#i think marco helps him out a lot with recovery and he Hates feeling like a burden and that makes it 10x worse

[lemonofthevalley]

some day I wanna make a coherent post about grant wilson and how he def had an eating disorder as a teen to young adult ish age . not tonight but some day

[storyhuntress31]

Irina looks at him, almost shocked by his words, yet, she feels the utmost relief upon hearing him. He doesn't hate her. He never has. That comforts her enormously as she tries to cling to the living side. She can notice they way in which his hand trembles, and wants to reassure him that everything will be okay, but at this point, her energy is incredibly depleted by now. She looks at him, making an incredible effort to avoid falling asleep. She is well aware it would most likely be like digging her own grave, although there is not much more they can do at the moment.

"I'm so....so glad that you don't hate me... It's so good to know..." She smiles softly. Her hand now caressing in a loving manner the shield sewed in his jacket. "I don't want this to be the end either...I still have a lot of reasons to tease....you....." She chuckles a bit, her broken ribs protesting by making her contort in pain. "You are an excellent reason not to leave...my favourite reason not to...really... I like to tease and challenge you the most...but... This time I think is not up to me to decide whether I stay or not....Kirschtein.... This is bad..."

She looks at him. He is Firm. Fierce. His words making her want to fight for a bit longer. "Marco was right... You will make a hell of a leader one day...who in the world could ever give up on you.... That won't be me...definitely. at least not today... " She feels so good in his arms. She closes her eyes for a moment, her mind picturing show it would feel to be in that exact position in a better, calmer situation. And it felt amazing. For just a few seconds, the pain seemed to ease a bit. Almost as of she couldn't feel it anymore.... And that alerted her instantly. She forced herself to open them up and regain her focus on him

"I'm really... Tired...." She mumbles, letting out a long sigh softly placing her hand on his nape as he craddles her, hiding her face on his neck as if she were seeking for refuge. As if he was the only safe place her heart had ever known. "You really want....a smartass....fighting by your side...on the military police....for that long...?" she smiles weakly "you will regret that.... Sooner or later..." She warns him jockinly, her pulse becomes weaker by every passing second, dragging her into unconsciousness easier and easier every time she managed to escape it.

She grabs his jacket, forcing herself to stay as awake as it was humanly possible for her in her state. All she can notice is the soft smell of Jean's cologne in his neck... His pulse...and how his breath hitched for a slip second at something....then.... Air filling her lungs. And insufferable pain that knocked her out at least twice....the smells of chemicals and medicines.... And finally, Darkness sweetest embrace.

As she opens her eyes, the nurse by her side helps her settle. Guiding her towards opening her eyes...checking her reflexes....discarding that the huge contussion on her head had affected her sight forever. She smiles softly hearing that despite how hard she had been beaten, she would still be able to become a soldier and help humanity. Still, her body had suffered sever internal damages and she had been through some quite difficult surgeries to ensure her survival. She was now supposed to ease up her recovery and take things easy.... And would be wearing a couple of scars as of now on.

As the nurse leaves,she checks the scars on the left side of her body. And panic flooded her head. "No one would ever want a scarred woman as a wife. You will be a disgrace and will make everyone around you disgraced too with these horrible defacement." Her mother's words replaying in her head time after time leaving her exhausted, scared and vulnerable. She had never told anyone about how her so wealthy, so noble, so special parents always treated her. Or most likely mistreated her. The mere memory making her feel sick to her stomach.

She hates being alone. She always has. But the bed was warm and soft... So we're the pillows....and it doesn't took her long to fall once again in Morpheus welcoming hands. The next time she wakes up, she feels better. Rest has made wonders with her, her cheeks had regained their colour, the purple circle under her eyes had disappeared and she was able to properly breathe once again, now that her ribs and lungs were healing.

A huge smile appears on her face as she smells the delicious and appealing hot chocolate, followed by the laugh and unmistakable voice of Sasha. A little chat with her and a couple of laughs with her best friend after, she remembered why being alive was more than worthy. "I'm sure I won't be your last visit today... You got us all worried as hell... Reiner and Armin will come later. Call me of you need something, okay...? As for him and If I know him the way I do, I'm sure he will come in later." Shasha explained with a great smile on her face.

"Tell me you have been teasing his ass up for me... I wouldn't like him to miss me too much..." Irina replies with a soft smirk on her face, waving her friend goodbye.

@shiiptowreck

Irina's gaze fixed upon him, focusing and tried to made the slight blur she suffered from since her head hit that pipe, go away for a second. She wanted to see him as clear as possible, his eyes, his face...she felt the urgent need to engrave every single inch of him into her memory and never forget him. Her body, had other plans tho. As battered as she was, the blur on her sight should be the last of her worries right now. Her punctured lung and broken ribs reminding her through constant waves of excruciating pain, how critical her current state just was. Yet, her grab on Jean's sleeve gained some strength, relief filling her body at his presence, her will to fight and survived, reignited.

"But it may be the end, Kirschtein. I want to make it. I truly want...just don't know if my body will be so supportive of my will in this state..." A wave of pain rushed through her body and she trembled. "Anyway...why do you care...So...much? Aren't we just...rivals...?" She managed to ask. She noticed his composure breaks a bit. He was just as aware about how bad the situation had become.

Still, the firmness of his voice, sparkled resolution within her, the way his hand lingered on her cheek for just a moment, was just what she needed. She looked into his eyes and saw the tide of emotions rushing through him just like a tsunami. She then lifted her own hand, placing it over his, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Sir." She obliged.

This time, she was absolutely aware that his tone was not admitting a reply. He was indeed there to save her and knowing how extraordinarily stubborn and determined he was, after all the time they had ( forcefully or not) spent together, she knew it better than to contradict him in these occasions.

" You are still a terrible liar... You know that, right?" She remarked smiling weakly. " We should work on that once we get back to the headquarters....Kirschtein." She said, opting for truly belive what he was saying. That maybe this wasn't the end, that she wasn't gonna die. And that they would make it to the medical point. The way he lifted her up, mindful of all her injuries, still light as a feather, with the utmost care in the world as if she would break at any moment, truly got into her. It felt as if he truly, sincerely, cared for her in a way deeper that she had ever dared to think about. "Am I too heavy...?" She asks, her voice a low wishper as her breath shortens, sending pain all over her body. Exhaustion taking all over her making every little move she made like pure torture by now.

"Did you just made me a promise....?" She asks, trying to connect herself to the living world, trying to gain some time with him, a soft smile painting her face at the thought. " my sarcastic brain?" She looks at him for a second " the one that always counters back at you with... Smart replies you can't stand? That brain? Thought you couldn't bear it..." She admitted, nothing but sincerity coming out of her mouth, pain and will to survive leaving no room for filters or masking her feelings. "Why is it that you hate me so much as to expose me the way you did with all our friends...? That hurt like hell, Kirschtein. But I don't resent you... I just can't and I know I can't resent you...because it's you. That is the only reason. It's...it's that stupid? Why are u helping me now...?" She asked confused. "Both seeing who will become the best soldier sounds...just so good...I just want to understand why are you so mean sometimes...so caring and sweet others..." She forces herself to keep thinking and talking to avoid the knock out.

Yet, every single step felt like the worst of tortures. And at some point, her body just collapsed. She lost control of it, falling into the ground and trembling. She still managed to take a discarded smoke gun and fired a string of red smoke from their position, in hopes of them being seen from the medical area. She couldn't stand it anymore. Her body betrayed her in the worst moment. She needed answers....she looks at Jean, trying to calm herself. Being in his arms felt like heaven. " this...may be... Our last moment together... Jean... Would you just be so kind for once to give me some answers? Please..." She practically begs " If I have to go... Last thing I would want to take with me is your voice. So please..." Her trembling hands lifted to his cheek, in a desperate attempt to feel him closer, Craving his touch. "It's cold...it's really cold...." She mumbled, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth, due to internal bleeding. " Please...I don't want to go...I want to stay with you..." She says, noticing how her consciousness slowly fades away, still, she tries to resist. She wants to stay by his side even if just for a few more seconds.

@shiiptowreck

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [1/?]

Yo.

This wasn’t at all how I planned doing this, but who needs plans, really?

This is the first part of a fic not intentionally designed to be separated into parts. It’s unedited, somewhat long, and very indulgent.

What it contains:

Two drug addicts meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery.

High octane awkward Eren and Historia brotp. Pure gen, pure disaster.

EMA feels of the brand where Eren doesn’t make out with either of them, but if he did, you wouldn’t, like, be shocked? The One True Threesome energy stops at the gen door, but it’s there.

Ymir is there (though not yet; slow burn in all walks of genre), and she and Historia have emotions, and it’s complicated, and they’re morons. The parts where they make out on a countertop haven’t been written yet, but it’s very clear that if they could, that’s all they’d spend their lives doing.

And before I ruin mobile users lives, uh. I worked really hard on all of this, even though I never reached the editing stage, so if you wanna comment if you like any of it, that would be rad.

With that, off to the races.

Eren hated going to meetings. He hated the squeaky floors. He hated the creak all of the chairs made when someone sat down. Or moved. He hated the steadily more concerned looks the group leader, Petra, sent him when he stopped opening his mouth during. He hated listening to all the horrible things everyone had done to the people they loved. He hated knowing he had done worse.

He hated the look on his mom’s face when he didn’t go.

He hated that it made him think of pills. Over a month after rehab, over a month of several meetings a week, and every time someone had an emotion near him, he wished he could go back to being high.

He kept hearing that was normal.

The itch under his hands, the loud thump of his heart, the violent mood swings. The nightmares. All normal. Everything that had got him hooked was a normal part of the recovery process.

“My name’s Eren, and I’m an addict,” he said at meetings. Sometimes he’d try, just in case there was something to it. Sometimes he talked about his mom and the missing lock from his door and how much he missed—living alone. He’d grown out of having his mother hover over him, and that was a normal thing to feel frustration about. Even though he deserved it.

Normal.

What he never said at group anymore was, “My name’s Eren, and I’m a murderer.”

That was less normal, and it made everyone uncomfortable. They were all thieves and liars. Some of them had watched people die. One person was there every single session, gnawing his fingernails down to bloody stubs, because he knew what it was like to watch the light leave someone’s eyes when they were gone for good. That was when he knew he had to get clean.

That was when Eren had decided to get high.

No one liked to think about what it was like to be the cause.

He’d gone to therapy for it, before everyone had agreed that rehab was the more necessary treatment. He’d yelled a lot. The therapist said that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself over an accident, and he’d yelled more and stopped going.

He didn’t yell at meetings. When people yelled at meetings, it bounced back around the gym. Like one of the basketballs in the locked cage in the corner. It made Eren’s ears ring and a scream that had nothing to do with words would build up in his chest until he tasted blood in his mouth.

That didn’t help much. It brought back to mind cramped cars and more hysterical screams and flashing lights and his father’s hand in his hair and tears that felt like fire and burnt flesh and he hadn’t taken anything in over a month he couldn’t be floating this far from his body and group was over.

Group was over.

He could hear Petra announce it.

It echoed less the third time he heard it.

He wasn’t the last one to stand up. The chairs all screeched together, but standing wasn’t something any of them wanted to do. He wasn’t a great participant, but he could at least listen. Their lives all sucked. No one was in a rush to go back to the real world. Except maybe the tall freckled guy. Marco. He was mastering his recovery, and all set to head back to grad school any day now. His worst problem was fearing that it would all go away when he went back. Eren hoped it didn’t. Marco had lost it trying to support his sick grandparents, dosing himself with anything to make it through the day. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was the kind of guy the rest of them mugged for drug money.

Eren wandered over to the vending machines, where the refreshment table was set out. Petra brought cookies most weeks. She told him she baked to keep from getting baked. One of the guys in group had laughed so hard that he wet himself, and no one was that surprised to hear from his buddy that he was back in rehab.

Petra’s cookies were terrible. Eren made himself eat them. She smiled when he did, and the ritual put something in his stomach. He had trouble eating before meetings. He was supposed to be talking about that. He wasn’t, because it all came back to murder and discomfort and…

His mother told him he needed to try.

She was right. He hated that, too. He hated it so much that he stopped in the middle of breaking his teeth on Petra’s stone-hard chocolate chip cookies and stared at the wall wishing he could have his meds back before he thought about something stupid like killing her too.

Drugs. His drugs. Not meds. When they were meds, they were always someone else’s. He was never supposed to be on anything except painkillers for his broken leg.

Petra had told him on their first meeting—had taken him aside and put her hand on his shoulder—more gently than she had any reason to be, that she wished they worked on broken hearts too.

He hadn’t been planning to go to the second. She said that, and he did.

He hated meetings.

He chewed through the rest of his cookie mechanically, trying not to let it show on his face that swallowing felt like swallowing a hundred tiny pebbles, and trying not to think about bright eyes chattering about dinosaurs and digestive strategies.

The first went okay.

The second had hatred wrapping around his throat like a vice of fire, and the table he was grabbing shook enough to rattle the rock cookies against their plate. Petra brought her real plates for them. They were loud and unbearable under the massive ticking clock stapled to the wall and he wanted to hurt things.

It was not the time for the tiny blonde girl who sat across from him every week to walk over and say hello. It was not the time for anyone to be saying hello to him, when he already had one body on his ledger and that hadn’t been enough to stop him from getting into fights and watching the blood spill, and fuck he needed something to stop this.

Something said, quietly, “Do you want to share an apartment?”

The table stopped rattling. The clock above it didn’t stop ticking.

Eren stared blankly at the girl. “What?”

The same dead eyes he saw in his mother’s bathroom mirror before he smashed it stared back at him, missing any hint that something strange had just been said so completely that he wondered if he had taken something and was now obliviously tripping into oblivion.

“My sister won’t let me live by myself. I need a roommate.”

Eren was still staring. His mom would say he was being rude. Another thing she was right about, but guilt was preoccupied with too many other things. “Have we talked before?” he asked.

He didn’t think she ever spoke in group. He saw her there almost every time, and some days they’d make eye contact and keep it because they always ended up sitting across from each other. They were both so dead inside that it wasn’t creepy. Eren thought that might be the other way around, but his eyes needed something to stay stuck on when he didn’t feel like talking, and she never said a word about it.

“No,” she said, “but you said last week that living with your mother wasn’t going well.”

Eren had taken his hands off the table. “It isn’t,” he said.

“You don’t need to pay rent if you don’t want to.”

Eren was twice the girl’s size. There was no reason to worry about her succeeding in harvesting his organs. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to wonder about it. “I have money,” he said. Defensively. He couldn’t work some of the jobs he wanted to anymore, but he wasn’t broke. Yet.

“That’s fine too. I just need a roommate.”

Eren was tired, he hated everything, and if he had a home he could go back to without pain, he would be going back to it. He looked at the girl. She was still tiny. A tiny, breakable drug addict. “You were there the day I said I killed someone, right?”

His voice broke in the wrong places, making him sound wrecked instead of threatening.

The girl nodded.

“Yes,” she said, before adding, the way his mom remarked on the weather these days when they were alone in the kitchen and no one was speaking, “I killed my father too.”

The clock was ticking too loud to think time had stopped. Or even slowed. If anything, it was speeding up. Eren reached for another cookie. He couldn’t make himself take it. His fingers were too heavy. He dropped his hand back to his side before he sweat all over Petra’s hard work.

“Oh,” he said. Maybe out loud.

His heart was beating too hard again. Several people were still loitering by the chairs. No one was walking over to the refreshment table. The people who went to meetings and got along with each other went out to coffee. Or invited each other over for lunch. The leftovers were not going to think Petra’s cookies were worth interrupting the weird, staring children who didn’t want to be here.

The weird, staring children who weren’t trusted out in the world on their own. Because they murdered people and did drugs.

“When can I move in?”

----

Her name was Historia. If anyone asked, they were sponsoring each other. Specifically, if Petra, Eren’s mother, or Historia’s sister asked, they were firmly united in their journey through continued sobriety, and weren’t leaving home so they could run away and do more drugs. They were mature, responsible adults, and being able to live in their own space would make them less likely to kill again.

Eren hadn’t meant to say that out loud when he and Historia were practicing their lines. They agreed to leave it out of the final cut.

The final cut never seemed to end. His mom was relieved that he had a friend, but the suddenness of Historia’s introduction and their decision to move in together set off the same alarm bells that landed him in rehab. Historia’s base personality didn’t help. His mom was used to him being unhinged, but seeing it in someone else just brought in the question of which drugs were involved. She’d insisted on speaking to Historia’s sister, and if Eren had anything breakable left in his room, he probably would have gone after it. He wasn’t sure if he was a child or a prisoner in her eyes.

Or just her last remaining family.

That line of thought put him down a very bad road, so he didn’t engage. After the fifth dent in his wall.

Historia’s sister Frieda, in comparison, was easy. She took one glance at Eren, said, “isn’t that a familiar look,” and told them both that she was keeping a key. She wouldn’t go out of her way to bother them, but she would show up without asking. She would be their final, invisible roommate.

Historia said Frieda was a social worker. Eren didn’t think he had a feeling about that, but anything that made her more comfortable measuring him up was probably a positive in all of this.

They were not allowed to be in the room when his mom talked to Frieda. He and Historia spent an hour staring at peeling wallpaper in the living room. Interspersed with thoughts on how their family members would get along. They died off fast. Eren hadn’t known Frieda long, but she was better put together than any of them combined, and it showed.

Even if he’d caught the same shadows his mom had when she looked at Historia.

After a harrowing conversation with his mother pushing for someone to help him pack up his things (someone someone someone like he didn’t know exactly who she meant), he was set to go. He asked Historia if she was okay being his someone, even though she was tiny and not anyone’s choice for a moving buddy, and that kept his mom from digging her heels in too deep.

“They are still your friends, Eren,” she’d said. Volume worked with her to make the point, and for once Eren hadn’t had a smart answer to fire back.

He didn’t know if his mom knew the exact number of the ignored texts and calls on his phone, but he did know Historia was the only person who’d willingly stepped into his house since he destroyed everything.

Not thinking about that was a symptom of treatment. He wasn’t going to improve if he kept dwelling on the negatives.

He wasn’t sure if the lying had come with the drug habit or after, but if he ever met himself in a dark alley, he’d add another body to his count. One without all the guilt.

Moving into the new apartment was weird, and he told Historia so. It only had two bedrooms, but it was gigantic, and even though he knew that Historia had lived there once before, the space was completely scrubbed of any personal touches. It was like being in a hotel. Historia said maid service would do that. She was not joking.

Eren couldn’t figure out if he was stable enough or dead enough to adjust to the concept of strangers regularly cleaning his room, but Historia was a stranger to start with, so he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on anyway.

The giant area rugs kept the echoes to a minimum, and there were no ticking clocks that he could hear. There was also much less white than he’d expected, walking around Frieda’s place. He didn’t want to ask if that was because it made her think of hospitals too. Historia answered any and all questions honestly, and it made him want to return the favor.

Petra would be delighted.

---

“How bad is it if I punch the walls?”

Historia was lying on the floor. She spent every day trying to lock herself in her room, then lost and stepped out into the main room with a textbook under her arm. There was a chance she really read them. It still reminded him of past someones pointedly flipping a page and not looking at him when he committed such heinous crimes as finishing off the wrong brand of cereal.

Eren’s chest hurt along with his scraped hands.

“It depends,” Historia said, resting her chin in the middle of the pages. “Breaking your hand might count as drug-seeking behavior.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He should have. He should have had any thought at all that stopped him from wanting to scream at the top of his lungs and letting the swell of rage take over until hitting things sounded like a good idea.

His head joined the pain party. He wanted his pills.

“I was more concerned about the walls,” he said.

Historia shrugged. “The walls are easier to fix than we are. Money works on them.”

Eren couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He thought he wanted to laugh. He walked over to the couch and sat on it, putting a step between him and staring listlessly at the ceiling. He was still being a pathetic bastard, but he was finding speed bumps. They were easier to hit out of his mom’s house.

He had no idea if Historia was finding any. He was probably supposed to, if they were taking the sponsor thing seriously, but he wasn’t sure if they had anything to say about everything without bringing up patricide. That was a loaded first topic. The walls could use a break.

“What are you studying?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Cool.” He wanted to lie down. He could not lie down. “You want to be a vet?”

“Things are dying around me all the time anyway,” Historia said. She turned a page.

Some roommates had chore wheels. Maybe they needed a conversation wheel. Only they’d need someone else to build it so they had topics besides drugs and death. Eren gave it a shot without one. “Most vets just say they like animals.”

He didn’t know why that was the wrong thing to say. He had never been good at this. But that look wasn’t the look small talk was supposed to bring out. Historia looked like Armin that time they got lost at a theme park—

Eren really wanted to lie down.

“I like animals,” Historia said. The words came out like pulled teeth. She looked at him. “What do you like, Eren?”

Eren stiffened. At the tip of his tongue should have been something about fightingdrugsarminmikasa. A joke or a truth. Something about the ceilings they kept staring at instead of going outside and doing something with the rest of the world. Something.

There should have been something.

Maybe that was why it was the wrong thing to say. Historia couldn’t remember what it was like to like things, either.

---

Eren still had two of his jobs. He wasn’t sure how. He would have fired him. He was supervising rock climbers while he was high. Never outside the building, since his manager wanted to be sure he was recovered from… His manager wanted to be sure his body was in peak condition when he went with the free climbers. His manager had saved lives, and now Eren peed in a cup and they didn’t talk about it.

Keeping his other job was less surprising, because his clients didn’t have to worry so much about his mental stability. They just needed someone to train with.

That used to cover broader categories. Then he had a flashback over breaking his sparring partner’s nose and. And. Now he mostly stuck to advertising running.

It shouldn’t have been a challenge to change that on the website, but every click brought him closer to the guy who set it up for him, who had made this possible past just word of mouth, and just because Historia let him scream himself hoarse in the bathroom didn’t mean it was where he wanted to be with his life, but every single time…

His best friend. Not just some guy. His best friend.

Armin.

Eren lost a step to his pace. Reiner, huffing behind him and swearing, didn’t notice. Eren had met him in rehab, and Reiner had kept his number. He’d been even worse off than Eren, and when he started coming out of it, he spent all of his time trying to get his body back. Pushups when he was supposed to be sleeping, pull-ups on parts of the building that weren’t designed for it.

He’d done amateur MMA. Like Eren.

Reiner was going to make it back to that if he had anything to say about it.

Running wasn’t the magic bullet for emotional release that fighting was, but it got Eren outside, people were still paying him to kick their asses into high gear, and when they asked him where he’d been, they weren’t looking for a real answer.

Eren ran up the hill, Reiner trying to close in behind him. No one had put him through physical therapy while he was indulging his drug habit. Eren had seen clips. They should have fought before they forgot how to be sober. It would’ve been fun.

Now he thought about punching anyone but himself and all he could feel was warm blood pooling around his freezing hands.

His shoe hit a rock.

This was where he was supposed to call his sponsor.

He was running. For work.

The trail summit wasn’t far off. Reiner sounded like he needed a break anyway. They could stop, and he could tell Historia he was having a rough day. Like he didn’t go home and put that on full display every single time it happened. Every single day.

He called a halt too soon. He didn’t know if that meant he had been running too fast or if he’d spaced out again, and Reiner’s heaving breaths didn’t point any helpful fingers. He walked over to the bench that looked over the hill and started his stretches against it. He wasn’t hiding pulling out his phone. He wouldn’t lie if Reiner caught him with it. He just didn’t need to call attention to it.

He checked over his shoulder. Reiner was taking in the view and the overfriendly bird pecking at his shoe. The wildlife here had learned that humans meant food. The Parks and Rec department’s disagreement didn’t have much of an effect on that. Reiner was reaching an empty hand down for the critter to investigate.

Eren couldn’t tell if Reiner enjoyed nature or thought part of his recovery had to be learning to enjoy nature. Everyone he hung out with these days was stuck in a cycle of healthy behavior whether they were into it or not.

He looked down at his phone. He brought up his messages to Historia before he could read the number of unread texts from other someones. Armin. …Mikasa. He thought they’d added a digit. He wasn’t going to check. The curiosity bred hope, and the memories behind that led to wrath and busted walls.

He looked at his phone.

It is Tuesday morning and I want drugs.

Nice.

He couldn’t come up with a good way to say it. A way that sounded like he was making some progress instead of straddling a fence. But he’d promised his mom he’d try. He’d promised himself he’d try. The person who didn’t try was a thieving jackass, and he wasn’t going back to that. So he sent the bad text.

Historia messaged him back.

That’s unusual?

Eren held his phone under his head’s shadow. To read the words better.

They didn’t change. They weren’t joined by any more, either.

He closed his eyes. Opened them.

He sent her a picture of the bird Reiner had coaxed onto his shoulder.

They both sucked at this.

[next]

[wildmeadowsbackup]

In Review of The Last of Us part 2, I am satisfied.

I think for me, going back into this series I really didn’t have high expectations for the game, mostly because of the leaks, which I had heard of but stayed nicely away from. Naughty Dog has a special place in my heart, regardless of what they have done, I will always love them as a game company because they made my life better.

Uncharted Drake’s Fortune was my first introduction to the company, other than crash bandicoot I mean, when I was about probably eleven or twelve and I fell in love with the Uncharted games, and after being so angry that the team who had made Uncharted 2: Among Thieves had gone on to make the Last of Us, I very begrudgingly brought a copy of the remastered game when I brought my PS4.

I loved it.

The game had mostly all Uncharted’s charm and it won me over way too fast. I’ll admit there are parts I absolutely HATE about the first game, like the bloater in the school, I could live without that but I still really loved the game and enjoyed the Last of Us Left Behind just the same.

It definitely helped that Nolan North cameoed in the Last of Us part 1.

Playing this game, I was again taken back to that feeling of hopelessness that I associate with the series, which meant that it was still what I remembered. I think it was a little weird to change up the collectables for this game and would have been nice to still have the comics as a collectable. 

If you are reading this, this is your warning that from here out I’m talking spoilers!

I met Troy Baker a couple of years ago and I think because of that I handled Joel’s death with ease. It wasn’t really that heartbreaking for me but I can understand why people found it to be. 

I think if he had of called out to Ellie and said “it’s alright baby girl” then I would have lost it. That would have had me crying.

I must say though, what they did to his knee! fck that made me angry, like i, have had issues with my knee and seeing that made my knees hurt.

Ellie’s mission. I understand it and see why she did it but I think it was weird.

I AM ANGRY. HORSES ARE MY FAVOURITE ANIMAL. HORSES ARE MY EQUIVALENT OF DOGS. AND THEY BLEW UP MY FCKING HORSE.

I couldn’t care what happened to anyone else but my horse and they killed it. I was so pissed.

I decided to do Ellie’s Instagram because I was enjoying the settings so much and I honestly had a lot of fun doing that little series.

I hated the “tanks with hammers” mini-boss fights. I turned the difficulty down on those fights so fast cos I hated them so much. 

I enjoyed playing as Abby quite a lot and I really enjoyed collecting the quarters with her as when I went to America that's exactly what I did, in fact, I still have a massive bag of US Dollars of just special quarters.

Dina is the only character I really feel sorry for? Oops. OH AND MEL COS SHE DIDN’T DESERVE THAT.

Owen was “cute” in an adorable way but I could do without having to watch that sex scene ever again. thanks.

I loved Lev and feel so sorry for him honestly, I think he was probably one of the better “side” characters to be honest and he’s probably my favourite character.

In hindsight, I think the ending from Seattle was... weird... and rushed for Abby at least. idk man, I kinda get Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception vibes when you have to go on the cruise ship. I HATE THAT PART.

Also, would it have killed them to put in a Marco Polo joke? like, come on I had to make the joke myself, sad times.

Also, where were all the fast-food joints at? we got one on the Scars island? that’s it? come on I'm sure there could have been more.

The End Fight.

I enjoyed it actually, which is good cos I kinda hated the Rafe fight in Uncharted 4: a Thief’s End and the lost legacy boss fight was similar but this one was actually good and heartbreaking tbh, cos I liked Ellie and Abby and it was so heartbreaking seeing how worn down Abby had become and I felt horrible drowning her. The Ending was satisfying and I’m glad of the choice Ellie made. 

I think in the end I have some questions and thoughts, those being, Ellie was bitten again so what happens now? is she still fine? cos wouldn’t it be cool if she wasn’t? idk and also Dina must have gone to Jackson, so did Ellie go there? 

I think they’ve left the game ending open enough that there could definitely be a third game and I would love to see it, and I’d also love to see a someone else who was immune that died and they used them to make a cure and the third game is about the recovery of society, I think it could be the coolest end to the series. and maybe the bad thing in that game could be people who are still trying to get people infected and bring down a society they don’t know how to be apart of? I guess like radicals? idk.

In the end, I am happy and the ending is satisfying enough that you could leave it but it’s also just open enough for another game so either way will be happy.

[aidulcex]

Whitebeard Headcanons:

I’m in the writing (and procrastinating) mood right now so I just decided to post some of these headcanons that have been festering in my mind. There’s more underneath the keep reading one. If anyone wants me to write them some, don’t be afraid to send me a message or something. 

1. When Aiyanna first joined the crew, several of the others were not sure about having a woman on the crew (since she probably joined the crew before Pomona or Rosa).

2. Because of her unfamiliarity with human styles and “fashion”, Izo basically had to sit her down and teach her all the basics (ie. “you can’t just walk around here wearing a bathing suit, you’ll kill these men”!). So Aiyanna wears things like pink crop tops and short skirts, or one piece undergarments with a maxi skirt. She tries to remember to be more “modest” but it’s still a weird concept for her.

3. Aiyanna is not just the records keeper of the whitebeard pirates, but also works as a shipwright specializing in lumber production for ships. With her devil fruit powers she can easily make Adam’s wood or specially modified wood for ships or other projects. So when she is not working on keeping up with documents, Aiyanna is often working with the other shipwrights to figure out what needs to be made. 

4. When Aiyanna joined the crew, although she was happy and vibrant in her jobs and while talking to people, she hid a lot of her emotions inside, not wanting to inconvenience people.

5. This includes her issues with PTSD, survivors guilt, depression, and alcoholism. With the help of her siblings Aiyanna has improved significantly, but she does relapse or get triggered.

~With Thatch~

1. Although she’s technically older than Thatch and Marco, she certainly doesn’t act nor looks like it. Hence why she’ll call them her older brothers. She’s also ridiculously short compared to them. Like 5”4’ next to at least over 6”0’ short.

2. Thatch definitely teases her the most, and will call her things like “grandma” or “senior” to poke fun at her age. And he’ll constantly be there to comment about her tiny stature, maybe even moving things out of her reach. Don’t worry, Aiyanna gets back at Thatch when she steals from his kitchen when she’s having bad sugar crazes. There’s a reason why he had locks on the fridge before Ace came onto the crew.

3. Although they get on each other’s nerves, Aiyanna and Thatch work well together. If Thatch ever needs specific herbs for his recipes, he can turn to her and she’ll immediately have just what he needs and will give him a huge supply of it.

4. She also loves being his taste tester, as long as it’s not sour or bitter she’s happy to help (there have been some pranks pulled by Thatch where he gives Aiyanna something really sour though and she just hates everything).

5. I can totally see them being drinking buddies and having drinking contests. They’ll go to a bar once they’re on shore and have so much fun together, joking around and trying different/new drinks.

6. Thatch would definitely try to set Aiyanna up with someone, especially with her whining about not being able to find someone. He’s her wingman of course, and will point out a person to Aiyanna to see what she thinks. 

7. Their relationship is basically the stereotypical older brother/younger sister relationship. Both tease and annoy each other relentlessly, but there are also a lot of times where they joke and have fun with each other. Both of them would stand up for the other one in a heartbeat and it shows.

8. Aiyanna 100% encourages his relationship with Pomona, however she takes the stance that if he ever harms her little sister, then it’s game over for him.

9. With Aiyanna not needing to rely on food for nutrients like the others, I can see Thatch being happy with himself when he finds her actively asking for him to make her a specific dish. It would make him feel good knowing that even though his little sister doesn’t need to eat to live, that she’s more than ecstatic to eat his food (more of a want than a need). 

~With Marco~

1. Marco and Aiyanna’s relationship would be described as the calm and understanding older brother/younger sister relationship. There are times where Aiyanna can be annoying, but he knows that she’s not intentionally trying to come off that way.

2. Although Thatch and Aiyanna’s relationship is fun and lighthearted, Aiyanna goes to Marco if she ever needs to talk about things or get something off of her chest. He just has that vibe about him and she knows he’s not going to joke around when she’s telling him something personal. She’s able to express herself and worries to him in ways that she can’t with the others, so much so that they have a deeper connection and understanding of each other than what meets the eye. It’s not to say that Aiyanna has a stronger bond with him compared to Thatch, but their relationship is different and is based around different types of emotions.

3. Because of Aiyanna’s race being so unique, in the early days of her joining the crew, Aiyanna spent a lot of time with Marco describing her race and certain biological qualities that they had. That way Marco and the medical staff could have a better understanding of what to do if she gets hurt. For example, if Aiyanna gets injured, Marco cannot use his healing flames to increase recovery. In fact, it does a lot more harm than good (with one knife slice on her left hand becoming permanently scarred when he tried to heal her. Skin no longer covers that scar, and instead it looks like wood is peeking out from underneath her skin. It’s an incident that neither of them talk about).

4. Marco has tried to make medications for Aiyanna that help to eliminate her “hormonal problem” when in the presence of pollen. It’s still in the works, but so far it has caused terrible mood swings, cravings, tiredness, and Aiyanna makes Aiyanna feel more sick than before.

5. Like Thatch, if Marco ever needs any herbs for medications, Aiyanna will grow some for him and will give him all the specific types that he needs. 

6. At first Aiyanna was terrified of Marco because of his devil fruit. Luckily the two have worked together to try to combat her fear of fire, just so that Aiyanna can be near him or Ace when they are using their flames (as long as she’s not in their line of fire she’s good, but before even seeing an open flame would make her dart).

7. Aiyanna does get upset with him when he tries to cut her off of her sweets or her alcohol for “health reasons”. She knows that he is only trying to help her, but Aiyanna often uses sweets or alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism during her depression bursts. 

8. If they’re ever on a winter island and someone somehow drags Aiyanna off the boat and away from a heater, Aiyanna is going to be clinging to either him or Ace the whole time. The cold does not mix well with her and she will sap all the warmth that those two radiate because of their devil fruit powers. 

9. When Marco is working in his office trying to do paperwork, Aiyanna will occasionally visit him throughout the day and bring him tea. Usually it is in the early morning hours, just in case he was up all night working (or decided to wake up early to work), or right before the sun goes down. She doesn’t say much, but its a reminder that lets Marco know what time it is and how long he’s been working. 

~With Ace~ 

(These will be if they’re not dating and are in that friend stage still). 

1. These two together are Thatch’s worse nightmare when Aiyanna gets her sugar cravings. If one of them is found in the kitchen, there’s a chance that the other one is nearby or was able to get away. There were times where Ace would bolt into her office and hid underneath her desk or under all the god damn plants she had to hide from Thatch. And being the good sister that she was, Aiyanna would cover for him. 

2. If they’re on a winter island, Aiyanna’s going to stick to him or Marco. Ace will tease her about it more so than Marco, but he secretly enjoys it. She’ll also go up to him and ask him to provide her with some heat or light if it’s cloudy outside. Sometimes she’ll startle him by sneaking up behind him and just hugging him (not just for warmth but sometimes because she’s just stressed and tired and Ace, although he would be embarrassed about it, understands). 

3. Ace spends a lot of time with Aiyanna because of Snickerdoodle. There’s no way of sugar coating how much Ace loves that dog and Snickerdoodle knows it. It’s hilarious how much that dog has Ace wrapped around his paw. 

4. By the time Ace joined the Whitebeard pirates, Aiyanna had been working on herself with the help of her siblings, so she’s a lot more open to talking about her personal stuff with him at this point. This really helped Ace out, because Aiyanna openly shares with him her feelings of self worth and some of her deeper insecurities. Especially when Aiyanna admitted that she believed that she didn’t deserve to live, which not only broke his heart, but also allowed him to know that there was someone else who felt like he did. It definitely strengthened their bond. 

5. If Ace ever feels like he’s in the dog house because of something he did to Aiyanna, he will find someway to make it up to her. Usually it’s in the form of sweets. 

6. Their relationship grows with time, especially because of Aiyanna’s fear of fire and how Ace was trying to get a grasp of his devil fruit powers when he first got them. Her fear of his powers, along with her determination to prove to Ace that it wasn’t him who she was afraid of, but the fire that he produced, pushed Ace to perfect his technique. 

7. Aiyanna is very understanding with Ace, especially when he was first trying to juggle all the tasks and responsibilities that a commander of the whitebeard pirates has to do. And with Aiyanna being the records keeper for the crew, she was the one who taught him how to fill out all the paperwork, what kind of math he needed to do, and what he needed to give her. Eventually, Ace just started to save any kind of paper he got, giving Aiyanna a big stack of things once he has to turn in his paperwork. Some of these will be random notes, reminders, or even funny things that he found lying around while on a mission or in general. She’ll send back those things with doodles and some notes (such as “Keep it up!”, “You got this!”, “Remember to do this today Ace :),” or an occasional joke). I like to think he keeps some of them and looks at them from time to time. 

8. Unlike some of the others who complain about Ace talking about his brother Luffy, Aiyanna will listen to him and his stories in great detail. By the time she meets Luffy she will know everything about that boy (Ace, fanboy much?). She’ll see Luffy do something and be like “oh so he still does ___ a certain way.” And everyone just goes “what?”

9. I like to think that they will call each other different nicknames just for the fun of it. Like Aiyanna would call him Pepper, Freckles, or Hot Stuff. While Ace would call Aiyanna Freckle (since she has so many freckles that she’s just one big freckle), Sweet Stuff, or Broccoli (in response to her pepper nickname for him). 

~With Pomona~

1. Although Aiyanna loves her older brothers, she’s fiercely more protective and hangs out with her sisters when she can. With all the men on the ship, it makes sense that the girls would try to stick together and spend time together. Aiyanna is no exception, and often takes on the role as “older/big sister”. 

2. This role sums up Pomona and Aiyanna’s relationship to a t. Aiyanna will give Pomona advise if she ever asks for it, will always be a shoulder for her to lean on, and is one of her number one fans. Even during Pomona’s relationship with Thatch, Aiyanna made sure that Pomona was always being treated right, and would take her side if anything happened. 

3. If Pomona ever makes Aiyanna sweets or dishes, the nymph will be over the moon. Anything that she makes Aiyanna will cherish it and call it wonderful (even if she adds too much spice to it and Aiyanna is sitting over there crying but eating every last bite). 

4. When the two have the chance, both of them would hang out in Aiyanna’s overcrowded office, Aiyanna showing the chef what types of plants can be edible, what parts can be used for what purposes, and how to identify them. Aiyanna believes that a chef or anyone who wants to cook good food should know exactly where their ingredients are coming from, including the herbs and spices. 

5. I can totally see Pomona being a huge force in Aiyanna obtaining her Den Den Mushi Erpsi. The two of them were out shopping in town one day and the two of them came across a snail seller who was just about to kill the snail after he had been returned multiple times due to “bad behavior”. Luckily, the two of them were able to buy him and Pomona asked Aiyanna to take care of him. Erpsi is now an over sized snail who although likes to cause trouble and is a diva, he’s doing quite well for himself. 

6. These girls will shower each other with puns. It doesn’t matter what it is. You know those videos where the guy is in the store with his girlfriend and is using the products to make puns? That’s them and neither of them have any regrets about it. 

7. When Pomona needs to hide somewhere or doesn’t want to deal with people, I can see her turning into her moth form (if it gets super tiny that is) and just burying herself in Aiyanna’s hair to hide from others. Aiyanna doesn’t reveal her location but will sometimes boop her head to make sure she’s alright. I also like to think Aiyanna would make hats like these for her. 

8. I like to think that after the two get to know each other more, their relationship will be based on deep mutual understanding and appreciation for the other. Aiyanna understands Pomona’s insecurities and often combats some of the same issues but in different ways. She’ll try to help her sister out however she can because she hates seeing Pomona upset. On the other hand, Pomona tries to help Aiyanna once she mentally gets into a dark place, especially when she starts drinking heavily. After Thatch’s death and the events of Marineford (worse come scenario), these two cling together like no tomorrow because both of them just know how the other is feeling and that they need each other more than ever. 

9. Pomona was probably one of the first people who Aiyanna opened up to about her home island and family/priest situation. Marco knew something was up but didn’t press Aiyanna for details, just offering his shoulder for support at times. She would tell him about her emotions or how she was feeling in the beginning, but either than Pops, Pomona was the first one to know everything that happened. She encouraged her to tell Marco and eventually the others once the time became right. I like to think that even though Aiyanna tried being a rock to Pomona, Pomona provided Aiyanna with a good push that she needed in order to become more open about herself to her crew mates. And now Aiyanna is open about pretty much anything lol. 

~With Rosa~ 

(For granted these aren’t as detailed as the others, but that’s because we haven’t really had these muses interact much yet lol. Hopefully that’ll change soon!!)

1. These girls will be the ultimate shopping partners and would have so much fun going to different stores on the island, trying things on together, buying sweets from the vendors, etc. 

2. Aiyanna thinks Rosa is absolutely precious and has a huge big sister protective instinct for her. Someone looks at Rosa the wrong way? Yeah they’re going to have to deal with this fuming nymph and the rest of the Rosa Protection Squad. 

3. Rosa’s passion for music automatically draws Aiyanna in. As an avid dancer, Aiyanna loves to listen to new songs and figure out what kind of dances she can come up for them. 

4. The nymph would actively try to check to see if Rosa was doing alright. Just like with Marco, Aiyanna would bring Rosa tea or some desserts that she managed to sneak out of the kitchen, checking to see if the hummingbird was alright. She would often lend her an ear if she needed to speak to someone, and try to give her advice if she needed any. Aiyanna would definitely go through great lengths to make sure her sister is happy, because like Pomona, Aiyanna understands the insecurities that Rosa has and doesn’t want her to feel as bad as she does.

@xmenageriie @jijiivishaa @bluebcrn @xpuriity @the-flaming-spade

[blueneonlightshow-blog]

Recovery (Starcoweek3 day 4)

Marco watched Star sit next to his unconscious body in the hospital bed. The heart monitor beeped steadily. It was the only thing providing her with some comfort, knowing that he was still alive. She took his hand in hers and brought it to her cheek.

He tried to place a hand on her shoulders but it only passed through. No, he wasn't dead. Just a ghost. His spirit was separated from his body. How did he end up in this situation? Ludo. The little bird monster blasted him with an unknown spell, knocking Marco's soul out of his body. Needless to say, when Star ran to check up on him, she wasn't too happy. She dipped down and blew up the entire underground fortress. Ludo probably escaped somewhere, but it's doubtful he'll show up any time soon.

And now here he is, trying to figure out how to get back into his body. Honestly, he was starting to lose a bit of hope. He already spent a week looking at the spellbook, hoping he could get himself back into his body, but nothing seemed to help.

"So… something kind of silly happened at school today," Star said to her unconscious friend. "Janna wanted me to help her with a prank…"

Marco watched Star trace her finger over his physical hand.

"She said she wanted to fill the water fountains with chocolate…"

A sad smile formed on Marco's face, knowing that Janna was really just trying to cheer up Star by doing something mischievous. It was her way of being a friend to Star.

"I helped out a little and did a little magic on them, but… I don't know. It wasn't too funny to me… I did get detention though. So… this princess is going to do some hard time! Heh…" She tried to stay positive, but it only lasted for a few seconds before she returned to a frown. "Yeah… I should really grow up, shouldn't I?"

Silence...

"You know, Marco, I think I'm getting the hang of math, now… I know how multiplication and division works… still pretty boring, though… Skullnick helps me out sometimes… She's not as mean to me as she used to be…" The princess lowered her head. "Oh… right… I, uh… I got a present for you. Not that it's anyone's birthday or anything… Uh… here, lemme open it."

Marco looked down, surprised by the tiny box she had in her pouch. She opened the lid and pulled out a strange silver necklace with flaming orange letters dancing on the center piece.

"It's a Mewnian necklace I got for my birthday when I was younger. It's my favorite gift! They said it's a good luck charm that heals people when their… hearts... open up…? …Anyway, I was thinking and I realized I never really got you anything from all the times I went back home. So… I'm giving to you! Isn't it cool?"

The ghost smiled, wishing he could say thank you, but she wouldn't hear him. She can't. Not anymore.

"Yeah… I think it's cool too," she said to herself, filling in what she'd think Marco would say. The sadness built up inside her, wishing that Marco would just wake up and hug her.

"I miss you, Marco…"

He stood by Star and his body. "I miss you too, Star."

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

The next day

Marco walked along side with Star to school. Even though she can't see or hear him, he still wanted to be close to her - make sure that she was holding up okay, but so far, she's been an empty shell of her vibrant self. She barely smiled anymore and when she did, there was no effort to make it believable. It was so artificial and forced.

She entered the building and searched for her locker. After passing a couple rows, she found her own locker and placed her stuff inside. "Math… history…" she muttered, staring blankly at her books.

"Hey, Star!"

The princess turned to see the skateboarding fanatic approaching her. She faked a smile and waved. "Hi Jackie."

"What's up? I haven't seen you in a while!"

Star closed her locker and threw the bag over her shoulders. "Oh, you know… I've been busy over the last couple of days. Homework and all that stuff."

She didn't say, but Jackie knew Star was lying. It was no secret that she goes to the hospital to visit Marco after school. "Well, tell you what, how about we take a break this weekend and see a movie? Janna's coming too. It could take your mind off all that work..."

Star shook her head, still holding her smile. "That's okay. I think I'll just relax at home. But I hope you and Janna have fun!"

The girl frowned. She was hoping she could get the princess to take her mind off Marco, even if it was for a little bit, but Star wasn't having any of it. "Alright… the offer's still open if you change your mind."

"Thanks, Jackie." She headed to her first class, brushing past Jackie. "I'll see you later."

The skateboarding teen sighed. Another plan gone to waste…

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

Two weeks later

Marco watched his friend sit by herself at the lunch table. She was growing more and more antisocial as the days went by, refusing to open up to anyone. The boy's own sorrow built up, feeling guilty for leaving Star in this state. She was such an animated girl. Nothing could bring her down. Nothing ever kept her depressed… but Marco was the one to change all of that.

"Star Butterfly…"

Both the ghost and princess looked up and saw Brittney Wong towering over her.

Star didn't even bother trying to make a smile. Why would she? Why would anyone? "..."

She sighed. "Look, Butterfly, as much as I hate to admit it, you bring a ton of energy into this school. And ever since your… what is he, your boyfriend?"

Star didn't bother to answer the question.

Brittney rolled her eyes and continued. "Well, ever since Diaz went to the hospital, you've been all depressed and mopey. And because of you, it's a dead zone around here. Literally everyone is feeling down."

"I'm sorry for not being happy about my best friend who's in a coma..."

It ticked off Wong a bit being told off like that. "Look, all I'm trying to say is that it's been a couple of weeks, and you're still not over your boyfriend."

Marco noticed Star's eye twitch. He grew more nervous for the cheerleader's safety.

"Want my advice-"

"No," she muttered.

"You need to move on. Staying sad for this long isn't going to help. Just get over your best friend for now and get a new one. That way you won't feel so-"

Star slammed her hands on the table and stood up, shocking just about everyone in the cafeteria. "Stop. Talking."

Wong stood in place, shocked at her response. She growled at the princess. "I'm just trying to help you get over your stupid problem, Butterfly. So much for being nice-"

Star pointed her wand at the cheerleader and sent her flying back a few feet, landing on the hard ground. The wand began to glow a vibrant green color as she approached Brittney. Star took aim once more.

Marco's eyes widened. "STAR, NO!"

The princess quickly turned around. The green light faded as she looked around utterly confused by the voice she just heard. It sounded like… Star took a step forward, trying to make sense of the familiar voice. Little did she know, she was standing right in front of Marco's spirit. The boy brought a hand to her shoulder, but it passed right through her. He looked into her eyes, wishing she could see him. He could see a bit of hope and optimism, but it soon faded into tears streaming onto her cheeks.

One of Star's friends slowly approached her, cautious of their actions. "Star?"

Star quickly ran out of the cafeteria… then outside the school. Then she ran through a few blocks and onto a park before finally slowing down to a stop. She stood there in the empty park, unsure of what she was trying to look for. A tear rolled down her face… then another…

Soon she began to break down and cry, falling to her knees.

"Marco… please come back…"

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

Four months later

Star sat beside Marco's body, watching the nurses change the bag of IV fluid from the stand.

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

The nurse nodded. "Any time, Star." At this point, the entire staff knew her by name. They've seen her come in every day to visit Marco, even when visiting hours were over. It warmed his heart. Of course something as simple as visiting hours wouldn't stop the magical princess.

The nurse left the girl alone with Marco. Star sighed, placing a hand over his cheek. She gently caressed him with her thumb, making him blush. While he was just a spirit, he could still feel the tingles on his skin. He placed a hand over his cheek, expecting to feel Star's hand there, but felt nothing.

"Hey Marco…" the princess started. "So… it's Valentine's day… it was kind of crazy around school…"

Marco swore he saw a blush on her face.

"People were giving each other chocolates and flowers. It was really sweet… oh, and you'll never believe this. So Janna? Someone asked her out."

The boy tilted his head. Really? Janna? He shook his head. The poor guy probably doesn't know what he's getting into with that girl.

"...and that someone was Tom."

Marco's eyes widened. "Wait, what!? When did this happen?"

Although Star couldn't see or hear him, she could easily guess his reaction. She even giggled to herself, thinking about what Marco would say. "Yeah, I was pretty shocked too… I think it was the first time I saw Janna get all flustered like that. I wouldn't have guessed she was the shy type when it came to dating…"

Marco smirked. "I guess I miss a lot when I'm not floating around Star…"

"And that got me thinking…" The princess pushed his now long hair out of the way. "...thinking about how I should've told you some things before you ended up like this…"

The boy was surprised. Star had a secret? Something he didn't know about? But she told him everything! They were best friends, after all…

"You know, you were my first friend on Earth. You took care of me. And even though I made you angry when we first met, you still wanted to be my friend. You showed me all the cool things that happen here on Earth…"

Marco reminisced his time with Star. From the day they first met to when she saved his life from Toffee. From flag day to losing the spell book. He sighed, missing the times when he could interact with Star.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but… I… I'm not okay with being best friends…"

"W-what…?" Marco stared in disbelief.

"I… don't want to be best friends anymore. I don't want to be stuck like that forever…"

"...Star…"

"...I want to be more than that…"

Marco was now more confused than ever. He bent over, trying to get a read on Star's emotions, but instead saw a very red faced princess.

"I… really… like you, Marco… as in… I wanted to be your girlfriend…" she quietly said.

The boy stared at her wide eyed. His own face now turning red. "Star…"

She moved her hand over to his forehead, admiring his features. "I don't know when I found out I liked you… but… I did. I still do…" She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Marco touched his face, feeling the sensation of her lips. His blush grew deeper as he stared at his best friend. "...And… I know you probably won't ever return the feeling… And I just want to let you know, that's okay. I'm still happy to be with you. I always will be. And I'll support whatever makes you happy…"

Star sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. She looked out the window and saw that it was getting dark.

"Well… That's enough of that I guess. Valentine's day is over…" She got up and threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow…"

Marco watched her leave, completely stunned by her confession. He was completely speechless. "S...Star…"

The silver necklace began to glow, the letters beginning to dance wildly.

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

One day later

The receptionist looked up from the clipboard to see Star enter the doors. He and the other few staff members around him exchanged looks, smiling to one another.

"Ah, nice to see you again, Miss Butterfly."

"Hey doc."

"I'm not a doctor, I told you."

"Don't let your dreams be dreams, doc."

The doctor- the receptionist rolled his eyes. "Well, that's some good advice. Go on and see your friend."

Star nodded, taking the elevator up. She stopped at the usual floor and walked past the various rooms before entering Marco's-

"What the…" she stared at the now empty bed. Panic filled her mind. What's going on? Where is he? Did the doctors take him away? Did he… did he…

She immediately turned around to ask the doctors what was going on when she bumped into…

Into…

"...Marco…?"

The teen stood in front of the doorway, still in his hospital gown. "Hey, Star…"

Her eyes widened, completely breathless and stunned at what she was seeing. "Marco…"

"...Sorry to keep you waiting... Guess I should learn how to dodge Ludo's spells-"

The princess tackled him with a bone crushing hug, causing both of them to fall over. Marco's body was still weak from not using any of his muscles for months. He felt Star begin to quiver against him as she began to cry once more, not from sorrow, but from joy. The boy smiled, a tear running down his own cheek. He hugged her back, finally able to do what he wanted for so long. He didn't realize how much he missed Star.

"Careful. I might go into another coma from your hugs…"

She didn't respond. She couldn't. She was too happy, too thankful to even make a full sentence. "M-Marco… you… how…" It was all she could make out in between her hiccups and tears. Star tightened her hug on Marco, nuzzling into his neck. Eventually she calmed down, finally able to speak. The princess looked at her friend with longing in her eyes. "I missed you…"

The boy smirked. "I missed you too, Star."

"How… how did you wake up?"

Marco tugged on the necklace, the flaming orange letters dancing around the center. "Your present. It pulled me back into my body…" He tucked away the necklace in his shirt, deciding to never part with his gift. Star's gift. "It's definitely handy. Like you said, all we had to do was open our hearts, right?"

Star giggled at how corny the line sounded. Corny, but true. "Wait…" her eyes shot open in fear. "You could hear me this whole time?" she asked, remembering her confession from yesterday.

"Oh, and that's another thing. I wasn't just in a coma. I was a ghost, floating around, following you to make sure you were okay."

Suddenly, her face turned bright red. "O-oh… is that so…?"

"...Star?"

She flinched at her name. "Y-yes?" She was too nervous to make eye contact with Marco. Stupid. Why did she say all that? She felt his hands lift her chin up and a pair of lips make contact with hers. Star was awestruck to say the least. She slowly melted into the kiss, holding Marco close to her.

The two parted, both with red faces and rapid heartbeats. Marco nuzzled against her cheek. "Thank you."

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

I seem to be ending these fics with kisses... If only I could solve that problem >.>

Oh well. I guess we’ll never be able to change that :P

@starcoweek3

[3one3]

The Sequel - 875

Sid Lowe

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Why did they send me here with Marcus and a bunch of noobs? Daniel and Christian and Markus and Meredith and Marco are probably all available. He and I can’t win a team competition on our own, obviously. Fourth is so unsatisfying. I could have stayed home. I didn’t need to be here. Why did we just surrender a fourth title in like 5 years? Is €1.25 million split 5 ways really so disappointing to the others that they couldn’t bother to come? It’s not like they’re somewhere else competing for more cash this weekend. Bah humbug. I should have skipped it too. But then I wouldn’t be with him, Christina realized, in reference to the Spaniard sleeping beside her in Spain. Juan caught a ride on Cesc’s charter to Barcelona following an exhausting and demoralizing defeat to Manchester City at Stamford bridge, and just caught Christina’s exhausting and demoralizing clean ride in the second round of the Nations Cup Final, which was only good enough to keep Germany in fourth place. She stayed awake to ruminate on her Nations Cup experience while he slept peacefully snuggled up to her, with arm around her waist and two pillows to keep his face above her hair. Neither of them had any clothes on, and the rider kind of wished they did because she thought all the skin to skin contact was making her extra hot and thus making it harder to fall asleep. The footballer barely stayed awake long enough to enjoy the oral sex services offered to him out of sympathy, boredom, and the quest for distraction.

He was there to watch and support her, and to hang out in the Catalonian capital with her for two extra days. Once again the Spain manager couldn’t find a place for him in the squad for the coming qualifying matches, so once again he had the international break to himself. André wasn’t fit enough for Löw either, but he wanted to stay in Germany and work with the coaches at Brackel. Christina actually hoped she could get him to go away with her and Lukas for a few days- perhaps to a European city neither of them had been to yet, or maybe just back to London to do things they used to enjoy there. He wanted to train. She didn’t argue. Despite many visits for many Nations Cups, she’d still never experienced Barcelona as a tourist. Juan had big plans to rectify that. First, she had one more class to jump on Sunday, with Socks. There were two on the time schedule, actually, but she intended to use her second horse for the feature- a 1.55m grand prix- and spare her main mount, Nick, the extra jumps. Nearly everyone else would jump their second in the smaller class in the morning and use their Nations Cup horse for the grand prix. Christina didn’t see the point.

Her Nations Cup week was beginning to feel like something she didn’t see the point in, and one of the reasons she was lying awake in her friend’s arm was that she couldn’t help but wonder if that was going to be a theme in everything for a while. She didn’t know if the event just felt like a waste of time because Heiner and Holger selected three B team riders to accompany her and Marcus, or if she just didn’t care that much about the outcome. Nick did his part. He jumped clear in both rounds and collected a share of the €100,000 bonus. Christina was pleased with him, and with herself, and especially with the fact that she walked both courses with her mentor and her coach and thought, “it’s big, but not that hard”. A Nations Cup Final is no small thing. The course designer works on it for months, and it’s meant to challenge the world’s top riders and horses. It asked as many difficult questions as some of the Olympic courses. But it was still just two rounds, with a day off in between. The primary challenge at the Olympics is being consistent and surviving the war of attrition through day after day of elite level competition. The football wife thought of it as squeezing your biggest derby, an away clash with the team at the top of the table, and both legs of a Champions League semi-final into one week, and being prohibited from making changes to the team. The Nations Cup was a home match against Everton by comparison, after a week without a Tuesday or Wednesday fixture. Still, Christina didn’t know if she was bored with it all or if the less than ideal result just left her convincing herself she didn’t care about it anyway. She knew part of the problem was the social element. It was just her and Tom in Spain, and just Marcus and the H’s. Team dinners weren’t as fun as with the usual gang. There was less banter around the barn. The others needed more of Heiner’s attention.

Her trip to Rome the week before was slightly less devoid of fulfillment. Global Champions Tour events were always full of parties and better shopping. The hotels were better. The food was usually really good. Christina had her son, his grandparents, his cousin, and her brother and sister-in-law around to do things with when she wasn’t riding. Daniel was there. Nick and Rio were rusty, so they required her to actually pay attention and try in the saddle. Stefanie was competing in the big classes and needed a lot of handholding. There was exceptional pasta. She got to wear pretty dresses a couple of times. One of her old friends from New York was there grooming for a young American rider. Lukas did his first TV interview and told everyone his brother, Kimi, was his favorite horse. When the Tour interviewer questioned the brother-brother relationship, Lukas side-eyed him so hard that his mom burst into laughter and told the guy he should apologize for offending him. Once she got her horses sorted- which only took one class a piece- the actual riding wasn’t that interesting though, and she truly couldn’t have cared less if she won or not. Her prime purpose there was to knock off the dust and get two of her best three mounts back into competition shape so they’d be ready for the Nations Cup and Global Champions Tour Finals and maybe even retain that fitness through their next horse show drought between them and the World Cup qualifier in London in December or whatever she chose after that. So it was hard to draw any conclusions about motivation in the days between her events, and she really just wished she could stop feeling like she was supposed to be doing that- that she was supposed to be gathering evidence to help her figure out what to do next with her life. Riding was what she did, and it was hard to imagine that some boring horse shows would make her choose something else. André said they might just mean she needed to do something different with riding, like different shows, or different venues, or even different horses. He kept telling her to stop pushing it too, and to just let things come as they may.

It’s not like being at home was that much more satisfying, the Olympian reflected. Her eyes were closed and she really was trying to get to sleep, not least because she could barely move anyway. At least there’s a Ferrari at home though. I love my Ferrari. I need to find a way to do a photoshoot with my Ferrari and my Dirk and have it not be ridiculous. I’m gonna take him to London, I think. He’ll be good in that tiny ring, and he’s gonna be so bored by then if I don’t. I might try Calvin in the Puissance. He’s big and clunky but he really is the most powerful jumper in the barn, literally speaking. Them hocks, though. I hate that show, actually, but I love that it’s in London because everyone gets to come. Juanin can probably come like 4 out of the 5 nights. Can’t wait to go out with him tomorrow night. I’m sure wherever we’re going is awesome, and I missed sitting next to him at a dinner table. And we’re going to the Boqueria on Monday! I’m gonna eat all day long, Christina resolved. She eventually fell asleep thinking about all the wonderful things in Barcelona’s famous market- particularly the sweet confections. And she slept well, because jumping late into the night took a lot out of her, even if the riding wasn’t so difficult. Her days all necessarily started early up to that point. Sunday was different, since she wasn’t doing the morning class. Her internal clock woke her at 8 anyway. Juan wasn’t interested in getting out of bed at 8.

“Playing against Guardiola’s team when you don’t have anyone to hold the ball up is like running the London Marathon,” he complained when she leaned on her right elbow and attempted to talk him into getting up- not through persuasiveness, but by annoying him with her constant chatter. The Chelsea man arrived to her with a completely flat battery. Fellow Spaniard and critical cog in Conte’s plan, Alvaro Morata, had to be substituted in the first half due to injury, and it left the Blues with no out ball to evade the constant onslaught of City’s press. Christina watched the match during dinner at the horse show. She kept counting the players on the field to make sure they actually put someone on in Morata’s place, because it looked like they played a man down from then on. “You said you don’t have to be next door until noon.”

“I don’t, but I need to go to the gym, and I want breakfast, and you know, company.” She tried to appear charming and cute and undeniable, and Juan was having none of it. He just rolled his eyes and yawned. “Don’t you need to go to the gym too? Shouldn’t you do some kind of recovery for your precious marathon legs?”

“Yes, but first I should sleep two more hours.”

“I think you’re incapable of waking up at a decent hour in Spain. Seriously. Like as soon as you hit Spanish airspace, you need to sleep all day and want to eat at midnight, and your face glows like a pregnant lady.”

“You look tired. Go back to sleep. Sleep with me, cariña,” he yawned, paying no attention to her complaints. He rolled onto his side and leaned over to pull her closer- close enough that her face ended up almost in the side of his pillow pile, from which he bent down to smooch her cheek. His legs mingled with hers too, and he rubbed her back to try to make her sleepy, or at least in the mood to snuggle and probably fall asleep. “Close your eyes and think about the competition later. Visualize the ride.”

“How about I just visualize you being awake and talking to me?” she laughed.

“Whatever. Just shut up and let me sleep.”

Christina did go back to sleep. She didn’t bother with the visualization. Instead, she traced every contour of Juan’s torso- every muscle and skin fold- over and over until her eyes shut on their own again. He didn’t even notice. His sort-of-girlfriend often wondered if all men sleep like the dead or if it was a trait unique to footballers, who all seemed prone to passing out whenever left unattended in a sitting or lying down position for more than 90 seconds. The particular footballer sharing her bed actually had to work hard to rouse her from slumber two hours later. They did hit the gym together, and then the brunch buffet in the riders’ restaurant, and then the barn. The rider wanted to hang out there, safe from the public and the press, and relax with her friends until it was time to start preparing for the City of Barcelona Cup. Holger had other ideas.

“Please just do the interview,” he groaned at her after a tepid back and forth about an interview request from a local journalist. The assistant trainer’s interest in helping to secure the sit-down wasn’t clear, and Christina didn’t really care what it was. She just didn’t want to do it. “He only wants a few minutes. He only has a few minutes. He’s going to the football stadium to cover the match.”

“It’s a football journalist?” Juan questioned with renewed curiosity. He was involved because the request was to interview him and Christina together, about their friendship and how they supported one another in their respective sports.

“Yes,” Holger nodded, his expression turning hopeful. Juan’s curiosity was more promising than the rider’s snorted and snide “no”.

“Which one?” she asked, with no curiosity whatsoever. It’s definitely some hack who wants to do a story about me cheating on Schü. Without a doubt.

“Sid Lowe.”

No. Wha-

“He could have just called me,” the Chelsea man smiled, glancing at the phone in his hand. They were sitting in canvas chairs in the stable aisle near Nick and Socks’ stalls. “I know him well.”

“How’d he even know you’re here?” Christina questioned.

“Social media, probably. I posted the video of you falling down last night while we were having breakfast,” the Spaniard sniggered. He was lucky enough to capture her totally missing the landing on her signature back flip dismount off Nick’s big butt, primarily because she slipped off said butt before she could even launch herself in the air. The entire Germany contingency was watching, and laughed uproariously both at her and then at Nick when he turned his head all the way around to look at her on the ground as if to ask what on Earth she was doing.

“Is that why you keep telling me to try to go a whole day without looking at Instagram? You jerk.”

“Can we focus on the interview, please? His profile is tremendous compared to yours. It would be nice for us to borrow some from him...”

“I’ll talk to Sid,” Juan told Holger, against Christina’s obvious objections. “What?” he asked her when she made that “how could you betray me?” face at him and put her boot on the front of his chair between his legs. “He’s a good guy. You love him! You asked me to introduce you!”

“I hate you.” Schü is gonna hate this, she sighed inside as he tapped on his phone to message the London-born, Madrid-based Guardian writer, radio commentator, podcaster, and- by a country mile- Christina’s favorite football author. His second book had pride of placement on her shelf of treasured reads, next to I Am Zlatan, Bergdorf Blondes, and a first edition copy of National Velvet. I’m sure Sid has zero interest in asking us shady questions about our relationship, but he’s still going to be mad. There will be this wonderful article in the Guardian tomorrow about how Juanin and I help each other stay motivated, pick each other up, inspire one another, yadda yadda yadda, and Schü is going to read it while I’m frolicking around Barcelona without him.

“Can someone go to the security checkpoint and let him in?” the player asked. “He doesn’t have press credentials.” Holger eagerly volunteered and walked off purposely toward the front of the aisle to go fetch the writer, leaving his rider to return to wondering why he even cared about the interview or wanted her to do it. “I’m doing this because he did that nice feature for me on the launch of Common Goal, and because I trust him.”

“You trust someone who just turns up on a whim and tries to back-door an interview?”

“He messaged on my business phone a few hours ago. I just didn’t see. I try not to be on it when I’m with you.”

Oh, sure, make me feel bad by reminding me that you try to give me your undivided attention. Suuuuuure. Suuuuure. I hate- Does Tom Tom have French fries? Because much of Christina’s incredulity was an act, it was easy for her groom to distract her when he walked up to their chairs with a cardboard tray of food.

“Has Dr. Todd come back yet?” he inquired, taking a seat on the tack trunk in front of Socks’ stall. The vet was keeping an eye on Nick’s puffy left front leg. He had some swelling around the tendon down the back, just above the fetlock, when Tom took his wraps off in the morning. He jogged sound on it, and it went down some after a 30-minute walk around the show venue. Dr. Todd was supposed to re-check it, though there was nothing they could really do for it besides poultice and re-wrap, and nobody was particularly worried about it. Puffy legs would be conspicuous by their absence in most jumping horses his age.

“No. Did you get fries?” Tom’s charge sat up tall in her director’s chair to try to see in his tray.

“Yeah, and you can’t have them.”

“He’s making me do an interview I don’t want to do. I think that deserves at least one fry.”

“What interview?” He narrowed his eyes at the pair of friends mirroring one another’s crossed arms posture. Holger and the person Christina listened to for about 40 minutes each week on two different podcasts strolled into the barn before either of them could explain. Juan got up to greet his acquaintance, and introduce him to his admirer.

“She’s a big fan,” he chuckled after the formal pleasantries and handshakes. Sid Lowe was slightly taller than she expected, rounder in the middle than he appeared on TV, and every bit as friendly as she imagined. He made it very difficult for her to keep acting so put out about the interview. She was actually quite happy to meet him. He was her favorite kind of nerd, and the person she’d want to hang with at a crowded party.

“Of my puff pieces about you?” Sid questioned. He’d been pumping out Juan-admiring content for years, in great deal because he too was a big Real Oviedo shareholder and really appreciated the way the player helped to save the club.

“Of your crap Spanish jokes, your Real Oviedo fanboying, and extreme ADD,” the rider smiled. “I never miss a pod- but the free ones! I refuse to become a patron for your extra content. I’m not here to subsidize a new Podmobile,” she joked, fitting in as many references to regular parts of The Spanish Football Podcast as possible. Sid was the expert and main contributor, and his friend Phil, a Real Madrid TV employee, was the host who guided him through the week’s Spanish football themes and tried desperately to keep him on track. Christina liked it best when he got off track and shared anecdotes about people. Their podcast was one of the only football things she could still enjoy, because it was all about Spanish football and not about anything to do with her husband or most of her player friends and their families. They didn’t have reason to discuss Juan much. His exclusion from national team call ups wasn’t newsworthy anymore. “Oh! And your appreciation for Fernando Torres. I love Fernando Torres.”

“I must admit this is a bit strange. I’ve never interviewed a fan of...me.”

“We have a condition for the interview,” Juan interjected, very stern and serious.

“We do?” the rider questioned.

“You have to start answering her tweets. She tweets you regularly and you only ever replied to her once, a long time ago.”

“What do you tweet me about?”

“David Villa. And Marcos Alonso, mostly. When is he going to get a Spain call up?”

“Ah. Well. I answer that question all the time on the patron-only pods,” Sid teased, deadpan.

“Figures.”

“Chris, are you watching the time?” Tom asked. His rider apologized and introduced him too, and his question served as a nice segue to the actual interview. Holger fetched another chair for Sid, and Sid explained his interest in talking with them. He said no one writes about athlete friendships like theirs, in which the two people compete in different sports, go to events to support each other, and publically lift each other up in all their endeavors, not just sport- particularly male/female friendships. They brought up Bastian Schweinsteiger and his tennis player wife, as an example of what Juan and Christina were not. Sid wanted to talk Olympics, the Premier League, World Cups, charity projects, music videos, and what it’s like to go through professional and personal ups and downs alongside another athlete doing the same. He was really easy to talk to, and every bit as sharp and intelligent as Christina thought he’d be. Both she and Juan had to be very careful about not just what they said, but how they interacted during the fairly lengthy chat. Sid wasn’t going to miss anything. They didn’t want to accidentally give him an interview about how much they loved one another. He prefaced the whole thing by telling them that he didn’t have a specific angle for piece in mind, that it could be something for his regular Guardian column or a feature for magazine FourFourTwo, and that he might not end up writing anything at all. It would have been easy to accidentally invite him to write about obvious love suppressed between two best friends, though they were both sure that story wouldn’t interest him in the slightest. He was a real journalist, with a PhD, and he wrote a book called Catholicism, War and the Foundation of Francoism: The Juventud de Accion Popular in Spain. No one who wrote anything with a title like that could possibly relish the chance to pen a love story.

“I think it’s really important to be around people who you can admire and learn from but aren’t the same as you,” Juan said during his turn to speak at length about the importance of Christina’s friendship. There wasn’t a lot of straight question and answer going on. It was more like a casual conversation in which one participant just happened to be recording and taking notes. “You have more experienced players in the dressing room to learn from, and young guys who remind you what it’s like to play without pressure, things like this, but you’re all football players. You’re all a similar breed. I like to read books by athletes in different sports, music artists, politicians, writers. You learn different things from them. Christina is in a really different position. She competes for herself sometimes, and sometimes for a team. The psychology of that is tough. In some ways, players have to think that way, because you play for the team and you want the team to win, but you also want to play. You want to be ahead of the other guy in your position. She helps me with that. I don’t know who else could.”

“And he helps me with love/hate relationships with national team coaches,” the gold medalist chirped pointedly just to mess with Holger, who was sitting in Tom’s place on the tack trunk to listen in. “André loves Joachim Löw, and Löw loves André. He’s useless.”

“When I had the admittedly spur of the moment idea to come here to talk to you, I reached out to the horse beat guy at the radio station to get a primer on you so that I wouldn’t turn up and sound like an utter pillock,” Sid remarked, turning his focus on Christina. “She said the only thing to know about you, in terms relatable for me, is that you’re Leo Messi. I want to ask,” he went on, pivoting back to the Chelsea man. “Is that true, and is it as maddening as I suspect to be in a relationship so...so involving of comparisons, and problem sharing? Does her success grate on you, I guess is the simplistic way to put it.”

“I am not Messi.”

“She’s better than Messi. She wins big titles for her country,” the Spaniard commented without a hint of sarcasm. “And I don’t begrudge her success because I see how hard she works for it. It doesn’t make it hard for us to relate. As I said, I don’t know anyone who works like her. The unyielding commitment to doing things the correct way is much more maddening. I think of her whenever I’m tempted by a shortcut.”

“That’s his polite way of saying I have to get my own way and I’m overly dependent on routines.”

“You’ve both highlighted all the ways you’re different, and how you counter-balance one another on a lot of things. Was there a commonality that brought you together in the first place?” Sid switched which leg he crossed over which knee to support his tablet, and Christina tried to gauge how many questions were left on the screen. We’ve talked about all the interesting things, including how we came to be friends. I hope we don’t get into a thing where we’re just talking glowingly about all the things we love about one another, she thought. That wouldn’t be a very Sid Lowe-like piece.

“Just our interests, I think,” Juan shrugged. “Nothing to do with our careers. We like to talk about the same things. We both like nice cars, and art, and learning new things. She loves to cook; I love to eat. She knows all the best old movies. I love old movies.”

“We’re similar as athletes,” the rider piped up, sort of rejecting his rejection of commonality. “He’s not good at what he does on a football pitch because he trains skills all day, and I’m not good at what I do in the saddle because I have lessons every day. We train for fitness and condition and sharpness, and rely on natural talent and instinct for our skills. I think the best part of his game is between his ears, and the best thing I do is in my hands and my butt. You can’t learn those things. You can’t learn vision, or reading the game. Yeah, he needs skills to execute when he sees an opportunity- like you could practice making really quick, perfectly targeted crosses, I guess, but you can’t practice knowing when to make them. That’s what he’s so good at. He’s almost singularly good at it. I can’t name another player exactly like him. I wish for him when I watch other teams. I think all the best people at the top of the different sports are like that, you know? It was something different for me to meet another person in the same boat as me, actually. I had this weird riding upbringing where I was given the chance to ride a lot but didn’t actually get that much instruction. I used to think I just learned by observation, because I learn other things that way. Only when I came over here did I realize that my trainers have only worked to condition me, and professionalize me, and get experience, because my feel is natural, and the best asset I have. Now I know a lot of football players like that, but Juan is the only one I talk training and preparation with. André is kind of different. His natural talent is finishing, and his speed. He doesn’t practice that. He has to practice everything else. I wish he could practice the speed part because it’s gone missing on him for a long time and he could really use it back. It doesn’t work that way. Anyway, the point is, Juan is my only friend who I relate to that way. And my Olympic horse. He’s exactly the same.”

“That’s interesting. Would you characterize your competitors the same way? Are there a lot of people like...for example, like Frank Lampard. The popular trope that follows him is that he wasn’t very talented but worked harder than everyone to be good. Without throwing your fellow riders under any buses, is that how you see it?” the English writer posed as a thoughtful follow up. Juan was listening pretty keenly too. Christina liked having his ear on something like that.  

“Some. There are a lot of different types of riders who can be successful at this. I know some people who win big classes and get great horses just by having the ability to stay on a psychotic but super-talented horse and not crash into the jumps. Someone like that wouldn’t get much out of most of my horses. Others rely on really polished mechanics. Others are more like me. But it’s funny. We don’t talk about feel. You can’t share a feeling, or coach someone into it. If we’re trying to help one another, we talk mechanics- try more leg here, or shift the balance sooner- stuff like that. A lot of having the feel is being open to it. It’s hard to explain. You need to open your body and have your head clear enough to tune into the horse. You need a certain amount of happiness, and content with your life. If you have too much going on inside, you’re too distracted to feel what the horse wants to tell you, or what he doesn’t want to tell you. Juan is one of the only people I talk to about that. He helps me figure out how to stay receptive. Actually, he helps me balance my neurotic need for hard work and routine with taking breaks and doing other things so that I do have that clarity of mind, and openness. We do things like stay a few extra days after a horse show to enjoy the city and leave horses and football to the side. I try to do that with André too, but it’s hard to leave family issues to the side with the horses and the football. We naturally end up talking about our son all the time, and stuff like that.”

“Chris, can you get out of the aisle? We’re going to start getting horses ready in a few minutes,” Tom said after begging pardon to interrupt. Indeed, there were more grooms around, and other riders. He took Socks’ halter off its hook and was about to drop the stall guard to bring him out. The interview was clogging up their path to the grooming area.

“I have enough, I’d say,” Sid declared with the tapping on his phone screen to end his recording. “How much time happens between getting horses ready and the cup competition?”

“For Chris, about 45 minutes,” Holger supplied. He sprang up from his seat. “Would you like to stay as our guest and watch in the hospitality tent? Or you can watch with Juan at the ring.”

“What time is kickoff at Camp Nou?” Juan inquired. His writer friend checked his cheap watch.

“4:15. I can stay for 45 minutes. How long is the whole thing?”

“About the same as a match,” the player chuckled. “Watch Chris and then go. That’s what I do at home.”

“I think I will. I want to see Leo Messi ride a horse,” Sid smiled. Holger’s eyes grew with excitement. They all picked up their canvas chairs and folded them to get them out of the way of the people working. Juan showed Sid to the drinks cooler for a Coke. Christina excused herself to change, and to reflect on the interview. It didn’t feel that revelatory in real time, but the minute it was over and everyone was standing up to move on to the next thing, a big thing hit her.

There are so many reasons he’s good for me that have absolutely nothing to do with sex and romance. I’ve been low key to high key pissed at boyfriend for so long for accepting my relationship with Juanin, and for exalting his approval, and for saying he understands that I need him and he helps make my life better. He’s just right though. The friendship is so important to everything I do. And he and I can’t seem to have the friendship without the intimacy too, to one degree or another, so it’s...it’s actually a really unselfish thing. It’s not that he doesn’t love me enough to be possessive, or isn’t strong enough to say no, or he’s hiding how much it hurts him because he doesn’t want to look wrong about all the promises. Perhaps he really doesn’t feel hurt because nothing that good for me could ever hurt him. I’ve never been able to think about my relationship with Juanin the way I had to do just now. It’s different when someone sits down and essentially says, “Okay, tell me why you have this special friendship”- when you can’t include any of the sex or love stuff, and you have to focus on the actual friendship, and the ways you support and help each other just as people and not as people in love. I haven’t been able to talk about us that way since before I knew he cared about me that way- back when I used to have to defend “we’re just friends” to Schü all the time, because he didn’t like us hanging out. I should apologize to him for using his unselfishness against him all the time, maybe.