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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 7 months

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I’m back with my Hunter brainrot, thanks to your kinktober post 😅 I hope this is ok to ask:

Can you write a Hunter x f reader where the prompts "I can't risk losing you again." and "Don't you see that I'm hurting?" Are used?

And can it be fluffy with feelings? It would also be cool if it’s NSFW or steamy but that’s honestly up to you. I love your work sm <3 take care

Thank you so much, anon! Sorry for the delay; I was trying to work out how to get the line prompts in while keeping it fluffy/sweet/steamy. There’s a tiny bit of angst, too.

I hope this is okay! <3

Safe with You

After you were snatched by locals on a recent mission, buried feelings bubble up to the surface, and neither of you can fight them back any longer.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!

Warnings: canon typical violence, hurt and comfort, light angst, feelings and softness, friends to lovers (this trope with this man 🤌), squint for possessiveness, fingering, praise/encouragement.

Rain pelted against the large barracks window, the grey skies a common sight on Kamino. But Hunter’s attention wasn’t on the brewing storm outside. Dark eyes watched as you moved around the room with a slight limp to decant the contents of your pack onto your cot.

Six months you’d been with them. Six months as their civilian handler. You were supposed to report to the Kaminoans on their missions and provide them with whatever they needed to ensure they returned safely each time. The long necks couldn’t have anything happening to their ‘experimental assets’ after all. You weren’t meant to be in the field with them, yet you’d insisted.

And now you were hurt.

Jaw clenching, Hunter tries to forget the panic that had consumed him when you'd sent a distress signal during the middle of the last mission. They’d left you on the Marauder at a safe distance and able to assist if needed, but the locals had found you and weren’t too happy. Your scream of his name over the comms as you’d been dragged out of the ship had turned his blood to ice and would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Before he could stop himself, Hunter was up on his feet and across the room, reaching out for you, selfishly needing to triple-check that you were okay.

You startle as warm hands grasp your wrist, your heart rate spiking as fear simmers in your veins for only a second until you look up at a familiarly handsome face. Try as you might, you were still a little shaken. The locals hadn’t hurt you – your injury was self-inflicted, having smacked your hip on the bunk racks as you’d tried to kick yourself free of their grasp – and that had been their only saving grace when Hunter had stormed their small village with a blaster in one hand and his vibroknife in the other, demanding to know where you were. The relief that had crumpled his face as you’d been yanked out of a nearby building would forever be etched into your memory.

For a moment, you can only stare into his eyes, watching a mired of emotions flicker across his face before his hand shifts to your chin to tilt your head from side to side, double-checking for any marks. “I’m okay, Hunter.” You tell him softly, shifting your weight onto your good leg. “I don’t blame them.” You’re touched by his concern, warmth seeping through your body.

Hunter shakes his head a little, a hard glint in his endless brown eyes. “I do. You’re hurt.”

“Like I said on the way back here, this is self-inflicted.” You repeat, gently taking his wrist to pry his hand from your face. He didn’t need to worry so much – you’d been through a lot worse.

Hunter isn’t backing down that easily, not when something is clawing at his chest and demanding that he be sure you’re okay. “Let me see.”

You pause, blinking a few times at the commanding tone he’d slipped into so effortlessly. It was easy to forget at times that he was in charge. “Hunter…”

“Please.” He remembers his manners, softening his tone a little. He hadn’t meant to come across as harsh or rude, but that strange feeling in his chest wasn’t easing.

“There’s nothing to see. I’ve probably just pulled a muscle. It’ll be fine in a few days.” You point out.

Hunter takes a deep, shaky breath. “You don’t know what it was like hearing you scream out for me.” He pauses, swallowing, the memory replaying on an endless loop in his mind. “Nothing mattered other than getting to you. And I was too slow. You were gone when I got back. But your scent…” His jaw clenched, brows drawn down into a pained frown. One of his hands moved to cup your face, the light drag of his thumb across your cheekbone tugging at your heart. “So sweet but tainted with fear…” He trails off, remembering how relentlessly he’d tracked you down, pushing his senses further than ever before, searching for every little trace of you, desperate to have you back. “Don’t you see that I’m hurting? Please. I need to see that you’re okay.”

You couldn’t deny the worry you saw in Hunter’s eyes, something that rarely surfaced in the stoic soldier, and his words struck a chord with the unspoken connection that had grown between you during your time together. With a small sigh, you nod, giving in to his request.

“Alright. But I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.” You gently guide him to sit on your cot, lowering yourself next to him and lifting your shirt enough to reveal the purpling bruise on your hip. It wasn’t anything serious, just a painful reminder of the close call.

Hunter’s eyes narrow as he inspects the bruise, his fingers brushing lightly over the discoloured skin. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and for a moment, there’s silence in the room, only the distant rumble of thunder and the patter of rain against the window breaking the stillness.

“I told you, it’s nothing major.” You reassure him, studying the deep furrow in his brow. “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle a few bumps and bruises. It comes with the territory.”

Hunter remains silent, his gaze fixed on the bruise as if trying to will it away. Then, without a word, he rifles through the contents of your pack that you’d dumped out, grabbing a small tube of bacta gel. Wordlessly, he begins to apply it to your bruise, his movements deliberate and tender.

“You shouldn’t have to endure this.” He mutters, almost to himself, his fingers working the gel into your skin. “You weren’t made for this, yet you willingly put yourself in harm’s way. I can’t…I can’t risk losing you again.”

His admission catches you off guard. The weight of his words hangs in the air. The bond between you has evolved, whether you intended it or not.

You place a hand over his, pausing his ministrations. “I’m here because I choose to be. I believe in what you and your brothers are fighting for. I want to help in whatever way I can. I want to protect you. You’re not the only one who would go to great lengths for someone they care about.”

Hunter meets your gaze, his expression softening. At that moment, you realize that the storm brewing outside is nothing compared to the one raging inside Hunter.

You watch as he sets aside the bacta gel, knowing you’re at a crossroads and that whatever you say or do next will tip the scales. His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, the silence lingers until his gaze dips down to your lips for the briefest of seconds.

You move on instinct. Leaning in, your hand cups his cheek, guiding his face towards yours. As your lips meet in a tender kiss, you feel him respond with relief and desperation, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His hand finds its place on the small of your back, drawing you closer as he deepens the kiss.

Warmth licks through you, and you let out a small noise of surprise as Hunter pulls you carefully onto his lap, shifting you so that you can straddle him. His hand still supports your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck as his tongue presses forward, sliding between your lips to taste you.

Your soft moan is muffled by his mouth, tongue meeting his, body going pliant. Hunter’s lips are firm and confident, every fragment of his adoration for you poured into the kiss.

He wants to drown in your scent, to block out the rest of the galaxy and focus on nothing but you – the sounds you’re making, the racing of your heart, the taste of you that he’ll never get enough of. Cautious not to jostle you, Hunter stands, cradling you to him, smiling against your lips as your arms and legs wrap around him. As you cling to him, he carries you across the room to his bunk, laying you down gently on his sheets.

Sinking into the softness of the mattress, you gaze up at Hunter as he settles above you, careful not to rest his weight on you. Soft lips return to your body, dragging down your throat as his fingers creep under your shirt, dark fabric pushed up as he traces the curves of your body, the rough pads of his fingers against smooth skin. He’s already half-hard just from kissing you, but he studiously ignores it.

You are his priority. You always have been.

He shifts, working his way down your body. Reverent kisses pressed to your exposed belly, lips lingering around your injured hip, still shiny with bacta. Endless brown eyes flit up to meet your gaze, stealing your breath. Reaching down, you cup the inked side of his face, watching as his eyes flutter shut, head tilting into your touch, lips ghosting the palm of your hand in a feather-light kiss as he reassures himself that you're okay. Tears prickle at your eyes, heart aching at the sweetness of the gesture.

Fingers reach the waistband of your pants, already sitting low to not press on your hip, and there's a silent question in his gaze as he looks up at you.

With a small nod, you encourage him, and Hunter slowly pries your pants down further, eyes flitting between yours and the expanse of skin slowly revealed to him. He sees every emotion painted on your beautiful face, like a masterpiece he’s dedicated his entire life to studying.

Your pants hit the floor, Hunter’s lips trailing a path back up your body, soft kisses and gentle nips laved across your thighs and stomach. One arm returns to supporting his weight above you while the other hand smooths across your body, committing every part of you to memory. He could spend an eternity mapping you, losing himself in every nuance of you. Your honeyed scent fills his lungs, overpowering the lingering smells in the barracks.

It’s the sweetest torture you’ve ever experienced, the soft drag of his fingers across your body, the warmth of him so close, those eyes that have drawn you in since the very beginning. He dips down for a delicate kiss, fingers sliding across your thighs. They part without protest, and the deep rumble of approval that flees his lips sends a shiver through you.

Tentatively, he drags two fingers across the front of your damp panties as your kiss breaks. “So needy already, cyar’ika.” He croons, marvelling at the whimper you let loose. “Should probably do something about that, eh?” He adds, catching your clit with his next stroke, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

All you can do is nod, heart racing as you look up at him, trusting he’ll take care of you.

A smile passes over Hunter’s lips, and his fingers dance under the waistband of your panties, sliding down through your slick folds. Drawing lazy circles around your entrance, he goes to press a digit into your warm heat but pulls back at the last moment. Your brows furrow, and the small whine of frustration you let out makes him chuckle. “Patience, mesh’la.” He admonishes playfully, dragging his fingers up and over your clit again, making you gasp.

It’s maddening. But at the same time, oh so delicious. One of your hands grasps at the sheets of his bunk, the other grabbing onto him, anchoring yourself as his fingers stroke across you, cataloguing each spot that makes your hips jolt or pulls a little sound from you.

The delicious torture comes to an end as he finally presses a finger into you, another sliding in beside it. A soft moan escapes you, muffled as Hunter presses his lips to yours, crooking his fingers until he finds the right spot.

Stars erupt in your vision, kiss breaking as you tilt your head back, letting out another moan as pleasure curls through you.

“There it is.” Delight warms Hunter’s voice as he finds the spot, fingers moving, watching enraptured as you react to his touch. Leaning closer, his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “You should see yourself, cyar’ika. So beautiful.” He whispers, revelling in the way your heart rate spikes at his words, how you squirm and cant your hips to chase the pleasure he’s giving you. “That’s it. Take what you need.” He encourages.

Eyes sliding shut, warmth builds in your belly with every brush of his fingers against that sensitive spot inside you, with every soft word he utters. You grind down against his palm, the added pressure on your clit making your head spin as his fingers slide in and out of you.

Hips rolling, you’re grateful for the bacta gel that’s numbed the earlier ache, and you whine as Hunter’s teeth graze your earlobe. Warm puffs of his breath caress your neck as he dips down, dragging the flat of his tongue from your clavicle back to your ear, making you shiver. “Keep going, sweetheart, you’re doing so well.” He murmurs, a low rasp to the smoky voice you’ve grown to love.

Breath stuttering, you cling to him, desperately rocking against his hand. Your fingers twist the sheets as the pressure builds and builds. “Please...” You whine, eyes opening to find lust-blown brown gazing right back at you.

You ask so sweetly that Hunter can’t do anything but take mercy on you. Ensuring his fingers continue pumping slowly in and out of your tight heat, his thumb makes contact with your clit, and the cry you let out is magnificent.

“Yes, yes, like that…” You babble, eyes falling shut once more as he works you into a frenzy. Lips parting on a silent gasp, you finally tip over the edge. Trembles skitter through your body as you give yourself over to it, letting yourself be swept up in the moment.

Hunter has seen a lot in his few years – sunrises on pretty planets, families reunited, millions of stars shining in distant pockets of the galaxy. Still, all of it pales compared to the sight of you falling apart beneath him.

Working you through the high, his hand only stills once your beautiful eyes open once more and, holding your gaze, he slides his fingers from you, dragging them up to his mouth. The taste of you explodes in his mouth, and he groans, lapping at his fingers as he cleans away the evidence of your release.

Ragged breaths escape you as you come down from the high, watching the way the man you adore savours the taste of you. Exhaustion starts to creep through your body, the adrenaline of the day wearing off and the intensity of your orgasm stealing what little energy you had left. “Your turn…” You mumble, hand sliding down his body towards the thick length straining against his blacks.

Hunter gently captures your wrist, guiding your hand back up before peppering your pulse point with light kisses. “Promise me that I can teach you how to defend yourself better. And that you’ll always carry my spare vibroknife.” He makes a heartfelt request.

You attempt to protest, but seriousness settles over his expression, a stark reminder of how shaken he’d been earlier. “Tomorrow morning, I’m returning the favour. Then I’ll promise you anything.” You finally conceded.

A soft chuckle escapes him. “Deal.” He agrees, sealing the pact with a gentle press of his lips to yours. Carefully, he shifts you, pulling the sheet up, cocooning you in warmth. “There’s my girl.” He coos, watching as your eyes start to droop, lids heavy.

Half-awake, you mumble. “Yours?”

“Mine.” He confirms tenderly, smoothing your hair from your face, the ache in his chest finally easing as you rest safely in his bunk.

#Soarings Ask Box #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #star wars #the bad batch hunter #sergeant hunter #hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter bad batch #fluff #soft smut #friends to lovers

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optimist-pine · 3 months

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Dermatillomania (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of the fall of the Greene Farm in a way your therapist would not approve of.

Warnings: Typical TWD content! Dermatillomania (BFRB's, self-inflicted injury), mentions of death, etc.

Word Count: 719

Era: Follows directly after the season 2 finale

A/n: Just a personal vent... Dunno if anyone else relates.

It hadn't been easy to stop necessarily, but anything other than going cold turkey hadn't really been an option. When you absentmindedly find yourself starting to pick, a quick reminder that it could get you killed is all it takes to shut it down. Most of the time anyways... Tonight though? Oh, tonight you've fallen into old habits so fast and hard that you're stuck there in that state, in the worst session you've had since it all began.

You're tucked away in your own little corner of the ruins and firelight, shadowed enough that no one's really paying attention to what you're up to. At some point, your arms have come out of the sleeves of your coat and it's shrugged loosely around you, leaving skin exposed to the chilly air. You don't notice.

It's all catching up now, all replaying in your mind like the final straw has been plucked. That horrible night at the quarry, the panic when what had been a safe place was so quickly turned into a graveyard. Leaving Jim to die. The terror at the CDC of almost being murdered as a mercy. Leaving Jacqui to die. Sophia... Dale... The farm could've been a safe place, you'd truly believed it until they were somehow just - everywhere. Patricia, Jimmy, Shane... Leaving Andrea to die...

You can feel how it's all too much for your mind to handle, how it's trying to relieve the pressure in this way. It's no good, but your body doesn't know better and you don't know how to make it stop. You can't make any of it stop. Your fingernails desperately search raw skin for any bump, or blemish, or imperfection. They're everywhere. Maybe you'd feel ashamed if bigger and uglier emotions weren't cramming it out of the way.

The cold air cools drops of hot blood on your skin, you can feel it, and yet you feel separate from it simultaneously. Like the same way you breathe without thinking about the breathing part. The fire crackles low and leaves rustle out in the trees as the others hunker down. Nobody's really sleeping though. Not tonight.

Daryl's keeping watch on the perimeter when his eyes settle on you. Your fingers pause in their assault; you can't continue with an audience. Please just look away so I can keep going, some darkness in your mind pleads. But no, you scramble to pull the coat over yourself to conceal the evidence.

"What's this?" He asks, his voice low enough that the others won't really notice.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You can't meet his eyes, shame has finally pushed its way to the forefront now.

You don't try to stop him as he slides the coat off your shoulder, revealing your handiwork. Even in the darkness, you're sure the ugly redness has to be so obvious. You're not only weak, you're weak and stupid.

He pulls your backpack over and digs through it. "Your first aid kit in here?"

You nod once, but that only initiates the tears. What feeling are they from? Anger? Guilt? Fear? This was always the worst part, hating what you've done and wishing for nothing more than to go back and undo it. After everything that had happened... pathetic.

Daryl finds the antibacterial spray and gets to work. His care and surprising tenderness only make you feel that much worse. You were so incapable of handling yourself that you've got a full-grown man treating you like... like the broken thing that you are.

After that he takes a couple of bandages and wraps them around your upper arms, fingers steady and slow. "Leave 'em alone an' let 'em heal. You're tougher than that." He packs up the supplies, helps you fit your arms back into the sleeves, then waits. You're not sure what he expects from you, but then he mimes a zippering motion. You comply and close up your coat. With a single nod, he turns and returns to his watch of the dark surrounding forest.

Maybe you're just thoroughly messed up, but you trade the repeating images in your mind for his words. The past. You have to leave it alone. You have to let it heal. You're here, now, in the present. Alive. You would be tough enough to stay that way. You would.

#twd #the walking dead #twd season 2 #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #optimist pine

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myfeetrcolddd · 10 months

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Less than rational

Theo knew he had a bad habit of making less than rational decisions, decisions that often got him hurt or in trouble. He knew he had to try and not make these decisions, but when he had fallen off a wild horse and was sent to the infirmary due to his broken arm he knew he was about to make a lot more less than rational decisions, especially ones that would land him in the infirmary.

Y/N had started to work with madam Pomfry at the start of the year, it would be good practice and a good learning experience for when she would eventually become a healer. Surprisingly she had never encountered the famous Theodore Nott, who madam Pomfry had a large file containing all his past injuries during his years at Hogwarts.

It wasn't until the end of the year did she get to finally treat the boy, who had no doubt lied about how he had broken his arm, and after some coaxing and promising not to tell on him he had admitted to riding wild horses in the forbidden forest as part of a dare.

She found him ridiculous, always joking around and never taking his injury serious, she had assumed that would be the first and last time she would be treating him, considering the fact that they had gone months without an encounter. But was she ever so wrong

Theo had made it his plan to woo the girl, but first he just wanted to be near her, and what better way than her nursing him back to health. Often when he came to the infirmary madam Pomfry would be the one to help him, but when it was her and not the pretty girl in his year, he would ask- beg, for madam Pomfry to bring him the girl. He hadn't even cared if the old nurse was telling Y/N what he was doing, because in the end he got to see her.

But only seeing her when he was injured was getting to be too little, and if Theo was to be honest he didn't quite fancy hurting himself all that much, he needed to see her more, and it seemed that they didn't have any classes together whatsoever.

As much as she hated to admit it she liked seeing Theodore Nott every week, of course she would always pester him about being more careful, and it seemed to work, no longer was the boy breaking or spraining something every so often. But he was coming in for little things, a paper cut, a stubbed toe, a tooth ache even.

She was quite sure he was either lying or self inflicting these 'injuries' she also knew that Theo had been asking for her specifically when ever he came in, and it got to the point that madam Pomfry wouldn't even refer to the boy by his name but as 'your boy'.

Like every morning Y/N had found herself missing breakfast, thanks to another late night at the infirmary, but after months of this she had gotten used to the lack of food in the morning. Instead opting for a granola bar and a sip of juice before dashing off to class.

Running through the near empty halls Y/N cursed to herself, how could she have slept in so late!

"Y/N!" A voice called from behind her, stopping her mid run she turned to see who called her name. An involuntary smile graced her face at the sight of Theodore Nott. It wasn't often that she saw the boy outside of the infirmary, they weren't in any of the same classes and they weren't in the same house let alone having any mutual friends.

"Theo." She smiled, the fact that she was late to class was long forgotten as the tall messy haired boy walked towards her, a goofy grin on his face.

"I didn't see you at breakfast." His brows scrunched in the cutest way and concern was visible on his face- wait, he looks for me at meals? The thought went off in her brain like an alarm, though she had no clue why, all she knew was that she had to make sure her sudden panic didn't show through.

"Oh. I slept in." She shrugged, hopefully looking nonchalant.

"What class do you have?"

"Muggle studies, what about you?" She tilted her head, normally the panic she was feeling would be because she was late for class, instead it was caused thanks to the infuriatingly good looking boy in front of her who was only an arms length away.

"Spare." He said in a bragging tone and grinned, then he took a step closer to her. "You know," He started, staring into her eyes and she suddenly felt very translucent, "I hear that Burbage is just letting her students have an extra study period."

"Oh? And where'd you hear that?" She smirked up at him.

"The grape vine." He shrugged and she giggled and the sound made his heart bloom, with warmth, happiness, pride that he had gotten her to laugh.

"Mhm, well I do have a lot of things to study for."

"Do you?" She nodded her head and his eyes narrowed playfully, "Well, I am a top student, I can help you if you want." Theo tilted his head as he stepped closer, so close that her perfume was much stronger and doing things to him, and he knew that if he didn't distance himself then he would make a less than rational decision, one that could ruin everything he has with her.

"Well, I appreciate the offer but-" She was cut off by her own squeal as Theo lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing and threw her over his shoulder like a sake of potatoes. "Theo!" She yelled, thrashing against him, but despite herself she let out a laugh. "Put me down!" Her voice had meant to be harsh but she was still laughing.

"I'm afraid I can't do that Miss Nurse, if I do you might not study." He shrugged as he began to walk to the library and her jaw dropped in shock. No way he could carry her all the way there.

While Y/N was caught up in the fact that Theos grip on her waist felt a little too good and that she didn't hate her situation as much as she should have, Theo was having his own little meltdown.

It wasn't often that Theodore Nott second guessed himself, but whenever it came to this girl it was as if his thoughts were on over drive. Always thinking about what he could do to get her to look at him, to laugh at him, to talk and spend time with him, and now he knew he had to come up with some reason to get her to touch him more, because if she was a flame he was a moth, drawn to her even if it burned him.

He liked the feeling of her in his arms, or arm, and he knew if anyone saw them it would be incredibly hard to explain but he couldn't find it in himself to care, because Y/N wasn't complaining so neither was he, and as they got closer to the library he realized he was going to have to put her down.

When he stopped in front of the library doors he heaved her down and off his shoulder, placing her right in front of him, and he was aware of how close he had placed her her breath fanning his face as he found his posture slight slouched and his head bent towards her. He was aware of how he had neglected to take his hands off of her waist.

Neither of them missed the glances each of them made to the others lips, the lingering gazes, but both said nothing about it, instead Y/N found herself blushing furiously and stepping away from the boy who took up too much of her time. She cleared her throat and turned towards the library doors, "Well," Her voice was high pitched and she was quick to fix it, "Let's get to it then."

Theo had stared at her back, at her beautiful hair, and he realized that maybe he liked this girl much more than he thought he had, because although he's disappointed they didn't kiss, he still wanted to be around her, he didn't feel sour by her turning her back on him, not one bit.

After that day things changed, Theo had become more touchy and Y/N more tolerant, and even flirting back.

It was a Friday night, and Slytherin was throwing a party to celebrate their win against Gryffindor, Y/N wasn't normally one for parties, only attending one here and there, but she was sick of what ever was going on with her and Theo. It had been weeks since that day he threw her over his shoulder, and weeks of almost kisses and less than friendly touches and words, yet he still didn't make a move. And she would make the first move but every time she tried he had made an excuse to leave before she could even ask him out.

She knew he liked her, she just didn't know why he wouldn't do anything about it.

So she bought a dress, a short, skimpy, revealing dress in Theos favorite color, she put on a pair of strappy heals and even did more than just mascara and lip gloss.

The party was loud, bodies grinding against each other, there was a fog machine somewhere which made the room well, foggy, and most of the lights were off. Everyone already seemed drunk and as she made her way to the drink table she had already been offered many things that no person in their right mind would ask another person.

With a drink in hand she had scanned the dark room and it wasn't long until her eyes met his. Directly across the room was Theo, leaning in an arm chair as his friends sat int eh adorning chairs and sofa by the fire place.

Theo was manspreading, his hands on the arm rests and in one hand was a bottle of beer. His gaze did things to her normally, but something about the way he was looking at her right now, that made her burn in the best way possible.

Fueled by his unwavering gaze Y/N downed her drink and made her way to the make shift dance floor, immediately finding someone to dance with. "You look nice Y/L/N" the guy said in to her ear as he grinded on her, and she had to stop herself from gagging. She didn't even know the boys name.

"You too." She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her ass into his groin.

It was then that the guy behind her was ripped off of her. She didn't have to turn around to see who it was, and soon his body was pressed up against hers, replacing the boy before. Theo wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his head down to her ear, "What do you think you're doing Princess." His words were low and rough and came out more as a statement than a question.

"Having fun of course." She grinned.

"Okay, let me rephrase, why was that guy, grinding on you?" Oh he was angry.

"If not him who else?" Instead of answering Theo spun her around in his arms, now face to face, their noses touching as he glares down at her.

He had no right to be jealous, but he was, because everyone knew that she was his, everyone knew about his bigger than life feelings for her, and even if they didn't say anything about it she knew it too. But that wasn't enough, he hadn't made a move, he was acting like a boyfriend without being a boyfriend, it was frustrating, she liked what they had but she wanted more, she wanted cuddles and kisses goodbye, she wanted to hug for as long as she wanted and she wanted to be official.

At the lack of response she glowered and scoffed, Theodore Nott, known for doing thing without thinking and doing things without second thought was always second guessing her and anything she came with. As if calculating the consequences if he got with her.

"Whatever." She mumbled, prying his hands off her and walking away. If he was going to be a coward then so be it, I won't be waiting for him, I have my own life and I won't spend it hoping a boy will admit he likes me.

As he watched her walk away he felt his heart shatter. He already knew he was fucking things up, he knew he didn't really need to be second guessing everything he had with her, but he couldn't help himself, what if they started dating and she realized he wasn't all that he made himself up to be? What if she had him and then decided she didn't want him? Theo knew he couldn't live with himself if he had something with her and then lost it all, but isn't that what he had just done?

He didn't get any sleep that night, or the next, and soon he ended up in the infirmary looking for a sleeping potion, this had been the longest he had gone without seeing her, it was two fucking days and he was already falling apart at the seams.

And it was at the end of that week that he knew he had to do something about this, he needed to talk to her, to see her, to hear her, to say sorry.

He had been on the stairs when he saw her, bellow him on another set of stairs, and, acting on impulse, he jumped. He hopped over the railing and down to Y/N who stood alone on the platform nearly two stories bellow.

When he landed he felt pain in one of his ankles but couldn't find it in himself to care because he was finally seeing her after a week. "Y/N." His voice was distant, his eyes transfixed on her as he walked closer to her and didn't stop until he had her face in his hands. "Y/N" He whispered her name like a prayer, "My Y/N." He placed his forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry." His voice was shaky.

It was clear he wasn't in his right state of mind, clearly in a state of delirium, and it was most definitely because of his lack of sleep. "Teddy." The nickname came easily to her, though she had never used it it just seemed right. And it was, Theo loved the way it sounded, it did things to him he should not be feeling while trying to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I was a coward. I am a coward."

"I know." She huffed and he grinned.

"How can I make it up to you?? Please I'll do anything." He begged, not caring about how desperate he sounded, because what ever he sounded didn't compare to how he felt.

"Well for one you can not do anything as reckless as jumping down two flights of stairs!" She reprimanded him and a familiar warmth spread through his chest, because she was talking to him, and she was warm, and- "When was the last time you slept?"

"Thursday night." He mumbled, his eyes falling closed as she brought her hands up to grasp his wrists, has he mentioned how warm she is?

"You-" She cut herself off in disbelief before she dragged him to the infirmary, where she made him lay on a bed while she went and got things for his ankle. "You need to sleep." She said, brushing back the hair on his forehead, before moving her hand down to cup his cheek, at which he leaned in to her touch.

Without thinking she leaned in and kissed him, a gentle and quick kiss. And as she pulled back she was met with Theos wide eyes before he brought her lips back down to his.

Her lips were soft against his, and he couldn't get enough of it, because she was a great kisser, her lips matched his pace, his fervent and needy pace and it wasn't long before his tongue was caressing hers and tasting her.

When she pulled back for air he lifted her up onto the bed with him, then he flipped them so that she was laying flat on the bed and he was hovering above her.

He fought sleep as he brought his lips to her neck, and the open mouthed kissed became soft nuzzling, before Y/N had a chance to think about all that had happened she was trapped underneath Theos weight and held tightly to him by his arms around his waist.

His lips brushed against her neck as he breathed and mumbled things in his sleep, it was only as she was falling asleep herself did she realize what he was saying.

"All mine, my Y/N"

#not edited #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #harry potter #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #Imagine #not proofread

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lostloveletters · 3 months

Text

Big Girls Don't Cry (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: After a night out spirals out of control, Holly thinks she's doomed to be a haunted house. Bucky’s brave enough to let the light in.

Note: An angsty first kiss for Holly and Bucky…I’m so overwhelmed by the response to the MotA fics I’ve posted so far, thank you so much🖤 There's going to be a parallel Woody/Brady-centric fic to this, which is why I included a decent ensemble here lol. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Descriptions of a panic attack and related self-inflicted injuries; mentions of death and grief (hurt/comfort). Inevitable historical inaccuracies. Ends on a somewhat suggestive note, but nothing explicit.

Holly was exhausted when Bucky asked her to go to the pub in town with him and some of the other pilots that evening. She initially hesitated, but between his near insisting and her notion that a break from the base would do her good, she accepted the invitation. When she found Woody later on to ask if she was going, Brady had already invited her, a light blush spreading across Woody’s face when she told Holly. The overall group of seven required pushing two tables together and stealing some empty chairs.

“Holly, your drink’s on me. I got $4.50 when you won the last typing contest,” Bucky said.

“You bet on it?” Buck asked.

“I knew she’d win.”

“Beat her own record,” Woody added.

Buck shook his head, smiling a bit. Holly liked Buck a lot, especially the way his face lit up when she asked him about Marge. Seemed to be physically lighter, too, like the weight of being one of the de facto leaders of the 100th was off of his shoulders for that moment in time. He’d get almost flustered if he realized he was rambling, apologizing for taking up so much of her time talking about his girl even though she was the one who asked him.

“Which is why I’m buying my sailor a dark ‘n’ stormy, and the rest of you are on your own.”

She laughed, “Thanks, Bucky.”

‘My sailor.’ He had taken to calling her after they listened to the Nationals-Yankees game together. But she apparently inherited her sailorship from Stan, her preference for rum and penchant for cursing around Bucky (and few others), made him designate her so.

Nevermind she had only been on a boat a handful of times, one of which was the ship that brought her over to England from New York, and no, she didn’t know any sea shanties. He took it upon himself to learn one from a local laborer who worked on schooners at the turn of the century. Of course, Bucky had been drunk when he tried to teach her the song, remembering half of the lyrics and ad-libbing the rest. She left the singing to him.

She still had one secret–an anchor tattoo on her upper arm. An impulsive decision she and Stan made together when she accompanied him to San Francisco the week he shipped out to the Pacific. The same week she met Woody, and the rest of her life started before she could blink.

Being in the pub with everyone was the most normal she’d felt in a while. She hoped could finally shake whatever stormy clouds had made their home in her mind over the past year.

“Hey Holly, you’re from DC, right?” Curt asked abruptly. “You ever meet the President? See him around the neighborhood or something?”

She laughed. “No, unfortunately I’ve never run into President Roosevelt at the drug store.”

“How would he even do that? He’d get mobbed,” Crank said.

Woody nodded. “He’s probably got a mean security detail, too.”

“Well he can’t spend all day in the White House!”

“Why not? Heard they got a bowling alley in there,” Buck said.

“Woody, I’ll get you a beer?” Brady asked, his voice low among the clamor of what President Roosevelt did for fun in the nation's capital.

“Thanks, John.”

Holly sneaked a glance at her best friend when Brady stood up and headed over to the bar. She wasn’t sure if Woody had told him that Holly knew about them. There were few, if any secrets between Holly and Woody, and guys were certainly no exception.

“Look, if I were the president, I’d wanna know my neighbors,” Curt said.

“If you were president,” Buck repeated, toothpick between his teeth as he smiled. “Listen to him.”

“Hey, anybody can run,” Curt said. “That’s what it says in the Bill of Rights or something.”

“That doesn’t mean you should,” Crank said.

“You got my vote, Curt,” Bucky announced, setting his and Holly’s drinks on the table.

“Thanks, Bucky. You’ll be my VP.”

Bucky grinned, sitting next to Holly. His arm settled on the back of her seat, his fingers brushing the ends of her curly hair.

The next few minutes was a game of musical chairs as everyone else came and went with their drinks of choice, Brady taking the seat next to Woody as soon as it was open.

Holly found herself leaning against Bucky as she drank, nursing her dark ‘n’ stormy with the intent of making it last until it was time to leave. He was the only person she felt comfortable enough to be in such close contact with besides Woody. He felt like sitting next to the radiator in her childhood bedroom, and she nearly nodded off after some time, Buck and Bucky in the middle of some conversation she couldn’t follow.

Curt returned to the table with what must have been his third or fourth beer of the night.

“Hey Bucky, some of these blokes are lookin’ to play darts,” he said, motioning behind him.

Bucky nodded. “Hope they’re ready to cover my tab.” He threw back his whiskey and gave Holly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as he got up. “C’mon, doll.”

Holly didn’t remember much of what happened between then and when she heard it. An entire chunk of time morphed into a hazy blur in her mind. Vaguely remembered cheering for Bucky and Curt. Then Curt called an RAF pilot an asshole, and a fight nearly broke out before fizzling down by the grace of god. Or maybe Buck stepped in. Bucky had something to her before his turn, an aside she laughed at, but couldn’t recall.

Different conversations around her jumbled with one another, stringing together in a cruel way only her own mind could conjure up for her. She heard him clear as day.

“Stan?” she whispered, her voice crazed with illogical hope.

Her heart raced. She looked frantically around the room for a sign—any sign of him.

But Stan was dead. There’d been a funeral with a body. His mother wept over the open casket. Her own mother had written as much. Sent her the funeral program which remained hidden among her belongings.

She kept the accompanying memorial card on her person at all times. A nice photo of Stan in uniform. His full name. Dates of birth and death. A bible verse and a little mention of his service in the Navy.

Stan was dead. Had been for over a year.

Her chest tightened, pulling like a rubber band about to snap. As the room closed in on her, she barrelled through the pub patrons, paying no mind to who was in her path, only that they were between her and a door.

The cool night air shocked her skin, but it wasn’t enough to snuff out the burning in her lungs. Panic overtook her brain. With a strangled shout, she curled her fist, unleashing months of unspoken grief directly onto the brick wall in front of her. Pain struck her hand like a bolt of lightning, but she could breathe again.

Her knuckles split open, bruises blossoming across her fingers in the darkness. “Fuck!” she shouted, both in pain and disbelief at herself. “Motherfuck–”

The alley door slammed open, chaos from the bar ringing in her ears as she looked wide-eyed at the person who interrupted her. A tense mortification swept over her body.

She’d been doing so well. Kept the self-destructive thoughts at bay. Used to chew on her bottom lip until it bled, the pain of broken skin and taste of copper strangely grounding when her mind wandered too far. Hadn’t done in it months. But she never exploded. Not quite like this.

Bucky stumbled forward, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Holly?” he asked, his gaze drifting down to her hand. “Jesus, what happened?”

Of course he would be the one to witness her breakdown. She wished it were Woody, but she sure as hell didn’t want to ruin her best friend’s night out with her boyfriend either.

Woody was used to it. Holly was always too embarrassed to go to a nurse, so Woody would sit her down and carefully apply petroleum jelly to Holly’s raw lips, eyebrows knit together in concerned concentration as her fingers brushed across the cracked, scabbed over skin. Didn’t care if she had been working for over twelve hours straight or was in the middle of something else.

But Bucky wasn’t Woody, and she never wanted him to see her like this.

Holly stared at him, trembling as he took a tentative step toward her. Tears welled up in her eyes. She frantically rubbed at them with her sleeve. She let out a shaky breath.

“Holly,” he repeated. “Are you alright?”

“I felt like I was going to explode in there so I came out here and…” She flexed her injured hand and winced. “I heard someone talking. He sounded just like Stan.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling more pathetic as she explained herself. “I guess my wires got crossed.”

“Hey, it happens,” he tried assuring her. “You think you’re the only one?”

Holly shook her head. “Even when I got the letter last year, I still showed up and did what I had to do. Didn’t miss a day.” She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know why tonight was so different.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He took her bruised hand, whispering an apology when she hissed in pain. Examined it as best as he could in the cover of night. “At least not any more than you already have.”

“I punched a brick wall. I’m not gonna be able to type tomorrow,” she said, quickly adding, “I can’t go to a nurse. They’ll ask what happened, and I’d rather crawl in a hole somewhere.”

He shook his head. “C’mon, I’ll patch up that hand for you. It’s probably not even that bad.”

“Don’t cut your night short because of me.”

Briefly, almost enough to convince her it was just a trick of the moonlight, he looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “It’s the least I can do for making you come out tonight.”

“Bucky, you didn’t make me do anything. I don’t want to be some wilting flower who’s too afraid to keep living. Stan wouldn’t have wanted that for me. I just wish my brain would get the message.”

“Well, I’m sure Stan wouldn’t have wanted you to walk all the way back by yourself if you didn’t have to,” he said.

She smiled weakly. “Yeah, he’d chew me out for that.”

So would Bucky, if this had happened and he hadn’t found her. If she walked back to Thorpe Abbotts alone in the dead of night with nothing but the stars to keep her company. She never cared for them, especially not after Stan. They gave the night glistening teeth that tore her apart far too often for her to be comfortable beneath them.

“Hey, what about darts?” she asked, a good distance away from the pub.

“I pulled Crank in. He can hold his own. Besides, if there’s an angry bartender hunting me down on the base tomorrow, you could probably hold him off for me,” he joked, lightly elbowing her side. “You got one hell of a hook.”

“Stan taught me.”

“He taught you how to fight?”

“Sort of, but he was probably thinking more along the lines of self-defense instead of getting into fights with brick walls.”

“That wall had it coming. If you didn’t punch it, I probably would’ve.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Will you tell that to Chick so he doesn’t kill me tomorrow?”

“He’s not gonna kill you. Might be pissed that his best typist is gonna be out of commission for a few days, though.”

“I can still proofread. Or sort mail. Or—“

“Let me worry about that, alright?”

Holly hesitated. “Alright.”

—————

Bucky had the keys to the Air Exec office, empty for the night, and sat Holly down at her desk. He disappeared for a few minutes, but returned with an armful of peroxide bottles, absorbent cotton, and a roll of gauze.

“Geez Bucky, don’t waste all of that on me.”

“If I brought you to a nurse, they’d use it on you, anyway.”

He pulled up a chair, his knees touching hers as he took a closer look at her hand beneath a desk lamp. His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the dried blood, cuts that had already begun to scab over, and a particularly gnarly knuckle that didn’t sit quite right.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but one of your knuckles got dislocated. I’m gonna clean your hand and then pop it back into place.”

“Fuckin’ A,” she said. “I learned that from Stan, too.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“No. Neither did he.”

He snickered, grabbing the peroxide and some cotton. “What was Stan like, anyway? Sounds like an interesting guy from what you told me.”

“Stan was…” She paused. Nobody asked her about Stan. All anyone knew was what little she offered. What was he like? “He cursed like a—well, he was a sailor. Of course he was a Nationals fan. Loved detective novels. We’d have ones we’d read together and see who could figure out the big plot twist first. His front tooth was chipped, but god, he had the best smile. I’m talking serious wattage—“

“Wattage?” Bucky repeated incredulously.

“Okay, I made that up—think electric! He could light up a whole room with just his smile,” she emphasized with a smile of her own. “You know what I mean?”

He glanced up from her hand to her face for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“What else…we had this goofy thing going where we’d play tic-tac-toe in our letters to each other. I started doing that because I’m not great at writing letters. I never know what to say, but I wanted him to still look forward to getting them from me.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I just started secretarial school when he got a job at this fish market up the street from my house. I remember thinking he was so handsome, he almost looked out of place,” Holly said, her voice soft for a moment. “Well, I’d spend so much time there that my mom would complain about how awful I smelled by the time I got home. I asked him out first.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re kidding.”

A wide grin spread across her face. “I wanted to make him mine before he could even think about another girl, so I went in one day and said, ‘When are you gonna take me to see a movie?’ Most guys wouldn’t have liked that, but Stan got a kick out of it. He’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen.” She paused. “I think what really scares me is that at some point, I’ll remember him for longer than I knew him, and I’m always gonna be…like this.”

“I’m gonna set your knuckle back in place now,” Bucky said, his voice low, almost contemplative.

Holly tensed, staring at the ceiling while Bucky pushed against her bruised knuckles. Bone clicked back into place. She groaned. Clenched her good hand into a fist, blinking away tears.

“Barely flinched,” he said. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for, doll.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”

They were quiet as he finished bandaging her hand. The room was almost chatty though, buzzing overhead lights, ticking clock on the wall, a leaky pipe somewhere. Among them, a thought broke free from the confines of Bucky’s mind.

“Stan was lucky to have a girl like you waiting for him.”

Glassy brown eyes, wavering with the weight of the world, stared back at him in silence.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Holly. I shouldn’t have—”

She kissed him, her bandaged hand caressing his cheek. Weeks of silently longing, lusting, and wondering, answered in full as she moved her lips against his. Nearly forgot to kiss her back until he felt her pulling away.

He placed his hand over her bandaged one, still tenderly cupping his face. The gauze was rough against his skin, a contrast to the pads of her fingers. He curled his fingers around hers, her blunt nails lightly scraping against his cheek.

She gasped against his lips. “John.”

A shiver rolled down his spine as he brushed his thumb over the bandage he’d just finished wrapping, her knuckle that he set back in place for her. All for her. And she kissed him first.

‘I wanted to make him mine.’

Mine.

Her dulcet tone echoed in his head until he couldn’t think of anything but kissing her again, offering himself to her as the sole object of her affection.

Mineminemineminemine. “Holly, baby—” He was trying so hard to be coherent, nearly choking on his words until finally uttering, “I’m all yours.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #bucky egan x ofc #john egan x ofc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota oc #masters of the air oc #ch: holly

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ghost-whump · 6 months

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Hello hello!! <3 When you have the opportunity, and if this prompt sparks inspiration, could you write a scenario or a scene in which the whumpee is afraid of their friends/caretakers and is actively trying to escape, meanwhile the caretakers are genuinely trying to help their friend but they're making it really hard by not cooperating? Cause of said fear could be due to brainwashing, trauma, or general confusion...? Or perhaps the whumpee is a dangerous individual and the sadistic whumper had deliberately set them up to be found by the caretakers, knowing that they would trigger whumpee into harming/eliminating them?

...that's way, way too specific, isn't it?

oh sweet anon you have activated one of my favorite tropes of all time. unfortunately i’m not too happy with this one (probably from just not having a clear idea for what i wanted) but i still would like to post it! i hope you enjoy anyway <3

You’re Not Real

CW: hospital setting (though not particularly hospital whump), in-recovery, restraints, implied past drugging, delirious whumpee, self inflicted injuries, Let me know if I’m missing anything!

“Whumpee!”

Caretaker rose from their chair, where they’d stationed themselves next to Whumpee’s bed. For the last seven hours — since Whumpee had been mysteriously returned by some mysterious captor, battered and delirious — the terrified patient had not stopped fighting.

The hospital staff had at first tried to restrain them to the bed. That only agitated Whumpee further, giving way to a bout of trying to bite and plead and struggle harder, hard enough to cause the bruises on their wrists to worsen.

Now, after somehow managing to escape their padded restraints, Whumpee scrambled off the bed. Their IV and breathing tube fell to the floor before Caretaker could even fully stand.

“Whumpee,” They approached slowly, hands in the air, “Calm down, please? I won’t hurt you, it’s okay.”

Whumpee furiously shook their head, scrambling backwards. Teeth bared like an animal, Whumpee pressed their back into the farthest corner they could get.

Caretaker momentarily considered calling a nurse into the room, but eventually decided against it. Officials would only panic Whumpee more. Another step forward. Caretaker spoke, “See? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your friend, Whumpee. It’s Caretaker.”

“No!” Whumpee shouted. They gripped their hair and tugged, staring up with wild, crazed eyes. “No! Go away!”

“Whumpee-”

“Go away! You’re—You’re not real! Go away!” They continued to shout, surprising not alerting hospital staff outside the room. “P-Please! I don’t want to see Caretaker! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t!”

“…You- You don’t?” Caretaker started to lower their hands. Whumpee said they weren’t real.

Whumpee pounded on their temples with the palms of their hands. “Get out of my head! Stop—Stop making me see- Get out, get out, getoutgetoutgetout!” Furiously, Whumpee babbled incoherent nonsense. But only when they started bashing their head on the wall behind them did Caretaker finally come to.

They began bashing the button to call nurses to the room, a few flooding in almost instantly. The staff quickly and efficiently restrained Whumpee once again, preventing them from hurting themselves further.

Once the ordeal was over, and Whumpee passed out from exhaustion, the weight of what had happened finally hit Caretaker. They grabbed onto the remaining nurse’s sleeve, looking up at them, furrowed.

Cautiously, “Has Whumpee been… drug tested?”

The nurse nodded, “Yes. The toxicology report was clear. They could have been drugged in the past, but nothing is in their system now.” She explained, then paused with a skeptical look, “Why?”

“It’s—It’s just… Earlier, when they were fighting, they said I wasn’t real. They were begging someone to get out of their head, like—like they thought they were hallucinating or something.”

Nodding slowly once again, the nurse looked back at their clipboard, then up at Whumpee’s sleeping form. “I’ll see what I can do.” A determined look fell over her face, “If they wake up again, call us in right away.”

Then, without another word, the nurse was gone.

Caretaker fell back into the chair. God, Whumpee, what have you gotten yourself into?

thank you for reading, even if it’s not my best work! there may be more errors than usual, since this was written very quickly.

if anyone’s interested, i’d very much like to keep exploring this topic!!

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump #whumpee #caretaker #hospital whump #recovery whump #whump writing #defiant whumpee

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brickmvster · 1 year

Text

Savior [Abby Anderson x Reader]

Synopsis: You and Abby, best friends, aren't quite sure where you both stand with each other. After you get attacked while out on patrol, you begin to experience feelings of inadequacy; Abby, however, reminds you of just how important you are, and it is during this conversation that both of your true feelings come to the surface.

Tags: minor violence, non-graphic violence, near death experiences, panic attacks, minor injuries, friends to lovers, love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, nightmares, fluff, a little suggestive toward the end but not explicit

Word Count: 8k+

Author's Note: this is my first time posting a fic of mine to tumblr (also my first time writing for Abby)! I'm nervous and also excited 😭 this has been proofread quite a few times but apologies in advance if any spelling and/or grammarical errors slipped by me, mistakes are all mine! I almost cried writing this bc my god do I want an Abby of my own. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback is always welcome. This was cross posted on AO3 as well.

For the first time since joining the Washington Liberation Front, you finally felt like you were doing some real work. Fear and inexperience prevented you from going out on patrols, and for several months you stuck with doing laundry and food preparation. But many grueling and difficult weeks of weapon training and learning about basic self defense left you feeling confident – a feeling that, up until now, was wholly unfamiliar to you.

You were currently sitting patiently in your room, bag packed with all of the essentials and necessities for your first patrol trip. You were just waiting for your roommate and patrol partner, Whitney, to knock on the door and announce when it’s time to go.

You could tell from the way your stomach felt like it was upside down that you were feeling a little nervous. Just months ago, doing anything that meant leaving the stadium absolutely terrified you; it was a safe haven and leaving it meant you were no longer protected from the unforgiving nature of a post-apocalyptic city. You weren’t afraid of the infected – you had encountered plenty of them prior to being recruited, and you couldn’t even begin to count how many you had taken down during your years as a lone survivor.

No, you were far more scared of your own species . Within the once densely populated city of Seattle, you were completely by yourself with no sense of stability as you packed your stuff and relocated once every few days, paranoia never allowing you to stay in one place for any longer. Of course, there was also the looming threat of being captured by the Seraphites or brutally killed by other survivors. You were a true pacifist, having mastered the art of being light on your feet and narrowly avoiding getting into physical altercations with other people. Trees, tall grass, and anything else nature provided you with helped you in silently escaping without leaving a single trace. You had your fair share of close calls, like anyone would, but what you lacked in weapon knowledge and fighting skills you made up for in quick thinking.

One day, though, your luck had finally decided to run out.

Your recollection of that day was hazy, but you could vividly remember sleeping on a raggedy couch within an abandoned house, before raiders had forcefully entered your home. You don’t really remember who started shooting first. There was so much screaming, and your ears were ringing from the piercing and relentless sound of gunfire. There had to have been three guys. Maybe four, you weren’t exactly sure. They were clumsy and missed a lot of their shots. Until they didn’t, and suddenly there was a hole in your leg. Although they couldn’t aim well, you weren’t any better. Your shots usually ended up in a wall or going through a window. But you did manage to take them all out. Almost all of them, because one guy had taken you completely by surprise, pinning you against a wall and attempting to inflict a stab wound.

But that was when a mysterious woman with a braid showed up.

There were other people with her but you could only remember seeing her. She took out the guy attacking you swiftly, her aim incredibly precise, the bullet going straight through his head. She aimed it at you, and immediately your arms went up – that was when you locked eyes with her, her gaze sharp and unwavering. Your eyes were blown wide, your heart rate never slowing down and adrenaline still pumping through you. You were pleading to her silently.

You knew you had managed to sway her when she had slowly lowered her pistol. She gazed down at your leg, and you’ll never forget the unexpected softness in her voice when she told you:

“I got you.”

Then, she let you wrap your arm around her shoulders, and she helped you exit the bullet-ridden house. She took you in and taught you how to shoot better; but you refused to help out with patrols, and that was when your fear of leaving the stadium had begun to blossom. You felt powerless in that moment back in the abandoned house. You almost died because of your cluelessness, and your inability to kill, let alone even hurt another human.

After having been rescued, your time spent doing busy work at the stadium is when you found yourself growing closer to the woman, who you had soon found out was named Abby. Despite Whitney being your roommate, she barely ever saw you – you were always spending time with Abby, whether it be eating together in the cafeteria, having in-depth conversations about random books that Abby may have found while on patrol (because that was one major thing the both of you had in common, surprisingly), or just enjoying each other's company and not exchanging any words at all, comforted by the mere feeling of the other person being in the same room.

You soon realized, though, that you weren’t supposed to be experiencing a spike in heart rate after your hand accidentally brushed hers. You weren’t supposed to feel that stupid fluttery feeling your stomach whenever she laughed at something you said or smiled at you. You weren’t supposed to feel warmth spread throughout your cheeks at the sight of her sweaty and breathing heavily from exertion after working out. You told all of this to Whitney, and she only laughed at your suffering, telling you to your face that you had a crush on your best friend.

But it didn’t feel like a crush. Crushes were fleeting. You wanted Abby. You yearned for her closeness and thought about sleeping in her arms every single night, her lips pressing against your forehead.

All of this, of course, terrified you. You had never experienced any feeling as strong as this. You always rolled your eyes at some of the cheesy romance novels you read, as the main characters always seemed so overdramatic to you. You never thought the feeling of desire could be so painful. You saw Abby everyday, and yet she felt so far away at the same time. Suddenly those romance novels felt too real.

You suppressed these feelings the best you could, because you weren’t even sure if Abby felt the same way. You had a strong feeling she didn’t, and you weren’t going to severely embarrass yourself by confessing your love to someone who you were sure wasn’t going to reciprocate those feelings.

You weren’t sure how well you’d be able to suppress your feelings for any longer, though, knowing that Abby was actually going to be joining you on patrol.

Maybe that was the true reason for your nervousness.

Three knocks on your door pulled you out of the recesses of your mind. Whitney’s muffled voice could be heard on the other side.

“You ready?” She asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You replied with a sigh. You stood up from the bed and grabbed your backpack, slinging the straps securely over your shoulders. Whitney had opened the door, meeting your eyes with a smile. You returned the warm expression, exiting your room, and locking the door behind you. The two of you made your way down the hall.

“How’re you feeling? Excited? Nervous?” Whitney questioned. You shrugged.

“Honestly? I’m feeling all sorts of things. I just hope everything goes well.” You replied. Whitney playfully nudged you with her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry too much. Most of the time, patrol runs go pretty smoothly. You’re bound to have some mishaps here and there, but usually everyone comes back safely. We’ll be alright, I know it.”

You felt reassured by Whitney’s words, grinning at her as a silent thanks for soothing your nerves. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for another few minutes, but it wasn’t long until Whitney was speaking again, deciding to discuss another topic.

“So… about you and Abby.” She began.

You groaned in annoyance,feeling warmth immediately spread to your cheeks at the mere mention of the woman’s name. Whitney only chuckled at your obvious suffering. “I was wondering… did you two fight?”

You turned your head to look at Whitney quizzically. “No? What makes you think we fought?”

Whitney looked at you like you just asked her what two plus two was. “The both of you haven’t talked to each other in like… 10 years. I can’t help but think something happened.”

“We still talk to each other, Whitney.”

“Does only saying ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ count as talking?” She asked.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the truth in Whitney’s words. You hadn’t actually held a conversation with Abby in days . She would always make an effort to spend time with you but you always had some kind of excuse at the ready. They were often lousy ones, and you could tell that Abby could see right through them but decided against saying anything about it.

“I admit, things are… awkward between us, but-”

“She feels the same way.”

You paused in the middle of your sentence, sighing exasperatedly. “Whitney… how can you be so sure?”

“Because I see it. Just take my word for it, okay?” She replied, giving you a teasing smile. You didn’t even have time to respond, since the two of you had already reached your destination.

Eventually, you made it to where Abby and Alice were waiting near the vehicles. You saw Abby kneeling on the ground, gently petting Alice and showering the canine in all of the praise and affection in the world. While grabbing your weapons and extra ammunition, you stole a few glances at her, feeling a smile creep up on your lips as you watched Alice lick her face happily, to which Abby tried to move away, the sound of laughter cutting through all the chatter and extra noise that you heard around you.

You’d never be able to get over the way Abby’s smile lit up her entire face, or the way her cheeks gradually took on a redder tint the longer the laughing continued. Abby would react the same way whenever you told her a stupid joke, or whenever you told about a funny line of dialogue in a book you took turns reading–

“When you’re done making googly eyes at your crush, come get in the truck, please.” Whitney’s voice, once again, pulled you out of your pleasant trance.

You cleared your throat, looking away shyly. “Right. My bad.”

You made sure your pistol was snug in your holster before slinging your rifle over your shoulder and making your way toward Abby. She stood up from her kneeling position on the floor, a certain something in her eyes that you just couldn’t decipher. She smiled at you a little awkwardly, brushing a loose strand of hair that fell in front of her face behind her ear.

“Heya.” She spoke. You grinned, ignoring the slight jump in your heart rate just from standing in front of her.

“Hi.” You replied, butterflies viciously attacking your stomach against your will.

“First patrol. You got everything you need?”

“Believe so.”

“Alright, then. Let’s get moving.” She said, to which you nodded curtly.

Whitney opened the door to the passenger’s side, allowing Alice to jump in. As Abby was already climbing into the back of the truck, you threw a glare in Whitney’s direction, to which Whitney only smiled deviously.

“What? Alice loves riding shotgun!” She said innocently before getting into the driver’s seat and giggling to herself like a plotting supervillain in a movie.

You shook your head, reluctantly getting into the back of the truck with Abby. When everyone was all settled, Whitney took off, eventually exiting the stadium. All that could be heard for several minutes was the sound of the tires on the dirt road and the songs from the birds that flew overhead. Abby seemed to be looking everywhere but at you, and Whitney’s eyes were focused on the road ahead, so you took this time to let your eyes take in the view directly in front of you.

Abby had settled for her usual loose tank top and cargo pants, and her hair was in her usual braid. There were always strands of hair that managed to fall in front of her face anyway, and you found it absolutely adorable how she would occasionally blow the strands out of her face in annoyance. You let yourself relax in your seat a little, admiring the constellations of freckles on her arms. Briefly, you were taken back to your last training session with her, remembering the way those same arms wrapped around you to “help you adjust your fighting stance.” You could easily recall her proximity during the session and the look of genuine proudness on her face when you successfully demonstrated a specific move she had taught you. Of course, you’ll never forget the moment you had her totally stunned, using a newly learned takedown move to pin her to the ground. A flame had been ignited in both of her eyes as she looked at you with something other than pride. It was an expression that you couldn't quite pinpoint, but you knew that if you had kept her pinned for any longer that you would've ended up doing something you'd regret; so, you were off of her quickly, laughing the obvious tension away and completely burying Abby's heated gaze in your mind and storing it for later.

When your eyes moved up from Abby's biceps and to face, you found she was already looking at you. She offered you a small smile, to which returned, feeling heat creep up your neck in embarrassment at being caught ogling. Either Abby didn't notice or chose not to comment, and whatever the case was, you were thankful.

She rested both of her elbows on her knees, spreading her legs as she leaned forward. Abby man-spreading was another sight to behold.

"So. How have you been doing?" She asked.

Miserable. Because I miss you and I'm sorry for pushing you away but I'm in love with you and can't find the words.

You opted for a simpler response. "I've been good. Honestly, this is the only exciting part of my week."

Abby chuckled. "Yeah, I hear you. How are you feeling about this, by the way?"

There was some silence as you carefully picked out your next words. "A little anxious. But I'm proud of myself for being able to get this far away from the stadium."

"You should be proud. Overcoming your fears like this isn't easy," she said. "And just for the record, I always feel a little bit of anxiety before patrol. I think it's a good thing; it makes me more focused, and I feel like my senses are heightened."

You nodded, clinging on to her words. "That's a nice way of looking at it. It's kind of comforting to know that Isaac's top Scar killer still gets a little nervous, too." You replied.

Abby laughed at the statement, and there was that familiar warmth that spread through you.

"Of course I do. I'm not fearless, you know. Aside from heights, there are plenty of other things that make me nervous."

"Like what?" You inquired.

Abby shifted in her seat. She looked away from you, turning her head to look at the scenery surrounding her. Immediately, your mouth soured, and you began mentally chastising yourself for making her feel uncomfortable. You were about to apologize and forget about the question all together until Abby spoke again.

"Losing the people that I care about." She said softly. The tone of the conversation shifted from casual to something much more serious, and you looked at Abby pitifully at her confession. With the way Abby's eyes were downcast, you could tell that she was reminded of something – or someone.

You wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand on her knee or squeeze her hand. Instead, you stayed put, opting to console her only verbally.

"I'm sorry, Abby." Was all you could muster.

"Don't be." She replied, finally looking at you again with a barely noticeable grin on her face.

There was a silence that settled between the both of you as the two of you continued to gaze at the scenery as Whitney drove. At some point, Whitney had called from the passenger's seat that they were almost there.

The sound of Abby's throat clearing brought your attention back to her.

"Hey, so… I wanted to talk to you about something." She started.

You stiffened in your seat but you hoped that it didn't look obvious. "Shoot." You said in response.

"It's about us."

"Us?" You swallowed.

"Yeah. I mean, things have been weird, right?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. "How so?" You asked.

"Has something been on your mind lately? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Not this time.

“Don’t worry about me, Abs.” You chuckled nervously. You threw her a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes to ease her worrying.

Abby sighed. "But you’ve been so quiet these past few days. I really miss-”

"We have arrived!" Whitney yelled from the driver's seat after finding a place to park. Abby was immediately getting off of the truck, and you honestly wanted to forget all about patrol and continue the conversation you were having with her. But you knew what was the priority right now, and so you brushed off Abby's words, focusing on the task at hand.

The four of you exited the truck and began making your way toward a gas station.

"Alright. Let's check for supplies." Whitney said, leading the way toward the entrance of the small store. She opened the door, her weapon at the ready, looking in all sorts of directions to make sure it was clear. She stepped aside to make room for you and Abby when she deemed it was safe.

While Alice kept watch like the good girl she was, the three of you silently put whatever you could fit in your bags in terms of food and any other items that might be deemed useful. You managed to scavenge some good items, and you were amazed at just how many worthwhile supplies had been left behind.

Everything was awfully quiet, almost too quiet. But you weren’t complaining.

You took a small break from scavenging when your eyes landed on a display of sunglasses. There were only a few on the rack, and many of them had broken lenses, but then you saw a pair of pink cat-eye glasses that looked practically untouched. You giggled in amusement, taking the glasses and trying them on just for the hell of it.

There was a small mirror next to the rack, and when you stole a glance at your reflection, your quiet snickering turned into a louder, sharper laugh that you couldn't contain. Abby, upon hearing the sound, stopped browsing the aisle she was roaming in and went to go find you, only to smile at you fondly when she finally saw what you were up to.

For several minutes, you were pulling silly faces in the mirror, and even with something as small as a pair of funny looking glasses, you found yourself completely entertained.

You heard Abby walking up to you, so you whipped your head around to look at her.

"How do I look?" You asked her, striking an absolutely ridiculous pose. You may have been hearing things, but you thought that you even heard Whitney chuckling from wherever she was in the store.

Abby could only shake her head at your antics, but she did give you an answer.

"Those really suit you." She replied.

"Why, thank you. I think the hot pink goes really well with the tan of my cargo pants." You said, jokingly.

Satisfied with your little fashion show, you put the glasses back where you found them. Abby was still standing next to you, her amused smile never leaving her face. Her expression was something you'd never seen her sport. Her gaze was soft as she looked upon you with eyes full of complete admiration, and you found yourself being locked in place, as if in a trance, returning the eye contact.

You cleared your throat. "Did… did you want to try them on?" You asked. Abby shook her head, laughing to herself quietly.

"I know these aren't really your style but… I don't know, I think you could rock them. Please?" You pleaded, drawing out the "e" in the word.

"You just want to laugh at me." Abby responded through a fit of giggles.

"Nope, I swear I won't laugh." You said, shaking your head vehemently. But the smile tugging at the corners of your lips revealed your true intentions.

Abby reluctantly agreed.

"Will you put them on for me?" She asked. Nodding excitedly, you picked up the glasses again and gestured for her to come closer to you.

"Come here." You said. Abby did just that, standing directly in front of you. You swore you could feel her breath fanning across your face from the proximity.

Just as you were about to place the glasses on Abby's face, you heard a short and sharp whistle pierce the air.

You and Abby froze, and you immediately dropped the glasses, removing your pistol from its holster. Abby did the same thing, recognizing that sound instantly.

"I'm not the only one who heard that, right?" Whitney asked as she rounded the corner from one the aisles.

"Definitely not the only one. We've got Scars in the area." Abby confirmed. You felt every hair on your body stand on edge. You saw Abby, Whitney, and Alice take cover, so you followed suit, hiding behind the counter where the now useless cash register sat.

You closed your eyes, trying to recall all the hours of gun and defense training that you learned in this very moment, but it was all hazy. You were starting to feel the effects of fear now, your palms sweaty, causing you to constantly re-adjust your grip of the gun. You found that what Abby had mentioned earlier was definitely proving to be true – although you were terrified, you felt hyper aware of every noise and small movement in the corner of your eye.

You heard another short whistle again, but this time, you could definitely hear the barely there footsteps of a group of Seraphites walking toward the store.

From the counter, you slowly raised your head, trying to see how many there were. You counted three from where you were crouched.

While you were making a mental note of how many Seraphites there were, you failed to notice Abby sneaking up next to you. You felt her touch your arm, and you flinched, but Abby was quick to cover your mouth before any sounds of surprise escaped.

"Sorry. It's just me." She whispered, removing her hand. "There's six in total. Three inside and three outside. We're gonna try to take them out quietly." Abby spoke. You nodded, trying to cling onto her words but all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears, beating wildly.

Abby could sense the anxiety coursing through you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "This is what you're good at, right? All those moves we practiced, now you finally get to use them. You can do this."

You shook your head. Your eyes began to sting, serving as a telltale sign that tears would soon follow. You wanted the ground to swallow you up in this moment, feelings of inadequacy bubbling within you. Abby saw the faraway look in your eyes and immediately tried to quell any negative feelings you were experiencing.

"You can do this. Repeat it."

"Abby-"

"Say it." She urged, but there was no harshness in her tone.

"I… I can do this." You said, and maybe you were beginning to give into false hope, but even just saying those words out loud seemed to put you in a different mindset. Abby grinned, and with that, she scurried off, probably to go get her first kill. You could hear the sound of quiet struggling from elsewhere in the store, followed by dead silence, and you made the assumption that Whitney probably already took care of one, leaving five still standing.

You heard another go down, this time hearing the soft thud of the body hitting the floor. You couldn't let them do all the work, no matter how badly you wanted to.

With one final exhale, you were set in motion.

There was one checking out the storage room in the back of the store, making sure the coast was clear, you followed behind the unassuming Seraphite, who carried a pistol.

You replaced your gun with a handy combat knife that you carried around, closing the distance between you and the Seraphite slowly but surely. It looked like it was going to be a perfect kill.

Until you stepped on a discarded bag of chips, the sound loudly making your presence known.

The Seraphite froze, and slowly turned around. When her eyes landed on you, she gasped, her eyes wide.

"There's a Wolf in here!" She yelled, and in a split second, the pistol was fired, but you managed to dodge out of the way in time. The Seraphite didn't waste a second in trying to shoot again, but you were quicker than her.

The Seraphite's alert quickly caused chaos around you; you heard gunshots in the store, and you briefly thought about Abby and Whitney and hoped that they were holding up okay. But that thought was fleeting, and instead you focused on your own safety.

With your knife, you went straight for her stomach, the gun in her hands dropping to the ground almost immediately. You pushed her up against a wall, and her hands were trying to grip anything that she could reach. She tugged at your arms and even tried to claw at your face, but you pushed the knife in deeper, and soon enough her body began to relax. You were looking directly at her, and it was during this moment that you finally understood what it meant to truly watch the life leave someone's eyes.

Despite the fact that this woman had tried to kill you mere seconds ago, it was a sorrowful sight, watching the realization hit her like crashing waves against the shore that she was going to die. When she completely stopped moving, and fell to the ground, blankly staring into space, it was only then that you realized the entire store had fallen silent.

You wiped your knife clean on your cargo pants, the vibrant color of the woman's blood staining the fabric.

You calmly walked out of the storage room, letting your feet guide the way as you currently felt like you were outside of your body. You thought you heard Abby and Whitney saying something to you, but their voices fell on deaf ears. All you could think about was how you couldn’t breathe in this damn store and needed to get out.

You slammed open the doors, your knees immediately falling onto the ground below. You felt like you were suffocating, your chest tight and your stomach feeling as if it had been flipped upside down.

There was an incessant ringing in your ears, a ringing sound so loud that it was all you could focus on. You didn’t even notice the Seraphite that was barreling toward you until it was too late.

It felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of you as the man straddled you. Whatever had possessed you to take out the Seraphite woman in the storage room was not returning. There were sirens going off in your mind, and you knew you had to do something, anything to get this man off of you otherwise you would die . You knew this, and yet, when the man had his hands around your throat, you couldn’t lift even a finger. His face, scrunched up in pure anger and hatred, was getting blurrier and blurrier, the trees around the both of you becoming large blobs of green. The man was practically crushing you with his weight, and it was then you realized the futility in fighting back.

You were lying there for what felt like an eternity, wondering which breath would be your last, until the man was suddenly thrown off of you.

You sat up immediately, air rushing back into your lungs all at once as you you coughing uncontrollably. When you regained your vision, you saw Abby beside you, now on top of the man, beating the ever living shit out of him.

The sound that was produced when Abby’s fists met with the man’s face made you physically cringe, and it was even harder to watch, so instead, you opted for closing your eyes, relishing in the fact that you were still alive to feel the sunlight hitting your skin.

“Abby! Abby, stop!” You heard Whitney say, and the sound of Abby’s punches eventually ceased.

When your eyes opened again, you took in the state Abby was in. Her eyes were blown wide, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths. Both of her knuckles had been painted red, and you knew that she was probably going to wake up with pretty black and blue bruises the next morning with how forceful her punches were.

There was a silence that fell over the three of you as you all waited for the adrenaline to leave your systems. You knew that just sitting here out in the open may not have been a good idea, but in the haze of your fatigue, you were more than grateful for those few seconds of tranquility.

"We should go." Whitney said, grabbing Alice and heading toward the truck. You and Abby had waited for a few more moments.

"Are you hurt?" Abby asked.

You shook your head wordlessly, emptily staring at the ground below you.

"You're sure?"

You nodded your head this time to confirm. You didn't trust your voice enough to speak.

Abby nodded, standing up and offering out her hand to you. You took it, and when she pulled you up, you made the mistake of looking at her face.

The expression on her face could not all be compared to the one she had in the store when she watched you put on those stupid glasses. No, this one was much more hardened, her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

She's upset at you. For being so careless.

No, worse. She's disappointed.

Abby always knew when you were drifting, and she placed a hand on your shoulder to pull you out whatever thoughts were brewing up in your mind. You felt your eyes stinging again.

"Are you with me?" She asked, and it was then you realized that the two of you were standing right in front of the truck bed. You didn't realize your thoughts had halted you in your tracks. Looking away apologetically, you just nodded again, knowing that if you opened your mouth it would all come crashing down.

Abby helped you onto the back of the truck, and when everyone was seated, Whitney drove off. The entire ride was unsettling. You could feel Abby's eyes on you the entire ride, but you couldn't return the eye contact.

When you returned to the stadium, you wasted no time in getting off of the truck and heading back toward your room. Whitney was quick to stop you, gently touching your shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Don’t worry about me, Whitney. I just need to be alone for a few minutes.” You replied.

“I understand. Abby and I were gonna grab a bite to eat. You want me to get you something?” She asked. At the mention of Abby, you glanced over Whitney’s shoulder, and you saw the woman in question leaning against the truck, her worried eyes already staring you down.

“No thanks.” You muttered quickly, tearing your eyes off of Abby, her concerned expression burned into your mind. You ran off to your room, and before Whitney could ask if you were sure, you were already long gone.

You had taken a quick shower before heading to your room, staying in there for longer than necessary as you relentlessly tried to scrub away the build up of dirt and crime from today’s patrol. When your skin had practically been scrubbed raw, you changed into your typical loungewear, an old, slightly oversized shirt and sweatpants.

When you made it to your room, you closed and locked the door behind you, walking with hurried steps to your bed. As you relaxed atop the firmness of your mattress, it was then you realized just how exhausted you were. Patrol had drained every bit of energy from your body, and the soft cotton of your clothing as well as calming effects of a hot shower was only adding to your tiredness. You didn’t even try to fight it when you felt your eyelids getting heavy…

But once your eyes closed, you didn’t see darkness. Instead, you saw the Seraphite woman’s face. You saw her eyes and the way they slowly took on that cold, blank stare. You saw the man that had attempted to strangle you and the pure, murderous intent in his eyes as he tried to take your life.

You shook your head as if that would dispel the images that came to your mind, eyebrows furrowing as your body began reacting on its own. You could feel the intensity of your rapidly beating heart, perspiration coating your skin, as if you were back at the convenience store and not in the comfort of your own room.

Your brain was replaying the events at the convenience store today, except it was slightly different. The man was on top of you, strangling you, but this time, Abby wasn’t there. Nor Whitney. Not even Alice. You were all alone as the man on top of you kept you pinned to the ground. The world around you was hazy as your vision began to weaken. The ringing in your ears was back and stronger than ever before; it was deafening.

Right before your consciousness left you, you saw another person standing above the man. It was the woman you had stabbed. The knife was still plunged in her stomach, but she was clearly alive and standing. She wore a smile that was far too wide and had far too many teeth on display.

You shot up in bed, letting out a loud shriek.

You heard pounding on your door.

“___? What’s going on? Please, open the door!”

You could recognize that voice anywhere.

You stood up, slowly and on shaky legs to open the door. Abby was standing on the other side, clutching a burrito in her hands, her eyes wide. Her hair was down, dressed in another one of her tattered tanks and sweatpants.

“Please tell me you're okay.” She said urgently.

Just from Abby’s presence alone, you felt like you could relax. Like you were truly safe.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” I’m fine now that you’re here . “It was just a bad dream.” You replied, and neither one of you could deny the clear shakiness in your voice. Abby’s gaze softened immediately, and she wasted no time in wrapping her arms around you, holding you close against her rigid body. Your arms, almost instinctively, snaked around her back, and you buried your face in one of her broad shoulders. You could tell she had just washed up as well, the scent of pine completely engulfing you. She was still standing in the doorway, and you had no doubt that some people were walking by and watching all of this go down, but in the moment you couldn’t care less.

You were clinging to Abby for a bit longer than what would be considered normal, and once you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment, you pulled away. Abby’s hands lingered around your waist for a fraction of a second but to you, it felt like they were there for an eternity, and when she removed them you swore you could feel the ghost of her touch.

Abby awkwardly glanced at the burrito in her hands, oblivious to your panicking. “I, um… brought you this, because it’s been a couple of hours and you haven’t eaten anything yet, so…” She said, holding it out to you.

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you.” You said, accepting it, even though you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment; but you were appreciative nonetheless.

“No problem.” Abby responded. “Can I… come in?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, of course.” You said, stepping aside. Abby returned the smile, doing just that, and you shut the door again once she was inside.

She sat comfortably atop your bed, and you joined her, sitting close next to her, your leg brushing against hers. You set the still wrapped up burrito on your bedside table where you knew it would grow cold.

“I, um,” Abby began. “I wanted to check on you, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.”

You froze, not sure how to react to the fact that Abby just admitted to you she was thinking about you. You knew you had to say something, though, or else Abby would start getting worried.

“Oh… really?” You asked, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so out of it.

“Yeah. I saw you storm off earlier when talking to Whitney. I wanted to follow you but I knew you probably wanted space. The whole time I was eating, though, I was just… really hoping you were alright.”

Your heart warmed at Abby’s words. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” You said. Abby shook her head fervently.

“No, it’s okay, I was just in my own head. How are you feeling right now, anyway?”

You paused to deeply consider your response. You could’ve easily just told her that you were doing fine, to rid Abby of any concern over you; but she was always truthful with you, so it would only be right to be truthful with her. She always knew the best ways to comfort you, anyway, and you knew she would never judge you for anything. In the relatively short time that you’ve gotten to know her, that was one thing she made clear to you from the beginning.

“I’m still a little… shaken by what happened today. That’s what my dream was about, actually.” You started, speaking softly.

“Oh.” Abby said quietly. “I totally understand. Patrol today was scary for everyone involved.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, but… I can’t help but think it’s all my fault…”

Abby looked at you quizzically. “What’s all your fault?”

“I stepped on a fucking bag of chips,” you laughed, but it was completely humorless. “And then after I killed that woman, I just ran out. It was stupid of me. I’m sure I scared the shit out of you and Whitney.”

Abby remained silent.

“And of course, you had to save me. You literally trained me, taught me everything I needed to know and I still got myself in that situation. I just feel like I don’t belong here. What good am I to anybody if I can’t… If I can’t…”

The tremor in your voice returned, and Abby was quick to get off the bed and kneel in front of you, cradling your face with her large hands.

“Hey. Look at me. Please.” She said softly.

It took you several long seconds, but eventually you met her eyes.

“You do belong here. I don’t want you thinking otherwise for so much as a second. Every WLF in this stadium brings something to table and you are no different.”

“But Abby, I–”

“Please, listen to me.” Abby interjected. You didn’t say anything else and let her continue.

“It was your very first patrol. People make mistakes. You were frozen in fear, and that’s okay . That’s why we go in groups in the first place, so when another person gets themselves into trouble, someone else is there to help. You are alive and breathing and that is what’s most important, right?”

You nodded.

Abby removed her hands from your face, opting to hold your hands instead. “You are stronger than you know. You conquered your biggest fear of leaving the stadium, and you did well for your first patrol. You should be proud of yourself. I am definitely proud of you.”

You looked at Abby with surprise all over your face. “So you’re not… disappointed?”

Abby released an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god, no. Never.”

You smiled. It was a wide smile, one that stretched from ear to ear. Abby felt herself instantly mimicking the expression.

“I’m so glad I have you around,” you said. Abby chuckled.

“I got you. Always.”

As the two of you stared at each other, there was a blanket of silence that fell over the both of you. Both of your faces were mere inches apart, and suddenly the eye contact was making you feel shy.

Now is your chance.

You might not get another opportunity like this.

You ignored the voices in your head.

“Well, um… It’s getting late. I’m sure you have stuff to do tomorrow morning.” You said, your heart beating so fast you thought it would pop straight out of your chest. Abby stood up, and you could’ve sworn you saw her frown for half a second. But your mind was probably playing tricks on you. Right?

“Yeah… No doubt Isaac will have something for me to do.” Abby said. She began walking toward the door. You already missed her and she hadn’t even left yet.

She stood in front of the door, hand resting on the doorknob. She turned to you.

“Well… goodnight.” She said.

“Yeah. Goodnight.” You replied stiffly.

Abby opened the door. But before she could even put one foot outside, you stopped her in her tracks.

“Actually, wait.” You said, standing up abruptly.

Abby didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

You sighed. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears now and your palms felt clammy.

“I… shit. I didn’t prepare for this.” You said, laughing out loud. Abby found herself grinning but she was still visibly confused.

“We haven’t known each other for that long. But honestly it feels like I’ve known you my entire life.” You began. Slowly, Abby closed the door, leaning against it as she listened to you.

“I don’t even know what I would do without you. I’m just… so grateful for you, and… fuck…”

You went back and forth in your mind, contemplating your next words carefully. Months of friendship was on the line, and what you wanted to say next had the potential of throwing it all down the drain. But it was a risk you were willing to take.

“I love you.” You confessed. “And not in the– the platonic way. I… shit… I’m sorry if that was too forward but–”

Abby said your name softly, stopping your rambling. You stood there, nervously waiting for rejection.

But rejection isn’t what you got.

“I love you, too. So much.”

You could’ve fainted. “Really? Abby Anderson, are you messing with me?” You said, a smile lighting up your face.

“I am dead serious. I am so fucking glad you said something or else I was going to go crazy.” Abby laughed.

You found yourself laughing too, completely dumbfounded. “My god… we both felt this way for so long and neither of us had a clue. What the hell.” There were tears in your eyes now, but not the sad kind.

When you had calmed down, wiping the wetness from your face, you spoke again. “So, what now?” You asked.

With a smirk on her face, Abby walked over to you, placing her hands on your waist. You were starting to feel like they belonged there.

“There’s something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Can I show you?”

You already knew what Abby was asking, nodding fervently. “Holy shit. Yes. Please.” You replied.

Abby closed the small distance between the two of you, her lips connecting with yours gently. The both of you stayed like that for several moments, Abby being the first one to pull away. She rested her forehead against yours.

Kissing her is exactly what you thought it would be. It almost felt magical – it was like her lips had put a spell on you, a spell that made you want to continue kissing her forever. It was as if you were floating, electricity running through your veins.

“Do it again.” You whispered softly.

Abby didn’t need you to repeat yourself, capturing your lips in yet another passionate kiss. The second one was much more intense, your hands tangled in Abby’s hair as the both of you slowly waddled over to the bed.

Abby laid down first, allowing you to settle on top of her, your lips never staying apart for more than a couple of seconds. You could barely breathe but you couldn’t get enough. In a frenzy of lips, tongue, and hands everywhere, neither of you heard the sound of the door opening until it was too late.

“Hey, how’re you– oh shit!”

The sound of Whitney’s voice had the two of you breaking apart immediately. You scrambled off of Abby, straightening out your clothes and wiping away the wetness that coated your lips. Abby sat up, but instead of being mortified, she kept that smirk on her face, clearly amused by the situation.

“Whitney– Jesus Christ, have you ever heard of knocking?” You exclaimed. Whitney doubled over in laughter, clearly finding joy in your suffering.

“I’m so sorry! I was distracted!” She said, holding up her PS Vita that you just now noticed she was holding.

“You and those goddamn games,” You muttered under your breath.

“Well, I see you two finally came around. God, I can’t wait to rub this in Nora’s face.”

“What?” You said, visibly confused.

“Oh, me and Nora had a bet going. Now she has to do my dishes for a week straight.” Whitney said. Your jaw dropped.

“A bet? Whitney, I can’t believe you.” You said through a fit of chuckles, not being able to suppress your own laughter either.

“I’m not even surprised.” Abby chimed in.

Whitney crossed her arms, leaning against the door. “Okay, so. Tell me everything. Who confessed first? Who kissed who first?” She asked. You rolled your eyes.

“I can give you the details later.” You said.

Whitney sighed, but she didn’t bother trying to pull the information out of you.

“Fine.” She said, walking over to her bed and plopping down atop the sheets, her eyes returning to the PS Vita screen.

You and Abby stood there awkwardly. Whitney glanced at the two of you, and then gasped.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I should give you guys privacy, huh? Do you want me to go?”

You immediately shook your head. “What? Whitney, no. I’m not kicking you out of our room-”

“You can stay in mine.” Abby interrupted. You whipped your head around to look at her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Manny is hanging out with some woman tonight, so it’s just me.”

“Okay, then.” You said, smiling happily. Abby looked back at you with pure adoration in her gaze, leaning in to kiss you again. And again. And again.

“Okay. Ew. Leave.”

You chuckled at Whitney’s disgust. “Goodnight, Whitney.” You said, grabbing Abby’s hand and going toward the door.

Whitney decided to say one last thing before the both of you left.

“Remember. We have thin walls around here. So don’t be too loud-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You cut her off before she could even finish her sentence, leaving the room. You could just faintly hear Whitney’s breathy laugh as you closed the door.

“She’s so annoying.” You muttered, but there was nothing but fondness in your tone.

“I just can’t believe that she knew we were into each other before either of us realized it.” Abby said. The two of you began walking down the hall to her room, hands clasped together and arms swinging slightly as you both walked.

Abby’s words had reminded you of an earlier conversation with Whitney. “Holy shit. She literally told me.”

“Told you what?” She asked.

“Before we went out on patrol, she… she told me you felt the same way. I thought she was crazy so I asked her how she knew, and she just said ‘I see things’ or something like that. You know, all cryptic and shit. But I guess she really does see things.”

Abby shook her head, chuckling at Whitney’s antics. “Wow. Again, I really can’t say I’m surprised.”

Eventually, you two made it to Abby’s room, and you both wasted no time in getting in bed together, holding each other close. It was a small bed, just like yours, definitely not made for two people, but you made it work. You were practically on top of Abby in order to fit, but it was clear she didn’t mind it one bit.

You had one leg over her midsection while one of Abby’s hands stroked your back calmly and gently. You could die happy in this position.

The stadium wasn’t your home. Abby was.

— epilouge —

“Hey, Bri,” You greeted, getting ready to help her wash some clothes for today. As you began scrubbing the clothes over the washboard, you started humming a random tune, a light smile decorating your face.

“You’re in a good mood.” Bri noted.

“Aren’t I usually in a good mood?” You asked, chuckling at nothing in particular.

“I mean, I guess, but… you just seem extra lively today.”

From where you were in the bleachers, you looked out and saw Abby walking down the stairs, heading out to do patrol. She knew you were washing clothes today, and she turned her head to look at you, a killer smirk resting on her face. She winked.

“Yeah… I guess I am.” You replied, the fondness in your eyes clear as day.

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson x you #abby x you

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chaoticsimp · 1 year

Text

Would You Lie With Me and Just Forget the World?

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Relationship: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: Angst, so much angst, mention of injuries, blood, fluff at the end.

Summary: Life as a Pro is never easy. You've spent your life seeing people on their worst days, but nothing could have prepared you for that person to be someone you loved.

A/N: The reader is a Pro-hero with a healing quirk. I was listening to Chasing Cars while writing this so here we are lol.

This was a request, and I hope it lives up to your expectations! :)

Word Count: 1640

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You wanted to fight. You wanted to be on the front line with the others, but healing quirks were rare. There was nothing you could say to have yourself assigned anywhere but with the medics at the back. Aizawa had been assigned to team Endeavour with Mic, the front lines. 'It would be fine' they said, 'they had each other' you assured yourself and with a soft kiss to your forehead Aizawa followed the other Pros leaving you behind to wait for the injured.

The smell of scorched earth and iron hung heavy in the air. Amid the chaos, it was easy to forget to worry. Your body went into autopilot, focusing on who you could heal and who you had to send off. Your quirk was two sides of the same coin – with one hand you could heal and with the other, you could inflict the pain of what you healed. However, healing took significantly more energy and you had started to feel the toll as the battle dragged on. The injured kept piling up, their faces blurring into the next until you heard your hero name called. You looked up from the young woman you were working on as another medic waved you down.

“I can finish, go on,” The nurse next to you urged. You quickly got up, rushing to the medic that had called for you. It was protocol, to call for the healing quirks for red tags – people who couldn’t be stabilized in the field by traditional medicine.

“What do you have?”

“Severe head injury, and an in-field self-amputation. They need you to stop the bleeding before…” The medics' voice faded. The pleas of civilians and heroes alike seemed to disappear as your body froze and your eyes fell on who lay on the stretcher.

“Miss?” The medic sounded far away. Your chest tightened, and you felt your body sway.

“Miss!” There were hands on you, pushing and pulling as you sunk to the ground. You were no stranger to blood, to exposed bones or to the haunting cries of people in pain. You were trained to handle a crisis, but nothing could have prepared you to see someone you loved in such a state. A sharp sting in your cheek brought you back, and that band tightening in your chest snapped as tears spilled down your face. You raised a hand to your cheek, staring up at the nervous medic who had just slapped you.

“Shota, that’s Shota,” You stammered, and the medic quickly connected the dots.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you knew him. We’ll find someone else-” It was an instinct – one that prevailed in your haze as you pushed the medic aside. You tried to focus on the dulling sting in your cheek, you tried to ground yourself as you ran to Aizawa’s side.

“Move!” You shouted, your hands trembling as you tried to recall your training but there was only that instinct. Save him. Protect him.

“I’ve got you Sho,” You cried, pushing his hair from his face. “You’re going to be okay.”

You released slow breaths, trying to quell the panic that bubbled in your stomach as you pushed up his shirt. When it came to a full body recovery you found it best to work from the centre – it gave you the strongest connection. You pressed your hand over his chest, focusing on his heartbeat as you steadied your own to match.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t for his injuries, but for the guilt, he was sure to feel after you finished. After you took what was his for yourself. It was the peak of your quirk, the part few knew of and you had sworn to never use. If you used both hands – healing hand on the injured and the other on yourself – it allowed you to heal nearly anything with the catch of you taking on the damage

“I-I’m sorry,” You repeated. You felt your energy connect to his, your palm growing hot as the small scratches and bruises began to fade from his skin and finally you clasped your other hand over your forearm. The pain was jarring like you had been knocked in the head, but nothing compared to the feeling of tearing flesh that started to circle your right leg.

“H-Hey, hey you’re bleeding!” You felt blood soaking your pant leg. The vision in your right eye started to go and the taste of copper was heavy on your tongue. You had to stay focused and stay awake. If you lost the connection too soon it wouldn’t work.

“No…n-no…” You barely heard it over the pain. A hand slid over yours and you briefly met Aizawa’s tired gaze as his uninjured eye flickered red. You tried to blink away your tears, but your response was lost as you were torn away from him.

“Let me go!” But you had used the last of your strength on Aizawa. The arms that restrained you held tighter, dragging you away from Aizawa as his eye closed again. You threw your head back, managing to make contact with the chin of who grabbed you and they recoiled, dropping you in the process. You tried to drag yourself back to Aizawa, but a hand caught your ankle.

“That’s enough.”

“Y-Yamada?” You realized, and his blurry image came into focus as he pushed you to your back.

“I-I can save him. I can still fix…” Yamada ignored you, holding you down with a hand to your chest as he watched a medic push up your pant leg. A large gash cut through your shin, and he felt his stomach twist as he returned his attention to your face. Between the toll your healing took on your body, and the price you were ready to pay to heal Aizawa, he could tell you were fighting to stay awake. Your lips kept moving, muttering the same thing I can save him, I can save him, I can save him. Yamada lifted his hand, wiping the blood from your cheek as he stared at the wound that would leave you with a familiar scar.

“Enough,” Yamada repeated, clearing the lump in his throat as two medics approached with a stretcher.

“I won’t lose more friends today.”

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Aizawa couldn’t sleep. Which was unusual for him, and even more so considering all the medication swirling through his system. They had cleaned up his amputation and repaired his eye the best they could, but it would take time to see how the damage truly affected him. The leg could be replaced, but his eye? His quirk? He didn’t want to think about it, but if he didn’t his mind wandered to you. He was worried, of course, he was worried but he was also angry, and he didn’t want to be. So, instead, he went back to his own failings – his leg, his eye, his inability to protect his students or you.

“Sh-Shota?” Aizawa opened his eye, he tilted his head to the door as it slid closed and could make out your tired face in the dull light.

“What are you doing here?”

“They wouldn’t tell me if you were okay,” You replied, leaning your weight against the door. He was relieved to see you, but the slouch in your posture and the bandages that matched his own brought back that anger he knew you didn’t deserve.

“Yamada told me what you did,” He said slowly. “You broke your promise.”

“I know,” You replied quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“You could have died.”

“I know.”

“And it would have been my fault.” You lingered near the door, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared at the floor.

“You promised me, and you were ready to leave me behind.”

“Sho,” You said gently. “I’m sorry I broke that promise, but you can’t tell me that if the roles were reversed you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“It’s not the same.” It was an irrational response, he knew it was, but your gaze held nothing but patience.

“It’s okay to be scared.” He wasn’t sure if it was your tone, or the gentleness in your eyes, or the medication in his system but he felt a tear roll down his cheek. You took slow steps, leaning on your good leg as you made your way to his side. He closed his unbandaged eye as you lifted your hand to his cheek and wiped the tear.

“It scares me too,” You confessed. “That it’s possible to love someone this much.”

Aizawa looked up at you, a soft smile breaking across his face as his thoughts slipped away. A momentary escape from his grief and fear as your words rang in his ears, and he found a small burst of energy to lift his head. You closed the gap, pressing your lips to his in a tender kiss and for a moment time stood still.

“I love you too,” He murmured against your lips. A confession that had been barred by that same fear that fueled his anger, but how could he hold anything back when you were willing to give him everything you had. You stepped back, and he lifted the sheets giving you space to crawl in next to him. You slipped your arm beneath his head, and he grimaced as he shifted, turning so he could bury his face in your chest.

“Say it again,” He yawned, and you chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I love you Shota.” It made him smile. In the comfort of your arms, with your love filling his soul, Aizawa felt safe enough to drop his guard and melt in your embrace. Tomorrow you’d have to face reality, but tonight you could rest in each other's comfort and let the weight of the world slip from your shoulders.

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa fluff #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #mha fanfiction #aizawa x you #mha x y/n

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findmeinthefallair · 8 months

Text

Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing (Part 2)

Part 1 is here.

As is expected when I talk in depth about this skrunkly, the usual warnings apply i.e. heavy discussion surrounding how trauma works, mentions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, death, effects of abuse and discussions about therapy from my perspective as a practicing therapist.

The lengthy meta I have pinned on my blog (link) is the general overview of Hunter's pre-epilogue recovery, whereas this meta will have more observations I hadn't yet made when writing any previous metas, and importantly, using other characters - especially King - as a comparison: because King has been raised by Eda with secure attachment - to better handle traumatic incidents, at only half of Hunter's (supposed) age. Lilith was in the Emperor's Coven for a long time, and while I'm in no way discounting her own deep wounds, her proximity to Belos was not the same as that of Hunter's.

Thanks to the Youtube channel Cinema Therapy, there will be one brief reference of other media: a scene from the movie Big Hero 6, to better highlight a couple of points in this meta. So, spoiler warning for that movie too~

Here we go with Part 2, the second and final piece of this particular series!

Retraumatization:

Belos was such an abusive control freak that he would've wanted to leave a mark on every area in Hunter's life. And he would have left many marks.

Before Hunter would've been able to learn how to carve palismen under Dell's mentorship, it's highly likely that it was problematic for him to even think about or interact with palismen. We already see signs of that in this short scene:

For all you know, after everyone leaves The Collector's Palace, Stringbean (or the other palismen) being their silly playful selves and flying in front of his face or jumping on his shoulder or lap...would be enough to jolt him into a flashback. Not unlike this:

or he might accidentally step on Ghost's tail while carrying heavy loads helping the CaTTs move into new makeshift offices, and Ghost would hiss at him, and he might have a short fuse like in FtF. With this kind of physical risk, it'd be too early for him to begin the carving lessons.

So I think quite a few little bouts of being retraumatized - like aftershocks of an earthquake - await the poor kiddo.

During the course of the show, we have seen him in a state of what's called "hyperarousal" multiple times: e.g. flinching, panic attacks, sweating, shaking, even widening his eyes in rage. This involves the body's sympathetic nervous system to fire up, preparing him to either flee or attack. But in the offscreen pre-timeskip period, he would have swung to the other end - "hypoarousal" - which involved shutting down, numbing out, being lethargic and bored, dissociating from being present, and slowing down to sleep more. It involves the parasympathetic nervous system which prepares a person to shut down: if physically fleeing or attacking is only going to be futile. There would be a new enemies for him to face such as survivor's guilt, moral injury, and loss of meaning and identity at a more serious level than what he faced in Hollow Mind or King's Tide.

It's heartbreaking that by killing Flapjack, Belos inflicted enough pain upon Hunter to sort of send him back to square one. To explain, Belos prevented Hunter from connecting with the outside world and trusting in it: doing this in order to keep Hunter as compliant as possible. The themes of connection vs. isolation seem to be visually represented by 1. palismen and 2. the Golden Guard uniform, especially the helmet covering the face and gloves covering the hands. On a wider scale in the show's lore, you could say that there's a clash between the themes of freedom and captivity, represented by wild magic, and the coven system with the Emperor's Coven at its helm.

Once Belos knew that Hunter was willing to rebel against him by leaving the Emperor's Coven, snatching the boy's palisman as well as his bodily autonomy away, made Hunter believe that he himself could only do harm. It's the same damage that he inflicted upon Luz, and by removing Flapjack from Hunter's life, arguably that would impact Hunter in a way that he had gloves on all over again. Invisible gloves this time, preventing the sense of connection with the world, that would eventually come off once again - like the visual symbolism of him removing his signature gloves when he arrives in the human realm. I go off on this specific tangent (the motif of hands in his arc) in this post: (x)

Evading capture and fighting off a physical threat? Hunter has had much preparation for that, via military training. But that is still more familiar territory compared to the battleground he would've faced pre-epilogue, which involved having to utilize new skills such as emotional regulation, distress tolerance, radical acceptance, and reframing in the context of trauma: to combat the pervading state of hypoarousal. He hasn't been equipped with these in the years of his upbringing.

With his needs and desires being discarded by Belos and the castle's residents for most of his life, he has been primed to believe that any of his true feelings deserve no space. Even in the finale, this old habit dies hard.

He was a parentified kid, conditioned to make sure that he was not inconveniencing his family (and god...his family, only consisted of one cruel deceptive person, before he fled the coven). Yet, he pushed and compartmentalized to survive.

But he would've had to pick those new skills up while navigating a whole new world that had no more Belos and Flapjack in it. In the right environment, he could be himself.

Comparing the three different smiles he has above is just, arghhh. C-PTSD is a roller coaster ride which makes one's world topsy turvy. Healing from that is grueling work, after you realize that what you thought was safe/normal is in fact insidious and dangerous,

while the actually good and actually healthy stuff will initially be scary and painful: before you trust that it will do the opposite of killing you.

In Labyrinth Runners, we saw more of a flight response from him, while in For the Future it was largely a fight response. Both of which were comfort zones at those times, compared to the much scarier act of quietly and mindfully sitting with the pain of bereavement, holding it front and center in his mind, trusting that it wouldn't destroy him to sit with such pain.

What then, after Belos's death?

His physicality would be affected. The gravitational centre of his body would have changed,

since he is without any staff and magical bond now. This vital piece of info comes from reading two metas about his fight scenes in Eclipse Lake, which feature some shared firsthand experience in martial arts and in using a staff to fight: - Meta by @ashanimus (x) - Meta by @polyhexian (x)

In Flapjack's absence,

he will not get back to regularly using a staff until Waffles comes to life...my guess is he takes around 2 years till he completes her carving process. And this is after years of using the artificial staff, even before Flapjack came along.

After being manipulated like putty in Belos's hands through intimidation for years, leading up to being directly and physically controlled via possession...his relationship with his body, not just his emotions, would be altered. And we can't ignore the mind-body link either; there is an overlap here.

He has deep abandonment wounds from Hollow Mind, compounded by being on the receiving end of active harm in Thanks to Them.

When it comes to his treatment plan as a client in therapy, there are frameworks to consider. Risk factors (whatever can aggravate his condition) vs. protective factors (whatever can help to improve his condition), the values that he as a unique person would like to believe in, taking note of his unique strengths, and assessing the rules he grew up with that were extreme, inflexible, and no longer serving him now that he is free from the Emperor's Coven.

There will be the overarching conflict of his temptation towards isolation vs. needing to connect with emotion to carve palismen. I suppose this is the clearest theme because the proof is in Belos isolating him to remove his personhood vs. the Bat Queen's explanation that palismen bond through emotion, and bonding therefore requires connection: not isolation.

In the throes of depression after Belos's death, the danger is that Hunter would want to give up, and he'd find it easier to fall into the antitheses of what he stood up for in his Thanks to Them speech.

Feeling like he can never truly be free of the Emperor's Coven's hold on him.

Feeling like he'd never (emotionally) leave that throne room.

Being tempted towards the belief that...in his pursuits of studying wild magic, learning to carve palismen, learning at Hexside, spending time with his friends, and in erasing Belos's harmful influence on the world.....that all his efforts would be futile, and that he can only bring harm and not good. Just like how during Luz's own depression, she told Stringbean, while the palisman was still unhatched, "Maybe you'll never hatch, and I messed up your life too."

This belief that he can only bring harm and that he didn't deserve the gift of being brought back to life, would be fused with what is obviously his worst darkest memory:

and for a very long time, he'll feel that he could've changed something to prevent this. If only he had been smarter, more vigilant...if only he were not having so much fun being engrossed in creating things in the human realm. This is Belos's hold on him, as he relives that night many times over the years. Even after Belos dies.

The foundation and main driving force of Hunter's therapy sessions will be the rapport built up between him and the therapist. This is a parallel to the trust he has already built up in his non-therapy relationships, and having both of those together would have a wonderful effectiveness.

And the therapy sessions would gently help him to defuse and untangle himself from that very unhelpful belief.

It's also about him thawing out from a childhood of very repressed emotional expression. As his arc progresses, he grows more into expressing his feelings, needs and desires. We start to see him express what feels like such a natural excitement for his personality, once he's in the human realm. And it's crucial for him to believe that he can voice out his needs without the worry of negative repercussions...Repercussions that he's been conditioned to believe are 'healthy'/'normal', and that it's him who is the issue (ewww...). As he has been unlearning that in the course of his arc, he is discovering that it is a basic right for him to have ownership over whatever he thinks and feels.

A major obstacle would be the guilt about leaving Flapjack behind: the worry that the more new things he tries out, the more morally wrong it would feel...because he is not commemorating Flapjack. There would be that fear that Flapjack is taking up less and less space in his thoughts. This is very common when it comes to bereavement. Luz's own version of this, playing out effectively onscreen, was the wave of fear and sadness she felt as she let go of the glyph sheet in the finale and let the wind carry it away. In the moments right after that, as Stringbean gave her the Azura hat to put back on, I'm sure she still had the fear of the unknown ahead. But she could also trust in herself to be able to brave that unchartered territory: together with her sweet palisman and her found family.

We don't know whether Hunter used the same method as Luz and carved an egg that would hatch on its own, or whether he really did make Waffles from scratch. Either way, he could still have Flapjack in his life in a new way: the Hexsquad's new tattoos, the palisman shop sign, Flapjack's gravestone.

But before he could enter that place in his heart and soul, he would first have to agree in both mind and heart that he wouldn't hear the happy chirps of his best friend ever again.

We see him still talking to Flap here:

whereby in his logical mind he can definitely see that Flapjack is gone...but emotionally (subconsciously) he is frozen, not yet able to feel in his heart that his best friend is gone.

And something to note is how quickly he interjected here:

when Gus was about to spell it outright that "Flapjack is gone"/similar sentence.

And Hunter himself couldn't directly name it. He has to skirt around it with "I already know", because it would hurt too much and be too frightening to directly describe what just happened.

I suspect this would sort of repeat over time: he may come across reminders in the human realm, as he tries to attend school, etc. For some time, he wouldn't want to hear it directly said that his best friend faded away. Because Flapjack was after all...slain by Hunter's own right hand. Hearing it would mean being retraumatized, potentially feeling as though the incident were repeating vividly, all over again.

Sometimes in grief, especially sudden loss via bereavement, it will be a long time before the grieving person can fully state, let alone see, that the one they lost isn't coming back.

The movie Big Hero 6 shows what it's like for its protagonist, a bereaved character, to hear himself verbally expressing the words that he can't avoid anymore: "[Name of the person I lost] is gone."

Plus sitting with the effects of doing so, without avoidance. Choosing to sit with the pain that has come to the surface, since it has been heard, since he has acknowledged that it's time to try something new instead of avoiding it or pushing it away.

Hiro hears himself telling Baymax (and also himself) that "Tadashi is gone", months after he has felt a deep sense of unrest from the loss of his brother. It's a beautiful scene because just a moment later, by accident, Baymax then plays a video log of Tadashi being himself and leading a meaningful life by working hard to help others. And Hiro is able to reach this new emotional place, seeing that beauty of the life his brother lived:

and Hunter will need time to reach this new mental space.

For some months, he'll have frustration, irritability and numbness - i.e. both hyperarousal and hypoarousal - shielding him. That is, until his heart is ready to allow whatever Hiro felt above, to enter and transform him. His own grief walk would have a different rhythm, since every loss in this world has the uniqueness of a fingerprint. But he would be hitting very similar story beats as Hiro's example above, in his recovery process.

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Self-soothing:

Becoming familiar with this is going to help him ride the waves of emotions in a smoother way, as he alternates between hyperarousal and hypoarousal.

And when he feels loved or connects with his own personhood, he has visible nervous tendencies. You can see it when he twiddles his fingers while Luz gives him her attention in Hunting Palismen, and he touches his opposite shoulder and grins shyly in Any Sport in A Storm after Willow snaps the team photo, and you see him rub the left side of his face in Hollow Mind when he fondly looks back on inheriting his staff.

But the later example I wanted to show is him gripping at his left sleeve with his right hand here:

which happens just after Luz affirms him with "Can't blame you for being paranoid after everything we've been through".

C-PTSD flips your world upside down, as I mentioned earlier. The stuff that is good for him - in this case, having his emotions being affirmed - feels awkward and not natural yet. Feeling loved feels uncomfortable, instead of being naturally expected. So in fact, he tugs at his sleeve like this to self-soothe: because being listened to like this (Titan bless you, Luz!) is just that foreign to him. Over time, he'll discover more ways of self-soothing and can have a sort of toolkit ready to pull out whenever self-care is needed. And being actually loved won't be such a foreign experience for him anymore T___T

Below is an outline of C-PTSD from Medical News Today shows possible options for his treatment plan. The first is therapy itself, which I have touched on in quite a few of my metas:

Next, EMDR which is a focused and specific intervention technique: If he had his own version of Eda's scenes where she accepts the Owl Beast in Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door, that would be a great way of having this particular intervention playing out in an animated show with fantasy elements. The difference would be that a therapist would be present to guide him towards that powerful breakthrough.

And exposure therapy: This is a gradual exposure to any sensations that are similar to the horrible feeling of injuring his own palismen - so that Hunter can form new positive associations with those physical feelings in his hands.

He could help Camila in her vet as a good start, since many of those animals seem larger than palismen:

He can then try interacting with smaller-sized creatures. He could eventually play more often with his friends' palismen, and that would be a cute positive way to associate touching them and connecting with them with new memories beyond his one worst memory. After all, it's canon that they have tried reaching out to him i.e. Clover and Emmi following him around outside Eda's house.

Him borrowing Stringbean for flyer derby would be fantastic. When he starts carving lessons, Dell and Eda could be there as company to supervise him and give small demonstrations bit by bit. Even better, he could start out by just holding the wood with one hand while the other person performs the carving strokes with their hand. If Hunter is comfortable, his friends/family could sometimes hang out, watch with interest, and provide small but vital encouragements. He shouldn't be carving all alone, if there is the chance that he'd be retraumatized by spooky phantom feelings that feel like being possessed all over again.

He shouldn't be in the workshop alone until he has built up some new associations and is getting familiar with the strokes. But once he can, it's beautiful to imagine him making that space truly his own. By then, his self-soothing skills would be more polished.

In Part 1 of this little series, I talked about skills like containment and distress tolerance. He needs an environment where he is offered a balance of having his own autonomy and also a sense of safety. Sometimes, the line between those two things may become blurry e.g. me mentioning in this meta related to the grimwalker graveyard (link) that Camila and Darius may have to allow some room for him to "fall", and they'd fall together with him so he doesn't feel alone.

And as he forms closer bonds with new parental figures, his attachment style can change from disorganized attachment (which results from having a very unpredictable caregiver growing up...god, the stress in being a young kid in that environment) to secure attachment. This in turn will give his self-soothing skills a further boost.

This is where King comes in as a comparison:

He is a kid who is securely attached to their caregiver, and he has natural emotional responses to things that upset him or cross the boundaries he has put up. Instead of what Hunter has done for a long time i.e. repressing feelings to minimize harm done to him and to literally survive, along with the tendency to rationalize and intellectualize whatever upsets him, to create so much distance from the hurt that he can keep going.

King also has a good sense of personal autonomy and safety, thanks to the environment Eda raised him in. Eda's parenting style involves offering him choices, laying out the consequences for whatever choices he makes, yet unconditionally being there to protect and support him no matter how bad any past conflicts have been.

This screenshot above, showing him hugging her leg, is a foundational building block of good parenting and a healthy home. I hope Hunter gets to experience this at some level with Camila and Darius. Let him be a kid in his last few years prior to turning 18 T___T

And well...we have seen the impact that physical and emotional neglect has had on the Bad But Sad Boy: to the point that he has to reframe it as either a fun experience, or blame himself, in order to keep going. Because he wouldn't have been able to carry on if he was aware that his 'parent' had 100% bad intentions.

Perhaps the most jarring comparison between King and Hunter would be the non-verbal signs here:

King can be assertive, having his non-verbal body language be congruent with his choice of words: that he's firmly asserting himself and voicing his opinions, and I doubt he worries that Eda will cause him physical harm. His posture is tall and leaning forward. While Hunter...has to gather up immense courage to just say the words (the verbal element) while his non-verbal body language is telling us so much about the effort he's putting in to be assertive. He is shrinking into himself even as he utters those words.

King could flare up in anger and fight back, asserting himself, upon being traumatized in his Collector nightmare:

but it's not going to be this way when Hunter learns about the grimwalker graveyard...

The good news is: Hunter can still build up secure attachments with the adults in his found family whom he'll be spending the most time with. He needs it more than ever.

If Lilith - a kid who was emotionally neglected - began to feel worse after she left the Emperor's Coven:

with her long repressed painful emotions resurfacing and leaving her frightened, Hunter will go through similar as the memories of his past actions come flooding in.

The meadow where we saw Hunter carving a palisman in the finale...and any location which Dell works at, seem like they would be pleasant quiet places where anyone would feel soothed. In addition to getting more comfortable with the peaceful hopeful atmosphere of Dell's workshop, Hunter could bring his works in progress or any non-palismen creations to therapy, if he is willing to entrust the therapist with updates on how he's doing. That would be good because he'd have an additional safe space like that to share and bounce off his thoughts and ideas. Not just the space of friends/family, to do the same thing. All this is needed after years of Belos denying and dismissing any open sharing.

Last but not least, in the real world: grief and bereavement is being viewed less and less as a problematic condition to be gotten rid of, the more time passes. Which is a good sign! Because we shouldn't be expected to view mourning and remembering as a form of pathology.

Here is a tool that grief therapist and expert Dr. Joanne Cacciatore (author of a book called Bearing the Unbearable) came up with, for her clients:

It is a grief number line that doesn't pressure a client to even reduce how much they are grieving, and she lets any client have as many sessions as they want with her, to honour lost loved ones. Even if they keep coming to see her for many years. She focuses on honouring losses instead of viewing them as inconveniences or hurdles, and she doesn't even rely on the normal kind of healthcare model of setting up treatment plans. By doing this, no expectations are set for any sort of linear recovery from the pain of loss. Ultimately, she is trying to show that grief is natural, however painful it is.

The Owl House is a show with a central theme of remembering those whom we have lost, and the variety of ways in which the characters process those experiences. One of the last few scenes were 1) Luz's grief changing into a different form - I wouldn't say her grief was "reduced" - as she bid the Titan farewell and lost her use of the glyphs, and 2) around four years later, finding a new glyph from a whole new system, as King's own magical glyph system has recently awoken.

After Belos was gone for good, Hunter's life was no longer a big test in which he had his worth and survival determined by someone who had power over him. He has inherent worth, has always been good enough, and he can rest easy. Like what Luz experienced with her dad and Papa Titan, his relationship with Flapjack is changed and not lost. While remembering and honouring someone we lost can hurt, in and of itself those actions aren't "wrong".

#two more metas planned for the year :O then my masterpost is going up at the end of December #loz writes a meta #toh hunter #the owl house #for Flapjack #Thanks to Them anniversary

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starless-nightz · 4 hours

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Dont leave me

note -> Jinx my silly baby :[ I'm currently working on a Jinx X reader book on wattpad called Guns & Roses, its probably gonna be published tomorrow or the next day

paring -> Jinx X fem! reader

warnings -> self harm.

content includes -> angst/comfort, panic attack, reader takes care of the injury.

Jinx was slowly going crazy because of the voices in her head, her panic attacks werent any better, it often got to the point she started to inflict injuries on herself without even realising it

You were the only person that wasn't afraid to get near her during her episodes, you know that she can hurt you, but you know it would never be intentional

You would try and calm her down first, whispering sweet and comforting things into her ear as you hug her

After Jinx calms down you make sure to take care of the injury before it gets infected, promising her you wouldn't leave her side

#jinx #jinx x reader #arcane league of legends x reader #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane league of legends

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topguncortez · 2 years

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warnings: This challenge contains heavy material. Please Read with caution. 18+, MINORS DNI.

Day 1: A Little out of the Ordinary - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: death, TOPGUN shit, whump, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Day 2: No Where to Run - N. Bradshaw ➢warnings: cheating, mentions of sexism, cannon character death, TOPGUN shit

Day 3: Hairs Breadth from Death - T. Kazansky ➢warnings: death, cancer, coughing up blood, dying, cannon character death

Day 4: Dead on Your Feet - P. Mitchell ➢warnings: MISCARRIAGE, bleeding, angst, hospitals

Day 5: Every Whumpee Needs - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: TOPGUN shit, character death, blood loss, trauma, mentions of burns/severe injuries, Uranium Mission

Day 6: Proof of Life - J. Seresin ➢warnings: car accident, severe injuries, description of gruesome injuries, blood loss, trauma.

Day 7: The way you shake and shiver - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: PTSD, mentions of nightmares, panic attack, mentions of the Uranium Mission, mentions of death

Day 8: Everything hurts and I'm dying - J. Seresin ➢warnings: mentions of the Uranium Mission, mentions of death, being kept hostage, mentions of torture, mentions of PTSD

Day 9: The very noisy night - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: traumatic birth, mentions of hemorrhaging, mentions of cardiac arrest, lack of sleep, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of trauma

Day 10: Poor Unfortunate Souls - R. Abbott ➢warnings: stabbing, death, bleeding out

Day 11: "9-1-1, what's your emergency?" - B. Simpson ➣warnings: injuries, mentions of domestic violence, blood, bruises, motorcycle crash, self inflicted injuries

Day 12: "Mayday, Mayday!" - B. Floyd ➣warnings: drugging, attempted sexual assault, physical assault, blood, vomiting, happy-ish ending

Day 13: Can't Make an Omelet Without Breaking a Few Eggs - N. Trace ➣warnings: bird strike, PTSD, depression, anger, mentions of injuries, physical therapy

Day 14: To Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to Become A Villain - H. Ruth ➣warnings: death, TOPGUN shit, dog fighting, missiles, guns

Day 15: Emotional Damage - N. Bradshaw ➢warnings: mentions of the crash, scars, PTSD, description of injuries

Day 16: No Way Out - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: torture, screams, blood, mentions of sexual assault, electrocution, stabbing, vomiting.

Day 17: Hanging On By a Thread - J. Seresin ➢warnings: post partum depression, the navy fucking sucks at paternity leave, mastitis, troubles breastfeeding, colic, crying.

Day 18: Let's Break the Ice - P. Mitchell ➣warnings: cannon character death, sadness, passing out, description of injuries

Day 19: Enough is Enough - J. Seresin ➢warnings: morning sickness, vomiting, passing out, PTSD, hospitals, pregnancy

Day 20: It's Been a Long Day - T. Kazansky ➢warning: cannon character death, mentions of injuries, PTSD, mentions of nudity

Day 21: Famous Last Words - B. Floyd ➢warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of heart failure, mentions of child death, hospitals, character death, organ donation

Day 22: Pick Your Poison - B. Simpson ➢warnings: Uranium Mission, mentions of a will, mentions of death, passing out.

Day 23: At The End of Their Rope - R. Abbott ➢warnings: violence, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of cheating, drinking, blood, fighting.

Day 24: Fight or Flight - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: Catatonia, PTSD, violence, mentions of choking (non-sexual), dehydration, mentions of torture, mentions of the Uranium Mission, therapy, arguing, denial. Based on the episode of Grey's Anatomy where Teddy goes catatonic.

Day 25: Silence is Golden - B. Simpson ➢warnings: TOPGUN shit, plane crash, mentions of "burning in", ejection, cursing, violence.

Day 26: No One Left Behind - B. Floyd ➢warnings: hazing, underaged drinking, toxic parents, near drowning, fear of water

Day 27: Pushed to the Limit - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: mentions of torture, PTSD, nightmares, mentions of suicide, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Day 28: It's Just the Tip Of the Iceberg - R. Abbott warnings: physical violence, Perry's a fucking dumbass, fighting, bull riding injuries, dislocated bones, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of depression (not eating, not sleeping).

Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me. . . - J. Seresin ➣warnings: mentions of scars, mentions of near death, mentions of out of body experiences, heart surgery, Jake has PTSD

Day 30: Note to Self; Don't get kidnapped - B. Bradshaw ➣warnings: post-partum depression, surrogacy, slash pairing (floydsin), breast milk pumping.

Day 31: coming soon

#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine #g's whumptober:)

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dystopicjumpsuit · 8 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 6

This Last of Meeting Places

Rating: M - please head the warnings; minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 4.1k (I know, but trust me)

Warnings: use of alcohol as a coping mechanism; panic attack (described); blood and injury (including self-inflicted); threats of violence; medical emergency; heavy angst

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Cerra and Gregor go undercover at 79's.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

In this last of meeting places we grope together and avoid speech.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The roar of the crowd washed over Cerra as she entered 79’s. Deep, thumping music pounded in her ears, and neon lights flashed through a dizzying haze of smoke. The club was packed and dark, but she spotted Gregor in seconds, drawn to him like durasteel to a magnet. The tension eased out of her shoulders slightly; he had her back, and he would never let anything happen to her. He leaned casually against the bar, chatting with another clone, and he only acknowledged her with the barest flicker of a glance.

She threaded through the crowd, making her way slowly to the bar. Her head hurt. 79’s was one of the few places where clones were free to cut loose and have a good time, so it had naturally become Fives’s main destination during shore leaves. Cerra had loved the frenetic energy and gritty atmosphere, the electric buzz of sex and booze and spice and blasting music and bodies coming together on the dancefloor. Now it was nearly impossible for her to view the club as anything other than a punishment.

Rex’s voice hissed in her ear. “Smile, Cerra. You’re supposed to look like you’re having a good time, not like you’re about to burn the place to the ground.”

She schooled her features into a pleasantly vacuous expression. Gregor angled toward her for Rex’s benefit, and his eyes lit with amusement at her sudden shift. She suppressed the urge to flip him the bird, and instead focused on the conversations swirling around her. Many of the clones were discussing Admiral Rampart’s sudden and shocking fall from grace and subsequent arrest. A few complained about forced retirements. In general, the mood was more somber than she would have expected from a nightclub, but plenty of clones were eager to forget their troubles, and the dancefloor thronged with the gyrating bodies of drunken troopers and civilians grinding on each other.

She skirted around the perimeter and finally made it to the bar, realizing only as she arrived that there was a good chance that the bartenders would recognize her, if the staff hadn’t turned over in the past couple years. Her shoulders tensed as she searched covertly for familiar faces behind the bar, but for once, it seemed that luck was on her side: she didn’t recognize any of them, and none of them showed any sign that they knew her, either.

Gregor shifted to make space for her at the bar, and she slid into position behind him, brushing against him lightly for comfort. Beneath the rough wool of his uniform, he was warm and reassuringly solid, and he slipped a hand covertly behind him to give her a quick, encouraging pat. She ordered a double of Dodbri whiskey, tossing it back as soon as the bartender pushed it across the bartop to her. It was cheap and strong, and it burned like hell going down.

“Slow down, Cerra,” Rex said. She could hear the frown in his voice.

A clone squeezed in next to her, jostling obnoxiously into her personal space. Cerra’s heart lurched when she saw his face so close to her own.

It’s not him, she told herself sternly, ignoring the way her stomach flip-flopped inside her.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grinned. “Can I buy you a photon fizzle?”

Cerra nearly grimaced at the idea of the sugary abomination of a cocktail. It was actually the perfect drink to sell her persona if she wanted to convince everyone in the club that she was just another party animal looking for a good time.

Showtime, she thought, batting her eyelashes at him in what she hoped was an alluring manner. It had been years since she’d flirted with anyone, but once upon a time, she’d been pretty good at it.

“That’s the best offer I’ve had all night,” she said in a husky tone. “What’s your name, trooper?”

She felt Gregor stiffen behind her. The clone’s eyes darkened. Shit, maybe she was laying it on a little too thick.

“I’m Stew,” the clone said. “Want to get out of here?”

“Amateur,” Rex jeered through the comm.

Cerra traced a finger up Stew’s chest. “Pump the brakes, soldier. I haven’t even gotten a drink yet.”

“Ease up on the bedroom voice,” Rex said. “You won’t be able to do much surveillance if you’re hooking up inside a supply closet.”

Cerra gritted her teeth. Her standards were significantly higher than a supply closet, thank you very much. And she wasn’t likely to hook up with anyone in this bar, no matter how much her mind chanted Fives, Fives, Fives when she saw their faces. Another clone stumbled closer, clapping Stew on the shoulder.

“Don’t mind Stew, ma’am. All that time shooting heavy artillery has scrambled his brains. I’m Trapper, and my brain is fully intact.”

Cerra faked a sultry laugh as Stew shoved Trapper away. “So, you’re telling me Stew has a big gun?”

Behind her, Gregor choked on his drink. Trapper looked comically disappointed, and Stew preened.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stew said. “Biggest gun in the fleet. And I always hit my target.”

The bartender slid two photon fizzles across to them. Cerra braced herself for the saccharine onslaught.

“Here’s to heavy artillery,” she said, clinking her glass against Stew’s, “and a man who knows how to handle his weapon.”

Gregor snorted. Cerra took a sip and tried not to gag on the chewy, slimy orbs in the cocktail. The sweetness made her jaw cramp. Stew chugged his drink with a delighted smile.

“Want to dance?” he asked hopefully.

“Try to get him to take you back to his booth,” Rex said. “We need to get him talking about something other than the size of his blaster.”

“I think I’d rather sit and talk with you boys,” she said, casting a simmering look at Trapper, who rallied immediately. “Do you have a table?”

Trapper nodded enthusiastically and looped an arm over Cerra’s shoulders. “Right this way, beautiful. I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“That’s because Stew never asked before he propositioned me,” Cerra said with a touch of acerbity.

Trapper slapped Stew on the back of his head. “That’s no way to treat a lady, dickhead.”

“Ow!” Stew said, rubbing his head as he trailed behind them. “Watch your kriffing language, you degenerate.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cerra caught a flash of the iconic crimson and white armor of the Coruscant guard. Her heart began to race, and her palms felt damp and hot. It’s not Fox. Fox is dead. It’s someone else. Fox is gone. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt anyone ever again. She worked to control her breathing, wishing that her mouth didn’t suddenly feel so dry. Stew and Trapper were still squabbling, and she made herself focus on their conversation.

“Quit complaining and order that round of shots you owe us,” Trapper said, steering Cerra toward a corner booth with a good view of the dancefloor. Two troopers were already seated inside, and they both straightened up and watched with interest as Cerra approached with their brother.

“Stak, Razor, I’d like you to meet my friend, er—” Trapper stopped, realizing that he still didn’t know Cerra’s name.

“Kallie,” she lied, forcing a smile to cover her shakiness.

“Nice to meet you, Kallie,” Razor said. “Is this idiot bothering you?”

“Not at all,” Cerra said as she slid into the booth, positioning herself so she had a clear line of sight on Gregor. The Corrie must have left the club, because there was no sign of red armor in the crowd any longer.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?” Stak asked.

“Has that line ever worked?” Razor asked his brother.

“No, but I’m an optimist,” Stak grinned.

Something about their names nagged at her memory. Had she met them before? If so, she hoped that her appearance had changed enough since she’d abruptly deserted the GAR that they wouldn’t recognize her. All four troopers were wearing their gray uniforms, so she couldn’t even identify their units from their armor paint.

Not the 501st, she thought. Rex raised his boys better.

Trapper flopped down into the booth next to her, effectively pinning her between himself and Stak. Across the club, Gregor raised an eyebrow inquisitively. She could practically hear him ask, You good?

She sent him a covert thumbs-up under the guise of sipping her horrible cocktail. The three clones sharing the booth with her looked at her expectantly.

“At least it’s subtler than Stew,” she said with a hollow laugh. “He went straight for the kill.”

Trapper, Stak, and Razor all heckled Stew as he approached the table bearing a tray of shots. The beleaguered trooper gave her a wounded look.

“I hear he has a huge blaster, though,” she added, taking pity on the gunner.

“It’s really more of a cannon, if I do say so myself,” Stew said with false modesty as he set the tray on the table and slid into the booth next to Razor. He passed out the shots, leaving one extra on the tray.

“Who’s the sixth shot for?” Cerra asked.

“The commander,” Razor said.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Gone,” Stak said grimly.

Cerra’s stomach dropped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Stupid. Should have known. Should have remembered. We always left a shot for Hardcase.

Stew gave her a reassuring smile, and then the clones raised their shots in a toast.

“To Commander Ponds,” Razor said, the others echoing him.

Cerra dropped the glass, which bounced off the table and rolled across the floor. Miraculously, it didn’t break, but it did splatter cheap rotgut all over everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“Shit! Sorry, so clumsy,” Cerra gasped, wiping herself with a napkin to cover her confusion.

Shit, shit, shit.

Across the bar, Gregor tensed, ready to spring into action if she needed him. Stak and Trapper mopped up the spilled booze while Stew retrieved the errant shot glass before somebody could step on it and break it.

“Sorry, boys,” Cerra said again, hating the way her voice trembled.

Rex’s voice hissed in her ear. “Tap the table twice if you need Gregor.”

“That’s all right,” Razor said. “Not the first time one of us couldn’t hold our liquor.”

Cerra shook her head in mock disapproval, making sure Gregor saw the motion. “That was a terrible pun, Razor.”

“It was,” he said with a twinkle. “Maybe you should… ‘pun’-ish me for it.”

Trapper, Stew, and Stak groaned simultaneously. Cerra relaxed a bit. Once she’d gotten over the shock of hearing Ponds’s name, she realized that she had never met Stak and Razor after all; their names had been familiar to her because Ponds had once told her about their heroic actions on Ryloth.

It had been at a family dinner—the dinner when Uncle Shoan had brought Ponds home to introduce him to the family. Cerra’s father had teased Shoan ruthlessly about undermining the chain of command. Shoan had retorted that her father would know all about it, as he’d been a colonel when he’d married Cerra’s mother, an enlisted mechanic. The night had devolved into good-natured bickering, and Ponds had jumped right in as though he’d known them all for years. Cerra had gone back to the Resolute afterwards feeling a warm glow of hope that someday Fives would receive the same welcome from her boisterous family, if she were ever brave enough to take the next step with him.

Cerra dug her nails into the skin of her thigh to bring herself back to the present. Ponds was gone, and Fives was gone, and there was no such thing as happily ever after. The best any of them could do was survive, and try to piece together whatever fragments of their shattered lives they could dig out of the rubble.

The four clones at the table still hadn’t taken their shots, so Cerra lifted her photon fizzle and repeated their interrupted toast: “To Ponds.”

They all knocked back their shots, and Cerra chugged what remained of her drink.

“Cerra. Slow down,” Rex repeated, and maybe he had a point, because the club started to look a little wobbly. The syrupy cocktail must have been stronger than it tasted.

“Atta girl,” Trapper said approvingly, draping his arm across her shoulders.

“Best commander we ever had,” Razor said glumly. “Not like these natties.”

The other three clones made identical faces of disgust.

“Natties?” Cerra asked, feigning ignorance.

“Natural-born officers,” Trapper explained. “Not clones. No offense.”

“None taken,” Cerra said. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Treat us like cannon fodder,” Stak spat. “Most of them have never even seen combat, but they act like they’re better than us. Like we’re worthless.”

“Expendable,” Razor agreed.

“That’s horrible,” Cerra said sincerely. “After everything the clones have sacrificed, it’s unbelievable that the Empire is treating you like this.”

Stew leaned in, hunching his back to the rest of the club. “I’ve heard rumors about clones going AWOL,” he said in a low voice. The other three clones looked around nervously, watching for eavesdroppers. “Even high ranking officers.”

“How high?” Trapper asked darkly.

“At least one marshal commander,” Stew said.

Cerra stifled a gasp. In her earpiece, Rex whispered, “Cody?”

“I don’t believe it,” Stak declared. “If one of the highest-ranking clones in the army had gone AWOL, we’d have heard about it.”

“Would we?” Trapper asked. “Seems like the empire would want to keep that intel quiet if they hope to avoid mass desertions.”

“Why bother?” Razor asked. “They’re already replacing us with those useless TK troopers. What do they care if a few clones leave ahead of schedule?”

“Because they don’t want us to survive,” Stew said grimly. “If we all get wiped out on the battlefield, they won’t have to worry about us causing any problems down the road.”

Stak reeled back. “That’s—that’s—you shouldn’t be talking like that,” he said, shooting an anxious look at Cerra.

“Keep them talking,” Rex ordered.

She dropped a soothing hand onto Stak’s clenched fist, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “You should know that a lot of people are grateful for your service to the Republic.”

“Don’t you mean the Empire?” Razor asked, eyes narrowed.

Cerra shrugged. “Sure. Slip of the tongue.”

Four identical pairs of eyes peered suspiciously at her. Dank farrik. She was losing them. She took a gamble.

“My—late husband was a clone,” she said.

Stak sucked in a breath that was audible even over the thumping music. All four troopers gaped, visibly shocked. Marriage to a clone was very, very illegal.

“Cerra?” Rex asked uncertainly.

“We always said we were going to run away together,” she continued, ignoring her captain. “Find some nice, remote moon and start a new life. He had names picked out in case we had children.”

Her voice cracked. Damn. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She was only telling them this to get them to trust her. So why did it feel like she’d ripped open her chest and exposed the remnants of her mangled heart?

“Kriff,” Razor cursed. “What happened?”

“He died,” she said, her words coming out in a broken whisper. “Trying to save his brothers. I would never dishonor his memory by betraying any of you.”

Stak turned his hand over to hold Cerra’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

Cerra looked around the table at the four troopers, whose faces now held no trace of suspicion—only pity. Something warm tickled her face, and she reached up to swipe it away. She stared down at the gleam of moisture on her fingertips. Stak was right. For the first time in two years, she was crying.

Kriff.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing against Trapper to force her way out of the booth. “I need to use the refresher.”

He moved, but not fast enough, and in her desperation, Cerra crawled over the top of him to escape. She stumbled blindly toward the refreshers, the strobing lights of the club blurring through her tears. Inside the refresher, she braced herself against the sink and took several deep, gulping breaths. She tilted her head up and caught sight of her devastated reflection.

“Fuck!” she screamed and punched the mirror. “Fuck! Fuck!”

The glass shattered with a satisfying crunch under her repeated strikes. Dimly, she heard raised voices outside the fresher door, and Rex shouting something in her earpiece, but she couldn’t make out any of it over her own guttural sobs. She sank to her knees on the grimy floor, and all of her grief and anguish poured out of her like the blood and tears that mingled together and dripped down onto the filthy tiles.

The door burst open, and someone cursed violently, then scooped her up and carried her back out into the flashing, pulsating club. Bodies jostled against her, but the arms that held her were strong and steady as they pushed through the crowd. Abruptly, they exited the club. The music receded, and the cool night air washed over her.

“Cerra!” Gregor said. “Cerra, come on baby, tell me you’re all right.”

She heard a strange keening sound and was mortified to realize it was coming from her.

“Echo is inbound,” Rex said, his voice clipped and harsh.

“Negative,” Gregor snapped. “There’s no time. She’s injured. Have to bring her in on the bike.”

“Copy that,” Rex said. “Echo, return to base and help me prep the med station.”

“On my way, Captain,” Echo said.

“The speeder is right here, honey,” Gregor said in a soothing tone. “I’m going to get you home. Karking damn you, Rex.” He muttered the last bit.

“Hey!” A shout came from behind them. “What the kriff do you think you’re doing? Let go of her!”

She could hear footsteps running toward them. She took a gasping breath, trying to steady herself enough to tell Gregor that she was okay, that she could walk. But instead, she lost control and began to hyperventilate, wheezing helplessly.

Gregor whirled around to face their pursuers, clutching Cerra to himself.

“Piss off,” he growled fiercely. “She’s coming with me.”

His voice had no trace of his usual good humor, and she could hear the deadly commando that lurked beneath the easygoing surface.

“You’re not taking Kallie anywhere,” one of the voices barked. “There’s four of us and one of you.”

“I like those odds,” Gregor said. “Now piss. off.”

Cerra choked, clawing at her throat. Her hand was slippery with blood.

“Kriff,” Gregor whispered, crouching down and setting Cerra gently on the plastcrete. He leaned her against himself and rubbed between her shoulders. “Breathe, sweetheart. All the way out. Come on, love, all the way out, then count with me. One, two, three, four, five. Now breathe in. One, two, three, four, five.”

“W—what’s wrong with her?” a voice asked. “She’s bleeding! What happened to her?”

Gregor ignored the questions and kept coaching Cerra’s breath until she slowed into some semblance of a normal rhythm. Her entire body trembled, and she felt sweaty and cold at the same time.

“Hey, asshole, I’m talking to you.” The voice was hard and angry and very close.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Gregor snarled.

“What do you mean, what did we do to her?” the voice asked. “We were just talking, then she went to the fresher, and the next thing we knew, you were kidnapping her!”

“I don’t think he was kidnapping her, Stew,” a second voice said.

“Can you stand, honey?” Gregor asked gently against Cerra’s ear, apparently having decided to ignore the other clones.

Cerra nodded weakly. “I think so.”

Gregor stood and pulled Cerra gently to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. Once he was certain she was not about to pass out, he guided her onto the speeder bike.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

One brave soul approached and asked, “Kallie, are you all right?”

Cerra looked up and saw Stak fixing her with a worried stare.

“I’m all right, Stak, I just—” Her vision swam.

“Kark, she’s losing a lot of blood. We don’t have time for this.” Gregor mounted the speeder bike, cradling Cerra in his arms, and they were in motion before Stak could object. Gregor piloted the bike expertly through the skylane, muttering a combination of reassurances and curses in Cerra’s ear. She must have blacked out at some point, because the trip seemed much shorter than it should have, and then he was carrying her again—easing her out of her coat—laying her gently on a cot—examining her hand.

“Medkit,” a voice said, and it sounded just like him.

“Fives?” she whispered brokenly, but there was no answer.

She felt the sting of antiseptic as Gregor cleaned the wounds, and her eyes flew open at the sensation. Echo was handing Gregor medical supplies, and Rex paced in the background.

Not Fives. It’s Echo. It’s not him.

“You have glass in your hand, sweetheart,” Gregor said. “It’s going to hurt when I pull it out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she croaked.

“I’m going to count you down from three, okay? Three, two—”

A searing pain shot through her hand, and then he pressed the wound firmly with a gauze pad.

“Who taught you to kriffing count?” she gasped, her eyes watering.

“She’s got her potty mouth back,” Gregor said with a tiny laugh. “She’ll be all right.”

He pulled out a few more shards, then stitched up the worst of her injuries and applied a generous coating of bacta before wrapping her hand in bandages. Cerra kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, knowing from experience that it would be a bad idea to watch him work. Finally, he finished up and draped a blanket over her.

“All done, love.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead as she felt a pinch on her shoulder. She whipped her head to the side and saw him withdrawing a hypospray.

“What was that?” she demanded, and then the world went black.

Echo began to clean and sanitize the improvised med station, gathering up the blood-soaked gauze and swabbing away the trail of red droplets that had oozed from Cerra’s hand as Gregor had carried her through the shop. Gregor handed the empty hypospray to Echo for disposal, then checked Cerra’s vital signs as she succumbed to the sedative he’d administered. Once he was satisfied that she was stable, he tucked the blanket more securely around her and stood. Tension radiated from him, and Echo gave him a wide berth.

“What happened?” Rex demanded.

Gregor snapped. He shoved Rex against the wall and pinned him in place, his forearm locked against the captain’s throat. Echo dropped the biohazard containment bag and rushed to intervene.

“You know kriffing well what happened,” Gregor snarled. “You knew she wasn’t ready, and you sent her in anyway.”

“She wouldn’t have gone if she didn’t think she could handle it,” Rex gritted out.

“She will do anything you tell her to, and you know it,” Gregor said, slamming against Rex again.

Rex shoved him off. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Banthashit,” Gregor snapped. “I could have gone in alone.”

“And what good would that have done?” Rex demanded, a challenge clear in his voice. “Did you learn anything useful?”

“As a matter of fact, I did hear something interesting about the Balmorra system. I didn’t have a chance to find out more because I was busy watching Cerra’s back,” Gregor retorted.

“Oh, and you did a great job,” Rex taunted. “Guarded her so well she damn near bled out.”

Gregor laughed—a harsh, ugly sound that seemed out of place and wrong coming from him. His fist lashed out so fast that Echo almost didn’t see it happen. Rex stumbled backward, blood pooling in his mouth.

“Kark you, Rex. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Gregor strode away to stand guard next to Cerra’s makeshift cot. Rex started to follow, but Echo laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Rex shot him a questioning glance, and Echo jerked his head toward the landing platform. With one last look at Cerra’s unconscious form, Rex turned and followed Echo outside.

“What is it?” Rex asked.

Echo paced back and forth, anger and confusion buzzing just below the surface. “What the kriff, Rex? She and Fives were married? You didn’t think that was important enough to tell me?”

Rex didn’t meet his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know.”

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#captain gregor #captain rex #echo tbb #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #gregor x oc #echo x riyo chuchi #bad batch #star wars #bad batch fanfic #star wars fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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