#It's her last line of defense when her PTSD and anxiety flare up and is very much akin to a child asking 'have I been good?' for doing

[sakurarisen]

♫☃♏

Headcanon Time!

♫:  three of my muse’s favorite songs

Given Sera would honestly say anything traditional, soft, lyrical - Essentially she'd sit and listen to soft rock or local music, really, along with, ironically, the Stamp song from Remake, she'll never explain why - I'm gonna cheat and pick off my playlist for her. XD The top three would be Speechless - Naomi Scott, This Is Me - Kesha (which admittedly in more modern verses does make her cry when she's able to listen to it and is one of her primary theme songs), and Return of the Snow Queen - Phrynna <3 Though honestly anything Lindsey Stirling releases is also way there, both on her playlist (Foreverglow especially!) and as something Sera herself would listen to!

☃:  does my muse like the holidays?

Sera loves them, especially christmas! There's something comforting about them, especially now that she's older, and she loves christmas especially for being a season where people are generous. For a few weeks out of the year, people reach deep into their heart and become kinder, gentler, more open - Things she wants to see all year round, and she hopes to eventually see the magic of christmas eventually stretch out past those few weeks.

She's also especially fond of holiday decorations - she never really got to see those as a child, and now that she has her own home and family, she's prone to going all out and decorating everything she can, especially if it's sparkly and shiny! <3 Sparkly easter eggs, glitter and fake snow, lights and sparkles... She loves all of it, and never fails to get lost in the magic of the holidays! <3

♏:  something my muse obsesses over

TW: Abuse mentions ahead.

Tending to Zack's sword and doing chores. Although it's way too big and heavy for her, very nearly matching her height, Sera will stay up all night to clean it and make sure it's ready for use the following day, even if it doesn't appear to need tending to. Likewise, she's forgo sleep to get her household tasks done, or to run errands and take care of deliveries - If she has anything left to do at the end of the day, she simply can't sleep. It weighs on her and leaves her restless, and more than once Zack's woken in the middle of the night to her in the kitchen washing dishes rather than actually sleeping beside him.

In truth, it's not so much of an obsession, though it certainly presents itself as one, and is more in line with her traumas; Sera will call it a need to be a 'good kitty' to those close enough to her she feels safe being completely honest with, and it ties in both with her nickname of 'Kitten' from Zack and her past abuse. Being 'kitten' is something of a personal shield for her (for reasons I won't get into here because that's a meta/HC in and of itself) and serves as her last line of defense, and she desperately wants to be 'good' - She wants to be dependable. She wants to be reliable. Upbeat. Not a bother. Helpful. Someone people look at and smile, not roll their eyes and get tired of whenever she's in the same room as them.

If she gets everything done she needs to, nobody has a reason to complain about it. If his sword is clean and tended to, it's one less weight on his shoulders, and one less task he has to worry about. If she can keep the kitchen clean then nobody can worry about it, or call her out on it not being sparkling. Work done on time, or even better early, means nobody else is put out because of her. She's not a disappointment, and nobody will be angry or upset or disappointed in her. She's kitten, and she's been good and helpful!

....Right?

#Questioning A Flower [Asks] #Annjiru #Colors Of Sakura [Headcanons] #TW: Abuse #TW: Abuse mention #Sankyuu for the ask! <3 #If anyone needs a different tag for the last one please let me know- #There's an entire HC slash meta surrounding Sera's 'good kitty' outlook #And a lot of it heavily ties into her trauma and how it acts as a shield - You can't touch Sera but you can certainly kick 'kitty' #It's her last line of defense when her PTSD and anxiety flare up and is very much akin to a child asking 'have I been good?' for doing #A good deed or chores etc #A lot of the time tho? It's just a nickname and her trying to be cute and silly with it since she calls Zack 'Puppy' #So it presents as an obsession to those who aren't aware of WHY she does things? #Which fits here because I really couldn't think of anything else- @w@ #Also y'all have no idea how big my playlist for Sera is so that worked out here too XD #A lot of it she'd listen to anyway?? <3

[sclvged]

GLORY OF GORE AND THE GRACIOUS - NORMAL, NORMAL.

What part of not wanting to talk did he not get? Was he stupid? She gritted her teeth. "I need you to shut up right now before I say something that I don't mean." She didn't want to fight but she didn't know how to deal with her sadness. Being vulnerable was still foreign and Allie felt as though she was being put on the spot, the center of attention. She knew that she was being kind of a bitch about it but what did he know? You don't know shit about what it's like to lose people you care about because some pussy-ass hunter didn't have the balls to finish the job right the first time! his words from earlier on in the night rang in her head. The car felt claustrophobic. She did know what it was like to lose someone. She did. Being yelled at by him... it stirred her weakness. Her pain. Her guilt.  Ryan. Ryan. Ryan.  The name was like kryptonite, memories akin to dynamite. It felt like a pounding of a hammer in her chest. Not here, please! her inner voice begged, pleaded— but the panic began. His face was there. Thousands of miles away and he still haunted her. "Pull over! Now!" She rasped as her breathing quickened. The world was ending. Or, at least, it felt like it was.

Linoleum tile proved to be the final claim. Looking up at humanity through swollen eyes while a facetious lover tossed items around the room in blatant fury brought forward a long awaited epiphany. The one that held her would surely kill her if things continued. Long gasps of pained breathing left her as broken ribs flared below reddened skin. Last time the fucking cops did a whole lick of nothing. Small towns - everyone knows everyone. Maybe that had been his whole plan in the first place - carefully constructed violence. Move them after college, after things got bad.

Below a mask of flirtation and teasing sarcasm lays a girl that was left to the dogs. Upon finding Bobby, Allie fell into hunting with ease - and why? Familiarity. Tension, Incident, Reconciliation, Calm. All stages found in abusive relationships. Hunting acted as an outlet for pent up aggression and not only that but also an excuse - now all things were monsters. Gradually it became easier and easier to 'dispatch' evil. After all, she learned early that humans could be monsters too.

Allie acts as an enigma of sorts, tough to identify how she'll react in various situations. PTSD symptoms act as a deep well of self-hatred within her. Being thrown around, hit, and in constant distress of some sort keeps her in the cycle and unfortunately, a part of her enjoys it - mainly due to the sense of accomplishment after a hunt is successful. I've decided to add tidbits in regards to her actions, ideas, and pain involving the past and the cycle (of which she begins to question after her resurrection.)

Deep hatred for John Winchester, consistently compares him to her own father which Allie throned very quickly.

Does not approve of male on male violence. i.e will get between Sam and Dean without thought and will physically shove them apart. male on female violence comes with even higher rage, as she eventually killed Ryan in self-defense and approves of that method.

Exceptional towards dealing with victims in their line of work. During the first few seasons this is where her true self shines through. She is incredibly empathetic to those in need.

Honesty and emotional regulation - Allie is not proficient at emotional regulation. Mental illness comes in strong when she is not around those that she loves. She struggles deeply with anxiety and depression (which hunting exemplifies) but will not leave hunting.

Although heavily flirtatious, she does not enjoy being touched. It takes Allie a lot to favor physical contact without the idea that she is being used for her looks. Sam, Dean, and Bobby are pretty much the only people that she will be physically affectionate with.

Due to this, unlike the boys she cannot have one-night stands. The only time one night stands occur are when used for self punishment/mental illness related promiscuity.

Irrational sense of safety and self-sacrifice - Perhaps most importantly, due to her low value of herself, Allie will thrust herself into battle impulsively and often risks her own life to protect those around her. This led to her eventual death in Season 7 after distracting a Leviathan on purpose when it moved to eat Dean. She was aware about offering her own life up instead and accepted that fate without a second thought. Consequently, she died in his arms in the backseat of Baby after being thrown over a banister by the Leviathan and suffering brain damage.

#tw: abuse #I know I'll add to this in time but it's already long #h: allie smith > ᵂᵉˡˡ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵃ ˢᵗᵃʳ

[authorwiththedragontattoo]

The Snitch Seeker Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

When he had first heard about Hogwarts eighth year, the thought of attending didn’t even cross Draco’s mind. He had run away from the dark lord, barely evaded Azkaban and spent the last four months living in a house that was being monitored 24/7 by the ministry. They knew every move they made, if Draco decided to put an extra sugar in his coffee one morning, the Ministry knew about it.

So, when Narcissa Malfoy came into his room one day holding a letter from Minerva McGonagall requesting his return to Hogwarts in September, he was shocked to say the least. —– or yet another hogwarts eighth year in which draco redeems himself fic

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: Mild references to violence and death, mild PTSD and anxiety refernces 

If the castle had been eerie before; at night the castle was just straight up terrifying. 

Draco had done his fair share of stalking the castle at night; he wasn’t new to the winding hallways that seemed endless when the lights were out, or the paintings that seemed perfectly innocent in the day that appeared almost menacing at night. 

But now the darkness felt like it’s fingers were clasped around his throat; like it was reaching into his chest and sucking the air from his lungs. He was acutely aware of the way his breathing picked up as he began to gasp for the air that was being stolen from every cell in his body. 

Because it was too much like the last time he was here. 

He didn’t dare move his feet more than a few inches at a time for fear he would feel the stiff body of one of his classmates at his feet. He could smell the burning flesh and could hear explosions still ringing in his ears. If he glanced out the window, he could still see every protective barrier be torn down, allowing thousands of Death Eaters to descend on his school. 

He felt ridiculous. He was no victim, no innocent kid who was dragged into a war they wanted no part of. He had played his part, he did what he was supposed to while knowing the outcome was always going to be war. So why did the images of that day leave him struggling for breath? Why could he feel himself shaking at the memory of a day he helped create? Why did he feel so weak when he swore he would never let his weakness hinder him ever again? Why-?

“Draco Malfoy!”

Draco’s racing mind skidded to a halt as a firm voice cut through the deafening silence of the hallway. He turned slowly, coming face to face with Hogwarts Headmaster Professor McGonagall. 

“Professor, I-”

“My office. Now.” 

Her blunt, commanding voice left no room for argument, and Draco wasn’t about to challenge that. He knew this was inevitable; he had been back less than 5 hours and he had already tried to curse someone in the common room and was now stalking the halls in the middle of the night. He expected nothing less than an expulsion.

The thought of his mother’s face if he came home, having blown his one chance at a future had his stomach twist so violently he feared he would be sick then and there. In silence the two of them made their way towards the headmasters office, and though he was on his way to expulsion, Draco was thankful for the company and for the light that illuminated their way from the tip of Professor McGonagall’s wand. 

The first thing Draco noticed when he stepped into Professor McGonagall’s office was two new portraits that hung on the wall. The painted eyes of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape bore down on him. He suddenly became consumed by the urge to avert his eyes, to not dare look Dumbledore in the eyes just like he had that night almost a year ago. 

“Tea?” 

Draco turned back to McGonagall to see her using her index finger to wordlessly command a teapot to pour freshly brewed tea into some teacups. He nodded at her after he considered the cold that had seeped into his bones while wandering the halls, leaving him shivering. 

Slowly, dipping his head to avoid feeling the stare of the former Headmasters Draco slipped into the chair opposite Professor McGonagall, quietly muttering a ‘thank you’ when she placed a warm cup of tea in front of him. He sighed in contentment as he wrapped his stiff fingers round the porcelain, allowing the warmth to blossom under his fingertips. 

“I heard you got into a fight with Mr Finnigan upon your arrival.” 

Well, she wasted no time getting to the point. Draco could admire that at least.

“I didn’t start it, Professor! He-” 

Draco halted at the raise of a finger, a gesture he knew meant McGonagall did not want him to continue. 

“Why are you here, Mr Malfoy? Why did you come back?” She asked quietly. 

Draco blinked in confusion, “Because you invited me?” 

Professor McGonagall shook her head gently, “No. What inspired you to accept my invitation?” 

Suddenly, Draco knew what she meant. She wanted him to think about his mother, about his future. She wanted him to think about getting his qualifications so he can still have a good life despite everything he has done. 

“Um…” Draco started.

“You don’t have to tell me, just think about it to yourself.” 

So he did. He pictured his mother’s face when she brought in the letter, how her face lit up more than he had seen it in a year. He thought about how she cried when she thought Draco wasn’t around; silent, dignified tears that slowly ran down her sunken cheeks as she walked through the manor; trying to savour the place she had raised her son before it was snatched away from her. He thought about passing his N.E.W.Ts and getting a good job where he could save up enough money to house and keep his family safe.

“Now think about what would happen if I decided to expel you right now for trying to curse another student.” McGonagall’s voice cut in, harshly halting his imagination. 

Draco could feel the anger and shame begin to climb through his system as he imagined coming home to his parents, having failed yet again. He couldn’t stop the images of his mother’s disappointed gaze or his father’s anger from invading his mind. 

“If you’re going to expel me can you just get on with it?” Draco shot at the Professor angrily, wishing he had never gone to all the trouble of coming back. 

For a moment all that could be heard was Draco’s quickening breath as frustration flared under his skin, before Professor McGonagall spoke again.

“I’m not expelling you, Mr Malfoy.” 

Draco’s eyes shot from the tea that was slowly cooling in his hand to the Professor, looking at her in shock. 

“What?”

“I wasn’t expecting any of this to be easy,” She began, “Of course, I hadn’t anticipated a fight in the dormitory on the first night.”

Draco felt his cheeks colour slightly, it all felt so silly now. 

“But Draco, I sent you that invitation because I feel that every child who suffered because of the war deserves a chance to take back control of their lives. We all suffered because of Voldemort.”

Draco winced at the sound of his name. He knew he was dead, and most of the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, but he couldn’t seem to shake the fear that his name still carried. He thought if he said it, Voldemort would come back and take revenge on his family for running away. For being cowards and for failing him. He suddenly got the urge to hold his mother in his arms and not let go. 

“But don’t make me regret giving you this second chance, dear boy. Because you may not get another one.” 

Professor McGonagall always had this way of being both stern and kind at the same time, Draco thought. She was encouraging him to do well but the warning was there, smouldering underneath. He only had one shot at becoming something other than the hated ex-death eater, and she knew that just as much as he did. 

“Now, get to bed. There will be no special treatment if you wake up late for your lessons tomorrow.” 

Draco didn’t reply, instead he silently stood, leaving his untouched tea and making his way out the office. Before he left though, he stopped at the door frame and turned back to the Professor. He glanced up at the two portraits above her head, and if he didn’t know better he could have sworn Professor Snape’s lips jolted quickly upwards before settling back into a straight line. 

“Professor?” Draco met McGonagall’s eyes once again, “Thank you.”

Then he left the room, back into the pitch black hallways. 

-

McGonagall’s words played over in his head as Draco made his way back to the dorms,

“You may not get another one.”

He had known this year was going to be difficult as soon as he accepted his place, he knew people would react the way Finnigan did. It was stupid of him to lose control and almost get himself expelled on the first day.

He was sure Finnigan wasn't the only one who had something to say to him, so he was going to have to learn how to keep his anger at bay. And quickly. 

This time when Draco approached the doors to the common room, there was silence on the other side. It was late enough that he was sure everyone would have long gone to bed; at least he hoped so. 

Gently, he pushed the doors open and glanced inside. The fireplace was still burning but as Draco had suspected the room was empty. Letting out a small sigh of relief he stepped fully into the room. But just as he began to calm, he was startled to notice a figure sat on the sofa facing the fireplace, and they seemed to be looking back at him. 

As the fire flickered, their features became visible, and Draco’s heart sank as he looked at the face he had hoped he could avoid at all costs. He saw Harry Potter looking back at him.

Draco felt a defensive rush run through his bloodstream and he immediately itched to reach for his wand, but then he took in the man and he felt maybe his wand wasn't so necessary at that moment. Potter had his feet up on the sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest, obstructing the bottom half of his face. He looked… small. His hair had grown and it now sat atop his brow bone casting shadows across his eyes that danced in the firelight, but his intense stare was still there, looking directly at Draco. Draco chose to ignore the urge to pull down his left sleeve, just to make sure it was down.

He expected Potter to say something, maybe shout at him. Insult him. Tell him to go home because he doesn’t belong at that school anymore. Berate him for all those years of relentless bullying and singing with his enemy. Maybe even kill him. Draco couldn't say he’d be surprised if he did. He might even welcome it. But he didn’t say anything. And neither did Draco. 

Had it been 3 years prior, Draco stumbling upon Harry in an empty common room in the middle of the night would have inevitably caused a fight. Draco would have asked him if he was afraid of the dark or something, and Harry would have shot back something that wasn’t particularly witty but he definitely always knew how to push Draco’s buttons. But now, they just kind of stared, for a moment. 

Over the last four months, Draco had come up with a million and one things he would like to say to Harry Potter if he ever saw him again. But now that he was looking at the saviour of the wizarding world in the dead of night with only the sound of the fire cracking in the room, not a single one came to mind. 

Draco couldn’t take the silence anymore, and broke their gaze. Without looking back he quickly navigated his way through the dark dormitory until he found his bed, and his thundering heart eventually settled as no one else stirred. 

 And he tried not to think too hard about the fact that the only other empty bed in the room was right beside his. 

People who asked to be tagged:

@fantasticreads0402

@idk-i-draw

@laviepotato

#i feel like this chapter is paced weird #idk i dont rlly like it #anyway #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #drarry #minerva mcgonagall #hogwarts #slytherin #seamus finnigan #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #good draco malfoy #draco malfoy redemption #the snitch seeker #chapter 3 #angst #ptsd mention #anxiety mention #battle of hogwarts #voldemort

[dolphinitley]

Jacob Seed/F!Dep Fic

“Love Like Revenge” Chapter 8

AO3

Word count: 1,648

Warnings: PTSD symptoms

I felt like calling Em "Rook" in this chapter. Got some fluffy stuff plus anxiety when the nukes drop. 

Tagging @johnseedsplane @colorguardian18 for last line meme. Also general tag: @theeonlyroman @flyawayturtle @angrylittlebean @liilaac @they-are-not-just-stories @zacklover24

Thanks for reading and plz comment :D

Rook and her big orange cat Tommy sat on the couch and watched a movie she thought might make her feel better, but her mind was still on Jacob. His 1911 was in a dresser drawer in her bedroom.

This morning, he left to deal with things at St. Francis, which reminded Rook that he was still protecting his brother’s cult. He purposely left the 1911 at her house, along with some clothes that accumulated there over the past few weeks.

As he kissed her goodbye, he could tell that she was mildly upset.  They both were becoming addicted, which they thought made them vulnerable purely because of the longing they felt when they were apart. But maybe, she thought, if they were always together, they could make each other stronger, and protect one another.

Rook felt sour. Her PTSD symptoms were flaring up at the thought of St. Francis. She needed to make peace with this if she was going to be with him.

She took some sleeping meds and passed out hard on the couch.

A few hours later Rook woke up to Tommy’s loud crying meows and paws pushing on her chest.

She was groggy and confused at the dim brightness outside. It wasn’t the sunset. It was fire half a mile away. The sound of a sonic boom assaulted her ears.

Was it a dream? No. This is it, she thought. It was surreal. The nukes had finally dropped.

Rook stared at Tommy for several moments, thinking about what she needed to do now.

There was nothing she could do for Honey, except open her gate and hope she’d run until finding a safe spot.

Within 10 minutes she had most of her favorite possessions in her bunker.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Jacob, even though she knew he’d be safe in his own bunker. She thought of her family. She cried at the change that was coming. She felt she could not handle it.

While making her last run to the bunker, with her cat in her arms, Jacob’s truck sped up her driveway and skidded to a halt, tires throwing gravel and dust.

A wave of relief washed over her. Here was her rock. He was what she needed. She ran to him and squished Tommy between them in a hug. Jacob kissed the top of her head and noted the tears on her cheeks.

Jacob took a step back and held her shoulders, looking in her eyes intently.

“We need to hurry,” he said with a nod.

Rook responded with a weak nod and followed him throwing duffel bags down into her bunker. She wondered why he was here and why he was putting his things in her bunker.

Now she was in a full blown panic attack and needed to get to safety. Her breathing was too fast and erratic.The fire was growing too close for comfort.

“Rook!” Jacob yelled. His voice was a little dulled by the sound of falling trees and other thunderous booms.

Rook felt frozen. She was looking at her body from outside herself. All of her feelings swirled and crashed in her mind. Why did I kill all those people? Why aren’t I with my family? Why am I so close with Jacob? How can I-

Her panicked doubts were interrupted by Jacob’s protective arms and chest. He rushed her down to the bunker and locked the steel doors. It was so quiet in this bunker. The sounds outside were barely audible.

Jacob was dripping with sweat and soot in his effort to get to her. Stupid. He thought to himself. Why’d I fucking leave her. If he had been with her when the first bomb hit, he could have taken her to his stronger bunker. He doubted she’d like living with Peggies very much anyway. Doesn’t matter. This is where we’re at now.

Rook let Tommy jump to the ground and explore the bunker. Her eyes were distant.

“Honey,” Jacob was trying to get through to her. “I know. I know you need rest but we have to get these clothes off and get clean before anything else.” He was as calm as ever.

Jacob went to the bunker’s bathroom and started the shower. He led her to it and undressed the both of them.

The last thing Rook’s anxiety needed right now was someone touching her naked body. But with him it wasn’t what she expected. With him she felt safe and cared for. Jacob stayed focused and efficient, quickly finding soap and towels. He was gentle and did his best not to trigger her.

Rook stared at the tile shower floor, soot mixing with water and going down the drain. She breathed with intention, focusing on the feeling of hot water on her skin.

Jacob’s strong fingers kneaded and scrubbed her hair and scalp. It felt good. He rubbed with soapy hands down her neck and shoulders, arms, torso, and he knelt to wash her legs. He rested his forehead against the side of her thigh. A squeeze of her heel lifted her foot to allow him to clean it.

After Rook was clean, she watched Jacob clean his own body. She leaned against the shower wall and her eyes wandered over the muscles, freckles, hair, and scars. She reached a hand out to brush against his chest.

Jacob put down the soap and took her in his arms. They stood there for half a minute, until Jacob planted a kiss on her forehead and turned off the shower.

Water dripped from their bodies when they stepped out. Jacob dried her off first with a soft towel, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

He shook a towel over his red hair, and tucked it around his waist. Jacob took momentary glances at her while he dug through his clothing duffel and dressed in gray sweatpants and a soft blue t shirt.

Rook put on multiple layers of the most comfortable clothing she had in the bunker.

They got into bed and she got close to him, gladly accepting the heat his body offered. The bombs were still dropping and he held her loosely. She took another pill. She figured now was a worthy time to take one of her limited supply. They fell asleep, to escape the sounds of end for just a few hours.

As she fell asleep, she couldn’t help but think about why she was in Montana in the first place, and why she wasn’t with her family.

When she left Dutch’s bunker after he rescued her from the river, she could have laid low. She could have taken out just one roadblock and gone home. Would it really have worked? She has a feeling she would have been caught by the Seeds anyway. Better to be a fighter than a prisoner, right?

Rook figured she gave up her right to respect and fair treatment after her first unnecessary kill. The first kill that was not out of self defense, or to stop someone else from coming to immediate harm, or saving a hostage. Her first sniper kill. She was 150 meters away. It was a headshot. An Eden’s Gate soldier at Boomer’s house. She knew that the soldier had some part in murdering and torturing for the cult. It didn’t stop her momentary emotional lapse in the orchard. She started crying, and tried the hardest she’d ever tried in her life to stop crying. She could see the sudden blood on the Peggie’s forehead where there formerly was none.

Her last preemptive kill was one of Jacob’s men. She sniped them near a radio tower. Where’s the adrenaline? She thought. She worried why she wasn’t feeling adrenaline after killing a person. At that point she’d become an efficient killing machine. She pushed her bad feelings down, down, down, to deal with later.

She was dreaming about the gore. She knew she was dreaming about it and in her head she tried to jerk herself awake.

It must have worked enough to prompt Jacob to gently shake her awake.

“Honey,” he said with a sleepy and raspy voice. He gently stroked her shoulder.

Thank god he’s here.

Rook turned on her side to face him. He was propped up on one elbow, searching her face for anything.

She stared back at him and grounded herself. She slowly pulled her mind away from the dream and into the warm bed, with Jacob next to her.

So handsome.

Jacob chuckled. She must’ve said that out loud.

Rook placed the responsibility of distancing Jacob from the cult on her shoulders, even though he did physically distance himself from them in a major way, and by his own choice. He was still close to them by association in her mind.

“You’ve gotta tell me what you’re thinkin, Babe,” he said.

Babe.

It took her half a minute to build up courage to speak about it.

“I had a dream about killing a...Peggie.”

“Yeah?” He tried to sound encouraging. He needed her to be open with him.

“And the memory of that eventually connects to you.”

“That’s right.”

“It makes me confused. Because I like you so much. And I hate the cult so much.”

Jacob huffed a soft laugh. “I don’t like em all that much either. And I know you’re mad about the things I’ve done.”

Rook exhaled. She was in relief that he wasn’t actually upset or irrational.  Not even in a backhanded way. Bad behavior is what she came to expect from most people. He was always the image of composure.

Rook placed her small hand on his cheek and said quietly, “I missed you while you were gone.” Rook would have said, “today” at the end, but she felt like she’d missed him all her life.

“I missed you too.” It was a warm whisper from him.

#llr fic #oc emily #my oc #jacob/dep