#we make OCs with a part of ourselves that we don't know how to deal with or wish we could explore and do so in a safe environment

[bitebitesnap]

I know I'm not an emissary or anything important to the reader insert community but I feel like this needs to be said

I think we should leave personal projects alone.

[genericpuff]

I don't know the term for creators who became popular outside the traditional steps to "make it" in their profession; then when people started taking their work seriously and giving them criticism, these creators saw it as an attack because they are not used to mentors and studies.

Smythe's professional training is vague at best, being a folklorist. Then there's the creator of the popular hell cartoon that became her own executive producer and director in her 20s (I'm not going to say her name since it tends to attract her rabid fans) and becomes reactive to any kind of criticism on Twitter. Then there's that TikToker Devon Rodriguez, who became popular for sketching people on subways, and when an art critic gave a mild review to his art gallery, Devon unleashed his fans on him.

Like am I seeing a pattern here for artists? And I guess, what do you think we can learn from it.

Ah, so this is a very interesting (and broad) topic that we've touched on in discussions in ULO and other webtoon-related communities. So buckle up, it's time for an ✨essay✨

I think the best way I can sum up my thoughts on this issue is: the vast majority of people who become paid content creators don't seek out a job as content creators, a job in content creation is just something that happens to them.

I say "content creation" because this is something that applies to a lot of other platforms and online mediums as well, such as the examples you included (TikTok, Youtube, Twitch, etc.). And don't get me wrong, it's not like every successful content creator out there didn't work their asses off to get to where they are, but for many... it still involves an element of luck. People don't go to school for it, people don't "apply" to become influencers, and much of it relies entirely on just making stuff until it gets seen and propelled into success.

I think a lot of these issues arise with the creators themselves and how they view their own work. The reality is that many of us artists have been treated as the "rejects" of society, we constantly feel like we're misunderstood and have some deep inner pain that we express through our art, and instead of going to therapy, we come up with OC's. It's a lot more fun and it's a lot cheaper LOL Webcomics naturally wind up being the perfect lightning rod for people who feel that way, where we can pour ourselves into the characters, the world, the narrative, in a way that perfectly mixes our talents for art and our need to express our innermost thoughts and feelings about ourselves and the world around us. So when our art gets criticized or rejected ... it can be hard for a lot of artists to not feel like it's a criticism of the self, a rejection of our identities, an attack on our feelings and experiences, because we've tied so much of ourselves to our work. And this can make that transition very difficult for people who are trying to go pro, because being professional demands separating yourself from your work, at least enough that you can view it objectively, recognize its flaws, seek out pathways to improvement, and not take every bump in the road personally.

A lot of successful creators are people who just never made that transition. It's led to an abundance of professional creators who know how to film themselves or react to content or, in the case of webcomic artists, write stories about their OC's, but don't know how to actually navigate the industry at a professional level. They don't know how to read and negotiate contracts, they don't know what deals are actually good for them and which ones are better left on the table, they don't know how to manage teams of people, they don't know how to react to the attention, praise, and criticism of their audience - they're just doing what they've always done, but now they're making money doing it.

None of this is to speak ill in any way of the creators who've found success and are still just doing what they've always done for money. None of this is meant to be a slight on the creators who are using webcomics and art as an expression of their deeper selves (I do it myself, it's very cathartic!) because ultimately that's what makes your work your work, the fact that you made it, with all your good parts and bad. Many of these creators are capable of running their platform without any issues because they've learned how to play the game, or because their platform is made up of people just like them so their audience is more like just a social circle.

But many of them still also can't operate on a professional level and those are the ones we often see getting called out and held accountable when they do shit like, I dunno, scamming their audiences for money or making alt accounts to manipulate user reviews or plagiarizing from other people's work or just being really REALLY shitty to their own audience.

Often times these are people who are just doing what they'd normally do as a hobby, became well known for it, and managed to turn it into a living. But they never actually learned how to turn their hobby into a job, and themselves into professionals.

And artists especially are prone to this because, let's face it, a lot of us are just weebs having fun drawing our blorbos, so of course if we get a chance to monetize that, we're gonna! We should! We should want to be paid for our work and time and efforts!

But we also have to remember that it's a different ballgame, especially if you're turning your audience into customers. "I'm just a baby creator doing this for fun" doesn't and shouldn't apply anymore once you start signing contracts, selling your art as products, taking people's money to fund your projects, etc. because now it's not just your art, it's what you're expecting people to pay for so you can eat and pay your bills and live.

As much as our art is often personal and should be cherished as such, you can't expect people to want to pay for it if you're not setting a bar and meeting it, or if you're not treating your audience with any amount of dignity or respect.

I'm not saying you're not entitled to having feelings or still wanting to treat your art as art, but the line between art and products is there for a reason, it's to set people's expectations and ensure that both sides are having those expectations met. Webtoon creators suffer from the same thing that a lot of Youtube creators and other types of content creators suffer from in this transition, and I feel like HBomberGuy summed it up best:

"In current discourse, Youtubers simultaneously present as the forefront of a new medium, creative voices that need to be taken seriously as part of the 'next generation of media' - and also uwu smol beans little babies who shouldn't be taken seriously when they rip someone off and make tens of thousands of dollars doing it."

It's not gatekeeping a medium, it's not telling people they aren't allowed to have feelings or to want to still have that personal connection to their work in spite of the professional level it's achieved, it's simply just expecting people to actually live up to the label of 'professional' that they're using to make money.

And this especially goes for someone like Rachel, who claims to be a 'folklorist' despite all the contrary evidence that says otherwise. This is the same person who copy pasted the first result on Google as her source on a simple word definition:

There's a second part to that HBomberGuy quote that also actually applies to Rachel really well in this discussion, concerning how she labels herself a "folklorist" and how that's affected and influenced the greater discussion surrounding Greek myth:

"But on the opposite end, Youtubers who act like serious documentarians gain a shroud of professionalism which then masks the deeply unprofessional things they do. We just saw that with James. I think [James] partially got away with what he's doing for so long because he acts so professional about it, so people assume, 'there's no way he could just be stealing shit!' so they don't check. And on top of that, a lot of James' videos contain obvious mistakes and made-up facts... but because they're often presented next to well-researched stuff he stole, no one questions it. I've seen James repeat a lie in his videos, and then other people claim it's true, and link his video as the proof. He has helped to solidify misinformation by seeming like he's doing his diligence."

There's always going to be discourse over what's legitimate and what isn't when it comes to Greek myth, there are loads of things we still don't know simply due to the knowledge being lost to time. But there's something to be said about a white New Zealand woman using her self-insert romance comic and platform to build a veneer of professionalism and legitimacy around herself, as if she's the authority on the subject, while simultaneously relying on first result Google searches and citing works that have no real foothold in the way of scholarly or "folklorist" discussion.

All that's to say, you're right, her professional training is vague at best. She's never completed a longform comic prior to LO, she's not doing her due diligence in actually engaging with the media she's trying to "retell" and exposing herself to the voices of those from the culture that's tied to it, and she's not holding herself to any sort of standards when it comes not only to being a professional, but a professional who's been held on a pedestal for all these years. She's still operating the same way she was 5 years ago - drawing and writing whatever pops into her head and sending it to her editor for uploading, with next to no intervention or guidance. Except now it doesn't have the benefit of being new and having "potential", it's getting noticed and called out more now than ever because it's been 5 years of this shit and it's been getting worse on account of her clearly being burnt out (or just giving up/not caring) and the readers can't be sold on "potential" anymore.

And that's all I have to say on that.

[bi-bard]

There's So Much I Wanna Tell You, But I Don't Know If It'll Fit - Joel Miller Imagine [The Last of Us]

Title: There's So Much I Wanna Tell You, But I Don't Know If It'll Fit

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller X Reader

Word Count: 1,177 words

Warning(s): none that I know of

Summary: [Inspired by "Sunday Crossword" by J. Maya] Joel and (Y/n) attempt to maintain a boundary between them. However, their feelings grow regardless of what they want and they're left questioning if that boundary was set out of respect or out of fear.

Author's Note: I'm working on the next part of this OC, but I wanted to write something simple and cute.

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

There was a period of time when I was convinced that I was happier before I met Joel.

It felt like there was a lot less stress then.

It wasn't that Joel didn't treat me well. He did. Very well. But that on its own was a problem.

Joel and I had been going on casual dates for a while. Coffee or lunch together, we'd meet for a movie or a drink, we'd go for walks together. It was all very... safe.

Joel never stayed the night at my house. I had never even been to his. We never used any kind of label for what we were. We were seeing each other, we were exclusive, but calling ourselves seemed careless. In all honesty, it felt like I was in high school all over again.

I always understood Joel's hesitance. He had a daughter. I had never heard a dad talk so much about how proud they were of their kid. He saw her as nothing less than the sun. I could just see it. Bringing anyone new into his life had to be done with caution because they would become a part of her life too. I respected that.

But that didn't change my growing feelings for him. I couldn't count the number of times that I had to physically bite my tongue to keep myself from saying that I loved him.

It was awful.

The dynamic that I had with Joel was something that I had imagined having. Sweet and loving and funny. It was almost perfect.

And yet, I couldn't say the one thing that I wanted to say most.

I didn't think that I ever would get that chance.

Until we went to the movies one night.

I had mentioned to Joel that there was a horror movie coming out that I had wanted to go see. He offered to go with me one weekend while Sarah was over at a friend's house.

"'28 Days Later,'" Joel read off the ticket as we waited at concessions. "Never heard of it."

"It's set in London after some kind of illness has set in and turned the people into monsters driven by pure rage," I explained.

"I see... social commentary?"

"Shut up," I replied, chuckling at him. "You'll like it. I think. If you don't... I'll pay for dinner next time."

"You've got yourself a deal," he grinned at me. I nodded.

There was a moment before I spoke up again, "Thank you for this, by the way."

"You've got nothing to thank me for," he muttered before leaning over to kiss the side of my head. I felt myself bite my tongue as he leaned back. It was an instinct now.

Despite all of the hesitation, moments like these were the best.

Or they usually were.

When Joel leaned back, I saw him look past me and his face dropped. I furrowed my eyebrows and turned around, looking for someone who was looking at us.

"Joel," I said once I didn't see anyone. "What's going on?"

"My daughter's here," he replied.

"Really," I asked.

He nodded.

"You said that she was at a friend's house."

"Because I thought she was," he explained. "I didn't know they had plans to come see a movie."

I chuckled.

"What?"

"You're acting like a teenager getting caught by their parents," I shrugged. "I'm not sneaking into your room so we can make out. We're two adults on a date."

"I just... I wanted to plan this better."

"I know," I nodded. "But the universe doesn't really give a shit what you plan."

"Yeah... you're right."

A new voice joined the conversation, "Dad?"

"Here we go," he muttered before looking at his daughter. "Hey... what are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same question," she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm here to see a movie," he said. "With a friend."

I waved. "I'm (Y/n)."

Sarah looked back and forth between us for a few moments. "Are you guys on a date?"

I tried to hide the shocked laugh that wanted to escape me. I looked over at Joel, who didn't look away from her.

"Yeah... we are," Joel admitted. "We have been for a little while now."

"I knew it!" she pointed at him. "I knew you didn't have that many friends to be meeting that often."

"Hey!" he replied.

"Anyway," she turned to me. "It's nice to meet you. I have to get back to my friends."

I nodded. "Have fun. It was nice meeting you too."

I turned back to Joel, who was very clearly tense. Again, he looked like a teenager getting caught by his parents.

"Hey," I touched his arm. "That went about as well as could be expected."

"Yeah, yeah... you're right."

"I often am."

"Alright," he mumbled. "Come on. Line's moving."

I just chuckled to myself before continuing to walk forward.

We stayed pretty much silent until we got into the theater. We were early, mostly because of my insistence. We found our spots, waiting for the rest to fill up and for the film to start.

I felt my mind starting to wander. The thing that Joel was most worried about was his daughter. But now, I've met her. We seemed to be fine with each other, even though it had only been a few moments. So... that should be at least somewhat resolved. Right?

I didn't need to hesitate anymore, right?

"You alright?"

I looked over at Joel when he spoke up.

"You're not already scared enough to leave, are you?"

"Shut up," I nudged him. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"I just... I need to say something and I don't know how you're gonna respond to it," I said. "It's... It's nothing bad. I don't think so, at least."

"Then I probably won't think so either," he replied. "Come on... tell me."

I took a deep breath before speaking up. "Joel... I love you."

There was a long pause. One where we were just looking at each other and not a single word was spoken. I felt a sense of dread in my stomach. I wanted to go hide in a hole somewhere. I had overstepped. I had been so careful and I still fucked it up. And now I was gonna lose the best thing that I had ever had.

I was ready to push myself out of my seat and leave him there. "I'm sorry-"

"Hey," Joel grabbed my hand. "I... I love you."

"Really?"

"Yeah... I just... I didn't want to rush you into something."

"Oh," I muttered. "That's why I didn't say anything."

"A pair of geniuses here, aren't we," he chuckled, relaxing a bit more into his seat.

"Yeah, guess so.

I leaned over and hesitantly rested my head on his shoulder. I only truly relaxed when I heard a quiet hum come from Joel as he did so.

I grinned to myself.

And just like that, the best thing I had ever had became even better.

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

Author's Note: For just a dash of additional heartbreak, the U.S release of 28 Days Later was in June of 2003, so this all happened and then Joel and (Y/n) got like three months together before the world went to shit.

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[chromatic-lamina]

chapter 1064—we got ourselves a name

Got ourselves a snow goose!

Oda running with the marine life theme so many of us have exploited for our fics and head canons, and it feels so damn good.

Alan D. Wilson, CC 表示-継承 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5175665による

It's cold up north. Cold, cold, cold, cold. So, not only can Law do this:

(cut Stronger in half using Amputate, thereby dislodging Blackbeard and Doc)

to Blackbeard's under-prepared crew on their only slightly upgraded raft boat, Law's crew (namely Shachi)

can do

this! Blowing poison apple bombs right back at Doc. I guess that's the equivalent of an Orca's blowhole.

And, I guess that maybe Oda got tired of the power scalers too. Like, Law's got his high bounty for a reason and it's nice for Oda to show

his crew in action.

Captain. Must protec!

(though surely Jean Bart would be a very easy target). So, Law does pull out what was his awakened power (it wasn't Amputate, Teach), and Blackbeard gets pierced (and shocked)

with Shock Wille, causing Van Augur to chastise him

and to cause him to use his Law-like powers to rescue Blackbeard. (Blackbeard's downfall will be his carelessness, even though he's obviously doing okay. Master planner up against master impulsive?).

Also, the effects of Shock Wille look a little like directions of some of Doflamingo's attacks.

Van Augur thinks they're under-prepared enough to ask:

if they should return to the ship, and he elegantly uses his passengers to make his own journey more comfortable too, it looks like. Also, so long as he doesn't fall in the water, he's a good match for Law in terms of being able to find solid ground (with his warp warp fruit).

So, I didn't know Blackbeard had such dedication (we finish what we start! But his crew doesn't have the same conviction). Also, like Big Mom, Blackbeard's going to be a villain that Oda will have fun making look ridiculous (then again, there was that Kaidou skipping rope thing).

I'm guessing that "Blackbeard's here!" is Bepo or someone else from his crew. Law's getting his Room ready already. He's tactical. BUT, like Blackbeard, maybe a little too much hubris. Law's pulling his Lenin face again.

Law's crew really is the wrong one to deal with on the ocean, huh? Makes sense. And there were a few meta last week that said that sinking all the devil fruit users wold be the way to go, and what a perfect plan it would be except for

it doesn't seem that Law knows about Blackbeard's power (which seems unlike Law), or he doesn't know how it works. (As an aside, did he take Boa's power, or did Rayleigh step in just in time?). Or he's just, really, really, worried, cos his big willy just ain't gonna cut it if Blackbeard gets his power or absorbs Law himself. Ahhh. **(Law's powers that spread shock waves and threads and radiation might be able to counter something?)

And back a few frames—Pudding's on board and just as she doesn't seem to realise about Law and Kid bringing about Big Mom's death (although she said "if" she's alive), Law doesn't seem to know about Black Vortex (Black Gravity?), and Blackbeard doesn't seem to know even the most basic of Law's powers (although, maybe he does and that's why he's got all those devil fruit users (and Pudding) on the boat currently under attack from the Hearts. Devil Fruits are Teach's speciality, after all).

And

cover page. Kuzan confirmed! Ah, I don't think he's part of SWORD, cos then Punk Hazard probably wouldn't have happened. I read such a good OC/Law story back in the day (2016/17?) on FFN that had Kuzan undercover in the Blackbeard Pirates, and I don't read OC fics much. Loved it. So, Sanji will have to come, because two of his loves will probably end up captured (Pudding already is, but Law, too).

What do you make of Akainu's words? I can't find mention of Winner Island in the Wiki, but I didn't search too thoroughly. I don't think Law's SWORD either, but might be (the theory's gone out there). Could they be waiting for that? Or Akainu wanted to sweep in on Kuzan? (Guess I should call Akainu, Sakazuki). But there'd be no reason to wait then. Anyhoo, other exciting development is this from the end:

Vegapunk working with the Revolutionaries. Kuma's backstory (and Bonney's and Vegapunk's and Dragon's get more and more entwined and intriguing). Also!

stuff like this (Punk Records...or Vegapunk...or why is the first part hidden?) makes me thing that Kid will definitely be relevant some time soon.

I just love that Oda is utilising all of his SBS drawings and inventing a few more

(70 year old Luffy—A glimpse at a possible future!). And the other kids

are alright (@lorillee said that Oda's going boob-crazy cos he had to flatten them for all of Wano in the traditional kimonos, however, I will say, he's not gone as OTT on them as he has in the past. And, yeah, Franky's got on more clothes than Robin.

The pervevication (made up word) really isn't equal for folks that randomly say it is. Put Sanji, Usopp (and later Zoro, Luffy, etc.) in jockey briefs and the equivalent to what Robin and Nami are wearing and then you might have something.

The other two kids are watching the ship and will rescue someone when the menace becomes apparent (more apparent) later in the arc.

Loved the chapter.

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU [30] THE KILLER I AM

Daryl Dixon x OC!Charlie Reed

Summary: Every action has its consequences. Charlie realizes what big burden the last wish of Lori puts on her. She tries to deal with the loss on her own.

Warnings: language, death

Song: Billie Eilish idontwannabeyouanymore

A/N: I had a writer block and tone of exams, but I'm back...I think. This chapter is shit, but I just want to get through this moment in my story. Prison era is one of my least favorite, so it's HARD and I'm struggling. Also I would like to clarify some things to this chapter:

Charlie won't have any romantic situationship with Carl

Charlie likes Maggie!!!!!!! (for now...), Glenn was the problem

So!!! Enjoy, give it love, and let me know how do you like it.

PS. I have NO IDEA if I already used this gif, sorry

Let me see the baby.

What are we gonna feed it?

We got anything a baby can eat?

The good thing is she looks healthy.

But she needs formula.

Charlie furrowed her eyebrows. Everything and everyone felt so away as if she was standing behind a glass or underwater, or else...maybe she was still in that boiler room. "And soon or she won't survive," was the first sentence she could match to a person. Hershel was talking with Daryl, and the baby was still crying.

"We ain't losing nobody else," the other man said. "I'm going for a run."

"I'll back you up," Maggie proposed without a second thought.

Charlie wanted to volunteer as well, but her mouth just didn't want to cooperate with her brain. She was just standing there with bloody, shaky hands.

"I'll go, too," Glenn said right after his girlfriend.

"Okay, think we're going. Beth," Daryl nodded and stepped aside with the younger girl. Charlie couldn't hear what he was saying but felt his eyes on her as he did, and then he looked over at Carl. He must have said something like keep an eye on them, but would Beth really be a reliable person to give two lives to..."You two get the fence. Too many pile-ups, we got ourselves a problem," he gestured towards the two prisoners."Hey," Daryl touched her arm delicately. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

He saw her eyes wandering around, but she wasn't present.

She was so far away at that moment. Maybe part of her was still in the boiler room, maybe part of her was in the quarry, on the farm, or maybe even in Atlanta. Maybe a small part of her was in her family house, surrounded by her brothers, mom, and even dad. It couldn't be her life. She must be sleeping, because there was no way she could kill a person.

"Charlie, I need you to look at me," he said, but she did what he said after he placed a hand on her cheek. "I'm going for a run. I'll be back as soon as possible. Look over Carl, and don't do anything stupid. Charlie?"

"Okay," she whispered, and after she nodded to strengthen her response. Then she felt his lips on her temple.

"Rick!" Maggie called in fear.

To this moment he was sitting as if he was made out of the stone. He didn't hug Carl, didn't ask how he felt, he didn't even look at the baby. He was too deep in his own loss to even notice how other people dealt with the loss. Now she could only see his back as he was going in the direction of a place where his wife died. She could have let both of them die as it didn't make any difference if the baby was alive. At least then she wouldn't have blood on her hands and guilt in her whole body.

"Come on! We're gonna lose light!" Daryl yelled, snapping Charlie from her thoughts.

Memories of the events were hunting her -the longer it was from it, the more pictures were flashed in front of her eyes. Nothing seemed to wash off the blood she had on her hands, she still felt its weight on her skin, and the smell lingered too deep to get rid of it - even though they had been cleaned for a long time. Charlie couldn't be in the same room as the baby, she couldn't even look at the little girl. Her cry was remembering her of Lori who was screaming in pain, and who was the cause of the pain she was experiencing.

"Are you okay?" she heard a weak question and then felt someone's body next to her.

"I should be the one asking you this question," Charlie said looking at the boy, but the moment she crossed eyes with him, she looked away in shame.

"I don't blame you, you know?" Carl said. "You did what you needed to do. I wouldn't have a sister if you didn't do that. And I wouldn't have a mom either."

Charlie looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Maybe there was a way to save her."

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"It does Carl," she said. "It makes the whole difference in the world. Your mom asked me to do something cruel. She decided for both of us...for all of us. But she died. And we have to live with consequences."

"You can always count on me," he said, nodding his head. "And I won't be a burden. My sister either."

Charlie looked at him in the daylight, with a sober brain. His eyes were puffy and now he looked like the boy that he was. He was scared - just like Charlie, and he was scared that he was left alone with a baby because his dad was gone. Lori took Rick with her, at least some part of Rick - the sane and strong one.

"Come here," she spread her arms and pulled Carl to her body, wrapping her hands around him in a carrying gesture. She wanted to show him support, she would never be his mother or replace one of his parents, but he would always find a friend in her. He started crying into her chest as if she were his pillow, so no one would hear his sobs, and it was only breaking her heart. "I'm so sorry," Charlie whispered into his hair. It was the moment to kill their old versions and let them be gone with Lori. But at that moment they didn't know how big part of them they were letting go; moreover, they didn't know that they would never see each other in the same way as before. Carl would never be the annoying kid, following her around like a lost puppy, and she would never be the girl who felt satisfied by upsetting him. They didn't know that they would be basically one person one day...

It got only worse when it was getting darker, and there were still no signs of Daryl and Maggie, and Rick was still hiding in a boiler room. Charlie saw the looks she was getting the whole day, but besides Carl, no one had enough courage to approach her. It seemed that her friends were giving her much-needed space, and the two prisoners were keeping their distance - as they should because it was all their fault. They should have sent them away without food or water, or just let them die the moment they found them, maybe then...

Charlie swallowed.

The scariest thing was that Lori was alive when she cut her open, so Charlie killed a perfectly fine woman and became a cause of why two kids became orphans. She promised to protect those two, but she knew very well that she had to break the promise. Carl would do whatever he wanted, and her opinion wouldn't matter - especially now, when he felt responsible and in his eyes he was an adult. And she just couldn't look at the baby, so it was impossible to raise it.

"Hey," Glenn almost whispered, sitting next to her.

Awkward silence.

"The baby is doing good," he said. "She's probably hungry, and water is not doing the job, but it's good. She's good. Have you seen her?"

"No," Charlie clenched her teeth. "And I don't care about it."

Glenn opened his eyes wider.

Probably, if they still were on the farm, he would help her or comfort her. But their relations were cold as if they burnt with Hershel's house. She needed her best friend, but didn't know how to break the distance that with each day was growing. Glenn didn't know that either. He knew it was his fault, he became distant and forgot about her, as he had a whole family on his shoulder. But Charlie wasn't helpful either, if she wanted to reanimate this friendship, he saw no sign of it.

"Still no sign of them?"

"No."

"I don't know if you noticed, but...T-Dog is dead..." Charlie gasped and her eyes filled with tears again. That's what Daryl meant when he said that they are not losing anyone anymore. "He was closing the gate when they got him. Then they disappeared with Carol."

"Is she..."

"I don't know," he shook his head. "There were too many...And she was alone with T-Dog. She probably didn't make it."

Glenn's intention wasn't to make her feel bad, but she did. If she was feeling like shit before, then now she felt even worse than that. That's why she swallowed a big lump and looked at her friend from behind tears. "Why are you telling this to me?"

"Because I want to show you that we lost more than Lori, okay?" he touched her shoulder. "It was a horrible day and we can all feel it."

"No!" she yelled. "It's not the same. We lost T-Dog. You didn't kill him. I'm feeling this way because your girlfriend couldn't handle it. She made a wrong decision, and when things went south she just cried. And someone had to do it. And if it weren't me then...it's enough that he shot her after. We're not the same! Do you know how it feels to kill someone? No! Do you have any idea what a horrible thing is to feel somebody's hot blood running down your hands? How scary it is when you hear them screaming and then...suddenly... you don't? You have no idea!" she yelled at him. "And I can't stand the baby! Because looking at her remembers me of the killer I am!"

She was looking into his eyes in shock that those words finally left her lips and suddenly something snapped. Charlie started crying so hard that she couldn't breathe, the only thing coming out of her mouth was You don't know and We are not the same. And Glenn was with her through the whole time. Like a true man, he was holding her, listening to accusations, and fighting his tears as his heart was breaking. But one thing that came out of her mouth just shattered his body and soul.

"And you left me."

"I'm here now," he said, but as she kept repeating that he didn't care for her anymore, he pushed her away and shook her by her shoulders. "You left me too!"

Charlie stopped crying and was looking at him in shock.

"You left me, too," he said again. "You kept walking away, wishing to be dead and not telling me. I thought I lost you on the farm, and when I found you on the highway you were not the same. I wanted your support, when I became a source of support for Maggie...and her sister...and Hershel. But you stopped talking to me, thinking that I don't want you anymore. You left me, too."

Charlie swallowed. She never looked at this that way.

"But I'm here now," he said, easing his grip. "And I want my sister back."

It was dark already when Daryl and Maggie were back. Everyone took a breath of relief when Daryl was forcing a bottle with formula between the little girl's mouth. Charlie was sitting on the stairs clutching onto the railing for her life, her instinct was to run as far as she could.

"She got a name yet?" Daryl asked.

"Not yet," Carl shook his head. "But I was thinking maybe Sofia. There's Carol, too. And...Andrea. Amy. Jacqui. Patricia. Or Lori..."

"Better not naming her after the dead ones," Charlie said quietly, but she was heard. Glenn nodded.

"Then maybe Charlie," Carl proposed.

So she could carry a name after a woman who murdered her mother...But Charlie decided to bite her tongue this time and used all of her power to smile. "You will come up with something better."

"I don't know..." Carl shook his head.

"Yeah? Do you like that? Little ass-kicker? Right?" Daryl cooed and Charlie was amazed at how this big and rough man can be so soft for a baby. "That's a good name, right?"

Charlie crossed her eyes with him. Maybe in different circumstances, she would look at him with the baby and think about how it fits him. Maybe she would even think about some alternative world where they have their own kids. But now she saw him as some man who can't make anything better - even though till yesterday she believed he could - with a baby whose mother she killed. And couldn't share the enthusiasm as the rest of the group. So she just backed out, still not being able to be in one room as the baby. 

previous masterlist next

[silvcrsxng]

GOD SAVE THE PROM QUEEN

Larissa Weems x oc

Chapter II

A/N: Hello there! First of all, I have to say a big THANK U for liking and sharing the first part of the story. I am so happy about that, I can‘t even tell! Today, I‘ll upload chapter two of the story - I wasn‘t quite contented about it, but didn‘t really know why. After a few times of rereading, I finally decided to upload - so have fun while reading! ♡︎

♕

There is this one moment when everything freezes. You leave your body, look at it from the outside. You weaken, feel empty and stagger in nothingness. Only then does your story enter for you. Your emotions, your feelings, your thoughts. You regain control of your body. It remembers things that seem completely alien to you - just gives you, for this one moment, the possibility to see yourself from a different perspective.

So should you fall, should you also see yourself from above ... Do you then ask yourself if you could still hear yourself? If you could hear others? The possible scream? The last words muttered as you fell? The cries of others, their shouts?

Or do you merely wrap yourself in golden silence, accepting your fate and letting the inevitable happen? The impact that inevitably follows every fall. In our younger years, we learned from this. We were taught to get back up after each fall. To go on stronger than before, to try again - and then, with the progress of time, not to fall again. To survive situations in which we had previously failed.

What irony. If you look at your past life, your school days, your childhood, one thing is quite striking. Many of the things that await us in later life are things we encounter unprepared. Who teaches us how to deal with our feelings or thoughts? Who teaches us to think clearly in difficult situations? Who teaches us to deal with the first heartbreak?

No one.

Except ourselves.

"You've taught yourself everything you need. Goal orientation. As soon as pressure is on you, fight it. Don't perish because of it. Walk your path with your head held high, write your own story. Because if you don't, others will do it for you. Without asking yourself what part you want to play in it."

Second fiddle. That was what Elura had mostly played in her story so far. She had fallen - too many times to count. But she had always gotten back up, no matter how hard the impact had been. In the hope of being first choice for once in the future. Since those school days, she had never lost that hope. It had felt, the moment she had finally seen Larissa Weems again, as if all that hope over the past few years had finally been rewarded. Her warm, heartfelt smile - those sparkling blue eyes. She had no difficulty whatsoever in recalling that moment of first seeing her again - she had also made an effort to carefully memorise her beautiful face. To refresh the memory of her, which had been so long ago.

The disbelief that had spread through her stomach at first had quickly turned into joy. Joy, however, which she had not really been able to show. Not because she didn't want to, no. But much more for the reason that she was afraid of losing her again anyway. To see someone else with her, to be able to do nothing but stand in the shadows.

"You are not a teacher at this school. Neither are you one of their students, you are decidedly too old for that," a relatively monotone voice snapped her out of her thoughts, making her frown in confusion. Elura had sat down on a bench a little away from the schoolyard - her nose buried in a book, which she read only half-heartedly, however. Her thoughts had been far away, completely blocking out any external events. Until that interruption. She raised her head, looking at the black-haired girl standing in front of her with a raised eyebrow. "I too wish you a good day." she replied before gently closing the book. "But yes, it's true. I am neither."

The girl didn't make any expression - merely eyed her in a strange way before her gaze fell on the book in her hands. "Then why are you here?" she asked another question, which, however, merely made Elura shake her head gently. "It's none of your business. I don't see why I should be accountable to you, especially since I don't even know you." The girl's behaviour puzzled her. Not least for the reason that she had seemingly just appeared out of nowhere. "Wednesday. Wednesday Addams." No sooner had she spoken her name than Elura's body tensed.

Addams.

Addams, after Gomez Addams. And Gomez was automatically linked to Morticia. Morticia Frump - or Addams, whatever her name was now. "You have already made the acquaintance of my mother." Nothing. No response from Elura, who was busy processing what she had just heard. "With my father, too." "How do you know that?" it finally escaped her lips, which had become eerily dry.

Wednesday seemed heartily unsurprised by the question - unless, of course, she was extremely talented at hiding her actual reactions behind that disinterested, almost creepy façade. "The yearbook. And your reaction to my name." She left. Without having waited for a response.

Elura was left behind, ignorant of how she felt a moment ago. How she should classify her feelings.

And for that one moment, she saw herself - sitting there, on that bench. The same book in her hand as she had all those years ago.

She rose, slowly, and made her way back to the high walls of Nevermore Academy. "You were always fond of that book. I remember always wondering why." She didn't have to lift her head to recognise whose voice it was. Even among thousands, she would have recognised it. It was Larissa, who had approached her with a gentle smile on her lips. "You spent hours reading it ..." the blonde added. "And it was you who always reminded me not to let time completely out of my sight," Elura replied, finally coming to a halt in front of the headmistress and looking up at her.

"Without you, I would have been late to class many times." The tall woman lowered her head, smirking, before shaking her head a little. "If, then you would have merely been a little late." Elura bit her lip lightly, looking at her counterpart wordlessly for a few moments. "I never thanked you for that." Surprised, the blonde raised her head, returning the look with which the young woman regarded her. "It was also no-" with a determined shake of her head she silenced Principal Weems. "Don't say that Because no matter how many times you told me it wasn't necessary, I still wouldn't be able to accept it." Her words were gentle - merely yet firm.

"Without you ... All my time here would have been black and white." Thoughts. She did not speak them, aware that they would not change her situation. A light touch on her cheek made her turn her attention back to the blonde. She looked into her eyes, into that beautiful, deep and reassuring blue. The smile she wore on her red-painted lips was honest, almost tender. Larissa herself radiated perfect warmth and calm. The same charisma as back then. With the difference that her authority had increased. Not in a negative way. She had never been someone who acted selfishly. Rather, she had been the kind of person who always tried to help others - who stood up for others without asking for anything in return.

Silence. It felt like there was nothing and no one else in this world. It was just the two of them. It felt right. Almost like coming home after a long, far too long time .... coming home. She was her home. She had always been, but she had never dared to open up to it.

And ... that's how it was going to stay for now.

"It's about time, isn't it?" Once again, it was Elura who destroyed the moment. Who could not face her feelings in the way she would have liked to. Larissa's expression stiffened for a moment before she blinked and nodded curtly. "Quite."

And there they went again. Separately, both heading in other directions. Another separation, which again felt like a disappointment to the young woman. She wanted to be honest. More than anything else. And the Rave'N was the best way to do that.

[mareenavee]

Criminal asks! *grabby hands*

8, 15, and 22 please :)

Maple!! I was half wondering if you'd made this ask game before I saw the actual post this morning LOL. They seem like your kind of discussions, and I'm here for it.

Thank you for these!

From this caustic ask game right here.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

We're all entitled to our opinions, but I refuse to believe Ondolemar actually wants to be a Thalmor. He does some real RIEKLING BEHAVIOR SHIT in the Embassy for you if you get some bard or whatever arrested for their Talos-flavored nonsense. (Please, I hate this quest as much as the next person. I'm definitely live and let live ambivalent about Talos nonsense.) Granted, to get him to help here, you yourself have to not be a [redacted] idiot with the vocabulary of a Riekling yourself. :>

If he agrees to help you, then you get this gem of a conversation five feet from Elenwen, who is, presumably his superior:

Ondolemar: "How dare you speak of the Thalmor in such a disgusting manner!" Razelan: "What? I didn't... hmm? No listen, you must have misunderstood... I would never openly insult your... that is to say..." Ondolemar: "Your insults and provocations have gone far enough! I'd kill you where you stand if I wasn't bound by my oath as an officer of the Aldmeri Dominion."

This is Riekling Behavior. It is Causing Problems On Purpose for some [redacted] just because they helped with a simple quest he could have definitely thrown his power around to accomplish without thievery and tomfoolery.

To my eye he wanted to see if you, the player, were willing to throw away all reason to help him, and do so without getting your ass caught and thrown in jail. He needs people who can manage simple tasks without getting the entire government involved so he can trust you in the future. For what? Very out of character to LET IN RANDOM PEOPLE to secret Thalmor business in a secret Thalmor unjoinable faction.

He does not want to be part of this and/or is trying to do something about them. Bet. (Anyway thanks for coming to my TES talk.)

15. That one thing you see in fanart all the time

Hmm. I am usually in awe of fanart to be perfectly honest. But I suppose, and this is likely my very Aro/Ace brain, if I see a lot of fanart of pairings of OC/NPC, and I can't tell what the OC's deal is outside of who they are paired with -- ie, set aside, they have no personality at all on their own, then I'm going to be a little less likely to give the art attention. I want to know who the characters are, not just who they're [redacted.] Ya know what I mean? Sorry that's pretty blunt but it's true. I think this is why my favorite fanart is from or for people whose characters are part of a larger work -- ie a comic or a fanfiction. So I can understand the character.

This is specifically about fanart of pairings with no story other than x OC is with x NPC, that's it, that's their story. I am usually still in awe of just OC artwork, or just NPCs. And yeah there's always going to be exceptions but the question brought to mind maybe three artists I find myself bored of seeing work from LOL out of the hundreds I do love to follow.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

...Am I allowed to say Athis here?

Okay so. I don't think I have to defend him to you, Maple lol (: But for others who may be out of the loop -- we stan a good Athis and we just want him to make something of his life. Yes, yes.

Anyway he exists. He's that one elf dude in the Companions? That one, yes. He was a shell of a character, yes, in Vanilla. He also looks a bit... We'll just keep our opinions on the vanilla art direction to ourselves in this case. Anyway it's little wonder he's been ignored...

But yes, please, you're ignoring a favorite bean, friends. Write more Athis. I don't even care how you write him, but please. Join me in the tag. LOL he deserves attention.

I picked him for World because he was a shell character and due to the project I've become enamored of all the iterations that could be. So ... join me in the brain rot. Yes, thank you.

[yukidragon]

Hi Yuki! I just want to say that I adore the character Alice and all the writing you do for her! Her personality, her backstory and family, and especially her story with Jack are always such a joy to read, and I love learning her lore or how she'd act in different scenarios! 💞 If it's alright to ask, I am also attempting to write a character who experiences a similar chronic pain/illness as Alice, but I'm having trouble finding information. Do you have any recommendations or references? Thanks!

Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so glad that you like Alice, her family, and her story, as well as all the AU variants involving her. It really makes me happier than I can express that you and others like her so much.

Well... if it comes to chronic pain/illness, there's no one size fits all. You need to decide what sort of condition feels right for your character, and what you feel comfortable enough to explore with tact and empathy. After that, it's a good idea to look for places where people who have those conditions feel comfortable enough to talk about them publicly. Medical pages can give information about symptoms, but they don't paint the full picture about what it's like to live with that sort of condition. Chronic illness/pain takes a mental toll on the people who live with them as well as their loved ones, and personal accounts can tell a lot more than medical textbooks about the human side of things.

For instance, the reference I use for Alice's illness is from, well, my life. She has the same chronic illness that I suffer from. She's the first character that I've felt comfortable enough to express this very personal part of myself and explore it in various ways.

I'm afraid that I can't tell you what the condition is called... because the doctors don't have a name for it. That's why I intentionally chose not to name it in writing. Not naming it is its own form of self-indulgence for me, if I'm being honest.

Admittedly, I allowed Alice's reality to be kinder to her, and in her world doctors do know what it is and have a treatment for it, if not a cure. She can live a normal life with minimal pain as long as she takes medication, with only the occasional intense flare up, like I wrote about in this post.

Honestly, this is something that I really love about fandoms like SDJ and the OCs made for it. We're all encouraged to put larger pieces of ourselves into our OCs and really explore parts of ourselves that we might have been too worried to touch on. Alice is a very special character for me because through her and the fandom I've grown comfortable enough to finally explore a character with my same condition in fiction.

Alice isn't a self-insert of me, as there are still plenty of differences between us and our experiences, but I can't tell you how freeing it's been to explore these elements of my life through her. Every character has a piece of their author in them, and Alice is the first one I've given some of my harshest pieces. That's why I'm so, so appreciative when you and others tell me that you like her too. Thank you so much.

With that said, I'm afraid that I can't point you to a specific website for references on writing about characters with chronic illness/pain. I do think it's very admirable that you want to write a character who deals with that. Honestly, I would have loved to have seen more in fiction as I grew up with my illness. There's something truly special about being able to relate to a character on such a personal level, especially when they're going through something similar to what you struggle with. It makes me happy seeing characters who struggle with such harsh conditions still managing to have adventures, happy relationships, and memorable experiences.

Something I can suggest is to approach the subject with empathy. A chronic condition means that there is no magic cure for it, at least not completely. Often times there are ways to treat it, or at least manage it, even if it's something as simple as taking it easy and accepting that some things are more of a challenge for someone with that condition.

A chronic condition is something that someone must simply live with, but that doesn't mean they can't live full and fulfilling lives. If anything, it makes me happy to see someone with chronic pain/illness being the hero. I loved Eda from the Owl House all the more because she was living with a chronic condition, even if it was a magical curse. It makes me happy seeing stories that explore that sort of struggle.

A chronic condition is another challenge for a character to face and overcome. It's a constant struggle, but it can be rewarding to persevere and succeed in spite of the added difficulty. It's also something that can leave them feeling vulnerable, and how they deal with that can tell you a lot about that character. It can also serve as an opportunity to explore how the people around them will react when someone they know has to deal with a chronic condition that can't be cured, and how they continue to deal with it as an outside observer.

Good luck with your writing and crafting your character. I eagerly look forward to seeing what you create, and I hope you have a fun and fulfilling experience. 💗

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[biffhofosho]

I'm just curious about why do you not like writing in second person? Why do you prefer third? I see most fanfictions written in second person so I was just wondering why you made the decision to write your work in third person? And I see you posted a new Hyungwon piece, I can't wait for work to get over so I can read it cause I love all your work so much!

Thank you for this ask! I will try and edit my fiery lion as I answer even though I know I can't lol.

I don't dislike second person; I actively hate it. :D

This is really for a lot of reasons, but I will limit myself to three and then explain what I mean.

It's pointless.

It's usually disingenous.

It doesn't make any logical sense.

To point one: All writers in all of history create characters when they write. It is impossible to write an actual reader. Impossible. Period.

It doesn't matter if those annoying hair color, eye color, Y/L/N or Y/B/F acronyms are there. It will never, ever be every nebulous reader out there. Why? Because by writing the story, the author is making choices for that character that will inevitably rule out part of their audience. (Side note: authors, please don't call it a "named reader" either--that's just a character lol. Own it.)

The moment I read about Y/N drinking her morning coffee, my brain screams "Nope! Not me!" I hate coffee, can't even stand the smell. What if I'm shy and awkward (I'm neither lol), but I'm reading about Y/N trading sexual innuendos with Minhyuk? What if I don’t like wearing dresses, but Y/N is wearing a strapless ass-hugger in the club? I can’t walk in heels either. Uh-oh. What if my hair is short, but Joohoney is supposed to be running his fingers through my tresses? You get the drift. But taking out those descriptors feels like stage directions, and that’s boring af to read, which is why authors put in the details in the first place.

For a beloved friend, I once fired out a second person drabble (which feels more acceptable to me because it's like a conversation at that point), and even though I know her well, I put her character in a situation which, later, she teasingly said, "I would never ride a rollercoaster, but I would for you." Ha ha, cute, but also, see? Even intimately knowing my "you" character, I still made an untrue rendition of her.

None of that would prompt me to stop reading (nor did it take out my friend who enjoyed my drabble regardless), but I have seen some very solid pieces with borderline flame comments that say, "yOu sAiD Y/N HaS BrOwN HaIr. I DoN'T HaVe bRoWn hAiR. tHiS ToOk mE OuT Of tHe sToRy aNd i cOuLdN'T FiNiSh. YoU ShOuLd cHaNgE ThAt!"

Yeah, that was an actual comment I once saw (though the style choice is me just emphasizing my scathing tone). Rude af, and, yeah, I wanted to punch that reader in the boob for demanding something so unreasonable (ever heard of a commission???), but it underscores my point.

We don't complain about movies and television and published novels being in first and third. Why not? Nothing's ever stopped us from imagining ourselves in those OC roles before, so why the shift? A different discussion maybe, but it's something to think about.

To point two: Most writers don't even like writing in it! To those that do, I would never begrudge them their voice, but I don't think the average fic reader really knows how much authors don't like writing second person--they simply feel they have to because that's where the demand has moved.

I commission a lot of writers I enjoy, and before we strike up a deal, I always ask if they're comfortable creating an OC and writing in 1st or 3rd. Every single last writer I've commissioned (I think it's six at this point?) has said the exact same thing to me.

"I don't like writing in second, but it's what gets notes."

>:(

The thought of a writer sacrificing their artistic integrity for a heart-smash sets my teeth on edge. If you're going to go to all the effort to create an alternate universe (and, let's be real, that takes, at the minimum, hours or, in my case, years), let it be true to your voice. That's why I say, if you love writing second, do it. But I know that's not true for the vast majority of fic writers, and it aches my artistic soul.

To point three: Simply put, second person makes no actual sense at all???

If the goal is for me (the reader) to be the main character in the story, how is that to work? I don't think of myself as "you". I think of myself as "I". So shouldn't it be written in first person? Otherwise, it sounds more like I'm reading a stranger as the MC...

I don't know where this commitment to second started, but I wish I could time travel back and undo it. I've been writing third person established character/OC fanfiction since I was sixteen. I just turned 40. I will never write anything else. My preference is third for the freedom it affords (between the limited and omniscient and objective focuses, I find something tailored to suit every piece I create), but at least I understand first because I live it every day lol.

In conclusion: I have no idea how this turned out. I was trying to be equal parts tongue-in-cheek and serious, but maybe it's just kinda bitchy? My first draft was exactly the way I wanted, and I accidentally closed the tab and had to start over. :( Maybe my next rant should be on how Tumblr should have an auto-save feature...

Also, weirdly, I don't ever insert myself in a second person fic anyway. I usually put one of my OCs in (generally my bae, Wally, from "Idol Thieves" because I might be in love with that stubborn bitch). There's something weird to me about copy-pasting myself into a story, but is that just me?

In the end, I guess I'm just grateful that there are still people who can appreciate my craft the way I craft it. I'm different. I like to be so. Read second person if you want to, write it if you want to (but only if you WANT to, not because you feel you have to, pleaseeeeeeeeeeee). Either way, you will never ever find it here, and maybe that's why you're here anyway. :D

So, anyway, thanks for asking (and I'm sorry if you regret it lol)! I hope you enjoy the new story. I love it and feel like I've lived it, even if the OC is not me lol.

(Also, I already had this second pov tag in my tag list lol.)

[m-jelly]

jelly i see you post often ! do you have any tips on how not to feel like youre being redundant with your writing ? my ocs’ stories feel like carbon copies of each other

Hello!

So, I don't usually write OCs, but I do make up characters in stories and change the way the reader is a few times, so I guess it is slight OC?

The advice I guess? I'll do my best and I hope this helps!

Background

What is your OCs background? Switch it up a little an OC with dead parents is going to be very different from one who had two loving parents, or a huge family!

- Dead parents = When someone lacks parents, they either become very independent on their own, or they will crave affection and connections emotionally with someone.

- Past abuse = They could struggle to connect to people or be very brave and protective of others. Have they come to terms with the abuse? If not, then they'll have nightmares and trouble sleeping which would lead to bags under their eyes etc. Faced it and fight? They'd be strong and help others and confrontational when seeing something bad.

- Loving home = Grounded OC, caring and easy-going. If they had brothers and sisters, then that could change the way they are personality-wise. For example, I have a brother and it's made me a tomboy who loves video games, skateboards, horror and nerdy things.

People's backgrounds are a part of them. When writing someone, don't give it all away at once, but slowly reveal someone's past by their actions and personality. So, if she's a tomboy, she'd be playful and snap back with comments and be chill. If she has abuse in her past, she might retract from touch.

Weaknesses

You don't want a mary sue on your hands, an OC that appears to be perfect. There has to be something that makes them a little weak, in a manner of speaking. Their weaknesses are like little quirks. Remember, perfection doesn't exist and we ourselves aren't perfect!

- Intellect = Is there something they're not good at intellectually? So, one of my past y/n sucked at maths, but she was very good at politics (she was a Queen). She was trying to make deals, but someone started talking maths and Levi jumped in and helped because she panicked a little.

- Skills = Is there a skill they don't have? Levi can't draw for shit, we know that, but the same can apply for your OC. She could be tone-deaf, can't dance, have terrible aim, bad spatial awareness etc.

- Self-view = Do they love themselves a lot or hate themselves? If they hate, then what part do they hate and why? If they hate their body, why? What part do they hate the most? If someone hates their body, they're likely to dress differently and likely cover themselves up. They would even hug themselves more to hide their stomach a little

Body type and looks

Switch up the body type your OC has. There are so many body shapes out there and a lot don't get written for, like tall people or plus size. I see a lot of thin average body shape characters being made and it's nice, but it'd be nicer to read about someone normal for a change.

- Height = They tall or short? Tall people have a different experience of life than short ones. I'm a very short person, so I know the troubles of not reaching up high for things. Tall people have other issues, like people not wanting to date them because they have an issue with someone being tall (so stupid)

- Size = What shape is your OC? If male, are they dad bod, plus size, skinny or muscles? If female, are they thin, muscular, curvy, plus size? Different body types mean that their personality and confidence will be different for each type. You can have a very confident plus size, or you can have one with no confidence etc.

- Scars and marks = There's so much you can put here! Glasses, moles, freckles, birthmarks, scars, stretch marks etc. Everyone has at least something here, so make sure to add a little something. No one has perfect skin.

- Chest size = This is for female OC. So, as a large-breasted woman, the number of times I read OCs or y/n not wearing a bra under clothes instantly loses my concentration. Bras are important, okay? xD Anyway, boobs come in all shapes and sizes, so make sure you change it up a little

Don't make your OC too unique because they then become too unrealistic. Don't make your OC too lead character like some people are in real life. They gotta be relateable.

Don't forget that you can make your character disabled too, they don't get represented enough! Make sure you do some research if you are doing this.

Goals and aims

Not all OCs will have the same goals and aims. This will all depend on your story plot. So, one might want to be Queen, another might want to destroy everything. You could have one trying to find love, another just wanting to live.

- What's the end goal? = What is your OCs goal at the end of your story? It'll take time for them to get it, so they have to face issues along the way.

- Achieve it, give up or do something else? = Things don't always work out, so goals and aims might change. Does something happen to stop them from getting their goal? Do they get hurt? Do they find another purpose? Not all reasons for leaving a goal will be bad, they can be good reasons.

I'll make a little Character card that might help as well. I do this with characters I make up for Ao3 stories.

Name:

Age:

Hair colour:

Eye colour:

Height:

Body type:

Sexuality:

Love interest (current or who becomes it):

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Unique body and personality traits:

Background:

Goal and aims:

Hope this helps! If you need anything else, just let me know <3

[trivia-bangtan]

after (jjk) 002

masterlist

pairing: patient!oc x patient!jungkook

genre: friends to lovers au, kinda a hazel and gus trope, | lots of angst, fluff and suggestive themes

warning: nothing that bad. just the usual bluntness lol

authors note: aaaah so many of you are so supportive! thank you for following the story! i appreciate it! again, my inbox and asks are always open! so don’t be shy ☺️ [unedited and not proofread]

i spoke too soon. i could hear the footsteps behind me approach before stopping completely, probably five to six feet away.

“you look sad,” the voice pipes up behind me, causing me to jump and whip around. oh, it’s him. i rolled my eyes and flicked my cigarette, turning back to face forward.

“is that supposed to be some sort of lame joke?” i asked, raising the toxic stick to my lips and inhaling. i hear him chuckle as i release the smoke from mylungs.

“what’s so funny?” i ask, losing patience with the situation itself.

“the irony of this situation. the cancer kid asking the depressed girl sucking on cancer sticks if she’s sad,” he shrugs. i felt the guilt creep into my heart like an illness, causing me to throw the cigarette to the ground and crush it.

“sorry,” i murmur, folding my arms across my chest, the toe of my shoe kicking the ash around on the ground.

“why? you’re allowed to indulge in life’s pleasures while you can,” the guy shrugged.

“it’s not much of a pleasure if it kills i guess,” i scoff, looking around the parking lot that was becoming vacant quickly.

“anything in this life can kill you. so why should you stop living if you enjoy it,” he smiles, finally stepping next to me. i glanced over at him, his appearance still a surprise to me.

“i know what you’re thinking. how could a guy like me, so incredibly good looking, have a leech like illness that kills? well, even incredibly good looking people get sick,” he smiles, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

“how do you do that? make everything seem like it’s no big deal?” i ask, no longer avoiding the burning question.

“well, look at it this way. people fear that tomorrow may never come, but it does. even if we live. even if we die. so why waste our time trying to avoid that life will continue to go on without us, when we can live now in a life where we still exist? where we can still watch the sun rise and fall or the wind blow or water fall? why deny ourselves of life when death is inevitable,” he smiles. i had wished i had his outlook on life. and now i felt truly ashamed standing next to a guy full of so much life when i’m practically trying to get rid of mine. i tried to make sense of his words, hoping to adapt the same mentality to my life. i hoped one day i could see the world in a way he did.

“i’m yn,” i say after some time, deciding to introduce myself to the interesting boy.

“fair warning, once i give you my name, don’t fall in love because i might die,” he chuckles, causing me to laugh at his insane dark humor. he sticks his hand out, offering it to me. i take it and shake his hand as he smiles at me.

“i’m jungkook,” he said, smiling at me.

“how did you know i was depressed?” i finally asked. i hoped yoongi hadn’t blabbed to him and told him anything. i don’t know why it mattered but i don't want everyone to know everything about me. the less the better.

“i looked like you not that long ago, partially because of the cancer, the other part the depression. the dull eyes, the short fuse. sound like anyone you know?” he teases, bumping his shoulder into mine, causing me to roll my eyes as i chuckled.

“if you say so,” i smiled, allowing my eyes to drift across the vacated parking lot. where was my mom? i know she knows what time i’m supposed to get out.

“you waiting on someone?” jungkook asks, noting how i hadn’t moved to try and leave.

“my mom was supposed to pick me up but i’m pretty sure she forgot. i wouldn’t be surprised,” i said, muttering the last part more to myself. my mother was pretty notorious for forgetting to pick up.

“well, how far do you live? i can walk you home if you want? i usually walk after the sessions,” jungkook smiled.

“it’s a bit of a hike so it’s fine. don’t worry about it,” i smile, knowing i was lying through my teeth. i lived probably 10 minutes by drive, 30 by walk. it was a bit of journey, but it was doable. but i still didn’t know jungkook and i definitely didn’t want him to know where i lived.

jungkook laughed, his smile as effervescent as the sun shining down on us.

“what’s so funny?” i asked, slightly off put by his teasing laughter.

“you’re a shit liar, you know that?” jungkook finally said after he finished laughing.

“what do you mean?” i asked. i know i didn’t have an emmy winning poker face, but i didn’t think it was that bad.

“if i tell you, you’ll stop. and i think your habits are pretty cute,” he shrugged. i felt my cheeks warm at his compliment, which threw me for a loop since i wasn’t the shy type. but he had this hold on me and it made me anxious.

“leave me alone,” i grumbled, turning my face away from him, making him laugh even more.

“can i at least wait with you? until your mom came?” jungkook offered.

“why are you so dead set on caring for me? you barely even know me,” i asked. my tone wasn’t the gentlest, but it bothered me how kind he was being for someone he barely knew.

“well my mom raised me to be a gentleman and you’ve piqued my interest,” he smiled, not showing any effect to my abrasive personality. jungkook baffled me to no extent. why he was the way he was, i’ll probably never understand, but i continued to feel like crap the more i treated him like he was out to get me.

i know i haven’t known him for very long, but he didn’t seem like the type to have ill intent. i mean, the guy had cancer, i’m sure he wasn’t too concerned with hurting people while he was literally dying. so i let him wait with me.

we ended up sitting on the curb, talking about life before who we currently were.

jungkook was a junior in college who eventually had to stop going because of the cancer. he was diagnosed when he was 14 and the doctors said he wouldn’t make it to 16. now he was 21, almost 22, taking online classes when he wasn’t cooped up in the hospital. he wanted to become a director or a producer, loving the camera through and through. jungkook knew namjoon through his eldest brother, seokjin, who happened to practically raise jungkook on his own. his parents worked overseas occasionally, but when they found out jungkook got sick, they had to move back to korea and decided to work closer to home, traveling on emergency basis only.

“so that’s my life. i would ask you about yours but you seem like the mystique type,” jungkook chuckles, making me chortle in response.

“i just choose not to share my life with people because i don’t want to hurt anyone i could leave behind,” i answered honestly, my eyes focused on my legs that were outstretched in front of me.

“but, then, how would anyone remember you?” jungkook asked, the first sign of sadness i had seen on his features finally creeping onto his face. it didn’t make sense why he would be saddened by this. unless…

“are you scared people won't remember you?” i asked, focusing on his features as he prepared to answer.

“doesn’t everyone want to be remembered?” he asked, dodging my question in the process.

“not me. i haven’t lived a life worth remembering,” i shrug. this seemed to further shock jungkook, which further confused me.

“this is the first time i’ve ever heard anyone say that. usually people live their lives to create stories that could be told long after they’re gone. isn’t that the whole purpose of life?” he says, too emotionally invested in the conversation. it intrigued me how passionate he could be about things.

“jungkook, you gotta understand.. the whole reason why i’m severely depressed and abnormally suicidal is because i see life as purposeless. i don’t see my future, hell, i don’t even see tomorrow happening for me! so when people ask what is life’s purpose, i can’t deny that there isn’t one. it’s just one long never ending road i want to get off of,” i heave, fully sitting upright as i spoke.

it took me a second, but i finally realized how close we were. jungkook was probably a mere couple of inches away and his eyes were wide and it was the first time since we’ve spoken that i couldn’t decipher the emotion behind his eyes.

suddenly a honk interrupted us and we both looked up while we pulled away. i spotted my mom casually making her way to the entrance of the building. we both stood up and watched her drive up. when she finally made her way over to us, parking, i turned to jungkook.

“did you want a ride home? we could drop you off,” i offered, feeling bad that he now had to walk home after waiting for me.

“nah, i have to meet someone somewhere else before i go home, but thank you,” he smiles. he walks with me to my mom’s car, even pulling the door open for me. i smile at him as i slide inside.

“thank you for waiting with her! you’re such a gentleman!” my mom coos, cheesing at jungkook.

“anytime mrs. yln! if you ever need me to give her a ride home, too, i’d be more than happy to,” jungkook smiles. i look up at him and glared, knowing he knew my mom wouldn’t refuse the offer.

“what a nice young man! thank you…?” she pauses, waiting for him to give her his name.

“jungkook. jeon jungkook,” he smiles.

“thank you jungkook! i will consider that! did you need a ride?” she smiles. i have never seen her smile this much. ever.

“i’m okay but thank you ma’am. you two drive safe. i’ll see you next week yn,” he smiles, shutting my door and waving us off. my mom forces me to wave back, and then we speed off.

“so? how was it?” she asked, still carrying a smile. it must be the effects of meeting jungkook cause i couldn’t seem to stop smiling either.

“it was fine,”i mumble. i could’ve been honest and told her that it wasn’t as bad as i assumed it would be, but i didn’t want to jinx it. i wanted to have hope, like jungkook, for the first time in life that something good could be happening.

[galacticwildfire]

found.

Seven.

Pairing: Kenobi!oc x Din Djarin

Summary: Satine and Obi-wan’s daughter fought in the war against the Empire and lost her faith when she lost Mandalore. Until she found him. A lone Mandalorian searching for a Jedi.

Warnings/tags: spiders, referring to spiders in the classic aussie style of “big bastards” and “little bastards”, some swearing, naked frog lady, force powers, quite a bit of fluff, bonding, crash landings, teensy bit of angst, grogu once again being a lil shite but adorable, prolonged stares

Word Count: 4k

A/N: shortish and lighthearted chapter, good times, being a chaotic duo exhausted with life together. Next chapter there’s gonna be some drama.

~

~

~

"Wake up Mandalorians. This cannot wait until morning."

We jump awake to a droid talking at us, Din's hand is on his blaster and mine's pointing my ignited saber at the threat, only to find it being a mangled droid in the wreckage but that doesn't calm Din's nerves one bit.

Then we see the Frog Lady beside it and somehow that's more terrifying. "Do not be alarmed. I bypassed the droids security protocols and accessed its vocabulator."

While I'm impressed Din is far from that.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks as he shoves his blaster back into his holster and I disengage my lightsaber, straightening myself up from where I slept on him and notice the cover of frost over his armour. "That droid is a killer."

The child is still in a sleepy state as he looks around in confusion and I tuck him back under the blanket to keep him warm.

"Is this really necessary?" I ask looking at the droid and pull the blanket back up over my arms. "It is the middle of the night, not the time for conversation."

"These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle," she says and the child looks at them a bit too happily so I keep a firm hold on him. "My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family line."

I go quiet, her words pressing a nerve I've long tried to avoid. One I've avoided ever since the day I become Duchess, the last of my line besides Bo Katan. And not just that, but the weight that's been on my shoulders my entire life as one of the last Jedi. To continue the order.

"I must ask that you hold yourselves true to the deal that you agreed to."

Din and I look at each other and then at the wreckage we're in.

"Look Lady, the deal is off," he says roughly. "We're lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives."

"We're sorry okay, we really are. I understand having fought and suffered too much to resign yourself to your line ending," I tell her quietly. "We'll do whatever we can but we're hardly in a position to just pick up and leave this planet."

"I thought honouring one's word was a part of the Mandalorian code, and protecting the innocent was that of the Jedi. I guess those are just stories for children."

Din and I look at each other and know she's got us with our hands tied.

He sighs heavily as he stands and aggressively picks up the toolbox. "This was not part of the deal."

I follow him out and we survey the damage from outside once again, it doesn't look any better than it did a few hours ago.

"I don't suppose you could use the force to fix this?"

"Unfortunately that's not how the force works," I regretfully inform him and he sighs again.

"Are you good at fixing ships?"

"Unfortunately that's a no as well, I was a ground commander, not a pilot."

He sighs once again, he might not be a man of many words but he sure is a man of many sighs. "Kill anything that jumps out then?"

"That I can do."

~

I sit with a blaster and a saber, keeping an eye out as he works on the ship, still mildly traumatised from the wampa's on Hoth. Eventually the kid waddles out as Din's working on the ship.

"How about you come over here, give me a hand," he says to the kid. "Make yourself useful."

"He won't be much more help than me," I say going to pick him up so he's not walking around in the snow but he continues to waddle off. "Hey, come here."

When I lift him up I bring him around to the other side of the ship so Din can work in peace and he points to tracks in the snow.

"Shit," I whisper and the child looks at me in curiosity at hearing a new word. "You didn't hear that. Din!"

"What?"

"The Frog Lady, she took off."

"Dank farrik!" I hear him curse and I'm glad I won't be the only bad influence on the child. He comes to stand beside me and looks at the tracks.

"We better find her," he says and I put a hand on his chest to stop him when he steps forward. "What?"

"You got that flame thrower?" He nods. "Good, I have a feeling we'll need it."

~

Din holds the kid as we venture through the caves. Again, still paranoid and thinking of wampa's. Half wishing I would find one so I could skin it and make a coat.

Something's down here, but it doesn't feel like a wampa.

"I have a bad feeling about this," I say igniting my saber which spreads light through the dark tunnels.

"Keep an eye out," he says holding the kid closer to his chest with a hand on his holster.

We come to a cave opening and I have to admit I'm a little surprised to find the frog lady naked in a steaming pond but I honestly can't blame her.

"There you are," Din says barely hiding his irritation. "You can't leave the ship, it's not safe out here."

Din sets the child down by the hot pool and he notices the eggs in it before I do. I bend down and put the kid behind me with a stern warning look as I help gather up the eggs.

The lady whines in protest. "I know it's warm but nights coming fast and I can't protect you out here."

"We're all freezing our asses off please just get dressed, your eggs will be fine, but it isn't safe here. We need to get back to the ship," I say a little less courteously as I hand her her clothes but something doesn't feel right. She makes an offended sound which is followed by Din telling the child off for getting too close to the eggs.

I look back as he wanders off through the snow quite happily and keep half an eye on him as we continue collecting the eggs until my eye catches a different kind.

Spider eggs.

"Hey, no!" I yell as I jump to my feet and pick the kid up as he breaks into one of the eggs. "No!" Then I look around at them all and curse. "We've gotta get the hell out of here!"

Din looks back at me just as a rumbling fills the cave and the eggs begin to hatch. He stands there stunned while I whip my saber out and start running with the child in my arms. "Come on!"

He grabs the frog eggs and by the time they're almost caught up to the kid and I at the caves exit we hear a deep growl.

"Oh not good," I whisper as we see it appear. "Not good at all. Run!"

By the time they stop staring at the sight the kid and I are far from that cave and running through the tunnel back to the ship, the kid being my main priority. "Hurry up!"

"I'm trying!" he yells from down the other end of the tunnel and I hear blaster shots. "Just go!"

And so I do, only for a giant spider leg to break through the ice in front of me and without hesitation I cut through it with my saber just as Din catches up but it only seems to piss it off more.

"Don't stop," he says pushing me along as he throws explosives through the tunnel and we hear them explode as we run but no matter how many of the little bastards we take out with our weapons there are too many.

"Got that flamethrower?" I ask clutching the kid to my chest as we near the end of the tunnel and he torches them, but even that's not enough.

We run into the cave towards the ship but there's too many for any weapon we have to take them out. Except for one.

And so I stop and face them.

"What are you doing!" Din yells but falls silent as I use the force to bring down the roof of the tunnel upon them, destroying the entrance to the cave we stand in and finally it's quiet.

I turn back to Din who stares at me in a mixture of shock and awe while the child looks up at me with those big wonder filled eyes.

"That, is how you use the force."

Then I feel it. Slowly I turn and look behind us at the destroyed tunnel.

"What?" Din asks anxiously while the child in my arms whines.

"It's not dead," I breathe. "The big one. It's not dead and I'm not taking any chances. We need to get the hell out of here!"

I don't have to tell any of them twice as we run into the ship and climb up into the cockpit.

Din jumps into the pilots seat while I hold the child in my lap and the Frog Lady cradles her eggs.

"Plan?"

"Strap yourself in," he says firing up the ship. "This better work."

Then I feel it. "It's coming, and it's pissed."

"Where?"

"I don't know but it's too close that's for sure."

He curses. "I've got limited visibility, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."

"Just get us out of this damn cave."

He doesn't waste any time and there's a jolt as we lift off the ground, the heavy layer of snow covering the ship falling and for a moment we're about to take off until a heavy weight forces us back down and we hit the ground with a thud.

The child lets out a shriek as one of the spiders legs pierces the windshield, followed by another, both narrowly avoiding Din.

I go to grab my saber but still when the beast peers in at us through the broken cockpit and I realise it's more intelligent than I gave it credit for. It raises itself up and unleashes its mouth, suctioning the glass with its teeth.

"Oh no," I say jumping out of my seat and putting the child in Din's lap.

"Where are you going!" Din yells as I head for the door.

"To kill it before it kills us!"

He yells out in protest but I'm already halfway down the ladder and running out the hole in the ship when I'm stopped by loud, familiar blasts.

I stand there stunned with my saber in hand as I see Carson and Trapper shooting it and watch as it collapses on the cockpit, dead.

Din runs out and we stand there quite literally caught in the spotlights of their ships. He brings out his blaster and slowly I lower it back to his side.

"Hi guys," I say awkwardly, remembering that both of us have arrest warrants. "I am sure glad to see you."

"Thought you might need some help," Carson says looking at the state of the ship and the giant arachnid. "We ran the tabs on the Razor Crest. Your friend here has an arrest warrant for the abduction of Prisoner X-6-9-11."

"No one's perfect," I say trying to laugh it off knowing that we are sorely fucked. "Would it help if I said I vouched for him?"

"Oh trust me we know, and possibly," Carson says, he's known me since I was eighteen. Ten years now. He doesn't want to bring me in and I know from those years spent on base after base that he trusts my judgement. Hopefully it extends to Din as well who he addresses. "Your onboard security records show that you apprehended three priority culprits from the Wanted Register. Security records also show that you put your own life in harm's way to try to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps. Is this true?"

I look at him knowing he neglected to include that part when he was telling me about his prison heist but hopefully there'll be time for that later. But one thing's certain, even though he might have done bad things he's not a bad guy.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Technically you should be," he answers. "But these are trying times."

"And her?" Din asks, his concern taking me by surprise and I give them a hopeful smile.

Carson lets out a heavy breath. "Everyone who fought in the Rebellion knows you were right to kill those two Imperials. We know what they did to Alderaan, to Mandalore and countless other planets. To the innocent men, women and children of those planets. They escaped justice just as Moff Gideon did. The senate refused to recognise it then but they won't have any choice now. The situation is growing bad again, we all know it. We need our best fighter in the field even if the Republic won't support her."

"So I'm free to go?"

He nods. "The Republic might no longer recognise your authority General but you have the respect of every soldier in the Rebellion, and that still counts for something. It might seem like the Rebel Alliance died the day the Republic was formed but we're still here, we still remember the dark times and those who fought against all odds, those who disobeyed orders to save their troops. That fire still burns."

Tears fill my eyes and I feel the ring that bears the signet of the Rebel Alliance on my finger.

"We've heard there's outrage in the core worlds over these charges," Trapper tells me. "There's no doubt Princess Leia will ensure they're dropped. Until then I recommend you stay in the outer rims."

"Thank you," I breathe feeling like I might just collapse from relief. "Thank you."

I feel Din's hand lightly on my back to steady me. "What say I forgo the bounties on these three criminals and you two help me fuse my hull so we can get off this frozen rock?"

"What say you fix that transponder and we don't vaporise that antique the next time we patrol the Rim?"

Din tilts his helmet in a way that says fair is fair and they look back to me.

"Be careful General, we've heard rumours the Empire is targeting the heroes of the Rebellion which is likely the reason for these charges. Apparently Lando got in a scuffle with some Imperials on Cloud City and Han, well it's Han."

"Then let's make sure those bastards stay in the outer rims," I say and they both nod to me.

"As you order General."

With that the roofs of their ships lower and they salute me before they fly off.

"Well that went better than expected," Din says as they disappear through the hole we made in the cave.

"Far better than expected," I breathe, leaning into him and laughing as I look back at the spider slung over the ship. "What's that now? Two beasts in a week?"

"You didn't kill that one though," he points out.

"Well I would have," I reply and an amused sound escapes him. "Hey, I cut one of its legs off!"

"A leg, it had eight," he retorts and so I point to the collapsed tunnel with a smug little smirk on my face and he gives in. "Alright you win."

"Ha!" I laugh gleefully, feeling invigorated for once despite nearly being arrested twice. "You're impressed don't lie."

He looks at the spider. "I'd be more impressed if you could use the force to get that thing off."

I shrug and decide to give it a go, lifting my hand up and channelling my strength. Slowly it begins to slide off before coming to a halt, after a few tugs I give up. "It's stuck."

He sighs again. "Plan B then."

"You're still impressed," I tease and it's worth it when I can feel a smile tugging at his lips beneath that helmet.

We return inside to where the Frog Lady and the kid wait for us.

"All right. I'm gonna repair the cockpit enough for us to limp to Trask," he tells us. "There's nothing I can do about the main hull's integrity so we're gonna have to get cozy in the cockpit."

The idea of that doesn't sound too bad at all and despite our current predicament it's been a while since I've felt this optimistic.

"It's the only thing I can pressurise," he continues. "If you need to use the privy do it now. It's gonna be a long ride."

The lady excuses herself and the kid looks at the two of us, despite not being able to talk I can still hear him loud and clear when he notices that we both look like hot messes, or rather frosty ones.

"Well, at least we're all alive," he says looking around at the ship.

"And covered in ice."

"That too," he sighs only now just looking at his armour and sighing deeply before looking at me properly. He reaches out and touches my bare arm, a soft gasp escapes me as his gloved fingertips slide down to my fingers and inspects them. "No frostbite?"

It isn't frostbite that made me gasp.

"I should be fine," I assure him as he picks up a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders, the slight touches making me warmer than they should. "If we get too cold there's nothing a flamethrower can't fix right?"

He chuckles at his own words. "Well there's one thing."

"Mmm?"

"This ship."

I just laugh. "Not to worry, we're still flying half a ship."

And he actually laughs as well. "Make yourself comfortable, it will take a while to do repairs."

"I'm afraid I'm not much help with that but I can keep the kid out of mischief."

We both look from him to the eggs and he just coos at us.

"Sounds like a plan," he says and his voice softens. "You're good with him, you really look out for him."

"I thought his powers would be the thing I'd end up worrying about, but no. I neglected to realise that I'd be looking after an actual child whose main priority is food." He shares a knowing chuckle. "He's a good kid, just gets into a bit of mischief." The kid makes a confused sound when I pick him up. "You heard me."

He reaches out to grab Din's finger and his large hand comes to rest on my shoulder as he takes a moment to dote on his son who smiles up at him.

And standing like this, with the kid in my arms and Din's protective hand holding me, it feels more right than anything I've ever known.

~

Hours go by while Din repairs the ship and I keep the child entertained. Trying to get a better sense of what he's capable of but in the end I'm just keeping him away from the lady's eggs. I can almost hear my father laughing at my predicament. Once again I know I'll need some advice from Leia on raising a kid because it's definitely something I never planned on doing.

Finally Din returns seeming at ease.

"Okay repairs all done, let's see if we can get this thing going once and for all."

And we lift off. It's shaky and the giant spider makes it more than a little difficult but we get there, there's a few bumps as we fly back out of the hole we made but we do it.

We leave the atmosphere and finally settle back in our seats.

"Wake me up if someone shoots at us, or that door gets sucked off its rails," Din says letting his head fall back against the headrest. While I laugh at his dry humour the frog lady makes a concerned sound and he looks back at us. "I'm kidding. If that happened we'd all be dead." His helmet tilts in my direction. "Sweet dreams."

The words send warmth through my still freezing body. "You too."

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer and I let a smile spread across my face after he turns back to face the windshield and I realise a moment too late he can see my face in its reflection.

~

A quiet beeping wakes us as we arrive at Trask after some much needed sleep. The kid's no longer in my lap but in Din's, wide awake.

"Looks like we made it, get ready for landing."

The blanket falls from around my shoulders into my lap as I sit up straight, still groggy from sleep. Din looks back at me. "You ever been to Trask?"

"Fortunately no," I comment having heard enough about it and mutter. "It's main export is fishing and it's infamous for being a grimy little hole." The Frog Lady once again sounds offended and I'm too tired to both backtracking. "Sorry, might be good for you but not for everyone."

"Don't worry, hopefully we won't be staying long," he says and I remember just why we're here. "Once we find the other Mandalorians there hopefully they can point us to your aunt."

It's then panic surges through me. How will these Mandalorians react when I tell them I'm Kyra Kryze, the Duchess of Mandalore? The Duchess that many like Bo-Katan believe abandoned them when that couldn't be further from the truth.

How will Din react when he finds out since it's no doubt inevitable at this point? Would he even care? He still barely recognises me as Mandalorian, some title wouldn't make a difference to him. At least I hope not. 

"I should warn you that they may not be overly friendly when I give them my name."

"Why's that?"

"My family wasn't viewed quite favourably by some Mandalorians," I answer and he doesn't push. "Not to mention even now some still hold an ancient grudge against the Jedi.

His words calm me. "Well if anything goes wrong we'll take care of it."

At least I still have time to prepare to see my aunt again. When we find out where she is then we can stop and take a breather before I have to face her.

Before I can say anything else he bangs on the controls. "Dank farrik, the landing array isn't responding. Without the guidance system it'll be a manual re-entry. It might get a little choppy."

"Can't be any worse than the last landing," I comment as he continues flicking at the controls.

"Once we're through the atmosphere there should be enough fuel to slow down," he says before muttering. "If we don't burn to a crisp."

When compared to the thought of facing my aunt it's an almost comforting alternative.

"Hold on?" I ask knowing last time I didn't quite get a warning.

"Hold on," he confirms and I pull the kid into my lap and hold onto him tight as we descend but he quickly changes his mind. "Second thought get up here, I need your hands!"

I give the kid to the Frog Lady and jump up, stumbling to the front of the cockpit and have to grab his seat for stability.

"This lever needs to stay back!" he yells and I grab on tight to it as we continue hurtling through the atmosphere in a fiery descent. "That's it."

"Razor Crest this is traffic flight control," a frustratingly calm voice says through the com. "Please reduce your speed to port protocol."

"I'm trying my best here!" He snaps. "Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!" We continue to plummet and he warns. "Hold on!"

Din slams the coms off and then we finally still above the landing pad below. "Here we go, nice and easy."

But it's another moment of false relief as the ship gives out and we fall into the water.

At this point neither of us curse, we're just both utterly defeated as we sink and stare at the sea life passing by.

"Another happy landing," I finally comment and the sound that escapes him is a mix between a strained laugh and an exhausted sigh of defeat.

"Again," he mutters. "Our luck couldn't get any worse."

"Please don't jink us," I sigh in exhaustion. "I've had enough giant creatures and bad landings for one week."

It's then we're thankfully pulled out of the water onto the landing strip.

"I don't want to look at it," Din sighs and I know he means the damage. "I really don't."

"At least we made it," I say offering a pained smile. "Maybe not in one piece but we made it."

Now it's time to face what I've run from for years now. Ever since the purge.

Other Mandalorians.

[the-sloth-woman]

These are continued from the oc asks which can be found here~!

7. What’s their “type”? What romantically attracts them to another person?

Lilly: I like... I like someone who knows who they are. Someone who's confident, and who isn't afraid to speak up about the things they're passionate about.

Alrick: This is easy, I like someone who's warm. I can't stand being with someone who's cold or callous. There's no fun in being in a relationship if I'm the only one contributing to it.

Alrick: A good body doesn't hurt either.

8. What does their dream house look like?

Lilly: A dream house? We live in a mansion, so I'm not sure-

Alrick: A place that my father doesn't own, a place where we can be ourselves without having to worry about him stopping by any damn minute of the day. A place that's unequivocally ours.

Lilly: Oh, I like that answer.

9. If they could change one part of their appearance, what would it be?

Alrick: Nothing, I'm perfect the way I am.

Lilly: Lots of things, ahaha... I wouldn't be so tall, or so large, or I'd make my hair more manageable.

Lilly: Alrick likes the way I look though, so I guess it's not all bad...

12. What’s their position in their friend group? (leader, mom friend, chaos goblin, etc)

Lilly: I'm the mom friend!

Alrick: I don't know what a chaos goblin is, but that. It sounds fun.

Alrick: Or a leader, but c'mon, that pales in comparison to chaos goblin.

13. How forgiving are they? What do they consider unforgivable?

Lilly: Alrick isn't a very forgiving person by nature. There are lots of things that I'm sure he'd consider unforgivable. I feel bad for any girlfriend of his who thought she could cheat on him...

Alrick: Lilly forgives so much it's almost annoying. I don't think that there's anything that she wouldn't consider forgiving.

14. Who do they go to in a crisis/emergency? Any particular reason why they choose that person?

Alrick: Lilly. She's been trained how to deal with emergencies.

Lilly: Yeah, I'd go to me too.

Alrick: Not me?

Lilly: I'm assuming the emergency is about you.

Alrick: Tchh...

[geniusgub]

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand. 

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat. 

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling. 

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again. 

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has. 

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. " 

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?" 

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack. 

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least. 

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so. 

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch.  “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken. 

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.” 

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability. 

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady. 

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

 TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting​ @babybloodstonebones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @m0rcia​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @blakes-dictionxry​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

[m8ve]

Jasper Hale x OC One Shot

Title- Hope

"W-what are you Jasper?"

He looks down, away from her as an even sadder emotion takes over his face. "My family and I, we're not like others of our kind. We call ourselves vegetarians. We don't want to be monsters, so we feed off of wildlife instead of people."

"Okay." Mia whispers, not sure how else to respond. "So, you're what exactly? A demon with a set of good morals?"

"No Mia. We're vampires."

"Vampires." Mia whispers back. When Jasper stares back at her with an even gaze and no trace of amusement in his gaze Mia realizes that he's serious.

"Okay. I can- I can deal with vampires. If-if you were a demon though, I'd have to banish your ass." Mia laughs breathlessly, the air leaving her lips in shaky intervals. Jasper looks at her weirdly.

"You're, not scared?" He asks, unhooking his arms from around Mia's figure and stepping away with a disbelieving look on his face.

"No. Freaked out that there are more supernatural creatures out there that I didn't know about, definitely. But for some reason I trust that you won't do anything to me." Mia runs a hand through her hair.

"You know of other supernatural beings? How?" Jasper asks dumbfounded. He's thrilled that his mate isn't terrified of him, but now he's scared she's in danger.

"That's, a long story. It would be easier if I showed you what I mean. First though, I want to talk about this more." Mia gestures between herself and Jasper.

Jasper hesitates, but nods nonetheless. He leads Mia over to a fallen tree, helping her up into it then flashing up next to her. He grins when she jumps slightly, to which Mia giggles softly. The sound is enough to boost Jaspers spirit. He wants to hear her happy and laugh like that all of the time.

But first, they had to get past this part.

"So why aren't your eyes red then? I thought all vampires were supposed to have red eyes."

"My family and I. We're different from others. We don't want to be monsters, so we feed off of animals instead. It's not a completely satisfactory diet, but it keeps us strong enough. We're the one of the two covens that we know of who feed off of animals instead of humans." Jasper says, looking away from Mia as he gazes off into the forest. A far away look is etched in his eyes, almost as if he's reliving painful events.

"I can see you're not a monster Jasper." Mia says softly, reaching a hand out to comfort him.

Jasper turns around so quickly that it would give a human whiplash. "I was Mia. I killed people and I didn't care, sometimes I even enjoyed it. I could kill you before you even have the chance to blink!" Jasper was on the verge of yelling now, and in his haste he had jumped down from the log and was standing a ways in front of Mia.

A moment of silence passes through the two.

Mia can feel the pain behind Jaspers words. Even though he tries to hide it to scare her away, Mia can see the pain and sadness as clear as day. You after all, can't lie to a witch.

Jasper has his back turned to her, his shoulders shaking slightly. Mia slowly climbs off of the log, her heart aching for him. She slowly walks up to him, coming around to face him. His eyes are closed, the most heartbreaking expression on his pale face. She knows he can hear her, but he doesn't make any moves to get away from her.

She reaches both of her hands up and holds his face between them. His eyes snap open and lock onto her own. "Everyone has a past Jasper. It doesn’t define who you are today.” She whispers.

“What if- what if I’m still living in my past?” He asks, his eyes searching hers.

Mia smiles and rubs her thumb over his cheek. “Then let me lead you out of it.”

Jaspers eyes fill with tears that will never fall as he hears the words he’s been waiting to hear since the day he was turned. The tension leaves his body. A wave of relief and happiness swelters over the two. Mia reaches her thumb up and rubs it over the remaining worry lines on Jaspers forehead, soothing the skin there. Jasper encircles his arms around her waist, bringing them so their chests are touching. His eyes flutter close and a contented purr escapes his lips.

He finally has his mate in his arms, and he’s never going to let her go.

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Maze Trials: A Gally Fanfiction

Pairing: Gally x Emi(OC)

Background: Emi, first girl the Glade has seen. Tougher than she looks and more than ready to prove it. Since day one her and Gally have been at each other's throats. Fighting constantly and not just with their words.

(Gally fanfiction which will include smut. It also has an actual story line. Think of it as an AU to the original Maze Runner. It'll mostly follow the main story line with some changes. Mostly focusing on Emi and Gally and their relationship.)

Chapter Five

I was sitting in a circle on the floor with a few other kids. We were chatting and laughing like old friends.

"She couldn't even make it a quarter of the way!" The boy next to me laughed then patted my knee.

"I could too!" I shot back at him.

"Oh really? Every time I've seen you run you can't make it but a few feet before you start panting." He laughed sticking his tongue out at me.

Instead of answering I lunged toward him knocking him back on the floor. We rolled around playfully fighting each other.

"Gally! Emi! That is enough!" A woman's voice shouted from somewhere in the room.

We jumped away from each other knowing the woman meant business when she sounded like that. We quickly went back to our seats in the circle. Once I was seated an arm draped over my shoulder then pulled me to the side. It was the boy on the other side of me.

"Minho stop it" Gally said then swatted at the boy's arm around me.

"Alright kids let's go!" A man's voice shouted making all of us jump up and run towards him.

___

I shot up into a sitting position.

"Bloody hell" the thick accent shouted.

What the hell was that? I thought to myself as I stared at the wall in front of me. Then I had another thought. Gally? Minho? Emi? We were kids. Just little kids. What kind of dream was that?

"Emi" I said aloud.

"What?" Newt asked.

I snapped out of my little trance and jumped out of bed. He took a startled step backwards. I grabbed his shirt pulling him against me.

"My name is Emi." I said with a grin.

Newt started laughing. He grabbed my hands releasing himself from my hold.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Emi." He smiled at me.

Once we got outside to where everyone was eating Newt walked to one of the tables then climbed on top of it.

"Can I get everyone's attention!" He shouted.

Everyone stopped and turned to look at him.

"Our greenie has remembered her name. Everyone, this is Emi." He smiled gesturing down to me.

All the boys shouted "Emi" at the same time then cheered. As Newt climbed down from the table everyone went back to what they were doing. Just like yesterday I sat between Newt and Minho with Clint and Jeff across from us.

"Emi, I like that." Minho said more to himself.

I started eating ignoring the chatter around us. It wasn't until I was almost done with my food that Newt nudged me.

"Today you're with Fry in the kitchen." He said matter of factly.

I nodded glancing over to the boy in the shack. That shouldn't be too bad. Hopefully I'll be busy most of the day.

"Before I go to work would I be able to have a quick chat with Alby?" I asked Newt.

"Yea, he's in his office. Everything alright?" He asked raising a brow at me.

"Yea everything's fine" I smiled then turned back to my food.

After I finished eating I made a quick beeline for Alby's office. He was sitting there head down looking at something.

"Hey Alby" I said quietly in the doorway.

"Greenie, how are you?" He asked with a smile.

"Well first, I remember my name. It's Emi. Second, I wanted to see if I could talk to you about a dream I had last night." I said stepping into the room.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Emi and yes of course you can have a seat." He gestured to a lone chair.

I sat down then thought about what to say for a moment.

"I'm not sure if this means anything but it felt more like a memory than a dream. We were little kids maybe 7 or 8 years old. When I say we I mean myself and some of the boys from here in the Glade. We were sitting in a circle just chatting and joking like kids do. The boys were making fun of me for something to do with running. I ended up fighting with a young Gally. At least that's the name the woman yelling at us used. Then Minho was there too sitting next to me. I have no idea what any of that was but it felt weird." I explained the best I could.

Alby sat there for a moment like he was thinking up an answer to my dream. He shook his head lips drawn tight as he thought.

"I'm not sure what to say. It's very intriguing. Will you let me know if you have anymore dreams like that?" He asked.

"Of course" I nodded with a small smile.

"If I think of anything I'll let you know until then go ahead and get to work. Thank you for sharing that with me."

I waved at him as I left the room then went straight to the shack with Frypan in it.

"Sorry I'm late I had to talk to Alby." I stated as I walked inside.

"It's all good Newt told me. So let's get straight to it. After breakfast I work on cleaning up everything. Which is what we are gonna work on now but after everything is clean we will start preparing for lunch."

I nodded then followed Fry's lead. He showed me what to clean and how to clean it. With both of us working on it we had it all finished it pretty good time. After that we immediately got started on cooking lunch. This is where things got a little rough for me. I felt like a bumbling fool. Fry was explaining everything to me and I was trying to remember it but there was so much to remember. How in the world did he do all of this by himself?

"This is stressful" I said as I went back and forth between a large pot and a skillet full of meat.

Fry chuckled then grabbed the meat out of my way.

"It can be if you're not use to it." He smiled at me.

I somehow made it threw the cooking process. It was rough and I felt like I'd never worked harder. We only had a few short minutes to rest before the lunch bell tolled and here came all the hungry boys running towards the shack. Fry and I both served making the line go faster. Newt made a joke about how cute I looked. I thought about throwing my large spoon at him but decided not to. Gally came threw to get his food. He didn't comment but he did smirk and look me up and down.

When all the boy's had their food Fry and I made ourselves plates then went out to the tables. Fry went to sit with Gally while I joined Newt, Alby, Clint, and Jeff.

"Hows the kitchen?" Newt asked.

"Awful" I said quietly.

The four boys chuckled knowing exactly what I meant.

"Fry can be tough to deal with when it comes to his food." Clint said matter of factly.

"Not really it's just really stressful. I don't know how he does that by himself but I know I'm not gonna be much help to him." I said shaking my head.

Lunch was over all too soon meaning I had to go back to the kitchen. Fry and I chatted a bit as we cleaned up from lunch. Then just like we did earlier we jumped straight into prepping food for dinner.

"How'd you learn how to do this?" I asked him as he showed me how to cook tonight's meal.

He shrugged.

"I have no idea just came naturally I guess." He smiled at me.

This meal wasn't too bad to cook but I still felt a lot more stressed out than I should have. Fry had a good time laughing at me for it.

"I can tell cooking isn't your thing." He chuckled as we finished up.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked laughing.

He nodded as he prepared to start serving in a few short minutes.

As the end of work and dinner bell tolled I watched the boys once again run towards the shack. No one made comments to me this time which I was thankful for. I might have actually thrown my spoon this time. I joined the others at my usual table.

Minho and Newt left me very little space to squeeze in between them but I managed. Newt chuckled and scooted over once I was seated. Minho on the other hand stayed right next to me.

The normal chatter about the day went on around me. I just ate my food silently. I was more than ready for bed. After I finished I went to get up but Minho threw his arm over my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

"Wanna take a walk?" He asked in a whisper.

"Sure, why not?" I questioned chuckling.

The two of us got up and put our trays back on the counter of the shack then I followed him towards the forest. Even though I was ready for bed I figured I could do something other than work and sleep. Once we were past the tree line Minho put his arm around me again.

"How are you liking the Glade so far?" He asked as we walked.

"It's not too bad." I smiled watching my feet.

"I figured you hadn't seen this part of the Glade yet. Thought I could be the one to show you." He smiled at me.

"That's very nice of you Minho." I chuckled.

We were far enough in the trees now that I couldn't see the Glade behind us anymore. Minho stopped walking and looked around. Then he did something I wasn't exactly expecting. He grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. He wrapped his arms completely around me holding me tightly.

"You know you're incredibly beautiful right?" He asked in a hushed voice.

I couldn't help the blush that crept up my face. With my messed up memory I had no idea if anyone had ever said anything like that to me before so it was like the first time.

"Thank you" I whispered.

One of his hands moved to grab my chin. He lifted my head slightly so I was looking at him. He smiled at me then slowly leaned closer. My heart started thumping in my chest. Do I let him do this? Do I want him to do this? Before I could decided his soft, warm lips found mine. This could possibly be my first kiss. He seemed like he knew what he was doing. I couldn't help relaxing into him. I kissed him back feeling my stomach swirling and flipping around. He turned us around and pushed me backwards until my back hit one of the trees. He pressed himself against me. His hands grabbing each side of my face. I felt his tongue skim my bottom lip. One of his hands was suddenly on my ass. He squeezed causing me to let out a small moan. He chuckled into the kiss then pushed his tongue into my mouth. It was an odd but good feeling. My tongue fought against his but he overcame me. He groaned when he started to grind his hips against mine.

My eyes flew open when I felt him rubbing against me. My hands pushed against his chest sending him stumbling backwards. I manged to grab him and keep him from falling.

"What was that for?" He asked with a hurt expression.

"Sorry Minho, the kiss was amazing but I'm not letting you go any farther." I said quietly but sternly.

He put his hands up in surrender. Without another word I made my way back to the homestead. I really needed some sleep.

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