#it's easier to stick with stuff that's not in the public eye

[soulvomit]

Does it ever feel like some of the “unwritten rules of society” people talk about in ND discourse, sometimes overlap somehow with “the single correct way to engage books/information/etc” we’re supposed to learn in school? 

And that what school is often teaching us (for example, high school English) is the “correct” way to engage and the ONLY socially normed way to engage? And that there are social reasons for this? And we take all of this on to our engagement with media, and engaging with material *any other way* is somehow socially taboo?  I feel like a big thing I got in trouble over in school, or marked as having low reading comprehension over, is that I often didn’t read “the right things” in the material or ask the *right* questions about it. 

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY 

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

[hyatoro]

Sinbad Sub Headcanons

Sinbad

Part 2 of a request. You can find Kouen’s part here. 

SFW

Sinbad is a generous lover but because of everything that’s happened to him you can tell it’s all very surface level. Sure he can get up in people’s spaces and charm their pants off with his natural and hard earned charisma, but when it comes to his genuine relationships (as like a person) the ones that know him best have stuck with him even after seeing his ugly sides. 

How he loves and lets himself be loved can vary depending on what phase of Sinbad we’re talking about, but I’ll be sticking with the Sinbad we meet in early Magi. Not his prequel, and not late game Sinbad, though those are all sides of him. He is very welcome to public displays of affection, especially during festivals, but he hopes that his partner understands time and place, like when he has important meetings to arrange business deals. 

In contrast to Kouen, you wouldn’t need to be necessarily on his level djinn-wise. He just needs someone with a strong will to reign him in. He’s not as concerned about marrying another position of power. You’d likely still be somewhat of a power couple, since everyone he keeps around him is useful in one way or another. If we’re talking about having a relationship that has dom/sub stuff happening, then yeah. If he went to some red-light district and got dominated that’d be more a one time thing.

Your characterization is more open ended. As long as you find a way to make conversation with him and prove yourself, then you’re in. It’ll start as a fascination, and then evolve into an infatuation. Which honestly, he’d lie to himself about it because he doesn’t actually want to get distracted from his goals, which is what he thinks of it at the beginning. A distraction. Then he convinces himself that because you’re such a useful person that he’s just getting close to you to keep you in his arsenal. But then eventually he’d fold and admit that he’s weak for you. 

NSFW

Maybe he finally spills the beans when you corner him about why he’s been so annoying. “Why did you schedule me for so many meetings? All of which actually already have you in them so I don’t know why you would need me there.” 

Nervous sweating. “UH-”

He’s been in this wild mental state of “God she’s so hot and amazing and I’d be ok if she slapped me man i wish she would lol wouldn't that be funny” and “Haha eyes on the prize. Wake up and grind king.” 

So when you have him pushed up against a wall he’s frozen. And you already know he’s more than capable of just bolting if he wanted to. Then you realize exactly what weird emotions he’s feeling so you make the first move. 

A knowing look crosses your face and he gulps as you lean closer. You’re bent so that you’re looking up at him and he’s frozen like prey caught by a predator. And it’s kinda nice. 

You grab him by the collar of his shirt and whisk him away, and he can’t help but follow. Tired of dealing with his mental dilemma he surrendered the decision, the control, to you. 

As seen in my bondage headcanon for him, he needs a lot of trust. And that applies to all of this really. You may point out that dom/sub relationships need that in the first place. You’d be surprised. 

Of course he gives off his authoritative aura that exudes leadership, but he’s also just a silly goofy man sometimes. So it’s much easier to reign him in and transition to that dom/sub dynamic whenever, as opposed to Kouen where he has a hard line between private and public. 

Sinbad is down to get messy anywhere. 

Does not like choking. Is okay with gags if he’s not tied up. Basically if you want to tie him up you have to be thorough in making sure he’s comfortable. He doesn’t like anything around his neck like a collar or a choker because of his slave days. 

He likes edging and overstimulation. Testing his will and stamina gets him going and you can easily make him go crazy with little effort, or a lot. 

Kind of a masochist so he likes pain, but not to the point where you’re like actively trying to cause damage. It’s not like he hasn’t had worse but he doesn’t think getting beat is sexy. Spanking, pinching, slapping is all good. 

[prof-peach]

You've mentioned that you are dyslexic and I was hoping you might be willing to answer some questions? No pressure if it's too personal though.

I'm trying to revamp my blog* and make sure it is accessible to as many people as possible. I have already figured out contrast for colorblind individuals, but moving on to the font has been a nightmare. I know comic sans was designed for people with dyslexia, but my old literary magazine teacher is in my head telling me I can't use it. Are there any other fonts that make reading easier for you personally? Or just other things I could do to the text (size, color, boldness, ect.) that would make it more accessible for you?

*not the blog I'm sending this ask from

Sure, though don’t know how much help I’ll be!

Colour choices are very helpful, dark mode literally saves my life on a number of websites, a lighter text on a darker background often helps me focus up. I find a larger font is better too, more because when I’m reading my eyes will jump around irrationally between words to do so.

Most people will apparently go from A, to B, to C, ect ect. In order?? Sounds wild to me haha

I tend to go from A to E, to C, back to A, to B if I’m lucky. Takes me a while to get through big chunks of text. A lot of how I adapt involves a physical item on my end. A card, a pencil, a piece of paper, something to separate the line of text I’m on to stay on that one point.

I am not educated in terms of what others go through, this is just my issues, and I won’t lie, there’s defo a little tism and adhd in the mix, it’s a hot pot of distractions haha!

So bigger text makes lingering on one word easier, least from where I’m standing.

Breaking things up into more manageable chunks is handy, formatting helps, big paragraphs (which even I am guilty of writing) are hard to get through in one sitting. I gotta highlight where I got to, get up and come back to it sometimes. Or if I’m in a rush read it like 4 times for the information to go in and stick around. Even then I’ll forget stuff.

As for comic sans. I personally loathe it with a burning passion. It’s a combination of art eye that hates how it looks, growing up with teachers using it “for legibility” but not realising it’s like…a child font. It bugs me so much. What’s worse is I live with a really talented graphic designer, who makes all his fonts himself more often than not, and so his hatred for it only fuels mine haha!

‘Helvetica Neue’ is designed for ease of reading, used in public transport particularly in new york subway systems, it’s whole thing was to be glanced at and quickly be legible. So try that one? Might be easier on the eye.

Sorry I don’t have better advice, I can only say what I do to work around it, but it might help a little? I’m sure people can message you or chime in on how they adapt and cope with dyslexia.

[hanasnx]

dilf!ani has had time to come to terms with how he’s ur literal sex symbol. like when i think dilf it’s this quiet air of confidence - he’s experienced enough with you to know you’ll do pretty much do anything and now really wants to branch out. not necessarily jus kink wise but location like HE WILL GLADLY TAKE U ANYWHEREEE ANYTIME and bc he doesn’t gaf what people think atp he will abandon all social etiquette to have you. leave events early to make you please him otw home after you teased him in public, beg you to be louderr without caring if people hear. he’s jus a lil rougher round the edges like sometimes makes the slightest dad grunt sounds when he’s tired/standing up after being sat for ages lmao but like in a hot way !

of course ani always has that desperation seeping thru but he channels it better now, his praise is more reluctant: ‘didn’t believe you were gonna be able to sit here all by yourself while i was away but you’re here just as i left you, soaking yourself waiting for me - can’t wait to reward you’ *rewarding u means some shit like an aromatherapy massage he’s lowkk into the domestic stuff now*

like real quick smut aside he’s puttin in WORK around the residence.. deffo wearing an apron regularly to do like household maintenance shit and the apron stays on during..🫠 idek LoL also his few grey hairs turn u on 🦾

LUV UR WRITING SO V MUCH TY FOR UR SERVICE ALWAYS! never sent u anything before this but have truly admired ur work from afar :) <3

describing him as having a "quiet air of confidence" is so real anon. he's just the guy that has shit figured out, things are easier when he's around especially if the odds seemed insurmountable before he showed up.

this line: "he will abandon all social etiquette to have you" got me crazyyyyyy. because he barely relied in social etiquette his entire life, until he got older and rebellion wasn't as necessary for him to feel heard. he's mellowed out somewhat. and i say that very loosely.

"leave events early to make you please him otw home after you teased him in public" making you jack/blow him while he's driving you both home... or letting him stick his fingers in you while he's got one hand on the wheel.

that bit about him making noise when he sits down oh my god... sooo daddy im not even kidding. need him to be tired of my shit and tired in general.

the fact you added: "his praise is more reluctant" bcos that's so fucking true oh my god. takes more to earn his respect and his loyalty because of all the life he's lived. not much impresses him. you'd have to go above and beyond. ""you're here just as i left you."" hubba fucking hubba.

his gray hairs most definitely turn me on oh my fucking godddd no like you'd card your fingers through it, and his tired eyes would fall shut bcos of how good your nails feel. he'd slack a little while you're talkin sweet shit about how handsome he is... run the pads of your fingers over his impossibly soft lips.

"LUV UR WRITING SO V MUCH TY FOR UR SERVICE ALWAYS! never sent u anything before this but have truly admired ur work from afar :) &lt;3" this is sooo sweet! thank you very much for submitting and sharing your thoughts <3 i'm really happy you love and admire my writing! i love reading that. also congrats on your first submission to me :) im so glad you decided to reach out.

[hobbit-historian]

Can I Kiss You Now?

Summary: after Y/N messes up, she goes to extreme measures to win her man back. Based off of this post here.

Song: It’s All Coming Back to Me Now by Céline Dion

Warnings: none

Gif isn’t mine.

Y/N huffed. “I just don’t understand why you can’t see my side of things! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I thought it would be easier this way!” She pinches the bridge of her nose, knuckles turning white.

Kaffee rolls his eyes. “Oh don’t try to throw this back on me! You were the one who insisted on keeping this little fact to yourself.” He made air quotes with his fingers with the last line. “Obviously this isn’t working. If we can’t even talk to each other about this stuff.” He turned around and waved his hand dismissively at Y/N. “Don’t bother calling me later. I’m going straight to bed.”

Y/N sputtered, not believing that Kaffee was just walking away from her, was just going to give up on them, just like that.

Well, she wasn’t.

Kaffee was almost out the door, fingers on the push bar, when he heard the opening notes of a song.

Not just a song.

The song.

The song that he met Y/N to, the song that played over the radio when they had first kissed, the one that she had sung that morning in his kitchen after she had stayed over for the first time.

Y/N was butchering the notes, but Kaffee could recognize Céline Dion’s “it’s all coming back to me now” anywhere. He smiled down at his shoes and then turned on his heels.

Y/N shoots him a wobbly grin as she sings, pointing straight at him. She winks, and the bar’s lights dim, stage lights swiveling to point at him. The rest of the patrons look around, confused.

Kaffee ducks his head and raises a hand in apology to those around him. A couple of the people chuckle as they realize what’s going on, but others groan as Y/N’s off-tune singing soars higher. Kaffee leans against the nearest unoccupied table.

Y/N stands on stage, feeling the barest hint of regret at choosing such a public way to win back Kaffee, especially since her singing voice sucks. She knows it, and by the grimaces on the audience’s faces, they can hear it too.

But then, something wonderful happens. The ladies who had been singing on the stage when Y/N had so rudely interrupted them joined in. Their harmonies mostly covered up Y/N’s vocals. She prayed to the God above that Kaffee would stick around for the end of the song.

She had a plan.

Much to her great joy, the further into the song she got, the closer Kaffee came to the stage. She danced on the stage, hamming the crowd up and earning a few laughs from those watching below.

Kaffee reached the bottom of the stage and Y/N leaned down, out of breath from singing. She’s dreading the notes coming next (not that she would ever be able to hit them) and so she begs first.

“Have you forgiven me yet?”

Kaffee quirked an eyebrow up and shot Y/N one of his infamous smirks. Oh, how that look made Y/N melt. But she forced herself upright and keeps singing, tipping the microphone back above her head as the high note nears. She wails it out, all air squeezed from her lungs as she puts every ounce of herself into this performance.

Kaffee chuckled under his breath and looked down at the floor.

Y/N knelt on the stage, looking back at the chorus ladies and thanking them. She sucked in oxygen, chest heaving as she watched Kaffee for a reaction.

If he walked out after this, it truly was over, things were finished between them.

Kaffee looked up and caught Y/N’s gaze. He motioned her forward. She leaned in, face inches from his.

Silence hangs throughout the bar, all chatter gone as everyone waits for Kaffee’s response.

Y/N spies the twinkle in his eye. Knowing that he wasn’t going to respond, Y/N breathlessly asked, “can I kiss you now?”

There’s a beat after the question where Y/N thinks that she truly has failed, that Kaffee is going to walk away, but then he’s grabbing her face and pulling her close. His lips are pressed on Y/N’s and she’s balancing on the lip of the stage and everything’s messy and loud and not at all how Y/N thought her apology would go. But the crowd was cheering and clapping and the chorus ladies were squealing and hopping behind her as they watched the kiss unfold.

Kaffee pulled away and shot Y/N another melting grin. “Apology accepted.” She giggles and leans her forehead on his, eternally grateful that her stupid silly plan had worked.

[fruitzbasket]

twiyor eden headcanons pt 2 📚

• time passes. people realize loid is okay. for a guy from westalis, at least. he has the best grades in his class, he’s insanely skilled at tennis and other sports, he’s good at cooking, and… he’s handsome. very handsome. chaos ensues.

• most girls are cool about their attraction to loid. and then there’s people like camilla, who go an extra mile to drive yor away from him and vice-versa. they find it easier to target yor, so she gets the short end of the stick.

• one afternoon loid notices that she’s being strangely quiet. shying away from him, avoiding his eyes. he eventually convinces yor to tell him what’s going on and it turns out that someone (camilla) told her that she’s not pretty or smart enough for him. that she’s too bland. too weird. he almost earns a tronitus bolt for the public telling off he gives to yor’s group of “friends”.

• yor receives many love letters. loid always looks like he’s about to stab someone so even though he’s more popular than yor, he doesn’t get as many confessions as her.

• she’s seen loid around his mom. she hugs him often, ruffles his hair, fixes his uniform. westalians must be affectionate people—that’s why loid holds her hand while walking to class, right?

• franky learns quickly that flirting with yor, even jokingly, is a death sentence.

• the library is their favorite spot in eden. yor reads true crime/horror books and points out gruesome paragraphs with a sweet smile on her face. “…and then his spine was ripped out!” “wow. is that book even allowed here?”

• they often have study dates. not that yor would call them dates, mind you.

• in fact, loid thought they had been dating months before they actually started dating. they walked home together everyday, they went on (one-sided) dates with each other all the time, yor disliked it when he was around other girls, she frequented his house, she slept with her head on his shoulder sometimes, etc.

• the day they became imperial scholars is the day yor kisses his cheek for the first time as a thanks for helping her out with her studies. loid valued that kiss more than his new status as a student.

• you know that official art where eden!loid is wearing a bandaid on his nose and yor is looking kind of bashful? she’s to blame for that bandaid being there at all to begin with. it’s just that he was so—so close! she couldn’t not have panicked!

• confessing to yor is a whole ordeal. loid has to come up with several plans and they all end up in failure for one reason or another. when he finally managed ask yor out on a date and walked her back home with the full intention of confessing his feelings on her doorstep, yuri threw a rock at him from the window.

• yor has very organized notes. she adds a few hearts/flowers/stars next to titles when she’s bored so there’s stuff like ♡WAR CRIMES♡ on her notebook lol. yor also writes things like yor forger, yor briar-forger, yor and loid forger… she remembers those too late, when her notebook is already in the possession of the forger in question.

• yor is part of the volleyball club. loid hoped to join the art club since he’s fairly skilled at drawing, but he's busy with the part-time job sylvia dragged him into. also, the tennis club would riot if he were to give his time to any other club.

• loid confesses to yor during valentine’s day. he sees yor being confessed to by someone who’s getting too comfortable, saying things yor doesn’t understand, touching her arm—normally he would just watch. not this time. he's had enough.

• "you should’ve punched him." "i was about to! why are you so mad for, anyway? it's not like we're d—dating." "...i would like to." "what?" "i would like to date you, yor."

• she straight up runs away from him. it's a disaster. loid thinks he might have miscalculated everything yor has done up until now. to him, that was 100% a rejection. he treats it like one.

• yor avoids him like hell after that incident. they only really talk again a few weeks later, when yor kisses him in the infirmary. she sprained her ankle during volleyball practice and loid carried her all the way there without a word. always so good to her. there's no way loid would see her in a romantic light, not after she's showed all her bad sides in front of him. he'd want to date for someone prettier, someone smarter, someone he can protect.

• loid is expecting her to tell him to leave. he doesn’t expect her to look down and quietly tug on the sleeve of his uniform. "did you mean what you said the other day?" (of course he did.)

• yor’s parents were strongly against their relationship at first, citing yor’s naivety and loid’s westalian origin. loid and yor even had to meet secretly for some time. for that reason and that reason only, they waited until loid was done with medical school to get married.

• in this au, loid retains his canon day job. loid is a good match for a psychiatrist, especially one focused on treating war veterans. he’s unbiased, well-acquainted with the subject of war, has great observational skills, etc. i read somewhere that yor’s performance working in the city hall is average at best? enough to not make her boss mad? so i could see her doing something else that she’s more passionate about, maybe as a teacher for younger kids. she’s great with them. and i like that part where she disguised herself as a teacher to infiltrate eden. more yor in glasses, please.

[star-going-supernova]

You wrote a few times about the old animatronics and Vanessa would you mind writing about them and Gregory?

Maybe the new animatronics are jealous over how much time Gregory is spending with them. Or just how the old animatronics admire Gregory for sticking up to good ol SpringB***h and how brave and kind he is.

Gregory deserves an army of animatronics that would kill for him and adore him.

That just reminded me of the meme “I only had __ for a day and a half and if anything happens to him I would kill everyone in this room then myself” lol

We’ve got tumblr generated prompt number 16 here! I got waaaay too into the setup for this, lol, so it’s a bit long. Who am I kidding, a bunch of the ficlets for this round have been longer than usual. And I don’t know why, but when I write the OG bots in SB’s setting, I have a preference for leaving them silent. 

Speedrunning a Family

On that first night, so full of panic and running around and grabbing only what he needed before he could be cornered, Gregory barely spared a second glance at the dusty animatronics packed into a room in the basement. The only real thought he had about them was the hope that they wouldn’t join the hunt as yet more potential threats to his life. And then he forgot about them, and they never did make an appearance, and that was that. 

After, though, after murderers were caught and viruses were removed and injuries healed up, Gregory remembered the four worn-down animatronics. And he got curious. 

He spent a lot of his days and nights in the pizzaplex now that no one was trying to kill him, and his new robot friends were pretty busy during the day, leaving Gregory to entertain himself. 

What could be more entertaining than investigating the animatronics who, he was told, were the very first iterations of the band? 

It was easy as anything, sneaking around places he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. No one, not guest or employee or robot, noticed the boy slipping through supposedly secure doors and down hallways that were off limits to the public. It was barely a challenge at all, even, compared to the absolute STAFF-bot-infested hell the pizzaplex had been on That Night. 

They were right where Gregory remembered they were, a bear, bunny, fox, and chicken tucked away in the shadows, forgotten. 

Almost forgotten. 

He sneezed a few times as he poked around them, and that was hardly stealthy. Being furry instead of smooth plastic and metal made it harder to clean them up, but Gregory was highly motivated and refused to get caught because of a dust bunny. 

They didn’t look so bad once all the dust and grime was wiped away. Clearly well-used, yeah, and with their fair share of dents and tears, but the suits were still fluffy and soft no matter how discolored they were. 

It took more time and effort to find a way to recharge their dead batteries than it did to clean them, but again—highly motivated. Gregory simply refused to back down from a challenge, especially when the reward was so promising. To his luck, all the stuff related to these particular animatronics had been shoved into the same storage room. Once he found the charging cables—much easier to deal with than stations—it was merely a matter of fixing up some exposed wiring and dealing with a bit of rust, but it was only a few days after Gregory initially set out on his quest that he got them all recharging. 

He sat back with a book, stayed close to the door just in case, and waited.

• • •

It seemed fitting, in a way, that Freddy was the first to power up. His head lifted from its slouch forward surprisingly smoothly, his blue eyes flickering a bit before firmly staying on. Gregory watched with bated breath as he looked around. 

In silence, Freddy examined Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy—Gregory had done his research—where they were still limp and shut down. And then he noticed Gregory, sitting on the floor a few feet away. He blinked at Gregory; the snap of his eyelids coming down was audible in the quiet room. 

Unafraid, Gregory waved. He had considered whether he should be on his guard and prepare to shoot up and sprint from the room at the first sign of trouble but ultimately deemed it unnecessary. Even if only because these bots were bulkier than the Glamrocks, and he doubted Freddy would be able to stand quickly. 

After a brief pause, Freddy reached up and tipped his little top hat in greeting. 

Gregory beamed and scooted closer. “I’m Gregory. Do you know where you are?” This was the moment of truth. Were these old animatronics aware the way the Glamrocks were? Or were they no more advanced than the stupid STAFF bots? He crossed his fingers. 

Freddy examined the room at large for a moment, then shook his head. Undeterred by the silence, Gregory inched closer still. 

“It’s storage,” he explained, and Freddy watched him attentively. “We’re in the basement of another pizzeria. Yours is gone—sorry—so I guess you could consider this your retirement.” 

And though Freddy’s mouth didn’t move, deep, echoing laughter came from within him, and he shifted back against the wall in a way that read as getting comfy. 

Oh, they were going to get along just fine.

• • •

The Glamrock animatronics never seemed quite sure what to do with the four old ones. Freddy—Gregory’s Freddy, or maybe, his first Freddy—had said they didn’t talk ever, not even over their internal communications system. Other than some programmed sound bites, like Freddy’s laughter, they relied solely on gestures and body language to communicate. 

And Gregory, as it turned out, found it an easy language to learn. 

He loved all the bots—though not necessarily equally, heh—and that most certainly included the old models. Partly as a joke, given their age, and partly because he couldn’t reasonably go around calling both Freddys by name, he started calling the older one Grandpa Freddy. Then it shortened to just Grandpa, then Pops, and, well, there were two Chicas too, and even with Glamrock Bonnie gone, it would have been confusing, and then Foxy got huffy about it, and at that point, Gregory would have felt bad about leaving him out. 

So that was how he ended up with a father figure in Freddy, assorted aunts and uncles (and grunkle for Foxy because such a crinkly looking word fit best for him, and Foxy liked having a title all of his own) across both generations, and Nana for Chica and Pops. 

Gregory was living the dream: he had literally gone from zero to nearly a dozen family members, and he’d bite anyone who said they couldn’t be his family on account of them being robots. 

It occurred to him at some point that maybe the buried pizzeria had been theirs, so one night, he brought them down. And as they explored the ruins of the building with nostalgic familiarity, Gregory told them about the monster even further below them, the one that had tried very hard to kill him. 

He told them of how he had killed the monster instead. 

Pops fell still as Gregory finished describing the final showdown. He turned slowly from where he stood in front of the broken stage, and his eyes were dim. 

That could mean any number of things. “Pops?” Gregory asked, swinging his feet beneath the wobbly table he’d taken a seat on. “You okay?” 

The others all stayed where they were, watching in silence. He was used to their quiet, but even this felt different. Pops walked up to him, his feet scuffing against the debris littering the floor. 

With a burst of static, a crackly recording played from Pops’s speakers. It wasn’t a sound bite, wasn’t anything Gregory’d ever heard before. It was a proper recording, a memory brought to life. 

It wasn’t much, just a man laughing. But it wasn’t really a happy sort of laugh. 

After a moment, Gregory recognized it. The monster had laughed too, when it seemed that he would succeed in taking over Freddy. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Pops’s body heaved a little, like a great sigh, and then he was reaching out to scoop Gregory up. He was maybe a little below average height-wise for his age—malnutrition did him no favors—but he never felt smaller or lighter than he did when any of the animatronics effortlessly picked him up and cuddled him close to their chest. 

He wondered, as he latched on to Pops’s soft fur, if this was a hug to comfort him or Pops. No good could come from knowing the monster, and if what he’d almost done to Freddy and the others was any indication, Gregory doubted any animatronic who crossed the monster’s path came away better for it. Whatever the four original robots had witnessed or were unwillingly part of, he didn’t know. He didn’t have to know. 

Gregory pressed his forehead to the curve of Pops’s jaw. “I’m here,” he reassured him. “And you’re here, and he’s not. He’s gone.” 

As ever, Pops didn’t respond with words. His hand pressed a little more firmly into Gregory’s back, holding him tight. It felt a bit like agreement and relief and maybe a touch of protective anger that the monster had been a threat to Gregory at all. 

“C’mon,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.” 

A hum that was more vibration than sound answered him, and Pops turned to leave the pizzeria without releasing Gregory. He huffed in amusement and rolled his eyes over Pops’s shoulder at the others as if to say can you believe this guy? 

They left the buried building behind, and Gregory got the feeling that they wouldn’t be returning any time soon. 

[9w1ft]

Hi 9. I hope you are well. Your blog has been a balm for my soul in dark times, read your comments full of confidence it's like fresh air.

I would like to ask if recently or in the past, you have received unpleasant comments saying that we are wrong in what we believe in addition to adding insults, etc. How have you learned to deal with it and if at any point have they hurt you emotionally?

aw heyy thanks for saying that!

oh yeah over the years i’ve had my share of flack and insults in my inbox or maybe i’ve had an altercation here or there, and sometimes you can put a bandaid on and go about your day but usually it’s still a cut you can feel. i guess the tl;dr: would be, i think that over the years ive learned to find the right blend of environment and outlook that sets me up to have it hurt less. also i think being able to contextualize hate dismantles its power greatly.

the big thing that youve got to have the ability to laugh at yourself. this is such a wild situation to be in! embrace it. a little self deprecation goes a long way. if you let go of the need to be understood by everyone and you recognize how wild of a situation it is that we are in, and if you can laugh about it, it cures most things imo.

next you have to keep the context of the hate in mind. a lot of things i’ve had said to me just dont hurt because i know the people saying them just don’t understand what they’re talking about 😆 maybe this comes with time.. like maybe if you hang around long enough it will click, but people from different parts of the fandom are speaking from completely different languages of meaning and beliefs and so i’ll see a comment and just be like wow that’s so fascinating how this person got compelled to compose that and say it with their whole chest. couldn’t be me!

another thing is just, it has a lot to do with where we are at and what i believe or what other like minded people do. to us, we have kiiinda already reached a kaylor win condition. i know people would disagree and i get why, but to me, in the grand scheme of things, i don’t feel the need to argue or defend because we’re already there. we’ve already made it! all the rest is a bonus to me. and so what this outlook does is it makes any hate seem really really quaint. like don’t care if rude people don’t understand. why would they deserved to? 😆 they should stay right where they are.

i think hate can hurt more when you at a point where you are less confident of what you think or if you want to listen to everyone and make sense of everyone as a way to uphold ‘fairness’ or a sense of a greater community but, when you are around long enough and get a better sense of each groups’ different motivations, you come to realize that your good intentions to involve and convince everyone is a bit of a fool’s errand because at the tops of each group is a core that will never move from their position. in the end it’s just more about a personal journey, i think. and i think usually you pick a lane or a group and just stick to it and most of the drama feels different because when you stop feeling the need to litigate, hate becomes confrontation for confrontation’s sake, and then the hate stops being about you, and you can see it as a part of a bigger thing.

also one key thing… i think it’s eons easier to avoid everyday conflict on places like tumblr than on twitter. it’s easier to curate what you have on your blog and its not a very public facing platform so things are more quiet and don’t spread to the general public. this filters out a ton. and there’s less eyes on your stuff and like people can screenshot and bitch on their own space but it’s not a quote tweet so you don’t really have this sense if you’re being talked about. you can block and even block individual IP’s, or on the flip side you can monitor activity on statcounter and see patterns of where messages come from and it kind of dismantles the mystique of them. tumblr makes it a lot easier to just do your thing. it’s not always in your face. and i would have a different persona and talk differently if i was on a different platform.

and i think people in general are better at staying in their lane here than on other platforms. over the years we have all sort of found our pockets and in general we stay in them, i think! so the stuff i do get is just always worded and delivered in the same way so i know its from the same people so it’s a little bit like kramer popping in on any given episode of seinfeld. it’s just part of the routine at this point 😆

[probssomethingorother]

We all break a little, when we fall: a the last of us fic

one of my more dark fics.. just added a new chapter so posting it here (actually cross posting woop woop!)

post-winter, hurt/comfort (more hurt tho), violence, dark themes

Ellie & Joel, canon compliant, big sad, angst high

Rating: Mature - dark themes & violence

"Is that what you've been thinking, worried about...this entire time?" Ellie shrugged, eyes downcast, unable to admit it by raising her gaze to meet him. “Holding this in, suffering with all this, it doesn’t make you brave.” “Then...why do you do it?”

--- As Ellie struggles in the aftermath of winter, the road to Salt Lake doesn't make anything easier. She's trying, and Joel is trying, but nothing is simple about the path forward.

New chapter up on Ao3 and below :)

or start at the beginning with the old stuff : [chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4 | chp 5 | chp 6 ]

CHAPTER 7 ⤵️

[TW: discussion/mention of CSA- nothing super explicit, just talking about it happening, discussion/mention of suicide - slightly more details with this one, but its fairly brief toward the end]

The square was packed far more than normal, word had quickly gotten around and people were interested. Joel could only remember a couple of other times when people had come out in droves like this, bumping shoulder to shoulder- and none involved a hanging. On a normal day, by and large, people tended to avoid the public death spectacle. 

But not today. 

The death of a FEDRA officer was something most people could get behind.

Aimlessly searching the crowd, Joel was jostled by someone nudging into his shoulder with a force that couldn’t be accidental. A swear was just on the cusp of escaping his mouth until he turned to find his blonde-headed friend standing next to him with a smug smile.

“Tex.”

“Tess.” 

She bumped her shoulder into his again, more playfully this time, knowing it irritated him. 

“Thought you didn’t like these things,” Joel questioned without turning to face her, eyes still fixed on the ever-growing mass of people. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” she lightly quipped back. 

“I don’t.,” he replied sternly before continuing in a slightly more hushed tone, “but Stevens said we did some 'business' with the guy…just want to make sure everything’s kosher.”

Joel knew they always took a risk selling to FEDRA officers, but thankfully, so far, nothing had ever come of it. Nothing was confirmed, but if rumors served true, and a FEDRA officer was taking the noose, it could very well be because of Joel and Tess, and their crew, and their ever-so-sweet oxies. He wouldn’t admit it, but it did make him a little apprehensive that their business venture was in jeopardy.

“We don’t have to worry,” Tess tried to assure him, her own eyes now evaluating the crowd, moving back and forth. 

Joel crossed his arms in front of his chest and cleared his throat not really believing Tess - she was often more optimistic than he was. 

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered. 

She leaned in closer then, voice just above a whisper to discreetly compete with the roar of the crowd, “he’s a pedo.”

Joel raised his eyebrows as Tess added, “at the factory,” clarifying further when she really didn’t need to. Joel was well aware that the officer in question was stationed at the FEDRA school - even remembers joking with Stevens that the guys over there are good clients because they need something to take the edge off after beating the kids into soldiers. 

“…heard from Judy, that tailor on Elm, that it’s like the fucken catholic church over there. Normally they just get moved off to the wall when they're caught…must’ve gone after the wrong kid or something to end up here.” 

The roar of the crowd suddenly died down just as Tess finished, an officer escorting another up the ladder onto the elevated rickety makeshift stage. His shoulders hung low, arms tied behind his back, his red curly hair sticking out prominently against the dreary backdrop of brown dingy buildings. He was still wearing his uniform, but even from quite far back, Joel could tell all the FEDRA patches were ripped off, some even leaving wide gaping holes in their place. 

He did look familiar to Joel, but not enough to remember his name or anything much about him. 

The escorting officer pushed the ginger further along the small stage, causing the man to stumble into place right in front of the noose already set and ready to go. When he didn’t turn to face the crowd quick enough, the other officer roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to do so, before slipping the rope over his neck. 

The silence in the square was impressive, everyone waiting eagerly for the charges to be read. The creaking of the structure under just the weight of the two echoed loudly, increasing the palpable tension in the air.  There was a harsh screech as the speaker turned on before a consistent static buzzing took its place. The escorting officer didn’t say a word as she looked at the crowd almost as if she was purposefully trying to draw this out, make it more entertaining, keep people on the edge of their seats.

And then her booming voice filled the area: “Nathan Drews,” a solemn pause, “violation of  EMC 675.1, EMC 781.2, EMC 781.4, and 791.1 - abuse of a steward, lewd and lascivious acts with a minor, sexual abuse of a minor, and rape in the first. You have been tried in a military court of justice, and you have been found guilty by the court martial panel, and with a sentence of death by execution, as empowered under the EMPA, Article 1, Section 5, your sentence will now be carried out forthwith. You have exhausted all opportunities for appeal without success, and a stay of execution is not granted. The court has chosen death by hanging, which you will submit to now before the people.”

The speaker cut out with a grating ring as the officer lowered her microphone and came up behind Drews, tightening the rope around his neck ever so slightly, before giving him a cheeky pat on the shoulder and shuffling a few feet over to a leaver. 

“Told you so,” Tess mumbled into Joel’s ear, bumping into his shoulder yet again.  

Joel didn’t say a word, instead keenly focused on the man in the gallows who was shaking like a leaf, certainly terrified for his own demise. Despite all the things Drews was standing up there for, all Joel could feel was relief, not disgust or anger. 

The escorting officer raised the mic to her mouth for a final time: “Nathan Drews, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

With the crank of the leaver, the wood hatch beneath Drews fell open, body dropping down, rope audibly stretching under the sudden burden of carrying weight. 

The crowd stayed silent for a moment longer before soft hushes began to grow louder and louder, sound levels picking up.  It all had lasted less than ten minutes and people weren’t sticking around to make it go longer. The crowd began to dissipate as Drews' lifeless body swung back and forth in the stands while the execution officer took their leave too. 

Together, Joel and Tess left, quietly happy that only one of Drew's vices had been outed to the world.

---

The memory of the day floated back through his head. It played in reverse - mind first reminding him that was the day he cut off supply to  “the factory,” - their beloved codename for the delivery location. He was sitting in his apartment with Tess, nursing a glass of whiskey and picking at his cuticles as he tried to figure out how to bring it up with Tess. He didn’t want to sell to the officers stationed at the school anymore, even if they raked in major profits from it. The stuff they supplied could knock a horse on its ass and if there was even a possibility that it was being peddled to unwitting children, doping them up to hurt them, Joel wasn’t going to do it anymore. He could stomach some pretty morally questionable things, but that was something he didn’t want on his conscience. As he looked out the window, the sun slowly rising, more memories of the preceding events came to a hazy focus in his mind - the crowd and the execution, a vague recollection that violations summed up sexual abuse. He couldn’t remember the officer's name, but Joel saw his face pretty clearly in his head adorning a rope necklace around his neck.

Heart beginning to thump hard in his chest again, Joel said lowly, “Yeah, I remember that one."

If Ellie was bringing this up now, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots, but doing so was almost unbearable. Two years ago, she would have been twelve, and the abuse could have been going on for years before that, that officer hurting her over and over again. Fuck, his drugs even could have played a part in it. He imagined her smaller- so much smaller - on the floor in the back beneath a faceless FEDRA officer, unable to fight back, incapacitated by the very substance he once relied on just to get through the day. 

As the thoughts cemented more and more in his head, all while Ellie sat there quietly, it made Joel want to vomit. His head felt heavy as he forced it away from the glass and over to her. She too was still staring out the window,  seemingly trying to lose herself in the emerging landscape just as he had futilely tried to moments ago.

With a breath, Joel sputtered out remorsefully, choking on his words, “That, um..God,..Ellie, I didn’t know…I’m so sorry kid….” 

She shook her head. “Luisa Sullivan.”

The name hung in the air as Joel slowly digested it- another name, not hers. Once again, he had let his mind fill in the blanks too quickly and was incorrect about the situation. It felt a little wrong to be glad about the suffering of another child, but still, Joel welcomed the implication with a deep sigh like he had been holding his breath.

“Luisa. She was in my dorm block at FEDRA, but older - not in my year. She was having sex with Officer Drews…Everyone knew about it.” 

“Drews,” Joel said back, the name sounding right in his head with his memories.  

“mm-hmm,” she hummed. 

He was about to ask what this had to do with her, now that what he had assumed was wrong, but Ellie started speaking again, eyes still trained on the outdoors. Her gaze was distant, clearly remembering memories from ages ago. 

“People would tease her about sleeping with him, and she would usually throw it back at them…make jokes saying like ‘fuck the rest of you orphans, you’re just jealous someone loves me’… or like I remember one time at mess, Marty Wells - god Marty - you would have hated Marty, Joel. He had such bad jokes…worse than mine..” she turned her head towards him with the little quick little side comment, meeting his gaze with the beginnings of a smile, thinking of Marty pestering Joel with actually shitty puns. The idea only lasted a second before she realized she had gotten distracted with thought and cleared it away with a little twitch of her head.  

“Anyways-," she said drawing out the word before her cadence picked up on the rest, "Marty made a big deal about how Luisa got extra rations, thought it was cheating or something, and she got pissed," she rushingly informed him, trying to quickly get back on track before the spark of whatever was allowing her to open up to Joel fizzled out.  

“Luisa, it was this whole thing, thought she was going to smash him over the head with a tray, but she just yelled, like loud, that if he actually wanted more food he just needed ‘to learn to open his mouth a little wider.’”

Joel cringed at the image of the vulgar comment coming out of one child’s mouth and being spat at another. 

“Marty was gay, so it was like a good blow,” Ellie added, shrugging her shoulders as if to give Luisa a kudos for the jab. 

Ellie squirmed in her seat again, hands coming to the edge of the tabletop, gripping it tightly as she picked at the separating finish with the nails of her thumbs. Joel waited as she fell silent, clearly mulling over her next words as she fidgeted with the table. This was the most he had heard her talk in months and didn’t want to ruin it by interrupting, or worse, saying the wrong thing and making her go cold on him. 

“…she never actually talked about the sex, even though lots of the girls asked her for the details. Wanted to, um you know…know.. what it was like, to be with a guy, but she never said anything about what Drews actually did.”

Joel let out a soft hum with a small nod of his head, trying to broadcast to Ellie that he was really listening even if staying silent. He wanted to reach out and take her hand again, but they were firmly glued at the table’s edge, picking away. His eyes were now stuck there too. 

It was clear that this was making her anxious - nervous in a way he had never seen her before- not even right after Silver Lake. 

“But-”  she began again, accentuating the word, head tilting before swallowing and continuing on, “-when we were in the showers she would have bruises.”

The clicking that filled the air from Ellie messing with the table stopped, the air becoming eerily still between them again. Gradually, she raised her head to meet Joel again.

He looked so fucking sad, and worried, and stern, all at the same time. It made her feel small. He was looking at her like she was defenseless and broken - and she hadn’t even gotten to the part about herself yet. Taking in his look of pity, she momentarily debated just stopping this all now. She knew Joel already saw her as some hurt little kid - no matter how hard she tried to be brave and independent- and she knew what to come would just make those feelings exponentially grow within him. 

Her hand mindlessly came up to her mouth, and she began biting at the nail of her thumb as her mind tried to convince her that sharing this all wasn't worth it. 

Just stop, it's not too late, don't be a cry baby..

As Joel's perturbed eyes bore into her, Ellie's own went blank, staring nowhere in particular - lost in her own thoughts. 

..stupid chicken shit for bringing this up

But maybe, just maybe, if he knew what was going on in her head, what she had been dealing with, he wouldn’t think she was as weak as she seemed. It was a long shot, she knew that, but Ellie was never one to play things safe.

The sound of the booth squeaking under Joel's weight as he repositioned straighter up caught Ellie's attention. When she focused on him again, he looked more like normal Joel, stiff and rugged, less upset. She could do this. 

Swallowing down the unease, hand dropping away from her mouth, Ellie continued, looking Joel dead in the eye. 

“Like we all had bruises, but she had bruises,” she said with a slow nod. 

“Bruises?” It wasn’t a hard concept to understand, and he found himself saying the word as more of an afterthought, head momentarily elsewhere as he parsed through everything she had been telling him. 

“Yeah, but like she never said anything bad about him……”

He held onto her every word, knowing she was saying this all for a reason. He was desperately trying to put it all together like some equation and deduce the solution before he was left asking what Luisa had to do with her, with them, with everything that has clearly and awkwardly been festering between since Colorado.

Joel wanted to get it - get her -before she had to bear the weight of explaining it point-blank. 

“And then there was this one night I was sneaking out with my friend,” she paused there briefly, biting at her lower lip as her hands went back to the table's edge, nails resuming carving into the wood, “-and we had to go by the watch officer’s office, and we heard…sounds.. from Drews…”

Ellie let that linger in the air for a second, Joel once again parroting her words. 

“Sounds,” he muttered, hands coming to rest crossed on the tabletop. His hands were growing sweaty, and his stomach suddenly felt like it was cramping now that she had inserted herself into the story. 

With another nod, Ellie continued recounting the events. “When we came back later, and we were all in the bathroom, Luisa was crying in a stall and another girl was teasing her, asking if she was crying over him - something about seeing another girl go into the watch office, someone younger.”

Joel took a deep breath in and out. God, younger? Younger than her or younger the Luisa?

“Luisa lost it, got in a fistfight with the girl who was making fun of her, and everyone in the bathroom got sent to the Hole just for being up and awake.”

He couldn’t hold his tongue anymore, his body itching to engage with all the horrible things she had been recounting over the last several minutes. He had hoped there would be a more natural lull, or some better way to interject, but nothing had come, and now felt as safe a time as ever to say something.  

“Ellie…I’m sorry you had to..”  Deal with that, see that, experience that?  

Before Joel could find and land the rest of the words, Ellie was starting up again, cutting him off from finishing his needless apology. Her gaze had gone even more distant now, hands running still as the rest of her body turned tense. 

“- when we got put into the Hole…” she said, words coming out slower and slower as if she was hesitant on going forward with the rest. 

She had joked with Joel about the Hole before, but her mind was now going to the worst memories of the dark cold chamber, absolutely no funny wisecracks coming to mind. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the dark damp walls, the little bit of dim light poking through the bars of the small square window on the door, the metal bed, the sorry excuse of a toilet, and the kids crying. They always fucking cried down there, especially the young ones.

Nobody ever said anything if they heard you though. 

“What happens in the Hole, stays in the Hole.”

A FEDRA catchphrase followed by officers and kids alike. 

If she let herself go still, her ears turn off, her mind go blank, she swore she could remember the echoes of Luisa's wails, her yells- pure anguish. Getting rest was never easy in the Hole, but those woeful cries kept her from getting any sleep at all those couple days.

Noticing Ellie beginning to lose focus, eyes seemingly staring somewhere beyond him, Joel softly called out to her. “Ellie?” He normally didn’t catch it, but he saw her dissociation happening in real-time and wasn't going to let her go there - wherever she went.

Mercifully, just the call of her name seemed to break the trance, Ellie snapping back to with a flutter of her eyelids, looking at him once more. She cleared her throat and continued on as if she hadn’t just almost checked out for a second. 

“We got two days and Luisa and the other girl got three. Luisa never came out.”  

She said it all matter-of-factly, simply and curtly, as if she wasn’t talking about torture and death.

“That ahh, must have been hard, on ya’ll,” was all Joel could manage, wringing his hands together, still unsure where she was taking him with the story, but trying to be supportive nonetheless.

Ellie shrugged. 

“It got around that she killed herself down there. Figured she slit her wrist with her bobby pins or something.” She raked a hand through her hair, brushing down her messy ponytail absently, “-they never used to check for those….happened a few times….Made sense.”

Joel hummed in his throat, contemplating the new information. 

Killed herself….okay….

His head sagged as he brought his hand to his chin rubbing at it nervously, thinking long and hard. 

Suicide. 

A flash of a gun in his hand and cool metal pressed at his temple blipped in his mind, fleeting, but there all the same - a dark, intimate, and suppressed memory.

He breathed in sharply, now very very worried Ellie’s mental health was far worse than he thought it was. He knew she had been through a lot, and that was just the bits he got to experience with her for the last several months. There was probably a lifetime of trauma stored in her body from a time before him and her and the trek of the century. He knew it, just never thought about how it might push her to the edge and wear her down until her mindset was that life wasn’t worth living. 

If she was telling him this story now, maybe she was trying to ask for help- looking for a lifeline before it was too late. 

Hesitantly, Joel raised his head. His eyes searched her face, desperately hoping to somehow find the answer to a question he dreaded asking. His hand thoughtlessly moved from his beard up to his temple, fingers rubbing over his scar as he mustered the courage to say the words out loud. 

“Ellie..um..are you?” His mouth was going dry, and the words stuck like peanut butter on the roof of his pallet. He gulped down. “-are you tryin' to-" he cleared his throat with a chesty huff, "- are ya feelin’ like Luisa?” 

The question came out clumsily, but at least he said it. The lifeline was out there, she just needed to take it. 

[phoenixyfriend]

Well, That's Not According to Plan: Chapter 5

Read on AO3

There's a little sister to reassure.

As we are using Star Wars weeks, Anakin is about 3 months along, maybe thirteen weeks, and just entering the second trimester.

----------

Rex hears Kix before he sees him.

“You are the reason I am going to go bald early, General.”

Anakin grins, though it’s nervous. “Hey, Kix.”

“I am not an obstetrician,” Kix accuses. “I am taking the modules that Healer Eerin sent, uploading the software to the med droids, and apparently there will be a Jedi Healer with the appropriate training stopping by when in the same system, but I am still going to have to stuff all this into the gaps between my normal duties.”

“Uh,” Anakin manages, stepping back. “Sorry?”

Rex hides a smile.

“If you try to skip a single check-up or show up late for no reason, I’m having you sent back to Eerin,” Kix warns. “I will accept very few excuses. You are going to do everything in your power to make my job easier, so help me, or I will make you someone else’s problem.”

“Understood,” Anakin says, a touch faintly. Rex can’t hide his grin.

Kix notices, and rolls his eyes. “I’m sending you a schedule, General. Stick to it, or suffer the consequences. Captain, the same goes for you.”

“But I’m not—”

“You are responsible for the General in this,” Kix says. He glances at his wrist-comm, and sighs. “Fuck’s sake, are you—I need to leave. Take care of yourself.”

“Sure thing,” Anakin says, almost weak. Rex doesn’t step up to let Anakin sag against him, much as he wants to. They are still in public, after all. “I don’t like it when Kix is mad at me.”

“Who does?”

(Continue reading on AO3)

[zionmantis]

I would love to hear about how the DE speaks to your experiences with psychosis!

DE seems to be an attempt to represent thinking through game/story mechanics, and I really appreciate that it doesn’t seem to just represent “normal” thought but also neurodivergent or dysfunctional thoughts. Made me feel seen, so I’d love to hear how it made you feel, if it’s something you’d want to share!

Ah, thanks for the ask! I hope my tags on your post didn't seem rude; reading back I was so worried they did <3 You made an absolutely wonderful post; I wouldn't have reblogged it if I didn't love it. I'm ADHD too, and it's so great to see a character we can relate with and to see how positive reinforcement from a person like Kim can really make a difference.

Excuse me while I ramble a bit! This is stuff I want to post about all the time but I worry people will hate it, so questions like this really make me happy because it gives me an excuse x)

One of the reasons I adore this game more than any other is that it's both breathtakingly sad as well as absolutely hysterical, and humor is how I've started approached my issues of mental illness in the past. Now, that way is not for everyone; some people don't want any sort of laughter at it, and that's completely valid and makes perfect sense, but humor is just how I've been able to adjust to memories of really bad times in my life without completely hating myself. For me, the game does a really good job of making a hard subject funny without making it seem like we're laughing AT Harry, if that makes sense, even if we think some of his antics are hilarious. I also love love love that that humor is also tackling the, mmm, less "romantic" (?I'm not sure that's the word I want to use for this...maybe "palatable"?) issues that can come with severe mental illness. Like if I remember right, there's a nonstandard ending where Harry can end up living under a bridge and throwing his own shit at people who pass by, pff.

For me it was a surprise to come into this fandom and find that not everyone sees what he's going through as being psychosis (same with ADHD; he absolutely has that, at least to me). I've seen a couple people -- I think it was on Reddit -- argue that what Harry experiences is not psychosis and is just a manifestation of his thought processes and impulsive behavior, and for me that is just...wild xD (and I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but it's fun to discuss, I think?)

But here's the deal for me: if someone sticks their thumb up their ass in public because their friend dared them to and they think it will be funny, that's impulsive behavior. If someone sticks their thumb up their ass in public because a voice in their head told them it would make them a better detective, that's a delusion.

So what does that have to do with me? Well, for me, I have a rare diagnosis of OCD with psychotic features, and (gonna put the rest of this under a cut in case it's triggering for people to read about psychotic episodes)

mine, before being involuntarily (but needed at the time) hospitalized twice and properly medicated, tended to be things like...I would think my limbs were detaching themselves from my body, or one time I wouldn't open my eyes for literally almost two days because I thought all sharp-cornered objects would cut them. Hallucinations would involve seeing what I thought was my skin being pulled as my limbs detached and occasional auditory hallucinations of crowds in my head (where I'd then think they were trying to tell me something Important and drive myself crazy sitting and listening to unreal crowd burble noises), but none of the stuff fiction likes to show because it's easier to depict (never had voices in my head telling me to do stuff or saw a super clear hallucination of a person or monster unless you count sleep paralysis. There were occasional shadows and vague faces that move in walls which I still get when I'm extra tired, but the only times I ever thought those things were real was when my brain was telling me I was receiving otherworldly messages.) There were other things, too, behavioral stuff I'd rather not talk about because it's still so shameful for me.

I thankfully respond really well to medication, which is especially good since OCD with psychosis is notoriously hard to treat since the types of drugs for OCD vs. psychosis seem to do the exact opposite things and block one another.

Anyway, back to DE. This is a bit...shallow, but it was extremely refreshing to play a game where the main character is at least as big of a disaster as me, if not worse xD;. I FEEL SO SEEN, haha, and not only that, but it's a protagonist in an extremely popular game, and fans like him anyway??? That's fantastic. I never thought I'd see the day.

Now, why does he have psychosis -- as in what diagnosis? I'm not sure, but I don't think it'd be OCD with psychotic features like me (even if he potentially has OCD, which I'll discuss in a moment.) I'd say he probably has bipolar 1 and/or (since not unusual to be comorbid), schizophrenia, though I lean more toward bipolar 1 even though the game itself says the word "schizophrenia" out loud a couple times. (To be clear, I'm not a mental health professional, but I don't think the writers of DE are, either. I would also like to say that if anyone reading this is schizophrenic and feel that Harry is as well, your opinion is way more valid than my own and I'd love to hear from you.)

I lean toward bipolar 1 because of the obvious -- he's gone through both manic and depressive stages in the past and does so in the game with a ton of delusional thinking combined with (short-lived or skin-deep) inflated sense of self (Superstar Cop, Honor Cop, etc.) It's also well known that folks with bipolar tend to self medicate. It's less well known that bipolar often has psychotic features as well.

As for an argument for schizophrenia, I'd point toward Apocalypse Cop, that paranoid delusion (??? mmaaaaybe, haha,) about the world ending (I really only know about paranoid schizophrenia; I don't know much about the other types, so it's entirely possible Harry has one of those instead,) as well as his lack of awareness about hygiene, though that could maybe be explained by his amnesia and the fact he was on a days-long bender before the game started. The reason I'm a little bit hesitant toward it is because Harry seems too aware of his own problems and the fact that he is not experiencing life the way most other people do, (he actually questions Kim at the beginning if Kim also hears voices,) and the couple people I met in the hospital that had schizophrenia were (when still adjusting to medications or had yet to find something that would work for them,) really unable to have that kind of self-awareness.

As for the OCD, I'm not as sure of that for him like I am with ADHD and either his bipolar and/or schizophrenia, but I think there's some pretty good arguments to be made. To me, Harry's constant harping on things that no one else thinks is interesting or important is a factor of his ADHD but can *feel* like OCD, but more so when he is stuck in verbal loops, which could definitely actually be OCD rather than, say, brain damage, since he seems to be aware that he's doing it. Some of the more bullying Skills also feel SO much like OCD, the ones telling him to do things that are nonsensical and that he doesn't actually seem to want to do feels like -- just for one of my many, many non-hallucinatory, fully OCD moments in my life -- when I just had to put a lit match in my mouth because if I didn't, *everyone I love would die,* pff. (Spoiler alert: it burns and it tastes weird.) Actually, I'm just now realizing why Authority may have been one of my least favorite Skills, as funny as its situations could get (ICE COP HAT FUCK SHOW?!??!?)

Anyway, I'm sorry for such a long answer to your question, @linisiane, but it made me so happy you asked! I really appreciate your question. This game is so good for making most people with any kind of neurodivergence feel good. I think it might be the most important fictional thing (for my own well-being) I've ever found. There's so much you can say about it. In fact, I know I've forgotten some stuff I wanted to talk about, but oh well! I can always add or something later if I feel like it. If anyone has any questions about this, you're very free to ask me. I'm also super excited to start talking to more people in the DE fandom; I have yet to convince any of my friends to play it for more than ten minutes.

I love y'all so much! I mean it. This fandom is great.

[directactionforhope]

Format for Submitting a Post

Example post here!

Pretend the post starts here:

Post title, preferably the title of the page/action/fundraiser goes here

[Stick the link here, or turn the post title into a link!]

[If it comes with a big image-based link preview, awesome! If not, you may want to put an image here, because posts with images are more likely to catch people's eyes. I use Unsplash for royalty-free and credit-free images when stuff like this happens but you don't have to. If you do, please add an image description either here or in the alt text.]

[You can also add a video here if the campaign/organization made one! If you do, please add a sentence or two describing the contents of the video as a caption.]

--

Copy some text from the page describing the action! Preferably 1-5 paragraphs.

--

Info

Action Type: [Petition? Submitting an official public comment? Fundraiser? (See here for fundraiser submission rules.) Postcard campaign? Protest? Phone banking? Something else?]

Source Organization or Activist: [Name here, with a link so I/other people can verify..]

Where: [What country/state/province/city is this relevant to? Also, where can people participate from?]

In person or virtual: [Specify. Yes, you can post local in-person protests and the like.]

Time/Date Range: [Start date if it hasn't started yet, end date if there is one. Obviously include the time if it's specific.]

Here's the link again!

Anything else: [You can delete this section if you have nothing else to add. You can also talk about why this is personal to you, why you're involved with this issue, anything else.]

--

[The rest of this isn't part of the sample post it's just Notes:]

Notes:

I know this is a lot of info to ask for, and I really appreciate you providing it anyway!

Obviously your version can be way shorter than my example post. I designed this format to try to maximize chances of engagement by giving people as many necessary details (esp area and dates) without people needing to click through.

I also designed this format to make it as quick and easy as possible for me to verify it. Which is important because I really want to make sure I'm not posting any scams! Which can be sadly very common.

The quicker and easier you make it for me to verify the submission, the more likely it will get posted.

Let me know in the post if there's any content warnings you want me to include! I try to include the basics but don't get everything.

Please include image descriptions and/or video descriptions (video descriptions can be a brief summary or a couple sentences telling us what the video is about)

Let me know if there are any tags you want included either! I might not know all of the tags, especially for niche issues, that people post under

Again you can find an example submitted post here.

[aeoki]

Grand Slam - The Old-Fashioned Sports Festival: Chapter 6

Location: Yumenosaki Grounds (Sports Festival) Characters: Hinata, Yuuta, Mika & Ibara

TL Note: 

This is a combination of Ibara’s first name and “Doraemon”, a robot cat who has a variety of tools from the future.

< At that time. At the waiting place for "Team CosPro". >

Mika: I-It’s really lively, huh. Especially, “Team StarPro”.

Hinata: It’s like a complete funeral for us, though.

Yuuta: This is so unfair! Why did they split everyone into their agencies? On top of that, only the current Yumenosaki students can participate?

It’s a conspiracy! A punishment! They know there are way fewer idols under CosPro compared to the other agencies at Yumenosaki so they tricked us!

Hinata: Yeah, yeah~! They’re bullying us! They’re making us take responsibility for “Crazy:B’s” antics over the summer since we’re both under CosPro! Probably!

Mika: Ahaha. Despite making such a fuss, it seems we CosPro suffered the least over the summer, though.

Maybe it’s 'cause CosPro is the agency the "Crazy:B" people are under, but they didn’t attack CosPro at all.

Yuuta: Well, no one is stupid enough to break their own legs~...But, even so, I’m sure the public totally sees CosPro as the bad guys.

Hinata: That’s why, no one is going to sympathise with us, even though we’re in such an unfair position! They’re all heartless!

Yuuta: Don’t tell me it actually makes them super happy seeing us getting cornered…?

Mika: I think you guys are reading too much into it~ Just 'cause we’re from the same agency as the bad guys, I don’t think they’ll label all of us as villains.

Yuuta: Oho! You’re so sickly sweet and naive like sugar!

Hinata: That’s no good, Kagehira-senpai~ If people think we’re villains already, then we should be saying and doing more extreme stuff that’ll make their eyes sting!

Yuuta: Well, I think it’s fine not to~ No one’s gonna eat it if it’s only spicy.

Hinata: –Sugar!

Yuuta: –And spice!

Yuuta & Hinata: Makes a miraculous collaboration!

Hinata: “Sugar and Spice Equation” is on sale right now at your nearest store.

Yuuta: That’s all from “2wink”~♪

Mika: Wha, was that supposed to be some sorta commercial just now!? It’s hard to tell if you guys are joking or being serious.

Yuuta: …We’re not idiots so we won’t sum up everything to it being a conspiracy, but we want to complain, at the very least.

Hinata: Right~? They’re awful, aren’t they~? Why do we CosPro have to live life on hard mode?

Mika: Ahaha. If it’s an event consisting of all the schools under CosPro, then it’ll be completely in our favour.

Hinata: We don’t know if they’ll invite Yumenosaki students to events from other schools, though~

Yuuta: Yeah… ES helps a lot in that regard by giving us a push on the back, but for school events like these, we’ve got the short end of the stick.

Hinata: Yeah… Ahh, I wanna graduate already.

Ibara: Salute~! How are you all?

Mika: Ngh, Mr Vice President!?

Hinata: Yaaaay, it’s the vice president~☆

Yuuta: Vice-president~! Did you come all the way here to cheer us on in person~? ♪

Ibara: My, this is a very warm welcome! I am extremely delighted!

Yuuta: Actually, I’ve been feeling really lonely because “Team CosPro” has so few members compared to the other teams! I miss the company!

Hinata: Yeah, yeah! Take a look at this, our waiting place is the only one that looks this empty!

Ibara: Isn’t it good? You have more than enough space to stretch your legs and rest.

Look at “Team StarPro” and the others. They’re placed so closely together, there’s hardly any space to rest, is there?

Hinata: You’re right! We’ve always gotta look on the bright side!

Ibara: Yes. For example, the cameras are filming the others, so we don’t have to worry about talking privately ♪

Or the fewer people there are, the easier it is to control the entire group…♪ This is a very advantageous factor for the “Old-Fashioned Sports Festival”; a proxy war between the four big agencies!

Mika: Wha~... Hearing you say that makes it sound like you have no intention of losing, Mr Vice President.

Ibara: Well, thinking logically, the chances of us winning are slim. We’re bound to lose just by looking at how the roles are assigned within the team.

In that aspect, the proposal for the “Old-Fashioed Sports Festival” has been set up in such a way that it is advantageous in a certain manner. We are outplayed by His Eminence Eichi.

As expected, he is skilled in battle. The outcome of the war has more or less been set before it has even started…

However, I cannot tell you all the details. In truth, the winning agency of the “Old-Fashioned Sports Festival” will gain the ability to have a “bigger voice” in ES’ future plans.

So, even though our odds of winning are slim, I think it is worth putting your best effort in for that chance at victory.

Now, I shall give you all a secret weapon.

Hinata: Weapon…? Say what? That sounds shady!

Yuuta: Is it a tool that will annihilate the other agencies? You’re amazing, Ibaemon[*] ! 

Ibara: Who are you calling a robot cat from the future? It’s not that. I’ve come with advantageous information.

Even the participants in the events do not know the programme for the “Old-Fashioned Sports Festival”.

There are many reasons why this is, such as, they wanted to make things exciting or to make things fair.

In truth, this is because the preparations for the events are not yet finished.

Yuuta: It seems they’ve rushed the construction too~

Ibara: Yes. I can’t help but laugh at Yumenosaki’s hazardous method of doing things.

Hinata: Especially last year, it was more or less like this.

Yuuta: Yeah. I was pretty surprised to see that people are given proper periods of time to prepare for performances at ES.

Ibara: This is not a university circle with all the time in the world.

Well, putting that aside… In order to shorten the power gap between us and the leading team, an effective strategy is imperative.

Hinata: We’re just talking about the Sports Festival but the words you’re using are pretty out there.

Ibara: I’m honoured to hear such a compliment. Of course, they’ll be insisting to the public that it’s an energetic and wholesome sports festival, so rest assured~! ♪ 

In any case, the “Old-Fashioned Sports Festival” is exactly as its name suggests: It’s a nostalgic event– no, ceremony overflowing with tradition. 

As for what it was like in the past, only a few of the higher-ups, who decided the Sports Festival this year will be held in an old fashion, know the details.

Yuuta: I’ve never even heard of it before. 

Hinata: What is that? It was just a normal sports festival last year, though~?

Ibara: I’m currently investigating, but I do have a guess.

Combining the information I’ve gathered beforehand with the information provided by my spies placed in each industry…

It will make it possible for me to deduce parts of the programme for the “Old-Fashioned Sports Festival”.

I shall let you know the details as they are revealed. If we can see into the future, we can come up with the appropriate strategies.

Of course, I’m sure the other agencies are trying to figure it out on their own, as well. Although, it will only be knowledge on the surface.

A sports festival only appears a limited amount of times in your life. Doing these things would be much better than letting your memories of the event be summarised as something you accomplished nothing in and lost, no…?

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[talisidekick]

Catear Update

Alright, alright. This took a bit. A lot of personal stuff happened that delayed the progress on this. I'm sorry. But I made a promise because you all voted on that stupid poll (and almost made me wear a tail in public), so here's the progress:

After spending over $50 on a 12in. by 12in. square of 2in. long rust-coloured faux fur (I'm never buying from the US again, it was $10 for the fur, but like $40 in shipping) that took a month to arrive, I took a look at like hundreds of videos that were completely unhelpful in assisting me make catears at all. I then asked my spouse for help because I ... embarrassingly don't know how to sew ... and we started with something simple that I forgot was probably step 1 ...

[Start ID: A photo graph from my terrible Samsung J6 camera of a cardboard piece cut from a cereal box with a bad tracing/template of catears in pencil on it. There's a pair of pliers with blue grips, a red mechanical pencil, some shaping wire, and a wide plastic headband atop it. /End ID]

... drawing a template on spare cardboard. My spouse was also smart(er than me by a lot) and bought some plastic headbands that are just ... way more comfortable than the metal wire ones for like $9 CAD. The band is wider and it hurts less. With a shitty template and apparently we had wire for some reason? I was expecting to have to go out and spend like $15 CAD on some but hey, we hoard shit 'cause we're poor and it pays off.

With the sewing machine set up, Watch came to pay a visit to supervise.

[Start ID: Another shitty picture from my Samsung J6 of Watch, my black cat with yellow eyes, peering through at my spouse (off camera) through the sewing machine. /End ID]

She later discovered she didn't like the sound of the sewing machine and ran off. But you can see a bit of the faux fur we're dealing with on the left.

It's a good time to mention my spouse decided to get super high AF because they're off for a few days and despite being ... inebriated as heck, they powered through. There was only one fuck-up, and I take the blame for that. Some of the fur didn't get stitched right so we'll have to redo the seam, but a less high Witch from the following day has found an easier way to rectify that issue than just trying again and seeing what happens. I don't understand it, but they're confident so I'm going to learn what the heck they were talking about by seeing sometime later this week (I hope). The current state:

[Start ID: A picture (still from my terribly Samsung J6 camera), of all the tools used: a comb to manipulate the fur, pliers to shape the wire, a pencil for the template, pins to hold the fabric together, scissors to cut through thick fabric, a pin cusion that looks like an orange with an attached red chilli-pepper pin sharpener, bent wire, a sewing machine, a headband, and the current status of the catears being stitched together to vaguely look like catears. /End ID]

Part of being a hoarder ... sorry "stingy" is that we had some faux fur in white from some tiny pillow-case we just never got around to getting a pillow for. This worked perfect for the inside of the ears. The stitching done on this is amazing and has a little loop so the wire can be threaded through. I explained this idea poorly to my spouse who then had a brainwave mid-job and executed it 10x better than I had badly explained it ... please note, while high as heck and with no concept of time. We had to stop here for now because reality just wasn't sticking for my spouse at this point, so I cleaned up so our cats wouldn't get up to mischief. As explained earlier, there is a flaw with one of the ears, it'll have to be restitched, but apparently there's a way to fix it involving a sort of 'holding stitch', not sure what that means, but I'll find out when we do this later this week (hopefully).

The ears, as they stand, actually don't really "need" the wire to hold their shape, the stitching does all the work here. The wire will just be there for stability and to somehow attach it to the band (not sure how yet, we're crossing that bridge when we get to it). We're apparently not using glue for any of this because my spouse decided to go for durability. Which I agree with. These may just be my every-day ears for the next bit.

Anywho, there's the progress update some of you have been wanting. I hope to have a finished product soon. We've learned a lot on this, and I do want to make more so the next set will be completely done by my hands (ideally), but right now my spouse is here because I can't sew for shit and they decided to use this as a tutorial for me.

[lianahayze]

Shadow and the Midnight Misery: Chapter 10

Hi all, welcome to chapter 10--we're in the double-digits now! It's been a minute since chapter 9, so feel free to check it out here, and, if you're new to these parts, you can find the masterlist here. Content under the cut; enjoy!

Chapter 10: Time with Dean

"Wow, it's a miracle; you'll actually alive!" Dean wraps his arms around me as I let him in. Instead of us going out to dinner (and potentially being seen and harassed), I’d instead just invited him over and ordered sushi. It seemed a bit easier than making myself presentable enough to be seen in public. Going to the Garver Institute is one thing, but I need to be careful when I actually go anywhere. I might be photographed, and I do not feel like dealing with the paparazzi right now.

Dean kicks off his shoes. "So, what's good?" He walks into the kitchen. I trail behind him slightly, trying to figure out what to say.

"I had an interview recently. You were brought up."

He rolls his eyes. "Again? Dude, people keep asking me about you, too. Hope it didn't derail the whole thing?"

Leaning against the counter, I shake my head. "Nah, it was fine. Just the usual stuff."

Noticing all the food, he says, "Whoa. You ordered enough for a small army." He starts unpacking everything.

One of the things I really admire about Dean is how chill he is. Despite the fact that I’ve been ignoring him for the past two weeks, here he is, completely unfazed.

"How's the band?"

Hmm. How do I put this? "We're going through a small disagreement right now."

His eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me. "Uh-oh. Doesn't sound good."

"It's... not." I squirm. I really, really don't want to tell him everything. There are some things I can share, but without telling him everything, he probably won’t understand most of it. He’d ask a bunch of questions, and the thought of dealing with that makes me sick to my stomach.

"Let's grab a few beers and you can tell me all about it."

I opt out of the beer. I start taking the food into the living room, leaving him to choose his drink. When he finally joins me on the couch, he asks,

"Not drinking tonight?"

Though I knew that it was going to come up eventually, I'm still not prepared to answer it. "Maybe later," I say. It's the best I can do.

After snapping his chopsticks and rubbing them together, he reaches for one of the trays. "Oooh, sashimi. Nice." He opens it. He lifts up one of the pieces of salmon, saying, "What are you waiting on?" He sticks the salmon in his mouth.

"I'm just not super hungry right now."

"Then why'd you order so much food?"

I roll my eyes. Fine. I grab the tray closest to me and dig in.

"So.” He swallows. “What's going on? Why'd you disappear off the face of the planet for so long?"

Not looking at him, I apologize. “Sorry.”

"It's fine. I thought you were just mad at me or something. The last time we really spoke you were late for band practice. They weren't too pissed off by the way, were they?"

"They took it as they always do." And then some. I sigh. "How's Lynn?"

"She's fine. You know the studio she works with? She's actually thinking of going her out on her own, having like monthly subscribers. More work, but higher profits for her."

I nod but say nothing. He asks,

“So what's up with you and the band?"

"They want to get rid of me."

He stops eating, shock appearing his face. "No shit? Dude, what they hell? Are they crazy?"

"They're tired of me being me, I guess."

"But there's nothing wrong with you.” He leans back. “What's that supposed to mean, anyway? What are they trying to accomplish?"

"I dunno. Might be at the parting of the ways."

"There's no way," he insists, shaking his head. "That would be career suicide if they did that."

"That's what I thought! But apparently they're considering it."

“Wait, so they want to disband entirely? Or do they just want to replace you?” I shrug. When they'd brought it up, they hadn't mentioned a replacement--and I hadn't asked. "You're like ninety percent of the band, though. I mean, I know they contribute and everything, but The Midnight Misery without Shadow?" He shakes his head. "Just doesn't make sense." He sighs. "Did you tell your dad?"

"He knows.”

"What's he think?"

I exhale. “He didn't say that it was a bad idea."

"Seriously?"

"He didn't say it was a good idea or that he supports it or anything, but when he found out, he wasn’t outraged or surprised." I lean back. "He just stood there.”

"Incredible.” Dean shakes his head. “What are you going to do?"

"I dunno."

"Honestly, Shadow, if you really wanted to, you could leave them and become a solo artist. You'd have enough demand. We've always talked about you collaborating with She Dreams in Color; now might be the time."

"I'll think about it," I tell him. "But it's just dumb. They want me to be different. So what if I’ve been late to a couple of rehearsals? I always show up, and that’s what matters. Plus, I’m always early for shows and interviews or important meetings. Whenever I'm late for rehearsal, they always act like I’m committing a crime."

"It's your band; you should be able to do what you want. What would happen if you started calling the shots? What would happen if you kicked one of them out? Doesn't matter which, but just to show that they're not in charge of you."

I seriously consider it for a split second. But, realizing that it wouldn't do anyone any good, I shake my head. "No, that's not what I want to do. It would just cause more problems." Despite everything that’s going on right now, I do care about the guys, and I don't want to make their lives a living hell.

Unless they continue to piss me off, that is.

"Oh. Go to the label then. They'll make them stop."

He's right. I could easily go to one of the execs or someone on the board and force them to make the situation go away. But I would rather solve band issues with my band, not bring in someone else. Besides, if they actually did go to the label like they said they did, the label would probably take their side--not mine.

"I don't think it would help."

He takes a sip of his beer. "So, what are you going to do?"

It's the million-dollar question. What am I going to do? I don't want to tell Dean that I've been in therapy; I would have to explain why. I'm not ready for all of the questions he'd ask.

"I don't know," I whisper.

"Well, you need to do something to set them straight. Otherwise, they'll think that they can keep walking all over you."

"I don't think they think they're walking all over me..."

"No? Sure sounds like it."

I don't know why, but I feel the need to defend them. Sure, Dean doesn't know the full story, but they’re not taking advantage of me. Are they being dicks and blowing everything out of proportion? In my opinion, yes, but they're not walking all over me.

"It's absolute bullshit that they're trying to replace you over something so small. How does that even make sense? There has to be something else." He pauses. Finishing the tray in his hands, he puts it back on the table and grabs another. "Do you think there's something they're not telling you?"

More like there’s something I'm not telling him. Still, I shake my head, saying, "Nope. Can't think of anything."

"Then you definitely need to figure out what you're going to do. If they haven't said anything and you haven't done anything, there's no reason for them to act this way."

As he continues eating, I sit there quietly. Somehow, this conversation has made me feel worse instead of better. I knew that Dean would take my side no matter what; he knows the guys and likes them, but he knows me and likes me the best. Right now, I should be feeling validated, but instead I feel... Guilty?

But what do I have to feel guilty about? I’m being honest with him and have told him what he needs to know. I left a few things out, sure, but it's not like I've been bad-mouthing my band or anything. So why on earth do I feel so guilty?

Without notice, I drop my chopsticks on the table and stand. As I walk out of the room, Dean calls,

"Where ya going?"

"Uh. I'm just going to get a drink."

He looks back at me. My stomach drops. I don't know why, but I expect him to chastise me, to tell me no. Instead, he nods and says,

"Wanna bring me another one?"

I exhale. "Sure." With that, I turn and leave the room.

What harm is one little beer going to do, anyway?

-

See you in a few days for chapter 11. In the meantime, let me know what you think of the series. Talk to you soon!

-L.H.