#its like in their eyes if you feel shitty about yourself youre a survivor

[trauma-trove]

Subverting therapist's general misconception that being assaulted can ONLY lead to poor self esteem issues; if you've ever been sexually assaulted, you are now better than everyone else in the room inherently. I release you from your bindings.

[hxney-lemcn]

Reunions and Resolved Misunderstandings — Cal Kestis x gn! reader

summery: feeling like an outcast, you're the first one to leave the Mantis' crew. years later, you stumble across Cal once again and old feelings end up bursting to light in the worst of ways. At the very least, misunderstandings are finally cleared.

tw: mentions of killing/assassination (readers past), hurt/comfort, slight spoilers for the beginning of Jedi Survivor.

a/n: I got to the kiss in Jedi Survivor and inspiration struck. I can see how every Cal fic is about 4k words long, its hard not to write so much for him lmao.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

It had been as clear as day. The connection between Cal and Merrin was undeniable. It made your stomach churn. You were with Cere and Greez when you saved him from Bracca and had been glued to his side ever since…that was until Merrin joined. Don’t get me wrong, you loved her and was glad to offer her a new home…but every time your eyes landed on the two you felt your heart twist. In response to this new development you distanced yourself. Tried to smile past the ache in your heart and enjoy what you had. But it was hard, and it didn’t help that Cere and Greez seemed to know of your predicament. 

It hurts, seeing the man you loved, who came to you for medical treatment, or would count on you to watch his back, to slowly slip through your fingers. His green eyes that used to sparkle when landing on you had now turned to look at Merrin. How his lingering touches had all but vanished, leaving your skin feeling colder than normal. What made you feel even worse were your thoughts of leaving. Cal wasn’t your only priority, you had Cere, Greez, Merrin…but everytime you found yourself forgetting about the pain it seemed to always hit once more full force. 

This is how you found yourself packing your things…not that you had much. Just some extra clothes, some photos of your crew, and some gifts that BD-1 and Cal had given you. Double checking your blaster, daggers, knives, and the case that held your sniper, you found yourself contemplating if you really wanted to go through with this. That was when you realized you couldn’t handle watching the one you love end up in someone else’s arms, it was easier to leave altogether. As quietly as you could, you made your way through the Mantis, memories of your friends, almost family popped up every so often. 

With the ship lights off, you couldn’t be more thankful for your specialized contact lenses. Everyone was sleeping in their quarters…or at least they were supposed to be. You froze as you ran into Greez, and as his gaze landed on you he seemed to deflate. 

“You’re really just gonna leave like that?” He asked, his voice low to keep from accidentally waking anyone up. 

“I’m sorry,” You murmured, not able to look in his direction. “I just…”

“I get it kid,” He sighed. “The others won’t be so happy, but I’m glad I caught you on the way out.”

“I’m glad to have met you all,” You tried to console, but you weren’t sure if you were trying to console Greez or yourself. “I’ll be forever grateful to you and Cere for saving me. Here,” Taking out a piece of paper, you handed it to the Latero. “It's a note, I know the way I’m leaving is shitty, but I couldn’t leave without letting you guys know it was voluntary.”

With that, you disappeared into the night, trying your hardest not to look back.

~~~

You were the first one to leave, and soon Cal found himself watching his crew leave him one by one. He was heartbroken when Greez read aloud the note you left behind, wishing them all the best, and how you were going to a rebel base not too far from where they were. He didn’t understand why you left, or how everyone had accepted it so easily. He wished he could’ve seen you one last time, to ask you why, to plead for you to stay. When Greez finally bought Pyloon Saloon, Cal found himself resenting you slightly. You seemed to be the catalyst for everyone's departure. You were all so happy, why did you have to leave them? Why did you have to leave him? 

When he thought back of his time with you, he felt like he was choking. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you, or what you last spoke about. Had you scolded him for getting injured? Did you laugh with him over a silly scenario with BD? Or was it that lonely gaze you sent him as he joked with Merrin, not paying any mind to you. Are you happy now? Have you made new friends? Have you found someone to confide in? Cal’s heart hurt no matter how he spun his head around you. Don’t get him wrong, he missed the entire crew. He missed Greez’s cooking, Merrin’s dry humor, Cere…but somehow he found himself missing you the most. How you cared for him so gently after he’d get hurt, how you’d listen to his problems and give advice that seemed far beyond your years. How even if you weren’t used to touch, you’d still allow him to hug you after a long, stressful mission.  Even with his new crew, he still felt that hollow void that the old crew left in him. No matter how lovely they were, how deeply he cared about them, he couldn’t help but reminisce of the good old days. Trapped in the past that seemed golden. Cal thought that he had been imagining you at first. Depressed after a harsh mission on Coruscant that wiped out his entire crew, seeking solace at Pyloon Saloon with Greez, he hadn’t thought he’d find you here. He felt like he’d stumbled upon an oasis after stumbling through the desert. Have you always looked so ethereal? Smiling so sweetly as you talked with Greez. You looked different, hair a new length, more mature, happier…have you always looked this happy?

Cal was snapped out of his stupor as both you and Greez turned to face the jedi. He almost got lost once more, wanting to drown in your gaze. He missed the soft way you’d look at him, how he felt cared for and loved with your eyes alone. Instead of that sweet look he was used to, your eyes filled with panic, your posture awkward as you curled in on yourself. The same way you’d react to a stranger. It felt like the dagger you’d always hide in your boot had managed to pierce through his heart. As Greez greeted Cal, you watched on the sidelines, sipping your drink as you tried to hide from Cal’s piercing gaze. 

How long has it been since you last saw Cal? It’s been quite a while. You had only planned on catching up with Greez, as you both left on the best of terms, and although Greez tried to assure you that Cal and the others still cared about you and weren’t angry, he seemed a bit hesitant. So essentially you were scared, scared of the repercussions of your own actions. Running away could only take you so far, and if you ran enough you’d end up right where you started. And you ended up running straight back to the problem of why you left. Your body tensed as Cal took a seat beside you, not aware he had already finished talking with Greez. Anxiously, you peered up at the red haired man through your eyelashes, unsure how to take his blank gaze, or the way your name gently fell past his lips.

“How have you been?” Cal asked. He couldn’t wrap his head around the various emotions you managed to stir up. Sadness, bitterness, longing, anger, regret. 

You shrugged, looking down at your drink as you stirred it, “I’ve been alright. Doing runs for the rebellion and all that. Thought I’d take a short break to check in on the old geezer.” Cal chuckled slightly, wishing for the awkwardness to dissipate, wishing for what you had to come back. “How about you?” 

“Could be better,” He hums, eyes never leaving the side of your face. Drinking in your profile as you shied away. You could tell something had happened, there was a darkness in his eyes, that shine you remember had dulled and you felt your heart break. He didn’t elaborate past that, and you knew better than to pry. A short silence washed over you, awkward, but Cal felt his heart thrum steadily. “I missed you.” You couldn’t stop yourself from looking up to him in shock, mouth slightly agape as you struggled to wrap your head around the vulnerable moment.Pushing past the way you wanted to run, having closed yourself off once again after you left the Mantis, you once again found yourself struggling to let yourself be vulnerable. But the sad puppy-like eyes Cal was sending you made you push past that, mumbling that you missed him in return.

“Why did you leave?” He asked the question you hoped to never go over. 

Once again you found yourself battling the raised walls you put up, unsure if you wanted to actually confess the true reason. Instead, you settled for a watered down version. “I guess I felt a bit left out. Like an outsider I suppose. So I decided it was best for me to leave…” 

“Left out…?” Cal couldn’t help but repeat in a whisper. Guilt suddenly consumed him, his brain finding every time he remembered seeing you on the sidelines, smiling at the moment you had witnessed. Or how you’d slink away, no one trying to stop you as they all laughed about something he couldn’t even remember. It…it was his fault.

“It’s none of your guy’s fault,” You consoled, a bitter smile lining your lips. “I should’ve spoken up about how I felt, instead I ran away like a coward.”

“But I should’ve noticed-” You quickly shut him up with a swift kick to the shin and a lighthearted glare. He gave an overdramatic wince as your kick could barely be described as a kick, more of a light tap. But he felt his heart warm as you were once again slowly opening up to him. 

“Not. Your. Fault.” You spoke sternly. “You always were so quick to take the blame.”

“Wanna help me find a gyro module for old times sake?”

~~~~

You forgot how easy it was to love Cal Kestis. That night when you left, you knew you’d always love him, he has his own special spot in your heart. But over the years those feelings were buried under layers, like sediment. Whether it be adrenaline from missions, celebration with new friends, or the death of a crew member, you find yourself focusing on other aspects of life. You hadn’t planned on running into the now infamous jedi, but even so, you hadn’t expected those old feelings to rupture forth like an exploding volcano. His boyish smile sends shockwaves to your heart. His gentle touch helping you drop down a small cliff makes you yearn to give him a hug and melt in his arms. His compliments on your skills making you puff your chest a little. It's scary how one person has so much control over your feelings, but you also miss the feeling. 

It all comes hurtling down at once when he starts going on a tangent about Merrin. It started with you asking about her and Cere, and now he won’t shut up about her growth in the time you left. You felt stupid, stupid that your heart still managed to cling to the hope that he’d felt more for you in some way. Of course he only loved you as a friend, and you were grateful, but also downtrodden. Though this time Cal seemed to pick up on your spaced out look, gently calling your name.

“What’s wrong?” Cal asked like the caring person he was.

You snapped out of your little bubble you didn’t even realize you put yourself in, bringing your gaze to the concerned one of your friend. “Nothing, I’m glad she’s doing well,” You said with a strained smile. It was left at that as both you and Cal explored Koboh, avoiding raiders to the best of your ability. Exploring the Basalt Forest, you found yourself looking at your surroundings in awe. You loved exploring different planets, watching the flora and fauna interact, from ice planets that had plants still managing to cling to life to desert planets that had a variety of animals that had adapted to the harsh climate. If you hadn’t been taught to kill from a young age and forced to be an assassin, you would’ve loved to have been a researcher. 

Unbeknownst to you, Cal was silently watching you fawn over every little thing you stumbled upon. Pointing out a bug you’ve never seen before or trying to pet those birdlike creatures that would try to charge at you. He could only watch in awe, seeing you in a completely new light. He never fully comprehended that you had a love for wildlife, or just anything that wasn’t human at that. You had always fawned over BD, leaving him feeling a bit left out, but happy the little droid made you happy. And now seeing you do the same for any animal, plant, and even some bugs…he never knew the extent of your love. Making him realize that this entire time, he only knew you through the lens he set for you. A very Cal centric lens. 

Has he ever really known you? All of you? There’s only one way to find out, and that was to get to know you. All of you. From your best aspects to your worst flaws. And as you both sat on the edge of a cliff, Cal couldn’t stop himself from watching you. The way the sun shone down on you, from your hair shining brilliantly to the way the sun made your eyes pop, he couldn’t get enough of you. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and Cal couldn’t agree more. His eyes followed as a small gust of wind blew your hair out of place, and without a second thought, he gently brushed your hair back in place, admiring your startled look. 

So many emotions overtook him. There was a warmth to your presence, whether that be through the force or not. In fact, he didn’t really care, he just wished he’d never have to be devoid of the feeling again. And as you looked at him, neither of you backing down from your little stare off, Cal felt something selfish grow within him. He wanted you to join him again, he wanted you to be there to patch him up like before, to fight by his side, to hold you close for comfort. In fact, he can’t remember why he stopped doing that, why he let you both get distant. As these selfish thoughts and desires grew, he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to look at your lips, they looked oh so inviting. 

You felt your heart skip a beat as Cal’s eyes dropped for a few seconds. No, no this wasn’t right. He clearly loved Merrin, so why was he staring at you like you had hung the stars and moon? Why was he leaning in closer? Why could you feel his breath hit your face, why is he closing his eyes? This is what you’ve always wanted, so why were you panicking? Why did you push him away, causing him to give a hurt and concerned look. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Cal stuttered. “I…I should’ve asked.”

“No, its, I,” You stumbled, trying to put together a sentence with your currently scrambled mind. “What about Merrin?”

“What?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What about her?”

Now you were the one giving him a confused look, “You clearly love her.”

“What?” Cal could hardly believe his ears. His heart dropped when your face crumbled into a tired look, releasing a long sigh as your eyes trailed back to the beautiful scenery around you.

“The way you talk about her, look at her, interact with her…it's obvious how much you care for her,” You explained. 

“Because she’s my friend,” He countered, grabbing your hand that lay on your lap. The anger you had always felt about the situation started bubbling up, your eyes squinting into a sharp glare as you grip on his hand tightened into an almost bruising grip. Your frustration made clear in the tears that started to well up.

“So then why did you forget about me!” You snarled, letting go of his calloused hand and putting some distance between you both. Your vicious look dissolved as tears rolled down your cheeks, pulling your knees up to your chest and buried your face, not wanting to see Cal’s hurt look. “We were so close, but then all you paid attention to was Merrin and I felt like an outcast. Like I didn’t belong with the crew anymore.”

You tensed when he put a hand on your back, trying to comfort you, but instead of pulling away, he pulled your curled up form into his side, holding you as you cried. “I’m sorry,” He whispered into your hair, holding you tighter. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I-its not y-your fault,” You stuttered through tears. “Instead of telling you I just left.”

“You should’ve never felt like that to begin with,” He murmured, his own eyes watering at the thought of you feeling alone like that…all because of him. 

“It's not like you can read minds,” You grumbled, sniffling as the tears slowly started to end. 

“Well…” 

You elbowed his side while trying to stifle a laugh, “Shut up, you know what I mean. It’s not your job to keep tabs on how everyones feeling at all times.”

“But I care about you,” Cal stated, pulling away enough to face you. He finds himself brushing your last few tears away, his palm resting against your cheek. “If I knew you felt like that I would’ve done something.”

“I know,” You murmured. “But we can’t change the past. What’s happened, happened.”

Resting his forehead on yours, you felt your breath hitch as Cal let out a frustrated sigh, “I’ll make it up to you.” You felt your heart stutter when he opened his eyes, determination shining clearly. “I promise.”

“I’m sure you will,” You replied, a small smile forming. Getting to finally vent out your problems seemed to have lifted a weight on your heart you didn’t realize was there the entire time. Leaning in, your heart jumped as Cal placed a sweet kiss to your cheek, standing up quickly and holding his hand out towards you. You found yourself pouting inadvertently, but taking his hand nonetheless. As he pulled you up with ease, a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips.

“How about we start tonight?” Cal asks. “I have an idea of where to start.”

“Okay,” You agreed. “Lead the way.”

Things might not have been perfect, and soon Cal will continue his journey, but for now, in this moment, everything finally fell into place.

[diorsluv]

open arms (tz¹¹)

❝ in which your ex calls you back to his apartment on a late night, hoping you’ll come back to him ❞

wc: 5.3k

warnings: ANGST, a bit of fluff, more angst, allusions to a toxic relationship, reader’s comfort movie has ryan gosling but is not specified so imagine whatever you wish, no use of y/n, some really bad writing, proofread at 1 am so i can’t promise that it’s good

notes ) this is not my fav piece of writing i’ve ever made.. but maybe it’s just been a while since i’ve written (i’m a wattpad survivor) so FORGIVE ME if this is really shitty i promise i’ll get better this shit was mad repetitive but it’s okay we ball (i wrote this based off of a real life experience…) and take a shot every time you see trevor say “please”

It had been months since your breakup with Trevor, and you two were far from being on good terms. The day you found him in your shared bed with another girl was the day you swore not to ever be in contact with him again. You moved your things out of the apartment before he could even manage to blink, and you refused to hear his sorry excuses as you walked out the door with tears brimming your eyes.

Trevor was the first person you could ever fully be yourself around, and you genuinely thought he was going to be different. But when he managed to break your heart so easily, you realized how wrong you really were. You broke off all contact with him and his friends, and you only spoke to Quinn and Luke after the whole ordeal.

Now, as you stood outside his apartment door, you felt like you had taken one step forward and three steps back. His apartment still looked the same except for its barren walls, once filled with photographs of you and him, and he smelled just like he did when you first met. His hair was all tousled, his eyes were red, and his face was far more pale than you remembered. 

“You’ve been crying.” Your words came out as more of a statement than a question, truly depicting how indifferent you felt towards your ex-boyfriend. Watching as he brought the back of his hand up to his eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek, not really knowing what to do with yourself.

The boy could barely even whisper your name. “Please,” he tried to plead, but you weren’t having it. Over the course of the four years you dated, you had never heard any other word more than that. The amount of mistakes you had forgiven him for could never equate to how much you loved him, but catching him in the act was what sent you over the edge. Months after your breakup, you still tensed up every time a man begged you to forgive him.

You were about to turn around. You were so close to leaving. But hearing your ex’s desperate voice almost made your knees buckle with guilt.

Trevor’s lip quivered, “I need you.” 

Those three words held a chokehold on you like no other. You could recall all the times he called you at two in the morning after a bad road game, knowing you would pick up because you loved him to that extent. Even if you had work in the morning, you would stay up with him for hours, comforting him and validating his feelings because he “needed you”.

Seven months ago, if he told you he needed you, you would’ve dropped everything to see him. If he was away, you would’ve booked the nearest flight just to hold him in your arms and tell him he would be okay. 

But now, his words only aggravated you even more. 

“Don’t say that.” You stood your ground, not wanting to look him in the eye in fear of caving in. You couldn’t show him that he made you weak. You couldn’t show him that after all he’s done to hurt you, you still cared for him deeply. You couldn’t show him that all he needed to say to convince you to come running back was a simple, three-worded phrase. “You can’t say that to me, Trevor. We’re broken up. You can’t ‘need me’ anymore.”

“Please, I just need to hear your voice. One last time, that’s all I want.” He begged you with his whole heart, his voice tired from all the screaming and crying he had done before he called you over. “You can block me, cut me out of your life, hate me forever, whatever. I just really fucking need you right now.”

Huffing out a sigh, you weakly nodded your head as he pulled you through the frame of the front door and into his embrace. His arms wrapped around your waist while he buried his head into the crook of your neck, finally allowing his tears to release in the safety of your presence. 

He was never afraid to be vulnerable around you when you dated, even when you first became a couple. That’s what made you love him so much; he wasn’t ashamed to be himself and always encouraged you to be true to yourself. 

“God, I had the worst fucking day of my life. I just—fuck, I wish I never let you go.” He mumbled into your skin, his words barely even audible. You stiffened up after hearing his words, slowly beginning to regret your decision to comfort him one last time. “Coach is always giving me shit, the league hates me, the fans are always yelling at me, and I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Unsure of what to do to comfort him without fully bringing your guard down, you brought your arms around his body and rubbed soothing circles onto his back. You bit your lip in thought, trying to think of how to calm him down while also escaping this now-uncomfortable situation. There was just so much to process all at once. Your mind was running at top speed and going in way too many different directions for you to get a hold on all your thoughts, and you just didn’t know how to handle everything. 

“And then when I came home, all I could think about was you.” You felt goosebumps shoot up your skin while listening to him talk, knowing that you would break eventually. Every syllable he spoke felt like he was pricking needles into your skin, one by one, trying to make you give into him and his pitiful words. He continued, “I know you hate me. I know. I put you through so much shit, and I broke your heart, and you were the only one who really loved me for who I was, but I still managed to fuck everything up with you and make you leave me.”

Tears were now running down your face, too. It was like you were reliving every moment with him, standing with him in his apartment. You could remember every argument you had with him, every night he slept on the couch, every movie marathon you had with him, and every time you spent hours in the kitchen baking little treats with each other. In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see the faint, younger, more naïve versions of you and him happily spending your time together.

“There hasn’t been one day where I haven’t thought of you. I regret all the shit I did. Every goddamn day. I lost you, and you were the one person in my life I could rely on.” Trevor’s grip on your waist was now much tighter as he pulled you closer to him—so close that you could feel his heartbeat on your chest. “And I know it’s too late for me to say all of this, ‘cause I know you’re probably already happier with a boyfriend who can treat you ten times better than I ever did, but please, I need you to stay with me.”

You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your stomach, tears still streaming down your face as you began to pull away from him. You couldn’t stay with him. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of you, and it was as if your ex could read your mind, because he frantically began to ramble once more.

“Just for a few hours. Please. I haven’t even showered or eaten yet, and I came home five hours ago.” He pulled his head away from your neck but still kept your body tightly pressed against him, his tear-stained cheeks only making you want to stay even more. His nose was flushing into a bright pink, and once he locked eyes with you, he started to tear up again. 

Against your better judgment, you contemplatively placed your hands on the sides of his waist and tapped against his body comfortingly, nodding with slight hesitance. “M’kay, Trev. Just for a few hours though, okay?” 

The boy looked like a puppy wagging its tail at the sound of your softer voice agreeing to his bargain, and he promptly began to walk through his living room and towards his room. You allowed your eyes to wander around the apartment that felt so familiar but looked so different at the same time. All the pictures of the two of you on the shelves were now gone, for obvious reasons, but part of you wished he still kept them up. 

“Think ‘m gonna take a shower now,” Trevor mumbled mindlessly, not necessarily directed towards you nor himself. He then turned to face you. “Can you, maybe, like—”

You knew what he was referring to. When you dated, you regularly took showers together, but when he had just come back from a roadie or a late practice, you would typically sit down on the bathroom floor and talk to him while he cleansed himself. The two of you would converse about everything that happened during your time without each other, and it had become so integrated in your routine. At the time, it felt so normal, but now, it felt far too intimate for you to just agree without thinking about it. 

You still said yes. 

A few minutes later, you sat on the bathroom floor with your legs curled to your chest and your back leaning against the wall. The glass door moistened up enough to where you could look straight at the figure behind the fog and still be unable to see anything. Your ears picked up the sound of Trevor squeezing his three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash into the palm of his hand. (You scolded him for using it multiple times during the four years you were together; he never listened, but he always drained your shampoo a week after you opened it.)

“So,” he started, just like he used to. “Boyfriend?”

“No. Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

A silence washed over you, and all you could hear was the water beating down on the shower tiles. It remained that way for a while, and then it was your turn to start up the conversation. 

“How’s hockey been going? I haven’t really watched any NHL games since we broke up.” It was a bit embarrassing to admit, considering you fell in love with each other because you both loved hockey so much, but you couldn’t lose any more pride, anyway. You were sitting on your ass while your ex-boyfriend took a shower less than a foot away from you. 

“It’s been alright.” No one to look for in the front row, he bit back a thought. “We still suck ass, nothing new there. It’s just been so tiring lately.” The tone of his voice indicated that his mood was slowly beginning to decrease, and you knew you had to shift the conversation.

You cleared your throat. “Do you still have those cake mix boxes?” 

Trevor’s eager “Yes!” in response to your question was enough to tell you that his mood did a complete switch-up. “Lemme just finish this shower real quick,” he told you, and you could tell he was trying to speed the process up by the way you could hear him aggressively scrub soap onto his skin. About two minutes later, he called your name quietly. It was as if saying your name out loud physically hurt him, but he loved the way it sounded so much that he could endure the pain as much as he could. “Is there a towel there? If there isn’t, there should be some in one of the drawers on my dresser.”

“I’ll go get one,” you spoke briefly, pushing yourself off the floor and opening the bathroom door. Taking a turn to the oak dresser in the corner of his room, you squatted down and tugged on the handle of the last drawer. Back when you were still together, you always kept the towels and other linen in the bottom drawer, so you assumed he kept it the same way. He would have no reason to change it.

You assumed wrong. Instead of towels, you found about thirty framed photos laying flat in the compartment. They were your old photos. The photos you cherished so much were just casually sitting in his dresser drawer. Your eyes landed on the picture laying on the very top, its golden frame contrasting with the neutral, wood frames of the others. It was your favorite one: a photo of Trevor gleefully smearing whipped cream all over your nose as you bit down on a chocolate covered strawberry. The sun and the stars combined couldn’t compare to how brightly your smiles shined in that photo.

Grazing your thumb over the ornate carvings on the frame, tears began to well in your eyes without your notice. You only realized once you heard Trevor yell your name, causing you to blink the tears out of your eyes. Quickly looking down to see that the tear landed perfectly on the boy’s grinning face, you used your shirt to wipe the tears away before gently placing the photo back in the drawer. You hastily searched for a towel in the other drawers, fishing one out and making your way back into the bathroom.

Trevor cracked the shower door open so you could hand him the towel, thanking you before closing the door once more. He then exited the shower with the towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still dripping down his toned chest. 

Fuck, you forgot how good he looked. 

The boy seemed to notice your staring, because he let a chuckle escape his lips, “You gonna give me some privacy to change, or what?”

Your cheeks felt like they were burning as you realized you were caught in the middle of gawking at your ex-boyfriend, and you quickly nodded your head as you walked out of the bathroom. 

Hours later, as you stood in your kitchen with your old apron and flour dusted all over your cheeks, your mind seemed to blank when you tried to think of why you left Trevor in the first place. (Reminder: he cheated.)

Your laughter meshed perfectly with the boy’s hearty chuckles, and all it did was remind you of how happy you used to be with him. His whole life used to revolve around your happiness, and vice versa. At some times, it felt a little bit overbearing, but it just proved how much you loved each other.

Other times, you felt like you had never hated anyone more than him.

It wasn’t like you forgot about all the times you would argue with each other about something stupid, like forgetting to buy the groceries or mistakenly saying the wrong thing to a nosy reporter. But those weren’t the arguments that mattered. They were just petty quarrels that occurred in every relationship.

It was the ones over the phone that really hurt. Trevor would be miles away from you for days on end, not even bothering to contact you unless you spoke first. But, of course, it was your fault whenever you called him late at night and it ended with tears and a loud argument. It was your fault when he came back home to a dull and unloving apartment. It was your fault he cheated, clearly, because you weren’t giving him enough love and time for him to truly appreciate you and not have to seek out some other woman.

You could handle the toxicity. You could handle the breakdowns after every argument. You could handle the utter hatred that sparked between you and your boyfriend. But God, you would never be able to handle the thought of him loving anyone else when he so thoroughly invaded your heart and mind. 

Trevor waved his hand in front of your face to wake you from your trance-like state, causing you to shake your head and blink as your thoughts dissipated into the air. “You good?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. You could only nod your head and purse a smile at his question, returning back to your old tasks as if you never stopped doing them in the first place.

The kitchen was a mess, just like it always used to be after you and Trevor would bake. There were three rolling pins covered in flour, ten tasting spoons in the sink, a batter-covered spatula on the counter, and unwashed bowls cluttered everywhere. Usually, while the two of you waited for your baked goods to finish in the oven, you would get to work by tidying up the kitchen, and Trevor would begin washing all the dishes.

You immediately grabbed all the bowls in sight, placing them in the sink before squatting down in front of a cabinet and opening it in your search for a clean rag. You typically kept them all in the same spot, and just like how you hoped his dresser was laid out the same, you hoped he didn’t renovate the interior design of his kitchen too much.

Before you could even set your eyes on what you were looking for, you felt a gentle hand on your wrist, pulling you back up to your feet.

“You don’t have to clean up,” your ex-boyfriend spoke softly, his eyebrows furrowed. Watching you fall back into your old habits felt so domestic that it hurt him. He already regretted losing you, and he knew that deep down, you’d never be able to forgive him for what he did, so he didn’t want to get his hopes up with the idea that you felt so normal in his home, in his presence. 

“Oh, I’d feel bad, Trevor—”

“Please.” He was desperate. So you obeyed his wishes and leaned your back against the edge of the counter, silently watching as he scrubbed the dishes down and wiped the counters clean. 

The light hum of the oven, along with the trickle of the faucet, were the only sounds you could hear in the large kitchen. The speaker sitting in the very back corner between the refrigerator and the stovetop reminded you of all the times you would force the boy to listen to your slightly concerning playlist, screaming out all the lyrics as he stared at you like he would fly you to the moon and back. 

And he would. He still wanted to.

Eventually, the beep of the oven signaled that your cake was ready, and Trevor rushed to grab an oven mitt before you could even move a limb. 

“I got it!” He exclaimed, shuffling over to pull the oven door open and grab the cake pan from the interior of the hot oven. As he bent over to retrieve the spongy substance, his hair grazed against the very top of the oven. You quickly reacted with a lift of your hand, using your fingers to pull his hair back as your other hand came up as if it was protecting his head. It was a force of habit. 

Grimacing, you gently moved his hair back to its original position, lightly scolding him for not being careful. “You almost burned your hair off, Trev. You gotta be more careful next time.”

The use of his old nickname made his heart beat faster in his chest. You were allowing yourself to bring your walls down and open up to him, and both of you were beginning to recognize it. It scared you, but it gave Trevor a sense of hope. False hope.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, too eager to begin decorating the cake to allow himself any time to think about what he was getting himself into. You shook your head at his careless demeanor, trying to ignore how the sparkle in his eyes was just pulling you closer and closer to him. He was like the sun in your solar system, and you felt like a mere planet revolving around him, the pull too strong to resist. 

The boy waited for the cake to cool down before popping it out of the pan and slathering frosting all over it, using a very tense piping bag to pipe cheeky designs onto its surface. He was still immature as ever, but his little evil giggles made it all worth it. Even after all these months, there was nothing you would ever love more than his sole happiness.

There was a point in time where all you could feel towards him was hatred, but you were finally over it. You realized you shouldn’t be wasting all your energy into something negative, especially towards someone who hurt you so deeply. So you stopped hating him. You thought you felt indifferent towards him, but this whole night was finally beginning to change your mind. There was always going to be a part of you that cared about him, and there was no fighting it. It was just a matter of how much you were going to let that affect you and your future. 

You swung his fridge open, looking for fruits you could cut up to use as decoration for the cake. Your gaze landed on a plastic tray of strawberries, and you immediately pulled it out to begin cutting them up. Once you carved out the leaves of the red fruit, the two of you sporadically placed them onto the cake, finishing the look with a few dollops of whipped cream along the rim of the cake. 

Both of you migrated to his living room with a slice of cake in your hands, all your better judgment being thrown out the window once Trevor proposed the idea of watching your comfort movie. He vividly remembered when you first watched it together, not knowing you would soon play it practically every time you were remotely upset or had nothing better to do. In fact, you watched it so much that he found himself getting less and less fond of it as the months went by. Now, he would do anything to see your smile when you watched the intro of the film, and this was his chance. 

“But,” he interjected, “if you get annoying about it, I’m changing it to Miracle.” 

Miracle was like his comfort movie, and you felt very similarly about it as he did to yours. The movie came out when he was a mere three years old, and it might’ve been his earliest memory of watching hockey on his family’s television screen. He’d never gotten tired of it and had even gone on a ramble about it during one of your first few dates, so it became some sort of a running joke between the two of you.

“As if. You can’t resist the Ryan Gosling.” Your retorts only made the boy’s heart swell up with even more admiration, even though it felt wrong. The banter reminded him of the old times he spent with you, and how he could always expect a comeback to his incessant teasing. 

With a roll of his eyes, Trevor held the remote up to the TV and began the movie, casually throwing a small blanket over the two of you to force close proximity. Without a second thought, you scooted closer to your ex-boyfriend (who was really feeling like less and less of an ex). Your mind was too focused on the introduction for you to care how close you were to him. 

Thirty minutes flew by, and he was able to blow it all off by focusing on how the light of the television screen reflected so perfectly against your face, your eyes glistening as the scenes passed. You were so gorgeous, and he couldn’t even fathom how badly he fucked up his relationship with you. He wanted you back. He needed you back.

He was going to get you back.

Just as Trevor stretched his arm out to extend behind you, you leaned over to grab your phone off the side table. His nose crinkled in disappointment as he watched your eyes widen at the sight of the time. 

“It’s almost midnight,” you gasped, shoving your phone into your pocket. You tossed the blanket off your legs and scurried over to the kitchen, placing your empty plate into the sink in a hurry. Within a blink of an eye, you found yourself slipping your shoes on near his front door. “Sorry, Trevor, I gotta go now. Tonight wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I hope you feel less stressed and stuff, but, uh, I don’t really think it’ll be a good idea if I come back to see you again.”

The boy swore his heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

You could feel your gut begin to twist in guilt like it always did whenever you saw his face fall into that damned dejected expression, but you had to stay strong. It wouldn’t benefit either of you to keep going on the way you both wanted to. “I just don’t think it would be good for either of us. We broke up for a reason, Trev. You know that.”

“I thought we were good? I mean, you were letting your guard down, and we were starting to be the way we used to be,” his voice sounded so small.

“We’re never going to be the way we used to be—”

He cut you off, determined to win you back. “I can fix this. I know I said you didn’t have to stay for long, but this whole night made me realize that I want you to stay with me for the rest of my life. I need you with me.”

You sighed. “Trevor—”

“No, listen to me, please. It’s been months. We’ve spent some time apart and I don’t think I can spend any longer without you.”

It was your turn to stop him in the middle of his spiel. “You cheated on me! I was willing to give you everything I had, because I loved you that much! You broke my trust. There’s nothing you can fix or do to make things better. I prioritized you over myself. It didn’t matter if I was at my lowest, as long as you were happy. That’s how much I cared about you. That’s how much trust and love I put into you.

“What about the nights I was home alone while you were on your roadies? You wouldn’t talk to me unless I interacted first! We were falling apart long before you cheated on me, and I was the only one in the relationship who tried patching us up when things started to get bumpy. We were one-sided, Trev.” You watched as he shook his head in denial, still desperate for you to hear him out. “We still could’ve fixed ourselves. We weren’t bad at communicating with each other. But you turned to another woman instead of talking to me about the things that were going on in your life.”

Trevor was an inch away from getting on his knees and begging you to stay. “Then stay. Stay with me, and I’ll never make you feel that way again. I’m so, so fucking sorry—”

“That’s the thing. ‘Again.’ The fact that you made me feel that way in the first place, the fact that you cheated on me, will never go away.” You huffed out another sigh, listening to the boy’s pleading babbles as you continued to speak. Running a hand down your face, you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down before you blew up on him again. “This isn’t healthy.”

“What isn’t healthy?” He questioned, knowing damn well you both knew what you were talking about.

“This! You and I. Us.” You gestured your hands between your bodies, your tone now contorting into fleeting despair. There was no saving your failed relationship, but you already knew that. It was only a matter of time before Trevor realized it too. “We can’t keep going like this. I know that you needed me tonight, and that’s fine, but you can’t keep calling me and telling me you need me anymore. We’re just gonna get stuck in this cycle of you needing me, convincing me to drive over to your apartment to comfort you, then us getting into some argument like we are right now.”

The boy looked deflated with the way he stood, slumped against a supporting pillar near the entrance of his apartment. There was only one more thing left to say to you. His last resort. Nothing else was convincing you, so he only had one other option. “I love you.”

You bit your lip in hesitation. “I know that, Trev.”

“Do you still love me?”

Your reluctance to answer was now more evident than ever, your conversation becoming more solemn. Five minutes ago, you were scolding him for all the shit he put you through, and now, you were just trying to resist his desperate attempts to try and win you over. Again.

You shook your head lightly, “I think we both know the answer to that.”

There would never be one day where you didn’t love him. You knew that. He knew that. Maybe that was what kept him going all those months without you.

His hopes were now much higher than before. You weren’t looking forward to the aftermath of his high hopes crashing and burning. “Then what’s stopping you? I still don’t have a girlfriend, and you still don’t have a boyfriend. It has to be because we’re still meant to be together.”

“No, that’s not—God, you know that’s not what it means. I don’t have a boyfriend, but it’s not because I want to get back together with you. I stand by what I said. We’re not good together. We were really fucking toxic when we were together. I don’t think I can put myself through that again. Even if you promise to fix yourself, or if you promise you’ll be better for me. Some things just aren’t fixable, and this might just be one of them.”

The more you spoke, the further Trevor fell into the pit of rejection. He put his all into trying to get you back, and all his efforts were proven futile. His sad puppy eyes were just making you feel worse and worse about the things you were saying, but they were all true. Your whole relationship, you put him before yourself, but it was time to focus on your mental health. 

You took a step towards him, bringing your hand up to his cheek comfortingly. Leaning in for the last time, you gently pressed your lips to his in what seemed to be a sealed farewell. Just before you could pull away, the boy brought you back in, and you let him. You let him savor the moment for as long as possible, because you knew you could never let yourself be near him again. The more you allowed yourself to interact with him, the harder it would be to let go of him.

Both of you pulled away with your eyes still closed, Trevor leaning down to bring his forehead to yours as if attempting to convince you for the last time.

You spoke ever-so-softly, “I think I’m always gonna love you. I just don’t think I can keep being in love with you.” And with that, you gently pushed yourself away from him, slipping out the front door without so much as a squeak. 

You knew there would always be a fine line between love and hate, and for a while, you found yourself flirting with the temptations of the latter. You were always going to reserve space in your heart for Trevor, and you came to accept that long before he begged you to come back. You just didn’t want to catch yourself on the other side of that thin, thin line.

— diorsluv 2024

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi 😊 would you do a Damon Salvatore imagine where you’re dating but one time after a fight you get in a car accident and get hurt badly. Damon feels this and searches for you, just to find you in time to save your life. He then stays with you, taking care of your wounds until you wake up again. Then he apologizes and promises to protect you and never get you hurt again ? Just some really cute fluff with this cutie. Thank you dear ☺️

𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐼𝑆𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑆𝐸

Summary: based on the request

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x reader

Warnings: accident, car crash, mentions of death, mentions of comparison, mourning, angst, swearing, brief mention of suicide and Alzheimer’s

Word Count: 1467

Masterlist Link

You were stripped of everything, your pride, your love, your understanding, all in that moment. As soon as those words abandoned Damon’s spewing mouth, tears congregated in the field of your melted snow globes, trickling from their smashed exterior as the toll of his words weighed heavy upon you. It was obscurely selfish on his part, comparing you to a past lover, of whom was also your friend. The glint of their past together often conspired thoughts in your mind, but you would never accuse him of returning to such ways. Katherine Pierce; your best friend and partner in crime. All of those who were in Damon’s circle had thought you’d be a bad influence on him, whilst you were no more than a simple human, you had quite the fondness for causing a ruckus. Though this time, the fault of the mess was down to him. You had found yourself escaping the boarding house before his azure eyes, he had winced as you slammed the door of the vehicle at him, and eventually you had quite literally hit the road.

It was due to a storm looming across from afar, it was gaining momentum and getting closer as you hurriedly tried to leave the shitty town that ever only seemed to bring harm to its residents and visitors. As you drove, your phone rang out with a chorus, informing you that somebody was trying to get patched through to you, and on your end the only thing that was required of you was to accept the call. You had a pretty good assumption of who was trying to contact you; Damon Salvatore. He was also known as the man that had inspired a newfound rage inside of you, he had told you that you would never be as deceptive as Katherine had been, and he had the guts to say this now that she was dead. Her absence held a stake to your heart, you felt incomplete, he had told you that you could do better than her by your side. But you didn’t want to.

All that you wanted was her to return from whatever other side there was, after it had been torn down. Was she in Hell? It was not something that you would know, not unless you got sent there yourself, and you had yet to endure a danger to your life that would have you hanging on the thread and being balanced on Anubis’ scales, of which would determine your fate in the life after life itself. Life was just a rivalry of all different conflicts, you were undergoing the battle of one now with your partner, if you could still call him that. But right now, he was calling you, insistently so, and you hoped that he knew that he had fucked up, because that was the truth; he had, and disastrously so. You, out of the entire world were the only one who had mourned Katherine Pierce, she had been your mentor in some ways, teaching and training you about the curves of survival, claiming to be a survivor herself. And she had been, until her last, and damning breath.

You weren’t like her, or Damon, or Stefan; you were only sentenced to live one short life. Add forty or fifty years tops and you’d be pruned up with the artwork of wrinkles sagging your skin, and a bleak or erased memory that would have you trying to recall all the ventures that you had been on. Katherine was supposed to see that, and be there for you when that day came! But alas, she was gone, all thanks to the brother of your lover. That passenger spell had rather taken a toll on her; she was always one to be selfish, and that was one of the many things she had accounted you to know, always look out for number one. And that, if you hadn’t guessed it, was you. No man could box you in, no darn storm could stop you from reaching the unappealing destination of a stingy motel where people had probably taken their own lives. Even if there was a bleating ringing still echoing around your car, it wasn’t something that you were amended to answer, it was your choice, as was everything, the world was in all retrospect your oyster.

There were a variety of lives that you could choose to live, the path of finally abandoning Mystic Falls and everything secluded within was laid out right before you; as though it were daring you to take such a serious route. Though, with all the possibilities that each turn in reality that you took, an inkling of you was tempting you to turn back, along with the inwards invitation to answer the ringing phone that was echoing across the discovered land of your dash. You breathed through your nose as you attempted to conceal your various emotions, that conflicted across your inflicted aura. For a split second, you shut your eyes as you tried to block out the various onslaughts of peripheral that pried endlessly at you. And that was how it happened.

That short and almost non existent momentum created such an impact that made everything turn to black. It was a literal dead sight, there was no obscurity of noticing the crash that enveloped you, nor the shattering glass that sprayed down on you. You were oblivious to it, but as Damon drove down the road on the search for you, only ten minutes after, his worry went into overdrive as he recognised your car, crushed and in a ruined heap, the culprit of such a collision clearly having done a hit and run and drove away. Anger brewed in his chest as he ran out from his vehicle, and peeked through the squashed window on the drivers side. “Y/n.” He called out your name many times, but none earned him a reply.

Without a second thought, he curled his hand around the door, using every ounce of strength in his bones to pry it off the hinges. He ducked within the car, and ripped your seatbelt off, luckily your legs hadn’t been caught under the dash so he was able to lift you out from your seat and out of the car. He laid you on the cement, and brushed the hair out of your face, hearing your pulse. There were bruises forming onto your skin, and he impulsively bit his wrist and fed the flowing blood into your mouth, his breathing becoming hurried as he wanted nothing more for you to be okay. It was all silent for a moment until you sat up, and spluttered the substance out from your mouth, wiping it with the back of your hand despite still feeling weak.

“Why did you save me?” You asked as you looked at the lover whom had hurt you, if he had allowed you to die then you could reconnect with Katherine in whatever afterlife there was. Damon frowned at the question, aware that he had a lot to answer for, but he’d do anything to make it up to you, it no longer mattered about his pride, it was in his every whim to make amends, he didn’t care about how long it could take. “I never want to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did.” He spoke, watching as you almost keened at his words; everyone knew that he resented being vulnerable. “And I don’t want to waste any time that we have together; I shouldn’t be taking granted of the years that you have, instead I should be appreciating each second that I get to spend with you, otherwise I’d have wasted them and I’d be looking back with regret for the rest of my life.”

“Well you should regret what she said, she was my friend. And it doesn’t matter if she isn’t here anymore, I still care about her. But I care about you more, so don’t make me regret that Damon Salvatore, or I swear to god that I will screw you over so good that your friends will be telling you that they were right.” You threatened him, though the sentiment was softer as it seemed as you hugged him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, tears spilling from your eyes once your expression was out of his vision, though he could still feel the droplets against his cold skin. Katherine was watching you, you knew it, and it made you smile. You loved her, she was the only person that had ever been there for you or showed you any kind of affection, and she would be smiling, knowing that you had someone else now that was willing to do anything to protect you.

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Respite Among Chaos | Pt 1

Porco Galliard x athlete!reader

summary: You’ve never had much reason to speak with Porco - that is, until you find yourself on common ground with him.

word count: 6630 (including words in text messages)

a/n: I had this idea at the same time as a smutty fic idea, I guess this is the soft fluffy fic to counteract it LMAO anyways, I hope ya’ll enjoy sweet Porco! reader is a survivor of abuse! there is one section where it’s discussed but it’s only a broad overview. that being said if the mention of abuse is triggering for you please be mindful and read at your own risk! I’m a survivor too, and it’s therapeutic for me to incorporate my life experiences into my writing, so if this writing resonates with any of you, I send you all my love 💕

masterlist

I’m a good person. I’m a good person, right? Right? Am I a good person? Or am I a bad person? Am I a bad person? I must be. I must be, otherwise why would he have said something like that? Reiner’s known to be a good guy, so why would he say something like that unless he meant it and it was true? I don’t want to be a bad person, I don’t want to end up alone, I don’t want everyone to hate me, I don’t want-

My spiral of anxiety causes my vision to go blurry enough from my tears that I don’t even see him coming. My train of thought ends when I walk face first into… “Porco?” I ask, eyes widening when I realize that yes, I did indeed bump into him. Immediately I look down, sideways, anywhere but at him when I’m just starting to cry. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Porco says, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t paying attention either. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I mumble, and he huffs out a light chuckle.

“Yea, and so is everyone else who says that when they’re on the verge of tears.” I sniff, trying to blink them away, worried someone will see me and be able to tell my emotional state if I were to wipe my eyes. “Hey, do you want a ride back to your dorm? I’m just walking to my car now, and I need to grab something from Pieck anyway. She’s your roommate, right?” I nod my head, but scratch at my arm, indecisive as ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask him. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to take me, or something.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Pieck said you and I have similar music tastes so I’ve been hoping to catch you at one point or another to swap playlists.” This comment temporarily distracts me from my upset, and my face heats up of its own accord. I always find it a little embarrassing when people say good things about me or hype me up to other people, which Pieck does all the time. We met in our senior years of high school and when we found out we were both going to Marley U, we decided to room together, and now we’re on year two of being roomies. She tries to get me to come around her friends all the time, but it can be hard. My anxiety makes it really difficult for me to make friends, partake in conversations, even just going out in public can be scary - so she’s always super happy when I do try.

I try, “Well, um, my phone’s dead, so I can’t really give you my playlist.”

Porco shrugs it off, replying, “Not a problem. We can just talk about whatever’s bothering you, then. Come on.” He motions for me to follow him, and I don’t want to be rude, so I do. It’s not that I don’t want a ride, it’s just… I don’t want to be a burden.

When we get to his car, a blue Chevy Malibu (how on earth he can afford it, I have no clue), he holds the passenger door open for me, not closing it until I’m all the way settled. I note that he has a laminated name card hanging from his rear view mirror reading, ‘Maliblue,’ and if I wasn’t feeling so shitty, I would probably laugh at the witty name for his car.

As he backs out of his parking spot, he says, “So, what happened to lead up to that?”

I play with a strand of my hair, braiding and unbraiding it. “It was nothing. I… I was just at practice, and Reiner… he…” I trail off when tears well up in my eyes, really not wanting to fall apart in Porco’s car.

While Porco drives, he takes a hand off the wheel and pats my shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be an emotionless wall, that’s not you. It’s not anyone.”

“Everyone else just seems to be better at not being overly emotional than me,” I confess. “If I didn’t have anxiety I feel like I wouldn’t be such a burden.”

“Burden?” He asks, not looking away from the road, but his eyes narrow and he furrows his brows in confusion. “From what I know, no one would describe you as a burden, y/n.”

“I don’t know, I still feel like I am.”

“Why?”

“Well, comments from Reiner telling me I ‘need to stop being an asshole and just worry about myself’ when I’m just trying to tell him we need to practice for the coed four by four don’t really make me feel great, and neither does him saying I’m ‘too emotional for a team sport,’ but I don’t know how to unpack that, so.” I sniff and wipe my eyes.

We pull up to a stoplight and Porco turns to look at me. “Are you fucking serious? Like, deadass, he actually said that to you?” He looks at me with a shocked expression, and I give a small nod, wiping the tears now openly flowing down my face. “What the fuck is wrong with him? Why? Why did he even say that? What even happened?”

I sniff again and my voice wavers as I say, “Me, Marcel and Ymir were practicing for the coed four by four, and Reiner is part of it, and he had spent like, half of the practice doing everything but practice with us and the rest of us were irritated that he didn’t seem to be taking it seriously, so while they were practicing their handoffs I went and asked him if he could please come and practice since me and Ymir have never had him on the coed relays before and need to get used to his pacing and handoffs and stuff, and then he said that first comment, and I guess he was able to tell that it hurt my feelings because then he said the second comment.” I sneeze, and Porco blesses me as I sniffle. We sit in silence for a minute and I can almost feel his rage radiating off of him.

I add, “And I said it exactly to him as I said to you. I know because I thought about it fifty times before telling him, and after he said that, I thought about what I said fifty more times to try and figure out if I actually said something that really made me an asshole.”

His voice is strained, quiet, like the calm before the storm. “Why didn’t Marcel and Ymir say anything? Why didn’t they stand up for you?”

“They don’t know. I… I told Coach Erwin I needed to go. I asked him to tell them it was just a family emergency but that everything was fine.” When the light turns green I fidget in my seat, not completely turning away from him, but making sure he can’t see how puffy my eyes are.

He says, “One moment. Hey Siri! Call Marcel!” I whip my head around and gape at him, mouthing, ‘What are you doing?’ Porco holds his finger up, and we both listen while the built-in Bluetooth on his car rings, and rings, and…

“Hello brethren, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Marcel’s voice resonates through the car, and I stifle a laugh at seeing Porco roll his eyes.

“For somebody so dorky I’m surprised you’re a D1 athlete. Anyways, we have a group meeting over at Pieck’s place. Reiner is excluded from this meeting and he hears nothing about it or I will kill you all. Also…” Porco pauses to look at me, then continues, “Tell Ymir to come, and to bring her girlfriend. Y/n needs a pick-me-up.”

“Oh jeez, did something happen with her and Reiner at practice? I knew she had to leave, but Erwin said it was a family thing…”

“Bingo. I’ll tell you more when everyone’s there. I’m on my way with y/n now.”

Marcel’s voice goes up an octave in excitement. “Oh, hi y/n! See you soon!”

I quietly mumble, “Hi Marcel… sorry for leaving.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure it was justified from the sound of it. I’ll see you soon!”

•••

“He WHAT!?!?!?” Ymir yells at the top of her lungs, jumping out of her seat with fire in her eyes. A teary-eyed Historia launches herself to the couch cushion on my left and wraps me up in a tight hug.

“That’s what I said!” Porco shouts in agreement, “My vote is to beat his ass.”

“You’ll get kicked off the football team, Pock.” Pieck points out. “It also wouldn’t help y/n if her coaches think she’s starting drama. Reiner could very well spin it that way, if we’re being honest. So first, how are you feeling?”

Pieck, who’s already sitting on my right side, grabs one of my hands, squeezing it encouragingly. She smiles at me, and I know she wants me to be honest, so I say, “Well… it kinda does make me a little bit happy to know you all care. I thought maybe it wasn’t that important.”

“And what else?” Historia chimes in.

“You just want me to put all my feelings out on the table for everyone to see?”

“Yes, because that’s what friends are for,” She replies in a motherly attitude, “So open up, because we’re your friends, and that’s what friends do.”

“I… I just…” I hesitate, nervous from the five of them staring at me. “This is gonna sound stupid, but can you guys not look at me? I’m embarrassed.”

Porco furrows his brows, but Ymir speaks before he can question it. “You heard her, Galliard. Turn around.” They all rotate to face away from me, and Ymir asks, “This good, track star?”

I nod, then realize they can’t see it. “Um, yes. Thanks. Um… the truth is… what Reiner said- it hurt really bad.” My voice cracks, and Pieck gives my hand another supportive squeeze. “I’ve lost friends before, and it always hurts because I think it’s my fault, even when I don’t know how it could be. If it was once, then… I don’t know. But it feels like it’s happened a lot more than once.”

“Y/n… this isn’t your fault.” Historia says softly. “You have to know that you did nothing wrong here. It’s all Reiner.”

Marcel adds, “He’s probably just jealous of your times. I think he has a hard time being realistic about the dedication it takes to be a track and field athlete and is expecting single event times for multiple events.”

“Maybe he doesn’t really want to be on the relay team?” Historia guesses.

Porco gripes, “If he didn’t want to be on the relay team all he needed to do was tell his coach.”

“No, he definitely wanted to be on the relay team, otherwise he wouldn’t have let Marco get injured.” Ymir says spitefully. “I’m still not sure it wasn’t on purpose. Marco’s too nice to say anything, but it’s not like he isn’t the reason you were injured before, Marcel.”

“That was an accident!” Marcel defies her, “And I’m fine now!”

Porco cuts in, “Technically you still have to take ice baths every day-“

“-I actually do that regularly now because y/n suggested it, it feels nice and I personally-”

“I personally don’t think that matters-”

“Will you two stop bickering?” Historia says, walking over to the pair and pulling their ears until they quit with the back and forth.

Pieck laughs, but agrees with Historia. “Hisu’s right, all of that is just semantics at this point. What do you want to do about it, y/n?”

All eyes turn to me and I swallow, wishing the decision could be someone else’s. “Honestly… I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want him to think I’m a snitch. I’d rather just have your support. I don’t want him to see he got to me. Well, beyond today, that is.” My eyes flicker to each person’s for a second, but I look away when I get to Porco’s. There’s something different about his gaze that makes it hard to hold eye contact, though I’m not sure what. Tentatively I add, “And maybe have a movie night with ice cream and a fort.”

•••

Many hours later, the six of us are back together, Ymir and Hisu cuddled up on the lounger, me and Pieck on either end of the loveseat, Porco and Marcel camped out on the ground, and fairy lights, pillows and blankets strewn everywhere. As it turns out, we’re not very good at fort-building.

A horror film is playing and popcorn is being tossed around while we save the ice cream for the second movie. Marcel was kind enough to buy pizza for the group, so everyone is chowing down as we watch the movie.

It feels… nice. Watching Marcel scoot between Pieck’s legs, letting her card through his hair and put tiny little braids in it, complete with sparkly rubber bands. Historia fitting almost perfectly in Ymir’s lap while the latter nuzzles her face into Hisu’s neck, pretending to be bored with the movie but really she’s hiding in preparation for any jumpscares. Every now and then, Porco looks back at me to steal a piece of popcorn, and save for a foreign feeling in my stomach, it all feels so normal. I find myself wishing this could happen every night.

After the first movie, Ymir and Historia leave because they have plans for a hike in the morning, and Marcel beats Porco to steal their spot, leaving him as the odd man out, which he very audibly complains about for half of the movie. After the second movie, Pieck announces that she has to go to bed so she’s well-rested for a test the next day, at which point Porco very dramatically pulls himself up onto the loveseat. “I have the high ground, Porco.” I say smugly.

“Did you really just quote Star Wars?” He says, and when I laugh, he glares at me, rolling his eyes.

“Mmphmm! Hmphmm!” Marcel has a mouthful of pizza and an air-five waiting for me.

I let out an onomatopoeia as I meet his air-five, and Porco groans, “You guys are nerds.”

“Says the person watching scary movies with two nerds,” Marcel retorts, “If it looks like a duck.”

I continue, “If it quacks like a duck!”

And Porco finishes, “Shut the fuck up.”

Marcel guffaws, and I snicker under my breath as the third movie starts. When I realize we’re upgrading from slashers to paranormal, I gasp, uttering, “Oh, no.”

Porco side-eyes me, asking, “What?”

I whisper hoarsely, “I’m a lil’ bitch when it comes to anything ghost or demon-related!”

He menacingly challenges, “I dare you to not put your hands up or turn your face away for the entire movie.”

Marcel cuts in, “I know you’re not trying to make my bestie have nightmares over there, Pocky-boy.”

“And what are you gonna do if I am?” Porco taunts his brother.

“Leave you here.” Marcel states simply.

Porco laughs. “Sure you will.”

•••

“He actually left me!” Porco says to me in exasperation. Marcel ditched him while he went to the bathroom and gave me fifty bucks to say nothing, so I, being as broke as I am, said nothing, waiting for Porco to realize, then run out and check.

“I think the real winner here is teamwork.” I comment unhelpfully, then say, “You’ll be fine, Porco. Our loveseat opens up into a bed. Also… we have a spare charger and pair of clothes. Marcel stays the night all the time.” I scratch the back of my head, knowing that Pieck and Marcel don’t exactly want their super-brand new, super-tentative relationship to be known about yet. “But that fact stays between you and me.”

“I suspected anyway.” He replies, then motions for me to move. “If you serve us up ice cream I’ll get the bed set up and we can watch more movies. Do you have class tomorrow?” I nod my head no, and he grunts in confirmation. “Then it’s settled.”

I hop off the couch and get to work, carefully crafting up two perfect bowls of ice cream, one with all my favorite toppings and one waiting to be decorated. “Hey Porco,” I call from the kitchen, “What toppings do you want?”

“Uh, whatever you used on yours.” He responds absentmindedly, and I comply, returning to the bed set up with all the plushest pillows and blankets, Porco lounging in the middle with his head resting on the couch back.

“You look comfortable.” I observe as I hand him his bowl of ice cream, plopping down next to him. “What are we watching now?”

“I was thinking Ringu, is that okay?”

“Uh, are you trying to get me to have insomnia?”

“I mean, not necessarily. Just a healthy dose of fear.”

“Uh-huh. If we watch this you’re not allowed to have any qualms about me hiding behind my fingers.”

“Bet.” He says, stretching out his arms and reaching behind me for the remote.

Once he starts the movie, he reaches back around to set it down again, and I notice his arm doesn’t leave this time. I feel a twinge of I-don’t-know-what, and start chowing down on my ice cream before it melts. The silence is comfortable. Until he asks, “Why do you think Reiner said that to you?”

Of course he has to ask that. “I… don’t know. I mean… a long time ago during freshman year, he did ask me out, and… I told him I saw him as a really good friend.”

Porco chortles, only choking on his spoonful of ice cream a little bit. “You did not, y/n.” He gasps out.

“Well it was true! He was really nice back then, and he was a good friend to me. I just… didn’t see him how he wanted me to.” I take a large spoonful so I don’t have to say more.

Porco ponders aloud, “I’ll bet he’s been salty about it ever since. He always wants to be seen as this reliable nice guy, but that’s Marcel. I noticed awhile ago that when Marcel was in the hospital, Reiner changed. It was like he was trying to be my brother.”

My brows shoot up in surprise. “I’ve never thought about it, but you’re right. That’s around the time him and I got close… That’s creepy. After I turned him down, he turned into who he is today. Well, who he is for me today. It wasn’t overnight, I think he was still hoping I would change my mind.”

“I would hope too,” Porco jokes, “Imagine being rejected by one of the nicest people at Marley U.”

I poke his side as hard as I can, but he just brushes it off. “Don’t tease, Porco! That’s mean to him.”

“He’s not here, y/n, you don’t have to save face. I know for a fact you at least dislike that fucker. I hate him and I’ve been open about that since day one. You should join me, it’s freeing.” He remarks with a flourish of his hand.

“Okay, okay! I don’t like Reiner, are you happy?” I say with a shake of my head, failing to conceal my impish smile. “But I would rather just move on and forget about it. Do I want anything to do with him? No. But I don’t want drama either.”

“Got it.” He pretends to scribble down a note. “Don’t make drama for y/n because of Reiner.”

The rest of the night goes without a hitch, and I find myself really coming to like Porco. He’s funny, kind, and hot-headed compared to Marcel, but Marcel has always been even-tempered and nearly impossible to anger, so no surprise there. If I were a betting person, I’d bet Marcel became that way to keep his little brother out of trouble.

At one point I really jump after being on edge for several minutes, and Porco simply wraps his arm around me, saying, “I got you. If it’s too scary I can turn it off.”

“No, no, I can handle it. I just forgot I wasn’t in the movie for second there.”

•••

The next morning, I walk out into the living room in my spandex and a baggy t shirt Marco loaned me (and then just gave me) after one practice when he tripped and spilled a cooler on my head and torso. Long story short, he was carrying it on his shoulder, didn’t see me, then tried to swerve around to miss me, but so did I, and catastrophe struck. It’s also how we became friends, so it’s a memory I look back on fondly.

“Good morning. You look ready to go for a run.”

I jump, whipping around to see Porco who suddenly is cackling. “Fuck, dude, I forgot you were here. You scared the shit out of me!” I say, keeling over in laughter and relief.

“Those movies do a number on you?” Porco asks after wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Not this time, actually. I just truly wasn’t expecting it. I woke up so well-rested I thought yesterday night was a dream!” I open the fridge and dig out my usual breakfast: Yogurt, granola, and some water. It’s light, but I prefer heavier lunches and dinners, so it balances out. “Are you hungry, Porco?”

“I already ordered myself DoorDash, I was gonna get you something when you woke up, but…” He motions to the small meal I have. “Are you sure you won’t be hungry after that?”

“Oh! Yea, I always eat this much, I’m kind of basic. If I eat a lot in the morning I can make myself nauseous so I stick to this. Plus, my yogurt is pretty yummy. Want some?”

He looks at me. “What kind?”

“Greek lemon. It slaps, I’m telling you.”

•••

“Holy shit! This is good as fuck!” He says excitedly, “Where do you get this?” He consumes the yogurt cup within seconds.

I smile, happy to have converted another person into a Greek lemon yogurt fiend. “You know the farmer’s market on 86th? They sell tubs, too, they were just out this time.”

“I can see why, I need to start getting this stuff. I’ll pick up one for each of us next time I’m grocery shopping.”

“I actually need to get more now, these two were my last ones. Wanna go? I can drop you off home afterward.”

“Hell yea!” He exclaims, and in minutes we’re in Pieck’s car, jamming out to Ariana Grande, a guilty pleasure of Porco’s and a favorite of mine, as we head to the store specifically for Greek lemon yogurt.

I’m losing my breath while Porco’s trying his darnedest to hit Ari’s high notes, and when I’m singing along, I can feel Porco’s eyes lingering on my face.

“You have a really nice voice, you know. How come you’ve never done karaoke night with everyone before?”

My face goes up in flames, and I’m hoping against hope Porco doesn’t catch my bashful smile. “Oh, thanks. I’m not very confident in my voice, so I’ve just never thought about it.”

“Next time you should come with me. With you as my partner, we’ll beat the whole gang!” He suggests amiably.

I laugh, reminding myself that Pieck’s car won’t drive itself. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder. Miss Ari would be awfully jealous of those whistle tones you got there.”

“Okay, first of all, you and I both know I sounded like a smoker on helium, but go off. Second of all, I don’t have a second point, I just wanted to say second of all. Makes me feel important.”

“Are you usually this comedic?” I wonder aloud.

“Eh, only around people that I really like. And you happen to be one of those people.” He states, poking my arm a little for emphasis.

“Well, I’m honored. How can I thank you, Lord Pockolemew?” I pull into a parking spot at the back of the lot, where no cars are. It’s the best way to keep Pieck’s car from getting dents in it, and the weather outside is nice.

“Easy. One, never call me that again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling you that again.”

“No. Two, let me pay for the yogurts, and I’ll give you gas money since you’re dropping me home.” He nudges me playfully as we walk past cars of all kinds, and I scratch my arm.

“You don’t need to do that, Porco, it’s fine, really. I appreciate it-“

“Then accept it, y/l/n. I know you’re all about earning things and you don’t want to burden people or waste their time, but what about the people who want to do nice things for you because they think you deserve it?” He probes, and I find that I can’t disagree with him without sounding morbidly depressing, so I hang my head and sigh.

“Fine, just this once. But never again.”

He smiles smugly, like he just won a game of chess. Maybe he did. “Got it. Never again.”

We end up picking up a few more things than the yogurt, mostly because Porco got random cravings for a bunch of raw vegetables and told me to pick out a snack for myself, but he’s still able to carry all the bags on one arm, insisting we don’t need to make two trips, as well as insisting I shouldn’t carry any of them because they’re technically his property since he paid. He also insists on opening the passenger door for me and not letting me load any of the bags into the car.

“Uh, Porco, I’m driving?” I remind him in confusion.

“Nah, it’s all good. We’re going back to your dorm, Marcel’s there and said he’ll take me home, but I wanted to stop somewhere else first. I’ve driven Pieck’s car before.” He turns the key and the engine rumbles to life, even quieter than the Maliblue.

I go along, wary as I am, and am surprised to find us at an ice cream parlor. I look over at Porco, and he’s already watching me with a smirk. “I have it on good authority that you like ice cream.” I can’t help but smile, and he returns mine in earnest.

As we order matching cones, I ask him, “Why are you being so nice to me? Not that you’ve ever really been mean, I just… I don’t know. One moment we were more like acquaintances, casual friends or whatever, and the next, you’re buying me ice cream, driving me around and shit.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Guess I didn’t realize how cool you were and it took Reiner being a sack of shit for me to get it through my head. That aside, I’m glad I ran into you yesterday. You’re kinda rad, y/n.”

We’re handed our cones as I respond, “You too, Galliard. You too.”

•••

That afternoon, Porco goes home with Marcel, and then goes for a drive that night. Parked in front of a familiar dorm building, he makes a call. The line rings, the recipient slow to answer. “Hello?” Reiner’s voice is on the other line.

“Sup, Braun.” Porco says, voice colder than a deep freezer. “Listen, I heard about what you said to y/n-”

“-Oh my God, really?” Reiner complains, his voice almost whining. “You’re gonna blindly believe what a random bitch decided to say I said? I thought we were friends.”

Porco’s nostrils flare and he yells, “You called y/n a what!? A what, Reiner? Disrespect her again and I will really fuckin’ beat your ass, the only reason you’re not in the ER right now is because she asked me not to do anything. She doesn’t even know I’m doing this right now.”

Reiner scoffs. “You’re all talk-”

“-Come outside then, bitch! I’m right outside your fuckin’ building, I can see you sitting in your fuckin’ dorm room!”

Several seconds of silence pass, and Porco can see Reiner pull his curtains closed.

“Yea, that’s what I fuckin’ thought. You fucked over my brother, you tried to fuck over Marco, but you’re not about to fuck over y/n just because she wouldn’t go out with you, and we are not friends. You can catch these fuckin’ hands anytime you want, but I promise you, Braun, if you fuck with y/n again I’ll kick your fuckin’ teeth in. Leave her alone.”

“Do you… like her?” Reiner asks Porco.

Porco says, “If I do it’s none of your business, but right now I’m just saying this as her friend. She wouldn’t have ever wanted you anyway. Red shirt ass pussy.” He hangs up after slinging a final insult at Reiner, and starts his car, speeding off down the road into the night.

•••

The next time I show up to practice, I see Porco sitting in the stands watching, and give him a wave, smiling. He gives me a thumbs up and puts his feet up, leaning back in his seat.

Coach Erwin calls me over, and I panic on the inside, but comply. “Yes, Coach?”

“I wanted you to know, y/l/n, that Reiner is no longer on the four by four coed relay. Ymir and Marcel came to me early this morning, and he’s been suspended from the team for a month.”

I’m caught off guard by what he says. “Wait, what? I… It really wasn’t… I’m sure he feels-“

“-You’re one of my best athletes, y/l/n. Braun was bullying you. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself. Anyway, I’m glad your teammates came to me. They care about you.” His eyes soften a little. “I know you have a hard time making friends, but they seem to really have your best interests at heart. Hold those friends close, y/l/n.”

I nod, all seriousness. Coach Erwin is known for giving occasional bits of life advice, and when he does give it, his athletes take it. “Thank you, Coach.”

“Anytime. As for Reiner’s replacement, Colt Grice will be taking his spot in the relay, so make sure you practice handoffs with him. Go warm up, y/l/n.”

“Yes, Coach!” I take off, and Ymir, Marcel and Colt are already warming up together, but they pause and look at me expectantly. I jog up to them and say, “I thought I told you to say nothing.”

Marcel rubs the back of his neck. “Yea, well…”

Ymir admits without any guilt whatsoever: “I made Marcel come with me and we told Erwin everything. When Reiner showed up Erwin called him into the office and he didn’t deny a thing.”

“Wow, just like that?” I say, finding it a bit odd.

“I think Porco might be to blame for that,” Marcel posits, “He came home late last night after going for a drive. Did you see him when you got here, y/n?”

I nod. I glance over at Porco in the stands, and have to hide a smile when I turn back around. “Hey Colt.” I greet the freshman, and he returns the greeting. I had a class with him last quarter, so we’re already fairly acquainted. Plus, he went to high school in Liberio like Pieck and the rest of her friends, so there’s that.

We all chat as we warm up together, go through our stretches, and finally get ready to run. “Hey,” Colt says as we walk to the line, “Porco’s heading this way. Does he normally show up to watch you practice, Marcel?”

Marcel scratches his eyebrow. “Not really, no. I don’t think he’s here for me, though.”

My stomach does a flip, and I’m not sure why, but Colt and Ymir both glancing at me in suspicion makes me nervous. “What?” I ask in annoyance.

“Oh, nothing. Only that you’ve spent a significant amount of time with Porco lately.” Ymir suggestively raises her eyebrows, and I scowl at her.

Colt puts his hands up. “I know nothing, I’m not a part of this, I’m innocent.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Colt.” I say, choosing to not give Ymir the satisfaction of arguing with her. Teasing is her favorite way to get me to come out of my shell, unfortunately.

“Alright,” I announce, “The order before was Marcel, Ymir, Reiner, then me, so you’ll be the third leg, Colt. Coach Erwin doesn’t want us tiring ourselves out so we’re gonna practice our handoffs on the hurdle markers, just so we can get our strides out. Eighty percent, our meet’s on Saturday.”

“Whew, so soft, Coach y/l/n. You’re not gonna make us run the stadium stairs?” Ymir heckles.

“I could make you do it, as payback for not listening to me the other day, Ymir.” I threaten, but she just laughs.

“I know you won’t.”

I sigh. “You’re right, I won’t. Let’s just get started before you keep exposing me for not measuring up to Erwin.”

“Nerd.” Ymir says, and it reminds me of when Porco called Marcel and I nerds. I bite my lip, but it doesn’t hide my smile. She notices and laughs, “Whatcha thinkin’ about over there, huh?”

“How lovely it would be if Historia were here to tell you off, is all.” I lie, but honestly, it would be nice for Historia to tell her off.

We move on, and our first attempt is a little rough, but we gradually improve. By the time we hit our sixth attempt, we’ve gotten into our groove, so we go through it four more times to cement it in.

“Alright, I’m off for distance with Coach Magath, see you guys!” I wave goodbye to Colt and Ymir, who respectively head over to hurdles and sprinting, but before Marcel joins Ymir, he stops me with a hand in my shoulder.

“Wassup?” I ask him, and his eyes shoot between me and (I’m assuming based on the general direction) Porco.

“I just wanted to say, if you… if you and Porco are gonna continue to spend time together, I’m okay with that. You’re one of my best friends, and he’s my brother, so… if anything… were to, well, grow, out of that, I want you to know that it’s okay with me.” If my face could melt it would, and he can definitely see it written all over my features. “Or if that’s not what’s happening, then you can feel free to ignore what I said, and I’m sorry for being mistaken.” His face reddens a little and he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No!“ I say sincerely, “I mean, Porco’s great, and, since you’re giving me a stamp of approval I hope you don’t mind me saying that he is cute, but I don’t know, it seems like we’re just… hanging out, and he just feels bad for me. I’m sure he doesn’t see me like that.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “I don’t know, y/n, I’m just saying, but I’ve never seen him be so interested in ‘just hanging out’ with someone. I’m not gonna get involved since I would be in both parties, but… I hope you guys figure out where each of you would like to stand with each other.” He gives my shoulder a pat and jogs over to sprinting, and I’m about to head over to Coach Magath when Porco calls my name. I turn around, and see him waving me over.

“Hey, Porco!” I say, “What’s the occasion?”

“Just checking up on my new bestie. Making sure Reiner’s slimey ass didn’t try to talk to you some type of way again, but it looks like that’s not an issue anymore.”

I shake my head no. “Apparently he’s been suspended from the team for a month and didn’t even fight it.”

He nods as if he’s affirming a thought to himself. “That’s good. I gotta blast, but I was wondering, do you wanna hang out sometime? Just the two of us, like how we did the other day?”

There’s no way to hide how bashful I am, so I just smile and murmur, “Yea, I would like that. Just text me.”

Porco pulls his phone out, handing it to me to create a contact. I type in my number, and as for the name, I type ‘🤠y/n🤠’, then scroll to the ‘company’ section and type, ‘Porco’s hot new bestie 🥰💅🏽✨’.

He takes his phone back and shakes his head with a grin on his face. “You’re goofy when you want to be, you know that?”

I reply, “Somebody has to be the comedic relief, might as well be me!”

“Y/l/n! Get over here!” Magath yells from across the field.

I grimace. “That’s my cue. See ya!” I take off, embarrassment prominent on my features as I sprint to my Coach. “Sorry, Coach.”

“First Erwin steals you for the relay team, and now your boyfriend shows up to my practice? If I have to deal with any more of this I’m gonna quit.”

“He-he’s not my boyfriend, Coach.” I say quietly, then chirp, “But you’d never quit on me! I’m your star runner!” I put on my most winning smile, nudging him with my elbow.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Then tell him to quit acting like your boyfriend or your Coach is gonna have to teach him a lesson about not distracting my only hope of a pay raise.”

“He wasn’t acting like my boyfriend! We’re just friends!” I insist.

“Just get your seventy minutes in. Seventy percent, y/l/n. You’re doing three events on Saturday - don’t you dare get injured.”

•••

On the greyhound back to campus, I get a text from Porco. His name makes my face light up, and Ymir narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “So you and Porco are a thing now?”

I falter slightly, “Uh, as far as I know, no. We just… talk.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you’ve been doing a lot of talking lately. You should unpack that - you know, when you’re not in denial.” She says patronizingly.

“Whatever, Ymir. I gotta respond to this.” I turn away, leaning into the window of the bus, and open Porco’s text.

Shaking my head, I greet him in turn.

[endeaavorr]

PAPA!ENJI AU CHARACTER BREAKDOWN

hello ! this is some new content idea that i thought would help everyone understand their dynamic better, and if this turns out well i’d turn this into an event too, i hope you enjoy. with love, moon. cw : mentions of death, violence, suicide, slight yandere tendencies.

“if you (have to) choose between the fate of your partner or the fate of the world, what will you choose ?”

y/n’s answer : them

y/n is very selfish when it comes to her relationship with enji. there’s something with the way she thinks, that’s just different and not even i, her creator can fathom or tell if it’s good or not. she’s so emotionally intelligent it boosts her and even enji’s publicity. but at the same time, to her nothing matters other than enji and her brothers. she would gladly knock on devil’s door and put a bargain on things no one wants to know what is just to get her way.

enji’s answer : the world

this is pretty obvious. enji is officially japan’s number one hero, with a successful agency to lead aside from it. it naturally makes him a leader that will have no choice but to put others first, it’s his responsibility, it’s his fate.

“will you sacrifice yourself for the other person ?”

y/n’s answer : will

after all the todoroki discourse, y/n considers enji her life and death. she vowed to herself to do everything in her power and beyond to make sure enji can be happy with her. to her, death is painless. it is life that brings misery.

enji’s answer : will

this is self explanatory. even if their relationship remained platonic, enji’s parental love would still let him give up his life for her.

“can you kill your partner if they become a monster ?”

y/n’s answer : can not

as i stated previously, y/n is selfish when it comes to enji. she would rather sit back and watch the world gets consumed by hellfire if it means she can be with enji.

enji’s answer : can

he has his responsibilities as a hero, and sacrificing personal matters is at the top of the list. he knew what it’s like to lose a child, so he can have a better judgement of what he would do. it’d crush him though. he’d be on distraught for a long time.

“will you take revenge if your partner is killed ?”

y/n’s answer : will

enji is a hard man to kill, if he somehow got killed it would be because he was distracted like when dabi revealed himself as touya, or it would be because reinforcement came late. the latter would be worse though, there’s no limit to how far she would go.

enji’s answer : will

unlike y/n’s egocentric temper, enji wouldn’t blame it on reinforcement or other survivors. he’d use all his connections and power as the number one to find whoever’s responsible. i haven’t thought this enough but it’s possible that the grief gets too much for enji to handle, it completely dulls his hero tendencies. he not only will let your killer die a slow and painful death, but also their kid too. an eye for an eye.

“will you follow your partner to death ?”

y/n’s answer : will

there are two scenarios where i thought about this possibility may occur. scenario one would be if enji’s sacrificing himself to save everyone like fighting a villain or gets trapped etc, if that’s the case she’ll stay and let life play whatever joke it has on them, as long as she has him, it doesn’t matter. scenario two would be if enji died without her like for example in a hospital or a battleground where she’s not present, if that’s the case she wouldn’t straight up kill herself, she’ll see what happens after like if it was accidental or planned or anything, but im not disclosing anything though, she can be unpredictable when it comes to enji.

enji’s answer : will not

if the conditions are like as i stated with y/n, on scenario one enji would sacrifice himself with y/n so ‘she at least won’t be alone in her last moments’. meanwhile on scenario two, he’s gonna prompt for revenge, and maybe find a way to bring her back.

“possibility of marriage ?”

y/n’s answer : there is not

enji’s answer : there is not

enji is legally still married to rei in this au. even if their marriage wasn’t built on love and it’s practically ended, a divorce will stain his and his family’s name. they had a talk about this about two years after both of them became a thing, and there’s a mutual agreement on this matter. the todoroki legacy that has been built is way too valuable to taint. enji feels bad though, y/n has sacrificed way too much, even more than rei did. so enji did give her a promise ring, making it clear that he’s not messing with her feelings or taking her for granted. he wears that ring in place of his first one that he got with rei. on a more simple answer, i’m sure incest marriage is illegal. (too bad)

“at the end of the world will you be with your partner ?”

y/n’s answer : will

enji’s answer : will

there’s no need to elaborate further on y/n’s answer. however enji’s a bit tricky since he should be trying to save people, right ? but no. he’s still a person with his own desires before he is a hero. it’s not like the world ever sacrificed its life for him anyways. enji would stop by rei’s place where natsuo and shoto lives to give a last apology, then go somewhere nice with y/n to watch the skies darken for the last time.

“will you tell lies to your partner ?”

y/n’s answer : will

enji’s answer : will

both of them are similar in this. i guess this is where the todoroki genes take place. she would only do harmless lies like birthday surprises and when she’s hiding her struggles or something because really there’s nothing for her to lie about, while enji would lie to protect her from the harsh knowledge of the grown up’s world. he thinks you’re still too innocent for the world, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“your partner has been killed to end their hellish suffering, will you revive them ?”

y/n’s answer : will

by now, it’s clearing up that she has some yandere tendencies. it’s not to the extent that she beheads any woman breathing the same air as enji, but it’s enough to be delusional at times. in this case, if enji was killed then she’d go into a craze frenzy. it’s even worse because people will come up to her and say shit like “he’s happy now.” she’d think “he was happy with me too” and mutter it lots of times. kinda scary to the people around her, and if given the chance to revive him, she’d take it in a heartbeat. she’s sure she can make him happy.

enji’s answer : will not

well, how do i say it. enji do loves her, but the years difference in life experience between him and y/n makes all the difference. he thinks rationally, like a normal person do. he’s not that confident in making y/n happy in the first place either, it’s not like she was free from his shitty jerk behaviour back then, if not she even sometimes took the hit for his brothers too. he’s not sure if he ever really made you happy despite trying his best. thus if given such situation, his insecure ass would consider it best if he lets what has happened, happened.

“can you live your position and responsibility for your partner ?”

y/n’s answer : can

y/n’s still quite young, only a few years in her hero career. she doesn’t really have a lot to stake on to be frank. especially with her pesonality, it won’t be a hard choice. hell if enji asks her to be a homemaker she’d be delighted to resign.

enji’s answer : can not

he has too much responsibility, having achieved that much in such a young age means he has a lot in stake. it’s unprofessional too, it irks him to be anything other than that.

“what are the last words you will say to your partner before you part ways forever ?”

y/n’s answer : i will care for you always, that was my part of the deal.

enji’s answer : i’m sorry.

in my au, i only consider this possible to happen if rei wanted to get back together and enji had no choice but to agree. it would be a long shot though, it’s canon in my au that y/n despises her mother, she’d be on her neck the moment she got off the hospital, keeping her away from enji as much as possible. but if this scenario did somehow happen, i think y/n would give in. he’d do anything for enji at the end of the day. (as long as they still fuck regularly tho)

“would they want to meet each other again if they were reborn ?”

y/n’s answer : i want to

enji’s answer : i want to

maybe this time, he won’t be so insecure and flawed. maybe this time, she would fight harder for him.

“finally, one word to describe their relationship ?”

moon’s answer : romantic.

maybe they were doomed from the very start, but they loved each other with all they had. maybe it was wrong, and ugly at times, but still they were two romantics yearning for each other.

this is the end of the character breakdown, thank you so much for making it this far and enjoying my papa!enji au. i appreciate all of you so much.

[damselofblueroses]

The Children of Paradise

Summary: Set three years after the Rumbling, a young captain of Paradise Island, Anna Doukaina suddenly learned that her husband alive during the Paradisian Revolution.

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS AND ESPECIALLY CHAPTER 139, Descriptions of Depression and Grief, Mentions of Death, Emotional Hurt. Progress of the fiction contains nsfw / Smut, minors please do not.

Note: The idea of Paradisian Revolution and the transformation of Historia Reiss are the offspring of my imagination, I would like to think about how would Levi's aftermath of the Rumbling be in my head after I read chapter 139 :)

Word Count: 6.7k

Chapter 1: Misery of the Sea

The sky on the horizon was not dark at all.

It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood.

And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

“Just a retired one.” I said to myself in quietly. “Just like you.”

It did not help to inflate my ego and bolstering my self-confidence. I looked at to my hands, were they still in crimson, after I have been washing them over and over again?

They were pale as the moonlight, there were no single spot which was dirty on my body. I have been scrubbing my skin like wanting to tear myself from my mortal and sinner flesh since years, being a clean freak was just a default feature of my contract.

I made that deal long time ago.

When there was no white in my hair.

I could still recall the memories of selling my life. If Commander Smith could hear one of us, he would correct our words as devoting ourselves, our hearts to the salvation of humanity, however, even he knew that all of us were lying. Those high hopes, from the morons who wanted to serve humanity to the daydreamers who thought the war could be ended were buried under six feet, their remains already had to be become manures.

All of them became tools of nutrition; some of them for titans, some of them for animals, some of them for plants.

But in the end, the circle of life just continues.

And there we go. Again.

I was rubbing my hands to each other. I hate the weight of weapon, after I had to use them against humans. Against my team members, against my squad, against my friends.

In the end, the circle of war just continues.

I did not sign the deal for killing my comrades, my friends, my family. I was taught to destroy the fucking titans, not my kind.

How was I ended up in Military Police?

That was the biggest mystery of my life. I was ranking around 13th, I did not want to be in MP, therefore, I chose to wear the cape by myself. That was my bloody agreement.

I wanted to have my own wings.

When I remember that 14 years old girl, I could not help but smile at her naiveness. Her hopes. Her desires. Her dreams and loses.

I was a fool who believed humanity could be saved from the fate pending on it. Sometimes I could hear that girl’s voice in my head, lecturing me on how I could help the others, how I could be useful for humanity.

Humanity can go and fuck themselves.

I had no debt for people, I had already given to them everything I have.

So why the heck you are here, holding a rifle and targeting a high ranked commander of Yeagerist Unit?

My answer was so simple. I did not have anything to prove to those rats over the streets, but I hated to live in a new war. My war was ended when Eren Yeager and his rumbling were defeated, my war was ended when I saw that girl, Mikasa Ackerman’s endless longing for Eren Yeager, poor girl was spending her days and nights just for being with a ghost, a memory.

My war was ended when the Titan Curse was broken.

I was mourning for the people I lost since I was 10 years old. Losing my beloved ones started before I joined into the army when my entire town was smashed by an unexpected titan attack. They reported the incident like this, unexpected, if someone could expect a titan attack. I still had nightmares which composed by the screams of my friends and my family.

Worst… My little sister’s.

There were a few of survivors, a cousin of mine, me, two neighbours and a father, a grandma, four kids, a baby, and my grandpa.

We moved to Shiganshina before its doom before that those shit-faces Reiner and Berthold attacked to there. My grandpa died after one year when we started a life in the suburbs of Shiganshina.

I was all by myself.

There was two options ahead of me, join the army or work as a maiden. There was a shortage of jobs where I could work as a handmaid, so I went to the registration. I had to find a shelter for myself, there was no one who could take care of me, I had no one who I could trust on. I had to join into military if I wanted to live even for couple of days more.

Commander Smith would be rolled on the other side in his grave, but I never devote my heart to a fucking noble aim or shitty high hope.

I just did what I had to do in order to survive.

But survivingcosted me everything I had.

I was around 11 years old when they took me into the training and since then my heart became a graveyard of my beloved ones.

To my dismay, I had a perfect memory. I remember almost every day of my life, beyond, even the little details that were given to me, Hange and I were not very close for nothing.

Hange…

I was mourning for my friends. My comrades. My companions. My lover.

Nonchalantly I touched my left ring finger and rubbed it before pulled the trigger.

Why I am here and continuing to fight?

My war had not been ended yet. I was mourning but I refused to mourn for those people who died for their purposes. That’s why I was pulling the trigger, putting my life at risk again and killing that bastard with a single bullet.

I knew that my comrades were still watching me above, I would do everything to make them proud. That’s why I was still fighting back with a world where it was extremely cruel.

I used the bricks as a natural shield for myself and disassembled the rifle as fast as possible.

“That was for Hange, you bastards.” I murmured to myself. “She did not die to see Paradis under the yoke of your crazy queen.”

I could feel that Hange was nodding at my words just like she was standing next to me. I knew that no one from my comrades could approve this world where Historia Reiss ruled and transformed it to another planet only to fight.

Tatakae, was our motto. Tatakae, was our national anthem. Tatakae, tatakae, tatakae.

I remembered once I have heard this from Eren Yeager when they kept him into the prison, when Hange went to see him.

He was repeating tatakae like a chant, but I was sure he did not sacrifice everything he had just to see a mad queen on the throne of Paradis, or the army that was named as Yeagerists and divided into new units.

What did it mean? Being a Yeagerist?

Supporting mass genocide or sacrificing yourself for a plan?

For me both options were not the best ones, but if I had to prefer, I would sacrifice myself for a plan like breaking the titan curse.

But in my understanding, there was no place to the toleration of a control freak queen and her decisions to start another endless war.

That’s why I was walking around my second destination today. I was very famous of my quietness, speed and logic especially when it came to assassinate someone.

I learned every trick and move from a retired criminal.

I was like a sculpture on his hands, and he craved me till I became exactly what he wanted.

I sat on the edge of roof and started to count.

Revolution, we call this. Revolution.

I pulled my trigger again and did not bother to see the result. I knew that I killed two important commanders, and I was going to kill the last name for today. The headmaster of the palace, Edward Strauss, then I could go back to the home.

Liberty, we call our aim. Liberty.

Have we ever got a proper taste of liberty?

Have we ever got close to be free?

Have we ever reached a point where we could live far away from the sounds of broken bones, the smell of blood?

Have we ever just enjoyed our lives and let ourselves to live freely?

“That was for Levi.” I whispered before started to walk again. As always, saying his name was the hardest one. I had any idea about his life, I even did not know if he was living or not after the explosion, but I always made sure that naming him among my beloved ones.

He was.

“Please, join me, Captain Doukaina.”

I smiled to the young, energetic blonde boy who was sitting on the bench by himself in the middle of night. His ocean blue eyes were not as same as the time we met.

“You are grown up, huh, Armin?” I bestowed my hand to him. His face was brightened. “I have heard your stories enough for a life-time.”

“I tried to do my best.” he was modest as he was a trainer. “But my best was not enough to save everyone.”

Poor kid. He was still in pain of losing his friends. Eren and Mikasa were the closest thing to a family for him. His shelters. I remembered the day when they went under the yoke of Shadis. Armin was really tiny to be compared with a lot of boys instead of Eren, Jean or even Connie.

“It was not about your efforts.” I was very honest. “All of you did your best, but you cannot challenge to some paths. You knew better than me.”

“Yeah.” he beamed. “I learn the paths with all my heart, Captain.”

I remembered this kid was one of the nines…

“Armin,” I raised one hand. “Can you stop calling me as captain? I already dropped the titles I had once. Call me Anna. Just Anna.”

“Okey, Anna.” he tried my name on his tongue just like my name was tangy. “It is a little bit hard; you know.”

“Old habit never dies.” I beamed to him, enough to made him blush a little bit more. “So, how was your day before I bumped into you?”

“Extreme.” he smiled. “I am trying to deal with two lieutenants who do not want to cooperate with us, however they already joined into the resistance. I cannot let them go as they know so much.”

“What do you think to do?”

“I am going to persuade them.” he burrowed his eyebrows. “I wish the things could be different, but we are still in war.”

“Who are these two lieutenants?” I murmured. “If they will not change their minds after your speech, maybe we have to go for different tricks.”

“One of them is Lieutenant Arya Springer, a distant cousin of Connie; the other one is Lieutenant Johann Willenburg.”

“I know Willenburg.” I sighed. “A total blockhead.”

“Well, he is one of the best shooters.” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was nothing I could do when he wanted to join since he has a strong reputation.”

“Yeah, these guys are so stubborn when it comes to fucking reputation.” I exhaled. “They want all the heroes in their team.”

“I could kill someone to have Captain Levi in my team.” Armin laughed. “But he rejected to come back with us.

I stared at Armin like I could not see him anymore. His words were echoing in my mind like a severe, horrendous, and horrific chant that had given hope to the audience, hoping that everything was going to be okey at the end.

“Cap- Anna?” he reached to me. “Anna, are you okey? Shit, you look like on the verge of fainti-

“Armin.” I grabbed his hand with all my strength. “Armin, tell me, is Levi alive?”

“Yes, he is.” he gave me a weird look. “He is in Marley, living with Gabi and Falco, do you remember those two Marleyan kids?”

Levi is alive.

“He did not contact with me.” I murmured to myself. I was not seeing Armin for real, I felt dizzy, my heart was pounding, my breathing pace was quickening, my blood was rushing in my veins. “Why did he not alert me?”

“How much you know about Captain?” Armin carefully interrogated. “I mean after the Titans war?”

“I only know the explosion because of that fucking monkey.” I hissed. I cannot feel my legs. “My knowledge is little, I could not learn anything, there was no one to tell me.”

“Do you want to learn?”

“What kind of question is that Armin?” I yelled without control. “I want to learn what the fuck happened to that bastard!”

“He does not want to be back, because he is not the Captain Levi Ackerman anymore. At least he thinks like that.”

“Ha?”

“After the explosion, Captain Hange found him, actually saved him from Floch and Yelena. To sum up, he was healed, he was still fighting when we ended the war, but his all body is covered with scars, he lost one eye and two fingers, in addition he has some problems with his legs. He uses a wheelchair time to time.”

My chin was dropped into the ground while my soul was leaving my body.

“So?” I heard my voice. “But he is alive, right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“And he thinks we do not need him anymore.” my brain started to function again. “Son of a bitch, he believes that we could not need him.”

“Exactly.” Armin approved. “At least this is what I believe also. I mean, I tried to have a civilized conversation with Captain, but you know how he is. He just sent me off.”

“You cannot have civilized conversations with Levi Ackerman.” I looked at him by gaining my self-control again. “Armin, you are the leader of this resistance. I want to go and drag him back.”

“Ha?” I knew I caught him guard off, but I really had no fucks to give.

“I am going to Marley.” I stood up. “If he thinks he can save his ass from this hell, he is wrong.”

“He does not want to s-

“He is going to see me.” I cut the shit off. Although his words, Armin was watching me with an admiration. “He owes me, you do not know how much he owes me.”

“How much he owes you?” he asked diligently. This was something about Armin, he was always so careful catching the nuances.

“A life.” I was not a sweet talker; I have never been till now. I suddenly scrubbed the wraps on two of my fingers like I have been doing every time I had talked about Levi. “If you will not let me to go, I have no choice but break some bones of your body, so you cannot prevent me.”

“You cannot across the sea without the documents in need, money and protection.” Armin raised his hands. “I do not object you, if you think you can bring Captain Levi back, I fully approve that. But you ne-

“I already have everything you mentioned. I have money, I can protect myself better than anyone can do for me, and I possess the documents, my identification card, my health report and insurance. Marley wants to see them, right?”

“Yes.” Armin nod but it was very clear he was surprised. “Since when you prepared all of these?”

“Do not make a wrong deduction.” I inhaled. “I did not prepare them in order to flee if I have to. My brother is one of the soldiers who chose to stay in Marley, I keep those documents because I wanted to be organized.”

“Well…” Armin stood up. “I guess there is no way to stop you, you will do what you decide on. I give you my consent, no better than this, I command you as the leader of resistance. Go and escort Captain Levi back to Paradise.”

“Your wish is my command.” I groaned and shook his hand. He was a little bit confused, he hesitated to send me over, but he exactly knew that he could not halt me.

Nothing can avert me from my way at this point.

My blood was boiling, I felt like someone was choking me. I could not believe that Levi was still alive and to my dismay he let me to think he was dead.

I spent last three years to mourn for him, and he did not bother himself to let me he is alive.

I rushed back to my little flat where the memories really became a burden. Every night was another nightmare in this place, every piece of the area carried something belonged to Levi.

I really cannot recall every minute I whimper his name, crying and longing for him.

And he did not let me know.

Since when he became a selfish bastard like this?

How could he?

I grabbed some clothes, the basic requirements in need, some food, and beverages into my luggage. Even this fucking luggage belonged to Levi once. I angrily wiped the tears off, I was definitely frustrated, mad and horrified by his extremely self-centred decision.

So, he is living, and he let me to believe that he is dead?

Unbelievable.

How could he do that to me?

I even did not bother to check how could I reach to Marley. I only know that I had to go to the ports, that was going to what I do. I left the home and started to my new journey.

When I will find you, Ackerman, you will pray to be dead.

Marley.

I was sitting on the benches of the boat by watching the notorious walls of Heaven, at least, what had been left from that. Paradise made sure its destruction, but some parts of the walls were still visible if you knew where to look.

That was my biggest problem, I always knew where to look and follow what I saw.

Even now, my biggest problem is connected my ultimate problem: Levi Ackerman.

He was always what I saw, whose I followed without even a single hesitation. Wherever Levi goes, I go, that’s my deal.

For a moment, 18 years old version of me appeared in front of my blurry eyes. I still could see her arms tangled around her chest with a determined face expression, standing before Commander Erwin, being examined by curious eyes.

“Captain Levi wanted you into his squad.” Commander slightly raised his eyebrow. He was more than curious; it was very obvious that he could not see a logical reason behind Captain’s request. “Before approving your promotion, I would like to ask you one question.”

“All ears, Commander.”

“You devoted your heart, no discussion on that.” he stood up and took his steps towards me. I was suffocating because of the power his glare. “But to what? I always wonder that.”

“To whom, you mean?” I questioned his question, for a second, a ghost of smirk formed around his lips but as usual he controlled himself so swiftly. He approved me with his head, I knew that today or tomorrow I had to answer this question.

I was too tired to hold it back.

I was too naïve to try to disguise my true colours.

“I devoted my heart to Captain Levi.” I said. Plain and clear.

Commander did not reply to me. He just looked at me for a minute then smiled. I was afraid of seeing his smile, with all my respect to him, when he smiled, I always felt the goosebumps all over my body, his smile was irking my self-defence system. I felt like I was trapped and dragged into something I should have not want to do, but I was supposed to perform.

When Commander smiled, I felt like I was a puppet in his hands like every cadet in the Scouts.

I had been questioning every incident, decision, and stage of my life since that day. Was I really acknowledged of my words when I blatantly stated my devotion to Levi?

What had I gained in return of my devotion?

A journey to Marley by myself, countless corpses on my conscious and permanent blood traces on my hands.

A myriad of sleepless nights.

Longing for someone who never comes back.

I clenched my fists over the fabric of my skirt. I hated wearing skirts, but Levi persuaded me to wear them when we had to peel ourselves out of uniforms.

I always suspected Levi had something with the skirts, those soft and pastel ones.

What the fuck you are thinking right now?

I could feel my nails digging into my palms, they were going to leave some marks for sure. Maybe a little bit blood too.

Maybe I should have kept myself in Paradise, with my duty. I could distract myself with new missions, new plans, and decisions. Maybe it was not the best option for me, maybe I really had to respect his decision and never went on board to drag him back.

Back to hell.

To the hell he lost everyone whose were very dear to him.

I was cruel and reckless, he had been losing more than anyone else, he had been in such a hell even before people labelled him as the humanity’s strongest. Just once he told me how sick and tired he was of that humanity’s strongest shit.

How much he wanted to leave all these behind himself.

And now, I was on my way to drag him back.

I could feel the panic started to invade my body and affected my limbs; I immediately bit my lower lip in order to keep my mind straight.

Even this little trick, you learned from Levi.

A strong smell of salt rushed all over me with the promising sound of waves. I lifted my head up, my hands automatically turned into the fists.

He already dared to break his promise, why should I care for his thoughts and desires? He did not think of mine, he decided all by himself. Why should I be upset for him?

I could easily forgive him, to be honest, I have already forgiven him for leaving his hell behind. What I have been not going easy on was his decision to leave mebehind like I was a part of his personal abyss. He was the last one who could break a promise, and he never choose a path which could make him to regret of his selection. I knew his way of thinking to the bits, in these circumstances more than I could wish for, if he concluded on the way to follow, he made sure that he would not be regretful. Needless to say, if he chose to leave me behind, it was the solid proof of his view of me.

I mourned for him every second of my life since the end of war, my feelings were always so complicated towards Levi, but I was always certain on my love for him.

My feelings were not reciprocated. I could understand my one-sided affection and its heartbreak if he did not give me a promise for lifetime.

While the boat was arriving the shores of Marley, I was definitely not in my best mood. I could not name all the frustration, fear, anxiety, anger I felt, but at the same time I was so excited. The silence of my mind was sudden and was not like it normally was, it was a total, dead silence, laden with an uncomfortable tension that cut me like the edge of dull blades. There were words on the very tip of my tongue that every inch of myself burned to scream, but my lips were like sealed. My posture was changed by our arriving to the port of Marley, I stood up and took a deep breathe. The air was so thick, I could not deny but I remained bound by unspoken thoughts and empty promises. When the doors were opened to the passengers, I grabbed my luggage and stepped into the foreign lands.

I have been in Marley before for educational reasons. After the war, I was one of the soldiers or civilians who were selected as the students go abroad, I spent two years here by attending college. After graduation, the government of Paradise assigned me as the head of royal library because I denied giving courses to the students.

I could work as a librarian. I could not work as a teacher, not again, I could not bound myself to the pupils. Even thinking about having students around me causing a lump in the middle of my throat. I was not made for mentoring kids, as my own history could vouch for that.

I still hear those screams.

Memories were stuck in my head and for the life of me, I could not erase them from my thoughts. Every little step I took, the labyrinth of my memory has been providing me with a new reason of pain. Anger. Frustration. Sadness.

Loneliness.

I have been always by myself. I fought for my life, my troop, my battalion, my people, my country, and there was no end of the shitty list. Dedicate your heart, we have been trained, dedicate your hearts. My eyes were masked in sheer layer of moisture, I knew, my tears of anger because the world was being nothing but cruel to me. I knew this way of thinking was not being entirely rational, I wanted to hear that it was not my fault, I wanted someone to praise my efforts.

And that someone has been living the best of his life in a little shop where it occupied a very good, visible spot of one of the main streets of city, where I was standing just in front of the door.

I had been losing the understanding of time, but when I found myself in front of the ivory-coloured door, of course Levi would kill someone who can even propose choosing another colour, I checked my clock.

Should I go inside?

I did not know why he did not send a message to me, and I did not fully recall all the circumstances of our shared past, either. I was so determined to see and drag him back, but now, all I remembered was the feeling of falling, crumbling, crawling, and seething pains before blackness. There were blurry bits and pieces, but when I tried to reassemble them, there were just the colour red. Red again, crimson red.

What should I say if I go inside?

What will happen if he is inside?

What if he would be disappointed to see me?

I reached to the knub of door, however all power I had till now was leaving me. Emptiness was what I felt, there was no driving force, there was even no anger against his crimes.

My heart was pounding on my throat, my sight was blurry, then I let the knub of door and turned my back to the shop. I did not want to see what was inside of that little tea shop, even thought it was one of the smallest shops I have ever seen, it was certain that that shop was bigger than my life and more valuable than me in the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

Although I was full of retaliation feelings, I could feel anything but my love for him.

Why should I step back into his life again, when his decision keeping me away from him is clear as fuck?

The city lights peeked through the cracks of the pavement, creating a jagged patch of gold in the way as I took it as a sign for me in order to keep going by myself. I just looked at the door once more, then I inhaled.

I have to write an explanation to Armin as formally. He loves me, but he is not the type of letting the issue go.

“Excuse me?” I heard a young but strong boy voice. “Captain Doukaina?”

I closed my eyes, because I recognized the owner of this voice like hearing it just one yesterday. I kept remain to walk, acting like I did not hear my name but just in one second, a cheerful, energetic face jumped into me.

“YOU ARE RIGHT, FALCO!” Gabi screamed all the air out of her lungs. “SHE IS CAPTAIN DOUKAINA!”

“Ah.” this was only thing I could said. “Hi, Gabi.”

She hesitantly looking at me, her arms were reaching to me, but she knew that I had been refusing to talk with her for long time until that night I had to keep both of them between my arms, protecting them as the frightened kids who survived.

“You can.” I approved her attempt. “We are not enemies, and I am sure both of us changed a lot.”

She did not wait to hear the end of my words; she just hug me like I was the miracle of life. Falco, always kinder than Gabi, patiently waited for his line.

More like waited for Gabi not being extra.

“How are you?” he asked me politely, I could laugh his disgusted face towards Gabi who was circling around me by murmuring an inaudible song.

“I am very well.” Liar. “I hope you are doing well, either.”

“Yes, we are living with Uncle Onyankopon and helping to Mr. Ackerman for running tea shop.” Gabi shared this two information with everyone on the street.

My heart was hammering in my chest to hear that Mr. Ackerman, I hated myself for my reaction, but the kids were unaware of the glossiness glazing over my eyes.

“Did you come to visit us?” Gabi asked. “Why it took this much, we have been waiting for you since the end of war?”

“Gabi, please have some manners.” Falco murmured to her. “Captain Doukaina has her own life, you knew that.”

“Ah.” Gabi stopped and looked at me in the face. “I am sorry, I did not want to be rude, but I thought you would have come very long time ago. We missed you.”

“I did not know where you are.” I spilled the beans without thinking. “No one told me.”

“Uncle Onyankopon said tha-

“She means that maybe there was a problem between Marley and Paradise communication ways.” Falco made a heroic attempt to save a secret from me, but I was playing the game even before he was born. I gave him my signed deathly glare and turned back to Gabi.

“What he says?”

“Mr. Ackerman insisted on you have to live your own life.” Gabi grumbled. “Falco and I tried to persuade him to call you here, but Uncle said he could not dare to play against to Mr. Ackerman.”

“Mr. Ackerman can go to hell.” I cursed beneath my breath. Falco heard me for sure, but Gabi was so busy giving me a detailed story of almost 5 years after the war. Mostly I did not listen her, but I caught two important details.

She knew that I attended college here in Marley.

She knew that I was the head of royal library in Paradise.

Are you still watching me Levi, or she knows these because of another reason?

“Would like to come inside?” Falco interrupted Gabi’s endless stories. “I strongly believe that you came here today, we have fresh bakery and tea, and we happily serve them to you, Captain.”

“Call me Anna.” I smiled to him. What is these kids’ fault? They wanted me with them, they were trying to call me back. How could I remain angry towards them? “Thank you for your kind inv- Gabi, what are you doing?!”

“You have to taste blueberry spongy cake!” she yelled at me. Maybe I can exactly remain angry towards Gabi? “And we have a delicious Earl Grey which came to the shop just a few hours ago. You like Earl Grey, right? Plain, strong and harmonious.”

“How do you know that?” I could not help but ask.

“Mr. Ackerman.” she gave me a weird look like it was very usual, talking about my preferences between the folk of this fucking tea shop. “When he orders Earl Grey, he always check the quality of tea according to the rule of Doukaina.”

“What the fuck?” I tossed my head back, my feet tapping on the pavement. “Gabi, I am really sorry, and I have no intention making you upset but seriously I understand anything you say.”

“The rule of Doukaina is our standards in order to value everything around us.” I heard a baritone voice which I was fucking familiar with. “Welcome to Marley, Captain.”

“Onyankopon.” I pressed my lips into each other. I could not help but felt the irritation against him. He smiled to me by raising his hands.

“I have nothing.” He remained his posture. “Can I join you?”

“We will serve to Captain.” Falco explained. “She just came to Marley today; she has to be thirsty and hungry.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I am very well, but tired. If you could allow me to go back to my flat, it would-

“No!” Gabi just sticked into my arm like a gummy. “We will not, right Falco?”

“What are you doing there, brats?” I heard another voice. Baritone. Strong. Grumpy. Familiar to giving orders. “Did you take a hostage in a blink of eye?”

“She is Captain Doukaina!” Gabi screamed like she was sharing the most wonderful miracle of this bloody world. “How can we take her as a hostage, Mr. Ackerman? She is the cleverest as you always say!”

“Captain Doukaina?” I heard his voice again, full of nothing but disbelief. “JesusfuckingChrist, do you lose your mind?”

“I am here.” I choked out loudly enough for him to hear my voice. “Anna Doukaina.”

There was silence like our walls circling Paradise before we crumbled them down.

“Anna Doukaina.” the voice repeated my name again. Would he be crueller to me, still staying in the shadows?

“Yes.” I lifted my chin and let all emotions filled me up. Did I really unload these 5 years on him, in front of everyone here? I knew I was not going to, but God, if I had the courage, I would. I would ruin his life; I would set everything he did on fire and leave here as the happiest woman.

He came out of that fucking ivory door, and I forgot how to breathe.

No one told me how he was.

No one told me how bad he was hurt.

No one told me how horrible his scars were.

Onyankopon grabbed the kids due to rapidly increasing tension, even though Gabi’s rejections, and left Levi and me by all alone in front of the tea shop. We were staring each other like enemies, we could be enemies, I wondered if I had ever felt like this before in my life.

“Anna Doukaina.” he sighed at me. I clenched my fists and took a really long, refreshing, and deep breath. “You are not Anna Doukaina.”

“Ah.” I barely held myself back from making a scene. “I guess I know my identity better than you, Captain Ackerman.”

“It seems you forget.” he took one step towards me. I could see all of his face, all the stitches, all the lines and his eyes. Goddamnit, his Aegean eyes. “Your name was changed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I raised my left hand and showed him the little bandage which I always wrapped on my finger.

“Why did you wrap your finger?” he dared to ask to me by furrowing his eyebrows.

“What should I do?” I nicely asked but I could feel the taste of blood inside of my mouth. “Should I unwrap the bandage? What is the point of it?”

“Since when married woman keeps their marriage rings under cover?” he grunted, but he was careful as always not causing any unwarranted events. I could easily see he was fuming inside; he was calculating but I could not understand the rest of his feelings.

He was upset, that was so clear.

He did not want to see me, that was another clear point.

“They do.” I forced myself to smile. Do not let him to see your feelings. “If their wedded husband are not with them.”

“So, were you covering your ring since the last 5 years?”

“Every day of it, and I enjoyed that a lot.”

“Why you did not take it off, Godfuckingdamnit, if you were so upset by wearing it?!”

“Protection.” I chuckled. Make him mad. Give nothing but only pain to him if you can. “You know, if I will financially collapse, I can always sell this. It is 24k gold. A luxury for Paradise.”

“You are not changed even a bit.” he leaned back on the heels of his feet. “Still a witch.”

“I changed a lot.” I said. Back in the Corps, I was loud and commanding, I was a leader, one of the cleverest. Now, I was timid and tired, I may be broken down because of his absence. “I am not a witch anymore; I became a bitch.”

“Yes, I can see that.” he nod. Very sweet of Levi. “Why you are here?”

“I came because I am looking for my husband.” I said.

“Why?”

“To ruin his life.” I smiled. “I want ruin that bastard for letting me down, for letting me mourn for him every fucking day, for everything he did to me.”

Levi glared at me with a deadpanned face. I unwrapped my bandage and showed my hand to him.

“I have been waiting for this since I learned you are alive.” I murmured. “I want a divorce.”

“What?” his face was entirely blank.

“I always thought you were dead, but since you are unfortunately in flesh and soul, I want a fucking divorce.” I grinned. “Do you think I across the sea in order to see you? No, Levi. No. We are going to divorce, so you have to come back with me to Paradise, then you can go to even hell if you want.”

“Thinking I was dead did not prevent you to live your life fully, huh?” he raised one eyebrow. “Why do you want a divorce right now, all of sudden? Why did you show yourself at the door of my teashop? Are you run out of money?”

“You cannot hit me with these, Captain.” I chuckled and took the ring out of my finger. “See? I came for giving this back to you.”

I directly went to him, in front of him, my mind did not catch any of my moves or decisions. I never felt like this in my life, I was like captured by another soul, I was watching myself out of my body. I grabbed his hand, opened his palm and placed the ring.

“You can do whatever you want with your fucking ring.” I hissed at him. My voice was keeping all the pain as a secret. Even now, even I am full of pain, the only thing I want is hugging and kissing him, staying at his side forever! “I came to say this.”

I turned back to him immediately, but before my first step, he grabbed my wrist and forced me to walk with him inside of his tea shop. He literally dragged me into the next table and held my hand with all force.

“You are my wife.” he dropped his voice to lowest version. Damnit, how he dare to give me that voice, he uses when I was a cadet?! “You are mine.”

“Ah, really?” I pushed him back. “Where were you if I am your wife?”

“Where were you?” he questioned my question. “If I am your husband, why you were not with your husband? Why did you not come to find me after the war?”

“MR. ACKERMAN!” Someone yelled by entering from the door, and both of us turned to the boy. “I NE- wow.”

The little blond kid just stared at Levi, looking like a revengeful god and me, pressed on the table as a suspected witch. His little mouth shaped as an O.

“What happened?” he asked.

“No- nothing. We did not know you have visitors. Hi, lady!”

“I do not have a visitor, Paul.” Levi gave me a piercing look. Do not fall. Do not fall. “She is my wife, Mrs. Ackerman.”

“DO YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” The little kid screamed for his dear life.

“No, I am not h-

“Yes, I have.” Levi said. “And she is going to live with me from now on.”

[bikananjarrus]

Fanfic: hey brother

here is the hera and howzer bonding fic that nobody asked for, but refused to leave my head anyway! @milf-herasyndulla , this one is for you bestie <33

fandom: the bad batch

rating: gen

warnings: none (some minor discussions of death, but nothing explicit)

wordcount: 2k

you can also read here on ao3!

::

Hera sat with her legs tucked up to her chest, one arm across her knees, the other halfheartedly poking a stick into the fire. Hitting a spot that shifted some of the coals, she watched glowing orange sparks dance into the air, bright against the star-filled night sky.

The one good thing about this new base—the rocky outcropping had a great view.

She could hear voices and equipment being moved around in the hangar behind her, and laughter floated to her from the other side of the outcropping, where a few other Twi’leks and clones were taking a break. With her father gone on another scouting mission, she knew she should be helping her mother hand out rations and supplies inside the base. But she was sick of handing out food and blankets. She knew it was important—every little bit counted, her mother often reminded her. And it was their job to help those in need.

And Hera wanted to help. But she wanted to do it out there. She wanted to fly. Or fight, or do something besides stay in the shelter of this base.

She felt helpless. And the last time she’d felt like this—no.

She squeezed her eyes shut, blacking out the stars and the glow of Ryloth’s moons as she inhaled deeply. She wasn’t going to think about that day. But the tightness in her chest didn’t ease, and she could feel her eyes starting to burn.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, slowly. In and out, she breathed. When her shoulders felt lighter again, she opened her eyes, focusing on the first star she could pick out on the horizon.

“Hey, kid.”

Hera tried not to scowl at the familiar voice sounding behind her. Whoever said all clones sounded the same clearly hadn’t spent enough time around them. She would recognize Howzer’s low, gentle tone blindfolded.

Sure enough, when she turned her head, the clone captain was taking a seat next to her, leaning back against the wall of the outcropping. His helmet was off, and the longer curls on top of his head stirred in the slight breeze.

“Hi,” she responded, a little more sulkily than she’d meant to. She buried her chin into the crook of her arm, trying to hide her frustrated frown. Ever since the day of the attack a couple months ago, her parents were checking on her constantly. And they’d definitely told Hozwer to do the same, because he came to see how she was doing at least once a day when he wasn’t out on the front lines. And he always spoke in that gentle voice, like he was trying not to spook a wounded blurrg.

“Hungry?” Howzer asked, offering her a ration bar.

“Nope.”

“Suit yourself.” His armor creaked as he shrugged his shoulders. “More for me then.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Howzer chewing quietly beside her.

Hera sighed.

Relenting, because she actually was hungry, she said, “What kind do you have?”

“Just the boring regular ones, unfortunately. But I do have half a chocolate bar left, if you’d rather have that.”

Hera turned her eyes on him. “Really?”

Howzer gave her a little smile, the motion tugging at the scars on his jaw and chin. “Won it off Skipper in a game of Sabaac. Already took a couple bites out of it, so I hope you don’t mind.”

She shook her head and took the chocolate from Howzer’s outstretched hand. She took a bite, humming as the sweetness coated her tongue. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Sure thing, kid.”

“Don’t call me that.” When he called her kid it made her feel like he was trying to be her brother. But she didn’t need another brother. She had a brother, and he was perfect, and he was—

Gone. He was gone.

The chocolate suddenly tasted bitter in her mouth.

“Sorry, Hera,” Howzer replied, in that same, stupid quiet tone. Like if he spoke any louder he would scare her or break her or something. “Say, where’s that droid of yours? Some of the boys were saying he ran over their toes earlier for calling Y-Wings shitty ships—oh, kriff—oh, no, I mean—shoot. Uh. I meant bad ships…”

She barely heard Howzer stumble over his words. It was automatic as she said, “Needed his power cells recharged.”

“Ah, gotcha.” A pause. Then, “Hera? You all right?”

She shot to her feet, dropping the chocolate and glaring at the captain. “Stop talking to me like that! I’m so sick of everyone treating me like I’m just a little kid who can’t handle anything!”

A few nearby Twi’leks paused what they were doing to stare, but Hera didn’t care.

Howzer raised his hands in surrender, but didn’t get to his feet. “Hera—”

She pressed on, cheeks hot. “I’m sure my mom sent you up here to talk to me and make me feel better or whatever, well guess what. I’m a big girl and I can forget about what happened just like they did. No more dead brother if we don’t talk about him, right?”

Silence.

She vaguely saw Howzer wave off any onlookers, barely heard the crackling of the fire or bustle of the camp past the roaring of blood in her ears.

It was suddenly hard to breathe, which reminded her all too much of that dusty caved in cavern after her father’s last base of operation had been shelled by Seperatists. She still remembered how hoarse her voice had gotten as she’d screamed for help, screamed for her brother when she spotted one of his shoes next to a giant pile of boulders blocking an exit tunnel. Her brother had been nowhere in sight.

Hours later, after Commander Ponds’ and Captain Howzer’s units had rescued the survivors and gone through all the rubble, she’d seen the limp body of her little brother cradled in her father’s arms. When she’d heard her mother scream—a wailing, broken sound Hera had heard before on Ryloth during the war, but never from her own mother—that’s when she’d known.

Since that day, maybe four months ago now, her parents had barely uttered a word about it. It was like her brother had never existed.

“Hera.” Howzer’s voice floated to her through the haze of memories. It was that same gentle tone, but it was—clearer, somehow.

It worked. Her anger flowed away like water down a mountainside. In its place—an aching sadness.

Tears sprang to her eyes, hot and burning. She slumped back down to the ground, once again tucking her knees up and crossing her arms on top. Forehead falling against her folded arms, she started to cry.

For a moment, there was nothing except the echo of her sobs down into the canyon.

Then, Howzer placed a hand on her shoulder. He gave a comforting squeeze before letting go. “I’m not trying to replace your brother, you know,” he said quietly. “I know it might feel like it, me checking in on you and all. But I’m doing it because I care. Not because your parents are making me.”

She sniffled, wiping the back of her hand across her nose and lifting her head. “They didn’t ask you to come check on me?”

Howzer shook his head. “Nope. I’m just checking in on my friend. We are friends, right?”

Hera wiped at her tears some more, and smiled. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Then here.” Howzer reached over and picked up the remainder of the chocolate bar she’d dropped. He dusted it off as best he could, before giving up and breaking off the part with dirt on it. “The last little bit was inside the wrapper, so it should be fine.”

She took it gratefully, popping the last bite in her mouth, and giving Howzer a quizzical look as he opened his own mouth to eat the rest.

“What?” he shrugged. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

She giggled. He grinned back at her, eating the chocolate with only a slight grimace on his face.

For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence. Hera started poking at the fire with her stick again, trying to get rid of the sadness in her body through sheer force of will.

Suddenly, Howzer said, “I’ve lost brothers, too.”

Hera turned her head to look at him. He suddenly looked much older than he ever had before. The sadness on his face seemed to match the sadness she felt on the inside. She scooted back, copying his posture and leaning against the wall.

“You have a lot of brothers, though.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile. But his eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “I do have a lot of brothers, yeah. But losing one doesn’t mean he’s replaced with another. We’re all different. So when I lose a brother, it hurts just as bad every time. Worse, sometimes, because I’m their captain. I’m supposed to protect them, and it hurts when I can’t.”

Hera looked up at the sky like Howzer, thinking about that. She only had one brother, and it hurt more than anything ever had before to lose him. She couldn’t imagine having to feel that kind of hurt and sorrow the way Howzer did every time one of his brothers died.

Digging into the inside pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a multicolored bracelet made of woven leather. She studied it in her palm for a moment, blinking away the memory of her mother gingerly taking it off her brother’s wrist so Hera could have it.

“Here,” she whispered, tapping his arm. “I want you to have this.”

He reached for the bracelet, then hesitated. “What is it?”

“It was my brother’s. I made it for him.”

“I—I can’t take that, Hera. It’s too important to you.”

“But you’re important to me, too,” she insisted. “My brother will live forever on our Kalikori, so I want you to have this.”

Still, Howzer hesitated. “But—why?”

Hera grabbed his hand and dropped the leather bracelet into his palm. “Because we both know what it’s like to lose a brother. This is a reminder that we still have each other. Right?”

Howzer stared at the bracelet, then at her. She swore she saw tears shining in his eyes as he smiled at her. “Right.”

She helped him secure the bracelet below the armor plate on his forearm, where it would stay safe.

Hera leaned her head against Howzer’s shoulder. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry, too—I need to be better about reminding myself that just because you’re a kid doesn’t mean you can’t handle yourself.”

“You know what would really make it up to me?”

“Hm?”

She tilted her chin up at him, grinning. “Taking me flying.”

Howzer chuckled. “Oh, absolutely not. Your parents didn’t send me to come talk to you, but they would most certainly have my shebs for that.”

“Ugh, fine.” She jutted out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Maybe one day, vod’ika,” he promised. Hera wasn’t sure what that last word meant, but it sounded nice.

“I’m gonna be the best pilot in the whole galaxy one day,” she told him earnestly, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

“I bet you will, kid.”

This time, she didn’t bother correcting him when he called her kid.

Maybe, if Howzer could have more than one brother, she could too.

[demowogorgon]

Cruel Chimera - Susie

Chimera: A thing that is hoped or wished for, but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve. ------------------------------------------------------ Walk in the room, take off your coat

You look so nice, I've been so cold

You raise the red solo cup to your lips, cringing as the taste of cheap alcohol and oversaturated punch hits the back of your throat. It burns as you will the shitty party drink down, desperately searching for something to keep your mind occupied. The room is suffocating, and the air is thick with dozens of hushed whispers. Either The Entity sucks at throwing parties, or it’s gathering some sort of enjoyment from the tense, awkward atmosphere. You’re guessing it’s the latter, although you don’t really want to think about that either. If It’s enjoying this, then that probably means you’ll have to put up with this shit more often. Yeah, you’ll take death before you come back here willingly. But that’s not your choice, is it? You roll your shoulder anxiously, suddenly aware of the eyes of countless killers boring into you. You shouldn’t be standing alone like this, like a gazelle separated from the herd. You hesitantly look up from your cup: maybe there’s a free group of survivors you could mingle with. There’s safety in numbers, after all. And, there’s noise in numbers: distraction. Zarina, Adam, Claud, Kate… fuck, you’ll take anyone right about now. You scan your side of the room quickly, searching for an opening, any opening at all, and then… you stop. You suck a quick breath of air through your teeth, cursing yourself quietly.

You wanna be my special one

I cannot breathe, please just go home

Bubblegum pink hair flows down her shoulders like a saccharine waterfall, framing her face angelically. The bloodstained mask that usually covers her face rests in her hands, cradled with a gentle touch that juxtaposes her daily task of slaughter. How can a killer hold something so sweetly? And… her smile. She’s smiling at you, but there’s no malice. It’s genuine: too genuine. You can’t breathe. You reflexively nod your head at her before tearing your gaze away, forcing your body to move anywhere else.

Michelle, Michelle

You are a monster from hell

A killer has no right to be so beautiful, to be so gentle and kind, to be so… perfect. Especially not to you. Because once this little get-together is over, it’ll be right back to the torturous game of cat and mouse. And yet, you can’t help the brief wave of softness that comes when you think of her. Why? She’s never done anything but hunt you, and yet you melt at the way she smiles. Each little detail about her comes to your mind when you blink, and each detail reminds you that she too, is human. And you hate that.

You know just how to be cruel

When you shake your hips that way

Paint your lips that way

You smile to Feng, Dwight, Claudette, and Cheryl as you worm your way into the small group of survivors before delivering a quick “Hey” to those around you. You vaguely register a look of concern from Claud through your stupor, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of shame. You dismiss her concerns with a chuckle and a wave, delivering a quick response about how you were just sizing up the room. Nothing to worry about. She nods, albeit somewhat hesitantly, before returning to the conversation at hand. She’s too sweet for her own good, really. But as hard as you try, you can’t focus on what they’re saying. No, your mind is on that pink-haired member of The Legion.

Your body moves of its own accord, turning to shoot a glance at her once again. Much to your surprise, she’s still staring straight at you. Her small, almost dazed smile quickly turns into a flustered grin as her eyes meet yours. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she jumped a little. A soft blush rises to her ears, spreading to her cheeks and darkening the longer your eyes remain locked. And, you’d be lying if you couldn’t feel the heat rise to your face too. And then, she raises her hand. It’s slow, and even at a distance, you can see the way her hand shakes. Her index and middle finger juts out quickly, almost like they were moving of their own free will, before they retreat back into her palm. She pulls her hand back, thinking of her next move, before extending it once more to wave. Such a small action, just a wave, had so much thought put into it. It’s almost… cute. Against your better instincts, you smile back softly and return a wave. And fuck, you’re glad you did. Her blossoming blush erupts into a red as deep as a freshly-picked rose. The same hand that she waved to you with moves to grasp the opposite arm, squeezing gently as though it was the only thing holding her together. Her eyes dart to the ground momentarily before returning to you with a look you can’t seem to decipher. For a moment, there’s no one else but you and her.

The tall girl with cropped, brunette hair - another member of The Legion, if you remember correctly, nudges the girl of your affections with a small huff. She smirks, muttering something that you can’t manage to make out. With a small jump, she puffs out her cheeks and turns away from you. Her lips move at a rapid-fire pace, stringing together sentences faster than you can read them. The rest of The Legion laugh, drawing a couple of stares from killers and survivors alike. The pink haired woman bounces on her heels as she moves her hands, seemingly trying to convey some point that the other members aren’t willing to buy.

It would never work out, really. A survivor and a killer together… it’s something that could never happen even in your wildest dreams. And yet, you can’t help but hope. Maybe there’s something there, something worth fighting for. (Song is “Michelle” by Sir Chloe!) 

[theratopia]

Chronic defiance

Welcome back, Therapals,

Today I have to fully embrace anecdotal experience and take some pride in being able to share a part of my story with all of you. Please be kind as I indulge in this task.

It felt to me like episode 184 had an unintentional theme of life-long diagnosis from both the perspective of the patient and those who surround them. Through very specific and personal experiences we were invited to think about how living in sickness can affect one's behavior. It so happens that I am well versed in existing inside a defective body, I just have reached the point where I can wear a healthy disguise.

When I was 13 years old I realized that regular classes would cause me pain. At first, it seemed temporary, maybe I needed glasses or something. Maybe I was tired. At 16 I started avoiding going to the movies because two hours of enjoyment would bring another twelve of agony. By the time I was in college - the first time - I would schedule my day around how many times I was in pain. My backpack always had a supply of medication that needed to be refilled every week. I wouldn't go out much and all my close friends were somewhat accustomed to seeing me in pain. I even developed some signs to be able to communicate when I couldn’t speak - it's rare now, but extremely intense episodes will trap me inside, making me fully aware but unable to speak and/or move.

I went to several doctors, had years of exams done, got close to an addiction to painkillers, thought I was going blind. I also thought I was going to die, accidentally almost caused a fatal injury on myself, and very much wished I was dead.

It took me a few years to figure out I have chronic migraine, even though it runs in the family. It took me more than a decade to manage it successfully.

Looking back, I don't know how I did it, I just knew I had to do it. Daily life was miserable, limited and exhausting. The only way to adapt to it at first was to accept everything. I wasn't ashamed of my condition anymore, and that was who I had to be at that point. But that would not be what would define me for the rest of my life.

Years of treatment later, I say it is an everyday struggle. Today, for example, I woke up and there she was, weighing heavy over my right eye. But I won, I feel fine now. One day at a time, another lesson learnt on how to be the most comfortable me.

Chronic pain will often force you to learn how to live around it, and this is the only specific reality I have some familiarity with. It is an intrusive condition that will sit right in the middle of your existence, refusing to be ignored. And if you ever try to do so, it will just take more space until there is nothing left for you. More than half of my life has been defined by this battle of how to make myself exist around and larger than the pain I can feel at any moment. The triumph I seek is not absolute victory, but a peaceful cohabitation. On one side, my genetic blueprint lays down all the traps; on the other, my unshakable willpower finds its ways to navigate the treacherous terrain. There is no escaping how we were built, but humans are notoriously talented at adaption, the ultimate advantage that hardly ever fails us.

So, please, if you find yourself in similar conditions and your body seems to be actively working against you, be defiant, be courageous. Be stubborn for yourself. Use the survivor's bias to your own benefit. Think about how much you’ve done so far by being exactly who you have always been, how much you have overcome. I won't lie and say the journey is easy. You might not be able to do everything you dream of, sure - I can't wear anything on my head and face, for example. But it will be okay. You can adapt and find other ways of being fulfilled doing what you love. And you will do it your own way, which makes it unique. Perhaps you can pave the way for other people who also exist in a more challenging body.

This is how I like to see my unescapable neurological condition: a challenge that I am able to conquer. I do need a different set of tools, which I craft for myself with the help of those who understand my uncommon requirements.

Don't think you need to make yourself smaller to make others comfortable, no. Ask for what you need because that is what you deserve. There are no rules, you do things the way you need to do them. Somedays, I would wear sunglasses inside the office. Or take naps at a sitting position. Brush my hair for half an hour, brush my teeth for ten minutes, take a shower with a chair.

It is also important to note that it was never anyone's fault that I was suffering constantly, not even mine. The fact that I was in pain made me very irritable, of course, but that was not carte blanche to lash out at my family, for example. The migraine still affects my mood, my tolerance, my energy levels. However, my migraine cannot be used as a shield from criticism, as an excuse to hide from responsibility, or as a justification for recklessness. It is never acceptable to act like you are beyond reproach just because you are in pain. Everyone has their issues and should be held accountable for their shitty behavior.

After so many years of experience, if given the opportunity to tell my younger self anything, I would say it will get better. So that is what I would like to tell anyone facing a lifelong diagnosis. We mature, we adapt. The secret is to never stop, and never let yourself be stopped.

In the beginning, it feels overwhelming, but at some point, you will forget how bad it used to be. Finding balance won't feel so daunting. You will find the best possible version of yourself and feel proud.

Take good care of yourselves. You are worthy.

Triple hug,

The Mayor.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Of Regrets and Lukewarm Tea

Ivan slammed the phone into its cradle, and rubbed at his temples to curtail his headache before it became more than a minor nuisance because the last thing they needed was a distraction.

He’d never thought he would live to see the day that he’d miss Siberia, but damn if it didn’t get close sometimes. 

.

Funny thing is, he’d walked into this with his eyes open. 

From the get-go, he’d known this was a terrible idea— known this could only possibly end in chaos and disaster— but he’d agreed anyway.

He’d expected the blackmail and illicit favors and bribery. He’d been ready for the shameless bribery, and the shadowy network that had somehow managed to get him a plane ticket despite being on half a dozen no-fly lists. Had been ready to deal with the worst of the worst, when it came to taking on the likes of Howard Stark.

What he hadn’t expected was...everything else.

.

“Thanks for having me over.” The son of the man who had ruined his life slid into the chair across from his, not remarking on the dingy walls of his apartment, or the chipped mug in his hands, or the ominous groan of the pipes as the evening went on. “Now, let’s get down to business because I’ll be honest, this is going to be a doozy.”

“I assumed this was why you targeted me.”

“It sounds so sinister when you say it like that, Ivan– can I call you Ivan? I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“Sure.” Considering everything, it was only prudent. What with their shared goal, and all. 

“Okay, great. Okay, here’s the plan: we’re giving you the life his heir would have had, and rubbing it in his face at every opportunity because the best revenge is living well and this is the perfect chance to put an old wrong to right. How’s it sound?”

Ivan leaned back for a moment, and looked at his associate consideringly. At the sharp cut of his smile, and the gleam in his eyes. Then, he finally smiled back.

“Tell me more.”

“We’re giving you the ultimate origin story, man, you’re going to love it.”

“Has anyone told you you have a flair for the dramatic?”

Tony made a mock-offended gasp. “Okay, rude, I was just about to—”

Ivan rolled his eyes, and sipped at his now-lukewarm tea.

.

“How bad would it look for Howard if some rando were to walk up to an embassy and prove he’d stolen and discredited the hard work of a Soviet defector?”

.

Ivan was no slouch when it came to engineering: his father had taught him well when sober, and even his drunken rambling had sometimes been useful. 

As such, it was not hard for him to learn the schematics of the miniaturized arc reactor, even if most of them were hastily sketched out on old napkins and scratch paper with less-than-helpful annotations. It wasn’t easy either— more than once, he’d found himself shooting dubious glances at his ally, simply because how many laws of thermodynamics had he broken?— but it wasn’t the staggering impossibility it had first seemed to be. 

And if he also sometimes found himself laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being given the credit for something that would have revolutionized academia on a silver platter, and who it was that was giving it to him? Well, Tony had been off “seeing the sights” and the ashes of their notes would never tell. Nor would the rudimentary prototype slowly taking shape on his bench, or the slightly-more-polished version that he was comparing it to.

Even if he had Questions as to the circumstances surrounding its creation— really, Tony could only mention hostage situations and “if you see this one blond creep who doesn’t seem to shut up about rings, run” so many times before he got curious— but by the end of it, he had a shining circle that could very nearly fit in the palm of his hand, made entirely out of scavenged parts and theoretically capable of powering his shitty apartment for a month. 

Had a miniaturized arc reactor, something that used the very technology that had damned his father, and knew it inside and out, knew the theory by heart, and— 

Ivan laughed. 

.

“Step one, check.”

.

“How involved do you want to be?”

“Pardon?”

“If you want, you can...just live the cushy life from here on out, take credit for whatever comes your way. It’d be easy: go to galas or whatever fancy shindig you want, flip off Howard whenever you run into each other, the works. If you want, this can be it.”

Ivan frowned. “There’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there.”

“You’re going to be our face, Ivan—”

“Call me Vanya.” Ivan cut in, and tried not to flush at the way Tony startled for a moment because damn it that meant he knew about diminutives and sure maybe it was a bit personal but he was helping him but he didn’t want to make this a big deal and—

“Vanya, then.” Tony continued, with a slight smile that broadened as he went on. “Janus Enterprises is going to provide all the cover Juno needs to operate. Just being its face is already more than enough from you, but...if you want, you can be more active.”

“Oh?”

“For... special circumstances. Emergencies, heavy lifting, whatever. I mention this because there’s already one on the roster.” Tony’s smile shifted to a smirk, and Ivan had a feeling he knew where this was going even before Tony rapped his knuckles against the briefcase he’d taken to carrying around.

.

“Why are you so dramatic.” 

“Hey!” 

.

Ivan Vanko was a sensible person. He knew his limits, knew what he wanted in life and didn’t tend to regret or second-guess his decisions.

Right now, however, he was seriously questioning his life choices.

He would not deny Tony was a friend, certainly much less stressful to deal with than Juno herself, but.

He was also such a brat.

(Ivan very carefully didn’t think about how sometimes he thought врат instead of brat, because he could only deal with one headache at a time thank you very much)

...anyway. 

“How is it that you get yourself into these scrapes?” Ivan snapped into the receiver even as he stared at the newspaper headline and the grainy photographs splashed beneath.

“It’s not like I go looking for them!”

“I just had to deal with another audit, I do not need the attention—”

“How big a distraction do you want?”

Ivan put the phone down on his desk, leaned back, and slowly counted to ten. First in Russian, then in English. Then, backwards, because he still had the strong urge to strangle something and the person responsible was currently several hundred miles away.

Ugh. 

Why had he agreed to this, again?

.

Less than six hours later, he was reminded.

Specifically, Howard’s face when the announcement of Janus Enterprises’ support for refugees and survivors of domestic violence went out, courtesy of its brand-new September Foundation. 

.

Another day, another disaster and moments like these, Ivan was incredibly grateful he wasn’t the one running point because he did not envy the cleanup.

Then he saw the damage reports and news coverage, and. Well.

“Iron Man? Really?”

“Honestly, I think it has a nice ring to it.”

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose, and bit back a groan.

.

One of the more intriguing aspects of this whole mission was that for all that it was primarily a cover, Janus Enterprises was still very much a company.

Actually— if he hadn’t known any better, Ivan would have thought it was entirely legitimate. 

All the paperwork was in place, all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, there were honest-to-goodness company newsletters and the only thing that might have hinted at a potentially unscrupulous dealings was how terrifyingly efficient everything was.

Ivan had his suspicions as to who was behind this, but he didn’t ask because unlike some idiots, he had a sense of self-preservation.

.

This was a terrible idea.

A no-good, very bad, scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel idea that he sorely regretted even considering, and yet.

Ivan glowered at his shiny new mobile phone, desperately trying to put off the inevitable because he had common sense and—

The latest crash came through loud and clear on the receiver.

“Brat, I thought you said you had this handled?”

“Looks like our intel’s off, backup incoming and—” another explosion went off, followed by the crack of a gunshot and mostly indistinct swearing before it happened.

“—I’m grounded. Too much firepower, I’m not sure I—”

Iron Man was their heaviest hitter.

Tony was his idiot of a best friend, who regularly bit off more than he could chew and then acted like everything was under control even if he was on fire and if Ivan lost him because of his stubbornness and some asshole Neo-Nazis—

Damn it.

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose, and made his way to the back of his workshop. 

The area where he kept his ‘thought exercise’ prototypes, the ones that typically didn’t see the light of day because he was usually either drunk or half-asleep when he made them and he was so going to regret this.

“Hold your position, Iron Man. Backup en route.”

.

Drunk-him had some very questionable tastes. In this case, however, Ivan couldn’t help but admit that the whips looked cool. 

A bitch and a half to actually use, sure, but everyone in the base ran away screaming when they caught sight of him, so. Whatever.

Also? He’d admit that even if this was more the brat’s thing than his, he was starting to see the appeal.

.

“So...Whiplash, huh?”

"Shut up and drink your tea before it gets cold.”

[lethesomething]

Ghost of Tsushima and the Hands of Fate

I see we're still trying to prove that games are an art form by making everyone feel bad.

For the record, Ghost of Tsushima is one of my favourite games in a very long time. It is extremely pretty, the aesthetic and general … polish is *cheff's kiss*. You can pet foxes and backstab people. The fighting mechanic is decent and there are just So Many Hats.

But also, it has the kind of story that pulls you in to the point where you have to drop the controller to hide behind your fingers going 'ohgodno'.

It is an absolute bastard of a game, is what i'm saying.

So let's talk about that, and specifically about Straw Hat Ryuzo and how I feel bad for him.

I am, by the way, going to be talking about the narrative structure of a video game about medieval samurai, so expect like, a bunch of spoilers.

The narrative is one of the big draws in Ghost of Tsushima. Like yes, it's an open world rpg with fighting and flower picking and all the important stuff, and also yes, some of the bits are sloppily written (looking at you, specifically, 'Ending to Norio's Arc'), but the game definitely sets out to Tell a Story.

And because this is a Serious Game that openly bases itself on samurai movies like Kurosawa's, it is a Drama.

In many ways it is an utterly brutal Bildungsroman, a narrative in which a young man finds his identity.

I have joked with friends about the clear intent for this game to make Important Stories, in that it actually tries to tick all the boxes of hotbutton subjects: childhood trauma? Obviously. Gay relationships?  Yup. Survivor's guilt and PTSD? Oh yes. Domestic abuse? Several. Suggested pedophilia? Damn, even that.

The foxes are there to soothe the soul

It's interesting to note that from a writing point of view, this bildungsroman is even Very Classically Structured. It goes so far as to be a three acter, with a pretty standard build-up.

 Jin Sakai, traumatized man that he is, spends the first act slowly getting to grips with the bit where you don't fight an army by yourself by  just walking up to them and challenging them With Honour, like he has been taught his entire life. Instead of getting stabbed repeatedly in the chest and set on fire, he  discovers guerilla warfare and creates this persona of the Ghost, a literal vengeful spirit seeking justice for the island of Tsushima.

It gets him some big wins and in the second act he slowly embraces this identity until things get to a head where he clashes with his entire old life. The third act starts at the hero's lowest point and is utterly gut wrenching (i am Still Not Over the horse, game), forcing him to pull himself together for an ending that is, well…fitting for the narrative. It's an ending that is needed, but perhaps not what Jin deserves.

 But anyway, this is about Ryuzo, and how until that ending, I was very upset about his role.

You see, this story is told in part through the lives of Important Npc's, who contribute to Jin's journey of self-discovery. This is pretty obvious with someone like Yuna, who is the one to introduce him to the Stealth Life and who is a driving force behind the marketing of the Ghost.

Someone like Masako, meanwhile, portrays vengeance and self discipline, but Jin also kinda tries to make her fill the mother-shaped hole in his heart.

Lord Shimura, meanwhile, is an Obvious Father figure but also stands for Jin's past. He's rigid and ineffective, which pushes Jin to further look for alternatives.

Ishikawa, that other mentor figure, is more moderate and flexible, but he also represents a possible unwanted future. He literally warns Jin at one point not to become like him.

Norio, then, is as mentioned not the best written, but he too is a person that searches for his destiny and tries to become like his hero, while only barely holding on to his sanity. 

Kenji, I'm sorry, I love you but you're just comic relief, that's all you do. It's an imporant job in the story, because god does it need it, but you're not teaching Jin anything other than how to make different 'resigned sigh' noises.

So what about Ryuzo? From the very beginning, Ryuzo's story didn't really sit right with me. There's the obvious class issue: he's one of the few important npc's that are poor, and he's an Antagonist.

It has always rubbed me the wrong way that his original intentions were good, depending on how you read it. He's trying to feed his men. He essentially made the decision that this one man's life (even if it is an old friend) is worth the price for the lives of his band of ronin.

It's a lot more complex than that, of course. Ryuzo partly blames Jin for his predicament in life, and he also knows that samurai treat their soldiers as chattel, which the game goes out of its way to show you they DO.

  Essentially, he's a complicated character who makes bad decisions for arguably good reasons.

Ryuzo did everything he could to save the lives of the people he cared about. He went so far as to abandon his honor and his childhood friends, to try to make this happen.

Does that ring any bells?

It kinda clicked for me at the very end of the game.

Jin, being the protag in an assassin game, does a lot of killing. But some of these deaths are given more meaning than others. Some of them are there to make you feel like shit (the Horse Again, but you lose several friends along the way), others serve a more defining purpose.

You see, there's a fair amount of what i'd like to call 'intimate violence' in Ghost of Tsushima. It's an old trope. The 'if someone was gonna kill me, it had to be you' kinda scene that hails from a worldview in which some deaths are better than others, sure, but some deaths are better even than living. It's a worldview in which life itself is less valuable than your legacy. You die for your place in history. For your clan, for your family, for your honor.

Bushido is full of that sort of thing, so it makes sense that a game building on that worldview, would use the heck out of that trope.

  The first is Ryuzo's death. You fight him in a duel, in which he tries to plead for some resolution. You could let him go, come up with some story. But Ryuzo is a traitor, so Jin ultimately defeats him and sends him off in what would be a touching moment of bro friendship if it wasn't for the blood and my 21st century sensibilities.

You grant him a warrior's death, is what I'm saying.

  It happens again with Shimura. The game actually gives you a choice here, but if you go through with it, the scene almost perfectly mirrors Ryuzo's.

You fight in a duel, and Jin tries to get his uncle to just let him go, come to some kind of resolution. But Jin has been branded a traitor, and the only way for Shimura to restore his honour and clan, is to take his life;

This being a game in which you have the power of bamboo strikes and also save games behind you, Jin ultimately wins the duel, and has the option of granting Shimura a warrior's death.

It is utterly heart wrenching and that whole scene has no business being as pretty as it is. The swelling music? The fucking strings? The anguished yell?

Fuck.

  But anyway.

That's about where it clicked with me, that Jin never had a choice.

Ryuzo's whole role wasn't fair, but this is one of those stories where life itself is just not fair at all.

Both him and Shimura are there to show us Jin's path.

  What if, the game says, Jin had listened? What if he'd taken one of several offers the Khan made and surrendered?

What if he'd cooperated?

Well, we see in Graphic Detail what would happen. He would get pushed into doing horrific things. He gets manipulated, again and again, until there is no way out anymore. At some point it becomes clear to him that he's on the wrong side but whenever he tries to devise some plan to turn things around, things go Badly. He's firmly stuck in Khotun's web and the only way out is death.

But what if, the game says, Jin had stayed true to his honour? What if he had listened to his uncle, not defied him, if he had dropped the Ghost before it was too late?  If he'd gone full bushido and repented for the shogun and done all the groveling and the proper stuff.

Samuraihood is just another straightjacket, says Shimura's fate. The tenets are so rigorous you would take your loved ones life, while fucking bawling your eyes out. Shimura knows damn well it's unfair but he also has no way to leave this path. It's a ride he cannot, and will not, get off alive.

  Jin never had a choice.

There was only ever one way for him to go.

Like let's be real: pretty much everyone in this story was dealt a bad hand. It's a narrative about resilience in the face of utter horror, of reinventing yourself and giving up entire structures of faith. People like Masako, Yuna, Norio are finding peace in dealing with huge levels of trauma and regret.

The goal isn't to start a family and live happily ever after, it's to Survive.

Submitting to the mongols would have killed Jin's spirit. Standing tall and rigid as he was taught to do would have, ultimately, killed him as well.

  "I've given up everything to save these people", he says near the end. "And I would do it again."

That's someone who has no regrets.

Jin never could have taken another path and he knows it.

And this is why Ryuzo needed a fate as shitty as his. He fell, so Jin could walk.

I'm sorry, it's still not fair.

This game needs some comfort fic.

[youeverfeelcursed]

On The Narrative of The Last of Us 2 (1 of 2?)

I am impressed by how many people are hating on this game and its narrative when I’m finding it how amazing its written even though it broke my heart in so many pieces I’m not sure I’ll be able to stick them together for a while. Reading most of the arguments against the game it feels like people are simplyfying the story of both game to worrisome levels.

This is going to be a long text, and obviously, it’s going to be FULL of spoilers so: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Let’s start by going back a bit and into the Last of Us.

Naughty Dog and the importance of being human: The Redemption of Joel

I think before we start we need to talk about the most important detail of The Last of Us franchise - onwards TLoU -  and that is that its never been about zombies, or survival, or Joel or Ellie but about humanity, or better yet, about what is being human and what makes us human. It doesn’t matter if its Part 1 or Part 2 but keep in mind that this concept is the driving force of this story, subtly hiding in our protagonists and their friends stories. You wont find easy blacks or whites in their storytelling, because being human is not that simple.

Now that we have that clear, keep in your mind too the word monster.

With TLoU - Part 1, we get in the skin of Joel Miller, an assholish smuggler based in Boston. From the beginning we can see that Joel is not a good person and through the whole game is heavily implied that he’s been less that nice to humans to survive. The player can “easily” forgive these flaws of him because we can empathize with the lost of his daughter during The Outbreak but even if we empathize we can’t just ignore that Joel is not a hero, he’s just a broken survivor.

Many people think that TLoU is all about the connection of Joel and Ellie, but in the end it’s all about Joel and his “redemption”, his coming back up from being a murderer, a smuggler, a shitty person to a human with feelings again, with so many feelings he makes the worst decision for the survival of humanity: he saves Ellie. He saves Ellie because he cares, because he learnt to care so much  that he put his own selfishness above humanity’s well being. He’s battled thousand of zombies along the way but we know they are mostly not aware of their actions anymore, they can’t choose to hurt people, they just do it because it’s what they do but Joel made a conscious decision. A horrible decision.

And after, he lies to Ellie. He takes the chance of deciding about her own life only because he desires to keep her alive. And this is what it is about, how beautiful can it be to be human, and how horrible can it turn into.

TLoU Part 2, the death of Joel and the descent of Ellie.

We begin Part 2 with Joel narrating what happened in the hospital to a flabbergasted Tommy. I’m not sure how most people felt during this sequence but during it I felt shitty for actually being happy that he saved Ellie, which was alleviated by Tommy’s acceptance of it (”I can’t say I’d have done different”). I’m not sure if I were to be Tommy I would have reacted the same way, but props to him for forgiving his brother.

So times passes and we land on Ellie. This is where everything begins.

The transformation of Ellie is like a trainwreck, you know it’s going to end badly but you cannot stop looking.

When we get control of Ellie we get our old Ellie back, maybe a little less cheerful but it’s normal, she’s already 18 and she’s been hit hard by life, multiple times. Still we can see that underneath all that tough and grumpy behaviour (I mean seriously, she’s just like Joel) there’s the Ellie we loved from the first part.

Up to the point Joel is killed.

Oh how I fucking hated that moment and it’s not because it felt stupid - it truly didn’t to me - but because I was at the same time expecting it, and not expecting it. Because that’s how death gets to you and I found the setting horribly marvelous.

Many people think that his dead was stupid, that he didn’t go in a grand way but just simply got his face smashed by Abby. I hated it, because the whole scene I was like Ellie hoping for Joel to pull through and save himself, I couldn’t believe he would die in the first 3 hours of the game!! Naughty Dog what the fuck!?

But you know. That’s it. That’s the point. Things come and go and most of the time we don’t really expect what happens. And it’s traumatizing, it’s unbelievable, it’s shitty. But it’s life. One night I was saying goodnight to my dad, the next day he was dead. It happens. Death is not grand, death is not heroic most of the time, it just is.

And that’s the feeling that they manage to convey, that it’s not real. We are feeling the same feelings as Ellie, thinking that somehow, in some crazy way he’ll be back to come back. But he won’t. There’s a grave. And yet the feeling is there. If Joel’s death had been shown differently, we - as players - could find some closure, but this way? This way we are stuck. Just like Ellie.

Just like the beginning of the end of Ellie. Because the next part is all about losing yourself. We can see it in tiny details like Ellie’s hair. In Jackson, she’s got a tight bun, controlled and when she and Dina are getting to Detroit, part of that bun is loose as an analogy of her slow demise, how she slowly loses control. It’s also represented by the weather, with one of the most ruthless scenes happening during the huge storm of Detroit: Mel’s death. 

It would be easy to just blame this turning into a monster on Joel’s death, but there’s multiple factors affecting Ellie during this time, apart from the trauma from watching Joel be killed in front of her own eyes. 

The first one is that she was forced to miss the chance of being useful, useful as a cure for the whole world, for her life to have meaning. It must be really hard to love someone so much - Joel - and hate them at the same time, and plus to all of that, you dont get the chance to forgive them because it was ripped from your own hands.

Next is what she deems as a betrayal from Dina, her pregnancy. This is where the queer theme comes strong, because who hasn’t been in a situation in which we feel we will lose our loved one to the straight ex? The feeling of being powerless specially because Jesse is her friend. She loves him, she loves them both. But it’s obvious she doesn’t feel worthy of Dina, and when the pregnancy comes, it just pulls at her strings. She starts to go alone on missions, reckless crazy missions distancing herself from both of them to the point she crashes hard and makes Nora talk. 

Ellie much to our liking and hate, grew up under the care of Joel, a sweet and wonderful man with his own troubles but a great problem of sharing his feelings, something I feel was passed to Ellie. She doesn’t speak of her feelings, she keeps them inside until they break her apart, so this descent wasn’t caused by just one simple happening, it was a collective of shitty feelings. And we could argue, “but its obvious Dina likes her!”. Well yeah, it’s obvious to us, but for someone that lost so much so fast, how obvious can it be?

Finding Abby is not just about revenge, is about having control over her life. That’s something she can do, she can find Abby kill her and get revenge for Joel. It keeps her grounded while slowly plummeling her into turning a monster. Because sometimes we hold onto the most stupid things just for the sake of being grounded, even if that thing destroys what’s left of us.

I know many people were angry at how a LGTB+ was treated but I personally don’t think this demise would be as hardcore if it had been a straight white girl. If this representation is good or bad its up to everyone’s opinion but I personally think Naughty Dog did a good job in here. I know people are tired of traumatic stories, but there’s a lot to chew in this game to just reduce it to “sad gay story”. For the instance, Ellie is consciously destroying her own life, personally I think because she felt she should be dead plus everything mentioned beforehand. When she leaves Jesse behind to go get Abby instead of saving Tommy that’s the point of no return.

Well, there’s more to unravel but I feel this post is long enough already and we still have Dina, Tommy, Jesse and Abby to talk about. So I’ll take a breather and keep writing later. Sorry for typos and keep safe.

[lucidpantone]

Do you rent in New York or you have a mortgage? I wanna move to NYC so bad after covid

Also thanks everyone for congratulating me. I feel really adult now and its kinda of scary when I think about it but am also super excited.

This is super long but its for my anon. I love talking about NYC real estate so let me tell you everything I know. Also if you make it here hit me up and I’ll take you out for a beer.

I have rented for years in NYC at least a decade on/off. I have lived in queens, bk and manhattan. I have paid $600 for rent and up to $2100 for rent. Its all about location in the city and also living conditions and what job you have. When I paid $600 it was my very first apartment I didnt live their long it was more like i just got to the city i needed a place to live in for a couple of months that was cheap but it was literally a closet deep in queens like basically long island at that point. So it wasnt the kinda of place you would stay in long. This is what I suggest you do. Look for a place in crown heights BK for $700-800 a month maybe for 3 months just to have somewhere to sleep at night while you find a job and get to know the city. Try to move to nyc with 2k in savings. My next move was to Astoria which is a young neighborhood in queens and super close to the city. Lived in another closest for $800 but I was by the city at least. I was in my first year of grad school so I didnt really have time to work so my options were limited but in my 2nd year of grad school I got a job working in this super fancy restaurant in the meat packing district and made bank in tips and thats when I got a “real” apt. Also I have so many stories about serving the super wealthy and movie stars in the meat packing.It was wild. You want to get a job like this just to get on your feet. The fancier the better tips but honestly even shitty dive bars in the east village have good tips. New yorkers are very generous because most have been where you are. Anyways my new apt was about 1k but the roommate was hell so I bounced out of there after 3 months and got an apt where I would come to meet my best friend and soul sister in the city. I got the biggest room I have ever lived in for 1100k in prime astoria and it was such a good apt. We had a hellish roommate but eventually she left. All these apartments were in Astoria. Astoria is a very affordable hip area to live in. I saved up my money graduated grad school got a real job and then finally I made the move into the city. Manhattan living is expensive. NYC isnt like anywhere else the money upfront they want for a studio is insane. So if your moving here do not aim to get an apt go on one of the roommate sites and just sneak into a apt where someone is moving out. So I moved into a shoebox in the Upper west side. It was $1850 and you had to pay first, last and security and the brokers fee (Oh lets not get into brokers fees people they are wild) so that was basically 1850x4 just for a shoebox studio(FYI everything is tiny in NYC, all the living spaces are micro. get use to it). So almost 8k but finally i got to live on my own. Lived there for 2 years. Move to chelsea because the UWS is beautiful but very family centric lived in this dope asf triplex in chelsea and paid 1900. Then left NYC to replace a colleague in London for maternity leave for about 16months. London is sooooo cheap compared to NYC its like the kiddie pool for expensive ass real estate. Thats why I laugh when brits are like its so expensive like bish you dont know expensive okay. When I got back I took over my friends place for the summer because she left to her hamptons pad and so I basically house sat but also paid reduced rent it was 1400 in prime Williamsburg. My friend is rich asf so my hard earned rent was her play money. After the summer ended I finally signed another real lease and thats where am at now. I adore this apartment its in prime williamsburg semi-lux and I just treated myself when I got this place. I work in a super stressful job so for me am at this point I dont mind paying to feel comfortable and have perks. I work my fucking ass off I deserve it. Ok so details on my new pad. So am going back to chelsea..... covid is a bish but lets thank her for crashing the nyc real estate market because there is no way i would be buying this apt if covid hadnt happened. I had been considering buying for a few years so I ave been saving but with no real plan. I told my dad last year during covid april that if the market dropped maybe I should buy. My family is from LA so my dad gets paying 2k in rent he did it for years too and he has been wanting me to get out of the rental market. Metro city rental markets are a racket. Anyways this would not be possible without my father. He basically said you get half the deposit saved and I will lend you the other half. Well around feb I had the half and my dad was like ok cool you find something let me know.Do not get me wrong my apt needs a TON of work thats why its so well priced and when I mean well priced I mean stupid expensive but well priced for NYC. I am going to need to redo the floors, rip out the kitchen, rip out the bathroom. Install overhead lighting, rebrick the fireplace and paint everywhere but its mine also am gonna have two months where I carry rent and a mortgage so I have 60 days to basically renovate if I get desperate I will sleep on my besties couch in brooklyn so I have am options but yea. Mortgage is close to my current rent at 2150 but I live in a COOP (this is going to be super confusing for the europeans. They like WTF is a coop?!?!?!) and so my building maintenance is about $800 on top of my mortgage. Its been a long decade of nyc renting to get here but I did. Now for you anon just do it. Look I tell everyone. Live in NYC for one year of your life it will change you entirely as a person you will learn to become a survivor here. What do they say? If you can make it in NYC you can make it anywhere. Its sooo hard and the city is literally the concrete jungle but its also amazing and so alive and so rich and yes you may find yourself one late night coming home after working 12hrs on your feet sitting on a brownstone stoop balling your eyes out thinking “I am not cut out for this” but I promise you the rewards you will earn back are irreplaceable. There is a reason people from all over the world flock here. It really is like no other place so if you can keep your head down. Work a couple of shitty jobs and get $1500 under you then pull the trigger. Take the leap! I promise it will change your life forever.

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Searching My Dreams for a Lifetime; Chapter Five (Criminal Minds)

                “Don’t try to stop your heart from falling in love, because in the end it may be worth it.”                 -Fad Ibra

◊

        It was a long night of little sleep, Hotch unable to focus after closing the case with the Grand Rapids PD. Knowing Shira was in the hospital, where he couldn’t be by her side to make sure she was resting, he barely slept.

        Rossi knew he was going to the hospital early that morning, so Hotch left without waking anyone else. Running on little sleep and coffee, Hotch spoke to the nurses, thanking them, before going to Shira’s room. Seeing her laying in a hospital bed, looking small and pale, he felt his heart clench.

        He was silent as he sat down in the chair next to her bed, unsure any words would help make things better.

        Hotch sighed, elbows on his knees and resting his head on his hands. The exhaustion was hitting him, but he couldn’t fall asleep.

        He waited, watching her sleep, resisting the urge to take her hand. He could only hope she wouldn’t wake up with more pain. A sprained ankle, dislocated shoulder, and the bruise turning blue on her cheek…

        “You look about as bad as I feel…”

        He was startled from his exhausted haze, looking up to see Shira watching him.

        “And just how do you feel?” he asked, straightening up.

        “Like I got body slammed by a freight train,” she replied, wincing at the deep breath she took “and punched in the face.”

        “Well, then you’re not wrong,” Hotch declared, offering her a small smile “the rest of the team wanted me to tell you they want you back soon.”

        “Spencer probably wants to not be the only PHD holder again,” Shira muttered, smiling slightly “and JJ wants someone to talk to.”

        Hotch smiled, turning as he heard a nurse come in. Sitting back, he watched as the nurse took Shira’s vitals, checking her over.

        “Healing well,” the nurse told Shira, smiling for her “any pain outside of why you’re here?”

        “Nothing out of the ordinary for me, no,” Shira replied, shaking her head “it’s all low-level. At least, compared to my shoulder and ankle.”

        “Let me know if you need anything, okay hon?” the nurse replied, smiling, as she glanced from Hotch back to Shira “doc will be in soon to see you, but I think you’ll be well looked after until then.”

        Shira blushed at the insinuation, earning a tired chuckle from Hotch. He thanked the nurse as she left, before turning back to Shira.

        “Nurses told me that the doctor is looking to release you today,” he declared “if you haven’t gotten worse.”

        “Oh, I’m definitely sore,” she sighed “but nothing unusually bad.”

        Hotch watched her, studying her face intently.

        “What?” Shira asked, giving him a confused look.

        “Just wondering how you became so stubborn,” he replied, huffing a bit as she stuck her tongue out at him “other than your diagnosis and everything that led up to it. I’ve honestly never met a woman quite as stubborn and determined as you.”

        “Well, that’s what happens when you have to survive a shitty childhood,” she sighed, looking away, not noticing the understanding gleam in his eyes “my mom wasn’t the greatest. I understand losing your soul mate affects people, but…”

        “We can’t always understand why our parents do what they do,” Hotch declared, expression soft “or why they treat us how they do. We can only make ourselves better than what we had.”

        Shira teared up as he spoke, turning to look at him as she took a shuddering breath. The way he spoke, she knew he understood. They’d been through similar experiences.

        “It’s near impossible to go through hell and come out smiling,” she muttered “you have. You’re strong.”

        “As are you.” He insisted, reaching and putting his hand over hers. She gave his hand a small squeeze.

        “What did you do before joining the Bureau?” Shira asked, smiling slightly at the surprise on his face “what? We’ve got some time.”

        “I was a prosecutor,” Hotch answered, smiling a bit “police officer while I went through college and law school.”

        “Police?” that caught Shira’s interest “what did you leave the department as?”

        “I was a hostage negotiator for SWAT,” he explained “one of the reasons I teach the unit at the Academy.”

        “…what was your badge number?” Shira was quiet as she asked, earning Hotch’s interest at her curiosity.

        “Is there a reason for wanting to know?” he wondered, seeing her fidget and try to avoid his gaze.

        “I’ll explain,” she promised, nodding “just please…what was it?”

        “4917.” Hotch recited, remembering it as clearly as when he was part of the department. The shocked breath that Shira took wasn’t lost on him.

        “What is it?” he asked “what’s wrong?”

        “Nothing,” she shook her head “I’m just…trying to process something.”

        “Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” Hotch offered, eyebrows knitting together in concern “what is it?”

        “I’ve only told one other person about my Mark,” Shira started, earning confusion from him “and why it encouraged me to join the FBI, before everything. A Justice Department shield, with a banner underneath that has the FBI motto on it, and a badge number.

        “4917 is the number,” she continued, turning to look at Hotch “I can show you, if you need to see…”

        “Hayley was the only one who’d ever seen mine in person,” it wasn’t the first thing he wanted to say, but the shock of the moment brought it out “saying a lot, since it takes up my upper back. A dragon, red and black, in flight- “

        “With a shadow underneath it…” Shira finished with him, fighting back tears “dragons have always been my favorite mythical creature. My high school teacher, the one who started me on the historian path, gave me a painting at my graduation. It’s my most prized possession, the first thing I hung in my office when I became a professor. A dragon, red and black and in flight, with a shadow underneath.”

        The two stared at each other for a moment, before Shira smiled.

        “Hi.” She whispered, earning a small laugh from Hotch.

        “Hi,” He replied, and Shira loved seeing the twinkle in his eyes “this is definitely not how I expected us to meet, I’ll be honest with you.”

        “Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to meet you,” Shira declared “god, thinking about what I said before…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so mean about myself.”

        “Chronic illness takes its toll,” Hotch insisted, squeezing her hand “bad days and negative attitudes from it are a part of it. I’ll be honest; I didn’t think my soul mate would be someone like you.”

        “Someone like me?” she repeated, curious and a little worried.

        “Genius, strong, resilient,” he explained “beautiful. After everything I’ve gone through…I never expected someone as amazing as you.”

        “Flattery will get you everywhere, Aaron,” Shira gently teased, smiling at the happy smile that came to his face “you’re a strong and smart man, a survivor. You’ve been through all the circles of hell and came out smiling. You have a son that I know adores you like you do him, with how you smile when he’s mentioned. How could you be meant for anyone less than someone just as amazing as you?”

        “You do realize how well you just complimented yourself there, right?” Hotch teased in return, heart soaring as he listened to her laugh “the team’s been watching us, trying to figure out what our connection is.”

        “First felt it in Quantico, right?” she asked, smiling at his surprised face “you didn’t seem like you were acting like yourself, from the way your team reacted.”

        “Damn profilers,” he muttered, chuckling “if Rossi started a betting pool…”

        “Guilt him out of some of the pot,” Shira suggested, smile growing as she heard him laugh “say it’s only fair we get a cut, since they were betting on us.”

        “He’ll listen to you on that, more than he’d listen to me.” Hotch declared, smiling.

        “Maybe,” She giggled, leaning back and giving a small sigh “You don’t mind if I start calling you Aaron so soon, do you?”

        When his smile morphed into a look of confusion, Shira continued, nervous.

        “It’s just that ‘Hotch’ seems like a nickname for friends, and…Aaron is more…”

        “It’s okay,” he declared, seeing her fidgeting “I want you to. Besides, it’s only fair, Shira.”

        His emphasis on her first name wasn’t lost on her, and she couldn’t help smiling at that.

        “Okay, then, Aaron,” Shira replied, giving their joined hands a squeeze “so…how are we going to go forward?”

        “I say we just let things progress,” Hotch said after mulling it over “We’re friends, still getting to know each other.”

        “And we go at what pace feels right to us?” Shira continued, smiling as he nodded in reply “that sounds like a plan to me.”

        Hotch smiled at that, gently lacing the fingers of their joined hands together.

        This definitely wasn’t how he expected meeting his soul mate to go, but looking back on it, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

~

        Later that night, after her release and the work at the station was done, the team was getting ready to go to the airport. Between her cane, her arm in a sling, and her bag, Shira wasn’t quite sure how she was going to manage everything. As she left the elevator and started into the lobby, she managed a small smile as the rest of the team greeted her. Seeing Hotch, her smile widened, though it somewhat hurt.

        When he walked over, she looked up at him with a soft smile, giving a small laugh as he immediately took her bag.

        “Why thank you, good sir,” she gently teased, quiet “but seriously, thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to carry that easily.”

“That’s why I took it,” Hotch replied, smiling gently for her “come on, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

        At the hospital, they agreed that they wouldn’t make an effort to hide their connection, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to show it or tell anyone. Shira had teased that it would mess with the team, the mixed signals. Hotch had only given a sly smile, saying that the team deserved no less.

        “Hey, Doc,” Morgan greeted her, slyly smirking as he looked between the two as they came closer “how’re you feeling?”

        “Like I went ten rounds with a boxing freight train and I just wanna go home,” she replied, laughing a bit “I think we all just want to get out of here, yeah?”

        “Yeah, we got a plane to catch,” Rossi agreed, a pleased glint in his eyes “remind me not to try and pull one over on you, Doctor. You’re a damn brave and stubborn woman.”

        “Well, it’s how I got this far.” Shira chuckled, wincing a bit at the pain from her jostled shoulder.

        Aboard the jet an hour later, it was a quiet flight as everyone finally relaxed. Going over paperwork, reading, listening to music, each member of the team was unwinding in some way.

        “What are you listening to, Doctor Amell?” JJ asked, seeing the other woman pulling up a playlist on her mp3 player.

        “Just a mix for relaxing,” Shira replied, leaving an earbud out as she smiled for JJ “I’ve got a varied taste, when it comes to music. Everything from Kelly Clarkson and Pink, to Zac Brown Band and Reba, to Amaranthe and System of a Down.”

        “Nice,” JJ chuckled “must make for interesting listening.”

        “Well, to go from heavy metal ballads, to pop songs, to irish folk music, to fun classic country is definitely a roller coaster,” Shira laughed “but it’s a lot of fun.”

        Out of the corner of her eye, JJ saw the admiring gaze that Hotch had as he watched Shira, and the blond couldn’t help her smile.

        “So, when did you two figure it out?” she asked, earning their shocked attention “at the hospital?”

        “Way to blow the whole thing, JJ!” Morgan groaned, earning laughter from the others.

        “Yes, JJ, at the hospital,” Shira answered, laughing “no, I won’t give any details. That’s between us.”

        “So, you guys really are soul mates?” Reid wondered, looking on as Shira and Hotch smiled for each other.

        “Not exactly the way I had pictured us meeting,” Hotch declared, looking from Shira to Reid “but yes, we are.”

        “I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” Shira mused, smiling softly “though that’s an opinion in hindsight, of course.”

        “Not exactly the pair that you’d expect,” Rossi mused, loud enough for the two to hear “but you’re definitely meant to be.”

        “Oh, you knew from the beginning, didn’t you?” Shira teased, smiling as he laughed “Aaron and I will take a cut of that pot, thank you very much. You guys WERE betting on us, after all.”

        “Don’t try to deny it,” Hotch declared, before anyone could speak up “I know you guys too well.”

        “Okay, okay,” Rossi laughed “soon as we land, you greedy lovebirds.”

        The amusedly annoyed look that Hotch gave him, paired with Shira sticking her tongue out at him, had Rossi grinning. The two really were perfectly matched.

~

        Once back in Virginia, back on BAU grounds, Hotch walked Shira to her car.

        “You’ll be okay to drive home?” he asked, helping her put her bag in the passenger seat.

        “Not my first time driving in a sling, won’t be the last,” she promised, smiling up at him as they walked around to the drivers side “I got sleep on the plane. Less than two hours to drive, anyway.”

        “Let me know you got back safely?” Hotch requested, flushing a little at the emotional expression so close to work.

        “Of course,” Shira nodded, standing on her toes to quickly kiss his cheek “I know you’re a worrier. I’ll call you.”

        “Thank you,” he smiled, as she settled back on her feet “you’re very physically affectionate, aren’t you?”

        “With everyone I care about,” she replied, grinning at the blush that had come to his cheeks “and it increases with how close I am to the person, so you have an idea of what you’re getting into.”

        “I look forward to it,” Hotch declared, opening the drivers side door of her car “drive safely.”

        “I will,” Shira promised, climbing into the car “I promise. You get back to your team. Clear the paperwork, so Kolbeck gets put away for good.”

        “I will.” He promised in return, stepping back as she closed the door and started the engine. Before she left, he got a text message. Checking, he saw it was from Shira.

        [TEXT; Shira] White knight manners and southern boy charm. Already worming your way in, Aaron. Gold star from teacher!

        Hotch laughed as he read it, looking up to watch her drive away. When her car was out of sight, he turned to head back to the office, smile still on his lips.

        He was a lucky, lucky man, and he looked forward to the weeks, months, and years to come.

◊

               “The greatest love stories are not those in which love is only spoken, but those in which it is acted upon.”               – Steve Maraboli

∞

[thephantomofthe-internet]

A Kiss from the Afterlife

Rocker!Billy Hargrove x Holloway!Reader

Word Count: 3,989

Warnings: death mention!, alcohol, swearing, angst

Author’s note: I haven’t written in awhile, hope you guys still like me and my stuff, I like this story a lot personally

Tag List: @carolimedanvers​ @hotstuffhargrove​ @thechickvic​ @alex--awesome--22​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​ @so-not-hotmess​ @hawkeyeharrington​ @sunflowercandie​ @kaliforniacoastalteens​ @songforhema​ @spidey-pal​ @mickmoon​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @marvelismylifffe​ @baebee35​

The assignment was clear. It was stupid, but it was clear. A fluff piece for the Indianapolis Tribune, reviewing local Indiana bands for state pride or some shit. It felt totally out of your element. You should be reviewing the latest new wave flash in the pan or whatever Michael Jackson single had been dropped and hit high enough on the top one hundred to pay attention to, which was almost every single. Much more important work than some garage bands going to open mic nights on the weekend and would break up in a month over a girl who everyone else would call their Yoko Ono.

This wasn’t worth your time.

But what Chris said go. Chris, your editor, was working under the assumption that fluff pieces about local work get more local readers. A sort of self-flagellation for a crappy state. So, you did as little research as possible to find three up and coming acts from around greater Indianapolis, finding three of the most boring seeming hair metal bands that might get successful, and found gigs to watch.

You promised yourself that you weren’t going farther than Gary, but Chris insisted on you going down to Carmel, apparently the band there was really popular and missing them would get too many letters to the editor. You begrudgingly agreed, but only because Carmel was just far enough from Hawkins to keep your mind at bay. You found solace knowing that the band would probably be the worst. Amateur bands with really good names always failed, it was the rule. Good bands got good names later.

And Crown of Thorns was a really good band name.

You’d found a slew of fans to interview in Carmel, according to them they were like Guns n’ Roses had a baby with Madonna’s Like a Prayer video-all religious imagery and hard rock sensibility. Sounded too good to be true. No garage band was that good. You wondered what they actually liked. Usually, the intense fans were either friends with or fucking the band members; groupies don’t just appear they start as girlfriends and boyfriends and buddies from high school looking for free booze. You don’t how many ex-girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends you’d talk to for your interviews for the dumb piece.

You wondered how many ex-girlfriends you’d interviewed for the preamble for Crown of Thorns. All their fans seemed to be women, at least the ones who wanted to be interviewed were. It was strange, usually there was a couple beer bros wandering around looking to talk about how some band so fucking awesome or whatever.

Still, you didn’t bother to question it. There was one perk of this assignment and that was not having to work the awful nine to five in stuffy professional attire. Well worn jeans and a baggy tee shirt beat blazers and heels any day of the damn week. You wandered into the venue late that night, the bar called The Muddy Duck which looked as terrible as its name was; you made a note to describe the place as kindly as you could.

The bar was dim and awful. It stunk of beer spilled hours ago and puke. So much puke. The place smelt so bad you wondered if they filled the walls with the stuff instead of insulation. The floor was sticky under your boots and people kept bumping against you. The band hadn’t even come onstage and someone had already spilt a drink on you, sticky liquid trailing down your back and making your skin crawling involuntarily. Some sloppy girl muttered “Sorry…” dropping her sugar crusted martini glass on the counter before stumbling off. You pulled the drenched material off your back before pushing your way to the front. The crappy lights above the milk crates the place was calling a stage had flashed on and the entire room fell into a hush. You pulled out your notepad, jabbing your pencil behind your ear.

Three hulking men took the stage, each scruffier than the last, most hunched over with their instruments strung around their backs; bass guitar and guitar and drumsticks shoved as far away from their person as possible. They all looked as if they didn’t want to be seen, you wrote that down, noting their homemade band merchandise and stringy unkempt hair.

Then, the crowd cheered. The forth member was climbing the steps, fluffy mullet bouncing with each of his steps. He turned to the audience, throwing up the horns in a dramatic pose, hands held in a ‘v’ over his head and head tipped back up at the ceiling. The ring of feminine screams washed over your ears, causing you to throw your hands over your ears, trying to save your ear drums from their squeals.

An elbow jabbed into your ribs, bringing your attention to a spiky looking Siouxie Sioux knockoff who was smirking down at you “If you can’t handle that, you aren’t going to be able to handle this show.” She said, her voice carrying over the sound of the crowd.

“Thanks for the tip.” You called back, writing down the quote, making a note to find her before you left, to get one good interview out of this mess.

The drummer had taken his seat, the guitarists pulling their instruments to the front of them. The singer took the microphone in his hands like it was his lover, his eyes scanning the scene. They met yours for the briefest of moments and recognition hit you like a freight train.

Billy god damn Hargrove. You wanted to die.

Of course you had to interview Hargrove. Of course he had his own shitty hair metal band even though it was 19 god damn 91 and hair metal was dying off like flies on fly paper. Of course he was trying to fuck the audience with his eyes. You prayed he didn’t recognize you. You prayed you could get through this interview without any spill ups. You just wanted to disappear from Hawkins bullshit and the people who made it awful. Billy Hargrove made it awful.

Billy Hargrove destroyed your family.

Heather was your little sister, your bratty baby sister who stole your clothes and destroyed your makeup and followed you around helplessly. She was your stuck up, immature, callus, popularity obsessed sister. She was a kid. You left Hawkins to go to college, to get away from your fighting parents and your mother’s slow descent into alcoholism. You went into journalism because it was the only thing you could relate to your father about and you wanted that praise. You stayed away from your family when you could, the mess growing too big for you to tackle. You tried to keep up with Heather, but she didn’t want check in from her older sister. She was too old for a babysitter, to be babied by her older sibling. She stopped answering your calls, so you stopped calling.

And then, she was gone. They were gone. Lost to some stupid fire in a stupid mall. Your whole family, just gone. There were a handful of survivors, and you didn’t blame them, but in your heart one person shouldn’t have been saved. And that was Hargrove. Why did the universe save a philandering womanizer with a penchant for bullying get to live when your baby sister had to die? How was that fair? If you’d ever fully believed in God, you lost your faith in them the day you found out about your sister.

And you never forgave Hawkins. You turned your back on the place, sold your family home and the newspaper, packed up what was important and gave the rest to Goodwill. Life wasn’t in Hawkins anymore, it was anywhere else. Indianapolis didn’t feel far enough yet, but it held a decent paying job and a life away from what hurt you.  A small change did more than enough to feel free of the ghosts chasing you from a joint grave plot.

The intro to their first song blared from the lead guitarist’s amp, filling the room with screeching metallic notes, far too fast to be the start of a song. You waited for the crash of cymbals or the mellow sound of the bass or even a note from Hargrove. The song opened with a minute long solo. You absolutely hated that, it stunk of the seventies psychedelic rock your older cousins would blast in the basement during Christmas parties, all claiming to be Satanists and against the holiday until their parents let them each have a beer. The sound left a sour taste in your mouth.

What didn’t help was the pure, wordless wail Hargrove let out as the guitar cut out. The audience was deathly silent, on the edge of their seats waiting for something. What it was, you weren’t sure, but you watched his hands as he adjusted his grip and pulled himself in close, his lips almost touching its centre, his icy blue eyes lowering to meet the gaze of the room again.

“I watched the blood pour from your eyes…” he crooned out, his eyelashes fluttering as if he’d sung something romantic. His voice wasn’t strong, but the way he held the microphone. There was a phrase for it; a term…it was on the tip of your tongue. It found you by the end of the song, which seemed to solely about watching the one you love fall out of love with you, which dark imagery.

As the room applauded, you found your mind again, his stupid stare and the way he held the audience in the palm of his hand. Frank Sinatra syndrome. You might have made up the term, but it made too much sense. Sinatra was a dreamboat in the forties and an emotional singer who owned a room and the hearts of his fan base, a majority of which were women. It said that in the cramped, warm venues of his early career of the late twenties and early thirties that you could smell the pheromones coming off the girls in the room. It seemed Billy Hargrove had found a way to do the same. He had the whole room wrapped around his little finger.

Now it made sense why you’d only been able to find women who were interested in the band, no straight man would ever be interested in them. And no gay man would get caught by reporters looking for a story, too dangerous. Now it made sense why the bar was so shit and the girls here were so hot-straight girls would go anywhere for a peak at a hottie like Hargrove, you remembered how the girls chased him in high school, how desperate they were for just a peak at him in his gym clothes or shirtless at the pool.

Billy Hargrove still had a way with the girls.

They managed four more songs, only one a cover, which impressed you a fair bit. The amount of kids you’d listen to play AC/DC and Metallica and Motley Crue in the week alone was enough to make you hate any song with an electric guitar in it. Hearing original songs, albeit trite drivel about love and losing girls and sex under God’s eye, was almost a breath of fresh air. Almost. If it hadn’t been Hargrove, it would’ve been completely worth the trip down.

But you had to deal with Hargrove.

His performance ended and the crowd erupted into uproarious applause as the group shuffled off the stage, save Hargrove who jumped off the front of the stage, landing directly in front of you.

“You the chick from the Indianapolis Tribune?” he asked, looking you over with a lazy look, half-hearted in both its intention and its purpose.

You tucked your pencil behind your ear, looking at him in pure annoyance “You see anyone else taking notes?” you asked. Billy chuckled drily, running a hand through his sweaty looking hair, pulling a black hair elastic off his right wrist, right above the black leather cuff he had on both his wrists, and pulling his tangled curls off the back of his neck.

“The boys are at the bar, come over when you want an actual interview instead of bitching.” He replied shortly, stalking off as a small hoard of girls followed behind him. He already had groupies. Oh my fucking god.

You took a deep breath, swallowed your pride, and walked over to the bar, ordering yourself a beer before pulling up a stool. Billy smirked slightly as he saw you turn to the group. He slung an arm over a girl in a tight leather skirt, causing the other girls to walk off; apparently, Hargrove had made his choice for the night and the other girls accepted it without verbal complaint to him.

“Guys, this is the chick from the newspaper.” He grabbed his brown bottle off the sticky rail and pulled it to his lips, taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving you.

“Hi, Y/N Holloway, I just have a couple of questions for you guys and then I’ll get out of your way.” You smiled. You watched out of the corner of your eye as your last name caused recognition flashed in his baby blues. In that moment, he knew you. Well, he knew your family. And he became a wallflower. You asked your simple questions, which were mostly about how they met and what their goals were, which the drummer declared to be ‘world domination’ while elbowing Billy in the abs, as if he would’ve laughed. He didn’t. In fact he didn’t speak at all; he just sort of stared at you, mouth open just a little, just enough to show the shock he felt. That was a confidence boost, knowing you could still shock.

You finished the interview with a sweet smile, tucking your notepad into your heavy black bag and hopped off your stool, grabbing your beer as you went. “Alright, best of look boys, see you in the papers.” You said with a wave, walking into the crowd. You had to find that spiky goth, she seemed to know more than anyone else in that room.

You found her in the corner of the room at a tiny table, fingers laced with a tiny mousy looking girl with short ash brown hair and a lazy looking smile. When you walked up, she dropped her hand out of the spiky girl’s, who simply smiled at you.

“What’s up, Holloway?” she asked, turning to fully look at you.

You furrowed your brow “You know me?”

She chuckled “Fellow Hawkins escapees don’t show up so close to hell that often, although I know you don’t recognize me. Samantha Baker.” She held out her hand for you to shake. After hearing her name, you did recognize her as the school’s only sullen goth.  

“Hey,” you shook her hand, turning to address the little mouse. She seemed oddly familiar “Aren’t you Neil Buckley’s little sister? Robin right?” you asked with a grin. Neil Buckley was your first boyfriend; you spent most of your afternoons in freshman year at his house. Robin nodded, choosing to pull the cherry off her mixed drink and popped it in her mouth, pulling the red stem off and knotted it with fingers.

You turned your attention back to Samantha with a genuine grin “Look, I’m here doing a piece on local bands, specifically Hargrove’s group. You seem to know a bit about these crowds, can I get a couple quotes from you?” you asked, pulling your pad from your back pocket.

“Grab a seat, I’ll tell you anything you want.” Samantha chuckled once again.

“Sammy, what’s she want?” a strong, angry voice asked from behind you as you pulled out the high stool. You knew it was Hargrove, but you didn’t turn around.

“A couple quotes about the crazy girls who stalk you around.” She replied “You care?”

“I wanna listen and make sure you don’t say shit about me.” He muttered, grabbing an empty chair from a nearby table and pulling it close to yours. The blonde he’d been with before was gone now, to your surprise, and he was pouting in the chair next to you.

“The only thing I have to say about you is that you don’t write your own music.” Samantha replied with a shrug that made Robin roll her eyes.

“Who does?” you asked, pulling your pencil out from behind your ear.

Samantha’s chest puffed out proudly “I do. I’m their lyricist and composer.” You jotted that down fast, making a mental note to credit her for anything you liked in their music.

“Why don’t you just perform this stuff yourself then? There’s an open market for angry, gothic girl rock, much wider than the boy’s market.” You asked.

“Yeah, I can’t do what Hargrove can do to a crowd.” Samantha replied, watching as Hargrove puffed up with pride again.

“Specifically to the girls, that man can turn even the most devoted wife or girlfriend to cheat on their husbands.” Robin added with a smirk. There was clearly a story there, but you didn’t try to pull it out of them, letting sit on the surface of their knowing smiles.

“You gotta understand, these girls-they aren’t here for the music, they’re here for him. They can’t get enough.” Samantha explained, smacking him in the chest as she gestured to him. Samantha might have had too many drinks.

“So it’s just like high school again?” you chuckled, leaning your elbows on the table. You smiled at him, against your initial thinking. Sure, he was still a cocky fuck, but he wasn’t being an absolute ass now that he knew who were.

“Except, now all his songs are apologies to like three girls,” Samantha said “Instead of sex songs about whoever he’s with that week.”

You furrowed your brow “And who are these three girls?”

“Oh, that’s easy: the first one is me, his truest love thus far, a gold star lesbian,” Samantha held up fingers as she counted them off “His mom, gone but never forgotten, and Heather Holloway.”

Your mouth went dry as you between the trio. Robin looked to you apologetically as she took the martini glass from her hand. “You’ve had enough, sweetie.” She muttered.

You didn’t feel like you knew what to say, but words came tumbling out of your mouth. “What gives you the right to use my baby sister as your fucking muse? Her death isn’t something to write fucking songs about.” You snapped. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating, you were so upset.

“I didn’t know you didn’t-Hargrove you told me that she knew that she was the only one who knew.” Samantha sobered up fast, looking at Hargrove with blown out brown eyes.

“Of course you’re still a liar, Hargrove.” You scoffed, pushing yourself off the stool. You were done with this interview, screw this town and the band and any of the other ‘Hawkins escapees’ out there looking to market off your family’s pain. You pushed your way out of the awful bar and into the dark night. It had begun to rain and the air was humid. Well, there goes your hair, the rain and humidity would ruin it. You crossed your arms over your chest, protecting your bare skin from the cold rain giving you goose bumps.

“Y/N, wait a second, alright?” You turned to see Hargrove running up behind you. You wiped your face, ready to blame rain for your running mascara.

“What do you have to say now?” you bit out, slicking your wet hair back from your face.

“Look I thought Heather had told you…” he muttered.

“How the hell was she supposed to tell me about your band? She’s fucking dead.” You wiped your nose angrily, rolling your eyes at your own tears.

“No, not about the band, about…us.” He tried again and you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. He looked away from you into the dark streets. There wasn’t a cab in sight. “I loved your sister. We were…seeing each other. Sort of. We weren’t official, but we were going to be. I was gonna ask her and then so much shit went down, you don’t even know the half of it. And then…she was gone.”

You didn’t know that. Heather hadn’t told you any of that. You wondered if it was in the diary from that summer. You had all her diaries bundled together in your apartment, you’d never read them; it felt too invasive to her privacy, even from beyond the grave.

“I lost my whole family, I lost my baby sister…” you muttered to yourself, unsure what else to say.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I lost her too.” Billy replied, placing firm hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. For the first time, he looked like a man, not a teenage boy imitating adulthood. He looked strong and as if he knew who he was. He looked handsome, although that be the beer and raw emotion talking.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.” You muttered “You must miss her…”

“Yeah, sometimes…when something reminds me of her.” He replied “Like you, you remind me so much of her. Can I show you one song? It’s the one that means the most to me.” You nodded at his request and let him drag you back into the bar. He put you near the front of the stage and grabbed his guitarist, taking the microphone back into his hands.

“Hey, sorry everyone, I’m gonna do one last song. We’ve got a reporter here from the Indiana Tribune, gotta show off our best stuff, ya know?” the audience laughed at his week attempt at a joke as his bassist brought up two chairs for Billy and the guitar guy, whose name you’d forgotten.

The song itself was sweet enough, about a girl with big doe eyes and hair that always smelt like chlorine. It was totally your sister; if they’d played that first you would’ve been just as furious as you were outside, except you wouldn’t have finished the interview. This time around, you listened. You smiled at the line about her lavender perfume and how it was so strong it made you dizzy and held your breath at every chorus as he wailed “You’re all gone, you’re all gone…” with his hands holding the microphone for death life. It didn’t feel like a love song, but a dirge to a long gone muse, never forgotten and screaming from the depths of one’s soul, begging to be remembered, to be put into art. You never liked to think about your sister that way, but deep within your heart you knew this was how she wanted to be remembered. She wanted to be a model, a soap star and spokesperson. She wanted to be remembered for her beauty, to be admired. Being the muse of a budding artist would be good enough for her, she would’ve loved that.

You clapped when it was done. You let Billy pull you away from the crowd. You let him kiss you like he would’ve your sister, the lingering smell of lavender and vanilla on your skin a reminder to both of you of her. You let him hold you. It was nice to be held. It was nice for him to get to say goodbye.

You knew you looked strange to the groupies and bar goers, but he needed this. And in a way, so did you. You held him like he was your father, like you were hugging him for the last time. You didn’t like that your mind associated the two men, but you let it. You both said goodbye to your ghosts.

And were left with strangers in their places.