#but like. in those few fragmented memories. i can Tell there's multiple people there

[nexus-nebulae]

suddenly remembering how we used to write down conversations between our old host and their "ocs" (see: headmates) during school when we were super stressed out. hmm.

[kmhnsecretexchange]

All-Knowing and All-Agony

Title: All-Knowing and All-Agony

Author: @collegiate-trash (@ThatRandomFan)

For: isdisorigionale (Twitter)

Pairings/Characters: Komahina 

Rating/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Prompt: dnd au– either they’re playing Dnd, or they’re dnd characters with a bit of self-awareness (to separate it from just a normal fantasy). they have to find Ms. Monomi’s lost hope fragments!!! to save the world!!

Author’s notes: If it feels like a fever dream, then it probably is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Life in Jabberwock is as peaceful as it can be. Blue skies, blue water, blue blood spewing out of the monster’s severed neck—

“Komaeda, do something!" 

Ah, yes.  Nothing can be much better than this!

…Except maybe not getting shoved around by his partner. It will certainly make the entire thing much better.

"What was that for? You know I bruise easily, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda Nagito huffs as he turns away from the dying monster before them. “You could have just called me.”

He can tell he hit a nerve when he spots red slowly taking over his companion’s face. So cute! 

“I did call you multiple times, you asshole!” Hinata Hajime rages, pointing at the slowly disappearing carcass of their most recent hunt. “You could have helped deal with that, but you’re all the way here looking pretty!”

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” The prince bats his eyelashes, prompting rage to take over the protagonist as he stomps back to deal with the mess they made.

He has only known the winter prince for a few weeks, but he is more than ready to throw him back into the castle he picked him up in. Honestly. His company isn��t bad half the time, but sometimes… Hinata can’t help but sigh as memories visit him while he collects their loot.

Meeting Komaeda had been a happenstance, as most of his adventures are. He heard people talking about the gates of Winterfell opening up for its decennial ball. It piqued his curiosity, sure, but more so because of the possible networking he could do while having fun. How is he supposed to know that attending means solving a curse surrounding the entire castle and saving the prince trapped inside of it all? 

He doesn’t even know what prompted him to go through all of those trials just to save Komaeda too. Sure, it feels bad to know that someone is already doomed to die, but—

“What are you doing?”

“Gah…!”

 All he hears is laughter as Hinata tries his best to calm his heart after the scare. It’s beating fast due to shock— not because Komaeda looks good from this angle. The sun makes his hair glow like a halo, but that impish smile on his face ruins the immersion of seeing an angel. “S-stop doing that! God, you’ll be the death of me.”

He knows he made a mistake the moment the prince steps closer to him, leaning down to prove just how much better he is than Hinata. “Oh, really? Why is your face all red then?”

 "Fuck off,“ he grunts, pushing himself up while pushing a few monokuma coins into his royal princely chest. "Next time, you’re on damage dealer duties.”

Komaeda simply hums as he counts his reward. “Are you sure that’s wise? You know I’m just a fragile little waif who can barely lift a weapon.” He even finishes his statement with a convincing frown. Too bad Hinata is busy holding back his laughter at that blatant lie.

The prince may look like a porcelain doll, but he certainly isn’t one. Hinata underestimated him once, and that nearly cost him his life. He won’t be doing that again anytime soon. No, thank you. What Komaeda lacks in raw strength, he makes up for with his tremendous mana and crazy analytical skills. It doesn’t help that their fight happened within Winterfell Castle—the prince’s cage for nearly half of his life. He has home-field advantage, and he really used it to his own benefit. Truly, if he wasn’t fighting for his life then, he would have been swooning at the sheer power oozing from him.

Which is ironic given how childish Komaeda looks now with that pout on his face.

“Right. Whatever you say, Your Highness,” Hinata snorts as he ruffles Komaeda’s fluffy white hair, much to his chagrin.

Still, perhaps it is a testament to their bond that the prince no longer shies away from his touch. He used to be so touch-averse when they started traveling together, until Hinata nearly fell down a ravine. Needless to say, the experience brought them closer together. Komaeda said it made them even after that Winter Ball fiasco, but Hinata can tell that something changed in the prince the moment he pulled him into his arms and out of harm’s way.

 If he ends up staring as the prince puts his hair back to its prior disorganized mess, well. No one is watching them right now. Hinata can remain purposely oblivious to how domestic that little gesture was. And while Komaeda is busy with that, he takes out their quest list to cross out the recently deceased monster’s name. “This guardian makes us what? Three fragments out of five?”

“Out of six,” the prince cheerily pipes up once he is satisfied with how he looks. “Three more, and we should be able to summon Monomi for your wish!”

 Hinata nods. Personally, he didn’t really think the legend of Monomi was real until Komaeda told him about it. It was so dumb, but the prince has a silver tongue. Hinata won’t be surprised if he tells him the most ludicrous lie in existence, and he will still believe him. Maybe that’s the reason he is off adventuring the world right now, chasing after a mythical beast that can fulfill your heart’s desire.

Ugh, it’s so cheesy, but fuck it. Komaeda looked so enthralled while telling him about the legend. How was he supposed to say no to that face? To be blunt, the only reason he hasn’t walked away now and left the prince to chase off his fantasy of meeting Monomi is Komaeda’s starry gaze. It looms over him, luring him in every single time he tries to turn away. How could he say no to that?

“Careful now. Don’t hurt yourself by thinking too much,” a teasing voice says against his ear. It completely breaks him out of his thoughts and earns the culprit a crude gesture as he stomps off ahead. “Ahaha, Hinata-kun is always so fun to tease…”

Komaeda watches him go with a fond smile. The situation may be different now, but Hajime remains as he is, doesn’t he? The thought comes unbidden and slowly sours his mood. It’s funny how quickly things turn bittersweet at a moment’s notice. Then again, he supposes it is up to him to remember where Hinata cannot.

He just hopes it won’t take too long now.

As fun as it is to roam around this made-up world as adventurers, he would really like to go back and be with his husband now. Well, that is not entirely true. He would have enjoyed exploring this world if the circumstances had been different. He doubts Hajime would approve of it, given how workaholic he became after the simulation, but…

  “Nagito-san please hurry! Hajime is…!”

  Life in Jabberwock is as peaceful as it can be. Blue skies, blue water, blue paint that he drops as soon as he hears that call—

Running has never been something he has enjoyed. In fact, he hates it with his entire being, just like every other form of physical exercise. Hajime tried to instill in him why it was a good idea for him to run, but he was just not having it. Honestly. He really regrets that decision now. Maybe if he listened to him, he wouldn’t be panting this much. Maybe if he listened then, he would be faster. And if he had been faster, then maybe things would have been different.

Except it never was. 

No matter how many times he runs the events through his mind…

“H-Hajime is in stable condition,”

“B-but, it’s unclear w-when or, or, if, Hajime will wake up." 

 "The s-scans show little, little to no activity in the brain, I’m s-sorry, Nagito-san!”

…the ending remains the same as it was when it first occurred. 

   Life in Jabberwock is as peaceful as it can be. Except it’s not anymore. The blue skies are gone, and the blue waters are tainted. The only thing left of him now are the blue tears he sheds beside his sleeping husband. Mikan may have found the cause of his comatose state, but what good will that do when he remains asleep like this. 

Days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months. All Nagito can do is wait for a miracle to occur. 

And if that miracle comes in the form of an endless dream… 

The prince laughs as Hinata huffs at his late arrival. “Ah, sorry… Were you waiting long?" 

"Does it really matter to you if I was?” The protagonist kicks a pebble as he answers before turning away. “Knowing you, you’ll just take your time even more to spite me." 

"Such low opinions of me, Hinata-kun… I couldn’t possibly spite you,” he scoffs, placing a hand on his chest as if promising solemnly. Too bad his companion isn’t having it with how he snorts at his display. Komaeda expects him to ditch him again, like earlier. Imagine his surprise when Hinata takes his hand and drags him along. 

Really, he looks so dashing with the sun shining on him. If he can keep this image alive for a while longer, can he bring it back home? Nagito isn’t so sure about that, but listening to him berate him like this…

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m only doing this because you’ll just end up in a daze again if I leave. Then, who fucking knows when we’ll get to the next guardian!"  

…Maybe it isn’t so bad to enjoy what precious moments they have left before the inevitable end. 

— 

  "What other choice do we have? It’s either this or lose him forever, Nagito-san…”

Life in Jabberwock is as peaceful as it can be. Blue skies, blue water, blue code blinding him as they seal him away—

Things were never supposed to be like this. Hajime’s little adventure game was only supposed to be used for leisure and relaxation. It was never meant to be used as another cartridge for the Neo World Program. He made it with love and with the hope that it would keep everyone together. How were they all to know that it would be used to bring him back the way he did with them? 

“Remember, Nagito-san..”

“Six fragments… for six memories…” he mumbles like a matra. His memory may be fickle, but he swears to remember this until he dies. “Six fragments… for six memories…" 

It was nothing more than a theory, but it was the best they had. When every avenue had already been explored to no avail, they had no choice but to cling to the small glimpse of hope in this risky venture. He has to get Hajime back. 

And if that means being transported to a game his husband created out of love…

"Upload successful!" 

"We just have to wait now, right?”

“Don’t lower your guards. We have to monitor them for the entire duration of the procedure.”

“Aye, aye captain! Ibuki is all set to stand guard 24/7!”

“They will be fine, r-right? …W-we checked everything but, um…”

“Nagito-san, Hajime-san… please come back soon…!”

…would it really be so bad? 

[theskyexists]

Ancillary justice

Fascinating. This ship AI controlling the corpses of colonised people in service to the murderous empire creates small spaces for the slightest acts of autonomy, and it uses that autonomy to intervene - to stop a soldier from abusing a grief-stricken casualty of war, to have the slightest petty victory over those who can command her. Amazing character work. She does experience it as slavery.

I like how Seivarden is brought in as the Empire's arrogant awful shitstain nepo baby murder soldier that we can all disdain. Seems like AI mc really liked Lieutenant Awn bc she's a good man. The opposite to Seivarden.

Ah there is a distinction made between One Esk and Justice of Toren.

Ah. Funny that these creatures of empire still believe in the 'civilised' rules of that empire and corruption of those rules ( justifications) as an outlier.

Every single thing indicates that the highest person in the land has intervened: the guns, the segment dead, the girl dead anyway, the device which can block radch communications, the dismissal of Awn and the deliberate provocation, the understanding the tanmind thought they had, the cleaning up of people who knew of the understanding. But the question STILL is why.

I do very much like the trick of this narration which calls everyone she.

Oh Kay....how did strigan suddenly realise....Oh. she knows because we're going into the flashback in which Seivarden tells them. When was that

The segment was killed in order to make Awn vulnerable to murder. (No)

Awn comforting the new segment.... Hmmm. Sounds like the people that are ancillary are still alive in there..

Hmm now its saying that Esk is the singers and Justice of Toren not....

Ok the book has lost the plot now. The mc has just spent twenty years to get this damn gun. And her plan is to shoot ONE INSTANCE of the great ruler - which doesnt actually require the gun at all.

But after all, this is but one segment, and we've already discussed both memory loss and the strange baseless attachment to Seivarden multiple times...

Ah, it almost seems like the Justice of Toren was meddled with before. By a Mianaai. What do we know? The Mianaais are clones....organic. they do seem to be able to interact with their other selves - but a hint has already been dropped that this can be cut off or does not operate the same as AI. The only thing that makes sense is that Mianaai is NOT a Hive mind constant consensus with itself. Oh damn, i predicted this a few paragraphs before the text stated it.

So this is the pro-racist-classist-slavery-expansionist Mianaai faction probing Seivarden. That fall from the bridge really made her reevaluate

Ah - i hadnt thought of Mianaai recognising her as not what shes saying she is. But at least the author notes this lapse in plot logic before i can notice it. And is making a big point of it. I think we're back into pawn in larger game territory

Now they go to the opposite faction.

Mianaai really already knew it was Justice of Toren... But all of her too curious to eliminate it...why WOULD Justice have done this, if there had been an option to speak to the right Mianaai in private...

Thing is, for most of this segment the writing did not make sufficiently clear to me that the problem isnt not that there is another Mianaai (the other is dead) but that the conflict was spoken of to them before they were fragmented by device. And that memory is stored and will be sent out soon. But these memories are stored electronically and in the segments that are still there. There do seem to be more here.

Why wouldnt they make the simple expense of armouring all the Supreme leaders....

Im so touched by the good feeling the Orsians still have towards Awn...

What i dont understand is why there are so many Mianaais here. I thought it was one ruler per Palace but it works more like an AI than i thought.

The thing is - what i am most surprised by still in retrospect is that the harvest they do of thousands for ancillaries FROM annexed planets wasnt more of an issue on Ors.

Hmm. The concept of fragmented Mianaai (one fascist one utilitarian) is very interesting BUT i do not quite understand how she could have denied to herself that she's fighting herself if they share THOUGHTS. Justice of Toren shot Awn and One Var shot Awn and One Esk might never have done that, but they all had access to the same information. Every time Mianaai cut off communications greater Mianaai should have made a reconstruction of the blind spots. Having the conflict stated out loud - i dont see how it would have changed anything. All the Mianaai SHOULD have known that they were in conflict with themselves. That couldnt probably have been hidden from themselves? I guess greater Mianaai was simply balancing things? The entrance of a segmenting device - its origins and its strategic implications - it must have come from the Presger.

I liked reading the opposite side to one of my favourite stories: devotion. Breq quite unaware of what it has inspired in Seivarden. Unaware even of the fondness it feels for Seivarden...

I thought the coincidence of Seivarden's survival and involvement with the genocide plus Esk's uncertain memory might lead somewhere but it didnt... (Yet?). I guess i wasnt fully convinced somehow of Esk's commitment to as total revenge as possible as the singular reason for its suicidal plans. (i also think the narrative put too much focus on the gun's armour piercing qualities when Esk wanted it for its selfcloaking. For that matter another loose thread: why would any Mianaai that cannot trust itself go around unarmoured?? A sign of trust, pact, dare or bluff? Losing bodies IS a great inconvenience when one can be segmented). I guess i would have liked the statement on the great impact of small interventions repeated/fully realised in this decision of suicide bombing for seemingly little impact. Nor was i convinced how Esk would have made these choices from being muddled and grief stricken. I would have been more convinced if all along Esk had understood that the way to do the most damage was to bait Mianaai into exposing her full self to the truth of her internal conflict before it in fact apparently accidentally did that - and this was why it acted so obviously - instead of suddenly realising it would definitely be recognised, implying their cognitive patterns are under influence of a (third?) higher power - which was never confirmed.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part II)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: Coming home is melancholy and cold, and your squadmates ask you to do what you couldn't do for a year: speak up and find out what's going on inside Eren's mind.

Words count: 5.3k

They say that when a loved one leaves this world, the days follow turns gray, colorless; How ironic to think that the day we buried Sasha was gray, there wasn’t a trace of the blue sky or some solar ray that could give us the warmth we were lacking. It was cold, a cold that got into your bones and no matter how many hugs and words of mutual support we gave each other, we couldn’t get the warmth we needed.

My soul had been fragmented the moment Sasha left this world, but seeing my friends cry at her grave and leave bouquets of flowers, it fragmented even more. I wasn’t able to meet Nicolo's eyes, my guilt prevented me. Inside, I wanted this Marleyan to yell at me, to tell me that he hated my presence, that Sasha's death had been my fault, and that I should have given my life if it meant saving her. I wanted with all my being that he would give me a reason to really feel guilty.

On the way back to the island, the others assured me that her death wasn’t my fault, that I did everything possible to keep her alive. But my ineptitude, my grief, my low self-esteem prevented me from seeing things clearly. I just needed… something to hold onto.

And I wasn't getting anything.

I felt how I was slowly sinking into the rabbit hole, without the possibility of clinging to a tree root. I was falling, falling, falling, unable to know when I would hit bottom. But that bottom came fast before I could have predicted, because minutes after Nicolo arrived, Sasha's father arrived too, bouquet of beautiful red flowers in hand.

I broke myself. The two people who longed for Sasha most in their lives were standing in front of me, mourning the loss of her young soul. The two people who would hate me the most in the world, standing over my friends's grave. I fell to my knees in front of them and in front of her grave, silently begging for forgiveness.

My tears fell incessantly on the freshly stirred earth as did my fingers, imploring this burden on my chest to dissipate, as if unconsciously I was wishing for Sasha herself to forgive me for letting her die. How could one cope with this heinous feeling? How could I go on, knowing that the world was falling around us, unable to know if the next day we were going to be alive or if Marley would initiate an attack from which we weren’t going to be able to defend ourselves?

My head was racing a thousand per second and the only thing I could let out were those sobs that had accompanied me so much on the way back, the same ones that cradled me to slept, and the tears that so much wanted to dissipate the pain in my soul.

It is said that when a person leaves this world, some people are unable to handle grief, just as they are unable to articulate a word. Apparently I was one of those people.

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Nights and days passed. Those of us who survived the attack on Marley stayed in commune trying to encourage ourselves to continue fighting. Hange had recommended us to rest, since the psychological damage could cause us several injuries in the future, and as for Eren ... we weren’t very aware of him. The last we heard from our commanders is that he was locked away from all human contact, stipulating that it would be better to keep him locked up for a while and let whatever shit that was going through his head dissipate.

But that was complete bullshit. I knew that, even locking him up, they weren't going to be able to change the thoughts that tormented Eren so much. I knew that, whatever was wandering through his mind, he wasn’t letting him alone and he would never let go. How did I know that? Because I spent a whole year trying to get him to let me enter in that shell he has been forming in recent years. I tried very hard to get him to tell me his plan before he went to Marley, but I got nothing, and I still get nothing.

My gaze was lost in the window. The nights grew colder and colder and I hugged my arms as I watched the sunset. The boys were arguing about something, something that Mikasa didn't seem to find funny at all, but my mind wasn’t connected to reality. I just stared out the window, remembering the old days when we'd sneak out to steal a piece of meat from the supply warehouse with Sasha and Connie.

I remembered the nights when the boys sneaked into the women's hut to keep each other warm in our days as recruits. I remembered how Armin let me practice my medicine methods on him when he got hurt, a practice that was lost when he inherited the power of the Colossal Titan.

I remembered how we would escape at dawn, grab a few horses and ride out to the ocean, taking nice cool baths on the warm moonlit summer nights. Now those moments only remained in that, in memories.

"(Y/N) are you listening?"

My gaze detached from the window, now it was fixed on a Connie who looked just as tired of the world as I did. This dwarf turned giant was just as devastated as I was by losing half of him, and yet he was still able to continue fighting alongside our friends.

"We think you might be the most suitable to go talk to Eren"

Armin's calm voice stripped me of any desire to go back to the old moments. I pulled myself away from the window tiredly and let my body unconsciously guide me to one of the couchs in the middle of the room, next to the blonde. Apparently while I was wandering in my thoughts, the tension in the room had reached a point where it could be cut with a simple wave of the hand.

As I sat down, I was able to take a better look at the room. From what I could analyze, the group had divided into two, those who still trusted Eren and those who did not, each with their reasons, and apparently, I was playing the role of mediator. The responsibility fell on me to move the pieces of the board: to talk to our supposed war partner and beg him to tell us about his plans and the demons in his head, or to dethrone him completely.

"What makes you think I can go talk to him?"

My words came out of my mouth colder and sharper than I would’ve liked, but it was the simple truth. If Eren was willing to push each other away to accomplish his task, what was I going to accomplish after a year without having answers to his thoughts?

"I haven't been able to speak to him openly in a year"

Armin and Mikasa gave me completely stunned looks. Not even their childhood friend had told them that his relationship was falling off a cliff.

"I didn't know, I thought you were fine"

"Well, we are not fine at all Armin"

I knew it wasn't fair for Armin to get all my frustration, he wasn't guilty at all. I looked him in the eye and I could find multiple feelings in those huge blue eyes: sadness, compassion, guilt, overwhelm. I knew he was one of the worst going through it, his childhood friend was no longer entirely reliable; he had carried out acts of sheer violence and had become the enemy he hated the most; Armin had become his worst enemy and his eyes clearly showed it.

And it was those same eyes that begged me to do something, to go and talk, to try to figure out the smallest thing we could use to get out of this mess Eren got us into. They implored me to save his soul brother from his mental prison.

I let out a long breath before getting up off the couch and heading to the door.

"I highly doubt that I will achieve anything, but I will try to talk to him"

I took one last look to the guys in front of me before leaving the room, each one wishing me luck and pleading for my well-being with their eyes, and sinking even further into the rabbit hole, or rather, going straight to ventured into the lion's den.

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The road to the dungeons was long and heavy, but not because of the number of blocks and alleys I had to take, but because of what was waiting for me at the end of the road. Upon coming into contact with the stone walls and their semi-armored doors, the blood on my body ran cold, just as it ran cold when we buried Sasha.

The air below the ground was cold, the smell of mold and dirt entered my nostrils, preventing me from taking a couple of steps without feeling like vomiting. The place really needed a better cleaning, otherwise it would be the epicenter of a huge plague.

At the end of the corridor, where the light was dimmer and let the darkness eat much of the cell, was Eren. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him sitting on his supposed bed, staring directly at the wall, or so it seemed; knowing him he was surely lost in his world. I kept my composure, avoiding giving any trace of my emotional and psychological state.

"Hi"

I got no response, as always.

I had the opportunity to inspect his cell, it was quite untidy and dripping with water, coming from the sink which was covered to the top. Unconsciously I prayed that this water was drinkable or at least that it was not too polluted, since I didn’t have to look completely at the brunette in front of me to know he had put his head in that same water.

"I like your hair, looks very smooth"

"What do you want?"

His voice came out calm but imposing and terrifying at the same time, I would be lying if I said I didn’t startle a bit, but I kept my composure as best as possible to avoid showing the fear in my eyes. Eren may not have noticed, but if he did, he was unfazed.

"The guys think that I can talk to you, but I told them they were completely wrong, I mean...we haven't been able to speak like we used to for a year, maybe more"

My words came out of my mouth like the venom of a snake. I couldn't tell if my intention was to make him feel guilty, or at least feel something, to reflect on my words, but guess what… his eyes didn't even leave the wall behind me.

I crossed my arms and rested my body on one of the bars, hoping to have some intimidating way for the damn bastard to decide to speak. Even though bullying wasn't my thing, I, yes, had a tired face and wasn't there to waste my time, but I had to achieve something, get something, whatever, so I could get out of this damn place.

"You know very well that I'm not going to leave until you say something"

His eyes met mine for a few seconds and then returned to their original position. I knew this was going to be difficult, but I couldn't help my irritation growing from my chest. With every minute that passed, the pain in that area was increasing and a lump in the throat was appearing with each tear that I wanted to avoid shedding.

I'd been through shitty days and had to come alone to the exact place I least wanted to be to talk to the person I least wanted to see.

"I'm used to being on my feet for long hours, I can be here all day, and that's exactly what I'm going to do"

I remained planted in front of the cell, positioning myself with crossed arms right in front of his eyes, preventing them from continuing to look at the miserable wall.

But my bad luck wasn't giving me any sign that I was going to win this fight very soon. Although I was covering his peripheral field, his eyes never deigned to look at me, they simply stayed glued to the front, now seeing my body in front, although in reality, he was seeing without seeing.

My patience was running out and this goddamn silent game had only just begun. I had to find something to work with, something that could flicker him or make him angry… anger would not be the best if I wanted to leave with all the bones intact and my already psychological trauma without further damage; but knowing Eren, anger was his fuel, which made him move and in an action-reaction effect, made everyone move together behind him.

That's it. Everyone. But we weren't all here.

Sasha was dead; Reiner, Berthold and Annie traitors and enemies of Paradis; Ymir disappeared and confirmed dead, being inherited by the new jaw titan; the only one missing from our group was our beloved Queen. The Queen that Eren so decided to care for and protect.

"You know, Historia is about to give birth"

It was mild, but I could feel his body tense. His eyes moved just the same slightly, but in those little acts I knew I had struck a chord. And I was willing to use it, even if it meant destroying my sanity and causing one of Eren's greatest worldly anger.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a little baby on the squad?" I took a deep breath before launching the second impact of the night, preparing to receive whatever blow came next. "After all, it's your child, right?"

His body moved faster than I could ever achieve and my reflexes weren't sharp enough to pull away in time. His hand grabbed my shirt, drawing me towards the bars and hitting my cheeks on each one, now my face was directly in front of him, my field of vision being just his face and finally, his eyes were focused on mine.

"Don't even think about talking about Historia like that"

If looks could kill, surely I would already be dead on the ground. His grip on my chest was strong, he was even capable of ripping the fabric, but with a push back showed me that it wasn’t strong enough, that everything was a facade. I staggered, almost fell to the ground, but either way, I kept my balance and my expression. I was terrified inside, but I forced myself to keep a stoic look at all time, he was trying to play with me and although I was not entirely sure how much there were just words and how much were an act of anger and violence, I couldn’t dedicate myself to having a hint of doubt.

"Easy, Romeo, I know you're not the daddy...or are you?"

I adjusted my clothes, avoiding his gaze because I knew if I stared into his eyes, I would get a much worse look than the one he gave me a few seconds ago.

"Whatever, you gave me something to work with, Historia knows something and didn't tell us...gee, I wonder why"

I leaned my body against the cold stone. My gaze went everywhere, trying to keep avoiding his eyes and incidentally have a stronger support for my figure.

"The Queen doesn’t have to say anything to anyone"

Ohhh, you little shit.

If that's the game you want to play, then you're going to lose.

Even if his words were absolutely right, we shouldn’t forget that, before she was queen, Historia had been our friend during training and the entire year of accumulated trauma between betrayals and deaths. If we could continue to have conversations with her and were invited to participate in political meetings, then we had every right to be informed of the supposed plan that Eren implanted in our queen's mind.

For a moment I was scared by the physical and emotional state of Historia. Was Eren capable of keeping her threatened? Did he say or do anything to keep her quiet? The questions seemed to have no head or tail, but if Eren was able to grab me the way he did, I can't imagine what he could do to keep someone quiet.

"Yes, you are right, in the same way, trust only the queen before your friends... that’s brave"

I searched the corridor and the cell for something I could use to attract his attention again, if it was necessary for me to use violence against him, I would be willing to do it. My eyes met a chain anchored to the wall, quite a long chain, to tell the truth. And on the other side, reaching almost the middle of the corridor, I could make out a rather dirty cloth.

I glanced at Eren who had sat back down on his bed, head down in his hands, and walked down the hall with one goal in mind. I grabbed the cloth and walked back to the cell, standing in front of the bars. I reached out my hand to the sink and started to clean up what was left of the spilled water.

"It's all soaked, incredible that they keep a cell like this"

Without taking my eyes off the sink, I could hear Eren settling on his bed, perhaps sitting upright. I kept running the dirty cloth over the water, honestly I wasn’t achieving much apart from spreading the now dirty water even more, but I had to continue with the facade of an understandable couple.

"It's a complete mess...were Historia's legs like this when you railed her?"

As before, Eren had quickly stood up, ready to grab my hand that was inside the cell, but I was already better prepared. When I felt his fingers touch my wrist, I turned my hand to anchor it on his arm and draw him towards the bars, having that same arm outside the cell. With half body on the cold metal, my other hand grabbed the missing arm and with all my strength I pulled his limbs towards me, causing his body and head to crash against the bars.

"Do you want to do it the hard way? fine, we'll do it the hard way"

Eren tried to shake off my grip, but the adrenaline rushing through my veins prevented him from loosening even a millimeter. I pushed him and pulled him back to me, stretching his arms even further and hitting his head on the metal.

"What's wrong with you?"

Again, a back and forth motion.

"What is going on in your head?"

Back and forth.

"How much shit can you have in your mind that you are not able to tell your friends?"

Back and forth.

"TELL ME FOR FUCK SAKE!!"

With one last impact, I hit Eren's head and heard the fibers and tendons in his shoulders rip, just as his skin began to stretch and break, revealing the flesh and muscle beneath it. Rivers of blood flowed over his arms, dropping to the floor and turning his skin red.

His head was also bleeding to the side, soaking his torso and rebel hair. A pool of blood formed under our feet. I let go of his arms and then grabbed the chain that was on the wall and chained him. Considering the number of times he hab been chained since his fifteen years, I suppose one more time wouldn't do any harm to his already traumatized mind.

When I saw his hands were secure I dropped to the floor, not caring about the blood that now adorned the cold stone floor. I could feel my ass starting to get soggy and sticky from the substance. I would have to burn this pants when I got out of there.

Both my mind and my breath hitched, enveloping the environment. I tried to calm down and clear my mind to continue this hell of interrogation. I knew I shouldn't have agreed, and now look at what situation I was in.

"You know I can transform and use the power of the warhammer titan to get out of here"

Eren seemed withdrawn from his situation, as if bleeding to death didn't matter in the least. Steam came out of his shoulders, a sign that he was in the process of regeneration and prayed that this process would take a long time to materialize.

“I know…” I tried to calm my voice and breath before speaking again “but if you transform now, you would end up killing me, and killing me means betraying the legion, and betraying them means betraying the people of Paradis… you don 't want that, do you? "

My words may sound sly, but inside I was wanting to run out of there, get under the covers of my bed and sleep until the day of doomsday; I was even wishing to die in that sleep.

"I'm going to stay here until I know once and for all what's going on in your head, because I know that whatever shit is in there… it's killing you."

Now we were both looking into each other's eyes, fighting a battle in silence, seeing who would give up first. We held eye contact for a few long minutes, unable to tell how many. Maybe it was a couple, maybe half an hour or even an hour; whatever the time, I was already getting bored.

"If I had known it would take so long, I would have brought something to read"

"What has you so worried that you can't even tell Hange or the heichou?"

My question came reluctantly out of my mouth, as if my ability to fight was fading. I was already very tired and it seemed like days since I entered the dungeons.

"Noone would be able to understand"

"Oh please! Don't take me for a fool. Do you think that none of them are battling their own inner demons? Do you think that only you can have intrusive thoughts to fight against?"

His comment irritated me to the core. I never found Eren such a selfish person, and to think that a year or so ago he was declaring his unconditional affection to all of his comrades.

What happened in the last year? What changed?

"Each one of them has to face their own internal wars every day"

Before my anger got the best of me, I took a few small breaths, calming myself. I wasn't going to put me on the same level of hatred and misunderstanding as him, even if it meant throwing away all the years we were together.

"Historia surely has to fight against the stress and the multiple responsibilities that being a queen entails, apart from fighting against the offensive comments of the military police"

Maybe the island has been rid of Titans for a long time, but that didn’t take away the fact that shitty people, like those who lived on the Wall Sina, decided to try and continue controlling the poor people who were split the loin so those ungrateful would have a feast every night.

"Connie is struggling every day against losing his other half, his twin"

Connie, Jean, everyone ... EVERYONE! We were fighting and suffering the mourning of Sasha, of our teammates.

"Shit, surely Jean is still struggling with the memory of Marco after so many years"

Yes. No one had forgotten Marco, especially Jean. But we had to learn to keep going on that very day, we couldn't afford to get sentimental and spoil the next missions. From that day on we learned to watch over our dead mates in silence.

"I fight every day against my incompetence"

And now was the time that I could begin to veil my demons once and for all.

Already my body was begging to rest. I had laid my head on the wall and fixed my gaze on the ceiling. I heard the chains move at my side, a sign that Eren was moving, but I didn't have the strength to look him in the face.

"I fight every day against the image of Sasha dying in my hands"

I know that memory is going to haunt me until the day I die.

"I fight every day against the memories of our comrades dying in battle"

I saw countless deaths throughout the year 850, so many that I decided to use my knowledge in medicine to help even to stop a bleeding. I still remember the first suture I made to a mate already lost in battle ... I was so excited, so happy to be of such help.

"I fight every day against the idea of ​​not being enough"

But that exaltation led to thousands of failures. People who had bled internally, who had lost an arm and couldn’t get to cauterize, hundreds who had lost half their stomach or head.

"I fight every day against our enemies on the other side of the sea"

I wasn't going to deny it, learning the pure and exclusive truth of the world, I couldn't help but feel a deep hatred for the Marleyans. I wanted them to pay for the countless deaths and suffering they had caused, I wanted to see them burn, but at the same time I wanted a reasonable explanation.

"I fight the memories of the titans devouring our friends"

Memories of the first day in battle, right at our graduation, when we thought that nothing could happen. How naive we were. And to think that that was just the beginning of a long list of events that would bring us to this moment.

"I fight every day along side with the memories of the team escaping from the base and messing it up to enjoy the summer nights"

Memories of when we would sneak into the palace and take Historia with us, enjoying the air in our faces and running in the valleys of the countryside. Memories of when we ran cows for some strange reason at the beginning of the day.

Memories of when we were racing with the 3D movement gear through the great forests outside the city. Memories of the occasional punch in the face against the bark of a tree for not knowing where we were going.

"I fight every day against the image of the big bright turquoise eyes that I fell in love with"

My gaze fell on those same eyes, but instead of finding the description that I wanted to see so much, I only found grayish green eyes, eyes that had lost all their brilliance.

I found eyes full of tiredness and anger for the world. The brilliance that so characterized Eren had been lost; now I would have to settle for a blank stare.

"I fight every day ... against the memory of our return to the rooms and Levi punishing us for weeks"

My voice was breaking as I remembered the nights when only Eren and I would sneak out to spend quality time alone. Those nights where we would lie down to see the stars or to lose ourselves in each other in some meadow.

I look at my hands, they were shaking. I couldn't help but remember the first night we spent together, back then I was shaking too, but Eren's hands on my cheeks dispelled any doubt or fear that I could ever have. I unconsciously smiled at the fond memory and I think Eren did too, as I heard a little laugh coming from him.

But no matter how much smiles and laughter the memories gave me, I had to go on and face the world that was now in front of me.

"I fight every day ... against the idea of ​​running towards you, towards your arms"

Those arms that one day gave me warmth. Those arms that one day hugged and covered me the moment I found out that a mate had died. Those strong arms that I knew were going to protect me from any harm.

"I fight against the hope that this is all a nightmare, that you are going to cradle me in your arms and tell me that everything is going to be fine, that it was just a bad dream"

My gaze returned to his, now filled with tears. It hurt, the cruel truth hurt a lot.

"I fight against the desire to stay by your side"

Eren's face was dark, he had returned to how he was at the beginning, without any trace of that soft laugh I heard a few seconds ago.

"I fight with my inner voice that tells me that everything will be fine, that in a few years it will not hurt as much as it does now"

Maybe ... maybe I can start over and when all this nefarious war is over I can find peace, once and for all, and enjoy my friends.

"I fight to move on"

...

"I fight every day...against you"

That was it.

I stood up heavily, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. The blood on the floor was already dry and had left the entire back of my pants stained. I hadn't noticed that the air had been permeated with the iron smell of blood, making my vomiting reflex worse, even though I had avoided it in a good way all this time.

"If you want to free yourself from this cell, go ahead, I'm not going to stop you"

His figure was already fully regenerated and I knew it was a matter of time before he transformed and left this filthy place. Eren might trust what he was doing was the right thing to do, but if he didn’t accept that in the eyes of the world, that in our eyes, his friends, the only family he had left, couldn’t understand his actions, then there wasn’t much to ask from him.

If he wanted to betray us, let him do it.

“Do what you have to do to fulfill your dream, I don't care anymore. But don't expect for me to sit around and wait for you"

"Are you planning to go to the other side of the sea?"

What a stupid and dubious question at the same time. Was I willing to leave my life in Paradis to start over even in the lands of the enemy?

No, not at all. Why I was no traitor.

"No Eren, I am not going to Marley, my family is here...but you are no longer part of it"

Those words hurt, but they needed to be said; that way I could already start to heal.

"Is that all you have to say?"

I couldn't tell if his words were mocking or a sincere question. But yes, it was all I had to say. I couldn't spend another minute in front of someone I didn't even know anymore.

"It's all I can bear"

I took one last look at the prisoner in the cell before turning and continuing down the long corridor of the dungeons.

"Are you leaving so soon? I thought I heard you would stay as long as it takes for me to speak"

As I reached the door, I took a deep breath of the foul smell of the environment. My hand lay on the doorknob and was half open when his words reached my ears. There was no need to shout from a distance, the echo of the stones made it easy for me to hear the smallest whisper of the perpetrator. I opened the door, but not before dedicating my last words.

"Goodbye Jaeger"

And behind me, I closed the door.

[938475824521]

Town of Salem: Anticipation and ableism

Note: Please don’t harass anyone in this thread or go to the Discord to spread hate. Thanks. Also, there’ll be misinformation of DID in this thread (spread by the Discord) as well as some other ableist shit, so be warned.

The Town of Salem: Anticipation server is a Discord equivalent of Town of Salem, a web/Steam/mobile game that was pretty popular in the mid-2010s. The basic goal of the game is that you have many roles/factions that you can be put into, and you have to satisfy that goal’s win conditions/goals. For example, Mafia must kill/lynch anybody who opposes their team, like Town or Neutrals (like Serial Killers). Survivors must survive until the end of the game. The Discord server adds their own modifiers and roles to make it more special, and one of its game modifiers is... very telling.

The game modifier in question is called Dissociative Identity Disorder.

The normal “All Any” mode is one where you can have any role from any faction (and thus win condition), but the DID modifier makes it so that you can share a “body” with another player who has a different faction/win condition.

A few people (systems) I’ve talked to about this mode agree it’s fun, but the titling isn’t so great. Not to mention, other references to DID aren’t so great in this server, and refer to it as a “curse” or a “blessing”.

Which isn’t so great. There’s a few examples of misinformation in the Discord as well about DID (and other trauma-based disorders), for example:

For those who don’t know; DID is formed when you suffer repeated trauma during the formative years of the brain (childhood, basically). The ages vary around 11 or so. MPD is an old term for DID that was changed in 1994 to reflect the reality of the condition, where DID is more like fragments of a singular personality rather than multiple people in one body, so to think that DID=MPD nowadays just goes to show how much people in this Discord don’t care about these serious mental conditions.

There was also a gif of “Split” (the M. Night Shyamalan movie) shared when this game modifier is brought up, which is a horrible depiction of DID because, you know, the antagonist quite literally becomes a monster. The system community absolutely loathes it when this movie is brought up because it’s one of the most popular horror movies that depicts a character with DID. We rarely get positive representation in the media, so for something as horrifying as Split being the most recognizable piece of media featuring a character with DID is awful for us.

To harp on the game modifier some more: The point of DID is to survive. The brain creates “other people” (or identities) as a defense mechanism to keep itself alive, so to think that the game mode is also “all any”, where anyone can have different roles/win conditions, doesn’t make sense. While the brain may create self-sabotaging identities, that is rare, and even those that do harm its body/systemmates directly usually mean it with the best of intentions (for example, self-harming so that the body doesn’t look pretty to its abusers).

I’m not against a game modifier like this existing. From all accounts of everyone (again, systems) I’ve talked to, they think the game mode sounds cool. But holy shit do they need to change the name. “Curses” and “blessings” are not what you should describe a trauma disorder. There is no spiritual connection to DID and there never will be, because it’s a trauma-based disorder. To think that having so much childhood trauma that you can’t undergo stress without splitting and creating more identities is a “blessing” needs to go get themselves checked. It’s horrible; you lose memories, you can’t exactly keep track of who you are, and you can get swept into a reality so delusional you lose people you care about along the way.

I’m sure there’s more ableism in the Discord, but I don’t really want to go sweeping through that mess. DID is a game modifier with really weird, really wrong implications.

[queer-lemons]

Hi, it's we, that one random person that started bothering you yesterday or the day before, back with another update 😅

(I'm that one who just realized they're a system. Also, Corvid. Hope this helps you distinguish?)

Anyways, so things have changed and we're figuring it out and I'm starting to be able to identify switches and when someone else was fronting. Of course, an hour after said fronting happened, realizing that doesn't help much but it's fun to know.

Um, question so I'm not totally wasting your time.... What does it feel like to not be co fronting or co conscious? Especially with OSDD, if we have all the memories, would I know if I'm not in the front at all?

Yes!!!!! Of course I remember you!! I'm so happy you're doing well and growing together as a system!! Even if it takes you a bit to realize you've fronted, that's progress!! Also you are NOT wasting my time-- I love getting asks and hopefully helping people out, or just hearing what you have to say!!! (I like my computer friends)

Yeah, co-fronting is weird, and it can be hard to figure out what's going on. Ok... so have you ever watched Inside Out? (If you haven't, I definitely recommend it.)

It's not a perfect analogy, but hear me out: those five weird... things... are the aspects of a little girl's personality, and that room they're in is her head. They're at the "control board" looking out of a big window in front of them-- her eyes. I know, weird. It's also not a perfect match-- OSDD isn't different personalities or moods, it's different people. But imagine those folks are your alters.

So I like to imagine it like this. You've got multiple people up there, and sometimes they're both peeking through the windows on your face-- or maybe one of them is just hanging out up front, or whatever.

It can feel like you're seeing things through two different lenses-- maybe at the same time, or rapidly switching between them. For instance, your protector might be evaluating the situation while another alter is taking part in the conversation. Sometimes an alter will co-front if they need to do a task the current alter can't do. Whenever we write, I-- the host-- take over, and listen to what they're saying, while writing for them.

OSDD can be additionally confusing because, like you said, we have pretty much all the memories. For me, the way I can tell who's fronting, is how I feel about those memories. My protector feels angry about those memories. My scientific alter is near emotionless or logical about them. And me and/or the little feel those emotions keenly, because they hurt us.

As for being able to tell if you're fronting, that can be scary. With OSDD (and DID) there's a lot of identity crises. (Sorry to be depressing, but let's be honest here) This shit is weird, even to us. It becomes normal, but now and again we still get confused. Sometimes you realize you can't hear anyone else, or you're not sure which alter you are. When this happens, there's a few things I like to do:

1. Examine your feelings. Sounds stupid, but it's true. How do you react to your memories, your experiences? How are you feeling?

2. See if you can hear other alters in the headspace. It's a bit trippy, so it's fine if you get confused, but you might be able to hear other people's perspectives in the background. Maybe you'll even be able to identify some of those alters.

3. Remember-- you don't have to be the host, or even a prominent alter, to be important. Sometimes we have fragmented alters who break off and don't front or talk much. Once you've split, it becomes your brain's defense system, so the smallest thing could trigger a new split. Welcome to the world, new alter! You're going to be okay.

4. I say this a lot, but trust the system. Our brains are designed to take care of us. You won't always know who's fronting, or who you are. And that's scary. But there are people--inside and outside of you-- who care. And no matter who you are, what alter you are, or how you feel, you're supposed to be here.

I hope that helps!! Feel free to send more questions or literally just tell me how you're doing!! Sending hugs to Corvid and everyone <3

[seven-oomen]

Breaking the cycle | How Teen Wolf portrays its traumatized fathers

First of, I would like to say that the following words are my take on this. I am a 29 year old trans man of Caucasian descend who is an domestic violence and abuse survivor. I am diagnosed with ADHD since 12 and diagnosed with CPTSD since this year. I understand trauma and I understand what it does to people. But I am not a professional. I am a fan.

Secondly, the characters I’ll be talking about today are specifically the fathers of some of the main characters in Teen Wolf. Namely Chris Argent, Peter Hale, and Noah Stilinski. 

I realize there are many more traumatized parents who would fit well in this essay and while I thought about including them, I decided that for now, these are the three characters I’m focusing on.

I would love to hear your thoughts about some of the other parents and how their traumatizing pasts might have contributed to the way they raised their children.

Sources are listed under the read more. The gifs I’m using are from Google.

I will be focusing on these characters, discuss what sort of trauma they have, how it affects them and how it affects the way they then raised their children. And why their stories are important for trauma and abuse survivors.

Let’s start with Noah Stilinski.

From Episode 3, Season 6 Sundowning we know the following about Noah’s homelife:

Elias was known for being both emotionally and physically abusive, and on at least one occasion, Noah stepped in to protect his mother from his abuse, causing his father to inadvertently throw him into a glass coffee table; his shoulder was scarred, and tiny fragments of glass remain under the now-healed wound even in the present day.

He even tells Scott: (While talking about a memory of him and Claudia in College.) “The kind of father I wish I had. The kind I... I hope to be."

In the same episode Noah also refers to the incident above as “That time.” Indicating that it wasn’t the first time this happened and it wasn’t the last either.

Piecing all the information together we can conclude that Noah was emotionally, psychologically, and physically abused by his father. We can also conclude that this abuse extended to his mother. Meaning he was also a victim of domestic violence.

There is also evidence in the episode that Elias might have abused Stiles, or at the very least has a very negative opinion of his grandson.  “ That's right! Act like I'm not even here! Go crawling back to your dead wife and loser son!”

This scarred Noah, both physically and mentally. We see evidence of this in episodes where he reacts violently and explosively any time his son is hurt. He immediately blows up and threatens physical violence against the people who hurt his son. 

A part of that is parental protection, but imagine that someone beat the living crap out of you and those you love every day of your life. Once you’re free of that person it leaves a mark and a smoldering fear of seeing the people around you getting hurt. When it happens you get angry, at the people who hurt your loved one, and at yourself. You weren’t there to protect them, you were too late.

Noah blames himself whenever Stiles gets hurt. I believe, based on his childhood home life that Noah corresponds his son getting hurt with failure as a parent. And knowing where he comes from, that’s an extra sore subject for him.

We have basis of it in canon.

We can also see that Noah’s guilt tends to eat at him if he ever has to discipline Stiles or yell at him. As shown in the following scene.

I believe that the abuse Noah endured makes him a very scared individual especially when it comes to raising his son. He’s constantly afraid he’s turning into his father, his afraid of making the same mistakes. He’s afraid he’ll scar and traumatize his own as he was traumatized himself.

The fact that Noah is aware of what he’s doing, that he stops when asked is enough of an indication to tell us, the audience, that he isn’t his father. Once Stiles indicates he’s okay, or simply tells his father to stop, Noah stops immediately. He usually hugs his son or initiates a kind physical contact right after. 

He stops, he reflects, realizes his mistake, and tries to do better.

This is one way to break the cycle. Noah’s not perfect at it, we can see him struggle many times. He insults Stiles or his intelligence without meaning to, passing it off as a joke, he’s constantly working and is not around as much as he should be. And those are valid criticisms of this character.

But deep at his core Noah’s trying to break a cycle of physical and emotional abuse, he’s trying to be there for Stiles. Tells him to go to school, tries to keep an eye on Stiles and tries to talk to him whenever he has the chance to explore Stiles’s wellbeing and feelings.

This is a man who went through hell as a child, became a father, and decided to do better.

Noah is a character who effectively broke a viscous cycle and has a wonderful and strong relationship with his son as a result. It’s not without flaws and Noah’s not perfect. But he’s generally not abusive or an abuser. And that is a step in the right direction.

It also shows us, the audience, that no matter what home life you come from, you can arise above your own traumas and do better for the next generation.

-

Now Chris Argent is an interesting one. I already talked about Chris and trauma in my daddy’s little soldier meta.

Considering the type of person Gerard is, and how he treats several teenagers in the show. I believe Chris is also a victim of emotional, psychological, and physical abuse. We don’t know much about his home life with his mother, so that I can not speculate on.

What we do know is, Gerard has no qualms about hurting children and teenagers. He’s admitted that he would kill his own son if it meant he survived. He’s raised his own son to be a weapon and to compartmentalize his emotions. I shudder to think as to what methods Gerard must have used on Chris. But as we never see them, I can only speculate.

So how did Chris break his cycle of abuse?

By not raising Allison to be a hunter. For the first seventeen years of her life, Allison didn’t know the Supernatural existed. She was kept out of her father’s life until it was no longer possible. She was never raised as a soldier, she wasn’t raised to hide her feelings. If anything, her father encouraged her and nurtured her to the best of his abilities. Chris tried to be there for his daughter. 

He even moved her to France to get her away from their lives. He quit something he was raised to do and did it successfully, just to protect his daughter. He grew up to be everything his father wasn’t.

And while Chris, too, is not perfect at it, he does try and breaks the cycle.

He’s aware of their problems, addresses them, and tries to do better. He even extends this nurturing and protective side to Isaac later down the line. 

Chris, a victim of abuse, sees the signs of abuse in Isaac, and decides; this one, this one I will nurture and protect too. Which he eventually accomplishes by bringing him to France and away from the craziness that is Beacon Hills. (Would have been nice to get a good plot about Chris adopting Isaac, but well, that’s another rant.)

Chris, like Noah, shows that even if you were raised in the worst circumstances, by being aware of your trauma and how that affects others, you can break the cycle and come out on top.

-

And last but not least we have someone who went through an horrific event and possibly emotional abuse from his family, discovered he was a father, and then had to adjust.

I’m talking about Peter Hale.

Now Peter is not a morally good character in general. He has no qualms about killing people who get in his way. From what we know about his childhood Peter also had anger issues as a small child and often broke his toys. 

However, the reason why I’m stating that Peter was most likely emotionally abused (I think by his sister Talia) is because we know that Talia, would not believe Peter about the fire and the Argents and waved his concerns away without considering them. She manipulated multiple of his memories and frequently hid the truth from him. And we know that their relationship from before the fire was strained.

We also know that Peter does care about his family. He cared for Cora in the hospital and he does care about whether Derek lives or dies and tends to keep an eye out for his nephew. In later seasons we also see Peter caring about his only daughter Malia and even express fear for her wellbeing when they go up against the Anuk-Ite. 

His love for Malia is eventually what frees him from the Ghost Riders control and his wish for her to live is what motivates his decisions in Season 6 to try and keep her safe, and when he can’t keep her away from the fight, he joins her and tries to protect her.

Now I believe that the Peter we see in S1,2, 3 and S6B are the real Peter Hale. A traumatized man who believes his only way to stay alive is through manipulation and careful planning. But he does genuinely seem to care about a few people, Cora, Derek, and Malia.

In Season 1 Peter is still coming out of his traumatic event (being burned alive and then being in a coma) and he has to navigate a new world. He kills Laura (or so it is speculated) for her Alpha power and to heal himself. Because to Peter, he is the only one who can avenge his family and resolve the traumatic event he went through.

Revenge, of course, is generally not a good way to resolve trauma and the plan doesn’t work. His trauma is not resolved by killing Kate and he dies that night.

When Peter comes back practically powerless he has to navigate carefully and he does so through manipulating the people around him. To Peter, manipulation is the only way to stay alive and get ahead. This idea of his, had to come from somewhere.

This is where my theory of emotional abuse kicks in. Because if Peter was emotionally abused by his sister (for which there is evidence in canon), he most likely picked up his tactic of manipulation as a survival tactic.

Now out of the list. Peter is the only person who doesn’t fully rise above his past. The past still haunts him as he becomes a protector of Beacon Hills in S6B. But I firmly think that if we got to see more of Peter past this point, we would have seen a man starting his journey to recognizing his toxic traits and trying to do better by them. But that of course, is just speculation.

Peter’s story teaches us that the road to healing and becoming a better person isn’t always linear. It’s not a given that you’ll heal if you aren’t ready to accept it. Or if you’re so focused on getting revenge that healing is impossible, it’s also not going to work. And usually, trying to heal requires a positive presence in your life (Malia), a support system (Malia and the pack), and a willingness to recognize what you’re doing wrong and to better yourself moving forward.

Sources:

Breaking the Cycle of Child Abuse - Article written by a psychologist and peer reviewed by a psychiatrist

The cycles of violence - Article written for the WHO by the University of Birmingham

The Teen Wolf Wiki - for all information and episodes of these characters

Teen Wolf - MTV tv show that owns the characters.

[keigoslovebird]

The Cat That Caught the Canary

Pairing: Hawks/Keigo Takami x Fem!Reader

Warnings: violence/threats of violence. A bit of swearing. Reader is fem and has a cat mutant quirk. 

Genre: fluff, some suggestive content near the end

Word count: 7k

Author’s note: This is my very first MHA fic and I am so excited to share my love of Hawks with you all! There will be multiple chapters and smut, angst, and the like later on. I can’t promise any sort of regular updates, but I will do my very best to be semi-consistent. It is very self indulgent and very sweet because I’ve got the big dumb for the bird man. Please enjoy 7k words worth of Hawks fluff and let me know what you think!

Also, “koneko” means little cat or kitten in Japanese.

You don’t know how it happens, but it does. 

You’re walking home from the train station, cutting into a secluded alleyway because the sun hasn’t set yet and there’s still sunlight spilling over rooftops. Your perceptive ears twitch and turn towards the sound of rustling and the shuffling of feet. Your instincts tell you to speed up, to run because there’s something out there, but a lifetime of fighting those instincts forces those feelings down. It’s probably someone else just trying to walk home, it’s fine, you tell yourself. Just to be safe you carefully turn around to look behind you, hoping to see some kind old lady walking down the street.

There’s no one in sight but you just know there’s somebody out there. You sense their presence, their movements but you can’t see them. It feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, a sickly chill settling deep within your bones. Something is wrong, very wrong.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you,” You call out into the seemingly empty valley between two houses. When no one responds you quickly turn on your heel and head towards the busy, bustling street a few hundred feet ahead. 

“Not so fast, kitty cat,” A low, gravelly voice breathes into your ear. They’re so close you can feel their breath on your neck, tainted with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. Panic seizes and constricts your heart so fast that you don’t even think before you break out in a sprint. If you can just make it to the street you’ll be okay. The second your shoes hit the pavement, a hand grabs you by your shirt collar and harshly yanks backwards. You’re pulled further into the alley and into the shadows beginning to emerge from above as the sun starts to set.

You feel your back slam into a concrete wall, head bouncing off of it so quickly and forcefully you see stars and a dull ache begins to form at the back of your skull. You’re momentarily dazed, vision slightly blurry but you’re still able to make out two large figures looming over you menacingly. One of them has you caged between their thick, hairy arms, effectively trapping you in place, not that you could’ve outrun them anyhow. You’re small and agile, but they’re just so much bigger than you, or at least it seems that way. It takes a few seconds for your vision to clear, but now you see that your captors are two very large, very intimidating men. The one caging you in is much taller and more muscular than the other. The man to his right has chin-length black hair that’s greasy, likely unwashed for several days, if ever. He’s thin and spindly and the look on his face is reminiscent of a spider awaiting its prey. Your ears flatten against your head, tail tucking between your trembling legs as you realize the gravity of the situation you’re in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing walking around alone?” You recognize the voice as the one who called out to you before. He’s standing beside his burly friend who has you trapped. You can smell the cheap alcohol and smoke on the man’s breath even stronger now that he’s so close. “It’s far too dangerous at night. You never know what kinds of things could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting to take a bite into a sweet, tasty morsel like yourself.”

Your heart races, hammering so furiously that it feels as if it’ll beat out of your chest. You’re frozen and silent from the fear overtaking your entire body. The feeling of dread and terror is icy and sharp in your veins.

“I’m curious, kitty cat. Are these real?” The long-haired man reaches a gangly, too long arm over and grabs your ears in a punishing grip. You reach up in an attempt to bat his hands away but the muscular man moves his hands from the wall to hold your hands at your sides. The long-haired man’s other hand snakes between your legs, reaching for your tail and yanking it with a force that makes you yelp. You can feel tears prick your eyes and you shut them tightly to avoid letting them see you cry.

“Yes! They’re part of my quirk. Please stop, that hurts,” You whimper, lip trembling with unshed tears. The hold on your sensitive ears is beginning to overwhelm your senses. “I don’t have much money on me, just take whatever you want but please don’t hurt me.” You plead with them, just hoping they were looking for an easy target to get some quick cash from. 

Before any of you can react, there’s a flash of crimson and suddenly the man who had been holding you in place is knocked off his feet. “Wha-,” The long-haired man doesn’t get a word in before he too has his feet swept out from underneath him. You look over in the direction where the projectiles came from and nearly faint at the sight of number two pro hero Hawks perched atop a building above you. He swoops down from his perch, his huge scarlet wings seeming larger than life as he lands beside you. The two men who attacked you are laying on the ground, feathers wrapped around their wrists.

“Miss, are you alright? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier, there was another situation downtown that made me late for my patrols,” Hawks looks genuinely apologetic and the whole situation is just so overwhelming and your head is reeling at how fast everything has shifted since he arrived. The chemicals coursing through your body are making your head swim and your thoughts are so jumbled and fragmented you can barely string together a coherent sentence. 

“Y-yes, I’m fine! Thank you, Hawks, I am grateful that you came to rescue me.” You manage to stutter out, bowing at the waist to show your gratitude. In your state of confusion you forgot to address Hawks formally, making you squeak at your carelessness. “Ah! H-Hawks-san I’m sorry for being so casual.” A fiery blush begins to spread across your cheeks from your embarrassment and Hawks’ close proximity. You’ve seen him in tabloids, plastered across social media, and on local news stations, but this is the first time you’ve seen a pro hero in person, let alone such a handsome one.

Hawk’s cool, collected persona rarely wavers, but what does make it waver is the warm, rosy glow of your cheeks and the way your eyes sparkle as you talk to him. He notices that your fuzzy little ears are twitching and he wonders how soft the fur would feel between his fingers. 

“Ah, no need to be so formal with me. I don’t mind when people talk to me casually.” He waves a gloved hand in the air dismissively. Smiling brightly, he shows off his perfect, pearly white teeth. His smile is so warm and infectious that you find yourself smiling back at him. “Especially when they’re as pretty as you are.” He winks and you feel your blush deepen and spread even further across your face. You knew about Hawks’ flirtatiousness from social media posts and tabloids that detailed his various flings, but you never expected it to be directed at you.

Hawk’s eyes flick down to your mouth, hoping it’s too brief for you to catch or that you’re too frazzled to notice. He finds his gaze lingering a bit too long on how your glossy, pink lips part and the way the corners upturn when you smile. He analyzes your face, taking in every painstaking detail to commit it to memory. He takes note of the beauty marks and dimples that frame your pretty, tender smile. It’s a genuine expression of gratitude that makes his insides fuzzy and warm. He wants to wrap himself in the feeling, revel in it, and never let it go.

“O-Oh well thank you and you have my gratitude, Hawks,” You look away shyly, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. You can feel the tip of your tail begin to flick out of anxiety and attempt to subtly reach down and grab it to still its movement. You hope and pray that he doesn’t the way your voice wobbles.

“It was my pleasure, miss. I’m always here to help, it’s my job after all,” He looks as if he’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes from his pocket. He pulls it out and sighs tiredly. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly but duty calls. Don’t worry about these guys, I’ve already called the Police Force and they’re on their way. Those feathers will restrain them until the police get here,” He flicks his visor down over his eyes and his wings begin to flap, stirring the air around you as he gets ready to take off toward wherever the Commission has called him to.

A part of Hawks wishes to stay here with you a bit longer, a part of him that he’s been taught to rein in and repress for the sake of his hero duties. He can’t stop and comfort every civilian that he saves when there’s countless more that need him. The frightened, nervous look in your eyes tugs at his heart strings and he just wants to tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t let himself indulge in those thoughts for very long. He’s Hawks, number two pro hero, the man who’s a bit too fast. He has too many people relying on him, counting on him to even entertain the thoughts in his head. 

“W-Wait! I want to thank you somehow.” You blurt out, cringing at the way your voice squeaks. There’s a weighty beat of silence while you dig around in your purse to retrieve a card. “I work at a cat café… Here’s a gift card for a free drink. It’s not much but I wanted to at least give you something.” You awkwardly thrust the card in Hawk’s direction, eyes wandering to avoid making direct eye contact with him. He takes the card and smiles at you again but this time it’s softer, sweeter and it stirs something deep in your belly. This smile feels more authentic and less rehearsed than the kilowatt smile he flashes for the cameras. He takes the card and gingerly tucks it in the pocket of his coat.

The card, emblazoned with the cafe’s name and decorated with paw prints, radiates warmth against his chest.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll drop by sometime when I’m not busy saving the world.” He winks, giving you a two finger salute and in a flourish of brilliant vermillion feathers, he’s gone just as quickly as he came.

He regrets saying that he’ll stop by because truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to. The Commission has him working more than ever and he never gets a day off, if the dark circles hidden under the concealer underneath his eyes are any indication. He knows he shouldn’t have given you false hope that you’ll see him again, but the way your smile constricts his heart and your scent steals the breath from his lungs, he knows that if you called out for him, he’d come running.

━━

Many weeks pass before you see Hawks again and you begin to think that he has simply forgotten or is just choosing not to see you, a thought that makes your shoulders sag and your ears droop. But really, what would a talented, successful guy like Hawks want with an average girl like you? Sure he said you were cute, but he probably tells lots of people that.

It starts out just like any average day at the cat café you work at. You show up to work at seven am, three hours before opening so you have time to prepare for the day. You unlock the front door with your key and your boss calls out a hello from the back where she’s tending to the cats before they’re allowed to roam the café. 

The café itself is small but cozy and intimate, sandwiched between a bookstore and a thrift store. It always smells like chamomile and daisies, both for customers’ and the cats’ enjoyment. The overhead lights give off a soft, warm glow. There’s several tables and chairs set up along the walls, cat trees and scratching posts taking up most of the free middle space. It’s never terribly busy, just enough to keep the café open and the cats cared for.

You begin your opening duties, starting with sweeping the floors and wiping down surfaces. This part takes the longest because you have to be thorough and diligent in your cleaning, lest you want another visit from the Tokyo Health Department. You decorate the cookies and cupcakes your boss’s wife makes with cat faces and paw prints and arrange them in the dessert display case. Once you finish your duties, it’s time to let the cats out to roam. You open the door that separates the café from the room that the cats play in before opening and five cats come prancing out, the little bells on their collars jingling softly as they move. One of the cats, a grey Scottish fold, rubs against your legs and meows cheerfully at you.

“Good morning Chibi, it’s nice to see you too,” You lean down to scratch between her ears and she purrs, enjoying the affection. “I’ll check with the boss soon to see if we can get another one of those mouse toys that I know you like, how does that sound?” The cat chirps appreciatively and head butts your hand before walking off to convene with the other cats. They’re surrounding the 5 cat bowls nestled in the corner of the café, noticing the blatant lack of wet food in their bowls. Their eyes are dilated, ears pointed forward to express their annoyance. One of the cats reaches his paw into the bowl and pokes the little bits of dry food around it. “I know what you guys are thinking and you’re not getting more wet food after yesterday when Shiro and Kuro ate so much they threw up in a customer’s lap. The same customer. Dry food only today,” You warn over your shoulder as you go behind the counter to put on a clean apron. One of the cats makes a noise akin to a grumble and another seemingly rolls her eyes.

Ten a.m. rolls around and your boss unlocks the front door for the public. A handful of people come in and order the typical fare of cappuccinos and lattes while they play with the cats. You busy yourself with making drinks and cleaning up any messes the cats make while your boss mans the cash register. The sounds of the café blend and intermingle into an ambient, comfortable backdrop to a pleasant atmosphere. A few patrons scattered throughout the cafe are chatting quietly with their companions and the cats are chasing each other around their cat tree, the bells on their collars gently tinkling.

It seems like just a normal day. Until he shows up.

You’re in the middle of making a customer’s cappuccino when you see Hawks through the café window. Your body jerks so hard you almost destroy the cat face that you were drawing in the foam. You never actually expected him to show up and now your head tingles at the possibility that he’s here to see you, although your voice of reason tells you to dampen your excitement. He’s probably here just for the cats or the drinks, nothing more.

Hawks is in his civilian clothes and has a pair of sunglasses on, but those scarlet wings are recognizable anywhere, despite how much smaller and sparser they are. You notice by the way he moves he’s tired, a little worse for wear. 

The bell above the door dings as he swings it open, his presence seeming to suffocate the entire room. Any source of conversation ceases and all heads turn toward the door, including the cats. No one would expect for one of the top heroes in Japan to visit a tiny cat café on the outskirts of Musutafu, in fact, this is one of the last places one would expect to see him in. He’s rarely seen outside of the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan areas, and even rarer seen off duty and out of his hero costume.

A couple of people go up to him and ask for pictures of autographs, which he graciously gives with that signature million-dollar smile on his face. He’s inwardly thankful that the café is in one of the more sparsely populated areas of the city so he’s not caught up in entertaining the public when he’s really here for just one thing. You. 

You’re standing behind the serving counter, a determined look on your face as you use a toothpick to draw in the foam of the cup in front of you. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail and you’re wearing a cream-colored apron with the cafe’s logo on it. Your tongue is cutely poking out between your lips, eyes thoroughly focused on your task and the sight is so endearing that he feels warmth spread throughout his body. There’s a tingling in his spine that he knows he should ignore, but the temptation to come see you again was too great to ignore.

“Welcome Hawks-sama! Please sit down and relax. Whatever you would like is on the house, just please let us know and we’ll get it for you right away!” Your boss rushes to Hawks and excitedly babbles at him as he approaches the sale counter, awe-struck and taken aback by the hero’s unexpected appearance. She bows deeply and not-so-subtly gestures at you to bow as well, mouthing “be respectful” and jerking her head in his direction. Flustered by her threatening passion at properly greeting Hawks, you put the cappuccino you were holding onto the counter and bow.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome, ma’am. I insist on paying for anything I order, but I happen to have a gift card from a certain employee of yours.” He grins in your direction, his eyes full of mirth and amusement at your boss’s enthusiasm.

“Of course, sir! Please let the barista know when you’re ready to order and feel free to stay as long as you’d like!” She speaks a bit too fast and a bit too loud, a few customers turning their heads in the direction of the commotion, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind, likely used to these types of reactions. The ringing of a phone is heard from the back of the store and a conflicted look crosses your boss’s face, not wanting to leave and miss the opportunity to talk to him. “I apologize for the rude interruption sir, but I have an important phone call I must answer. Koneko-chan here can take care of anything you need. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Your boss bows again, hesitating to actually leave but eventually she does, leaving you alone with Hawks.

“I’ve asked her many times not to call me that in front of customers. I have a name but she refuses to call me by it, saying it’s important for the theme of the café, or something like that,” You smile shyly at him, unsure where to look or where to put your hands so you put them behind your back. Your tail is flicking again from your uncertainty and in your head you’re willing it stop.

“Well, what is your name? I never got the chance to ask the day we met and I regret going all this time without knowing your name. Unless you'd like for me to call you Koneko-chan, it’s a pretty cute nickname for an even cuter girl.” Hawks’ tone is laced with a teasing flirtatiousness that makes your heart flutter. He leisurely leans on the shop counter, propping his chin up one of his hands.

“Ah, well, Koneko-chan is a childhood nickname so I don’t mind being called by it, I even enjoy it. I prefer to be called my name by customers, but you can call me whatever you’d like, Hawks.” You look up at him through your lashes and shyly tell him your name, hoping you’re not mistaking his friendliness for flirtatiousness and that he really is expressing an interest in you. 

“Koneko-chan it is.” He declares, flashing you another glimpse of that perfect smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He nods in agreement with himself, as if he was closing some sort of negotiation. “But say, I think you owe me a drink. Could I get an iced coffee, extra sugar?” He scans the menu for a brief second but you know he’s just looking for some caffeine, judging by the slight drooping of his shoulders and the exhaustion you can see through his jovial expression. He hands you the card that you gave him several weeks ago. What he doesn’t say is that he’s kept it in the pocket of his coat since that day, periodically patting it to make sure it was still there, even pulling it out when he had a free moment to spare, despite how far and few between those moments tend to be.

He almost doesn’t like how easily you’ve managed to get inside his head. The part of his brain that was trained to be a hero tells him that he shouldn’t entertain the idea of anything more than a friendship with you, let alone show up to your job and continue to stoke the fire that’s building inside him. The other part of his brain tells him that he deserves to have this sweet, secret little thing with you, even if it’s only for a little while because right now he doesn’t feel like Hawks, number two pro hero of Fierce Wings. He feels like Keigo Takami, an average 23-year-old guy trying to talk to a girl he likes, dare he say, a girl he has a crush on.

“Of course, I’ll get right on it,” You turn to start preparing his drink and check the watch on your wrist. “It’s almost my lunch break, would you like to sit and talk for a bit?” You can hear the insecurity in your voice and hope it doesn’t make him rethink whatever this thing is that’s blooming between you.

“How could I turn down good coffee and good company? Of course, I’d love to.” Hawks eagerly nods his head in his palm, beaming with pleasant agreement.

“Feel free to sit down while I make your drink. I’m sure the cats would love to meet you.” You start pressing buttons on the coffee machine and look over your shoulder to give him a warning.  “Although, I would be careful with those wings of yours, they might mistake them for a toy.” You giggle to yourself at the thought of the cats cornering him, looks of curiosity and wonder on their faces as they use their little paws to bat at his feathers. You don’t notice that Hawks is watching you with a feathered eyebrow raised out of his own curiosity and wonder of what’s going through your head. What he wouldn’t give just to know what you’re thinking about, what you think about him.

“I don’t mind, at least I’ll be useful for something while I’m plucked this thin!” He shakes his sparse wings for emphasis, showcasing the fact that they’re little more than tufts of feathers about the size of your palm. He removes himself from the counter he’s been leaning over for the past ten minutes and walks over to a table to sit and wait. He waves at you from his seat, pointing to the chair across the table from him and grinning, reminiscent of a child that spots their friend from across the cafeteria. 

You don’t know why such a talented, handsome, accomplished guy like Hawks wants to spend time with you, a quiet, ordinary girl but you’re not about to question it. You want to cherish this moment and take advantage of the time you get with him because you know nothing is guaranteed or assured in his world.

After you finish making his drink you hang up your apron and make your way to the table in the corner where Hawks is sitting. You set the cup down in front of him and slide into your seat, a cat hopping into your lap not seconds later. He’s a little ginger cat named Mikan and you scratch behind his ears absentmindedly while he makes biscuits on your thighs.

Now that you’ve changed out of your work apron, Hawks can really take in your appearance. He already knew you were pretty, but he didn’t realize just how stunning you are. You’re wearing a pair of well-worn light blue denim jeans, they’re form-fitting and accentuate the swell of your hips and he has to resist ogling your butt as you walk over. Your top is form fitting as well, the material stretched over your breasts enticingly. He gives you a quick once over before you sit down, hopefully subtle enough that you don’t notice his eyes wandering. He wills those thoughts away in favor of focusing on how thankful he is to even be sitting here with you.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you. I don���t get a lot of time off, but they just had to give me some after they saw the state of these things.” Hawks’ tone is joking and light, but you can hear the exhaustion and weariness that tinges his words.“ They’ll regrow soon, it just takes a few days, but I can’t save the world without my wings so I get some time to visit my favorite cat girl.” He winks, his flirtatiousness causing you to quickly avert your eyes to the cat in your lap. You coyly look back up at him and smile when you find his gaze unwaveringly trained on you. Each time you look at him, it feels as if those piercing golden irises are analyzing your every move, every change in your expression. 

That’s not really too far from the truth. A part of Hawks’ hero training was dedicated to recognizing body language cues and facial expressions. It’s been ingrained in him to search for dishonesty, any hint of wrongdoing in the way a person carries themselves. When he looks into those wide, inviting eyes of yours that seem to put him in an unbreakable trance, he doesn’t even know if he could resist you even if you did turn out to be malicious. It should scare him, and it does, but not as much as it should. As much as he’s observed you, he knows you aren’t being disingenuous by the open, unguarded expression on your face and the way you’re casually leaning towards him as he speaks. 

Your voice interrupts his internal monologue, his racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt.

“Oh, I’m sure you know lots of girls with mutant cat quirks. Even if you do, I still better be your favorite.” Judging from the way a smirk is tugging at the corners of your lips and the playful inflection of your voice, you’re teasing him. 

Oh, he likes that. He likes it a lot. 

It sends a delightful shiver down his spine and he’s silently thankful that his wings are much smaller than their usual size, otherwise you would notice the way they’re twitching.

He’s only just met you and he’s already so smitten he would do anything for you. He would rip the moon and stars out of the fucking sky with his bare hands if you asked him to. The effect you have on him is dangerous, he knows this, but he’s never been one to shy away from danger.

“You know you are, Koneko-chan. You’re the only kitty for me.” He sighs dreamily, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. The lights overhead reflect off of his pupils, highlighting the mischievous glint in his half-lidded eyes. You laugh, high-pitched and contagious, and he’ll do anything to hear it again. His head is swimming with the swarm of emotions he’s experiencing all at once and it feels as if he’s simultaneously drowning and taking his first real breath of fresh air.

Hawks seems to be deep in thought and you take it as an opportunity to admire his beauty. Your eyes follow the angle of his jawline, the high, regal slope of his nose. You focus on those mesmerizing golden eyes and the black markings that give them a more avian-like appearance. He really is devastatingly handsome and to make matters worse, he knows it and he knows you’re staring at him by the way he’s smirking.

You’re so taken by one another that you don’t notice Mikan climb up on the table to meow at you loudly, demanding your attention by headbutting your arm. You chuckle lightly at the cat’s jealousy towards the man across from him, who he sees as the one who’s stealing all of your attention. Hawks watches, fascinated by the way you and the cat have this wordless, unspoken conversation through your eyes. You notice the way he’s watching you two with quizzical interest and you smile, knowing exactly what’s going through his head. 

“Despite what many people think, I can’t communicate with them. Our physiologies are just too different.” You explain as you scratch Mikan’s chin, the cat purring in contentment. “But I am more attuned to their emotions and I empathize with the way they’re feeling because I often feel the same way. It’s an essentially useless quirk but it has its perks, especially here.” The cat rubs his chin against yours and you lean in closer to let him rub his scent on you.

Hawks smiles and can feel his heart swell at the sweet, tender moment between you and the small animal in your lap. He chuckles to himself when he notices that both of your tails are twitching, a sign that a cat is happy, if the extensive Googling he’s done about cat behavior is worth anything. He wants to remember this moment forever, just him, a pretty girl, and a cat in a little cafe miles from the city center. He wants to keep it, tuck it away in his pocket to covet for himself. It feels as if you’re the only two people in the world and for now, you are and that’s all that really matters. 

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud in some faraway land, just waiting for the sobering free fall back down to earth. The way the sunlight hits his flaxen hair like some sort of halo makes him look like an angel and you think he may as well be one. He’s so radiant and ethereal that you feel like you’re being burned alive but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t mind as long as it’s his light that burns you.

You’re suddenly jerked from your shared reverie by your boss yelling at you that your break is over. Mikan darts from your lap at the sudden outburst and you both jolt in your seats as well. 

“I’m really sorry, I have to get back to work.” You get up from your seat, trying to look and sound as apologetic as you feel. “But if you want to hang out some more, I’ll be off in a few hours and there’s a cute little park a couple streets from the café that we could meet at… Only if you want! You’re probably busy...” You speak quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Koneko-chan.” Hawks says it with a wink, but he really means it. Bar a national disaster, he’d be there just to see you for a little longer.

Hawks hangs around the café for another hour before leaving to stroll through the streets of your quiet little corner of Musutafu, appreciating the lack of attention he gets as he walks around. 

You get off around 4 p.m. and rush to the park you had mentioned to Hawks. True to his word, he’s there, leisurely leaned back on a bench in the middle of the park, watching the birds fly amongst the trees. You join him on the bench, sitting an appropriate amount of space away from him, close enough to be friendly but far enough away to give him adequate personal space. 

“You’re here.” You sound a little breathless and surprised and it almost comes out like a question.

“Of course I am. I said I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” There’s no teasing, no flirtatiousness in Hawks’ voice and the way he speaks so matter-of-factly momentarily startles you. You know this isn’t a side of him that many people get to see and you’re thankful for it.

You talk until the sun hangs low in the sky, learning whatever you can about one another. Your voice feels scratchy from overuse and you feel like you’re dominating the conversation, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Hawks is more than happy to let you do most of the talking. You likely already know most of what’s publicly known about him and what isn’t public knowledge he knows he can’t tell you, at least not yet. He wouldn’t really know what to talk about outside of heroism, he doesn’t have the same opportunities that any other guy in his early twenties does and he knows it would be hard to relate to him. So, he lets you lead the conversation, hanging on to your every word, adding his own input every once in a while. 

You know you’re talking a lot, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind so you don’t mind either. You’re mostly content with doing most of the talking, but there’s a question burning a hole in your chest that you have to ask him. You pivot your body towards him, placing a gentle hand on top of his and he has to ignore the tingling sensation where your skin meets his.

A serious look takes over your features and anxiety steals the breath from Hawks’ lungs, worried that you’ve completely changed your mind about him, that you’re going to tell him to go away and leave you alone because you don’t need the drama in your life that will inevitably follow you if you were to ever pursue anything with him.

“Hawks...” You start, apprehensive as you struggle to find the right words to say. “You’re always so busy saving and taking care of other people, but who takes care of you?” The moment the words leave your lips you want to take them back, his happy expression quickly fading to a look of somber contemplation.

Hawks is stunned into uncharacteristic silence by the seriousness of your words and the vulnerable expression on your face. No one has asked him about his own wellbeing before, excluding people who ask whether he’s physically fit enough to keep doing his job, whether he’s still of use. His entire life he’s been worked to the bone with little regard for his health, let alone his happiness. He’s been trained to be the government’s human weapon against evil and he’s damn good at being a weapon, but it’s often forgotten what he really is. 

A human.

“I… I don’t know,” Hawks’ voice is filled with a rare uncertainty that he’s not sure that he likes. He sighs tiredly, running a hand through his already unruly mess of blonde hair. “I haven’t really thought about it before.” He sounds defeated and it’s the most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever heard and you can feel a lump form in your throat. He has spent every moment of his short life helping people, preventing disasters, saving the world while carrying that heavy burden on his shoulders. He’s Winged Hero Hawks, number two pro hero and his persona is so grand, so great that he feels larger than life. But right now he looks so small sitting next to you on the park bench you’re afraid he might disappear right before your eyes. 

You’re looking at him with those pretty eyes yours that are so full of warmth and love that he just wants to kiss you. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the consequences of what he’s about to do, moving faster than his brain can react.

He puts a rough, calloused palm on your cheek, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. Your pulse quickens from his close proximity, his breath fanning over your cheeks and you can smell the sweetness of the coffee that he drank earlier. 

With a slight nod of your head Hawks closes his eyes and leans in, his lips getting closer and you swear your heart is beating so loud he can surely hear it. Your stomach is in knots and you’re not sure you’re taking in enough oxygen. You let your eyes flutter shut and part your lips, your breath quickening as you feel his body press against your own. When your lips finally meet it feels as if the world and time itself have stopped. Your senses are overwhelmed by his musky cologne, his vanilla lip balm, his soft lips against yours. 

Him. 

You can’t see or feel anything but him and you’re so overwhelmed you think you might die, filled with Hawks in every sense of the word, but you can’t even think of anything but him.

Hawks, Hawks, Hawks. 

You’re repeating his name in your head like a mantra, hoping it’ll keep you grounded. His fingers are tangled in your hair you think, but you’re not really sure, not with the way his lips are moving, needy and insistent against your own. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his hot, wet tongue probe between your lips and he swiftly loops one arm around your back and hooks the other around your thigh, half pulling you onto his lap. 

The cute little sighs and hums you’re making fill Hawks with more satisfaction than they should. He opens one of his eyes to take a guilty peek at you and he can’t think of anything prettier than the sight of your blushing, squirming body in his lap. He experimentally licks at the inside of your mouth, gauging your reaction before sliding his tongue against your own.

A voice, albeit a very small one, in the back of your head tells you to stop, you’re still in a public park and the sun is halfway hidden behind the landscape. You try to pull away from Hawks but he just leans in further, his lips following yours, so you gently but firmly push against his chest to separate yourselves.

When your lips part there’s a string of saliva that still connects you and Hawks thinks it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen. 

It takes a few seconds for his higher thinking to return, but when it does worry he begins to etch itself into his features when he realizes you’ve pushed him away, wings pressing against his back.

“Hey, did I do something wrong there? I thought it was pretty good, and I think you did too judging by those noises you were making.” He always falls back on old habits, trying to mask his insecurity with flippant arrogance. You shake your head, a look of apology on your face.

“As much as I’m enjoying myself, I’d rather not grope each other in the middle of a park like a couple of teenagers,” you muse, “But I would love to see you again and pick up where we left off.” Your tone is suggestive and Hawks can feel his jeans tighten from the implication of your words.

“Ah, of course. I should be treating you like the proper lady you are, and here I am disrespecting your honor in a park.” Hawks tries to lighten the mood, his nerve endings still singing from your little make out session. The air around you feels hot and sticky against his skin and he’s trying to calm the blood rushing in his ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I really, really liked it.” You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks once more, despite the fact that moments ago you were almost dry humping in Hawks’ lap. “But it’s getting late and we both should head home.” You sigh, not wanting to leave your little bubble away from the chaos of the world. You stand up, holding your hand out to him. 

He takes your hand and rises from his seat on the bench. The way that your head just barely grazes his chin makes him realize how small you are. Have you always been that small?

“Hey Hawks?” Your eyes are shining again and you’re playing with a loose thread on Hawks’ jacket. 

“Yeah?” There’s a sort of pleading in your eyes and Hawks wants so badly to give you whatever you want, whatever you’re about to ask him he knows he’ll say yes.

“About what I said earlier…” You start, reaching for his hand and lacing your small fingers with his and squeezing. “I’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

[last-operator-standing]

Toll Of The Bell

Chapter 3 - Sonder

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Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn’t be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Warning apply this chapter

Words: 1.8k (7.3k total)

A/N: I'm sorry this one took so long asjdfjf I'm awful at keeping any sort of regular schedule- but i'm going to be trying much harder to keep the chapters flowing :') I'd love to hear any thoughts, and thank you all for the support <3 (p.s. Adler will be here v soon- Promise uwu)

"Please stop staring at me."

Bell has no intention of doing so. He's been staring down Lazar from the moment the man stumbled into the kitchen to join him at the table. The sunlight is harsh despite the closed curtains and the coffee fails to stimulate either agent's mind. This certainly isn't Lazar's ideal morning. The silence stretches on, but the uncomfortable feeling of Bell's eyes on him has him sighing loudly.

"Damn, Bell, alright." Lazar gives in. The chair scrapes loudly against the tile floor as he pushes back to stand, disappearing for a moment and returning with a bag. It piques Bell's curiosity; he was too tired to notice it last night.

A folder slaps loudly against the table and slides a few centimeters towards Bell. The Russian, unable to contain himself, surges forward to snatch it. "You're right about your buddy. Definitely a smuggler of sorts."

Bell flips the folder open and begins rooting through the contents. A picture of Kapano Vang is clipped on the inside. The first page has basic information. Name, call sign, date and place of birth. Bell's more interested in the finer details: A few suspected routes, potential cartel members, a list of what they believe is being smuggled. There's a few recurring words that catch his eye. Golden Triangle Cartel is scribbled at the bottom and underlined twice. Beside it, drawn in bold red ink and circled multiple times, Bell reads PERSEUS?

"What did you see yesterday, in those memories of yours?"

Bell gives a small shake of his head. "It was a bar, I think. He was there." He taps the portrait with a finger. "And someone else who knew us but.. I couldn't remember his face," The Russian gives a disappointed click of his tongue. "Or his name."

Lazar tries to offer a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't sweat it. It'll come back to you."

Bell wishes he could share in Lazar's positivity. He really does. But he can't be sure what brought the memories to him in the first place, or why they were so fragmented. After spending much of the night agonizing over any additional detail he might remember about Perseus or Kapano Vang or anyone else he had seen at that bar and coming up short, Bell's hope started to slip. In the end he could only point fingers at Adler and his MK-Ultra project. "So what's next?"

Lazar doesn't answer right away. He looks thoughtful. Even with their revelation on Kapano Vang and his cartel, they are nowhere closer to finding Perseus than they were before. They are back to square one.

"Well, I could try cross-referencing with MI6 again-" he means Park, Bell thinks with a snort "-and see if they have anything new."

Lazar's looking at him intently and Bell realizes he's waiting for a response. "Oh, uh. Yeah." Bell shifts awkwardly in his seat. "Whatever you say."

A week later, the two man team have no progress to show for their efforts. In that time, Bell's gone over the files at least a dozen and a half times and nothing's changed, nor have any new memories resurfaced. Lazar's cross-referencing has yet to unearth anything new either, telling Bell MI6 is just in the dark as they are.

"This isn't working, Laz." Bell slams the paper back against the kitchen table. His irritation is reflected in the other man's face but Lazar does a better job at hiding it. "We just have to keep looking," Lazar sighs. "We have the answer here somewhere."

Bell clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've been over these files again and again. There's nothing here. We're not going to find Perseus on some piece of paper-" An idea strikes Bell. Something he never considered before now.

"Bell?" Lazar frowns. "You alright?"

"What if we look for that bar?" Excitement shines in Bell's eyes. Lazar's startled by his suggestion.

"I don't know-"

"C'mon, Laz, think about it. There was more than one Perseus agent there, in my memory." A plan was beginning to hatch in Bell's mind. From the way he's looking at him, Lazar doesn't like where he's going with it. "If we find that bar, maybe we can find one of those agents. Maybe even match some of these faces." He looks down at the file of unconfirmed but suspected Perseus soldiers.

"I don't know about this," Lazar repeats slowly, uncertainly. "If someone recognizes us it could cause some trouble. Especially if they recognize you. You helped stop Perseus the first time. No doubt his people are painfully aware of that."

Bell doesn't want to hear it, though. "It's just a risk we'll have to take," he argues. "I'm a spy, Laz. I know how to keep my head down."

After a bit of back and forth it's settled. First, they'll compile a list of bars in areas known or suspected to be frequented by Perseus. Then, while in constant contact, as Lazar insists, Bell will make his way through each alone and hope nobody recognizes him while he searches for the bar from his memory.

It takes two days to assemble a full list and another day and a half to narrow it down and map a route.

"I'm still not happy about this," Lazar grunts as he drops a duffel bag onto the table. Bell eagerly snatches it and begins shuffling inside. "You worry too much, old man."

The first thing Bell pulls from the bag is a change of clothes. They both agreed he needs something casual. And clean. It would make blending in with the crowd much easier. Too excited about the upcoming mission has Bell stripping where he stands. No time for modesty.

"C'mon, Bell, in the kitchen?" Lazar turns with a light pink tinting his face. Bell grins wide but doesn’t reply. The new outfit fits comfortably. He returns to the bag and roots around for his next prize. There’s a knife with a sheath and a small handgun waiting at the bottom. The knife is removed first. Bell carefully slides it free of its sheath. The blade is unusually slim and dark in color, and sports a dangerously sharp tip with partial serration of both sides near the hilt. Bell’s entirely absorbed in admiring the blade, so much so that he misses Lazar’s amused look until he speaks up.

“I thought you’d like that one.”

Bell returns the smile. “Oh, hell yeah. It reminds me of the one I had in-”

“Hey, Sims! You know reading that shit’s gonna make you go blind.”

“Yep! That’s why I want it alll up here.” Sims shot Adler a lazy grin. The commander slapped the book back against Sims’ chest.

“Bell, you’re with Sims. You usually bring out the best in each other.”

“RPGS! BRACE! BRACE!”

Bell watched in horror as a rocket collided with the chopper beside theirs. It careened dangerously before smashing into theirs, sending their own bird into a death spiral.

Everything was in chaos.

“Grab my hand! I gotcha! I got-!”

“We’ve lost power-!”

“We’re going down-!”

“BRACE!”

Bell blinks hard and his smile falls. There’s a knowing look on Lazar’s face and neither agent speaks a word about it. “C’mon,” Lazar gives a pat to Bell’s shoulder. “Showtime.”

The pair ride in silence. Lazar’s behind the wheel, giving Bell some time to think. He tries to keep the mission center focus, but the memories of Vietnam are overwhelming, fresh in his mind as if they just happened. And they’re not even real. I was never in Vietnam.

The car rolls to a stop and breaks Bell from his thoughts. “Alright, remember, coms on at all times.” Bell rolls his eyes and pops the door, deftly sliding from his seat. “I mean it, Bell!” But he slams the door without reply, turning towards the street. The small earpiece is already safely pressed into his ear and hidden behind his hair.

The checkered brick sidewalks stretch wide on either side of the street. There’s a decent amount of people strolling to and fro, some carrying briefcases and dressed in neatly pressed suits, others in casual attire with seemingly no important place to be. Lazar pulls off, leaving Bell to head for the first destination on his list.

The first thing Bell notices as he pushes into the first bar is the pungent mingling of smoke, alcohol, and sweat in the air. The floor beneath his boots is a glossy hardwood and matches the light oaken walls. The occupants chatter noisily, and although the sound is familiar, the atmosphere is not. This is not the right place. Keeping his appearance as casual as possible, Bell slips through the crowd and retreats out the back door. He glances around to confirm he’s alone before mumbling his findings to Lazar.

One down, seven more to go.

The second bar Bell stumbles into is smaller. There are less individuals milling around and the golden walls are all wrong from the dark cedar panels from his memory. The third bar is even less promising, while the fourth and fifth are so far from Bell’s memory that he’s positive he’s working backwards now.

Bell rejoins the thinning herd on the streets with a dejected sigh. This wasn’t working out. There’s two more bars to check and already it was getting dark. He’d hope for something; A clue, a new memory, a familiar face. Lazar keeps up with words of encouragement but Bell doesn’t have the capacity to share the optimism.

The sixth bar Bell checks holds a notable hushed atmosphere. Right away he’s stricken by the dark atmosphere. It felt.. Tense. Insidious. It doesn’t feel right, but for an entirely different reason. While most of the denizens ignore Bell, a few side-eye him dangerously. He steps to the counter and orders a drink, primarily to alleviate any suspicions from both inside and out.

Bell can’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into his back. It’s somehow different from when he first walked in and was certainly making him more uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and tries his best to nonchalantly turn and find who the hell was staring at him so hard, but when he looks, he finds nothing out of the ordinary.

The feeling of unease doesn’t leave. He grows antsy and finally after paying with money given to him by Lazar, Bell downs the last of his drink and turns back into the streets. This is certainly not going the way Bell had hoped. The seventh bar is quite the walk from the sixth, allowing him some time to breathe and collect his thoughts.

The feeling of unease melts from Bell’s shoulders the longer he walks. Lazar’s quiet so he turns his attention outward and listens curiously to the broken chatter of the dwindling civilians.

“-think he talks about anything else?”

“Well, it’s not like-”

“Timur?”

“That’s not.. Point.. Why else-”

“Timur!”

“I just think you should consider-”

A hand lands heavily on Bell’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turns in surprise.

“Timur!” A man stands before Bell with a lazy smirk and a gleam to his eyes- as if he recognizes him. His dark hair is cropped close to his head and a pair of lightly tinted shades adorns his face. The accent is certainly not Russian, and it throws Bell off guard. “Hey! Remember me?”

[hieromonkcharbel]

The Potential Enigma of Philokalic Spirituality for the Western Mind:

To the Western mind, the starkness of philokalic spirituality with its constant emphasis on watchfulness, and the controlling of thoughts through unceasing prayer may be perplexing. There is in the West an almost inherent suspicion of things, especially spiritual, regarding asceticism involving restriction of thoughts unless such practices are stripped of anything approaching moral judgment or recognition of evil influence. One might, for example, be attracted to and engage in certain practices of meditation if the emphasis is on obtaining peace of mind and obtaining a state of inner calmness. Among those who do have religious and moral sensibilities that allow for such asceticism, the lack of emphasis on imaginative meditation on the life of Christ and his passion still presents something of an enigma. While the Western spiritual tradition does not lack such notions and spiritual writers who emphasize the type of spirituality the desert fathers put forward, the prevailing practice centers on imaginative and affective prayer and discursive mediation. This may make the Evagrian spirituality that prevails in the Philokalia seem obscure and foreign. Kallistos Ware writes: “Even though only a few pages are devoted to the works of Evagrios Pontus himself, the book as a whole makes constant use of his threefold classification of the spiritual way into the active life (praktiki), the contemplation of nature (physiki) and the contemplation of God (theologia). It also repeats in many places Evagrios’s description of prayer as a ‘shedding of thoughts’, a laying aside of images and discursive thinking. ‘When you are praying,‘ says Evagrios, ‘do not shape within yourself any image of the Deity, and do not let your intellect be stamped with the impress of any form; but approach the Immaterial in an immaterial manner, and then you will understand.‘

I mention all of this because it is fundamental to having a clear understanding of prayer and watchfulness as described in the writings of Hesychios that I have been considering in recent posts. With the exception of a few rare instances, the ascetic struggle and the manner of praying that is part of that struggle, notably the practice of the Jesus prayer, the Philokalia presents a Evagrian spirituality that is ‘apophatic‘.

The writers of the Philokalia, Hesychios among them, emphasize the interactions between thoughts, passions and sinful acts. Understanding these interactions and the fathers’ use of such terms is imperative. Before moving on to consider Hesychios’ teaching on controlling thoughts, it may be helpful to briefly consider a few definitions offered by Gregory of Sinai. These few paragraphs give great insight into why the fathers place special emphasize on struggling with distracting thoughts.

Gregory writes:

“Sinful acts provoke passions, the passions provoke distractive thoughts and distractive thoughts, provoke fantasies. The fragmented memory begets a multiplicity of ideas, forgetfulness, causes the fragmentation of the memory, ignorance leads to forgetfulness, and appetites are aroused by misdirected emotions, and misdirected emotions by committing sinful acts. A sinful act is provoked by a mindless desire for evil and a strong attachment to the senses and to sensory things” (Philokalia IV).

The Fathers of the Philokalia taught that sense factors can evoke the passions. The senses are mainly visual, but can be auditory, taste, touch and smell as well. In anticipation of many modern psychologists, the Fathers understood that cognition, memory and emotions scan also be triggered by such cues.

St. Gregory of Sinai again expresses these factors well:

“Distractive thoughts arise and are activated in the soul's intelligent faculty, violent passions in the incensive faculty, the memory of bestial appetites in the desiring faculty, imaginary forms in the mind and ideas in the conceptualizing faculty ... We are provoked to sin by such thoughts; the irruption of evil thoughts is like the current of a river, and when as a result of this we give our assent to sin, our heart is overwhelmed as though by a turbulent flood” (Philokalia IV).

The Fathers understood that the senses are activated by such distractive thoughts and so the battle must be waged there. Thus, St. Gregory continues:

“By the "deep mire" (Ps. 69:2) understand slimy sensual pleasure or the sludge of lechery, or the burden of material things. Weighed down by all this, the impassioned intellect casts itself into the depths of despair ... sin ... is named according to its external manifestation” (Philokalia IV).

Such thoughts and behavior can become deeply entrenched (habitual) and our only overcome by ascetic struggle, humility, prayer and the grace of God. St. Nilus noted, "A practice leads to a habit, and habit takes root like second nature. It is difficult and painful to stir or transform a nature.” Likewise, St. Gregory of Sinai wrote, "The cause and origin of the passions is the misuse of things ... (and) expresses the bias of the will ... " (Philokalia IV).

With these considerations in mind, perhaps we can begin to understand the firmness of Hesychios as discusses the kinds of watchfulness and why he wants us to be particularly attentive to these measures and practice them with diligence. He writes:

“I shall now tell you in plain, straightforward language what I consider to be the types of watchfulness which gradually cleanse the intellect from impassioned thoughts. In these times of spiritual warfare I have no wish to conceal beneath words whatever in this treatise may be of use, especially to more simple people. As St. Paul puts it: ‘Pay attention, my child Timothy, to what you read.’ (1Tim 4:13).

“One type of watchfulness consists in closely scrutinizing every mental image or provocation; for only by means of a mental image can Satan fabricate an evil thought and insinuate this into the intellect in order to lead it astray.”

“A second type of watchfulness consist in freeing the heart from all thoughts, keeping it profoundly silent and still, and in praying.”

“A third type consists in continually and humbling calling upon the Lord Jesus Christ for help.”

“A forth type is always to have the thought of death in one’s mind.”

“These types of watchfulness, my child, act like doorkeepers and bar entry to evil thoughts. Elsewhere, if God gives me words, I shall deal more fully with a further type which, along with others, is also effective: this is to fix one’s gaze on heaven and to pay no attention to anything material.”

“When we have to some extent cut off the causes of the passions, we should devote our time to spiritual contemplation; for if we fail to do this we shall easily revert to the fleshly passions, and so achieve nothing but the complete darkening of our intellect and its reversion to material things” (Philokalia I, pp. 164-165)

The ascetic struggle described here is great and constant, but its goal is not simply self mastery or freedom from thought or sinful passions. There is a radical personal element involved in the discipline, emphasized in the practice of the Jesus prayer which directs our thoughts and our hearts to God. We do not seek to cleanse the heart and the intellect (nous: the eye of the heart) for ourselves but for God. Jesus warns against a failure to keep this in mind as does Hesychios in his final comment.

“When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when he comes, he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. So shall it also be with this wicked generation.” (Matthew 12: 43-45)

If we sweep and clean the house without having Christ coming to dwell in and be Master of that house, more demons will return and we will find ourselves in a worse state than when we began.

[mileycfan4eva33]

Fandom: One Chicago and SVU

Title: Silence Equals Death

Chapter 1: Dear Diary

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: Boy, I am getting sick of these things. But, I'm too paranoid not to write it down. Here are the usual disclaimers, I do not own any of the One Chicago/Or SVU characters that glory goes to Dick Wolf and NBC. Trigger warning for a sexual assault/ rape towards the end. Whose Point of View would you like chapter two to be in; Kelly's, Matt's, Stella's or Kat's, Or Hailey's? This fic will be told through multiple views and be a joint between PD/ Fire and SVU. Reviews are fires to my soul; please leave one. Thank You.

Gaffney Chicago Medical Center

Dear Diary, today is January 31, 2021; it is 12:56 am; I am in Chicago Med. I have to write this all down before it becomes a twisted blur of fragmented memories. Tonight was a nightmare, and a dream all rolled into one. Sitting here now on this cold steel trap of a bed, I am in disbelief that any of this happened, but it did, and it shouldn't have; if I had been smarter, more robust, less drunk, none of this would have happened. I only have myself to blame. It all started so innocently.

Now everything is such a mess; how did this happen? I am not a lovesick teenager, and I shouldn't be making these types of mistakes. If only I could turn back time and not get so damn drunk, but I can't, so here it is, the sick truth of what will surely end my career. The authentic story as only someone who lived it can ever tell it. No Disney fair-tales here, just honest raw truths, every word you will read is what happened to the best of my recollection someday I will gone, and I want my truth out there, so no woman ever has to bear witness to the pain of being raped, and thrown away as if she is the villain.

I am not the villain, but can I say I was a victim?

Sofitel Chicago Magnificent Mile

20 E Chestnut St, Chicago, IL 60611

January 30th 2021 9:35 pm

"My money's on you finding exactly what you want."

Matthew Casey's rugged, sexy voice purrs in my ear. I can't remember when he said that or why the hell he said it; my mind is toasted with the large amount of alcohol I have poured into my body. I can remember what he said after, though, because it's what I deserve. Matt had no idea back then that all I wanted was for him to say he loved me, to tell me I am beautiful. To reassure me that these butterflies I have been feeling forever are not just in my stomach, not only carrying my heart away, but they are in his as well.

He didn't, not then and never since it's been at least two years since he said those words to me. Two years since I felt a brief flutter inside my heart telling me that my feelings for Matt had changed from friendship to something a little less platonic. "God, there ain't enough alcohol inside this damn hotel to take my memory away from this pain."

"I hear ya' sis." Stella Kidd motions for the bartender to bring us two more rounds as she settles against the counter inches away from me, her elbows propping her up. "You look flushed, Brett. Are you feeling okay?" Stella's gorgeous brown eyes are wide in concern as she glances at my body my cheeks are burning, I can feel the heat descending from my head to my face making me sway in dizziness a little as I try to remember how to breathe. Funny how a normal body function can sometimes take so much damn effort it hurts. I need a minute to do nothing, not to feel, think, talk, react or breathe, but of course, I can't have that minute, not with Stella on the case. "Yeah, girl, why wouldn't I be okay?" I fake a laugh, which I don't think fools her even for a second.

"Uh, I am so over these damn things Sylvie, I thought with COVID we would escape this bullshit this year." Stella slides down my shot glass to me as she tilts her head back and chugs her shot of whiskey with one gulp. "Yeah, I would have thought so too; nothing I hate more than a bunch of grown-ass corporate men in suits pretending to give two craps about us little people."

"Amen, sister." Stella clicks her empty glass against mine before I tilt my head back and swallow the rush of warmth that leaves me dizzier; maybe I shouldn't have skipped two meals today before coming here after having no food yesterday. "So what's up with you and Kelly?" I turn my head to my right to catch Stella's eyes, glued to her boyfriend Kelly Severide, chatting with District Chief Steve Walker. Fire Commissioner Carl Grissom and the Deputy Director of Finance Gail McLeod. "Kelly's looking dapper Stella; I think someone is going to get lucky tonight." I hold my hand up to signal the bartender for another round; he fills our glasses quickly, much to my pleasure. "Yeah, from your lips to Kelly's ears, please, he's barely touched me ever since he found out that some people may take offense to me being promoted because we're together."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry he's probably just worried Stella, he loves you Kelly doesn't want to be the reason you fail because we all know you deserve this promotion. At least he cares enough to say the words out loud." I swallow the shot feeling my eyes burn badly as tears filter out. "Aw man, this shit is strong. Phew!" shaking my body out, I signal for another, hearing Stella laugh. "Still regretting telling Matt how you feel?"

I pause for a moment before I answer; how should I respond? Do I regret telling Matt how I feel? "Hey bitches." I'm saved from answering as Leslie Shay comes stumbling over, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and squeezing between us, holding her phone up with her left hand. "Smile bitches." Stella and I hold our full shot glasses up. I love this bartender; he is on his game tonight; we smile and lean into Shay, who is reeking of Tequila. "Give me some love, sugar babes." Yeah, she is drunk, sugar babes? Where did she even come up with that one? We smile brighter even though neither one of us feel happy at this moment; her eyes are on Kelly, who isn't even looking our way, and I lock my eyes on Matt, who is dancing with some woman I have never seen in my life.

The woman is drop-dead gorgeous though five-foot-nine inches is my guess she appears to be Lebanese or Latino with long caramel hair flowing down her back past her waist the silk wrap dress she is wearing clings to every unique curve on her flawless body. Matt's arms are wrapped around her waist he's dancing close with her, my heart races so fast I feel the room sway. "Love is a journey, Sylvie, don't give up yet. I know this moment sucks. I get it hurts worse than anything you've ever experienced. When it gets too heavy, when it feels like the weight of this pain is crushing you, remember the pleasant moments, the breathless enthusiastic moments. Matt's alive, and so are you as long as you live, there is hope."

I wish I could smile at Shay as a thank you, but I can't muster the strength even to attempt a smile. Seeing Matt dancing with this woman is killing me slowly; who is she? Where did they meet? Why did he choose tonight to bring her on a date? Knowing I would be at this stupid First Responders training shit, is he trying to make me jealous?

"Your Casey is out there, Sylvie, but you don't have to change who you are to find him." Gabby's words from five years ago come back to me; she did not know just how right she was when she said them to me; hell, I didn't even know back then that the man who I would want to be by my side forever, the man who I would spend countless sleepless nights crying my heart out over was her Casey. Talk to God, Sylvie, get your head straight; this is crazy pinning over a man you pushed away yourself.

Sometimes I feel so cold the way steel must feel left outside to fend for itself against the weather elements. Some days I feel broken, I forget what living is for, I forget how to breathe or even why I should keep living. Today is one of those nights; seeing Matt with this woman is breaking me; I can feel every string of my heart aching, pulling, and twisting as it stretches my entire inside into a giant trampoline my stomach turns and painfully contracts reminding me.

I am alive

Every ache and every pain reminds me I am breathing, but why I can't seem to grasp it. I'm not suicidal, but I'm finding it hard to find a reason to keep my head up when my brain is screaming at me to run away, to bury myself in Tequila and cuddle under the covers till all of the daylight fades away into a blur of a drunken haze.

"Another shot, bartender."

"Name is Josh." I turn away, not caring, seeing only Matt as he lifts his finger to wipe out a stray hair off the woman's face. I can barely breathe every effort is a raspy painful burn that leaves me gasping, trying to fight off this fresh wave of tears. "Close your eyes, Sylvie, and fucking hold it together for a few more minutes; for God's sake, don't let the man see you cry."

Shay slips her arm around my back under my armpits, quickly leading me out of the ballroom where the music is playing louder than what you would expect at a training seminar. "Remember what I said to picture the pleasant moments." "I can't, Shay..I... can't breathe." "Shh, hey, it's okay. I got you." Shay gently settles me onto a couch inside the ladies' room, handing me a cold bottle of water, which she's already taken a few sips out. Still, she lifts to my lips before I can stop her; the cool liquid splashes over my chin, dripping down what gets inside my mouth is refreshing and helps cool me off, allowing me to breathe easier. Leaning back against the wall, I close my eyes, trying to regain some gravity; my knees are trembling, leaving me feeling as if I will collapse if I try to stand.

I want to kick myself for falling so hard for a damn guy who I knew would never love me back. I knew I shouldn't have pushed Matt, yet I ignored every one of my instincts and went full sped ahead. God, I will remember that day forever- I had been avoiding Matt for days ever since the accident. Mainly because I had my suspicions that Matt hadn't just been lucky in getting to me so quickly, part of me hoped and yes, as vain as it sounds prayed that Matt had raced to me, that the thought of me being in peril had somehow overcome Matt's heart running his blood in fear.

I told myself I was crazy even to think such stupid school girl thoughts. Matt is our captain; it made perfect sense he would be worried about Gianna and me; we're part of his team, nothing more. The job of the captain is to make sure all of his team comes home safe at the end of every shift; Matt's lost too many people in his days, he fears losing anyone, so of course, the entire team raced to us when they heard 61 was in an accident.

I had myself convinced Matt came to me out of loyalty out of duty, not because he was in love with me, I am stupid for even thinking for one mil-la-second that Matthew Casey would ever love me as anything except a friend. I was doing so damn well, too, until Blake Gallo blew up all my rationalization with his account of how Matt jumped out of a moving truck to get to me. Me, not myself and Gianna but only me. Brett, I have to get to Brett, that's what Gallo recalled Matt saying.

Shattered

Read more and please leave a review at https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13807832/1/Silence-Equals-Death

[minjungfmd]

1111 / creative claims verifications

creative claims for @fmdjiah ‘s 11:11 — writing a song half finished and packaged away for the other producers to take reigns of when she’s left in a creative rut. warnings / none wc / 1699 (not including lyrics)

11:11 make a wish.

and that’s what she’s known from grade school on — lucky number eleven. (and she figures, it’s possible for luck to draw from the number when it’s one off from a multiple of three). but it leaves a pocketed memory, each time her eyes fall onto the clock picking up 11:11 throughout the years.

a 11:11 for the empty tears of desperate sobs, a heart pounding wayward against the breaths that don’t leave her lips. a 11:11 for the silent moments of solitude where the mind writes itself a blank canvas, and she only hears the glimpses of sounds that nestle its way past her apartment. a 11:11 for the string of text messages unsent, and the 11:11 in the afternoons signaling the start of the day.

today’s 11:11 falls at night, when she finds herself covered up against the end of a seoul summer. still left with the same pieces of no resolve left, mourning the break-up that fell straight past the void of her fingertips. it’s this restlessness in the night that pulls up her notebook, when she’s scanning past the stages of empty stories and outlines of words she composes when her mind’s filled with nothing more than mismatched ideas and lost memories.

when she finds herself on a page prior, she reads the piece slotted at 11:11. figures, the seo minjung in the past wouldn’t outsmart the seo minjung of the present — the nostalgia with the number still remains the same.

it starts off with a few words, connecting the empty pieces of a dead-end relationship. a wound fresh, bleeding red to the point where she can see where the tears smudged the drops of undried ink. sees where the words end with “will i forget you?”

she writes her response as no.

everything finds its place and leaves you took all of me and left but like the two hands of a clock i keep lingering in the same place

because back then or any time in the past in respect to now, she finds herself making a dwelling of the same old sob story of a girl broken hearted. fragmented as a victim of the old memories she draws back, over and over again. irony hits her when she realizes — nothing more than 11:11 flipped, or the hands of the clock. any juxtaposition leaves the same thing read over and over again. she lands herself in the same dwellings — by choice, when it houses the warmth she’s come to known. because even if the foundation lies creaky and everything becomes another scar against the skin of her bones, it’s familiar. warming, the kind of second sense intuition that draws her in closer each time.

but just maybe, she’s the only one settling in nostalgia.

when she looks back to each date set — future plans, written in stone only for it to be shattered from twenty feet over. the rubble enough to set as pebbles lining the floor as she walks her feet one by one, numb to any of the pain. she thinks he’s better off now, forgotten about it when she’s the only one clinging on, holding each step into place to feel something once more.

the remedy is simple: if she holds on long enough, stowing it away. then, maybe by then, it’ll become erased and thought of no more.

in the calendar the date we planned long ago if you forgot about it all i guess i have to erase it after a while

she writes her response one after one in honesty for a future reflection of herself to read. by then, if she’s lucky, it’ll settle in surprise with everything wiped from her mind. she’s no clementine, and he’s no joel — and given the choice, she’s not sure she’d rip away the stitches for a gaping heart, yearning to remember.

instead, she’ll hone it up to fate. hone it to 11:11 the next time her eyes draw towards it — because the only honesty she reveals tonight lies in the final two lines:

you took every part of me i’ll believe i’ll be over you

it’s hard to accept the last fact knowing closure doesn’t come so easily. but, she’s gone girl. always moving from one pillar to another, people to people. setting to setting. a sea of faces and a million and one bodies, she finds her home in nobody. it’s just theory — the fixture he’s become has settled in was too sturdy for a wreck like her.

she closes her journal up, checking the clock. no longer 11:11, it lands in 12:12 — unlucky and ironic.

-

she takes autumn in colors.

hues of ashy browns, tattered with the muted oranges of colder weather. the coldness enough to make her fingers frigid, knowing full-well the swing of seoul’s heat will rise up again with the sun.

but for now, it’s night time, and she makes her mark in calloused fingers, pressing into each string one by one. baby chords as her instructor would say. she likes the sounds of the minors, fitting for fall and slotting right into the melancholic haze. it’s strumming on the first chord, before the realization that the progression follows a smoother transition, like she’s falling from summer girl to fall woes.

it’s the steady pace, the progression like you’re easing down, only to fall a step upward. it’s at that point where it feels a little stronger, more stable — enough that her fingers press on the laptop recording, a bare mic. stripped from the studio, honing in on the acoustic echoes of her living room space. she starts strumming one chord to the next, finished with the final, only to loop it over and over again.

it’s strumming along, the lyrics right in front of her. as soon as the first progression finishes, it’s left right in mark with the statement: it’s 11:11. 

she sings it, more along the lines of stating the facts than providing any more than a soft lullaby. a statement that strikes the beginning, sets the tone — addresses the obvious: 11:11, make a wish or say a farewell to the past 11:11s down in the graveyard of broken promises.

so, when her first few words sing to the loop of chords — she takes it gently, reels it back from the statement in song. it sings itself, no frills nor fancy rifts that play to the voice. instead, she hones it to a series of a single octave, carrying the words slowly, gently. like a present packaged and labeled: fragile, handle with caution. the first verse flows, steadily carrying on each fragment of the story — it’s what she writes down: carry on the song throughout, second verse too.

the build-up of the chorus lies flat when judgement tells her to keep the minimalistic seams of the song in tact. the song lies in the acoustics, the rawness. the general vulnerability that carries afloat despite the transitions of chords. she carries those on when her voice sing-songs into a tug of war at the chorus. it pushes, leading into a higher tempo as her fingers tap along to the rhythm she has in her mind, feeling like there’s one last push, trigger to lead the words left under the pretense of guarded hearts. 

yet, by the time the push dies, it comes time for the pull back — the restrain of two feet treading backwards before the brunt of it topples over. still on guard, like reaching the pinnacle of the rollercoaster braced for the fall, only to slowly retreat. 

retreat comes in the na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na’s. no meaning, just floating in the ellipsis of things she bites her tongue for. a to be continued or read between the lines for what comes next, honing in back to the power of acoustics then to the next verse. 

the song comes in an evident pattern, a rollercoaster that finds itself more like a round about carousel than anything else.  

the night ends, and she finds herself trapped in the hours of reworking each chorus. finding the breathiness of the line endings, an airiness that carries itself full circle throughout the song. a mere demo takes her to sunrise, to where the remnants of the playback of a night spent leave her towards to stare at the sunrise, half-guessing the demo. it still feels bare bones, lacking a certain melancholic grit — still, she doesn’t touch it. leaves it at that.

-

by the time she reaches the song again, it’s been more than enough time and passage of too many schedules to render her mind without any recollection besides the light flitting touches in a sleep-deprived daze. she sits on her desk, replaying the demo over and over till the bare bones touches of the song clocks her once more. there’s a confusion, rendering a palm to her face, staring at her monitor — a clash of song layers, each bit taken from each take. 

(she still tries to add in something).

the traces of an orchestral echo in the back — scratch that, it classifies it too much, not meant to be a broken and bred song of heartbreak nor a remnant of chopin’s dark marches.

she takes the piano, adding in harmonies to the guitar chords in the build up of the chorus. it’s enough that it doesn’t fix itself to anything more than another shade of blues (she keeps it, muffles it out to hide behind the strings only until the ellipsis moment leaves her to play the trickle of keys louder in the higher octaves of the piano).

it’s not until the percussion takes place, she’s left at a standstill. confusion in how to drain out the song enough, but not to the point where the entirety of the strings loses its place. so, she reverts to gentle taps of the bass drum, steadily thumping the bpm like a metronome — an audible metronome, that still seems half-fleshed when she’s sits face-first in front of the screen. she plays it over, and over — still lost, still confused. frustration takes full force before she adds anything else, and she admits defeat with what’s present.

her fingers click away, packaging the sound into a file. a quick kakao sent — “i give up, and this is the most mastering i’ll do with this. it all sounds the same, help.” 

and somehow, she manages to relegate duties to another producer, a close friend. to pick up the pieces where she’s led astray.

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 6

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/66135538

previous | next

6. street walkers, small talkers

Notes at the end.

The three of them land in Thermal, blessedly alone.  Wattson had been more than happy to agree to play today’s match more passively, and Lifeline had agreed, though Elliott could tell she really didn’t want to.

“Looking for a Wingman today, ladies,” Mirage announces, jogging over to the next supply bin. It’s got a box of heavy ammo, which he stows, and two Mozambique’s, which he steadily ignores. His brain feels foggy but over excited at the same time. The shock of seeing Bloodhound- actually seeing their face- had not quite worn off. 

He flings open the door but stops dead in his tracks, words dying in his mouth. For a moment, a moment that seems to stretch out into lifetimes, all he sees is a person sitting on the hard cement floor- the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. His jaw drops open. Their face is surprised, shocked, but somehow, that makes Elliott find them all the more gorgeous. A strong jawline gives way to defined cheekbones, leading up to stunning green eyes that are filled with alarm. Their red hair falls around their face in long waves, and is set aflame by the light of the hallway behind him. Who is this person? His eyes flicker down to whatever they’re holding in their hands, and he swears his heart stops. He knows those goggles. They belong to Bloodhound.

Which means… that’s Bloodhound sitting there on the floor.

Elliott immediately smacks his hand over his eyes as words spill out of his mouth like a waterfall.

He’d been up most of the night, replaying those moments in his head over and over again. Bloodhound had not looked at all what he thought they would look like. And their hair! Their hair was incredible. He never expected it to be ginger; for some reason he had always imagined it dark, maybe brunette or black. All Elliott could think about was running his fingers through their hair and brushing out the tangles. But their eyes… he never would have guessed they’d be such a gorgeous shade of green. And they were so kind-looking, too. Ever since he had inadvertently seen their face, his stomach did flips every time he thought about them. He’d stayed awake for hours waiting for his body to settle. 

Elliott remembers how rich and melodic their real voice had sounded without the modulator, and he finds himself wishing he could go back to the night before. He’d been an absolute mess in multiple ways, but being alone with Bloodhound was worth the turmoil. And their laugh! Even though it came mostly at his expense, he had nearly lost his mind actually hearing them laugh fully and uninhibited. If he focused hard enough he could hear it over and over again in his head, and the sound of it made him a little weak at the knees. 

“Wingman here!” Lifeline calls. “Get yuh head out of the clouds, Witt!”

Mirage shakes himself from his reverie and looks up. Lifeline holds the sturdy pistol aloft, smirking.

“Thanks, I owe you one!” he replies. He makes his way over to her and picks up the gun, passing it back and forth between his hands. Elliott can’t help but smile as he remembers the last time he fired a Wingman. Well, I mean, technically you fired it this morning at the range but- whatever. He grins at the memory of shooting the gun at Bloodhound as they rocketed down the hill, glowing red. But now, a different image takes form in the forefront of his mind- Bloodhound flying across the field, their hair undone and billowing in a fury, their green eyes shimmering with golden light.

“Yuh gonna get a room with that thing?” Lifeline chimes, a laugh pressing at her voice. “Looks like you two need some alone time.”

“Wh- what?” Mirage stammers, jerking himself out of his thoughts for the second time that day. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He holsters the gun as his face burns fiercely.

-----

“Mirage! Duck!”

Mirage dives away from the door just as a volley of bullets comes whizzing through it. He slams it shut. “Good one, Nat!” he calls. Wattson is crouched next to the window, reloading her R-99 with flying fingers. Her pylon whizzes in the other room, generating a field of electrical energy that makes Mirage’s sinuses buzz. She sets the gun aside for a brief moment in order to place two fence posts in front of the door.

In their oh-so-fabulous luck, the final ring just so happened to be around Fragment, which had made the match a decent trek across the map. They’d held their own considerably well, and each of them had a few kills under their belts. The ring had nearly bottlenecked them in the pass between Sorting and their current location, but they had pushed up the hill, third partying a team on the way and coming out victorious.

A frag grenade comes careening through the window, only to be immediately neutralized in a flash of blue light. Thank God for Wattson’s pylon, Mirage thinks, slotting the Skullpiercer he had just found into his Wingman. The sounds of gunfire and exploding grenades pepper the air around him, and it’s giving him a headache. “Hey, Lifeline! Would you mind tossing down a care package to give us some cover?” he yells into the comms amidst all the noise. 

“Won’t do much, seein’ as we’re on the second floor, but I can try an’ block the stairs, she replies. She’s crouched in the corner, her drone glowing and whirring beside her. Pulling out a small device that looks vaguely like a grocery store scanner, she leaps down the stairs and out of sight. Mirage sends a decoy after her for good measure. 

Very near his head, the occasional bullet whistles through the window, coming dangerously close to both him and Wattson. He’s not sure who’s shooting at them, but he has a vague idea- only Bangalore is that accurate with the G7. He scoots over to the side and peeks through the window to try and get a look at who’s been wailing on them. Sure enough, a woman with a tidy stack of curly hair is crouched low, aiming down the sights of her scout rifle from the building across from them.

“Having fun out there, Williams?” Mirage yells across the way after he dives out of sight once more. He’s almost positive she can’t hear him, but he says it anyway. 

“Is that you, Witt?” she yells back. “Might wanna get your head out of your ass and fight, instead of hiding like a coward!” Two warning shots fly through the window, and Mirage scoots away, his heart hammering in his chest. Wattson mutters something in French that he does not understand as she reaches for her Triple Take. 

Ouch. Now he’s annoyed. He registers the sound of Lifeline’s care package slamming into the ground as he peeks out the window again, gripping his Wingman tightly. A large smoke grenade canister flies towards them but is zapped away by Wattson’s pylon. Now they’re just taunting us, he thinks. He takes careful aim at Bangalore’s head, but two shots from her G7 strike him in the shoulder, throwing him back. A low humming sound emanates from his shield as the pylon recharges it, and he starts to think, hard.

An ominous humming sound fills the air, and Mirage snaps his head up just in time to see Bangalore and Pathfinder running across the open square. The familiar whine of Gibraltar’s Ultimate fills the air, and missiles begin to strike the ground in a concussive barrage that makes Mirage’s ears hurt. To his dismay, Pathfinder quickly grapples away, but not after taking a hit or two. Bangalore dashes between the missiles but takes a large amount of damage, and she stumbles. 

Perfect, Mirage thinks. He waits for the barrage to stop, and throws open the door. He leaps from the balcony and hits the ground hard, his knees groaning in protest. Through the smoke, the sights of his Wingman detect a red figure, and Mirage takes aim. It only takes two well placed shots to finish her off, and Bangalore falls to the ground, swearing. “What was that about me being a coward?” he taunts as Bangalore fades away.

She tries to choke something out, but she only spits blood. MIirage can’t help but feel a little sorry for her; he had been in the same position not too long ago. Bangalore slumps to the ground with a finality, just as the smoke clears. A short distance away, Lifeline stands over an incapacitated Pathfinder, and Wattson is keeping up a steady rhythm of sniper shots in the direction they had run from. Mirage ducks behind the pillars outside the building and reloads his gun. “I think there are only four people left!” he announces.

kzzzhhhCRACK!

Elliott’s blood crystallizes into ice inside his veins. He knows that sound. And he knows who is holding the fully charged Sentinel that made it. 

Right in front of his eyes, Lifeline falls to the ground. Her head is bleeding in waves, and she isn’t moving. Without thinking, he leaves his cover and runs towards Lifeline’s eerily still form. kzzzhhhCRACK! Another shot divides the air around him, and the next shot connects with his head, pain blooming across his skull. His helmet fizzles out, and with no hesitation, he activates his Ultimate. The holo-emitters hum and buzz, and five decoys jump into being around him. Abandoning Lifeline’s body, he makes a mad dash for the building where Wattson is still camped, hoping and praying her pylon is still up. 

The frightful buzz of a Charge Rifle chases him in bursts, and the heat of it catches his left shoulder for a brief moment. He hisses in pain, and dives behind the pillars, tucking into a deft tumble. Mirage pops to his feet and pushes the doors open. To his utter dismay, the doors shred into tiny pieces, neutralized by Wattson’s electric fences. “Dammit!” he yells, and rushes up the stairs.

Wattson is still crouched at the window, steadily shooting at the building with four bins atop it across the way. “Lifeline got Sentinel’d,” he gasps, breathing heavily. “Who’s left?”

“I believe Caustic is the third member of Bangalore and Pathfinder’s squad,” she answers, her voice even and calm as he plunges his arm into a shield battery. “I think the other remaining squad is Bloodhound, Gibraltar, and Renee.”

Mirage notes with a curiosity that Wattson had not used Wraith’s code name, and he wonders in a wild moment if there was something Wattson wasn’t telling him. He finds himself wishing he knew Bloodhound’s name, and wondering what it would feel like to whisper their name in their ear as he-

He stops that train of thought as swiftly as it had come. Focus, dumbass! Elliott shakes himself out of his thoughts once again, discards the depleted battery, and realizes with a jolt that he’d missed the last thing Wattson had said.

“Mirage?” she asks, her voice exuding patience even amidst their tense situation.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“We can still win this. I know we can!” She gives him a smile that punches him straight in the heart with how honest and sincere it is. 

“You’re so damn wholesome,” he grumbles under his breath. “Alright, how are we going to do this?”

“Well,” she considers, turning back to her sniper rifle. “I am almost positive- get it?-  that Caustic has barricaded himself in the train station. I saw him run over when Gibraltar sent his missiles down. Bloodhound and their team must be over near the survey beacon- that is where Lifeline was shot from.”

Mirage nods, digesting the information. “Okay, so do you think we should try and take the train station and get set up in there?”

“It’s worth a shot,” she replies. “We can make a detour through the building to our right so we are not sniped. I will also need to find more ammo for my R-99.”

“Sounds good.” He peeks out the window one last time, and sure enough, he spots a familiar figure squatting atop a building, above the zipline shaft. He swears his heart skips a beat or two at the sight of them holding the Sentinel steady. kzzzhhhCRACK! A bullet comes whizzing through the window and Mirage dodges it, but just barely. “All right, time to leave!”

Wattson dismantles her pylon with the press of a button and loads it onto her back. Mirage’s sinuses stop buzzing, and he scratches his nose as the two of them run down the stairs and out the door. They round the corner, and a giddy delight shoots through Mirage’s veins when he sees Lifeline’s care package. A Mastiff hangs from one side of the package, blessedly out of Bloodhound’s line of sight. “Oh, hell yes!” Mirage yells, and he immediately dashes up to grab it. Wattson continues on, running towards the door of the next building. The shotgun almost seems to vibrate in his hands as he picks it up and discards his Spitfire. It takes everything in him to not jump in the air like a twelve-year-old. 

“Mirage!” Wattson calls.

“Yeah, coming!” He slings the large shotgun over his back and darts across the open space and into the next building. The air is eerily silent, and the lack of noise makes Elliott nervous. The pair of them pass through the lobby to the double doors, and Mirage peeks through the blue glass as Wattson picks up more light ammo. Sure enough, he can just barely make out the edge of a gas trap pressed against the inside of the doors to the train station. How those doors hadn’t been blown up yet was anyone’s guess. He fishes in his bag for an arc star and emerges victorious. Bloodhound and their team shouldn’t have a line of sight on them, so he readies the arc star and opens the door. Mirage lobs the grenade as hard as he can across the street and into the double doors, and they explode in a fantastic flash of blue light. Caustic’s gas trap bursts open, spewing toxic green fumes everywhere before it collapses in on itself with an ominous hiss. 

“Excellent!” Wattson exclaims, readying a fence post. “Try to get around to the north side of the building. I will fence this door.” She crouches low, checks their surroundings, and runs full speed across the street. Elliott follows, but turns sharply and hugs the wall  northward. He peeks around the corner, holding his breath, Mastiff at the ready. No one is there, so he sneaks along the wall and crouches just outside the door. He readies a frag grenade, pulls the pin, and places it outside the doors before sprinting back the way he came. A deafening boom wrecks his ears for just a moment, and he can just barely make out the horrible spitting noise of the gas trap as it goes off. 

Ears ringing, he turns and begins running toward the doors again. Just as the smoke and gas dissipate, he gains sight of a hulking figure lumbering down the stars. Mirage raises his Wingman, but he is too late. An entire clip of Flatline ammo slams into his chest, shredding through his armor and peppering him with holes. But his body is nothing more than blue-white light, and he flashes out of existence.

The real Mirage can’t help but giggle as his decoy dissolves into the air. “You got bamboozled,” he murmurs to himself, absolutely delighted. He checks his weapons, making sure they’re reloaded, and grabs his last grenade. Mirage twists the canister and throws the thermite. It slams into the ground just inside the doors and expands off to either side, sputtering and whooshing. He hears a grunt of pain and knows that Caustic has been caught in some of the blaze.

Mirage cheers silently and hefts his Mastiff into his hands. He prays that Wattson has had enough time to block off all the doors, and he sprints over. Caustic runs to the west side of the building, and immediately gets caught by a torrent of bullets from Wattson’s R-99. Mirage leaps over the wall of fire, aims down the sights of his Mastiff and pulls the trigger. A collection of bullets hits Caustic in the shoulder and back as the bigger man turns, making his shield blink and shatter. Wattson takes advantage of his distraction and shoots him squarely in the head. Caustic hits the ground immediately, and Mirage is reminded of the day before, when Bloodhound had taken him down. Andskoti, he thinks. He doesn’t really know what the word means, but he’s pretty sure it’s some kind of insult. 

Elliott finally notices the dull burning in his legs, just as the thermite grenade stops pulsing. His shield has been depleted almost completely. “Hey, Wattson, do you have another pylon?” he asks, fishing in his bag for a shield cell. 

She nods, breathing hard. “Got it!” The pylon is up instantly, and the familiar buzzing returns to Mirage’s nose. “Only one squad left!” Wattson says happily, running over to the north door to place fences. “We’ve got this!”

“We’re not done yet,” Mirage says, just as a very familiar sound vibrates through the air. It reaches his chest, seizing his heart and squeezing it uncomfortably. That otherworldly roar that had haunted Mirage in his dreams the night before echoes and amplifies inside his skull until his temples creak and groan. But he can’t help but love it; he can’t help but love the way Bloodhound’s voice reverberates inside his skull and overwhelms his senses.

Much too late, he notices that Wattson’s fence posts outside the west door have been shot down. An arc star comes careening across the way, but it is zapped away. Mirage finds himself thanking whatever God there is for Wattson’s pylon for the second time that day. He loots Caustic’s death box in a hurry and grabs the three frag grenades he had been stashing, as well as a shield battery. 

A wave of red-orange energy buzzes through the air around them, making the hair on Mirage’s arms stand up inside his suit. “Bloodhound’s got us!” he yells to Wattson, who has just finished fencing the exits. 

“Watch the south door!” Wattson calls. Mirage rushes by her and runs up the south-side staircase. He lingers on the balcony, Wingman at the ready. 

The sound of footsteps echoes all around him, and he starts to feel jittery and anxious. Where are they going to come through first? Can he and Wattson really hold off all three of them? Is he going to be able to keep himself together? He hopes so, but the fear is starting to overtake him again, and he does not like it.

The east doors swing open and instantly shatter when they make contact with Wattson’s interior fence. Mirage leaps off the short balcony in an instant to bar the entrance. Gibraltar is on the other side of the fences, and he fires a volley of bullets very close to Mirage’s head. Some of them connect with his shoulder, but Mirage dodges out of the way and fires his Wingman. One shot connects with Gibraltar’s head, and the next three hit his shoulder and chest. He wavers, and his R-301 nearly topples out of his hands as he stumbles backwards. The larger man fires at the ground, but not by accident- Wattson’s fence sputters and disappears. Mirage fires one more shot at Gibraltar, and the man topples to the ground, dropping his gun. To Mirage’s dismay, Gibraltar falls into a blue-black rift and disappears, going with a flash of white light. 

“Wraith set a portal!” he yells to Wattson. “I downed Gibraltar but he’s gone!”

“I am busy!” she yells back. Wattson dodges out of the way in a spectacular roll as Wraith takes a well-calculated swipe at her with a deadly looking knife. The two women fight each other expertly, a whirl of fists and bullets and knives. The east fence must be out, Mirage realizes. Gunfire echoes around him, and he turns back to the portal just in time to see Bloodhound emerge from it, eyes glowing red as they leap towards him.

Once again, time slows to a horrifying pace and Elliott’s heart beats immeasurably fast. He doesn’t know how many seconds have passed, but all he can see is Bloodhound. He imagines them charging at him, their blazing hair undone and their eyes glowing gold. For a wild moment, the feeling of wanting to surrender returns. But he shakes himself and releases every decoy he has, and then cloaks himself and runs up the stairs. 

Another wave of red-orange light vibrates through the building. Dammit, he thinks. Bloodhound immediately follows him up the stairs, breathing heavily, growling intermittently. Mirage reloads his Wingman and darts up to the roof, hoping and praying that Bloodhound did not have time to revive Gibraltar before coming through the portal.

He leaps over the train tracks and takes cover behind a pillar. He tosses out another decoy, hoping to buy himself a few seconds, but Bloodhound is smart; they do not shoot at the hologram. Mirage switches to his Mastiff and turns sharply, aiming at his opponent. The hefty shotgun jerks massively as he shoots, missing Bloodhound’s quick form, but only just. Bloodhound aims their RE-45 at him, holding it steady. A brief buzzing noise fills the air as the bullets exit their gun and hit Mirage squarely in the chest and neck. His shields sputter, but just barely hold, and he fires another shot from the Mastiff at Bloodhound. It hits them in the shoulder, taking a sizable chunk out of their shields. Without hesitation, Mirage throws himself off the roof and tumbles to the ground, his ankles screaming in protest. He dives into the east doors, and realizes he was right- Wraith must have broken the fence that was there. He glances over to the corner where Wraith and Wattson had been, and notices that they have somehow downed each other. He tries to slide over to his teammate, but Bloodhound is right behind him, and a spattering of bullets crosses the floor without hitting him. Warning shots? he thinks wildly. Why the hell-

Mirage scrambles to his feet and runs down the stairs. He reloads the Mastiff and turns, hearing their footsteps behind him. They level their gun and shoot, catching his shoulder and cheek. Mirage’s helmet blinks out of existence, and so does his shield. He ducks and fires the Mastiff, hitting Bloodhound right in the neck. Their helmet and shields sputter and die, just as they’re reloading the RE. Blood seeps down their neck from under their respirator, and a wild part of Elliott wants to stop the fight right then and there in order to clean their wounds himself.

But this moment of weakness costs him dearly, because Bloodhound seizes their opportunity and fires their last remaining clip of ammo at him.

“Þú barðist vel. Ég er stolt af þér,” they say to him after he falls to the ground. The victory music begins to blare over the loudspeakers, and the last thing Mirage feels before it all goes dark is Bloodhound picking up his Mastiff and placing it on his chest under his arm, their fingers lingering on his hand for the briefest of moments.

------------------------

A/N: Thanks for your patience on this, guys! I didn't feel super motivated to keep going with this for a while, but I eventually started coming up with a better framework and I'm super excited to show you all what's to come.I kind of have this idea that all the contestants have this safety armor on under their actual shields and uniforms so that when they take enough damage to “die”, their bodies are transmatted to the dropship or something. I don’t know how it works in-universe, so that’s what we’re going with. No one actually dies, they just “die” while the safety armor saves them and transmats them. Can’t have the Legends perma-dying, now, can we?

[graveyardollie]

Dying Angel - Awakening Demon Chapter 2

Chapter trigger warnings: Cursing, mention of injury, blood, car accident mention, angst, forests, anxiety, serious body injuries, suicidal thoughts, self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of never being good enough, mentions of torture (Tell me if I need to add more Chapter 1 ————————————————————

Virgil remembered being picked up. But that was it. Then there were only pleasant fragments of someone quietly singing…someone being so gentle towards him as if he was some fragile flower. It was nothing like how he was treated at home. He could smell some nice scent. It made his stomach make some weird noises. But he didn’t have enough strength to wake up yet. Then…he remembers some unpleasant nightmares as well. The anger of those above him. They told Virgil he was a sinner. He should be ashamed of himself. He was being tortured. The pain he has never felt before. Sometimes he would wake up screaming. And then this voice again…so calming…he stopped. This happened multiple times actually. Nightmares. Scream. Then this soft touch, the soft voice telling him that he’s safe now. But was he actually safe? Could he trust the person this voice belonged to? He wished the answer to this question would be yes. But Virgil learned to never be so naive. He needed to make sure the person means no harm. He needed to fully wake up first. Regain some strength for possible battle. For a little while, he allowed himself to rest.

“How are they doing?” asked Roman quietly to not wake the stranger up. “According to my knowledge, they are stable at the moment. The impact of a crash caused fractures to some of their ribs. To put it simply, that kind of injury is especially dangerous because these broken bones can impact other parts of the body, damaging organs and blood vessels. You were very lucky that did not happen, otherwise, you would most likely be responsible for this person’s death.” Logan said firmly. “How could you be so irresponsible? If I had not made it on time, you would be a murderer. Do you have any understanding of how serious this is? You still may have to be held accountable for causing serious injuries due to a car accident. I will not protect you this time. You need to face the consequences of your actions Roman.” Roman felt like crying. Why did all of this have to happen to him? There was maybe a small chance the stranger will not remember anything that happened and Roman could just lie to him that he just saved them after a driver that actually caused the accident just drove away. However, there was a part of him that couldn’t bring himself to lie to this poor soul. Logan is right. He should face the consequences. He ran too much from his problems lately. Why did he even bother? He really thought he could be the hero of the story. And now he is the bad one. Pathetic. Maybe he should go to this forest and never come back. He could just wait for his painful death. But knowing his luck, it would probably not come as fast as he would wish.

Patton thanked Logan for coming and gave him a full plate of cookies and 200$ hidden under it. Damn it. Why did Roman always have to live under someone’s shadow? He should be the one with a plate full of home-made cookies. Ugh. Alright, he had to make everything right. As soon as the stranger will wake up, he will tell them the truth. He has to. He is not evil. He’s. Not. Evil.

Virgil finally got enough strength to open his eyes. The sudden wave of memories from that terrible night made his vision blurry. The pain he felt was still not comparable to the tortures he had been through, but that doesn’t mean he had to like it. Damn, it really hurt. After taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to look around. He was in clean clothes and on top of him were layers of blankets. Finally, a warmth surrounded him. On his left side, he could see someone in the kitchen. Could it be the owner of the soft voice he heard while being unconscious? Maybe. From there he could smell something nice. It made his stomach very upset. What was this feeling? He hated being like this. On his right side, he saw the small fireplace made of red bricks. He saw also reddish walls and wooden panels on the floor. There was also someone asleep next to him. Then he saw the door and a window right next to it, easy two ways of escaping just in case. Wait. Go back. Someone was asleep next to him. Virgil panicked. He rolled back and hit the wooden floor with his back and hissed in pain. The stranger woke up and looked around. They seemed confused. Then their eyes met his and the whole world stopped. The time froze. Virgil’s breath started to speed up. The stranger stood up. They tried to come closer but Virgil moved away until he hit the wall. This weird human stopped while Virgil tried his best to stay brave and not break eye contact. “Wait. Hey. It’s okay. I mean no harm. See?” The stranger sat down on the floor and looked at Virgil with his wide brown eyes. This voice…it’s their voice he heard when he was asleep. “Who are you and what do you want from me?” Virgil asked sharply. “Okay, uh…I’m Roman. This is my brother, Patton. I use he/him pronouns and I…well, I hit you with my car BY accident, and in my defense, you were the one just standing on the road half-naked in the middle of the pitch-black night like some crazy person, no offense, and then I actually took care of you and helped you not…die…so um…you’re welcome…?”

This took Virgil out of track actually. What the heck? Did this weirdo just say he hurt him and then accused HIM of being crazy? He was too tired for this nonsense. As long as they actually meant no harm he didn’t care. He was good to go. He slowly stood up with a little help from the wall. “Alright. Well, sorry for being a burden to you for whoever knows how long I was out. I’ll be on my way now.” “Wait!” Roman stood quickly up and stopped Virgil from going any way further. “I mean…I get you probably miss your family and want to get back home as soon as possible, you were unconscious for like 5 days, they are all probably worried sick. I’m sorry all of this had to happen to you. But we just want to help. We need to know what happened. Why were you all alone half-naked in the forest? You were not the only one who got badly hurt because of the forest…many of the people did not make it alive after going in there.”

“Look. I just…I’m not sure. I don’t think your brain is capable enough to get any of the things I had to go through lately. But all I know is that I woke up in the forest and I got out of there and then I got hit by this…thing…”

“You mean a car?”

“Whatever. You know what I mean. Now let me go. I really don’t want to fight you.” said Virgil angrily. That was what ‘’summoned’’ the other person to this conversation. Patton. Roman’s brother. “Now, now, let’s not fight. I’m aware the situation is a bit complicated but we will get to the answers in time.” Patton turned his head to Virgil. “Hi, kiddo. I’m Patton. I’m Roman’s brother. I bet you’re really hungry am I right?” “Am I…what…?” Virgil asked confused. Patton gave him a concerned look. Was being hungry a bad thing? “Oh, poor thing…he must’ve gotten a small concussion…may I take your hand? I will lead you to the table. Dinner’s almost ready.” It was really as if he did not have a choice but Virgil agreed. He took Patton’s hand and went with him to the table. There the brothers finally got to know his name. “My name…my name is Virgil.”

Of course. Now Patton’s a hero. The stranger…Virgil…now trusted Patton’s more than his actual savior. ROMAN. He took a deep breath. He will go to that stupid forest. Alone. He will show everyone he is an actual good person. He will get his revenge by showing them all he can achieve something. He will be a hero for once. He will. Very soon.  Chapter 3

[winnipegpatty]

You Wrote a Letter to the Wrong Guy | s.m.

Summary: You’ve been in a back and forth relationship with Shawn for years now, and you finally think it’s time to say goodbye for good. Shawn doesn’t see it that way.

Words: 5k+

a/n: this fic prompt is based off the tv show Younger.

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Dear Shawn, 

I can’t imagine my life without you. There’s no easy way to say it, and writing doesn’t make it any better. But I have to try to explain why this is happening. Over the past three years, you’ve changed everything for me. There are so many memories I have of our time together. Some that I know I will cherish for a lifetime. I think of our first night together, when we met at the bar. Or my first time backstage at one of your concerts. Some memories were good times. And some I wish I could forget, but through all of our moments, you saw me for me. You loved me in my most difficult time, and you accepted me when people were leaving me behind. I say I can’t imagine a life without you, a life without your guitar playing in the back of my mind, or hearing your laugh over the phone, but it’s time I let you go. It hurts to tell you these things, but I want my relationship with Nick to work. And the only way I can do that is for there to be space between us. I’m so sorry, Shawn. 

Love Always.

Shawn’s hearts sank deeper with every work he read. His stomach twisted into knots, and he really could vomit. He’d always heard people say that watching the love of their life with someone else was harder than losing them, but what did those idiots know? Did they ever actually experience both options? Because seeing her with Nick was horrible, but they’d still remained friends. They still shared moments with each other. She’d still convinced Shawn to go back to tour when he thought he couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. They still had late night phone calls where they bared a little too much of their soul for exes. He’d still been able to convince himself that one day she’d come back to her. Because truly, he always thought she would. He’d given her every single piece of his heart. She had it all. Surely, that was enough for her to come back, right? They’d had ups and downs, but far more ups. He’d take her any way, even if it was this small fragment of a friendship that was left. Why wasn’t his all enough to convince her to stay?

People told Shawn he’d get over her. But he never thought those people had truly been in love if they thought he’d ever be the same again. He could live his life, sure. But he’d never feel the way he felt about her again. The moment he saw her alone at the bar, he knew it. Shawn used to say he wanted his first ever heartbreak. Like it would fuel his career or something. But that was only when he’d thought that the heartbreak would end and eventually give birth to a new form of love. But there was no new love. There was no love outside of her. 

And what? He’s just supposed to accept that she wasn’t going to ever speak to him again? So she could give Nick a try? What about giving Shawn a try? What about all the times she’d ran from him because she was too terrified to give it a true shot? No, no this, this letter, this apology, this ending — it’s bullshit. 

——

It was about to be a crazy night. You were already preparing yourself, but you weren’t really sure there was a true way to prepare for your best friends bachelorette party. But nevertheless, you were maid of honor, and you were determined to give her the best possible night. Starting with a surprise kidnapping and s strip club visit (or two). 

“Dee, just get in the damn car,” Haylee, one of the bridesmaids, shouted at the bride as she yanked her by the arm into the hot pink limo sized Hummer. “Why can’t you be normal and just let loose for once in your life!” Haylee huffed as she finally pulled Diana into the car. 

“So you planned something,” Diana looked at you.

You smiled at her, “I know you.”

Diana smiled, as she was handed a glass of champagne. 

“Let’s get crazy, bitches!” 

You knew Haylee would take the reigns at some point over the night, it was simply in Haylee’s nature. You weren’t to upset over it, even as maid of honor. 

——

Four shots into the night, multiple lap dances, and two clubs later everyone in the bridal party was drunk, and Haylee was calling the shots as predicted. 

“Let’s go!!!” She was always shouting, “It’s a night for spontaneity.”

The group of girls shouts out, as they all threw back one last shot and stumbled out of the club. 

“Into the Hummer,” Haylee called, “We’ve got a concert to get to!”

Something in your brain registered that this might not be the original plans for the night, but you were so far gone you weren’t even sure what the plans had entailed. And you’re the one who’d made them. The next thing you know, everyone’s being shuttled into the Hummer, and Haylee’s somehow reminding everyone to stay hydrated. So with bottles of water in hand, you head in the direction of wherever Haylee has decided to take the rest of the night. The girls are in the back of the limo, laughing about something someone did at the bar, but your mind drifts as you watch the buildings fly by.

You thought about the letter you sent Shawn, it was a Dear John kind of goodbye letter. Even though you’d sent it a few days prior, you still weren’t sure it was the right choice. Shawn held the most special place in your heart, but you felt like a part of you could never truly leave him, if you continued to have him in your life. Nick deserved better than that. He deserved a girl who wanted to be with him and no one else. You so desperately wanted to fit the mold of that girl.

Eventually, the Hummer pulls to the back of...what looks to be the Madison Square Garden? The building is already booming, and it’s clear that a concert has already started. And come to think of it, it’s really late.

“Wait, why are we coming to the concert when it’s almost over?” You ask Haylee.

“Because I’ve got backstage passes, bitches!” 

What Haylee holds up is a group of Shawn Mendes The Tour passes, that ones Shawn had handed out to all of you at the beginning of the tour, so you could all go to any show you wanted too, without getting tickets or fussing with passes. 

“Wait, what?” You panicked, “We can’t go in there!”

Haylee rolled her eyes, “We sure can, just because you said bye to the rockstar, doesn’t mean we all did.”

Your stomach was tightened as you felt the urge to vomit. You ran to the nearest trash can and hurled yourself over it. 

“Hurry up, girls,” Haylee sang over the crowd. As the group passed by you, Haylee settled a hand on your shoulder. “Remember, it’s not about you tonight, it’s about Dee.”

You pushed yourself up and nodded, following the group of girls into the back door where they showed their passes to a security guard. She was right, this wasn’t about you or Shawn. It was about Dee having a good bachelorette party. You could ignore Shawn for one night. 

Walking into the back hallways, you can hear In My Blood playing through the arena,  which you knew to be Shawn’s closing number. The group of girls turned the corner, and came to be standing right off the stage, where Shawn would exit from. You had two minutes, tops, to prepare yourself. 

Shawn comes running off stage, breathing heavily. He tosses his guitar to a roadie before he sees the group. He stops, seeing you for the first time since reading your letter. And his eyes instantly look tired. Your heart lurches for a moment. 

“Wow, hey girls, what are you doing here?” His body is turned toward Haylee, but his eyes linger on you. They’re sad, doe eyes, and they make her heart hurt just a little more. 

“We are here to party!” Diana hollers, completely out of character for her stoic self, but alcohol has a way of doing that. 

Shawn looks at Haylee for a moment, “Okay, well I am sure Connor would love to party with you.”

The girls holler together, and set off in search of the boy. Shawn heeds a warning at Haylee, asking her to be safe. She responds in kind, and they’re off. You follow at the back of the group, before you hear him turn towards you. 

“Really?” He chokes, “What? You’re just going to write me a letter and just never going to speak to me again. That’s the plan here?”

 You turn to look at him, “Yes, because I care about you. And that’s the problem.”

Shawn scoffs, “Well, I’m calling bullshit. You convinced me to stay touring. You told me not to give up. You said you’d always be here. You said that! You said those things!” Shawn’s voice rose, “And now you’re just going to abandon me!? Just like that? That’s bullshit!”

“I want to give things with Nick a shot, a real shot. I can’t go around flying across the country to see a show for you or having late night phone calls when you can’t fall asleep on the bus. I can’t do those things and still give Nick what he deserves.” Your words are true, but with every word,  you feel like your delivering a fresh stab to your heart. “You know this is going to hurt me too,” your voice cracks, “it’s going to kill me not to see you.”

Shawn took an unstable step towards, you wanted to reach out and grab his hand. You knew you couldn’t do that. “Then why are you doing it?” Shawn questioned, completely broken and vulnerable. “Is Nick that much more important to you?” He waits for a moment, but you stutter, unable to answer him. “Are your feelings for him stronger?”

You gasp, turning on your heel to walk away from him. 

“Look, I get it!” Shawn calls after you. “I get it, you’re scared. You’re scared of us, what we were, what we could actually be. What we still are, so now you’re making the safe choice. Comfortable life with a business man who loves you, over the unpredictable life of a rockstar who’s all over the place.”

You turn back, stomping towards Shawn, “You know what, you don’t know anything about Nick! You don’t know about our life together.” You let out a choked cry, “Don’t tell me how I feel, Shawn! I know this is hard to accept, but what we had, while great, was just for a season. We were a moment in time, Shawn,” it kills you to see the way his eyes are getting glossy, but you forge onward, determined. “And our moment is gone,” you whisper. “It was amazing. And I will cherish it, the memories, and you. But the time has passed.” 

Shawn took another step towards you, now only feet apart. And despite all the chaos around you, of roadies tearing down the stage, you’re locked in with Shawn, you always are. “So then just say it. Say you love Nick more than you love me.”

“Is that what you need to hear? You need me to say it?” 

Shawn nodded. 

“Fine,” you choke out, your voice wavering for only a moment. “I love Nick more.” 

Despite his tears, he smiles, “Oh, honey, you forget that I know you. I know when you’re lying, especially when it’s to yourself.” He paused for a moment, searching your eyes. You stopped breathing for a moment because when Shawn looks at you like that, you feel naked, exposed. It was chilling. Eventually he blinked, chuckled lightly before delivering his closing line, “You wrote a letter to the wrong guy.” 

——

You wrote a letter to the wrong guy. 

Why was loving Shawn so hard? And yet, so terrifyingly easy? What made it impossible to move on? Even when you had the most picture perfect man, waiting for you to come home to him. One that wanted to marry you, have a life with you. A normal life...a safe life. What was so wrong with wanting a safe love? You loved Nick, so why does your heart and mind continually pull you back into Shawn’s atmosphere. 

Dear Nick,

Maybe writing a new letter could help you think.

——

Shawn knew he hadn’t seen the last of her. She could deny it, she could try to move on, move away. But Shawn knew her. And he knew their love. It was everlasting, and their conversation the other night, was enough to tell him. She wasn’t over it. Not even close. Her heart was tugging her just as much in his direction as it was in Nick’s. But what Shawn had going for him was time, honesty, and a passionate love that he knew she’d never have with anyone else. Shawn was the only one to stick by her through thick and thin over the past three years, and he knew that counted for something. Maybe even everything. 

——

“This was supposed to be good for me. This article was supposed to be everything I’d ever dreamed up, but this sucks. This just keeps happening,” Shawn threw his hands up, utterly lost. “I can’t be in your life, you can’t be in my life.”

“Not yet,” You whisper.

“Well when!” 

Shawn waits for a moment but you can’t answer him. You have no answer for him. 

“Hmmm?” He asks again, but you still don’t respond. He shrugs his shoulders, “I can’t do this anymore. 

“Shawn,” you finally speak up.

He simply shook his head, “I’m done.” 

That had been the first time. 

——

“I’m sorry, Shawn. I’m so sorry. I want to make it right. I messed up, please, Shawn. You have to forgive me.”

“I didn’t care about the distance. I didn’t care about not going to sleep every night next to you. I didn’t care about you job having you all over the place just as much as mine does, and us never seeing each other. I didn’t care about you wanting to keep everything a secret, when it fucking killed me inside. I didn’t care about any of it. I chose you. Over all of the crazy chaos. I chose you. I made that choice. Even when you told me you didn’t want to have kids, and I knew I did. I still chose you. I wore my goddamn heart on my sleeve. I loved you with everything inside of me. What more could I possibly have done?” 

You would have expected him to yell maybe, get angry, furious even after what you’d done, but Shawn wasn’t doing any of those things. No, what Shawn was doing was so much worse. He was giving up on you. 

“I love you, but you’re a liar. And whether you realize it or not, your lies are hurting everyone around you.” 

——

“Shawn, one day you’re going to meet the love of your life. And she’s going to sweep you off your feet. And there will never be anyone for you but her.”

“Haylee, what if I already met her.”

“Then nothing will keep the two of you apart.”

——

“What’s keeping me here? I could be anywhere in the world. I could be writing music in fucking Jamaica like Harry Styles. Or backpacking Asia like Niall did. Why do I keep coming back here?”

“You’ve got family here. All your friends. Haylee, Dee… you’ve got me.”

“No,” Shawn choked, “I don’t...have… you. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

——

“I can’t give you the life you want, Shawn.”

“No,” he gripped your neck just a little tighter, but his kiss was so gentle, full of incomprehensible emotions. “The life I want. It’s any life with you.” 

——

The way Shawn saw it, he had two courses of action. Do nothing, letting her leave. Or fight for her, again. One option left him without her, certainly. The other option...provided possibility. 

So he’d fight for her, again. He didn’t care if he’d done it before. He’d do it however many times he had to. If she was scared, then he was determined to make her feel safe. With him. 

Andrew wasn’t fond of the idea, because it required a massive hit to Shawn Mendes brand. In order to really win her back, he’d have to do something drastic. He’d have to give up everything for her, but he was willing. So Shawn left his tour behind, cancelling the last leg. He’d come back eventually, he promised that much. His fans were upset, understandably, but there wouldn’t be much left for Shawn to give them, if he couldn’t fix this. The music only happened because of her after all. She kept him sane. 

So he hopped on a plane back home and prepared to see her again.

——

There was a knock on your door, which was strange for so late in the evening. Weary, you padded over to the front door, opening it slowly. As Shawn came into vision, your entire body froze.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not even having fully opened the front door. 

“I wrote you a letter, but it’s not a Dear John letter. I know that’s what yours was.” Shawn swung his backpack around and frantically fumbled around his pockets until he held out a piece of folded paper. “Mine is more of a Noah from the Notebook kind of letter.” 

You body was shaking, you realized, as you reached out to take the letter from Shawn’s hand. You took a step away from your door, leaving it open to allow him in. Your throat is tight, and you’re not really sure if you’ve been breathing. 

To the Love of my Life,

Did you know that’s what you are? Did you know that there’s no one else for me? That I’m hopelessly, irrevocably, forever in love with you. There is no one else for me. Not one day do I wake up wanting anyone beside me but you. My life changed the day I met you in the bar, and I knew it in that moment. It might sound cheesy, but shouldn’t everything in a love letter sound so? I’ve written countless songs for you, many you’ve heard over the years, most you never will. I’m well aware I write way to many songs about you, but I can’t help what comes out. My heart aches at the thought of not seeing you, not talking to you, not holding your hand, not kissing you, brushing your hair out of your face in the wind, taking you to see the wonders of the world, doing even the most mundane things with you. My heart aches thinking of a life without you. And I won’t sit back and let you take that from me. I won’t let you take my happiness, not without a fight. The fight of my fucking life, if I have to. Kicking and screaming and tantrums and all. I’ll do it all if it means you’d consider it. I know he’s safe. I know he’s kind to you. I’m sure he loves you too, why wouldn’t he? He’s a good man, if you’re willing to love him. But, darling, it can’t be anything like what we have. Your eyes tell me everything that your lips refuse to say. So if it’s safety you need, then I’ll give it to you. I’d give up everything for you, if you asked me to. I canceled the rest of my tour, just to be here for you. To show you how serious I am about this. About you. I’m not kidding around here. I’m not making jokes. This is our life. Our future. And I want it. Suburb house, picket fence, and seventeen dogs or cats or whatever you want. I just want it all with you. You wrote me a letter saying goodbye because it was easier than fighting. Remember, I know you. I know you love me, just like I love you. So I need you to tell me how I can make this right, because it’s the only thing on my mind. The only thing I care about. Nothing else matters if you’re not in my life. Fame, money, performing, it means absolutely nothing if I can’t share it with you. Let me give you everything you could ever desire. Let yourself be loved by me. Give me a chance to prove it’s not temporary, but that it’s forever. I chose you, please choose me too. Every day is a new day that I fall in love with you.

Love Always, 

Shawn

You’re left utterly speechless. You feel your heart almost physically shatter into pieces, your stomach drops, your mouth goes dry. It’s lovely and romantic and stunning...and so, so confusing. Your mind reels, thinking somehow simultaneously of the most amazing moments of your life, and yet somehow the most painful times as well. There were so many things to unpack. He left tour? There still had to be at least a month’s worth of shows left. Why would he do that? How could he do that? And he did that for you? 

“Shawn,” it’s the breath of a whisper, barely a spoken word between you. 

“Please, let me show you how much I love you,” Shawn desperately grasped your arms, your hands shaking with the letter still tight in your grip. “I need you,” he whispered. 

With tears slowly trickling down your cheeks, you look up at Shawn, the man who is undeniably also the love of your life. Your heart is broken, not because you don’t want him, but because you don’t think you can have him. 

“I’ll stay, when it’s hard, when we make mistakes, through thick and thin. I want to be beside you for every moment. Please tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

“It was never a matter of misunderstanding, Shawn…”

“What do I have to do to show you?”

“Shawn,” you stopped him before he could finish, “Nick, he...he asked me to marry him.”

The color drained from Shawn’s face right before your eyes, and your heart lurched once again. Gone were the doe eyes and rosy cheeks, eager to hear your declaration of love. His eyes were dead, and you couldn’t read his expression at all. 

“I, well, I mean,” you stuttered for a moment. Shawn’s hands dropped from your arms, and he stumbled backwards a step, “I didn’t say yes, I mean, I told him I needed time to think.”

“About what?” Shawn’s voice was ice cold, but you thought maybe you saw a glimmer of hope in his beautiful eyes. 

“You told me I wrote a letter to the wrong guy, and I think you might be right.” 

Shawn’s swallowed hard, “I’m going to tell you one thing, and I really need you to listen to me.”

You nodded, unsure of what was to come, yet somehow mesmerized. 

Shawn took a deep breath, drawing closer to you once again. His eyes remained closed for a beat, gaining composure or confidence, maybe. When he opened his eyes, he peered at you, searching for an answer of sorts. His hand slowly came to rest gently at the nape of your neck. His thumb brushed your chin slowly, once, twice. You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering what this felt like. The familiarity of it all, of Shawn’s touch and presence, aching to come back home. Your lips tremble for a moment, and you finally allow yourself to look at him.

“Honey,” His voice is slow, sweet, like honey. “You know me. And I know you. It’s both beautiful and completely terrifying.” You let out a wet laugh that sounds more like a sob. You’re not entirely sure when you started crying so much. “We may not have always been honest with each other to begin with, but we both had our moments and learned from them. In the end, I was completely honest with you. With my feelings. My intentions. What I want. From this, from you, from our life. I won’t pretend to know Nick or what you did together, but I know us. And I know you. You’re not one to make decisions on a whim, even with a grand romantic gesture.” You nodded, knowing he was right. “If you think about your life and you future, and you see yourself happiest with him, I will accept that. But if you have any doubt about me because of where we left things, you need to tell me. I’ll be honest with you. I want nothing more than to be with you, so if something is holding you back, scaring you. Just tell me so that I can make it right.”

Shawn’s hand trailed from your neck, down your shoulder and arm, until his fingers came to wrap around yours where you still held his letter. He guided your hands to fold the letter. 

“Think about it. You know where to find me, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Shawn leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before turning and leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

——

Two days alone with your thoughts. You’d spent most of it in bed. Nick had come home from his business trip yesterday, but you were ignoring him, along with the rest of the world. You’d considered making a pro and con list at one point, but laughed at the idea because you already knew what you wanted. Known it from the start. You were just scared of it, of that life. Your fear of abandonment crept up often, reminding you that you’d never survive being left alone. 

Give me a chance to prove it’s not temporary, but that it’s forever. 

Were words enough to convince you? As if Shawn had only ever given empty promises. You mentally rolled your eyes at your own theatrics. Shawn had time and time again stayed by your side. Even through the break up, the second one that you chose by the way. And even through your relationship with Nick. Even through Shawn’s most recent relationship, though it hadn’t lasted long. None of it ever mattered because somehow you’d still managed to stay friends. And not those friends who just say they’re friends, but never see each other or speak. But real, proper, friends. Shawn was still the most reliable person in your life. And he had been since day one, three years ago. So the fact that you were even scared was stupid and unfounded. 

Why wouldn’t you just allow yourself to be happy? You just wanted to be happy, and you were so tired of holding yourself back. It was exhausting. But you knew what you had to do. You had to finish writing your last letter. And this one, would be the last one. 

Nick was a wonderful, sensible, kind man. He’d find his true love one day, but it wouldn't be with you. He’d find his passionate, knock you off your feet, kind of love with an amazing girl who felt the same way about him as well. That’s what he deserved. And that’s something you couldn’t give him. Living a life of safety was one thing, but holding someone else back because of your own fears was not something you wanted to add to your list of wrongdoings in life. 

So you met with Nick and explained yourself. Apologies would never fix it, but you could do your best to try and mend the wound. You knew he’d be alright though. He’d heal and move forward with life. He was strong enough for that. 

You last stop of the night, and it was your final letter. 

The elevator door opened as you found yourself in a high level condo, front and center, it was Shawn’s home. You knocked, not sure if you were really ready for what was about to happen. But there was simply no going back now, and you were so tired of dangling true happiness over your own head as if it was somehow unattainable, when really it had been right in front of you the whole time. 

Somehow, you felt like you were simply coming back home. 

There’s a turn of the handle, and you take your final breath before the rest of your life changes. Shawn opens the door, coming to find you waiting on the other side. He looked hesitant at first, unsure if this is a good or a bad visit. He steps to the side and gestures for you to come inside. 

As you step into his home, you breathe in the scent of him everywhere. It’s both overwhelming and instantly calming. You take a moment to look at each other before you remember what you came here for in the first place. 

Reaching into the pocket of your black leather jacket, you put out a thin piece of paper. “I have something for you.” You hand the letter to Shawn, who accepts. He doesn’t immediately open it, he just stared at you. He still hadn’t said anything to you, which was unnerving. 

Finally, he unfolds the letter to find the contents to be much different than expected. Not a long letter proclaiming love, but also not yet another long letter bidding farewell. Instead, a short couple sentences, only containing eleven words.

You were right. I wrote a letter to the wrong guy. 

Shawn looked up at you with the most sincere expression, eyes watering and bulging. His cheeks rosy pink, and his neck tense in anticipation. “You’re sure?” He whispers, scared that you may go back on your words.

But you’re not going back. This is it for you. This is the final step. This is the completion of a long story with Shawn, and the start of a whole new sequel. The rest of your life. It starts tonight. Not because you’d found your dream man. Not because you were in love. Not even because you were no longer terrified of your future. The rest of your life started now because you finally chose to stop lying to yourself, and you were ready to let yourself be happy. As far as you were concerned, that was reason enough to consider the future exciting. 

You take a step closer to Shawn, reaching out for his hand, where he readily meets you halfway. You’re are equally teary eyed because you can’t believe what you’re about to say, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to be happy again, Shawn. Can we be happy together?” 

Shawn let out a quiet sob before connecting his lips to yours in earnest. His kiss is soft at first, taking his time to allow you to respond. But quickly his hand finds its way to the nape of your neck, and his lips widen just a bit with a smile. He lets out a quiet giggle into your mouth, and you smile. He’s happy. You feel it radiating off his body, and there’s not a feeling quite like it. You take a step back from him, just looking at his teary, happy eyes. The excitement and just pure joy coming out of this boy makes your heart swell. You love him so much, you’ve never loved anyone quite like this. 

“I love you so much, Shawn,” Your whisper falls out of your lips. 

“I love you too. Thanks for writing me another letter.”

thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged in my future work! Please leave me feedback if you liked what you read. you can always send me requests too if you want something to be written (don’t promise to fill them all, but i’m always open to ideas). and if you’d like to check out my masterlist or buy me a coffee, both of those links are in my bio!

[macgyvertape]

50 or so hours into Cyberpunk 2077

This should be roughly the correct amount of time, ive been leaving the game running as I get up to get food or do stretches. Quests are roughly in order I did them

non spoilers above cut:

 i haven't found a single hat/helmet i like, and since you can't hide them I just am not wearing any. It matters that much.

I posted the other day about bugs, every few hours I play I find new bugs. some require me to go back and reload a save others I honestly can’t tell if it’s a bug or just really poor development

there are several perks that don’t quite do what the description says, like the Anamesis perk. Based on reddit and trying it out it seems to just not do anything.

sometimes in car chase segments the passenger will say “look out” as cars spawn in my path and hit me. Can’t tell if that was deliberate or a pop in issue

Yeah I’ve just totally given up on doing pacifist things unless required by a mission. Given up on doing stealth too unless a mission objective, except for sneaking around to set up a fight.

:readmore:

the delemain car quest is fun. From the shock of the one going "beep beep motherfucker" and doing a hit and run to start it off, to the GLADOS car i see a lot of people talking about. It was fun to explore the city when i might have missed places like the landfill apparently there is follow up on T-bug's death if you go back to the quick hack shop in Kabuki. It's not much but better than nothing I made the pass with Panam of "what if the room just had one bed". I know she won't do a wlw romance, which is fine since I wouldn’t have chosen her.  I enjoy her as a character, don’t get me wrong, my V considers her as a friend, but it seems like theres always drama going on which would be tiring. I would have gone for a fling, i like her leotard-pants combo with all the straps

but also her questline was buggy as hell. Multiple cases of having to reload due to clipping into objects, including her in a driving section, or just insta-dying when collision physics with some rocks broke "your neural network can no longer function independantly of the chip" me slapping my desk: s y m b i o te!!! come on lets have some s y m b i o s i s

in the scene with hellman i really liked how Johnny moved around the room. It made him feel like he was really there. it was hard to follow the convo as I left the room, i would not have understood it without subtitles. But i guess Takemura fucking waterboarded hellman. :|

lol I hope the dialogue is different b/c i refuse to smoke for Johnny

i am level 18 and still can't beat the first opponents in the fist fighting quest. ffs

I looked up the romances options so I went to do the I fought the law quest as soon as i got it. ACAB, but like I literally just met River Ward 2 minutes ago, and I really like him. His earring and cyborg eye, his big fluffy coat. I'm definitely gonna sleep with him Ok i like how when River Ward is dealing with the tiger claws if you interject it leads to a fight. It goes better if you follow his instructions and let him deal with it. Seriously I enjoy that sometimes its good to not pick a dialogue choice.

during the red queen club part, there was no dialogue over the phone. So i reloaded a save and got myself spotted and attacked. Then River showed up to help me <3 and it was more enjoyable having him there. I honestly am not sure if him not going to the club level is bug or not.

then uuuuuugh the worst of irl police "cops are my family" from Detective Han. Again ACAB "FRATERNITY OF CITY COPS RESEMBLES A [Nomad] CLAN NOT AT ALL" ok a few minutes ago i was complaining about bugs, but the character modeling in this game is good (when they're there). You can see body posture, characters jiggle their legs when they are nervous. Like I though character A was just throwing a cigarette on the ground, but then character B flinches back; I realize Char A threw it at B as a fuck you

I'm honestly curious if "I fought the Law" quest will have any impact later on. My choices were that I thought there was more going on than Holt being the only person behind this (based on how complicated the main questline heist is, and keeping an eye on some of the in game news), and told him not to take it to internal affairs, and I loved his response of how he doesn't give a shit what we think, he's doing it anyway.

In the elevator to report in, Johnny said "this muck is deeper than you think, tell them nothing", so i just said that the case was complicated. anyway i love how much of a sarcastic asshole V is

I thought i was being nonlethal with the monk quest, but it seems i accidently killed someone. RIP, but thats kind of the problem with this game. Like when i do the non lethal cyberpychosis quests I equip my non lethal modded gun and hope for the est. I like how a go here kill things quest led to Charles the ripperdoc. He's getting all his parts from scav gang members so I felt obligated to take him out. I got a police bounty for it but w/e.

I merged the Delemain fragments with the whole. Guess he's the meta now. (Side note: some of my favorite rvb fanfic plots are Ai consiousness/memory merging with the humans, so I’m having fun with this game and look foward to introspective fanfic)

Honestly Jonny made some good points, the fragments didn't deserve to die; but also destroying the core and freeing the fragments, they couldn't really function alone.

I was able to rescue Saul fine with stealth. Using cameras and the synapse overload really made it easy.  Can't use the sniper rifle reward b/c I don't have the stats for it, and while it has a silencer the fact that it's a ricochette weapon and not a shoot through walls weapons, makes it not as good imo; and theres a legendary one that is stats free for only 100k.

Lol made a pass again at Panam, and she immediately shut me down. I then did Mitch's quest and I love every time someone tells V they area  good person.

I hacked the operation carpe noctem shard, and wow the corporations are using ai to make people have cyberpsychosis, or something like that. What a shocker /s, I've played Deus Ex HR before

lol driving through the unifinished interstate, past the fight from Panam's first quest I found a "batcave" with a very nice car, and a manifesto written by "muckman'. But here's my complaint about the loot, there is a legendary top, but it had 16 armor. My current top has 84 armor, like why would i switch?? then later i found a bunker with soviet spies in it. Wild

Doing River's second quest, love the timing of as soon as you ask, why are we breaking in, someone shows up to tell you he got kicked off the force. It's funny how Johnny comments how maybe River's into you, and V just doubts Johnny's words. Love how the first kid asks River if I'm his girlfriend. also wow like oof both the second parts of Judy and River's quest are SUPER fucked UP!! oof like i stopped doing first person mode on the braindances for those quests as soon as i could, just made me too uncomfortable seeing that in first person.

DRIVING IN THE GAME IS BAD! nowhere is it more apparent than the sinnerman quest, which took me 3 times to get the driving section done, as cars spawned out of nowhere to hit me. Then when you restart, there is a bunch of dialogue it doesn't let you fast forward through. The rest of the Sinnerman questline is interesting. My V took every option to tell the dude that he was messed up, and what he was doing was wrong. idk, I was surprised how much dialogue there was that let you buy into his whole "forgiveness thing" and how there wasn't any real dialogue to call him the fuck out, that in seeking forgiveness he continues to do harm both emotional to the mother of the man he killed, but also that he got the husband killed via cop. The later follow up quest, I told him that what he is doing is crazy, studio is just going to profit off this vid. Then I refused to join him prayer, and told him fuck no i wasn't going to hammer him to the cross, or even watch. Yes, the man is scared of dying, and the corporation is exploiting him, but he keeps creating burdens for others.  I think the discussion on this quest will be interesting to read, it's definitely my own personal experience with religion coloring my view. Anyway back to a main quest, yeah i don't trust Placide, especially in that scene where he grabs my hand, then jacks in. I ran off to do most of the sidequests here and got some criticism from him. I do love how in the cinema the western movie switches to a mission brief as the netwatch agent talks. its a fun enviromental detail.  I took the netwatch offer, i don't think he's being fully honest with me, but he didn't put a virus in my head. As I told Placide later, I didn't pick a side. I like how you can then talk with the agent, who is a fan of Western movies, b/c they show "a simpler time where all good guys carry badges" :eyeroll:, and then V recommends Unforgiven, which from the wiki summary goes against that theme.

Looks like the Voodoo boys all got killed by Netwatch, but I as revenge for them trying to set me up I'm fine with it. Honestly after speaking with ai!Alt I don’t believe their plan of trying to be on good relations with AI would work. 

doing the johnny flashback 2, and wow Johnny really is an asshole. Like I had gotten so used to him in side missions I forgot how self centered and unlikable he was.You constantly get prompts to drink or do drugs, which I ignored. But i do love the goth/punk love Rogue and others have.

lol i called it, when Hellman said that the engram would seek to override the host, put V on the engram. I really like how as the relic malfunctions, you wind up in the chair with a cigarette, which you can either smoke and say you are turning into Johnny or throw away. My dialogue "your problem is the ends justify the means", which is true!!! He and Rogue detonated a nuke downtown, does anyone know that, and like ask Rogue about it????

(Funny you can ask Rouge about Johnny silverhand, over the phone, then the game bugs out and spawns her npc where you are. She doens't say much about the nuke, but she does say no one trusts you for jobs). The line of no one trusting you for jobs is pretty funny at level 46 street cred where im at “respected” status. really loving the family atmosphere at River's 3rd quest. Also his big strong arms, and the fact he is no longer a cop. I totally let the kids win, and wow the family dinner where they GRILL YOU over the relationship and try to set the two of you up, then the water tower scene!!!!! I don't love the first person sex cutscenes but they do have personality. I'm glad afterwards you got to tell River about the biochip and that you might die. Because he's so far removed from your personal plot. So I took that option to back out of a relationship.

I do love that you wake up with "river's tanktop" that says "fuck the police" It actually has extremely good armor stats, so thats what I'll wear now.

panam 3rd quest, when shes like why did you help me, I'm like "because it's important to you". Basically the closest you can get to "when a friend asks for help you help them", which as an ex-nomad backstory I really choose the nomad options when ever i can Paralezes quest part 2! I love the piano song but I always think of it as ocean's 11 music. It's also fun to see the computer and see Judy recommended you for the first quest. The emails talk about "forgetting" to hire a staffer, on the balocony a strange antennia was scannable, the color of the roses was remembered wrong...  lol guess i was right with those giant wall screens. Its fun environmental details that spell things out before you can notice, and it ties into some other quests where people's behavior is being altered. Actually, this quest "Dream On" I love it! For a while I've been like "wheres the illuminati conspiracy! Here it IS! I chose to follow Elisabeth's wishes and not tell her husband he was being brainwashed. In best case they program him to forget again, in worst case he ends up dead. The gaslighting Elisabeth described is CHILLING, her husband describes a vacation she can't remember and she doesn't know whose memories have been messed with. On your way to the plaza you get a call from someone/something that says the know exactly WHAT you are, any you black out!!! It's such a great feeling of helplessness that you're just one person in a world so big that you can't fight every power. As Johnny said, could be a corporation, could be a rogue ai, either way Jefferson is fucked (and so are you).