#i wonder what happens when confronted with every single ghost at once

[ludinusdaleth]

a brilliant setup in campaign 3 that will finally begin to come to fruition next chronological episode is that ludinus is staring into the faces of people who pretty much all directly represent his sins and how they've hurt people. imogen is the manipulation & abuse of ruidisborn (specifically liliana). fearne is also representative of ruidisborn but also the way ludinus has hunted & slaughtered fae to extend his own life, how he has manipulated their courts. laudna is the wanton unchecked cruelty of the cerberus assembly. fcg (there in spirit) is the idolization of aeor and choosing to bring what brought it down back for all of exandria to bear. ashton (and while this post is about the bells, it does extend directly to essek) is the experimentation on the luxon that started an entire war because he wouldn't turn the beacons over to a culture he despised & oppressed. orym is the decimation of the ashari for a mere test run. chetney is the corruption in the greying wildlands, the destruction of molaesmyr simply to contact predathos.

[rileyslibrary]

After a night of heavy drinking and chaos, Ghost forces you to take accountability for your actions—every single one of them.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader / 1.4k words

A/N: No warnings apart from mentions of alcohol and its consequences. There might be potential inaccuracies that I couldn’t verify. Plenty of scolding, but it ends fluffy.

———————————————————————

You don’t remember much from last night. Sure, there are glimpses here and there, but nothing to justify the physical pain you feel as your body struggles to stand at attention.

You shouldn’t worry much about it, though. Not when your furious lieutenant stands before you, serving you with the facts: You and your comrades meticulously organised a night out during your off-duty hours but failed to arrange a designated driver before getting drunk. No one could drive, so you carelessly left two cars out on the streets, accumulating a generous amount of parking tickets. To make matters worse, you chose to walk back to the base, parading through civilian-filled streets and ridiculing yourselves. And to top it off, you boldly entered the base in that sorry state, creating chaos.

Not remembering doesn’t excuse your actions; Ghost makes sure of that.

You stand in his office, lined up with the rest. There are five of you present—one to your left and three to your right—although you remember more from the night before. You presume the missing ones have committed greater offences, serving their “time” somewhere within the base, or perhaps they’ve been removed from the equation altogether. You wonder if that’s also your fate, and Ghost announces it in groups.

He stands before you with his arms crossed over his chest, giving you the lecture of your life and then some more. Every word that comes out of his mouth feels like a slap in the face. Even in those brief pausing moments, when his words can’t sting anymore, his eyes do all the talking.

That was the issue with the mask; there was no escaping his eyes. You couldn’t avert your attention elsewhere or focus “between his eyes” to ease the discomfort. Instead, you were forced to stare at those unforgiving, dark mirrors, confronting your shame head-on.

Once he finishes his lecture, he dismisses everyone and retreats behind his desk. You comply, lowering your head and making your way towards the door.

And then you hear it—the sound of his fingers snapping twice. You all turn to look at him.

“Except you,” he says.

You freeze in place, looking at his index finger pointing at you while everyone gets out. He skipped wearing his gloves today.

Ghost settles into his chair behind the desk and motions for you to sit in the one across from him. You comply, knowing there’s nothing else you can do except wish for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

He fidgets with his chair, swivelling it left and right while he looks at you.

“Speak,” he orders.

“What do you want me to say?”

He stops swivelling and widens his eyes. You immediately straighten up and clear your throat.

“Sir, I understand you’re disappointed, but I assure you this was-”

“You understand?” he interrupts, leaning in closer and fixing you with narrowed eyes. “Military property smuggled out of the base, illegally parked on the road, racking up parking tickets, personnel stumbling through the streets intoxicated out of their fucking minds, cheering like bloody clowns while entering a military base?”

“I-”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Thank you for understanding.”

You clench your jaw and shift your attention to the items on his desk—a stack of papers, a single pen, a stapler—anything other than his penetrating stare. But he doesn’t let you off that easily.

“How did you let that happen?” he asks softly. His eyes follow your line of focus and settle on the pen. He grabs it and starts rotating it between his fingers.

“W-well,” you begin, clasping your hands tightly in your lap. “It was on Saturday around eleven p.m.”

“Fucks sake!” he snaps, tossing the pen onto the desk. He reclines in his chair, putting his forearms on the armrests. “Is this how you want to go about it? Running in circles? What day and what time was it then?” he asks sarcastically, gesturing upward.

You lower your gaze to your lap, your hands sliding between your thighs and the chair, feeling your shoulders slump. You open your mouth to speak, but Ghost interrupts you.

“Did I ask you what day it was?”

“No, sir.”

“Did I ask about the time?”

“No, sir.”

“You want to guess why I didn’t?” he challenges.

You turn to face him. He shakes his head, forcefully pulling open his desk drawer and grabbing two papers that look like receipts.

“The bloody parking tickets told me,” he explains, shaking the papers. He throws them back into the drawer, slamming it shut, and leans forward. “Now, what did I ask you?”

“How it happened, sir.”

“No!” he yells. He takes a few breaths and lowers his voice. “How did you let that happen? That’s what I fucking asked.”

You shift your gaze to the bookshelf beside you. “I was as drunk as the rest, sir,” you murmur. “I couldn’t have driven either.”

“Oh, that I know,” he whispers. “I was right there when you broke into the base, slinging your shoes off your feet, trying to throw them as high as possible.”

You bring one hand to your forehead to conceal your embarrassment and murmur an apology.

He snaps his ungloved fingers at you, redirecting your attention to him. “Don’t be all shy now,” he says mockingly, “you were pretty bold with your advances last night.”

You spring your head up and widen your eyes. “A-advances, s-sir?”

He doesn’t reply but mirrors your facial expression—raised eyebrows, eyes wide open. Unlike yours, his demeanour isn’t one of surprise; it’s loaded with meaning.

You lower your head and shut your eyes.

There’s this silence again. The only sound that breaks it is the clicking of the pen. He must have picked up the one he threw earlier and is now playing with it. He lets out a long exhale.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Because I would get scolded for being irresponsible,” you murmur, shrugging.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Look at you getting a fucking medal now.”

“I’m sorry, Si-”

“Look at me,” he orders.

You lift your head and stare back at him. His expression has changed. His eyes are half-lidded and soft. He almost looks compassionate. Almost.

“You should have called me,” he says. “I would have come with Soap and Gaz to take care of the cars. We would have picked everyone up so no one would have to go through this.”

You click your tongue, roll your eyes, and sigh.

“I could have helped you,” he continues, softer than ever. “Any day, any time, any place, you know I would have.”

“I know,” you whisper, lowering your gaze to your lap.

“Look at me,” he repeats, leaning back in the chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” you reply.

“No,” Ghost corrects. “Symptoms, after-effects of drinking; debrief me.”

“Well,” you say, “my head hurts, and so does my back. My throat feels scratchy.”

“Drink plenty of water,” he advises. “You threw up a lot last night.”

“I did?” you ask, placing a hand on your throat.

“I was the one who escorted you to your room and then straight to the loo so you could puke whatever you downed—ruined my gloves, too,” Ghost says, showing you the back of his right hand.

“Did I-”

“Yup.” He nods. “All over them.”

“I’ll buy you another pair, sir.”

“No need to do that,” he murmurs. “Price has included cleaning them as part of your punishment; a lovely zip-lock bag awaits you in his office.”

You nod and fiddle with a string hanging at the edge of the chair.

“Sir, about those advances...” you begin.

He huffs and begins rotating his chair left and right again. Now, he’s the one who looks down, almost shy to meet your gaze. His eyes soften, and they crinkle at the corners. You can’t see his lips, but you notice his cheekbones lifting. He doesn’t look offended or angry, like before. He looks flattered.

“I just told you that you’re about to meet with the captain, and you’re worried about that?” He asks, standing up from his chair, avoiding eye contact. “Check your priorities and remember to call me next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

He lets out another huff and shakes his head. “Dismissed,” he says, flicking his wrist at you.

———————————————————————

[episodeoftv]

Round 2 of 8, Group 4 of 4

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Gravity Falls: 2.11 Not What He Seems

The twins wonder if they really know Grunkle Stan after he is taken into custody by the government agents.

this episode is everything. The title references one of the first ciphers you could find in the show: STAN IS NOT WHAT HE SEEMS. The end of episode one has Stan being super sketchy. You spend all of season one wondering when he’ll turn evil. And then he doesn’t. You’re pulled along. You learn to love him. And then he’s being MORE suspicious right in front of your face in season 2. NWHS premieres. The kids have to question if they trust Stan. YOU question if you trust Stan. Everything’s happening all at once and then the whole sequence at the end. Oh my god. Heart stopping. Dippers betrayed shouting, Soos’s desparate protection of the kids, Mabel! MABEL! Her trust, her belief, despite EVERHTHING. And then the end. Oh my god the end. The reveal that broke the fandom. Shattered everyone. NWHS is the best piece of TV I’ve ever seen.

the next episode didn't come out for two months and the fandom was frothing at the mouth waiting for it.

The drama. The mystery. We've known forever that Stan was hiding something. We get a payoff to the portal. We find out who The Author Of The Journal is and It's His Fucking Twin. That one scene where gravity turns off and he escapes the cops (feds?). Mabel saying Grunkle Stan, I Trust You. Most iconic and badass episode of the show.

It is just incredible. The biggest reveal of the series happens at the end (this description will contain spoilers but I'm staying vague as possible until the end where it will spoil the reveal to give people time to stop reading this). The amount of suspense and emotional tension that builds and builds over the episode is just incredible. Even after seeing it dozens of times I am on the edge of my seat watching it. The way Dipper and Mabel find out pieces of the puzzle, both things the audience has seen and been speculating on, and new things. The way their first theory about Stan is presented and then show the painting of him smiling CHILLS. And the scene in the basement where Stan finally gets there and he and Dipper have such an emotional fight about all the secrets. And then Mabel caught in the middle and how she is distressed but ultimately trusts Stan. Oh the shot of her letting go is so iconic. And then of course the big author reveal moment is the most amazing thing ever. Ok here is the SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BEST TWIST IN THE SHOW The way Ford's silhouette is seen coming out of the portal then the six fingered hand over the journal and then his face is revealed while Stan says The author of the Journals... my brother. Just top tier scene in every way. I don't think any episode in any other show has ever done to me what this episode does to me.

The Haunting of Hill House: 1.10 Silence Lay Steadily

tws for general horror content, death, and drug abuse

The Red Room's contents are finally revealed as the Crains return to the house to confront old ghosts, unspeakable secrets and an insatiable evil.

the entire show is a masterpiece but this episode gets me, especially the part where the siblings talk to nell in the red room. i think about “i loved you completely. and you loved me the same. that’s all. the rest is confetti” EVERY SINGLE DAY

[miss-littevi]

~ Thoughts ~

She looked up to the Meteia’s Nest and thought about everything that happened afterwards. The long way through the Dead Ends, the sudden appearance of Zenos – in the form of Shinryu-, the final confrontation with the Endsinger and finally, when she was already tired, the last fight with Zenos. This long fight, at the end of creation, that seemed to never end. Later, after she had returned to the Ragnarök, her companions told her, that it took almost 10 hours until she returned. 10 hours she fought against Zenos until they both lay down on the ground.

Her thoughts circled around the memories of this fight and the time between closing her eyes there and opening them again on board the Ragnarök, while her eyes kept looking towards the nest without really seeing it.

(cont under the cut. cut because length)

The weight of a gauntlet on her shoulder, followed by the noise of plate armor hitting the ground next to her, interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head towards the noise and looked into a familiar face. It was Estinien. She just looked him in the eyes, said nothing.

“Hey.” He broke the silence.

“Hey.” Was her short answer, but it shouldn’t stay that short. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Radz-at-Han? Vrtra could use your guidance, no?”

“Vrtra ruled over this city longer than I am even alive. I am sure he can handle it a few days without me.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Yorina turned one corner of her mouth into a grin. “So, and you have nothing better to do, than a vacation trip to the end of the universe when you don’t have to babysit one of the old Dragons, hm?”

Estinien smirked. “Half of Hraesvelgr’s powers live in you since the confrontation on the Steps of Faith. Basically, you are half an old dragon yourself, so I just exchange one for another.”

“You don’t have to babysit me.” Her answer was fast and strict.

He brushed her cold tone off. “Might be true, yes. You seem lost in thoughts. Do you want to talk about it?”

He could sense, even at great distances, when she needed someone to talk to, and he gladly offered an open ear. Yorina knew that, even though she didn’t even know she needed someone to talk to right now. But if he felt like that, it was possibly true.

“Just thought about the Dead Ends, the Endsinger and my following confrontation with Zenos.”

“Did the burnings hurt again?”

“They always do. The question is just, how much they hurt. Don’t make a big deal out of it. No, that’s not it. I was thinking about the time, when I lay there. Every single fiber of my body ached, breathing was hard. But I made it. Zenos was defeated, once and for all. At least, I hope so. And while I lay there, my eyelids heavily falling down, somewhere in the distance I hear Zenos mumbling some last words about his life and how he envied me and my life. And while his words blured together, hundreds, millions of images flashed before my eyes. I saw my whole life and sometimes I ask myself: did I die there? People say, the moment before your death, your life flashes before your eyes. It felt like that. And I can’t help but wonder: Was I gone? Was it the Dynamis that brought me back? Or was I there all the time? Am I nothing but a ghost of who I once was?”

Estinien listended carefully to every word she had to say. “Do you wish you would have died there?”

She shock her head. “No, I have so many things to live for. My friends, my family. I can’t leave anyone of you behind. But… it feels like I left some part of me there. And I wonder, if I will ever get this part back.”

Estinien didn’t have an answer and Yorina spoke into the short moment of silence: “You don’t have to answer. But you wanted to know what I was thinking about. Now you know.”

He nodded. “Yes. Thank you for trusting me and telling me what’s on your mind. You know, while being one of Ishgard’s Dragoons, later the Azure Dragoon, I fought dragons, was too close to death more than once. But trying to compare it to what you have been through in those endless hours we waited for you, just doesn’t work. It isn’t comparable.”

“Maybe it’s more comparable than you think. Same thing, just on a different level. But believe me: the feeling of coldness, emptiness I felt there… I don’t wish that to anyone. Noone should have to fell that. But I’ll recover from it. Don’t worry. And please, not a single word to Aymeric.”

“As ever: not a single word. Promised” He never passed on the things she had told him in confidence. And he wouldn’t change that now or ever.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

HEY BESTIE ITS ME AGAIN! i was wondering if i could get a will request with angst. LOTS AND LOTS of angst about will and the reader seeming to always miss each other in sense of relationships and because of that the reader distanced themself from will so months pass by and they both are single then and they run into each other and eventually get into a fight bc he’s upset that they ghosted him and eventually have an angry love confession and happy ending?

thank u sm bff

YOU WANT ANGST, I"LL GIVE YOU ANGST...in a fairly decent amount cause this was hard to write for some reason🙃 sorryyyy @poulterfilms

~~~~~~~~~~

Why did life have to be so hard?

You watched as Will got ready for his date that night, giddy and excited to be going out, rambling on and on about how nice this person was, who he met a few days prior.

You just smiled and nodded along, pretending that your heart wasn't painfully throbbing with jealousy.

You hated this feeling, longing. It was strange, you never felt this way before with Will. You've been friends with him as long as you can remember, seen him have plenty of dates with other people. So why did you suddenly feel like you wanted him all to yourself? It wasn't like you at all.

"So, what do you think?" Will asked, snapping you out of your thoughts, slowly spinning around to show off his outfit.

You plastered on that same fake smile that you unfortunately got into the habit of doing nowadays. "You look great, Will. You always do." You didn't mean to sound so sad, but it came out that way and you internally cringed.

Will cocked his head with a confused grin. "You okay?"

You nodded your head eagerly. "Of course!" You stood up from where you sat and quickly adjusted the collar of Will's shirt, struggling to pull away when he smiled at you. "I always have to fix that damn shirt collar." You chuckled weakly, forcing yourself to take a couple steps back.

Will copied your chuckle, turning around to do a once over in his mirror. "What would I do without you?" He joked, but you frowned for a split second before shaking your head.

"Well, don't wanna keep the lucky date waiting, right?" You patted him on the shoulder, maybe a little too hard since Will rubbed his shoulder with a grimace afterwards.

"You are absolutely right. I'll be off then, night, love!" Will placed a quick kiss to your cheek, heading out of his house, leaving you alone with the ghost of the kiss lingering on your cheek. The innocent, and most importantly, friendly kiss.

You looked around the living room solemnly, looking to your feet to see the two pups you were trusted to take care of while the owner was out of his date. Welp, at least I have his dogs to share my misery with...

You had no idea how you let this happen. You've always seen Will as a friend, and nothing more. You've both hyped each other up when one of you scored a date. Will has seen you off to plenty of dates and never had a problem with it, so why couldn't you do the same for him?

Unbeknownst to you, Will actually has had similar feelings. He didn't know how it happened, but he developed strong feelings for you. He clearly knew you didn't feel the same, and he had to sit idly by as he watched you be in and out of relationships with people who weren't him.

He's never been one to get jealous, but he'd definitely be lying if he said he never was jealous of your partners. He wanted to be the one to hold your hand, he wanted to be the one to open doors for you, to be the one you smiled at when he wasn't looking. He decided to move on, even if it was the last thing he wanted. But his respect for you trumped his lust that he felt at the same time, he just wished he could turn his feelings off.

You decided to hole up in your apartment after Will came back from his date, the date that went "extremely well." The "he'd definitely be seeing this person again" date.

You couldn't say you were devastated, for obvious reasons. You didn't want to tell Will you had feelings for him, and you didn't want to be selfish. You always felt selfish nowadays.

You just felt like a burden.

It was hard hanging out with Will, always having to hear about his new partner, how they're so nice and kind and caring and apparently so fuckin' amazing...it made you want to vomit. It made you not want to hang out with him as much anymore, but thankfully, that decision was made for you. Will didn't have time for you anymore, he really wanted to make his relationship with this new person work, more than he wanted to keep your friendship strong, you thought.

Eventually, you just stopped trying to initiate conversations. Will would text you, all the time really, he'd just be too busy to see you. Between acting roles and sending time with his partner, you'd only be with him through text messages.

An epiphany struck you one day: you deserved better.

You knew you were right, and that's why it made your choice to painful. You had to cut ties with Will, but you had no idea how you'd do that without breaking down.

You took the coward's way out, at least, you thought it was cowardly.

You simply just stopped replying to his text messages. But once he started to text you messages like "can we talk?" you thought you might give him a chance. You said you'd do it tomorrow, then tomorrow turned into the next day, then a week passes, then a month. You stopped thinking about it, you didn't want to think about it, because every time you did, the urge to contact Will got stronger and stronger. You wanted to move on. You needed to move on. But, you never could get him out of your thoughts completely.

Months and months go by, and before you know it, it's Christmastime.

You'd decided to travel around after cutting off contact with Will, mostly just couch hopping with friends, exploring the area to get your mind off how heart broken you felt. It was a good distraction, for awhile. But now that Christmas was soon, you had to go back to your home town; you did miss your family quite a lot. But you did feel that similar anxiousness after coming back home, thinking about Will and the "what ifs." Will always loved spending time with his family during the holidays, and you knew he'd probably be in town.

Just going outside to check the mail was nerve wracking to you, but you chuckled bitterly at your paranoia, it's not like he was going to show up at your house out of the blue. He wouldn't do that.

Your family really wanted a Christmas tree, a real one. You tried to use your allergies as an excuse to just stick with an artificial tree, but your parents were dead set on having a real tree. It wasn't exactly a lie, you used to get real trees, you just couldn't be around one too closely or else you get into a sneezing fit. But you really just didn't want to be out in the town, just in case.

But your family dragged you along to help pick out a tree anyway, in the freezing cold.

You idly kicked some icicles that were formed on the bottom of tree branches, smiling subtly to yourself as you heard the crackle of the ice hitting the concrete. You looked over to see your family still trying to decide on what kind of tree they wanted, and you remembered how indecisive your folks were. You were gonna be there for awhile...

"Y/n?" As if you weren't freezing enough, the voice that you heard from beside you made a chill go up your spine, causing you to sink down more into your coat.

You looked to your left, unluckily for you, seeing your former best friend beside you, an unreadable expression on his face. "Will...? Uh, w-what are you doing here?" You weren't sure if it was the cold that made you stutter, or just the pure nervousness and almost fear that you felt.

Will uncomfortably shifted on his feet, taking a deep breath before answering. "My, uh, mum wanted to have a tree this year. I'm guessing yours did too?"

You nodded curtly. "Yep."

The awkward silence made you want to curl up into a ball and throw yourself off a cliff.

"We should probably talk." Will said.

"Uh," You nervously rubbed your hands together, "I don't think that's a good idea..."

"Why not?" He asked bluntly, his expression turning cold.

You sighed. "I...well, I have to help my parents get this tree so..."

"Fine. I'll come by later."

"Wait-"

"See you tonight." And with that, Will walked away in a hurry, not giving you the chance to refuse.

You bit the inside of your lip hard, a coppery taste coating the tip of your tongue when you explored the small dent in your mouth that you created from stress.

You figured this day would come soon enough. Karma's a bitch, as some say. You thought you'd have a bit more time to prepare yourself for a confrontation, but the universe decided to be a jerk and sucker punch you in the face with your regrets.

You went home, feeling like a knife was twisting in your gut as you helped your family set up your Christmas tree in the living room, constantly glancing at the clock every chance you could.

Eventually, your family decided to leave the house once more, having bought tickets to a play that night, which you politely declined to go to. You weren't interested in yet another retelling of the Christmas story acted out by little bratty children who couldn't remember their lines half the time. No, you have somewhat decent standards.

You just sat on the living room couch with your family pet, staring at the clock, seeing the hands move slowly until it finally reached nine o'clock. You untensed for a moment, thinking that maybe Will decided to not come over. The loud ring of the doorbell quickly squashed that idea.

You opened the door, not surprised to see Will on the other side, his cold expression unchanged from when you last saw him.

You said nothing as you moved aside, opening the door wider for Will as he walked in.

The air felt thick, like there wasn't enough oxygen for both of you to be in the same room. It felt similar to whenever you pulled your blankets over your head when you were little and afraid of the dark, thinking that nothing can hurt you if you were completely wrapped up in the comfort of your duvet, but never getting enough fresh air to keep those blankets over your head, eventually having to pull the blankets off to breathe. You really wished you had a blanket now...

"Well?" Will broke the silence, looking to you expectantly.

You shrugged slightly. "Well what?"

Will chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "You know what, Y/n." When you didn't reply, he continued. "You stop talking to me all of a sudden, for months, not even telling me why. I need to know why, I deserve an explanation."

You sighed, looking anywhere but at him. "I just...needed some time away..." What a fucking lie...

"Some time away, really? That's your excuse? We were best friends, everything was fine, so what went wrong, huh? Why did you just up and leave everything behind without telling me?" You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself as his voice got louder with every sentence. "Are you even listening to me? Do you hate me now, is that it? I don't know what I did, please, tell me." He pleaded.

"Will..." You whispered, finally looking to him to see unshed tears in his eyes. "it was me, not you. You didn't do anything wrong..."

Will stepped closer to you, his arms crossed. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to be ghosted by the one person you thought cared about you the most? It really fucking hurt. And now, you're just standing here like you don't even care."

"I do care, Will." You said softly, reaching out to touch him but he quickly flinched away.

"Then why did you leave? I want the truth."

"I wasn't happy...with myself...with you." You started, walking over to take a seat on your couch. "I felt alone. You spent all your time with your partner, you rarely had time for me anymore."

"Wait, my partner?"

"Yeah...the beginning of this year, you started dating that person, I forgot their name..."

Will shook his head. "It didn't work out with them, I'm not seeing anyone, haven't for awhile. But that's not the point. Why didn't you just tell me that you felt alone? You know I would've made time for you if that's what you needed."

You felt like you wanted to scream, frustration starting to consume you, but you settled for a muffled groan. "It wasn't just because I felt alone..."

"Then what?"

Fuck it...

"Because I hated seeing you date other people. I absolutely hated it. And when you started gushing about how amazing this person was, I felt like I wanted to bash my head in with a hammer." Okay, maybe that was a little exaggerated, but you got your point across.

"You didn't want me to date other people?" Will's heart beat rapidly in his chest, just the thought of why you possibly felt that was making him anxious to ask, "Why?"

You were scared to answer, afraid of his reaction. What if he hated you? That would be the worst case scenario, you'd rather die than have him hate you. But, you did owe it to Will to tell him the truth. The unfiltered, honest truth.

"We've been friends for as long as I can remember. We always told each other everything." You smiled weakly. "We'd always be happy for each other whenever we went on dates and found people that made us happy. But...there was a point where I realized that no matter how many dates I went on with other people, I never truly found happiness in those people. Because, I always thought about someone else...you." You looked up at Will. "You've always been the one person to make me truly happy. And I finally figured it out, it's not because you were my best friend, it's because...you're the one I always wanted to be with, Will."

Will took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to take in your words. "That night, when I was about to go on that date, you weren't yourself. You looked sad..."

"I didn't want you to go. I wanted you to stay with me." You wiped away a few fallen tears with your sleeve, sighing tearfully. "I was being selfish...really selfish." You frowned.

Will carefully sat beside you, looking straight ahead. The red and green lights placed crookedly on the Douglas fir being one of the only light sources in the room, illuminating your tear ridden face and causing a reflective shine to Will's glassy sorrowful eyes.

"I had no idea." Will said, being the first one to break the silence yet again.

"That was kind of the point." You sniffled, curling your knees up to your chest.

"...I'm sorry."

You furrowed your brows, looking to Will in confusion. "Why are you sorry? I'm the only one who should be sorry."

Will shook his head. "No..." He laughed sharply, clenching his fists in his lap. "It's funny."

"What is?" You asked, trying not to sound offended.

"I've spend years trying to get over my feelings for you, and you tried to do the same. Guess I'm not as intuitive as I thought."

You silently gasped. "Will? You...? Huh?"

Will smiled weakly. "I only started dating other people because I was trying to push away my feelings for you, and of course, it didn't work."

"Will, if this is some joke-"

"It's not. Have I ever lied to you?"

"...no. You've had feelings for me this entire time? And I punished you for it..." You said as you felt the tears well up in your eyes again.

"No, Y/n, no. You had no way of knowing, just like I had no way of knowing how you felt about me."

"I'm so sorry, Will. I never should've left."

Will quickly grabbed a hold of your hand, bringing it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "You're here now. It's okay...we're okay."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

Will smiled softly. "Of course. I've never been able to stay mad at you for long."

You frowned. "What if I deserve it?"

"No. No, you don't. It's all going to be okay."

You took a deep breath, trying not to burst into tears again as Will pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "What now?"

"Maybe it's too early to ask but...we could go on a date." Will chuckled weakly.

You looked back up at Will, trying to hide your growing smile. "Really?"

"If that's what you want."

You looked at the clock. "It's getting a little late, I don't think that many places would be open right now. We could go out tomorrow?"

"It's a date." Will smiled.

You sighed. "I really wish I would've talked to you about this instead of running away..."

Will shook his head, bringing his hand up to gently caress your cheek. "I shouldn't have raised my voice earlier. So now we both have something we regret. But it's okay, Y/n. I felt like running away quite a few times myself whenever you went out with someone else...or just hiring a hitman or something."

You laughed genuinely, playfully pushing Will's shoulder. "I think my family is gonna be home soon."

"That's my cue to leave, I take it?"

You pouted. "I don't want you to."

"Well, hey, we'll see each other tomorrow." He smiled.

You walked Will to your front door, frowning as he opened it. "I never used to be the clingy type with anyone."

Will turned around to face you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in for a warm hug. "It's all going to be okay. We're gonna do this thing right."

You pulled away with a huff, looking deeply into his eyes. "I really want to kiss you right now." You giggled.

Will grinned, replying to your statement by leaning in, delicately brushing his lips over yours before fully placing them onto yours passionately. You could truthfully say that the kiss made you weak in the knees, it was everything you imagined it to be and more. It was intoxicating.

The kiss quickly got heated, and you didn't know if you'd be able to stop yourself. Will grabbed at your sides, trying to pull you even closer than you were already, eliciting a quiet moan from you when he gently pulled on the roots of your hair. But you finally forced yourself to stop, trying to catch your breath.

"Sorry." Will quickly apologized.

"I didn't want to stop." You snickered, running your hands through your now tangled hair. "We haven't even gone on our first date yet and I already want to rip your clothes off."

Will blushed and grinned. "Guess we'll just have to save it for tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow it is."

~~~~~~~~~

I had trouble writing this, if you couldn't already tell. Ugh, I have no idea why the reunion bit threw me off balance so badly

[cafedanslanuit]

chapter guide | prev. chapter | next chapter

✖   —   chapter summary: Now that Zeke has explained what truly happened with Yelena, all your troubles have finally ended. Except that now you need to start avoiding Porco. However, things change once you overhear a conversation in the woman's bathroom.

✖   —   pairing: porco/reader & zeke/reader

✖   —   chapter tags/warnings: college au, descriptions of panic attacks, lots of self-doubt, gaslighting, hurt/comfort, fluff, referenced cheating. 

✖   —   a/n: i have posted the playlist that goes with this series! click here to check this post <3

chapter three: me and my husband

Porco looked at his cellphone, an ill sensation filling up his stomach as he read over and over your last messages. For the past few days, he had been trying to reach out to you but he had been rejected every time.

He knew something wrong was going on the moment you said you couldn’t make it to his lacrosse game. Ever since you became friends, you hadn’t missed a single game. He had once seen you finishing an essay on your phone and sending it while you were sitting on the bleachers, excited for the game to begin. He had seen you falling asleep on his shoulder during a party after a game, too tired from studying for a test that you took earlier.

Porco sighed. He wished he could find any other reason to explain your behaviour but the only one that came to his mind was his late night confession to you. He shouldn’t have told you he loved you. Now you were avoiding him and his feelings and he was scared he had lost your friendship completely.

He put the phone on his back pocket and grabbed his keys, heading to the parking lot. After getting into his car, he turned on the radio and drove out of the campus, entering the main highway of the city. He wasn’t sure where he was heading to, but all he knew is that he wanted to stop thinking about you, the moment he thought you had shared and the dry messages that followed.

He had really fucked it up.

…

 Sitting on your faculty’s corridor floor, you looked over at the texts Porco had been sending you the past week. It physically pained you to be so curt with someone that meant so much to you. Porco had always been there for you, even in the times you had told him you really didn’t need him. He cared when you got sick, when you were sad and also when you wanted company to crash a party on campus. You two had been inseparable since the day you met and he was already acquaintances with Annie and Armin due to all the time he had spent at your place.

This was the right thing to do, you told yourself one more time, closing your Instagram. You were taking the right decision. Porco had fallen in love with you and then had tried to make you think your boyfriend had cheated on you. If Zeke hadn’t pointed that out for you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. Truly, you were lucky Zeke had been understanding about the whole situation and had forgiven you for not trusting in him.

Porco wasn’t a bad person. You knew in your heart he wasn’t. But you had been wrong to trust he had your best interest in his mind.

That’s what didn’t make sense. Why had Porco, sweet and caring Porco had suddenly decided to put you against Zeke only just because he had caught feelings for you? The Porco you knew wouldn’t have done that. If he truly only wanted to drive you away from Zeke, he would have let you kiss him the night he spent with you. He would have taken the opportunity, right? So, why didn’t he?

Your head started hurting.

Your thumb ghosted over Porco’s contact on your phone, wondering whether to call him or not. You missed him dearly and knew that if you asked him to be honest, he would. There were countless moments in the past where he had been honest with you, from the time he confessed to accidentally stepping on your foundation powder and the time he opened up about his father’s death.

He’ll say anything to make you doubt your relationship with me.

Zeke’s voice resonated in your ears and you bit your tongue. He was right. You needed to remember Porco was trying to put you against your boyfriend.

Before you could think of a counterargument, you shot a quick text to Zeke. Yes. A day with your boyfriend would help you keep your mind busy.

“wanna hang out later? <3”

You watched intently, a small smile on your face as the three dots twinkled on your screen. Zeke’s answer came a few seconds later.

“Can’t. Exam tomorrow :(“

He then sent you a picture of a couple of books over a table that you recognized as the university’s library. He also had the tumbler you had given him a couple of months ago, filled with straight black coffee if you had to take a guess.

“:(( okaaaay, good luck on your exam, love u!”

“<3”

You put your phone away and sighed. You missed Zeke too. The few days after you had confronted him about the time you thought you saw Yelena and him kissing, he had showered you with love. You had spent the weekend at his place wearing nothing but an old t-shirt of his and making love several times a day. You snuggled to him on the couch as he watched an old documentary and playfully took the cigar from his lips and took a puff yourself. ‘Ladies like you shouldn’t smoke,’ he had said playfully as he took it back from your lips and then pressed a kiss on your temple.

Nevertheless, the short honeymoon phase after you made up had come to an end. You knew it was going to happen, but now your body and heart were craving more of him and his classes were taking all his time. If it wasn’t an exam it was a group project or a study session and even if you knew seniors had it way harder than you, you missed him. Missed his beard scratching your neck, his strong cologne and his deep chuckle whenever you managed to make him smile.

Maybe you could walk around the mall. You still had some birthday money and you could treat yourself a little. Maybe a new body cream or a pair of cute underwear from Victoria Secret to surprise your boyfriend after he was done with his classes. Yes, a shopping trip was exactly what you needed to stop thinking so much. Smiling, you walked to the bathroom of your faculty, just a quick detour to freshen up before you got into your car. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror and took out your lipstick, fixing it carefully.

“I fucking hate her.”

You turned around as you saw three girls entering the bathroom. They stood by your side, none of them seeming to notice your presence. One of them fixing her hair, another was looking down at her phone, eyebrows knitted together and mumbling more and more curses and the last one just leaned against the bathroom stalls, arms crossed against her chest as she watched the other two.

“We did tell you she wasn’t meant to be trusted,” she reminded the girl with the phone. When she raised her head, you recognized her as Pieck, one of Porco’s close friends, who you had seen around at a lot of parties and on many of his Instagram photos.

“How is that helping me?” Pieck asked icily.

“I’m just saying, Yelena is shady. Telling you all that crap about only being able to open up with you— and for what? For her to post photo after photo of her fuckboy?” the girl in front of the mirror said. “Like, nobody needs to know you’re getting it at the library, why post about it? Literally, nobody cares.”

“She’s not worth it,” the other girl interjected. 

“She really isn’t, babe. And Zeke isn’t even that hot,” her friend continued with a mocking laugh. “The one that looks like a clown is her, not you. Just let it go.”

“He truly is a bad case of the monkey face,” Pieck agreed with a snort. “Men like that are what keep me a lesbian.”

“Hi Pieck,” you greeted her. For the first time, Pieck looked your way and widened her eyes, recognizing you in an instant.

“Hey,” she said in an apologetic voice. “I— I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

You faked a chuckle. “It’s okay. I just wanted to say you shouldn’t worry about them, Yelena is—”

“Yeah, yeah, we both shouldn’t worry. You’re probably trying to move on and ignore them too,” Pieck sighed and then pursed her lips in discomfort. “But I know you were Zeke’s girlfriend for a while, it’s normal you don’t want to hear about who he’s fucking now—”

“Zeke and I are still together,” you interrupted her.

Pieck’s face fell at your words. She looked at her friends, who were also looking at each other with an indecipherable expression. Your furrowed your eyebrows, confused as to why they were sharing those glances. Why would they think you weren’t with Zeke? Sure, you hadn’t posted photos with him lately but that didn’t mean you weren’t together anymore.

“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Pieck said softly to her friends. They nodded and said they would be by the cafeteria before leaving. Once they went away, Pieck closed the bathroom door and walked to you again.

“Why— why would you think we’re not together?” you insisted, your voice trembling more than you would have wanted.

“Yelena and Zeke are fucking,” she sentenced in a soft voice. You shook your head.

“I know that’s what it looks like but Yelena likes women,” you said. “You— I mean you guys were dating or something, right? You know she’s a lesbian, she’s just pretending to have something with Zeke so her parents back off for a while.”

Pieck’s silence was deafening.

“Right?” you pushed. “It’s cool because she’s a lesbian and—”

“Yelena is bisexual.”

You paused, blinking as you tried to understand. After a few seconds, you shook your head.

“She’s not.”

“The reason we’re not dating anymore is because I saw her fucking Zeke at a party,” she explained.

“No,” you said, and shook your head once more. “No, because if it happened at a party then someone would have seen them. Someone would have noticed, there would have been rumours, I would have  known . Pieck, someone would have told me, Reiner, Marcel, Porco—”

“They weren’t there. Almost everyone was a senior.”

“Then you! You would have told me,” you cried. “You’re telling me you saw my boyfriend fucking someone else and didn’t tell me!? Pieck—!”

“I thought you weren’t together anymore!” she defended herself. “What was I supposed to think when every single one of his friends at that shitty apartment knew he was fucking her in the bedroom and they all acted like it was a normal thing to do? I see all these photos of both of them and…” she continued, shaking her phone. “Of course I think he’s not with you anymore! Yelena is uploading pictures as she rests her legs on his lap, about their movie dates at his place and you want me to think she has a girlfriend!?”

Tears started falling from your eyes as she spoke. You sniffled, trying to compose yourself but you could feel every muscle of your body shaking.

“Does Porco know?” you asked in a whisper.

“Porco?”

“I know you two are best friends since high school. You— you had to tell him. If this was real, if this happened, you had to tell Porco,” you reasoned. “So tell me, Pieck, does Porco know?” you insisted, raising your voice, hating the way it cracked at the end.

Pieck shook her head. “I told him Yelena cheated on me, didn’t tell him with who.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me not to date Yelena, said she wasn’t a good person. I didn’t want to prove Porco right, you know him,” Pieck said with a small shrug.

You nodded idly, your eyes lost. No. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t— even if it did. It did make sense but it  couldn’t make sense. Because if Pieck was right, if Yelena and Zeke were—

No.

“Give me a date,” you whispered.

“What?”

“When was this?”

“I don’t— Two weeks ago?”

“I need to know the exact date, Pieck.”

“Girl, I don’t remember exactly, I—”

“Give me a date, Pieck!” you sobbed, raising your voice. She sighed and nodded, taking out her phone.

You watched as Pieck went through her messages with Yelena, scrolling up as she tried to remember the date. Your breath was hitching, inhaling more than you were exhaling but you didn’t care. You wanted to know when it was. Pieck was going to tell you it happened on a date where he was with you. She was going to say it happened one of the nights you and Zeke stayed the weekend at his place and then you would know she’s lying. Yes, that was going to happen. She would tumble over her own lie and this nightmare would be over.

“March 31st,” Pieck murmured. “I kept texting her, asking where she was before I went to look for her,” she reminisced, before showing you her phone.

.

.

                                                            00:36

. 

                                                                                           lena where are u

                                                                                                            ?????

                                          why are my friends saying you’re with zeke rn

                                                                                         yelena answer me

                                                                                    fuck u i’m going there

                                                            01:19

 .

                                                FUCK YOU YELENA YOURE THE WORST

                                                                  PIECE OF SHIT IVE EVER MET

                                                                            REALLY???? ZEKE?????

                                                                           HOPE YOU GET HERPES

                                                                                 I FUCKING HATE YOU

babe, i’m sorry

can we talk?

.

. 

A bitter taste crept inside your mouth as you took out your phone and went through yours and Zeke’s messages, looking desperately for the date. It was the weekend you spent together. It had to be. The memories of Zeke’s kitchen calendar that said April were lying to you. It had to be March. Or maybe he changed the calendar because he was with you on March 31st.

You scrolled up until March and went to read the messages exchanged on that day.

.

.

                                                            07:23

.

Good morning! I know it’s really early

But I want to see you today <3

Meet me at the tennis court?

                                                                                  sure, i’ll take an uber :)

.

.

Silent sobs escaped your mouth as your phone started shaking in your trembling hands. Pieck whispered apologies and you wanted nothing more than to tell her to shut up, that it wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t the one that swore she wanted to marry you and then went to fuck someone else at a party, not caring if he was seen or not.

But it wasn’t true. Zeke said it was just a ruse, that Yelena just wanted to hide her queerness, that they were just good friends. He said so. Pieck had to be lying, she had to be. She was just messing with you, lying to see how much you could believe her. Because Zeke wouldn’t do that, you were the one he trusted, you were the one he was going to marry, you—

Pieck was still holding her phone in front of you.

With the very same date.

And Yelena admitting her crime.

But it couldn't be right. There had to be a mistake because Zeke loved you. He loved you and he had told you about his family, he had taken you to meet his grandparents, he promised he hadn’t kissed Yelena that night, he—

Had he not kissed her?

Was it only a movie night?

…

No, it hadn’t.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Pieck’s voice sounded far, your lips parted as you tried to gasp for air. You lifted your head and saw her lips moving but you couldn’t hear any sound but your heart beating out of your chest. Tingles started creeping on your fingers and without you being able to do anything to prevent it, you dropped your phone on the bathroom floor.

Why didn’t it make a sound?

Why were your fingers numb?

You lifted your head and Pieck was gone. Dismissing her sudden disappearance, you crouched down and picked your phone. You winced at the huge crack on your screen and slid your finger several times over it until you could press on Zeke’s contact and call him.

As his phone rang, you pressed your back on the wall, slowly sinking until you were sitting on the floor.

“Baby, I told you I was studying for this test, I can’t—”

“I know about you and Yelena,” you said in a broken voice. You heard him let out an annoyed sigh on the other line.

“Didn’t we talk about this already? I told you she’s not—”

“I know about the party. The day we played baseball and— that same night you went to a party and fucked her,” you sobbed. You wiped the tears on your face with the back of your hand. “Zeke, tell me it’s a lie, tell me you didn’t do this, please,  please  tell me you didn’t really fuck Yelena,” you begged. “Please.”

“You know what? Get some help. Like, psychological help. This isn’t normal.”

The silence after Zeke hung up choked you. Your chest rose up and down as you sobbed uncontrollably. Your brain was screaming. Loudly. ‘Make it stop,’ you told yourself. ‘Get it together. Make it stop.’

Make it stop.

                         Make it stop.

                                                 Make it stop.

                                                                         Make it stop.

                                                                                                 Make it stop.

 It’s a lie.

                                                                                                  Make it stop.

He lied to you.

                                                                                                              Stop.

He fucked her.

                                                                                                 Please, stop.

He lied.

                                                                                              I can’t breathe.

.

.

                                             Inhale.

                                                                            Exhale.

                                            Inhale.

                                                                            Exhale.

                                            Inhale.

                                                            Inhale. 

                                                            Inhale. 

                                                            Inhale.

.

.

…

When you woke up, Porco was there.

Your head felt heavy as you tried to sit up, rubbing your eyes. A quick look around let you know you were in your apartment but you weren’t sure as to  how , or why your friend was there, his phone on his lap and his eyes looking at you filled with worry.

He whispered your name as if his voice could hurt you. “How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked groggily. You noticed your throat was hurting as well. “What hour is it?” you mumbled as you palmed your jean pockets looking for your phone. You found it hidden between two pillows and pressed the power button, trying to see if you had any unread messages.

None.

“Pieck called me,” Porco explained. “And it’s eight and a half.”

Pieck. Pieck with her friends in the bathroom, Pieck with the text messages. Everything came back to you in a second and you couldn’t help but wince at the way your head hurt.

“How are you feeling?” he insisted. You took a deep breath. The small movement made you realize how much the muscles of your back were hurting along with your arms. You licked your lips, hating how dry they felt against your tongue.

“I broke my phone.”

Porco furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“I— I dropped it. There’s a crack on the screen.”

He nodded slowly and looked down at his shoes, his forearms resting on his knees. You could almost listen to his loud thoughts, one coming after another inside his head. Porco sighed and turned his head back to you.

“Want me to get it fixed? Marcel knows a guy, I’m sure he can get it done by tomorrow.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s working just fine,” you said, passing your thumb over the crack. “No need to change it.”

Porco watched your eyes get lost on the dark screen and tightened his lips. He had the urge to throw your phone out of your window, make you understand you had to leave it, that it wasn’t good for you, that you didn’t need it, that you didn’t need  him —

Instead, he nodded.

“What happened?” you asked.

Porco paused, deliberating his words before speaking. “Pieck called and told me what you guys talked about and that�� you didn’t take it well. She said you were crying and— that you had a panic attack, so she left the bathroom to look for help. She found Armin and he was the one that helped you regain your breath. Once you settle down, he called Annie to tell her what happened and she picked you up. When I got here you were already asleep on the couch, Annie said it was okay if I waited here.”

“I… don’t remember much,” you confessed with a grimace. “I don’t remember Armin helping me out. I— I do remember what Pieck and I talked about, though. Wish I could forget it instead,” you snorted. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head.  Ouch . Why did every muscle of your body hurt so much?

“Wanna watch some shitty reality TV?” he offered. He didn’t miss the way a small smile appeared on your face.

In a matter of minutes, Porco had gone into your room and brought your laptop, and started looking for the show on Netflix. He put your laptop on his thighs and let you crawl by his side, your head resting against his shoulder.

“Wish they had Ink Master,” you sighed, as the intro of Netflix’s newest reality show played on your screen.

“We both know Netflix doesn’t have good shows.”

You snorted. “Black Mirror is good.”

“And yet we’re watching The Circle,” Porco teased you.

“Weren’t you the one that binged Season 1 on one night and then asked me to do the same so you could rant?” you reminded him with a playful tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied nonchalantly, making you chuckle.

What followed next was a comfortable silence. One episode went by and Porco made no attempts to stop it from automatically playing the second episode. You snuggled closer, the fabric of his green jacket feeling nice against your cheek. How long had it been since you felt so much peace with someone else by your side?

In any other situation, you would be commenting on it, pressing pause just to bitch and rant about the contestants or make quick runs to the kitchen. But Porco was sitting still, his eyes fixed on the screen and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was trying to comfort you the best way he could, knowing any words would fail, he aimed to create a safe space for you and not force you to behave normally when you both knew better than to completely ignore what had happened earlier.

Right. Zeke.

You felt your eyes watering and bit the inside of your cheek to prevent them from falling down. Focusing on your breath, you inhaled and exhaled rhythmically until the knot in your throat seemed to loosen up. Your feelings towards Zeke were confusing, a part of you wanting to run, look for him and demand an explanation. Another part of you wanted to face with, punch his stupid little face until you got tired and leave him on the floor. And another, maybe a bigger part of you wanted him to cradle you in his strong arms, kiss your temple and scratch your skin with his beard as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

You swallowed. Maybe Zeke was right. Maybe you did need psychological help.

Could you trust his words if he were to provide another explanation? Could you ever trust in him again? Most of all, could you trust yourself? Many voices had different opinions inside your head, yet they all agreed on something.

You were miserable.

“Every time I’m not with him, I’m anxious,” you mumbled, the words leaving your mouth before you thought them over. Porco moved his hand to pause the show, but you gestured to him not to. “And when he’s with me…” you continued, “I feel like I’m drowning.”

Your voice cracked at the end. Porco’s hand twitched, not sure what to do next. Should he hold you, put an arm around your shoulder to comfort you? Should he not move a muscle until you were done? Should he offer a word of comfort? He turned his head to you and noticed tears were silently streaming down your face.

“If Zeke was in front of me right now and told me Pieck lied her ass off, even after all the proof she showed me today… I would believe him. I would,” you sobbed. “And I hate myself so much for it. I’m so tired of this, I’m so tired of loving him, Pock.”

Porco’s hand cupped your head, his fingers gently caressing your hair. You snuggled closer to him, his perfume soothing the pain inside your heart and his gentle gesture comforting you. That was the magic Porco had. You knew he wasn’t always good with his words and most of the time he preferred to show rather than tell and boy, did he do a spectacular good job at showing you how much he cared.

He was there. Even after you had been ignoring him for over two weeks, he was here with his green jacket and his earthy-scented perfume ready to hold you if you needed him. And you did. You could never think of a moment where you wouldn’t want him to be there with you. 

You wiped your face with the back of your hand and reluctantly pulled away from his touch, turning on your seat so you were facing him. You paused your show and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Thank you,” you said, biting down your bottom lip. “For being here and waiting until I woke up. I— I’ve been such a bad friend to you,” you sighed. “I’m so sorry, I just—”

Porco shook his head. “No. I’m sorry for what I said the night I stayed here.”

“No, you don’t need to— I mean— I wasn’t mad about it,” you fumbled with your words, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t know,” Porco shrugged. “Felt like I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him. “Thank you for staying with me that night. I really didn’t want to be alone.”

“I just— Can I say something else? Promise this is the last time I talk about it.” You nodded. “I didn’t love you the first time I met you,” he blurted, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not like I saw you and caught feelings— first time I saw you you were drunk off your ass at Reiner’s party. I was your friend first. Still am, nothing will change that. And honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if my feelings went away,” he chuckled. “Who knows. Might finally meet someone else and fall for them.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ll meet someone,” you agreed with a strained smile.

“Whatever happens, know that before anything else, I’m your friend,” Porco said, golden eyes setting on yours. “And that will never change. You’re stuck with me.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

“See any other reason why I’m watching a shitty reality show on a Tuesday night?”

At this, you hit Porco with one of the pillows, square on his face. You couldn’t help but laugh at his stunned face.

“You’re  so  fucked,” he said, putting the laptop on the coffee table in front of him.

You took this as a sign to run, the ache in your muscles forgotten at the back of your head as you tried to dodge the pillows Porco was throwing at you. Your legs weren’t weak anymore, as you quickly jumped to avoid the furniture and picked up one of the pillows to throw it back at him. Your heart was no longer aching, but jumping as you cackled when Porco tripped and fell. Even if your eyes were watering again, this time was due to the excessive laughter. And yes, your breath was hitching but it was thanks to Porco chasing you around the living room.

You let yourself fall on the floor next to Porco, the coldness of the floor soothing your skin as he dramatically held his knee against his chest like an injured soccer player. You turned your head to him, smiling at his antics as he filled your heart with happiness once  more.

Maybe that had been his power all along.

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

Summary: After Crow and Petra's confrontation, Thera and Crow talk about how his past life affects both him and their relationship.

Thera had walked into the room in the H.E.L.M where the awoken corsairs stayed and where the portal to Mara lay. She had no idea what she would walk in on. Crow and Petra, standing on the walkway to the portal, Petra blocking his way from going through. She watched from the doorway for a moment, not sure whether she should intervene or not.

"Osiris was like family to me!" Crow exclaimed.

"You've never even met him." Petra calmly stated.

"I know. Just let me speak to Savathun. Please." He pleaded.

Worry struck Thera. She didn't want him anywhere near the hive witch. He had been corrupted by the darkness before, in his past life. She feared it could happen again.

Luckily Petra refused to allow him through. Glint agreed with the Queen's Wrath.

"Savathun's already in your head. You're a liability to the mission." Petra said to Crow, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why do you have such a problem with me Petra?" Asked Crow. "Five minutes," He held up his hand. "That's all I'm asking."

"The Queen of the Reef forbids it." She stated.

"Well, I don't take commands from the Queen of the Reef."

"Savathun unraveled the Dreaming City with just a single wish; I've spent years trying to contain that mistake." Then Petra added. "Better men than you have died because of it."

"To my ear, it sounds like you're the liability. Maybe your queen's trust in you was misplaced." Crow shot back at her.

It was with this that Thera decided intervening would be a good option. She didn't want Crow to start a fight. Certainly not with Petra Venj of all people.

Thera took a step in just as Petra pulled a knife to his throat.

"A knife against a hunter?" Crow chuckled. "I'd be more careful who you pick fights with."

"Another step and my corsairs will have to prepare you a second grave." Petra threatened.

Thera ran in then and up the platform. "Enough, both of you!" She shouted.

Petra whirled around to face the Young Wolf just as Crow startled, his face flushed.

"This isn't getting us anywhere!" Glint exclaimed as he pushed himself in front of his guardian.

Petra tucked her dagger back into its sheath and Crow's stance relaxed a bit.

"Thank you." Glint sighed in relief. "We could all probably use a minute to cool off- oh, oh no."

Crow transmatted off without another word, only a quick look at Thera, his Ghost following shortly behind.

Thera and Petra stood there for a second, staring at each other, not sure what to say.

"I'm sure you understand why I won't let him."

Thera nodded. "Yes. In fact, I agree with you. I won't let Savathun get ahold of him. And if he ever does speak to her, I will not let him do so alone, no matter how much he wishes to do so."

Petra nodded in agreement. "Keep both eyes on him, Young Wolf." She turned and walked into the portal behind her.

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

It wasn't until later that she was able to speak with Crow on the matter. She had wanted to talk to him so much sooner, but the growing taken on one area of the EDZ required her immediate attention.

She met him in the H.E.L.M, finishing up reports for the day. Crow heard her walk in, but did not look up.

"Venj thinks I'm vulnerable. You do too, though you should know better than that." Crow said, never looking up to meet her eyes.

"Crow I don't-" Thera began.

"You think I'm just supposed to take a seat? As if I was the only one fooled by Savathun wearing Osiris's skin? You've known him for far longer than I thought I had, but I don't see the queen's wrath forbidding you from speaking with her. Because it's not about me. It's about who I was, isn't it?" He looked up to meet her gaze then, and it was then she realized his eyes were filled with tears unshed.

"Every time the Vanguard tells me things will get better, I thank them." He continued. "As if it's a privilege not to be beaten to death. Our past lives aren't supposed to matter, but I'm beginning to wonder why I'm the only guardian judged by mine." Crow gestured to himself and tears began to leak from his eyes and run down his cheeks. "Even you judge me, Thera. You want me to stay hidden. You won't even tell others of our relationship, because you're afraid. You're afraid of your reputation, because once people figure out who I was then they'll hate you for being with me. But isn't your love for me more important than how you're viewed by the citizens and fellow guardians? Even at the beginning, when we first met, there was hostility there. You wanted nothing to do with me. Whatever I did in my past life, it must be horrible, for people to look upon me in such a way."

Thera found herself wanting to cry too. Everything he said was true.

"I'm so sorry, Crow. I'm so so sorry. About everything. About how people treat you. About how I treat you." Anxiety welled in her chest as she said her next words. "If you want I can tell you. I can tell you what you did, in your past life."

Crow froze for a moment. Neither one said anything.

"Thera-" Scout whispered in his guardian's ear.

"He deserves to know." She whispered back.

"No. I- I don't know if I want you to tell me. I'm afraid to know what horrible monster I once was that makes all guardians feel such a rage when they see me."

Thera nodded then said, "Crow, I feel it's important to tell you. While your actions in your past life were bad, that is not who you are now. You are Crow, not that man you were before. You are the man I fell in love with, and the man I want to stay with, no matter what. Fuck what the City will think of me. It doesn't matter. And if the City doesn't like me because I'm with you? Well, then, they'd better learn to see that you are the kindest, most generous, most brave man I have ever met, and not as the man who he was before."

They embraced then, and wiped away each other's tears.

"If you ever want to know, what it was you did, you ask me and I'll tell you." Said Thera, pulling away to look at his face.

Crow nodded, unable to speak a word.

"And as for our secret relationship? Let's not keep it a secret. Not anymore."

Crow smiled.

"Now come on. Let's head back to our room."

"I still have reports to do." Crow objected.

"Scout and I can finish them." Glint piped up as Scout drifted to his friend's side.

"Thank you both."

Glint gave a polite little nod, though it was more of a bob in the air.

Together Crow and Thera left the H.E.L.M, holding hands, without a care who saw.

[jadethe2nd]

Interlude - River/Twelve

River stumbles out of the TARDIS, disoriented, and steps right into her favourite flower bed. She turns immediately to complain about the choice of landing space, only to see the blue box already dematerialising behind her.

She frowns, suddenly not sure if she wanted to complain to her husband or to the TARDIS herself.

Suddenly she’s not even sure if the Doctor was in the TARDIS with her, or indeed what she was doing in the TARDIS in the first place.

Goose pimples cover her exposed flesh, despite the warmth of the Darillian summer matching her sleeveless dress, and she doesn’t know why. She just feels very, very cold.

River heads inside their little cottage to look for the Doctor, but he’s nowhere to be found – perhaps he was in the TARDIS after all? But then where the hell has he gone, after dumping her so unceremoniously in the garden?

The fact that she can’t remember whatever just happened bothers her more than she would like to admit. It reminds her of the gaps in her early memory which she has never quite managed to fill, which in turn remind her of how very vulnerable she really is – and River Song hates feeling vulnerable.

She contemplates taking her vortex manipulator and heading off to try to find the Doctor, wherever he’s gone. But she’s so cold. She feels like her bones are frozen solid; the cold radiating from inside her own body rather than anything in the space around her.

So she runs a bath. She’s a time traveller; she can track her errant husband down later. Right now, she needs to thaw.

Steam fills the bathroom as the hot tap runs into the big free-standing bathtub in the middle of the room, misting up the marble tiles and the full-length mirror River loves but the Doctor hates. The steam ghosting over her skin makes her shudder, and her cold-numb fingers make it difficult to undress; her shaking hands drop each item messily on the floor with agonising slowness.

She adds bubble bath to the tub and gets in with the water still running, shivering, then gasping when her feet and legs are confronted with the heat. It’s a struggle to sit down in what feels to her chilled body like boiling water; her hearts beat faster, convinced for a moment that she’s actually being boiled alive.

The porcelain of the tub against her back is a better temperature; pleasantly warm instead of hellish. River forces herself to breathe deeply, and slowly her body decides that it’s not being cooked, that this is in fact better than freezing to death. It’s been a while since she’s had to try so hard to relax; in fact she can’t remember feeling this way at all since being on Darillium with the Doctor.

She wonders again where he is.

Should she be worried about him?

River tries not to worry about the Doctor, as a general rule. The man spends more of his life in trouble than out of it; worrying about him all the time would drive her insane.

Her missing memories worry her more.

It’s not the first time this has happened to her, and it always worries her. Because every single time she has to ask herself, was it the Silence? Have they caught up with her again after all these years; have they finally seen through the deception of the Doctor’s death? Surely it’s only a matter of time?

She’s spent her whole married life with these worries in the back of her mind, and for more than a century and a half they’ve appeared to be completely unfounded��� but every once in a while she forgets something, and it terrifies her.

“River?”

His voice startles her, and a tidal wave of water splashes out of the tub as she turns to see him in the doorway. She realises just how far from relaxed she really is.

“Sweetie.” She swallows, forcing calm upon herself. “Where were you?”

“I’m not sure.” He’s frowning as he looks down, navigating the puddle, and then back at her in the bath. “That looks nice. I’m freezing.”

“Join me?” Her mood brightens, even as she digests what he’s just said.

“Excellent plan.”

“I was cold too,” River tells him, watching him strip down and climb in across from her. He’s shivering, just like she was. “And I couldn’t remember where I’d been, it was a bit unnerving.”

“I don’t feel unnerved.” His frown has turned contemplative, and he swirls a finger through some bubbles. “I feel more like… I’ve just woken up from a nice dream, but I can’t remember what I was dreaming about.”

“I think I was dreaming about death.”

He looks up sharply, and she almost regrets telling him; perhaps she should have left him playing with the bubbles. Too late now, though.

“I have this recurring dream that I have to kill you again,” she confesses. “Not often. But if my memory starts playing tricks on me that’s the first place my mind goes.”

The Doctor shakes his head and reaches for her hand; she doesn’t complain that his fingers still feel like ice. He squeezes and she squeezes back, some of the feeling returning to her fingertips.

“We’ve been there and done that,” he tells her. “We don’t have to do it again.”

“How can you know that?” Her usual question – because sometimes he does know.

He tilts his head. “Spoilers.”

The sight of him sitting in a bubble bath looking so serious suddenly makes her laugh, and she realises she really doesn’t believe him. “You don’t know at all, do you? You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Perhaps.” The sides of his mouth twitch upwards, and he tugs her hand up to his lips to plant a warm kiss on her cool skin. “Is it working?”

She tightens her grip on his hand and tugs back until he’s leaning over her, and she pulls his head down so she can kiss him properly. “A bit.”

He smiles under her mouth, and she starts to feel warmer.

[mydramaspace]

Part 3: "Are you really that oblivious?" In which everything floods out into the open.

If you're new here, you can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here! :')

Part 3. Posted on 7 May 2021.

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

Sometimes, you feel like your entire life is going to be a series of duck-and-hides from people you know. Because that is what you have been doing ever since you ran out from the cafeteria a week ago when you saw Joo Hyuk looking at you. Min Hyuk has been trying to contact you everyday, but you've ignored every single one of his texts and calls, and have hardly left your room. Yes, it is unhealthy to eat only slices of bread for breakfast, lunch and dinner each day but desperate times call for desperate measures and you know for sure there has been no person more desperate than you for a while now. But today, you will have to step out. You will have to brave the world, and confront anything that needs confrontation. But that's okay, you've got a solution for that: headphones, loud music, and power walking. No one would dare approach you if they couldn't see you power walk your way past them. One can only catch you if they see you, haha!

Even as you step out into the street, you know your plan is the stupidest thing you've ever thought of, and you've done many stupid things, including but not limited to thinking fuck meant a variety of fish. You duck your head, put on the most fast-paced music you have and begin your walk of shame to the administrative office to drop off your test results. Walk of shame indeed, your answers on that test will be enough to give your examiner second-hand embarrassment for most of his life.

Your mind must be playing tricks on you because everywhere you look, you keep seeing Joo Hyuk. Or so you think, because it is never actually him. He wears a lot of the same fandom shirts for some game that a lot of boys at your university wear too. Capitalism has really made life difficult for everyone on the planet, and you finally agree with every anti-capitalist argument you've heard till date. Capitalism is making it difficult for you to walk a few meters without flinching every time you see a t-shirt that reminds you of Joo Hyuk. You're so busy keeping an eye out for him, you forget about the other annoying brat who's on your tail. Min Hyuk.

And Min Hyuk grabs your hoodie and drags you all the way to the classroom upstairs. You struggle, throw a tantrum, almost like you're crying for your life because who knows what sort of nonsensical things he's gonna feed into your mind at this point. You resist until he lets you go in front of the classroom, both of you breathing hard, and whack him on his head. Hard. "Ow! That almost makes me regret helping him." Min Hyuk glares at you. "Help? Help who?"

"Why don't you find out genius?" You shoot a dirty look at him and walk into the classroom, only to come to a dead halt. Joo Hyuk is standing there, his back to you, and on the board in front of him, is a graph and many many equations. A laugh strangles its way out of you, and then you're laughing loudly, clutching your stomach. For a moment there you thought, no, you hoped, he was going to confess that he likes you. Foolish foolish thought, Y/n. Min Hyuk must have snitched to him that you're struggling with your Statistics revision, and being the good best friend he is, Joo Hyuk has stepped forward to help.

You are so embarrassed, you want to fling yourself off the cliff that is a few kilometers away from your campus.

Joo Hyuk jumps, startled by your laugh. When his eyes land on you, his entire body relaxes, and you realize how painfully him that gesture is. Well that is what best friends are like around each other right? Completely at ease. That's what your mind is saying, the logical, rational way of thinking. The way that will not end up in you hoping for something more, then being disappointed and then crying yourself to sleep again. But your heart...you heart is saying something else entirely.

"You're here!" It's as if his entire being lights up on seeing your awkward wave and he excitedly grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you to stand in front of the board where all the equations begin. You know, I'm really not in the mood for stats now, of all times. Maybe you should say it out loud. Maybe you should tell him, for once, and safeguard yourself from the hurt you know is going to consume you the minute you realize it's not the confession that your heart is hoping for.

"Joo Hyuk I-" your sentence is cut off when you realize how close Joo Hyuk is standing to you. Your back is almost touching his chest, and you can feel the heat emanating from his gray sweatshirt, smell that ocean-scented detergent he always uses on his clothes, and feel the hairs rising on your hand, your ears going red, and the throbbing of your heart. You can see the smudges of chalk dust all over his face, and the lights overhead sparkle in his eyes like star dust. And his eyes are on you. "You what, Y/n?"

"I-" Words seem to have fled your mind.

"You can tell me later. First, take a look at the board."

"I'm not in the mood for a math lesson, y'know?"

"Okay, but it's not a math lesson."

You cut a quick glance to the board and scoff. There are plus and minus symbols all over the place, and similarity indexes scribbled hastily alongside a graph chart. "Okay fine, it's a stats lesson. But I'm not in the mood for that either."

"Really? Did you take a proper look at the first equation?" You roll your eyes but take a look, curiosity stemming through you. "The mode equation?" You wonder out loud, and Joo Hyuk voices an affirmation, and that's when you feel the warmth spreading all over your arm. You turn sharply, to see his hand over yours, a piece of chalk tucked into your fingers. You look at him, hardly breathing, hardly hoping because these things only happen in fiction. How can this be happening to you? No, he's just helping you out that's all. Nothing more. Nothing-

"Look at it properly, Y/n, please." He guides your hand to the equation, the feel of his rough calloused palm against the back of your hand sending shivers running through you. "See what it says?"

All sense, all coherency, all your English words have deserted you when you most need them. "The what now?" And he laughs looking at your expression, and its a laugh that rumbles through his chest into you like a physical hug of comfort and you want to wallow in it forever, you don't want this moment to ever end. "The formula for the mode of my thoughts."

That snaps you back. The mode of his...thoughts?

"Your thoughts?"

You've never been so grateful that he's taller than you. Because this, standing with him, feels like heaven. And even if he never confesses to you, you'll take the memory of this to your grave, relive it a hundred times in life and even more so in death. So much more that you're determined to be called the ghost of reliving in whichever place all people go to after they die.

Joo Hyuk's laughter gets happier, and you slap your free palm across your mouth, horrified that you said all that out loud. "But, Y/n, I am confessing. Or at least I'm trying to, but you're not cooperating." He grins at you like everything is alright in the world, like he hasn't just dropped a verbal atomic bomb on you just now.

"You're what?"

He pulls you gently to the graph, one hand still enclosed around your hand with the chalk pressing into your palm. You clutch it tighter, almost unable to believe that this is actually happening. "Take a look." he lets go and steps back, and you step back too, almost in reflex, to get a good look.

And your breath leaves you in one breath.

Because on the graph, you see your name multiple times. "Wait, you do know what mode is right?" Joo Hyuk sounds panicked, and you would have smacked him if you weren't so inexplicably happy right now.

"Yes. The element that is repeated the most number of times. So if this is a mode of your thoughts..."

"It means I think of you the most every day of the week, every hour of the day, most of the minutes of the hour, because I do spend some minutes thinking of when to do my laundry sometimes and then I need to think of feeding my dog and I-"

You don't let him finish the sentence and fling yourself at him, enveloping him a tight hug. "You're such a dork." Your voice is all wavy because of the emotions threatening to consume you. Happiness, surprise, happiness, surprise, love. "Is that in a good way or a bad way?"

"What do you think?" You demand, unable to believe how oblivious he's being.

"Well, about 50% of researches online say it's a negative connotation, and the remaining 50 are divided in their results and I don't know which one I believe frankly because most of their data is skewed and their data sets rarely match the published-"

"Oh my god, it's a good thing you dork!" You press your lips to his, effectively silencing him. It takes him a good moment to kiss you back, but when he does, it's enough to make the world slip beneath your feet.

But that's okay because he grabs onto you, and you're very sure you will not be letting go of him too. And in the corner of the board, in the teeniest letters ever possible are the words I see sparks fly, whenever you smile.

xxxxxxxx

A/n: I had the biggest grin on my face while I was writing, cause ahhhhh these two nerds <3

Hope you liked this haha!

[princess-of-disappointment]

Favourite Ex

Hi Hi!

This was not a request. I actually was just listening to Favourite Ex by Maisie Peters and this idea crept onto me. I love this song and even though I can’t say I personally have an ex or a favorite ex, I can say that it gets me in the feels EVERY SINGLE TIME. I hope you all enjoy this piece even if the song isn’t what you usually listen to or you’re not a fan of angst.

Now I must remind y’all that this is a work of fiction. In this piece both y/n and Corpse do bad things. I just wanted the story to fit the story that the song had presented so things happened… In other words, he’s more of a character in this fic. This is not what I think he would be like in real life, but for the sake of the story and the song, this is how I portrayed him. This is just a story of fiction and nothing that I wrote into this character portrayal of Corpse is what I seriously think he could be like.

Now with that out of the way, thank you for understanding and, again, I hope you enjoy this fic.

-----

Favourite Ex

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader (y/n)

Warning: ANGST just pure ANGST, TOXIC (both parties in the relationship showcase toxic behaviors or thoughts)

Specific Warning: Cussing as it just fit the vibe so I went with it, the end of a relationship, cheating, alcohol, TOXIC

Summary: You both knew the end was coming soon, you just didn’t know it would be this painful.

Song: Favourite Ex by Maisie Peters

Word Count: 1,754

-----

It was open and closing

And hopelessly hoping for shore

We were here, we were ghosting

Both of us coasting on 'just give a little more'

You both had been able to see that it was the end before it happened. Neither of you seemed to be happy anymore with each other and how things were. Most nights, you weren’t even sleeping in the same bed as one another, him opting for the futon in his recording office, if he were to get any sleep that night.

Even though neither of you felt as though your relationship was as it was anymore, neither of you wanted to admit it. So you took these changes and marked it all down to a rough patch that you would eventually move past.

You still folded his laundry at night and he still made your coffee in the morning.

You avoided stepping on one another’s toes and everything was fine.

It was all out my hands when you pulled the trigger

And I kissed your friends 'cause your friends said you kissed her

And I didn't flinch, and the lights didn't flicker and I

I fell apart

Until it wasn’t.

It eventually got to the point where neither of you could deny the change anymore, but when Corpse had pointed it out one dreary Wednesday morning, you were more than unhappy that he had pointed it out. You had thought that you both would continue ignoring it and that everything would go back to normal after just some time.

You had believed that all you needed was some time. But when it became revealed that same Wednesday that there was more going on, you were beyond heartbroken.

After your spat about Corpse pointing out the change that morning, he had gone to shower leaving his phone on the kitchen counter. Normally you wouldn’t think anything of it, but when it kept buzzing and buzzing, you couldn’t help but look over. Once you caught sight of the messages, you knew you couldn’t turn back to how things were before.

From: Dave

What the hell dude?

- Picture included -

When the fuck did this happen?

Does y/n know?

The picture in question? A picture of Corpse kissing someone who certainly wasn’t you.

And you fell apart.

You were my best nights and worst fights

And couldn't care less

You were my gold rush to cold touch

Favourite ex

And all of the others cancel out each other

And it's always you left

You were my no sleep, cried for weeks

Favourite ex

Neither of you left the house often so you were able to pinpoint exactly when this happened - just a week ago when he had told you he was going to go hang out with the boys. Did he see them at all that day or was it all a big cover-up?

As you heard the shower turn off, you wiped your tears and grabbed your phone before heading out the front door. You had no intentions of leaving, you just couldn’t bring yourself to confront him and fight once again today. So you took yourself outside and decided to sit on the porch and watch the moving traffic of the street ahead of you. You just wanted time to process.

By time you came back in, he was in the kitchen. You had grabbed the mail on your way back in and set it down on the counter next to him. He looked over at you, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine I was out there and figured I might as well grab it.”

He smiled slightly and kissed your forehead, but then went back to frowning a bit when he felt your brows furrow against his lips, “Are you still mad about earlier?”

You turn to look at him square in the face, “I’m not mad about earlier.” You weren’t lying about that fact. The spat earlier was nothing compared to what those messages on his phone made you feel, “I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit.”

“Okay. I’ve got a stream in like 10, so I’m going to go get ready for that.”

And with that you fled to the bedroom. It took everything in you to not run down the halls to get there so it felt as though every step taken took an eon to get there.

While you sat on the bed with the door closed, during those 10 minutes that you could hear Corpse getting ready for his stream, mentally, physically, and emotionally ready, all you could think about was the fact that he had kissed a girl - someone who wasn’t you.

It was stabs in the back

And the nice things you said when you were wasted

I was looking for something

And changing the one thing you hated

You think back to that night. What happened when he had gotten home that night.

Both of you had a bit to drink that night, but you were both happy. So fucking happy for the first in a long time. He had said all the right things that night that made your heart beat faster and he had made you feel as though you two were the only two in the world.

With this new intel you had, it made you think back on the night and wonder if any of it was real. Did he mean anything that he had said that night? Or was it all an excuse to make himself feel better for the mistake he had made earlier that night.

You weren’t sure and honestly, it felt as though a knife was tearing through your back straight into your heart and you couldn’t stand the fact that someone you loved so dearly made you feel this way.

Since day one, you had made changes to fit his needs and what he wanted from you to feel comfortable. He had done the same, but to see all that effort just for him to cheat? It hurt. It hurt a whole lot. You changed socially for him: unlike with past relationships you weren’t as bent out of shape about not going out for dates because you knew it was difficult for him. You changed emotionally for him: you focused more on making him feel better about himself than yourself because you knew he struggled with his self-image than you did. Yet these changes didn’t seem to be enough in the long run.

It was all out my hands when you pulled the trigger

And I kissed your friends 'cause your friends said you kissed her

And I didn't flinch, and the lights didn't flicker and I

I fell apart

In the heat of the moment, with racing thoughts you made up your mind.

If he had kissed someone else, I should too.

Was it the best of decisions? No, but once you had gotten on that train of thought, you couldn’t stop yourself. You picked up your phone and left the bedroom, grabbing your keys as you slipped on your shoes before heading out the front door once more.

You aren’t sure how or why it happened. Perhaps fate was playing a nasty trick on you and Corpse as by the time you had walked your way over to the local coffee shop, you happened to have run into one of Corpse’s friends. What better way to get revenge than to kiss one of his friends?

Before you could even process what you had done or what you were doing, you were pulling your lips off of Corpse’s friend’s and staring at them in horror. What have you done?

And you were my best nights and worst fights

And couldn't care less

You were my gold rush to cold touch

Favourite ex

And all of the others cancel out each other

And it's always you left

You were my no sleep, cried for weeks

Favourite ex

By time you had made your way home, Corpse had gotten a message from his friend about what happened and he was fuming.

You two hashed it out that evening with both infidelities now out in the open.

By the end of the night, you had packed up your things and left leaving your house keys on the kitchen counter next to the mail that you had brought in earlier.

My favourite ex

(2...3...)

It’s been a year now since that night. Even though you two haven’t spoken since, you can’t help but look back on it often.

You often wondered how the situation would have been different if you were to have confronted him about seeing the messages in the first place.

You wondered what his excuse would have been.

You wondered about what if you had never seen those messages in the first place.

You wondered what would have happened if you had left that morning.

You wondered if he had seen her again.

You still checked in on him on social media often and despite your separation, it made you proud and happy to see him flourishing despite your parting. It made you happy to see that he was able to move on and be happy despite the hurt that you both had endured a year ago.

You were my best nights and worst fights

And deepest breaths

You were my gold rush to cold touch

Favourite ex

And all of the others cancel out each other

And it's always you left

'Cause you were my no sleep, cried for weeks

Favourite ex

Even though a year ago this man had caused you so much pain, you couldn’t help but remember all the good that came out of the relationship.

You were stronger now and before the end had come, he had treated you better than any of your previous exes. He had respected you and you could tell that he had genuinely cared and listened to you when you talked. He had treated you like royalty and no other ex had ever made you feel as loved as he had.

Although it ended in pain, you couldn’t help but think you wouldn’t trade meeting him for the world. Sure, the end sucked, but you had so many memories together that meant so much to you. Your relationship with him lasted three years of your life and together you two had grown, but you also had grown apart. People do sometimes grow apart.

And despite it all, he had to be your favorite ex.

[ichayalovesyou]

~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

[amintyworld]

We Lost - Sorrowful Song AU

A/N: Hey guys, I back with a few prologues/intro chapters to some of @dreamsmp-au-ideas’s AUs. This one is the one I never thought I’d have time to write, but here we are - the Sorrowful Song AU. The premise is simple: What if during the Final Disc Confrontation, no one came to help Tubbo and Tommy? The answer: The fluffiest fluff, and the angstiest angst. Please check it out on their blog! I hope you guys enjoy! - Minty

TW: Major Character Death(s?), Blood/gore, afterlife, suicidal thoughts, memory loss, arguing, cursing, drug/alcohol mention, smoking. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

As Tubbo and Tommy embraced in the cold air of Dream’s lair, Tommy squeezed Tubbo tightly, as if that could keep him here, alive, for just a little bit longer. That he would have his best friend for just a little bit longer. “So, are you… are you accepting this?” His eyes pricked with tears. “Are you o-?” His hands lingered near Tubbo’s arms as they pulled away, not knowing what to do or what to even say. Tubbo’s face filled with gentle warmth as he looked up to his best friend and mustered a smile,

“Hey, it’s okay.” He slowly reached to take Tommy’s hand in his and give it a comforting squeeze. “We had fun, it’s okay. We said our goodbyes at the start.”

“But we… we are optimistic you know we were optimistic-” Tommy’s body shook slightly, backing up a bit, as his eyes wet with tears. “The whole way here- my mic broke and we were… we were optimistic-!”

Tubbo crossed his arms around himself, almost like a hug. His eyes never left the floor. “Yeah, I know, but you get backed into a corner, like how he describes me as a pawn?” He looked up to meet Tommy’s gaze, his own eyes glistening with tears. “This is checkmate. This is it. This is the end.” Tubbo’s shoulders sagged. “I suggest you resign.”

A knot formed itself in Tommy’s throat at his friend’s words, and he thickly swallowed. “Tubbo… even though for this entire server I regarded you as my sidekick, and the character and all- But really Tubbo, I was your sidekick.” A moment of shock passed Tubbo’s face as he slowly began to shake his head.

“No..” A sad smile traced Tubbo’s lips. 

A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek. “Please don’t go.” Tubbo slowly began to move toward Dream once again. “Please don’t go…”

“No, no it’s fine.” Tubbo gathered up his courage as he closed his eyes in front of Dream, who held his ax at the ready. “It’s about time anyway, it’s about time.”

“Say your goodbyes.” Dream’s voice echoed through the empty lair.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

Tommy’s vision blurred with tears as Tubbo’s body fell to the floor, crimson blood staining his chest. Tommy called out his name, running toward him trying to help him, hold him, anything- But, within seconds, his body disintegrated into nothingness, the only sign of his existence being a puddle of blood on the door and a pile of items. The teenager’s body shook with sobs as he fell to the floor, his heart aching as his mind scrambled with the simple fact that Tubbo was dead. 

Tubbo was dead, and he wasn’t coming back. 

“Hm…” Dream hummed to himself as he went through the pile of things apathetically. Curiosity piqued his interest as he pulled out a compass with the tag ‘Your Tommy’, looking it over to see if he should add it to his collection. “Interesting.”

“Don’t you fucking dare you bitch!” Tommy angrily shouted through tears as he rushed over, punching Dream in the face, er… mask. It cracked and a small bit of the signature painted eyes fell to the ground with a shatter as a single green eye stared down at him. Tommy’s heart dropped in his chest at how dull it looked. He remembered how dull his own eyes used to look, in exile.

Quickly, Dream kicked Tommy square in the chest and sent him flying as he landed on his back, practically all the air was knocked out of his lungs. As he sputtered for breath, Dream walked up to him, pointing his sword at Tommy’s chest. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go.��

“Fuck you.”

The sound of glass breaking filled his ears as all the energy was quickly sapped out of Tommy’s body as he struggled to move, paralyzed, and he looked up at Dream in confused shock. “Do you really think you have a choice?”

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

“Fucking great, another one!”

“Shut up, Schlatt.”

“This is my void too, you know!”

Tubbo’s entire body ached as his dead felt dizzy. His mind struggled to remember what had happened. Why was it so fuzzy? He slowly opened his eyes to find… Wilbur? Wilbur gave him a smirk.

“You know when I felt like space was opening up the last person I expected here was you.”

Tubbo sat up, the shift in his position made his head throb in pain as he let out a groan. “Where… where is here, exactly?”

Though Wilbur looked just as he did when he was alive, except for a hole through his chest, of course, he was gentle and looked to Tubbo with a warmth that Tubbo honestly missed seeing. His hand found Tubbo’s as he helped him stand up. “Careful, I know it’s a bit jarring at first.” All around the two were nothing but darkness. They were floating in a sea of nothingness. Tubbo looked at his hands and noticed how translucent they were. Was he…? He was a ghost? Wilbur gestured around them. “Welcome to the Void!”

“Void…?”

“I mean, it’s under the world, at least we think… so… yeah. Welcome to the afterlife.” Wilbur shrugged as his face quickly lit up in excitement. “Oh, let me show you around!” Wilbur smiled as he dragged Tubbo, who looked down to notice he was floating, toward more ghostly figures coming into view. There were cows, pigs, flowers, trees, even translucent endermen. “Anything that ever was alive and died is down here, including all those pets- Fungi and Friend should be around here somewhere… oh, over there’s Schlatt’s little corner…”

“Wait, Schlatt…?” Tubbo asked, turning around to see the former President of L’manburg’s small hut, across from him a tent and in the middle a campfire.

“Yeah, still the same old Schlatt - you have no idea how pissed he was when he figured out there’s no drugs or booze down here.” Wilbur sighed with a chuckle. He looked over to notice a certain blue sheep sniffing around Wilbur’s pockets. Wilbur smiled as he leaned down to pet the small creature. “Hey there Friend. You want some grass, don’t cha?”

As he fed the sheep, Tubbo’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why do you need to eat when you’re dead?”

“It’s not so much that we have to, it’s more like we choose to. Friend enjoys his grass, yeah?” Wilbur shrugged. Wilbur led Tubbo under a tree as the two sat on the dead grass and flowers. “I was wondering… where’s Tommy? I would’ve thought you two would come down as a package deal.”

“I… Dream cornered us…” Flashes of memories began to play in Tubbo’s mind. “He threatened me, he made Tommy give up everything. He has everything that everyone’s attached to - their pets, their stuff… he said that Tommy brought attachment to the server, so he needed him alive. He was going to put him in this inescapable prison, and… and he killed me.”

Wilbur’s bright attitude fell. “Oh.”

“It was time anyway,” Tubbo brushed off, forcing a smile. “My time to go, I guess.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “Was it?” Tubbo sighed, laying back on the grass as he stared up at the darkness around them. Tubbo’s hands played with the glowing and slightly translucent grass as he stared at the ground lost in thought, trying to wrap his head around it all and not finding any words. “Hey, hey - it’s all good, sorry I didn’t mean to just-” Wilbur sighed, moving to stand and holding out his hand for Tubbo to take. “Hey, uh, you… you like Uno?”

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

Tommy hadn’t said a word through the entire trip, though it’s not exactly like he could if he wanted to - Dream didn’t care for his protests or his few pathetic attempts to escape. He pushed away from the tears in his eyes as his heart hardened once more, feeling oddly heavy, weirdly… empty. He kept his head down, his arms tied up in front of him as he marched toward Pandora’s Vault. Every step he took he felt like he was walking toward his own demise.

Memories flashed through Tommy’s mind of how he slowly walked towards the edge of the bridge, staring down at the lava, his head full of nothing but thoughts. What had Dream said again? “It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”

It really never was his time to die. 

Always pulled and pushed along by people or things, fighting wars and facing down all the odds, prepared for the inevitable, welcoming and facing it head-on, only to wake up the next day and forced to move onto the next thing. Tommy used to feel happy and light, drifting wherever the wind would take him. Now, he felt like he dragged the world with him, with every move he made - it was so heavy, it hurt so much that the teenager almost felt as if at any moment he’d shatter.

But he hadn’t. And Dream wanted to know how much more he could take.

“Ah, Punz. Just the person I wanted to see.” Dream grinned as he slightly shoved Tommy forward. “The prisoner is here.”

Punz thickly swallowed in hesitation as he looked over toward the teen, who looked up at him, expressionless in a way that seemed so incredibly odd for Tommy that Punz stepped backward slightly in shock. “I… uh… I wasn’t aware that… that you’d be here this early.”

“I do pride myself on efficiency when it comes to these types of things.” Dream’s smiley mask bore into Punz, before turning towards Tommy with a cheerful smile. “Let’s get you settled in then, huh?”

As Tommy threw all his items into the chest, with no protest, he was turned as Punz checked his pockets for any lingering tools before handing him a tacky orange shirt and pair of pants to change into. Throughout it all, Punz tried to remind himself that he was doing the right thing, he was keeping his promise to Dream, he trusted him with his loyalty after all. Still, pangs of guilt rang through his stomach, tying it in knots at how utterly and completely broken the teenager looked. His eyes looked so dull he looked like an obedient zombie. He didn’t fight. He didn’t try to get away. Why wasn’t he trying to run?!

As they waited for the bridge to appear while the lava drained, Dream tightly kept the boy’s hands behind his back. Tommy’s voice was small and broken, almost pleading. “You’ll visit me in prison, won’t you Dream?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be getting visitors for a while, Tommy.” Dream pushed his hair back, almost… fondly? “I need to learn to trust you again, remember? I need to be able to trust you won’t try to run away.” As Tommy stepped onto the bridge with Dream behind him, only one thing he knew was for absolute certain - He wouldn’t run away.

He had nowhere else to go. He had no one to run to. He had nothing - L’manburg was gone, Wilbur was dead, Tubbo was dead.

Dream won.

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

Tubbo couldn’t help but smirk as he slammed down a plus-four on the pile, much to the ram’s dismay as the table erupted with shouts and hollers at the play. It had been awhile - Tubbo knew they lost count somewhere along the line, the last day was… the 20th day? Yeah, there had been at the very least twenty days since he landed down in the Void. he hung around with Wilbur for the majority of it, and though it was pretty clear he’d changed since pushing that button so long ago, there was definitely a side to him Tubbo remembered well, that he hadn’t realized how much he missed. 

Schlatt was… well, he was Schlatt. The ram hybrid barely left his own little corner where he napped, and when he did he was usually poking around for his next cigarette from the small stash he and Wilbur shared, or the few times they needed a player three. “You cheater!” Schlatt exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table in anger, making Tubbo giggle and Wilbur laugh.

“I think it’s safe to call it, yeah?” Wilbur smiled, getting up to grab the score paper and pen.

“No, it’s not over yet!” Schlatt said, searching through his pile for anything useful.

“Schlatt, you have over half the deck in your hand.”

“How did you get so many plus fours?!”

Wilbur sat back down with the paper, smiling. “So, that completes game four hundred and thirteen - so far, Tubbo and I are tied for a hundred and seventy-five wins, with sixty wins for Schlatt, and three for Mexican Dream.”

“Remind me again why I keep playing with you two?” Schlatt groaned, and Tubbo patted his back sympathetically.

“Well, Wil and I always need a third, and Mexican Dream is… well you know how he is.” Tubbo laughed. “You’re a very good competitor.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Uh, guys?” Wilbur looked own at his hands for a moment, calling the other’s attention as slowly, his hands began to fade away from view. “Guys…?”

“What… what’s going on- Schlatt?” Tubbo looked over to Schlatt nervously as the ghost looked around in a panic.

“I… I dunno what’s happening, this hasn’t happened before-!” As Wilbur’s ghost form began to fade more and more, gods it felt absolutely painful - that shredded feeling of being disassembled, only this time he had no idea where he was going. A sense of fear struck him as he tried to keep his voice even, trying to forcibly ground himself here, let him stay here, please-! Wilbur slowly crumbled into the dark ground in pain, and as Schlatt rushed over to help him, he heard Tubbo and look over to see him in the same condition. “Fuck, fuck fuck what do I do?!”

Tubbo tried to gather his strength to stand when that same headache pain from when he arrived exploded in his head once more. He looked over toward Wilbur and crawled over to him. “Wilbur, what’s happening?”

Wilbur tried his best to appear calmer than he felt. He hissed and winced at the pluses of pain throughout his body. “I… I don’t know, but it’ll be okay, alright? It’ll be okay.” Tubbo hugged Wilbur tightly as Wilbur ran his hand up and down his back to soothe him.

“It hurts, Wilbur.”

“I know. But we’ve been through worse, right?” Wilbur tried to reassure him. “We’ll get through it, we always do.” One moment, Tubbo felt arms around him, trying to comfort him through pain, and then… they were gone. His voice began to fade. “It’ll be okay…”

Then… silence.

Tubbo felt his heart being ripped open of losing Wilbur again. Tubbo looked up at Schlatt, who pulled him into a hug as Tubbo began to sob - in pure pain. “I know kid. I know.” Schlatt whispered comfortingly.

“Schlatt, I’m scared.”

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

Cold.

Cold, and wet. 

A voice. He remembered a voice, calling out for him. It… it was Tommy. 

Where was Tommy?

A numbing feeling took over Tubbo’s body and suddenly he shot up, on top of a snow-covered mountain. It took a minute for him to calm his breathing, as he looked around at his surroundings, memories flooding back into his head - a battle. They were fighting Dream… the discs…They won - they must’ve. Tommy wouldn’t have left him here, right? As he moved to stand, he noticed how he began to float a foot or so off the ground, not now noticing his greyed-out skin. He felt weird… sluggish. He didn’t feel like… himself.

What happened?

Pinching himself, he quickly realized he can’t feel pain. Piling the evidence in his head as he stumbled down the mountain, he tripped, falling forward and bracing for impact, and-! He fell, but again, no pain. The only constant being the growing emptiness he felt at the edges of his being. 

Was he…? Surely not.

Looking down he noticed a large slash across his chest. Curious, he reached over to touch it, finally finding nerve endings as memories flashback and pain coursed through his body. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, as he slowly walked over toward a small pool of water, getting on his knees and peering over.

Surely not.

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

Tommy sat on the edge of his bed in the cell, shaking as he felt like crying, but realizing he had no tears left and feeling extremely thirsty. His eyes were red and puffy as he pulled his knees up toward his chest for the slightest bit of comfort. Usually, he’d feel stupid looking like this, but at this point, he didn’t care. In the five hours he’s been locked in the cell, Tommy figured out he didn’t care about a lot of things. Whether he ate, whether he got out of this hell hole somehow… whether or not he lived to ever see the sun again.

He didn’t have a choice anyway, no one had a choice, so what did it matter?

Within five hours, he screamed, cursed profanities as loud as he possibly could, and even tried throwing himself against the wall of the obsidian. It did nothing at all but made him tired, and left a very large bruise against his right shoulder. Part of him commended Dream on his plan. It was a brilliant one, that was for sure. This whole prison was a testement to how much he really knew him, how long he’d been planning this - because if it weren't for those iron blocks, Tommy would have thrown himself into the lava an hour ago.

He was about to turn and try to see if he could sleep forever, when a loud splash erupted his thoughts. “Fuck, why is there water here?!” He mumbled, pulling himself up against the wall.

Tommy’s eyes widened, his voice rubbed raw from the day’s events. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur, startled, nearly fell back into the small pool of water at the end of his cell again, clinging to the wall, dizzy from being manifested back into the world again. “Tommy…?”

“You’re… you’re here… you’re… whatthefuck-?!”

As Wilbur slowly got his bearings, he looked over toward Tommy warmly, smiling. “Hey, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile back seeing his old friend. “Hey, Wil.”

“I heard you and Tubbo went up against Dream, yeah?” Wilbur looked around the cell. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Dream… he, uh, he said I brought attachment to the server, and since I’m too important to kill, he put me in here.” Tommy said, gesturing around him.

“Yeah? Huh. So get out of here, then.”

“Wilbur-” Tommy sighed. “I can’t, there is literally nothing I can do to escape. I can’t break through the walls, there’s mining fatigue. I can’t pearl out, they took all of my stuff. What would even be the point, anyway?”

Wilbur leaned against the wall, arms crossed and looking over at him thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like the Tommy I know.”

“Yeah, well, things changed. People changed, places changed. Everything changed after you left. And… and I have enough self-respect to know when I’ve been beaten.”

“So you’re really going to just… give up now?” Wilbur asked. 

“There’s nothing left to do but give up, Wilbur. Dream won.”

“How do you expect to get out of here if you’ve given up before you even begin?”

“Wilbur, there’s obsidian, mining fatigue, lava-”

“So you’re just letting him win?”

“Dream blew up L’manburg, Wilbur.” Tommy could see Wilbur tense out of the corner of his eye. “Dream turned everyone against me during exile by framing me for the Community House, Dream murdered Tubbo.” Tommy’s fists tightened. “Tell me, what else do I have to lose Wilbur? What’s the point of me nearly dying trying to escape with Dream tracking me night and day, what do I have to fight for, anymore?!”

Wilbur’s gaze turned soft as his hand reached out toward Tommy’s. “Tommy, I-”

“We LOST, Wilbur.” Tommy snapped. “Dream won, and we… we lost.” Wilbur was silent as he looked toward Tommy with an expression the teen couldn’t recongnize. Pity? “We lost.” Tommy managed before his body shook again, closing his eyes and letting a few new tears slip. “Look, Will, I-”

And, when he opened his eyes, Wilbur was gone.

[strawbunniiee]

A Girl and a Ghost Ch. 4: The Truth

S O this one was VERY FUN TO WRITE MY GOD

i really hope you enjoy this aaa

@salamifuposey @monsterbride99 here ya go :D

The deafeningly silent night was ominous, with a pearly white full moon hanging in the sky. Phantom's gramophone showed slightly in the moonlight as he rushed through the forest, as fast as he possibly could.

He knew he had to get to King Boo's manor before anything terrible happened to Peach.

This time, however, he didn't want Jawaii with him. He didn't want her to be harmed, or possibly even killed. But at the same time, he didn't know how she was going to deal with this pain if he was destroyed. After all, she was only so young... How could she deal with the loss of the only friend she had?

But Phantom did not want her dead either. He wanted her to live on and grow to adulthood at least.

His gramophone heart pounding in anxiety, thoughts racing, he hurried through the forest.

He finally arrived. The manor loomed over the forest casting a shadow over it.

Phantom took a deep breath. Then, he entered the mansion, ready to meet his fate.

———

Meanwhile, Jawaii was scurrying through the dark woods, tears filling her eyes.

The Peek-A-Boo was attempting to chase her down to get her to stop. But it was all in vain. Even if she was caught by the Peek-A-Boo she still wouldnt give up. All she wanted was to rescue her friend.

Her only friend.

She knew that after everything Phantom did for her, the happiness he had helped her find, finding out that someone out there wasn't afraid of her and cared for her... she had to return the favor.

She tripped over and fell into the darkness and let out a scream, but she got up, albeit with a scraped knee. The pain hurt badly.

She began to cry a bit from the pain, but she still ran on through the darkness.

Nothing was going to stop her.

After much running, she finally reached the manor.

She stared at it in horror, wondering if Phantom was already confronting the king. Or worse, what if he was already...? ...No, that couldn't be it.

Why am I staring at this place like an idiot. thought Jawaii. I'm such a COWARD! My own best friend could possibly be dying right now, but I can't even come in because I'm too much of a chicken.

Jawaii transformed her hands into swords (a skill she inherited from her father) and slowly walked into the mansion, ready to take King Boo on, prepared to rescue her friend.

If she couldn't rescue him... well, at least Phantom would have company if King Boo decided to hurt him.

The mansion was dark and dusty, and very cold. There were thick cobwebs everywhere, and everything smelled extremely old.

She took slow steps, shivering in fear.

Maybe this was a stupid idea. Jawaii thought. Maybe that Peek-A-Boo was right. But hey... it's too late now.

She walked around, looking for where Phantom could possibly be. She looked under tables, in closets, yet she couldn't find him. She began to break a cold sweat. Where was he.

She went to the second floor and looked there, in each and every room, each nook and cranny. Still, no dice.

However, when she got to the third floor she finally found him, on the floor quietly sobbing.

She turned her hands back to their normal selves and happily ran over to Phantom and gave him a big hug.

Phantom looked horrified at the fact that Jawaii was here, but also slightly pleasantly surprised. He suppressed that feeling as much as he could.

"I'm so happy you're alive..." whispered Jawaii.

"J-Jawaii, first and foremost, I know you had good intentions, but please... you should not have followed me here. I don't want you getting harmed. That's why I came here alone and didn't tell you. I want you to be safe. You have a long life ahead of you and it would be beyond horrible if it was simply just snuffed out before that. Second of all, how did you even know I was here...?" Phantom whispered back, concerned and shaking.

"One of the Peek-A-Boos told me and I knew I had to go help you. I just wanna help you... And make sure that you don't get hurt or worse." Jawaii answered. "I just wanted to help you..."

"Please leave this place, Jawaii. I'm sorry... I can't risk losing you to him." Tears formed in his eyes.

"I'm not leaving this place until we save her." Jawaii insisted. "Besides, my mom always told me, "Teamwork makes the dream work.""

Phantom caved in. "...I suppose I will allow you to help me. But the moment you get hurt, or he attempts to harm you, I am taking you away from this awful mansion. I am doing this because I want you to be unharmed."

Jawaii grinned. "I won't be the one getting hurt. King Boo sure is though."

Phantom slightly chuckled a bit. "Confident, are we now?"

Jawaii turned her hands into swords with an almost maniacal grin. Phantom looked a bit surprised. "Did you ju-"

"Yeah. I can have sword hands. My dad taught me how, but you're a bunny, so I dunno if I could teach you. though..." said Jawaii.

"Anyway enough rambling, let's kick this guy's ASS." Jawaii grinned.

Phantom sat there in shock. Did she just say what he thought she said?

She giggled at Phantoms dumbfoundedness and ran up the stairs. Phantom quickly snapped out of it and rushed to go in front of her, as if to protect her.

They had a small conversation on the way up.

"...I can't help but feel like this place is just so... familiar to me. I've never been in this part of the manor however." Phantom noted.

Jawaii cocked her head. "Whaddya mean by that?"

"Almost as if... I've been to this place many, many years ago. ...Perhaps it's just me."

After ascending up each floor, they finally made it.

There it was.

The attic door, and beyond it was where King Boo resided.

With Peach.

"Well... this is it." whispered Jawaii.

Phantom's heart began to race. "...I'm starting to regret having taken you up here with me. If you get hurt, it will be my fault."

"No it won't. I promise you, I won't get hurt." she promised.

Phantom took a deep breath. He slowly opened the attic door and phased through it.

Jawaii scurried up a ladder.

———

The attic was dimly lit, the dust and cobwebs were even worse than the first floor. It was clear that this place had not been touched in years, decades even.

King Boo hovered over Peach's unconscious body, preparing to turn her into a painting. It appeared he had knocked her out so she wouldn't try to escape.

Phantom gasped in horror, but his fear turned into anger. "Unhand her." he said.

The king turned around. "So I see you came along to save your beloved little princess, Tommy."

"Do not call me that. I said to UNHAND HER." Phantom's once blue eyes faded into a piercing red color.

King Boo scoffed. "What, do you really expect me to just GIVE her to you just because you said so?" He just laughed. "I'm afraid that just isn't how we do things in this manor, Tom."

Jawaii came out from behind Phantom.

"It's me again, ASSHOLE." Jawaii said. She turned her hands into swords again. She menacingly stared King Boo down. For a little girl, she could certainly be intimidating if she wanted to.

King Boo simply laughed in her face. "YOU- YOU THINK THAT'S INTIMIDATING? YOU THINK YOU'RE SCARING ME?"

That just made Jawaii angrier.

"Don't worry, because I have something that'll scare you. A little story. And it's a true one." King Boo had a malicious grin on his face.

"Once upon a time, there was a talentless, ugly, but rich man. He just loooved Princess Peach so much, he just adored her and wanted to be with her for the rest of his days. But there was a also a plumber. The plumber always saved the day, always rescuing the princess from the evil Bowser. Every single time, the rich man always tried to save her, but  was just so talentless and idiotic that the plumber always beat him to the chase. The plumber was always celebrated for his heroic feats, but the rich human's halfhearted attempts had always gone unnoticed. He was spoiled as well, he was rich, had everything he ever wanted but was still unhappy."

"Then one day, I decided to kidnap her for a change. Stir up a bit of trouble, you know? Then, for once the man came first this time. He tried to stop me and save the princess, but I killed him easily. I sealed his soul away in an old gramophone and threw it away deep into Spooky Trails, never to be seen again. Until now, anyways."

King Boo grinned even bigger, his twisted smile stretching across his entire face. Then he got up close to Phantom.

"Does this story sound familiar, Tom? Because this story... is about you."

"You were a human once, Tommy. And I killed you."

Phantom was staring in complete shock, trying to process this new information. He was practically a statue, just stuck there like that, frozen in horror.

Jawaii, however, was full of inconceivable rage.

She leaped at the king and let out a shrill, ear piercing shreak, about to shred him to pieces.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 3

Kallus’ leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4  5

3. The Ghost

The day of reckoning arrives.

Thrawn appears in the doorway, and Kallus knows that it is over. The Admiral taunts Kallus with the jamming device, the Fulcrum symbol flashing across the small screen. He has failed, and at best, he will die quickly for this discovery.

But Kallus is not one to resign himself to whatever miserable fate lies ahead. He will go down fighting, and there remains a chance to warn the rebels of the danger, as cryptic and brief as the fragment of his message is.

Kallus surges forward, attacking Thrawn with all his might. The blows are rapid and unforgiving. Thrawn targets his bad leg, yet the adrenaline overpowers the pain. Still, it is not enough to overcome Thrawn.

“Your technique is good. But… limited by your training in the Imperial Academy. Predictable.”

Thrawn is quick, strong, precise. More so than Kallus, but he does not need to win and he does not need to escape.

He throws the helmet first, which Thrawn catches easily. But the blow to his legs knocks the jammer out of his hands, and Kallus crushes it beneath his boot.

It is like clockwork, what happens next. He stands his ground, he is overpowered.

Thrawn is observant, a tactical master. He knows the weaknesses of everyone around him, and how to use them to ensure that he is the most powerful in the room.

It’s no surprise, really, that a series of swift kicks are delivered to Kallus’ right leg, which is healed but not correctly, functional, but not without pain.

Kallus lands on his back and is about to rise again when Thrawn looms over him, and brings his heel down on the barely-fixed bone. 

His vision goes white instantly; he’s pretty sure he screams, but that fact matters less than the poison in every cell in his body, than the agony worse than death as the bone shatters.

It is worse than ever before. It is worse than the first break and the flare-ups, and the burning sensation after field missions. It is worse than the night he couldn’t sleep, overcome by the need for more bacta, convinced that he would be better off without the leg, when he desperately wished he had just sucked it up and gone to the medbay after Bahryn.

But here he is. He cannot even think to get to his feet, then Thrawn lifts Kallus by the front of his shirt and delivers a punch to his chest, sending him flying into the night air, where he collides with the durasteel railing.

That might have hurt, he registers dully, but it is insignificant compared to the agony in his leg.

He loses.

But the message got through. He has not failed in totality, and the rebels have a chance.

-

That he lives is cruel. Thrawn tortures Kallus, hangs him up by his wrists like a slab of meat, and beats him. He asks no questions, and Kallus knows he would not break, but the lack of interrogation is still a relief.

This, he deserves. Under Imperial law, it is only fair that a traitor is punished. Kallus would take this over an interrogation, which is sure to follow after the assault on the rebels, and he can only hope that Thrawn doesn’t deign to do so personally.

He does not want to break. He hopes he dies before he reveals any secrets of the rebellion- not that they trusted their spy with much, in the first place.

At the end of the day, the rebels prevail, as is so ingrained in their nature to succeed against impossible odds. What’s more is that he apparently does have the heart of a rebel- some of their lucky nature passes to him, and he finds himself safely aboard the Ghost, thanked by Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla alike. It is surreal, and strange, but for the first time in months, he is safe. At peace, even, at least for now.

But he is left alone. The rebels are making do with what little they have. They are busy, and Kallus, who once wished for the end of the entire movement and every being involved, remains in a corner of the ship that rescued him, his mind racing.

That is one benefit to it all. He’s particularly sharp now, going over what Imperial Intelligence he has memorized and can share with the rebellion. He feels little pain and can even stand, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels him until the Ghost rendezvous with a rebel command ship.

He’s the last to embark, hanging back until Hera claps him on the shoulder, nearly pushing him out the door.

“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the bustling hallway. If she’s tired, she doesn’t show it, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “I’ll take you to medical.”

“I’m fine,” Kallus insists, because he feels so. “It looks worse than it is, Captain.”

“Hera,” she corrects him instantly. “And I chose to believe that if you come with me to Command then go to the medbay straight after.”

Kallus nods, because he has confronted Hera’s will a great many times and seldom triumphed. They trudge through the unfamiliar halls together, Kallus bowing his head to avoid the stares of those passing or congratulating Hera, who promises a quick debriefing then rest before reorganizing in the morning. He doesn’t imagine it will be as easily delivered to him as it will be for her, but he thinks of sleeping in a room surrounded by people he isn’t actively betraying, and perhaps talking to Garazeb soon, and the thought calms him.

A spike of pain shoots through him with his next step forward. Kallus falters, then grits his teeth and presses forward.

“Agent- Kallus,” Hera says, frowning at him. She touches his arm, gently, and Kallus is surprised at the care. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he promises. Every step hurts progressively more.

She regards him, wary, and Kallus pretends he does not see the concern painted across her face. However, she continues to lead him towards the command center once he takes another step without wincing.

The pain is too familiar, and logically, Kallus knows that it will overcome him soon. But if he can suppress it for now, if he can confront the Rebellion's leadership first, then he can deal with the injury, once placated by an understanding of his future with the Alliance.

Hera indicates that they're close, her montrals swishing as she peers around the next corner. Kallus inhales sharply once her attention diverts from him, suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to breathe.

She waves him on. Kallus' leg feels like lead. He tries to go through the door, and stumbles, lightheaded.

"Kallus, are you sure-"

"Yes," he wheezes, bracing himself in the doorway. Officials in the command center look up at him- he recognizes faces but can recall no names.

"Kallus-"

He stands straight up, preparing to look Hera in the eye, but his leg buckles under the weight, and he cries out in pain. She's supporting him now, her hands under his arms, and she's saying something, her green eyes filled with alarm.

Kallus tries to look up at her, assure her that he’s fine, but the hurt widens and spreads until it is burning at him yet again and Kallus cannot remember a single word he was going to say. He’s doubled over, and he can’t speak, nor see, and the agony consumes him, and he’s falling, falling- then all goes black.

-

Kallus opens his eyes slowly. His eyelids are heavy, and his exhausted body begs him to go back to sleep, But he’s here, in the Chimera’s medbay, and he’s not sure if he’s yet safe-

He blinks again. Someone is next to his cot- someone- Zeb.

The Lasat is slumped over, clasping Kallus’ hand. Kallus stirs, reaching for Zeb, and croaks out his name.

Instantly, Zeb wakes, sitting up straight. “Kal,” he gasps, leaning forward. “You’re up.”

Kallus nods, too tired to speak. His brow furrows, but two questions come to mind, and he can’t decide which to ask first.

He doesn’t know where he is, but Zeb is here, so he must be safe. That issue is resolved then, so:

“‘s my leg still there?”

Zeb looks confused, glancing from Kallus to his legs beneath the sheets. Then, he huffs out a laugh and takes Kallus’ hand again.

“Yeah, Kal, it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Kallus nods again, satisfied. That is enough for now, and he lets his eyes slide shut.

-

He is alone when he wakes again, save for the meddroid fiddling with the tubes in his arm. Kallus groans- his head hurts, and he still feels tired, but other than that, the pain is not bad.

“Kallus,” the droid says, its overly-large eyes peering at him. “You are awake.”

“Yes,” he agrees, then groans as he stretches, running a hand over his face. There’s stubble on his chin and his beard. He’s been out for most of a day, then, possibly longer. And he’s here, on some Rebel ship, and not the Chimera. This explains the droid, which looks ancient, scratched and dented. It appears to have been taped together in more than one place, and Kallus smiles to himself.

“We know nothing of your medical history.” The droid tells him. “Although I have conducted many tests, there are still questions.”

“Okay.” Kallus is pretty sure that his questions (where is he, what day is it, where is Zeb) should have higher priority, but he is too out of it to protest, so he nods. “You may ask them.”

“Excellent.” A beat. “What is your first name?”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound emitting from deep in his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed like that, and his voice was already scratchy from underuse. “Alexsandr,” he says, then spells it. Perhaps he is a good spy, after all. He doubts that anyone in Imperial Command knows his first name, either, though this is attributed to a lack of care rather than insufficient information.

There are a few more basic questions about his background and history. Kallus realizes that he’s in the Rebellion’s system now, and he wonders what his file says. Alexsandr Kallus. Coruscanti. Previously Agent Kallus, ISB, Fulcrum. Wanted by the Empire for ten counts of treason; wanted by the Rebel Alliance for one hundred crimes against humanity.

He snorts. The meddroid, which was turning away from him, pauses. “Can I help you, Alexsandr?”

“No,” Kallus says quickly. “I mean- yes. Do you know where Garazeb Orrelios is?”

“The Lasat? He has been here for the last twenty-four standard hours. I do not know where he went.”

Oh. Kallus feels heat flame his cheeks, and a monitor next to him beeps. His blush deepens when he realizes that his heart monitor made the sound; his heartbeat has just spiked.

“I will get a medic to speak with you about your leg.” The droid looks at the monitor, then back at him. “Do not excite yourself further.”

Kallus coughs, unable to look at the droid. “Yes,” he mutters, ashamed. “I will do that.”

The medic is a Rodian, who speaks in a soft tone and seems to barely remember where she is. This fact isn’t particularly comforting, but she is kind enough and patient with all his questions.

His right leg had a severe initial break that never healed correctly, causing weakness in his tibia and impeding the muscles and tendons in his entire leg. The strain that later followed only made this worse, and almost two days ago, the leg was shattered again- he broke both his tibia and his fibula. Bone fragments have punctured both his muscle and his flesh, but in short- it will never heal right, and Kallus will be affected for the rest of his life.

She explains that they operated on him, once Hera and two other rebels dragged him into the infirmary. It was easier to keep him under after he had passed out, and they did the best they could trying to prevent infection and further blood loss. He’s also covered in extensive bruises, including on his ribs.

“How do you feel?” The Rodian concludes, fiddling with one of the machines next to him.

“Like I could run forty klicks,” he mutters, staring down at his leg. Right now, it’s wrapped in bandages and some sort of brace.

She brustles, looking shocked. “I thought I made it clear that wasn’t possible-”

“It’s-” he sighs. “I understand.”

“Well, I-”

“Kal!” The budding argument is halted in its tracks; Zeb stands in the doorway, disheveled but grinning. “You’re awake!”

“I am.” He’s not, technically- he’s hasn’t yet attempted to sit up, but Kallus cares very little about the nuance, and Zeb makes his way over to Kallus’ bedside. 

“Good.” Zeb scans him with barely-suppressed joy. “You scared us,” he admits. “Hera says you just collapsed.”

“Yes, well, the adrenaline wore off.” Kallus doesn’t look at Zeb. “I’m recovered now.”

“I know.” A smile creeps back into Zeb’s tone. “I don’t believe you can be kept down for long.”

“I can’t,” Kallus agrees, echoing Zeb’s humor.

“Do you remember anything?” Zeb stops fiddling with his pants and instead smooths out Kallus’ blanket.

“A little.” His brow furrows. “I remember that you were there for me.”

“I was.”

“The meddroid says you were with me for a full rotation.”

Zeb is suddenly very interested in a spare thread on his pants. “I was,” he mumbles, and Alexsandr suppresses another smile, glancing away so that Zeb doesn’t see.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Zeb continues, his shoulders slouching. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“It’s okay.” Alexsandr didn’t know his voice could go this soft, but Zeb’s next words distract him from this point, his tone just as gentle.

“I’m sorry about your leg.”

“Don’t be.” It comes out flat, and Kallus looks away from Zeb.

It will heal. He’ll walk again, but he’ll be limping and limited. He’s going to have a cane adjusted to him tomorrow. He may never do fieldwork again.

“I am.” And Zeb sounds like it too, though his expression is devoid of pity. “Still, I thought you’d like to know that everyone in command is excited to have you here. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“Really?” A jolt of surprise travels through him. “They don’t hate me?”

He sounds sarcastic, but Zeb looks back at him, completely serious. “You saved our necks more times than we can count. And you’re a goldmine for Imperial information.”

Right. His expression falls before he can help it. “You’re a badass ‘n a hero, Kal. That’s what they care about.”

“I’m not sure if I am. Or that I will be.” Kallus gestures to his leg, bound and immobile before them both.

Zeb’s expression softens, and he rests his hand on Kallus’ arm. “Right. I’m sure that will stop you.”

“It’s different. How can I help that?”

“So are you gonna retire? Hide in the medbay or go to the Outer Rim until the war is over?”

Frustration builds in Kallus, and he sits completely upright, clenching the sheets in his hands. “It’s not that simple! Of course I’m not going to- to kriff off and die- but I can’t walk!”

“Not forever.” Zeb amends. “And you’re one of the greatest minds we have.” Zeb glances around the empty room. “Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

“I’m a former Imperial, a spy and I have months of recovery ahead. I’m not entirely convinced people want me here.”

“I do,” Zeb says immediately, then glances away, scratching the back of his head. “I, er- well, I do. And so do a lot of other people.”

Kallus looks up at him, and Zeb meets his eyes again after a long moment. “Do you want to be here?” He asks softly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Zeb grins, but there is tenderness in his gaze. “Then you’ll put your mind to it and everything will work out.”

“You sound very confident in this fact.”

“I’m confident in you.”

---

I am distinctly aware of the lack of research that I’ve done. I’m doing my best to be canon-compliant here but sometimes I don’t have the energy to remember that a shower is a sonic and not a shower… so here we are.

Additionally, please take any medical jargon with a grain of salt. I am not a doctor, and I’m mostly going with “yeah that seems like it could happen” as far as realism goes. Nevertheless, thank you for the warmth with which this story has been received, and thank you all for your support!

[warriorlid14]

So Gale and Delly. I had honestly never considered them at first, thinking they were far too different. Buuuuuuut.... I think it works? And is actually super cute when you think about for a second?

So here’s my take on how it would happen. It was supposed to be a series of short bullet points, but instead, you get a disorganized mini-fic. I’ll edit it later into an actual fic format, but for now, here ya go:

Delly goes to District 2. Gale is surprised to see her in one of their rebel/reconstruction/rebuilding/whatever their name was meetings two weeks after he had officially moved to D2. She had greeted him warmly and he supposed he had looked confused, because she suddenly had a sad smile and said, “There’s too many memories back in Twelve.” He didn’t have a response for that. He had too many ghosts back in Twelve, too.

He had never given Delly a second thought. She wasn’t in his grade level and he vaguely recognized her when he’d first seen her in D13. He supposed she was nice enough, what with the whole helping Peeta come back from... well, helping Peeta come back. But they didn’t interact, they didn’t cross paths, and he’d never had a reason to form much of an opinion of her.

But then after two days of her quietly listening in to the meetings, after Pike proposed simply demolishing the buildings near the square and rebuilding from scratch, Delly broke her silence and softly said, “Well, what do the citizens from District 2 want?”

There was silence, and then Pike said, “This will be the easier than attempting to repair every single building to its original standard.” And  Delly said “But this is their home,” her voice going up a decibal. After some debate within the team, Pike had told her that if she wanted to speak to all 60k (now 50k) residents of D2, to be his guest. 

Five days later, Delly showed up with 700 written testimonies with  requests to not tear down the buildings as well as grievances the team hadn’t even considered. Everybody was fed and had some sort of shelter- even if it was mostly camps. That had been the team’s main focus. But people wanted shoes, and shower facilities, and actual funerals for the dead.

They decided not to tear down the buildings. And Gale decided that he had underestimated Delly Cartwright.

Two weeks later Gale decided he detested Delly Cartwright. Okay, so detested was a strong word, but she absolutely aggravated him. How, just how, could a person be so cheery? At seven in the morning? It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to waking up at the crack of dawn, but that was to go to the forest. Their work place was a dimly lit, dampy building. Which also happened to house half of them, including the two of them. And if she chirpily asked him how his previous day was one more time on the elevator while he was busy trying to wake up, he would snap.

But she was from D12. The only other person from Twelve. And she meant nothing to him before, and in a way, still didn’t. It wasn’t like they were friends. But she was from home. And that counted for something. 

One day, a woman asked Delly if there was any way to retrieve her dead husband’s wedding band from the moratorium. Which led to dozens of similar requests. So Gale and Delly and five volunteers found themselves trying to ID bodies and gather belongings. The rebels had started doing this at first, but the bodies had piled up, and there were simply too many of them to continue.

For the first time, Gale saw Delly lose her smile and cheery demeanor. He told her she didn’t have to go in. He’d seen enough corpses. Some of them by his hand. A few more wouldn't make a difference. But Delly shook her head and headed to the first corpse. Gale decided that she was growing on him.

That night, Gale wondered if the corpses littered across D12 still had wedding bands on.

The first time Gale saw Delly angry was two months in when she demanded that workers from The Nut be given food and shelter instead of being left to fend for themselves. Pike yelled at her and called her naive, stepping closer towards her and Gale instinctively stepped in closer as well, protectively.

Delly’s face was flushed and she had tears in her eyes- she wasn’t one for confrontations- but she looked at Pike in the eyes and didn’t step back.

It was funny, really, how not so long ago, he would have agreed with Pike. Not so long ago, he would have looked at the workers from the Nut, Capitol supporters, and said “No. You don’t get to work for the enemy for years, you don’t get to kill for the enemy, and then demand the same rights as those who fought for freedom. That’s not fair.” Not so long ago, he had stood by that mountain and felt the ghost of the fire licking at his feet, burning his side, seen the fire flash in his mind and burn down his home, his neighbors, children, felt the fire wrap around his chest, his heart, his soul, and said, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. You killed my district. Now you deserve to die.” But now the fire he remembered the most was the one that had taken a blond-haired, blue-eyed, little girl that he loved like a sister. And for what? What had he fought for? Freedom. Protection. Justice. Revenge? But the war was over. And what had he fought for? All that loss could not have been in vain.

So he stepped behind Delly and loudly agreed with her. And when she smiled at him, it was almost contagious.

Delly left their department not long after they started looking for shelter for the workers at The Nut. She was now working on forming some sort of social program. Trying to build a community. Scrounging for resources outside of immediate survival. She was only two doors down from him, but Gale was surprised to find that he actually missed her constant humming in the office.

He supposed that this was why he accepted the invitation to attend the community dinner she organized a couple of weeks later. He kept his head down the entire time, focused on his meal. He had never been particularly quiet or reserved. He hadn’t been particularly outgoing, either, but he had never been shy. Now, though, he looked at his plate and didn’t offer any input to the conversation, weary of accusatory looks and swearing that he could hear people thinking murderer. 

So he was quiet, until Delly loudly announced “I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne would love to play with you,” and he looked up to see a group of five boys aged eight to twelve holding a ball and looking at him hopefully. He gave Delly a half-glare and was about to say that Mr. Hawthorne would most certainly not love to play, but she smiled brightly at him, ignoring him. And so he found himself being dragged off to a game that included kicking a ball into a makeshift net.

When he sat back down half an hour later, hair mussed and actually smiling, Pike said, “I didn’t know you were any good with kids, Hawthorne.” Delly piped up, “Oh, Gale’s great with kids. He has three younger siblings, and he was always making them laugh back in District 13.” Gale was surprised that she knew this, that she’d noticed. He gave her a questioning look, but she just smiled in return.

He kept stealing glances at her throughout the night, mostly quizzically. Maybe it was that he hadn’t been looking closely at her, but he noticed that she had gained some of her old weight back, cheeks fuller. Hair shinier. He didn’t know her before, but he did know what had happened to her parents, and knew what grief did to a person. But she looked healthier now. Good. She deserved good things in her life.

The next time they saw each other was two days later when Gale was cursing at his unit’s jammed door that was refusing to open. He was so desperate for some sleep, having just pulled a fourteen hour shift, that he was considering just ramming it down when Delly walked by, saw his predicament, and offered to let him sleep on her couch. He was so tired, he agreed without much hesitation.

The next day he woke up to the sound of loud singing, a little off-key, and mentally groaned, shifting on the couch to try to find a comfortable position again. But Delly took this as a sign that he had woken up and brightly said, "Good morning, Gale! I hope you had a great night's sleep! Was the couch comfortable?" Gale mentally cursed, but responded and got up. He found himself sitting down across from Delly and eating some toast she had made, while Delly happily chirped on about how it was going to rain that day and how she loved the smell of freshly-water grass. Gale couldn't stop himself from asking "How are you so happy all the time?" She looked surprised, and said, "I'm not happy all the time." He must have given her an incredulous look, because she shrugged and said, "I just like to focus on the small things. On the brighter things." She paused, then said softly, "It makes it easier, on the bad days, to pick myself up again."

Gale dismissed this at first, thinking that it was just a Delly thing. But then one day he woke up with the image of burning blond hair and pained blue eyes and clipped mockingjay wings. And his heart hurt so much that it was hard to breathe, that he was sure someone had reached into his chest and started to squeeze. But that day, when he visited one of the camps with his team he caught sight of two children laughing, kicking around a ball. Saw their parents smiling, with a genuineness and lightheartedness that was hard to find before the war. He held that image in his head the entire day, focused hard on it. It had been for something. The pain, the destruction, the deaths. Selling his soul to the fight. It had been for something. And the pain in his heart didn't disappear. But he did felt the pressure lessen, just a bit.

It started with an invite to dinner at her unit. And then he reciprocated because it was the polite thing to do. And then they were at each other's places once, twice, three times a week after work. And suddenly he found that he was friends with Delly Cartwright. It had been a while since he'd had a friend. He had plenty back in 12, and there was Katniss of course, and a few in 13. But now half of them were dead or hated him or were back in a district he couldn't force himself to visit. He hadn't realized how much he missed easy companionship, how much he needed actual human contact, until he found himself smiling at Delly's animated retelling of a family her team had reunified the day prior. She was a breath of fresh air in a place that was still wounded, that was still bleeding.(But somehow, it was still healing)

Delly tried to pick up new habits and hobbies often. She told him about how she failed at baking, and was decent at gardening, but could never keep track of which plants needed more or less water. A week after they had started actually hanging out, she had taken up knitting and had dragged Gale along to practice with her. To his surprise, he found that he was actually good at it. It made sense, though, considering his ability with snares. Delly smiled encouragingly at him, but still seemed a little annoyed that he had picked up her new hobby much quicker than she had. Gale grinned at this, glad to see that Delly wasn't actually superhuman and also had normal, petty, human emotions. When she held up her poor attempt at a glove that inexplicably seemed to have a thumb in the middle of the hand, he but burst out laughing. He stopped when he saw her giving him a strange look, and asked "What?" She shrugged, and said, "I don't think I've heard you laugh since we were at District 13." But then she smiled and said, "It's a nice laugh, though. It suits you. I wished you would do it more often." And to his horror, he felt himself actually blush. It wasn't like he wasn't used to compliments. Oh, he heard "gorgeous" and "hot" and the occasional "sexy" and felt eyes looking him up and down, sometimes enough to make him uncomfortable, especially when the person was significantly older. But he didn't think he'd ever heard someone compliment his laugh. It was... nice, actually. He muttered a quick "thanks" and went back to his attempt at making a hat. There was an awkward silence for a bit, but half an hour later, he was lightly teasing Delly on her skills.

It turned out that laughing was easier when Delly was around. Maybe it was having a friend once more. Maybe it was just Delly, her lightness contagious.

Delly was ranting about Pike. Except that, because she was Delly, she wasn't actually insulting him. And kept saying phrases like "while I understand where he's coming from" and "he's a good man, really, but". So Gale said, "You can call him a dick, you know. We all do it." Delly hesitated and said, "But he isn't. Not really. He just doesn't understand that we also need funding for community building and healing." Gale shook his head, amused. "Call him a dick, Delly. You know you want to." Delly sighed, and said, "I think you want me to. Would it make you feel better, to hear me call him that?" Gale grinned. "Yes, it would. I need to know that you can physically curse." Delly rolled her eyes and said, "Fine." Then softly, hesitant, she said, "he's a dick." Gale burst out laughing and Delly rolled her eyes once more, but she was laughing too. "This isn't about my ability to curse, you know. I was talking about funding for mental health professionals. The community needs it." Gale, still laughing, said, "Delly Cartwright, defender of human rights." Delly shook her head exasperatedly, but then said, "that term applies to you too, you know." That stopped his laughter. He thought about a time, not long ago, when he'd stood by a mountain full of weapons and suggested destroying them along with everyone inside. Thought about the weapons that had ended the war- and taken dozens of innocent children with them. Gale swallowed. "I wouldn't say that." Delly smiled softly at him. "You risked your life everyday fighting for freedom. Don't underestimate yourself, Gale."

Spending so much time with Delly made him become more attuned with her emotions. Which was why a couple of months later, he began to notice the strain in her smile, the way it didn't quite reach her eyes. So he took her out to the woods one weekend in an attempt to cheer her up. He didn't hunt, though. He didn't think she'd appreciate the sight of dead squirrels. But she did appreciate the freedom of the woods and the wind in her hair and the sound of the river cutting through a valley. She had sat down next to it, picking out flowers along the edge of the river and talking about how maybe he could teach her how to swim. When she looked up at him, a warm smile on her face, her blue eyes brighter in the sunlight and blond hair glowing almost gold, his answer caught in his throat. For a second, he couldn't think about anything else but how pretty she looked, but quickly buried the thought down at her expectant eyes. He told her that it was getting too cold to go swimming, now almost November. But he could teach her once it was warmer.

They stayed there for a few more hours, and she slowly became more quiet. Finally, she admitted that it was her parent's birthday that week- their birthdays fell three days apart. She said that they usually celebrated with pastries and board games then became silent once more, wistfully looking out to the horizon, eyes tearing up pulling knees to her chest. He awkwardly placed an arm around her in an attempt at comfort, but she seemed to think it was enough, burying her head in his shoulder.

Sometimes, when he felt unbearably homesick he spent hours out in the woods. They weren't the same as his woods, but they were close enough. And if he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was home. Delly didn't have something like the woods to comfort her, though. The only real connection she had to D12 in D2 was himself, and it wasn't like they knew each other before the war. He had an idea then, of someone who did know her before, someone who could help. And he hated that he suddenly felt afraid.

He and Peeta Mellark had never been friends. Not exactly. He had tried hating him once, long ago, but had quickly given up. He was too nice, too kind, too caring and never treated Gale with anything less than respect. Which led to Gale grudgingly respecting him on a bad day and actually liking the guy on a good day. In another world, maybe they could have been good friends. But in this world, he was the person closest to Katniss, at least according to Greasy Sae who he talked to once a month, and that thought filled him with dread. That Peeta could mention him to Katniss. That Peeta would know whether Katniss hated him outright or not. That he could ask Peeta to talk to Katniss on his behalf. That he could call Peeta and accidentally get Katniss on the line. And though sometimes he longed to at least hear her voice, to confirm that she was okay, he had left for a reason. And as much as he wanted to hear from her, he knew she didn't want to hear from him. But this wasn't for himself. This was for Delly. And Peeta was the one person who might be able to help. So a week later, he sucked up his fears and picked up the phone.

As soon as Peeta's voice came from the other line, Gale's mind went blank and all he could come up with as a greeting was "Um, hi." There was a pause, and then "Gale?" He swallowed. "Yeah, yeah it's me." There was another pause where Gale tried to sort through his thoughts, but before he could bring up Delly's name, Peeta awkwardly and reluctantly asked, "Do you want me to put Katniss on the line?" which caused Gale to practically shout "No!" into the receiver. "No," he said again, not shouting this time. "It's you I wanted to talk to, actually." Gale quickly explained his plan, and after a few seconds of silence, Peeta said, "That's a good idea. That's really kind of you, Gale." Gale said, "Well, she's my friend," almost defensively. "No, I know. I'm glad she's got you looking out for her," Peeta said. "Right." There was a silence, and Gale thought that maybe now would be the right time to hang up, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "I really miss her," Peeta said finally. "She misses you, too," Gale said. Which was true, but he usually wouldn't be saying that. There was another silence, but Gale still didn't hang up. "Maybe I should go up there to visit her," Peeta said. Gale noticed how he said I instead of we. No Katniss then. Which Gale didn't know whether to be relieved it or not. Still, he said, "I'm sure she'd like that." Still, he didn't hang up. But he couldn't bring himself to ask either. And Peeta, ever perceptive, caught on to the reason for his hesitation and finally said, "Katniss is doing better, Gale."

Relief. That was the immediate feeling that overwhelmed him, followed closely by longing. There was once a time when he and Katniss lived in each other's pocket. When they depended on each other for survival, for their sanity. And no matter what had happened between them, romantic or not, Katniss was his best friend. He missed her. He missed her so much it physically hurt some days. And for a second he wanted nothing more than to hop on the next train to D12 to see his friend. But friends didn't kill each other's siblings. So he said, "Thanks, um, take care," and hung up. He desperately hoped Peeta hadn’t heard the lump that had formed in his throat.

His order arrived a few days later in some sort of container to preserve the baked books. Gale looked inside the box to find the invoice he had requested, but of course Peeta didn’t include it. He rolled his eyes and made a mental note to ask Greasy Sae how much she thought the food was worth. What he did find was a piece of paper with a phone number. Which wasn’t needed, really, because he had memorized that number months and months ago and every week got closer to dialing it. He knew he wouldn’t though. Peeta may have been closer to Katniss now, but that didn’t mean that Gale didn’t know her, too. And his presence would hurt her too much at the moment. But the fact that Peeta had given him her number meant that she probably didn’t despise the ground he walked on, then. And that was something.

When Delly opened the box to reveal an assortment of muffins, cupcakes, and cookies, all distinctly District Twelve, her eyes widened and she practically jumped at him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. He pulled her closer towards him, inhaling the scent of cinnamon that was always present in her unit and lingered on her at all times. He felt a sense of loss when she let go and was tempted to pull her back into his arms when she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and said, “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The feel of her lips on his cheek lingered for the rest of the evening.

Gale lay awake that night in his bed, heart pounding hard in his chest. He wasn’t dense. He knew what his recent thoughts about  his cheerful, peppy friend meant. And the only coherent thought he could come up with about his predicament was Oh no.

It was his own little secret he carried around for months. He tried not to stare at her too hard  and tried to avoid thinking about her lips or about how her smile seemed to light up the entire world in the darkest of times. His world, at least. Sometimes it felt like the war, the bombs, had extinguished all the fire and passion inside of him. That the fire that had one day burned so strongly had died, taking with it his friend and his sister and his soul. Sometimes it felt like he was running on autopilot, doing what was expected of him, trying his best to amend his mistakes but feeling... not much, really. Empty But one look at Delly who shone so bright and he felt the warmth back in his chest. He wouldn’t tell her, of course. He couldn’t risk losing their friendship, going back to being bitter and miserable and oh so lonely all the time.

He really needed to stop falling in love with his friends.

On the anniversary of the end of the war, the anniversary of Prim’s death, Gale didn’t leave his unit. He had every intention to, even got dressed and brushed his teeth, he had a job to do after all. But then he heard the sound of some kids laughing outside his window and he fell back down on his couch. He didn’t get back up.

The pain was sudden and intense, suffocating him, and for a second he thought he was back in D12, choking under the fumes and screaming as his shirt caught on fire. He wondered if that was what Prim had felt, what all those kids had felt, those last few seconds, and he laid down and curled into himself. But he knew that no matter how horrible he felt, somewhere hundreds of miles away, Katniss was feeling worse. He had never wished for anything more than to be able to switch places with Prim at that moment. Little Prim who wanted to be a doctor. Little Prim who risked her life to save her cat. Little Prim who wanted nothing more than to heal others. Prim. Dead. At his hand.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but eventually the door to his unit opened. Delly. He had given her a key for emergencies ages ago. And suddenly Delly was sitting on the couch and his head was in her lap and she was running her fingers through his hair and whispering something he couldn’t decipher. So he closed his eyes and tried to let her voice and smell and the feel of her fingers on his scalp ground him.

He wasn’t sure what Delly saw in him, why she stuck around. But Delly was good and kind saw the best in everyone. And had decided he was worth her friendship. And maybe if sweet and kind Delly saw something good in him, that meant there was something in him that was salvageable.

District 2 didn’t abide to the laws of science and weather because there was a huge snowstorm in the middle of March. Delly’s team and his team worked diligently for days to get the last 500 people or so moved out of camps and into the newly rebuilt compounds. Hours before the three-day storm was to hit, they were finally released and sent home. He and Delly had decided that they would weather out the storm at her place and spent the first night huddled in front of the fire, retelling old stories and playing board games and laughing into the night.

The next morning Gale woke up to the sound of Delly bustling in the kitchen, singing loudly and a little off-key. He smiled to himself, and thought that he really wouldn’t mind waking up to her voice more often.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. If he had leaned in first, if she had. But on that third night of the storm, one minute snuggling and laughing under the blanket and the next wrapped in each other’s arms, they broke apart, grinning at each other and lips tingling.

Gale decided in that moment, that he had never felt more at peace.

[oriigami]

see hope rise with the tide

[In which Jinbe goes to check in on Arlong, and finds some things that need to be set right. Canon divergence. Read it on AO3 here.]

“It’s too quiet,” Aladine says, and he’s right. 

Cocoyashi Village is too quiet. 

It’s a port village on a midsized island. It should be bustling with life, or at least populated; there should be trading ships in the bay, citizens walking the streets. Instead, it may as well be a ghost town. The Sun Pirates’ ship is the only one visible all along the coastline, and only the occasional hints of movement visible through closed windows give away that anyone lives here at all. All the shades are drawn. 

There is something sinking, slow and heavy, in Jinbe’s chest.

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Aladine asks, his voice unreadable. 

Jinbe hadn’t planned on coming here for a confrontation. He hadn’t planned on much of anything at all, really. He’d only come in the first place because he’d happened across Arlong’s latest wanted poster in the paper and been struck by- something. Curiosity? Concern? 

(Fear?)

Now, though, looking at the shuttered windows and the barren streets, he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t want to know what happened here, not really, but his life has rarely been a matter of what he wants. 

“I am,” he says, stepping down onto the shore, and it comes out as a sigh. “I shouldn’t be long.” 

Whatever he finds here, he knows, will be his responsibility. 

The walk through Cocoyashi’s silent streets feels longer than it is, and every footstep against the dirt roads is too loud in the dead quiet. He catches flickers of movement, now and then, through windows and doors. There are people in this town- many of them, even. And they’re all hiding. From him. 

JInbe’s visited many human cities and towns, all up and down the Grand Line. He’s been met with disgust, with scorn, with stony indifference, and weathered them all, but none hold a candle to the kind of frozen terror that grips this town. It’s a relief when he leaves the silent houses behind, even though he can still feel the eyes on his back. 

With every footstep he draws nearer to the too-familiar tower, looming over the landscape, and with every footstep he wonders. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find when he reaches the concrete walls that surround Arlong’s compound, doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find when he steps through the open gates. 

What he finds is a child. 

The girl is underfed and rangy, short orange hair unwashed and skirt torn. There’s a bruise rising over one of her eyes, livid and purple. She freezes when she notices him, and he sees her eyes flicker to the brand on his chest and linger there for a heartbeat before she smiles, horrible and empty, and he knows that smile. 

“If you’re looking for Arlong, he’s inside,” she says, pointing at the monstrous building. Jinbe doesn’t look away from her, from the bruise over her eye. She can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen. Her fingers are worn ragged and raw. As he watches, a drop of blood drips to the ground. 

A girl, with reddish hair and exhausted eyes and a ragged, forced smile, and it’s Koala but it’s not. 

“What happened to your hands?” he asks, and it comes out too loud, too angry.

She flinches almost unnoticeably, tucks her arms behind her back and takes a step back. The little spot of blood is still far too red against the flat grey concrete. “Nothing.” 

He swallows back the rage that wants to come (he’s not angry at her but she doesn’t know that, he has to remember she doesn’t know that). He tries to remember what had worked with Koala, instead: slow movements, soft words. 

He kneels down, slow as he can make it, bringing himself down to her level. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises, and the words taste bitter and ashy in his mouth. “What’s your name?” 

“…Nami,” she says after a long beat. She’s watching him like she doesn’t know what to make of him, like she’s waiting for the trap. For the blow, he realizes after a moment, and something twists in his stomach. 

“Nami,” he says, “I’m Jinbe.” And again, “I’m not going to hurt you. How old are you?” 

“Thirteen,” she says, quieter. Younger than Koala must be, now. 

He nods. “And what’re you doing here?” 

She hesitates for a moment, and then she tugs her arm around to show him her shoulder, and the ground drops out from under him. The same sharp-edged sigil flying from Arlong’s tower is written on her skin in hard, cruel lines of ink, and Jinbe knows a brand when he sees one, and he is going to be sick. 

“I’m a member of Arlong’s crew,” she says, and she’s still smiling but her voice is shaky like she’s about to cry. “I’m his mapmaker.” 

It’s Koala but it’s not because it’s so much worse- 

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.” 

-because this is his fault. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s not nearly enough, it’ll never be enough- “I’m so sorry.” 

She’s still staring at him, but she isn’t smiling anymore, and that’s better, he thinks. 

“You’re safe now, alright?” he says, and tries to keep his voice gentle through the fury boiling in his chest, because she deserves that much at least. He’s never been good at gentle, not truly, but right now he cannot be anything less. “I promise. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.” 

“Is,” she says, and then swallows hard, and edges a step away from him. “That’s not fair.” 

It’s true, he knows, but not in the way she means it; she’s thirteen, and there’s a brand on her shoulder and her fingers are bleeding and her eyes are heavy with mistrust, and none of this is fair. “I’m not trying to trick you,” he says. “Arlong is my responsibility. I’m sorry I didn’t come here to put an end to this sooner.” 

There’s something breaking in her eyes, in the twist of her mouth. “You-?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jinbe says again, because there’s nothing else to say. 

“I- the village,” she says, voice sharpening, going half-desperate, throwing caution to the wind. “He’s gonna, he’s gonna hurt them, if he gets mad, he’s gonna hurt my sister-”

(Not me, not a single thought of he’ll hurt me, if you anger him; only the village, only my sister, and Jinbe’s heart breaks and breaks and breaks.) 

“He won’t,” Jinbe says, because looking at her, now, he knows he’ll die before he lets that happen. “I swear on my life I won’t let him.” 

Something crumples in her face, then, and her shoulders start to tremble, and then she’s sobbing like the child she is, rubbing at her eyes with raw and bloody hands as fat tears roll down her cheeks and splatter to the concrete. She cries like Koala used to, like she’s desperately trying to swallow back her tears, keep herself quiet, keep herself safe. 

Jinbe’s hands twitch at his sides, because- he should do something, say something, but he doesn’t want to make this any worse. He doesn’t want to hurt her any more. There’s nothing he can do but wait until she cries herself dry, and he can do that much for her, at least. 

And then the doors of Arlong Park crash open, and a voice, sharp and slithering and all-too-familiar, snarls, “What’s that fucking racket, Nami?” 

Nami’s whole body tenses up all at once, and she claps her hands to her mouth as if to silence herself. Arlong- older, angrier, but still so recognizably Jinbe’s little brother that it hurts- stomps out of his wretched palace, and Jinbe immediately steps sideways to place himself between him and Nami, shielding her at his back. 

The sky is clouded over, and Nami is still choking on tears behind him, muffled and broken, and the flag overhead snaps in the wind, and Jinbe hates. 

Arlong’s eyes land on him. They widen.

“Jinbe?” he says. 

“Arlong,” Jinbe replies, and lets all of the rage that he’s been struggling to contain throughout his conversation with Nami bubble up and over into his voice, lets it fill his eyes with lightning. “Explain yourself.”

Jinbe came here hoping he wouldn’t have to fight his brother, and now he might have to kill him. 

A flicker-flash of something that might be fear crosses Arlong’s face; he’s seen Jinbe angry before, many times, perhaps more than anyone else still living, but this is different. They both know it’s different. Did Arlong put that bruise over her eye, he wonders, or did he just not stop whoever did? Did he laugh? 

Arlong’s face hardens, after a moment. “What’s there to explain?” he snaps back, defiant as he’s always been. “I’ve built a place where our brothers can live in the sun as they deserve. What are you going here? What have you accomplished? Come crawling back to join me, finally?” 

“Did you hit her?” Jinbe asks, and his voice is so flat and cold with fury he barely recognizes it. 

Arlong blinks, looking momentarily wrong-footed. “What?” 

“Nami,” Jinbe clarifies, acutely conscious of her ragged, hiccuping breathing at his back. “Were you the one who hit her? You always did think it was funny, with Koala.” 

Arlong stares at him for a moment, and then he laughs, and it should be familiar but instead it’s just grating. “Is that what you’re so upset about? Nami?” He stops laughing, but he’s still grinning. “She’s my crew, Jinbe. I’ll treat her how I want. She chose to join up herself. She’s a brilliant cartographer.” 

“She’s a child, Arlong!” Jinbe is shouting, now, couldn’t stop himself if he tried, and he can see other faces in the doors, in the windows, drawn by the noise. Some of them he knows, has sailed with, fought with, laughed with. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look any of them in the eyes again. “You branded a child!” 

“A human child,” Arlong sneers, his voice thick with disdain, with hatred, and Jinbe takes two strides forward and punches him into the ground hard enough to shatter the concrete. Behind him, Nami makes a tiny, shocked noise. 

For a moment, the plaza is silent, but for Jinbe’s heavy breathing and the sound of Arlong spitting gravel. Arlong lifts his head, slow and painful, and Jinbe doesn’t flinch from the seething betrayal in his eyes. 

“So that’s how it is?” Arlong hisses, clawing himself to his feet, spitting blood, red red red as the blood dripping from Nami’s fingers. “Traitor. You’d side with the human scum over your own brother?” 

“You betrayed everything Fisher Tiger stood for,” Jinbe snarls. “And you call me the traitor?” 

“They killed him!” Arlong howls, and the old pain in his voice is something Jinbe knows well, something he’s carried in his chest for years. “She killed him!” 

“She is innocent!” 

“She’s filth, and she’s mine, and I’ll do whatever I want with her!” Arlong bites out. 

And Jinbe knows, he knows, he knows what happens when people become things, because he’s known Tiger, Koala, Aladine. He’s seen that damage, sat up at night hearing the echoes of those nightmares. 

“You sound like the Dragons,” Jinbe snarls out, all the disgust of the revelation in his voice. “Tiger would be sick.” 

He sees the words hit, because Arlong’s eyes widen, just for a moment, before they harden again, defiant to the last, and maybe there is no saving him, not anymore. Maybe everything that was good in Jinbe’s brother died when Fisher Tiger did, and he doesn’t know this person he’s facing now at all. But that’s wrong, too, he knows it’s wrong; the truth he has to face is that maybe Arlong has always been this, and Jinbe has always been blind. 

Arlong bares his bloodied teeth and lunges, and Jinbe’s fist and all the grief and guilt and rage behind it catch him in the chest. Bones crack, and blood splatters, and Arlong hits the wall with a shattering crunch. 

This time, he doesn’t get up. 

Quiet falls.

Arlong’s crew are all present now, drawn out by the crashing sounds of the fight, faces Jinbe knows and faces he doesn’t. They’re all watching him with wide eyes, expressions that range from shock to fear to anger. None move, so Jinbe ignores them for the moment. He’ll need to deal with them, he knows, and he will, and with Arlong, too, but there is someone more important than both, first. 

He turns to Nami. 

She’s still frozen in place, staring past him, bloody fists clenched at her sides, lips parted, eyes fixed unmoving and unblinking on Arlong’s still form. “Nami,” he says. She doesn’t respond. 

“Nami,” he says again, and it’s a moment before she can tear her eyes away to glance up at him. “Do you live here?” 

She stares at him for a moment before she seems to find her voice. “I- I have a room,” she manages, and she sounds so young. “…It’s not home.” 

“Alright,” he says. The anger, as fast and chokingly intense as it had come, is ebbing away just as suddenly in the face of the shell-shock in her eyes, leaving only tired old grief. “Why don’t you go collect your things, and then I’ll take you home, wherever that is.” 

For a moment she looks like she’s going to cry again. “…Okay.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

She shakes her head, and swipes at her eyes, and then hurries across the plaza to the doors of Arlong Park. She pauses, for a moment, as she passes Arlong’s body. As Jinbe watches, she spits on his face, murmurs something he can’t make out before ducking through the open doors. The watching fishmen let her pass without a word; they’ll do nothing, he knows, with him watching them. 

Jinbe is already so tired, wrung out and exhausted by anger and grief, but his duties are not over yet. (Sometimes it seems like they never will be.) 

“You’re going to leave this island,” he tells Arlong’s crew, and he’s not shouting anymore, but his voice echoes across the silent plaza nonetheless, heavy with the disappointment he knows cuts worse than knives. Even if he doesn’t know all of them, they all know who he is, and they know now where he stands, and his words have weight. “Leave Arlong for me to deal with. I don’t care what you do from here, but never come near here ever again.” 

He sees Chuu, Kuroobi, Hachi. They were there for Tiger’s death, all of them. His crewmates, once; his brothers, once.

“You should be better than this,” he says, and thinks about the blood on Nami’s fingers and the brand on her shoulder, and feels nothing but tired and angry and sad. “We need to be better than this.” 

Nami isn’t inside for long. She emerges a few minutes later, with nothing but a small bag over her shoulder and a carefully-folded piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, and hurries to Jinbe’s side like she wants to put as much distance between herself and the monstrous building as possible. It warms something in his hurting chest, that she sees him as safe.

“Ready to go?” he asks her.

She’s still staring at Arlong’s prone body like she can’t process it, but she nods, jerky and uneven, and so he sets a careful hand on her narrow shoulder and guides her away through the gates. She’s so small. Jinbe has been cruel before, in his life, cruel and brutal, and he isn’t proud of it, but there’s a world of difference between brutality in combat and the kind of cruelty that darkens a child’s eye. 

They leave Arlong Park behind, and the tension doesn’t start to run out of her shoulders until the road has risen up behind them and the high concrete walls are out of sight. 

“What’s going to happen to him?” she asks after a long, long moment. Her voice is raspy from crying. 

“I’ll drop him at a marine base,” Jinbe says, and the betrayal in the words cuts like glass, but the alternative is to kill Arlong himself, and even after everything, he’s still not brave enough for that. “From there, he’ll either be sent to Impel Down or executed.” 

She swallows, nods, staring down at the dirt road. “Good,” she says, and the anger in her voice is something he knows down to his bones. And then, after a beat, more tentative: “…He said you were his brother.” 

“He is,” Jinbe says, and it comes out as a sigh, because even after everything, Arlong is still his brother and always will be. “He was my crewmate, too, once.” 

She’s quiet, and then, “I have a sister. Nojiko.” 

He remembers. He’s gonna hurt my sister- “Older or younger?” 

“Older. She’s fifteen.” 

“She must be worried, hm?” he says. “Older siblings always worry.” 

She laughs, a little, and it’s a ragged, guilty sound, but it’s a laugh, and that’s a victory, if only a small one. “She does. All the time. She tries to act like she doesn’t.”

He should have come sooner. He can’t stop thinking about it, about what might have been avoided if he had. He’d wanted so badly to think the best of Arlong, to believe whatever he was doing couldn’t have been too bad, not when he’d borne witness to Tiger’s last moments, not when he’d had Hachi and the others with him, not when he was still Jinbe’s little brother. 

Older siblings always worry. He should have worried more. If he had, maybe Nami’s sister wouldn’t have had to.

They reach a fork in the road, the main path continuing on towards the town while a smaller, less well-worn trail branches off towards the coast, and Nami stops. 

“Nami?” 

“Can we,” she says, and swallows, “before we go back to Cocoyashi. Can we go somewhere else, first?” 

“Of course,” he says, and she steps off the road and leads the way down the trail. It twists and winds its way through a copse of trees and up a low rise of hill, and Nami ducks the low branches and steps over the roots like she’s made this trek a thousand times before. 

The path emerges onto a cliff, overlooking the ocean, and on the cliff there is a grave. 

Jinbe thinks, oh, and does not follow past the tree line. This is something he will not intrude upon.  

Nami takes a few steps more, and then falls gracelessly to her knees before the rough wooden cross. She digs her abused fingers into the grass, bows her head. Tears fall, glittering in the sunlight, splattering to the ground below. 

“Bellemere-san,” she says, and she’s smiling, and it’s real, the first real smile he’s seen from her, and that alone is worth all the pain and grief and fury weighing on Jinbe’s shoulders. “Bellemere-san, it’s over. It’s over. It’s-” 

She cuts herself off, sniffling, and wipes her eyes, and she’s smiling, and it’s real. 

“I’m free.”