#I actually slept without a panic attack last night

[pixlokita]

A very glazed page 39

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[lowkeyrobin]

Hii!! Is it possible to request a Minho x Reader Angst fic? I don’t have any real ideas for what i just rlly like angst😭

Anyway make sure you’re looking after yourself!!

YES 🙏🙏 I concocted the perfect idea for this so I hope you enjoy! ; thank you for requesting!! ; I wrote like a good chunk of this in geometry and physical science so this is actually kinda good lol ; also this is so damn long for me what the FUCK. ; also a bit of inspo in the end thanks to she by jelly roll...

MINHO ; they

summary ; minho loses you again

warnings ; language, guns & gun violence, explosions/bombs, death, he rips off your wckd jacket & top (not sexual), and a panic attack

disclaimers ; top ten most unneeded deaths in cinema

track ; she, jelly roll (again, not a word)

word count ; 2.5k

masterlist

Minho lost everything he'd been able to remember once he left the Glade, including you.

You were a smart thinker, which confused him as to why you stayed back with Gally and the other skeptics who didn't want to find escape in the maze. He tried so hard to convince you to come, but with such little time, he couldn't.

He'd spent months imprisoned mourning the loss of your presence. He didn't know how to function without you. He wondered where you were all the time, if you were even alive or not. He'd been wishing the best in your fate, in the scorch and back in the hands of WCKD. He missed your dorky smile and infectious laughter, hoping one day he could hear it again, even in the stars that he oh-so-missed gazing with you.

Your name scorched his heart every time it was spoken. Your face was engraved in his brain, to the point every time he thought of or imagined you, he'd fight back tears to stay strong. You were weaponized against him, being used to create false memories and episodes to help them find a cure.

Every time he'd wake up from a real dream where you were present, he'd end up in tears, to then have to cradle himself back to sleep. He'd been confined like this for months, then another few days before the bust. It was so, so much worse in the Last City, he'd rather have died in some horrific train crash then have missed his chance at freedom.

However, you survived. Gally did, too, though, even after Minho pierced his chest with a spear.

You'd joined some revolution gang together, learning to use guns and join the ranks. You'd been given bulletproof vests once you proved your worth, officially becoming part of the team.

Reuniting with Thomas, Fry, and Newt was a story in itself, but knowing, or at least hoping, that you'd see Minho again made your heart race in your chest. Gally took Thomas and Newt out to explore the perimeter of the city, letting you reconnect and catch up with Fry and get to know Brenda and her father figure Jorge.

Brenda grew fond of you quickly, liking your badassery and passion to overthrow WCKD. She knew you weren't into trying to kill innocents and understood that you wanted bullets in Janson's and Paige's heads, and you were willing to do it for free.

You showed her and Fry how to use the electro-guns, two you'd stolen from WCKD guards that defended the city walls. They're good for torture, but it was never your taste of tea, you left the others to do the sick shit. You wanted your friends back, you didn't even know they'd been free up til earlier today.

Once the trio came back, they set up a plan that you and Gally jumped in on to deflect and suggest ideas. It was set for tomorrow night, and you didn't know how to process it. You try not to think of Minho the rest of the night, which you awfully fail at, as you'd fallen asleep thinking of him.

You play out your role over and over again, overthinking every single detail down to the grade of gun you'd have strapped to your side. Gally, now your close friend after all this time together, could see your nervousness and anticipation.

"You okay?" He asks, leaning on the railing to your shared bunk bed. You slept on the bottom, him on the top.

You nod, arms sprawled over the top of your pillow, basically holding it like it was going anywhere. "I'm good. Nervous"

He nods, "It'll be alright, we're gonna get him back"

You'd stolen WCKD gaurd suits, your first priority. You and Gally walk around the perimeter of the building post getting the kids on the bus. Your masks are up to avoid any real guards noticing that you're fakes. He holds his bulky gun across his chest, while yours is angled with the safety on across your back. A hand rests over the pistol on your side.

You can feel your heart pounding behind your ribcage, the anticipation of seeing Minho and taking down WCKD killing you. Gally pats your shoulder for reassurance and nods forward silently, wanting to pick up the pace.

You notice explosions in the distance, firey flames illuminating the sky.

As you walk under the main area, you notice a fire extinguisher land in the modern pool, splashing water into the air as it sinks to the bottom. You hear yells, then three bodies plop into the pool. You and three other guards behind you run to the scene, while you and Gally lag behind, knowing who just showed up.

Thomas, Newt, and Minho rise out of the water, floating over to the side after Thomas sends Janson, standing in the bay of the window, maybe twenty stories high, a middle finger. They wade over to the edge and pull themselves out, guards hold them at gunpoint, leaving their faces shaken and in despair.

Gally acts first, shoving one of the guards into the pool, then you pistol whip the one on your right, and you together knock out the last guy. The boys stare at you two, confused as to why two guards had apparently saved them, their questions are quickly answered as Gally rips his mask off.

"Hey"

"Oh, you bloody genius!"

"Oh, shit"

"What the hell?" Minho mutters.

Laying your eyes on him again, even though that mask, it brought you nearly to tears. Seeing his eyes, so tired, his body clearly so weak from the mental and physical stress, your heart broke for him. You make sure your handheld gun had the safety on before tucking it away properly.

"Long story" Gally replies to Minho, knowing what he was thinking.

Minho, still in genuine shock, adrenaline coursing through his veins, looks to you, wondering if you were maybe Brenda or Fry. You bite the inside of your cheek before pulling your mask off, softly smiling at Minho.

Newt and Thomas smile, Newt much more weak, as he was beginning to crank out.

"Y/n?" He questions in disbelief. "How- am I dreaming again?"

You quickly pound the boy into a hug, the moisture from his body rubbing off onto your red and grey outfit. The mask lays on the concrete, where Gally kicks it into the water, same with his.

You hear him begin to sob, holding onto you so tightly in fear you'd disappear like all the times before. You rub his back with your dominant hand, which trails up his spine toward his nape.

"I thought you were dead" He cries, "They've been using you in those simulations-"

"It's okay." You softly speak, "We have to go, you can tell me all about it later"

He nods, eyes still widened in shock and confusion as you follow the other three as they quickly flee the scene.

You take cover by some bushes, leaving Newt on the side to rip his jacket off as he sweats profusely. The veins in his neck were bulging out of his skin, colored a matte black.

You couldn't help but stare, unable to listen to the others talk. You quickly rush to his aid, wanting to help him be the most comfortable he possibly could be.

You crouch down next to him, giving him some reassuring words that he'd be okay. You help him to his feet, where Minho is at your side.

Gally and Thomas lead the way as another explosion rings through the air near you. You duck your head as some loose shrapnel lightly hits your skin, thankfully not enough force given to puncture your face.

The explosions only become worse as you run through a little diner, having no alternate route around as the city was being blown to smithereens.

"God damnit, we said blow up the entrance, not the whole damn city"

Newt falls to the ground, too weak to walk as black ooze drips from his lips. Glass explodes behind you, in which you quickly shove Minho to the ground in front of you to protect him. You cover your head, letting the glass shards hit your protected back.

He gasps for air for a moment as Thomas and Gally prop him up against a safe wall, trying to talk to him. You and Minho follow suit, making a quick plan to go get the temporary cure from Brenda and Jorge, and run back to give it to Newt.

"Stay strong for me, okay?" Minho speaks, his hands on the blonde's shoulders.

He nods, his eyes clearly lost in a daze, his vision blurry and wobbly.

Minho pats his shoulder before standing up, letting you give him a nod of reassurance. You and Gally follow Minho, weapons drawn to protect him as he leads with his quick sprinting skills.

You three get one last look at Newt and Thomas before fleeing, working your way through the maze of buildings and explosions to get to your friends. Gally shoots a guard at his side while you do the same at about a 10'o'clock radius.

"This way!"

You follow Minho, the explosions so loud that they defeaned gunshots. The battery on your stolen WCKD gun runs out, and you toss it to the side, resorting to using your pistol to defend your friends. Another bomb nearly knocks you off your feet, causing you to stumble into Minho.

"Sorry!" You shout over the noise.

"You okay?" He shouts back, helping you balance on your feet again.

"Yeah!" You quickly reply, nodding forward for him to continue running to get the cure.

You make it down to the Berg, where Fry, Brenda and Jorge await your arrival.

"The cure!"

"We can't leave him here like this"

"We can't take him back-"

"We have to, please"

"It's too dangerous, we won't make it back to the Berg in time, or we'll get blown up carrying him!"

You stand at Minho's side, looking down at the blonde haired boy as he stands up. He wipes the tears from his eyes, looking at you.

"We have to leave him, Minho"

He nods, slowly placing the cure in Newt's cold hand. He takes one last look at him before turning away, waiting for anyone to speak and give orders.

Brenda speaks up again, deciding to get back to the Berg as fast as possible. You all follow her, guns out, ready to shoot whoever you had to at this point.

Minho turns to you as you run side by side, "Why are you here? Why are you putting yourself in the face of danger? To save me or something?"

You give him a little head tilt to act as a shrug, "You called"

"What?"

You shake your head, deciding to explain it once you were in the hands of safety. An explosion, which cause the ground to rumble beneath you, knocks you all off your feet and onto the hard concrete.

You all groan in pain, having fallen all over each other. Brenda had fallen onto Fry, and they both stumble to the side, apologizing to one another profusely. You'd fallen onto Minho, of course, and help him back to his feet.

You feel lightheaded, your face growing cold, odd for the amount of heat and fire and running around you'd been doing. You lean onto the boy, feeling woozy, as maybe you'd stood up to fast.

Then you fall to your knees, some invisible force knocking you down, your cargo pants ripping at the knees from the impact.

"Y/n!" You hear Minho shout, his voice echoey in your ears.

You hear three gunshots coming from each Fry, Gally, and Brenda. You look back, seeing a WCKD guard fall on their back after taking three shots to the head and chest. Minho's hands rest on your shoulder and on your cheek as he calls your name, asking if you're okay. You see his eyes glance down, where he quickly looks back up to not scare you.

You stand up, numb to any pain. He follows, making sure you're able to keep balance on your feet. He quickly rips off the bulletproof vest for you and your jacket, revealing the wound right under your collar bone.

You look down at it, then look back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. You look to the other three, eyes widened in shock and fear. Another explosion pops a few hundred yards away, shaking the ground again, though not enough to knock you all down once more.

Minho quickly shouts for anything he can use to keep pressure on the wound. He held his hand over it, as the bleeding was horrible at the moment. His hands are covered in your blood, considering the bullet that shot you went clear through you. You notice the bullet a few feet away, light flickering off of it as it rolls into the street where multiple bloody bodies lay.

Minho rips a piece of his shirt and stuffs it into the exit wound, ordering you to hold it there. He pulls you along as you continue running through the city. Your left arm rests over Minho's shoulders, not wanting to upset your other side. Considering moving, it would only agitate it more, and you were trying to keep pressure on the wound anyway.

As you reach the final yards to reach the Berg where Jorge and Vince wait, you collapse to your knees again, landing face first in the debris covered concrete. Minho falls with you, your weight having dragged him down. He tries to pull you up but notices the pool of blood forming around you. A thin, but large pool.

He calls your name over and over, then flips you on your back, where blood sputters out of your mouth. He quickly pulls you up, your back now held up by Brenda and Fry, who were quick to turn back. Gally crouches down on one knee and slowly removes the cloth from the wound, absolutely drenched in crimson.

"No, no, no, no. Not now! Y/n, get up, please," He pleads, watching Vince and Jorge rush to your aid. "They were shot by a gaurd, went clean through, there's so much blood-"

You reach your hand out to Minho as the men pick you up off the ground, where you stumble to walk with them. They practically carry you on their shoulders to the Berg.

Another explosion knocks you all to the ground again, leaving bruises on faces, arms, and legs as you're pounded onto the ground. You'd be lucky enough not to get AIDS at this point.

Minho stumbles to his feet, rushing to you as the men pick themselves up before you.

He notices blood spewing from the other side of your chest. He rips the extra layers of clothing off your torso, tossing your pistol to the side as well. Gally looks around, finger on the trigger of his gun, looking for a shooter.

"Stray bullet!" Brenda shouts, "Get them in there! Go! Thomas needs us!"

Minho places his hands under your arms and drags you into the Berg himself, all the children right in view of your slumped body. You choke on blood and air, feeling your face grow cold and pale. The liquid trails up into the aircraft, staining the hard metal red for the time being.

Vince jumps into the driver's seat, ordering the others to help you and how to before it's too late. Brenda stands next to him, trying to get any info out of Thomas through the walkies.

You wrap your arms around Minho, feeling the pain in your chest now as you grunt and cry. You squeeze onto the back of his shirt, the pain causing you to claw your fingers into him. He holds you, his heart breaking in two as you struggle to breathe.

The placement, it wasn't possible to keep you this time. It wasn't possible to keep you and be free in any situation, in any timeline, in any universe.

"I don't wanna say goodbye"

He sits on the beach every morning, talking to the sunrise as if you were there next to him. He didn't mind the sand that would pile up in his boots or the dusty grain that would stick to his hydrophoric hands all damn day if it weren't for the water there to wash it away.

His fingers traced over your name on the rock when he felt lonely, like you were magically there, hugging him again.

He'd never know for sure what you meant when you said that he called. He understood that you definitely didn't hear him call for you after awakening after nightmares, but maybe you did, he wouldn't have known. He guessed in a metaphorical sense, he did call for you, which you both knew, but it still confused him somehow. He wanted you to explain it all so he'd understand, like how you always did.

He regretted never being able to rant about all his feelings to you. He wished he had time to tell you about all he went through so you could reassure him that you'd protect him forever. You'd protect him from the nightmares and the scars, the mental baggage that would weigh him down forever.

He started crying himself to sleep after he began to forget your face.

He just wanted another hug, but your face was beginning to blur out. It sent him into a panic attack right there. No one was there to help him as he cried and clawed into the dirt, trying to ground himself again. He couldn't believe himself, he treasured you so much yet he was forgetting your face after merely a year after your dissapearance?

It didn't help that after a while, he began to forget your voice too, that hurt even more. He'd been forced to talk about his feelings to Thomas like a parent-child conference. He wasn't himself anymore.

His eyes were always swollen, eyebags dark and weighing his happiness down. He was depressed. Every smile he showed was just him trying to make his way through another day's work, distracting himself from the fact that he lost you, for good this time, he watched it.

He wrote letters to you with no address to send to. It didn't help whatsoever that he himself pushed you out into the sea once Thomas regained consciousness so he could say farewell. He watched it all, he knew you were gone this time. At least he had some sense of closure.

He had nothing left of you other than that WCKD jacket you wore, that haunted him as he slept. He only kept it because even with the logo of the corporation that tortured him for years and past the bullet holes in it, it provided him a little comfort that you were still there.

He found that telling stories of you to the younger kids helped.

"They were like the life of the party, bright smile, infectious laughter. They were the one everyone wanted to be around. You could see the sunrise in their eyes."

"Who were they to you?" One little girl asks.

"I don't really know" Minho shrugs, looking down at his hands for a moment.

"Where are they now?" A little boy asks, tilting his head.

"They're in the sky, they have been. They're stuck there. I hope I see them again" He replies with a little nod, looking up at the sun beginning to set up on the island.

"Why are they stuck in the sky?"

"They're afraid of coming down"

[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.4

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin feels completely isolated from you for the first time in five years, and he doesn’t know if he will ever be given the chance to fix his mistake.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Anakin gave his guitar to Theo as he sprinted off stage and towards the very dressing room he broke your heart in.

You never came back after walking away at the beginning of the show, and that had him completely on edge. He looked around the backstage area and when he couldn’t find you anywhere, he checked the dressing room. But you weren’t in there either. 

Maybe you went back to the bus? God, he hoped so. He just got you back, he couldn’t handle losing you again so soon, and for a completely different reason this time. 

His nerves were completely shot as he practically sprinted to the bus, the only thought on his mind being to get back to you and further explain things to you. If he needed to drop to his knees and beg for you, he was more than willing to do so, because you were it. His one and only, and you always would be. 

The show tonight was one of the longer ones, so in the two hours he was on stage you could have literally gone anywhere. His heart was in his throat as he pulled open the bus door and looked around, and he could feel it quicken its pace as he realized that you weren’t here either. 

Where the fuck did you go? You told him you’d be here after the show, yet he couldn’t find any trace of you. 

Actually, he couldn’t find any sign of you at all. Your bag was gone, your jacket was picked up from off the couch, and your laptop wasn’t on the table anymore. “No,” he rasped. “Fuck. No.”

His hands were shaking as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you, but he was sent straight to voicemail. 

You were ignoring him.

“Fuck,” he nearly yelled as he called you again, only to be met with the same result. “Fuck!”

After the third call he was forced to leave you a message, and he felt as pathetic as he sounded. “Baby, please. Please….call me back. I’m so sorry,” he rambled as he pulled at his sweaty hair. “We need to talk about this more, we have to work this out, I….fuck, Y/n, you said you’d be here after the show.”

He was crying now and was choking on his words as he said them, and he hoped you would be able to understand him, but he also hoped you couldn’t. He hated the fact that he was the one crying after he fucked things up, possibly beyond repair, when he really had no right to. 

“Please, just…tell me where you are and that you’re okay and safe, please,” he begged and dropped onto the couch. “I love you.” 

His phone fell to the floor after that and his hands came up to cover his face. 

He had no idea what to do. He was shaking and his eyes were sore as he couldn’t seem to stop the tears from leaving them.

What the fuck is he going to do? How is he going to fix this? 

He can’t lose you. He can’t, he wouldn’t be able to function without you. The thought of not having you around him after this was enough to send him into a panic attack, and he knew he needed to get a hold of himself, but he didn’t know how. 

You weren’t here, weren’t at the venue, and your stuff was gone. Where did you go? You wouldn’t have left without telling him, right? You wouldn’t have gone back to London and not tell him, right? 

He didn’t know anymore. 

His phone went off from its place on the floor, and he scrambled off the couch to grab it, and when he saw that it was you who texted him, he nearly cried of joy. But your message wasn’t what he wanted to read, and it left him feeling even worse.

Princess: I’m safe. I just need some time to think. Please, at least give me that. 

-

You slept on a chair in the airport last night, your duffle bag being your pillow and your jacket being your blanket. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and sore beyond words from all the crying you’ve done since Anakin told you that he cheated on you. Did that count as him cheating on you? Not exactly, but his lips touched someone else’s, so what did that make it? Accidentally cheating? You didn’t know and you were too upset to care about what to call it. 

After he went on stage and began the show, you couldn’t stand it anymore and left. You went back to the bus and was originally going to stay there and sleep on the couch, but the more you got into your head, the more you wanted to get the fuck out of there completely. 

Running away from your problems never helped anybody, but you were too stubborn to think rationally at this point. 

So you bought a ticket for the earliest flight back to London and grabbed your things before fleeing from the bus and sending him a text after listening to his voicemail. 

You felt bad about leaving like that, but you were so upset and hurt. Your heart felt like it had been physically ripped from your body and been left back with Anakin in Paris; the place you wanted to visit for so long now with the love of your life. And the two days you were there with him were amazing, and you were prepared for so much more, but every hope and dream you had for that city had been crushed and destroyed. You weren’t sure you ever wanted to go back, Eiffel Tower be damned. 

There were other towers you could see, right?

The whole flight back to London you wrote down the last few chapters for your short story in your notebook, needing the distraction to help keep you sane enough to be able to get back to your room in one piece. 

You looked like a mess once you got back onto campus, and you avoided everyone like the plague as you made a beeline towards your dorm and had a forty five minute shower. It helped a little bit, but you were still left feeling empty as you sat down on your bed with wet hair and opened up your laptop to type out what you wrote down on the plane. 

After you added some final touches, you printed it out and got changed into a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, leaving your hair still damp as you made your way to Kenneth’s classroom. 

It was empty when you entered it, and he looked up at you in surprise when you closed the door behind you and walked over to him. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted and closed the book he was reading. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. I thought you’d still be with that boyfriend of yours.”

The mention of Anakin had a sharp pain shoot straight through your heart, and you flinched slightly as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, something happened with that,” you whisper and he gives you a look of concern as he notices the way your eyes glaze over with tears. “I’m okay. Promise.”

He gives you a smile that nearly had you sobbing right then and there, because how the fuck did things get to this? How did you end up back in London, crying in front of your instructor with wet hair that dampened your shirt as the seconds went on? 

“Alright,” he said quietly and braced his elbows on his desk. “What’s going on?”

His voice was so comforting and caring, you allowed your walls to come down a bit as you held up the stack of papers in your hand and wiped your eyes with your other. “I wrote my short story,” you announce. “I didn’t get around to editing it, so it’s probably full of errors, but I just wanted to give it to you because..”

You stopped your sentence short, but Kenneth gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were saying. “Because you’re not coming back to class,” he finished for you. “Are you?”

He stated it instead of asking it, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you nodded. Glancing down at the papers in your hands, he gestures for you to give them to him, and you do so with a sad smile. “You don’t have to read it,” your voice broke as you felt yourself beginning to cry again. “I just wanted to show that I really did love every second of these classes. I know I can do so much more, but it’s just not a good time for me right now.”

Kenneth flipped through the pages and looked up at you. “I’ll read it,” he promised, his gaze the softest you had ever seen it, and you realized just how much you would miss being able to talk to him like this and not feel embarrassed about it. “You’re an amazing writer, Y/n. It was a privilege to have you in my class, and I hate to see you go so soon, but I also want you to start putting yourself first. You’re always worried about everyone else around you, don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. Whatever happened before this, don’t let it take over. Use it, if it helps.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes with both hands now, sniffling quietly as you look at the man you respect deeply. 

“You’re going to go on and do great things. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he lightened the mood by laughing and it made you laugh, too. “Just don’t forget to put yourself first. I remember when my teacher told me that, and it stuck with me for most of my life. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until he said it.”

And you didn’t either. 

It was true, you put everyone above yourself and it often made you forget to take care of yourself. But not anymore. 

You were going back home, and you were dropping out of the program, but you weren’t quitting. You just needed to figure some things out and keep yourself grounded until you decided what was going to happen next. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Kenneth nodded and set your story down onto his desk. “Good luck, Y/n,” he said and it was the second time he used your first name since you walked in here, and it somehow made everything seem so much more real. You weren’t his student anymore. “I’ll reach out to you once I’ve finished reading this.”

“Okay,” you nod and turn around, giving the classroom one last look before heading towards the administrative office to officially drop out of the school. 

You cried more as you packed up your room, and then Bailey came in and let you cry onto her shoulder as she held you and told you to keep in touch. After that you met Evan’s eyes from across campus, and the three bags you were carrying told him all he needed to know. 

He brought you into his arms, too, and these were the people you were going to miss most about this chapter in your life. “Call me whenever you need to, okay? Or whenever you want to,” he begged and you nod against his chest. “Fuck, this sucks. I’m going to miss you.”

You laugh sadly, “I’m going to miss you, too,” then you step away and get a ride back to the airport, your heart feeling the heaviest its felt in all the twenty two years you’ve been alive. 

-

Anakin didn’t sleep at all, but that was no surprise. 

He got a good two nights of sleep with you while you were here, but now that you were gone, his sleep schedule was already back to being fucked. 

His whole body felt weak as he paced around backstage, holding his phone up to his ear as he called you for the first time today. He told himself that he’d give you some time, but fuck that. He missed you and needed to see where things were with you at the moment. 

“Hi,” you answered, making Anakin instantly stop pacing. 

“Hi,” he said back quickly. “How are you? Where are you?” He had no idea where you were since you only told him that you were safe, and he wasn’t one of those boyfriends that needed their girlfriends location on all the time. 

“In the car,” you answered and he felt his heart drop. “On the way to the airport.”

“The…airport?” He stuttered, his eyes burning as he let your words sink in. “You’re going back to London?”

“No,” you say quietly, and he could hear in your voice the way you were holding back tears. “I’m already in London. I’m going back home, Anakin.”

Anakin felt his whole body tense up, and it felt almost painful to move. So he stayed still as he tried to process your words. “You’re in London? How? When?”

“Last night. I bought a ticket and left. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I just don’t know what to do anymore, Anakin,” you cried and the remaining pieces of his heart shattered to bits. “I dropped out of the writing program and now I’m on my way back home. I need to feel normal right now or I might just go crazy.”

“Baby,” he shakily said as he met Vinny’s eyes from across the room. His friend gave him a concerned look, but Anakin just turned around and headed for the dressing room. “Baby, please.”

“Please, what? I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what to say,” you sobbed and he let the door close loudly behind him once he reached the dressing room. 

“Say that we’re going to be okay,” he begged, beginning to pace around the small room as he tugged at his hair. “Say that you and I will be fine, that we’ll talk this through and that we’re going to be okay.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, leaving him to listen to your uneven breathing. “You’re in Paris, Anakin,” he hated the way you hadn’t called him Ani even once since the start of this call. “I’ll be in LA tomorrow. Maybe this time away from each other will be good.”

“We’ve been away from each other,” he said as his heart twisted in agony. “I don’t want more time apart.”

“You’re on tour, Anakin-”

“I’ll come home,” he cut you off. “I’ll talk to Helena, we’ll stop the tour for a few weeks or something. Please.”

You sniff quietly. “The tour is too important,”

“You’re more important. We’re more important,” he thought maybe he was getting through to you, but then you destroyed that small ounce of hope with a single sentence. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “I need time. Have fun on the rest of the tour, Anakin. I really mean that.”

Then you hung up before he could say another word, leaving him to call you back three times before you turned your phone off. 

“Fuck!” Anakin yells out and throws his phone onto the couch before sitting down next to it, his hands coming up to cover his face as he tries to hold back his tears. 

This was all his fault. He fucked things up between you beyond repair, and he was the one to blame. 

You flew back to London, for fucks sake, and the whole time he thought you were still here. And now you’re going back to LA, back to the apartment you and he shared, and possibly packing up there as well. 

What was he supposed to do? He needed to be on stage in less than twenty minutes, and he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Anakin looked around the room wildly, as if anything he would help him even a little bit. His eyes landed on the various alcohol bottles placed on a table in the corner, and he knew he shouldn’t. The last time he drank was at the club with Liz, then she kissed him and he threw up twice and swore he’d never drink again.

But it was different this time. 

He needed to feel nothing right now, to get him through the show, then he’d figure out how to fix things. 

Without giving it a second thought, Anakin grabbed the first bottle he could reach and spent the next ten minutes drinking it. He set the now empty bottle down and left his phone on the couch, swinging the door open and stumbling his way backstage. 

The first person he saw was Liz. Of course it was Liz. 

Anakin’s eyes glazed over and he made it to her in less than four strides. She turned to face him with that fucking smirk of hers, and he narrowed his eyes on the bruise that had formed on the bridge of her nose, and for a split second he was proud that his girlfriend did that to her, then he remembered that you might not be his girlfriend anymore. “There you are,” she cooed. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, getting into her personal space. This was another situation where he could use his size to his advantage, even if he hated to do it, but he didn’t care right now. “This is all your fault. Y/n left because of what you did, because of what we did. Are you happy? Are you fucking proud of yourself?”

Vinny, who was standing nearby quickly made his way over, as did Helena, who had been talking with Theo a few feet away. “Anakin,” Vinny murmured, pulling on his arm. “Hey, don’t do this, man. She’s not worth it.”

Helena guided Liz away and towards the side of the stage, and Anakin could see how angry his manager was as she talked to the photographer. 

Anakin turned to Vinny, his eyes burning and his head spinning. “She left,” he rasped. “She left, Vin. Y/n left to go back home.”

Vinny stepped back in surprise but kept his hand on Anakin’s arm. “Back home? Like, back to London?”

“No, back to LA. She already went back to London and dropped out of the program and now she’s going back home,” he nearly cried. “She’s going to leave me, Vinny. I lost her.”

The drummer looked alarmed, and he pulled Anakin into his arms within seconds. “It’s okay,” he tried to comfort him, but they both knew it would never work. “It’s okay.”

Anakin felt pathetic. This is the second time Vinny had to comfort him in less than two weeks, and while he knew Vinny would never mind doing so, Anakin still felt terrible. It shouldn’t be this way. He should be better than this. 

“We’ll talk after the show,” Vinny promised, pulling away and reaching up to smooth out Anakin’s hair. “You and I will figure everything out, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

Anakin felt like a shell of himself as he nodded and allowed Vinny to lead him out onto stage, his mind a mess of thoughts and doubts and worries, and all of them were about you. 

The lights were blinding and Anakin’s vision blurred from the flashes. His head was pounding and his throat was dry as he tried to get out the last song of the night as quickly as he could, but he felt sick. The bourbon he had downed earlier didn’t help, either. 

He felt bile rise up his throat but he held it back and tore his eyes away from the crowd so he could look over at Theo. The bass player gave him a concerned look as he began to sing the song as well, no doubt sensing something was wrong and deciding to help the poor guy out.

Anakin was thankful for that as he didn’t have to raise his voice anymore since Theo is singing alongside him now, so his throat was given somewhat of a break. While his friend didn’t have a strong enough voice to be the lead singer, Theo still had a pretty good singing voice, and Anakin knew he should probably start having him sing in more songs in the future.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as even more sweat began to settle on his skin. The flannel he had adorned at the start of the show had long since been tossed aside and had left him in just his graphic tee, but he was still so fucking hot, and the lights weren’t helping at all. 

He made the mistake of looking over to his right, where he saw Liz and Helena standing backstage. While his manager had a frown on her lips, Liz had a lustful look in her eyes, and somehow that made Anakin feel even more sick. 

His fingers fumbled on the strings as he messed up the tempo of the song, which is something he had never done while he was out on stage before. Embarrassment floods through him and he quickly falls back into the right rhythm with Vinny and Theo backing him up as best as they could. 

All these cameras on him were not helping, even though he was used to being filmed at this point. He felt like was three seconds away from having a full on panic attack, and he would probably die of humiliation if he woke up tomorrow morning to see thousands of videos online of him breaking down on stage. 

The headline ‘Anakin Skywalker Has Epic Meltdown During Last Song Of Show’ was one he refused to read the following day. Fuck, he hated those stupid tabloids. They were written by money hungry, self-obsessed assholes who wouldn’t know what privacy is if it slapped them in the face. 

You hated them, too, and your distaste for them was more than valid. 

He missed you. God, did he ever. 

Anakin wasn’t used to missing you. He never needed to. Ever since his third year of high school he’s had you by his side. You were never more than a few feet away from him back then, and even now you were always usually backstage and quietly cheering him on. You should be where Liz is currently standing now. 

Or maybe he should be with you. 

Since the second you became his girlfriend you were always his top priority.

He hated that he had somehow managed to forget that fact the minute a pretty girl started paying more attention to him than you were. Could you be blamed? You were thousands of miles away and chasing your own dream while he was living out his. You couldn’t give him every second of your time like he was used to receiving, and he really fucking hated how he had actually managed to turn into one of those pricks who forgets about how good he has it as soon as things don’t end up going his way. 

Anakin wanted to stop singing the song and call out to you, but you weren’t in the crowd. You weren’t backstage. You weren’t here. You weren’t with him. You wouldn’t answer him, because you’re so fucking far away while he is here acting like everything is just fine. All he wanted to do was to run off stage, find you, and wrap you up in his arms, but he wasn’t sure if he had that right anymore.

He’s insecure and has never been away from you for this long. It was like he didn’t know how to properly function without you by his side. 

All the excuses in the world would never make up for just how poorly he’s treated you and for how little effort he’s been putting into your relationship. 

He didn’t blame you for wanting to end it.

But he needed you. He had just gotten you back, just gotten that sense of normalcy back, but you were gone again. 

Possibly for good this time, and he only had himself to blame.

-

One more part after this x

[darkphoenix07]

Hi love if requests are still opened may I have an established relationship hongjoong oneshot where reader isolates herself frequently because of mental health and spends a lot of unwanted time in bed because she can’t muster up the courage to get up where hj helps her start her day and stuff?

Hongjong helps you as you isolate yourself often

Masterlist

Series Poll

Mental Health Request

Paring : Hongjong x Reader

Genre : Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Dance

Song 🎶: Everything I wanted by Billie Eilish and Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift

7.00 a.m.

You hear Hongjong entering the house as he parks his car in the garage. You want to get up, run towards him and hug him. You want to break in his arms feeling free as tears leave your eyes. You wish you could get up but it's too hard.

You have been lying on the bed for the whole day like a corpse. He called you a million times for having breakfast but you said you weren't hungry. He left kissing you goodbye, saying he loves you. But you didn't even say love you back. You laid there not moving a single muscle, not taking shower or having food.

Right now you can't feel your body. You don't feel like you are in this universe anymore. The pain, the anxiety, the panic attack have taken over your body suppressing everything.

"Baby, are you home?" His sweet voice echoes in the living room.

You haven't touched him for how long you don't remember. You don't know when was the last time, you kissed him, hugged him properly. Sex is far.

"Baby!" The way he calls you baby. It should pick your body up. You feel guilty for being such a prick. But you can't help. You imagine how he will leave you alone, you'll be able to lay here for the rest of your life until you actually become a corpse.

There looking for you, he enters in your room. Seeing the darkness of your room, the curtains all down, your blanket covering half of your body and you same gaze at the ceiling, he understands you haven't moved from the bed.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" He asks entering as he touches you forehead.

"Hm," you mumble not wanting to get attacked with more questions.

But he notices how messed up your hair is though you aren't warm or cold. You are still wearing the dress from three days ago which means you haven't showered for three days.

You think of the consequences that will occur if he switches on the lights, pulls the blanket off you and starts screaming at you. What will you do?

You wait for it but the lights aren't being turned on, no screaming is around you like it used to happen in your household. Its more quite than usual that you can hear his heartbeat beside yours.

"Can I get inside?"

You would have said no. You would have pushed him away. But the way he asked you, the way he plead like he is asking foe forgiveness that you had to move slightly making space for him.

He gets inside the blanket though you know you stick as bad as a garbage can. He pulls you on his hand, "I want to have dinner outside with you or we can have a terrible cheat day. Only street foods and chocolate or ice cream. What do you say?"

You don't answer him so he looks at you with all of the love he has for you, "Or we can stay here in the bed while I sing for you. Then we can take a shower together while dancing and order dinner. I can make you some too but I am not as good as Wooyoung when it comes to cooking."

You look at him with sleepy eyes. His touch makes you realize how long you haven't slept. Maybe three days or more. It happened without any reason. You don't know why you are feeling like this life doesn't matter or why you don't want to move. You feel heartbroken, guilty for not having a single reason to tell him why you are feeling this much heavy.

"Baby. You'll become sick. I would let you stay here but you look so pale. I am worried," he says pulling you close to his chest, "You know how much I love you, right?"

You wanted to walk up a while ago. But it was just night. The ending of another day you could have spent productively that you wasted. You feel so disgusted by your own self but the man in front of you gazing at you like you are some diamond.

"I don't know what to do," that's when you speak up because you don't want to disappoint him. He has so much patience and hope for you. You understand now that if you speak up maybe he will understand but it's just too hard.

"Will you let me do something for you?" He asks kissing your forehead gently.

You don't say anything as a positive answer and he gets up, "Stay in your little paradise for some moment. I am coming back."

He says and rushes outside. After some while, you hear his car's sound. You don't understand and you forget that you should care after sometimes. You curl around hugging your blanket drowning in your dark side again.

You don't know how long it passes away before Hongjong comes, "I am going to pick you up. Okay?"

He warns you so you can say no if you want to. But you don't say anything or do anything as he cradles you up in his arms and walks outside the room. You notice the lights are all off, there is just the chandelier lighting in the living room.

As he enters in the bathroom of the room you two share, you see there are scented candles on the sink area. He doesn't stop here, he places you inside the tub filled with purple flower petals, you don't understand what flower are these. But the sudden warm water washes thrill over your whole body. You start feeling a little better from the warm water.

He helps you take off the clothes and runs outside again. You start hearing him playing Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift in the background before he enters in the bathroom again with a fruit salad bowl.

He sits outside the tub feeding you the salad, "I thought you may faint so I had to give you some food and suger."

You smile as you keep having the fruits one by one. Some little effort is all you wanted to give to feel better again but it was too hard.

"Join me," you tell him making his eyes go big.

He places the bowl on the sink and makes you stand up, "I have a better idea," and pushes the shower button. Cold water starts washing over both of you and you start giggling seeing him shiver.

It's so adorable yet fascinating how he is looking and acting right now. He holds your one hand and wraps your waist with another, "Let's dance in the rain."

"It's literally summer," you tell him as he spins you while the water of the tub splashes around dripping on the floor.

"Who cares?" He says pulling you towards him and again moving you with him. The dance, the movements, they are so messy yet perfect for your body to feel alive. It's like every cell of your body is waking up one by one.

"Kiss me," he says cupping your face in his hands and your lips find his in no time.

You wish you would have talked about your feelings to him earlier, you wish you wouldn't waste your time, you wish you would kiss him back and say love you back. But it's alright, you tell yourself. It's alright because I can do it now.

"Hongjong," you say as you wrap yourself in the towel and he looks at you.

"I love you," you tell him and his smile gets bigger than ever.

"I love you," he says and pecks you on the lips.

No, you haven't stopped feeling the heaviness yet but you have stopped blaming yourself making it look like a crime for feeling depressed without any reason. Every feeling is precious after all.

For the people who thinks your feelings aren't valid. They are.

[vickyvicarious]

May 18, short and bitter!

There are three options for the gap between the entry of May 16 and now, and they're all painful in different ways.

Jonathan did not go and look at the door right away. This would go against his usual instincts to double-check as soon as possible in order to confirm what he has seen. I mean, he still does fairly quickly, but the day's gap is notable. If he really avoided it for a day, then that must speak to how absolutely terrified he was by the thought of being found out. He actually was willing to sit even longer in that uncertainty about his own insanity rather than know for certain (either outcome: that he's lost his mind, or that he is surrounded by supernatural creatures who want to drink his blood and Dracula is his safe haven). It really really drives home his fear. Jonathan went to look as soon as possible. He is so brave and so afraid of the uncertainty, of losing his sanity on top of everything else. He needs to know immediately, not only because of his own feelings on the matter (or perhaps despite them), but because this proof is a vital element in determining what he does next. It changes the situation completely - yes, for the worse, but what does that mean for his efforts to explore and escape? If he doesn't know then he might put himself in danger again. Furthermore there might be an element of him fighting against time, knowing now that he could die even sooner than he feared before, and wanting to ensure his diary is as complete and accurate a record as possible if that does happen. Sure, he has no way of getting it into anyone's (Mina's) hands but he still is trying to document all of this just in case as well as for his own sanity.

Now, Jonathan says he wrote that last entry "the morning of 16 May", meaning the incidents happened late in the night-early in the morning before dawn. If he hasn't been able to go look at the room until now, basically two days later (one full day gap but also the rest of the day of the 16th), there are a couple explanations:

He was physically unable to go there. Whether that means that he was too weak from being drinked by Dracula if you think that happened, or if he descended into a panic attack or something and lost control over his body for hours, or if he was just so sleep-deprived that he only managed to write that last entry and then passed out for most of the day, or even if you think Dracula magically encouraged him into a deeper/longer sleep... however you slice it he wasn't able to get there before dark. And then something prevented him again for the next day as well.

Dracula didn't leave him alone long enough to try. We know the Count prefers to be awake at night, but he can stay awake into the daytime. Maybe in the aftermath of this attack, he has been sticking to Jonathan's side. On the one hand this keeps him safe from the vampire ladies coming back right away, on the other it gives Jonathan little-to-no time to process anything without being forced into the company of his captor right after the assault/invasion of last night, and he has to just suppress how he feels and play along. Of course this can be combined with the previous option, if Jonathan slept away most of the 16th and then Dracula hung out with him on the 17th (the parts he was awake for given he's been on a mostly nocturnal schedule).

The final option, frightening in its own way, is that Jonathan is losing track of time. Maybe he wrote the last entry thinking he had awoken the next morning, but later realized that he had actually slept for a full day and was writing on May 17th. Maybe he's so messed up by the nocturnal schedule that what he said was 'morning' turned out to be much later in the day, too. If the weather were very gray and cloudy it might be harder to tell exactly where the sun is. And this would go well with Dracula failing to wind up Jonathan's watch, which was a literal if smaller-scale example of Jonathan losing access to certainty about where he is in time.* Of course, Jonathan can try and figure it out by looking at whatever signs he can spot out the window to establish rough time of day, even if not immediately. But if he's lost track of the date he has no one to rely on but Dracula, who could very well lie to him if he felt like it. The uncertainty about time could reflect further fears of going mad as well.

*I especially love the detail of the watch when thinking along these lines because there's a lot more going on too. Symbolically, his 'modernity' (the watch) has been messed up/rendered uncertain (this goes for both his experiences and his worldview) by his encounter with 'powers of the old centuries' (vampire ladies/Dracula) and while he can try to gather himself back up and keep going (wind his watch up again), he's now lost his way and can't be certain of his position or what to do (if he's on accurate time/when to set it exactly - and in more removed symbolism, if he has been irrevocably trapped by these old powers/how he can ever fight them).

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 33: How High

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language, brief mentions of physical abuse from attackers, branding

* Word count: 3,828ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: So the “secret she carries with her always” that John needed reminding of from Rip has been revealed! I’m sincerely hoping this reveal is as cool as I was trying to make it lol. Next chapter we have a little celebration for our girl! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

Kayce woke up from the sliver of light that snuck way in through the curtains in the bedroom. His eyes fluttered while consciousness greeted him. He felt weight on his right arm. Looking down, he recognized the mousy brown hair. Stella was nestled in his side, facing away from him. She used his arm as a pillow. He had finally gotten her to settle long enough to let sleep actually take her. He didn’t want to wake her just yet.

Stella moved in his direction again. Kayce appreciated the soft curve of her full cheeks all the way down to her hip in the glow of the morning light. He couldn’t resist placing a light kiss on her forehead. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He had no idea how to move forward.

She started moving her head around like she was searching for a comfortable position again. She lifted her face and her lips found his jawline before he figured out what she was doing. He thought he heard her whisper his name. It was soft and quick, but Kayce closed his eyes. He almost couldn’t open them again.

Stella opened her eyes slowly, not ready to wake up for the day. “Is it time to get up yet?” Her right arm came up over her head and her toes pointed downward as she stretched with a groan.

Kayce chuckled deep in his chest and wrapped his arm around her shoulders drawing her in closer. “No, sugar. It’s still early.”

“And I’m awake, what the fuck?”

He laughed at her irritation. “Your body is set on ranch time.”

“Yeah well ranch time can go fuck itself for the next few days.” Stella curled her arms into herself, and turned her hands to place them on Kayce’s chest. She traced the scarred rocking Y that resided there. “Can I ask you something?”

A heavy handed knocking came to the door and startled both of them. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly to keep her grounded.

She came up for air. “Kayce, who is it this early?” She mumbled with sleep filled eyes.

“You stay here. I’ll check.” He went to kiss her head again, but she turned his head and caught his lips with her own in her sleepy haze. Kayce smiled into the kiss and pulled the covers off of him.

She rolled toward his warm spot. “Be safe please.” She closed her eyes as she made herself comfortable again. He threw on the sweats he’d abandoned last night.

The pounding continued as he made his way to the door. “Alright, alright! I’m coming!” He swung the door open and was met with Ryan standing there.

“Where is she?”

“Hello to you too.” Stella’s brother tried to come in, but Kayce threw his arm in front of him. “She’s still sleeping. She had a rough night. I’m gonna let her sleep until later.” He blocked the door in a protective manner.

“Let me just go see her. Please?” Ryan wasn’t begging, but Kayce understood he just wanted to see her safe. He moved his arm to let him pass.

“She’s in the bedroom.” Kayce offered. A brief panic hit his chest as he tried to remember if his very naked best friend was covered.

Ryan nodded. He quietly stepped up to the door and peeked in. Stella laid there, peacefully unaware under the blankets. He could tell she hadn’t slept for long. The circles under her eyes gave that away. Ryan had seen her like this plenty of times when she was growing up. Dark circles, hair all over the place, sprawled across the bed in any position she found comfortable. Usually Kayce had some part in her dishevelment because they were galavanting all night. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe and that’s what mattered.

He stopped breathing when he became painfully aware of Kayce’s hat, pants and boots off to the side of the bed. Squinting his eyes, he turned back to Kayce. He was in sweats and nothing else. He looked at the couch and there were no signs of someone sleeping there. Ryan quickly glanced back at his sister, not sure if she was clothed. His heart rate picked up at the implication and he spun on his heel to retreat back to the outside.

“I’m gonna go catch up with everyone. Y’all meet us when she’s ready, okay?” He didn’t leave time for Kayce to reply. He knew he had to get out of there before he said something he might regret.

Kayce stood there at the door perplexed. From behind him, he heard, “Kace? Who was it?” Stella shuffled out to him rubbing her eyes. She had slipped on her white t-shirt and pants from the night before.

“It was your brother telling us to meet up with them when you’re ready.”

“Oh.” Stella came up to him and wrapped her arms around him. She felt warm and fuzzy. Safe. Kayce gazed down at her and leaned in to kiss her, testing the waters. When they pulled away from each other Stella asked, “did he want to see me at all?”

“Yeah, but I asked him to let you sleep. Don’t blame him for that.”

Stella yawned. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” She needed coffee before the day started. She stepped back from Kayce, holding one one of his hands, and smiled shyly at him. “Hit me with some coffee when I come out?”

Kayce squeezed her hand and laughed. “Yeah, sugar. It’ll be waitin’ for you.”

“Thank you!” She twirled and headed off to the shower.

Colby hung back from the rest of the wranglers. He waited for Ryan. He heard the tell tale sound of hoofbeats coming from the barn. He could see the tension in Ryan’s demeanor before he got to him. Colby pulled his eyebrows together.

Ryan said bluntly, “I think my sister and Kayce are sleeping together again.” Colby’s face lit up with shock as he watched Ryan continue to trot past him on his horse.

He nudged his horse to catch up. “Hold up, hold up! Did I hear you right? Again?”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

“That’s a big accusation, Ryan. Did you ask Stella? Kayce??”

“No. She was sleeping. She was safe and that’s what mattered. I had to get outta there.”

“What made you think they’re sleeping together? Supposedly again?”

“They had been in the same bed.”

“Okay?” Colby questioned. He understood his friend’s hesitancy on the subject, but without having the facts from the proverbial horse’s mouth, he didn’t understand jumping to conclusions. Yet. “We all know that couch is ass. I honestly don’t blame two grown adults for sharing a bed.”

“That’s not the point. They’ve hooked up before. A few weeks ago.”

Colby’s eyes widened. He couldn’t help but think to himself about how they’d finally made the jump. He shook his head. He would talk to Stella later. He had to focus. “Then what is the point? I mean, we all know that there’s always been something there. They’re just either too hard headed, or too oblivious to see it. Which is on par for both of them.”

Ryan glanced around, trying to slow his racing thoughts. Colby was right. There had always been a little something there if you watched the pair. Even through Kayce going off to the military, getting married, having a child, coming back home. His little sister had never made mention, or tried to make a move on it though. She seemed content to watch from the sidelines. She would jump in when necessary, but then resume her position on the flank. Until the one time she didn’t. In the most complicated way possible.

“He’s our foreman now.”

“And he was her best friend way before that even became an option on the table for him.”

“I don’t know, Colby.”

“Are you bothered because it's your baby sister?”

Ryan stopped his horse. That was the thing. He wasn’t sure. She wasn’t a baby anymore. He knew she could handle herself. He was bothered because Kayce was still married. He whispered, “he’s still married, Colby. Nothing good can come from that.”

Colby dropped his head. That was a detail he didn’t think about. Seeing Kayce here without Monica made him assume.

Ryan continued in a quiet voice. “I’ve never wanted the cowboy life for her. I never wanted her to stay in it, but she fell for it. Just like we did.”

“Well she is one, but also you have to think about what she would want. She’s a smart girl. And Kayce won’t do her dirty.”

Ryan sighed, “he’s already hurt her once. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, man?”

“Stella was already embarrassed enough and I was furious with her. I didn’t want to humiliate her even more.”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when it comes. And I’ll help you with whatever we need to do. If, and that’s a big if, something is going on between them.”

Ryan sighed. He tapped his horse and moved forward. “We’ll see, I guess.” He went off to meet up with Jimmy and Lloyd. Colby stayed behind to keep up with the cattle.

Kayce heard the shower turn off 10 minutes ago. He was already dressed and ready to head out. The only thing stopping him was Stella. They didn’t have to rush because he had thought ahead and texted Jimmy to get their horses ready before he headed off with Lloyd. Thinking it might be safe to wander to the door, he knocked.

He heard Stella’s muffled reply. “Yeah?”

“Is it safe to come in?” The door whipped open in front of him. Looking up at him in all her glory was Stella, in just her bra and a pair of jeans. His gaze wanted to linger, but he quickly averted his eyes.

“Lord woman, put a shirt on before you open the door!”

Stella rolled her eyes. “Oh pfft. You’ve literally seen me naked.” Walking back from the door, she grabbed a light blue tank top to throw on. She walked into the bathroom and continued to finish getting ready before she put her shirt on. “You’ve cum in me. Multiple times at this point.” Kayce could see her in the reflection smirking at him in the mirror from the spot he was leaning.

He thought about that for a split second. “Yeah, we gotta be more careful about that.”

“I’m on birth control Kace, don’t worry.”

The gentle light from the bathroom made her look delicate. He questioned himself. ‘Since when?’ He tried to scrounge up any possible moment when his vision of her changed. He thought about the small kiss she gave him this morning in her sleep. The times they’d kissed before. ‘No, it couldn’t be then. What are you? 16? She didn’t realize what she was doing.’ He saw her turn and grab the tank top she brought with her.

Stella caught his gaze in the mirror. Her eyes softened and she put on a little smile. Kayce stopped breathing for a split second. ‘Oh.’ He figured it out.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

He shook his head and brought himself back to the present and breathing. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t focus when you look at me like that. Say it again?”

“Wait, what?”

“No, I missed what you said. Repeat it please?”

Stella nodded in slow motion with her eyebrows pulled together. “Uh huh.” She drug out the syllables. Her brain tried to process if she had heard him right.

She chose to ignore it for later. “Okay. Anyway, I said, we should probably get going if I’m gonna be there as moral support for Ryan.”

He continued leaning and waited for her. “You realize he’s gonna have a bull calf when he finds out, right?”

She took a deep breath and said, “oh I know,” and huffed out a laugh, “but I’m hoping the sizzle of his own skin will distract him enough.” She threw the tank top on and quickly snapped the door fully open. He glanced at her exposed skin of the scar on her chest and cleared his throat. It wasn’t every day that Stella wore a tank top that wasn't a high neck racer back.

Stella had a bashful blush on the apples of her cheeks as she looked up at him. “What? Do I still have sex hair?” She ran her fingers through her hair and redid her bun low on her neck to leave room for the ball cap she was gonna put on.

Kayce smiled warmly at her. “No. It’s nothin’. Just lookin’ at you.” He grabbed a plaid button up of his to give to her.

She scrunched her face up both trying to figure out his motive for that statement and also to focus on what he was handing her. He’d said that the morning they’d slept together. ‘What is he getting at?’ She questioned. He handed her glasses to her. He wanted to lean in and kiss her, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “Let’s go, sugar.” She followed, but paused to grab her ball cap on the way.

She and Kayce slowed to a trot as they came to the front of the trapper cabin that the branding always took place at. Stella hopped off of Abigail. Tying a quick slip knot, she panned her eyes around to find Ryan, Jimmy and Lloyd standing by a fire. Ryan pulled her to the side, away from prying ears.

“Did you and Kayce sleep together?”

“What?!” Stella hadn’t planned on being caught.

“Are you sleeping with Kayce again?”

“Jesus Ryan!” She quickly glanced back at Kayce and then back to her brother. “No! I mean we shared the bed, but I didn’t want to sleep by myself.” Stella tried to forget the confession early this morning and the following events. She felt bad lying, but she wanted to enjoy whatever was coming before something else happened. They needed to figure out what was going on first before they told anyone.

“We’re talking about this later.” He declared. Stella rolled her eyes at him because there was nothing to talk about. Well, there would be.

Everyone was quiet as the siblings rejoined the group. It was a heavy thing. Ritualistic at this point. Stella felt bad because she was the reason Ryan had been backed into this corner. If she wouldn’t have killed — ‘No. Stop. If you wouldn’t have killed them, you would be in a body bag right now.’

“You sure you really wanna do this, Ryan? You don’t have to do this just for me.”

“I’m so deep into this, Stellee.” He turned to her. “You know as well as I do that we’re not leaving this place.”

Stella nodded her head to the left while raising her eyebrows. Ryan was right. “Do you want to hold my hand? It’s really gonna fuckin’ suck.” She handed him something to bite down on.

Ryan pulled his eyebrows together. “Obviously it’s gonna suck.” He looked at Lloyd. “Don’t you touch her with that brand.”

Stella looked at Kayce first. Then to Lloyd who was getting closer with the hot brand. “It’s a little late for that.” Stella pulled back Kayce’s plaid shirt. The raised pink scar sat lower on her chest. A portion of the top of the Y could be seen above her tank top neckline. It was obvious it had been there a while. Ryan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“What the fu—,” he was interrupted by the sizzling of his skin, “— ahhhh!” He screamed through clenched teeth. Kayce and Jimmy caught Ryan underneath his arms. Lloyd rocked the brand on his chest and finally pulled it away. Stella came forward with some antiseptic and gauze.

“Sit him down over there.” She pointed to a log around the fire. “I’m so sorry, but this is gonna suck even more.” She began working on his wound. He pissed and moaned the whole time.

“Oh my god, you’re a fuckin’ butcher Stella!” Ryan fussed.

“Quit whining. Would you rather one of them do it? Because I can guarantee you they will be much less gentle than I’m being.” Kayce and Lloyd could be heard chuckling off to the side.

Ryan motioned to her brand trying to distract himself. “So when the hell did you get that?”

Stella fixed her glasses and ripped off a piece of medical tape for Ryan’s gauze. She squinted, trying to remember exactly when she got branded. “I was just about 18.” She admitted quietly.

Ryan breathed heavily. Partly from pain, but the other part was anger. He couldn’t believe she kept it from him. She couldn’t believe she let them do it in the first place. Or why they had done it. He couldn’t fix his gaze on one solid point.

Kayce broke him out of his irritable haze. “She did it for me, Ryan.”

“What?!” Ryan roared. He scrambled to his feet, ready to take a swing. Stella poked him in the fresh brand, successfully dropping him back onto the log he was sitting on.

Stella placed herself between the two men. “Knock it off, Ryan Stephen!” She huffed and brushed her hands on her pants. “Damn bunch of children.” She scoffed.

Lloyd was an unexpected participant in the conversation. “She was pissed Mr. Dutton was doing it to his own son. The reasons he was doing it for. Her best friend, if you recall? She stepped up, told Mr. Dutton to fuck himself and get off his high horse and do it to her too.” He added, “you remember when things got tense for your sister around then? She wasn’t at the ranch as much?”

“I went to stay with Kayce for like a year.” Stella reminisced on helping them out with Tate when he first came along. “If John Dutton was going to have any regret about doing that to his own son because he wouldn’t, “follow his orders,” I was gonna make him have me, an innocent bystander, on his conscience too.” Everyone could tell from the way she said it, she still meant every word. “And he didn’t take too kindly to me telling him to fuck off. Which was my whole goal. I wanted him to do it.” Kayce and Stella locked eyes across the dying fire. Their look lingered until Ryan cleared his throat.

They milled about while Ryan got ready to go back to work. Lloyd messed around with the fire. Jimmy made his way over to Stella. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She smirked at him while putting the medical supplies in her saddle bag. “Full to the brim, Jaybird.”

“So how long have you had it?”

Stella turned on him and scrunched her face in thought. “Well I was almost 18 when it happened. So 8 years?” She thought about the time of year it was. “Wait, what's today's date?” She asked anyone who would answer.

Jimmy gave it some thought. “Uh, November 2nd?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head and she turned to the other men. “Oh shit, it’s my birthday today.”

Jimmy chuckled. “Wait, you forgot your own birthday?”

“In her defense there’s been a lot of near death going on. Kinda took over.” Kayce defended Stella.

“How old are you?” Jimmy asked.

“Weren't you ever told it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”

Jimmy shot a zinger her way. “I wasn’t aware I was asking a lady. I thought I was asking a cowboy.”

Stella’s whole body shook with laughter as she threw her head back. “Damn that was a good one, Jaybird.” She wiped tears out of her eyes. “Kace, you’re 29 now right?”

“Affirmative.”

“That would make me 27 as of today at,” she looked at Ryan for confirmation, “6:30 pm.” He nodded at her. He remembered the time like it was yesterday.

“Well we should do something for you, don’t you guys agree?” Jimmy looked to the men for help.

Stella shook her head. “Nah I dunno about all that. I just wanna hang out and be grateful I’m alive after yesterday.”

“Well then we’ll hang out.” Jimmy smiled at her.

Kayce interjected. “But first, my dad wants us up at breakfast, Stella.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What for?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. We should probably find out.”

Kayce held the door open for Stella and she weaved inside. She flipped her baseball cap backwards. The house smelled wonderful. Her stomach grumbled and growled, coming to life at the smells of bacon and eggs.

“Ugh I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Stella groaned. Her mouth was almost watering at the thought of food. She turned quickly and stopped Kayce with a hand on his chest. He looked down at her. “So what did your dad want us up here for? I know I ate meals here often growing up, but it’s been a hell of a long time. What gives?”

Kayce placed his hands on her hips and spoke softly. “I really don’t know, Stell. C’mon.” He gently pushed her toward the dining room. He spotted his son at the table and kissed his head before sitting down.

“Hi daddy!” The youngster immediately brightened. He saw Stella and smiled. “Hi Aunt Stella!”

“Hey buddy.” She smiled softly at him. Stella’s eyes landed on Kayce’s sister when she stepped into the room. “What the hell happened to you?! Was it,” she stopped her question short because of the little ears that were still in the room.

John came into the room behind her. “It was.”

Stella whipped her head to her boss. “When?”

Beth cleared her throat. “Night before last.”

Stella looked between Kayce and John as John sat at the head of the table. “At the same time as me?”

Kayce shook his head. “No, after. I had just finished leaving a message to them when you called me. That’s why I was able to get to you so fast.”

“Why the hell didn’t anyone say anything?” She couldn’t believe that wasn’t the first thing out of their mouths.

“You both were a little busy.” Kayce defended as he grabbed his fork.

Stella locked eyes with the only daughter of the family. “Jesus Beth. I’m sorry.”

Beth gave her a smirk. “We both said there would be an attempt.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think it would have been this or what happened to me.”

“You underestimated them then.” Beth looked at the doorway. “Hey Gator?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind making me a smoothie, please?”

“Sure.” He stepped back into the room to get her request. “What kind of smoothie?”

“Two scoops of ice cream, three shots of vodka.”

“Two scoops, three shots. Got it.” He nodded and went off to the kitchen.

“And would you mind bringing it to me on the porch? Please?” Beth called out to the chef and started to rise out of her chair painfully slow.

“Of course.” Gator continued heading for the kitchen to get Beth’s smoothie made.

Beth leaned close to Stella. “You should see the other guy, I promise.”

“That I have no doubt of.” There was something unspoken between the women. They shared a look and Beth made her way out to the porch.

John wiped his mouth off. “Excuse me.” He stood and followed after his daughter.

Stella propped her hands against the back of the chair next to Tate and breathed out slowly. “Shit, Kayce.”

He popped some eggs in his mouth. “I know. They’re taken care of though. We’ll get the Beck brothers. Don’t worry.” He glanced at her before taking another bite. “Sit and eat. We’re gonna start Tate’s horse today.”

She shrugged. “I’m not hungry anymore. You two finish. I’ll be down at the barn.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Protecting the Aspen Witch

Hey, sorry this isn't very specific, but I was rereading Protector earlier and wanted to know if you could maybe write more from that universe? Brain's not braining much rn, so I'm afraid that's the most detailed I can be haha. But any h/c from that universe would make me extremely happy. Maybe they actually have a conversation about Virgil's trauma? – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: panic attack/dissociation

Pairings: DLAMPR

Word Count: 4798   

 Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.

On another quest to the Aspen Witch, something goes...a little awry.

Truly, going to see the Aspen Witch isn't the worst quest in the world. In another set of circumstances, he would be grateful for such a well-traveled road, or even just to be able to go somewhere that he knows.

In this world, however, he thinks that the next time someone needs something from the Aspen Witch, he'll tell them to go themselves.

(He won't, he knows he won't, but he likes to imagine for one moment that he might consider it.)

In any case, at least this time he's not bartering for something on behalf of someone else. He's making a delivery on behalf of Elise, a sweet girl in the village who accidentally pissed off the wrong warlock. (See, this is why he'd never actually be able to tell someone else to go, because either he's bartering, which means it's for something that'll help a lot of people, or it's for someone who would definitely be in grave danger if they tried to go alone.) The warlock hadn't taken too kindly to Elise's accidental questioning of their source of magic, even though that wasn't what she was intending at all, and bestowed a powerfully cursed amulet into Elise's possession while she slept. The amulet held a potent attraction charm to coerce Elise into putting it on, and once on, induced paranoia so severe the poor girl's screams could be heard all the way from Virgil's home.

Needless to say, he's taking it far, far away to be destroyed.

He accepted nothing more than a small bag of coin—smaller than his pouch of agrimore dust, the family wasn't exactly in the position to spare a lot of money—and promised Elise to see to it that the amulet never touched her again. Truly it was just a matter of keeping it wrapped in skeldor hide until he reached the Aspen Witch to limit the potency and then, well, then the Aspen Witch would have to know what to do.

Part of him wondered if he would see any of the Five—of course there were five of them and of course they were known by some ridiculous name—when he set off, but there weren't any strange things in his garden, nor did any of them decide to appear when he beds down at the boulder, across the bridge, even when he gets into the valley. No, he manages to make it all the way to the Aspen Witch without running into any of them.

If he were still the adventurer he was years ago, he'd take that as good fortune. If he's going off of what he knows now, he knows enough to be a little wary of their absence.

And if he's being truly honest, something he does try to refrain from outside the safety of the walls of his home, he might be a little disappointed.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts as he approaches the Aspen Witch's grounds. He winces when he stumbles right into the brambles of the crimson thornbushes and feels them tear through his cloak. His fingers almost twitch to his dagger, but then he steels himself. These are the grounds of a magic user, after all, and he would treat them with respect even if he suspected these plants to be totally normal if he decided to slice them open.

With the changing of the seasons, night falls much earlier than it had the last time he ventured this far. The sun is already at the tops of the trees as he approaches the door, several candles already flickering through the windows. He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to check that everything is still where it's supposed to be, and knocks on the door.

"Yes?"

"I am the adventurer known as Virgil. I have come to deal with the Aspen Witch."

"Ah, Virgil! Yes, come in."

He feels something in the door shift and he pushes it open. The bell over the top of the door rings. The Aspen Witch smiles at him from behind her table of treasures; a brickleback spine sits under her hands where she is…obtaining something from it. She sets the tool she's using down with a clink and reaches to pick something up from her side.

"I have prepared for you a drink," she says as Virgil sits, "to ease your burdens."

"I would like to know what is inside it."

"Sunflower nectar, moon blossoms, and honey. It is meant to relax you."

"I recall a similar drink being offered the last time I came."

"You are correct, I offered you a similar drink."

"I would like to know if this one is different than the one you offered last time in any meaningful way."

One of her many rings taps against the edge of the cup. "It has less of the added moon blossoms than the last, which renders it less potent."

Less potent? "I have slaked my thirst at the last waterfall."

Something flickers across her face and she smiles, moving the drink aside. "Another time, then. You are still reeking of curse energy, but this one is different. I would like to know why."

"I have brought you a cursed amulet in the hopes that you would relieve the burden of its intended recipient."

"Show me." Virgil extends the amulet, still wrapped in the hide, and she takes it. She sets it on the table and runs her fingers over the leather strap holding it in place. "This is a fine specimen of hide, Virgil. I would like to know where you obtained it."

"On a past contract."

"I would like you to be more specific."

He says nothing. The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she laughs and shakes her head.

"Perhaps another time." She undoes the leather strap carefully and withdraws the amulet. It glistens in the candlelight as she turns it back and forth. "This is a vindictive magic. I would like to know how you came into contact with it."

Is it his imagination, or does the Aspen Witch sound…put out? "The village I live near to. The curse befell a child."

"I would like to know the origins of such a curse, if you would share."

"It is my understanding that the child's intentions behind a question were misunderstood and the magic user sought the consequences they saw fit."

The Aspen Witch's fingers twitch on the chain. She examines the amulet anew and toys with the link near its base. Something darkens in her expression and Virgil tries to keep his hands still. "This was bestowed upon a child, you have said."

"I have said that it was bestowed upon a child."

Her mouth tightens. "I would like to tell you why this is unacceptable."

A chill runs through the cabin. "I would like to ask for clarification on your last statement."

"You may ask."

"I would like to know what it is you find unacceptable: that the child was bestowed a cursed object, that the child was bestowed this cursed object, or that I have said that it was a child to whom it was bestowed."

He must be imagining things because it looks like her expression softens, even the slightest bit. "The second of your list. It is unacceptable that a child was bestowed such a curse. I would like to explain why."

Thank fuck. "I would listen to an explanation."

The Aspen Witch lays the amulet back down on the hide and reaches for something else. She takes a long stick from a drawer and snaps it over the amulet. As the pieces of it start to drift down, they take on different colors and hover in the air.

"Curses have three main derivations," she says as she does so, "either they affect the accursed's mind, their body, or their soul. Mind curses are difficult to break as they require some level of consent from the accursed. Body curses are the most varied but are not that difficult to break, especially if they are familiar with the curse itself."

They look down to see the particles have turned a vivid bloody red. The Aspen Witch's nails scrape against the table.

"Soul curses are vile things," she spits with more emotion than Virgil has ever seen or heard from her, "and they can erase a person if they are not done with extreme skill."

Virgil's mouth runs dry. "I…would like to know what you mean by 'erase.'"

"No," the Aspen Witch says lowly, "you do not."

Alright, no, I do not. That's good enough for me.

With a flick of her wrist, she disperses the particles and wraps the amulet back in the hide. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself—what the fuck has Virgil walked into if the Aspen Witch has to steady herself?—before she looks at him again.

"I would like to know what you intend to provide as payment."

"I recall you mentioning the value of curse energy upon our last visit."

"You would offer the energy of this curse as the payment for removing it."

"I would offer the energy of the curse as payment for its removal."

The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she nods and stands, retrieving the amulet from within the hide and sliding the hide over for Virgil to take. "I accept this payment."

He takes the hide silently and puts it back in his pack, watching as she walks over to another table. She places the amulet in a pestle and takes various jars down from the shelf above. He watches as she sprinkles things over the amulet and soft motes of light begin to emerge as she murmurs under her breath. When the glow is strong enough to rival one of the candles, she takes the mortar and brings it down.

Three things happen at once.

First, he sees pieces of the amulet shatter, ricocheting hard enough to dig grooves into the walls of the house.

Second, there is an overwhelmingly loud boom.

Third, something crackles outside and the whole building shakes.

The Aspen Witch's head whips around, staring not at Virgil but over his shoulder in the direction of the door. The mortar falls from her hands as she narrows her eyes. Virgil holds his hands up slowly, indicating that he's not about to do shit right now, and he carefully turns to look over his shoulder.

The door is still intact, but something in his instincts prickles along the back of his neck. He looks back.

"I would like to know what that was," he says as quietly as he can.

"Yes," the Aspen Witch says as she begins to walk over, "so would I."

Great, magic stuff happening that the magic user doesn't know. This is just great.

She passes him in the chair and opens the door, leaving it wide enough for Virgil to peer over her shoulder. He stands, very slowly, and tries to angle himself so he can see what's going on.

Another magic user—he's assuming, after what just happened, but he thinks it's a pretty safe guess—stands in the center of the plot of grass in front of the house. A sigil is burned and seared into the ground, and he winces.

This isn't going to go well.

"You are trespassing," the Aspen Witch says with her words full of ice and fuck it, Virgil's ready to run, "you will cease to do so."

"You destroyed something of mine," the warlock says, extending a hand, "that gives me the right to see it reversed."

"You are the foolish one who sought a soul curse upon a child?"

"I sought what was due to me for such a slight," they spit back, "as well should you know that we aren't to be questioned. And how did you hear about this, is it from the thick-headed bull that leers over your shoulder?"

Virgil's just about to edge his way out of this conversation, thank you very much, when the Aspen Witch's hand, the one behind her back, twitches.

"You will not speak of him like that."

What's going on?

"Why not? He's an adventurer, isn't he?" The warlock laughs, high and cruel and Virgil needs to get a hold of himself before something bad happens. "They're all the same, big and dumb and grunting animals that only care about coin and stopping magic users."

The words strike a chord in his chest and he tries not to let the hurt show to obviously on his face.

"Is he your pet?" The warlock's smile turns into lascivious. "Did I interrupt you in the midst of something? You of all people should understand, then, is it any harm that I wanted to make one for myse—"

The warlock doesn't get to finish their sentence as the Aspen Witch's hand flies out and a mass of thorns erupts from the earth, ensnaring them in a tangled web of crawling plant life. Virgil's hand lands on the hilt of his sword and he just as quickly wrests it away. He's not looking to make himself a target in this after all.

"Touchy," the warlock laughs—take a fucking hint, just get out while you still can— "did he tell you about that cute little thing in the village, then? Has the great Aspen Witch gone soft?"

"You are welcome to test that assumption at your earliest convenience."

Don't fucking test it. Get the fuck out. Be smart for twenty consecutive seconds and fucking run, you idiot.

The warlock doesn't. Instead, they start on about some great speech and self-aggrandizing, but Virgil sees one of their hands make a somatic component and he doesn't think.

Truly, it might be him that's gone soft. There was a time where he would already be gone, or tucked away inside out of sight. There was certainly a time where if two magic users starting casting on each other, he would not be anywhere near it.

But, he can only be who he is, no more and no less. So when he sees the component taking shape, he moves on instinct to shove the Aspen Witch out of the way and get his gauntlet up to take the full force of the spell.

The world goes black.

***

    "—il! Virgil!"

Distantly, he registers the sound of a voice. The air crackles.

"Virgil! I would—oh, hells."

Something is dragging him. His head bumps something. He's hauled up and propped against something—a wall?

"Virgil," the voice says again, he knows that voice, "Virgil, open your eyes."

He does, only for blurry things to swim in front of him. He closes them again.

"Virgil." He definitely knows that voice. "Virgil, you must open your eyes."

He tries again, blinking a few times. The first thing to come into focus is the candle on the table closest to him. The second is the hand on his shoulder, laden with rings. Only when he traces the hand to the arm up to the head does he realize who was speaking to him.

"There," the Aspen Witch says in a rush, "there. That is better."

All at once, the memories of what happened flood his brain. The amulet. The warlock. The somatic component. The spell—

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. He interfered with a magic battle. He took a spell meant for the Aspen Witch. He touched the Aspen Witch without permission, he shoved her out of the way, he—he—

"Stay," he hears as two hands land on the sides of his neck, "do not go where I cannot find you, stay here."

He blinks. The Aspen Witch is closer now, her eyes scanning his face. He swallows.

"Don't speak," she says when he opens his mouth, reaching and pressing something warm into his hand, "drink first."

I would like to know what is in it, he tries to say, but all that leaves his throat is a ruined gasp.

"It is the same drink I offered you before," she says, as though she could hear him—can she?— "it is unchanged. It is to help you relax. Drink."

He's already risked too much to afford to say no. He raises the drink to his lips and takes the smallest of sips. The warm, sweet liquid is like a balm to his sore throat and he takes another sip right away. The Aspen Witch watches him closely, one hand still on his shoulder.

"I…" He swallows, testing his voice. "I am…grateful for the drink."

"I am relieved to hear it helped." She cups his hand around it. "I will provide more should you wish it."

"Are you—I would like to know if you're—" he coughs— "if you're alright."

Her expression twitches and he knows he doesn't fully suppress his flinch, not with her this close, not with her looking at him like that. "You took a spell that was meant for me. You saved me. You defended me. And you have been hurt because of it."

Her hand moves slowly from his shoulder to his cheek.

"I…do not know what to do," she confesses softly, "we did not agree on payment."

"I do not require payment," he says as quickly as his throat will let him, "I did not—you don't—this is not an act that would require payment. You do not—I would—fuck."

He isn't lucid enough to do this. He can't do the careful and wary conversation that he has to right now, he can't—he can't—

"I will not bind your tongue," the Aspen Witch says, her hand still gentle on his face, "you…if you wish, you can speak."

No, he can't. He can't because he'll fuck it up and then—then—

Her hand leaves his face. "I will call the Five."

"No!"

Everything freezes.

He just told the Aspen Witch what to do. He just told the Aspen Witch no. He just—he just—oh, fuck—

"I mean—I m-mean—"

"I am not angry," she says, "I…you do not need to be so afraid. I will not harm you. I would like to know why you do not want your sweet ones to come and help you."

"I—my what?"

"Your sweet ones. The ones who care for you and whom you care for." She tilts her head, hair falling to one shoulder. "You do not wish for them to come, and I am curious."

"They're a lot," he manages and she laughs.

"Yes, they are. But they know you. They would help you."

"They're—" he takes another drink and feels his tongue relax. "All of this has happened because another magic user intruded on your grounds."

"These would be invited, and they would be to help you. I could bear no ill tidings against them, not when you are in need of assistance I cannot provide." At his face, her smile saddens. "You are afraid, and I cannot help you, for you are afraid of me too."

…well, there's really not much he can say to that.

"I will call them," she says carefully, so carefully it's almost a question, and he nods. She nods as well and stands. "If you would like more drink, I would wish for you to say."

Less than a few moments later, after she's gone to a table out of sight, he hears Roman's voice.

"Aspen Witch," and oh, fuck, he never thought he'd be so relieved to hear one of them, "you have called us."

"Come," she calls, walking toward the door and opening it, "your sweet one is hurting."

He blinks and in an instant, Roman is there, cupping his face, looking all worried and he can't stop the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Roman sees them, because of course he does, and then he's cooing and leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

"Oh, baby," he whispers, "baby, what happened?"

"What happened," he hears Logan ask at the same time, "is he alright?"

"He came to me with a cursed object and asked for its removal. As I destroyed it, the warlock responsible appeared and attempted to wrest it back. He…jumped in the way of the spell."

He hears a flutter of fabric and looks up to see both Janus and Remus at the table where the amulet was destroyed. Remus curses and Janus hits the table and the noise bounces around his head—

"Shh, shh," Roman murmurs, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, "eyes on me, baby, stay with me. There you are, with your pretty eyes, shh, that's it, you're doing very well."

"What sort of spell," he hears Patton ask, "is it still there?"

"I banished it as soon as the warlock was dealt with. He—there should be no lingering effects. I do not understand."

"Mortal minds are fragile," Logan says softly, "and Virgil has been an adventurer for many years. He has encountered a great number of things, magical or otherwise, and it would be unreasonable to assume that they have not left their marks."

"Baby," Roman calls again, and Virgil looks back at him, "hey, there he is. The others are just trying to figure out what's going on, but you and I are gonna take care of you first, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, I just want you to keep looking at me, okay? All I'm gonna do is touch you, okay? No magic, no casting, just touch." His fingers start to card through his hair and Virgil immediately feels his eyes get heavy. "You can close your eyes if you need to, just lean against me, I've got you, I'm right here."

The adrenaline from everything finally starts to wear off and Virgil feels his body decide to give in. He sags forward into Roman's waiting embrace, eyes falling shut as Roman starts to murmur sweet nonsense. After another moment, he hears Patton come over too and another hand scratches lightly between his shoulder blades. He nearly whimpers from sheer relief before he remembers that he's not at home, he's in the Aspen Witch's house, and the Aspen Witch herself is less than a few feet away.

He wrenches himself back awake, looking up at her, and to his surprise, she looks…upset? He glances at Logan, just to her left, and Logan simply smiles.

"Hello," he says softly, "are you alright?"

"I think so."

"Good, that's very good. You jumped in front of a spell and you didn't know what it was?"

"Wait," Roman says, "you did what?"

He sets his jaw and looks at the ground. Patton shoots a look at the two of them. "Don't scold him, can't you see he's already upset? Don't make it worse."

"Sorry, baby," Roman murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm not mad."

"Neither am I," Logan says, "but I am…confused."

"You shouldn't be," Janus says, finally moving away from the table, "he's Virgil, of course he jumped in front of the spell."

Well, that's not helping anything either. He feels his face start to burn and tries to pull away from Roman, but he's held fast. He swallows the instinctive wave of panic and buries his face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Aww, are you embarrassed?"

"You are making things worse," the Aspen Witch says, a bite to her tone, "I called you to help, not to hurt."

"We won't tease," Roman promises, both to her and to Virgil, "we're finished, you have my word."

Did…did the Aspen Witch just defend him? What in the fuck is going on? He risks a look at her and their eyes meet and something…something feels wrong.

"Virgil?" Patton's hand stills on his back. "What's wrong?"

"I am…also confused."

"What about?"

There's no polite way to say this and no, he isn't going to risk it right now, so he just looks from Patton back to the Aspen Witch and hopes that somehow, they'll get the gist of what he's trying to say. Sure enough, it takes Patton one look between the two of them before he's smiling.

"Oh, she's just jealous."

"What?"

"I would ask that you don't speak for me," she hisses but she sounds far more like Elise than the Aspen Witch.

"Tell him yourself, then."

The Aspen Witch scowls at him for a moment before she sighs and looks at Virgil. Her mouth twists around as if searching for the words before she sighs again.

"Your etiquette for magic users is exemplary," she says, "and you…for all that we have interacted, I do not know much about you."

She gestures around.

"The Five have your trust, they have your words. They…have not known you for as long as I have."

Oh.

Oh.

"I can't help you," she continues, "I…am upset by this. I would—I—"

She closes her eyes for a long moment and then opens them once more.

"I want to help you, Virgil, I want you to let me help you."

He likes to think that on a normal day, perhaps he wouldn't be doing something like this, but this isn't a normal day, and he's already broken that glass. So he reaches out a hand to the Aspen Witch, and when she takes it, he uses it to pull her a little bit closer.

She comes and crouches next to Patton, holding his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the house. He's not quite sure what to do with that.

"Are you alright?"

She nods. "I am alright."

"I liked the drink."

"I am glad. I will offer it to you again."

"I will accept it."

"Listen to you both," Remus snorts, and Janus whacks him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Ignore him, you're both doing wonderfully. Carry on, pretend we aren't here."

And you know, that's a bit too much for him to deal with right now. So when he feels the tug in his gut to start feeling things again, he closes his eyes and goes limp in Roman's hold, letting tears spill from his face. The Aspen Witch jerks in alarm but Patton must be saying something to the effect of this is normal, he's just overwhelmed, you gotta let him be a crybaby sometimes, but he's not paying attention because he's too goddamn tired.

Distantly, he registers Roman stroking his hair again, Patton's hand on his back, and the Aspen Witch beginning to squeeze his hand every few seconds, but with the apprehension of someone who's never pet a horse before trying to interact in a way that won't upset either of them. It's quite a surreal experience, really, and he thinks he can be forgiven for not wholly understanding what's going on.

A lot's happened today, and it's late. He should be asleep.

"He is hurt," the Aspen Witch says and everybody wakes up a bit at that, "let me help him."

"What's wrong?"

"The thorns have hurt him on his way through. I have a salve for them."

"Virgil," Logan asks, "is that okay? Can we help?"

He mumbles a vague agreement and he hears Janus laugh. "Poor thing's all sleepy. He needs a rest, is there somewhere we can tend to him?"

"Upstairs, there is a bed."

"Can I carry you, baby?" Virgil nods and Roman lifts him up almost effortlessly. "There, come on, upstairs, now."

As they pass the table, he forces himself to rouse and look to find the Aspen Witch. "The amulet—the child—"

"The child will suffer no more, the curse is gone." She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Now rest. Mortals are fragile, you must allow yourself to be cared for."

"He's not very good at that," Remus stage-whispers and Janus hits him again. "Hey! Stop it!"

"Stop being an insufferable ham sack, then."

"He's right," Virgil mumbles as he's put down on a bed, "I'm really not great at it."

"You're getting better," Logan says, sitting near his head, "now, you can try and sleep. No harm will come to you, you're safe here."

He looks over at the Aspen Witch, holding a tin of salve and a soft towel. She smiles and nods. "No harm will ever come to you under my roof, Virgil. I will see to it that you are safe."

"I…am grateful for that."

"As am I."

Not how he saw the quest ending, of course, but indeed, far from the worst quest in the world.

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[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chap 5

trapped

TW: Panic attack, talk of abuse and claustrophia. I have added ** to the beginning and end of the scene so it can be avoided. I've also put a summary of this moment at the very end. 

9 November 1996

Euphemia's POV

Harry had to stay in the hospital for the rest of the weekend. I sprained my wrist in my attempt to catch him but beyond that, I came away in better shape than my brother. There's something he isn't telling me but I won't pry, not yet at least. Saturday's match shook us both up pretty badly. Watching Harry tumbling out of the sky may be the most terrified I've been since I was little. The sight has been plaguing my nightmares the last few nights, mixing with the old dreams of Voldemort and Sirius Black and the Dursleys. I slept so poorly last night that I am basically running on coffee. 

"Alright, that's all for today. Reminder that your essay on your chosen creature are due on Thursday," Professor Lupin announces, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to reality. Quickly, I begin packing up my notes and textbook sloppier than I normally would in my daze. 

"Phe, let me get that for you," Fred says from my shoulder, reaching out for my bag. I shake my head, not interested in being coddled. I only sprained my wrist and I can carry my own bag. "S'arlight, Freddie. I have to talk to Lupin. I'll meet you in History of Magic, okay?" Fred nods, leaving the classroom with the rest of my friends as I walk towards Lupin's desk. "Professor, might I have a word?" 

Lupin turns, eyebrows raised at me in concern. "Certainly, are you well? I spoke to Harry earlier today about the match this weekend." 

"I'm fine. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I was doing some reading yesterday, on dementors, and I found a charm to repel them. The Patronus Charm." 

"Yes," Lupin says slowly, leaning back against his desk. Sunlight streams through the windows at an angle, a beam cutting through the air between us, looking like a golden veil was hung between me and the professor. 

"Can you teach it to me? And Harry?" 

"Euphemia.." Lupin starts but I cut him off. 

"We can't go on without some way to defend ourselves. We were lucky this time but we might not be again. From what I've read this charm is the only defense against them. We have to learn it," I speak quickly, nerves causing my hands to shake slightly at my sides. "Please."

Lupin considers me for a long moment, before standing straight up with a weary sigh. "It well beyond the Ordinary Wizarding Levels..." 

"I can handle it," I say quickly causing Lupin's lips to twitch into a sad smile. 

"You looked very much like your mother when you said that. She was always at the top of our class, intelligent beyond her years. I suppose... if anyone could master the Patronus at such young ages it would be the children of James and Lily." Lupin studies me sadly, a flicker of pride lingering in his eyes. 

"So you'll do it?" 

"Yes, I can try. I do not claim to be an expert at fighting dementors and it will have to wait until next term. I'm afraid I've chosen a busy time to fall ill." Lupin says, turning to look at the papers stacked on his desk. 

"That's fine, thank you, sir. Thank you very much," I say earnestly, smiling at him through the golden veil of sunlight. He nods slowly and I turn, leaving the class much more hopeful than when I entered it. 

10 November 1996

Riddle and I stroll down the halls, walking our usual route through the castle in a slightly tense silence. Really, slightly tense is about as close to comfortable as we can get. We are near the end of our rounds, when a huge crash echoes through the hall causing both of us to jump. 

"The hell was that?" I ask, turning around searching for the source of the crash. 

"Dunno" Mattheo says, his eyes narrowed. Another crash sounds to our left, from a broom cupboard. I step towards it but Mattheo reaches out, grabbing me by the arm. Startled, I yank my arm back hard but Riddle's grip is harder and we stumble, my back hitting the wall as he collides with me, his hand reaching out to brace himself on the wall over my head. For a moment, we stand there completely still, stunned at the position we find ourselves in. I can't help but notice the faint scent of his cologne, the dark brown of his eyes where amusement dances as he stares down at me, a small grin on his lips. 

"Get off me!" I say angrily, snapping out of the moment, trying to push Riddle away. 

"Did you stop to think that you might not want to burst into whatever is happening in the closet, princess?" Riddle says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "I know I'm only ever in broom closets for one thing." 

"Please spare me the details of your favorite conquests. It's past curfew. What are we here for if not to catch people not in the dorms?" I respond sharply, refusing to admit that, no, I had not considered that possibility. 

"Your funeral," Riddle shrugs as he loosens his grip enough for me to shove him off. He stumbles back a few steps, a crooked and cocky grin growing on his face as he chuckles slightly. 

I step towards the door carefully and knock, Riddle to snorts a laugh behind me. The sounds stop from inside the closet and I roll my eyes, pulling open the door. As I do something sweeps out over me and before I know it, I am stumbling forward from a force at my back.  I stumble forward, catching myself on the back wall of the closet, and Riddle tumbles in after me before the door slams shut. I hear a cackling from the other side of the door as Peeves compliments himself and the rattle of the doorknob as Riddle tries and fails to open the door. No, no, no, please.

Mattheo's POV

I quickly turn back to the door, throwing my weight against the wood. "PEEVES! Let us out!" I bellow, trying to get the door open. Peeves just continues cackling as his voice gets quieter and quieter, presumably as he floats leisurely down the corridor, immensely pleased with himself.  I bang one last time against the door, groaning in frustration before turning around and reaching in my pocket for my wand. "Lumos," I murmur and a soft light blooms from the tip of my wand. "Alohomora!" I say and try to open the door to no avail  and kick the door once more for good measure. "Fuck."  

**

I sigh and turn back to face Potter, leaning against the door. Now that there is light in the room, I notice her pressed up against the back wall, her breath shallow and uneven. "What's the matter with you?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. 

"Shut up," she mumbles, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall. Her chest heaves with each uneasy breath, her hands pressed tightly up against the wall, her heart beating so hard and rapidly I can see her pulse in her neck. 

"Potter, what is happening? We'll get out eventually, everything's fine. No need to panic."

"Mattheo! Shut up!" She yells suddenly, her eyes wide and fear filled.

I stand there stunned for a moment, watching Euphemia Potter try to control her breathing and she slides down the wall till she's sitting, her knees pulled up to her chest. She's never called me by my first name before and she's certainly never lost her cool in front of me. No matter how hard I've pushed she has always maintained her cool, any anger or hatred might bubble on the surface but still always under her control. Her breathing is steadily getting quicker and quicker as she places her hand over her chest, rubbing roughly against her uniform sweater. Panic attack. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks and I sink down to my knees and reach out towards her but she recoils away from my touch. 

"It's okay, Euphemia. Just try and focus on my voice, okay? You're safe, you're gonna be okay. Try and breath with me, okay?" I sit against the door, trying to give her as much space as possible, and breath deeply, exaggerating my movements so she can follow better. I'm not sure how long we sit here, me breathing deeply as she tries to match me. Slowly, her breathing slows and the fear in her eyes melts, no longer wild with panic and fear. 

Eventually, her breathing slows to near normal and she drops her knees to sit crisscross, her thumb and forefinger playing her ring. "Thank you," she whispers so quietly I almost miss it. "I just really don't like tight spaces." 

"Yeah, I kinda put those pieces together myself," I say although I immediately regret responding with a quip. "Sorry." 

"No, actually you being irritating is helping. Distracting," she huffs a small laugh. "I don't think I've ever heard you apologize," she adds after a moment. 

"Hm, I don't do it often. I'm so very rarely wrong," I grumble, still watching Euphemia closely as she scoffs, shaking her head slightly. "If we're talking firsts, I've never heard you call me Mattheo before." 

"Well you wouldn't shut up," she quips, shrugging as she studies me for a moment. 

"I thought you said me talking was helping." 

"Now, not before," she corrects. "Did you try Alohomora?" I nod and she sighs, her face screwing up in concentration as she tries to think of another solution. 

We sit in silence for a long moment and I watch her. The way she bites her lip as she thinks, her green eyes bright even in the dim light, and her hands fidget with her ring, the pale stone catching the light every so often, the lighting scar on her left hand shining white as its illuminated by the light from my wand, her hair messier than it was in the hallway, more pieces falling around her face, softening her features. I think back to that first night we did rounds together, where she flinched at my raised hand, and I realize, possibly for the first time, that maybe her life isn't as perfect as I always thought it was... 

She suddenly takes a deep breath, leaning back against the wall with her eyes closed. "You alright?" She nods slowly, her fingers spinning her ring quickly. "Someone will find us eventually," I assure her. I want to say more, ask who hurt her so badly she flinches at a raised hand and panics in small spaces, and honestly, I'm surprised at my own interest. Violence and abuse is nothing new to me. I have a record longer than my arm of all the fist fights I've gotten into in the last 5 years alone and most of the people I know and grew up with have been punished by their parents physically in one way or another. But something about watching Euphemia Potter curled in on herself makes me want to find whoever did this to her and hurt them so badly they never lay a hand on anyone else ever again. 

"My aunt and uncle... when I made them mad, which was pretty often... as I'm not really obedient by nature," she chuckles softly, "... they had this small cupboard under the staircase... they'd put us in there. Added a lock to the outside so we couldn't get out..." She speaks quietly and slowly, making sure to keep her breath measured and deep, she voice shaking slightly. 

"Merlin... that's terrible," I say eventually, surprised she's willing admit this to me. I clench my fists, trying to control the rise of anger in my chest. Why do I care all of a sudden?  She shrugs slightly, pulling her knees back up to her chest. "I don't think I ever knew who you lived with 'til now... did you ever report anything to the Ministry?" 

"They're Muggles. Ministry of Magic doesn't care about Muggles," she says simply, her eyes meeting mine for the first time. 

"I thought the Potter family was a pureblood fam-" 

"Mum was Muggleborn. Her sister, my aunt, hated her for being a witch." 

"There wasn't anyone else? Any one better?" I ask, truthfully bewildered that the golden children, the saviors of the wizarding world, have absolutely no one else to turn to. She just shrugs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry." 

"Two apologies in less than an hour? Who are you and what have you done to Mattheo Riddle?" She asks, her eyes narrowed mischievously. Her fingers still dance around her ring but the worst of the panic seems to have faded, or she's adept at hiding it.

**

"I'm not completely unsympathetic," I say, "Besides, it wouldn't be fair to kick you while you're down," I add as an afterthought. 

"Like that's ever stopped you before. I've seen you beat people unconscious and keep going," she challenges, but I don't see judgement in her eyes like I normally do, but rather a cool interest. Like I am a problem she can't figure out how to solve. 

"Maybe they deserved it," I say and I begin to feel uncomfortable under her watchful gaze. Her green eyes seem to pierce through my skin, through the armor of indifference I've spent years building around myself and I find I'm feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"So, any ideas how we get out of here, princess?" I ask, ducking my gaze away from hers, suddenly itching to get away from this closet where so many vulnerabilities have been laid bare. 

"Fred and George will figure it out eventually," she says confidently. I raise my eyebrow. 

"Uh, what makes you think that? I didn't think the Weasley twins were the brightest of the ginger bunch." 

"Oi, we were having a not-so-terrible moment, don't ruin it by making fun of my friends," she says defensively and I raise my hands in surrender. "At least one of them always stays up until I come back to the common room after rounds and when I don't show up, well, let's just say they have a way to find me." 

"Okay...Two questions: Why and how?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"The why is that George and Freddie are protective and they don't trust you. The how is a secret," she says simply, running her fingers through her hair, my eyes following the movement. 

I avert my eyes and look down at my watch. "Well we should've been done about a half hour ago so I hope they catch up soon. I think this is now officially the most time we've spent together in one sitting, princess." 

"And we haven't killed each other yet. We must be growing up," she quips sarcastically, making us both laugh. They are genuine laughs and for a moment, I think hers is the best thing I've ever heard. 

Another 10 or so minutes pass, and we sit there across from each other, sometimes chatting and sometimes sitting in an easy silence. It is the most enjoyable time that I have ever spent with Euphemia Potter, panic attack aside. 

"Mia!" A voice calls distantly and Euphemia jumps up, stumbling over me to reach the door, kicking my knee slightly and I grunt. 

"Fred! George!" She calls back frantically, banging on the door of the closet. I breathe a sigh of relief, sitting on the stone floor was getting painful and I was starting to think Potter placed too much faith in the Twins; I push myself up to stand behind her. 

There is some shuffling and talking on the other side and soon, the door opens, dim light flooding in from the darkened corridor, to reveal the Weasley Twins on the other side, wearing matching panicked expressions. As soon as the door is opened, Mia stumbles out and and into one of the Twins arms, causing the pair to stumble back and allowing me to step out of the broom closet. Before I have fully stepped into the corridor, the twin not holding Mia grabs me by the collar and slams me against the wall, the back of my head connecting with the rough stone wall.

"What the hell did you do to her?!" He yells at me. On instinct I swing my fist up, connecting with his jaw and shove him off me. 

"Fred!" Mia gasps, and tries to step forward but George holds her back. Fred stands upright, anger in his eyes as he takes a swing for me. I duck his first swing but he lands a second in my gut, knocking the wind out of me and before I can recover I'm back to being pressed up against the wall with Fred's snarling face inches from mine. "How dare you touch her, you piece of shit!" 

"I didn't do shit, Weasley!" I snarl back, grappling with him roughly. Both the Twins have a few inches on me but I've been in more fights this term than they have their whole lives. I take another swing but Fred is ready this time and ducks causing me to graze his shoulder,  and he retaliates with a punch to my mouth. 

"It wasn't his fault! FRED STOP!" Mia shouts, louder than I thought possible for her. Fred stops for a moment, looking at the girl. 

"Yeah right," scoffs Fred, keeping me pinned to the wall. 

"I didn't do shit!" I spit, a little blood mixing with my saliva. 

"I didn't ask you, Riddle." 

"It was Peeves! He shoved us and locked us in somehow. It wasn't Mattheo's fault!" Potter says, breaking out of George's hold. She steps towards us and manages to get Fred to release his grip of me and pushes him back. At her touch, Fred visibly relaxes, his eyes quickly scanning Euphemia and, seeing no signs of any hurt, steps back further and my gut twists. 

"I told you I-"

"And what, may I ask, is happening here?" We all turn towards the voice, startled out of the stand off to see Professor Lupin standing at the end of the hall, his eyes scanning the four of us, the blood on my lip, and raises his eyes. 

"Apologies, Professor. Riddle and I got locked in this closet by Peeves. Fred and George just came to get us out," Euphemia supplies easily, removing her hands from Fred.  Lupin watches Euphemia standing between Fred and I, George behind us and raises an eyebrow. 

"And?" 

"I was blamed for no reason" I grumble, glaring at Fred. 

"And how, might I ask, did Mr. and Mr. Weasley know where to find you?" Lupin asks, seeming suspicious. 

"Hm, I'd like to know that as well," I say, looking at Fred. The Twins exchange a glance, the kind of mind reading look that twins are famous for, but before they come up with a story, Euphemia speaks up. 

"They know what parts of the castle are Riddle's and my responsibility. When I didn't come back when I normally do they got worried." 

"Yeah, we walked around until we heard Mia yelling, sir," George adds, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulder. 

"Hm" Lupin sighs, eyeing the trio and then me, "Well then, that was very chivalrous of the two of you. However, you are out past curfew and fighting. Five points from Gryffindor each for breaking curfew and another 5 for fighting for both Mr. Weasley and Mr. Riddle," Lupin declares simply. "Is everyone alright? I can escort you to the hospital wing if needed." 

"No," I grumble at the same time Fred and George say, "No, sir." 

"Thank you, professor. We'll go right back to the dorms," Potter adds to which Lupin nods. 

"Yes, please. See that you do. Goodnight," Lupin says, turning and walking back the way he came slowly. 

"C'mon, guys," Euphemia says quietly, tugging on Fred's arm. Fred spares me one last glare, which I match, before turning away. Potter hesitates for a moment, turning back to me with a soft smile. "Thank you." I nod in acknowledgement and watch for a moment as the trio turns away, Fred's arm around Euphemia's shoulders, and that strange twist in my gut returns. 

A/N: Wow this is a long one (3.6 words) but I hope you enjoy it and enjoy getting to see Mia and Mattheo actually connecting for once as they begin to start deconstructing some of their preconceived ideas about each other. And protective Weasley twins, my loves. 

Summary of scene between the **: 

Mia and Mattheo are locked in the broom closet and Mia starts having a panic attack. Mattheo, after realizing what is happening starts trying to calm her down and guiding her breathing while sitting as far away from her as possible. After a while, she is able to calm down and admits that the Dursley's would lock her in the cupboard under the stairs when he misbehaves. (Harry and Mia shared the room that canon Harry sleeps in from Chamber of Secrets onward since they wouldn't both fit under the stairs but didn't want to remove the cupboard aspect completely) They talk a little about why Mia and Harry were given to the Dursley's and Mattheo starts realizing that the Potter's life may not have been as perfect as he has always assumed and feels angry for Mia. He comments that in her panic, Mia called him Mattheo for the first time, and he also apologizes for a quip he makes and that she had to be raised the way she was. Mia then jokes that Mattheo never apologizes. 

[sinnohelitefourlore]

Random Sinnoh Gym Leader HCs Pt 2.

Candice:

- When she was at Snowpoint City’s Trainer’s School (aka, “Bitch High” according to students from other schools) she was considered one of the “nice” ones, which at the time said quite a lot.

- Candice was never outright mean, she was just… venomously sweet. It was out of self-defense, however – she was passive aggressive to the girls that were mean to her.“Wow! That blouse is certainly… a brave choice!”

- if Candice ever says something mean at a league meeting the others gently remind her that she doesn’t have to be so defensive anymore. Volkner just straight up tells she’s no longer a student at “Bitch High” so she could stop, thank you.

Maylene:

- if you asked maylene if she loved her mom or dad more, she would say her grandmother. yes, she knows that wasn’t an option, but she doesn’t want to talk about it so shut up.

- she once challenged wake to an eating contest and lost… the first time. today, he would challenge her, and the end result would always be wake in the bathroom as maylene picks at his leftovers.

- maylene doesn’t like makeup, but candice likes makeup, and she only agreed to letting candice make her over was that it was a plausible excuse to get closer to the ice gym leader.

Gardenia:

- she used to have panic attacks in the eterna forest specifically near the old chateau. one day she’s blinded by her own tears, she texted the last person she messaged with trembling hands not knowing who it was at the time to go get her. that’s how volkner (from all the way in Sunyshore) came to her aid. without saying a word, he brushed her tears away with his thumbs, got her to slow her breathing down, and then they ventured their way out of the forest. she locked her hand with his in a death grip.

- she’s not a religious person, not really - but there are times when she would spend nights crying to arceus praying for her fear of ghosts to go away.

- when she was elected as gym leader, she gave one shiny leaf each to the elite four and cynthia as a way of showing thanks and friendship. after years, they all still have them.

Roark:

- if one more fucking person reminds him that riley was supposed to be the gym leader and not him, then he’s going to lose it.

- no really, he’s tired of the goddamn comparisons. comparisons to his dad, comparisons to the aura guardian boy toy, and to the other gym leaders.

- he likes to help gardenia tend to flowers in his free time.

Volkner:

- even before flint left to go on a journey, volkner’s moods had always been erratic starting as a teenager. he could go from “i want to skinnydip at night jumping from the fucking lighthouse, flint” to “everyday i day i die a little more, flint” in a matter of weeks.

- when he’s up and about, he has about fifty projects around sunyshore working with his gadgets and he’s so on top-of-the-fucking world and he’s actually feeling fan-fucking-tastic no flint who cares that he hasn’t slept in three days it’s not like he needs it. When he crashes, the blackouts happen and everything goes to shit because he’s not motivated to do shit and the pokemon trainers are not good enough to do shit and everything is just shit.

- he plays the guitar to help these moments, and it helps a little – only flint knows about this talent of his.

Fantina:

- Sinnoh had a reputation of hosting the “crueler” trainers of all the regions. when Sinnohnians wondered why Fantina was so lovely and kind, she remarked in an interview that she’s from Kalos. “Ah, that explains it,” they said.

- over a half of fantina’s earnings as a gym leader and a coordinator go to charities – the most out of any league member in history.

- when she publicly came out as trans, sinnohnians had only two questions: “okay… she’s still the gym leader right? I sure as shit hope so.” and “she’s still having her contest shows yes, please tell me she is?” in other words, they didn’t care, because this was goddamn Fantina Dumont, a coordinating legend who could’ve stayed in Kalos but wanted to dazzle Sinnoh, instead.

Crasher Wake:

- though he looked like he could kill you with one snap of the neck, he would never. he only used his strength to protect those who were young and vulnerable. because of this, the teenage gym leaders affectionately called him "Hercules.”

- out of all the gym leaders, you would think he’s best friends with byron. while byron’s certainly up there, he has the closest bond with fantina. if fantina was doing a contest, wake would be in the front row. vice versa for wake’s wrestling shows.

- wake doesn’t hate things, because he thinks life is too great to hate, but then he sees cyrus for the first time and bloodlust riles within him.

byron:

- byron has a gruff exterior, but when it comes to his wife, lily, he gets bashful as he was when he first met her when they were both 22 working in the mines. he’ll call her his “beautiful honey,” and “his girl.” he once said she was “the miner that won my heart,” and realized how wrong that sounded as soon as it left his mouth. lily still laughs over it to present day. roark just facepalms.

- byron will take to his grave that he loves rom-coms, especially the end where the couple finally admits their feelings to each other and kiss.

- byron had cried three times in his life. when his father died, when he got married, and when roark was born.

[gennyanydots]

This is love I just can’t live without Ch. 3

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x f!Kazansky!reader (affectionately often called “Baby Ice”)

“This is love I just can’t live without” masterlist

Biker!au

Chapter summary: Your dad has basically no food in the house so to the store you go with your best friend in tow. Of course you run into someone you don’t want to see at the store.

Chapter 3 “Nowhere to go” Baby Ice

Chapter trigger warnings: cheating, panic attacks

You roll over in a sleepy daze and look over at the alarm clock on your nightstand. Noon. You can’t remember the last time you slept this late.

Last night all of your uncles (minus one) stayed until after you went to bed. You could still hear them as you drifted off to sleep. They had told you story after story until you could barely keep your eyes open and then sent you to bed after receiving a hug and forehead kiss from each of them, which may have made you tear up. Just a little. It’d been a long time since you were surrounded by so much love.

Not that they didn’t come and visit, because they did, they all couldn’t just abandon the club in case something happened. So, about once a month you have an uncle sleeping in your spare bedroom. Puts a slight damper on your social life. Puts an even bigger one on your love life. Well, it would, if you had one.

Even five years later, you’re still scared of trying again. How could you after the one person who said they would never hurt you, would rather cut their own leg off than hurt you, did just that? The pain still feels the same, time has done little to numb it. Being back makes it worse.

You hear the front food open and close from down the hall not thinking much of it until you head how fast the footsteps that came in were. Right towards your room. You’d be scared if you didn’t know that exact gait. You had about five seconds to brace yourself. You roll over and curl up the best you can.

5

4

3

2

1

The door to your bedroom flings open and before you know it a body jumps on top of you.

“Oooof! Really Nat?! I just woke up!” You yell as you try and wiggle out of the ball you curled yourself into.

“And you’ve been home for like twelve hours and I hadn’t seen your face yet soooo sucks to suck,” Natasha says as continues to lay on top of you, not moving an inch to let you uncurl your uncomfortable body.

You try and wriggle some more, “Would you get off?!”

Natasha sighs and rolls off then lays down on top of your blankets next to you, “Okay so what’s the plan for the day? We doing anything fun? I want to do something fun.”

You shrugged, “If you count going grocery shopping as fun then we’re about to have a blasty blast. Dad has like no food in the house so to the store we go.”

“That sounds boring,” Natasha whines.

You sit up and stretch your arms above your head. “I’ll push you around in the cart?” you offer.

Natasha sits up next to you, “That sounds better. We better find some fun things there or I’ll be pissed.”

You knock your shoulder against hers, “We’ll find some girly drinks there too so we don’t have to drink beer. Better?”

“Better.”

It didn’t take you too too long to get ready to go to the store, in between catching up with your best friend since you last saw her two months ago.

You both hopped in your car for the short drive to the store.

“You know you have to play lookout, right?” you say and glance at Natasha as you drive.

She nods, “I’m actually insulted that you would think that I wouldn’t be lookout. Actually you know what? I want to be a spy. Can that be my job?”

You laugh, “As long as you keep lookout while being a spy I don’t care what you want your job title to be.”

She grins at you as you pull into the store parking lot.

When she gets out you watch her stand up on the door sill and look around, “Don’t see his bike or the bronco. Coast is clear.”

You laugh watching her hop down and slam the door shut then you get out and meet her at the back of your car. She immediately slides her arm through your elbow so the two of you walk arm in arm into the store.

The two of you stop at the carts and you pull one out which Natasha immediately climbs into. First you hit up the fresh produce knowing that your father probably hasn’t eaten something green in a long while, not since your mother was cooking for him and that stopped at least six months ago when she started to get sick. You piled a couple different fruits and vegetables around Natasha as she made faces at anyone who looked at her funny for sitting in the cart as you pushed her around the store.

“What cereal should we get?” you ask as you push the cart down the cereal aisle.

Natasha looks at all the different options, “Which one has the most sugar? That’s the one I want.”

You roll your eyes and reach for a box of Froot Loops with marshmallows. Can’t get much more surgery than that.

“Kazansky, as I live and breathe,” a voice says from further down the aisle.

“I’m the worst spy,” Natasha whispers at you.

You stay facing the cereal boxes and squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel your heart start to race. It’s suddenly much warmer than it was a second ago. It’s been a long time since you heard his voice. Not since that night.

You sat outside your high school waiting on Bradley. He said he’d pick you up.

The school was having a theater summer camp for kids and you signed up to help with it. Today had been the last day so you had to stay later to help clean up and make sure everything was situated. You didn’t mind at all.

The only problem was your mom dropped you off that morning because Bradley was supposed to pick you up so you two could go to Jake’s house for a party and now Bradley wasn’t answering his phone.

You’ve called him five times in the last 45 minutes. Had something happened to him? You hope he’s okay. You think maybe you should call his mom to check before you get a text from Nat asking you when you’re going over to Jake’s because she doesn’t want to be there without you.

You call her and explain the situation and she sighs. This isn’t the first time Bradley’s forgotten to pick you up. It doesn’t happen often but it still happens.

She tells you she’ll be right there to get you and the two of you can run back to her house and get ready. She’s says you might as well look as hot as possible while you make Bradley feel bad for forgetting you.

True to her word, Nat’s there to get you less than ten minutes later. Still no word from Bradley. You sent him a text to let him know you found a ride. He hasn’t even read it yet.

Every time you look at your phone you can see it on Natasha’s face just how mad she’s getting. She’s mumbled a couple things under her breath as she drove you to her house.

The two of you change into the outfits you had picked out for the night, you had yours in your backpack thankfully. You help each other with makeup then you’re on your way.

Jake’s parents own a cute farmhouse on the outskirts of town. There’s a barn in the backyard which became the party spot all throughout high school. The barn has some old couches strewn about and some speakers that Jake hung up along with some LED lights. It was a perfect spot for parties or hanging out.

When you two arrived at the barn you were handed beers at the door by one friend or another. The party was already in full swing. Music turned up. Lights flashing. Some kids were looking a little wobbly.

“I’m going to see if I can find Bradley,” you say to Nat and she grabbed your hand.

“I’ll help. Two sets of eyes are better than one,” she said and followed after you.

It took you 15 minutes to find him. 15 minutes before your world came crashing down.

You found Bradley. You found him with a girl on either of his legs, sitting on his lap on one of the old couches in the corner under the hayloft. One girl had her hand running up and down Bradley’s chest while the other one was shoving her tongue down his throat.

Your cup of beer crashed to the floor, not that they noticed. They were in their own little world. Clearly Bradley was too busy to pick you up.

You quickly started back towards the door with tears streaking your makeup down your face. You didn’t care. Natasha was right at your heels.

As soon as you exited the barn, a hand grabs for yours, effectively stopping you. It was Jake.

“Where you goin’, darlin? What’s got you upset?” He asks, concern written all over his face.

You just shook your head and pulled your hand back and continued on towards Natasha’s car.

You try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself as you hear footsteps get closer to you. Two sets. Oh God. Please no. Please please please no. You can’t. You can’t do this today. You should have waited for one of your uncles to come shopping with you. They wouldn’t have let this happen. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t-

-you jump feeling a hand brush your arm and snap around towards it, you open your eyes reluctantly and it’s just Natasha that reached out to you, hand pulled back slightly from when she spooked you.

“Say the word and we leave,” she whispers to you.

You laugh weakly and shake your head, “I can do this, right?”

She nods, “Of course you can.” She gives you a reassuring smile and turns towards where the footsteps stopped, “Bagman. Hey Coyote.”

“Hey,” a voice you don’t know responds back.

You turn apprehensively towards them. He’s not with them. It’s just Jake. And someone named Coyote apparently. Not that you wanted to see Jake either but if you had to choose.

“Jake… you look… good,” you say with a shrug. You don’t really want to stand around exchanging pleasantries with him.

“Well, I am good, Kazansky, I’m very good,” Jake says grinning at you. “In fact, I am too good to be true.” Still full of himself.

“Perfect, then I can pretend you’re not. Okay bye!” you say and grab hold of the cart to start pushing it again.

Jake jogs in front of the cart and puts his hands on the front of it to stop it, “What’s the rush, Baby Ice? Haven’t seen you in so long. We gotta catch up.”

Natasha scoffs and kicks at his hands, “Haven’t seen her for good reason, asshole. Coyote come move your friend before I end him.” She kicks at Jake’s hands one more time making sure to land her heel on the back of his hand.

Jake yanks both his hands away and shakes them out swearing under his breath. He scowls at her as he stalks back to his friend, “Well, Kazansky …Nat, it’s been lovely seeing the both of you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again real soon.”

You give the two men a final glance before you start pushing the cart down the aisle away from them.

“Oh and don’t worry I’ll let Bradley know you say hi,” Jake calls to you, then snickers.

You freeze immediately. Your breath starts to speed up and you worry your bottom lip. You glance at Natasha and she’s already glaring at the figure behind you.

“Good going asshole!” Natasha yells and hops out of the cart before grabbing your arm and pulling you all the way outside to your car. She helps you into the passenger seat and goes around to the driver side and starts the car. The whole ride home you can hear her muttering under her breath as you pick at the strings on the ripped pair of jean shorts you’re wearing.

When you get to your house you practically sprint inside to your room and throw yourself on your bed. Safe.

A couple minutes later Nat comes walking into your room and makes you scoot over and lays next to you, “I’m sorry I didn’t see him sooner.”

You give her a weak smile, “It’s not your fault. It wouldn’t have done much good. You would have seen him maybe two seconds before he opened his big mouth.”

“Yeah, but two seconds is still two seconds. We could have faked an emergency,” Nat says. “Clearly I should have gotten a call from the President of the United States asking me to join a secret spy agency and we have to rush to get on a plane.”

You laugh. Nat has always been able to pull you up from whatever dark hole you find yourself in. When you left town, she was right there with you all summer until she had to come back home for school. You are forever grateful for her. The best friend you’ve always been able to count on.

You and Nat fall into a comfortable silence before you could hear the rumble of a bike engine outside. You both wait a few minutes until you don’t hear the bike turn off. A knock comes from the front door and you both sit up and look at each other. You then hear the bike drive away.

“I’ll go see,” Nat says while getting off your bed. You hear her walk to the door and open it. Then she calls your name.

You head towards her and see a couple grocery bags on the front step.

“Where’d those come from?” You ask.

Nat shrugs then hands you a folded piece of paper with your name on it. You unfold it:

“I’m truly sorry for how Hangman acted at the store. I should have stopped him. Please know I would have never let him talk to you if I had known it would upset you. It won’t happen again.

- Javy (Coyote)”

You look up at Natasha, “Wait a minute. THAT was Javy?!”

[taintmansion]

Alright so here goes a big personal mental health post…

As I’ve posted about since august, I developed a terrible anxiety induced insomnia which through finding a very helpful community online now identify as “sleep anxiety” which sort of accidentally happens to people when sometimes even one sleepless night sends them into a fight or flight mode. My brain now gets confused and thinks I should not sleep. I am often on 2-4 hours at most, often broken up and requires me to work hard to make myself relax and just wake up feeling unrested.

I’ve had ups and downs, one medication that seemed to work a while but made me feel like shit (while still working a stressful job that set this whole thing off) and then took myself off it and figured I probably need to be on an actual anxiety medication and have 2 family members on lexapro so hey, let’s ask for that. Was given that by a rando telehealth doctor because with shit insurance didn’t know where to go. Got through 2 days on it with what felt like heightened insomnia and anxiety zero appetite etc.

I stayed at my mom’s for half a week after my job took me off the schedule shortly after I gave my 2 weeks notice but told them I’ve been sick and may not make all the last shifts. That was the 2nd day of lexapro and felt I would lose my mind if I kept taking it at that point especially without a psych to follow up with. So, at my mom’s and trying a stress relief supplement, I started sleeping better and better. Went back home, had one bad night but then oddly on an air mattress slept good again.

Just as things were going so well for me, I went to a shitty dentist office i already didn’t like but wanted a tooth filled, and this dentist dropped a drill in my mouth cutting a hole under my tongue. Didn’t even know things like that happened to people! My anxiety was skyrocketed and every day since then sleep has been a struggle again. Actually I only slept decent the 2 times I’ve taken a Xanax which I got prescribed to help me get through the first few weeks lexapro because a trusted dr (gynecologist tbh) at least told me to keep trying. I signed up for better health insurance but it won’t kick in until November 1st. I’ll find an actual psychiatrist.

Anyway. After getting through a wedding out of town that was a big stressor for me, it went pretty well all things considered, I’m starting lexapro once again tomorrow morning and committing to getting through at least 2 weeks and see how it goes. Even though a top side effect is. Insomnia. 😑 This time I have the xanax to take as needed.

Just felt like typing this all out I guess because this has been the biggest mental health challenge of my life. Somehow worse than when I had panic attacks for months when I was 19. This has had me feeling beyond broken, confused, not myself, like I’ll never be ok again… totally scared and lost. So going forward all I have is meds hopefully helping me and the help of this yt channel and the guy’s book that arrives in a few days. This could be a continued struggle or it may get better soon. I’m scared and don’t know when I can work again. I only have so much funds and help but also very very blessed with my family which helps a lot. I hope I get past this and have a good 2024.

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Dismantled Chapter 8

AO3

mutant mayhem popped off guys i might just write fic for that too

Trigger Warnings: discussions of injury, violence/gore, speculated child abuse, panic attacks, and kidnapping

2441 words

Donnie stumbled out of his room on unsteady feet, stomach gurgling painfully. How long had he slept? His head did not feel much better from last night, but at least he could see things without stars bursting over his vision with pain.

The yokai was already in the kitchen, cooking up something that Donnie couldn’t quite identify yet.

Upon noticing him, he smiled wide, sharp canines revealed. It didn’t set him on edge like it had before. “Look who’s finally awake,” he said with a teasing lilt.

“What time is it?” he asked, feeling much like his head was screwed on backwards.

“Not too late,” was the reply. If his head were any clearer, he’d be unsatisfied with that response, but as it was… he was struggling just to walk. “I’m making breakfast,” he continued, gesturing to what looked like a yokai equivalent of pancakes. Interesting. 

Frankly, Donnie was just grateful to be eating solid food, so he wasn’t about to complain about it. 

“Oh, could you grab the pitcher from the fridge? I’ve gotta make sure these don’t burn.”

He glanced over to the fridge, mildly confused. He couldn’t recall being actually asked to do anything in his time here. Was there actual progress being made here?

He swung the fridge door open, quickly spotting the target. It was smaller than what he’d expected, but that wasn’t his primary concern. Whatever was inside could not possibly be consumable. It was pink, but not in a strawberry lemonade kind of way. Honestly, it was unlike any “beverage” he’d ever seen, and he lived with Leo and Raph. Those two would mix together and consume anything. It was… certainly something to behold. 

Or, well… he was supposed to live with them. He was supposed to go back to them. What was he doing here, again?

“All done! Come sit.”

Heart heavy, he returned to the table, pitcher in hand. 

A plate stacked with a few pancakes was set in front of him, along with an empty cup. Displeased, Donnie glanced from the cup to the pitcher, grimacing. 

“Can I just have like… water? Or coffee?” He asked, passing his empty cup between his hands, fidgeting. 

“Coffee, at your age…” he grumbled, “you’ll stunt your growth.”

Donnie straightened in his seat, eager to share his knowledge. “Actually, there have been several studies disproving that. It’s an old myth that likely stemmed from what seemed to be connections to osteoporosis, but that didn’t even turn out to be relevant.”

His not-father grinned slightly, amused. “You just have endless knowledge in that head of yours, don’t you? I’m impressed.”

He preened at the praise, slightly giddy that his fun facts were actually met with interest. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d supplied Splinter with any fact that had been met with much of a reaction at all. Unless you counted the classic “shut up, I’m watching television,” as a reaction. It kind of just felt like the default, most days.

“Tell you what,” he said, “just try one sip of the juice, and if you don’t like it, you don’t need to drink it.”

“That is supposed to be juice?” He asked, skeptical. “What kind?” 

Were he not eyeing the drink like it would bite him, or perhaps had he not been off his game since waking up as he had this morning, he may have caught the way his makeshift caretaker shifted, nervous. 

“Oh, it’s a… blend,” he supplied, slightly stilted. “Like a sort of fruit punch, you could say.”

It certainly didn’t look like any fruit punch he’d ever seen. Still, if taking just one sip would be enough to grant him some nice, plain water…

He was thirsty, after all.

With a begrudging sigh, he picked up the pitcher, making a show of pouring in the most minuscule of drops possible. 

He frowned down at it. One sip. He could do that. If he had been able to survive pipe goop chicken last lair games — arguably the worst moment of his life when it came to anything regarding flavor. Or sanitation. Or breathing. — he could do this, no problem.

“Can’t I just determine I won’t like it based on every other observation about it?” he asked once more, the smell hitting him too strongly as he gagged. 

“It tastes much better than it smells, I promise.”

It smelled artificial. Furthermore, it smelled kind of like Draxum’s lair had — before they’d blown it up. He didn’t know what kind of garbage that mad man had been cooking up in that lab, but if he had to choose between drinking one of those concoctions and being thrown off a roof… 

The expectant gaze of the man who claimed fatherhood — what a mess of “parental figures” he and his brothers had. A creator that had tried to end humanity, a temporary disaster of the spider b-witch that had sung his praises until he’d let his guard down, a man-rat that had never read a book on parenting in his life, and now this fox yokai that Donnie didn’t even know the real name of (which made it frustratingly difficult to refer to him, even mentally, because lord knows he wasn’t about to bust out “dad” this soon. Or ever! Because he wasn’t insane.) Hadn’t there been a point to this train of thought? Why was he being watched so intently—?

Right. This stupid drink. 

With a long, drawn out huff, he lifted the cup to his mouth, taking his time in tilting it back until the tiniest, tiniest drop landed on his tongue.

The plan was to dramatically place the cup back on the table with a request/demand/beg for just water, please. That plan, unfortunately, was instantly thrown out the window the moment the flavor began to hit him. He didn’t even entirely register that he’d knocked back the tiny amount in his cup until he found himself pouring a full glass. He needed more. 

It tasted like — like perfection. It didn’t taste like any real food, per se (at least, none Donnie had ever tried), but if he had to assign the flavor based on vibes alone, then it tasted like… it tasted like science. Not in a chemical, monster energy can sort of way. But in the satisfaction of it. It tasted like how he felt when he finished perfecting an invention. It tasted like hours of work, tinkering away on whatever he wanted to. It tasted like genius. Like a genius that could ramble as long as he pleased, who would always have someone listening with genuine interest. 

That shouldn’t have even been possible. But alas, it was true. He couldn’t think of a single other way in the world to describe what the juice tasted like.

The flavor didn’t change as he took another drink of it. But the sensation did. It went down his throat more thickly this time, the chill spreading from his esophagus through the rest of his body like ice.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, kiddo!”

He blinked owlishly at the yokai before him, who was gently prying the cup from Donnie’s hands. At some point, it had emptied itself.

“Not so gross after all?” he offered after a moment with a triumphant grin.

“This… doesn’t taste like fruit punch?” He asked lamely. 

“Really?” He hummed, glancing with a rapid calmness to a clock on the wall. “It’s a Hidden City staple, I’m surprised you didn’t grow up with it.”

��Yeah, well… I didn’t exactly know yokai even existed until approximately a year ago, so…”

“How come?”

He shrugged, pushing the food around on his plate. “Our dad wasn’t big on sharing.”

His companion’s mood soured at the mention, but surprisingly enough, didn’t seem mad. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was contemplating something. He glanced at the clock again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Technically, you already did.” He stabbed at his breakfast with a fork. “But yeah, I guess?”

“The scars on your shell,” he said, and Donnie stiffened in his seat. The scars. The Shredder. Never more certain that he was going to die. “They aren’t from… him, are they?”

And that… wasn’t exactly where he’d expected that to go. He laughed slightly in surprise. “What, from Splinter? No, no these are from…” his jaw felt tight. His chest stirred with uneasiness. “They’re from… uh… something else.”

“At your age, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Well, there’s this demon that wanted to end the world or something, so we had to, y’know, fight it—”

“You went up against a—?” He templed his hands, taking a deep breath. “And your… Splinter,” he said, spitting it out like it was one of those foul words that Donnie was no longer allowed to say. “He just let you?”

“No, he was there too… kind of. He and Leo ran off, so the rest of us just had to deal with it until they got back.”

“What kind of—? You see why I’m so concerned for your well-being, don’t you? Nobody has been watching out for you like they should. Sending children out to handle those things, what kind of…” he trailed off into a grumble that Donnie was pretty sure wasn’t meant for him. It wouldn’t have mattered, either way. Because it was the first thing he’d said that continued to echo in his mind.

Concerned for your well-being.

It had been a long time since he’d felt like anyone was particularly concerned for his well-being, especially.

But instead of the giddy excitement he should have felt at the idea that a parent aged adult actually wanted something to do with him? His mind dragged itself even further back, now stuck on something else.

The Shredder.

His father, who should have — he wouldn’t have been able to stop them even if he’d tried. Leo, who had left — with good reason. The rest of them, who’d been hurt for it — none as bad as him. His armor ripped off, deep claws digging into his carapace.

The Shredder. His father. His brothers. 

What little sat inside his stomach for the morning churned uncomfortably. The chill of the juice seemed to crawl right back up his throat, touching the edges of his skull.

The Shredder. His family. Unimaginable pain.

Something unplugged a wire or two in his brain, messing them up. Rebooting him.

Home. Shredder. Bad.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. How are you… feeling?”

“Hm?” He hummed, in a daze. 

“How are you feeling?”

His heart beat all wrong inside his body. The rhythm was off. Something was off. Something was wrong with him.

“I don’t—” he attempted, alarmed to find himself choking up on nothing. He could feel every beat of his heart through every inch of his skin, rushing violently as it pounded away. Was he having a panic attack? Why? What could be setting it off? What were Leo’s instructions on grounding, again?

His breath hitched, terror blooming like a weed and stretching through his limbs. Why was — why was he — dying, he was dying, there was no other explanation — because thinking of Leo felt like Shredder, claws drawing blood and nearly striking fatal. 

Now he was definitely having a panic attack.

He clutched his chest with one hand, mortified that he was beginning to cry. Again. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t think of a single other time he’d ever been this emotionally unstable, a circuit board with faulty soldering, crying on a near daily basis like a child. It made him ache. 

“I don’t want to go back—” he cried, a truth he was unsure of even as it tumbled out of his mouth. Home would get him killed. Home would get him Shredder. Desperately, he gasped for air, his throat too tight, his lungs too empty. “What’s wr-wrong with me—?”

Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. The freezing chill of his drink from earlier lingered in his throat, and for a moment he was certain he would begin to throw it up. If he had to deal with the sensory nightmare of that right now, he was likely to entirely shut down.

At some point, he was being held in a hug, and while normally he would shove away from such physical contact with much of anybody in this state, right now he could only lean into it as he cried. 

“Oh, kiddo, you don’t have to go back. I promise you’re safe here.”

“But—” he hiccuped, “but I—” couldn’t go back. Home felt like Shredder’s claws slicing through his carapace. It felt like being shoved in a cage by Baron Draxum, threats of torture looming overhead. It felt like nightmares about straight death, brutal and cold. 

What was wrong with him? His heart was going to break through his ribs. That wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. The lair was home, and home was safe, and home was…

His brothers ganging up against him. His dad spending the most time with Leo or Mikey. Shelldon hating him, nearly killing him without remorse due to his brothers’ meddling.

This was wrong. This was wrong. Home had good things about it too. But thinking of his lab felt like tech exploding in his face, his brothers hating him for the gifts he’d lovingly crafted. Thinking of his room felt like I call Dee’s stuff when he doesn’t survive!

Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. 

Thinking of his twin brother, of Leo felt like beach balls everywhere. That was stupid. Beach balls were just thin plastic and air, but the mere thought of them was enough to spike his anxiety on a good day. 

“I can’t—” he wailed, his head feeling much like someone was driving a chisel through it. 

“Let it out, bud,” came the gentle instruction, “it’s okay. I’d never make you go back there.”

But why was he so scared of that? Just yesterday, his only wish had been to go back. Now, it filled him with dread so heavy he was terrified he’d sink straight through the earth.

“But why am — why am I—?” he babbled, so confused and so scared and his mind empty for any possible reason why.

“That place was dangerous. You didn’t even realize how much of a traumatic effect living like that would have on you until you were taken out of it.”

He sniffled, shakily nodding as he wiped the tears from his face. “Right,” he managed. In an instant, he was doubled back over, heaving with silent sobs, this time. He just couldn’t stop.

“That’s it… just let it all out, sunshine. You’re safe, now.”

[ghostiiess]

[NSB HEADCANONS] - "i'm scared, y/n. i'm really scared."

তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

pov: your boyfriend seb can't help it, but stress over his work, his schedule and his emotions. sadly, during one night, all he tried to push down went all the way up which caused him to do a panic attack

warnings: anxiety and stress talk, panic attack mention, keeping emotions, stress and nervosity, hard time to relax.

type: reverse-comfort!

member: sebastian moy

this one was requested! thank you! if you have any other requests in mind, don't hesitate!

note: this one is a bit longer than my original hc!

seb's job seems super easy, right? all he have to do is filming videos and tiktoks, have fun, sing... and it's done! right?

but it's not.

seb's job is hard and even though it may seem easy at first glance, it is not :(

he has to control his stress and anxiety every day, he has to pray that everything he does is okay and normal, he has to be careful what he says.. even in a joke! because in a snap of a finger he could be canceled or something like that just for being sarcastic or something

(rest of the headcanon under the cut!)

he also has to pray that social media doesn't stop working. it's true! what if youtube or tiktok shut down one day? it's one of the ways he can make money and do his job!

he also have to work hard, to find original youtube videos, cool tiktoks..

moy also has to be in control of every emotion he has inside of him

filming videos? no time to be sad!

filming tiktok? no time to be tired! he have to practice again and again, until it's perfect! even though he's tired! he want to give the best content for the stars and his community

what i'm trying to say is that seb's job is hard. even though it looks really easy like "oh, i just have to post tiktok! oh, i just have to post youtube videos", it's actually not all that

so ofc, seb kept his emotions for the last few weeks

he was trying his best

and let's say that it has not gone unnoticed by you..

"i'm okay, baby! just a bit tired!"

"don't worry, y/n! just tired, i'm fine!"

"me? sad? no, i'm just exhausted! i only slept 3 hours last night... but i'm okay! don't worry your pretty little head, okay, my love?"

he tried his best to manage everything

"i'm sorry baby, i can't hang out tonight. i have too much work to do :( maybe we can see each other another time this week?" he texted you.

"i have to shoot 4 tiktoks tonight. i'm late. i've been editing my video for like 3 days straight and i'm not even done! i'm usually fast at editing! i don't know what's happening right now"

of course, you quickly reassured him that it was okay and that you could hang out some other time! but... he couldn't help but think of you and the work he was doing!

he wanted to see you..

it's been almost three weeks since you've seen each other in person, and just like last week, he had to cancel the plans you and he made to work on his videos and tiktoks

while editing, he couldn't help but feel sad and disappointed.

what if the video he was working on was not good enough? what if the four tiktok were boring and not funny?

what if the stars were disappointed in him for not posting youtube videos almost every week?

what if you were sad and disappointed because he always had to cancel plans to hang out with you? what if you thought he was being dramatic and deliberately avoiding you? when he wasn't!

a ton of questions quickly went through his head

which didn't really help with all the emotions he'd been holding in for three, almost four weeks

he wanted to be enough, to make his work good and funny!

he couldn't help it, but tear up a little bit

it was almost 4am and his video was not even finished

the four tiktoks were not even done yet, too

and as if his schedule wasn't full enough with meetings and music rehearsals, he also had to record another youtube video for his channel!

he was so tired

without knowing it, sebastian moy pushed all his emotions to the back of his throat, which made him cry even more :(

he called you quickly, hoping to hear your voice

"hey!" you said through the phone

"can you come over?" asked sebastian worriedly

"y-yeah! hum.. are you okay? your voice seem a bit down.."

"i am, i am.. just.. come over as soon as possible, okay?"

ten minutes passed and without knowing it, seb started to shake a little bit more waiting for you to arrive

"seb, are you okay? what happened?" you asked as you entered his bedroom with a glass of water

"i'm tired, y/n. i'm so tired! i just can't hold it in anymore!"

he told you everything

his worries, his thoughts, the stress he has had for the last 3-4 weeks, the anxiety he has had because of his job

he didn't want to worry the stars.

"seb... you know the stars will understand, right? they love you. they'd rather not have a video and know you're okay and take care of you than the opposite..."

you tried your best to comfort him

"sebby, you are doing so well. don't say your work isn't enough.."

"do you really think so?" he asked while tearing up

you made breathing exercices with him, which helped him a lot

"baby, you're doing your best right now and that's what's important... please don't overwork yourself. i know it's easy to say, but please..."

he hugged you

and kissed you on the cheek

and told you not to leave him (which you won't)

he love you so much :'(

"i feel like the stars will be disappointed in me if i don't keep my smile and strong attitude. they are counting on me. maybe they had a hard day and maybe with NSB videos or my videos they can smile and relax from their day? i don't want to be sad in front of them, what if i am their only reason to smile today?"

he sighed

"and you... it's been a while since we've seen each other because of my work! i'm sorry. i don't want you to think that I'm trying to avoid you, because i'm really not! i've been really excited to see you and hang out with you all week... and like last week, i had to cancel our plans"

you caressed his cheek

"seb, it's okay! i know you're working hard, i really am. it's okay. i understand. your job is not easy and not many people would have done what you're doing right now. it takes a lot of time and patience and i think you're doing really great and doing your best right now"

he smiled a little as he drank the water you gave him earlier

"and how can you keep your smile and your strong attitude if you don't even take breaks and get a good night's sleep? i know you're busy and your job is hard, but please believe me. you're doing incredibly well. the stars really won't mind, i promise. they'll understand"

after being comforted for a few minutes, seb began to feel better and less anxious

"i love you so much, y/n. you always know what to say to comfort me, make me feel better, and brighten my mood"

he would listen to you and take breaks

and sleep

and drink water

and take care of himself

even if he doesn't really say it or show it to you often, he cares about you a lot

he love you so much

and he would do anything for you <3

hope you liked it!!! this one was a little longer than usual because i had a lot of inspiration, but i still hope you liked it :)

taglist (open! please, send an ask to be in it!) : @nsb-rkive @kentisbaby @firebenderwolf @hyuneee0

[ahsokathegray]

I Bleed the Same || Twenty-Two

Pairing: Rexsoka

Summary: Ahsoka and Rex try and make sense of who and what they are after Order 66 occurs. Figuring out what to do with themselves, they remain together for a period of time before parting in their own directions.

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of Order 66, ptsd, injury, death, and future nsfw situations

Word Count: 5,939

A/N: a little longer this week because I had writer's block last week. this chapter includes a small panic attack in the start so tw for that. otherwise enjoy some pining, oblivious rexsoka <3

read on ao3! / series masterlist

Ahsoka woke for the second time with the room still encased in darkness, lit only by the tiny streaks of light coming through the closed blinds. She knew she’d slept for several hours this time around. Her eyelids weren’t as heavy and her muscles were more relaxed.

Upon stretching a bit, her leg bumped into something. Ahsoka stilled and held her breath. The bed wasn’t cold like it had been the first time she woke… and she was fairly certain she’d actually not fallen asleep on the bed at all. 

Another something was tickling the crook of her right lek. 

From the corner of her eye, she found a blonde head occupying the other half of the mattress, partially grazing the sensitive skin of where her lek met her cheek. Her Captain was sprawled out on the bed beside her. He had one leg hanging off the edge of the bed and the other pressed up against her own. One of his arms rested underneath his head as his only support and she searched for his pillow. 

It was wedged between them. 

Her heart thundered in her chest and she shifted under the sheet. It only covered her and she suddenly felt guilty that Rex had slept without it, not that he would have agreed to share it with her anyway, but he could’ve done with more warmth than a body glove. In her movement, Ahsoka seemed to have disturbed Rex. He stirred a bit and the action revealed to her where his other arm had been. 

It was underneath her. 

Rex then wrapped his digits around her side and squeezed softly, pulling her a few inches closer to him. She released a small squeak as the sleeping Captain turned towards her and settled his face on the barrier pillow he’d strategically planted. She let out a breath. Rex had slept with her… slept in the bed with her. Ahsoka’s mouth fell agape. Both the shock of her current situation and the recollection of last night’s truth tore through her. 

Her breathing became something she could no longer control and there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room to fill her lungs. Ahsoka whined and fought with the sheets that had been twisted around her. She was trapped and her skin was on fire. Growing more panicked, she began to sob, helpless and caught between the thin sheet and Rex’s front. 

A large hand found her shoulder and another pressed into the pillow beside her head. Rex was now awake and his weight halfway hovering over her, deeply concerned amber eyes pouring into hers. 

He was gently hushing her with soothing sounds, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in an example that he intended for her to follow. 

Ahsoka took up his breathing exercise and he helped unravel her from the sheet, using the hand on her shoulder to help her sit up. Rex made quick work of her confines and tossed it to the floor. Her muscles were still tense, and shy tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Their eyes were locked as their methodical breathing fizzled out. Neither one of them could even think to relish in their proximity or the small touches that resulted from sharing the bed. And neither party was going to mention that they’d wound up together even after making the decision not to. If they spoke of it, Ahsoka might’ve noticed how captivating his tender eyes were, or how much she enjoyed being underneath him. 

Rex sat in front of her, his lip quivering, “Are you okay?”

The reeling young woman in front of him nodded tightly, looking down at her hands. But Rex knew she was only trying to convince them both that she hadn’t just had a panic attack. 

His heart hurt for her as he watched her chest heave, still winding down from the state she’d woken up in. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, nodding his head down where the sheet sat in a heap on the floor, “It was the only thing that kept you from waking yourself up. You were crying in your sleep.”

Her chest felt heavy and she didn’t know how to respond, already embarrassed by more than just her betraying emotions. 

Unbeknownst to her, every time Rex had attempted to untangle himself from her during the night, she’d started to sob again. He’d carried her to the bed and, upon placing her on the mattress, she’d whimpered in protest. Rex wanted to hug her, to hold her, to keep her in his arms in a tight embrace all through the night. But that wasn’t his place. He’d already broken his vow to not touch her. If he gave in and slept so closely — so intimately beside her, his heart would never recover. 

Instead, Rex opted to wrap her up in the sheet, which Ahsoka couldn’t decipher as not being Rex’s arms in her sleep. 

The Captain then lifted himself off the bed and padded across the floor, finding Ahsoka’s med pack and sifting through it. He returned moments later with a ration bar in hand. “Eat this. It’ll do you some good,” he said, holding the flavorless, but nutritious food out for her to grab and retaking his seat back on the mattress. 

“Rex, I’m fine,” she finally spoke, her words quiet and unsure. Rex’s hand remained outstretched and one of his brows quirked. Ahsoka reluctantly took the ration and nibbled on it until he seemed satisfied. Between not eating and crying her tear ducts dry, she really did need it. 

“Happy?” she asked, a half-hearted attempt to play into her sarcasm and make their situation less awkward. 

He only smiled in response and rose to his feet, told her he’d be back in a bit and disappeared into the ‘fresher. Ahsoka managed to eat half of the ration bar in his absence and sat the remainder on the table next to the lamp. She switched it on and the room flooded with light. It felt rather amiss to be sitting in comfort while having just learned the galaxy’s biggest secret. 

She felt so small — so helpless. 

With more light added back into the room, Ahsoka could see that Rex hadn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she had. She figured she’d be fighting slumber too if nightmares were plaguing her subconscious. Rex had reassembled his blaster at some point, which she distinctly remembered being dismantled last time she woke up. The twin pistols sat under the window and were each impeccably scrubbed and polished. He had evidently finished taking his guns apart, cleaned them both, and put them back together again all while she slept.

Her head was still pounding, but she refused to be a victim to her emotions again. Instead, the former Jedi crossed her legs and placed her hands over her knees. She sat up straighter and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the air she couldn’t find earlier. The rhythmic patter of water from Rex’s shower helped settle her as she prepared to brave the Force again. 

She knew what to expect. There was a monster hiding in the shadows, but she knew what he looked like this time. He could hide but he could not frighten her. 

The barrier between her and the Force was lifted and Ahsoka was met with silence. The deafening screams had died down, but the weight of all that death was still present. Somehow the lack of noise was more terrifying than the screams and anguish she’d heard previously. The echo of so many lives cut short was far more than chilling. Instinctively, she wanted to reach for Anakin, but thought better of it, remembering that she would again feel nothing. She didn’t dare reach for Kenobi, who she knew had survived at least the initial attack. And she didn’t dare try to pry into the woven lies of the Sith Lord. Not yet. 

If he wanted Anakin, then she and Master Kenobi would both be of high interest. She couldn’t compromise him, especially if he was believed to be dead, which was yet again more information that she couldn’t be sure of. 

The complete silence was in and of itself was a tragedy. What was once a buzzing and lively Force, had now flatlined. She knew it should have more life. There was life everywhere around her. But in cutting herself off so far and being so tremendously hurt by the Force, Ahsoka felt next to nothing. The only pulse she could feel now was Rex. 

He was the only thing she could feel, despite knowing her friends were nearby and on a space station with hundreds of other living beings. She only saw him — felt only him. 

She was drawn to Rex’s light, his warmth, his familiarity. He was quite literally the light at the end of the tunnel. That was something about him. Both in person and through the Force, Rex emitted a general safeness. Goodness. Ahsoka pressed forward and the familiar buzzing she knew returned, but only around him. The connection… the Force bond… that they shared gave her a sense of strength. His light grew brighter the closer she got.

His signature matched her own. Rex felt concern, despair, loss. But he also currently felt relieved and something indecipherable about… her. He felt like home. Rex was her home. 

Ahsoka emptied her lungs and opened her eyes, looking over to where she’d heard the refresher door slide open. The Captain stood in the doorway, a cloud of vapor at his back and fogging the small room he’d just exited. His fatigues were halfway on, pulled up only to sit around his waist while he held the rest in his hands. 

These firsts seemed to be happening more and more frequently. 

Ahsoka cocked a brow marking up at him and quite obviously looked him up and down. He had a pink tinge to his skin from both the heat of his shower and from the scrutiny of her gaze. 

She quickly took notice of the scar that Cut had mentioned. It was a few years old and already healed. The skin had been mangled and discolored from the commando droid’s fire, but he was still Rex. She knew he’d have scars. He was the Captain. She’d just never thought anything of it until Cut said something. She wondered what other marks littered his body. 

“Sorry Com—” he rushed, almost addressing her by her title. A hand quickly flew up to cover his tattoo. Even though he was facing her, he still feared she’d somehow see it, “Er… I apologize for my state of undress. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It was hard enough to get it up this far with as hot as in there.” An obligatory laugh escaped him.

“I can see that,” Ahsoka responded playfully. The seams on the legs of his fatigues were all twisted. 

What she could also see was the toned, hot skin of his upper body. There were several beads of water still clinging to his neck and shoulders. He was all muscle, but he was lean too. The scar on his chest was still shocking, drawing her eyes more than anything else. She’d learned of its existence but it was much larger than she’d imagined. If it had been any further to the left, he wouldn’t have survived it. Even with the addition of flaws, Ahsoka couldn’t see them as such. Rex was, truthfully, more alluring with them. 

It was all so wholly confusing. Ahsoka averted her eyes from the half naked man to her left. It wasn’t even the fact that he was so undressed. It was the fact that he was here with her, in such an unorthodox way, as if they’d been sent on an undercover mission just the two of them. It was how they’d together uncovered the darkest brewing secret of the last four years that had perhaps been in the works longer than that. It was how Sidious was still under the impression his rightful identity was unknown. It was the fact that they’d just shared a bed . It was the fact that they’d not stopped since the crash and that they still somehow had allies. It was about the funeral and the family that would never be. It was about Bail. It was about Cut and Suu and their children. It was Trace and Rafa escaping Coruscant and providing them with shelter.

And maybe it was also about how undressed Rex still was, and how hard it was not to look. She wanted to run her fingers over the scar, inspect it with her hands, make sure he was okay even though it was years old.

Her heart fluttered and she briefly indulged. If the galaxy was under the influence of a very imminent and real evil, she could entertain the idea of choice. Having a choice was so new to her. She chose to walk away from the Jedi. And she was afraid her path would lead her right back to them. It did lead her right back — back at Rex’s side and then away with him this time. She’d felt called to help Bo-Katan. Maybe it was Rex pulling her in that direction. Maybe it was fate whisking her back to him because they were meant to be at each other's sides in the aftermath, meant to be here, now, together. They chose to stay together.

Ahsoka had no option now but to live a life away from what she knew. She was robbed of that choice. The life she knew no longer existed to return to. The only thing she had left was Rex. 

And Rex stood in the doorway watching her, his bare skin still steaming from his shower, hot, wet muscles slowly drying. The choice was hers to look or not. She chose to look. 

Her heart was kissing her ribcage as she took him in. There was a, mostly unacknowledged, attraction that had been growing towards him. Her utmost respect and adoration for him had… expanded . Rex was gentle, kind, and caring. He was the epitome of a gentleman. She’d be lying if she tried to convince herself she hadn’t taken a deeper interest in him upon her return. What was once a juvenile crush she thought had dissipated, had punched her devastatingly in the gut upon seeing him holding an orange helmet that she knew he’d painted himself. 

She’d also be lying if she tried to deny any claims of not being so flirtatious with her recently promoted Captain leading up to, during, and after the Siege. 

The biggest lie of all would be if she said she’d not enjoyed his touch on Jabiim, their intoxicating closeness on Saleucami, and now their stacking situations in the care of the Martez sisters. 

The Martez sisters. 

Ahsoka’s indulgent little daydream ended. They were still guests.

Rex was looking at her expectantly. In her adoration of his physique, she’d failed to see that he had clothing in his hands along with the rest of his blacks. 

They spoke at the same time. 

“Don’t let me interrupt—"

“What’ve you got in—”

A brief silence slid between them and they each stopped and shared a short, breathy laugh. 

The Captain answered her first, “These were sitting on the counter in there.” He pointed behind him at the ‘fresher door. 

He held up the one article of clothing by the collar and it unfolded. It was a blue jumpsuit, nearly identical to the one she’d bought back on Coruscant. She’d had to sell both her akul tooth headdress and her necklace to pay for it. Along with it was an aged, leather headband.

The other item, when he unraveled it, revealed that it was a men’s cropped cloak.

Ahsoka ran her hands over the fabric of both, glad at least one of them had full civvies. They still stuck out like a sore thumb though. Rex had the most recognizable face and armor in the galaxy and she was a lone Togruta in his company. Her species was known for sticking together and living only on a handful of worlds. It was an odd thing to happen upon just one — and one in Mandalorian garb at that. She might as well have stamped the word “Jedi” across her forehead and turned herself in. A clone and a Togruta together was highly suspicious. It could be no one in the galaxy except for her and Rex. 

She took the jumpsuit from him and questioned, “You’re sure this wasn’t your doing?”

His features pinched together in confusion before he realized her meaning. Ahsoka was referencing the opinion he’d shared last night regarding her clothing choices as a Padawan. 

Rex sighed into a laugh, “Trust me, back then, this very well would’ve been my choice. Without a doubt.”

Ahsoka had meant to roll her eyes, but stopped short of the action. Back then? She caught herself before she could overanalyze any further. Usually, if simple, innocent word choice was nagging at her, she’d meditate on it. However, doing so would only pull her back to Rex, as she only saw him in all of the Force. 

She smiled kindly, “Well, don’t think I’ve forgotten what I said. The beskar Bo-Katan gave me… It belongs to you.” With that, Ahsoka caught the flash of a glint in his eyes and then disappeared into the refresher he’d fogged up, finding another handprint streaking across the mirror. She took a deep breath and the door slid closed behind her. 

~~~

Rafa was leaned over the Holonet transceiver when Rex and Ahsoka finally exited their room. She abruptly turned the volume down upon hearing them and crossed her arms, tossing them a smirk, “Well look who finally decided to get up.”

Rex bit his tongue, but was prepared to have words if she mentioned anything about any noises . Ahsoka had cried and for that to be misconstrued into anything—

“It’s about time. It’s after lunch, you two. And I still need my ship fixed,” she finished. Rex released the breath he’d been holding and relaxed. Rafa eyed him suspiciously. 

“I think you mean my ship,” Trace corrected and hopped off the barstool, her mouth full of leftovers, “Oh! I see you found what I left for you.”

Ahsoka fidgeted with a pocket on her jumpsuit, “We did. Thank you, Trace.”

The younger girl beamed, “Saw it this morning and thought it looked a little familiar. Good thing, too, because I don’t exactly know your taste. It’s sort of all over the place, you know. And I didn’t know what to get for you, Rex.” His name exited her mouth awkwardly, as if she didn’t know how to properly address him. 

Rex stood in his armor, the cloak left behind in the room, “What you bought is fine. We can pay you back.”

The younger girl shook her head and motioned for them to walk with her. They then followed Trace through the garage doors, heading back out to where they’d left off the evening before. As they passed out of the apartment, Rafa turned the volume back up on the transceiver and Rex could hear some of what the choppy voice reported. 

"…Some clones are finding difficulty in serving under our newly proclaimed Empire…"

A chill went down Rex’s spine. It was as if all his blood had curdled. His brothers. He stopped dead in his tracks. Gravity felt like it had tripled its weight on his shoulders. His ears went hot and he turned on his heel, his posture impossibly rigid. “What was that?” he ground out, eyes locked intently on Rafa. 

He set his jaw and swallowed, his feet mindlessly carrying him back through the doors. Ahsoka and Trace stood still, nerves in a frenzy as the situation folded out. The younger Martez tensed beside Ahsoka, unsure what the clone was about to say or do. Ahsoka placed a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder, assuring her that Rex only wanted to hear the transceiver. Trace calmed at that and the two girls shuffled back inside, anticipating the next words from the crackling box. 

Rafa held her hands up in surrender and backed away from the device. Rex took the place she’d been sitting in and turned up the volume a little more, rewinding the recording. He’d turned his attention towards Ahsoka, his eyes now locked on hers. She didn’t dare look away. Trace’s mouth was moving next to her, but he didn’t hear a word she said. All he could hear was the words being spoken on the transceiver. 

“As the Empire rises, the fragments of our former governing bodies continue to chip away. While Republic warships begin dismantlement on planets such as Bracca, new ones are being assembled and will be taking their place. The Confederacy of Independent systems is seeing decommissioning as well, in their ships and battle droids alike. The Republic’s soldiers are no exception to this. We expect to see replacements here, as well in the coming weeks. Already, recruits are being implemented alongside the clone army. There have also been reports of clone deserters on multiple planets throughout the galaxy. It seems as if some clones are finding difficulty in serving under our newly proclaimed Empire. Tune in for more updates as we report all the new changes being made in our galaxy. Signing off for now.”

The recording cut off and was replaced with static. Blood pumped furiously in Rex’s veins, his temples visibly pulsating. His head was flooded with a million versions of his own face and voice. He had brothers out there who might be waking up from the effects of the chip. He needed more information.

The deep blue of Ahsoka’s eyes brought him back from his thoughts. “Rex… Are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip and shifting her weight nervously. They knew so little about the chips, but they at least knew of their existence, and that was more information than anyone else had. 

Rex sat still for a moment, collecting himself, “Yeah, I’m alright.”

She glanced to where his chip had been extracted. “I’m going to sit here with you,” she offered, leaving Trace’s side and stepping towards him.

“No,” he shook his head, taking her hand in his, “You go out there and work. I have to keep listening. I have to know...”

Ahsoka nodded and reluctantly pulled her hand away, joining Trace and turning back into the garage, glancing over her shoulder all the while. He had to do this and couldn’t keep her away from what was paying for their ability to stay with the Martez’s. He couldn’t have her hear the more gruesome, horrific details if they were given. As much as he knew it wasn’t true, Ahsoka did blame herself for much of what had taken place. 

Rafa shifted uncomfortably across from him and he remembered that she was still present. He turned to face her, “How long?”

It was so obvious now. She was cross-referencing with the Holonet to plan out her next steps. 

“How long, what?” she scowled. 

“Don’t play that game with me. I’m no stranger to carbon scoring like that out there. And it isn’t obtained by a little warning fire. And now you’re listening to this? So I’ll ask you again, how long have you been taking strides against the Empire?”

The shiftier Martez’s shoulders dropped. He’d figured her out. This was the last piece he’d needed to complete the puzzle. She couldn’t lie to him now. “It’s just been once,” she divulged.

Rex’s jaw clenched, “What have you two done?” His ears were hot. Protecting Ahsoka was his top priority. It was now his life’s purpose to make sure she was safe before he or anyone else was. 

“It was after we left Coruscant. We were searching for somewhere new to call home… somewhere I could keep Trace safe. We went to Corulag, thought we could settle in there easily enough. It’s where our parents were from originally. It was rough, Imperials crawling everywhere already . One of your brothers bumped into Trace and gave us a bit of trouble, got some officers involved, blew it out of proportion,” Rafa explained. 

The Captain exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “When was this?”

“A day or two after everything happened. We really were fleeing Coruscant as the Temple was up in smoke.”

“Were you followed?”

“No. You clones were more concerned with gunning down innocents.”

Rex closed his eyes for a moment. She was most likely right, but it was just a low blow from her to regain hold of the conversation. “And you checked for any tracking fobs?” he asked, dismissing her unnecessary comment. 

“Of course we did.”

“You know she’ll check,” Rex warned, referring to Ahsoka. 

Rafa crossed her arms, “She won’t find any. Trace and I were thorough.”

Rex stood and paced the floor, chewing on all the new information about both his brothers and Ahsoka’s friends. He spoke again, “You should’ve said something before. If I find out you’re keeping anything else from us, our next conversation won’t be as easy for you.”

“You won’t. And listen, we didn’t know if we could trust you. Either of you would’ve done the same. You can’t exactly blame us for that,” Rafa interjected, appearing sincere. She fiddled with her coat and sighed. “Let me level with you. We both feel a responsibility for them. Me for my sister and you for your…” Rafa trailed off, motioning towards where Ahsoka stood in the garage, “Well, we have that much in common at least, similar interests and all, people we care about more than we care about ourselves. You’re both safe here. I can promise that much.”

He shot her another warning glare and her hands flew up again. 

“You’re planning to strike on a larger scale... That’s why you’ve been monitoring the Holonet like this. Why?,” Rex observed. 

“Guilty,” she shrugged her shoulders, “And Trace and I… we decided that we could do more. Our parents wouldn’t have wanted to see Coruscant or their home planet turn out this way. They believed in helping people and we’re gonna do the same.”

He continued, “Whatever you're planning… We can do better. We can kick them while they’re down, before they’ve even had the chance to stand up.”

Rafa hadn’t expected him to say that. Deciding at that moment she could trust him, she lowered her hands. “I’m listening,” Rafa said, now clasping her hands together and coming out of her cowered position. 

“I want to free my brothers. Any man that I can get through to,” he tapped the incision where his chip had been extracted. “They’re good men and they didn’t deserve what happened to them. Every bit of this was out of their hands. They don’t deserve the storm that’s coming their way,” he stopped for a moment. “Ahsoka is my top priority. I will do anything to keep her safe, while also ensuring the safety and escape of my brothers.”

The Martez's eyes narrowed, “Listen, I don’t care a thing about helping any clones, but if it means rubbing salt in the wound in the process, then you can count us in. From what I’ve been hearing… this Empire is no good, and that’s putting it lightly. But it’s no joke either.” There was a brief pause before she spoke again, “Is Ahsoka in on this?”

Rex turned his head to where Ahsoka was conversing with Trace in the garage. He didn’t have any ideas or much of any hope until now. “I need to talk to her first,” he replied. 

“No shit,” Rafa said, not missing a beat, “You need to cool it on the ‘fuck-me eyes’ Captain Rex. It’s excessive.”

He whipped his head back around to face her, his features contorted and accusatory as he tried to ignore the flush on the tips of his ears.

She laughed, “Relax. I’m just saying. You make it too obvious. If she hasn’t figured it out, it’s not because you're being subtle.”

Rex looked out the window in search of Ahsoka. She was still talking with the younger Martez, now with a tool in hand and goggles covering her eyes. Both Cut and Rafa have each made comments now on the way he looks at her… and both comments were made within a very short amount of time in their presence. He needed to listen to them, as apparently every feeling he had inside was visible on the surface. 

~~~

Ahsoka spoke to Trace, only halfway listening after she started to vent about Rafa. The younger girl had already spewed at the mouth about why the Silver Angel was truly damaged. Ahsoka suspected as much anyway, so the admittance to guilt didn’t surprise her. Along with all the work she had left to do, she also had to keep an eye out for any sort of tracking beacon now as well. 

Her focus was solely on her Captain, sitting in the next room, no doubt listening to nothing but disheartening news off the Holonet. She fidgeted anxiously, knowing they’d have much to discuss later. They had a datapad, but it didn’t offer as much information as a Holonet transceiver did. Her chest tightened. If it hadn’t been for her releasing Maul, they might have been able to escape without killing anyone on the ship… save at least one of his brothers. 

It was hard to properly mourn those that they’d lost. The number of casualties was stacked so high. It was even harder for Rex to mourn the loss of brothers who were still breathing.

What pulled her from her internal conflict was the utterance of Rex’s name from Trace’s mouth. 

“What?” she asked, her brow markings pinching together.

Trace repeated herself, “I asked about Rex’s eff-me eyes.”

A blush settled in her lekku and her voice became a touch higher, “Trace, what are you talking about?”

“That’s what Rafa keeps calling them anyway,” she shrugged, “But have you noticed them?”

Ahsoka’s cheeks flushed and her neck felt hot. She laughed because she didn’t know what else to do, “Trace, it’s not like that. Rex is my friend.” Her stomach did a flip and she felt lighter. In all of her time debating with herself over the Captain, she’d not once considered that he felt similarly, or even if he didn’t, that he might at the very least be physically attracted to her. 

Trace seemed satisfied with the answer at first, but then changed her mind, “Well, yeah, but does he know that?”

Where she would’ve naturally said yes, Ahsoka hesitated. They were good friends during the war. Although, that was before their friendship entailed the intimate moments on Jabiim, or falling asleep on the other person in the home of a deserter Rex hadn’t turned in. And It most certainly didn’t include sharing a bed. 

“He— Yes, Trace. He knows that,” she finally answered, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. 

“Well, Rafa says if you’re not screwing your Captain now, that you’ll wind up screwing him sometime in the near future.”

“Trace!” Ahsoka hissed, her eyes widening and finding Rex’s plastoid-plated back through the window. 

The younger girl laughed, “Fine. Fine. I’ll let you get back to work. Let me know if you need anything!” A wink was tossed in her direction and she was left alone. 

Ahsoka grumbled and loosened her grip on her vibro-sander before sliding herself under the ship. She was able to work in silence for a good while before footsteps neared her again. One of the more detrimental gashes on the bottom of the ship was almost done being mended. The footsteps stopped at her feet and Ahsoka bit her lip. She’d only move if it was Rex. Peering between herself and the ship, she found his Republic issued trooper’s shoes standing next to her. 

Her tools were abandoned beside her and she wiggled her way from the underbelly of the Silver Angel. She dusted herself off and stood in front of Rex. Upon placing her goggles over her new headband, she found his sullen face. 

“Rex? What is it?” she questioned, her eyes full of worry. What had he heard over the Holonet?

There was a hesitation in his eyes. Instead of responding, Rex’s brows lowered a hair. He took a step towards her and a breath became hitched in her throat. She saw one of his hands rise through her peripheral and it came up to her face. His fingertips whispered over the sides of her headband and brushed the crook of her left lek. She held her breath as his thumb ghosted over her cheek bone, applying a bit of pressure and then stroking. 

“You have a bit of ship grease here,” he said softly, wiping it away. 

Ahsoka’s entire body buzzed and she was sure he could see she’d not been able to breathe. He showed her the black smudge on his glove. Why had she thought he’d been about to kiss her? She’d never wondered what it would be like to kiss him… not until now. Ahsoka then cleared her throat and reeled herself back in. Of course Rex wasn’t about to kiss her. He’d just listened to more and more unfortunate happenings in the galaxy. She stood up straighter and tilted her head, “No good news I take it?”

Rex seemed to have snapped out of his own thoughts and answered her question, “Yes and no.”

“Bad news first.”

“Alright. Your friends… They withheld a bit of the truth. The blaster fire wasn’t from finding their way into Coruscant’s military lanes again. It was enemy fire from the Imperial occupation on Corulag,” he explained. 

Ahsoka nodded, “Trace actually came clean and told me the same while you were still inside.” 

Rex cleared his throat, “About trying to find a place to live—”

“Where their parents were from and finding themselves in some scuffle with a trooper that escalated? That would be the one.”

He nodded. She pressed her lips into a thin line, “I’ve already started looking for tracking devices, but tell me the good news.”

Rex shifted his weight, “My brothers are waking up. They’re defecting. Not all of them, but more and more of them by the day. If there’s anything true about us clones, it’s that loyalty is the backbone of our moral compass. If that loyalty is betrayed… Well, some of them are not going to want to stand with the Empire. We were never just mindless droids. We’re men. We’re men who’ve been chipped and stripped of our autonomy like droids. They deserve their freedom if they want it. They deserve the same choice I have, the choice that you gave back to me, Ahsoka. They need my help and I intend to do anything within my power… even outside of it to get them out.”

His eyes were pleading with her, asking for permission even though they both knew he didn’t need it. She wanted to look deeper into them to see if she could pinpoint what the Martez sisters were going on about, but now was not the time. 

“I know,” she said in a whisper. “I’ve known that you’ve wanted to fight… to do something more than this,” she gestured to their surroundings. Ahsoka knew this would come up at some point. She just wished she could’ve had more time, but she couldn’t let Rex down. “Where do we start?”

[rainbownomja]

TW: Pet Illness and loss, in depth discussions of grief and chronic illness, and mentions of emotional abuse

Last Friday, September 8th, 2023, I had to say goodbye to Soup. 

Back in early June, he got an infection in his dew claw. That infection over the next two months and some change, got into the bone where antibiotics couldn’t reach it. By the time we did an X-Ray (two weeks ago), when he’d already gotten it cleaned and had been on multiple antibiotics three separate times, we found out that the infection had managed to severely damage the cat equivalent of his first knuckle and was working on the second.  The comparison of his paws was like night and day, even to an untrained eye like mine. 

The single treatment option became amputation, which as you can imagine was extremely expensive. But it wasn’t the cost that was the most important to me. It was whether or not I could provide the care that he would need post-op given my unstable health. And ultimately, I asked myself: do I want to take a chance on the possibility of giving him more time and hope that whatever goes wrong next isn’t worse, or do I want to make sure that, for the time he has left, he’s happy and in the least amount of pain possible? 

I am furious at the universe that I had to choose this for him. I know it was the most humane choice I could make, but I am still enraged by it. Because he deserved more happy times, and I deserved more time with him. 

The positive, out of that horrible choice, was that it was a choice. I knew it was coming. I was able to schedule it when his normal vet, who loved him and had been giving him the best possible care since I got him, was available. I was able to make sure that on his last night I slept in the room with him again, something I hadn’t done in over a month because we were in separate rooms (see: unstable health.) That night, I fell asleep with him curled up in my arms purring away like it was any other night. 

On Friday, he got to have an excessive amount of his favorite treats, his normal meals were no longer medical food that he only kinda tolerated, and I bought him chicken nuggets since he’d been eyeing mine for years without getting to have one. Although it turned out he wanted my fries more (and I was happy to share.) We were able to give him an anti-anxiety medication for the appointment so he wasn’t afraid. And a couple days prior I’d gone back to my apartment to get his bed and my quilt which he loved so that he was comfortable in a space that wasn’t his true home. Then, I brought his bed along with to the appointment so that he was as comfortable as possible there too.  

I have an honor code when it comes to my pets.  I will not cause them needless suffering for the sake of simply extending their lives, the quality of their life with me is more important to me than the quantity of time I have with them. And, if I am able, it is my job to be there with them all the way to the end, to calm them and so they know that they are not alone or abandoned, that it's gonna be okay. I want to be there so that they cross the rainbow bridge knowing without a doubt that they are so extremely loved. I never actually had to make end-of-life decisions in line with that honor code before Soup though. 

His vet had said some months back that the health of our relationship is also an important factor when making those decisions. Prior to separating my sleeping space from Soup, I was growing increasingly more frustrated. I was in extreme pain, exhausted down to my bones, and he was waking me up in the early hours of the morning every day with a non-stop stream of cries that often triggered panic attacks for me. I loved him so dearly, but I was also running on a spoon debt that just kept getting deeper and deeper, because it’d been this way for months on end. I was losing my temper with him and I hated it, no matter how short-lived that moment was. Because I knew he was in pain too, that I was quite literally his only source for comfort and getting his needs met. Because I knew that these outbursts would only damage our relationship if they kept happening. 

I didn’t know when I moved us from my apartment that he wouldn’t be coming home with me when I eventually returned. But I am grateful that I moved us when I did, so that my last month with him was not one filled with frustration and irritation.

Soup crossed the rainbow bridge curled up calmly in his bed which I had set in my lap, because he otherwise refused to stop pacing and lay in it. He went with his head propped on my arm as if we were simply going to bed like usual, and I pet him long past the moment he was gone. He went hearing how good he was, how loved he was, and that he did such a great job taking care of me. He knew how important he was to me and how much I cared about him, of that I am certain. 

I also have no doubts about the fact that he was not just loved by me. My queerplatonic partner had a story to tell and a picture with him from the times she’d stayed over and he visited her in the living room, which she shared with me that morning.

A friend that I’d forgotten to check in with for months, expressed how deeply sad Soup’s impending passing was to him when I finally did reach out again. He made me feel less alone, less like my world was once again turning entirely on its head while everything else remained the same.

One of my best friends, who I always trust to tell it like it is, continued to reinforce to me, every single time I got into my head, that I was a fantastic pet parent, that while it absolutely wasn’t fair, I was doing right by him and I always had.

Another best friend, spent our weekly hangout listening to me talk about Soup and provided me comfort and a safe space to cry in.

@its-a-me-an-idiot bought me a goddamn Polaroid camera from multiple states away so that I could have tangible pictures with Soup, which I didn’t know would matter so much to me, but now that I have them I am unbelievably grateful.

In telling this story I also have to say how spectacular the staff at my vet clinic are. Their jobs are not easy, and I know, because they told me, that they don’t often get told when they do well in someone’s eyes but pretty much always get told when they do poorly. Regardless, they are always kind to me, were always willing to roll with my talking in circles in both anxiety and ADHD ways, they laughed at my jokes, and it was always clear how much every single one of them cared about Soup.

I did not expect to become his sole owner, I adopted him with an ex-partner after all, and being that was frequently difficult. The period in which I was fighting to have, for lack of a better term, sole custody; When my abusive ex was removing me from vet records and changing appointments without my knowledge, and then put it on me to fix the mess he’d made when I called him out on it. When he fully just left town and forgot about Soup’s care entirely (thankfully, I did not.) When ultimately, after weeks of fighting and bullshit, I succeeded in remaining his owner and removing that ex from both of our lives entirely? All of that was a truly deep low point that, in some ways, hasn’t really let up. I have very few relationships with people who are local to me, most of my friends moved away after college, which meant then that I had very minimal in-person social interaction. 

There were times when Soup’s vet appointments, regardless of their outcome, were the highlight of my week because the staff at the clinic were simply willing to talk to me past what was necessary as a client. They did their best to lessen the financial burden on me as much as they were able to within the systems that they had. In the few days before and on the day of, every person that was able to took a moment out of their day to talk to me and/or give me a hug. I know that they are currently working on a card for me (and I’m working on one for them, but that parts a secret.) 

I know that I am not the only person, nor will I be the last, that they walk out to their car after an appointment like this.

One of my favorite veterinary assistants there literally sought me out when I came in on Wednesday to give me her condolences and a (perfect level of squeezy) hug. She was there to take me to the room with him and explained the pre-procedures with incredible compassion. She would pause and reinforce that it was normal and okay that I was crying which, as a person who despises and is very uncomfortable with crying in front of anyone ever, was extremely helpful to my efforts towards not bottling up my feelings. And she gave me two churus to give to him when he got back from the catheter placement, which I know he appreciated because he ate both of them in their entirety even though he was clearly a bit agitated. 

His veterinarian is a wonderful human, who asked me about my life and cared about the answers, who always patiently and thoroughly answered my questions (and often figured out the real question I was asking, sometimes when I didn’t even know myself, and would switch gears to answer that instead.) She is also a truly incredible veterinarian. She told me that Soup was an anomaly, even for cats with FIV. She was working against so many unknown co-occurring conditions and with limited information almost all the time. From the collapsed lung lobe that looked like it could be cancer on an X-Ray, to the hair ties in his stomach, and his REM sleep disorder which on its own is a pretty rare condition in cats.

My vet never gave me a recommendation just to get me out of the office so she could keep to her schedule (and I know I’ve gone at least thirty minutes over my appointment time often. Take notes human doctors.) I also know for a fact that she spent so much time researching his strange conditions, the best treatment options within my financial (or workarounds to that end), and the answers to my very specific (and therefore not normal) questions. She took time to talk to other vets and specialists to get second opinions and ideas when she didn’t quite know what the best move was. And she stayed with me and Soup the entire time on Friday. 

She reminisced with me, she asked about my shit ex (“We don’t like him right?”) and emphatically agreed with my “fuck that guy” sentiment when I explained the manipulative stunts he pulled. She walked me through what was happening with a calm that didn’t speak to detachment, but to care. And she told Soup how loved he was along with me, and in place of me when I couldn’t speak through tears. I could not have asked for a better vet for Soup, really and truly, and any other vet my future cats have will have a very high bar to reach. I honestly don’t have enough words to express just how much the work, care, and compassion of everyone at the vet clinic has meant to me.

A long time ago, probably here on Tumblr honestly, I read a post about the idea that maybe sunsets are the gods letting those who’ve passed paint the sky. On Friday it was cloudy all day, except for a short period after the appointment, when the sun peaked out and shined into my window. I like to believe that, once Soup had made it across the bridge and into the waiting arms of Maggie and Sasha and Winston (The Nomja Family Poker Team*), the first thing he did was get some cosmic entity to signal to me that he’d made it over okay. 

I think Soup took his mission as my cat with as much seriousness as I took my mission of being his furless mom. And I maintain that until the day I get another set of cats, he’s going to keep close watch over me. And when they arrive he’s going to give them the most important quest of their lives: to take care of me as well as I will take care of them, and took care of him. I don’t think he’s ever really going to stop watching out for me. I know he’s still cuddling me at night as his little ghost self even though I can’t see him. That is, when he’s not playing (and losing) poker with the Nomja family pets.

I miss him so much it hurts, sometimes quite literally. I know that in time it will stop hurting so very much. That someday, when the ball of grief hits the edges of its box, I will be able to look back on our relatively short time together with joy instead of heartache. 

The pain of losing him is the price that I would pay again and again for the privilege of getting to love him. And I will continue to love him for the rest of my life, even though he’s gone. 

To those who chose to read this unintentional essay, thank you. It feels like a lot, to basically have a eulogy for a cat, but I’ve decided I don’t care. He’s too important to me to not write about him.  So thank you for caring, even a little, about me and him too.

To the best emotional support cat a girl could’ve stumbled upon, Rest in Peace:

His Majesty, Sir Chicken Noodle Soup “Soupie” III, First and Last of his line June 4th, 2014 - September 8th, 2023

*When Maggie died I was 10 and based on that painting of dogs playing poker that that was what she was doing. Saying “Aces are wild” in a very specific tone has been a running joke in my family ever since even though I'm fairly certain that is not actually a thing in poker.

For his 9th birthday this year I got him a platypus kicker because I'd finally learned the name of that kind of toy. It never hit the status of his blue one (which was gifted to him by a family friend after his surgery back in February.) He used that one as a pillow more often than he played with it. But I was just so happy he'd made it to 9 all things considered that I didn't care I just wanted to get him a present.

[one-abuse-survivor]

Hi, it’s Emma! It’s been a long time since I last reached out. I took some time away (like two months) because it was the first anniversary since the attack and I took it harder than I had hoped. It’s been a little over a year now, I wasn’t on tumblr during the anniversary, but I’m feeling so frustrated because it’s been a year since the attack, and two years since the harassment started and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. I’m looking back on everything and I can’t believe that I haven’t slept in a bed for over a year. I keep thinking that’s so ridiculous. The bed didn’t hurt me, the bed played no role in my attack, you’d assume I’d be scared to see or be around a knife but nope, I helped my mom cook dinner for my dad’s birthday last week, I had to cut an onion and had no anxieties about seeing or using a knife and a knife is what actually harmed me, that’s what could have killed me. My brother was cutting a green pepper and accidentally nicked his finger with the knife causing it to bleed a little and I got him a bandaid and when I saw the blood, no reaction. You’d think maybe even the sight of blood would trigger me or take me back there but no, it’s sleeping anywhere that provides any level of comfort (bed, couch, cot, blow up mattress, etc). Maybe my expectations are too high but I’m so frustrated with myself. Like I just really miss my bed and I’m sooo angry because it feels like nothing that I am doing is moving me towards sleeping in it.

Someone told me I need to just force myself to sleep in a bed but I don’t think they truly get how much they trigger flashbacks to what happened. I’ve tried multiple times in the last year to at least nap in a bed and each time I either never fell asleep because my body just wouldn’t let me or if I did, I would wake up 10 mins later having a panic attack. The last time I tried was a few months ago, before the anniversary, and that attempt was so bad, that I woke up in a panic and puked. I haven’t tried since then. I wake up at least five times throughout the night when sleeping on the floor because some body part of mine is aching because of the floor. I just feel like I’m in a lose-lose situation.

S/n: in an earlier response I mentioned how my dad would call me every night to tell me about work, specifically different neurosurgeries he conducted that day or consultations he had, etc. and I thought it was his way of trying to check up on me without me knowing and you mentioned thinking that it could also possibly be a distraction for him and me. I talked to him and you were right. You mentioned how sometimes people that care about us, want us to be okay but don’t know how to make that happen or don’t know how to talk about feelings, they turn to soothing you in ways that would soothe them if they were the ones struggling. All of that you said was right. More or less my dad basically said that to me, he figured my mom was already consuming the conversation enough about my attack so he’d change the convo when it’s just me and him speaking. And my dad is very book smart so it’s right in line with him to talk about work and use that as a distraction. Thank you for that again.

Hi Emma!! I'm really sorry for the late reply, but really happy to hear from you again!

I'm really sorry things are still looking so tough for you. It's no wonder you're frustrated; you have every right to be. This situation is so fucking unfair. You never deserved any of this. You never asked for any of this. You were trying to live your life and other people decided to ruin it and even attempt to end it, and now your own body keeps betraying you and stopping you from living your life. That's not okay, and I think you deserve to feel furious for as long as you need to. Hopefully one day you will feel like you have something to show for the recovery process you've been through, but it's okay to not be there yet and to not know when you'll get there.

I hope that you can at least channel some of your anger away from yourself and toward the men who did this to you, especially the one who attacked you. I know you already know this, but your body is trying really hard to protect you from experiencing horrifying trauma again, even if its attempts are misguided, unnecessary, and really frustrating. If you can, please try to give it at least a little bit of compassion for every wave of frustration you throw its way.

And of course you can't just force yourself to sleep on a bed. Trauma recovery is not that easy, and it's honestly really invalidating to tell an assault survivor something like that, even if the intention is good. It makes it sound like you're just not trying hard enough, and you deserve better than to be told something like that.

I'm glad I could help you with your dad, and that's great you could talk to him about it!

Sending big, big hugs your way, Emma ❤️