#i cant fucking write anymore

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[soysaurus]

Jason remembers standing by the edge of the field, right outside the fence, as the hockey ball shot across water-based green. Dick Grayson, the only surviving Flying Grayson, swam through the air. His movements were sharp but fluid, the perfect centre midfield that transitioned seamlessly between those pushing the game forward and the defenders growling at the back. Back then, Jason was thirteen. He'd never played hockey before but Bruce said he would. He said Jason was born for it. He said a lot of things, a lot of half-promises that would never be fulfilled. They made Jason smile nonetheless.

Maybe he was just smiling because Bruce owned the pitch.

Jason was fifteen when he joined the Titans—a rough team full of the best of the best. Wally West was a bolt of lightning on the left side of the field, and Donna scared even the strongest of strikers as she charged through short corners, no fear, mask or no mask.

But then there was Roy Harper—Speedy, Jason heard Dick call. If anyone was born for hockey, it was him. He didn't have the thick thighs of most defenders, but when he set his eye to the ball, he never missed. He was a support player, hovering in the background, but Jason couldn't keep his eyes off him. Every time the ball swung back, Roy swooped it up and ricocheted it to the front. Wally was one of the only people who could keep up with him, picking the ball up and guiding it through the goal before Jason could breathe.

Jason was only fifteen, only been playing for two years and leagues behind the likes of Nightwing and Batman. But he was Robin. And Robins were made to fly.

Like the final whistle, the world fell apart. The Titans crumbled: Roy Harper left, Jason disappeared, and Dick grew up.

Jason is twenty-seven now. He's clawed his way from the ground up, dirt and sand gritted against his stick. He's taller than Dick, taller than he even remembers Roy being.

His Red Hood is strong and still, a bleeding stain that marks every pitch he's hit a ball on. He's not a striker, but every striker that sees him shivers. Their knees quake. Jason's thighs are big enough to crush their skulls between his muscles, and they know it. All good defenders glare with just the right spark.

And all good defenders need equally as good teammates supporting their plays. When Jason hears the name ‘Harper’, he runs.

He meets a little girl instead.

“This is Lian,” Artemis, right midfield, says. She claps a strong hand on the kid's shoulder.

She has freckles like someone Jason knows, freckles he can't quite place. She sticks her hand out. It reminds him of something.

“Hi,” she starts like they've seen each other before. “My dad said you became one of the best hockey players after only starting learning at thirteen.” She holds up a stick, a red, orange, and black stick. There's a stripe—pointed, sharp, like an arrow—in it, and a feather. “Teach me.”

Jason doesn't know who this kid is, but the green of her eyes makes him say, “Okay.”

The Outlaws have gained a new member.

[reaper-in-reverie]

Chuuya was a fiery person.

He learned that the only way to be truly respected was to be irritable and commanding — it worked. He was right. Being weak and folding to other people's will was not part of him anymore, he was Chuuya with a capital C and he was the untouchable executive of the Port Mafia — he didn't need anyone else, he had himself, respect, relative safety, and a stupid mackerel to kill.

Oh, and he had you.

OR

chuuya nakahara's loving written by a chuuya kinnie projecting herself into her work.

Warnings: nothing much, just chuuya's thoughts on love and himself. A dash of angst if you really think about how lonely he is...

Chuuya was a fiery person.

He learned that the only way to be truly respected was to be irritable and commanding — it worked. He was right. Being weak and folding to other people's will was not part of him anymore, he was Chuuya with a capital C and he was the untouchable executive of the Port Mafia — he didn't need anyone else, he had himself, respect, relative safety, and a stupid mackerel to kill.

Oh, and he had you.

And the untouchable executive had to rest, too.

Chuuya had his arms wrapped around you while your head laid against his chest, and his on the pillows. He was so tired, you could feel it when you were this close to him — but you could also feel he was content with just being here with you, holding you in silence.

He couldn't begin to imagine how he even got himself here. He loved you so much, he was so sure of that — you were everything to him. You understood him so deeply, sympathized with him, cared for him, been there to listen to his shitty childhood, been there when he was drunk and tired and mean. Been there through both his best and his worst.

There was a silence he couldn't fill with words. He didn't know what to do with these feelings half the time. You were just so, so precious to him. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't lose you, it'd ruin him forever. Losing you now would be like dying.

He'd sacrifice his life for you, he'd dedicate his soul to you, and if the world was against you — then he was sending a goddamn planet out of orbit. But Chuuya knew you didn't even want that. You wanted him to love and to be loved — to be human. He never had someone like you before, you proved to him so many times you didn't want his power, or his position, or his potential. You wanted him, you liked how human he was despite of what he was. You commented on his care and loyalty and his compassion — you separated him from the other vile humans, you said he was so much more than them. You loved him without obligating him to love you in return.

You were his proof of humanity. What a joke. Did you even know what you were getting yourself into? What it meant to love someone like him — someone who was just lines of code, stuffed into skin and bones? Someone who had accepted that they couldn't be truly loved long before you? Someone who's very existence flawed them? Someone who wasn't even human? Didn't you know — or did you not care?

Chuuya sighed against you now. He could feel you were asleep in his arms. He needed to protect you, he needed to keep you close to him — you made him feel human. You were proof he could love, he could feel, he could live. That he didn't have to feel guilty for existing. He didn't have to have a purpose — he could live and laugh and love without being useful. It sounded like a fever dream to a boy who was made to be a weapon.

Chuuya started lowly humming a tune into the cold air of the room. The song was familiar — his mother had sung it to him. He could barely remember it. He definitely had a life before this. He probably had a mother, a father, old childhood friends, even siblings —

— but this was okay, too.

He couldn't believe you were here with him. He couldn't believe he had someone that could accept him. Someone who didn't just tolerate him, or use him — someone who loved him. You loved him so genuinely and deeply that you would sacrifice your happiness just like he would his own. You gave him more than respect, you gave him stability. You gave him the feeling of home he had never truly felt.

Chuuya Nakahara was a fiery person.

But he had always yearned for a gentle love.

║Ⓒ reapkusho on tumblr. 2024. all rights reserved. refrain from translating, copying, or stealing in any way, etc.

[ethantheannus]

another update on my current deadclaws wip:

14009 words.

[enden-k]

DID YOU WATCH THE GENSHIN 5.0 LIVESTREAM? LORD, THEY ACTUALLY LISTENED!!

yall.......i stopped posting gnshn stuff a while ago, i dont bother watching their stupid livestreams aaahhhhh if i could i would kidnap my faves out there and take them somewhere safe smh

anw no i did not watch it bc i dont keep up with gnshn. im out of the loop so idk what youre talking abt

[moonlit-dreamers]

after much internal debate i decided to just make this its own separate post bc i dont think i'd be able to fit my insanity in just 30 tags (for @autocat5876 bc you asked for it <3)

i feel like gabriel is just not normal about his swords in the slightest. he loves and cherishes them so much that it goes beyond just master and weapon. he trusts them with his life. every time he's needed them theyve been there. theyre reliable, sturdy, sharp, beautiful. its an honor to wield something so powerful that sometimes even he doesnt feel worthy of their assistance. but what is he without his swords? what are they without their wielder? they complete each other in every way. they give him strength and he gives them purpose.

while he does enjoy using them in battle (it shows how much they trust each other; to place their lives into the hands of another to lead them all to victory) he still doesnt like seeing them be so dirty. after every fight he cleans both of them thoroughly along with a weekly session to polish and sharpen them. despite how much he dislikes seeing them be so tainted with the gore of enemies he knows they enjoy the fight as much as he does and it'd be unfair to prevent them from having fun just because he doesn't like seeing them unclean.

splendor is more of a guiding hand whereas justice is more controlling. splendor prefers letting gabriel decide what he does while justice makes sure he stays on the right path. he appreciates both of their inputs (even if justice can be a bit more pushy than he'd like) and follows when he can.

splendor is more show-y than justice. she prioritizes how something is done rather than if. she also prioritizes how she looks so gabriel always makes sure he cleans her first. she wants perfection and gabriel will deliver it to the best of his abilities. even if he doesnt she will still guide him to achieving it.

justice is more goal oriented. they dont care how its done as long as its done in the end. they push gabriel to his limits to make sure he reaches his full potential. they focus on efficiency, unlike splendor (if you can't tell they get into arguments often and gabriel has to be a mediator </3). they dont mind being dirty (for long at least) because its proof of a job well done. it brings them their own sense of fulfillment that not only have they done well but so has gabriel.

at first gabriel was kinda weirded out by his own behavior (why is he talking to his swords and giving them personalities???) but he accepts it eventually because who cares. nobodys gonna stop him and he has 2 amazing partners that love him :>

this might?? be all??? idk man im just being a freak on main again i might come back if i have more ideas rghsgrhkj

[jajanvm-imbi]

Hey remember when I said that this was the most frustrating thing about being a Helluva Boss enjoyer?

Yeah I was wrong.

The most frustrating thing about being a Helluva Boss enjoyer is explicitly stating multiple times that I like show and then get called an anti and homophobic and media illiterate when I complain about the direction it has taken.

I LIKE the comedy

I LIKE the animation and artstyle

I LIKE the more serious plotlines like the government agents plot and the Cherubs plot

I LIKE the themes of friendship and found family

I even like most of the songs!

And ofc the voice cast slays every time

But just because your show has angst and tears and drama and sad music doesn't automatically make it "good".

Just because your characters are queer doesn't automatically make them good or well written characters

This fandom is so frustrating to deal with when you want to express your more nuanced takes of it

This is probably gonna be the last post I make about this subject and about Helluva Boss in general, this shit is too stupid to deal with

[mothinabottle]

Imagine. Imagine a new ritual in-game where the temple tries to convert a demon PC back to a normal human again. Like some type of shit involving a high rank temple member cumming inside PC 7 times (Because 7 is the holy number supposedly? Jajsjajsja)—Preferably Jordan

Spoiler: It doesn't fucking work. This is just an excuse to have porn with plot, ok??? I am at my wit's end cuz I haven't been able to draw Jordan in a GOOD while and I just need them???

I NEED YURI SEX, YAOI SEX, WHATEVER THE FUCK IS AVAILABLE WITH JORDAN 😭

[morethanonepage]

say what you will about Person of Interest but its show runners' reactions to their manly man action/sci-fi show being embraced by women shipping their two male main characters (that they would never in a thousand years see as anything but straight) was almost perfect. they kept up the importance of the finch/reese connection almost to the end*, they never shied away from letting them being close or physical w each other, they had other queer characters & treated them w respect. they had reese & finch pose as a couple for an event & treated it exactly the same as if had been reese & shaw posing as a couple.

basically, they never treated their audience as idiots for ever IMAGINING that their two totally straight main characters could be in love after being shown in text to love & need & value each other. they were always like, huh that wasn't our intent & we don't see it that way, but w/e, have fun w it, keep watching our show pls.

bbc sherlock & the mcu & star wars could NEVER. & neither, tbh, could supernatural.

*the random retcon of Carter being the MOST important person ever to Reese & his savior felt less about ignoring/diminishing his connection to Finch lest that be seen as GAY & more about amping up the tragedy of Reese having lost a person he loved & valued (& also I would argue setting up the fact that he was going to die at the end). Bad character writing but not imo malicious.** Same w his weird & awful relationship w his therapist in the last season -- more about setting up how hopeless it was for Reese to even try to have a normal life, again setting him up for his noble sacrifice at the end. Again, bad writing, but I see the vision.

** I also get the feeling both these moves were based on pressure from Jim Caviezel. The show runners may have been fine by the queer readings of the show but I bet he wasn't 😂

[magical-girl-coral]

I'm probably overthinking this but I can't help but think the reason why the TLoVM team is rushing all of their best scenes early is out of fear they're going to get cancelled out of the blue like every other show nowadays.

[calamitoustide]

just thought of a jegulus they both die at the end au and suddenly I'm thirteen again

[cerberus-writes]

CARNIFICARE. —— A SHORT VN.

a stranger tells you a story about a monster.

&&. GAMEPLAY.

carnificare is coded in twine and playable in browsers. it is a text-centric story with visual novel elements — mostly because it was originally made for a vn game jam. it's a very short story, somewhere between 7-8k words long, and features art done by yours truly. please heed the content warnings. you can play it now on itch.io.

&&. RELEASE: V1 — PLAYABLE NOW ON ITCH.IO

[ratatatastic]

"smart fight by ekblad" and then zooming in on ekky in the box to forsy on the bench and going "forsys gonna be okay" oh we are fujoing out on main huh

[happyk44]

Zeus being like "we need to kill our living children because prophecy" and Hades is just "fuck you" and defies Nico and Bianca instead. Bianca is seething when she sees little Percy, Annabeth, and Grover sneak into the Underworld. She's spent way too much time with Zagreus.

But Nico is curious. He thinks the little heroes are cute. Watches them succeed to get around Cerberus. Watches one of them suddenly flying towards the pit. The other two are panicking.

Poor kids, he thinks, and he touches down in front of them. Catches the satyr with one hand. He yanks away, determined to get to the pit but Nico is an unmoving as a dead man. Just stuck to the ground and peeling off his wild shoes with ease. The satyr is lowered gently to the ground. Nico melts the shoes into shadows.

"You look hungry," he says.

They all stare at him. Then scamper into a little clustered triad. The girl nudges the boy and he huffs before clearing his throat.

"Um, Lord Hades-"

Nico's lip twitches. "I am not my father, little demigod. Do you wish to speak with him?" The boy's soul is untamed waves and a hurricane. "Ah. My cousin." He pauses. Gives it a think. "Perseus, right?"

The kid goes a little pink around his cheeks. Flushes down to throat and up through his ears. "Uh, yeah. Um. It's Percy." He blinks. Clears his throat. "Percy Jackson."

Nico thinks about it. "I think I'll just say Perseus, if you don't mind. I quite like it as a name. Strong. Heroic."

"Yeah, sure," Percy says quickly. His soul is a sea of panic. Tinged red around its edges. Tastes syrupy sweet at the back of Nico's throat. "You- I-"

The girl saves him. "We would like to seek an audience with Lord Hades. If we can." After a beat, she tacks on a tinny, "Please."

"Annabeth Chase," Nico says. She stiffens, eyes going big. "Athena's child." He glances over to the satyr. "Grover Underwood. Cute name. Fits you." Grover stammers before thanking him quietly. "My sister is with my father now. I'll see if I can steer her away. She's not always the best company to have when speaking with Papa. Especially with what is going on now."

The kids twitch and he stifles the urge to giggle.

The ground melts beneath them. They gasp aloud as earth turns to obsidian tile. His room is clean and tidy. Filled to the brim with silly junk throughout history. Trinkets and toys he's picked up from his travels too.

"You can wait here," he says. And he disappears without another word.

It takes longer than it should, to steer Bianca out of the way. Hades is no help. Bemused all the while. Nico tries to get him to take a nicer stance, but he's stubborn. Normally so is Nico, but he can't imagine the trio in his bedroom are taking his absence easily, so he caves and let's his father being as intimidating as he wants.

Personally, Nico can't see it. His father is his father. Whether he's twenty-feet tall with black eyes and a crown of nightmares, or six foot six with warm hands and smiles.

"Be nice, Papa," he says as he guides the children into the throne room.

Hades grunts and glares down at his nephew. Nico sighs and stands in the back. They are children. Perhaps if they were older he'd care less. But he remembers what it is to be twelve years old and staring at a god that wished you were dead an unbreathing.

It is haunting and hurting.

They speak and it's confusing. The children are lost with every word his father speaks. His father is getting more and more annoyed with every word they speak.

No one is lying, but no one has the reality of the situation at hand. Nico strides forwards, out of the shadows. Hades's eyes are angry, but he quiets. He does not like to shout in front of Nico. Not when the anger rockets back at Nico's soul like a mirror and leaves him winded. The trio goes silent.

He slides his hands through the flimsy material of the backpack. Electricity crackles at his skin. He flinches and steps back.

Percy is confused. His soul is a crashing thing, drowning his mind in panic untold. Annabeth is horrified. Her soul is sputtering. There is no logic to this. No facts to back up what she has discovered. She is unsure, for the first time in her life. Grover is on the verge of fainting.

"He didn't know," Nico says. "None of them did."

Hades scoffs, but let's Nico flip through the pages of their souls like a history book. Ares and the backpack. But that is not possible. He cannot touch his father's bolt, or Hades's helm. Not without permission and certainly not with his own bare hands. Further back, there is a face. Scarred and angry. He is giving Percy the shoes.

Grover takes them when his back is turned.

Smart creature, Nico thinks.

He lets goes and the trio breathes.

"There is a boy," he says. "I'll need to look at him, but I feel he has orchestrated this mess."

Hades's lips curl. He is unhappy. He wanted to blast his nephew to pieces and lock the others up for their troubles in bringing him along.

"You have got to stop talking to Bianca," Nico huffs. "Give me a day. I will head to camp-"

"No," Hades says.

Everything topples downhill. The Furies descend. Skeletons take charge. Shadows whip and hiss like volatile snakes.

Nico blinks and they are gone. Sunny grass, untouched by darkness. There's the crashing of the waves behind him. The kids are gasping. Nico steadies their ever-changing souls, collisions of nauseous colours.

"My mom," Percy gasps. His voice is on the edge of tears.

Nico stares at him. Then presses a cold hand to his shoulder. "She will be fine. My father knows what it is to have a mother lost to their child. She is a guest, although unwilling. No harm shall come to her."

"How-" Annabeth presses small hands to her face. "The bolt- how-"

"Luke Castellan," Nico says. "Is he a kind boy?"

Annabeth twitches, stares up at him, frustrated, confused. Grover answers in her stead. "He's a good person."

"Hmm." Nico turns to see his cousin waiting for them on the sand. "Even good people can be turned to do terrible things. Many people do terrible things in the name of good."

Percys soul gardens when he catches sight of their shared cousin. Ares's demeanour does nothing for Nico. But it fills the crevices of Percy's misery with boiling rage. Nico squeezes along his shoulder. Mats his soul with a softening quell.

"Breathe," he says. Ares approaches. Too calm. Too steady. The people around him scatter with every step. "Ares, you are an idiot." Dreams are awash in his soul. He is faintly pressed behind a matte wall. He laughs, carefree, amused. But behind that wall, his truer self is screaming. "I much prefer it when my sisters bully you. Rather than whoever is doing so now. Did you not notice the memories in your head turned awry?"

He scoffs. They banter. Nico lets Percy, angry and distressed at being played with, take the fight. He remembers the ways he wished his father would let him knock their family down a peg. When his siblings were blasted apart miles away in another state. His mother electrocuted and turned to ash in front of his very eyes.

As Ares lay panting on the sand, Nico takes a hold of his soul and clears the wall away.

"Next time stay vigilant. What would your mother think of you working with her father in this way?" He flicks the other god's forehead and watches him rocket down into the earth. The kids stare at him. Awed. Confused. Percy is wet and breathing hard, pink around his ears.

"You should return the bolt," Nico says. The wind sweeps. "In the meantime, this prophecy has waited far too long to pass." He sighs. "It should've been me. Or my sister. Someone long before your time, Perseus."

Nico pats his head and he squeaks. It's adorable.

"I will assist where I can," he says. He presses a token into Percy's hand. The other two jolt as similiar beads tuck into the flat of their palms. "Just give me a call."

The earth gives out beneath their feet and they disappear into sand and darkness. Nico runs his wrists over one another and glances up to the mortals pooling around the beach. Police officers looking mystified at the sudden absence of the two players in their so-called gun fight.

He will string a tale into their cores, a belief so certain no one can dash it away. And then he will retire to his father's side just as he did when he was ten years old, the stains of his mother's death lingering on his skin.

Certainly the three of them will make use of his tokens in due time. He will wait for them to do so.

And then he will help.

[darishima]

so we all agree that 430 was complete and utter shit right

[actual-changeling]

I know that Ellie eventually going to school is a pretty much universally accepted part of the world building, but I am itching to explore her trying to do so and simply being unable to do it.

The child abuse she went through at the hands of FEDRA was probably prolific and cruel, and her life was basically nothing but different kinds of "education" strung together, whether that's whatever they cobbled together for general education or the military training. Joel might know it was bad (cause it's fucking FEDRA), but the extend of her trauma is hard to gauge when you are not in a situation that triggers it.

Her academic trauma does not disappear outside of school, but unless Ellie is in a similar situation it simply won't be immediately obvious (speaking from experience). On top of that, David being a teacher does not help whatsoever.

-

Joel and Ellie agree on a first day of school, but they want to check out the building beforehand, just so they're both a bit more at peace. Ellie is somewhat excited but also scared, and the closer they get to the building, the quieter she becomes, just hanging onto Joel's hand and squeezing it until her knuckles turn white. He pulls her close, notices she is nervous, but he doesn't press and gets them inside. One of the handful of teachers, a woman about Joel's age (they're aware enough to not have it be a man, Silver Lake is a known topic), meets them at the door and shows them around.

Small classrooms with surprisingly comfortable looking wooden chairs (Ellie sees the pillows on them and her mind short-circuits), some old sofas and couches, armchairs, spacious desks and all kinds of posters and materials. There's an art room and it is the only time Ellie's grip on Joel loosens a tiny bit, the array of brushes, paints, and instruments fascinates her, but that moment passes as quickly as it came.

With every step they take, the teacher's voice blurs with Joel's and turns into white noise, her vision grows fuzzy and grey, and she has to keep blinking with fluttering lashes to not sway on her feet when the dissociation gets worse. Absently, her mind keeps cataloguing the floor plan, windows, doors, all exists she can make our and imagine, but by the end of the tour, she cannot remember anything past leaving their house this morning. Something tugs on her hand, and she blinks up at Joel, his gaze loaded with a question she didn't hear, and maybe ten weeks ago she would have pretended she had; she doesn't know.

Ellie doesn't even know why she is reacting like this, there are no specific memories popping up, nothing to fight back, just her mind and body slipping into a protective armor of static like they're pulling her into the fizzling TV in their living room.

"Ellie?"

The teacher's voice snaps her back to a pounding heart and a breath stuck in her lungs, and when she looks down at their clasped hands her nails have left marks in Joel's skin. She lets go at once, holding onto her wrists with her arms behind her back, and she still didn't hear the question. Every cell in her body is telling her to leave, pulling her toward the nearest exit, but she doesn't. There are memories flickering across her vision now, a decade of unjust, painful punishments and her body being pushed to its breaking point, and she decides the answer to that question is more important than whatever they had asked her.

"What do you do? For, like, punishment?"

Her voice is steadier than she is on her feet, so she rocks gently back and force to stop herself from swaying. Joel's gaze burns hot on her cheeks, but she keeps her eyes on the teacher, whose eyebrows are raised so high they disappear beneath her fringe.

"Punishment? We don't- there's not reason to punish forgotten homework or the like here, Ellie, it's supposed to be both fun and educational."

Something about the tone in her voice unsettles her, but the answer isn't satisfying, and she needs to know, needs to know the rules so she can follow them, because the art room looks like it might actually be fun to be in and she is so tired of dark lonely spaces and marks on her back; imagining the disappointed look on Joel's face when her teachers tell him about it is the worst of it all, though.

"What are the rules? When are the drills and what's the consequences for breaking the rules? Is there-" is there a hole, she wants to ask, but her breathing is fast and shallow, periphery dotted with dancing black spots, and she doesn't want to give them any ideas they didn't already have. Joel's hand lands on her back, right between her shoulder blades, and the warm weight his comforting without being oppressive, her breaths slowing just a smidge.

The woman with a name Ellie forgot is taller than Joel with the shoes she is wearing, and she she squats down, the look on her foreign face looks like a a finished puzzle, the final piece having snapped into place. Her features are rounded, soft, a stark contrast to the borderline malnourished and hardened look of pretty much every person around the QZ including her teachers, a few light-brown and grey strands escaping from her ponytail, and Ellie can't help but think that she looks - nice, non-threatening. School isn't supposed to be non-threatening, but this whole building is dripping with it, and it scares her to death; getting this ripped away from her as punishment will hurt even more than escaping packed, concrete classrooms.

"You grew up in a FEDRA school, right?" she asks, voice almost tender, and Ellie can only stare and nod while Joel rubs circles into her back.

"I heard stories about what it was like before I came here, horrible experiences no one should have to go through, especially not a child."

She sounds so much like Joel the comfort laced into her words manages to penetrate the static and soothe some of the panic, her eyes a bright hazel shade, not blue, and she keeps her distance even though she could easily get into Ellie's personal space

"Even before the outbreak, school wasn't like that, and it is definitely not like that here. There is no punishments, Ellie, no real rules or structure outside of general lesson plans, no consequences for not turning in work or being late. This is meant to provide some stability and education, give you a places to hang out with people your age, have some more people to connect with. If you don't want to be here, no one will force you."

Ellie doesn't cry. She doesn't. A deep breath and some determined blinking pull back the tears from her waterline and her chest aches with a vengeance when she thinks about how different it would have been here for her and Riley, how much better. Riley would still be alive. For a few minutes, they're all silent, allowing her to gather the scattered pieces of herself and glue them back together, and when she does, a tiny bit of the fear in her bones has made space for tentative excitement.

"I like the art room," she says quietly, feeling younger than she ever has, and a wave of something washes over all of them. "Do I- can I-"

"You can use it whenever you like, even outside of school hours, as long as you don't leave too much of a mess and use it responsibly."

Liliya, her brain finally provides, straightens her back again, and the lack of a last name during her introduction is probably part of what through her off. Ellie looks up at Joel, a muscle in his jaw ticking with suppressed anger, not at her, at FEDRA, she knows him well enough to realize that, and decides her question about The Hole is both best saved for another time and hopefully not relevant at all.

"Okay," Ellie responds, pressing herself back against Joel and melting when his arm protectively wraps around her shoulders, "I'll give it a try."

Over the relief rushing through her hairs, she barely hears the details the adults next to her discuss, happy to bury her face in Joel's shirt without shame, and she manages to shake off the last wisps of static clinging to her. Maybe this will work out for her, maybe it won't, maybe all she will use are the art supplies, but when they are lead back to the entrance, more than ready to go home, Liliya gives her a smile, eyes crinkling. For the first time in her life, Ellie smiles back at a teacher simply because she wants to, and the hopeful excitement sprouting in her chest is enough to tell her that she will be right on time for her first class on Monday.