#most of them have spent most of their lives eating ration bars and nothing else

[heyclickadee]

So, today on silly headcanons that don’t matter and would probably never apply to the batch’s situation but I like them anyway: Random thoughts on what would happen if each of the batchers had to make a cake (and had unlimited access to all of the ingredients that they’d need):

Omega: Woo!! Cake!! *makes a bunch of space chocolate (there’s space chocolate, right?) cupcakes with a few different colors of icing so that she can put them together and make it look like Ruby. Wrecker keeps walking by to help out and even sneaks her some ruby chocolate chips so it can be a ruby chocolate Ruby cupcake cake. The end result is very cute, even if Omega does have to end up having to use mantell mix to make the face (someone kept eating her cupcakes and she ran out by the time she got to the face). The kitchen, though—it’s a complete disaster by the end, and Omega had the best time making that mess*

Hunter: So…my batter’s cured solid in the mixer. Is that supposed to happen? *Okay, so, his cake looks gorgeous. He’s managed to paint a sunset on Pabu onto what looks like a three tiered cake with buttercream, and it’s got this amazing texture and impressionistic look. Unfortunately, when you cut into it, it’s just three tiers of ground up ration bars fused into a kind of concrete using burnt caramel. It tastes like sand and death.*

Echo: It’ll be perfect as long as I follow the recipe. *He looks at the recipe, sees at least five ingredients he can’t eat, and decides to make a smoothie that he can eat instead. He’s not a big fan of cake, and that’s okay. It’s a really good smoothie.*

Tech: Baking is just chemistry. What could go wrong? *Lots of things. Lots of things can go wrong. Turns out that chemistry (outside of biochem) is a bit of a blind spot for Tech, and our guy can’t just follow directions without experimenting a little. Or a lot. In the end, he does end up with something. It’s not cake, but it’s definitely something. Some might call it clam chowder in a bread bowl. Really good clam chowder in a bread bowl. Just—it’s definitely not cake.*

Crosshair: Hhmm. *Crosshair can’t be too bothered to make a cake, so he buys three boxes of space funfetti cake mix, follows the directions on the box exactly, stacks the three funfetti cakes with funfetti icing in between, and then decorates the whole thing with the icing leftover from both Hunter’s and Omega’s cakes. That said, his piping is amazing. Everyone’s afraid to eat his cake because it looks so pretty. He also ate about five of Omega’s cupcakes, but it’s okay—she kept putting them on his side of the table so that he would.*

Wrecker: YEAH! CAKE TIME, BABY!! *disappears for three days and re-emerges with this gravity defying illusion cake that looks like the Maurader flying over a rocky moon full of B-1s. The B-1s are made of tempered chocolate and full of salted caramel, he’s using at least four different flavors of cake and three different kinds of cream filling, there’s a ganache river on the moon surface, the marauder cake is actually levitating (because Star Wars), it has jets of sugar glass that actually light up coming out of the engine, AND it fires choux pastry proton bombs that actually explode with jogan fruit mousse when they hit the ground. There’s even a whole section especially made for Echo so that he can eat it. And it all tastes perfect. He ends up the designated cake guy on the rare occasions they need a cake, and he couldn’t be more delighted.*

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed The Radio Star- Chapter 4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Happy new year! Please remember that most of these chapters are very sensitive to some readers and to be safe with this new year upon us! Another reminder that if you ever feel helpless, you are not alone and you are loved. Love you all- Em <3

Warnings: Sex talk, infidelity, blood, disturbing material, loss of a child, and suicide.

Plot: We take a small look into Heather’s past and the events leading up to her obsession. The team seems to be missing a piece of the puzzle. Adeline comes back to the station. 

Word Count: 2.9K

Four years prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had thinned out since she dropped out of college, to achieve so she had fallen victim to eating disorders. They were horrible, but they did tremendous work. She didn’t necessarily like herself per se, but she did like how she looked, even if sometimes she would look into the mirror and think “Is that me?”

Heather deleted the old version of herself and became more social. She had friends, she went to parties, she even went to bars. The bars were what bothered her the most, maybe it was the Catholic guilt building up, it could also be the fact that she was using a fake i.d. She always hated lying, it made her stomach twist into nervous knots. Tonight, she decided, would be fun. She wouldn’t throw up after eating, she wouldn’t feel guilty for having fun, instead, she would simply have a good time with her friends.

Yes, a good time is what she needed. It was around the start of the new year when Heather, privately, declared that she didn’t have to be so miserable. She deserved to do something fun, at least for tonight. In her attempt at happiness, she dressed in a casual black dress that hugged her body in a way that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable.

Heather could play the social butterfly, but in reality, she was a wallflower. Her friends had yet to arrive so she stayed up against one of the walls of the bar, silently begging that they wouldn’t arrive too late. That’s when David approached her. David was beautiful, to say the least, with dark skin, a defined body, the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen, and to top it all off he was a man in uniform. Even Heather, in all of her innocence, found him irresistible.

Like a shot, Heather and David got married. Heather kept her last name and thanks to their marriage, David got some time off, he could be there to help pick out their new house. It all felt so fast, Heather was happy, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Heather got a good two months with her husband before he off to England.

A year later when David came home, he was more distant, he didn’t want to be there. At first, Heather tried to keep him home with sex. They had sex almost everywhere, like animals. Then he started to go out, with some of their mutual friends. He would go out every night and stay out till six in the morning. Heather felt desperately lost, love slipping through her fingers, and she was hopelessly devoted to a man who was slowly falling out of love with her.

David would still have sex with her, but once he was done he would get up and leave. He always said he had somewhere to be, had work to do, but she knew that he was done with her. Well, done with her until she announced that she was pregnant. Then suddenly he was there again. He stayed in their bed at night and he cared about her.

Six months was coming around when Heather shot up in bed one night, her body in unbearable pain. The couple drove to the hospital as fast as they could, but by the time they got there it was too late, and that’s when the rest started to fall apart. David didn’t start to pull away till a couple of months later, six to be exact, and then he was on his way to Japan.

That’s when it all started, she would read anything romantic she could find. Her library consisted only of romance, sappy as it seemed. She was able to escape into a world where a man could simply love a woman, most adherently. What made her break was when David called a month before their fourth anniversary saying that when he came home he wanted a divorce and that he had met someone else.

That’s when she started seeing Y/N.

***

Present-day- March 9, 20XX

You woke up with the taste of blood in your mouth, not needing a mirror to know that the cut on your lip had broken open more in your sleep. Your tongue slid out of your mouth, licking away the blood in one swift motion. For almost two days now, morphine and blood was your diet. The only thing filtering through your veins.

You didn’t mind at this point, you were close enough to the edge of the bed that you could grab the morphine drip, you turned the nobs to make your intake high enough to feel numb. The drug was currently letting you forget, letting you forget how many times Heather kissed you, letting you forget all the assault that had been inflicted on you in the past few days.

Your head was pounding as your eyes looked around the pink room, the light making you slightly nauseous. You frowned as a tiny thought came into your brain, would this ruin all romantic endeavors for you? Would you ever be able to feel comfortable with someone seeing you naked? Would it be alright if they saw the word ‘Slut’ on your chest? You were about to bite your lip, in a lame attempt to keep yourself from crying before you remembered the cut, and you were reduced to crying silent tears as you stared up at the ceiling, trying your best to let the feeling of numbness wash over you.

Heather was downstairs, in her forest green kitchen, washing the blood off the paring knife. Rational thoughts were finally coming to her as she began to think about the seriousness of her situation. She needed a safe out. If she ran away or killed you it would mean she would have to spend an even longer time in prison. A life spent behind bars, knowing that no one would be missing her. What a painfully sad existence she lived, she thought before she started to sob over the running sink.

She remembered what she said yesterday, about how she would kill herself and you if they ever found the two of you, but that outcome was becoming more of a reality to her now. Did she have to kill Catherine? All she wanted was for you to love her, for the two of you to love each other. She tried to follow the path of normal people, the path of falling in love with someone naturally instead of kidnapping them. She had already done the marriage thing and look where that got her, she was a childless, psychopathic, soon-to-be divorcee.

No, she couldn’t spend the rest of her miserable life in prison, it had to be the latter. Heather dropped the knife into the sink, walking away towards one of the kitchen drawers to pull out a handgun, her husband was in the military, of course, he taught her how to use a gun. She put the gun on the kitchen counter, walking out to the living room to turn on the news. After all, she didn’t have to end it all if they weren’t onto her yet.

***

The profile was on pause, and they had yet to share it. Hotch was staring at photos of Y/N, Adeline Smith, and Heather Alexander, all three went to the same college, lived in the same building, and on the same floor. They all knew each other, all three of them seemed to be friends. Garcia had managed to contact some other girls that lived on that same floor. They knew you and Adeline but didn’t have much to say about Heather.

Spencer took a tiny sip of his coffee, trying to ignore how bad it tasted, as he stared at the photos with Hotch. Y/N was an English major, Adeline was psychology, and Heather was a theater major before she dropped out. He found that strange being as she was a florist now.

Derek let out a sigh, feeling especially restless on this case. He kept saying that he wanted to find you as soon as possible, Garcia jokingly told him that you probably weren’t going to tell him he had nice arms in real life, but the real reason he wanted to find you was because of your last video. It stuck with him, it stuck with all of them, your desperate plea to be found. The one it was effecting the most was Spencer.

During their car rides together, Spencer had shared that he felt they were all being deceived. He said he felt like the person was right under their noses, and yet they were just focusing too much on one thing instead of the other. After that, he combed through the evidence once again, searching for something else. Something that he could have missed, which seemed impossible, but nothing was impossible.

“So, a woman in her mid-twenties that knew Y/N since college and works in the city. Oh, and she’s a beautiful brunette.” Prentiss said with a small cold laugh.

“Let’s not forget that she has a passion for romance novels, especially the classics,” Rossi added as he came to stand with the other members of his team.

A small knock at the door made all of them turn their heads towards the door, looking strangely familiar to a pack of animals. The sheriff stood in the frame of the door as she pointed behind her “There’s an Adeline Smith here, talking about Y/N L/N.” she said simply as Spencer and Emily slipped past her and headed towards Adeline.

“Agent Prentiss,” Adeline said softly with a nervous smile “I was thinking about earlier today when you were interrogating me and I thought about something strange.”

“Strange,” Spencer repeated “How so?”

Spencer and Emily were already leading her back to the conference room they were set up in, offering her a seat before she answered Spencer’s question “Well, I just remembered somethings that Heather did.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well,” she cleared her throat softly, eyes looking around at the team slowly surround her “, She always acted differently around Y/N, she would never say it out loud but she hated it when I was there, you could see it in her eyes.”

Derek set a cup of coffee down for Adeline, she grabbed it as soon as it hit the table, taking a sip to calm her nerves. “She wanted Y/N all to herself, I get that with like a best friend but I was closer to Y/N than she was, so it was just strange.” Hotch frowned as they all shared one single thought, just because Heather Alexander had an unhealthy attachment to Y/N L/N didn’t mean that she was their unsub. Adeline gently gasped and straightened in her chair “I just remembered something!”

“It was around Halloween and the three of us got invited to this party and Y/N, being Y/N, decided she wanted to go as Catherine Earnshaw from Wuthering Heights or something and I told her it was stupid and that no one would get it, but she was pretty determined. Then one night, Heather heard that and she was all excited to be Heathcliff, said that Y/N would be her Catherine Earnshaw, said that she made a perfect Catherine Earnshaw. That never really sat right with me, that’s when I started to think that Heather was a little in love with Y/N, but then she dropped out.”

It clicked then, that their Unsub was Heather Alexander. It made sense, the copies of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, Heather thought of Y/N as her lover, Heather was Heathcliff, she was Mr. Rochester, she believed that Y/N’s purpose was to love her. Spencer was already walking out with Derek before Emily could thank Adeline for coming in. The rest of the team following quickly behind.

***

Heather had her back towards the television, leaning against the back of her living room couch staring out the window. Nothing was coming onto the news and nothing was happening out of the street. Heather could feel guilt eating away at her consciousness, she had snapped earlier when you refused to let her show you her love. You had yet to do that, you were so good, she loved her Catherine. She felt tiny tears rise to the surface, letting them fall as she moved away from the couch, grabbing the gun from the counter, and heading upstairs.

You were frozen on the bed, feeling like you were suffocating as Heather came back into the room. Sometimes she looked so normal, sometimes she looked like she was hurting, suffering from something. Your eyes were locked onto her as she shuffled awkwardly into the room, reminding you of how she used to act in college. Her eyes weren’t staying on you, they seemed to look around the room in a nervous haze. “Catherine,” she said in a tearful voice “I’m sorry.” she apologized, and as soon as she did her eyes locked onto yours.

You felt such pity for her in an instantaneous second, but that emotion was fleeting as you stared up at her. You could never forgive her for what she had done to you, as much as you would like to try to. You would love to be righteous, but you could only feel anger at the moment.  She looked down at you, waiting for an answer, waiting for forgiveness. You silently decided that she would have to wait forever, she would have to wait until she held a gun to your head, only then would you forgive her, simply because you didn’t want to die. 

You broke eye contact with her, looking around the room as she started to cry over the side of the bed, suddenly noticing that the door was slightly open. You peeled your eyes away from it quickly, afraid that if she followed your gaze she would notice and shut the door. 

You were currently trying to move your arm, the morphine making it more difficult than it should have been. When you were finally able to lift your arm, you weakly grabbed Heather’s arm, your hand slipping slowly down her arm. Heather’s tears slowed as she watched your struggling attempt to touch her. She smiled when you did, taking it as a sign of forgiveness. Heather suddenly felt lighter, she slumped over the side of the bed with a heavy sigh. She was about to speak when pounding at the front door interrupted her train of thought. 

Her head turned quickly to look over her shoulder, letting out a tiny curse as she ran over to shut the door, locking it from the outside, as the front door was broken down. Heather returned to the bed, grabbing the morphine drip, and yanked the wire out of your vein. You couldn’t feel it yet, but you were sure that soon you would. 

Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you realized what was happening. The police were here, the FBI was here, your videos had worked. You didn’t think that they would work, that they would be helpful, you couldn’t believe that the police had called the BAU here, just because you said you wanted them to work your case.

The adrenaline was working quickly, you sat up cautiously, swaying slightly. Heather was hyperventilating now, hand on her chest as she tried to calm down and think. She looked back at Catherine sitting up on the bed, eyes wide. Were you scared? Heather let out a shaky sigh, reaching behind her to pull out the gun she had been hiding under her shirt. Your eyes looked at the gun in her hand before shifting to look into her eyes quickly “Heather,” you started, scooting away from her on the bed. “Heather, you know you don’t have to do this. The police, if you kill me, the police will-”

“You don’t think I know what the police will do? I have to kill you and then I have to kill myself.” her hands were shaking as she held the gun towards you. There was pounding on the door. You felt tears fill your eyes, cheeks becoming red as you began to beg for your life.

“Please don’t do this, we can get out of this together. You don’t have to do this, Heather!” She flinched when you said her name, another pound at the door.

Her eyes were wide as she stole a look over at the door, it was rattling and the two of you could hear voices on the other side. She turned back to look at you, biting her lip as she cried, hands dropping. You didn’t say anything, shaking with anxiety as she lifted the gun up to her chin, smiling sweetly at you. “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

“Heather, please, listen to me! Please, you don’t have to do this!”

“Goodbye, Catherine.” she finished as she pulled the trigger, gun-shot ringing throughout the house. Your ears were ringing as you let out a blood-curdling scream, watching Heather’s head explode in front of you, then the door came down.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[thetriggeredhappy]

yo whats good @engiespyweek this is a day late but like dont worry abt it

day 2: hurt / comfort

(warnings for injury, specifically from burns. takes place around Robots Time)

-

Back before the robots, they were expected to work regular hours. Normal days. Practically a nine-to-five, plus a couple of hours most days, but never too long after sundown—and unless they had a mission off-base, they’d get weekends off. It was the most organized war any of them had ever been a part of, to be honest. And it was taxing, sure, the pain and bloodshed, but at least according to Scout it still beat working in food service.

And it wasn’t even all that scary half the time—before the robots, the team was invincible in most senses of the word. It would take some extremely particular situations to kill them, situations they were rarely anywhere near. A doctor on staff, bars in town and a full liquor cabinet on base, a pay grade that few of them even dreamed of, it was a good place to be in their lives. They considered themselves lucky, most days.

But that was before the robots.

The sun was setting over wherever the hell they were. They were going on their second day here, which was usually about how long they spent in one place before they had to move again, following some fickle change of the wind to intercept the next few waves of automatons.

They were exhausted. They didn’t have breaks, truth be told, and only sometimes got to sleep—mostly on the drive to their next destination, sometimes woken up during the night by the distant metallic clanging that functioned as the trumpets of war. Modern era, and all.

Medic was truly running on his last legs. He half operated his infirmary out of the back of one of the trucks they used to transport their equipment, not seeing reason to bother unpacking most days. Soldier was in a tizzy himself, constantly checking and rechecking their supplies, inventory being the only job left out of the multitude he’d had on base before and therefore being one he did near-constantly, and his consensus seemed to be that they were running low on... well, everything. Raiding abandoned warehouses for ammunition and guns just wasn’t cutting it anymore. They’d started to send some of the mercs out hunting for scrap metal when they had the time, and the Engineer was left to work practically around the clock trying to feed it to dispensers and restock to have at least enough to be prepared for battle, and Heavy tended to take over when he absolutely needed to sleep.

But then there were the mercenaries who didn’t have much to do but sit and stew. Sniper mostly took to perching alone somewhere he could watch for the distant dust clouds kicked up by the tanks. Scout ran laps around the perimeter of wherever they were posted up, and on a couple of occasions the two of them were the only warning the team got before the robots showed up. Pyro fretted, for the most part, would sweep by the busy members of the team with something to eat and a supportive pat on the arm. But even then, it was obvious the rest were going stir-crazy. Wanted to help, to take some of the weight back, to help share the load if they could.

This was about the only way Spy could help.

Engineer was having trouble keeping his eyes open, but the fatigue fought against his need to eat the tin full of... something. Meat, some kind of sauce. Spy had cooked it, since they apparently had a stove squirreled away somewhere in this particular warehouse, rations, and the team needed something ‘real’ to eat by his measure. The Engineer managed to keep awake, keep shoveling food into his mouth. Distantly, he understood that it tasted very good, and it overcame the nausea he’d been increasingly plagued with ever since all of this started.

The food was one comfort. The warm weight of Spy leaned against his back was another, the man leaned against him as he ate. Outside there was a particularly vibrant sunset happening, that was a third one, the way the light poured through the window briefly driving away a sort of bone-deep paranoia about darkness. About fear. Apparently that was one reason his father always tried to work with the big garage door of the shop open—being in the sun from time to time was important for all types of health. Or, as Spy put it, he needed to get out of his terrible little machinery lair from time to time or else one day the team would find he’d begun transforming into some sort of mole man.

It made him laugh. He missed laughing, he realized.

Once he had some food in his system, some calm, some time to sit in a position other than bent over a drafting table—and, hell, maybe the sun helped too—he started feeling remarkably more like a human being, started relaxing in increments. Started noticing little things. Dust mites lingering in the last light up above their heads. Distant talking, the distinctive laugh of Demo, Soldier barking something in reply. The sound of Spy taking a pull from his cigarette, quiet enough that he’d only really hear it this close. Quiet motion, like fiddling almost, which struck him as odd. Spy wasn’t much for fiddling and fidgeting. Broad, sweeping, dramatic gestures, those he did every time he got a good excuse—but not fidgeting. It was enough to draw his head up from where it was hanging, casting eyes back over his shoulder.

Spy wasn’t looking at him, apparently focused. “What’re you up to, there?” he asked, suddenly made aware of how rough his throat was. Probably from the near-constant full-volume shouting followed by stretches of silence he got up to these days.

“Simple first aid,” Spy said entirely too casually. So casually, in fact, that it took the Engineer a few seconds to realize what he’d even said.

“What?” he asked, turning more fully to look at Spy, at which point he blanched.

Spy had shed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up neatly a short way past his elbows and taken off his gloves and watch, and appeared to be almost done cleaning up and bandaging his left arm, having not started yet on the right one. All up and down his visible skin, and in particular across his palms and wrist, there were a series of mild to severe burns, speckles of dark red and black patching up his forearms, and the Engineer could immediately identify them as being electrical burns, not heat ones.

“How the hell did that happen?” he asked, deeply startled.

A huff of a laugh from Spy. “Mon ami, I go onto the battlefield and am expected to attack mechanical men with a metal blade,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “Electrocution is par for the course, I’m afraid.”

“You really oughta... find some way around that,” the Engineer said carefully. “Rubber hilt, or...”

“Most often I can only even tell I’ve caused enough damage to take down any given robot when the shock happens,” Spy shrugged. “It is not terribly painful, especially compared to gunfire. They simply begin to stack up after a while.”

A careful nod from the Engineer, even if it didn’t quite sit right with him. “Want me to help treat those?” he asked, nodding at where Spy was clearly having a bit of difficulty with bandaging his wrist one-handed.

“Our medical supplies are being too regularly depleted even besides superfluous healing of minor injuries, and as much as I would appreciate a moment sat beside one of your dispensers, I’m afraid it would not be very much in the spirit of teamwork to accept your offer, Laborer. If the remainder of our dreary little group is not allowed to accost the dispenser unnecessarily, neither am I, oui?” Spy asked, tone light.

That was one thing he’d started to learn about Spy, especially as of late. Lying and stealing were things he was well acquainted with, but never for something he considered important. To get on other people’s nerves, to get information maybe, but not something important on a whim. Getting on everyone’s nerves was a different beast than intentionally sabotaging them.

“Well,” the Engineer said, still not quite feeling right about it all. “If not that, I can at least lend a hand with wrapping those up. I know a thing or two about getting shocked. Ain’t a fun predicament to be in.”

Only a moment’s hesitation before Spy shrugged, turning to face him, and the Engineer picked up the salve and bandaging and set to work.

This was more his element. Practical problems. Practical solutions. None of the overarching dread, the waiting for the next disaster, the not quite knowing what to do with himself in the miliseconds before the next chore, the next job, the next drive. Just wrapping a wound. Just fixing a problem.

Distantly, there was the sound of something clattering, Demo cheering. The sun was now out of view, and he heard the sound of lights buzzing to life across the area. The light was getting low, and cold was starting to settle into place, more than welcome after yet another sweltering desert day. The smell of hot metal and sweat faded with each breeze that passed through, leaving only the smell of chilly night air, fresh and welcome. By the time it got dim enough to start making him squint to see properly, and he started to wonder whether he should just push through or get a light from somewhere, he realized he was done.

But instead of a twitchiness, an itch to find something else, the urge to keep moving and to find the next thing he needed to work on, he just felt satisfied. Clean bandages, neat wrappings. A vast improvement over before. And when he looked up to see how Spy felt about it all, the man was smiling, just a little, just enough to see even in how dim the room was.

“...What’s the smirk about?” he asked, feeling a bit embarrassed, as if he was missing something.

“Nothing,” Spy said easily, “I suppose I’m just glad you seem to be feeling better.”

A pause, during which the Engineer realized Spy was right. The tension was gone, the ache in his head was fading into a simple weight, and the nausea had settled into nothingness, leaving him relaxed, steady. He blinked.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped my boundaries,” Spy said after a few moments of that stunned silence, searching his face. “It’s just that for the last several weeks you’ve been stomping around with the third most sour expression I’ve ever seen on you, and it seemed as though nobody else was going to bother stepping in any time soon. I thought that perhaps food and fresh air and polite company may remedy things somewhat, and you seemed determined to only interact with us when you deem it productive.”

“You burned yourself just to get me to sit in one place for a while?” he asked, taken aback.

“Oh, no, non, these burns are truly fairly standard by now,” Spy waved off easily, carefully pulling back on his gloves and watch over the bandages, “I simply prefer to tend to them on my own, the majority of the time. Non, simply a convenient excuse to need your help.”

A pause. “Of all the ridiculous things,” he marveled, blinking at Spy.

In the darkness, he could only barely make out the way Spy’s mouth ticked up into a smirk, watching as he rolled his sleeves back down neatly and reached for his suit jacket. “Well, believe it or not, Laborer, I have been known to stoop to such lows as doing what you call ‘ridiculous things’,” he said, doing his jacket up in an easy motion in the same moment that he rose to his feet, “when I find them to be the only way I can possibly break through to ridiculous men.”

He only had time to sputter over the comment for a second before a gloved hand found his chin, tilting his head up just enough for Spy to lay a kiss soundly to either cheek, and only had time to sputter over that for a second before Spy was snickering and cloaking, a puff of smoke in his wake as he disappeared into the increasing night.

His face felt hot, and he felt that restless energy again, but for an entirely different reason than before, because he wasn’t positive, but he was fairly sure cheek kissing was the sort of thing you greeted someone with when you only meant it in a friendly sort of way, and his brain was far too scrambled to remember it properly just then.

Well. Now he had something to think about besides the robots, at least. Damn shame it couldn’t be a nice, neat, practical problem, but despite his best efforts, he really couldn’t find it in him to mind.

Oh, damn it all.

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 2.3k / 9.8k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: canon-typical violence, lol does pining need a warning??

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Four: The Difference

It was as the hull door was slowly shutting behind them that Din realized he'd invited someone to join him on a semi-permanent basis.

It was as the hull door was slowly shutting behind them that Din realized he’d invited someone to join him on a semi-permanent basis.

He’d never done that before.

Ever.

Sometimes people were more passengers than quarry, but they never stayed before.

They always left.

Nia stayed.

It took some getting used to, having another person around.

Old habits had to be adjusted. His helmet now only came off in bed or the fresher.

Though once he did forget it till he was halfway across the hull, half-awake and scrounging through the ration bars to find the good ones. It took a boot scrape on the floor above him to remind him that there was another living thing aboard.

There was an undignified scramble back to the bed cubby, but the helmet was firmly in place before Nia appeared down the ladder.

Other habits were completely abandoned.

“Heading out?” Nia asked, looking up from her flight manual as the hull door dropped slowly open.

Din pulled a few hand grenades out of the armory and tucked them into his belt. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I’m coming with you.” She picked up her bo staff and the pistol that she’d taken from the Sergeant.

“There’s no need–”

“I’m not going to sit here and babysit an empty ship.”

“I work alone,” he hedged.

“You offered to help me. And since the only thing my mind seems to bother recalling is fighting, I’m sure as hell not going to let that slip out of my grasp too.” She crossed her arms and gave him a very obstinate look.

Out of habit, she got the usual treatment he gave people when they argued: silence.

It was laughably ineffective.

They just wound up staring at each other for several minutes in stubborn silence.

She’d stand there till the sun went down, he could feel it in his bones.

Call it a Match hunch, which did not technically exist but might as well have.

“Fine. But wherever I go, you go, understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

Her stubbornness didn’t stop once they were off the ship either.

A quarry got away from them for a full two days because they kept arguing about battlefield tactics.

They got the clawdite in the end. But only once they’d both apologized and made a new plan together.

And there was also the time she flew the ship without him.

Granted, he’d been knocked unconscious. And they did need to outrun the X-wings.

And for a woman who couldn’t remember where she was two moon cycles ago, she was a fair pilot.

If he didn’t care to use the ship ever again.

That dent in the hull wouldn’t come out no matter how many mechanics tried.

Even still, it seemed to take very little time at all before Nia’s presence was thoroughly expected and normal.

She seemed to… enjoy herself at times. And he did too, if he was honest.

Not that she wasn’t still deeply odd.

She spoke fluent mando’a, but fought like no Mandalorian he’d ever seen.

She could meditate for hours, and always seemed keenly aware of his exact location nearby when she did.

And then one evening, he came down from the flight deck, ready to climb into bed for some rest when he found her… contorted in the middle of the hull.

Her body was bent and stretched in ways he wasn’t previously aware that bodies could move.

Or at least move and still survive.

He watched as, without any hurry at all, she moved from one impossible pose to another; her breath and muscles in perfect control.

She could have made any of his old trainers proud with her self-mastery.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking his way.

His face heated under the helmet. He should have guessed this would be like her meditation.

“What are you doing?” he asked, moving to sit on a crate and pull off his boots.

She ended her routine by standing and bringing her hands pressed together in front of her chest and letting out one last long breath.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is I feel restless if I don’t,” she said, turning around to face him. She patted his shoulder as she passed. “Sleep well.”

That happened often. Her touching him.

Even in the covert, even in his years of training back on Mandalore, no one had touched him so often.

And so casually too.

Like it was nothing at all for her to rest her arm on his shoulders as he demonstrated how to properly land the ship.

Or to sit so close to him when eating that her arm brushed his with every movement.

Maybe it was nothing at all to her.

But it was much more than nothing to him.

Her hands were all over him as she trained him in polearms, adjusting his grip, shifting the angle of his arms, urging him to relax the tension between his shoulder blades.

She held his hips to guide him through the weight transfer he kept overshooting, his face hot enough to melt his helmet clean off the entire time.

She quickly noticed how stiff he was around her. To his detriment.

He’d just been stepping around her in the flight deck.

Then suddenly a hand jabbed his rib cage.

He jumped, a strange noise cutting out of him as he did.

Nia broke immediately into a resounding laugh, pressing a hand to cover her mouth, doing a poor job of dampening the sound.

“I’m sorry!” she managed after a moment. “I–I didn’t know you’d… oh I’m s-sorry, Din.”

That was the first time he heard her laugh. It softened her blow considerably.

The second time he heard her laugh was when he retaliated two days later.

She leapt to the other side of the hull and was in a full fighting stance before she realized that he’d poked her.

Then she laughed again, making him laugh too, a smile beaming from under his helmet.

It happened somewhere when he wasn’t paying attention.

Somewhere between debating infiltration tactics and sparring, between knowing glances while Karga attempted to short-change them and long warm afternoons spent up in sniper’s nests, waiting for their quarry to return home…

She became his friend.

“I figured it out,” Nia said as she sat at the bar of a crowded cantina. She’d been sent in alone, semi-undercover as she was far less conspicuous than he was, to find their quarry. “An emergency induction tube. Then you can drink in bars with me and keep the helmet on.”

Outside in the alley, Din scoffed and spoke over the commlink in his helmet. “An emergency induction tube?”

“I have one now.”

He looked through the window to see her sip her drink through a straw. He chuckled then answered, “Still won’t work.”

She grunted, feigning annoyance. “‘Wherever you go, I go’ always seems to stop counting when it's time to relax.”

Under the helmet, he smiled.

“Do you have friends, Din?”

“What?” he asked over the commlink. Had he heard her right?

“I said, do you have friends? Been flying with you for a few months now, and I’m still waiting to meet them.”

“You met Ran and his crew.”

“You think Ranzar Malk and the rest of those criminals are your friends?” she asked, a little incredulously. “Didn’t Qin try to stab you during the last job?”

Technically, it was Xi’an who tried to stab him. “They’re… contacts.”

“So that’s a no on friends.”

He paused then said, “You’re my friend.”

Through the small vantage he had, he could see her smile down at her drink, eyes glancing just his way. His chest warmed.

“So one woman with a head like Corellian cheese. That’s… pretty good for a bounty hunter.”

“Same number you have right now.”

Her chuckle was low, sparking a single star burst high in his chest. “You have me there. Ah, found him. Target’s at the sabacc tables. I’ll flush him out into the alley.”

They had a good partnership. And he was happy to share most everything with her, what little amenities he could offer aboard The Razor Crest.

He didn’t realize she hadn’t been sleeping in the bed for weeks. Not until he came down from the flight deck early and found her curled in a corner of the hull, still using his cape as a blanket.

She didn’t seem to know where it had come from. And he certainly wasn’t going to inform her or take it back.

When he asked why she wasn’t using the bed, she said that it was his.

“It belongs to whoever’s sleeping,” he replied, firmly meaning it.

She took him at his word.

He hadn’t really been prepared, however, to crawl into the cubby after a long day and find that the whole space smelled like her soap.

She’d bought it in the first city they arrived in weeks back. Now it was all over his blankets.

Sea air. And wildflowers.

With the door to the cubby firmly shut, he slept with the helmet off that night…

And every night after, an unstoppable glow building in his chest.

Her memories, unfortunately, did not return. Or certainly not as fast as the droid made it seem like it would.

In several months, very little arrived.

Early childhood memories of Mandalore before the Great Purge. But no explanation of the control chip, or her skills.

She kept up a strong aloof appearance of her defect, but every so often, Din caught a glimpse of her despair hiding behind it.

They were in hyperspace, both working on small projects during the journey. He was outfitting one of his guns with a new scope, and Nia had taken to carving designs on her bo staff. It was turning into quite the fine weapon in her steady hands.

They’d been quietly working for a while when she started humming a low, slow tune. She didn’t even seem to be aware she was doing it.

Din looked up at her as her quiet song continued. Her curly dark hair twisted high on her head, back bowed over her staff in her lap as she deepend the etchings she’d done.

Her song wound back on itself and only then did she seem to realize what she’d been doing.

She looked up and sucked in a shaky gasp.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

She nodded, bottom lip quivering and eyes turning glassy. “My father used to sing that song,” she finally explained with a watery smile.

Though she couldn’t see, he smiled back, a tightness clenching high in his chest.

A bright fullness so wide it pushed out all the air in his lungs to make room.

He’d been feeling that a lot lately.

It wasn’t unpleasant, though it was annoying at times.

Especially when it showed up in the middle of a fight after Nia did something particularly skilled against her opponent.

It seemed to have no rhythm or source… besides her.

The galaxy was just different with her around.

It didn’t seem so soulless.

Perhaps because she noticed the small ignorable things.

Grabbing his arm to stop and watch street performers in a market he would have otherwise just passed through.

Pointing out the broad purple sweep of the planet’s rings through the night sky as they walked the quarry back to the ship.

Or perhaps because it was just simply nice to have someone around. Someone he enjoyed spending time with, someone who would have his back in danger, someone he trusted.

He knew what the star bursts high in his chest meant.

He wasn’t obtuse.

But there was a large difference between understanding and ready to admit, even just to himself.

Much less to her.

As for Nia, it took her several months to ask the inevitable.

He could feel her gearing up to ask something. Must be something pointed with how long her wind up was, nearly a full ration bar.

“Can I ask about your helmet?”

“No, you can’t wear it,” he answered, not looking up from the gun he was cleaning. He got a small smack on his arm for the answer, making him grin.

“I know that. I meant… your oath is to not show your face to another living being ever. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Not even your clan?”

He looked up now. “I don’t have a clan. I was a foundling.”

“But you could have one someday–unless that’s also part of the oath.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not part of it.”

Nia leaned forward, deadly serious. “So… say you have a spouse, or children, they’d never know your face?”

She sounded… sad, he realized after a moment.

He’d had plenty of questions about his helmet; it came with being a Mandalorian. But none before had ever looked at his helmet and seen tragedy.

Not even him.

“When I took the creed, I gave up my old life. The helmet is my face. That’s what it means to be Mandalorian.”

“But I knew my parents’ faces… and they were Mandalorian.”

No they weren’t, a voice not his own hissed in the back of his mind, nasty and cruel and he didn’t know where it had come from.

He shook his head. “I don’t know… but this is what I was taught. This Is The Way.”

She didn’t press it any further, but the quiet disagreement in her eyes stuck with him as he drifted to sleep, alone and helmetless in sea air and wildflowers.

Chapter 5: The Discovery

taglist: @loversandantiheroes ; @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @sarahjkl82-blog ; @thirstworldproblemss ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @i-belong-in-fandoms

to join my tag list, click the link in my bio!

[doodledraw]

Return (Of What Was Cherished)

Cody crash lands on Tatooine. He doesn't really know why, but there's nothing left for him in the Empire. Little did he know there's a lot waiting for him this far out in the Outer Rim.

(thanks @katanrocksketches​ for the title idea!! and for being my sounding board ily)

Today for @commandercodyweek​ I decided to write a fic I’ve been wanting to try my hand at for a while!! Post-Order 66 reunions are just...the BEST so here’s my shot at it!

Read on AO3 here! Or under the cut!

He didn't know who he was. He didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that it was kriffing hot and it had been over 24 hours since he had crossed paths with another being. Granted, 12 of those hours had been in space and then another 5 had been spent unconscious in the desert, slowly baking under the hot suns. Most of his armor had quickly been removed and fastened to a small sled using a piece of debris from his now absolutely trashed ship. Dragging that along, he began to wander the desert (it was just his luck he managed to land as far away from civilization as possible).

After two hours, he felt like he was going in circles.

After three, he spotted a ridge in the distance and started to make his way towards it.

After four, the ridge was still firmly in the distance and he was starting to think it was a mirage and that he was going to die out in the middle of nowhere.

He never realized that he was thinking clearer and more him than he had been for the last five years, like taking a breath after being underwater.

He finally reached the ridge on hour six and allowed himself a small rest. Clones were built for endurance but not for invulnerability. Besides, he needed to tend his wounds and the shelter he had found was the most he was going to get.

It was only once he'd stopped that his brain, no longer preoccupied with moving his legs through the rapidly shifting sands, caught up to his situation. That was when the panic set in. He was all alone, on a planet that very well could be the death of him, and yet at the same time he was feeling more alive than he had in a good long time.

After he gave himself a moment to panic, the rational part of his brain kicked in and he looked through the pockets on his toolbelt to see what he had with him.

Unfortunately, his black armor did nothing to help him from the heat of the suns, and he curses his competency for that. Why couldn't he have been forgettable?!

None of you are forgettable to me, my dear. You're all so very important, the memory surfaced unbidden. Obi-Wan would reassure him like that whenever he or his vode felt inadequate.

Cody's breath caught. He tried the name out in his head again. Obi-Wan. Then out loud: "Obi-Wan," he whispered to the wind.

He can say his General's name!

For the first time in years, he can say the name of the man who gave him everything and asked for nothing in return. It made him want to cry. But water is precious on Tatooine. Even he knows that. So he stashed that grief with all the other grief he'd piled away into a corner of his mind and then he left it be.

He's got a bacta patch, some tape, two painkillers, a spare comm that's broken straight in half, a ration bar, and nothing else. He split the ration bar in half and ate one of the halves along with one painkiller. Then he set to work making bandages out of part of the sleeve of his blacks and secured it around the cut on his head with some tape. Luckily he could still think rather clearly, so he didn’t think he was in danger of anything worse than a concussion, and the blood had stopped hours ago.

~~

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up the next day. Sighing, he decided to conserve his painkillers and food. He wanted to make it out of this canyon...gorge...thing...whatever it was, if he even could and make it to some sort of civilization. So with a groan of pain, he set off again.

He focused on the fact that he was no longer burning under the suns constantly due to the slight shelter the ridge provided, and told himself that he could make it. He was Marshal Commander Cody turned Purge Trooper, the sun was not going to be the thing that killed him. Kriff it all, he was going to live. For his vode. For his General. He would live.

~~

Civilization was a sight for sore eyes. After almost having fallen to his death multiple times, and having definitely aggravated the wound on his abdomen, he had made it out. He wanted to fall asleep. No wait, he wanted to eat something other than the expired ration bar and then fall asleep. And food required civilization.

The citizens of the town had apparently had a good amount of half-dead beings stagger their way into town because he was barely even given a second glance. The town, which he later learned was Mos Espa, was located in the north across from the Dune Sea, where he'd crashed. The barkeep was helpful enough to direct him to somewhere he could trade in some of his armor and scrap for some credits and get new clothes for it. He traded everything except his vambraces, greaves, blaster and toolbelt, and got a hooded jacket and a pair of patched-up spacer's pants in return. Freshly outfitted and feeling lighter than he ever had, but also more exposed than ever, he wandered back outside and through the town.

He had no working commlink, not that he would want to call the Empire anyway, better they just assume he died, and no credits and nowhere to go. Credits, he obviously needed. Shelter could come later.

~~

Cody spent three weeks in Espa. He picked up odd-jobs here and there, and with the credits, bought some medical supplies, treated his wounds, and then did more odd-jobs. He had no purpose but also no reason to leave. The townsfolk weren't so bad once you got to know them and Espa was quiet, out of the way. No one could find him there.

At least that's what he thought.

Brown robes weren't uncommon on Tatooine. The first time he had seen one, he nearly killed himself by looking away from the box he was supposed to be catching. But it wasn't him, how could it be? The second and third times, he had been no less surprised, but this time he knew it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be him.

Now, being the tenth time, he barely even glanced at the stranger on an eopie wandering into town. But he felt the eyes on his back anyway.

Cody knew he was recognizable. He was one in a a few billion, obviously there would be people that had seen his face before. Some of the townsfolk asked about that at the beginning, but not for long. They stopped asking soon enough. So this stranger would realize soon enough that he wasn't who he thought and move on. They all did, everyone had for as long as he could remember, except for one. Cody couldn't escape the slight feeling of relief that filled him when the stranger's eyes were gone. For some reason, that stare had felt more piercing than normal. He shivered despite the heat, then turned back to his work.

He forgot about the stranger until that night, when he made his way into the bar for a refreshment after his day of work. They were there, at the bar, almost as if they were waiting for him. But that was crazy, and Cody resolutely placed himself as far away from them as possible. They made no move towards him, didn't even notice him, as far as he could tell, and they mutually ignored each other for the rest of the night.

Until Cody left to make his way back to where he was staying. Noticing his brown hooded shadow, he made his way through alleys and then stopped. "Whoever you are, whatever you want, why don't you just leave me alone. We'll both be happier that way."

The figure made a choked noise and took another half step towards Cody, who had spun to face them.

"What do you want from me?" the clone demanded.

"I don't know."

"Who are you? How did you find me?"

The figure lifted their hands to remove the hood, and Cody immediately tensed towards his blaster. Moonlight illuminated silver threaded copper hair and Cody's eyes widened.

"My dear, I think you know the answer to that by now. It's not an expression you've particularly liked me to say," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, tears streaming down his drawn face.

Cody stumbled back against the rough stone wall. "No. No, it's not you. It can't be. I...I killed you! I watched you fall! That should have killed you!"

"You of all people should know I am rather good at surviving things normal mortals should not be able to," he chuckled wetly and his gaze moved off into the middle distance. "It was a specific point of anxiety for you during the war. Oh Kote. Ner'Kote...what have they done to you?"

"More like what have they done with me," Cody remarked bitterly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Is this real? I need you to tell me right now if this is real, General."

"Not your General."

Cody gave him a withering glare. "Yes you are."

The Not Apparition took a step forward. "May I?"

Cody nodded slowly, and then General Kenobi was gently, carefully, cradling his hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing he had ever held. "I'm here, Cody."

Cody broke right there. In the middle of nowhere on Tatooine, Cody fell to the ground and sobbed. He grieved in his General's arms, the man he was not allowed to even think of until earlier that month. The man he thought he had killed. The man he loved.

"Ni'ceta! Ni'ceta, Obi-Wan! I should have fought it harder, I should have escaped earlier, I should have looked for you, I should have--"

Obi-Wan shushed him. "You should have nothing Cody. You did everything you could. It was not you. I forgive you. I've forgiven you. I'd forgiven you as I was falling. It was not you, my dear."

They sat there, two broken pieces slowly healing each other in the middle of an alley in the middle of nowhere in Mos Espa until Obi-Wan pulled away.

"Let's go home cyar'ika," he murmured.

Home. The first true home he would ever have. "That sounds perfect."

[shabre-legacy]

snuggling in a blanket fort for Leikael Sorcha Shabre

Sorry this took so long, and also sorry it’s a little rough, my brain has been difficult but it’s done!

The song at the beginning is “Would Anyone Care” by Citizen Soldier

“Would anyone care? Would anyone cry, if I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change? Would you all be just fine? Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight. It just might save my life.” 

Corso sighed as he heard the strains of the song come from under the door to his and Leikael’s room. Well technically, it was only Leikael’s since she had partial ownership of this Nar Shaddaa apartment. Though he had moved into her quarters on the ship a few weeks back and she’d made it clear that the arrangement included the apartment. They’d arrived the day before and while the rest of the crew wanted to hit the cantina’s and markets, Kael had locked herself in her room and hadn’t left. It had been a terrible coincidence, running into what was left of the crew that had grabbed her on Tatooine, and a crew that had turned on her on Mek-Sha (he hadn’t known who they were then or they wouldn’t still be breathing) at the same time. Then getting some tragic news about some of the Solar Flare crews they’d been working with recently as soon as they got back to the ship. He wasn’t surprised that the usually tough as nails captain was falling apart. But he couldn’t stand seeing her like this. He’d sat with her all night. He was the only one she wanted to talk about what had happened with. He’d only stepped out to get some food for them since the apartment only had really old ration bars that were probably just dust by now. It seemed like she’d gotten worse in just the few minutes that he’d been gone. 

As he placed the food on the counter and started pulling out a few plates. His girl really needed to eat, it had been what, two days now, since he’d last seen her eat anything that wasn’t soaked in alcohol. He listened for any other sounds. It didn’t seem like there was anyone else in the apartment. 

What could he do though? He’d spent the night holding her, comforting her, trying to help, but it hadn’t seemed to have any effect. The experiences just dragging up old memories and old pain from earlier times in her life. By the Force, thinking about her past hurt him! And he hadn’t even been the one to live it! She’d lived through so much, endured so much, had her childhood shattered and erased far too young and her suffering just seemed to continue. He couldn’t seem to stop it from haunting her, no matter how much he wanted to. Her childhood, it had ended far too early, but it was the last time she felt life was safe. That gave him an idea. It possibly wasn’t the best he’d ever had, but it was something he hadn’t tried yet. 

If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, she hadn’t had anything resembling a childhood since she was six, so maybe a piece of that would help her. He needed supplies though. He tucked the food in the reheater to stay warm and slipped into the room where Leikael lay curled under a single blanket, staring blankly ahead, her eyes still red and drying tear tracks on her cheeks. Another one of those painfully sad songs started. His heart nearly broke at the sight of the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy looking so sad and scared and alone. He sat next to her and brushed the hair from her face, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. She instantly curled around him, hiding her face and trapping him where he was. She was a tactile woman, touch was something that meant so much to her and while she was careful with it, he’d found she seemed to never get enough. 

“I thought of something that might help you feel a little better darling. Do you think you could try and eat?”

Leikael watched as Corso filled his arms with all the blankets from their room and most of the pillows and walked out of the room. He’d sat with her for a few minutes before pulling out his datapad and telling her he was getting rooms at one of the Cantina’s for the crew and letting them know. He’d told her he’d only be another minute, slipped out of her arms and started grabbing the soft things in the room. She heard what sounded like furniture being moved in the other room, the one with a big terminal for holovids from the sounds of things. It was an investment that she’d been happy about when she and Nat had finally had enough credits to buy anything after getting this place. If she had any energy left, she’d be curious about what he was up to, but she was just so tired, tired and useless and pathetic and everything hurt. It’d be so easy to just walk out of the apartment, but even the room seemed so big, and she was so tired. She let the music play on and lost herself in the melodies. The lyrics filled with as much pain as she felt. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d zoned out for when she felt a hand gently touch her lower arm. She blinked back to awareness and as she did, Corso smiled down at her before sliding his arms underneath her and picking her up along with her blanket. He carried her across the apartment to the holovid room as she’d taken to calling it. 

There, in the middle of the room where there was usually a variety of furniture was a strange structure made of the back of a couch, many blankets and what appeared to be the chairs from around the table in the kitchen. “What is that?”

Corso blinked down at her for a moment before gently setting her on her feet and helping to hold her up as he guided her towards the thing in the room. “It’s a blanket fort. Didn’t you build these with your sisters when you were a kid?”

“They weren’t this big. It was usually a blanket over a table” She stared in confusion. How had he managed to get the blankets to stay up?

“Well, that wouldn’t fit us, now would it.” He smiled at her, and crouched down crawling through a small entrance that he’d somehow fit into the design. As she got to the interior, she looked around. The space was small and contained, but cozy and not constricting. The floor was covered in pillows and blankets except for a small table on which sat two plates, some bottles of water and a pile of various snacks. Corso had settled himself in the middle of the fort leaning back completely relaxed, an arms reach away from the food and the remote for the terminal, which had been moved onto the ground and into the blanket fort. He opened his arms and her heart hurt. She’d been a mess for almost two days straight, she was tired and hurt and nothing like herself. She’d dealt with panic attacks and pushed him away, and all he did was open up more, give more to try and help her. She silently thanked the Force for sending him into her life as she dragged herself over to him and collapsed into his arms. He held her quietly for a few moments, before helping her sit up against him and handing her the plate with the smaller portion and pushing a button on the remote. “Way I see it, you haven’t had a chance to relax with a good old blanket fort and movie night in years. This is one me and my sister would watch all the time as kids. Mama would help us build the Fort and sometimes, we were able to persuade her to sit and watch movies with us.” She stared at the food, not wanting to eat, but as the colorful movie with it’s soft and sweet soundtrack began playing and Corso wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to rest against his chest, tucked under blankets and surrounded by the warmth and the soft lights. The hurt felt a little further away and she was able to take a few bites. 

Corso tucked his chin over her head and gently squeezed, his beautiful, deep voice softly singing along with the opening song of the movie that held so much meaning for him, she felt herself drifting off softly. He lifted the plate and returned it to the table as she curled tighter against him and his arms wrapped around her again. The movie played as they held each other, the comfort blocking out all the pain that the galaxy had heaped upon them, at least for a few hours. They had each other, and cuddles and blanket forts, and for tonight, that was just enough.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[jkbabiey]

{JJK} Say it ⤇ 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing:  fuckboy!jungkook x student!reader

Word Count: ~2.88 K

Genre: actually... I don’t even know; some angst in the beginning, and then there’s that flirty smutty tension between the reader and kook; college!AU

Warnings: Jungkook seems to be a dick and Y/N can be kinda rude but it’s fine, she’s a sweetheart. There are some very soft mentions of sex and a very very annoying kook omg

YOU SHOULD PAY ATTENTION TO THE DATES IN THIS FANFIC

22nd of August, 2023

It was about 3 am when you heard the doorbell. 

It was him.

Your irritation had nothing to do with sleepiness or with the late-night hour he chose to come by. You were awake, there’s no way you’d be able to sleep. You haven’t slept well since the night he let you go. Your irritation had to do with him; he wouldn’t be at your door if he wasn’t drunk or horny, and the fact that he didn’t understand this type of “meetings” wouldn’t be happening after that same night, pissed you off.

You were extremely pissed off.

Your anger was long gone as soon as you opened the door. He wasn’t drunk, and he sure as hell didn’t look horny, he was completely broken. His eyes were red and his face was puffy, he was a mess. If this had happened a month ago, you would have hugged him right away, trying to give him as much as a sense of comfort as you could and right now, you were trying to fight the urge to do exactly that. You had spent almost three weeks trying to convince yourself that he was a bad person and you weren't willing to give up all of your progress. Even though the look he was sending your way was yearning - almost begging - for some comfort coming from you.

His gaze was intense. He stared at you as if begging you to do something, he was lost, he had been for a long time now. He was begging you to let him in, and let him do whatever he wanted. He wanted you to do what you always did, he wanted to feel you. He wanted to feel as if he wasn’t as lost as he actually knew he was. You always made him feel like at least something in his life was worth it, and that something was you.

“Please let me in.” his voice was hoarse. 

You didn’t budge. You just stood there, looking at him dead in the eye. What the fuck were you supposed to do in this situation? You were so hopeless about anything that had to do with him at this point you couldn’t even speak. 

You didn’t say a word, but he understood just what was going through your mind. He knew how caught up in your thoughts you could get and how much of a rational person you were. But right now there was nothing minimally rational you could do. Nothing about your relationship was rational.

He stepped closer to you and closed the door behind him, not breaking the eye contact once. That has always been his way to get more intimate with you, to make you open up to him. 

His hand made its way to your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. His heart softened when he noticed the way you leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as his face got closer to yours, you could see the guilt in his eyes, even though your vision was already blurred up by the tears that managed to well up in your eyes.

His free hand rested on your shoulder, trying to push you towards him, but you stayed still, refusing to give in.

“Please Y/N… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything I said that night, I just, I’ve never felt like this with anyone else before you, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, or say, or how to deal with any of this- fuck” he paused, taking the hand that was previously resting on your shoulder to his face, rubbing it harshly. “ and I am sorry…” he finally finished.

Your tears were already running free, and your face was probably a mess, but you didn’t care.

“Say it,” You said sternly even though your voice was already wavering. He knew what you were referring to, of course he did. He was a very intelligent guy, even though he usually pretended no to be.

“I’m telling you what to do now, Jungkook, just say it,” you whispered, closing your eyes for a moment.

He looked at you, pain evident on his face, he didn’t want to say it. Not because he didn’t feel the same way you did, but because he wasn’t brave enough to admit that he feels, that he can feel something as dangerous as love.

He opened his mouth several times, just to close it again. He couldn’t say it, he was so afraid. 

Yeah… Jungkook was afraid. 

He was known by everyone around the city for being fearless. Because that was what he wanted people to think. He smokes, his body is embellished with tattoos, and he has fucked almost every girl in the town, forgetting their names the day after.

... But Jungkook was all talk.

He liked to be known, desired and even feared by some, but now, here he was, begging you to let him in.

Neither of you knew what to do. You were both scared. But then you understood he wasn’t able to cross that line, and ignoring all the urges to kiss him right there, take all of his worries and insecurities off his chest and the doubtful look off his eyes, you decided to put an end to that.

“Get out.” 

11th of February, 2023

You were completely covered in work, sitting on your living room’s floor. Anatomy books all around you. This had already became a very typical Saturday night for you. Your house was a complete mess, you didn’t even manage to find time to eat, how would you have time to clean your small apartment? 

Med school wasn’t easy, it was far from easy. There was so much effort you had to put into it. You barely had a social life. Actually, all you had was your sister, your best friend, and a few friends from med school. You weren't particularly the social butterfly, and you couldn't really blame med school for that, you never liked to have many people around you. If you want to be a doctor, you have to forget having a life apart from the hospital, your full attention has to be directed to studying so you can save lives in the future. 

The thing is, you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were 14 years old. You worked your ass off so that you could have the perfect grades, and get into med school without any problem. You knew it was going to be hard from the beginning, but you were a girl that like challenges, you loved being challenged; your competitive nature implied it. You have always liked to get things the hard way. Easy was boring.

You’ve always set your goals very high. You were an overachiever. And you were stubborn, you would never give up on your dreams. These were great characteristics for an aspiring doctor. You were sure you were on the right path.

Your studies were interrupted when Maggie, your sister, barged into your house. She had a spare key, you gave it to her when you moved into this apartment. She has always been your confidant, you told her every single thing that happened in your life. She knew everything there was to know about you, and you knew everything about her. Your relationship has always been awesome, you’ve always treated each other as best friends and not really as sisters. 

You had told her how stressed you were about med school the night prior, and you could hear in her voice how worried she got about your mental health, even though, the situation wasn’t that bad, she tended to exaggerate. So it wasn’t really surprising that she was in your apartment, all excited, telling you, you were going to a party tonight because you needed to get loose. 

And even though you could see how happy and full of good intentions she was, you almost laughed at her face, well... actually, you really did laugh, a lot. It was just a really funny and almost ridiculous idea. It was really stupid of her to even think you would waste a night of study, for a party. You didn't even like parties!

You hated parties, actually!

You've always been kind of an introvert. You liked to have your own space, you loved to be alone, you loved to read, and you didn't like having other people invading your personal space. 

"What are you even saying?" you asked, still laughing.

Your sister's expression fell the moment you said that, almost mocking her.

"We are going out, I already talked to Vicky, she's coming with us. Get ready, you have one hour, we are leaving at 9pm and we still have to pick Vicky up"

Vicky was your best friend, you were so surprised Maggie got her to leave her house. Vicky was also an introvert, she was even worse than you.

"Hurry up!" she screamed, already impatient.

You were left staring at her, completely dumbfounded, before she grabbed your arm and pushed you into the bathroom.

You were already in Maggie's car. The tight black dress you were wearing was utterly and completely uncomfortable. The three of you were already on your way to the party, you couldn't be more panicked. You haven't come to a party since you were 15, you didn't even know how to act in a party, what were you supposed to do? You looked at Vicky, in the backseat, she was just as nervous as you were, you couldn't find her situation more relatable. Your eyes crossed and you both knew what each of you was feeling at that exact moment.

It had always been like this. You've always understood and known each other like the back of your hands. Your mothers were best friends, and when she was born, you were only one year old. You grew together and got used to each others' presence. Now you were almost inseparable. 

When you got to the party, the smell of smoke and the loud suggestive music invaded your senses. You weren't used to this kind of environment, and you didn't like it, not one bit.

In the middle of the party, Maggie was already on the dance floor, and she had already denied dancing with at least 5 different guys. Everyone was just so drawn to her, you couldn't blame them. Maggie was absolutely stunning, she had always been the pretty girl of the family. Vicky was seated beside you at the bar when Maggie came and basically pulled her to dance. She tried to do the same with you, but she gave up as soon as you sent her your most intimidating gaze.

"Sorry, can I get a cosmopolitan, please?" you asked the bartender. If your friends dragged you here, you should, at least, drink something, right?

The bartender gave you your drink a bit after matched with an apologetic look, probably used to seeing other people in the same situation you were. 

Sipping your drink you looked up to see all kind of people dancing and laughing at each other. This couldn't really be considered dancing, all everybody attempted to do was grinding on each other, exchanging partner if their rhythms of grinding weren’t similar. Disgusting. Purely disgusting.

Your discomfort only increased when your eyes locked with another pair of brown orbs, that were already fixed on yours. His gaze was intense, so intense that he got you shifting in your seat and adjusting your dress, so it would cover your legs properly - if that was even possible. He must have noticed your agitation because you swear to god, you saw him smirking. You tried looking somewhere else, but his gaze was fixed on you, and at some point, you forgot the nervousness you had felt some seconds before, giving up on keeping your eyes away and looking straight at him. All your confidence was long gone when he decided to stand up and started walking towards you, never breaking the eye contact.

You haven't really noticed how attractive that stranger was but now that his face was lightened up by the red neon lights of the pub you were in, you could see it perfectly. His face was flawless - his dark hair was pulled back as if he had just run his fingers through it, his gaze was sharp and intense, you could see he felt challenged, looking straight at your eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and apparently moisturized and you could clearly see how chiselled his jawline was. 

For your contentment, he looked away first, but kept his eyes on you, analyzing your body now. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, but the muscles beneath it were definitely noticeable. His arms were also muscular and he had some tattoos covering them. The tight jeans he was wearing left you almost drooling at how muscular and defined his tights seemed to be. His steps were languid and slow. The tension between you two was palpable, and while you were focused on his eyes and the desire that they exuded, everyone else was gone, it was just the two of you.

What a fucking prick... 

"Hey princess," he said when he got to your side, sitting in one of the fancy stools that stood by the bar after pulling it closer to yours. 

If he thinks that with that little fuckboy talk he's going to take you to bed, he's wrong. So wrong...

"You should get back to your friends." he was taken aback by your words, it was obvious by the way he looked at you, but the surprised look didn't last long, quickly being replaced by that stupidly desirable smirk he'd been wearing since his eyes laid on your figure and a soft tilt os his head.

"You were so excited looking at me across the room... Acting all confident. Now that I'm finally here, you send me away... Am I making you nervous, baby?"

"God, you're so full of yourself... Is that your tactic to get girls to go home with you?" you looked at him, clearly annoyed. 

It was clear he wasn't liking how rude you were sounding, but you couldn't care less. 

He laughed a bit, low and hoarsely, amused by how feisty you were, getting even closer to you, after poking the inside of his cheek.

"You think I want to take you home?" he looked at your eyes defyingly, clearly mocking you. His face was so close to yours that you could see the rage he was feeling and hiding, almost flawlessly, through his eyes. "I wouldn't want to take you home." he stared, waiting for you to snap. God, he was so rude.

"Fuck off," you said with a neutral voice, daring to send him a little ironic smile.

"I'm not sayin' I'm not up to fuck you, but not necessarily in my house" he chuckled in a low tone and looked at you with the same challenging look he was wearing earlier. He was severely testing your patience, but you were determined to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your cool.

You looked at him. The disgust you were feeling was evident, he noticed it.

"When are you going to shut the fuck up?" you asked, almost losing your patience, which you'd been preserving for a long time now.

You stood up, ready to leave him there. 

He was ready to say something else but noticing you had already left he was left staring at your uncovered back and your hips that were adorned by your tight little black dress. 

You knew you were one hell of a woman. You've always had your insecurities just like everyone else, but you knew how beautiful you were on top of all those imperfections.

You looked back and smirked when you saw him staring at your ass, biting his bottom lip.

You sat in a velvety sofa in the bar, still holding your drink, but the thought of those lips and shiny eyes was still haunting you, and the fact that he was still persistently staring your way wasn't helping. You felt your body relax a bit when he finally stood up and stepped towards the dance floor.

A while later, Maggie and Vicky were walking towards the couch you were sitting on and threw themselves on it, completely wasted.

"Hey, I gave your number to a really hot guy. I think you're getting laid in the next week!" Vicky screamed at the top of her lungs excitedly and you wondered who she could be talking about, running your eyes through the unfamiliar faces that filled the bar.

“Finally!” Maggie added to Vicky’s exaggerated statement.

Your heart stopped the moment your eyes locked with the ones you've been dreadfully thinking about for the last hour. He was smirking as if he had heard your friends - which he probably did. 

He studied your expression falling as realization fell on you. He had won. And when you found yourself lost in his eyes from across the room, imagining what he could do to you, you were pretty sure you had lost.

[afy2018]

A New Legend

Harsh wind swept through the air in loud gusts, kicking up clouds that rolled over the desert in a grainy fog. A human trudged alone through the cool air, a bag strapped across her chest and her face completely covered with goggles over her eyes. Her terrain coloured clothes whipped and flapped in the high winds. She stopped and tightened her belt for the fifth time that hour while her goggles got clouded over again. This planet was unforgiving but it was home for her, a decrepit haven for criminals and outcasts. No real names here, not even to trusted employers such as her own at the Tosche Station or Chalmun's Cantina. Sometimes she didn’t really even know her name. Better for her though, safety for an unlucky descendant of the Mandalorian Knight, Dorjander Kace.

Sara held her saber close to her heart, walking to Mos Eisley for work again. She came up to the residences on the outskirts of the town. Maybe she could get some food from Mick and Leo while she had time. They usually spent a lot of time in Mos Eisley, a secret home away from home for them. She wiped the sand from her goggles again as she neared the matmatas. She glanced at the house numbers, searching for the correct address before rapping on the wooden door marked 30. A large rugged man opened the door with a wide grin when he realized who was standing before him. He yanked her in by the collar.

“Where have you been?” Mick asked.

“Working,” she laughed, removing her goggles and mask.

“Luckily we don’t have to clean up after you,” Leo joked from the doorway. “Here for another refill?”

“And to catch up. I’m not that much of a freeloader,” Lance sighed pulling her hair back into a neat bun.

“You should really settle down, find a friend to share with while you’re working,” Mick suggested, searching for some older rations that had to go.

“Then I’d have to actually spend my money on food and shelter.”

“See, you really are a freeloader,” Snart confirmed with a side smirk. “So where are you coming from?”

“Jabba’s Palace.”

“Again?”

“He’s just needing someone to smuggle droid parts onto Tatooine from… Naboo, I think. I’ve just been going from here to his palace for the… fourth time. What have you been doing?”

“The usual. Stealing droids and fixing them before resell. Makes good money.”

“Here,” Mick cut in, holding a bag of food. “Some dewback jerky, hubba bread, and the rest of our womp rat soup -which I would eat first.” He nodded handing the bag to her.

“What would I do without you guys.”

“Get food from someone else, I would assume” Leo considered. “Now go on your merry little way, bother another bounty hunter.”

“Wait, come on, I haven’t seen you guys in months. How’s it going with Ray?”

“Great, really. Kind of weird,” he began.

“He means that he’s deep in love and doesn’t know how to act,” Mick explained with a playful nudge to the ribs.

“Okay, that’s enough. What about you and that guy. The rich boy?”

“Oliver? Nothing. I don’t see him. I moved on to this other girl, but she’s too busy with her family’s business to have any sort of relationship.”

“We should tell her,” Mick broke in.

His partner side-eyed him, “Why did you make it sound so ominous?”

“Tell me what?” Sara asked.

“There’s a large group of people who are getting together in secret trying to overthrow the Empire. You know, the Sith. They’ve been coming here to recruit as many people as they can. Apparently, there have been some older kids joining. We’ve been thinking of going as well.”

“I never would’ve thought that you’d be part of a rebellion.”

“I’m not usually serious, but life is only so long, Sara. We need to do something with it before we die. This is way bigger than us, bigger than everyone. It’s important,” Leo tried to convince her, crossing his arms and grabbing a medallion from his pocket. He glanced down at it and sighed before looking up at Sara. “Now, I know that you may not care, but by next month, Mick, Ray and I will be gone.”

“So this is goodbye?”

“Hopefully not, but maybe.”

Sara nodded and hugged Leo and Mick. “You guys have been like brothers to me. You saved me and brought me here. I’m so glad that I got to meet you two. Thank you.”

“I hope we see each other again, and that this isn’t really goodbye.”

Lance nodded and turned away. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you change your mind, they’re planning to come back by the end of the year.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Well, I’m going to the cantina to get a drink, you wanna join?”

“Of course, but you’re buying.”

“My treat then.”

~

Music blared from the stage as the musicians in the corner livened up the dark room. Aliens of various races drank and talked at the bar, the table, or against the wall. People walked in and out, checking and stealing from one another as they passed by. It was shady and suspicious, but it was home for these people, she guessed. Maybe hold her belongings a bit closer. That’ll work, hopefully. The foreigner warily approached the bar, not that she really tried to fit in anyway. With her hair tied back in a tight bun, and in traditional garb to protect her skin. She rapped on the bar and waited for the bartender to turn around. He glanced at her, looking her up and down before nodding.

“Tatooine Sunset.”

He grunted in response and filled a glass with the sweet liquor. He slid it over to her, waiting for her to pay him before letting go of the glass.

“So what’s your name sweetie?” A young Rodian asked in his native tongue.

She smirked at the alien and chuckled “Yeah I’m too old for you, tyke.”

“Just tell me your name.”

“Ava.”

“Beautiful. I’m Greedo.”

“Well, Greedo, while I’d like to sit and chat, I don’t have a lot of time to… play,” she smiled. “Sorry.”

Greedo cocked his head to the side, turning away to a corner where a few other shady aliens sat. Ava watched him talk with his friends. She shook her head with a slight grin and went back to her drink. A hand roughly grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. The alien garbled at her in a foreign language that she couldn’t really comprehend. Ava turned back to her drink, finishing it in a swift tilt of the glass. A young humanoid alien tapped her on the shoulder.

“He doesn’t like you,” he explained.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a scoff.

He clutched her arm, yanking her back into the conversation. “I don’t like you either. Don't insult us,” he warned her, tightening his grip on her arm. “You just watch yourself. We're wanted men. I have a death sentence in twelve systems,” he bragged.

“I’ll be careful then,” she smirked in annoyance and turned away to end the conversation.

“You’ll be dead!” he hissed with a vicious grin.

Another human quickly walked between them. She pressed her hand against Ava’s shoulder to nudge her away. “This little one isn't worth the effort. Let me buy you something-”

The alien shoved the human into Ava and whipped out his blaster. Ava reached for the lightsaber at her hip. The blonde looked at her and put her hand over the weapon.

“You can’t use that here,” she warned her.

“No blasters! No blasters!” The bartender exclaimed.

The two aggressive aliens turned away and walked out of the bar. Ava turned to the blonde and smiled.

“Thank you.”

“It was nothing. You’re not the only tourist I’ve had to save. Tatooinians don’t really like… us. In fact, most people don’t trust us or anyone who wields a weapon such as yours. You have to be very careful,” she explained in a hushed tone. “So obviously you’re not from here. Where are you from?”

“Nowhere you know.”

“Try me.”

“Is that common here, bar fights?” Ava asked switching subjects.

“Of course. You’re most definitely not from here. Tatooine is a very shady place. People are always fighting. Honestly, I’d be suspicious if an hour went by without a fight,” Sara smiled. “Well, hey, if you’re not too busy, my friends and I are having a quick drink. Wanna join?”

“... Why not,” Ava nodded.

“Great,” Sara smiled, sliding back over to her friends. “This is Leo, Mick, and I’m Sara.”

“Hi, Ava,” she greeted them.

Leo smiled and drank from his tall glass, leaning against the bar. “So what brings you to Tatooine? Obviously not the weather or people.”

“Just a new adventure.”

“Well, you must live on the wild side then if this feels like an adventure and not just a death sentence.”

“Don’t mind his sarcasm, here, have this,” Sara offered, sliding her drink to Ava.

“What is this?”

“Bantha Blaster” she smiled.

“What does it taste like?”

“Sweet and fizzy,” Leo explained. “They drink it all the time.”

“I swear by it,” Lance grinned, leaning towards Ava as she ordered another drink.

Ava sniffed the drink; Endor, she thought, it reminded her of Endor. She inhaled and took a swig from the pink and green liquor. The bubbly concoction fizzed and popped on her tongue before a very sweet sugary sensation coated her taste buds. It burned at first, but then warmed her throat and became tart at the end. Ava coughed at first, and chuckled, shaking her head.

“A little strong?” Sara asked.

“Yeah, but good. It’s a very fun drink.” Ava smiled, covering her mouth. “So you’re from this area?”

“Not really. I’ve spent the past six years here, but I’m originally from a different planet.”

Leo leaned over to Sara, whispering to her. “You know, it’s great to see you head over heels. I haven’t seen you reveal this much since we met.”

“What are you talking about?”

He pulled back, turning to Mick. “I think we should go back home. We need to get packed.”

“Leo,” Sara called.

“I know, but we must go. See you ‘round, little canary,” he teased on his way out of the cantina.

“Mick!”

“Gotta go.”

Sara huffed as she watched her friends leave, shaking her head and downing the Bantha Brew. Ava also finished her drink and cleared her throat.

“Well, I’m glad that we had this time to talk. Sorry for driving your friends away-”

“Huh? Don’t worry about them, Leo’s just weird like that. You know, I can always show you around Mos Eisley if you have time.”

“Yeah, why not.”

After they escaped the cantina, Sara pulled off to an alley to her guest’s concern. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to out you for having that,” she gestured to her saber. So, how did you get your hands on such archaic tech?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t hide it from me, I literally saw you almost whip that thing out in a Post-Empire Tatooine. This is their playground. Did you at least bring a blaster?”

“Yes, I guess it’s just a force of habit.”

“Was that a pun?”

“Huh, oh Force, ha, no,” she chuckled.

“You’re an intriguing sort, Aves, but you’ll be dead in ten minutes with that thing strapped to you.”

“Well, no offense, but I’m not going to hand this over to you.”

“I understand, just try not to reach for it unless you’re in deep trouble.”

“Now for that tour, you promised me?”

“Oh yeah, of course. Follow me.”

~

Hours seemed to pass in minutes to Ava, she had never met anyone like her. There was something about her, the mysterious way that she knew everyone and yet they never revealed her true name. Sara wasn’t offended by it and only laughed, responding with a variety of sarcastic phrases. She felt the end of this journey with her new companion nearing as the suns set, finally cooling the air again. Ava sat on the edge of a short wall dividing a stretch of road that was secluded from the main streets while Sara watched the citizens pass them by. The few people who did pass by seemed focused on other things like surviving or thriving in this city.

“You know, I really don’t know much about you, Little Canary,” Ava admitted.

Sara sat down next to her, shrugging, and looked her in the eye. “No need to. We don’t need to know everything to respect one another, just enough to understand.”

Sara turned to her and pursed her lips. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head before she fell to the ground. Ava rushed to her before feeling electricity stun her. Her body tensed as she dropped to the sandy ground. A pair of feet approached her before reaching down and pulling her up by the collar. A pair of pink eyes glared at her, their smile revealed a set of sharp teeth behind thin lips. It sighed and whispered something to someone behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark - Lance thought as she woke up - pitch-black and empty. She heard the sound of shuffling feet nearby. Sara shifted to her knees, focusing the Force to her sight. It felt nearly impossible, years had passed, repressing her powers to stay alive, but in a moment like this, anything was game. She looked around the room, flickering between her force sight and the darkness that suffocated her. She spotted someone with her, crawling to the wall to get up. Their heart pounded in fear and familiar clanking meant that they were sporting a pair of handcuffs. Sara carefully got to her feet and neared them. She held out her hands, reaching for the other prisoner before making contact and clutching on to their shoulder.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “Ava?”

“Sharpe,” they responded. “I’m Ava Sharpe.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Sara nodded, her response more of a note to herself than to be comforting to Ava. She sat beside her, “Why do I recognize that name?”

“I’ve probably shown up for a bounty a few times.”

“That’s it! Wait, why? You seem like the kind of person who’d follow the rules to the T.”

“A prude?”

“... Kinda… yeah.”

“Most people say that,” Sharpe sighed. Gripping Sara’s hand, she continued, “I’m- I was- a guard for those who remained of the Jedi Order.”

“What’d you do?”

“I… abandoned my post and may have been spotted by the Empire. I’ve been trying to hide for a year now. Do you know where we are?”

“No, I can’t see a damn thing.”

“The last thing I saw was a scary looking guy. It had pink eyes and… waxy skin. There was this tentacle thing wrapped around his neck. He looked like a demon,” she almost shivered.

“What about his teeth?”

“Sharp, almost like a monster.”

“I think I know who it was. And with that, welcome to Jabba’s Palace,” Sara sighed.

Light began to flood from the ceiling. Sara shielded her eyes from the brightness and took a step in front of Ava. Once the pit was fully open, Sara looked up, meeting the smirk of Bib and Jabba as well as the prying eyes of other bounty hunters and guests.

She chuckled and shook her head, “Hey, Jabba! How ya doin’ buddy?”

“Lance, sa i fun gee cheekta down ya?” The Hutt asked with a bellowing laugh.

“He does remember my name,” Sara shrugged.

“Who is that?” Ava asked.

“That is Jabba the Hutt, these are his goons, and this is his pit.”

“His pit?”

“Greedo has doe bounty che cheekta.”

“Well, I found her fair and square, Greeds, I think she’s technically mine,” Sara charmed to no avail.

“You stole her!” he yelled down into the pit.

“Okay, fine, I’ll back off. Just give me a moment” Sara sighed, turning to Ava. “A moment, to meld.”

“Me-”

Sara swiftly grabbed Ava’s jaw in her hands and kissed her.

‘Ava, focus.’ A voice echoed in her head. ‘A monster will come out. We have our sabers, we can take it down.’

Sara pulled away, nodding to Ava. She twisted on her heels and shrugged to Jabba.

“Now what? You gonna help me out?”

Jabba let out another bellowing chortle and tapped Bib on the shoulder. The pale alien smiled and went out of view. A gate behind them raised with a deafening creak. Ava reached for Sara’s hand, grabbing her saber with the other. She switched it on, the two golden blades whirring and burning the dusty air. Sara let go of Ava’s hand and grabbed her double-sided saber and disconnected them before turning them on, a thin orange blade coming out of the one side and a blood red blade out of the other.

“What, did you steal those?” Ava asked as the monster stepped out.

“Only if illegal mining is stealing.”

“Practically the definition,” she joked with a side glance at her guide.

Sara got into a ready stance, a slightly familiar surge of focused adrenaline running in her blood. She felt her breathing slow and her sensitivity heighten, feeling the beast’s heartbeat pounding in her chest. A oneness with her ally who road the same aura as her. Ava whirled her staff in a neon blur, a flourish to intimidate as they stared down their opponent.

The monster roared and shook its head, the rolls of skin shifting and stretching with spikes poking through while its muscles flexed in anticipation.

Sara sprinted up to the monster, sliding under at the last moment to slice its leg. Ava pulled the beast close and held out her saber like a spear to stab it. It screamed and slapped her away, sending her across the pit and flat into a wall.

Lance slipped behind it, running up the wall and using the solid dirt to leap onto its back. She stuck her blade surely through the spine and slid down, red blood leaking and coagulating around the wound.

The beast shrieked again, collapsing to the ground and pawing at its assailants. Sara walked up to the face and forced her saber through their eye, watching it scream and writhe on the ground. Its final breath caught in the back of their throat.

“New record?!” she called up to Jabba, but the gawking group of hedonists was gone. Sara growled and ran to Ava, turning off the sabers and attaching them before holstering it and kneeling down to her. Although she wasn’t bleeding, she was still probably injured. “Ava, you okay?”

“Yeah,” she groaned while struggled she to sit up. Ava took her hand and stood up, leaning against Sara.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sara suggested and earned an exhausted nod.

They walked through the gate, a dark corridor greeting them until it suddenly lit up, leading a way to the stables. They could hear the distant calls of captive animals.

Ava straightened her back but continued to lean against Sara. “Why’d you kiss me?” she inquired. “Melding doesn’t even require touch.”

“I just… I thought…”

“I don’t mind, just wanted to know why.”

“Oh… it just felt right.”

“It felt right?”

“Look, I’m sorry if that’s not how you go, I just needed anything to get you off your mark.”

“I never said I didn't like it.”

“Well, it was implied.”

Ava grabbed Sara’s collar and pulled her close, kissing her gently. She slid her hand up her throat, tucking her fingers behind her ear before finishing their moment with a peck on the cheek.

“What was implied there?” Ava asked.

“That you are very interested,” she blushed, biting her lip. “We should go, come on.”

She took Ava’s hand and rushed down the long hallway to the open desert. Sharpe tugged on her shirt and pointed to a landspeeder.

“Quicker transport.”

“We may have gotten stuck here because of you, but I’m so glad we met,” Sara prodded while they sprinted to the vehicle.

“Did I at least make your day a bit more exciting?” Ava asked, limping behind Sara with a hand pressed against her ribs.

“Oh yes.”

Sara opened up the hatch, trying to hotwire the speeder as Ava climbed in. Grunting quickly filled the halls as twenty gamorreans ran down the hallway.

“Um, would you mind hurrying up, Sara?”

“Really, what seems to be the problem?” she sarcastically jibed.

“The guards.”

“I know,” Sara sighed, sitting up.

“What are you doing? Keep working!”

“It’s done.”

“Drive, they’re getting into some speeders.”

“Shit,” Sara cursed, starting up their land speeder.

“Go!”

“I know!” Sara yelled, speeding off. She grabbed her blaster and shoved it into Ava’s chest. “Take aim.”

Sharpe huffed and aimed the gun on the back of her headrest, shooting at a guard and knocking him off the bike. She aimed at another, getting the gas tank and watching it slow down and leak out in the sand. Ava pointed her blaster at another bike closing in on them. The guard shot at their speeder, catching the headrest, barely missing Ava’s shoulder. Ava force pushed the bike away, making it tumble away in the sand and blow up. She sat back down in her seat and regarded the dry terrain.

“Where are we going?”

“Mos Eisley, we need to meet up with Mick and Leo.”

“Why?”

“They’re leaving soon. So, I was thinking that maybe we can bum a ride.”

“Well, where are they going?”

“They’re joining the Rebel Alliance.”

“I’ve heard of them. Wait, they work closely with the Jedi.”

“Then we’ll protect you,” Sara promised, looking into Ava’s dark eyes. “I promise. You’re one of us now.”

“What do you think of the cause?”

“I’m game for anything that means I can escape this place. I’m past this point in my life.”

Sara brought her hand under Ava’s chin and pulled her in for a brief kiss before focusing back on the road.

“We pledge out property, our honor, and our lives.”

“Long live the Rebels.”

[maryellencarter]

excessively detailed headcanon meme from camshaft22 about Wes

What does their bedroom look like? Lots and lots and lots of extremely colorful pillows and blankets. Not a hell of a lot else. And Kettch.

Do they have any daily rituals? Um. Not particularly, I think? He’s spent his entire adult life in the military, which pretty much defines what he has to do when.

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often? Yes. We know that Wes is fairly good at hand-to-hand combat. I figure he also does weight training and cardio. 

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy? Tricky question, as it often is for characters from military canons. But I’m thinking he’d either barge in and work around the other people using the kitchen, or if all the stoves/ovens/etc were busy, find a ration bar or something.

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.) We have pretty much nothing on this in canon. I tend to have his workspace covered in datacards and so forth, because he has that sort of ADHD vibe where your brain needs more than one screen to spread thoughts across. We do know that he has quite a good sense of smell, so he’s probably fairly cleanly in his personal life.

Eating habits and sample daily menu? Again: military. He eats what’s there to be eaten. Probably a fair amount of it, because all that muscle needs a lot of calories. I suspect during the Rebellion he helped supply the cooks by hunting for meat.

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time? Good question. He’s not as hyper as Shalla; there are a couple of points in the books where we see him lying down doing nothing when he has some free time. (Once toward the beginning of Iron Fist iirc, when the three ersatz Zsinjes are discussing plans, Wes is lying on a sofa with a glass of brandy while they talk, and then when Myn goes to find him for the “you can’t look dignified” talk he finds Wes lying down in bed though he has a chair in his quarters.) He’s probably always thinking about random shit and entertaining himself.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging? I think it really depends on the context. On Adumar, we see him cutting loose and enjoying the fame and adulation, and also capes and swords. In the Wraith books, he’s more disciplined, because his quacklings need him to be, but he definitely enjoys pranks, and also setting up the sort of prank-like training methods he uses. I don’t think he really has any guilty pleasures as such, not that he would consider guilty.

Makeup? I kind of doubt he’s been in a context to encounter it much, other than Face’s stage makeup. In universes where he has, he definitely likes body glitter, and has probably experimented with using contouring techniques on his biceps.

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such? You can’t be a Wraith without neuroses. He sits on them pretty effectively, but he’s a mess around the whole business with Kell’s father, and he’s fairly fatalistic about his own prospects of survival. 

Intellectual pursuits? Good damn question. We know he’s smart, good at numbers, remembers obscure training protocols. We don’t know if he reads philosophy or writes poetry or... what exactly are “intellectual pursuits” anyway?

Favorite book genre? There are a lot of these questions that we don’t especially have answers to. I mean, I know this is a headcanon meme, but a lot of them I also haven’t pondered much. I don’t think we ever see Wes reading for fun, although I speculate he reads NR training manuals in order to figure out ways to mess with his students. I’ll have to ponder on this one.

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general? Wes is pansexual aromantic. He pretty much respects that everybody has different orientations, but finds romance confusing and occasionally distressing, especially when it interferes with his friendships.

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.) Um. Not really? The whole Star Wars bacta thing takes care of a lot of that. I have been messing around with a completely self-indulgent little sleep apnea headcanon, because you could just wear a specialized rebreather to sleep instead of a CPAP machine. I haven’t done anything with that, though.

Biggest and smallest short term goal? At what point in the story? That’s the trouble with a shared universe that spans 44 years at least.

Biggest and smallest long term goal? Ditto.

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress? Ahahahaha yeah. XD Wes is famous, or infamous, for his unique sense of style -- although apparently there are things even he doesn’t want to wear, because Wedge was able to threaten him with letting Hobbie choose his clothes on Adumar. He likes bright colors, capes, shiny things, weaponry, and glitter.

Favorite beverage? I have no headcanon about this. Star Wars foodstuffs are difficult. 

What do they think about before falling asleep at night? Probably ways to cause minor trouble and cheer people up. Or maybe he tells himself stories.

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them? Well, I decided the “Hesken’s fever” that kept him out of the first Death Star battle was space chicken pox, and that he had it as a kid but it didn’t take, because I had chicken pox twice as a kid myself.

Turn-ons? Turn-offs? Sexually, or what? I’m old enough in internet years that I’m never quite sure whether we’re using this in the sense of things that you generally like and don’t like. Also, for as much Wes smut as I’ve written (it is a lot), I don’t really feel that I can produce a list.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? Paper airplanes, possibly decorated with dicks.

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life? Honestly, Wes is pretty damn organized when it comes to squadron stuff. I feel like this could go either way -- that he’s also super organized about his personal life, or that he’s completely and utterly disorganized outside the military structure.

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all? Wes Janson, Ace Statistician. XD Honestly, he could probably be good at most things, he’s a lot smarter than he acts sometimes.

How do they see themselves 5 years from today? Again, at what point in the story?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout? These are really difficult to answer without specifying a timeframe.

What is their biggest regret? Definitely the Doran Incident.

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy? Best friend is Hobbie. Worst enemy is probably whoever Wedge is currently pointing him at. Wes doesn’t really have a lot of personal enmities.

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?) Go extremely organized and make everything happen that needs to happen. 

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies) Sit on his feelings until they stop bothering him.

Most prized possession? Kettch.

Thoughts on material possessions in general? He really doesn’t need much. I tend to figure he likes comfy cozy cuddly things and fancy capes, and other than that he mostly does with what the Rebellion / New Republic gives him. Hobbie probably invests his money for him (Ralltiir is a banking planet), and Wes doesn’t pay much attention to it. By the time he gets out of the military at last, he probably has a pretty fair pile.

Concept of home and family? The Fab Four are his family. I forget why, but I also decided he has some attachment to Taanab and probably goes back there to live once he musters out. The air and gravity just feel more correct there.

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?) Wes gives the impression that there’s not a thought in his head that doesn’t come out his mouth, but at the same time he has secrets he doesn’t tell anybody until he has to. So, some of each? It’s a balancing act.

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time? Um. I’m not sure he has any. I mean, this is a guy who unabashedly bounces on his bed to make a point.

What makes them feel guilty? Not much. Except the Doran incident and things that remind him of it.

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making? Emotional, to the point that he’s made a principle out of it.

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality? I honestly don’t know what this means. *googles* Well, I have learned a lot about tobacco lobbyists in the 1980s... ;P If I’m understanding what these mean, though, Wes is definitely not a Type A personality, and therefore is by definition a Type B personality.

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained? Being around people. Having fun. Conversation. Cheering other people up.

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither? Probably neither. Sometimes he pretends to have a superiority complex as a form of goofing around, which is much more difficult to do when you actually have one of these complexes. (Compleces? Plurals are complicated.)

How misanthropic are they? Ahaha. Not very. Hobbie does all of that for him. XD

Hobbies? BEHOLD A PUNE *koff* Sorry. I don’t really know that Wes has any particular hobbies, although I suspect he can sew for purposes of making Kettch new outfits. Somebody had to make that gray Hawk-bats flightsuit.

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education? Well, he definitely left school on Taanab by the time he was about eighteen at the oldest. I feel like he was probably kind of self-conscious about being a Rimworlder for a while (all three of the others are Coreworlders), and that might mix into his feelings about having left school early, if he did.

Religion? When I write Wes, he’s kind of an agnostic. It so happens that he never refers to the Force at all in the X-wing books, in any way, so I’ve riffed on that to a view that, while he’s seen Luke do things with the Force and knows it exists, he ascribes it a lot less power than the Jedi do. He sees the Force basically as a nonsentient temporally-amorphous ocean of impressions, which Jedi can use to foresee things like blaster bolts (which is useful), but when Jedi get larger and vaguer impressions about the “will of the Force”, he’s pretty sure they’re projecting. This doesn’t do too much harm when Luke does it, because Luke is a ball of sunshine who just wants what’s best for everyone, but it means that Sith and other fucked-up people have their own really dangerous views on the Force’s will. ...I may have thought this out rather a lot.

Superstitions or views on the occult? He probably has them. I’m very fond of space superstitions but I don’t think I’ve written any myself. Wes seems like the sort of guy who would laugh over ghost stories and then accidentally scare himself in the middle of the night.

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds? Ummm I’m not quite sure what this means. *ponders* Nope, I’ve got nuthin’.

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal? That’s also a hell of a question. Like does it mean who would they fall in love with? Are we talking that Anne of Green Gables shit about only being able to fall in love with a tall dark stranger with a melting voice?

How do they express love? Snuggling. Also annoying you into cheering up.

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like? More or less a mixed martial arts thing. We see him use some wrestling moves and spinning kicks. I suspect Shalla gave him some lessons after she joined the Wraiths, because he seems a lot more confident about his hand-to-hand abilities on Adumar than in the first Wraith Squadron book.

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not? Nope. He knows he’s going to die very soon; he’s a soldier in a war with an extremely high rate of attrition. His goal is to have as much fun as possible before he goes.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Gibbous Chapter 7

Chapter Title: J is for Jerk

Summary:  Virgil's life is actually going good for once, Roman aside. However, of course something comes down to knock down the metaphorical house of cards, that something's name being Jerad.

Word-Count: 6046

Warnings:  Crying, Death Mention, Gaslighting, Verbal/Physical Abuse, Panic Attack

Previous | Present | Next

AO3 Link

A/N: Hello everyone! I told myself I'd update this fic on my birthday and well here I am! *inserts The Emperor's New Groove gif of Kuzco going "This is my birthday gift to me! I'm so happy!"*

Many thanks to @theeternalspace for listening to my numerous rants about this chapter, reading over this chapter like three times for me and being a patient, encouraging friend. And also thank you to everyone who has left such nice comments on this fic in recent weeks, I appreciate them all <3

Also a majority of this chapter's events take place before Chapter 5 just to clear things up.

-

Roman aside, Virgil’s miserable attempt at life was...far from miserable at the moment. He actually liked his job, for one. His coworkers were friendly and he found sorting books and putting them away weirdly soothing. He had three actual friends. Something he was still reeling from.

Still, even with these good things his mind was prone to worry.  It was annoying. He knew he should be grateful, that he should enjoy it while it lasted. But anxiety isn’t known to be bend to rational thought. That was sorta the whole point of anxiety.

He tried ignoring the impending sense of doom. It had to be just irrational nonsense and nothing more. Except it wasn’t. Something came, carelessly knocking down the tower of cards. That something’s name was Jerad.

Virgil was like 75% percent positive that the letter J in Jerad’s name stood for jerk. Though, Jerad was deserving of a variety of more explicit, foul names than jerk. Virgil, having a healthy fear of death, chose not to disclose them to Jerad himself. Instead, he thought about them, silently, in his head.

But…he wasn’t a jerk all the time; hence the 75%. For as much as Virgil complained about his roommate, Jerad wasn’t that bad of a guy. When he wasn’t drinking or blasting his music of course. It wasn’t like Virgil was in a position to confront him about either of those things.

Jerad let him go late on paying the rent more times than he could count. Hell he wouldn’t have a place to live it wasn’t for Jerad.

He’d been almost eighteen and panicking. When he turned eighteen, he’d be kicked out of the foster care system. While Virgil hated the system, but it ensured him a place to stay and food to eat. Soon that’d be all on him to figure that stuff out. For such a small amount of space, apartments were ridiculously expensive. There’d be no way for him to rent an apartment without resorting to having a roommate to help pay the rent.

It was something he dreaded, because it meant he had to coexist with a virtual stranger. Which really wasn’t different from drifting from foster home to foster home. It still didn’t mean Virgil was fond of the idea.

When Jerad caught a whiff of his dilemma, he’d came to his aid.

“My roommate Robby left me to pay the rest of the lease on my own—skipped town, the bastard. I figure, you can have his room as long as you pay your part of the rent. Whattaya say?” Jerad flashed a grin.

“U—uh sure.” Virgil stammered, “thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me, it’s what anyone would do.” Jerad laughed, patting Virgil’s back.

Virgil flinched a bit at the action. He didn’t like how Jared patted his back just a little too hard. However he kept his mouth shut. After all, the guy had just offered him a place to stay. Jerad kept rattling on about details for the apartment, appearing completely ignorant of Virgil’s discomfort.

At the time, he knew Jerad as his friendly-but-annoying-at-times coworker. He had no reason to assume otherwise. Especially when Jerad did such nice things like furnish the apartment with a new couch and refused to take Virgil’s money for it.

Sure, sometimes he used those nice things against Virgil when they got into an argument.

“Well since I was the one who brought the couch, I think I reserve the right to watch TV whenever I want to!”

But he was always quick to apologize a day or two later. Such as the incident that happened when Virgil arrived home from the werewolves’ house the first time. Jerad had been drunk that night, yelling and accusing of Virgil attempting to skip town.

Virgil had been terrified. How was he going to explain to Jerad he might not have a job anymore? It was one thing to pay rent late, it was another to have absolutely no money at all. What was he supposed to say?

“Hey, uh, I kinda got kidnapped by werewolves and spent a night locked in their basement, sorry about the inconvenience?”

It sounded laughable to his own ears. Hell, if he hadn’t experienced it himself, he wouldn’t believe it. It was crazy. Paranormal sightings in the city hadn’t happened in the city for years. It was unlikely anyone was going to believe his story. He’d look like the boy who cried wolf, literally .

There was also the fact that he could possibly hurt Patton in the process and…he didn’t want that. Not after anything he’d done for Virgil.

He had to come up with a story that was more believable than that. A lie, essentially. Lying was not Virgil’s forte. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like how it made his stomach churn and his mouth dry. But there was no damn way he was telling the truth.

He paced the narrow length of his room, hands pulling at his greasy locks of hair. A story, a story—what he could possibly say? He got drunk and woke up three states away with no idea where he was? No, no that’s unbelievable. Jerad knew he wouldn’t pull off a stunt like that.

Virgil would have maybe one or two drinks. But never enough to get him flat-out drunk. He disliked the loss of control that came with being tipsy.

Still, Jerad tried his best to pressure him otherwise. Sometimes when none of his other friends were available, he dragged Virgil to bars to be his drinking buddy for the night. He had to come up with something else.

Could he tell the truth and just conveniently leave out the fact they’d been werewolves? Would anyone believe that complete strangers would do such a thing? Virgil wouldn’t.

Amnesia, maybe? A fib about how he got whacked on the head so hard that he completely lost all his memories? It happened all the time in novels and movies. Real life? Not so much.

Virgil let out a pained groan, collapsing onto his bed. He couldn’t think of anything that would satisfy Jerad. Even telling the truth was sure to earn Jerad’s ire. He’d accuse of Virgil of telling a lie even then. There was only one thing that Jerad would believe. It was the very thing he’d accused Virgil the night before.

His chest tightened at even the thought of it. It was just like any of the other explanation he’d thought of telling Jerad; they were all fake. So why was he more conflicted using that one than the others? He hadn’t even denied it when Jerad had brought it up a second time.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, alright?”

Jerad hardly remembered anything when he was plastered. There was a good chance he’d forgotten about the whole interaction from the night before. But there was always a slim chance that he hadn’t. Virgil didn’t like taking that chance.

Okay, he skipped town. That was his story. But why did he skip town? What had made him come crawling back? Think Virgil, think!

His doorknob rattled as an outside force tried turning it open. Jerad. Virgil sat frozen for the few seconds it continued to jingle. He was relieved he’d had the foresight to lock it in the first place. Virgil knew that his thin wooden door was hardly any protection against him and Jerad, a former star high school football quarterback. It was really only a matter of time until Jerad broke through and beat him to a pulp.

Except that didn’t happen. Jerad would never beat him to a pulp—or he’d at least never done it before. There could always be a first time. That didn’t change the fact that Jerad had physically hurt him before. It was only a bruise, here and there.

Drunk Jerad forgot about his own strength sometimes. Sometimes a friendly slap on the back wasn’t so friendly. Still, Virgil had worse. He still had scars left over from high school bullies and the few bad foster parents he’d endured. He never had any lasting marks from Jerad. Only bruises that faded into oblivion.

“Hey Virgin, you awake?” Jerad asked through the door.

Virgil exhaled sharply at the nickname. Jerad wasn’t the first one in his life to call him that. The high school bullies had really jumped on that one. His name Virgil sounded similar to Virgin—hilarious. Truly, comedy gold.

He’d asked Jerad once to not to call him by that. The other had laughed.

“Oh, don’t be such a pussy!” Jerad said, taking a swig of his beer, “It’s true isn’t it?”

“Well yes—”

“Then I don’t see the problem with me stating facts,” Jerad shrugged his shoulders, “Tell you what? I’ll stop calling you that once you find a hot chick to hook up with.”

That interaction with Jerad left a bad taste in his mouth. It was true—Jerad and the others were just stating a fact. Virgil was a virgin. He wasn’t ashamed of it. But he hated how they said it—like it was synonymous with loser. Worse, he was somehow lesser for it.

There wasn’t anything wrong with being a virgin, was there? Or being repulsed by the idea of sex. There was a term for that. Asexuality. He had come across it on Tumblr. It’d been a relief to know he wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t told Jerad. There was no use when he already knew what his response would be.

He’d laugh and tell Virgil he’d change his mind. Or that he was just imagining he was that way. The last one was what Virgil feared most. What if he was just making it up?

Virgil shoved those thoughts away, taking a deep breath. Shit, how long had Jerad been waiting for an answer behind the door?

With a trembling hand, he reached for the door. He unlocked it before swinging it open. Jerad stood there, grinning. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

“Hi, Jerad,” Virgil said, attempting to keep his voice level.

“You’re really here…” Jerad’s grin grew wider, “I thought you coming back was a dream or something.”

“About that—”

“Oh boy you missed the wildest party ever—I’ll tell you over breakfast, my treat!”

He swung an arm over Virgil who allowed himself to be dragged outside his room, outside the apartment. He’d been too shocked to protest. He doubted he could wiggle out of Jared’s ironclad grip even if he wanted to. Was Jerad after last night really taking him out to eat? Apparently so, as the two walked through the doorway of a cute breakfast café.

Jerad rambled on the party, but Virgil could hardly focus on his words. He nodded at all the right parts, giving the façade he was listening. All he could hear was the thrum of his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

He moved his food around the plate, merely giving the impression he was eating. Virgil never had much of an appetite but he definitely didn’t have one at the moment. His plate was gigantic. Bigger than the typical American restaurant serving, which was already impossible to eat in one sitting. There was a stack of steaming buttermilk pancakes dripping with syrup. A bowl full of fresh fruit. Lastly, there was also a plate with sunny side up eggs, bacon and sausage. His stomach turned to knots just looking at it.

Virgil, not wanting to take advantage of Jerad’s generosity, had tried ordering the cheapest item on the menu. Jared laughed and told the waitress to disregard that. Virgil didn’t correct him when the waitress looked over at him for confirmation. He gave only a feeble nod, his gaze falling onto the checkered tiled floor.

“You’re my friend, Virgil. No need to go starving for my sake!” Jared laughed, giving him a light punch on the arm. It was just a friendly tap, he knew Jared didn’t mean anything by it. He still tensed up when he saw that hand coming towards him.

Virgil had chuckled weakly in response.

He hadn’t taken a single bite of his meal. He felt guilty—Jared had paid for it and he couldn’t even muster up the appetite. He was too busy thinking about how he was to break it to Jared he probably didn’t have a job anymore. Jared often let him pay his rent late—sometimes allowing Virgil to go without paying that month’s rent at all. But this was different. What if he couldn’t find a job? Would Jared throw him out on the streets?

“Hey Virgil, mind sharing a piece of your sausage with me?” Jared asked, jarring Virgil out of his thoughts.

Jared had gotten the same dish as Virgil. In fact, he still had some of his own sausage left. But it wasn’t like Virgil was going to be eating his anytime soon. Virgil nodded, sliding the plate closer to Jared. The other man dug into it, without saying a word of thanks to him.

“Y’know, you’ve been really quiet, V-Man,” Jared said, mouth half full of food, “What’s up with you? Are you constipated?”

“N—no, I just,” Virgil hesitated, “Why aren’t you angry? Weren’t you mad last night?”

Jared’s eyes darkened and immediately Virgil regretted his words.

“I was drunk, Virgin . You know I don’t mean anything when I’m drunk,” He scowled, “Sure I was worried. I thought maybe you pulled the same shit on me as Robby. But I wasn’t angry.”

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not, especially since you came back!” Jared’s eyes brightened once more.

Virgil bit his lips, “Jared, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now, now none of that chicken shit!” Jared interrupted, clasping Virgil’s shoulder, “I gotta go to work soon, but whataya say that tonight you tell me where you’ve been? We can go hit up a few bars and get fucking wasted.”

“S—sure.”

“A—awesome!” Jared said, mocking Virgil’s stutter, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

Jared never accepted Virgil’s apology or really allowed him a chance to explain. It was probably best, considering Virgil himself didn’t know how. He did allow Virgil to stay at the apartment. He had even been the one to encourage Virgil to go back to Kirby’s to get his job back there.

“C’mon Virgey, man up! Give some sob story about your mother being in the hospital and the old hag will eat it up.”

Virgil clenched his teeth, “Yeah, Jerad, I’m sure that’d work great except my parents are dead .”

“Oh right,” Jerad said, having enough decency to look a bit remorseful, “Well, make something else up then!”

So sure, Jerad was a jerk that played loud music. He was also a jerk that shared his apartment with Virgil and occasionally did nice things like buy him breakfast. So he couldn’t be that bad of a guy, right? Or so he thought.

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

Virgil’s first mistake had been falling unconscious on the couch. It wasn’t even that comfortable, with its’ broken springs and sunken cushions that smelled like liquor. Even his lumpy mattress was a step up to the couch. Really, fifteen paces and he could collapse on his bed within the security of his room.

Fifteen paces, however, seemed impossible to an exhausted Virgil. He worked a full day running on only a few hours’ of sleep in the last 48 hours. It happened when you were an insomniac. Virgil scraped by with copious amounts of coffee. Caffeine always gave him a pounding headache, but it was better than being a literal zombie. He should’ve known all that caffeine would result in a crash.

Virgil shuffled inside his apartment, lasting a few steps in before his vision swarmed. He swayed, his body dipping downwards in a vertical dive. ‘ Oh, I’m falling ,’ He realized belatedly. His last thoughts hoping he made contact with the couch rather than the floor.

“Virgil!”

Someone called his name. He made a sluggish attempt to move his limbs, still fraught with fatigue. How long had he been asleep? It felt like forever. His subconscious threatened to drag him back into its depths. But alas, it was not to be.

Something shoved Virgil off the couch, causing him to collide with the cold hard floor. Virgil let out a groan. The sharp pain coursing through veins jerked him wide awake. A ravenous laughter roared above him. Jerad.

He must’ve shoved Virgil as a joke. That was all there was to it. Nothing to get worked up over. Still, Virgil was on the couch. Jerad’s couch. Jerad was going to yell at him for hogging the couch when he had a perfectly good bed to sleep on--

Virgil’s breath hitched.

This should’ve been where he stammered an apology to Jerad before fleeing to his bedroom. Like he’d done plenty of times before. Except in the midst of Jerad’s laughter, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Without thinking, he pulled it out. That had been his second mistake.

Because it was a text from Patton. The werewolf sent him an outdated meme. Like one might find from a cringey Facebook meme-page frequented by soccer moms and elderly people. But it was from Patton and Virgil couldn’t help the smile that curled across his face.

“Aww Virgie, who you texting? Did you finally get laid?”

A hand snatched the phone away from his grasp.

“Hey give it back!” Virgil lunged toward Jerad, but the former football quarterback easily sidestepped him. This caused Virgil to crash hard into the coffee-table. Virgil stifled a curse as he rose up.

“What? Afraid I’ll see some embarrassing sexts?” Jerad rolled his eyes, his thumb flicking across the cracked screen. His smile dissipated as he scrolled further and further into the text conversation.

“Virgil, what the hell is this?”

Oh no . There wasn’t any reference to Pat being a werewolf was there? Aside from memes, there wasn’t much on there as far as he could recall.

“It’s a text conversation with my friend Patton.” Virgil swallowing, trying to push down the fear that threatened to engulf him.

“Steven Universe? This guy watches little kid shows? Are you friends with a five-year-old?! C’mon this is paaaathetic .”

“Jerad, please give me my phone back.” Virgil begged, reaching for the phone but Jerad held it high above his head.

“Nah, this shit is hilarious. I can’t believe this guy really thinks he’s your friend!”

“Thinks? Jerad, he is my friend.”

But his roommate just laughed as if Virgil told a joke.

“Psh, yeah right. You’re telling me you’re friends with a guy that thinks puns are funny?” Jerad rolled his eyes, “Like this one, ‘don’t go bacon my heart’?”

“Jerad, give it back!” Virgil growled, his eyes shiny with righteous fury. It was one thing when Jerad teased him. It was another thing entirely for him to attack Patton. It didn’t matter the werewolf wasn’t there to hear it. It also didn’t matter he’d have no idea unless Virgil told him. Virgil’s vision still went red.

He hopped on top of the coffee-table, using the added height to make a better grab for the phone. Jerad leapt out of the way, finding the attempt amusing. They began a chase around the cramped apartment, no doubt causing a ruckus for their neighbors to hear. Jerad continued reading the texts in a mocking, shrill voice. It only drove Virgil angrier, making his reaches more frantic.

They had ended up on their apartment balcony when Jerad suddenly halted. Virgil almost ran into him, stopping just in the nick of time. All signs of teasing had left Jerad’s face. It was blank and it was honestly starting to frighten Virgil how he kept scrolling up the text conversation with a blank look on his face.

“Um,” Virgil began nervously, “Jerad, dude, you okay?”

“Are you planning on fucking leaving me without warning, like Robbie?” Jerad demanded.

Virgil took a step back, “What? No!”

“Then what are these texts?” Jerad demanded, before reading them out in a disgusted tone.

Hi Virgil! I noticed some new apartments going up a couple blocks away from the library. They look super cute! It’d only take you five minutes to walk to work!

I heard there was a shooting near your apartment last night, u ok?

Your landlord should really take care of that, it’s a safety hazard!

Wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Your roommate should be more considerate and not play his music so loudly.

Shit . Shit, shit, shit. He’d forgotten about those texts. Patton was unusually concerned about Virgil’s safety. Or at least, Virgil wasn’t used to other people caring for him in that capacity before. He’d been trying to encourage Virgil to find a better living situation for weeks now. Which was great, except Virgil couldn’t do it for a multitude of reasons.

Finding a new apartment would most likely involve finding a new roommate. As Virgil sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to afford an apartment by himself. He couldn’t move in with Remy because the vamp lived on campus. The werewolves’ house was also a no-go because Roman. And besides Jerad would be so upset after everything he’d done for Virgil.

Of course Jerad would come across those texts. Virgil was certain he must’ve broken a mirror or something to deserve this amount of bad luck.

“Dude, I swear it isn’t like that,” Virgil protested, “Patton, he’s just been concerned that--”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit! Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”

“W-what?”

“He’s manipulating you--duping you into thinking I’m the bad guy when I’ve been the one helping you longer than he has! I’ve let you skip rent a few times, let you use my couch, my TV and you’re really gonna listen to him? What has he or anyone else have done for you?”

“It isn’t--isn’t like that! Patton, he--he offers good advice, he’s just looking out for me! So is Remy. He helped me get a new job--”

“A new job?” Jerad asked, “why didn’t you tell me you had a new job?!”

Virgil just stared at him, stomach sinking. He told Jerad this weeks ago. It’d taken a lot to tell him, and Jerad, he hadn’t--he didn’t retain any of it?!

“Why do you care so much?” Virgil snapped, taking a step forward, “I’m still paying rent regardless of where I work or who I hang out with.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, that’s all! Don’t you think it’s a little sketch that after you got a little new job, Virgin--”

“My name is VIRGIL,” He snarled, “and if you’re keep acting like a jerk about this, maybe I should just move out!”

Virgil wanted to rip Jerad into shreds and not just with words. Oh no, words weren’t enough. His fists itched for violence, to be red from his roommate’s blood. It scared him how close he was to murdering the 6’4 former quarterback. ‘He deserves it, ’  A little dark voice in his head whispered, ‘He belittled your friends.’

Worse yet, he shouldn’t have said those last words to Jerad. It’d been his third mistake.

He knew it by the way Jerad clenched his teeth, his eyes trailing towards the edge of the balcony. Jerad glanced back at Virgil’s phone and then back at the streets below. He took a step towards the balcony railing.

“No!” Virgil screeched, rushing forward. He snatched his phone away from Jerad right then and there. For a triumphant moment, he held most prized possession in his grasp once more. Then a hand clamped down on him, onto his wrist and he yelped in pain. Jerad. He tugged uselessly to free the grip with his other hand. It was no use. Jerad was so strong, and oh my god he was going to kill him, wasn’t he?

“Jerad, please!” He called out, but his roommate remained resolute in his fury.

He squeezed Virgil’s wrist tighter, attempting to force him to drop his phone. But Virgil refused to let it go, even as tears pricked his vision. It only angered Jerad further. He threw Virgil against the balcony railing. Virgil cried out as Jerad practically dangled him over it, towards the cement sidewalk a hundred feet below.

For one terrifying moment, Virgil thought he’d be sent airborne, flying rapidly downwards to meet a grisly death. It’d be so easy for Jerad to do that. He could get off scot-free, claim Virgil’s death was a suicide. The police would believe him. After all, Virgil was such a nobody that no one would care to look further into it.

With those thoughts swishing around in his brain, he let go of his phone. He watched it fall. Down, down, down until it made brutal impact with the ground like a rocket failing to launch. Jerad released his hold on Virgil. He fell, stomach plummeting as his arms waved wildly in the air. He swore he was falling to his death. Instead his back made impact with the floor of the apartment balcony.

Virgil didn’t stay there. He jumped up at once without sparing a second glance to Jerad. Heart in his throat, he fled the apartment. He ran out of the apartment building, his legs feeling like a pair of unstable Jenga towers; ready to topple at any moment. He kept on running though. He ran until he arrived at the smattered remains of his phone. He collapsed to the ground, hands reaching forward.  As he gathered the pieces into his hands, a pathetic wail escaped his lips.

Everything became one dizzying, gigantic blur after that. Virgil placed the broken phone pieces into his jeans pocket. He remembered that. He must’ve stood at one point, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand. He didn’t know when he started running. It just happened. He ran off, heading to a destination he himself wasn’t sure of.

Each breath felt like a struggle, his lungs straining to take in oxygen. The world looked like he stepped into a watercolor painting. Except it was a ruined painting, all the colors running together to create an ugly blobby mess of something meant to be beautiful.

One thought echoed in his mind on repeat.  He pushed to keep moving forward, to get as far away from Jerad as possible. He had to put distance between him and Jerad, because what if the ruined phone hadn’t quelled Jerad’s anger? What if he ran after Virgil and beat him to a pulp until he felt sated?

He knew he shouldn’t fear such things. Jerad was a jerk, but he wasn’t that bad. Even he wouldn’t dare resort to murder...right?

However in the midst of the moment, all of Virgil’s fears sounded like believable, feasible things. Even if Jerad didn’t chase after him, there was no way he could return to the apartment tonight, if ever. Even just to collect his meager belongings.  Oh god, he left not only his wallet but his hoodie behind in his panic. The hoodie was the last thing his parents had given him--the last thing he had of them.

He choked, almost running smack into a brick wall. He regained his balance halfway, stopping mere inches away. Why had he gotten so angry? Stupid, stupid. He shouldn’t have done that. It was his fault. Virgil could control his temper, whereas Jerad couldn’t help it. Now his phone was broken and he had nowhere to stay for the night. He had no money, no way of contacting the others.

He was going to end up sleeping in an alleyway. A cold, damp alleyway where muggers lurked and he was going to die. He couldn’t count on Patton popping up to save him a second time. He was so weak, so feeble and idiotic, maybe he deserved to die that way. Somewhere in the midst of these erupting volcanic thoughts, he ended up slouched against the brick wall.

Breathe. He needed to breath! But the air around him felt like sulfur poisoning his lungs. Black dots invaded his vision, his head feeling increasingly fuzzy. He was going to pass out. No, he couldn’t allow himself to do that.

He forced himself off the ground, fighting gravity to remain upright. He ran forward in blind panic. It didn’t matter what direction he went, all that mattered was that he kept moving forward. In his state, he could’ve easily ran into the street and got hit by a car. He did indeed run into something. Thankfully it was not a car. Still, the collision sent him reeling backwards, falling towards the cold, unforgiving concrete.

“Holy shit!” Someone cried out, their hand catching his bruised wrist last second to stop his plummet. Virgil hissed at once from the pain the touch brought.

“St-stay back!” Virgil said, stumbling back until he hit the brick wall of a building. Tears obscured his vision, turning the person into a distorted, twisted shadow being.

“Virgil, whoa hey. It’s me, it’s okay.” The stranger insisted, drawing closer. Virgil shook his head, taking up a defensive, curled fetal position. Jerad. It had to be. Virgil wasted too much time lingering in one spot and he paid the price.

“I’m sorry--I--I sorry, I shou-shou-shouldn’t--” He trembled, waiting for a blow that never came. Instead, they fell down beside him, giving him some space.

“Shhh, deep breaths,” They instructed, “One breath in at a time, okay? Can you do that?”

He tried, failing miserably, “N-no--I can’t--sorry--”

“Hey, hey, hey,”  The person hushed, “no more of that. You don't need to apologize. You’re okay, okay?”

“But--but I can’t--” Virgil stuttered, sobs scraping against his throat like jagged pieces of broken glass. No scratch that. It felt like the broken, sharp pieces of what once was his cellphone.

“Shit--hey, I’m gonna just--is this okay?”

An arm slung around his shoulder and Virgil tensed. He was waiting, expecting it to wrap around his throat to choke him to death. But it wasn’t a forceful, bullish grip like he expected. No, it was a light, tentative weight--loose enough for Virgil to escape if he needed to. Virgil sniffled, finally risking a look up. Knitted eyebrows behind dark shades met his gaze.

“Remy?” He whispered.

“Hey there, Virgil,” He smirked thinly, “it’s me, ya boi.”

Virgil kept staring with his mouth agape. It was Remy, it was really Remy and not...him. No way this was real. No way he actually ran into Remy in such a sprawling, densely populated city. Maybe he blacked out, Virgil thought as he started laughing. It was all too much. The pieces of his broken phone digging into his thigh, Jared, his accelerated heartbeat that threatened to send him to cardiac arrest. Everything. And now Remy? Remy is here? It was too much.

“Um, Virgil?” Remy frowned, “You still with me?”

Virgil didn’t respond, still wheezing with laughter. He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. He wanted to keep on running without ever stopping. He didn’t do any of those things. He just sat there as he laughed, gasping for breath. It sounded weird to him; too high-pitched.

Was Virgil sure he was laughing? Maybe it was Remy. Maybe he decided Virgil no longer worth his time. He was pathetic, an anxiety-riddled loser who was going to die alone and forgotten. He didn’t deserve the kindness Remy offered him, he hadn’t done enough to pay it back.

A voice tried talking over the choked laughter. Their words came out stilted and hesitant. It couldn’t be Remy speaking. The vampire was too confident, self-assured in ways Virgil could never be. Virgil’s lungs burned, he noted distantly. They felt like a tiny microscopic arsonist climbed inside of them and set them on fire. Would microscopic firemen come to put it out?

He knew he had better things to worry about. LIke the possibility that he was in a coma and everything leading to this moment wasn’t real. Remy wasn’t a vampire, just a normal, human work acquaintance. Patton hadn’t saved him from the mugger. In fact, he was probably just a fabrication of Virgil’s mind. So were Roman and Logan. Yup, that had to be it. The mugger had actually shot him and Virgil was in a coma. He was lying unconscious in a hospital bed racking up hospital bills. God, maybe he should just stay unconscious. Have them pull the plug to his miserable existence.

But he didn’t really think hard about these things. Not when he was too busy thinking about microscopic cells wearing fireman hats.

Virgil’s vision went black. For a moment he thought he died, or at the very least went unconscious. It took his exhausted, panicked brain a hot second to realize he was squished against Remy’s black leather jacket.

The vampire had wrapped his other arm around Virgil, embracing in a full-on hug now. It should feel threatening, suffocating even for Virgil. But it was Remy , his heart cried out. Remy who liked the same music as Virgil. Remy who brought him Starbucks. Remy who encouraged Virgil to venture out of his comfort zones.

Even now, he held Virgil in a loose, relaxed grip. As if his aim wasn’t to restrain or throttle Virgil but to comfort.

Virgil didn’t trust like that. He took a deep breath--or well, he tried. It spluttered into a coughing fit. He mustered on with his plan. He pushed away, scrambling backwards from Remy. It hurt more than it should have to do it. He felt all warmth leave his body at once. Remy didn’t fight it. He didn’t pull Virgil back, yanking him back into the embrace. He let him go, simply watching him. Remy’s shades pushed up against his messy bangs, no longer covering his red eyes. Virgil squinted up at him. Huh. Had Remy’s eyes always been red? Virgil had never noticed before.

“Virgil--”

Remy didn’t finish. Because by the time he opened his mouth, Virgil already dove back into the vampire’s arms. He pressed his face into Remy’s chest, his whole body trembling as a low, strained whine emanated from him.

Remy, for his part, just hugged him back. No words, just tactile comfort. It was exactly what Virgil needed. His adrenaline fell away from him, like bathwater rapidly disappearing down the drain. His rapid, frenetic  thoughts halted to a slow, sluggish trickle. His limbs grew heavy, his grip on Remy’s black leather jacket slackening. He was going to lose consciousness soon, he drowsily realized. Weirdly enough, he wasn’t as afraid of that happening as before.

Remy whispered a question and Virgil nodded. He didn’t know exactly what Remy asked. It had something to do about if Virgil thought it was okay to do something. It didn’t matter what that was.

The words could’ve been anything and Virgil would’ve responded the same way. Because Remy was safe, he was good and most importantly, he wasn’t going to hurt Virgil. Not yet, anyways. With that reassurance, Virgil finally let go of his remaining frays of consciousness.

[shera-dnd]

The Hunter part 1- I Hate You

First chapter of my super self indulgent Catralonnie fic

It was supposed to be a single long chapter, but it made more sense to turn it into a proper multichapter fic

Anyway here is my nonsense. Enjoy the ride

Most merchants took the long way around the Crimson Wastes. No point running into bandits or any of the natural traps hidden in the sands, especially if your cargo is of the sensitive kind, but some still tried to save time by cutting straight through the desert. Only fools or those in extreme hurry would even consider doing that.

It was in one of those shortcuts that Catra found herself. She calmly guided her cart through the wastes, her desert clothes hiding most of her defining features. Catra was no fool in a rush to die. Today, Catra was bait.

Though her normal duties as left hand of the queen meant she spent most of her time locked in Brightmoon castle with all the princesses, she still took any opportunity she could to be out in the field. Plus she was pretty sure Double Trouble could hold down the fort while she was away on this little vacation. Okay, maybe she couldn’t call it a vacation when thousands of lives were at stake, but that had become the standard over these past few years. 

Catra yawned, she just wanted those stupid bandits to try and rob her already so she had something to do. Almost on cue the bandits did exactly that, jumping out from behind rocks and dunes, weapons pointed directly at her. Catra relaxed, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Sounds of battle surrounded her for a few moments and then there was silence.

“This pass is dangerous,” A strange sounding voice informed her. Of course they used voice modulation, otherwise it would be too easy. “Whatever you’re carrying is not worth your life.”

Catra lazily opened her eyes. Around her were the unconscious bodies of a dozen bandits and before her stood the cause of their defeat, a mysterious figure known only as The Hunter. They were covered from head to toe in scavenged weapons, armor and gadgets from the war. Plates of enchanted Mystacor steel covered an Etherian Horde exoskeleton, a Clone Horde laser cannon was hanging from her back next to a Bright Moon guard spear. Their face was covered by a stylized Horde helmet. They definitely had quite the collection.

“What I carry is more important than both our lives, Hunter.” Catra declared, over dramatically - maybe she was spending too much time with Double Trouble - before tossing away her disguise “And what I carry is news.”

“Catra!” The Hunter’s modulated voice called, full of an exhausted resentment; something Catra hadn’t heard in such a long time it almost felt nostalgic. “What do you want?”

“To do my job,” She answered, dropping from her cart to meet the Hunter face to face. “And to do that I need someone minimally capable.”

“Go ask your princesses,” The Hunter dismissed her, turning around to leave. “I have more important things to do.” With a quick movement, Catra wrapped her whip around their arm, holding them in place.

“No, you don’t have anything more important than this.” Catra insisted, her expression challenging them to do anything funny. “And I’m not sending a princess to do a mercenary’s job.”

“I’m no mercenary!” They declared as they yanked their tied up arm. Catra was pulled fast towards them, but she was ready and landed feet first on their chest, before flipping back and landing on her feet.

“Could have fooled me” Catra joked as she dodged a punch to the face.

“I don’t do this for money.” They argued, blocking one of Catra’s kicks.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing this for the greater good or something!” She chuckled as she spin kicked the Hunter.

“Is that so hard to believe?” They asked, grabbing Catra’s leg and tossing the woman aside. “That some people just wanna do good?” Catra pulled on the whip, using the Hunter as an anchor to right herself as she landed.

“I was just making sure you were the right person for the job.” Catra answered, running back towards them and kicking their feet from under them. “I take it you would be interested in saving a few thousand lives.”

The Hunter jumped up in a single fluid motion. No longer in the mood to answer each other they continued their aggressive negotiations in silence. Catra had to admit that she was starting to enjoy this, there was a certain familiarity to their movements, an exhilarating back and forth that Catra hadn’t had in a long time. Not since her and Adora- No, she wouldn’t think about that.

Catra pinned them to the ground, her face was covered in dirt, sweat, and a bit of blood from a couple of hits that connected, but that could not dissuade her smug victorious smile. Looking down at the Hunter she couldn’t help but have a strange sense of deja vu.

“Do I know you?” Catra asked, releasing the Hunter, but not completely getting up.

“I hate you.” The Hunter snarled as they pushed themselves up.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Catra joked “Are all your negotiations like this?” They did not respond to this, simply climbing onto the cart and waiting for Catra to join.

“Whatever that job is,” They started, not turning to look at Catra as she climbed aboard. “I’m in.”

~~~

The job was simple. Find a group of bandits in the Wastes, kick them all senseless and destroy the giant super weapon they stole from a fallen Horde Prime ship. Easy. Of course, a group that had a giant super weapon and was on their way to hold entire kingdoms hostage was probably very well hidden, but that was nothing that Catra and her new companion couldn’t deal with.

“Why aren’t the princesses doing something?” The Hunter inquired “Or soldiers?”

“Princesses aren’t known for being subtle.” Catra explained, “We need to get this done swiftly and discreetly, otherwise they might act out and fire at random before we have the time to do anything.” They nodded along with the explanation, probably running through some other options in their head.

“What about Adora?” They asked. Adora,  not She-ra. That made it a little easier for Catra to figure out who her mysterious friend was.

“Busy somewhere else.” Was all she was willing to say. The Hunter nodded to that too.

“Huntara?” They questioned again.

“Who do you think mentioned you?” She answered and though there was not outward reaction, Catra was pretty sure The Hunter was smiling under their helmet.

The rest of their trip was completely silent. They were both more than comfortable with the sustained silence and neither wanted to share more than was absolutely necessary with the other.

Catra was the first to break the silence when she noticed the familiar pile of bones before them.

“Why here of all places?” Catra asked, groaning at her memories of that bar.

“We need supplies and information.” The Hunter stated matter of factly as they jumped out of the cart.

“If you can call drunken gossip real information...” Catra argued, but her companion made a point of ignoring her and walking into the bar by themselves.

Catra let out an annoyed sigh and followed them in. The bar was still just as shitty as it had been nearly a decade ago and it was definitely just as smelly. Catra leaned against a wall in the back, far from any other patrons, and simply watched the Hunter do their work. They had made a b-line for a lizard person in the corner - probably some contact of theirs - and began talking to them in low growls. So her companion spoke lizard? That narrowed the possible suspects even more.

Whatever the two were talking about must’ve been very engrossing as neither of them noticed a couple of shady fellows approaching them from behind. Catra made no effort to help them out as she was pretty sure they wouldn’t need any.

“There are only two rules in the Crimson Wastes...” One of the idiots announced and Catra had to hold back a groan. Nearly a decade and this shithole was still the same.

Before they could finish that tired line Catra already had her whip tied around their throat. Their friend took a knife from their belt and was immediately decked right in the teeth for it. Next thing they knew it was a bar fight.

Catra jumped over a table to join her companion and almost as a reflex they began fighting back to back, covering each other’s blind spots as they pushed back the bandits and drunkards that surrounded them. That same feeling of strange familiarity washed over Catra once again.

“Did you get the information you need?” Catra asked the Hunter, a little more joy than she would like tinged her voice.

“Not yet.” They answered “Gimme a moment.” And with that the Hunter picked up one of their assailants and put him through a table. Catra had to admit that even though she had spent all day in the desert, that was by far the hottest thing she’d seen all day.

~~~

Their campfire was the only light in the Wastes for many miles, a beacon of gold and red against the darkness that surrounded them. Their meal was not the best, but compared to Horde ration bars it was a delicacy. They ate in silence, the same way they travelled and the same way they set up camp. If the silence was broken, it was only by one of Catra’s brief snarky remarks.

Strangely Catra had become less and less comfortable with the silence as the time went on. Her need for answers was starting to overpower her need for peace and quiet.

“You’re a Horde soldier.” Catra stated. That much she knew to be true, she recognized their combat training.

The Hunter had lifted their helmet just enough to be able to eat the stew they had prepared. They lowered it back down before they spoke again.

“Were.” They corrected before returning to their meal. That simple confirmation was more than enough to get Catra thinking again. Things started falling into place as she got closer to understanding who this person was.

“You’re trying to fix things.” Catra stated, she did not need confirmation. “People accepted you after the war, but you couldn't accept yourself. You didn’t feel redeemed, so you decided that playing hero was the only way to fix that.” The Hunter stopped their spoon halfway towards their mouth.

“You speak from experience.” They answered, not bothering to lower the mask again. Their voice held an accusation that Catra made no effort to defend against.

“I guess I’ve been there.” Catra admitted “But no amount of playing hero can fix what I did.”

“You’re right.” They agreed, anger flaring in their voice “You can never fix the damage you’ve caused, and you’re not a hero.”

“Are you?” Catra asked, sincerely curious of what they would answer.

“I hate you, Catra.” They deflected.

“You have every right to,” Catra conceded “Lonnie.” The Hunter did not answer for a while, seemingly measuring their options, before finally taking off the helmet entirely.

Lonnie looked tired. Not like she hadn’t gotten any sleep or something, but there was a general tiredness that seemed to seep into every aspect of her expression. The years had not been kind to her.

“Admitting it won’t change things.” She said, before returning to her stew.

“I wasn’t expecting to,” Catra shrugged, acting nonchalantly to hide her worry over the other girl. “It’s just good to hear I’ll be playing hero with someone I can trust.”

Lonnie was one of her fellow cadets, she was among the best, she had stuck around for longer than most and what did Catra do to her? She worked her to the bone, she made her life miserable, pushed her away when she tried to comfort her. If only Lonnie had recovered, if only she was happy now, then Catra wouldn't feel this guilt.

Lonnie was also the only person who really understood Catra. The only other who, when welcomed with open arms and warm smiles, couldn’t feel anything but pain and guilt. The only one who also had to prove to themselves what the rest of the world already knew, that they were a good person.

“I wish I could say the same about you.” Lonnie spat and Catra did not argue or disagree. Catra knew she had not earned Lonnie’s trust, and more than earned her hatred, but this lack of reaction was not what the other woman expected.

The hunter sighed and looked away from Catra, deciding that her stew was much more interesting right now. Her expression shifted; it struggled to remain angry and annoyed, but it soon gave in to that exhaustion from before, and then to sadness. A sadness that stabbed Catra’s heart like a cold knife.

“If you keep staring I’m putting the helmet back on.” Lonnie declared. Catra averted her gaze.

Silence fell over them once again. This time it was an uneasy silence, a long and unyielding one, one that put Catra on edge. Only the wind and the fire dared break it.

[allie1804-fan]

New Beginnings (Chapter 11)

1  2 3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

Warnings:mentions of babyloss

For the remaining weeks of the pregnancy Emily and Keanu made a pact to check in every day on how they were each feeling. Their short-hand was to say whether they were at O (Optimistic) or SS (Scared Shitless) or maybe somewhere in between.  A day wasn’t to go by when they didn’t check in on their status.

Emily continued to work until her 36th week after which it became too much to sit in a writers’ room all day long.  She needed rest  for her brain and body. Keanu was still training but he’d cut down a little so he had more free time to spend with Emily as well as run her to appointments and oversee the decorating work to transform one of the guestrooms to a nursery.

 The day after the session with the counsellor he’d hired a van and collected the crib and other equipment from his mother’s house determined to stop thinking of everything he did as a potential jinx.

Midwife appointments were weekly from week 34 – that was a little more than the norm but they both needed that reassurance as the baby’s movements got less with time – quite a normal pattern but not easy to deal with in their situation.

At the childbirth classes, Keanu was visibly more relaxed as well which helped Emily feel she could join in with conversations rather then hover on the edges to protect him. At one session the leader asked the parents to share their fears. Emily could sense Keanu visibly tensing and she caught his eye, subtly shaking her head and he nodded his agreement knowing exactly what she meant.  Their main fear was the same and they had no desire to freak the hell out of everyone else there. They could just agree with someone else’s comments.

As they worked round the room, the leader asked Claire and Aiden, a couple Emily had liked from the beginning but not really talked to much, how they were feeling.

“well I really don’t want to bring everyone down”, Aiden said “but our biggest fear is that our baby dies, because our first was stillborn”

There was a sharp intake of breath from some and a sigh of relief from Keanu and Emily!

When it came to them, Keanu was able to say “We’re on the same page as Claire and Aiden and I think they’re really brave to share it in a room like this. I lost my daughter to stillbirth 21 years ago and we had an ectopic pregnancy last year, so yeah, that’s our biggest fear too. Rationally  I’m confident it won’t happen but that doesn’t entirely stop the fear”

He looked at Emily who was kind of thunder-stuck to hear him share so openly with a group of strangers. He was so private normally but she knew speaking its name was a big part of helping him conquer the fear. She squeezed his hand and whispered ‘I’m so proud of you’ in his ear.

When the  session was over, everyone stood chatting and Keanu went over to Claire and Aiden

“Listen, we were planning on grabbing a bite to eat after, do you fancy joining us? I know a place where they do  really good noodles”

Aiden burst out laughing.

“’Really good noodles’ like in the Matrix?” he asked making air quotes.

Keanu chuckled, only then realising what he’d just said.

“Oh yeah sure - you remember that line?”

“Man every time I have noodles I think of it -  am I too much of a Matrix nerd to have dinner with you two?”

“Nah,  no man, it’s cool  - and thanks”

Emily caught Claire’s eye and rolled her eyes skywards, smiling broadly at Aiden geeking out with Neo!

They headed over to the Jinya Ramen bar and had a good time getting to know each other a little better. Keanu repeated how brave he thought Aiden had been to speak up.

“I mean I was sitting there thinking “death man, death is my fear but that’s gonna fuckin freak them all out so I’ll just say some generic crap and then you were like ‘bam’

Aiden laughed.

“the things is, it really is my only worry and I thought, you know what, shit happens and people are scared of it so let’s just cut the crap and stop pretending!”

“Fair enough” Keanu agreed

“But you were brave too, being who you are, to just open up like that”

Keanu took a gulp of his beer

“Yes I don’t quite know what got into me, that was err, most unprecedented!”

They all burst out laughing then, recognising the Bill and Ted quote.

“Yes way” Aiden said clinking his beer to Keanu’s who grinned back thinking to himself “I like this guy”. Emily looked on, secretly thinking ‘bromance!’

By week 37, they were basically at the clock watching stage. Everything was ready and Emily spent most of her time reading,  watching TV or sleeping.  If Keanu was home when she took a nap, he’d join her and spend the time stroking the bump or leaning his head against it talking softly to the little one who’d usually make his or her presence known with a little shove of one if its limbs. Sometimes they’d kiss and pleasure each other though Emily was struggling to move easily so everything was tender and low key rather than intense. Neither of them really minded, their focus was all on meeting their child in just a few weeks.

Chloe had organised a Baby Shower, the hospital bag was packed and ready, the nursery was waiting stocked with nappies and neutral coloured baby-grows and a sort of birth plan was ready but they both knew they would have to go with the flow on that one.

“control what you can, like a playlist and speaker, your snacks, what t shirt you’ re going to wear and have an idea of your other intentions like pain relief and so on but just go with the flow  on the day” was Chloe’s wise advice.

Through weeks 38 and 39, Emily had lots of false alarms when the Braxton Hicks contractions felt like they were the real thing beginning but still nothing materialised. They were well into week 40 when things actually got started.

It was mid morning on a Wednesday and while Keanu had confirmed that the contractions were in fact regular and he’d let the hospital know, they wouldn’t have to go in until 1 minute long contractions had been coming every 5 minutes for at least an 1 hour.  For now it was every 10 minutes but varying in length and intensity. Emily chose the living room to either lie down or pace or sit on a birthing ball or hang onto Keanu’s broad shoulders to help breathe through the pain. At its worst, it felt like a really bad period pain or indigestion for now so mostly she could cope on her own and that’s kind of how she preferred it. She felt a bit like an animal, wanting to go into a quiet corner and have her baby out of sight of everyone!

By lunchtime, the pains were definitely getting more intense but still only coming every 8 minutes. Keanu made them a sandwich then at around 2 she got her maternity swimming costume on and spent an hour floating in the pool. The sensation was soothing  - they were hoping it would still be possible to use a birthing pool at the birthing centre but it wasn’t guaranteed. It would depend on her condition and if they were all in use by other mothers. Even Keanu’s money couldn’t guarantee a pool unless they had done it at home and neither of them had been of a mind to do that  - they wanted every medical expert right on hand.

As evening was falling,  the contractions actually seemed a little milder and were still only at 8 minute intervals so they ordered pizza take out. Later on Emily had a bath and to her annoyance, things were still no further on come bedtime so they settled in for the night wondering if she would sleep at all.

4am Thursday morning

Emily woke with a start as a strong contraction tightened her stomach and made her groan with pain. Keanu sat up straight away – he’d been sleeping but only very lightly at her side all night and so was quickly fully awake.

“was that a big one?”

Emily nodded but didn’t speak since she was managing the pain by slowly breathing through it, kneeling up slightly and grabbing onto the headboard of the bed.

She relaxed when it was over thinking there’d be a few minutes wait for the next one but it seemed to hit very quickly and she shot Keanu a nervous look.

Breathlessly she asked Keanu to get his phone to check the gap.

“Fuck that was just 4 minutes he said, wide eyed as the next one came “ we gotta go”

Fortunately, she hadn’t got into nightwear, so they just needed to slip on some shoes, grab the bag, get in the car and go.  Keanu was still a little freaked out that they had missed the 5 minute gap point but he knew in his rational mind that 4 minutes was what most advice said and they’d  simply gone with 5 minutes to be super cautious! And it was still early and pre rush hour so there wouldn’t be any traffic.

As they set off and Emily gripped onto the door handle as another contraction hit, she joked

“just don’t drive like John Wick or Jack Traven OK!”

“No mam” he grinned glad of her lightening the mood just a little.

The empty streets and soft grey light across the city helped to calm them both down and within half an hour they were pulling into the birthing centre car-park.

1  2 3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

[slothgiirl]

forever isn’t for everyone part 10

We all head straight to the hotel, just in time for the first interviews of the day; throwing Jamie and Miles to the wolves. It's a nice place, that we won't enjoy. Having lost a day means that after using the hotel for interviews, we'll have to run to the venue. Only Lucy and the two band members get off at the hotel. 

The rest of us, unlucky as we are, have to get and attempt a soundcheck down half our crew. It's hell. 

Made worse at the thought of Alex holed up in the tour bus as we rush around. Unbothered by work as he's just Miles' plus one. Having stayed up all night with Miles, playing guitar and making my head want to explode as I'd laid in my bunk, thinking about how deft his hands on the strings were. Working myself up and worst of all-- missing him. 

Lucy had been right. I text her as much only to hear a snort above me. Unhelpful in everything except gossip. 

By the time Miles and Jamie get back, having been grilled to hell and back, Jamie looking like the worlds most uncomfortable toddler who's cheeks have been pinch way too many times by strangers, most of the set up has been done. The California sun beating down on us as we enjoy munching on the food set up for us. 

It's one of those days when I could care less if it's any good. That fucking hungry. 

Miles keeps glancing down at his phone, a bundle of nervous energy instead of the usual chaotic energy. He reminded me so of the boys in school who would talk back to the teacher and cause riots of laughter among students. He gets up, grabbing another beer and pacing around the room before collapsing into a chair once more. 

It's making me nervous. 

"You alright Miles," I venture, when he sits down by me, frowning down at his phone. 

"Yeah. Yeah," he says dismissively, not bothering to look up from his phone. "Just peachy doll."

I roll my eyes, but persevere. Part of my job is too make sure the talent's holding up. And we might not be friends outside of work, but you can't live on the road for weeks with people and just not care about them. "You're calling me doll. Now I'm really worried."

He laughs humorlessly. "It's all right Ellie. Really."

"Is it Alex?"

Miles' eyes pierce my gaze, the goblin child mirth absent in lieu of surprise. "No. No. sort of." He glances down at the ground, at the carpet the color of cat vomit, whose original color had been lost to time. "He's just got a bit of a headache. That's all."

"Right," I reply, unconvinced by his slippery gaze and the airy tone. 

" 'm sorry about whatever happened between you two," he utters bluntly. "Say the word and I'll send him away.”

"You don't really mean that," I note, fiddling with my thumbs, unable to hold his gaze now as color rises to my cheeks, "or else you'd have offered at the start of the tour. Not two weeks before it ends in south america."

"Technically," Miles counters, pointing his finger right at me, "its just a break before the festivals.  I can make do with out 'im." 

"I highly doubt that," I remark. Everything's in order in the venue. I'll give myself this one night to skip the concert. While people watching could be fun, and there was nothing like the energy of a live band filling the venue with hundreds of screaming fans, I was a bit over it tonight. Having spent the majority of yesterday in the same confined area with Alex, and being careful not to make it too obvious I was avoiding him, had drained me. 

I walk out the door and into the warm summer night. It was a nice change from Utah. The city bathed in lights as the sun set. Just like that an entire summer gone by. Tomorrow was a second show. Then Pomona. Then San Diego  Soon we'd be in South America and then onto Europe. Miles had been wrong, there was only a week before Europe. 

I let out a breathe as I wish for the first time in my life for a cigarette. All this traveling with a rock band and I'd finally picked up some bad habits. I walk down sunset strip and right into a liquor, wishing I had thought to nick some of the cigarette boxes that filled an entire bowl backstage. Thank god for riders. And next year I'd be doing it all over again with another band. The thought filled me with dread. I'd gotten used to Nick and Jamie. To Ben and Miles who often ended up ontop of tables dancing and dunk and pulling Alex up along with him. 

As soon as I take a drag, I can feel the knot inside my chest begin to ease up. More and more neon signs light up. It's not Vegas, with its kitchy over the top theatrics, but Los Angeles feels like every noir detective movie I'd seen. It's so much like the grimy and cheesy eighties action movies set in these very streets. If not for the actual stale smell of actual garbage. The cars honking every five seconds.

Streets clogged like heart arteries with cars. 

I slip into the first bar I find that's playing loud music. The strokes. God, how I used to dance around my room to their music at one in the mornings instead of finishing my assignments. 

"What can I get for you," the bartender, young, maybe only a year older than me, asks in her vocal fry Californian way. 

"rum and coke," I reply. 

"I love your accent," she replies, already pouring out the cheap rum and coke. I set down a ten-er and find a seat in a small alcove, the crushed velvet seat smelling thickly of cheap beer and cigarette smoke. I slump in my seat and watch people come in and out. 

At least I'd seen the TLC Chinese theater on the way in. Even got a picture that wasn't completely blurry at a red light. Months into the tour and my will to go sight see was dead. My feet would not, refused to even think, of walking another two miles down to the famous street. 

I was almost for sure spending my week off curled up in my bed watching random reality tv shows. 

After my rum and coke I grab a cranberry vodka, feeling like a teenager who'd taken a juice box to school. 

The door opens and a familiar face walks in, already chatting up a girl. It's Alex, with the sort of charisma that takes weeks of hacking at his reserved nature to get through. The girl, a acid blonde, is eating it up, giggling against his shoulder as they order drinks. 

It's heartbreak all over again.  

Instead of doing the rational thing, and leaving before I cry in a random bar, I sit there and watch. Watch as he wraps his arm around her, curling his fingers around her waist. She leans into him, laughing loudly like all these Americans do. Stumbling a little as they take a table by the entrance. Alex smiles evenly, even as she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes. 

Shouldn't he be at the concert with his bezzie mate? 

I swallow back bitterness. It's been three months. Plenty of time to have gotten over him if I hadn't been on the road with him for all of that time. That was all. As soon as this tour was over I'd never have to see his face again. 

Even if I wanted to. 

Even if my heart still fluttered when he smiled softly, eyes sparkling with delight as he got absorbed in the conversation. In Miles and even Matt to some extent. He was charming despite his distant nature. The very picture of having your head in the clouds. The dreaminess only made him that much more appealing. I down the rest of my drink, feeling my throat burn, before resolving to leave. This was a sign I should go to the Chinese theater. Get a photo of me among the walk of fame. Why torture myself about Alex? 

He'd been an ass. I had to remind myself of that night, of the week leading up to it when he wouldn't even give me an explanation for why meeting up for breakfast was too much for him. 

When I look up, they're gone. 

I sigh in relief. 

The night in LA is less black, then a midnight blue. The light pollution illuminating even the grimiest corner. I start to walk in the direction of the crowd. Even at eight, the street was as busy as ever. Like New York, like London, this culture capital never slept. It eased any reservations I had about wondering alone at night in a foreign city. 

I'd just get a taxi back to the venue. 

I'm almost down to the light when two figures catch my attention out of the corner of my eye. Down a badly lit alley. There's a homeless woman sleeping at the entrance.

I stop and stare. 

Alex's auburn hair obscuring his features, but I'd know him anywhere. Know the curve of his spine, the way he carried himself, curled in on himself in a way that could only be described as dainty. His lips against the blonde's neck. It's salt in the wound that's been reopened. fuck. I should've stayed behind in Utah. 

I'm about to turn tail and run when my eyes focus on the blonde. Her arms held still by Alex's hands. Back against the wall. It's a red flag ringing in the back of my mind. The flag that my mothers had impressed into my little prepubescent mind, both of them telling me what to do if I ever felt uncomfortable with a man. Both of them biting their nails with each word.

I stride forward without another thought. Jaw clenching shut. 

It doesn't take long to reach them. But my shoe makes an awful crunching sound as I step on a discarded crisps bag. 

Alerting Alex. 

Words well up in my mouth. Stop. What the fuck are you doing. Alex. But they all die on my lips as Alex looks up, his eyes meeting mine. Instead of the caramel color I'm used to, so bloody fond of. . .his eyes like a pair of rubies met mine. A look of utter devastation crosses his fine features. "I can explain," he utters in a rush, lips stained carmine with blood. 

My brain short circuits. Not wanting to make the connection. Not wanting to hear it. I wish I'd stayed. I don't want to know. I don't. Fuck. Jesus fucking christ. 

My mouth can't form words. Can only look from Alex to the hands, still clasped tightly around the blonde. Her smile dazed as she sways, all her weight on him. Alex lets her go. 

She sways like the branches of a willow tree in the wind, almost falling over before the jolt of the fall kicks her back into consciousness. Her eyes widen as she looks at both of us for a tense second. Her mouth widens comically into an O before she screams. 

Alex moves, surging forward and pressing his hand to her mouth, silencing her scream before it can make its way out of the alley and into the trafficked street. He gazes deeply into her frightened eyes. "Forget this night. You had a drink with a stranger and then went home. Now go on. Run back home and sleep the night away." He wipes the last hint of blood from her neck before he lets her go.

Her gaze slacks as he speaks, until the fear retreats. And just like that, like malleable clay, she walks out of the alley, and off into the night. I watch her disappear around the corner. Still shocked silent. 

"El," Alex whispers sadly, much too close for comfort. Having crossed the distance between us while I was distracted. A mistake on my part. A primal terror surging through my mind, telling me to run. To get as far from Alex as possible. "Why'd you have to see?" 

His eyes still unnaturally red.

I shake my head slightly. Aware of his hand reaching for my cheek, frozen in the air, as if held back by some invisible force. "No." I shake my head much more firmly. I don't. I don't want to make the connection consciously that the back of my mind already has. That my mind is insisting of as everything off about him falls into place. 

Alex closes his eyes, taking a step back. "I can let you forget this all if that's what you wish." When he opens his eyes once more, they're back to his normal color. It eases a lump in my throat I hadn't realized had built up. 

This. . .this Alex I might be able to deal with. So much more familiar. If not for the blood on those lips I had spent so many nights kissing.

I rup my temples. "No. No. What the actual fuck."

"El."

"Stay the bloody hell away from me Alex!"

"El please," he pleads, arms held up in a calming motion as though I'm freaking out over nothing. Like he's not a v. . .no. I refuse to go there despite the evidence. "Let's go somewhere to talk."

"I'm not going anywhere alone with you," I spit, stepping back. Wanting to put more distance between us. Had he done that to me? How would I ever even know?

"Of course not," Alex replies, voice wavering, choked full of emotion as he continues, "somewhere crowded-," 

"So you can brainwash me!"

Hurt flashes across his eyes, "I would never hurt you," Alex insists. 

"You already did." I state. Because it had been three months. And Alex, my first serious adult relationship had just-I was left heartbroken. 

He closes his eyes once more sighing. I could run right now. But something more complex than simple fear roots me to this spot in the alley. Alex rubs the bridge of his nose before trying once more.

"El," he sighs with centuries of built up melancholia, "please just listen to me and then you can decide whatever you wish. I'll never bother you again. But El-," his voice breaks. "El I can't refuse for this to be my last memory of you."

My heart flutters, still longing for him even now. Even with the blood drying on his lips. And I can't help but say, "okay."

[saltylikecrait]

White - Finn/Rey Modern AU

A continuation of my color prompt fics for this week’s @finnreyfridays. This one is based around a personal experience with snow I had earlier this year.

“This snowstorm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon,” sighed Finn as he scrolled down the 10-day forecast on his weather app.

Rey peered behind the blinds of her apartment’s front window and heaved a heavy sigh. “Great. Just great.” She ground her lower jaw. “Not a store for miles and we get a freak snowstorm at the very end of winter.”

“Is this common around here?” Finn asked. He was new to the area but didn’t expect to see this much snow in the middle of a high desert. The earlier months of winter had been relatively nice and his neighbors told him that they get snow on occasion but not every year. With how warm it had been, most of the locals had been in agreement that it was unlikely to see more than a brushing of frost this year.

Then, in the first weekend of February, a winter weather warning had been posted for the entire region. Finn hitched a ride with Rey when she got off work to stock up on groceries and a promise that the highway was usually well-traveled and clear even in snow so that he wouldn’t have to worry too much over running out of food. The next day, as predicted, the small town of Jakku saw the first flakes dance through the air.

High winds came Saturday, knocking snow off roofs and blowing piles against houses. At least the power hadn’t gone out yet. Knock on wood.

Finn had tried to make the short walk home from Rey’s apartment after watching the latest Oceans movie with her, but he almost slid down her staircase and the winds were so strong that he was struggling just to make a step forward. Seeing this, Rey had run back outside to tell him to stay the night with her.

But the next morning they woke up to find that they were snowed in. The snow went above Finn’s ankles and he sunk in when he tried to step down in it. They shoveled the driveway for two hours and barely scraped enough snow away from the front of the garage to open it.

So Finn stayed Saturday, and the next day…

0---0---0---0---0

It wasn’t that he would call Rey a hoarder, but she always seemed to have more than enough of whatever was needed. When he stayed the night that Saturday, she took him into her garage and found a bin with extra toothbrushes that she had accumulated over time and anything else that he might need. There was another bin full of packaged rations that he used to eat when he was in the army, the kind that were more like energy bars and packed a ton of calories in them. When he brought them up, Rey just shrugged and said, “Just in case.”

Well, if this kept up, it might be one of those times.

The next morning he woke up, brushed his teeth, and moved the blinds to see if there were any improvements to the weather.

“Ahhh!” he cried out, toothbrush still in his mouth, and backed away from the window, wide-eyed with terror.

Rey peeked her head out her bedroom door frame, just pulling on a warmer sweater to wear over her t-shirt. “What’s wrong?”

Finn ran to the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste before returning.

“There are spiders huddling on the window, Rey. Huddling.”

She walked over to the window to investigate, frowning at the three large brown spiders. “There are ants too,” she observed as she looked down at the overhang of the frame.

“But it’s winter!” exclaimed Finn. “Shouldn’t they all be… hibernating or dead or something?”

“They’re trying to stay warm,” said Rey. “Growing up, I never used to see ants in the winter. Now I see them year-round.” She pressed her hand up against her forehead and massaged it like she had a headache at the thought. “I hope this doesn’t mean that they’ve laid eggs in the walls. I’m going to have to call an exterminator when the weather gets better…”

Then, she went to the kitchen to brew them coffee. Handing Finn a mug from her collection of drinkware with characters from their favorite sci-fi series, she poured the warm liquid in. He noted the blue and white domed robot on his mug before taking a drink.

“At least they aren’t black widows,” she mused after taking a sip.

Finn’s eyes widened again. “There are black widows here? No one told me that!”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Rey soothed. “You mainly find them out in barns and old sheds. People rarely get bitten.”

Even with those facts, Finn spent the rest of the day glancing at every crack and crevasse in quiet horror, looking for creatures that never used to strike his daily thoughts and sleeping with Rey’s spare comforter over his head. Just in case.

0---0---0---0---0

“Goddammit!”

Finn leaned out the doorway with Rey to see that more snow had piled overnight. All their work from the last couple of days to clear out the driveway had been for nothing.

He glanced at a text message that had just popped up on his phone. “Well, we don’t have to go into work,” he announced. “Site’s closed.”

"I figured,” said Rey. “It’ll be below freezing inside the red zone.”

But Finn still had to work. With his job, he did the administration duties for the company that he and Rey worked at and often got to work from home with his laptop if he needed to. It was a nice perk that came with living in the middle of nowhere and the pay was far better than what he could find back in the city. The job had stayed open for months because it couldn’t be filled until Finn came along.

“I’m going to shovel some more,” Rey announced.

For two hours, Finn called around to reschedule any material deliveries that were planned for the next two days. Most of the shipping companies were also postponing deliveries, but there were a few odd ones that insisted they kept on schedule.

“If we can get to your job site,” one scheduler complained, “why can’t you?”

“The entire site is closed, ma’am,” he said, trying to keep his frustration in check. “You won’t be able to get through the gates.”

It took ten minutes to convince the company to reschedule for the next day… assuming that Tuesday the site would be open. He could always call back in the morning to cancel if he had to.

“Rey,” he called out, “you’ve been out here for hours. Come in and get warm.”

Huffing, she walked back up the stairs. “I made some progress,” she told him.

He smiled. “Good. Not sure when you’ll have to be on site next, but it would be nice to get to the store if we need to.” Glancing at the driveway, he saw that Rey had pushed over walls of snow to the sides, getting about halfway down the concrete path. Maybe when she went out again, he could help her and they could get the rest away. The forecast for tomorrow was predicting rain, which might make the roads too dangerous to drive but also might help wash away the snow.

Her ears were red and he noticed her rubbing them to warm them. “We need to get you a hat,” he observed.

“I hate hats.”

“Just for when it’s cold, Rey.”

“It’s never this cold!”

This time, Finn was the one to make them warm drinks. They sat quietly, lost in thought.

“You know,” he began with a laugh, “my mom once told me that there was a reason so many babies were born in the fall. I think I get it now.”

Rey scrunched her nose. “Oh, gross,” she said. “I’m a fall baby. Do not need that mental image.”

Their laughter echoed through Rey’s kitchen.

0---0---0---0---0

“Oh, thank god!” Rey cheered when she got back home the next day. “This is finally over!”

The roads were slushy, but by late Tuesday morning, Rey had been able to get on the roads to do a half-day of work. It sounded like a lot had gotten done, though Finn had stayed at her house to work that day. He had ventured to check on his home to find that the driveway and porch were covered with snow and vowed with Rey to return later to try to shovel it.

There was a more pressing issue at hand, though.

“I need to go to the store,” Rey explained. “Get some food and…” she looked at Finn pointedly, “get some things to prevent any fall babies.”

Finn might have snorted if it weren’t for the fact that his brain had suddenly short-circuited.

0---0---0---0---0

“Oh, are you kidding me?”

By Wednesday morning, the snow had started again, covering the ground again with very large flakes.

The driveway needed to be shoveled again…

Finn sipped his coffee as he stared at the scene. Rey was tugging on her hair with frustration.

“Well, at least we got to store when we could.”

[random-imagines-blog]

House of Cards {Hermione Lodge x Dom!Female Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3792 Synopsis: You’re a Serpent with a dominant reputation, and she was just the girl that you had grown up with then departed from. What happens when she comes to your door? Notes: Light BDSM

Your trailer at Southside was better decorated than most of the others, because you took pride in what you called your home. Your door was painted a dark shade of red, your windows were always clean and you had a small garden that you managed to grow in the dry soil nearby. Your living room was filled with artwork that you had acquired through less than legal means, and your furniture was made of the finest leather and fabrics. It was small, but it was exactly to your tastes - but there was only one thing that seemed to stand out from the rest of the decor. It was a picture of you, as a young girl - probably around the age of fourteen, with your arm around another girl your age. Oh to be young again and be able to have friends without worrying about the Serpents trying to separate the two of you. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but even you - the black-hearted Serpent with a bad reputation - had a little place in your heart where Hermione Gomez - or Lodge as she was now - would live forever.

You didn’t always live in the trailer park - in fact, you grew up on the nicer side of Riverdale, where all the big homes were, the nice parks, the picture perfect families with their dark secrets. You could count them on your fingers, the Blossoms, the Smiths, the Coopers. If there was one family that put out the sunniest disposition though, and lied through their teeth, it was your own. Because of the money, the affluence and all - you grew up as a pretty happy child, though very deeply sheltered from the world. This lead to a lot of discovery later in your teens but you’ll get into that later on.

You had your friends handpicked by your parents since you were a toddler, but of course, you hadn’t known that at the time. All of the kids that you were exposed to were the children of your parents friends, and you stuck with them throughout elementary school and hardly branched out to the other kids. The person that you were closest with was the beautiful Hermione Gomez, who was already being groomed to be a trophy wife by the first grade. You two clicked instantly, and became the best of friends within a single play date. Her family became an extension of yours, your family became her second. She spent nights at your house - even on school nights when your parents weren’t too happy about the giggling that went on until midnight.

The years flew by until the two of you were fourteen and the picture had been taken at your birthday party. The theme had been Greek Mythology, and you were both wearing flowing white dresses with flowers in your hair. Except for one or two of your male classmates, the party was predominantly females, standing around your backyard eating the treats the chef had made, and enjoying the entertainment your parents had paid for. You had invited them over to a big slumber party, in which your parents graciously allowed you to use their bedroom, for their bed was a King size and could fit everyone comfortably. So you snuggled in beside Hermione, the two of you face to face in the middle, your backs to everyone else. Before you fell asleep, you felt a hand go onto your hip. Your eyes opened sleepily and you saw Hermione staring at you, holding you. You gave her your first kiss that night. You got your first rush of naughtiness at it being in bed beside a bunch of unsuspecting girls - and that your first kiss was with a girl rather than some nice boy like your parents would have wanted.

You and Hermione grew closer through that encounter. Hermione now held your hand as you walked through the halls of the school, and spent lunch hour together, sitting under the bleachers and fed each other pieces of fruit like you were royalty in an old painting. It was the best couple months of your life - but of course, everything would soon fall apart.

An awakening was in store for you, and a very rude one at that. Hermione and yourself had gotten a lot of attention because of how close the two of you were getting, and rumors had started to circle that even your parents had heard about. You had been sat down in the fancy parlor of your home, and told sternly by your mother and father that you were not to spend time with Hermione outside of school anymore. Your heart had broken, and that’s when you realized that your parents didn’t always have your best interests at heart - they only cared about their reputation, and raising someone who is a potential lesbian didn’t fit in with their agenda. Plus, on top of that, they wanted you to marry rich, they’d made that perfectly clear. It was then that you had started to rebel. It was then that your life started to change.

“Okay, now what the hell are you doing?” FP Jones asked when he caught you walking around the South Side late one night. The fact that your parents had called Hermione’s and forbid her from sneaking out to be with you after school hours had hurt you so much, you went for a walk without realizing the destination. Your instincts had guided you on where to turn, not your rationality. Why you ended up here though - you weren’t sure.

You shrugged and kept walking, and didn’t care that the teenage boy in the Serpents jacket was following you. There was enough room on the sidewalk for the both of you. “You don’t have to follow me, I’m not going to cause any shit for you.” F.P. eyed you after you said that though he kept silent. But he did keep following you until you saw a shitty looking bar up ahead - it seemed the type that wouldn’t care if there was a minor in it.

After that first initial walk with F.P. and a coke at a place called The Whyte Worm, your whole demeanor changed. You still looked longingly at Hermione during class, but she hardly looked back at you. You noticed that she started spending a lot of time with a boy named Andrews, to your dismay, and so you left her alone and tried to get on with your life. You created new friends too, with the boys on the South Side - and a couple of the girls, but you wouldn’t exactly call it a normal friendship. When your parents found out, they attempted to send you off to boarding school, but your new rebellious ways and proud homosexuality put a quick end to that. You became the disgrace of the family, and as soon as you graduated from Riverdale High, you moved into the Trailer Park and set up your life as a Serpent. You wanted to be nothing like your parents, and that was what you had accomplished.

And one day, she left her fancy penthouse, and came to the trailer park in her four inch heels and designer coat during a blustery Winter day. The look on your face when the door swung open shocked her more than a little bit. For when she thought of you, she still imagine the carefree, lovely and light you that you had been as a teenager rather than this Serpent.

“The Hermione Lodge, coming to my trailer? Despite the fact that your husband is trying to destroy our lives, you show up here?” The snort that came out of you accurately showed your feelings, though you did not let any surprise go across your features. The wind started to blow into your trailer, and brought about a cold feeling to your exposed skin. You could close the door in her face, but instead, your former adoration won out and you beckoned her to come in. You closed the door behind her, then stood in front of the photograph of the two of you that you had been looking at earlier. You had your back to it, and subtly bumped against the table it was set upon, knocking it over.

“Your trailer is ... nice,” Hermione complimented. It was obvious that she was expecting something trashy, considering where you lived, which made you roll your eyes.

“Both a TV and a toilet, aren’t I a lucky gal?” You asked, and sat down on the couch, not letting it show that you were in anyway uncomfortable. “In the neighborhood, decided to stop by, I’m guessing?”

“He’s in prison, in case you were wondering,” Hermione said, sitting opposite you on an armchair, one leg on top of the other to show off her long tanned calves.

You pointed towards the TV that you had mentioned only a few seconds ago. “It works, like I said. Or did you think that this place is so rundown that cable doesn’t run through here?” You couldn’t help but be hostile - it was the Serpent way to act out towards outsiders. Hermione counted for one, and she knew it too - she kept staring at her heeled shoes that had gotten a bit of dirt of them from outside. The fact that it was Hermione though - it made you let out a deep breath and rub your temples with your green-painted fingernails. “Expecting you would have been better than a surprise, ‘Mione. What are you doing here, of all places? This isn’t ... you.”

“All of this stuff that’s been happening ... has been hard.” Sure, you could understand Hermione’s point of view on that, but it didn’t seem like an answer. It was hard not to ask her to keep going, but you stayed silent and let her go on in her own time. “So I’ve been working hard, not leaving the penthouse much... I was feeling cooped up.”

“You came here for what ... a distraction?” Hermione seemed not to have thought this all the way through, but she nodded and eased herself back into the chair, making herself comfortable on the IKEA chair, as she no doubt had done in the past on chairs worth ten times as much. Both of you stared at one another, and you slowly started to caress the back of her hand. Usually you weren’t so gentle with women who came through that door. But Hermione wasn’t like any other woman.

“It seems I might have been thinking about the past a lot lately. It has been happening a lot, actually. No matter what goes on in my day, I fall asleep and I think of you, y/n.” On his note, Hermione turned her hand around to hold onto yours. You allowed her to do so, but didn’t squeeze back. Both of you let the silence fill the room again.

“Hermione, I am not the same naive teenager who didn’t know herself.” You said, pulling your hand back slowly from hers. “Just like you’re not the same either, clearly.” It was obvious that Hermione had changed, and she cared now about appearances more than ever. There used to be a time when the both of you would have no problem going out into the world with natural, clean faces and clothes that weren’t the most in style but you liked anyway. So maybe you still had a lot in common, even with these changes.

The look in her eyes changed, and her head tilted to the side, so she wasn’t exactly looking at you anymore. You looked in the direction that she had been staring at, and it was right into your bedroom, where some of your ... tools were on display, so to speak. You didn’t blush, or hesitate, just motioned towards the open door. “As you can see, my preference hasn’t changed but my way of doing things has. So have a look, if you like.”

But you hadn’t been anticipating that Hermione would actually take you up on that invitation. Thirty seconds later, she was off of the chair and pushing open the door to your bedroom, or what you would call your playroom. “But - how?” Hermione wondered, seeing just how much you really had changed from the gentle girl she knew. “Oh - what are these?”

You saw that she was reaching for something on your wall - a paddle, that was heart shaped. It was one of your favorites because it had a few holes drilled into the leather to ensure that there wouldn’t be wind resistance. You grabbed a riding crop out of the umbrella stand that only held such instruments, and gave Hermione a quick whack across her knuckles, showing her who is in charge here. As soon as she felt the sting, she flinched and her hand returned to her side. “You don’t get to touch, they’re my tools.”

Suddenly, defiantly, Hermione took hold of the other end of the crop. “Hey,” She said softly, while you raised an eyebrow at brashness. “You use these on women? Y/n...” Your name came out of her lips with condescension.

“Your husband never used one of these on you?” You countered. “You know, women come to me all of the time for a distraction from their problems, to get treated well by someone for once, to relieve some stress. It isn’t about the pain - and you know nothing about it, so you have no right to judge. Unless of course - you want to learn?” You asked, not being able to stop yourself from asking her. “I doubt that’s why you came here exactly, but - I don’t know what else I’m supposed to offer. Go out for a coffee? That’s not us, a serpent and ... and a Lodge.”

“I admit that I am a bit curious... I never stopped thinking about you.” Hermione admitted. You showed no emotion - that was the key to making this dynamic work. Staying in character. “Though I never thought that you would...”

“Become a Serpent? You can blame my parents for that. If they hadn’t tried to be so controlling, I wouldn’t have rebelled this hard. But it’s nice here. I’m treated with respect here, I’m valued. They don’t order me around, not even on .. jobs.” You couldn’t go further into the details, it was private Serpent Business. “You’re the one who moved on quickly though. Not even a week after we were forced to stop our relationship, you had moved on to Fred Andrews.”

“I know,” Hermione said, and was going to stop more but you stopped her by tugging the crop out of her hand.

“This isn’t a place for explanations or apologies. I’m not expecting one, I forgave you and got over it a long time ago.” You said, in a more gentle tone. “I don’t think you’re as surprised about all of this as you’re pretending. I know I have a bit of a reputation. No playing around, please.”

Hermione composed herself in front of you, straightening her back, looking you straight in the eyes in the dark room. “I ... consent. I always have.”

That was a good enough start, as you would say. Consent and trust were the two most important parts of this arrangement.

“Always?” You questioned. Hermione nodded, and slowly, she sunk down to her knees on the soft rug that took over the majority of your room, covering the uncomfortable hardwood floors - although you could always kick them to the side if you wanted to be harsh.

“It has been on my mind forever.” She admitted. You raised an eyebrow, and put the riding crop back into it’s former position without looking. You caressed Hermione’s face, resting your thumb on the middle of her chin. It was a bit difficult for you to bend over, back entirely straight, and kiss her lips, but you managed. Your mind raced with the memories of the first time that you had done that, back in your teenage bedroom. So her taste has changed - that Hiram Lodge had bittered her up. Especially with the way that she gave you such easy submission - that had been instilled in her and not in a loving way.

It didn’t take long for her to be on the bed, her back arched as you gave her permission to feel the pleasure rather than the pain and stress that she had been holding onto for so long. Hermione melted under your touch, having yearned for it for decades now. Hiram was the last thing on her mind, nor was Fred Andrews whom she had recently met with recently - only you. “Can you free me?” Hermione asked, biting on her bottom lip as you rubbed the cooling candle wax on her chest, keeping it from drying completely with your body warmth. She was revelling in the warm sensation, but even more because it was you.

“It won’t be easy to get you out, but yes.” You murmured to her, restricting her movement by tying her wrists with silk rope to the bedpost, which was already bolted to the wall to avoid banging. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was possible but damn, you were going to try. Until the day that you died, you would consider Hermione to be yours, just like this, just as it should have been from the beginning.

Tuesdays became the night when  Hermione would venture from The Pembroke to your house in an unmarked car, telling Veronica nothing of her whereabouts. You were her little secret, and you allowed her to keep it that way. You knew that making it public would put a target on your back by Mr. Lodge, which you could not risk just yet. It had become your favorite day of the week, because it wasn’t just about the amazing sex that the two of you had, locked away in your bedroom. This relationship wasn’t built just on that, but on Hermione needing someone else to control her for a little while, advise her on what to do.

Because of Hermione sneaking away, you did have to worry about Veronica Lodge catching on. You didn’ have to worry for long - there was enough going on in Riverdale to keep the teenage girl occupied.

Well into the evening, while you and Hermione were eating the dinner that she prepared for you in your small trailer kitchen, she dropped the unfortunate news. Hiram Lodge was getting out of prison, and expected his family to be there for him, and to support him. “He really has some nerve,” You said, downing the glass of wine in one motion. “His family? Poor Hiram, he probably doesn’t even know that his wife is with someone better.”

“It wouldn’t be good to tell that to him...” Hermione said, nervously. The thought of Veronica and how this would affect her was obviously heavy on her mind. You couldn’t blame her for that. “Sleeping with you, he might forgive but knowing how I feel...”

Hermione wasn’t one to open up about her affections, so that was a bit deal to you. She nervously sipped at her wine, her hand slightly trembling, the red liquid missing her mouth and splashing up against her lips. “Hermione, how do you feel?” You asked her, setting down your knife and fork.

“You tell me.” Hermione challenged you, knowing full well that you knew the answer. Her face was pale, but started to flush. After that challenge, you stared her down, seeing just how nervous she was, and tried to pick up on her small actions to gather what she wanted to hear.

“The truth? Hermione, I think that re-connecting this last while had been really good for you.” She closed her eyes to listen to your words. “Hiram hasn’t been around to be ... well, an asshole. Veronica has been doing her own thing so you’ve had some time to yourself, and you chose to spend that with me. You’ve been smiling, I’ve noticed and other people around the town of noticed, I’ve heard things. You look so forward to coming over that you usually arrive early and wait in your car until the moment that I told you to be here, which is adorable by the way.” When she heard that, Hermione dropped her head and let her dark hair fall across her face, very much like a teenage girl. “It has been, I’m hoping, the sort of reunion that you had hoped would happen - but better. Now you’re nervous that it’s going to come to an end, that we’re going to drift away like we had before.”

You leaned in close, giving Hermione a good view of the cleavage that your wonderful bra was showcasing. “It won’t, by the way. You are too good to give up again, Hermione. The whole husband thing changes nothing. That you love me, and yes, I know you do - I feel the same way - is stronger than a marriage certificate any day.”

That meant a lot for you to say, and Hermione knew it, for she tossed her hair out of her face, and smiled. You noticed she looked like the fresh faced teenager that you knew and adored back in the day. “You should know.” She said, trying to maintain her composure, though it did usually seem to break down around you. You brought out the real person that was inside, not the Stepford wife. But you didn’t mind either side to her personality - they were both her. “Y/n... don’t let me fall back into his traps, no matter what he says.”

“He’s going to have to come here and tear you out of your bondages, which I would never allow.” A determination jumped into your voice at the very thought. Your friends, the fellow Serpents, wouldn’t allow that to happen either. You wouldn’t let his stupid expensive shoes touch the trailer park. “You’re mine. You’ve given me your trust, your respect and your heart - I’m not afraid to use my whip non-consensual on him if I had to.” You said, giving Hermione a smirk. “Now finish your dinner, my love, you need to keep your strength up for the night ahead.”

[heartsofstrangers]

What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“Probably drug addiction.”

Tell me about that.

“Since I was fourteen years old, the first time I ever tried it, I’ve been intermittently addicted to crystal meth. The past four years, it’s been pretty consecutive other than the four months that I spent in jail two years ago. I guess that’s the gist of it.”

When did you start using it?

“I was about fourteen years old. I used to do it every other weekend with a group of shitty friends that I had made.”

What was going on in your life at that time?

“I had just lost my best friend, who was like my brother; we grew up together. He died from complications due to diabetes. I saw that they were using it and I had taken Adderall before. I thought it was like Adderall, except you could snort it or smoke it, and I thought that’s always fun. I recognized that they were carefree on it, and I wanted to be like that, so I did it.”

What was it like the first time you got high?

“It was sketchy and I was on edge. I don’t know if you’ve done any sort of upper, but it’s intense. It actually made me feel disgusting for a while. I felt really gross the entire time and then coming down was awful, but something inside me wanted to do it again, so I did. It disconnected me from the world. All that really mattered was scribbling on a piece of paper for hours on end. I guess it was really getting lost in reality.”

How did your life unfold—were you in school at that time?

“It kind of caused me to ‘fail out’ of high school; I didn’t drop out, but failed out pretty bad. I had to retake my sophomore year on the computer and graduated at the bottom of my class because of it, or the choices I made while on it. I don’t really know if I was in control or not then.”

You talked about jail—how did you end up there?

“I got arrested leaving a drug deal in June 2015 and then, after my parents bailed me out, I stopped going to court for the probation sentence and a year and a half later, they picked me up at my older brother’s apartment at 11:00 p.m. Six bounty hunters apprehended me and  then I spent the next four months in Montgomery County. I was there for Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s, and almost my birthday, all behind bars.”

What was that like?

“Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. It was pretty shitty and I was very confined. I was in a sixteen-man room for the most part. It was me and fifteen other people, all in a big-ass room full of bunk beds, having to stare at each other all day.”

Where did that lead you to mentally? Did you process anything in your mind about where you had been, where you wanted to go, where you were?

“I just wanted out. It kind of made me feel like an animal. In Texas, I don’t know what it’s like anywhere else, but you become state property when you’re incarcerated; you lose all your rights. Basically, you’re a body with a name. You’re not a human in there. It’s weird.”

How long ago was that?

“It was January 2017.”

Where did you end up when you were released?

“Back to my older brother’s, and he does dope too. I went right back to where I started, or stopped at midway.”

So, you were sober and clean in jail?

“Yes, while I was there.”

Did you go through withdrawal?

“I slept for the first four days. I didn’t eat or use the restroom; I just slept.”

So, you get out, move back in with your brother, and get right back into it?

“The night that I got out, I used.”

What’s your relationship like with your family, aside from your brother?

“I don’t talk to them, only whenever they speak to me and, even then, it’s usually just my mom, and it’s like once every two weeks, sometimes twice.”

What are those conversations like?

“I love you, I miss you. I love you too, I miss you too.”

Do they live locally?

“They live about two hours away.”

Do they kind of push you away due to your addiction?

“I alienated myself because I knew I’m not anyone a parent could be proud of—that’s how I feel. Because of my problem, and I don’t want them to see me like this and I won’t let them. So, I pushed myself away from them.”

Have you done that with close friends as well?

“I’ve done it with everyone.”

So, who are you associating with, dealers and other users?

“Yeah. I dated this dude for almost a year and he basically isolated himself away from me recently because of it. That really fucked me up a little bit because I feel like I put so much into it, but really it was just me high as hell, overthinking everything, all the time, slowly dissipating into nothing.”

It’s got to be a pretty lonely feeling to be that isolated.

“Yeah, but you’re never really alone when you’re a drug addict.”

Because you’re connecting with your substance.

“I’m perfectly fine with being alone, but I’m not okay with how lonely I am most times.”

Are you scared at all to continue down this path?

“Yeah, because I don’t know where my life’s going. So, I just get high and it’s like ‘where are you going now?’ to go get high.”

How can you afford to get high?

“My best friend sells it. My only friend just happens to be a drug dealer.”

Are you performing any sort of acts or anything in exchange?

“No, no, no; we’re just really good friends and misery loves company. He’s basically in the same spot I’m in.”

What are some of the things you’ve lost along the way through these years of addiction?

“Honestly, I lost my sanity, a lot of good friends, and a close tie with my family. I lost my car. I lost my license. Somehow I lost my social security card, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs. I lost my apartment, but that was at the beginning so that’s not a big deal.”

Where are you living now?

“I live with my friend, Pat, who is also a drug addict, but he’s a more functioning one, I should say. He’s held a job for four years and his addiction is kind of new and, ironically enough, I’m the first one he ever tried it with, which is kind of funny or fucked up.”

Have you ever been in any situations where you felt like your life was being threatened?

“No, not really. Not that I can think of, but I don’t know . . . no.”

How’s your judgment when you’re high?

“You can rationalize just about anything. For the most part, I would say it’s pretty good. There are dumb people who get addicted to drugs and there are people who are addicted to drugs who already have a good grip on reality and are able to make the right decisions or rational ones at least, but I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff.”

What are some of the stupid things that you’ve done?

“Not put the filter on a vacuum cleaner and small things like that. I’ve never done anything really stupid like rob anyone. I did, however, one time throw a brick through a window. I was super pissed off at the person who lived at the apartment and, in a fit of rage due to addiction or substance use, I picked up what was closest to me, which happed to be a chipped piece of concrete by the curb and chucked it threw the window. I don’t know how’s that going to fix it, but it made me feel better. It was really stupid.”

Prior to losing your friend, had you experienced any sort of obstacles early on in your life that taught you some coping skills to deal with grief, pain, or challenging experiences?

“To isolate; that’s all I’ve ever really known. Get over it and, if you can’t, shut up about it. That’s what I was basically taught.”

Do you want to stop?

“Yes and no. Crystal meth is the only thing that’s kept a roof over my head while, at the same time, it’s kept me on the edge of losing that. It’s the only thing that sort of keeps me connected with the real world because I have friends and acquaintances who use and who keep me from going insane living alone. At the same time, those people come and go. Those people aren’t necessarily friends you want to keep around; they’re people who are just going to bring you down because they’re going to keep you high. I’m aware of that but, at the same time, I can’t stop. So, yes and no. I was sober for about a month and moved to New Mexico with my ex. That didn’t turn out well, obviously. He flew me back here on a last-minute, overnight flight and I started using again.”

How old are you now?

“Twenty-four.”

So, you’ve been using for ten years?

“Just about.”

Any issues with your health?

“No, not that I know of. I probably have shaky hands, but so does everybody.”

Do you sleep?

“Yeah, every night, which is kind of an achievement really if you’re a crackhead like me. I’ve kind of plateaued. I’ve reached a level of tolerance that makes me have a normal sleeping schedule, which is something you really don’t want to be but, at the same time, I’m glad I’m there because now I’m normal-ish. I don’t look cracked out.”

What’s your biggest fear?

“Dying—not from drug use, though I guess that would suck too, but just dying in general, because I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. Maybe my biggest fear is actually not knowing and being unaware.”

In contrast, do you feel like you’re living?

“I feel like I’ve been dead since I was about twelve, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs, but the realization of how fucked up the world really is. I think I’m living in a way—I get to do shit that not everybody gets to do, like not have to work, I’m able to explore the city, and that’s what I do every day. I go to different parts of the city and sketch around, but I’m probably not really living, not in a way that’s (I guess) savory.”

Did you grow up here?

“No. I grew up two hours northeast, in a little town, Cold Springs, with about 900 people, and that’s consolidated because it’s a bunch of small towns put together.”

What brought you to Houston?

“Drugs. I bounced from circle of users to circle of users to circle of users until I ended up in Kingwood. Kingwood is right on the outskirts of Houston. I just migrated over here, made friends wherever I could, and now I’m here.”

When you agreed to do the interview, did you have any idea that you’d be talking about this?

“No, not at all. I honestly had no idea what it would be about. I was just like ‘an interview, okay, that’s fine.’ I thought maybe it was going to be ‘how do you feel about Houston’ or some sort of typical bullshit interview, but I didn’t think it would make me open my eyes to shit I’ve been closing them to or haven’t said out loud in a while. I’ve said this stuff before, ‘I don’t want to do this.’”

How does it feel to hear yourself expressing these things?

“It kind of pisses me off.”

In what way?  You’re pissed at yourself?

“Yeah, because I know I’m just going to go get high afterwards.”

Are you high now?

“No. I used, but I’m not high. I guess that’s high; I don’t really know. The last time I used was about six hours ago. I get high and then there’s other days where I just get by and, today, is a just a get by day because I didn’t do too much of it.”

What happens if you don’t use?

“I sleep and I’m dead to the world basically, which is probably what I am now, but in a different way because I’m asleep. I’ve slept for thirty-six hours straight before and my friends have asked if I had a bladder infection, and I said that I was good, just tired. When I woke up, I had muscular atrophy, where I couldn’t really feel much, and then I’d just waddle around until I found food, and then I was good.”

Would you say you’re depressed?

“Probably clinically. I used to take Pristiq, but it didn’t mix well with my meth use, so I cold turkey stopped taking it after about six months. It’s a serotonin replacement or something, but I thought it was kind of bullshit. I’ve been told before by friends that I’ve been manic; they would say ‘wow, you’re pretty manic’ and I’d say ‘yeah, I know.’”

Do you think you were like that before the drugs or has that manifested since?

“Half and half. I’ve always been kind of bipolar-ish, but this has really intensified it or brought it to a meniscus versus overflowing. If it was overflowed, I’d probably be in prison, but it’s definitely got to that point.”

What keeps you in that elevated state?

“Being aware that I’d probably go to prison, so to stay at a constant ‘that’s okay.’ It’s not necessarily the way anybody would want to live.”

What were you like as a child?

“I didn’t take ‘no’ as an answer. I wasn’t a spoiled brat or handed everything I wanted, but I didn’t have to ask for much. I never really had to go without anything. My parents weren’t wealthy, but they were comfortable, and have been that way as long as I can remember. For the most part, I’d say I was a pretty happy kid.”

How did you meet your friend who died?

“We were neighbors. He was like my brother. I don’t have close ties or close relationships with anybody like I did with him. He was the first person I could ever really say was my best friend. When you’re a kid, grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents’ and grandparents’ friends die, and  you say ‘oh, that’s sad.’ But, when your fourteen-year-old best friend dies, basically out of the blue, he just wakes up one morning and then he’s dead . . . That shit really happens, people die, people who you know die, people you’re close with die, and it’s hard. It sucks pretty bad, especially when you’re that young and you don’t really know how to take it in. You know how you’re supposed to take it in, you know how people do it, and you see it in movies, but there’s something inside of you that dies too, and you can’t wake it up. Josh was my best friend and was like a brother to me. We did just about everything together.”

What would you say to him if he was here now?

“That I’m sorry. I would tell him that I’m sorry because, at this point, I would have probably alienated myself from him too. I guess given if he had left and came back. Yeah, I would tell him that I was sorry because I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this.”

What do you think he would say to you?

“I don’t know. He’d probably call me an idiot, but I’m not sure.”

If you could go back to your twelve- or fourteen-year-old self in that time in your life, as the adult you are now, what would you say to that child?

“Don’t do it. You’re going to fuck up. Don’t do it, but that twelve- or fourteen-year-old probably wouldn’t listen anyway. He’d probably think that I was stupid because ‘no’ is not an answer and ‘don’t’ is not a reason.”

What were you passionate about at that age?

“I really liked art and liked to draw. I haven’t actually picked up a pen or pencil and drawn anything since I was about seventeen. My senior year of high school was a pretty heavy usage year. I was focused on doing that versus something that made me happy.”

How does it feel when you’re drawing or creating something?

“It’s instant gratification, kind of like vacuuming is to me now. I did it, it’s there, that’s something I did, it’s something I completed on my own, other people get to see it, I get to see it, know that it’s done, know that I did it, and I like it. It’s a successful feeling, but I haven’t felt that in a minute.”

Did you have any other outlets that you felt a connection to?

“I listened to music a lot. Even now, I listen to music all the time. I never played any instruments and I’m not really talented in any other way, but I like music.”

Do you write at all?

“No, not at all. I don’t even remember the last time I wrote something down. My handwriting probably looks like someone trying to write with their left hand. I’m not used to a pencil or pen; it’s unfamiliar.”

What’s the first thing you do in the morning when you wake up?

“I drink coffee sometimes; that or Coke, which is terrible for you. I eat, smoke a cigarette, and then smoke dope (I guess use).”

Have you ever felt hopeless and suicidal?

“Yes, at least twice a week. I feel like I’ve reached a point where there’s no way of turning around. I’m twenty-four years old and I already hold a drug possession felony. No one’s going to want to hire me, so I haven’t tried to look anymore. I have basically no friends, especially if I were to stop. My family and I aren’t really close and they don’t want to help me anyway. I feel like there’s not a good enough reason to want to keep living but, at the same time, I’m kind of too much of a pussy to kill myself.”

So, you’re just kind of slowly and passively doing it through using drugs every day and not taking care of yourself.

“Pretty much.”

Is this what you thought you’d be doing tonight?

“No. I knew I was going to be doing an interview, but didn’t think it would be such a reflective one.”

If there was someone else out there listening to this or reading this who could relate to where you are in your life and where you’ve been, and possibly feeling hopeless or numb, or even just alone, what message would you want them to hear and know?

“That they’re not alone. There are other people just as fucked up as you are. I have a really bad mouth, it’s probably just another side effect of drug use. They’re not the only ones who feel nothing or like they are that.”

Is there any part of you that sees a different future for yourself other than your situation right now?

“Yeah, but it’s all sort of hazy. If I were to try to picture it, I couldn’t put the pieces together. It’s more like an audio clip. I can hear myself ‘all right, you’re sober, you’re good, life’s okay,’ but I can’t actually see it. It’s like there’s someone with my voice telling me that, but I don’t see it with my own eyes or inside my own head. I can’t picture it and to me that just tells me it’s not a thing. If you can see it, you can achieve it, and I can’t see it.”

Is it possible that that’s faith? Do you have faith?

“I have something; I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I’m pessimistic or I’m realistic, but I don’t think I have faith in myself; that’s what it is.”

Why?

“Why should I? Maybe I just doubt myself more than I have faith in myself.”

All the various skills you’ve developed to sustain what you’re doing today could be used in the opposite direction to sustain you in a way that you might thrive.

“I’ve managed to be able to live without any sort of resources other than the kindness of strangers for the past three years, so that’s good; that makes me something.”

That’s strength.

“I’m probably evil. I don’t think I’m a bad person for it—surviving strictly on the kindness of others. It sounds terrible when you say it like that. I’m just getting by how I can.”

What would give you hope?

“Probably better resources. If I knew there would be something to catch me whenever I fell off this horrible plane ride of whatever it is I’m going through now. If there was a safety net that would give me hope. Now knowing that I would hit rock bottom and fall to my death if I were to stop, I won’t stop because of that. If there was something to catch me, and if I knew it would be okay and there was a better support system other than the people who are constantly throwing dope in my pipe, then I probably would stop.”

It’s hard to see that in any situation. I can only speak for myself, but for me, I could never see what was going to catch me either, whether I continued to perpetuate self-destruction and didn’t want to not feel pain anymore, but didn’t know how to end it without inflicting more pain on myself, or to follow my heart and intuition and move in the other direction. My life started to change when I listened to my heart and moved in the other direction, but it was just as scary because I couldn’t see how I was going to have the resources I needed and somehow (and I’m not a believer in your traditional God or any type of religion) miraculously I had what I needed when I needed it. It didn’t ever come in the way I expected it to, and yet it was there, some sort of ground beneath my feet, and that gave me faith and restored my faith that if I had enough courage to continue to be vulnerable, enough to step out of my old behaviors, to step out of the routine, and step out of the comfort, even if it is perpetuating discomfort—somehow it’s familiar so it’s comfortable—if I had the vulnerability and courage to do that, something would catch me. I remember early on looking for people who were going to save me or thinking that all these various opportunities that presented themselves were going to be the quick fix that would save me. What I continued to learn, and to repeat over and over again through making that mistake of thinking someone else was going to save me, is that I had the power to save myself all the while. All the resources I needed were within me. I had to think them into reality: thought, action, reality. Yet somehow, we train ourselves to think it’s going to come the opposite way, that it comes from the outside in, but that wasn’t my experience. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you.

“It does.”

I can relate to that feeling of being stuck. You know you want to get off that ride, but you don’t know if there will be anything to catch you if you’re to get off. So, you stay stuck.

“I made up this fun little terminology of being plateaued. You’ve reached a level where there’s nothing much around other than the great distance between you and the ground and it’s not high enough to put you up in the clouds where you need to be. So, you’re there, drifting above the surface of rock bottom and normalcy.”

It’s like being in limbo.

“Yeah, or purgatory. I live in purgatory. Actually, it might be hell. I live in gray, very gray, not a whole lot of color there.”

Are there moments where you see or feel color in your life?

“There’s a lot of blue and, when it’s not blue, it’s red but, for the most part, it’s gray. I don’t really feel much but, whenever I do, it’s usually just sadness. I get so sad and I feel like I can’t do much about it, so again, I get angry, then I get so mad that I cry and that makes me even more sad, and then I’m mad that I’m crying, so it’s purple or gray. It’s not really a colorful journey—this life. It’s like an old-school comic book, it’s all grayscale with a little blue and a little red.”

What do you know about the process of grieving?

“I don’t. I know that it sucks. I don’t know how to get over it. You can either sweep it under the rug or you can actually deal with it, and I’ve just been sweeping it under the rug. Anything that I’ve ever lost, I’ve been ‘all right, shut that down, shut that down’ and only ever pick up where I left off, which is having it suck basically, whenever someone lifts that rug up for me ‘thanks.’ So, I guess I don’t know much about the process of grieving.”

I’m not particularly sure about the order, but there are five stages of grief. I think you’ve mentioned a few of them, like the deep sadness, the anger, and there’s a stage of blame, transferring that uncomfortable feeling onto someone else, making them responsible for your suffering. There’s also acceptance, which I think is a hard one to come to; we avoid a lot by repressing. As long as we can keep it stuffed down, we don’t have to look at it or accept that it happened. Until we do that, we’re not truly moving on, whether it’s grief or trauma. I had a woman tell me in an interview, and it’s very profound, she said when she started to heal the trauma, the addictions started to go away, and that really stuck with me. I believe that we continue to connect with whatever our substance is, whether it’s our phones, drugs, alcohol, money, or sex, to avoid looking at the wound, but the only way to heal a wound is to treat it with compassion and kindness.

“Not a big band aid?”

No. I know in our culture and in our families, we’re taught to discharge pain, to move away from it, and stuff it down.

“The sun gives you a sunburn, stay away from it kind of thing.”

Yes, but growth, transformation, awareness, wisdom, empathy, joy, and love are all qualities that are developed through leaning into pain and discomfort, not from running away from it. Everything that we long for—that sense of real meaningful connection, fulfillment, sustenance in our life, and purpose—is on the other side of that pain, and there’s no way to skip over it or go around it.

“You got to go through it and deal with it.”

Yeah. It’s shitty. I don’t know what’s worse, spending your lifetime running away from it or feeling shitty for a period of time, then having some relief, and maybe recognizing that you’re resilient, you do have potential, and there is more to life than this grayscale and constant fear of when is the bottom going to drop out.

“I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom a couple of times, like literally scraping my teeth on its surface is where I’ll probably want to stop but, at the same time, I’ve probably hit that part too. It seems like chilling at the mantle.”

Do you have a favorite song lyric, mantra, or something that someone has said to you, maybe even your friend or your parents, that has stuck with you that you’d like to share?

“There are lyrics to a song that says ‘if you talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams then I can live in my dreams’.”

What’s that mean to you?

“It’s kind of sad, if you think about it. If I didn’t have to do the things I have to do, then I’d be happy. If I didn’t have to wake up and get high, I’d probably be okay or if I didn’t require x amount of blah, blah, blah then I’d be cool, things would be okay, and life would be a dream. But, that’s not how it is and I’m living a nightmare. Yeah, talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams, I can live in my dreams.”

Do you think it’s possible to heal?

“Yeah. You just got to rip off that band aid I was telling you about. I don’t know. I feel like, metaphorically, my band aid is waterproof and I don’t want to pull it off because it really hurts, and I don’t want to deal with it, so I slowly pick at it, but eventually I just stick it back on. Yeah, it’s possible to heal; tons of people do it, right?”

Yes. It’s a matter of surrendering. It’s like showing up and saying ‘I don’t know how this is going to turn out.’

“But doing it anyway.”

Yeah. That’s courage, right?

“Yeah. I don’t think I have much of that. Like I said earlier, the fear of the unknown, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do it, so I don’t try it.”

What’s worse? It seems like you have more to lose by continuing and knowing that the rest of your life may look like it does right now or there’s a risk that you may feel some discomfort for a while, but there’s a chance that things could get better.

“I don’t know. I should probably stop using, because it’s not helping me. I wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s hurting me either, but that’s probably the drugs talking.”

Who would be the first person you would call, if you were to make that choice?

“I’d probably call my mom. Yeah, that’s probably who I’d call. I’d probably tell her to come get me. I’ve done it before. I’ve told her ‘I need you to come get me. I need you to fuckin’ stop what you’re doing and come get me’ and she has; she would do it in a heartbeat. The last time I called her and said that was about three years ago. I’m not too sure how or if she would be okay with it or how she would go about it, but I’d call her. I need to call her actually.

“Not only for that, but I miss my family a little bit, a lot. I haven’t seen them. I spent that one Christmas in jail, but the two after that—I didn’t go, the one before that—I didn’t go. I haven’t been home in so long. I haven’t actually seen my mom in a year—that sucks. For a long time, she was my best friend. She was always a shoulder and an ear. It’s been a while, a long time.”

I hope you do make that phone call.

“We Snapchat sometimes, which is kind of weird. We’re actually Snapchat friends, but I haven’t snapchatted her in about six months. I sent her a text about two weeks ago, and that’s about it. I haven’t heard her voice in a long time. I can still remember what she sounds like, which is kind of surprising. Usually whenever I cut things off like that, I completely disconnect from it. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know what they feel like. I remember her and her voice; it’s weird.”

Do you think she would answer the phone now if you called?

“She’s probably asleep right now, but yeah she might answer. If not, she would text me ‘what?’, but I think she would answer.”

I hope you make that call after this interview. How has it felt to talk about these thoughts, feelings, and experiences with me tonight?

“Surprisingly, not bad. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. At the beginning, I thought it was probably going to be annoying, but I didn’t find it that annoying because there was a level of comfort versus judgment. I didn’t feel very judged at all.”

It’s a beautiful thing, you being vulnerable.

“Is that what this is?”

Yeah, and you being met with empathy. It kind of kills shame, which I think feeds addiction.

“Probably, yeah, needing to hide something.”

It’s a heavy weight.

“It will suffocate you. That’s always good.”

It’s lethal; it really is.  Do you think it’s possible by sharing your thoughts, feelings, and experiences so courageously tonight, as you are, that someone on the receiving end gains some hope, inspiration, or at least a sense that they’re not alone?

“I would hope so, because this wasn’t that easy to do. Yeah, I think they probably could if they aren’t stubborn assholes like me, and listen all the way through. Because if I were handed this to listen to, read, or watch, I’d probably stop paying attention halfway through; depending on my state of mind I might say ‘I don’t want to hear that.’ If I actually listened to it or if someone like me listened to it from A to B, they’d probably like it; they’d probably get it.”

Yeah.  Thank you.

“Thank you. You’re welcome.”

I’m really proud of you. This was a really courageous thing to do and you skipped right into it.

“I ripped the band aid off that time.”

You did. I hope you’ll continue to do that.

“There’s a bunch of open blisters and sores here—this sounds so weird.”

Thanks.