#( i don't know how anything works on here anymore)

[ekybrini]

I love you, I'm sorry | Jack Hughes

— ⟡ summary | After the breakup, you spend the summer at the Hughes' lake house, trying to move on while Jack lingers in the background, never pushing but always there in small, unspoken ways. Slowly, the anger fades into something more complicated, and as the summer stretches on, you’re forced to confront the one thing you’ve been avoiding .

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I am aware of)

— ⟡ word count | 10.6k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!! since many people requested a part two here it is!! in all honestly I don't know if I like this or hate it, but oh well. hopefully you guys like part two as much as you liked part one ! <3 I apologize if this seems a little rushed.

part one | jacks pov (to part one)

It’s been almost two months since that weekend in New Jersey. Two months since you stood in Jack’s apartment waiting for him to say something, anything, while he stood there arms crossed over his chest face guarded and let you walk away.

He hasn’t called. He hasn’t texted. And you haven’t either.

At first, it hurt so badly you could barely breathe. The quiet was unbearable. You kept expecting your phone to light up with his name, to see a message “I’m sorry or Can we talk?” but nothing ever came. He’d let you leave after that fight, and the silence afterward felt like proof that he never really cared as much as you thought.

But the worst part, the part you hate admitting even to yourself is that you miss him. You miss him so much it’s a physical ache in your chest. You catch yourself thinking about him at the most random moments when you hear a song he used to like, or when you see someone wearing a Devils hoodie at the store. Your hand still twitches toward your phone when something funny happens. Your brain is so used to telling Jack everything that it hasn’t caught up to the fact that he isn’t there anymore. Even after two months.

Quinn’s checked in a few times. He hasn’t pushed, but you can feel the weight behind his questions. You know he’s talking to Jack about your conversations, but he hasn’t said much about it to you, which makes you think it’s probably bad.

You’re trying to move on. You really are. You’ve thrown yourself into school and work, into hanging out with your friends, into finding some sense of normalcy without him. But sometimes, it feels like you’re just going through all emotions. Because for the past nine years, Jack was part of your normal day life and now you don’t know how to exist without him.

It’s a Monday night when Quinn calls.

You almost let it go to voicemail, but your chest tightens, and you swipe to answer at the last second.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Quinn says. His voice is steady, but you can hear the hesitation underneath it. “How are you?”

“Fine.” The word tastes hollow. Quinn doesn’t say anything, and you sigh. “Okay, not really. But it’s fine.”

There’s a pause. “Yeah.” Quinn sounds like he’s bracing himself for something. “Jack’s in Michigan.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“He flew home this morning.”

Your heart starts pounding. You sit up straighter, curling your hand around the phone. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, but you can tell he’s lying.

You close your eyes. “Quinn”

“I’m not saying you have to talk to him,” Quinn says. “But I think he wants to.”

You bite your lip. Your chest is tight. You hate how much you want to see him. You hate how much hope is curling around the edges of your heart, even though you know better by now.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“I know,” Quinn says quietly. “Just think about it.”

You don’t sleep much that night. Your mind keeps spinning, replaying every word of that last conversation with Jack, every look, every moment that led up to it. Him ignoring you at any given chance. You’re still awake when the sun rises, and your chest feels raw and aching as you get through the day.

Jack is here. Jack is in Michigan. Of course he is, it's all star week which means some of the players have a break. How did you forget?

You keep expecting to see him turn a corner and find him standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes wide with regret. You don’t know what you’d do if that happened. Run? Scream? Pretend you don’t see him?

You wouldn't give him the chance.

For the next few days, you avoid every place he might be. You don’t go to the coffee shop you used to go to together. You don’t go to the dock outside of your house even though it’s a ritual for you. When Luke texts, asking if you want to hang out, you hesitate because what if Jack is there too?

Your answer is shorter than usual. “Not today. sorry.”

It’s exhausting, constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for the inevitable. But part of you, the part you don’t want to acknowledge is waiting for it. Because Jack will always find his way back to you.

But what if he doesn't? 

Two days pass. Then three Days. Then another. And you didn't see Jack nor did he never shows up.

Maybe we are really done. 

The thought makes your stomach twist, but you shove it down, focusing on work. You pick up extra shifts at the restaurant, filling your schedule so there is completely no room to think about him. It works, mostly.

Until the night he walks through the door.

It’s a Friday. You’re busy clearing a table when you hear someone call your name from the kitchen, asking you to run a drink order to one of the booths. You grab the tray without thinking, slipping through the crowd, already moving on autopilot.

And then you see him.

Jack is sitting in the booth near the window, fingers tapping anxiously against the table. His head is down, like he’s lost in thought. Like he doesn’t quite know why he’s here, only that he is.

Your breath catches in your throat.

For a second, you think about turning around running back to the kitchen and pretending you didn’t see him. But it’s too late he looks up at the exact moment you freeze, and his gaze locks onto yours.

His expression shifts instantly. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flicker with so many emotions at once shock, relief, regret, and guilt.

You grip the tray a little tighter. Your heartbeat is so loud it drowns out the chatter around you. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

Jack stands slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.

You should. You want to. But you don’t.

Your grip tightens around the tray, fingers pressing into the smooth surface like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The noise of the restaurant fades into the background, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.

Jack takes a step forward, hesitant. “I-”

Your manager’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and direct. “Hey, can you get that table?”

You blink, the moment snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. Jack’s standing in front of you now closer than you’re ready for, but you force yourself to move past him stepping around his outstretched hand like you don’t even see it. Like he’s not even there.

Jack turns, his voice softer this time. “Wait-”

But you don’t.

You drop the drink order at the booth without looking back, without acknowledging the way your chest is threatening to cave in and disappear into the kitchen before he can say another word.

Your hands shake as you set the tray down exhaling sharply. The kitchen is warmer than usual the air thick with the smell of sizzling food and fresh bread, but you still feel cold your skin prickling with something too close to panic.

“Hey.” One of the other servers looks over at you, frowning. “You okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just just need a second.”

They don’t push, but you can feel their eyes on you as you turn away, bracing your hands against the counter.

Jack is out there. Jack is here.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Get through your shift. That’s all you have to do.

But the thought of walking back out there, of seeing him again makes your stomach twist.

You suck in a breath and grab water from the staff fridge forcing yourself to focus. You’ve handled worse. You can handle this.

But when you finally step out of the kitchen again, Jack is still there.And he’s waiting for you. He hasn’t left. You knew he wouldn’t.

Jack is still standing by the booth hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shifting his weight like he’s trying to figure out what to do next. His drink sits untouched on the table, condensation pooling around the base of the glass. He hasn’t looked away from the kitchen door since you walked through it, and when your eyes meet again something inside you clenched tight.

You force yourself to move to pretend like your legs aren’t trembling as you walk past him to check on another table. You don’t stop. You don’t slow down. But you can feel his gaze on you heavy, like he’s hoping you to look back.

You don’t.

You take another order, bring out another tray clear another table, throw yourself into work like it’s enough to drown out the storm raging inside you. But it’s impossible to ignore him when he’s still there, lingering like a ghost a constant presence in the corner of your vision. Just as you’re starting to think he might give up you hear your name.

"y/n"

Soft. Almost unsure. But you hear it.

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn.

Jack is closer now, standing just a few feet away his expression raw like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Can we” His voice catches, and he swallows hard. “Can we talk?”

Your throat tightens. No. That’s the answer. That’s what you should say.

But nothing comes out.

Jack waits, shifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself for you to say no. Like he’s already expecting it.

And maybe that’s what makes you hesitate.

Your fingers curl into your apron heart slamming against your ribs. You should walk away. You should tell him you’re busy. You should say something that will make him leave.

But instead, you whisper, “I’m working.”

Jack exhales nodding quickly like he was stupid to even ask. “Right. Yeah. I just” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “I just wanted to see you.”

Well, congratulations. You’ve seen me.

You don’t say it. You don’t say anything.

Jack glances down rubbing the back of his neck then looks at you again. “I’ll wait.”

Your stomach twists. “Jack-”

“I’ll wait,” he repeats, softer this time. “I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

You exhale sharply, your chest tightening as you glance toward the clock. Two more hours. Two more hours of him sitting there, of feeling his eyes on you, of knowing he’s just waiting.

You don’t know if you can do this.

But it doesn’t seem like you have a choice.

For the next two hours, Jack keeps his word.

He doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t even try to talk to you again.

But he stays.

Every time you glance toward his booth whether it be on purpose or by accident he’s still there. His drink sits untouched, ice melted into the soda. He barely touches his phone, only looking at it in short, distracted glances, like he’s waiting for time to pass. But mostly, he watches you. Not in an overbearing way, not in a way that demands your attention, but in a way that feels like he’s just there. Present. Waiting.

And it makes your skin crawl. Because he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be sitting in your restaurant, watching you like this, like he’s hoping for something you can’t bring yourself to give him.

Your chest feels tight the entire time you work. Your hands shake a little as you punch in orders, your voice wavers when you ask customers if they need anything else. You can’t focus. Can’t think straight. Because Jack is still there.

When your shift finally ends, you take longer than usual in the back, wiping down counters that don’t need cleaning, refilling sugar dispensers that aren’t empty. You stall because you know what’s waiting for you outside.

And yet, when you finally push open the back door, stepping into the humid air, you’re still not prepared to see him standing there.

Jack is leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, foot tapping absently against the concrete. The parking lot lights cast a dim glow over his face, catching the shadows under his eyes, the sharp cut of his jawline. He looks different than the last time you saw him. More tired. More worn down.

Your heart lurches despite everything.

Jack straightens as soon as he sees you. His shoulders tense like he’s expecting you to keep walking, to brush past him without a word.

And for a second you think about it.

But then he says your name. Soft and hesitant like a question.

Like a plea.

And you hate that your feet stop moving.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “You waited.”

Jack nods. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “You know why.”

You do. But you still don’t want to hear it.

Jack hesitates, then takes a small step closer. “Can we just, can we talk? Please?”

You don’t know what you were expecting him to say. Maybe you were waiting for an apology. Maybe you thought he’d make some excuse, some weak attempt to downplay what happened.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching you, his expression open and raw.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

Your fingers tighten against your arms. “I don’t know if I have anything to say to you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. But then he exhales, nodding. “Okay.”

That’s it no protest no but or please. Just okay.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing away. It would be easier if he were angry. If he fought you on this. But he doesn’t. He just takes the rejection, lets it settle between you without trying to force something you don’t want to give.

You should leave. You should get in your car and drive away.

But you don’t.

And Jack doesn’t either.

The silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable. The night hums around you cars passing in the distance, the faint buzz of a streetlamp overhead, the muffled voices of your coworkers still inside but it all fades against the weight of him.

Jack shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flickers to the pavement, then back to you. “I didn’t come here to make this harder.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jack exhales, closing his eyes briefly like he expected that. Maybe he did.

When he opens them again, they’re softer, something aching in them. “I don’t know what to say to make this right.”

You stare at him, fingers digging into your arms. Good. Because there is no magic fix for this. There’s no sentence that can undo the months of silence, the gutting way he hurt you, the way he let you walk away without fighting for you.

Jack swallows hard, stepping forward just enough to bridge the space between you, but not enough to make you feel trapped. “I know I messed up. And I know I probably don’t get to ask for anything from you anymore, but” He hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I just explain?”

You shake your head, looking away. “Jack-”

“Please.”

That one word pulls something deep in your chest. It’s quiet and desperate and so different from the last time you spoke, from the sharp edged way he threw his words at you like knives, cutting you open and then leaving you there to bleed.

This Jack, the one standing in front of you now isn’t the same.

But does it even matter?

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Why now?”

Jack flinches, like the question physically hits him. “Because I’m not” He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. “Because I should’ve told you everything back then. And I didn’t. And I hate myself for it.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, your arms falling to your sides. “And you think telling me now is going to change anything?”

Jack hesitates. “No. But I can’t keep” He stops, shaking his head like he’s trying to find the right words. “I can’t let the last thing I ever say to you be that.”

Your heart twists.

Because neither can you.

But you don’t know if you’re ready for this. You don’t know if you can stand here and listen to him tell you things that should have been said back in New Jersey. months ago.

And yet, you don’t move.

Jack watches you, waiting, his hands clenched at his sides. And for the first time since you left New Jersey, it actually looks like he’s scared.

Not losing you.

But because he already did.

The night air feels too heavy, pressing against your skin as you stand there, caught between the past and whatever this moment is supposed to be. Jack looks like he’s waiting for you to run, like he wouldn’t even blame you if you did.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should turn around go back inside pretend this never happened.

But your feet stay planted.

Jack shifts again, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits quietly.

You huff out a breath, crossing your arms. “You should’ve figured that out before you” Your voice catches, the words cutting into you as much as they do him. Before you pushed me away. You can’t say it out loud. You won’t.

Jack flinches anyway like he heard it.

“I know,” he says, and it’s not defensive not sharp. Just raw. “I know I handled everything wrong. I know I hurt you.” He swallows hard. “I just, I thought if I could just get through the season, if I could just push through everything, it would get better. That I’d get better.”

You frown, your arms tightening around yourself. “And you couldn’t talk to me about that?”

Jack laughs, but it’s empty. “I don’t know. I think I convinced myself that if I said it out loud, it would make it real. And if it was real, then I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I just shut down.”

You blink. You don’t think you’ve ever heard Jack talk about his own feelings like this before, at least not with you, not with anyone. He’s always been the one to feel everything and let it explode out of him in frustration or impulsiveness. Not like this. Not measured and painfully aware of how much damage he caused.

Jack’s hands clench at his sides. “And then when you came to Jersey” His voice drops lower, like he doesn’t even want to say it. “I knew I was losing you. And I didn’t know how to stop it. I was mad at myself, and I was mad at you for” He stops, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t even know what. But I took it out on you, and I hate myself for it.”

Your breath catches.

Because this is what you needed back then. An explanation. An admission. Something other than the cold, cutting way he pushed you away.

But it’s been months. And you don’t know if hearing it now makes a difference.

Jack steps forward not enough to crowd you, but enough that you can see the way his eyes shine under the streetlight. The way he looks wrecked.

“I love you, I'm sorry. I just miss you.,” he breathes. “Every day.”

Your chest tightens so painfully you think it might break you in half.

You look away, blinking hard. “Jack”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “I just” He lets out a slow breath. “I just needed you to know.”

The words hang in the air between you.

And for the first time since you walked away from him, you have no idea what to do.

Your fingers tighten around your arms, nails digging into your skin. “You don’t get to just say that,” you whisper. “You don’t get to show up at my job and” Your voice catches, breath hitching. You shake your head, trying to steady yourself. “And tell me you love me and that you miss me like that means anything after everything.”

Jack flinches, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t run. That’s the worst part. You wish he would. It would be easier if he stormed off, if he got frustrated, if he did something that made it easier to hold onto your anger. But instead, he just stands there, taking every word you throw at him like he knows he deserves them.

“It means everything,” he says, voice rough. “It always has.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “Then why did you treat me like I didn’t?”

Jack’s face crumples, and he lets out a slow, unsteady breath. “Because I was a fucking coward.” His voice is barely above a whisper now. “Because I thought pushing you away would hurt less than letting you see how much I was struggling.” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “But it didn’t. Losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as your vision starts to blur. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You refuse to cry in front of him. Not after everything.

Jack steps closer not enough to touch you, but enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says. “I don’t expect anything. But I had to tell you the truth. You deserved that.”

You stare at him, breathing shakily. His face is open, vulnerable in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before. Like he’s laid everything bare, like he’s put his heart in your hands even though he knows you have every reason to drop it and let it shatter.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t know how to feel.

All you know is that Jack Hughes is standing in front of you. Your old best friend. Your ex boyfriend. finally talking, finally telling you everything you wanted to hear months ago.

The weight of his words presses down on you, threatening to crack the walls you’ve spent months building around yourself. You force yourself to stand taller, to steel yourself against the way he’s looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he so much as blinks.

Maybe you already have.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say again, voice steadier now, but your hands are still trembling. “You don’t get to walk away, to break me like that, and then show up months later acting like you care.”

Jack’s expression twists, pained. “I never stopped caring.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Just stop.”

Jack drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I know. I fucked up. I know I did. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it every single day.” His voice shakes, raw and unfiltered. “I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve let you in. But I was scared, and I-” He stops, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I don’t have an excuse.”

The worst part? You believe him.

You always believe him.

But that doesn’t mean it’s enough.

“I spent two months waiting,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the low hum of the restaurant around you. “Months wondering what I did wrong, why I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

Jack’s face falls. “It was never about you not being enough.”

“Then why did you let me leave? Why didn’t you stop me before I walked out of that door?” Your voice cracks on the last word. 

Jack looks devastated. “Because I was drowning,” he admits, and the honesty in his voice is almost unbearable. “And instead of reaching for you, I pushed you away because I didn’t want you to see me like that. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just being a selfish asshole.”

You shake your head, trying to will away the lump forming in your throat. “You don’t get to decide what protects me, Jack. That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“I know,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

You inhale sharply, looking away, because if you look at him any longer, you might break right here in the middle of your shift, in front of all these people.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you admit.

Jack hesitates. “I don’t expect anything. I just” He trails off, his hands clenching at his sides. “I just needed you to know that I never stopped caring. That I still-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he’s trying to reel himself back in.

Like he’s about to say something he can’t take back.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

Jack clears his throat, stepping back slightly, like he’s giving you space. “I won’t bother you again if you don’t want me to,” he says quietly. “But if, if there’s even a chance that I haven’t lost you completely-” His voice breaks, and he looks down, swallowing hard. “I’d give anything to fix what I broke.”

You stare at him, your breath shaky.

The worst part is you don’t know if you want him to leave or stay.

All you know is that, despite everything, you still love him.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

Jack’s still standing there, waiting, hands curled into fists like he’s bracing for you to tell him to leave. Like he already knows he deserves it.

And maybe he does.

But that doesn’t make this any easier.

“You should go,” you finally say, forcing the words out past the tightness in your throat.

Jack flinches, just barely, but he nods. “Okay.” His voice is quiet, rough around the edges.

He hesitates for a moment longer, like he wants to say something else, but then he just exhales sharply, turns, and walks away.

You don’t move. You stand there, gripping the tray so tightly your knuckles ache, staring at the spot where he just was.

He actually left.

You should feel relieved. You should feel proud of yourself for standing your ground.

Instead, your stomach churns, and your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You force yourself to move, heading straight to the back of the restaurant to get your stuff before anyone can see the way your hands are shaking. You press your palms against the counter, inhaling sharply, trying to push down the overwhelming wave of emotions threatening to drag you under.

You hate this. You hate that he can still make you feel like this.

And worst of all, you hate that some part of you wanted him to stay.

⟡

You don’t see him again for a few days.

And then suddenly, he’s everywhere.

You see him at the grocery store while you’re grabbing coffee. You turn a corner, and there he is standing in front of the dairy section looking just as caught off guard as you. You don’t even think.You spin on your heel and walk straight out of the store leaving the coffee behind.

A few days later, you spot him at the lake standing at the dock, your dock his hands shoved in his pockets, staring out at the water like it holds all the answers he’s been searching for.

You don’t let yourself wonder what he’s thinking. You turn and walk back home, your stomach twisting painfully.

You don’t let yourself wonder what he’s thinking. You turn and walk back home, your stomach twisting painfully.

It happens again. And again.

At first, you think it’s just bad luck. Michigan is only so big, after all.

But then Luke starts to text you

“Jack’s been asking about you.”

You stare at the message for a long time before typing out a response.

“Tell him to stop”

Luke doesn’t reply right away. When he does, it’s just one word

“Okay”

You don’t know if he actually tells Jack.

But for a while, it seems like he did.

Because you don’t see Jack after that. Not at the grocery store, not at the lake, not anywhere.

It should be a relief.

So why does it feel like an ache settling in your chest?

Did he go back to New Jersey? 

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you wanted this. That you told him to leave you alone. But the words feel thin, like paper that might tear with the wrong touch.

 Luke texts you again after a few days.

“Jack’s still here.”

Your stomach twists.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you finally type out a response.

“Why? Isn’t all starts over?”

It only takes Luke a few seconds to reply.

“I don’t know. But he’s not leaving.”

You stare at Luke’s response, your heart pounding.

Jack should be gone by now. He should be in Jersey practicing. He has no reason to still be here.

Unless he's still here for you. You shake your head, pushing the thought away before it can settle. You can’t do this again. You can’t let yourself hope.

Your phone buzzes again.

“Have you seen him?” Luke asks.

You swallow hard.

“No. And I don’t want to.”

It’s a lie. 

Luke doesn’t call you out on it, but his next message lingers on the screen, making your chest ache.

“I think he’s waiting for you.”

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to.

Because you know Luke’s right. Jack wouldn’t still be here if he wasn’t waiting for something.

You shut off your phone, but it doesn’t stop the way your thoughts spin. The way your stomach twists at the idea of Jack still being here, waiting.

For days, you’d been looking over your shoulder, avoiding places he might be. But now, knowing that he hasn’t left, knowing that he’s lingering in the same town, waiting for something, you. makes it worse.

You want to be angry. You want to be relieved. Instead, you just feel exhausted. Because if Jack is waiting, it means this isn’t over. And you don’t know if you have it in you to face him again.

After a few days on Monday night, Luke texts you again.

"Jack left."

You stare at the message for a long time, reading it over and over again like maybe you’ve misunderstood. But it’s right there, plain as day. Jack is gone.

Your chest tightens, and you don’t know if it’s relief or something closer to disappointment that settles in your bones. You should be happy. This is what you wanted, right? For him to leave you alone?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you finally type out a response.

"Back to Jersey?"

Luke replies almost immediately.

"Yeah. He flew out this morning."

You don’t answer. You don’t know what to say.

For the next few weeks, life goes back to normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be when there’s still a Jack shaped hole in your life. The weight in your chest doesn’t fade, but you learn to live with it. You stop looking over your shoulder. You go back to the places you avoided before. You try to move on.

But it’s not that easy.

You still reach for your phone sometimes, instinctively, before remembering there’s no reason to. You still think about him when you pass by the lake, still catch yourself wondering what he’s doing, if he ever thinks about you, if New Jersey feels as lonely for him as Michigan does for you.

But you don’t let yourself ask.

⟡

summer comes around

Its been six months without jack in your life. 3 months since you last talked.

It starts the way it always does long days, warm nights, the kind of stillness in the air that makes everything feel slower. You throw yourself into work, trying not to think about how different this summer feels without Jack.

It happens on a quiet summer evening.

You’re sitting on Luke’s dock, legs dangling over the edge, the warm air thick with the scent of the lake. It’s one of those nights where the water is still, the sky is streaked with soft orange, and everything feels suspended in time.

Luke sits beside you, tossing small rocks into the water. It’s easy, comfortable like it always has been with him. No pressure to talk, no need to fill the silence.

For the first time in a long time, you almost feel okay.

And then you hear it.

The crunch of tires on gravel. The low hum of an engine cutting off. A car door slamming shut.

Your entire body tenses. Luke shifts beside you, tossing one last rock into the water before letting out a sigh.

You don’t turn around. You don’t move at all. Maybe if you stay still, if you pretend you didn’t hear it, it won’t be real.

But then you heard. Footsteps.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Luke is the one who finally breaks the silence.

“You’re back,” he says, voice unreadable.

Your fingers clench against the wood of the dock.

And then Jack’s voice.

“Yeah.”

Luke exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought you weren’t coming home until next week.”

Jack shrugs, shifting his weight. “Changed my flight.”

Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment, just glances at you before shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

You swallow hard, your grip tightening on the edge of the dock. Your heart is pounding, but you force yourself to keep your face neutral.

Luke lets out a sigh, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “I’m gonna head inside,” he says, his voice careful, like he already knows you’re about to protest.

Your head snaps toward him. “Luke”

He just shrugs, backing away. “You should talk.”

Fuck you luke

And before you can argue, he’s already walking up the dock, leaving you alone with Jack.

The air feels thick with something unspoken as Luke disappears into the house, the sound of the door shutting behind him echoing across the quiet lake.

You don’t look at Jack. Not right away. Instead, you stare down at the rippling water, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Jack shifts on his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he says after a long moment. His voice is quieter than you expected. Careful.

You swallow hard. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think you were coming back today.”

Jack exhales, and you finally force yourself to glance at him. He looks tired. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his usual easy posture stiff, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here.

“I was gonna wait,” he says, his gaze flickering to yours before dropping to the dock. “But I just I don’t know. I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Your fingers curl against the wood, nails pressing into the grain. “For what?”

Jack lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “For this,” he says. “For seeing you.” He stops, his throat bobbing. “For whatever happens next.”

A lump rises in your throat. You want to tell him nothing happens next. That it’s too late. That he made sure of that months ago.

But the words won’t come.

Instead, you stare at him, your chest tightening with something you don’t want to name. Something fragile and painful and real.

Jack takes a small step forward. “I know you don’t want to see me,” he says. “And I get it. I do. But I just I couldn’t stay away.”

You let out a shaky breath, looking back at the water. “Maybe you should have.”

Jack flinches, just barely. “Maybe,” he admits. “But I didn’t.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. The lake laps gently against the shore, the summer air warm around you.

Jack shifts again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you’ll ever want to talk to me again,” he says, voice rough. “But I had to come back. Even if it’s just to tell you I’m sorry.”

Your throat tightens. “Jack-”

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he interrupts, holding your gaze. “I swear. Just say the word.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t trust yourself too.

Because for months, you thought you wanted him to stay gone. But now that he’s here, standing in front of you, looking at you like that.

You’re not sure anymore.

Jack watches you, his breathing uneven, like he’s waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But you can’t give him one. Not yet.

Your chest feels too tight, your mind racing through everything at once. The months apart. The silence. The way he shattered everything with a few careless words. And now he’s here, standing on the dock like he belongs, like he can just step back into your life because he decided he’s ready.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you say finally, your voice quieter than you want it to be.

Jack runs a hand through his hair, his lips pressing into a tight line. “Nothing,” he says. “I just don't want to leave things like this.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Like what, Jack?”

“Like I broke everything and never tried to fix it.”

Your stomach twists. You stare at him, searching his face for the version of him you used to know the boy who used to feel like home. But all you see is the space between who he was and who he’s become, and you don’t know if you fit anywhere in between.

“You did break everything,” you say, and your voice wavers despite your best effort to keep it steady. “And then you let me leave”

Jack’s jaw tightens. “I know,” he murmurs. “And I hated it.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. He looks away, out at the lake, like the words are stuck in his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because I was scared I told you this.”

The confession hangs between you, thick with regret. You should be angry. Maybe you are. But beneath it, there’s something else, something raw and aching, something that feels dangerously close to understanding.

Jack exhales, shaking his head. “I messed up,” he says. “I know I did. And I don’t expect you to just forget it, or forgive me, or anything like that. I just, I needed to see you. Even if it’s just this once.”

Your fingers curl against the wood of the dock. You should tell him to leave. You should walk away first. But you don’t. It’s his dock after all.

Because for all the hurt and anger and unanswered questions, for all the ways he’s let you down. Jack has always been the one person you could never quite let go of.

Jack shifts, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket, looking down at the worn wooden boards of the dock. “I don’t know if it means anything,” he says, voice quiet, “but I never stopped thinking about you.”

Your breath catches, and you hate how much those words stir something inside you. “Thinking about me didn’t stop you from ignoring me and pushing me away when all I wanted to do is be there for you. you stopped letting me in Jack."

Jack flinches. “I know.” His voice is hoarse, raw, like he’s forcing the words out. “And I don’t expect you to believe me, but I hated myself for it.”

You shake your head, looking back at the water, your hands gripping the edge of the dock like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. “Hating yourself doesn’t change anything, Jack.”

Jack exhales, long and unsteady. “I know that too.”

Silence stretches between you again. The lake ripples gently against the shore, the air thick with humidity and something you can’t name.

Then, he moves. Just barely. A half step closer. Not enough to bridge the distance, but enough that you can feel it his presence, his hesitation, his regret.

“I won’t push,” he says after a long moment. “I just needed you to know. That I never stopped caring. That I never stopped-” He exhales sharply, cutting himself off before the word loving can leave his lips.

You close your eyes for a second, forcing yourself to breathe.

When you finally look at him, he’s already watching you, his expression open in a way it never was before. Vulnerable. Honest.

You don’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t know jack.”

Jack nods once, like he expected that. Like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable. But then, instead of walking away, instead of saying goodbye he just says, “I’ll see you around.”

And then he does walk away, up the dock, back toward the house, leaving you there with nothing but the echo of his words and the sound of the water lapping at the shore.

You don’t move for a long time.

Because you don’t know what you want anymore.

You don’t move until the sound of the screen door clicking shut fades into the stillness of the lake. Even then, your muscles stay locked, fingers clenched against the dock, breathing shallow like if you breathe too hard, everything will come crashing down again.

Luke was right. You should talk.

But what does talking even fix?

What does this fix?

The summer air is warm, but you feel cold. Cold in a way that has nothing to do with the breeze rolling off the water and everything to do with the way Jack just looked at you like he was still searching for something in you, something familiar, something that maybe isn’t his to find anymore.

And yet. You should’ve felt relieved when he walked away.

But all you feel is this dull ache in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it’s trying to crawl its way out.

A deep sigh from behind you breaks your trance.

You don’t have to turn around to know Luke is back.

You wipe at your face quickly though you don’t think you’re crying and only glance at him when he drops down beside you on the dock, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“You wanna hit me for leaving?” he asks casually, tossing a rock into the water.

You scoff, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re an asshole.”

Luke grins, but it fades quickly. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, just stare at the water, the ripples from his rock barely noticeable. “I don’t know,” you admit.

Luke hums like he expected that. He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky, the sun sinking lower, painting streaks of pink and orange through the clouds.

“I didn’t know he was coming back today. I would’ve told you.,” he says after a moment. “Thought it was next week.”

You swallow, shifting your hands in your lap. “I know.”

“I also didn’t know he was gonna come straight here.”

Your stomach twists. “He came straight here?”

Luke nods. “Dropped his bag in the house and then walked out here.” He pauses, glancing at you. “Think that means something.”

You shake your head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like” You cut yourself off, gritting your teeth. “Like it changes anything.”

Luke doesn’t argue. He just looks back at the lake. “Doesn’t have to change anything,” he says simply. “But I think it means he cares.”

You let out a short laugh, bitter and tired. “Caring wasn’t the problem.”

Luke tilts his head, considering that. “No,” he agrees. “But it’s a start.”

You don’t respond.

Because you don’t know what to say.

Jack came back. He came straight to you. He stood there, waiting, offering something not a fix, not an excuse, but something.

And maybe it’s not enough.

But maybe it’s not nothing, either.

You watch the water for a long time, the sky shifting from soft sunset hues to deeper shades of blue. Luke doesn’t press, doesn’t push. He just sits there, existing beside you, letting the quiet settle.

And when the last bit of daylight fades, and the only sounds left are the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle lap of the water against the shore, you finally let yourself whisper the thing you haven’t allowed yourself to say for months.

“I don’t know how to hate him.”

Luke doesn’t look at you, but you feel his understanding in the way his shoulder bumps against yours.

“Maybe you don’t have to.”

You exhale, long and shaky.

You don’t know if he’s right. You don’t know what any of this means. But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel as certain about keeping Jack out as you once did. 

And that terrifies you more than anything.

You don’t move for a long time. Neither does Luke.

The two of you sit there, the night settling around you, wrapping the dock in quiet, in something close to peace. If it weren’t for the weight sitting heavy in your chest, you could almost pretend everything was normal.

But it’s not and it hasn’t been for a long time.

Luke finally shifts beside you, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them, but you know it’s not the cold he’s trying to get rid of. You can feel the quiet question in the way his gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t press, doesn’t ask what’s going on in your head. He doesn’t need to.

“You know, I always thought it was pretty simple,” Luke says, his voice casual again, though there’s a hint of something deeper in it. “You and Jack. The way you two were.”

You glance at him quickly, surprised by the words. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking at the sky, then at the water. “You always seemed like two halves of the same whole, you know? Like it was just meant to be.” He exhales slowly, like it’s a thought that’s been lingering in his mind for a while. “But sometimes, I guess, it’s not that simple. people change.”

You feel a pang in your chest at that something between regret and hope. You want to say something, but you don’t have the words. You want to scream at him that it was simple, that it was easy, until it wasn’t. But all that comes out is a soft exhale.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to be this hard,” you say quietly, and it’s the truth. The way Jack left.the way you left. The way things ended. All of it feels like a twisted knot you’ve been trying to unravel for months, but every time you get close, it tightens again.

Luke’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “What do you think it means, that he came back?”

The question hangs in the air, and you feel it weigh on you, pressing into your ribs like a cold hand. Jack didn’t have to come back. He didn’t have to show up here, and yet he did.

You want to tell Luke that you don’t care. That it doesn’t matter. But you can’t. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “I don’t know if it means anything at all.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Luke says, his voice softening. “But I think you want it to mean something.”

You don’t respond. You don’t know how. The truth is, you do want it to mean something, but you’re too scared to hope that it might. And that kind of pain? You’re not sure if you can handle it again.

Luke stands up slowly, stretching his arms above his head. “Hey,” he says, glancing at you with that same steady, knowing look. “I know you’re not ready for whatever this is with Jack. But you’ve gotta stop pretending that you don’t care. You’re better than that.”

You swallow, a lump rising in your throat. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care, to convince yourself that it’s over, that Jack’s no longer a part of your life. But that’s not the truth. The truth is every part of you still aches for him.

“I’m not pretending,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just don’t know what to do with it.”

Luke nods, his eyes softening, but he doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t need to. You feel the weight of his unspoken words settle between you, and for the first time in a long while, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating.

“I’ll leave you to think about it,” Luke says after a moment, his voice a little more playful, breaking the tension. “Just don’t stay out here all night, okay? We’ve got a long summer ahead of us.”

You nod, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Thanks, Lukey.”

He gives you one last, lingering look before heading inside. You watch his silhouette disappear into the house, and once again, you’re left alone on the dock, staring out at the lake, the endless expanse of water stretched out before you.

But this time, it’s different. For the first time, you feel like you’re not completely alone. Like, maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to figure everything out tonight.

Jack came back. He showed up. And you’re not sure what that means, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s the first step back to something real.

The night is quiet again, the world around you settling into that peaceful hum it always does at this hour. The crickets are still singing, the water is still lapping against the shore. And in the distance, you can hear the faintest sound of footsteps on the dock, a reminder that things might be changing, and you’re not sure where they’ll lead.

But you’re willing to find out.

Luke’s footsteps fade as he heads back inside, leaving you alone on the dock with your thoughts. The evening air is cooler now, the breeze brushing against your skin, but you barely notice. The lake reflects the dimming sky, ripples catching the fading light, as if the world is holding its breath.

It feels almost peaceful here, a quiet that’s both comforting and suffocating at once. You’ve spent countless evenings on this dock, but tonight is different. Everything is different. You don’t know if it's the weight of the words Luke left you with, or the fact that Jack's presence still lingersin the air. But something inside you is shifting, and you don’t know how to stop it.

⟡

You don’t notice at first.

Not really.

The little things. The quiet ways Jack moves around you, never asking for anything, never forcing his way in.

There’s always an extra water bottle in the fridge, the brand you like, the one you always reach for first. It’s never mentioned, never pointed out, just there, cold and waiting. One time, you grab the last one, and the next morning, the fridge is stocked again. You don’t see him do it, but you know it’s him.

When you sit outside with Luke in the evening, Jack’s hoodie somehow ends up draped over the back of your chair. It’s too warm for it, but you don’t move it. It smells like detergent and something that’s just him. Familiar. Unavoidable. When the wind picks up and the air shifts cooler, you don’t think before pulling it on. Later, when you catch him looking at you in it, he doesn’t say anything. Just presses his lips together and looks away.

At dinner, he never takes the seat next to you. Not once. He could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits just far enough that you don’t have to acknowledge him, but close enough that if you need the salt or the serving spoon or another napkin, he can pass it to you without hesitation. He does every time, even when someone else could. You don’t thank him, but you never don’t take it.

You say you’re not hungry one night, push your plate away after barely picking at it. No one calls you on it. No one says anything. But later, when you go into the kitchen, the snack you like is left on the counter. No note. No explanation. Just there. You stare at it for a long time before taking it to your room.

When you sit with everyone on the dock, he’s always the last one inside. It’s not obvious, not really, but it happens every time. He waits until you’ve gone in first, even if it means staying out later than he would otherwise.

You don’t catch him looking at you much. He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to talk about things you’re not ready for. But when he walks by, his hand lingers for just a second on the back of your chair. A second too long to be incidental, too short to be anything more. Just enough for you to notice.

And maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

Or maybe it does.

You’re not sure which thought is worse.

The house is quiet when you slip out.

Everyone else is asleep, the soft hum of the AC the only sound as you step carefully over the creaky floorboards. The cool night air hits you the second you step outside, the warmth of the house falling away as you make your way down toward the dock.

You don’t know why you’re out here. Or maybe you do. Maybe it’s the way the weight in your chest feels heavier inside, how the silence of the guest room is too loud, pressing in on you in a way you can’t shake. Out here, the night stretches wide, the water calm, dark, endless.

You sit at the edge of the dock, legs dangling over, the tips of your toes skimming the surface. The water ripples, soft and slow, carrying secrets you don’t have the words for.

You wrap your arms around yourself, staring out across the lake, watching the way the moonlight dances over the water. It’s peaceful, quiet in a way that should feel empty but doesn’t.

The sound of a door creaking open catches your attention. Your heart jumps, and instinctively, your gaze shifts toward the sound. You don’t need to look to know who it is.

Jack.

He’s standing at the end of the dock now, his figure barely visible in the low light, but you can feel the tension in the air between you. The same tension that’s been building for months, even before he left, before everything turned to dust.

You don’t say anything, just stare at him. You can feel his gaze on you, searching, waiting. There’s something in his eyes, something deeper than the uncertainty in yours. Maybe he’s been carrying this weight too.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence, a little quieter than usual. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your stomach drops. You didn’t expect him to be here. Not like this, not after everything.

You let out a shaky breath and glance at him, your throat tight. “Was just about to go back to the room.” you reply, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s the truth if only because you don’t want to be here anymore, alone with all these feelings.

He doesn’t respond right away, just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. You try to ignore the way your heart stutters in your chest at the sight of him. The Jack you knew is still there, but there’s something different, something unsure in the way he holds himself now.

And then you remember what Luke said. “He didn’t have to come back. He didn’t have to show up here, and yet he did.”

Jack didn’t have to come here. He could have gone anywhere else. But he chose this place. He chose to come to you.

Your thoughts start to unravel, and before you can stop yourself, the question slips out. “Luke told me you came straight here. No unpacking, no nothing. Just here.”

Jack’s gaze flickers briefly to the ground, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I didn’t really know where else to go.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in months, you feel like you might be able to breathe again. He didn’t know where else to go. It doesn’t mean everything’s fixed, doesn’t mean you’ve figured out what you’re supposed to do now, but it’s something.

You stand slowly, moving to the edge of the dock, the space between you two still stretching, but somehow smaller now. You look at Jack, really look at him. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something soft there now, something vulnerable.

You don’t know how to say it. You don’t know what to say. All you know is that the walls you’ve built between you and him no matter how high they were are starting to crack.

“Jack,” you start, but your voice falters. “what does this mean? Coming back like this?”

His gaze shifts back to you, and you see him swallow hard. His jaw tightens, but there’s a hesitation in his eyes, a sign that maybe he’s been struggling with this too.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I just couldn't stay away. I thought I could. Thought I was better off doing this on my own, but I was wrong.”

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you, feeling that familiar pull in your chest that’s been there from the very start.

Jack doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you’re not sure what to expect. But then, his hand reaches out, tentatively, like he’s testing the waters. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t grab your arm or pull you in, but you can feel the warmth of his fingers just inches from your skin.

The air around you both is thick, charged with everything you’ve both been holding back for so long. You don’t know where this will lead, don’t know what happens next. But for the first time in a long time, you’re not scared of it.

You swallow and take that last step forward, your hand reaching for his, fingers brushing ever so gently. Neither of you pulls away.

You glance at Jack again, and the weight of everything, the unanswered questions to the unanswered feelings , the cold silences, the way everything has shifted between you two starts to settle back on your shoulders. It all feels so close, like you could reach out and touch it, but you’re not sure if you want to.

"I didn't think you'd come back this early," you say, breaking the silence, your voice more neutral than you feel. "I was told you were coming back next week."

Jack’s eyes flick over to you for a second, but he doesn’t look like he has an answer. He shrugs, a little sheepish. "I thought I’d head back sooner. Wasn’t much keeping me there. Kinda just wanted to get home." He glances down at the dock, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I guess I just wanted to clear my head, I guess."

You look away, not sure how to respond. The words you’ve been holding onto are trapped somewhere deep inside you, and they don’t seem to want to come out right now. It’s almost easier to stay quiet, to pretend you don’t care, than to admit how much you still feel like you’re waiting for something, anything, to change.

You let the silence linger between you two, the soft lapping of the water against the dock filling the space where words should be. 

Jack shifts beside you, but he doesn’t push. He’s waiting for you to speak. And for the first time in a long time, you realize how much you miss the quiet moments with him. How easy it used to be, before everything got so complicated. Before you ended things in New Jersey, when you left feeling more lost than when you got there.

"I didn't want it to end the way it did," you say, almost too quietly. You know it’s not a huge revelation, but somehow the weight of it feels bigger now that it’s out in the open. "I thought Maybe if you had just talked to me, things would’ve been different. But you didn’t. And I couldn’t just wait around for you to figure it out."

Jack doesn’t reply right away. His face is unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even hearing you. Then he finally looks over, his gaze soft but guarded. "I know I screwed up. I was just trying to figure stuff out myself, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I didn’t want to drag you into it."

There’s a rawness in his voice that you didn’t expect. It’s not a perfect apology, but it’s real. And that feels like a step, even if it’s a small one.

"I don’t know what we’re doing," you admit, running a hand through your hair, frustration seeping through despite yourself. "I don’t know if we can just pick up where we left off. But it’s hard, Jack. It’s really hard."

He leans back on his hands, looking at the sky, a long breath leaving his chest. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were," he says quietly. "I just want to make things right. I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I’m here. I’m here if you want to figure it out."

You pause, your heart racing even though the conversation is as calm as it’s been in a long time. There’s a quiet truth to what he’s saying. And while you’re still unsure about everything, you can’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different.

You don’t know what’s going to happen, but for the first time in months, you're not as scared of finding out.

You stand there quietly, staring at the water, unsure of what to say. The weight of everything that’s happened between you and Jack feels heavier tonight. You’ve spent months pushing down your feelings, convincing yourself that moving on was the right thing to do. But now that he’s here, standing next to you again, everything you thought was buried deep inside resurfaces.

You can feel his gaze on you, steady, waiting for some kind of response, but all you can manage is silence. It’s not that you don’t know what to say it’s just that you’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.

The words finally break free when you speak quietly, your voice almost trembling. “I still care about you, Jack. I always have.”

You turn your head to meet his eyes, and there’s a vulnerability in them that you can’t hide anymore. He looks like he’s waiting for something more, something deeper, but you're not sure if you’re ready to give that yet.

“I never stopped loving you,” you admit softly, the words escaping before you even realize you’ve said them.

Jack’s expression softens, and you see the relief in his eyes. He’s been waiting to hear that for so long, and you know it. But at the same time, the confession feels like a weight you weren’t quite prepared for.

“But,” you add, your voice trembling slightly, “it’s not that simple. I can’t just go back to the way things were. I can’t pretend like everything that happened didn’t matter.”

Jack doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, nodding, waiting for you to continue.

“I still care about you,” you say again, this time with more certainty. “I still love you, but we can’t just jump right back into this. Not after everything. Not after how it ended. It’s not that easy.”

There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes, the kind that makes you feel seen and heard in a way you didn’t think was possible. But there’s also a hint of sadness, and you know it’s because he wants more. He wants to make things right. But you need time. You need space to figure out what it is you really want.

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” Jack says, his voice low but steady. “I’m just asking for a chance. I haven't changed, it's just difficult.”

You want to believe him. You want to believe that the guy sitting next to you now is the same person who left for New Jersey, the one who shut you out when he needed you the most. But at the same time, part of you can’t help but wonder if it’s all just words.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I know you want to fix things, Jack. And I want that too. But we need to take this slow. I need time. I can’t just rush back into something that hurt me so much.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s like he’s weighing your words, taking them in before he responds.

“I’m okay with that,” he says finally. “I don’t expect things to go back to normal overnight. I’m not going anywhere, though. I’ll be here. I just I need you to know that I want to make it right. I’m willing to wait. As long as it takes.”

You look at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s not a guarantee. It’s not a promise that things will be easy, but it’s something. Something real.

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I can’t promise you anything right now, Jack. But I’m not going to shut you out. I’m not going to pretend like I still don't want to be with you.”

His expression softens, and for a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been lingering between you two lifts just a little. It’s not perfect. It’s not fixed. But it’s a start.

“I’m okay with taking it slow,” Jack says quietly, his hand shifting closer to yours, but not quite reaching for it. He’s giving you the space you need.

You nod, glancing back at the water. The night feels different now, the air softer, like something is shifting. Maybe it’s not everything you want yet, but it’s something. Something you can work with.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” you whisper, the weight of those words settling into your chest. “But no promises.”

Jack smiles, a little more hopeful now, but he doesn’t push. He understands.

And for the first time in those six months since the break up, you feel like maybe just maybe this is the beginning of something real again. Something that can’t be rushed.

[effervescentwolf]

“I don't have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

There is so much to say about this line. We know Buck has this tendency of saying things without thinking, his emotions overflow and they end up bursting out like this where he doesn’t even realize what’s he said. He looks at Tommy after, and he has no idea what he’s done, only that he’s done something wrong. Buck is not introspective, although he’s definitely improved over time on this front, but it feels to me like his subconscious is working overtime as his conscious tries very hard to navigate around it. Easier to never acknowledge it, to act out when he’s feeling vulnerable and defensive, when he knows something’s wrong emotionally but can’t put words to it.

It’s also still so Eddie centric. The first line coming before the second because it’s not about Tommy, not really. He’s collateral here in Buck’s Eddie spiral, but I think the most striking thing here, besides this being the closest he’s gotten to a feelings realization, is that when Tommy marks Eddie as competition, Buck takes it personally on three fronts. He’s scared of course because he’s being forced to acknowledge this thing with Eddie, but I think it hits two other insecurities about how he’s perceived by others: as a cheater and as someone who has sex with anything that moves.

I think it hurts more coming from someone he trusted and who he wanted in his life, because Buck doesn’t want to be either of those things anymore. He doesn’t want to be that guy who was so lonely he had a sex addiction to cope with it, although in a way you could argue he’s doing exactly the same thing again, just this time it’s about Eddie. Shoutout Maddie pointing out the loneliness aspect and Buck acknowledging it later, we love character development. This line is about Eddie fundamentally, but it’s also about who Buck wants to be in a relationship. He wants to be someone serious. Devoted. Respectful of boundaries. Able to keep himself in check. He wants to be trusted and he wants people to be honest with him. He wants to be, in essence, everything he is to Eddie already, so in attacking Eddie, Tommy made a much bigger misstep, distinguishing himself from how Eddie treats and sees Buck. No wonder Buck took it personally.

[mendessi]

things i say when you sleep | chapter fourteen

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 7.5k

chapter summary: After returning to Basgiath, Ania and Bodhi explore their free time together.

content warning: iron flame spoilers

AO3 masterlist

twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen

Xaden spends the better half of the day warding my door. I wish I knew how to show my gratitude because I know he'd rather spend his last hours at Basgiath with Violet. 

"Things are going to be different without me and Garrick here," Xaden says, entering my room. Only he and Bodhi have free access. Everyone else would need to be pulled through.

This morning, I'd been sure we were going to die. It's not every day you hear your own name read off the death roll. I'd just been thankful that Xaden's plan had worked through and through. 

"We'll be in charge of drops, I know," I reply. "Thank you. I know you'd rather be with Violet." 

"You're important to me too," He assures me as he closes my door behind him. "I wouldn't be here if you weren't." 

It feels wrong, finally being on better terms with him just for him to leave later tonight. He swears he'll write to me, but I wish I would have just made use of our time together here. I know I needed the space to grow into who I am today, but there's still so much that could've been different if I'd just listened to them in the first place. 

"I want to apologize," I say, but nothing else follows. 

He leans against the door, waiting for me to finish. "You don't have to apologize for anything." 

"I should," I reply. "You did your best with what I gave you this year. I made it really hard. I guess I should also say thank you. For caring enough to make sure I lived." I'm rambling at this point, but I've never been good at expressing my emotions. Which I suppose is why I ended up an empath. 

"Regardless of whether our relationship was on better terms or not, at this moment, I would've done whatever I could within my power to ensure you remained safe." He folds his arms over his chest and the corner of his mouth lifts. "But it is on better terms." 

"Yeah, I guess it is." I smile a little. 

"Are you still cut off?" He means by Gleigeal. 

"Until further notice," I reply, standing up.

"What happens if they pull you for interrogation? If Dain gets his hands-" 

"Dain is taken care of. I don't think he'll come for any of us after you embarrassed him this morning," I tell him. 

That surely was a sight to see. I didn't expect Xaden to make such a spectacle out of it, but I guess he had a point to make. 

"You can't shield with no power," Xaden says. 

"I know. I'm already decent at shielding, and as soon as I'm not cut off anymore, I'll practice with Bodhi." I reassure him. "Gleigeal would never put me in a position where I couldn't shield if I needed to." 

"I know he wouldn't." He nods curtly. "I just..."

"You worry." I finish for him. "You have plenty of other things to worry about. Don't add me to the list." 

"It's impossible not to add you to the list." He sighs. "The celebrations are starting soon. You should get ready." 

I cross my room and open the door. "Thank you for warding my door." 

"Anytime, little Alistair." He exits, and I follow him into the hallway. I have nowhere else to be, but being locked up in my room doesn't sound pleasant. "I'll see you soon."

He'll be back for the occasional weekend with Sgayel to visit Tairn. Luckily, that would take a lot of weight off our shoulders. 

We stand in front of my door, and I fold my hands behind my back. I stare up at Xaden, taking in the man in front of me. The person he's grown into is somebody that, in the best way, I don't recognize. He doesn't have to carry Fen's legacy, but he does. He carries the revolution on his back without anything to show for it. One day, when this is all over, there's a chance that nobody will know it was possible because of him. 

"What's wrong?" He asks. 

"I don't know if anyone has told you, but I'm proud of you," I say softly. 

He shakes his head briefly, and before I can think, I wrap my arms around his torso. He tenses under me, but I don't let go. Within the next second his arms are around me, squeezing me tightly. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I hold them back. 

Xaden and I have shared countless hugs in our lifetime, but this one might be my favorite. This one, I know, is the most important. 

At this point in our lives, as adults, we share the weight of what we know about the world. The weight of knowing what we just went through in Resson is something only a select few can understand. But also, I'm realizing now that Xaden is and has always been a brother to me. Accepting the reality that he fought for me to welcome him back into my life and what that means moving forward. 

"Take care of yourself, Ania." He says when I pull away. 

"You too," I whisper.

Watching him walk away hurts in a way I didn't expect it to. 

The sun is beginning to set, and the end-of-year celebrations are kicking off, but I can't be bothered by celebrating tonight. It wasn't just my name that I heard on the death roll this morning; it was Solei's and Liam's. Two people that should be here celebrating with us. 

Liam hurts the most. His death is something I'm sure I will never get over. Knowing that his pain is something I'll carry with me is devastating. As I pass the gathering hall, I see the remainder of my squad sitting together at a table. At least Violet can bring herself to drink tonight. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if I had a few. 

"I've been looking for you." Garrick steadies me when I nearly collide with his chest. "Let's take a walk." 

I catch Ridoc's eye just as we walk away from the gathering hall. I barely spoke to any of my squadmates in formation, let alone after. 

"Why aren't you with them?" He asks once we make it into the courtyard. After eighteen hours on Gleigeal's back, I have an undeniable limp. 

I shrug, "Just wanted to be alone, I guess." 

"You shouldn't cut yourself off from your squad." He says. "You need them now more than ever." 

"I'm not," I argue. 

"Then why aren't you celebrating with them?" He says, gesturing back toward the gathering hall. 

"I don't see what there is to celebrate. You and Xaden are flying off to combat while I'm stuck here." I shrug. 

It's deflection. Something I've grown to be extremely good at over the years. It's not that I don't want to have these conversations; it's just that sometimes I can't. Xaden and Garrick are leaving. Liam is dead. Venin are real. I almost died. And I'm supposed to just proceed through my second year lying to the people I've unfortunately grown to care about. 

"Do us both a favor and keep yourself surrounded by the people who care about you." He rests a hand on my shoulder and offers me a smile. 

"I like this one," I fight the urge to roll my eyes as Gleigeal's voice enters my head. "He makes a lot of sense."

"I'll try." It is the best I can do. 

"I'll see you sooner than you think, little Alistair." He shoots me a wink before hiking the strap of his rucksack high up on his shoulder. 

"Take care of yourself," I call after him as he walks away. "I mean it, Tavis! Stay out of trouble!" 

"I know you do." His laugh echoes off the stone walls, but he doesn't turn to look back at me. 

Seeing him head for the flight field leaves me with a sense of sadness. It really was just me and Bodhi now. What happens when he graduates and I'm left here by myself? The thought is shoved to the back of my head, another thing I can't bear to think about right now. 

Taking Garrick's advice, I make my way back to the gathering hall. Violet is exiting, and by the look of the shadows, I'm sure she's on her way to meet Xaden.

"Hey," I say in passing. 

"You look like you need a drink," She replies, barely giving me a second look. Her time with Xaden is limited, and even though they're not on the greatest of terms, I know she still wants to see him off. 

"Look who decided to join us," Sawyer grins when I take a seat next to Imogen. 

"I was convinced you'd stay locked up in your room for the rest of the night," Rhiannon says. 

Imogen slides me her mug of wine, and I don't even hesitate before taking a sip. The taste is sweeter than I expected, but I don't mind. I quietly thank her. She looks at me like I'm as fragile as the pitchers the wine rests in and I'll break if dropped at any moment. 

It's apparent upon further observation that everyone in the gathering hall is either entirely wasted or on their way to it. I suppose this is what the next five days will look like while we prepare for the next Conscription Day. Maybe I should take advantage of the time being placed in front of me and use it to forget. 

"Imogen left the battle with a split lip. How did you get your limp?" The question from Nadine catches me off guard, and the way I recoil is visibly noticeable. 

"Maybe I've had it all along." I ignore her and down the rest of the wine from Imogen. She pours me another glass to the brim with ale this time, and I'm eternally thankful. 

There's no telling how many glasses of ale, wine, lemonade, you name it, I've downed within the hour. I'm positive that I've never drunk this much in my life, and I'm colossally regretting it when I try to get back to my room and stumble into the wall. The alcohol was supposed to numb the ache of what I've felt since leaving Resson, but all it's done is amplify it. All I can think of is the life leaving Liam's eyes while I drained the pain from him. 

"Woah, Ania." It takes a second for my vision to focus, but eventually, Ridoc's face comes into view. He's got my face in his hands, and he's saying something, but his words sound muffled. It takes everything in me to listen to what he's saying. "Come on, I'll take you to your room." 

He lifts my arm over his shoulder and helps me to my room. How I somehow managed to drink more than Ridoc Gamlyn astounds me. Once we're in, he lies me down on my bed and takes my shoes off for me. 

"What is it?" I feel the bed dip next to me with his weight as he pulls the blanket over me. His thumb brushes my cheek, and it's then that I realize I'm crying. 

I shake my head, knowing there isn't anything I could tell him that wouldn't give away the full story. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"I know why," He says quietly. "We don't have to talk about it now. But I'm always gonna be here for you, Ania." 

He's a good friend, and it hurts that I can't be honest with him. All he knows is that we saw battle. He'll never know the true extent of what we went through in Resson, and there's a chance I'll never be able to tell him. It's just another thing I'll have to carry. 

"I had to dismount Gleigeal," I whisper, unable to stop the word vomit threatening to spill out of me. "That's why I have a limp. It should go away soon."

His eyes narrow as he tries to process my words. It seems like he realizes that I'm circling back to Nadine's question from earlier because he brushes the hair that's fallen onto my face. The interaction is sobering. 

"I'm sorry," He says. 

The tears flow uncontrollably at that point, and the weight of everything from the past week comes crashing down on me like a landslide. Everything I've forced myself to not feel is overwhelming me all at once, and the sobs that rack my chest are something I've never felt before. I've had panic attacks and anxiety attacks but the way I'm crying now isn't from either. 

It's grief. 

Something I don't think I've ever allowed myself to feel in its pure form. Not since my parents and Beckett. The weight of Resson sitting on my chest. Soleil. Liam. 

I will be grieving him for the rest of my life. Grieving the time I should've spent more with him. Grieving the time I should've had left with him. He was so young. He had so much life in front of him. 

My heart fucking aches and throbs and refuses to stop. It genuinely feels like its being split in two, tendon by tendon. 

It could just be me finally coming to terms with what I went through the past week, but I know it's so much more than that. Going home to Aretia might've been the cherry on top of it all, but the way it hits me all at once leaves me gasping for air. I can't even reach into my head where the Riorson House library is to try and control my own emotions considering I've been shut off from my dragon's power. 

"What can I do, Ania?" Ridoc asks, slightly panicked. I'd feel embarrassed if I had half the mind. He climbs onto the bed, pulling me into his arms allowing me the breakdown I should've given myself years ago. 

My eyes are stinging, my cheeks wet from the nonstop flow of tears spilling from my eyes. My throat is so tight that it hurts to breathe and all I can do is cling to Ridoc's tunic for some sort of semblance that he's still here with me. 

"It's okay," He strokes my hair and it dawns on me that he's not the person I want here. "You're okay."

I'm eternally grateful that he's here to steady me as much as he can in this moment, but he isn't who I want. He's not who should be holding me. 

I've nearly cried myself to sleep, hiccuping, and barely any tears are left with Ridoc gently rubbing my back. The door swings open and I know better that only a select few have the privilege of doing so. 

"Get out." My head turns, and the broad figure filling the doorway gives me a sigh of relief. 

Ridoc doesn't hesitate, standing from my bed after gently removing me from his arms. I grab his hand just before he's far enough and he turns to look at me.

"Thank you," I whisper. It shouldn't go unnoticed that he was here for me. 

"Of course, Ania." He gives me a small smile before making his way toward the door. He and Bodhi seemingly size each other up before Ridoc whispers something that I can't hear. He's barely into the corridor before Bodhi slams the door shut behind him. 

He kicks off his shoes quickly and climbs into bed with me and I immediately wrap myself around him. My body fits perfectly into his and he smells of vetiver, sandalwood, and home and he's everything I need. His arms slide around my waist, pulling me tightly into his chest and the sobs force themselves out of me once more. 

"I'm sorry," I cry, keeping my face pressed into his shoulder. 

"Don't be sorry. It's okay. It's alright, sunshine." His voice is soft as he pulls my face away to look at me. He brushes the present tears off my cheek. 

"Sunshine," The word conjures so many emotions within me when I repeat his nickname for me. "How did you know?"

"Gleigeal told Cuir that you needed me," He says quietly. His fingers trace patterns up and down my spine, easing me back into a calm state.

I feel pathetic. Riders are supposed to be strong. Yet I'm crying the most I've let myself in years. Not once since I entered the quadrant have I seen a single tear shed by anybody in public. 

"Never feel ashamed for what you feel. If you must cry, then cry. I warned you that shielding yourself from your emotions wasn't healthy." Gleigeal's voice startles me. "I've told you several times, that you were chosen to be my rider for a reason. I knew the person you'd grow to be."

"Why was Ridoc here?" He asks me after a few moments of silence. It's not accusatory in the slightest.

"I drank too much and he helped me back," I reply. "Nothing happened." 

"He worries that Cadet Gamlyn has different intentions," Gleigeal says. 

"What? Ridoc and I already tested those waters and trust me. They're cold." I say down my bond.

"Does he know that?" He's referring to Ridoc. I have the urge to hide myself from the embarrassment at the memory of me kissing him after Threshing. But we both agreed that wasn't a path we should go down. We're better as friends and that's not something I'd ever be willing to put at risk.

"I know," He smiles down at me, kissing my nose. 

"And I never slept with him." I finally admit. "Ridoc is just a good friend." 

"Oh, I know." He says matter of factly. 

"What do you mean 'you know'? You made such a big deal out of it last year." I'm on the defense now. 

I had been so angry with him for assuming Ridoc and I had slept together. Sure, I know it didn't look the best to have him scrambling out of my room without his shirt or the handful of times I'd left his room in the mornings after we platonically shared a bed, but he never even asked. 

"I mean I know you, Ani." A light laugh leaves his lips at the disbelief on my face. "If you slept with him, you would've just said so. The way you danced around it told me you weren't telling the whole truth. You forget we grew up together." 

"I implied it." I scoff. 

"And I saw through the implication," He smiles. "Feel better?" 

"Yeah, I just..." I sigh and try to form the words. Even though things are the way they are between us, opening up still seems like a chore and it draws a lot from me. 

"Take your time," His thumb brushes against my cheek. I realized then that his arm, previously in a sling, was now in a cast. He was supposed to be getting it mended today, that's why I didn't see him at all. 

"Um..." I take a deep breath and sit up, folding my hands in my lap. I'm just now getting the feeling back into my fingertips, I can't imagine how long it'd take if Brennan hadn't mended the nerve damage. He sits up with me, his hand reassuringly resting on my knee, reminding me that he's here for me. "I was thinking about Liam. Then my parents and Beckett. And Resson. I think I just cracked under its weight." 

"I want to be here for you," His thumb circles gently on my thigh, "You don't have to carry this alone. Let me help." 

When I turn to look at him, there's a shift in everything I've been feeling. Just the sight of him eases the intensity of every emotion I've gone through tonight. The simple way his eyes scan mine for any certainty that what he's doing is helping. The gentle brush of his fingertips against my skin. The warmth of his body enveloping mine, making everything better. As a rider, nothing will ever be perfect again in my life, but as long as he's here, I have all I need.

The idea of it scares me, needing him more than he'd ever need me. There's a chance that one day this will all disappear. He could decide he doesn't feel the same way, or worse considering the line of work we're entering, I could unimaginably lose him.

There are not enough years left in my life to make up for the time I deserve to spend with him. He's been there for as long as I can remember, since before I could walk. There isn't a world where he's not irrevocably mine. And I his. This had been in the cards for us all along, whether we'd been betrothed or not. Our paths had been set to intertwine since our childhoods. 

"Come here," He cups my jaw between his thumb and forefinger and pulls my lips to his in a gentle kiss. 

My fingers instinctively tangle into the dark curls at the base of his neck. He somehow manages to pull me closer, his arms sliding back around my waist. He pulls me down onto his chest as he falls backward into my mattress. I laugh softly against his lips, pulling away so I can look at him. 

He pushes my hair over my shoulder so it's out of my face and pecks my lips, "We have so much free time over the next five days and I intend to spend just about every second of it with you." 

"Is that a threat?" I tease, running my fingers through his curls. 

"That's a promise, Cadet Alistair," He tilts his head up, kissing me again. He flips us over and presses his weight onto me. "Hey." 

"Hey." I smile softly, unable to keep myself from sniffling. My eyes feel puffy in the aftermath of my breakdown, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. 

"I love you." He says and the way his eyes flicker down to my lips is unmistakable. 

"Tell me you mean it," The words come out barely above a whisper as I trace his jawline with my finger. He takes my hand into his and kisses the soft skin of my palm.

"I've never meant anything more," His eyes don't leave mine.

The next morning Bodhi and I wake up before the first bell, my bare chest pressed against his, the sun just peeking through the windows. I reach my fingertips out and watch the light stream through my fingers, sighing when I feel nothing from it. How long does Gleigeal expect me to live without my power?

"He's not punishing you, you know," Bodhi says, sleep laced through his tone. His morning voice is too attractive to put into words. He reaches his hand up and laces his fingers through mine, bringing the back of my hand to his lips. 

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You feel like Gleigeal is punishing you by taking your power. The reality is that he's protecting you," Bodhi tells me. He sits up before I can argue and kisses my forehead. 

I use the sheet to cover my chest as I lean against the headboard and watch him gather his clothes off the ground, redressing himself. "It feels like punishment." 

"I promise you, it's not." He winks at me, glancing at himself in the mirror before he makes his way toward the door. "I'll see you tonight. Meet me in the gathering hall when the party starts." 

Preparing for the first years might be more annoying than the chore duty I had before Threshing. However, having the rest of the day to do whatever I please is quite nice. I utilize most of my free time hidden away in my room, catching up on sleep. You'd think a week after burnout I would be feeling like my normal self again, but sleep is the easiest thing to find. 

It's my last official free day before Orientation and I want to take advantage of it. 

I'm halfway back to my room from the flight field when Ridoc stops me in the courtyard. 

"Are you gonna avoid us forever?" There's a slight annoyance in his tone, one I've never heard before. 

"I'm not avoiding anyone," I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the wall. 

"You haven't come to any of the parties this week except after graduation. You haven't eaten with us. You're not meeting us in the gym. What's going on?" He lists off the number of things I've intentionally done this week and I can't help but sigh. "Look, Ania. Whatever you're going through, whatever you went through, we want to help you and be there for you. But we can't if you keep shutting us out." 

"I just need space right now to sort through my shit. That's all." My guard has been set in stone since we got back to Basgiath. I haven't even so much as had a chance to talk to Violet which is who I probably need to see the most. 

"Space? That's bullshit, Ania, you know it." He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. "Don't say you need space when the Section Leader has spent every night in your room since you got back." 

"I'm not doing this with you," I push my back off the wall. Bodhi will not be a part of this argument.

This is not an argument I'm even willing to have. Not when there's no way for me to ensure I won't say something I regret. Ridoc is pissed and I'm on my way to being equally as pissed as he is, but not once since I've met him have I ever seen him angry. 

"Look," He grabs my wrist and I immediately pull away, "I will never understand what you and Violet went through. But I want to try. I want to be there for you. You're one of my best friends and when you didn't return on time, I was so worried that I lost you guys. Please, just let us be there for you." 

I run a hand through my hair and watch the way hurt flashes across his eyes. Guilt rattles me to my core. Keeping the truth from those who want to do nothing but care for me is ridiculously hard. Not only are they my squad mates, they're my friends. I can't avoid them and shut them out forever. 

"I'm sorry," I say truthfully. "I'm just having a hard time processing everything." 

"I know you may not be ready to talk about it and that's one hundred percent fine, but don't shut me out." He rests his hands on his hips. 

"I burnt out," I tell him. "After I dismounted Gleigeal, I burnt out. And I almost died. Bodhi... he was there for me and made sure I lived."

That part feels freeing to say. He doesn't need to know how or why, but it's just a sliver of the truth that will hold him over and make it easier for me to move through my day-to-day. 

"I had no idea," He whispers. He hesitates before pulling me into a hug and I allow it after tensing for a moment. 

Ridoc was easily one of the first people I considered a friend in the quadrant and he may be one of the best I have. It's not fair to him for me to not reciprocate what he's giving. Not when he's doing his best to make it work. 

"Then I should thank him. For bringing you back safe." He says when he pulls away. 

I wrap an arm around my midsection and then pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh. 

"Bodhi and I... well Xaden and Garrick too, we all grew up together," I tell him. Hopefully, he takes the news better than Violet did, but that was a completely different circumstance. 

"Oh." Is all he says.

"I'm sorry for keeping that from you. I honestly wanted nothing to do with them when I got here, but things changed." I explain. 

"No, no. I don't blame you. It's just... it makes a lot of sense now." He nods. "So, you and Bodhi are like a thing now, then?" 

"It seems that way," I don't know how to say it with Gleigeal's words replaying in my head. 

"As long as he treats you right," Ridoc says and I immediately nod.

"He does. I swear." 

Realization settles in his gaze and it makes my heart pound. I don't want to think about the way that this could've possibly hurt him. I always just assumed the night of Threshing we both agreed and felt the same way that friendship suited us. 

"Okay," He nods once more. 

Ridoc walks me back to my room and I'm grateful when Violet is exiting her's. 

"Hey, do you have a second?" I ask before she can turn away from me. She nods and I grab her hand pulling her into my room. "I'll see you later, Ridoc."

"See you later," He smiles. "That's pretty cool, by the way. Who did that?" He gestures to the door. 

 "Xaden," I reply. His lips form into an O shape and he nods. 

"Right." 

With that he's turning on his heel and down the hall. Violet sits in the chair at my desk and I sit on the bed. I almost don't know where to start with her. We barely spoke in Aretia and on top of that prior to Resson I'm convinced she hated me and considered me a liar. 

"How are you doing?" The words awkwardly tumble out of my mouth. 

"Good, I think. You? You kind of just keep hiding in here." She says, folding her hands in her lap. It's slightly comforting to know she feels just as awkward as I do. 

"I'm tired," I answer honestly and then pause. "But hiding in here makes it easier to lie to them."

"They don't exactly have an instruction manual on lying to the people you care about. 'Selective truths' is what Xaden said to me before he left," She says. 

Selective truths. 

Exactly what I just gave Ridoc. That's all we can give our friends until further notice. The chance that they never accept the truth doesn't sit right with me. 

"Are you fully recovered?" She asks and I laugh lightly. 

"My hip is fucked up, but I think it's just about healed. I also don't feel as tired as I did when we got back. Normal, I guess. Slowly getting back to normal," I don't know why it feels so hard to talk to her after what we just went through together. 

"After Liam," she swallows and I understand, "I saw you and Gleigeal with the wyvern. Then when I saw you and that venin, Gleigeal was nowhere to be seen and I was rightfully terrified. When I woke up and remembered everything, I was scared Xaden would tell me he buried you too. I knew that was something he wouldn't survive." 

Words refuse to come out, mostly because I simply can't arrange them into a proper sentence. I do my best and even though it takes a moment, they eventually materialize. 

"Well, I'm told we survived because of you and Xaden," I offer a small smile. "So thank you." 

"We'll get through this, Ania," She tells me, "There's no right way to navigate it, but we'll figure it out. Together."

"Together." I nod.

"Where are we going?" I laugh as Bodhi drags me through the forest. There are a few hours til curfew and I can barely see in front of my feet with the sun dipping below the horizon. There's a small amount of natural light left. "I'm not gonna be able to light the way once it's dark, you know." 

"Just be patient. You've never been patient, Ani. It might be your fatal flaw." He glances back at me and my lips part in a dramatic gasp.

"I am too patient," I argue. "I might be the most patient out of all you boys." 

"You know who was the most impatient?" He asks.

"Beckett," We answer at the same time with a laugh. 

Remembering him these days is an easier thing to do. His memory no longer brings me to anger. I can simply remember him and be grateful that I got to have him as a brother. 

He leads me through a clearing next to the lake and I have to stop in my tracks when I see a circle of dimly lit mage lights surrounding a blanket with a small basket that seemingly is filled with food. 

"What is this?" I ask, looking at him. 

"I figured it was about time I took you on a date," He smiles cheekily. 

"Bodhi," His name is just above a whisper off my lips and I let him pull me to the blanket. 

"Ani," He mimics my tone, his hands sliding around my waist as he kisses me. 

My arms wrap around his neck as I stand on my toes to deepen the kiss. My fingers brush through his dark curls as his tongue slips past my lips and glides against mine. Gods, he's perfect. 

"This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done," I say, observing the scene in front of me. 

"My lady," He teases, gesturing me to sit down. I sit next to him with my knees tucked to the side as he pulls the basket toward us. "You should've seen me trying to sneak this out of the kitchen."

"I can only imagine," I smile as he opens a small pack of fruit. "Bodhi, I'm serious. This is... I don't even know what to say." 

The way he feeds me the piece of fruit is cliche but I don't mind. Once the sun fully sets and the only light besides the mage lights gifted to us is the moon, and after we're full from the fruit and bread he's brought, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"I love when you wear your hair down," He tells me. We're laid out, both of us propped up on our elbows as we face each other. 

"Enjoy it now because after tomorrow it'll be up for most of the year," I tell him. "Speaking of... Orientation was today. RSC?" 

He takes a deep breath, "It's tough, I won't lie to you. But, your squad is ridiculously tight-knit, more than any that I've seen in my time here. You guys are going to be fine." 

The warmth of the July air clings to my skin and I annoyingly tug at the collar of my long sleeve tunic I've been forced to wear since our return. Bodhi stands up and tugs his shirt off, followed by his boots and pants, til he's left in nothing but his briefs. 

"What are you doing?" I laugh as he pulls me to my feet. His hands slide under the hem of my tunic and he slowly pulls it over my head. 

"We're going for a dip," He tells me, his fingers deftly unbuttoning my pants. He tugs them down my thighs and helps me step out of them, taking a moment to kiss the scar where Fionn had stabbed me at Threshing. 

The water is at a comfortable temperature and is so refreshing that I vocalize a sigh once the water reaches our necks. He pulls me to him and I wrap my legs around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. 

"Thank you for tonight. It was really special," I say quietly as I watch the reflection of the moon ripple with our movement. 

After the Apostasy I never imagined that I'd find myself this comfortable with someone again. Let alone Bodhi Durran. Yet, here we are. He's everything to me and more. 

"Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend?" He pulls back slightly so that I can look at him. 

The question makes my cheeks heat up. I'd been a girlfriend one other time in my life and I hated the person I called my boyfriend. I'd dated him out of spite and boredom and we broke it off after four months. The sex hadn't even been good. The mere idea of being a girlfriend to Bodhi Durran has my stomach tied in knots but in the best way. 

The way the moonlight softly illuminates his features is nothing more than picturesque and I want the image ingrained into my memory forever. Paint it on my tombstone if one must. I trail my finger down the bridge of his nose, a feature of his I remember him being insecure about as a preteen, though it's one of my favorites. 

"Hmm, let me think about it," I can't help the cheesy smile that plasters my face. 

"It's settled." He shakes his head and leans in to kiss me right before he holds my body flush against his and dunks us both under the water. 

"Vile. Just vile," I laugh when we resurface as he uses his thumbs to brush the water from my face. 

I try to pull away but he grips my hands and pulls me back to him. He holds my wrists under the moonlight and I jerk backward. The discoloration didn't take long to become my least favorite thing about myself. 

He notices my discomfort and lets my wrists go, his hands finding my waist once more. He holds me under the moonlight and a comfortable silence settles over us. 

Conscription Day has already been slightly more brutal than the last. Between Liam's sister, Sloane, hating Violet and me, and picking unnecessary fights with my new wingleader, Dain fucking Aetos, it feels impossible to get through the rest of the day without anyone getting on my Gods damned nerves more than they already have. 

"You're one step away from the anger issues that plagued you last year," Gleigeal says and I roll my eyes.

"Oh, is that why I'm still cut off?" I reply annoyance laced through my tone."Being bitter with me will not aid you in getting your way," He grumbles. 

I'm placed between Ridoc and Violet in formation as Panchek's voice fills the courtyard like nails on a chalkboard. The day hasn't been that bad when you think about it, I'm just irritatingly on edge today for some reason. Watching Dain try to fill the role that Xaden had last year is almost laughable, but I can't help but wish Xaden were still up there. 

When the wingleader's dragons join us in the courtyard, I hardly pay attention. The reaction of some of the first years pushes me farther past the point of agitation that I'm already sitting at. I just want us to be dismissed so I can find myself in bed for the rest of the night. 

"Are you okay?" Ridoc asks, glancing at me. 

"I'm fine," I sigh. My fingers dig into my palms and I realize that one of the reasons I'm so pissed off is because of how fucking hot I am. I'd be surprised if this long sleeve didn't have sweat stains down my back. It just reminds me why I have to wear it and the memories of Resson flood my mind. Catching sight of Sloane in the corner of my eye nearly pushes me over the edge. She looks so much like Liam. I tug at the collar and force myself to take a deep breath.

Control it. Don't let it control you.

"You don't seem fine, Ania," He whispers. 

"Ania, calm down." Violet's voice is quiet but firm as she grips my wrist into her hand. 

Now is not the time for a fucking panic attack. What the hell has gotten into me over the past couple of days?

"Show me you can ground without magic and then we'll discuss reopening the channel," Gleigeal says. 

Anger shakes me to my core. No way he's using this as a lesson. My breaths are deep but shaky and I hyper-fixate on the way that Violet has my wrist in a death grip. I cannot do this in formation, not in front of the entire quadrant. 

My focus is pulled when a group of first-year scrams by. That just pisses me off more, knowing that they're seconds away from being torched. 

"Eyes forward," Gleigeal's voice is filled with panic. My head snaps to the front of the formation and my eyes land on a large Orange that I don't recognize. I let my gaze drop for a second and notice Bodhi, who shakes his head slightly. It's hard to tell from this distance but he looks worried. 

Bodhi's eyes widen as he takes off in a run just as Violet's scream fills my ears. He's forced to stop when the Orange curls his tongue.

"Get down!" She lunges for Sloane and before I can even think to move, Ridoc pulls my chest to his, throwing us both to the ground. 

I cling to him tightly as he does his best to keep his arms around my head. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly doing my best to drown out the screams around us. My breath is hitched in my throat and I refuse to let it go, knowing if I do, it'll be my last. The blaze against my back is scorching and I'm grateful that Ridoc protects my head. 

I finally let myself breathe when Ridoc helps me to my feet. I don't even want to look at the remnants of what just happened behind us. I wince when Ridoc turns me to look at my back. I watch as Violet pulls her shirt off in her hand and wish I had the scales she does. 

"Gods, Ania," He sucks in a breath and I don't even want to know what it looks like.

"Ania!" Gleigeal shouts. 

"I'm fine. I think," I reply down our bond. My eyes find Bodhi who is in the same place I last saw him in, relief written over his face when he sees me standing. My skin feels nothing short of melting and I have to hold on to Ridoc to steady myself. I'm thankful when I see that the sleeves of my uniform are still intact hiding the gray prints pressed permanently into my skin. The cool air against my skin tells me the back of it is no longer there.

"Get back in formation! Riders do not balk at fire!" Panchek screams over the chaos. 

Violet steps toward me, pulling Imogen with her as we fall back in line. 

"Ciaran is dead," Imogen whispers, and my stomach hits my feet. 

I let my eyes find the pile of ash where I know he'd previously been standing and nausea takes over. 

"Conspiratize later. I need your focus at one hundred," Gleigeal snaps, knowing where my brain is headed. 

Bodhi finds me immediately after formation is dismissed and I'm grateful when I think that Tairn might've bought our squad some sort of protection after his conflict with Solas, the orange who torched a large chunk of the quadrant. 

His hands cup my cheeks and he looks me over. "Your back, Ani." 

"It's fine. Violet's too." I say, looking around for her but she's already disappeared, likely to the healers where I want to be. 

"Violet has scales." He tells me as if I don't already know. He turns to Ridoc who hasn't left my side. "Thank you. For protecting her."

"No need to thank me," He shakes his head once. "She needs a healer." The way Bodhi's jaw tightens tells me he's doing his best to not roll his eyes at Ridoc.

That night, after three hours in the healer's quadrant, Bodhi is sitting criss-cross on my bed, gently spreading healing ointment into my skin. I can barely feel his touch with the way the pain meds they gave me have me feeling nearly entirely numb. I sit up when he finishes and take a deep breath when I study his face. 

"Something is going on, something we don't know about," He finally says, reaching for my hand. "With you being cut off, I don't think it's a good idea for you to come on drops." 

"What?" I raise my voice. "That's not fair."

"It is fair and it's not an argument. Until you have your power back, you're not coming. I'm not fighting with you about this." He snaps and I close my mouth. "You and Violet stay here. Stay out of trouble and don't draw attention to yourselves." 

"What happened today was intentional," I say quietly. Saying it out loud makes it real. 

"I don't want to say that's what happened, but it seems that way." He replies, cupping my cheek. 

Surviving second year just got a lot harder.

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[multiplefandomsyep]

Why do you ship inhun so much? They don't get involved with romantic feelings in canon and it doesn't fit their characters, there are other ships that work better with the source material than this one. This is not hate, I just wanna know.

What do you say anon? they are canon! (in my heart) Okay, jokes aside *sips tea* behold anon! because there would be a lot of rambling answering your question hwdjhs

Now, the truth is, no character is explicitly romantically involved in the show (some of them had romantic canon relationships but they aren't anymore. And also couples in the show are not the main focus of the story), and that's why none of them would be canon, even if they make more sense than others.

For this reason Inhun in canon does not have romantic feelings involved, and this applies with the other characters of both seasons 1 and 2, everything that the characters thought or felt at certain moments is also up to the interpretation of the fans, like free will, some will see it in a romantic way and others platonic, therefore, ships really need the interpretation of the fans.

From this point on, we get the idea of ​​how In-ho is staring at Gi-hun all the time. It's true that he's fascinated and obsessed with him in a way that no other player has achieved, and while it's just an obsession, it could become something more. However, it would be a one-sided love because Gi-hun will find out who's behind the mask and he won't like it at all. This post here explains it perfectly.

And it may be close to canon that Gi-hun could have had romantic feelings for Young-il, however, here comes the tragedy, because he knows that he is married and has a wife in the hospital, he would not take the first step, everything would remain as a one-sided love for him, he would keep those feelings and that admiration for Young-il to himself.

And the same thing happens when In-ho reveals himself as the frontman, just as I already mentioned, Gi-hun would never love him again and will not forgive him when he finds out that he was behind the mask all this time, therefore In-ho would also remain with this one-sided love.

But that's where the beauty of the ship lies, they were doomed from the start, these unresolved feelings and this "sexual tension" they seem to have every time they look at each other and smile, plus the fact that they are both opposites, a yin and yang couple, being narrative foils, while the two can understand each other in a way that no one else has been able to (both participated in the games, won and got back... plus other things), and hate each other for it, this is why I ship them, at least I do.

They will never be together and the fact that they will never be together and never stood a chance is what makes them special, a toxic tragic doomed old man yaoi ofc, they will never resolve these feelings, they will be destroyed before they can become anything more, and the ones who will destroy them will be themselves, because they know they will not be able to get out of these circumstances... both of them do not know how to love properly after everything they went through. However, this does not make this "less of a ship" than others, inhun is an actual ship and it still makes sense even if it is less tragic than others.

And this way of the ship is the one that is closer to canon, but we also have AU's of them and everything you could ask for, there is so many creative people where they write the characters amazingly.

It may need more fanon interpretation than other ships (because in the end, they all need fanon interpretation), of course, but it still make sense for canon.

Hell, even the director himself could see the fanon vision and you could say he liked the ship, lol. Also netflix itself posts some things about them (it doesn't mean it will become canon at all, but basically it still gives the green light for these types of interpretations with his characters to enjoy it and create things with it).

Finally, I also wanted to say that a ship doesn't necessarily have to be canon to be able to see certain characters as a couple. In my personal opinion, I prefer my ships not to be canon. I like to gather all the crumbs/clues from canon but never ask for the whole thing. And let's face it, a ship doesn't need to become canon to be able to enjoy it and continue seeing how interesting the characters can be with and without the yaoi glasses.

Hope this really could answer your ask :D

[soldearestsoulmate]

Wanted to get this idea out of my head finally. lol

Sol x GN!Reader

Warnings: Drugging, somnophilia, yandere stuff in general. Proceed with caution. (Extra warning/spoiler: Reader in this turns out to be a freak for Sol's secret)

"Sol?"

Sol was busy washing the dishes from the dinner he made for you both while visiting your place again. You were in the process of drinking orange juice again. Something you had commonly now while he visited.

"Yeah Pumpkin?" Sol turned his head to look at you, you were sitting at the table in the kitchen, watching him closely.

"...How long have you been drugging me?" Sol froze in his actions. Silence consumed the room and his body grew cold when he heard that question escape from your lips.

"...W-what?" Sol finally spoke as he slowly turned his head. All while trying to show a convincing smile.

"The drugging...The sleeping pills I'm guessing they are?" Now Sol's heart was racing as he fully turned his body to face you, but his hands were still behind his back...And he was slowly reaching over for a knife. Not to hurt you, but to protect himself if you were to try something now.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about Pum--"

"Cut the shit Solivan. I know. I know because last night I remember what happened, at least some of it. What you did to me...Did with me..." Sol struggled to respond now. He was wondering what went wrong. How could you remember unless--

Shit.

Maybe Hyugo gave him pills that were less stronger now. Perhaps worried they were working too well after learning he was nodding off in class a few times. But it wasn't because of the pills, or pills he clearly wasn't taking better to say.

Or could it be something else...

No...It couldn't be weaker pills.

Then Sol noticed in your hands the empty cup. Yet you were wide awake and alert. A empty cup...He dosed with those sleeping pills again.

"...They aren't working anymore." He finally muttered out.

"No they still work...Just not as strongly as before...That can happen with some medication. Body just grows accustom to it, you can gain a immunity to it...I expect I'll be passing out in a few minutes but I need to know before it happens."

Sol's eyes grew wide as he watched you get up from your seat and walk to him. He gripped the knife behind him, scared to be forced to use it.

"Answer me please...Say it honestly. Have you been drugging me to have your way with me?" Sol looked into your eyes, seeing the serious yet pleading gaze given to him.

"...If I said yes...What are you going to do? Call the cops on me? You know it's dumb to do this before calling them unless--" Now he felt some panic setting in.

Shit. Did you call the cops?!

"Calm down. I didn't call them...I don't plan to if anything." Now Sol looked confused as he stared at you.

"W-what?" He felt his grip on the knife loosen.

"Why call them when I have no problem with this?" Sol finally let his grip on the knife go as shock hit him.

Was...Was he hearing this right? No...He must be hearing things. This must be some fucked up delusion. But then he realizes it's all too real when you finally lean in to kiss his lips.

At first he froze from it...Then finally he returned the kiss at the second go, and then again. Until he was practically eating you alive through that action alone.

"Y-You're going to pass out soon...Shit...I shouldn't ha--" You shushed him with a finger on his lips and smiled.

"It's fine. I actually found myself enjoying it as you were fucking me as I drifted back off last night...I want to experience that again...Can we?"

This had to be dream. A wild dream. But it was one he didn't want to wake up from as he smirked at you. Then pulled you in close and picked you up in his arms to carry you.

"Of course, but not here...Your bed is best for this~."

[splinterofpandora]

For the fans. Enjoy. Batman Ninja Part Two.

As you might have guessed, I love Batman. But what you couldn't guess is that I love good music. What does Batman have to do with it?

Both Japanese and Americans play the guitar of the Soul. Lyrics from "What I Believe" by Skillet rock band...

The world around me is lost in misery.

The only good I've got in my life is you.

The life of Jessica Cruz from the comics is the perfect portrait of someone possessed by Anxiety. She wouldn't leave the house, afraid of phone calls, constantly thinking about her impending death. The Lantern Ring broke the rules. It took a while, but soon Jess was herself again. Strong, brave, and a very gentle, sincere person. And she is the first character we meet in "Yakuza League".

Why? It's a different world, and you need to show the viewer how different it really is from the main one. Because we've seen a violent Aquaman. The Flash? More like a comic relief. Evil Superman? Please! It's so often and unoriginal! Jessica is very different from her standard. Usually we see either a closed girl or a violent, aggressive attacker.

These are two ways in which the psyche reacts to deep fear. However, it is different in anime. Confident. Enjoying war. Arrogant. Playing dirty. You'd think they broke Jess.

But it's evolution. She was born in this here. Cruz's recent developmental tendencies take the girl to the golden mean, which means relative calmness coupled with rage when she doesn't conform to patterns of behavior/events. As she gets older, this will only intensify, which explains her fierce but quickly fading reaction to Dick and other heroes. Arrogance is a side effect of status. Because when you constantly think you're better or worse than the people around you, you can't really respect them. Playing dirty? Do you really believe that a Fear driven person would give you a chance? Defeat is death. You don't lose. It's the small details.

But from these elements we get...

No meaning, no other reason.

When everything feels wrong I feel right with You.

Opening is important. Because that's how you show attitude towards what you've created. Yakuza League's opening is the flashback. But it's not about continuing the events of the original. It's about the idea again. Remember Damian's monkey? She's playing chess with Batman. Then it just goes away and we have more action. The emphasis is on heroes and battles.

The first part explored the topic of what Batman is in terms of his philosophy. Not even so much the hero himself, but his importance to the world. You can make any setting you want, and as long as he saves the world, it will work. Part Two is Legacy.

We already know who he is and all we have to do is enjoy the show. We exit openening...

So madly, desperate deeply.

Obsessed your love is better than mine to me.

Can I have this moment forever?

To meet Harley. I know, I'm breaking the timeline a little bit. But it's a good song!

I absolutely love Harley's unpredictability here! Because she's not exactly the Joker's girlfriend anymore. But she's not exactly Diana's girlfriend, either. Or Batman's. Whoever. Harley is a hurricane, and I love that the authors remember to show that. Her presence makes the movie feel more alive. That's the moment to talk about dynamics.

For any art form, the pacing of the action is important. In this anime, scenes switch quickly. It's mostly action. Why doesn't it have time to get boring? It uses different styles all the time. I mean, we see a variety of genres. There's a retro oopening, and it doesn't break anything because it's part of the universe and not just a random scene because of desire. Japanese culture is amazing, and that's what Part One was telling us. However, the second one is not about Japan. It's about Japan's perception of Batman. They project cultural experiences onto the adventures of the Crusader in the Cape. And so you get a wild mix of their favorite projects and typical Batman in the best way. 80s tv drama, crazy mythology elements, stylish criminal epic...God, just let them do it! They're saint!

You are what I believe.

I'll live and die for You.

This is all that I need.

When nothing is real you are my truth.

How do you show your love for characters without development? You take their best!

First of all, it's living history. We have elements of modern, New 52, even 80's in the costumes. We have a huge fleet of vehicles. Movies, comics, animation...you'll find it at Batcave. That costume from...no spoilers!

See how they choose. Look at everything I said above. It's not random. How do I know? Because it's love. Only a fan can make a response to the main villain in the name Detective. Only a fan can write EVERY dialog the way it sounds in the comics. This is classic Demon motivation. It's the Joker's flirtations with Batman. It's Harley being a fan of Wonder Woman. It's all part of the comics. Their dna.

In the darkness You shine.

Can You keep me safe tonight?

Did "Yakuza League" create one of the best images of Diana in media? Well, yes.

Wonder Woman works so well at contrast to Batman. Because Diana actually knows war better than he does. I say this not because Bruce hasn't seen enough, but because Diana knows Compassion. She never waits for a fight. She brings Peace. She's willing to make the sacrifice, to destroy an entire army if necessary. But she will always look for a better way. The anime says a lot about her kindness and wisdom. Everyone in her house is a guest. And she will die to protect it. Will always appreciate courage in people. Never betray. Wouldn't cheat.

It's not news. However, in the anime we see a strong emphasis on nuance. Every aspect of Wonder Woman is revealed to the viewer. Her tragedy of being the main protector. Her broken relationship with a friend, what may be an illusion on the Amazons after her departure into the world of men. Her desire to take the fight. And even the ability to take joy in the process. Best WW description ever.

When we started whole hearted.

I never needed anything or anyone else.

I was broken you made me whole again.

The only one I trusted more than myself.

There are some things that you don't expect, but that become the heart of the work for you. For me, it was defeating Superman.

Bruce's words about people worked even without context. Because it's always the victory of the ordinary man over the superhuman. That's a good point, and I respect it because we have to be stronger than the circumstances. But sometimes it's bad for Clark.

Because the kindest hero is made utterly evil or just a dumb thug. The anime literally screams the opposite. This isn't his Clark. And Bruce tells you who the real Superman is. That he would fight even without powers, because that's his idea. They truly value their friendship and infuse every phrase with meaning.

It's not just human and meta anymore. It's a battle for a friend. For a man Bruce admires.

So madly desperate deeply.

I will live for you completely.

I want to go back to Harley because her role here mimics the tone of the project. You can watch this in any mood and it will work because humor, epic and drama dance around. And it's unpredictable, too. The director sets the record according to his mood. How do they get the balance after that? They divide it into heroes.

Each role is completely in character. And I love that Harley doesn't have a role for that very reason. Because that's what she always does. She's looking for herself. Especially after breaking up with the Joker. I love her!

Because her fidgetiness and antics make her charismatic. Just listen to HOW she talks!

Can I have this moment forever?

So, why "What I Believe"? This song has the urge to scream after the despair is over. Anime does the same thing. When you turn it on, you're not thinking of some kind masterpiece. Because the first part was just good. It worked, it gave some good ideas. But at the end of the day it's just a fun show for fans of the theme.

Batman Ninja vs. Yakuza League takes everything you love the DC universe for and throws it in your face without warning. You see dynamics that you should see all the time, but you've never really seen.

I think his core value is in being important without being important. Being ultimative without really being everything at once like Lego Batman. You just enjoy good music, beautiful narration and funny jokes.

Skillet also works. You feel it. You live.

[chaosfairy18]

Sarah had often been underestimated. It started back in Poland but hadn't gotten any better in America. Most of the time she didn't have a problem with it. People that weren't assumed to be smart or important heard things and knew things other people wouldn't expect, and she enjoyed learning of things others didn't think she could use.

And even if she also got underestimated in her family sometimes, she was okay with it.

It didn't mean she wasn't appreciating it when someone saw how sharp she could be.

She met Spot Conlon at the Rally, both sitting at the same table with Jack until he went to dance with the other newsies. Spot was of course sitting there, in the front row, to announce his presence, to remind the entirety of New York - or at least it's newsies - that he was here, that he had supported first, and that he was still the most renowned newsie in all of New York. Drinking Coke instead of water and wearing his signature suspenders it was clear he was here to promote his image just as much as the strike.

He wasn't in Manhattan often, from what she knew.

It was clear he was smart, calculative even, and she was pleasantly surprised when he asked for her opinion on the strike, for her work and if she thought others, kids like her, too, would strike, if this managed to hold for more than a few days.

He listened to her opinion on it and just smirked when he got another glance of Jack dancing in the front with David and Medda.

"Just look out for Kelly, he's meanin' well but also an idiot. Don't let 'im hold you back." The 'you're too smart for him' went unsaid, but implied.

Sarah smiled courteously. "I think we both know that sometimes, we have soft spots for newsies from Manhattan, if they're good for us or not." She had seen both Racetrack's looks when Spot was on stage giving his speech, as well as Spot's as he watched Race dance with the other Duane Street boys. She was observant after all.

That made Spot's head turn to her a bit faster than it had before, his smile bearing more of an edge to it. "Do we?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

He looked her over again, seeming to assess if she would do anything with the information she definitely didn't have, and seemed to settle on trusting her. For now. "Just see that you don't go paradin' any rumours around, Jacobs. Things travel fast, true or not."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He sipped from his Cola again, his eyes catching on Jack pulling David into a dance. "Besides I think Jackie got his eyes on someone else."

Sarah hummed, watching her brother tentatively smile and have fun even admitst a throng of people like he never did before. "I have that feeling too."

They kept their talk about nothing but rumours and politics until Spot snapped at her to go to the side exit, jumping up and yelling orders to a girl on the upper balcony, evading running newsies and cops until she couldn't see him anymore and David was pushing her and Les outside, only to hear the commotion and fight inside, wondering what was happening but too unassuming for any policeman running around to be stopped.

They weren't here for her or her little brother. No, a lower-class girl and boy too young to even be put into the refuge weren't what they were here for.

But she'd remember what she saw and keep telling her colleagues and working friends what the men in power were willing to do to keep their workers obedient and quiet.

She was observant after all, and knew how to play her cards.

[polo-drone-070]

Chugz Learns His Place

1. Built to obey

Sun’s blazing, beach is loud, and my chest is already glazed in sweat. That’s how I know I’m alive.

Spring Break hits different when you’re already trained. I don’t party to let loose—I party to radiate order. No shirt. No thinking. Just flex, serve, obey.

And I don’t need to shout to own the beach. I just sit still, and the sand rearranges itself around me. That’s what Master taught me.

I serve Master Percival (@polo-drone-001). My collar says it: PROPERTY OF 001.

It doesn’t make me less. It makes me perfect.

Every flex, every breath, every silent command that drops from my mouth—it’s part of that chain of control. And today? The next link I’m forging is Chugz (@chevy-gold).

He’s loud. He’s golden. He’s dumb in all the right ways.

But he’s resistant. Not on purpose—just lazy. Undisciplined.

Play-cocky. Big chest, loose tongue, always moving, always talking. He’s not malicious. Just doesn’t know who he is yet.

But I do.

He stomps over, sunglasses crooked, grinning like he owns the place.

2. The First Push

“Maaaack! Let’s hit the surf, bro! I’m buzzin’!”

Arms up. Biceps peaking. He's already flexing, laughing, not a thought behind it.

I don’t smile. I stay leaned back, one hand wrapped around my beer, other dragging across my abs slow, casual.

“You flexin’ without permission again?”

He pauses mid-pose, blinks. “Huh? C’mon bro, I’m just hypin’ the vibe.”

I tilt my head, fix him with that slow look I save for bros who don’t know their place yet.

Then I get up. Real slow.

He laughs nervously. “Bro—Mack, I was just playin’.”

I step in closer. Close enough that our chests almost touch. His smirk flickers. My voice drops. Calm. Heavy.

“You don’t play with command, bro.” “You flex when I say. You speak when I nod.” “You drink when I allow it.”

He tries to grin again, but I can feel him shrinking under the weight. It’s in his breath. The way his eyes flinch toward my collar. The way his arms don’t know what to do now.

So I make the first move.

I press one hand flat on his pec, push him back just a step. Not hard—just clear.

“You think I’m jokin’? I only train bros who got potential.” “If I let you obey me, it’s ‘cause you earned it.”

His throat bobs. He licks his lips. Eyes dart around the beach—but no one’s helping him.

This isn’t a game anymore.

He swallows.

“You serious?”

I smirk. Step even closer. Press my chest to his.

“You think I wear this collar ‘cause I’m weak?” “I obey Master. Doesn’t mean I ain't the alpha down here.” “Respect flows down. Submission moves up.” “Right now, bro? You’re below me. And I’m gonna show you how good that feels.”

He stares at me, sweat beading along his temples, like he’s trying to figure out if he should laugh or kneel.

I tap his chin with two fingers.

“No drinks. No flex. No talk. Until I say.”

I leave him standing there, chest flushed, arms half raised, caught in the tension. His mouth’s open, but he doesn’t say anything.

Good.

The silence means the lesson’s working.

3. Breaking Point

At the bar that night, he tries to test me again.

He’s looser now. Sweaty, golden, flushed from the heat. Still bouncing. Still barking.

“Yo Mack! Shots time, bro!”

I raise an eyebrow. Hold up my collar between two fingers, just enough to make him look at it.

He does. And this time, he pauses.

“No drink,” I say, calm as hell. “Not unless you ask right.”

He laughs it off. “C’mon bro, it’s me.”

I step in again. Real close. Put one finger on his lips. Push.

He freezes. Eyes wide.

“Try again.”

There’s a long second. His jaw tightens. Then—barely above a whisper:

“...Can I have a shot, bro?”

I smile. Just a little.

I nod once. He downs it fast—but he watches me while he drinks.

Progress.

Back at the villa, I find him flexing in the mirror.

Sweat rolling down his back. Arms up, trying to look like me. Mimicking the stance, the smirk, the lines.

But it’s off. It’s empty.

I walk up behind him. He tenses when he sees me.

I don't say a word.

I just press my palm between his shoulder blades, force his arms down.

“You look better when you wait.” “Better when you obey.”

He shivers under my touch. Not fear. Recognition.

He turns, eyes wide, voice softer now. “You always this serious about flexing?”

I grin.

“Only when I care about the result.” “You’re not me, Chugz. Stop tryin’ to lead.” “You wanna earn respect?” “Drop to your knees when I walk up. Wait for the nod. Flex when I say.”

He doesn't move. Just breathes.

Then finally, a slow nod. Quiet. Humbled.

He’s still got swagger—but now? It’s cracking in all the right places.

4. The Collapse

He’s slipping. You can see it now—in the way he moves. Still loud, still trying to play it cool, but there’s hesitation.

The way his eyes flick to me before he speaks. The way he waits half a second longer before flexing.

Chugz is breaking. And loving it.

He doesn’t know how to admit it yet, but his body’s talking loud.

We’re back at the bonfire. Music’s pounding, bros are soaked in sweat and beer, laughing loud under firelight.

Chugz is still riding the edge—still wants to feel like he’s in control. So he slips.

He jumps up on a driftwood log, wide stance, chest up, arms raised in a full double bi. “FLEX LINE TIME, BROOOOOS!”

I don’t move. Don’t blink. I just take a sip from my beer and stand.

Slow. Purposeful.

The laughter fades a little. The heat sharpens. I step toward him, eyes locked.

He sees me. Freezes mid-pose.

“Bro, I’m just hypin’ it up—”

“Did I say flex?”

He swallows. The firelight catches the sweat dripping off his chest.

“You don’t move unless I say.” “You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” “You don’t lead. You serve.”

He tries to hold the pose. But his arms start to fall. Like they know better.

I step up to him. Chest to chest again—just like before. But now, he doesn’t lean in.

He leans back.

“Get on your knees.”

The command drops like heat.

He blinks. Scoffs, half-laughing. “C’mon bro, in front of everyone?”

I say nothing. Just stare. Pressure.

“Now.”

He hesitates. Long breath. Then he drops.

Right there in the sand, golden and wide and dumb.

Perfect.

The bros go quiet. Some watch. Some don’t get it. Doesn’t matter.

This isn’t about them. This is about him.

About making him feel what he is.

I step around behind him. Put a hand on his shoulder, press down—just enough.

“You think flexin’ makes you a bro?” “You think shoutin’ makes you strong?” “Nah, bro.” “What makes you strong is droppin’ without question.” “Flexin’ only when commanded. Showin’ respect with silence.”

He’s breathing heavy now. Chest rising. Head low.

I kneel next to him. Hand still on his back.

“You wanna know why I train you?” “Because I see what’s under all that noise.” “And that? That obedient streak? That’s what makes you golden.”

He nods. Barely. Doesn’t speak. Good.

5. Rewiring the Bro

Next morning, I wake before the sun. Step outside.

He’s already there.

Kneeling.

Shirtless, sweatband on, jockstrap waistband exposed, hands resting on his thighs. Eyes closed, breathing slow. Waiting.

I walk behind him. Let the silence burn. Then place one hand on his neck, right where the collar should be.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.

He’s ready.

“You’re not tryin’ anymore, huh?” “You’re not fakin’ the flex. You’re feelin’ it.”

He nods.

“Tell me what you want.”

He opens his eyes.

“Wanna serve right, bro.” “Wanna show off when you say. Wanna be what you saw in me.”

I slide the collar on. He lifts his chin to make it easier.

It clicks in place. I watch the shift happen—eyes soften, shoulders drop. Mind gets quiet.

Perfect.

From then on, he’s mine.

Everywhere we go, he walks half a step behind. Waits for cues. Flexes on command.

His cockiness doesn’t disappear—it just gets reprogrammed.

Now when he smirks, it’s because he knows he’s earned it. When he talks, it’s to echo what I’ve said.

He repeats my phrases like they’re gospel.

“Obedience is strength.” “Respect’s shown through silence.” “Flexing’s a privilege.”

He starts correcting other bros when they act out.

He’s proud of his place. And so am I.

6. Public Display of Obedience

Final day. The whole crew’s on the beach. Sun’s blazing. Sweat rolling.

I step to the center.

I nod once.

“Flex.”

Chugz drops to his knees. No hesitation. No thought.

Just raw, golden muscle posing in perfect sync. His chest is up. Arms locked. Collar glinting.

He holds it. Proud.

The others cheer. But they’re watching him.

Not ‘cause he’s leading. But because he’s the example now.

The proof.

Later, after the sun drops, we’re posted up on the dunes.

I toss him a beer. He catches it, waits.

I nod. He cracks it open.

Wristband stamped TRAINED. Collar tight. Mind loose.

I stretch back, arms wide.

“You learned, bro.” “Took some knocks, but you get it now.” “Obedience don’t make you small. It makes you shine.”

He smiles. Big. Quiet. Happy.

I nod again, proud.

“You’re mine now.” “And that? That’s jock as fuck.” ______ Enjoy da Golden Spring Break with us by joinin da Gold. Mack'll shape you into form if u got potentail. Contact @polo-drone-001, @goldenherc9 or @brodygold for a propa brocess.

[inquirepannacottafugo]

While I see your point, I don't think such measures are necessary anymore. Though, studying the unintelligent is quite entertaining, I must say there is no better fun than seeing how already idiotic humans change while under the influence of alcohol or other substances. It's rather entertaining. Also, respectfully, I think there's something wrong with Mista, he has to be studied.

Yes, but airport security and police in Italy are cowardly, selfish, people who will do anything to suck up and not die. They'll turn a blind eye at the smallest sum of money. How do you not know the aquarium workers are not extremely dedicated to their work and the fish? They may be more brave than others.

That-- that's not the willpower I would expect of a mafioso, a fish? You have been guilt tripped by a fish. Right. Okay. Whatever.

Can the fish breathe in the pocket dimensions at least? We need to think of logistics here. I'm-- additionally I'm aware of the final statement, I just feel sometimes there is something you could probably deem better than or more than me. Of course I don't expect more than I already have! I can get less if it's convenient for you! It's fine, perfectly fine, whatever you think is best.

@narancia-answers @ask-crappy-mista @inquirepannacottafugo @ask-mista

Ragazzi, we are going to the aquarium. This isn’t a request, but an order. It will be fun, there will be fishies there.

@giorno-askvanna Trish and Abbacchio will also be there. And I guess @realcocojumbo can come as well. And anyone else that wants to come can come. ( @thisuglybastard ???)

I am bringing snacks! (He has a bunch of colorful construction paper stored in the back of the sketch looking white van he stole and spray painted “Fish stealing vehicle” on the outside of)

[illegiblehandwriting1]

i love you flashbacks i love you pov shifts i love you nonlinear storytelling

[greppelheks]

Just QUIT my job! 🥰

[bronze-bell]

Aesop..... God, they've ruined him, haven't they? The poor man, someone who doesn't know anything at all. It's a little difficult to get through to him, when he trusts so much. He trusts what he's been told. He trusts him. He trusts easily. Sickeningly easily.

He trusts Victor... And it's starting to become noticeable how he doesn't quite remember his childhood clearly...

Victor could lie. Victor will lie, if that's what it takes. After all, he's already weaving a web of honey-coated words, would there be harm in it?

(Something in his mind stirs. A fleeting moment, of two children surrounded by golden flowers. A dream he had once. This will work as a basis for his story.)

"I'm... n-not angry... But- i-" He starts, voice wavering. The plan is in action and already it's tying him in knots. "I- y-you... I.... Knew... you. Before. I-i- I realised, a week or two ago.... and j-just didn't.... Know- know how to... bring it up... Yet. I-i'm sorry! I just- we were talking about the oth- other thing a-and I didn't know-!"

He finds genuine distress in his own excuse. Maybe it's the lying. Maybe it's the fact he's no better than them. Why is he so sure he can pull this off??

(Remember the dream. Remember the dream. You can feel the coolness of shade, dew on your skin. Remember the dream. Remember anything.)

"...I... Remembered... sitting with- with you, n-near the golden flowers... D-do.. you remember, h-having a friend, even- even though m-most turned you away...?" Victor finds himself almost sick with worry. This is why they always hated him, back in the post office. He always felt things too strongly. "You... You n-never were a problem, to me. Ah, y-you still... had darker hair, back thhen..."

He chuckles. An educated guess, one that, somehow, he's sure isn't risky. Maybe it's just common sense, or the few subtle strands of Aesop's hair still clinging to life, or the dream.

"that's why... Why I'm- I'm so... Sad, Aesop. I saw... A lot of it. I - I don't re-remember everything, most... of my childhood is a- a blur, but... I remember your father. T-too... too well. That is why I hate him so." Victor holds Aesop tight. "I-i always hated- h-how he looked at- at me. Like... I was... intruding. It wasn't noise, you know how quiet I am. I was a pest. I think... he was glad, whenever I wallked back home.."

(An image in his mind. A man, elderly. Eyes. Badly hidden hatred. So vivid he winces.)

"there was... That day, y-your friend..."

He hesitates. Maybe he shouldn't be talking about something so personal, did he even know what he was on about?

(Red. So much red. A dress, stained in it. Hiding in the bushes. From him. He watches, as his friend is told this is okay. He's much too close to the body. He's going to die here.)

Victor suddenly feels rather lightheaded.

"o-oh god, I-i'm sorry, I shouldn't- I shouldn't have tr-tried to remember..." It's overwhelmingly vivid. Much too vivid to be a dream. He wishes he'd realized before. "H... H-he stabbed her... If you'd like that- th-that information..."

He rocks Aesop, unconsciously, swaying side to side. Trying to soothe both of them. Back and forth. Back and forth. He doesn't want to remember anything anymore. He's had enough. This is punishment for lying, surely...

"you can help people by... I- I don't know... Being kind to them...? There's ways t-to hhelp, that..." He breathes. Focus. Focus. You're alive. "Y-you can do here. Easily.. Even without p-playing matches..." Victor knows Aesop hates doing that. He doesn't blame the man. Nobody taught Aesop how to play until they were so pissed off at his poor performance they dragged him into training. "You m-must be able to make people happy... B-because that's... What I........." Not anymore. Not after they tried to "help" him. He's making nobody happy anymore.

"you learned... t-to become a doll, to survive, like... Me. P-placid and compliant a-and empty. But y-you were a child. I hadn't- I hadn't e-even met them yet. Isn't that... Sick, t-to you?" Victor shudders. "People d-don't fucking deserve to- to have a friend like y-you, if they'll- they'll just reject you for something you c-cannot control!!" He's crying into Aesop's clothes again.

"And.... But... I-it's safe here. J- just stay w-with me. Forever. Please. I-i can give you a- all - all the warmth... You- you c-could ever want. Y-you never- never have to be without it. I- I j-just can't b-bear t-to leave yo-you with... Awful thoughts like his in your head t-to fester... N-not after... the first time..."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

If Aesop had not, perhaps, deposited that letter to nobody in the postbox so that Victor would have something to do, if Aesop had not written far too much while realizing too late he forgot to place his own name on the back after hastily crossing out Victor's own, maybe he would be a little more well-kept. But all of that has happened, all of the past is inescapable, and he cannot hide from it. Only wait for everything to crash down.

And how terrifying it is to wait.

He needed to write everything down anyway, and he would not be surprised if he burned his words once they returned to him. They just needed to be out, and what better way to move them apart from him than to write them and seal them away? He knows the dangers, yes. And if he made a grave mistake, if every bit of goodwill he has scraped together crumbles away, he can only say that it was inevitable. Anyone who found out would do the same. If convincing does not work... but that isn't enough this time, right? Not when death means nothing.

He hasn't bothered to put up his ponytail or get his mask on this morning, not after the sleepless night before. The letter has not been returned. He doesn't know what could be happening, and the terror, the possibility that he's destroyed it all, looms close behind him.

===

(The letter—or would it be better called a ramble, a confession?— is wrapped in a plain, sturdy envelope, such that he hopes it isn't anything that would stand out. Unfortunately, his handwriting is clearly recognizable as his own, rendering the whole point moot anyway. The envelope bears the first few letters of Victor's name, written several times and crossed out on all of them, but the lack of another addressee is notable. The text's shape and unsteady pace betrays the emotional tension in the writer.)

I'm sorry.

I don't even know what I'm sorry for. For going against that faith you had in me? For taking matters into my own hands and hoping you would never find out? For trying to relieve you of burdens but only trying and failing to soothe my own? You were already asleep, there was no need—

I came here to continue my duty. To free more people. But you were never truly free, you kept returning and I could only grow more ashamed, more unable to face you. If you did not have to wake up, if you were safe and never had to be afraid again... but it doesn't work like that. Not anymore. (I still would not leave you.)

Is it selfish that a part of me... doesn't want to succeed? That I want to have your warmth, your voice, all the things I can't preserve the way I can so much else? If you are comfortable, and happy, does it matter if it happens because you are finally at rest?

I know I have always been here to help. I know it is my duty to reach those meant to die, those who are in too much pain to keep going. (Even now, I wonder if I have reached those who need me the most.) But... I know that you wouldn't see it that way. Nobody does. Mr. Carl, too, knows that this mission is a solitary one. Being able to convince someone to let me guide them is ideal, yes, but... it has, in practice, been impossible. You would not be different, I'm sure. Even if I wish you were, if you ever found out that it was me bringing you to dreamless sleep all those times, I... I would understand if you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. Even as I wish to have your company, I have destroyed your trust, I am sure, and tried to bring you to the other side long before you were ready.

If you would allow me to ask this... please do not tell anyone. I do not know what would happen, and I am already... no, it's not worth thinking about. You will do what you decide is right, and who am I to decide what that is? I have hurt you, have I not? All I wanted to do was make things better for you, and yet...

Once again, I apologize. For everything.

Victor Grantz has been dying, recently. Not in matches, like normal, no. Outside of them, daring to close his tired eyes for a moment before waking up in his room, consumed by a blind panic of where am I what happened oh god— Are They back?? Nobody stole anything, right? Why did they let him revive in his room??

Safe to say, he was on extremely high alert after the first time it happened. But even if he wasn't, he's sure he'd have noticed the look on Aesop's face. The way Aesop wouldn't meet Victor's eyes at all. The way Aesop fiddled with his hands. The way Aesop was, very obviously, guilty.

Something clicks into place, then. So now the question becomes why. And, paranoid as he is, he can't trust it's actually Aesop.

Although, god, if anyone is killing him he hopes it's Aesop. As weird as that sounds. You see, there's no real reason for Victor to be dying. It'd be one thing if his bag was searched, another if his room was, but neither are true. He's made sure of it. (The keys are still in his pocket when he revives, and ordering the letters in a way only he knows leads to the order being perfect afterwards.) It's not torture either, he's certain it's not meant to be.

The only other reason for someone to kill him is... Concern. Worry about him neglecting himself, choosing to reset his body and take him straight to bed rather than argue with him about whether he's okay.

And that is why he hopes it's Aesop. Because that is absolutely something he might do, and it would make him much more at ease.

But he can't just ask Aesop if he's killing him. That likely wouldn't go down well, especially if Aesop isn't the murderer. So he experiments instead.

- - -

He'd pretended to be unconscious on the dining room table. Late enough he knew nobody would walk in on them, and close enough to both of their rooms that it'd give Aesop confidence to solve the mystery for him.

And, well... If the gloved hands and the click of the case didn't give it away, Aesop speaking, quiet and shaky through his mask, definitely did. Victor wills his pounding heart to stop beating so loud. Aesop will catch on to his ruse, surely...

Aesop does, in fact, catch on... Partially. Thank god, he didn't seem to realise what it meant. He asks about a nightmare, though seemingly remembering victor can't answer him. Victor is given reassurance that it'll be over soon, anyway.

He's given a lot of reassurance, actually.

A little scolding, though more concerned than anything else ["You really must take care of yourself better..."],

a few admissions of attachment ["if only you knew how much I care for you..."],

and many, many apologies.

Victor's heart starts to relax from it all, and he wonders if he might actually fall asleep here... before there's a sharp prick in his arm.

Cold floods through him, and it's too heavy to struggle. He falls unconscious within minutes.

He wakes up back in his bed. Nothing is out of order. Well, at least that's calmed most of his nerves...

[this goes on for weeks. Somehow, he finds himself more relaxed each time.]

= = =

The next unusual thing happens with the letter.

Victor would recognise the handwriting anywhere by now, especially when it's addressed to him. Sort of.

Even if he wasn't mildly addicted to reading and pretending people's letters were for him, he'd still itch to open that seal. There's absolutely no address, besides his own, half formed and shaky.

He can't be blamed if he doesn't know where to go, right? He's just being diligent, right? [He burns with curiosity, taking the letter into his room as subtly as he can, so he can pore over every detail.]

There is no name here, either. But what he does get is so much more... Fascinating, in a sense. It's a terrible thing, he knows, but he can't stop himself from being entranced at the pure emotion dripping off of Aesop's every word.

It's a secret. Just for him.

+ + +

If not for the subject matter he'd be feeling both sick and rather giddy at the chance. (At the moment he just feels the instinctual crawling nausea of something to hide from Them. He swats it away.)

It's funny, how mere weeks ago he thought Aesop was like Them, but it's even clearer now that he's not, and never will be. Victor doesn't see what Aesop does, but Aesop happens to have painted a very easy picture for Victor to see.

It's love, above all else. It's guilt, it's apology, it's longing, it's protection, it's caring. Victor understands Aesop better than anyone else, and this only proves it. He can connect with that emotion, hold it in his hands and press his face against it to feel the warmth.

Nobody else will understand. It's his secret to keep. But unfortunately for Victor's desire to stare at it for hours, this is still technically supposed to be delivered.

He puts the secret back in its envelope, not bothering to re-melt the wax like usual, locks up his room, and walks to Aesop's door. (If it had been back then, he would have been punished for not being punctual. But, they tended to give exceptions to unclear delivery instructions...)

× × ×

"Mr Carl?" He speaks quietly into the wood of the door. "Is this letter yours?"

It's selfish of him, but he can't wait for the reply.

[sylphwing]

hm. i do not like chilshi 🤔

[not-so-superheroine]

Since it's not going in my article due to space constraints, i'll share a bit about Jane Manning James here. It won't be superfleshed out atm bc it got cut. I plan to do more later. As I am *Reorganized*, writing this for a Community of Christ publication, i researched Ld-S shared history to the point of Nauvoo. my article doesn't follow west (technically). the main resource was an LDS one (thank you v much for your freely available archive) asking about her time with the prophet of the Restoration.

Jane Manning James

A significant Black Latter Day Saint from the early church was Jane Manning James. A woman from Connecticut notably made the walk from Buffalo, New York to Nauvoo, Illinois on foot, with most of her family. This was only after being separated from the group of recently converted latter day saints in Buffalo, possibly due to their race. Jane was baptized in 1842 by missionaries in her home state of Connecticut. She recorded these things about her journey and arrival to Nauvoo and her faith when asked to recall her life living with Joseph Smith in 1905.

“When I went there [Nauvoo] I only had two things on me, no shoes nor stockings, wore them all out on the road… They [Joseph and Emma] was looking for us because I wrote them a letter. There was eight of us, my mother and two sisters and a brother and sister-in-law, and we had two children, one they had to carry all the way there, and we traveled a thousand miles.”

She was sure in her belief of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ and Modern Prophecy. She says in her recollection, after seeing that Joseph Smith Jr was indeed the man in her vision in Connecticut, that “This is the Gospel of Jesus Christ and there will never be any other on earth. It has come to stay.” Sister James would later go west with the saints under the leadership of then Apostle Brigham Young.

--------

me tumblr posting again:

thank you for the example set Sister James on faith, dedication, and perseverance. She also had spiritual gifts, such as speaking in tongue and faith healing. She believed following the gospel, knowing it was a key to a better way of living life (for her.) it wasn't easy for her, and yet, i think the faith community i observe today (and mormonism in general) is better, just for her having lived it.

may she be at peace, and in a manner God, Sister Jane herself, and her family she led that meant so very much to her, see fit.

[wingsofhcpe]

yall ever get the urge to disappear and/or rebrand your entire online presence or is it just me

[an-assortment-of-forks]

there are doctors there are hospitals there are specialists there is medicine there are systems in place so people do not have to suffer and be tortured under their own chronic pain daily and yet. they're all fucking inaccessible to the people who need it most!!! to what I would argue is most disabled people!! I'm so fucking done with the medical system.