#also some of y’all really act like ao3 is ripping money out of the hands of poor folk lmao

[toxicorum]

tired of seeing ao3 haters on my dash, away with you fools

[bakubros]

Tagged by @artsytodoroki, @minaaashido, @pilotpig! This was so much fun to fill out, guys! Thanks for tagging me. 💞

Rules: Answer 11 questions, Create 11 of your own, and Tag 11 people!

I’ll tag: @pinkcupofcherrytea, @dekudorks, @lupizora, @enonmia,  @shulksfeels, @mysonisthesun, @a-erith, anddddd.... just about anyone else who’s interested in doing this c; (i’m a lazy tagger, rip.) amy, shy, piggie, i’d love to see your answers as well if you have some free time! 

(questions are at the veryyyyyy bottom of this read more, lol)

Amy’s Questions:

If you were a character in the BNHA universe, what quirk would you want to have? *nervous sweating* I actually have a really detailed OC I made for Hero Aca and now that I have the opportunity to show her off to the world, I’m getting nervous? LOL. I’ll just say that the quirk’s name is tentatively “flying fish” and then leave it at that for now... Until I find the courage to brag about it in depth... (I am actually in love with the idea and character I came up with, I’m just ??? Suddenly nervous for no reason?? LMAO)

Do you know your MBTI? If you do, what is it? INFP!

Are you somebody who thinks before you act or do you act before you think? It honestly depends on the context of the situation. When I’m with friends or people I’m comfortable with or when I’m tired, I act before I think. When I’m skeptical of others or anxious about how I’m being perceived, I think before I act.

What’s your current obsession? Mmm, tough! I’ve been really into watching movies recently, particularly the Oscar-nominated films. I’m sad because I side with the New Academy on a lot of their picks but know that the Old Academy still dominates so rip ;;;

If you ever wanted to change your name, what would it be? I used to hate my name and thought about changing it to “Willow Kathryn” instead of “Jessica Kathryn.” I don’t know what I was thinking when I was younger; I just know that, now that I’m older, I would never go through with such a change. LMAO

Least and favorite subjects in school? Favorite was literature, least favorite was (and will always be) math.

Describe yourself in one or two words. Passionate, Empathetic

How tall are you? 157 cm (though I like to think I’ve grown a bit ;;;;)

Do you have a phobia? I don’t think that any of my fears are strong enough to constitute a phobia? Though I will admit to an awful abhorrence of bugs.

Would you prefer to go where there’s less people or more people? I’m assuming you mean live? And if that’s the case, then less people. If it’s late at night or something though (like now!), I prefer to be around more people.

Do you believe that the world is divided into good and bad people or is everybody the same? if so, why? To assume that the world is Manichean feels like an antiquated, small-minded notion; to assume that everyone in the world is the same feels ignorant and dehumanizing. I believe that all “divisions” within our culture (I’m throwing morality into this category for the purpose of this question) are man-made constructs--in that sense, there’s no right or wrong answer. In my case, it’s just fundamental disagreement with the notion, lol. On the question of morality, however, I will say that I believe that all individuals exist on a spectrum and cannot be definitively good nor definitively bad; to label someone in a single category like that limits future perception of them and implies an inability for human change/growth.

Shy’s Questions:

[pre-school teacher voice] What do you want to be when you grow up? I wanted to be a teacher, and then a pediatrician, and then a writer, and then a professor. And now I’m back to teacher. We’ve come full circle. LOL.

What did you do today? GOT SOME OF MY SHIT TOGETHER!! Double-checked my degree audit with my advisers, met with the dean of my college to ensure that I’m on-track to meet the criteria for graduating summa cum laude with the dean’s medal in December, and discussed scholarship funding with some of my current sponsors. I thought that I was going to owe my school money after the summer, but it’s looking like they’re going to be paying me instead. 😎

What’s the last really good fanfic or meta you’ve read? I’ve... honestly been slacking really hard in the reading department for the fandom. I’ve been reading a lot of wips recently (which obviously haven’t been posted), but the last one that comes to mind is cherry chapstick on the tip of your tongue by oliviyay on ao3! 

Do you prefer saying “y’all” or “you guys?” You guys!

What is the last thing you watched? A video of Die Mannschaft’s coach talking about how proud he is of His Boys™️.

How are you feeling? I just really want the semester to be over because I’m tired of the workload? But at the same time I’m really antsy about that because it means graduation is just that much closer?? And idk if I’m fully ready for that?? Like, I know that I am but like... I still don’t feel like an adult lekrjwlekrri

Favorite sitcom? Parks and Recreation, hands down. I binged the entire series when I was going through a bad breakup, and whenever I can’t sleep or need a pick-me-up, the show always has my back. I’m p sure that if Netflix ever removes it I will die.

Anime or manga or neither? I’ve always been partial to manga!

Favorite kind of smoothie? The Beach Bum at the Tropical Smoothie Cafe! I like it because I’m a sucker for chocolate, but the ingredients in the smoothie still make me feel like I’m healthy.

Got any allergies? I’m mildly allergic to dust and pollen. For some reason I’m severely allergic to a certain species of grass. (And, because I have the best of luck, it’s the species of grass that is native to Florida. It’s everywhere I go and I just want to be able to sit in the park without breaking out into hives. ;;;)

What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever purchased? I just recently paid $800+ for VIP tickets for my parents and I to go see Elton John in concert. But, like, I know it’ll be worth it so I’m not even mad LMFAO

Piggie’s Questions:

What is your favorite soap scent? Ooooh, this is a really tough one! I can’t think of anything specific, but I’m a fan of scents with floral undertones!

What is the talent of yours that you are most proud of? Please go on and on and on about it!! (and don’t say you have no talents because I know all of you well enough to know that’s not true >:’D) Mmmmm, this is tough! This is more of a personality trait, I suppose, but I’m really stubborn when it comes to getting what I want; if I have a goal in mind, I do absolutely everything that I can to achieve it. So far, this has worked out really for  me, which is why I’m considering it a talent? I’m sure that a lot of it is just good luck though. LMAO. I think that I also have really good memory! I remember seemingly insignificant details really well, which makes for fun writing. c:

What is your favorite book and why? Or TV show/anime/movie if you don’t like books? The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien--this book is honestly what inspired me to become a writer and holds a very special place in my heart. Second favorite would be The Mill on the Floss by George, and every time I’m reminded that it’s considered one of the worst books in classic lit I cry a little harder.

Which fictional character do you relate to the most? (And why, if you want?) Bakugou Katsuki, in terms of backstory (being praised when young and letting it go to my head), passion/ambition, and tendency for cursing. I’ve never been outspoken or antagonistic though, so that’s where our biggest difference is, lol. (He is still my Child though and I Would still die for him)

Do you have any collections? If so, what do you collect? Books and video games, I suppose! Though right now I’m also starting a magazine habit that I know I’ll regret in the future...

What are your top three best personality traits, and what is one thing about your personality that you want to work on? In no particular order: passion, empathy, and friendliness. I’d like to be more consistent outgoing when it comes to meeting new people and making new friends. I’ve been given many opportunities to form bonds with really awesome people, but I always get shy/awkward or just fudge it up. I’d really like to change that, haha.

Do you have any pets? If so, what is/are their personality/personalities like? I have a dog named Snowie! When she was younger, she was super rambunctious and liked playing in the dirt--wasn’t much of a cuddler. Now that she’s older, she’s a lot calmer. And she really likes cuddling which I really appreciate.

What is your preferred study method? Depends on what I’m doing specifically! If I’m reading lit or crit theory, I need an empty room, some good music, and soft lighting. If I’m preparing for a test or writing something up though, I need to be around other people. When it’s something that I don’t really want to do, constant supervision is necessary to make sure that I actually do it. LMAO.

What is the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done? Impromptu island hopping and cliff diving on my cousin’s boat during my last trip to the Philippines!

What are your life goals? Oh boy. Although I mentioned that I’m a very goal-oriented person, I’m really bad at designing long-term goals? I think that I’ve only ever gotten as far as five or so years in the future. I guess I’ll say that I want to work in a job that I enjoy, surround myself with people I care about, and do something that makes me feel like I’ve left a mark. (Ahhh, this was such a bad answer! Sorry! ;3;)

What is your favorite part of being on Tumblr? Probably the people I’ve met. The nice ones, ofc!

My Questions

What was your first big fandom? How did you get started in it and how did it inspire you?

Was there ever a fandom that you were a part of that you now regret? (catch me in middle school skipping class to watch the early premieres of the twilight movies and getting into intense debates over team edward v team jacob LMFAO)

If you had to pick an artist to create the OST of your life, who would it be? Why?

Tell me three things a person could say/do/believe to instantly taint your friendship/relationship with them.

I suck at cooking. Do you? If you don’t, what’s your favorite thing to make? (hmu with a recipe and i’ll love you for life lmfao)

If you had to name a daughter right now, what would you name them? What if you had a son? (Alternatively, if you have no interest in children, what name would you like to give a female/male character that you create?)

Let’s say you were to die right here, right now. What would be your biggest regret?

Think of one really, really good teacher you had. What made them so great?

What’s your “origin story”? If you had to explain why you are the way you are by only pointing at one event in your life, which one would you choose?

Tumblr is an actual hellhole. But what do you like about it?

How are you? (I’m stealing Shy’s question because I really like it lmao)

[searchforthescars]

Litany - 2/?

Hey it’s me, back at it again. 

Shoutout to @bombshellsandbluebells for everything. Y’all already know she’s a rockstar.

Also, so you know, I do read all your tags on my fics when you reblog them and I turn into the human ‘!!!!!’ at them. So thank you <3

So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts, something other than the desperation. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

Then

The con was perfect.

She revels in it as she leaves the club. She’s good at faking, good at weaving clever lies and pretend tears. She can bend anyone to her will, and it feels so damn good.

“Em!” her brother waves to her, weaving through the crowd. He’s been drinking; the color is high in his cheeks, and his eyes are just unfocused enough to make him sway on his feet. “How’d it go?”

She grins, high on success, cocky in her satisfaction. “Perfectly.” Then, with a satisfied grin, “You’re welcome.”

His eyes smile at her, catch on something over her shoulder, and his face falls. “Shit, Em, we have to go.”

She turns on her heel, looking behind her, trying to catch sight of the thing terrifying enough to horrify her brother. “Why?”

When she looks back, Otan is gone.

Emori is a horrible person.

She already knows this, but she reminds herself as she looks in the mirror, the glass still foggy from her shower.

When she had heard John screaming through the walls last night, her first instinct was to yell “shut up!” and go back to sleep. But she wasn’t in prison anymore, and John was shouting like someone was coming for his blood. Still, she hesitated to get up and save him from the horrors in his head.

So yes. A horrible person. [Read more on Ao3]

She wonders what came over her - why she followed him outside last night. Then she wonders why he was screaming, what is following him so closely that he never has any peace. It’s not any of her business, it really isn’t, but the broken thing inside him is clawing its way out, and she’s always been a lover of broken things.

She has three classes today, back-to-back, starting at noon. She waited to get up until she heard Raven, Lexa, Octavia and the boys leave. It’s just her and John now.

The thought should terrify her. Instead, she feels only a flutter of anxiety, one she doesn’t plan on examining the cause of just yet.

She dries off, gets dressed and goes downstairs, her wet hair slapping against her leather jacket, which is basically the nicest thing she owns aside from her knife set.

“Coffee?” John asks without turning around, sliding her a mug. She takes it in her good hand, feels the warmth of the ceramic, sips at it, and grimaces at the taste.

“It’s black.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Cures exhaustion.”

She downs it in mere minutes. Her stomach rumbles but she doesn’t dare go through the fridge. She hasn’t gone grocery shopping yet, and nothing in there is hers. She hasn’t even opened up a bank account, and the $50 sewn into the lining of her backpack is going to disappear faster than she would like.

She doesn’t need to eat - at least, not yet. She needs a job. She needs some sleep. She needs to pretend the last five years were nothing. Not necessarily in that order.

“Do you think I should get my tattoo removed?” she asks John suddenly, breaking the stillness of the kitchen. Anyone else and she’d be shrinking in her seat right now, but he’s different. She senses something in him, a small thing, like a brief flame - something that shivers and aches to be wanted even as he pushes all hope of that away.

They’re one and the same, she supposes - both alike in their hatred and want of the world.

“Which one? The one on your face?” A grimace of guilt shivers over his expression. She wonders why.

“Yeah.” She taps her left hand against her knee. The fingers twitch, sweat in her wrap. She doesn’t take it off. “It’ll keep me from getting a job, right?”

John shrugs, an easy thing. The slim lines of his shoulders are appealing. When he turns his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye, she sees his sharp cheekbones and dry lips. I’d like to bite those lips, she thinks, and then wants to thump her head against the counter in frustration.

“No,” he answers. “Screw them. Cover it up with makeup if you want to, but don’t take it off.”

He says it forcefully, as if he’s pushing words from his lungs with great effort - as if it costs himself something to give them up. She watches him, wary, but he says no more.

“All right then,” she says.

An endless silence stretches before them. His phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. He looks at it and gives a small sound of disgust. She peers at it just as it starts ringing.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” she asks.

“No.” He swears under his breath, then swipes the phone open. “Leave me alone,” he growls, then hangs up.

Emori slips from the stool, reaching for her backpack. She doesn’t look up, and she doesn’t look back.

Classes are blissfully mundane, a departure from crowded prison computer labs, every due date a fight to the finish. She might be “street trash,” as her old foster family reminded her, but she was - is - smart.

There’s a nontraditional student in her beginner’s public health class. Her name is Anya, and Emori likes her instantly. There’s something about her sharp tongue, her harsh tone and her no-nonsense approach to the system’s failings that appeals to Emori.

She rips the lining of her backpack to get to her money, then goes to the small grocery store near the school. She buys cereal, coffee, milk, bread and ham. It costs her fifteen dollars. She also pockets a Swiss Army knife and two chocolate bars. She doesn’t pay for those.

There’s a strange ache settling in her, a longing of sorts - a sadness rising up to choke her. She’s afraid, she thinks, and nervous. What is she doing here? What is she trying to prove? She’s stupid and small and, shit , what if she had been caught stealing. She would have been sent back for sure.

She feels herself shiver in the September heat. She can’t go back. Won’t. She grits her teeth, bares them, frightens a pigeon cooing at the street corner.

“Hey! Emori!” It’s Octavia, standing on that same street corner, books cradled in her arms, her brother at her side. She looks happy, content and safe. It makes Emori want to scream, but she bites her tonge and molds her lips into a smile. She seethes on the inside even as she, but on the inside, she’s seething. She’s a closed book, a ghost in a house of self-made pain. She is nothing if not a con artist. Her ability to fool others with her bravado, sharp smiles and  pretty tongue is nothing new.

She watches herself, as if from a distance, greet the younger girl and nod at her brother. She feels relief when he doesn’t nod back.

“How were classes?” Bellamy is asking both of them. Emori lets Octavia talk. She watches herself pay attention, kick a rock off the sidewalk. Octavia is talking about chemistry. Emori is thinking about the feeling of a swing set chain, cold against her forehead. She’s thinking about her naked hand, John’s fingers, his claim that it is “badass” to be deformed and unwanted.

“Mine were okay,” she answers on autopilot when the siblings turn to look at her. They’re so alike with their angular jaws, harsh noses and lips set automatically into fine lines. Their skin is nothing alike, nor is their hair, but if you saw them for half a second, you would know they belonged to each other.

She and Otan never shared that. They were asymmetrical in all the wrong ways.

Bellamy holds out a hand. “May I? I’m going to the house anyway.”

He wants to carry her bag of groceries. What a gentleman, she thinks wryly. She hands it over. The knife and chocolate in her pocket are heavy. The chocolate is probably melting. She takes it from her jacket and tucks it in with the milk to keep it cold.

“Why are you wearing a jacket?” Octavia asks bluntly. “It’s, like, a hundred degrees out.”

“It’s only 87,” Bellamy corrects mildly, but he’s wondering too.

Emori shrugs. “Thought the classrooms might be cold.” The lie is good.

She smiles to herself. Of course it’s good. It’s her. 

John has paper taped to his walls.

She didn’t see that last night. She only saw him, his flailing limbs, his contorted body and all the ways his face screamed for help. When she walks past, it flaps in the breeze from the open window. He’s smoking. A bottle of beer sits on the floor.

“Hey stranger.” She taps on the doorframe. “Care for a bite?”

He looks confused until she tosses him a chocolate bar. “Doesn’t chocolate go with wine?” he asks, bemused, tentative.

“Wine’s too bougie for us,” she replies, laughing slightly. “Can I come in?”

He blinks at her. His eyes are blue, rimmed with a dark edge. Beautiful. So beautiful. “Sure.”

She sits on the floor with him. She takes off her jacket, watches his eyes follow her arms, the jut of her collarbone under her v-neck. Chills run down her spine, but in a good way.

He bites into the chocolate, eyes on the wall ahead of them. The paper on the walls are pages from books. From here, she can read some of it, but not all. Lines jump out at her, lines he has underlined, highlighted, destroyed by circling with a harsh black pen.

I’m sorry I came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

Poor sad thing. Is that him? Someone else? Who hurt him? Why is she here, sitting on his floor, sitting beside this boy who locks his bedroom door at night, but leaves it open in the morning? Why is she here, in the dust, looking out at an endless sky, a college town, the endless possibilities that belong to everyone but her?

“You ever going to tell me what you were in for?”

It takes a moment for her to realize he’s talking about prison. “You’ll have to earn that,” she replies. A smirk, a grin, and he’s blushing, eyes cast down, beautiful lips spread in an almost-smile.

“How do I do that?”

She hums, reaches for his bottle. “Answer for answer.” She takes a swig, hands it back to him. “Who was calling you this morning.”

“Someone I wish I had never met.” A sip, a sidelong look. “Why were you arrested?”

“I was careless. I got caught.” A bite of chocolate, sugar sliding down her throat. Her leg itches. She unties her boots. “What did you dream about last night?”

His eyes darken. “Not being able to say no.” He stiffens, gets to his feet. She scrambles up, and his body shifts to accommodate her invasion into his space. They stand before one another, nearly head-to-chin, arms-to-hands. He takes her left one in his and runs his hand over the cloth. “Why do you hate this so much?”

She’s breathing hard. He is too. He licks his lips, and she feels a shock in her veins. “I- it’s-”

Fuck. The best lies hold truths. So where is her lie? Where is the only thing she has to fall back on?

She looks at his face, eyes searching hers, wide-set over a long nose. “It’s the worst thing about me.” Honest enough to hurt her.

Bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

He scoffs. “I doubt that.” He turns away. The game is over, and she is standing there, vulnerable, in the center of a room that isn’t hers, a house that isn’t hers, a life that isn’t hers.

“It’s a reminder,” she starts, and she’s whispering. Why is she whispering? “It’s a reminder-” she starts again, louder this time, “that I am nothing. That I will always be nothing. That I am erasable and alone.”

You poor sad thing.

John turns. “Emori.” His voice cracks on the second syllable. “You… fuck. ”

She flinches. On the inside, a knife is connecting with her cheek; the club’s music hammers in time with her heart; her brother is on the other side of bulletproof glass, but he is not himself.

“You are not nothing,” John whispers vehemently, desperately, surging forward to grab hold of her bad hand. “You’re not . Don’t ever say that.”

She looks at his hand on hers. Her eyes fill with tears. Her shoulders tremble once, twice, her hand twitches, and then he’s lurching backward as if she’s slapped him.

“I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry- I’ll-”

“Don’t be.” She reaches into her pocket, wraps her hand around the cold pocketknife. “I...I’ll go.”

He nods, turns away, reaches for the empty beer bottle. She closes the door behind her, hears a loud epithet and breaking glass. The bottle wasn’t meant for her, but the shards on the other side of the wall cut her all the same.

She goes outside after dinner, and sees Jasper lying in the grass.

“You okay?” she asks. He turns his head, and she sees tears on his cheeks. “Shit, what’s wrong?”

He laughs, ugly and broken. The cheerful boy she met last night is peeling off his mask. “Life fucking sucks, that’s what.”

“Care to elaborate?” It’s what one of her professors says. She likes it, likes the way she coaxes ideas out without making them obvious, without making a wrong answer shameful.

“Oh, right,” he laughs again. Someone so young shouldn’t sound so bitter. “You weren’t here.” He pats the grass beside his leg, and she sits. “I had this girlfriend, Maya. But it wasn’t some stupid high-school romance where you get one another off once in a while and kiss under the bleachers.” He sniffs. “It was real. She was real. Real and beautiful and funny. She liked art. Really depressing art, which was fucking hilarious because she was so happy and innocent.”

Emori sits, plucking at the glass with her bad hand, listening to Jasper as he spills his guts, purging himself of a story she understood, the bloody truth of an accident and a bad surgery and a young boy having to watch the girl he loved waste away to nothing.

Bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

“That sucks,” she says when he’s finished.

“Yeah.” He sits up, groans, rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve been a shitty friend to Monty. I was horrible to him; hell, I tried to kill myself last year, and I don’t think he’s gotten over it.”

“You two are like brothers,” she reasons quietly. “That kind of thing doesn’t go away overnight.”

“Am I ever going to be okay?” he asks, quietly vulnerable. A light on the front porch switches on. When she looks over her shoulder, John is leaning against the railing, another cigarette in hand, close enough to hear Jasper’s question and her answer.

“I think,” she starts slowly, “I think your ‘okay’ has to change. You’ll always want her. You’ll always miss her. But I-” I have to believe it stops hurting after a while. “I think you’ll feel better the longer you live.”

She hears John shift. She isn’t sure if what she said was a lie or the truth. She’s prepared to believe it’s both.

“Have you ever lost someone?” he asks.

The pain, a dull and rusty knife, plunges into her heart. “Yes,” she answers quickly, not thinking, not feeling. She had her time of mourning in a prison cell.

“How did you deal with it?”

She smirks, remembering. John lights a second cigarette. “I started a yard fight in prison.”

Jasper laughs, nods in appreciation or respect. “Did you win?”

She nods. “They said it was too close to tell. But I won.”

They sit in silence for a while, near the tree full of screaming crickets, the abandoned bird’s nest. John goes inside, up to his room. Raven is talking on the phone. A tall girl with long messy hair - Luna, she learns - sits on the railing of the back deck and looks up at the sky. Bellamy sits beside her and they talk. Monty brings Jasper inside. A car rolls past the house. Emori loses herself in the press and slide of the world turning, the rise and fall of her own chest. She slips away into a dazed numbness, a dark place where the world is allowed to happen to her.

“Come inside.” It’s John, back again. It’s dark now. When did it get so late? She hasn’t seen a car in hours. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

She’s about to say something when a car pulls in, tires crunching in the gravel driveway. She turns, squints into the headlights. Beside her, John freezes. He looks like a cornered animal, like a hunted man.

“John.” The windows roll down, but the headlights stay on. The engine turns off. A girl stands half in, half out of the driver’s side. Black hair, tight jacket, plump cheeks, mean eyes. Emori wants to sneer at her just on principle. “You’re ignoring my calls.”

John’s face is the picture of terror. Above their heads, Octavia’s light flickers on. Emori hears a window slam shut, Jasper and Monty’s shouting, Raven’s swearing.

“Get the hell off my property, Ontari,” Raven snarls, banging the screen door open. John flinches. He’s white-knuckling the porch railing.

John starts to move, striding off the porch in swift steps, pushing past Raven and shoving the girl against her car, his hand around her neck.

“Murphy!” Bellamy shouts. Emori scrambles to her feet.

“Not so fun when it’s you, huh?” John growls in Ontari’s ear. “Leave me the fuck alone. I’m done with you, I’m done with your bullshit, I’m done .” He shoves her again. Her head thumps against the car. “Get out and never come back.”

Emori finally moves. “Let go of her, John,” she says, tugging at his arm. “Let go, it’s not worth it. Let go.”

He does. He reaches for her, hands grasping, shaking, fisting in her shirt, closing around her wrapped hand. Ontari glares at Emori, and she feels her blood boil.

How dare you look at me? she wants to ask. How dare you hurt him?

“Is he your bitch now?” Ontari’s addressing her. Emori sees red.

“Fuck off,” Emori spits, turning away, and then Ontari’s hand is on her arm, twisting Emori back around and spitting in her face.

Emori stands there, saliva running down her cheek, hand clenched into a fist, breath coming sharp.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” John shouts, lunging for Ontari, prying her hand from Emori’s arm. “Get the fuck away from her, you sick-”

“Murphy!” It’s Bellamy, all deep voice and righteous anger. “Enough!” He jogs down the stairs and separates the two of them, all but shoving Ontari back into her car. “Don’t come here again,” he tells her, bodily hauling John up the porch steps.

Emori watches Ontari’s tires spin, scattering gravel and grass. Her spit is warm on her cheek. She wipes it away with the wrap on her hand.

“Are you calm?” Bellamy is asking John when she approaches the steps. John looks up at her, eyes unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice sounds broken.

You poor sad thing.

“What happened between you two?” she asks. Bellamy tenses. Raven moves aside so Emori can sit beside John. Octavia, Jasper and Monty are at the front window, peeking from around the curtains, eyes wide.

“You don’t have to say anything, Murphy,” Raven says. It’s a lawyer’s warning. You don’t have to incriminate yourself. You don’t have to lie. You don’t have to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.

John shakes his head. “We dated until the middle of last year.” Bellamy bows his head, as if he’s resigned to the story. “It...it wasn’t good. Healthy. Whatever.”

He looks up, turns to Raven, then Bellamy. “You know the story already.”

It’s a hint to leave. They take it, walking backwards into the house, closing the door softly.

When they’re alone again, John sighs. “She cut me off from them. I thought she was just jealous. I didn’t mind. But then it got worse; she started-” he clears his throat. “I said no. But that didn’t matter.”

Emori knows what he’s alluding to. Her heart hurts.

“I figured, what’s the problem? My mom was shit, so this was fine. Nothing new. And at least I had someone.”

“Someone loving you their way is better than being alone,” she murmurs. She understands.

He looks at her. The tears in his eyes scare her. “Raven and Bellamy helped me get out. I started living here and it was okay. I’m still...I’m still dealing with it though.” He laughs. It’s ugly. “Which is to say, I’m not really dealing with it.”

He pulls down the collar of his shirt, shows her the ugly scars around his neck. She touches them softly, with cold fingers. He shivers.

Bruised and ruined. She feels sick. Bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

“I’m sorry for what she did to you,” she whispers.

He sniffs. “It’s over now.”

“Is it?”

He laughs. “Shit. I forgot.” She doesn’t know what he means. His glassy eyes say that he doesn’t either. “No, it’s not, I guess.”

They sit there in silence. It might be her imagination, but the tension is bleeding from his shoulders. He leaves his shirt askew. Every time she sees the scars, she is angry.

“I hope it stops hurting,” she whispers.

“It does. Sometimes.” He reaches for her. She stays deathly still while he reaches out, touches her hair, her cheek that’s still sticky with spit. “I wish…” he shakes his head. “I felt guilty talking to you. As if she would be angry. As if she still matters.”

“Why me?” she asks. “You talk to Raven and Octavia all the time.”

“They-” he sighs, frustrated, out of words. “They’re not like you. They’re not… They don’t understand. You do.” He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know how, but you do.”

It’s enough. More than enough, actually. She can feel herself smiling, glowing like the fireflies flashing in the tree branches above them.

“I’d like to take you out,” he says softly. She blinks in surprise, shifts when he turns, reaches for her hand. “I can’t promise I won’t be a shitty boyfriend. Hell, I’m not asking to be your boyfriend. I’m just asking for a date.”

It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “Okay.” She nods, smiles when he smiles.

“Okay?” He sounds shocked. She doesn’t blame him; she is too. She barely knows the guy. But she knows enough. She knows about his nightmares. She knows his laugh, his little smiles, his love of chocolate, his hatred of his own reflection.

She’s seen enough. Enough to say yes. Enough to pretend she has a conscience.

She takes his hand, leads him back to the house. “Okay.”