat in again, I’m not making any promises.”

Paz laughed. “It’s not a Loth-cat. It’s about my girl.”

“Your girl?”

Paz nodded. “We’re courting.” 

Bezza threw her arms around her ba’vodu. “Paz that’s wonderful!” Their beskar sang as he patted Bezza on the back. When she finally let go she said, “Are you guys staying here? When do you think you’ll marry? I know Mandalorian courtships tend to not last long, but she’s not a Mandalorian so-”

Paz cut off her rambling by saying, “I don’t know. Like I told Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Bezza laughed. “Of course you haven’t. How many people have you told, Paz? You know if you tell the wrong person, your courtship will be the topic at many dinner tables tonight.”

“I know,” Paz replied. “Only you, Din, and Armorer know.”

“Ok,” she said. “So I take it you’re not going to stay here?”

Paz shook his head. “We’re off to Hosnian Prime as soon as I get back with the supplies.” Somehow, Paz could sense Bezza’s disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there for her, help her through her losses, but he’d made a promise to you. A Mandalorian’s honor was their everything. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, but we’ll be coming back here. Maybe even to stay.”

“What’s even on Hosnian Prime?”

Paz sighed. He wanted to tell her, to give her a detailed reason so maybe she felt better. But, again, it wasn’t his place. “She has some business to take care of, Bez.”

She nodded, somewhat satisfied. “Can I walk with you to the hangar?” Paz nodded and they left the sparring room. All the way there, Bezza asked questions in typical teenage fashion. What’s her name? What’s she like? What color is her hair? And Paz answered them all. He figured you wouldn’t mind, and they weren’t too personal. All her questions reminded Paz of just how young she was. Other Mandalorians would understand not to ask those questions, just as Bezza would, in time. 

In the hangar were Din and Grogu and that kriffing ball. Din had already loaded the speeder bikes with the fuel and food, and was now just killing time with his son. “Din!” Paz called. “I’m just about ready.”

Paz turned to Bezza. “When I get back we’ll start a plan for your training. There’s still a lot to get used to in the armor, especially with the jetpack.”

“Ok,” she said. “Hurry back, alright? And be safe!” Paz and Bezza exchanged a few more goodbyes, and he promised to pass on her hello to you. 

Finally, Paz and Din had mounted the speeder bikes. Grogu sat in a carrier on Din’s chest, obviously excited to feel the wind whip around his long ears. The men had unspokenly made it a race, revving their engines and attempting to pass each other without knocking their cargo loose. 

-

You sat outside the ship, taking in the fresh air as the Mandalorians arrived in a cloud of dust, Mando’a, and a baby’s shriek. A baby? You thought. 

You got on your feet and approached the speeders. To your surprise, the Mandalorian in unpainted beskar greeted you by name. Quite a lot kinder than the stare he’d met you with when you’d first arrived. “Hello,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then your eyes finally dropped from the helmet to the carrier on his chest. “Who’s this?” 

“My son,” the Mando said. “His name is Grogu.”

You smiled at the baby. “Hello, Grogu,” you said, and introduced yourself to him. Grogu’s tiny little arms reached out for you, and with Mando's permission, you picked him up. “You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you, Grogu?” He babbled excitedly. 

The two of you stood back as Din and Paz began loading the supplies onto the ship. “Your dad is very strong, Grogu,” you tell him as Din lifts a large crate off the bike and into the cargo hold. “Are you going to be strong like him?” Grogu gives you a strong response. This kid has to be a handful, you thought. Grogu stayed gripped onto you, his three little fingers wrapped around your one, gurgling and babbling like he made all the sense in the world. You, of course, humored him, and had a deep conversation about the inflation of credits as the shift from Imperial credits to New Republic credits took place. 

Eventually, the men were done, the ship was loaded and refueled. “Alright, Grogu,” you say. “I think your dad will be wanting you back.” You placed a kiss to the top of his odd green head, and attempted to hand him over to the Mando. Grogu had other ideas. His fingers stayed gripped on the back of your t-shirt. 

“Grogu,” Din said. “We have to go. Come on.”

You laughed at the little baby, amazed at how he’d become so attached to you in such little time. “Go on, hon,” you coax. “Your uncle and I will be back soon, I promise.” His big, dark eyes looked up at you, and then he allowed you to pass his little body to his father, who fastened him into the carrier. 

“Safe travels, you two,” Mando said, and attached the bike Paz rode to his own, and him and Grogu were off. 

Finally, you were able to give Paz a hug. “Ready, kebiin’ika?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Let me call Leia before we go,” you say. “I forgot to this morning.”

“Ok, I’ll be waiting in the cockpit whenever you’re ready.” He turned around and disappeared onto the ship. 

You held the holoprojector in front of you, anxious. Surely Leia would want to see you, right? After all your time together…

You sat the projector on a rock and sat down in front of it. You punched in the numbers Leia had sent you a while ago, and waited. Finally, a young girl answered. “May I ask who is calling?” You told her your name. “And who are you calling for?”

“Leia,” you said, and then cringed. “Uh, her royal highness.” You’d never really grasped the royal protocol. 

The girl looked closely. “Is the princess expecting you?”

“Uh, not really,” you said. “But we fought in the Rebellion together. She gave me this number, told me to call if I needed her.”

The girl nodded, and walked out of frame. Hopefully, she’d return with Leia. She did return, but no princess in sight. “Her royal highness will meet with you shortly.” And then she was gone again. 

You sat looking around at the trees, taking in your last minutes on a planet for some time. And even when you got to Hosnian Prime, it would be way different. Hosnian Prime was busy, unlike Dantooine and Yavin IV. 

“Finally!” said a voice. Leia’s. She stood in holo form on the rock, an elegant white dress covered her form and her hair was in two braids down her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”

“Leia!” you exclaimed. “I’ve wanted to call, but you know how I felt when the war was won…I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

She frowned. “Oh, stop that,” she said. “I’ll always want to hear from you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get on the line, Korrie is quite protective of me.” 

“I understand,” you smiled. “You are a very important person, your royal highness.”

Leia laughed. “Now, what did I tell you back on Alderaan about formal titles?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a normal person when you’re with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I take it you’re a bit exhausted with decorum at the moment?”

She nodded. “And it doesn’t help that Threepio is the decorum police, either.” The two of you shared a laugh at the droid’s expense. You didn’t know how Leia could stand C-3PO all the time. “Enough with my complaining, are you ok? Is there something you need?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you’d receive me on Hosnian?” you asked. “I want to catch up with you, maybe even a few friends from the old days?”

Leia smiled. “Of course I’ll receive you! When are you leaving? And where from?”

“Yavin IV,” you say. “And hopefully as soon as I hang up with you, if that’s ok?”

She nodded. “That’d be great. I’ll have Korrie send you the coordinates. I can’t wait to see you!” Leia had a way of making anyone feel comfortable, and you couldn’t wait to be in her full presence again. You exchanged goodbyes, and Leia disappeared from the rock. 

Back on the ship, you grabbed a fruit bar from the kitchen and sat in the cockpit. “How was your princess?” Paz asked as he copied the coordinates from your holopad. 

“Good,” you replied. “I had no reason to be anxious, really.”

Paz put a gloved hand over yours on the armrest. “I’m glad it’s working out, mesh’la.” 

“What’s that word mean? You’ve been calling me that all day.”

His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand. “It means ‘beautiful’,” he says. 

“Mesh’la,” you repeat. “It’s a beautiful word, no wonder it means beautiful.” Paz chuckled a little at your awe. 

His hand left yours and landed on the controls. “Ready to head out?” You nodded, mouth too full to properly respond, and the take off sequence was activated. The ship rose out of the clearing, and you watched as Yavin IV grew smaller beneath you. You saw a building off in the distance, it looked half underground, with a large hangar at the front. 

“Is that your home?” you ask, pointing out at the structure. 

Paz nodded. “Indeed it is,” he says. 

“That was part of the Rebel base once,” you say, remembering your time here. “I didn’t spend too much time on that part, though. There was a main hangar a little farther down, but after the war Leia had a lot of it removed, so the wildlife could return to normal,” you say. “Guess not all of it was taken.”

The ship finally reached the atmosphere and Paz guided the ship through it with grace. The jump to hyperspace was made, and the ship was on autopilot for the next three days. 

Paz turned to you in his chair. “We live in a rebel base now?”

“Indeed you do,” you say. “I think a lot of that building was quarters for officers and stuff. I’ll bet Leia can tell you when we arrive.”

“You want me to come with you to meet her?”

You looked at him, a little confused. “Of course I do,” you tell him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there and I’m sure that a princess has room to spare. Besides, it’ll do you some good to sleep on a proper bed for a few nights.”

“Are you sure, kebiin’ika? Mandalorians aren’t greeted too kindly.”

“Maybe not in the Outer Rim,” you say. “But that far into the Core? And a guest of Princess Leia’s? I’m sure it'll be ok.”

He nodded. “Ok, then. I’ll come with you.” You smiled at him, wishing so badly to smile at his face and not his helmet. You took his hand in yours, stood up, and led him to the little common area. There was a small sofa pushed against one of the walls, and you motioned for him to sit. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and retreat back to the cockpit. When you return, Paz is sat on the sofa, still as can be. It was still a little creepy, how he could just sit there. You held up your holopad. “First thing to know about dating me is I need designated snuggle and holodrama time.”

He laughed. “Is this a common thing or just a kebiin’ika thing?” 

You sat down next to him, a little confused that he was wondering if cuddling and watching holos was common. “Am I your first girlfriend, Paz?”

“If I say yes will you think I’m weird?”

“No, I won’t think you’re weird.”

“Then yes,” he said. You looked at him, feeling a wave of sadness. Had this man been cuddled ever? Hugged? Loved? You cared for him so much already, and you wanted him to feel those things. 

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a me thing, but it’s an important thing,” you laugh, setting the holopad up to project against the blank wall of the ship. A show about a Jedi and a Twi’lek healer’s unrequited love played on the wall, a slight silver hue brought by the metal of the ship. You moved to cuddle against him, but the armor was stubborn.

“Could you, like, take some of this off?” You say, gesturing at the metal.

He feigned surprise. “You haven’t even taken me out, mesh’la, and you expect me to strip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just lose some of it so I can cuddle you.” He obeyed, the cuirass and pauldrons going first, and then the gauntlets and gloves. He was left in his fly suit, made of a coarse weave fabric. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do. You moved his arm around you as you settled into his chest. You could tell he wasn’t too sure what to do. “You’re warm,” you sigh.

“Sorry, mesh’la,” he says.

“Why are you sorry? It’s nice. Hyperspace gets cold,” you tell him. He was a little tense at first, he wasn’t used to this, he really hadn’t been properly cuddled since before he lost his buire so long ago. 

Paz looked down at you, your head resting against him as you took in the predictable plot of the show. You were relaxed, almost like earlier that morning when he’d woken up. The mask had been gone, and your eyes had gently fluttered in your sleep. Paz felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling he’d been having a lot since you’ve been around. It’s gotten more and more intense, especially as you curled yourself into him. Your touch was burning into his skin in an amazing way, and he knew he’d be able to feel it long after you’d get up. He repeated your it’s nice in his head. No one had ever told him that touching him was nice. In fact, most people hated the touch of a Mandalorian. If they even lived to hate it. 

As the drama went to an ad for some kind of Bantha milk, Paz felt you move to look up at him. “Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you can’t tell me what your Mando friend looks like under his helmet,” you say. “But can you tell me how he fits his ears in the helmet?”

Paz laughed. “What?”

“Well, if his ears are anything like his son’s, I’d imagine it’s hard.”

He threw his head back in a bellow of laughter. “Mesh’la, my friend and his son aren’t the same species. Grogu is a foundling.”

“A foundling?”

He finally recovered from his laughter, and his breath steadied. “Yeah, Mandalorians take in children who’ve lost their parents. My friend was a foundling once, and his son is a foundling.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well that explains the ears, I guess. You weren’t a foundling were you?” You remembered him saying something about Vizslas being important on Mandalore. 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The Vizsla line goes as far back into Mandalorian history as I can trace. But most importantly, Tarre Vizsla, who was a Jedi, created the Darksaber. Whoever wields the dark saber is the Mand’alor, our ruler.”

“Who is the Mand’alor now?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “There isn’t one. Mandalore isn’t the same as it was, it hasn’t been in a very long time. Before I was born, even.”

“Well, you’re a Vizsla aren’t you? Shouldn’t you wield it?”

He laughs a little. “That’s not exactly how it works, mesh’la. Well, it worked like that for a while, but now you must win the saber in combat. Except no one knows where the saber is.” His voice had gotten sad, and he was running his right hand over his left while they sat on your back, some kind of self-soothing. “Besides,” he says, “There’s a lot of Vizslas out there I’m sure, and I don’t want to be a king. That is not the path that I follow.”

“I understand. It all becomes...a bit much,” you agree. Leia had offered you multiple positions on multiple committees in the new Senate, all dealing with labor laws and droids with a bunch of political nonsense you didn’t care to wade through. Not to mention having to represent the voice of mechanics all over the galaxy. No. Too much stress. 

“Kebiin’ika,” Paz says. “As much as I like this old, lumpy sofa, don’t you think we’d be more comfy laying in bed?” 

“I’m starting to think you’re a mind reader, Vizsla,” you say. The two of you awkwardly untangle in a mess of limbs and beskar clangs as you accidentally collide with his cuirass that lay on the floor. “Sorry,” you say, moving his armor up onto the sofa and off of the floor. 

“Don’t be,” he reassured. “Beskar is practically invincible.”

The two of you made it into the bedroom, you set your holopad up properly to project onto the blank white wall ahead of the bed, there for this reason exactly. The show was brighter now, and clearer. It was technically late afternoon by Yavin IV time, but in hyperspace it was hard to tell. Paz got rid of the armor on his lower body, the codpiece, thighs and knees, and shins. He also kicked off his boots. 

He looked so beautifully mundane. Doing something that he’d done a million times at this point, probably, and he was an expert. Could do with his eyes closed. And you loved it, you wondered if his brow furrowed under the helmet when he had to prod a clasp a little harder, or if he let out a soft huff when a piece was finally removed. 

He climbed onto the bed and motioned for you to sit between his legs. Kriff, his legs were big. 

You settled between his legs, back against his chest. His hands sat awkwardly on his thighs. “You know you can touch me, right?” you say, moving his hands to lay around your middle. 

“I have to remind myself, mesh’la,” he says. “You’re not a quick fuck. You’re someone I want to be slow with, I’m just not sure how to go about it.” You were a bit surprised at how blunt he was, but honestly? You appreciated it. He wouldn’t be playing games with you. 

You squeezed his hand. “We will go however slow as you want, alright? And don’t be afraid of me, ok? You can ask me anything.” 

“I know, cyare, and I’m grateful for that,” he says softly. He wanted to kiss the top of your head so bad. He’d seen it in holos before, but never really understood the appeal until now. 

At some point, you’d fallen asleep in the Mandalorian’s arms. It wasn’t until an hour later that he woke you up. “Kebiin’ika?” He’s whispering as much as the vocoder will let him. His voice is deep in your ear, and briefly becomes a part of your dream until you finally wake up. 

“How long was I out?” You ask, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you. 

He stood up, stretching his arms, too. “About an hour, I think. I dozed a bit, too.” 

“I’m hungry,” you complain. He agrees, and you’re off to the kitchen. You start making sandwiches with a few of the vegetables you knew he’d bought back on Dantooine. You smiled at them, filled with a bit of nostalgia. That greenhouse of Aliria’s was always a peaceful place. 

Paz is doing the same, though he’s making two sandwiches. You presume it’s because he’s such a large man, and such a strong man too. When you had relaxed into his chest, he was comfortable, a layer of fat that told you he took care of himself, and underneath you knew were strong, hardened muscles. 

“Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to sit with our backs to each other?” you ask. “So we can eat together instead of in shifts?” He nods, finishing up his sandwiches. You grab your plates and make your way to the sofa. He moves his armor back onto the floor a bit clumsily, and has to remind you that beskar is strong. He’s facing to the right, you to the left, backs together. 

“You can lean back on me, cyare,” he says, and you smile at the switch of the nickname. It was kind of nice, not knowing which endearment would envelop you when he opened his mouth. You hear a click and hiss, sounds you’d heard the night before, and then the clunk of his helmet on the ship’s floor. 

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” he says between bites. “Armorer and Bezza said to tell you hello.”

You remembered who Armorer was, but your brow furrowed, trying to recall where you’d heard the second name. “Bezza is the girl who you bought the journal for, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind my telling her about us. I’m the closest thing she has to family at the moment.”

You smile. “Of course it’s alright, Paz,” you say. “I’d love to meet her. She sounds very sweet.”

Paz felt a wave of joy rush over him. Bezza was very special to him, even more so now. And now you were special to him, too, and he wanted nothing more than for you two to get along. “If I would’ve known I would’ve brought her with me to the ship instead of my friend,” he said. He had to catch himself before saying Din’s name, knowing that Din was very particular about his name. Bezza, on the other hand, was a more modern Mando. “Maybe once I teach you to use that vibroblade, I can teach you how to wield a staff. Then you two could spar.”

“I don’t know, Paz,” you say. “I’m sure you’re a fantastic teacher, but I don’t see myself holding my own against a Mandalorian in combat.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll train you the Mandalorian way. One day, mesh’la, you will hold your own.”

A silence followed, you could hear the crunch of the chips he’d put in his sandwich as he bit. 

“Is Bezza your foundling now?”

Paz swallowed his bite. “Maybe if she was younger I’d take her in, but she’s practically an adult. I wouldn’t want to insult her by insinuating she still needs caring for.”

“Everyone needs caring for,” you say, leaning your head back against him. “I’m twenty-six and I need caring for, emotionally anyways. I’m not sure how old you are, but I’m sure you do, too.” 

He wasn’t at all shocked that you were twenty-six. He was, however, shocked that his age didn’t ever come up. “I’m forty-three,” he said, hoping that wouldn’t scare you. It didn’t seem to, so he continued. “And I guess you’re right, but still, I can care for her without taking her in.”

“I guess,” you said, and decided to let the topic of Bezza rest for a bit. “Do you think you’ll ever take in a foundling?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to father some kids as well, but also take in foundlings. Not only is it important to the Tribe, but I love kids. That’s why I’m their teacher whenever I’m not out hunting.”

“That’s sweet, Paz,” you tell him. “I’d like a kid, too, I think. Though, it scares me. Making a person inside my body for almost a year.”

“Mandalorians say to train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger,” he says. “I’m sure you can see why. Having children is important, it’s even in the Mandalorian wedding vows: ‘we will raise warriors’.” 

You smile up at the ceiling, picturing you and Paz having a wedding. Some weird mix of Mandalorian and Alderaanian culture, exchanging Mandalorian vows. Maybe it was a bit early to be thinking about this, but you didn’t care. 

-

You watched as Paz cleaned the plates from lunch. He volunteered to take your plate, and now he stood at the sink, scrubbing away the residue of the condiments and components of your lunches. Again, he looked so beautifully mundane, gloves gone, revealing his dark skin to you. Through the bubbles of soap you saw small pink scars littering the top of his hands. He scrubbed away with the brush, working diligently. Again you wondered what kind of face he makes when he concentrates. Does he stick his tongue out a little? Bite on the inside of his lip? 

You thought back to the wedding you’d put together in your mind. You thought about how after those vows were exchanged you’d get to see the face he makes not only when he concentrates, but when he’s happy or frustrated, too. 

He was such a mystery, but also easy to read. It confused you in the best way possible, and all you wanted was to read chapter after chapter of Paz Vizsla until you got to the part where you’d get to see his face, kiss his face, talk to his eyes rather than a visor. Someday, you told yourself. Someday. 

tag list (send me an ask or reply and i’ll add you!!) - @remmysbounty

[hurricanery]

If the Sun Comes Up - pt. 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay- here’s part 3 of If the Sun Comes Up! (AU - interns fic). It’s been a while since i’ve updated this so if you need a refresher, previous parts here: part 1 // part 2

If you’ve sent me a prompt recently, or even a while back, I promise I am starting to get to them. I’m on a break from school so I’m trying to write as much as I can <3 Also, I’m starting to switch around the POV for this story (this one is Link’s), and it’s very :) difficult :) to do :)

_______

It comes apart

The way it does in bad films

Except in parts

When the moral kicks in

_______

Link knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

That’s something he knows. The reason behind it though, is a little less clear to him. She’s unpredictable. And he thinks that that’s part of it. Part of the reason his pulse quickens when she walks into the room. Sometimes, he’ll bump into her in the apartment, and she’ll be all darting eyes and nervous hands wrapped around a mug of tea. But most of the time, it’s the opposite. It’s shameless, the way she’ll walk into a room and say something completely audacious. Unexpected. Is the way he wants to label it. And the anticipation of it, the anticipation of which Amelia he’s going to get, is what makes him the most nervous.

This morning there’s an edge to her smile. One that feels measured and purposeful. Link watches her as she enters the kitchen. He finishes pouring himself a cup of coffee and witnesses, just in time, for Amelia to survey Maggie and Winston as they innocently eat their breakfast at the counter.

The smirk that grows on her face causes Link to instinctively brace himself. Because it’s the same look she gives before she’s about to say something completely untamed. Untamed, yet at the same time, Link knows whatever she’s about to say, she’ll say it so unashamedly. But when the words finally drop from her mouth, Link still doesn’t feel prepared.

“I miss sex,” she announces, as her eyes dart amusedly between the couple at the counter. “And you guys are doing a great job of reminding me of that.”

Link has to stifle the coughing fit that threatens to overcome his body as he struggles through his first sip of coffee. And the startled look on Maggie’s face just adds fuel to the fire. Like Amelia somehow gains something from this type of reaction.

“What’s with the faces?” she adds, nonchalantly, as she reaches for a mug and turns back to Maggie and Winston. “I’m saying I feel inspired by you.”

“Okay…” Maggie gives a warning stare. “But we’re not-”

“No, I get it,” Amelia interrupts. Link shuffles out of her way as she reaches for the coffee pot, but he doesn’t miss the sideways glance she gives him. “You guys aren’t together together, you’re just…” She trails off as she focuses on not overflowing her mug with the hot liquid. Then she turns back around to face the pair at the counter. “Having fun?”

Winston shrugs at this, and Maggie refocuses all of her attention on the food in front of her.

“Like I said,” Amelia’s expression falters only slightly to incorporate some sympathy towards Maggie. “Inspiring.”

And with that she turns on her heels, ready to leave. Like she always does. After dropping a bomb of awkwardness amongst the group, she immediately fleas. And Link feels his heart rate slow at her absence.

His eyes shift to Maggie and Winston, eyebrows raised.

“She’s pleasant in the morning.”

There’s hums of agreement, and Maggie stands up, beginning to clear their dishes.

“We carpooling today?” Link inquires, as he starts to help Maggie clean the kitchen.

“Well, there’s that intern mixer tonight,” Maggie reminds him. “That thing Dr. Webber is hosting?”

“Right,” Link sighs.

“I was going to go straight there after my shift,” she adds. “So, we’d all have to sort of plan our timing with that.”

Link nods, stepping forward to set his empty coffee mug in the sink.

“Will you ask Amelia what she’s doing? If she’s planning on going?”

Link nods again at Maggie’s request, and begins moving slowly down the hallway towards Amelia’s room. It dawns on him that he’s never stepped foot in Amelia’s room, or even properly had a glance inside. So, it feels foreign to him that his fist is knocking against the wood of her door.

“Yeah?”

There’s music playing on the other side and Link clears his throat to compensate for that.

“Hey! Maggie wanted me to ask you-”

“I can’t really hear you, just come in!”

Link hesitates. And he doesn’t know why. But then he’s annoyed with himself for not knowing why, so he pushes forward. His hand wraps around the door knob and then it’s twisting and suddenly he’s standing in her bedroom.

“Hey.”

His head turns to follow the sound of her voice and his eyes settle on her, to where she sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a full-length mirror. She raises her eyebrows at him, through the reflection in the mirror. And when Link doesn’t speak right away, she reaches forward to turn off her music.

“Can I help you with something?” She sounds smug as she resumes her mascara application.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Maggie wanted me to ask what your plans are for the intern mixer tonight?”

“Shit. I totally forgot that was tonight,” she mutters, concentrating on what she’s doing in the mirror.

Link sighs, and he feels the inexplicable need to shove his hands in his pockets. He takes a moment to let his eyes wander around the room. He can’t help it. The new territory makes him curious.

The room is a mess, and that’s putting it lightly. It almost looks like she hasn’t unpacked all the way. There are clothes scattered on almost every surface, and nothing seems to be put away. He’d like to assume that it’s because she’s not moved all the way in yet, but the pictures hanging on the wall say otherwise.

It feels self-indulgent, as he lets his eyes scan the framed photos around the room. They mostly consist of what Link gathers to be college friends and travels. But, there’s also a significant presence of people that look extraordinarily similar to Amelia. Her siblings, he presumes. There are two photos in particular, that stand out to Link. One consists of a young girl, no older than 6 or 7. In the photo, she’s riding a bike, and there’s a dark-haired teenage boy gently pushing the bike forward from behind. Derek, Link imagines. And it makes him smile to imagine Amelia learning to ride a bike.

The second photo that catches Link’s eye is just a solo shot of a middle-aged man. He’s standing on the edge of a dock, holding up a fishing pole. The man in the photo has a striking resemblance to Amelia and Derek, and Link is inclined to conclude that it’s their father.

Link snaps back to reality when he hears Amelia clear her throat. His eyes meet hers in the reflection of the mirror and she’s sneering at him incredulously.

“Get a good look?”

“Sorry,” Link mumbles, shaking his head at himself. He struggles for a moment to arrive back to his reasoning for being here in the first place. “Uh, yeah. Party tonight, or….‘intern mixer,’ or whatever you want to call it….do you need a ride?”

“Ugh,” she groans, starting to stand up from her spot on the floor. “Derek requested Lexie and I on his service, again, so. If we’re not too late I’ll probably grab a ride with him.”

Link nods. He tries to suppress the sudden disappointment he feels. Because it makes no sense to him, that he should feel anything based upon whether or not Amelia would be in attendance.

“Okay,” he turns on his heels, deciding he doesn’t need anything more than that answer from her.

“Link?”

He turns around in the doorway, looking at her expectantly.

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he forces an element of nonchalance to his response. She’s staring at him with an expression of bewilderment and it only makes him want to rush his exit more.

He rips his gaze away from hers as he steps into the hallway, and when he pulls the door shut, he feels relief.

_______

Links knows a few things.

The first is that Amelia Shepherd makes him nervous.

The second is that this party is lame.

“This sucks,” Jo huffs out a sigh, from where she’s standing next to him.

They’re stationed at one of those tall cocktail tables, in the middle of a decently packed banquet room. Link’s eyes scan the room, for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

“Who are you looking for?” Jo ridicules him. She smirks at him knowingly as she sips her drink and Link tries not to roll his eyes at her.

“I’m not looking for anyone….” He trails off, as his eyes roam the room again. Because although he dismisses the accusation of looking for anyone, he does find her.

She’s standing near the entryway with Derek. And they must have just arrived, because there’s a leather jacket still covering her frame.

He thinks for a moment that he should cross the room. Walk towards them and casually point out where the coat check area is, perhaps. But he doesn’t do that. Because the closer he looks, the more it becomes obvious that the two are arguing.

Amelia’s back is to him, but her body language, and the sharpness to Derek’s expression, are all the evidence he needs.

“You’re staring.” Jo’s voice breaks through his concentration, and Link glances sideways at her.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” she bites back. “And you’re boring me. I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”

Link shakes his head at the offer, his eyes returning to his current preoccupation. He barely notices Jo’s dramatic sigh, as she walks away. Barely notices, because now Amelia is crossing the room, her eyes narrowing in on his as she visibly tries to shake off her anger.

“You made it.” It’s all Link can come up with as she approaches the table.

Amelia huffs out an exasperated breath as she settles across from him at the table. She shrugs, her eyes dancing around the room as she takes in the atmosphere of the event.

“Of course I did,” she mutters. “I’m a blast at parties.”

Link frowns. Unsure of how to lighten the mood.

“There’s a coat check, you know?” He glances down at her, surveying the black form-fitting dress and leather jacket. He suddenly feels unimpressive in the dull grey of his suit jacket.

“Nah,” Amelia shakes her head, still preoccupied by the room around them. “I’m fine like this.”

Her eyes finally rest on his. And she breathes out again, but this time Link thinks it sounds more relieved.

“I really am a blast at parties,” she bites her lip, grinning slightly. “Or, I used to be.”

“I believe you,” Link offers a smile in return.

And suddenly there’s a sense of ease between them. One that Link wasn’t expecting.

There’s something about her, or rather about her demeanor, that makes him feel nostalgic. He takes in her energy and it makes him feel at home, but not necessarily in a yearning way. Because there’s an edge to it. Like the feeling he’s nostalgic for triggers an almost anxious familiarity in the pit of his stomach. Like home is broken.

“So, what is it?”

He hasn’t even realized he’s voiced the question out loud. It’s when her defensive tone kicks in, that he realizes what he’s done.

“What?”

Link groans internally. Because he hadn’t necessarily intended to speak on behalf of his revelation.

“You….remind me of….me, Amelia,” he mutters the confession, shaking his head at himself as he tries to make sense of the direction his thoughts are taking. “Like a sixth sense almost….”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t offer any words. The silence urges Link to continue.

“Okay, no. I mean, you don’t remind me of me, totally. I just mean….”

“We are very different people,” she interrupts him. And it causes Link to look up from the pattern of the tablecloth he’d forced himself to analyze while he stumbled through his words. But he locks eyes with her, and there’s a smug smile on her face. It basically grants him permission to move forward.

“Yeah,” he chuckles in agreement. “But there’s some common ground here. I can feel it.”

Link tries to match her smirk, but he knows he’s not doing it any justice.

“So, what is it?” He repeats his question from earlier, his tone playful. “That makes you this way?”

There’s a fraction of a second where her face falls, in reaction to the additional question. It’s so subtle Link thinks he’s imagined it. Because he’s looking at her now, and the smirk is still there. So he continues.

“Doesn’t seem like you get along with your family,” he nods towards Derek across the room, to where he’s now stood chatting with Mark Sloan. “And from my experience, that kind of thing usually happens for a reason.”

Amelia shrugs dismissively, and reaches forward for a handful of pretzels from the array of snacks on the table.

Link watches her, notes her form of deflection, and he takes it upon himself to start lighthearted. Because that’s where they are right now. That’s the stage they always seem to be stuck in. “You….what? Scratched your brother's car up? Forgot to feed the family’s pet fish? And everyone still holds it against you? What is it, huh?”

Amelia stifles a laugh around a mouthful of pretzels, and it urges Link on.

“I’m getting closer, aren’t I? Should I dive deeper?”

Link tries not to laugh at her, as she struggles to chew the pretzels in her mouth. He lets himself be relentless, continuing with the interrogation.

“Okay, so….some sort of chronic diagnosis tear your family apart?” Link glances across the room as he speaks, and his eyes settle on Derek. There’s a snide expression on Derek’s face as he talks to Mark, and all Link sees is Amelia in it. His eyes dart back to hers as potential realization hits. “Children of divorce?”

Amelia immediately stops chewing her pretzels. And this time around it’s not as subtle when her face falls.

“Children of divorce! I knew it! I told you I could sense that kind of thing.”

Link is proud of himself for a moment. Until he watches her harshly swallow. It’s the kind of action that makes him instantly retreat. Instantly regret his exclamation.

Amelia finally finds her voice. And when she does, it’s laced with irony. “I wish it had been a divorce.”

And now it was Link’s turn for the silence. For the lack of response that would hopefully urge her to continue.

“Your parents are divorced?” There’s something cunning about her tone, and Link can’t quite place why it’s there. It surely doesn’t sound like a question, when she asks it. It sounds like she already knows the answer, and she’s choosing to be sly as she witholds whatever she’s about to throw his way next.

But Link nods at her anyway, disregarding the non-question.

“Wanna trade childhood traumas?” She eventually mutters, a slight smile on her lips as she looks down at the bowl of pretzels. Link can see it in her face, the way she’s determining whether to abandon the conversation and reach for another handful. But she doesn’t do that.

He continues to stare at her, in a desperate attempt to decipher which version of Amelia this is.

“My Dad died when I was five,” her gaze shifts from the pretzels to his face and Link’s heart drops to his stomach. “So, he kind of missed out on the divorce stage....” She laughs under her breath, almost in disbelief. “Not that there would have been one,” she adds the after-thought.

“Amelia,” he murmurs. And he thinks he steps forward, but there’s a table in front of him, blocking him, so there’s really no point. “I’m so sorry, I-”

It’s her laughter that cuts him off mid-apology. Link doesn’t know if he can categorize it as authentic laughter. The bizarre reaction would probably be more accurately described as harsh exhales and another out of place smile.

“Amelia.”

She swallows her laughter a bit at the seriousness of his tone.

“God, I feel like an asshole,” he mutters.

“Okay, but don’t,” Amelia shrugs. “Believe me I’ve had years to process it.”

Link feels his eyes narrow at this.

“And honestly I’m pretty impressed you could sense the childhood trauma in the first place,” she adds. “Maybe we’re more alike than I thought….” She trails off, and there’s a softness to her next words. “And I don’t at all mean to downplay yours….I just….have a dark sense of humor. Sometimes I forget that it can put people off.”

“No, I get it.”

Link watches as a subtle grin take over her expression, and he sighs in relief. But he can’t help but to notice how distracted she is. How her eyes keep shifting around the room.

“This party is kinda lame, huh?” Link muses. “I was going to head home soon. Want a ride?”

For a moment her wandering eyes stop, and Link thinks her smile looks polite. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, distracted again. “I feel like I should make the rounds first though, right? Say hello to a few people?”

Link nods. Because this makes sense.

“Give me like 20 minutes, okay? And then we can leave?”

“Okay,” Link agrees, but she’s already walking away by the time he says it.

_______

Link knows a few things.

But there’s one fact at the forefront of his mind.

This party is lame and he wants to leave. He’s promised a ride home to Amelia, but it’s been over an hour and since then, he’s completely lost track of her.

He gives up. Assumes she’s gotten a ride home with either Derek or Lexie.

He makes his way to the parking lot and he hears her voice first. It’s low and it’s gravelly and it’s certainly Amelia.

But it’s perplexing, because the first person he sees is Mark, and not Amelia.

But then Mark steps to the side, and there she is.

He watches, and he hasn't realized that his feet have stopped moving. But his eyes are glued the same way his shoes apparently are to the pavement below.

She’s smiling at Mark, but the look she’s giving him makes Link feel gross. Because it’s almost performative, the way she gets into his car. And suddenly there's another thing that Link knows.

That being, that for some reason, this hurts.

_______

It’s more accurate to say that Link has learned a few things. Especially since moving in with 3 strangers.

He’s learned the separate soundtracks of each of his roommate’s arrivals home.

He can tell when Maggie is home, because she usually mutters to herself as she walks about, hanging her purse and coat up.

He can tell when Lexie is home, because the first thing she does is walk to the kitchen. Link will hear the distinct sound of the fridge door opening just after someone comes home, and immediately he knows that it’s Lexie.

He can tell when Amelia is home, because of the clacking sound her boots make across the tiled floor of the entryway. He doesn’t know why she always seems to be wearing the heeled boots, but he finds comfort in the association.

Another thing he’s learned is that he’s usually the first to wake up in the apartment. Especially on Saturdays.

He likes waking up early on the weekends, but this morning feels a little different. Definitely due to the lack of sleep the night prior. He wants to blame the restless night on anything else, besides the fact that he’s yet to hear a pair of heeled boots cross the tiled floor.

Link seeks distractions on this Saturday morning. He thinks he’ll make breakfast. But, the relative emptiness of the fridge causes a change of plans.

And so he distracts himself by going to the store.

_______

When Link returns home, he’s not expecting to see Amelia right away.

He walks towards their front door, arms full of grocery bags, and there she is. Leaning against the wall outside and watching him carefully as he approaches.

She’s wearing the same dress she wore last night, her leather jacket slung over her arm.

“Well, good morning,” he tries to mask the sharpness in his tone.

She looks at him tiredly.

It’s then that he decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d had a feeling in the pit of his stomach all night. He’d lost sleep over it. But he looks at her now, and everything he’s been feeling is replaced with one thing: concern.

So he re-routes his attitude.

“You waiting out here just so you could hold the door open for me?” He jokes, gesturing towards the bags in his arms.

“I lost my keys,” she admits.

Link notices the way she can’t seem to hold eye contact, and he decides to drop the joking manner.

“Ah,” he hums. “Here.”

He unceremoniously shoves a grocery bag into her arms, so that he can free up a hand to reach for his own keys.

He unlocks the door and Amelia basically darts past him, setting the bag on the counter and heading towards her room.

Link tries not to feed into his concern, and he busies himself by putting groceries away.

But, a moment later, he hears the familiar sound of her heels against the floor. The sound amplifies until she rounds the corner into the kitchen again, and Link looks up just in time.

She looks at him sheepishly.

“I, uh. I have so much stuff all over my bed….you don’t mind if I take the couch for a bit, do you?”

It takes Link a moment to process this information. He glances past the kitchen counter, to the living room area. It’s all pretty much one big room, an open floor plan.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs. “I was about to make breakfast though, so, hopefully I don’t bother you too much over here?”

Amelia shakes her head, as if to say she won’t be bothered, and she continues over to the living area.

“You should really….unpack all your stuff. Put things away,” Link jokes, recalling just how messy her room was as of yesterday morning.

“‘M too tired right now,” she slurs, as she collapses against the couch on the opposite wall.

Link attempts to carry on making breakfast. But he’s admittedly distracted by her presence.

She doesn’t look comfortable. She’s still wearing her dress from last night. And she’s sitting upright, her head tilted back against the cushions.

“I could help you, you know?” Link offers. “Put away your things and clear off your bed?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Amelia, it’s 9am.”

This makes her laugh.

Her eyes are still closed but she’s laughing under her breath.

“Oh!” Suddenly Link remembers. “I saw this loose tea variety at the store and it made me think of you and I bought it.”

Even with the length of the room, Link can tell she’s slightly opened her eyes, peering at him.

“How about I attempt to make some? And we do some unpacking?”

There’s brief silence. But then her head is lifting from the cushions.

“Okay, but make your breakfast first.”

Link breaks out into a toothy grin, nodding at her suggestion. He watches curiously as her head drops back against the couch.

_______

It’s about 20 minutes later when he’s eaten and decides he’s happy with his attempt at tea. He walks over to the couch, proudly balancing two mugs, but it’s obvious that Amelia is drifting off to sleep.

He places a mug on the coffee table in front of her and the sound of it causes her to stir.

“Oh,” she sits up. “This looks….decent. Thank you.”

Link sits on the armchair across from her and watches as she takes her first sip.

“You’re allowed to say if it’s shit.”

Amelia exhales a laugh before setting the mug back down.

“It’s not bad, honestly. I’ll have to teach you my ways, though.”

She rests back against the cushions, and this time she shifts her body so that she’s more comfortably laying across the entire couch.

Link sighs.

And it’s like she hears what he’s thinking.

“Just a few minutes, then we’ll start unpacking,” but her voice is laced with sleep. She turns to him, her mouth twisting up in a familiar movement, and her eyebrows raising almost provocatively. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Ugh,” Link groans. “I do not need to hear about you and Mark-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs a breath. “I had to.”

Link just shakes his head at her, not sure when he went from worried about her, to amused.

“I promise,” she adds, and the element of exhaustion is back in her tone. “Just 10 more minutes then I’ll be good to go.”

“Sure,” Link laughs.

Amelia still holds his gaze, and there’s an expression on her face that feels brand new to him.

There’s a hint of a smile. It’s barely there. But it’s different this time. It’s not the smirk he’s used to seeing, and it’s not in any way laced with mockery or self-doubt.

Link knows a few things.

But he learns a final thing by the end of the conversation. He learns that he’s going to do everything he can, to see the version of her smile that’s the most genuine.

//

[har-rison-s]

stellars: 21

a/n: okay, here goes my favourite scene in the scorch trials. i hope i wrote it good!!!! i don't know why, but them running through that lightning storm is just so ??? perhaps i just love storms. and lightning. wouldn't love to get hit by it, though :') which is your favourite scene or sequence from the movie? lmk!! happy reading!

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warnings: decriptions of storms, cranks, getting hit by lightning? nothing else

Water and food supplies have run out. So has their energy or any will to carry on. The mountains are still at least a day’s walk away. The sun, the wind and the sand are ever-present. Their only relief is when the sun sets, leaving them in the dark and cold. There is no shelter in sight, no hiding from the sand or the persistent wind. Mars’ head has already been spinning for a solid few hours, and the inside of her skull pounding. She won’t be able to go much farther, she fears.

Once the sun sets, Thomas decides for them all to camp on the same spot they’ve stopped on. There’s no time to look for any near shelter, because the gladers are all exhausted, including Thomas himself. Mars practically falls to the sandy ground once Thomas announces they’ll sleep here, and Newt sits down next to her. 

Thomas comes over to them while the others get to sleep quickly, and he looks from Mars, whose eyes are not quite closed, but aren’t open, either. They’re fluttering. And then he looks to Newt. A knowing look crosses between their eyes, and Newt shakes his head at Thomas. 

He makes sure to check Mars’ pulse as Thomas sits down, and then her wounds, to see if maybe they’ve started to bleed out more and are causing this reaction in her. Her pulse is slow, but her wounds are fine. Newt huffs and tucks her clothes back in place. “She couldn’t be infected, could she?” He asks Thomas in a croaked whisper. Both boys grow fearful. 

“I don’t think so,” Thomas tells him in response, his voice that same croak as Newt’s. He considers the unuseful information and huffs. They can’t know anything for sure, but at least she’s not showing the same symptoms Winston had, “let’s just get some rest. We’ll see in the morning.” He mutters to Newt, and he only huffs again. 

But Thomas is right. They shouldn’t conclude anything now, or try to fix whatever’s wrong with her. Maybe she just needs some sleep, and she’ll be fine tomorrow. They should all get some sleep. 

Newt lays out his jacket on the ground and softly, gently rests Mars’s head on half of it. She lets out a sigh, which saddens Newt, and he looks at her tired face. There are darker areas under her eyes, and her cheeks seem to have become more shallow. She’s not well at all. 

He’s not even thinking about himself in this moment, only about her. When he should think that he’s really in no better shape. Living in the Glade longer might have got his body used to this kind of eating schedule, but even Newt knows he won’t survive long without water. Was it three days without it before the human body shuts down? 

Newt lays himself on his side behind Mars and pulls her closer to him, an arm around her waist. She doesn’t say or do anything in protest, so—Newt assumes—she must be dead asleep already. He hopes she is. 

Over her shoulder, Newt sees Thomas’ crouched form on the ground in front of Mars, his back facing her and Newt. He’s probably asleep, too. Newt even doubts he himself will be able to fall asleep, as his body likes to keep him up after the most exhausting of days. But not this time. His body is much more exhausted than he thinks, and he begins to drift off to slumber in the next few seconds, the last of his friends to do so.

“Hey. Hey, Newt, Mars,” a croaked plea breaks through the barriers of Mars’ unconsciousness, and she hesitantly begins to wake up, “get up, guys, come on.” She feels a pat on her arm, and then on the arm around her waist. The person sounds a lot like Thomas, if only he’d been smoking everyday from a very young age. Mars squeezes her eyes and opens them, expecting to be awakened to the deadly sunlight and sand blowing in her face, but instead finds herself in the dark. No sun, no sand. She turns around and sees Newt laying beside her, retracting his arm that was laying around her waist a second ago.

Some form of comfort passes through her at the sight of him. And she remembers not talking to him for the whole of yesterday, and, somehow, a smile breaks out on her lips. He tries to give one back to her as he rises to his feet. Thomas’ calling sounded urgent. Mars brushes her feelings to the side, suddenly thinking them silly in a moment like this, and starts to get up, as well. 

“I see something,” Thomas tells his friends and then points out in the direction they were going, where the mountains lay. Only now—“see that? There’s lights.” He says, and Mars’ heart breaks just a little bit at how hopeful and sad, at the same time, his voice sounds. But Mars sees the lights, too. Spots of bright, cold light flicker right at them, from where they could swear last night lay nothingness. So the Right Arm is real. And it was in plain sight. Mars’ lips stretch into a hopeful smile, one of relief, as well.

“We made it,” Newt says and pats Thomas’ shoulder. He looks to his friend and nods, eyes pooling with tears. Thomas is just about to reach for Mars, reach for his other friends, about to tell them they’ve made it. But a loud crack booms through out the wasteland from behind them, and the gladers turn to see what’s the source.

Stormclouds. Bubbling with blue light inside them. 

What could that mean? Does this world still have storms? Will they see and feel rain? “Okay, we have to go,” Thomas tells his friends, “we have to go now.” Everyone is still pretty sleepy—they’ve just woken up—but they try to gather their things as quick as they can. Because those stormclouds are growing in size and quantity, and they’re not far from where the gladers just slept. 

Mars pulls her and Newt’s shared backpack onto her shoulders and secures the clips together over her chest so that it wouldn’t bother her to walk or run. The likely case will probably be the latter. Thomas leads his friends towards where the lights are, straight towards them, still hurrying them along since they’re moving pretty slowly. Mars and Newt stay side by side as they all begin to jog. 

“Hurry!” He yells now, desperate. The stormclouds are audibly getting closer, and the surprising lightning strikes they release resemble threats. The gladers start sprinting towards the lights. There’s a very slim chance of them not getting hit by a lightning strike in this flat, empty desert. Mars hadn’t even thought of the possibility of a storm crossing their path. Storms are usually associated with rain. Now, perhaps, only in the world as it was before the sun flares.

All and any exhaustion or energy drain in her body is overpowered by the incredible fear of getting struck by lightning, it electrifies Mars’ body and legs quite literally as she starts sprinting. Her feet hit the sandy ground that turns out to be much more giving, much more firm than the rest of the Scorch they’ve crossed this far, it allows her to run faster. She is just about at Thomas and Minho’s speed, running almost ahead of them, so set on making it to the building that now comes into her view. The building is the one with the blinking lights.

Lightning strikes to their left, making an incredibly loud noise. It’s so loud Mars thinks her head will split open. Thunder booms from the clouds above them. Another lightning strike, this one to their right. Mars glances around at her friends to see if no one’s been hit, and they haven’t. She notices Newt running just a foot or two behind her, and she gives him her outstretched arm. He grabs her hand and holds onto it, Mars makes sure to pull him closer to her, more to the front of their group. She knows his limp must be hurting, but they can’t waste any second now. Another lightning bolt touches the ground, making it shake, this time very close to the group of gladers. 

Mars doesn’t have time to take in everything that’s around her, she dodges objects in her way, of course, but is only focused on the building. Its main door has come into focus now, and she runs like hell, with Newt holding onto her, towards it to the best of her abilities. And they seem quite incredible. Newt is in awe of her, and thinks that she would have done great in the Maze. 

Teresa, Frypan and Mars reach the door first, and Newt, due to his limp, loses his balance and falls to the ground. Another lightning strike. And another. Mars tries not to fall over her own legs as she runs back to Newt, her arms already outstretched towards him. But a lightning strike hits very close, making the gladers deaf and sending Thomas and Aris flying a few feet off the hit spot. It makes quite the explosion against the ground, and next thing Mars knows is the smell of something burning. And Minho. Minho gets struck. 

Mars gets Newt to his feet, and is frozen in shock at the sight just some fifteen feet away from them. Smoke covers Minho’s limp body, he lays with his back on the ground, completely still. Thomas seems to be the first one to recover, then Newt, and they both move towards Minho. Aris gets to his feet, as well, and runs to help the guys out. “Hurry up!” Frypan yells. Mars turns around to look at him, and sees that he stands by the entrance door of the building, holding it open, with Teresa by his side. 

Aris and Newt start carrying Minho towards the rest of their friends as Mars and Thomas move by their side. Lightning strikes all around them and thunder rumbles in the sky, the stormclouds seeming to form into a big monster. Newt Aris with Minho, and Mars and Thomas finally reach Frypan, and Thomas ushers everyone inside before closing the door. 

“Get him up!” 

“Watch his head.”

“Anyone have a light?” 

Mars tries to make sense of their small mess in the dark, and Teresa saves the struggle by turning her light on. She shines it down on Minho, who Thomas and Newt hold in their arms. His eyes are closed, his lips are parted and his head hangs limply on his shoulders. Mars squeezes in between Newt and Aris to see better.

“Minho!” Thomas yells. “Come on, Minho!” He shakes his friend’s shoulders, making the rest of his body shake, too. No movement or sound comes from the former runner. Mars blinks her eyes and keeps them on Minho. 

“Get up, big shot, come on,” she whispers.

“Come on, man,” comes a plea from Newt. They’ve made it this far, they’ve made it to the Right Arm, they’re safe from the storm. They’ve made it, he has to wake up! 

“Minho!” Thomas gives him another shake. Still no movement or sound from the boy. Mars’ breath trembles in the dreadful silence. Minho shows no signs of life, his body completely limp, his eyes closed. 

But then a hoarse groan disrupts the dead silence fallen upon the gladers, and Minho’s head lulls from side to side before it rises up. Mars can’t help the yelp of victory that her throat sings out at Minho’s consciousness, and she leans her head onto Newt’s shoulder out of relief. The gladers cheer for their friend’s return each in their own way, and can breathe out in incredible relief. 

“There he is!” Frypan calls out, and feels himself actually smiling. 

“Here you are. You okay, man?” Newt asks as a grin stretches his features. For the first time, Mars notices the light scratch on his left cheek.

“Thank shuck,” Mars says, which makes her friends chuckle. Minho looks around, and probably wonders why his friends are all staring at him like that, and why their faces look like that. 

“What the hell happened?” Minho rasps. His friends look between themselves, grins on all their faces. Mars smiles wide.

“You got struck by lightning,” she tells him finally. She watches Minho’s reaction, as his face changes from shock to glee, and back to shock again.

“Woah,” is all he can muster up to say, and he makes his friends laugh. 

“Let’s get you up,” Newt pats Minho’s chest, which feels a bit hotter to the touch than it should, and he and Thomas raise Minho up in unison, muttering grunts, “nice and slow.” Newt says. “Think you can stand up?” He asks Minho.

The former runner grunts. “Yeah,” he confirms, but Newt and Thomas still keep their hands on his shoulders, “thanks, guys.” He gives his friends a quick overlook, thanking them. Mars pats his chest and still marvels at the fact that he survived a lightning strike. It’s unbelievable. It’s like Minho is super human. 

“Hey,” comes a call from Teresa, somewhere up ahead. Mars feels Newt turning her so her back would face him, and he opens their backpack. He searches about inside it as Mars tries to find Teresa in the dark. Finally, Newt gets what he was looking for and closes the bag, “what’s that smell?” Teresa asks. Suddenly Mars acknowledges it, too. Apart from the smell of burning flesh and sand, there’s this foul odour inside the building. She guesses she didn’t notice before because they were all focused on getting Minho back to consciousness. 

The odour is the same one that the mall had. Mars’ eyes widen in horrific realisation. She grips Newt’s hand by her side out of fear. A sharp movement and a flurry of sounds whips towards Teresa, and she shines her flashlight on the oncoming object just in time to reveal a face of a crank. “Watch out!” Someone shouts. Mars and Teresa are the first ones to scream, and they all draw back.

But suddenly, probably because of the gladers’ screaming and exclamations, movement and crank noises seem to come from all around them. A crank, whose face is completely blue and ridden with dark blue veins, tries to claw at Mars, his dirty fingers just mere inches from his face. But Newt pulls her away in time. Thomas has to pull Frypan back as he spots a crank just in front of the cook. Aris scrambles to join the group, be as close to them as possible. Newt shines his light outwards, and lets himself and the others see that the cranks are somehow tied to chains. The gladers are surrounded.

Mars’ first instinct is to search for the entrance door and get out as fast as they can. But then she’s reminded of the storm outside, both by memory and by the thunder that she can still hear, outside the building. The cranks can’t out-scream the loud thunder.

To their left, further inside the building, someone switches on a light. A small silhouette stands at the far side of the seemingly large room the gladers are in. “I see you’ve met our guard dogs.” Comes a call from the silhouette, echoing off the walls of the building, audible over the cranks. The gladers look among themselves and draw even closer to each other. Guard dogs? What kind of person or organisation would have cranks as their guard dogs? And so many, too? The person starts walking towards the gladers, making their way through the hungry cranks, who to Mars look on the verge of breaking free from their metal restraints. The person, small in height, shorter even than Mars, walks past the cranks in a casual manner, completely unbothered by their presence. 

As soon as they approach, the gladers shine their flashlights on them to see who they’re met with. It’s a girl with short, dark hair and dark eyes. Her clothes have seen better days, as has she herself, no doubt. She exhales deeply, looking the group of guests over. “You guys look like shit.” She tells them. Minho scoffs, and Mars has the same attitude. She’s one to talk. “Come on, follow me.” She gestures, even tilting her head back in the direction she came from. The gladers look amongst themselves, unmoving. Who is she? Who says they should follow her? She could be from WICKED, for all they know. Another test, another trap. The girl raises her eyebrows. “Unless you want to stay here with them.”

Thomas is the first who seems to relax out of the gladers. The tension drops from his shoulders and he exhales. In truth, the gladers don’t want to stay here with the countless cranks. They can’t go back outside either. If this isn’t the Right Arm, then it’s at least some lead towards them. It’s civilisation, it’s people they can talk to, it seems. Thomas doesn’t say a word, but knows that his friends must be thinking the same thing as he is after weighing out their options. He raises his flashlight back up again and nods his head towards the mysterious girl, gesturing for his friends to follow. Reluctantly they do, falling into a line to avoid cranks on their way.

Mars presses herself into Newt’s side as they walk behind Minho, who is right behind Thomas. Teresa, Frypan and Aris follow Mars and Newt, walking behind them in line, in that order. Mars tries not to look at the horrible sight of cranks to both her sides as she walks, but it’s quite impossible. They’re so close and so loud. 

The girl leads them into a stairway and shuts the door that led to it right after everyone gets inside. They huddle into a group again while they wait for her to lead them up the illuminated stairs. Newt turns his flashlight off, so does Thomas and Teresa. They follow her upstairs.

With each step she takes, Mars can hear noises of conversation, laughter and even music coming closer to them. Or rather, they’re coming closer to the noises. They climb a couple floors, it seems, but there are no doors on either side. This must have been a factory building before, Mars deducts. Now what is it?

Finally they reach the end of the steps, and a hallway stretches out before them. The girl leads them straight down it, the noises of civilisation now as close as they can be, and then their guide takes a left turn through a door gap. The noises grow even louder. 

“Oh, my,” Frypan says quietly behind Mars as they all take in the sight before them. People. Fireplaces. Tents. Some form of life. So many different people. Children, women, men, the elderly. They must all be survivors of the elements and of the virus. Living in some type of home in a big factory. Mars raises her eyebrows. This isn’t so bad, even if it’s not the Right Arm, she thinks. 

“Come on, keep up.” The girl calls out, a few steps ahead of the gladers, who slowed down their pace to take everything in. Thomas and the others jog up to rejoin her. “Jorge wants to meet you.” She tells them. Teresa has caught up to Thomas’ pace, now walking alongside him behind the girl.

“Uhh, who’s Jorge?” Thomas inquires. Mars furrows her eyebrows. She feels people starting to follow their group, and she grows uneasy. Newt notices the same thing. 

“You’ll see,” the girl replies with an audible grin on her face, “no one’s come out of the Scorch in a long time. You’ve just got him curious.” She shrugs. “And me, too.” She admits after giving Thomas a look-over. Mars raises an eyebrow, and suddenly feels footsteps right behind her. Probably wasn’t the best thought to stay at the back of her friend group. She doesn’t dare to turn her head around and look at the person gaining on her.

After a quick glance over his shoulder, Newt gently moves Mars to walk in front of himself and Frypan, feeling very unsafe in this environment suddenly. “Anyone else got a bad feeling about this place?” He asks quietly and looks around at his friends in search of agreement. Frypan doesn’t vocally say anything, but his eyes do say enough. He’s scared, too.

The girl leads them to another set of stairs, this one only half a floor high, and is illuminated by cold, white light. She doesn’t hesitate in climbing up, and Thomas doesn’t, either. But his friends do. Minho grabs onto his arm and stops him in his track. “Thomas…” he tries to say, but doesn’t know exactly what. So he just shakes his head.

Thomas looks unmovable. “Let’s just hear him out,” Thomas tells his friends. Perhaps this Jorge guy could lead them to the Right Arm. This place doesn’t exactly ooze resistance army potential, “see what he has to say.” Thomas nods at his friends, slightly raising his eyebrows in question. Minho sighs, thinking he’ll probably regret agreeing and coming along, but does so, anyway, following Thomas up the stairs. Mars and Newt exchange a look, but follow their friends upstairs, too. 

They’re led up to a wide room that resembles an attic, and to Mars’ distaste, the strangers from the shelter room come right up with them, too. They’ve stuck to the gladers for some reason. She huddles to the middle of her friend group again, that uneasiness growing by the second. 

“Jorge, they’re here,” the girl announces, most likely to a man who sits by an illuminated desk at a very large, grid-like window. But he holds up a hand. The girl takes a seat in a leather sofa to the left while the gladers move closer to the man named Jorge. He seems to be listening to something, Mars hears distant voices and scratches coming from a device on the desk that the man currently has his hands on. A radio.

“Damn it,” the man says after the noises die down. Mars sucks in a nervous breath and watches the man rise. He has grey hair, even a beard, a hazelnut complexion and dark eyes. Though they’re stern, kindness is visible in them, as well. He is quite fashionably dressed for an apocalyptic world. He looks over the group. So this is Jorge, who looks onto the gladers with slight pause, “do you ever get the feeling the whole world’s against you?” He asks them. Jorge juggles a water vase in one hand, and a glass in the other. None of the gladers reply. Mostly because they’re afraid to. Afraid that saying anything might give them something they don’t want. But Mars does get that feeling Jorge asked about. “Three questions,” the man says now, “where did you come from? Where… are you going? How can I profit?”

He seems to be a man all about business. Mars squints her eyes at the man, and then looks around at her friends. They don’t know what to say, or how much they can say, they’re all thinking that. Any mention of WICKED will surely earn them a one-way ticket back to the crank room. 

“Don’t all answer at once,” Jorge clarifies, moving his hand in the air for effect. He still waits for the gladers to say something, and a couple seconds pass until someone does.

“We’re… headed for the mountains,” Thomas says in a quiet, dry voice, “looking for the Right Arm.” He adds, and that makes the residents of this wonderful institution laugh. It’s in no way pleasant laughter. It sounds menacing and mocking, even condescending to a degree. Mars draws in a nervous breath.

“You’re looking for ghosts, you mean,” Jorge, who also chuckled, says and looks questioningly at Thomas. Ghosts? Mars cringes. What does he mean by ghosts? “Question number two,” he says and takes a sip of his water, “where… did you come from?” 

“That’s our business.” Minho immediately responds in defence. When Mars glances at him, he’s got an upset scowl on his face. Surely not the friendly facade they should be putting up for these threatening strangers. Jorge chuckles again and moves two of his fingers through the air. 

Two men immediately tackle Thomas from the side, pulling him away from his friends and sending him to the floor. “Hey! Get the hell off me!” He protests, and Newt and Minho even step up to go after Thomas. But the rest of what Mars presumes are Jorge’s men step around them, malicious grins on their faces. Mars would never admit it, but they almost make her tear up out of the fear they induce. 

The mysterious girl steps over Thomas, a device in her hand, and she holds it right at the back of his neck. “Shut up, you big baby,” she mumbles and clicks something on the device. It makes a muffled beeping sound that sounds like some data is loading, and then it beeps in some sort of approval. The girl raises up to her feet again, leaving Thomas to the men, and gives the device to Jorge, “you were right.” She says in some sort of awe.

Mars wonders what she means, and what exactly got that beep of approval—something on Thomas?—and she looks at Jorge, all the while keeping close to Newt, clutched into his side, between her friends. Her uneasiness has started to grow into real fear. She doesn’t like any of these people. Jorge looks at the device the girl gave him and raises his eyebrows. It looks like he half-expected what the screen shows him. “I’m sorry, hermano,” he says and then looks at Thomas and his friends, “but it looks like you’re tagged.” Mars furrows her eyebrows. “You came… from WICKED.” Jorge states, and Mars draws in a shaky breath. Newt’s grip tightens around her shoulders. This is exactly what they feared, and exactly what they didn’t need. “Which means you are very, very valuable.”

Mars barely hears the end of his sentence due to a flurry of movement around her taking away her attention. Two of the men grab her harshly at her shoulders, pulling her away from Newt. Her eyes widen in panic, and she looks to Newt, just in time to see two men taking him, too. The rest of their friends are being taken, too, and they all try to kick and hit the men in protest. “Let her go!” Newt’s voice erupts as a loud scream of anger amidst the confusion and mumbles.

They hear Jorge chuckling again. “Take them to the circles,” he tells his men, “give them the usual.” Jorge gives Newt and Mars one last look over before his men drag them out of sight, all of the gladers kicking and screaming against their captors all the while. 

The circles turn out to be circular holes in the many floors the building has, going from the ceiling to the very first floor. Mars finds herself exhausted by the time they reach the place, but she still won’t give up without putting up a fight. The men throw her to the ground and one of them puts her feet together before starting to tie a rope around her ankles.

“Let her go!” Comes from Newt again, but Mars thinks faster than that. She uses the advantage to kick one of the men in the side of his head with her elbow—wondering all the while where this comes from, since she wasn’t able to fight at all before this moment, she didn’t even have the guts to—and her bone connects with his skull, stunning him for just a moment.

“Stupid girl,” he growls at her, his eyes showing such fire Mars hasn’t seen before in her life, similar to the madness in the cranks’ eyes. What surprises her again is that she doesn’t feel one ounce afraid or intimidated by him, like she did moments ago. Things are coming back. Snippets of her personality before the Maze. She doesn’t get much time to pride herself in her small attack because the man’s fist connects with her cheek sending her limp on the floor, “hurry up!” She hears the man shouting to his colleague at Mars’ feet, and she also hears her friends yelling out protests.

But the world becomes a blur for her, mostly her vision. The shock and pain block her hearing for just a few moments until she can hear normally again. Her cheek sure hurts, though, and she thinks that one or two of her teeth might even be broken. She feels hot blood pooling inside of her mouth, so she spits it out as quickly as she can. God knows what will happen to her next, better get her mouth clean and empty in time.

Thankfully, with that spit of blood, no teeth or part of them come out, so the man didn’t break anything. He surely could have, but he’s only succeeded at stunning and hurting Mars a bit. She feels her ankles being tied together pretty tightly, almost to the point of all the blood draining from them, and she turns her head around to see what’s going on. Newt is laying by her side, his chest heaving, and he’s looking down at her. He shakes his head. He doesn’t have a clear image of what to say, he feels too much at the moment. He’s proud of her for fighting back, that is shown by the grin he wears on his lips. But he also thinks it useless to get herself hurt. 

With a grunt from both her and the men, Mars is lifted up from the ground by her feet and carried away from Newt. She watches him and the world around her upside down, and sees that Newt, then Thomas, then the rest of her friends, are carried off in the same fashion. Her head starts to feel heavy. The man stops walking at some point and lays Mars back down on the ground. What? She asks herself, looking around with furrowed eyebrows.

The man pulls a long piece of rope up in the air, tying it to a metal hatch in the ceiling, and Mars’s feet lift up along with it. What is he doing? “Up you go,” the man grumbles, that malicious grin still very much on his face. Mars furrows her eyebrows even more, but doesn’t get much time to react before the man pushes her off an edge, sending her into the air.

Out of fear of falling down to death, Mars shuts her eyes and screams at the top of her lungs in a high pitch, feeling wind, out of the impact, all around her. Shouts from her friends echo across the large room, and then Mars feels herself nearing something. She immediately crosses her arms over her chest and hides her face in her hands—the best she can do in her position— and feels her forearms colliding with something hard, something dusty. Must be a wall. 

As she swings away from the object, Mars dares to crack one of her eyes open just a slit to see what that was all about. She sees a floor on the level of her eyes, and cubic pillars decorating its edges every few feet. Though she sees it all upside down. And she hasn't fallen to her death. She’s not hurt.

She swings back and forth a few times before something up ahead, higher than her feet, pushes her in a half-circular motion, or even quarter-of-a-circle motion to the right. She furrows her eyebrows and strains her head, raising it to look up and see what’s going on. But a figure crashes into her from above before she can make any sense of their situation. 

Newt yells as he’s pushed off the edge and swings right towards Mars, crashing into her. He manages to hold his arms out before him in both their defense, and ends up holding onto her as they swing back and forth through the air. She yelps out of surprise, but realises it’s him in a few short moments, and stops, opening her eyes again. 

She holds onto his arms holding her and looks at him. He’s upside down, just like her, and his cheeks are falling onto his eyes in the unusual angle, which accidentally makes Mars chuckle. But she discovers that laughing puts even more pressure on her head, and so she stops. Then they’re being moved to the right again, swinging that way together. 

One after the other, the gladers are strung up by their feet in the air and swinged into the hollow shaft of a room. They can hear the men snickering on the floor above them as they watch the gladers stabilise in their positions in the circle of hatches. Mars looks around to see if everyone’s safe, and discovers she and Newt are now hanging in the middle of their group, right in the middle of the circular shaft. She hears the men above them leaving, their footsteps fading out. And she again notices the screeches that can only belong to cranks. Mars strains her neck and looks downwards, and sees the tied-up crowd of cranks just directly downwards from them, on the first floor. She almost cries out, but shakes her head instead as she looks at Newt, sighing. “What have we gotten ourselves into…” she says quietly. Newt can all but agree.

“Great plan, Thomas,” Minho says, his voice audibly strained, “let’s see what the man has to say. Really working out for us.” Mars can agree, but then again none of them knew what these people would do, none of them could have ever predicted this. 

“Oh, shut up, Minho,” Thomas shoots back in something between a whisper and a grunt, his voice cracking at his friend’s name. He looks around for anything that might help him get himself and his friends out of here, “maybe I can… maybe I can reach the rope.” He says and raises his torso upwards to try and do what he said he would. But it’s too far away. His legs are too long, and the pressure in his brain becomes too heavy. He falls back down.

Mars tries to do the same, thinking maybe she could succeed, but the pain in her head is too present. It hurts to even lift up a little bit. She lets her arms fall by her sides again, and is faced with the sight of Newt and her friends again, still upside down. She wishes she could just close her eyes, open them again, and be somewhere pleasant, much more pleasant than this.

“Enjoying the view?” Comes Jorge’s unmistakable voice to her right. She tries to turn and face him, and Newt does the same next to her.

“What the hell do you want?” Thomas snaps at the man, who now stands before them with his hands clasped in front of him. His behavior is a little theatrical, Mars notes down. 

“That is the question,” Jorge says, “my men… want to sell you back to WICKED.” Mars’ breath almost gets caught in her throat at how quickly she makes a terrified inhale. Anything but that. “Life has taught them to think small. I’m not like that.” Jorge states, shaking his head. Hell, he's crazy, but maybe they do have a chance with this guy after all, Mars thinks. “Something tells me you’re not, either.” 

Minho sighs next to Mars. “Is the blood rushing through my head… or is this shank not makin’ any sense?” He asks, once again teasing Jorge, seeing how far he’d go. Mars swings over to Minho as best as she can and pokes his side. “Ow!”

“Keep your mouth shut!” She hisses at him, and then glances at Jorge. “He might be onto something.”

“Oh, you too, huh?” Minho concludes and shakes his head. Mars rolls her eyes.

Jorge has been watching them through this short bickering. “Tell me what you know about the Right Arm.” He orders, and begins walking back and forth, side to side. Newt furrows his eyebrows. 

“Thought you said they were ghosts,” he retorts, confused now.

“I happen to believe in ghosts,” Jorge replies. His words make Mars feel a bit less uneasy, “especially when I hear them… chattering on the air waves.” He says with a theatrical effect. Mars turns her head to look at Newt, both their eyes widened. The Right Arm is real. It exists. “You tell me what you know, and maybe we can make a deal.” Jorge offers, now gripping a lever that stands next to a big roll of rope. Huh. Mars didn’t notice that before. It must be the same rope that they’re hanging from in the air. 

Thomas sighs. “Look, we—we don’t know much.” He starts to say, but Jorge doesn’t seem to be convinced. His face remains stone cold as he pushes the lever forwards, sending the gladers a level lower with a jolt, sending them closer to the crank pit. They all yelp out of surprise. “Okay, okay!” Thomas does his best at raising his arms up in surrender. “They’re hiding… somewhere in the mountains. They attacked WICKED, got out a bunch of kids… that’s it. That’s all we know.” Thomas honestly says, looking at Jorge.

The man has stepped away from the lever and is again taking slow steps back and forth. The gladers watch him, they wait for whatever he has to offer them, any kind of verdict. But the man stays silent until one of his men comes into the room. “Yo, Jorge,” he calls out, and Mars recognises him as the man who hit her back in the face just ten minutes or so ago, “what’s going on?” He has that same stupid grin on his face.

Jorge glances over the gladers. “Me and my new friends were just getting acquainted,” he replies to his employee, and a scowl crosses his face. Mars can’t tell if it’s a genuine one or just an act. She hopes for the latter, of course, “we’re done now.” He concludes and begins walking away, leaving the gladers hanging, quite literally. 

“Hey! Wait!” Thomas calls out, and Jorge turns around momentarily. “You—you’re not gonna help us?” He asks. The true and honest desperation is very much audible in his voice, but he doesn’t feel ashamed that it is. Thomas will do anything to get away from WICKED, that is clear. 

“Don’t worry, hermano,” Jorge starts to say, “we’re gonna get you back where you belong.” He speaks words that make Mars’ stomach turn upside down threefold. They’re gonna bring them back to WICKED. Back to that place. Back to death. “Hang tight!” Jorge calls out to them before leaving with the other man. Mars tries to get herself to breathe normally, but her lungs are failing her.

After the men are out of earshot, she speaks up. “We have to get out of here,” she whispers, “fast.”

“Good that.” Frypan responds. “This is such bad news.” 

“Anyone… have a plan?” Thomas asks his friends, exasperated and out of any options. Mars huffs. 

“We need to get to that lever,” she says, and is still surprised that she has suddenly earned coordination and combat skills, as well as logical thinking. Perhaps they’re what she was made to forget, too, “we could… I mean, it’s a long shot, but we could pull it so that we’re in level with the floor. For starters.” She looks over their group. “Teresa, you’re closest to it. You’re gonna have to do it.”

Teresa turns slowly around to face Mars, and then nods. “How do I do that?�� She asks. Mars huffs and looks at them all again. She looks at her proximity with Newt, and then at her proximity with Teresa. He’s close enough to touch Mars, to push her. It could work?

“Newt, you’ll swing me towards Teresa as hard as you can,” she tells him, and Newt nods, at the ready for action, “and I’ll push you towards it.” Mars looks at Teresa again, and she nods. “It’s not gonna be easy.” She says.

“We have some time,” Thomas says, “great plan, Mars.” He gives her a thumbs up, though it's upside down now. She almost laughs, but responds with an absent smile and readies herself for swinging around.

“Okay, ready?” Newt asks Mars and she nods. “On the count of three.” He informs her. “One… two… three!” And he swings all of his weight towards her, arms outstretched and hands on her back, pushing her in Teresa’s direction as hard as he can. Mars comes so close to the girl that she can reach her, and she tries to, but the swing was too weak, and she begins to swing back towards Newt. All of them grunt in disappointment.

“It’s okay, let’s try again,” Mars encourages her friends, “Frypan, you help Newt.” She says and the boy nods. Newt counts to three again, this time together with Frypan, and they both push Mars towards Teresa. Mars already has her arms outstretched, and she finally connects with Teresa’s back, sending the girl swinging towards the iron ledge. And she catches on. “Yes!” Mars exclaims at their success.

Mars watches Teresa turn around as she grips the railing, and she reaches for the lever. She grunts, pulling it towards her with all her might, and sends her friends a feet or two lower until their feet are in one level with the floor. They yelp in surprise once again, and Teresa works on untying the rope around her ankles. There’s a strange look in her eyes as she looks over her friends, who still hang upside down, and Mars is reminded of what Thomas told her about Teresa. Something’s not totally right here.

Teresa pulls her friends just a little lower so it would be easier for them to get on the right floor, and helps Thomas up first, then Minho, as he’s closer to the edge, then Aris. Frypan, Mars and Newt remain hanging. Thomas frees his ankles from the rope and hurries to help out Mars and Newt. Mars is in the very middle of the hole, and so Newt and Frypan push her towards the edge first. She collides with Thomas on the first try, gripping his forearms so they wouldn’t fall over. Their eyes connect and complete trust forms like a bridge between them. 

Aris finds a knife in his bag that he scavenged in the mall, and comes over to Thomas to help with the ropes. With a single movement, Aris cuts the rope apart, freeing Mars, and sends her into Thomas’s arms. She unties the knots around her feet while standing up, and throws the rope down the hole before facing Newt and Frypan. Teresa lowers them a bit, figuring it will be easier that way, and Newt swings towards Mars and Thomas with all his might. Aris cuts the rope off again, and sends the trio falling to the floor. The right one, thankfully.

Minho and Aris help Frypan get down to his feet, using the same technique as Thomas did, and the gladers are all back together, and on their feet again. Newt knows it might not be the best time—there might not be any time at all—but he pulls Mars into a tight hug and closes his eyes as he does so. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck and breathes out deeply.

Mars is a bit taken aback by it, but she doesn’t protest and instead wraps her arms around Newt. She closes her eyes, too, and relishes in his embrace. She didn’t even know she missed it that much. She appreciates the chance to be able to touch him again at all. A sad smile stretches her lips and her fingers tighten their hold on his jacket. 

“I love you,” he presses his lips against the side of her head, and Mars smiles sadly even wider. She tries not to tear up, “can I say that I’m proud?” He whispers and Mars nods vigorously. She chuckles quietly, “good. Cause I am. Now let’s get out of here.” Newt pulls away from her and looks into her eyes before taking Mars’ hand. She nods at him and pushes tears out of her eyes. There’s no time or point to cry.

part twenty-two?

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[adam-memeleri]

Imperfections

it may not be foreign affairs anymore, but its still ayna day in my heart 😔❤️. thanks @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the prompt again, i threw in some angst this time cuz i like pain :) kinky

no idea when anything takes place, but im aiming for during the fake relationship i think ?? who knows tbh

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tagging -@bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @alccaddsccup @cardinalnuggets

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (uhhhh i think hurt/comfort? primarily? idk man)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~2k words unedited but thats nothing new now is it?

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Ayna’s fingers fasten a necklace clasp behind her neck, every movement careful and precise as she readies herself. They move to her hair, fixing it for the nth time, just to assure it’s perfect.

It has to be perfect, all of it. Every hair, every pore, every fine detail - it’s all been carefully thought through for weeks now, for this one specific date.

Valentine’s Day.

The end all be all, at least this year. She’s never given it much thought before, but she’s never really had a reason to. Until this year. Until this crazy, wild, borderline disastrous year. Until the day Kennedy stumbled into her class, all smiles and longing looks.

Until she spent days looking forward to coffee house meetups, until short texts could make her whole day, until every class was an excuse to share a small smile. And, unfortunately, until those meetups were forced to end, until those texts stopped coming, until class was just a reminder that even smiles were dangerous.

But not today. She had a plan today, a foolproof, perfect plan. No planned meetups, no trackable texts, nothing too out in the open. And she’d be damned if it failed.

She turns from the hanging mirror, shrugging on a jacket and tugging on a nice pair of shoes before straightening. Her reflection stares back at her, carefully done makeup and slightly askew glasses. She quickly adjusts them, tucking back one last strand of hair.

With one last glimpse at herself, she grabs the bouquet of roses she picked out earlier in the day, bright red petals resting on her table. And with that she leaves, exiting her building and venturing onto Vancross campus.

She eventually steps out onto one of the many winding paths leading through the school’s grounds, carefully making her way to the expansive library settled in one corner of campus. It’s familiar warmth shines through the windows, yellow lights on even in the darkening night for cramming and over enthusiastic students.

Ayna’s fingers tighten over the door’s handle, tugging it open as a small, excited grin overtakes her lips. She steps inside, flowers poised in her hands regardless of how cheesy they may be, and scans for

They’re with her. Sitting with her, talking with her, laughing with her. They’ve been doing everything with her, and today’s no different. Today’s not special, not exempt, not reserved for Ayna.

Huddled close at a table, books spread before the pair as they whisper, heads so close. Arms touching, smiles wide, chairs so close. They’re so close, that’s all Ayna can think about as she simply stands there, all her previous excitement evaporating from her body.

And they don’t even notice her. Kennedy’s gaze doesn’t flicker in her direction in the way it always does. Their cheeks don’t flush when they’re caught like they always do in the lecture hall. Their hands don’t fidget with barely contained nerves, atop the table, a pen twirling between anxious fingers.

Their gaze is glued to Evelyn’s features, their cheeks dust in a blush from her words, their hands are relaxed as they lean against her shoulder. They don’t even notice Ayna.

She turns on her heel, quickly rushing out the library’s front doors and into the dusk settled around campus. Her heels clack with some strange anger, some swirling in the pit of her gut as her fist clenches, crushing the bouquet she spent so long picking out.

And all for naught. This is all for naught, that’s the worst part. The outfit, the shoes, the hair and makeup - all for absolutely nothing.

She stalks to a trash can resting beside the pavement, glaring down at it with pale knuckles and a furrow in her brow. She breaks, like a glass hitting concrete. She breaks, stuffing the ridiculous flowers into the bin over and over again, until she’s just needlessly exerting herself, needlessly scratching herself on discarded thorns.

Little nicks on her skin, tiny imperfections to ruin it all. A visual of her failings, a marking to remind her of this disastrous night. A brand forged without fire, one that’ll remain in the morning, even after she’s washed off the rest of tonight. Even when the mascara and curls and jacket are discarded in the next few hours, the cuts will stay, at least for a few days.

She breaks once more, from the trash bin as an angry and hurt tear slips down her cheek. A crumpled fist hurriedly wipes it away, before she’s stamping down the paved path once more, shoulders tight and expression pinched.

“Hey! Ayna!” a voice rings behind her, out of breath as quick footsteps draw closer and closer. “Hey,” a hand softly grasps her sleeve, a smiling face slipping into her line of sight.

“Hey,” she mumbles back, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, feet that haven’t once halted.

Kennedy slows by her side, falling into step with her easily. “Tatum said he saw you come into the library then leave, what’s up?”

Ayna’s shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, slumping with an exhale. “Nothing.”

“You sure? You seem kinda… distant.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, okay,” Kennedy relents, head swiveling as they search for something to occupy her attention. “Um, happy Valentine’s!” Their hands clap together excitedly, expression alight with a beaming smile. “I wanted to call you or something earlier, but Winston was hovering over me all day and I don’t know… You’re usually busy this time of night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ayna shrugs again, her hands fisted in her pockets. “I’m not busy.”

“Really? Then let’s do something!”

Her gaze snaps up, shock sparking throughout her mind. “What?” she blanks, stopping in her tracks to further scrutinise Kennedy.

“Yeah!” Kennedy’s grin is brilliant, even in the low light, before they glance about the quad. Their hands slip into Ayna’s, fingers tangling with hers, before they’re tugging her along, away from the light posts and travelled paths.

She’s led past the bushes, to a secluded bench, empty branches hanging above it, stretching from a large tree. A soft breeze stirs them, whistling through the leafless wood.

“Okay,” Kennedy starts, sucking in a deep breath. “So I know this is super late, and I don’t really know how to go about this, but…” they meet her eyes, hope glimmering within, “would you, Ayna Seth, do me the honour of being my Valentine?”

She blinks. Not a single other muscle moves, her breath halts in her lungs, her brain malfunctions entirely, and the only thing she can do is blink. Again. And again.

“...Ayna?” Kennedy squeezes her hands where they still rest in theirs.

“You really… Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been trying to find a good time for ages, so I figured… Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding! Your hands!” they grip her forearm, tugging her down to the bench, where they carefully cradle her hands in their lap. Their fingers hover over her skin, not sure what to do as they send uneasy glances up to Ayna’s eyes.

She inspects the scratches now, all of them shallow and mostly painless. “It’s just a few cuts,” she mumbles, Kennedy’s panicked gaze quieting her.

“What happened?” they whisper, as if worried the volume of their voice could inflict further damage.

“I, um -” Ayna steals her hands back, folding them in her lap to hide them. “The flowers,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, “They had thorns.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Okay,” she nods, still biting her lip.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me out?” They speak at the same time, concern brimming in Kennedy’s eyes and disbelief in Ayna’s.

A grin quirks Kennedy’s lips as they settle against the bench, arm draped over the back. “I asked first.”

“Barely,” Ayna chuckles lighty.

“Still got there first.”

Ayna shakes her head in exasperation, a fond smile lifting her lips. Before it all falls away, replaced by a crease between her brows. “I, um,” she shifts in her seat awkwardly, struggling for the words. “I don’t think I’m as comfortable with the fake relationship as I thought I was…”

“Okay,” Kennedy answers quickly, easily.

“What?” she balks, jaw working for words. “Are you sure?” is all she manages.

“Of course,” they chime, just as quickly, as easily. “If you’re jealous or uncomfortable, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it.”

Ayna’s jaw snaps shut, a frown curving her mouth, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh really?” Kennedy’s voice hums, a teasing lilt to it.

“I’m not,” Ayna’s frown deepens.

“Okay…” they hum again, leaning closer as their voice lowers. “So you’d have no problem with me, say, asking out Evelyn for real?” Their eyebrow raises, head cocking to the side. “Or what about Blaine? Maybe Zaira…?” they tap their chin thoughtfully.

Ayna starts, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” her voice tapers off, replaced by the bouncing of her leg and the picking of a nail.

“You’re jealous?” Kennedy supplies with an amused smile.

Ayna deflates, sighing heavily, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being… jealous,” she almost spits the word, distaste heavy on her tongue and sloshing in her stomach.

Kennedy shifts closer, their body warm against Ayna’s in the cool night air. “Don’t be. It’s normal, it’s fine,” they take her hand, their palm covering tiny cuts, tiny imperfections with warmth and comfort. “I’d get jealous if you were walking around with someone too.”

“You’re not weirded out by it?”

“No, it’s normal,” They squeeze Ayna’s hand, thumb brushing lightly on her skin. “It’s human. You’re human.”

“I still don’t like it,” she scowls, eliciting a nudge and smirk from Kennedy.

“That’s fine, too,” they reassure, a more serious expression taking over. “So what happened with the thorns?”

“I got you roses,” Ayna’s cheeks flush dark, “Even though I know it’s lame, and then I kinda, uh, threw them out.”

A wide grin breaks across Kennedy’s face as they sidle up against Ayna, throwing their arm over her shoulder. “One:” they count off on the hand resting over her shoulder, “that’s adorable, and two: why’d you toss them?”

She doesn’t move beneath their arm, sitting stiff and rigid, her voice the same, “I got jealous and ruined them. I wanted tonight to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it.”

“Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything,” Kennedy scolds. “I told you, jealousy’s human. And I tend to like the things about you that make you human. It’d be weird if my Valentine was a robot,” they tease, nudging Ayna until she joins them in smiling.

She finally faces them fully, her own eyebrow jutting upwards, “I never said I’d be your Valentine.”

“You didn’t, did you?” Their arm retracts, leg folding on the bench as their body rotates towards hers. Their palms clasp in their lap as they lean forward, a smirk on their lips. “So what’ll it be, Ayna? Be my Valentine? My perfectly imperfect Valentine?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally relaxes, the teasing familiar. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she smiles softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, unbothered by it.

“It does if you turn off the robot brain,” Kennedy lightly taps Ayna on the nose, laughing when her face scrunches.

“The robot brain is a part of the Valentine’s package.”

Kennedy squints, eyes roving over Ayna’s features. The askew glasses, the smudged lipstick, the flyaway hairs. “Are the roses also a part of it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then I’m all in,” they grin, just as infectious and brilliant as always. “So? Valentines?” they prod, wiggling their eyebrows playfully.

Ayna smiles softly back, scratched hands rising to cup Kennedy’s cheeks and close the already shrinking distance between them. “Valentines,” she murmurs against their lips, a whispered promise. Before they meet, light and soft and full of the light that’s held beyond the bushes.