#or they’re like ‘you’re young!!! you can’t have hearing loss!!!!!!!’

[ennabear]

crazy how nobody ever believes me when i say i’m deaf… maybe it’s because i don’t have hearing aids or implants so they can’t physically SEE that i can’t hear them but i promise i’m not just exaggerating?????

[alexa-fika]

Heyo, how are you? I’m not sure if you celebrate it, but hope you had a great Easter? Would you write another Dokucha story where she’s the daughter of Mihawk and being very secretive whenever she goes somewhere. One day, Mihawk follows her (Crocodile and Buggy follow him too, they’ve got nothing better to do xD) which is easier said than done. She’s very smart (after all she’s Mihawk’s daughter) and tries to make sure not to be followed. Once they find her, they can’t understand what they walked into. Humandrills, Bananawanis, Kung-Fu Dugongs, and many more other animals are living in a secret place together and getting along, and especially, they all love her so so much. Together with her animal family they’re taking care of a wounded Sea King. Buggy is ready to leave the place and never come back, too many fearsome creatures for his taste and Crocodile and Mihawk are just at a loss for words (now Crocodile knows where his pets went, she doesn’t like that he uses them for battles and such, she loves their company and would never want any harm to come to them). Once they sense the three men, all the animals start to become hostile towards them ready to protect Dokucha at all cost.

The Scaly and furry ( mihawk x f!child!reader x crocodile)

A/N I DID IT GUYS AFTER SO LONG I FINALLY DID IT. I din’t have any idea on how to integrate buggy so he kinda got missed out. But here we are another dracule!reader, reader is in ther middle childhood, so young but not a todler but also not a teen. But anyways thank you guys so much for waiting

Mihawk narrows his eyes as once again his daughter had left in a hurry, leaving behind a poor excuse of wanting to explore the outside. His eyes flickering back to his co-worker as he pipes in

“If you’re that curious about what the brat is up to, we can simply follow her,” Crocodile huffs out, a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he spoke

It was easier said than done, seeing as his daughter had inherited haki from him, one she had harnessed under both his and Crocodile’s guidance. But it was still not on par with theirs, which made it possible for the two men to evade her detection, following her as she made her wave through the thick bushes until she arrived at a cove hidden away by trees and boulders.

She blinked, looking back

“I thought I felt something…” she murmured, turning back around smiling as she spotted one of her friends waiting for her at the entrance of a more secluded part of the cove.

“Hi Manny, I'm back!” She called to the Dugong, who made some aggressive punching movements her way as they both entered a more enclosed part of the cove

“I know, I’m sorry. Dad and Cruncle are getting suspicious, so it was harder to get this time,” the girl grumbles, letting out a squeak as she was suddenly lifted off the ground, relaxing when she recognized the presence.

“Enrique, you scared me,” she gasped, giggling when the human drill hugged her tighter

“I ‘m sorry; I know I was gone longer than normal; I'm back,” she said, smiling up at the ape that sat in the branches, letting low hoots as he put the girl down again

“I knew you cared, Enrique!”

A louder set of hoots and disgruntled noises left the Humandrill upon hearing this

“Tell yourself that, but I know you care!” She argued back to the growing cacophony of howls and screams, the occasional gecker leaving the ever-increasing group only to be stopped as Manny, now joined with his own group of dugongs, began emitting a series of whistles to get both of them on track

“Ah right, sorry,” she apologized, making haste to a blue hole deeper down the cove, smiling as a colossal beast surfaced when she kneeled next to it

“Hi Musa, how are they doing? I’m sorry it took me a bit, but I brought the medicine. Would you bring them up?” She spoke as she caressed the bananawani’s jaw, grinning when the latter let out a satisfied hiss as she sank back into the depths, returning accompanied both only by more of her kind but with a similar-sized beast being supported by their scaly bodies

She frowns at the Sea King’s state as they weakly glance at her, letting out a weak hiss in greeting

“Here, can you open your mouth?” Smiling when they complied, throwing the medication in their mouth

“You’re bigger, so I had to get a couple…hundred, but it sho-AH

Her words were caught up as, for the second time, she found herself airborne, this time; however, the culprit seemed to be a dusty mass dragging her feet in the air and dangling her upside down

As soon as this happened, as a switch being flicked, all the animals in the room became alert, aggresive, the bananawanis crawling out of the water and standing in front of her now dangling body. The dugongs and Humandrills stood in their own formations, preparing to fight the newcomers. Some of the human drills were quick to try to get the girl down, climbing through branches near her position, only to back down as the sand lashed out at them if they got too close

“It’s okay, guys, I know them,” she explains, trying to calm the growing tension in the cove

“Hi dad, hi Cruncle….what are you guys doing here?”

“I reckon we should be the ones asking that question,” Mihawk spoke, staring up at the girl

“What are you doing near them?” Crocodile growled as the creatures began to advance on them, as he flashed them with his haki in return, grinning when they backed away

“Wait, don’t hurt them! I can explain!” She hurried out

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow at that

“They’re my friends!” She chirps only to turn into a squeal as she is raised higher after a shared glance between the ex-warlords

“Dad!” She whined, a frown on her face

“Where did they come from?”

She pouts at that

“Well?”

“The human drills came with me from our old home, and we found the dugongs at the beach.”

Mihawk glances at Crocodile for confirmation on the latter, already knowing how likely it was for the apes to have followed them to the island, seeing how close they had grown in Kuragaina Island

“Dugongs are native to this area,” he confirms

He hums at that

“And the beasts?”

“I sneaked into Uncle’s gloomy room, and they were just there; they were lonely, so, I kind of, umm, let them go?”

Crocodile lets out a scoff at that

“They are huge predators, the only predators to sea kings, and you let them go because they looked lonely?”

“That’s what I just said, dummy.”

“Watch it brat.”

She sticks out her tongue at him in return

Mihawk rolled his eyes, walking closer to her

“What about the sea king?”

“It’s a baby! It got left by his pod, and he got really sick; he found them when me and Musa were out swimming, and we wanted to help them, well Musa wanted to eat them at first….”

“You are going to be the death of me,” he sighed, catching the child as Crocodile released the sand holding them up

“So…can I come see them again?” She asked the men once they had departed from the cove, much to the chagrin of the animals

They glance at each other before Crocodile begins

“The banawani need to come back.” he started sending her a side glare when she began to protest

“They have a job to do; once they do their job, they are free to go and rendevous with you,” he states

“Job? Do they play with you too, Cruncle? Is their job to keep you company?”

“N-

He pauses at the scathing glare he receives from the swordsman, understanding it was better not to let the young girl know what the reptile’s actual job consisted of

“..They keep me company and help me with some cleaning.”

“Cleaning? Them?” She questions, trying to picture the crocodiles using their huge bodies to tidy up an office

“They get rid of the trash for me.”

“Oh! That sounds like Musa and the rest! They are always hungry,” she laughs

Mihawk nods his head, a silent sign of acknowledgment for the otherwise aloof man

“You have to let me know where you are actually going from now on, no more sneaking out. As long as you do that, you are allowed to continue your peculiar friendship group.”

“Really?!”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, dad!”

A moment of silence envelops the trio as they continue walking, only to be cut short by the girl once again

“Do you want to come to cuddle and play with them with me?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot”

Again thank you for all the kind words I got saying to take my time, and sorry I completely disregard your words cause LISTEN I WANT TO KEEP GIVEN YOU GUYYS

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter NINE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, mentions of neglectful parenting/abandonment, TENSION, steamyyy, self-worth issues, implied sexual content. || mildly nsfw. 5k words.

YOU'RE NOT SURE you’ve ever seen Satoru Gojo play a bad game of basketball.

Until now.

The Samurai are kicking ass, and it’s not even funny. Gojo playing so—so off means the entire chemistry of the team is unbalanced. Something about his sudden lack of obnoxious confidence is throwing even Kento, even Ino. Megumi storms up to him halfway through the quarter and says something low and sharp that you can’t hear, and Gojo throws his arms up like what the hell do you want from me?

The Samurai are playing subs you’ve never seen on the court before. Miguel is a valid threat, yes, and Larue plays for almost a whole half, but then Gakuganji puts on Rin Amai. He’s like the equivalent of Junpei to the Samurai—a fresh draft, a young player who hasn’t had much time on the court this season. Eventually, Gakuganji’s just sitting there letting the assistant coach, Ijichi, call the shots.

It’s not malicious, not like they’re trying to mock you, but it feels like that game against the Phantoms, where you were so far ahead you didn’t even have to try.

It’s not like Gojo isn’t scoring. Even at his worst, he’s a good player—but he’s not playing well by his standards and the whole team can feel it. Even Nobara’s stopped being optimistic by the third. It’s a twenty-point deficit, and while it wouldn’t be unheard of for a comeback, nothing about the expressions on the guys’ faces says they’re winning today.

It’s horrible.

Yuji’s making a valiant effort to rile the team back up, and it works a little—he’s scoring like crazy, and Megumi is making a real effort to pick up Gojo’s slack. Kento is steady as ever, at least on the surface, but it’s not enough.

It’s not a hard-fought kind of loss, like the first game in the series was. Nitta gives you a strange look across the court—even she can see that something is blatantly wrong. You’re thinking of Geto, of Gojo, of the convoluted feelings roiling around in your gut.

You feel sick.

When it’s over, the team files out of the gym in near-silence, and you make a beeline for your office without speaking to anyone, even Ieiri. You need to fix this, you need to do something, you need to—you don’t fucking know.

You need to be alone.

The door practically slams behind you, and you whip out your laptop so aggressively you’re surprised it doesn’t break. You’re going to drown yourself in work and stop thinking or worrying or feeling anything at all.

It doesn’t last long.

It’s maybe been a half hour before Megumi steps into your office without prelude, not bothering to knock, and kicks the door shut behind him.

“Uh. Hey?”

He doesn’t sit down, instead pacing back and forth in front of your desk, pensive.

“Fushiguro. What?”

He stops, turns to face you. “You and Gojo,” he says. “Whatever this fucking issue is, you need to figure it out before it costs us the series.”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Because this is Megumi Fushiguro, the last person you’d ever expect to confront you. The last person to chew you out, the last person to walk into conflict if he doesn’t absolutely have to.

You remember his sharp words to Gojo on the court, inaudible but aggressive. Wonder what they were.

“So what is it?” he prompts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is he keeping something from you? Is that it? Is he shutting you out? Are you shutting him out?” He plants his hands on the desk, leaning over you—not threatening, but weirdly earnest in a way you’ve never really seen him before.

“Listen. I owe Gojo my life. I don’t know how much you know, but I know you’re at least aware that he pulled me and Tsumiki out of a really shitty situation. So I know you know he’s not a selfish piece of shit, even if he wants everyone to believe it. I also know that he cares about you, okay? And he doesn’t do that. Not outwardly, at least. Not in the way he cares about you. So whatever it is he did, or whatever it is you did, can you go do something about it? Because we are not going to beat the Curses if you and Gojo can’t figure this out.”

There’s no this, you want to say. Even as the thought half-forms in the back of your mind, you know it’s a lie.

This is maybe the most words you’ve ever heard Megumi speak at once, and you’re pretty sure every single one of them was true.

It’s like he took all the words in the room, all the ones the air had space for. There are none left for you, and you’re just staring at him over your laptop screen, grasping at straws.

Finally, after a too-long silence, you nod.

“He’s a good person,” Megumi says quietly.

“I know,” you whisper, looking down, wringing your hands in your lap. “I know.”

—

You work late.

At least, you stay in the office late, well after everyone else has gone home. You brushed off Ieiri’s concerns, dodged Nobara’s questions. You finished everything you had to do ages ago. Now you’re just sitting and staring at your keyboard, wondering how the hell to work this thing out with Satoru.

It should be straightforward. It should be easy. You’re not going back to the Curses. He needs to trust you more.

Except it’s not easy, it’s not straightforward. Because he makes your heart beat backwards. He turns all the words on your tongue into ash. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt in a long, long time, maybe ever, and that terrifies you. And you can’t explain why you won’t leave, why it matters so much that he trusts you, if you can’t tell him how you feel.

But you don’t know the first thing about how to start.

You’ve only just buried your head in your hands when the door opens again. No knock, no voice. You can tell just by his presence that it’s Yaga, and you wonder if you’re about to lose your job.

“I talked to Gojo,” he says, and you make yourself look up at him, hoping he can’t tell how near you are to tears.

“Oh.” You don’t have anything else to say. You thought he left hours ago.

“Look.” He doesn’t sit down, but somehow even when he’s towering over you his presence isn’t daunting. You respect him. He respects you, you know that—so why do you feel like he’s about to tear your world apart? “I need to know if they’ve extended you a serious offer, or if this one of Geto’s mind games.”

“No,” you say immediately. “No, it’s—it’s not an official offer. Even if it was I wouldn’t go back. I don’t know what Geto wants from me.”

“I don’t think it’s what he wants from you, champ.” You blink, and Yaga sighs heavily. “I know they didn’t treat you right over there, don’t lie to me. You’re a great asset and you deserve better than Geto and his band of asshats. Satoru knew that. That’s why he pointed me your way in the first place.”

“What?” You sink back in your seat. “What do you mean pointed—wait. Okay. How’d you…?”

Yaga blinks, drags his palm down his face. “Oh, damn. I thought you knew.”

“I—what? What did I know?”

“Gojo—he requested we recruit you. Talked about you so highly from your time with the Curses we couldn’t say no. Don’t get me wrong: I’d have hired you regardless. You’re damn good at your job. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m over here doing Gojo favors or some shit. He just gave me your name, and you did the rest damn well on your own.”

You can’t think, can’t speak. Gojo, who you couldn’t stand when you worked for the Curses, couldn’t stand when you arrived here, either. He wanted you to come?

The implication here, if you’re reading Yaga’s words right, is that Geto knows that Gojo wanted you here. That it would bother Gojo if the Curses got you back. That he’s going after Gojo with one of his stupid little mind games, not you.

That Gojo cares about you to an extent that could potentially hinder his playing ability? No. That’s insane. But… you just saw it happen.

“Gojo,” you echo, a little numb. “I—Gojo recommended me. Satoru Gojo.”

Yaga nods, and you cuss under your breath. Because Satoru, it turns out, has maybe never been the man you thought he was, when you made a snap judgement all those years ago. Not even when he was with the Curses. Not even when you… when you hated him.

“Listen. I’m not saying this is entirely his fault, but Geto knows Gojo. My guess? Mei Mei’s exploiting that.”

“Mei Mei?” You gape. She’s the manager who took your place. She’s a mogul; you can’t imagine why the Curses would ever want to replace her.

But if she sent Geto here to lie to you, to gamble, to ask you to come back so that Gojo got so into his own head that the Sorcerers lost…

“Oh,” you breathe. “God. That’s… messed up.”

Yaga only nods. “Look,” he says eventually. “If we’re going to beat Suguru Geto? We need you and Gojo on the same page.”

He’s right. God. Of course he’s right. Geto plays mind games. You and Gojo—Satoru—need to be a united front against those games if you’re going to win this one.

You need to find him.

—

Jujutsu Arena is a whole different beast at night.

You’re used to squeaking shoes and cheers and blaring buzzers, whistles and cameras and fans and action.

Tonight, it’s quiet. Open. Hollow, maybe.

In regular season, the team doesn’t always practice here. You’re no stranger to nighttime gymnasiums, but this one in particular feels so wide open it could be haunted, or it could be blessed.

It’s the only place you could think of where he’d be hiding out, not answering his texts. The only reason he’d have his cell shoved in a bag somewhere rather than tucked in a jacket pocket. He could have just been ignoring you, but you know Satoru, and you know he’s petty enough to leave you on read, to make you know when he’s ignoring you. So here you are.

He knows you’re here. You make no effort to silence your footsteps as you slip through the open doors. He’s got that headband on, hair pushed out of his face, and he’s only wearing gray sweats and a T-shirt. For some reason, you feel like this might be the most unmasked you’ve ever seen him.

You know he’s registered your presence because he dunks in a stupid, showoffy flourish, but he doesn’t look at you. Ball’s in your court, apparently.

“Satoru,” you say. He turns to face you and it’s like the words are just falling out of your mouth. “Why are you—what are you doing here so late?”

“Practicing,” he says. “I—every night. Most nights.”

You think you might know why. A lot of things are starting to make sense about this man, and a lot of them make you angry, and a lot of them make you—you don’t know. Not angry, but a different kind of heated. “I think we need to talk.”

When he doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t object, you cross the court to him. “I think there are things about each other we don’t know,” you say. “And I think we can’t beat the Curses with this—with this wall between us. And I want to fix it.” Your voice is soft, and it seems to have him easing up a little on whatever this show of indifference is. He sighs.

He passes you the ball.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

The ball feels good in your hands, like an old friend. You really haven’t had the chance to just shoot baskets in a while, what with the insanely busy job taking up most of your free time. For all that you’re around basketball, you don’t really get to play a lot of basketball.

You bounce it a few times, trying to figure out where Gojo’s mind is at. His eyes are following the trajectory of the ball, not you.

“You’re upset,” you say, just to say something. And then you make a shot from where you’re standing. Gojo’s hand shoots up and tips the ball, and you run for the rebound and make a lay-up. “Tell me why.”

“Geto,” he says, diving for the ball before you can get it back. “He’s playing with you. To play with me.”

You’re honestly kind of surprised by the straightforward answer.

“I see,” you say. “I get a shot and you answer a question, is that it?”

“Yes,” he says, smirking. Then he scores on you. “My turn.”

“You didn’t—”

“That was a question, was it not?”

You can turn it back on him. “Yes,” you repeat. “It was, and that was my answer.”

You forget sometimes how much you love this sport. And so you figure you can do this, have your long discussion as you dart and block and shoot, because that’s when Gojo’s mind is at its best, and he can dodge your questions like your attacks. Or not.

Faking right and then diving past Gojo’s left side, you score on him again.

“Okay, so Geto,” you say, catching the rebound. “Why does he still bother you so much?”

“Because he knows me.” Gojo steals the ball right out of your hands. He’s fast. “We were best friends. In college, in San Diego. We knew everything about each other. So he’s using what he knows about me against me, instead of playing the goddamn game on a fair court. And that pisses me off.”

You. It goes unsaid. Geto is using you against Satoru.

He shoots long, his shirt riding up as his arm rises above his head, revealing his stupidly toned abs. You shake your head as the ball swooshes through the far net without even hitting the backboard. You might’ve played D1, but you’re no NBA star.

So now this game of yours, it goes both ways. He looks at you for a long moment before he starts down the court, and then you’re running to get to the ball before him. His legs are so stupidly long. “If you got a job offer right now, a better one, would you leave?” he calls as you sprint.

When you grab the ball before he does, you know he’s letting you.

“Define better,” you say, holding the ball hostage. He frowns.

“Higher paying. Better hours. I don’t know, NBA admin? WNBA?”

You consider, tapping your fingers on the uneven surface of the ball. “For another team, no,” you say truthfully. “Even with a pay raise. I like it here.” His relief is palpable, and you know he’s letting you see it—he could hide it, if he wanted to. “Maybe for a higher-level management position, something with the league. But not for the Curses.” You make sure he’s looking right into your eyes when you say it. “I wouldn’t leave this for them.”

I wouldn’t leave you for Geto.

Taking advantage of his distraction, you shoot while he isn’t standing between you and the basket. He chuckles.

“I don’t understand, though,” you insist. “If you were friends, why—I mean, I know what he did to Megumi. With the draft. But he’s—it’s Megumi. How can someone hate him? Why? He never did anything to Geto.”

Satoru sighs as you go to retrieve the ball. “It wasn’t Megumi.” He closes his eyes like he’s weighing whether he should say something. “It… was his dad.”

“What?”

“Toji… wasn’t a good guy.” You don’t miss the past tense, the forced evenness of his tone. “He, uh. He was a coach, actually. For a bit. When Geto and I were in school.” He shakes his head. “Not head coach or anything, but he was around. And god, he was a shit dad. I mean, left Megumi and Tsumiki to fend for themselves the second she turned 18. Even when she was…”

“I know,” you say, and he looks up in surprise. “Not about their dad. But Tsumiki… told me what you did for her. For Megumi. About the bills.” His eyes go wide, and you clear your throat, for some reason feeling like you’ve confessed something. Thinking about Tsumiki, so sweet and so young, about Megumi, trying to help her on his own… it makes your blood boil, knowing their father could have supported them and just—chose not to. “So what did their dad—Toji, what did he do to Geto?”

Gojo’s laugh is short and humorless. “Left.”

You pass the ball to him. A peace offering, maybe.

“Suguru and I always had very different views on the sport,” he says, dribbling idly. The use of the first name is jarring. Thinking about Geto and Gojo being that close. “How it operated in our lives, I mean. For me, it was—I mean, it’s my livelihood, but it’s not my life. It can’t come before—before people. It can’t take over.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, grabbing the headband and pulling it off, then shoving it into his pocket. His hair falls wildly into his face.

“You know, it’s funny. It used to be the other way around. I was all for the game, nobody mattered. It was different for him.”

“Different,” you echo. And your echo travels—the sheer size of this place is overwhelming when it’s empty like this, like it’s a whole planet and the two of you are the only people on it.

“In college it was more of an escape, I think—he had kind of a fucked up life, before. But he just got so obsessive. And Toji encouraged it,” Satoru explains. “It became his whole life, he was training with him all the time, and Geto didn’t even like him. Hated him, actually.”

He passes it back. You dribble the ball between your legs, relishing the sound of the quick bounces on the waxed floors.

“Toji was awful. Relentless. Refused to recruit his own kid, even when he found out what a good player Megumi is. Didn’t do jack even when he knew Tsumiki was sick. I hated him. Hated him. And I was mad at Suguru for even tolerating the guy.”

Gojo makes a run past you, and you dive to keep the ball but miss, and he steals it. “But Suguru just kept training with him, day after day after day. And it started interfering with his relationships, his friendships. And he was becoming this different person. I couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t listen to me, and then Toji just up and left.”

He bounces the ball off a wall. “What he does best, I guess,” he says bitterly. “No explanation, no resignation, just gone. Turned up in a prison in Asia a few months later, and that was the last we ever heard of him.” He shrugs. “Except when he kicked the bucket.”

“Shit,” you murmur.

“Suguru wasn’t the same once he started training with Toji, but he got a little better after he was gone for a while. I mean, it wasn’t good, but he was starting to come back to himself. And I thought I’d gotten through to him, maybe. Thought I’d gotten him to understand that Megumi wasn’t his father. But he just wanted nothing to do with them. No Fushiguros, he said. Blacklisting Megumi was the last straw. Sometimes… sometimes I think he did that more to get back at me than anything.”

“And this,” you say quietly, taking a step toward him. “Me. Trying to get me to leave. That’s to get back at you, too?”

Satoru doesn’t respond, but that’s all the confirmation you need. You leap to block as he shoots from a few feet to the right of the hoop, but you’re not tall enough—not enough to block 6’3”.

“Do you hate me?” he asks.

You stop, hands slapping your thighs as you let them fall to your sides. “What?”

But he just looks at you, doesn’t repeat himself. And the expression on his face—it’s almost nervous.

“I don’t hate you, Satoru.” The ball rolls toward you and you let it come to a stop between your sneakers. “I—do you think I would be here if I hated you?”

“Did you used to? Before?”

You want to ask, before what? But you think you know.

“That’s two questions,” you whisper. He throws the ball into the net without looking. Asshole.

“I… I don’t think so,” you say as he catches the rebound. “I thought I did. I thought… a lot of things about you. I didn’t like you. But I also didn’t give you a chance. It was a snap judgement based on a lot of assumptions, Satoru.”

He smiles faintly, dribbling the ball idly, spinning it on a finger. “I like it when you call me that.”

You dart forward and slap the ball from his hands, turning beneath his arm to dribble to the other end of the court. You catch him so off-guard he barely makes it in time to block you, but the ball goes just over his fingertips and swishes through the basket regardless.

“Why did you think that?” you ask. “That I hated you.”

“Because you should’ve,” he says. “You had—you have every reason to. I made it that way.”

“What?”

“You, uh,” he starts quietly. “You should know that—I mess things up. I mess people up. I push people away and I say mean things and I argue and I make things hard for people. I always have.”

He retrieves the ball, still talking. “I get cocky and I act like I know everything and I pretend I don’t need anyone else. It never ends well. When I do. It was different with Megumi and Tsumiki. It just… he reminded me of me, a little. And I just tried to help, and then it all just happened. But everyone else—god, every team I’ve ever been on, the Curses, Suguru…”

He swallows once, hard. “I don’t have a reason, either. I grew up in a good home. I had a family. I don’t have excuses. I just—I got really good at one thing, really young. And everyone always treated me like I was more of an asset than a person. And at some point it just got easier to be like that, to exist as some caricature, some—some basketball icon, I don’t fucking know. It’s just—I don’t make it easy to like me. Or know me. Or be around me. I make it easy to hate me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did, still.”

He scores again.

“I want you to be sure,” he murmurs. “Do you—”

“No,” you say fiercely. “No, Satoru. You know what? You know how you just said you push people away? You’re doing it right now. You’re doing it right now, and it’s not going to fucking work this time. Because guess what? I do know you. I know you’re here every night practicing by yourself because you don’t think you’re good enough, even though you’ve been the best player in the fucking NBA for years. I know you don’t tell anyone when you’re struggling. I know you didn’t leave the Curses for some petty fucking reason, you left because Megumi—because he needed—Satoru, you took Megumi and Tsumiki under your wing and never even told anyone, you endured all that bullshit from Geto and never even ratted him out, you got me this goddamn job—”

“What—did Yaga tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter!” you cry, hands coming up to grip Satoru’s forearms. “Because you do care, Satoru. Because you’re a good person. And I’m sorry,” you say, softer now, “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t.”

You aren’t sure when his face got so close to yours. His breath is warm, ruffling the loose strands of hair that have escaped from your loose ponytail. “And it surprised me, too,” you murmur, refusing to break eye contact, still holding him by the arms. “But yeah, Satoru. I see you, and I know you. And I like you.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you and drawls, “Aw, Alley, do you like-like me?”

“Satoru,” you warn flatly. He chuckles, but then his expression melts back into that serious, searching gaze. He pulls one of his arms away, takes the ball from you, moves back just a little. He shoots it right over your head. You don’t move.

He smirks as the ball drops into the basket with a faint swoosh. Neither of you move to grab it as it bounces across the floor, the rubbery THUNKthunkthunk echoing in the empty arena.

“Your turn, then,” you say, and it sounds a little strangled, a little thready. You don’t know when your heart start moving faster than your mind.

You blink and he’s in centimeters away from you, and he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I got one,” he whispers, voice gruff. He takes a step forward and you take one back. Not away from him, just—he’s so close, he’s…

“Can I kiss you?”

There is no stadium.

There are no empty seats, no baskets, no hoops. The moonlight streaming in from the skylights is secondary, the feel of the court beneath your feet irrelevant. There is only you, and Satoru, and the very, very thin space between your faces.

You have no words, not for this.

Your hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and you pull him toward you, and his lips slot into yours like they were made just for this, just for you, and you’re warm everywhere, from your gut to your fingertips to your toes to everywhere his hands on your body, moving, shifting, holding, and you feel like you’ve lost the knowledge of where you end and Satoru begins.

“I liked seeing you in that shirt,” he breathes, hands slipping beneath the fabric of the one you’re wearing now, his warmth on your back. “But I’d like seeing you in one of mine more.”

Whatever the game is, you lose.

It’s the fact that he wants you, maybe, that this isn’t a one-time thing, that he wants his clothes on your body. The implication that it’s more than just now, than tonight. That whatever this jumble of knotted feelings in your gut has been all this time, he’s got it too, you’re not crazy. You don’t realize you’ve stumbled back, that he’s moving with you, that you haven’t broken eye contact since he spoke.

“Satoru.” His name comes out in a gasp, and you feel your shoulder blades hit the cool-to-the-touch mats that guard the gymnasium walls, your knees nearly buckling as he moves his lips down to your neck, your collarbone. You’re not cold, you’re so far from cold, but goosebumps scatter themselves across your skin. You can’t stay still. You want his skin on yours, everywhere.

“Say that again,” he says against your skin, lips warm. “My name.”

Oh, he doesn’t get to have all the fun.

“Gojo,” you tease, and he grabs you by the chin, breathing into your mouth.

“No.”

“Six,” you whisper.

“No.” His voice is guttural.

You grab him by the forearm and shift your weight. In a blink, he’s the one against the wall, and you know he’s yours.

“Baby,” he whispers. It sounds like a plea, or a confession.

“Satoru.”

He kisses you again, desperately, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and you practically sink into his touch. “I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathes, kissing a trail down your jaw, “for so fucking long.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your composure is long gone, gone with the reality of the empty stadium around you, maybe you never even had it— “How long?”

He grabs your face in his hands, his long fingers reaching into your hair. “Since the second day you worked for San Diego,” he confesses. “You yelled at me.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips through your lips, remembering your second day of work. Satoru had not shut up, even as you tried to get to know each of the players, get your footing in this new position. You turned around and snapped at him, told him to go take a lap if he couldn’t keep his mouth shut or something.

“You’re into that?” you tease. And the the gravity of what he’s saying hits you. That he’s wanted you for that long. For years. “Since…”

“I’m into anything when you do it,” he whispers in the shell of your ear, and shivers run down your back as he reverses your positions again, your back pressed to the wall. He grabs you by the hips, his hands moving over your skin, and before you know it your legs are wrapped around him and he’s holding you against the wall, kissing the daylights out of you, like he’s been starving for five years and you have every answer he’s ever wanted.

“Satoru,” you get out through gasps as he kisses a line down your collarbone before capturing your lips in his again. He hums against your mouth, acknowledging you, and you pull away just for a second, and it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, maybe. “We can’t—do this here.”

“This?” he teases. His finger slips into your waistband, taunting.

“Toru—” You don’t mean to say it like that, but you’re short on the breath and the first part of his name gets lost in the air.

“Oh, well, when you ask so nicely,” he murmurs, setting you down, but not letting go of you, like he’ll die if his hands aren’t touching you.

“Hey, sweetheart?” You look at him through lidded eyes, every cell in your body on fire. You’ve been struck by lightning. You might be dying. If this is what dying feels like, you’re ready. “I’m not gonna make it back to my place,” he says lowly. “Or yours.”

Your grin is wide and slow, and genuine.

“Good thing,” you say, pulling him back toward you, “I’ve got an office down the hall.”

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

a/n: okay, team: this is a PSA that this is not really a cliffhanger as much as a fade to black. the sexual content is very much implied and you can do with that what you will, but i do not write smut! only a few more chapters left ahhh

[ikilledyvette]

(Realized I was never gonna finish this long ass 9-1-1 fic before the premiere, so today I’m doing the seriously condensed version for Tumblr—which I still have to break into two parts, ffs.)

It’s Thursday afternoon, three days before Father’s Day, and the atmosphere at the 118 is grim. Gerrard is gone, at least, and everyone celebrated with cake—specifically, a Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead! cake, complete with a chocolate house crushing little black boots—but to everyone’s surprise, Buck isn’t exactly welcoming Bobby home with open arms anymore. He hasn’t forgiven Bobby for resigning in the first place. Making matters worse, Margaret and Philip Buckley are flying in for the weekend. Also, Eddie is depressed because Chris hasn’t called since he left for Texas six weeks ago, and Eddie doesn’t expect to hear from him on Sunday, or possibly ever again.

Hen tells Eddie Christopher will forgive him. “He’ll come home. He just needs a minute.” Eddie says that six weeks is a hell of a minute, but Hen persists. “You’re a good father,” she says, ignoring Eddie’s humorless laugh. “You messed up; I’m not saying you didn’t. But that doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, too. Kids, they want you to hear them. They want you to show up, so when Christopher calls, pick up the phone and listen. You two love each other, Eddie. It’s going to work out.”

But Eddie’s gaze just drifts to the kitchen, where Bobby is quietly looking at the stack of uneaten fire-engine-shaped mini-waffles that Buck refused to eat, even though he’s the one who bought Bobby that ridiculous novelty waffle-maker in the first place

“You ever think maybe love just isn’t enough,” Eddie says, and Hen isn’t sure how to answer that.

*

Meanwhile, Chimney, thankfully, has the day off and is drinking a beer with Tommy. (Hen, left to deal with these weird morose vibes at the 118 by herself, quite rightly considers this a betrayal and has appropriately sworn revenge.) Chimney and Tommy talk a little about their own families: Tommy hasn’t spoken to his dad in years; meanwhile, Chimney finally gave up months ago after actually telling his dad how he really felt about being abandoned. He just needed to hear his father apologize once, just once—but he couldn’t do that, not even that, and Chimney decided enough was enough. 

Tommy, who’s only ever met the Buckley Parents one time (but has quickly clocked to Buck’s wildly shifting moods whenever discussing them), asks Chimney how much of a disaster this weekend is likely to be. Chimney tells Tommy that—apart from big family secrets and the general emotional trauma—every time the Buckleys visit, someone comes close to death: warehouse fire (Buck), lightning strike (Buck), viral encephalitis (Chimney). 

“Maybe don’t go up in a helicopter till they’re gone?” Chimney suggests, and Tommy says, “Jesus,” and gets another beer.

*

Back at the 118, things have gone from bad to worse. A call leads to Buck recklessly risking his own life to save someone. He walks away with only a few bruises, but Bobby yells at him for nearly getting himself killed. Buck snarks that he must still be that young, impulsive hothead after all. Bobby, a bit at a loss, tells Buck that he has come a long way, but he can’t put himself in danger just because he’s angry at Bobby. 

“What is this really about? You can talk to me, kid. I’m here.”

“Right,” Buck says, scornful. “You’re here. For ... how long again? Seven more, I think you said? No—no, you never actually said, did you? That one’s on me. Right, Cap?”

The bell goes off, ending the argument. Bobby tries to talk to Buck again after the shift, but Buck is already out the door. He barely gets any sleep that day before he and Tommy drive over for The Big Family Dinner. Tommy tries to talk Buck into staying home, suggesting they go tomorrow night instead, but Buck insists it will be a Thing if they don’t go.

Dinner goes badly. Margaret and Phillip aren’t intentionally rude or actively malicious, but there’s still a thread of casual biphobia in much of what they say: Evan’s always going through these phases. Well, if it’s not a phase, Evan, you must have known; how could you not? Please don’t misunderstand, Tommy, of course we like YOU. Very much! Yes, Tommy, thank you for your service. We’re just saying, Evan likes to throw us for a loop now and then. Really, Evan, you’ve had so many girlfriends you’re basically straight, aren’t you?

Buck finally loses it shortly after Maddie goes into the other room to check on Jee Yun. Margaret suggests that while she’s happy that Buck and Tommy are happy, of course—happy for now, at least—she’d just hoped Buck would’ve started to settle down by now, get serious about someone, rather than start experimenting. Phillip also jokes that he’d thought Buck had outgrown making bids for attention, and Buck just—snaps. 

“Why did I have to work so hard to get your attention again? Right. Cause it was too hard to look at me. Cause I was the reminder of what you lost, the screwup you got left with. Maybe if Daniel had grown up and turned out bi, you’d—"

—and Margaret slaps Buck across the face. 

It shocks everyone, very much including Margaret, but when Buck finally blinks and glances at his dad, Phillip automatically moves to stand behind his wife, silently taking her side. Buck, a bit dazed, mutters he’s sorry and tells Chimney not to tell Maddie what happened, right before Tommy all but pushes Buck out the door and drives him home.

Buck, still a little shellshocked, mostly can’t believe he said what he said, insists he shouldn’t have gotten that upset, and tries to brush off Tommy’s efforts to comfort him. Tries to get him to leave. Tries to distract him with sex when Tommy refuses to leave. Tommy, not having any of it, sits Buck down and talks a little about his own childhood, how he’d run away from home after his father had found out Tommy was gay, how—broken and bleeding—Tommy had never called, never looked back. Buck protests it’s not the same because Margaret and Philip aren’t abusive, have never hit him before tonight, aren’t really homophobic—at least, not in the same way—and also, Buck deserved that slap. 

“Who throws a dead kid in their parents face?” Buck asks, miserable.

“Someone who lived under the shadow of a brother he never knew about for 30 years?” Tommy asks, then takes Buck’s hand and makes Buck look at him.

“Look, maybe it’s not the same. You’re never going to convince me you deserved it, Evan, not any of it—but what I’m saying is, when people repeatedly hurt you? You don’t have to look back. You don’t have to keep trying. You can, if that’s what you want—but you don’t have to forgive anyone just because they’re family. That’s not what being a family should be. And, for what it’s worth, that includes Bobby, too. Just ... maybe consider what you’re actually angry about—or if it’s even anger you’re really feeling here—before deciding to cut him off for good.” 

Slowly, Buck sinks into Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around him. Kisses him gently just above birthmark.

(Part II is finished, coming tomorrow or the next day)

[pullhisteeth]

wise words | eddie munson

summary Eddie f*cked up (royally) and has to work his ass off to get you back. based on a swift song obviously [4k]

contains 18+! fem!reader, a bit of fuckboy!eddie, angst, arguing, grovelling, hurt/comfort, crying, eventual fluff, suggestive themes/allusions to smut, Robin and Steve being disappointed but supportive pseudo-parents

-

He’s standing on your doorstep.

He’s standing on your doorstep and he’s shaking. Like a fucking leaf.

He looks down at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and thinks, are they good enough?

Am I good enough?

Will anything ever be good enough?

Thick drops of rainwater run down the plastic and coat the pink petals and he resolves that no, they’re not good enough.

He knocked twenty-three seconds ago. He knows this because he’s counting, keeping himself grounded.

Twenty-four Mississippi.

Twenty-five Mississippi.

Twenty-six Miss-

The door swings open quickly, almost impatiently, as though there wasn’t nearly half a minute between the knock and the response.

He looks up and when his eyes meet yours he knows for sure this time that this was a bad idea.

“Are you insane?” you ask him. Concern cuts through the irritation, leaving those creases by your eyebrows he’s so familiar with.

He doesn’t respond, his mind elsewhere. He’s desperately trying to pull it back but it’s running fast, back to yesterday evening.

-

“Eddie, seriously,” Robin says, impatient, “you have to do something. This is getting ridiculous, and besides, she’s crazy about you, even if you did royally fuck up, and- Hey!”

“What Rob means to say,” Steve interjects, giving her a swift and clean elbow to the ribs, “is that you’ve gotta grovel, man.”

“But it’s been so long,” Eddie whines, running his hands over his face, a pattern he has grown accustomed to over the past few months. A fed-up, miserable routine of lamenting his deepest regrets to his patient but equally-as-fed-up friends over beers on the nights you’re too busy to join them. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Here,” Robin says, laying her palms flat on the table, fingers splayed. She pushes herself up, weight on her hands, and leans over Eddie. He stares up at her from behind his own fingers and winces quietly. “You love her, right?”

“Yes,” he responds, voice muffled under the heels of his hands.

“And she loves you-”

“Does she?”

“-and we know this because we’re her friends.”

Eddie’s eyes flit to Steve, whose face is drooping with sympathy. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a Robin Buckley lecture knows the feeling, and he has had his fair share.

“So what you gotta do,” she continues, dipping her head to regain his attention, “is apologise.”

“I tried that-”

“Properly.”

At this he gives in, huffing a sigh and dropping his arms to fold in front of him, quickly enough to catch his head as it drops to the table like an anvil. He hears Robin return to her seat, and then feels gracious fingers on his elbow.

“Eds, man, it’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta fight for it.” It’s Steve, being soft as ever, so desperate to see his two friends happy that he’ll relinquish himself to his affectionate side.

“I want to,” he says, voice muffled again by the denim of his jacket sleeves. “But she deserves better than me.”

“Tell her that,” Robin suggests, voice far softer now. “Tell her you miss her, it’s been a long time, and that you were scared.”

She’s clever, Eddie thinks, pulling that gem out from the archives. On a particularly bad night, maybe two months after it had happened, he’d admitted to them the truth at the heart of all of this: he’s a scared boy, one who resolved while young that he would never fall in love, never let the walls down, for fear that he’d have to endure loss any more than was necessary. Your love had driven him mad and fear had driven him away, and now he avoids three diners and nearly all of the gas stations across Hawkins, schedules doctors appointments at the most inconvenient times and definitely never steps foot in the movie theatre downtown.

“She’ll come around,” Robin tells him kindly. When he lifts his head, eyes regretfully filling with that hopeful spark, she says, “She’s mad, don’t get me wrong. But she’ll come around. You just have some work to do.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Steve says in a cadence that worries Eddie enough to make him lift his head back up again, looking at Steve’s stern expression, “she does deserve better than you.”

“Stop, Steve, seriously-”

“She deserves better than you if you can’t find the fucking courage to go get her back.”

-

Now, standing on your front doorstep, looking at you for the first time in half a year, Eddie knows Steve was right. He doesn’t have the balls to do this; he’s too afraid of rejection, and more specifically rejection from you, and this was a bad idea. You deserve better.

He barely notices when you step one pace to the left, and when you speak your voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out there.”

He moves without thinking too hard, because you’re right - it’s cold as fuck out here and he’s grateful for the humming warmth he can feel coming from inside your home.

“Just stay there, I’m gonna get some towels.”

He feels pathetic, standing in your hallway, dripping wet like a fucking dog, gripping so hard onto the flowers that his knuckles are turning white. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, afraid of getting anything in your house wet, but acutely aware of how stupid he must look.

You come back around the corner with two big bath towels in your arms. They’re white and Eddie feels the burning shame of ruining them but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped and letting you clean up the floor. When your fingers curl around his tense ones he stares at you, at the strange, unreadable look on your face, and feels the jolt of a thousand volts carry down his fingers and into his shoulder. Where your fingers made contact you leave a sensation not unlike carpet burn.

“These are pretty,” you tell him, gently pulling the flowers from his grip. The cellophane crinkles and it slowly brings him back to this, to you, and he nearly chokes on air.

He says your name, a pathetic sound followed by even more pathetic noises, and when you smile, tight-lipped just like him and brows turned down, he cracks, voice failing him as he stumbles.

“Get your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” you say, your face unreadable as ever as you turn on your heels and step back through the open door he knows well. 

You leave him bewildered, like a soldier in the wake of a bomb, but he eventually comes to and does as you say. He debates leaving them outside, to cause you the least bother possible, but decides instead to leave them on one of the towels by the door.

His socks are soggy, slipping on the hardwood as he treads softly through your home. The reaction his gut is having to being here is ugly, so he breathes in slowly through his nose and wipes rainwater off his cheek with the back of his hand.

You’ve got your back to him, standing over the sink. At first he thinks you’re sorting the flowers, the way you always do - wrapping off, stalks trimmed, vase filled - but then he sees that, instead, you’re gripping the porcelain. White-knuckled.

For the first time he gets a look at you, or the back of you at least, because he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard him come around the corner. You’re much the same as before, except for the way you’ve cut your hair, and the fact that he remembers you in pretty sundresses and tennis shoes but it’s December, so you’re bundled in a jumper and sweats.

“I, uh-” He stammers, words catching on the edges of his teeth. He says your name again and watches you flinch. “It’s- It’s been so long, I-”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing and grip loosening. You turn and lean back on the sink with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Just so you know,” he starts, and he can feel it, the fucking sarcastic tone that he can’t seem to shake. It comes out whenever he has to be genuine and it’s like someone else somewhere is pushing his buttons, controlling what comes out of his mouth. “-it’s been the, uh, the longest six months I think... ever.”

You look at him, more than familiar with this tone and this game. 

“Yeah,” you say again.

“I don’t really know how to-”

“Eddie,” you bite, words like venom. “Can I ask you a question?”

As he nods his head, a little bemused, you gesture to the kitchen table. He catches on and sits at the chair closest to the door as you mirror him on the chair opposite.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

You rest your crossed arms on the table and lean on them, peering at him.

He breathes in slowly.

“To apologise.”

You scoff and he flinches, recoiling at the sound.

“And how’s this one gonna be different to the other hundred apologies?” You spit the word, as though it bears no meaning. At this point, and when it comes to Eddie, it almost doesn't.

That’s fair, he thinks.

-

“You are such a fucking jackass, Eddie Munson,” Robin barks, raising her arms in defeat. She’s pacing the aisles of Family Video while he sits on the counter and Steve loiters behind it, sorting tapes. “A jackass, seriously!”

“I get it, Rob, thanks,” he drones.

“No,” she snaps, feet finally finished being aimless and instead marching her over to him. She stands somewhere close to between his knees and if it weren’t Robin and she weren’t about to grill him for all he’s worth, it might be endearing.

She jabs her index finger into his chest, straight to the centre of his sternum.

“You’re a piece of shit. An asshole. A douchebag. And I’m allowed to call you all of these things because it’s me who gets the phone calls at two in the morning when she’s crying over you. Again.”

He drops his gaze, his hair covering her wrist and his face.

“Why’d you do it, dude?” Steve asks from behind him. “Like… I just don’t see the… Goal, or whatever.”

Eddie groans and tips his head back, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling tiles.

He wonders for a brief moment, before answering, why the two of them are still friends with him. Clearly his end goal is being as inaccessible as possible, keeping everyone at such a far distance at all times that he can never feel remorse, or that he’s letting anyone down. But now he’s here, with his friends, and he’s let them down and, worst of all, let you down, too. More than ever.

“I was trying to make it better,” he says, and the jab to the sternum comes harder this time, and is the full brunt of Robin’s fist rather than her finger.

“That is bullshit,” she says.

“I was!” he maintains, exasperated. “I just… I started trying to explain myself and I just couldn’t tell the truth.”

“So instead you told her you never want to see her again?!”

“I-”

“How does that help literally anything?!”

Robin’s right, of course. She’s always right; too smart for her own good, Eddie’s always thought. But he doesn’t have an answer for her.

“She’s better off that way anyway,” he says, sighing.

-

He blinks at you, studying your stern expression, before answering.

“I wanna be honest with you,” he begins, “like, actually this time. And I know it’s been ages and that I have been…”

“Awful,” you suggest.

“Yeah, awful-”

“An asshole. The worst. Evil. Cruel. Mean.”

“Right,” he says, nodding limply. “Yeah. That.”

You lean back, arms still crossed like armour.

“I want to get this right,” he admits, surprising himself, “and I’m trying to work out how.”

You also seem taken aback by this, brows raising just a bit, your eyes going wide. You don’t say anything, though.

“I want you to know how sorry I am,” he continues. He’s sitting rigid in his seat and can’t find something to occupy his fingers, so he begins twisting a ring around one of them. “But, like, I don’t know how to get that across… The flowers were, uh, step one, and this is step two… I, uh…”

He’s stumbling again, searching for the words in a sea of insecurity and unsteadiness. You wait, sitting still and breathing shallow.

“I think I- I was scared.”

“Of what?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He was expecting a vast silence that he would have to fill with pleas, excuses, sorries and truths. He thought you’d leave him to it and let him down slowly at the end.

“Uh, of you. Of us, I guess.”

“What?”

He leans forward finally, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to-”

“Try,” you say flatly.

He looks up at you, unsure.

“Try to explain it. You haven’t even tried.”

Deep, heavy breath in.

-

“Eddie, you can’t, I don’t-”

“Fucking stop it,” he bites, arrowhead words ripping you open.

“I don’t understand,” you try again, voice thick with tears and your throat closing in. In fact, everything is closing in.

He’s leaving.

“Exactly,” he spits, pulling his shirt on. “Just… I’m going.”

“But-”

He’s out of the door, jacket in arm, before you can protest any further. Your mind is racing, spinning out in search of something that you could have done to fix this, or else something you could have done to cause this.

But you’re coming up empty, because you’d spent the day the same as any other day this summer: in your bed, entwined, wayward fingers and lazy kisses. Sweet nothings splashed in whispers across bare skin, and-

Oh, you think. Oh.

-

“When you said you loved me,” he begins, wincing at his own honesty, “I just… I freaked, it was scary. I… Honestly, the main problem here is that I was fucking scared. I am scared. I don’t know how to… How to love, or whatever… How to do it right and not hurt you, or me, or both of us. I’m useless, it’s why I’ve never bothered before and I knew, even before we started hooking up, that-”

“Hooking up?”

He looks at you, pulling his eyes back from their wandering, to find you bitter and your face contorted in disgust.

“You call that hooking up?”

“I mean- I-”

“If you think we were hooking up, that’s bad enough, Eddie. Hook ups don’t last three months.”

“No,” he sighs. “They don’t. I think I’m… Trying to make myself feel better about it.”

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him, and though it’s cutting and it should hurt, your voice is so kind so suddenly that he can’t help but lean into it, tugging gently on the hands of care it extends to him. “You left me, after months of stringing me along. I was basically your girlfriend, without the labels or whatever. There isn’t another word for what we were.”

“No,” he agrees, dwelling for a moment too long on those moments of domesticity, the quiet mornings drinking coffee on your front lawn, the afternoons spent hanging the laundry and throwing stray socks at one another. “And that was fucking scary. I was way too scared, when you said you loved me that morning, way too scared to admit what I really, really wanted.”

“Which was?” you ask, arms still firmly crossed.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You know what I-”

“Say it.”

“You-

“Say it.”

He breathes, defeated, and looks at you dead in the eye.

“I love you,” he tells you. “I loved you then, and I love you now, and I have no idea what to do about it.”

You deflate, your arms going lax, face surprised as though you didn’t expect him to actually do it, to rise to your challenge and be honest. For a flash, he feels smug, but then he remembers-

“I love you,” he repeats - the feeling of the words rolling off his tongue is unbearable, they’re too heavy, they won’t stop falling - “but you deserve better than me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in frustration.

“Why are you here then?”

“What?”

“If I deserve better than you,” you repeat, finally releasing the tightness of your crossed arms and planting your palms on your knees, “why are you here? To torture me? Not satisfied with the last six fucking months, huh?”

“No, I-”

“Well, Eddie-” You spit his name like it’s gone bad and it twists something inside him. “-I’m fucking fed up of you and your… How mean you are. You’re always so mean to me and I hate that I cried over you for weeks-”

-

The door swings open and Robin rushes inside, expression tight with fear and worry.

She calls your name in a tone that drips affection as she rounds on you, where you’re standing with your weight on the wall and a hand over your face. By now it’s puffy and uncomfortable, your cheeks raw from wiping them with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“What happened?” she asks, holding you like you’re about to break and moving you across your house to the couch. “Did you argue? Or-”

“He left, Robs. Just left.” You sigh and it heaves like you’re sat under a crate of bricks. Robin’s heart aches, nearly cracks in two at the sight of you and the fury she feels for her stupid, good-for-nothing metalhead friend.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, wrapping you up in strong arms. As she rocks you, you cry, and she kisses the crown of your head and tells you, without much belief in it herself, that it’ll be okay.

“Steve’s on his way,” she says after ten or fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“We’re gonna stay here,” she says quickly, “just for tonight.”

You look at her, eyes glassy, and as you speak your voice cracks. “I love him, Rob.”

She looks back at you sadly, fingers gripping your hands. “I know.”

-

You’re on your feet now, pacing back and forth and he’s watching, transfixed, as your shoulders move up and down, powered by rage, understandably.

“-I cried so much because I had spent weeks working up the courage to say that to you, to admit it to you and to myself because you’re so cold, Eddie. You’re so cold and distant and I still managed to fall in love with you.”

It’s at this point that Eddie’s drifting eye, which is following you back and forth, lands on the cluster of picture frames on your windowsill. He recognises most of them - photos of the group of you, up by the lake or in Chicago, some of your family and others at special occasions. But one of them calls to him loud enough to pull his eye from you completely.

It’s a silly frame he found at the thrift store. It’s hand-painted in gaudy colours, brush strokes in swirls and bursts of yellow and purple and green. And behind the glass is a picture Wayne had taken one day when you were at his trailer, watching movies on the couch.

It’s a polaroid, as most of your photos are, bright cracks of colour and light caused by the window right by his head - his head which is looking straight ahead, big wide grin and happy eyes, and you beside him, hands on one of his thighs, pushing yourself up to kiss his cheek.

It’s only when you stop pacing and, more noticeably, stop talking that he realises anything is wrong. His face is wet and there are new drops of water on the table - not the drying rainwater from his hair, but one or two drips from his jaw.

“Are you crying?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“Huh?” He asks, wiping his face with his wrist. “I, uh… Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just-”

His eyes flicker upwards and past you, to somewhere you follow with your own gaze. It lands on the photo and you start, cheeks flushing warm.

Suddenly, the anger lingering in the room, filling the air and his lungs and almost definitely yours, dissipates. It doesn’t disappear as such - you’re still seething, breathing loudly, but it’s like someone cracked a whip and the dust lifted.

He calls your name and you look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you earnestly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe out slowly and he watches your chest deflate as you take a step to sit back down. As you sit he rises, stepping over to you on unsure feet. He’s tentative, waiting - expecting - an adverse reaction.

You watch him as he gets closer and lowers himself to the ground.

“You are not about to-”

“I’m not getting on my knees, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” he says, and his tone is light - too light for his liking, but he catches the twitch in the corner of your mouth and something warm blooms in one of the chambers of his heart.

He squats beside you, resting his weight on one hand on the table. He keeps the other to himself, fingers spread over his bent knee.

“I’m an asshole. In fact, I’ve been all of those things you said, and I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough for you. But I… I’ve had all this time, and some… intense conversations with Rob and Steve, and I… I want to try to be sorry enough. Or to just make it up to you, somehow. Because I can’t… It’s too hard, doing all of this without you.”

He knows how this must look, him on the ground, soggy socks and soggier hair, staring at you like a lost puppy. But the way your eyes soften, and the familiar feeling of the brush of your fingertips over the damp skin of his bare wrist, is enough to make him go limp.

“What’d they say?” you ask him, watching your own fingers where they trace aimless strokes.

“Hm?”

“Rob and Steve. What’d they say?”

He laughs lightly, embarrassed.

“Uh, that I’m an asshole. In fact, Rob, she made sure to tell me that multiple times. Basically every time I saw her. And Steve, he… He’s such a good dude, you know? But I… I disappointed them, and myself, and you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know where to put all this guilt I have.”

Neither of you are looking at one another, but you chuckle, thinking about Robin. Her loyalty makes your head spin. And Steve, with his heart of gold, who held you all those times you cried and fought silently between his anger at Eddie and his love for you.

“I love them,” you whisper, your fingers halting. The pad of your thumb hovers over the protruding joint, stroking it softly until you feel the thrum of his pulse under your own. Your fingers wrap the opposite way, until you’re holding his arm like a bracelet.

You squeeze and he sucks a quick breath in.

“You really hurt me, Eddie,” you tell him, lifting his arm off the table. He wobbles and uses his free hand to steady himself on your chair, the knuckle of his thumb meeting the side of your thigh for just a second. You manoeuvre his hand into your lap, where you lay it flat. You both stare at it and all he can hear is your breathing and the rush of blood past his ears.

“I know I did,” he says. “I can go, if you want.”

You hum and begin tracing the lines on his palm. “It’s gonna take a while,” you say.

“What is?”

“Making it up to me.”

His eyes move without permission to your face, where he finds a barely-there smile and the beginnings of the crows feet by your eyes.

“Forever,” he says, knowing you’re right - it’ll take a long, long time.

“Forever.”

“I must’ve been crazy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?”

Your fingers are still now, resting on his, and he finally moves his own. His knees are burning from squatting and the balls of his feet are digging into something sharp under the linoleum, but he’s not thinking too hard about any of it. He takes your hands in his and holds them, backs of your palms to the front of his. He dips his head and kisses your left wrist and then your right, lingering to feel the thump of your heart.

“I am crazy,” he says. “I let you go.”

“You left me,” you correct him. “I never wanted to go.”

He looks up at you and pales when he sees the tears. Your eyes are wet and red round the edges and he thinks to himself that you’ve been doing this, crying over him, for six months. And it’s his fault.

The two of you move quickly and without thought. His knees buckle, giving into the strain he’s been putting on them for so long, and as he hits the floor he tightens his grip on you without meaning to. You’re pulled off your chair with a yelp and a clatter, landing in his lap with your knee dangerously close to his crotch.

Hands paw and wipe tears and you lift your leg to plant it beside him. As you stabilise yourself his arms come around you, too quickly at first; so quick he worries you’ll push him off, tell him to go fuck himself. They’re met by yours, though, coming around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

You say nothing, and instead push your face further into his shoulder.

He feels and hears you sniffling, so he pulls you back gently. Some of his hair sticks to your face and you wipe your nose unceremoniously with the back of your hand, scoffing at him when you see he’s smiling at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him, looking away.

“Like what?”

“Like… That.”

“I don’t-”

“You have that look,” you say, groaning. And then you reach up to hold his face, and he caves, bowing into you in every way he can. “You’re so fucking pretty and it’s the worst.”

“You’re one to talk,” he tells you, enjoying the way you flush.

“Always the charmer.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Never seen anyone as pretty as you.”

He leans into your palm and twists just so, lips brushing the heel of it in a quick kiss.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you tell him, your smile deceiving you only slightly.

“I know,” he says. “But it might help me.”

You’ve been inching closer to his face, and now you’re all he sees. You’ve taken up his field of vision, your breath brushing past the end of his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Wow,” you laugh, “Steve taught you how to be a gentleman since I last saw you or somethin��?”

“Stop- You’re ruining this.”

“Sorry,” you say, still laughing. “You were just never the kind to be so… chivalrous.”

“I’m hardly being chivalrous,” he says, matching your smile. “But now you mention it, yeah, actually.”

You lean back only slightly but it’s enough to make him deflate, unhappy at the new distance.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was an asshole, as we’ve established. Needed to learn my manners again.”

“What did he say?”

“Can we please talk about this later? I just wanna-”

“No,” you say, grinning now. “I want to know.”

He groans, the hand he has spread across your back to hold you up tensing.

“I dunno, he just… He really did a number on me, y’know, telling me how I did everythin’ wrong and that I…”

He’s gone coy and you’re relishing in it.

“You what?”

“I… Steve called me a fuckboy.”

You bark out a laugh so loud Eddie flinches, but then he watches as you carry on laughing, nearly bent double, eyes all crinkled just the way he likes, the way he’s missed terribly.

“What’s so funny?!”

“It’s true,” you say. “It’s so true! Robin, Steve, I mean, we love you, obviously, you’re our friend, but like… They did say when you and me started, y’know… That I was in for it, that you’d break my heart, and I told them they were crazy ‘cause it was just sex, right? But then I realised maybe it wasn’t just sex, when you basically started living here, and we were more like… I dunno, like a couple… But they were right!”

He looks at you, aghast.

“They told you all of that?”

“Yeah! I mean, they were right, huh?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad, that they’d be able to notice that kinda thing.”

“You know,” you say, fingers tapping patterns up his chest. “Steve told me somethin’ else, a few months back.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, mind reeling through the thousands of things this could be.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “Well, it’s not one of the bad things. There were still bad things.”

“Right.”

“He said… He said he’s known you for, what, like three years now? And in all that time, before you and me met, you’d always have different girls, were known as a bit of a player at school…”

“Christ, okay.”

“But after you left me, Steve said he’d never seen you be so… Alone.”

Eddie looks at you in shock, so frightened by what else Steve may have said, but also by how you’re relaying this to him. Calm, stoic, unfeeling.

“I mean… I haven’t, y’know, slept with anyone else, if that’s what you-”

“I know,” you say. “I just… It makes it feel more real, you know?”

“I know I’m gonna be spending the rest of my life making sure you know I’m sorry,” he says, breathing out through his nose slowly, “but I mean it. I’ll do it. For the rest of my life. There isn’t anyone else. I’ll forego women, relationships, whatever… ‘Cause I won’t have time. Will be too busy makin’ it up to you.”

He noses at your neck, trying with everything he has to hold himself back from kissing you. The air around the two of you feels thick with laboured breaths and unsaid things - so many unsaid things, things he’ll tell you one day and other things he’s sure he’ll hear from you.

“So can I?” he murmurs into the warm skin above your collarbone, lips only a hair from making contact.

He feels your fingers come around the back of his neck, taking root at the nape where his hair starts. They curl around it, tugging him up, and then you do the dance - the one that always happened between the two of you in these moments. You dip in, so close, and back out, ebbing like a riverbank. It drives him crazy and he knows that you know it, so he smiles, and it’s only then that you finally kiss him.

As you move against him, lips and hands and chest and thighs, he lets his eyes close and his tongue move with yours, and thinks that this - kissing you - is much better when he’s being honest.

-

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Loss/A Good Horse

Part 9ish. Read Morning After first!!!

Masterpost

Author's Note: A bonus chapter this week. Disclaimer: all main characters, including Whiskey, are FINE. That being said, this is written in memoriam for a friend's horse who was recently lost entirely too young. The horse world isn't easy on the body or on the heart, but we do it anyways.

---

“Gale? Honey?”

He hears Marge’s voice echoing down the aisleway, searching for him. He hasn’t yet decided if he wants to be found, but he knows he won’t push Marge away when she does find him.

He isn’t hard to find, after all, for those who know where to look.

He’s sitting in the back corner of Whiskey’s stall, on top of a quite frankly absurd amount of bedding, with his legs crossed in front of him and hay stuck to his clothes. He’s always sought out the same general hideaway since he was a child, for as long as Marge has known him. A horse’s stall has always been his safe space, the place he goes when the world hurts too much. 

Whiskey is laying down in the bedding in front of him, her huge head in his lap like a dog. Her ears flick back and forth whenever she hears a bird or a voice or a footstep, but she stays right where she is. She knows her job: to take care of her person.

Everyone always says that geldings are less temperamental than mares. That they’re kinder and sweeter and more playful. More forgiving. More reliable. More loving. Sometimes, these qualities might even make them more trainable.

Gale doesn’t necessarily disagree with these statements, but he also knows they’re lacking nuance. Mares pick their people; that’s why many riders won’t call themselves a “mare person” – if a mare doesn’t pick you, she might not perform for you, and some people can’t stand that. But Gale knows better. If a good mare picks you as her person, there is nothing she won’t do for you. She will go to war with you. She will protect you. A good mare can tell how you’re feeling from the way your breath leaves your chest. She can read your mind, know what you want from her before you even have a chance to ask. A good mare will try her damn best to do everything right by you and she will never give up and she will never let you down. A good mare will work hard. She will love hard.

She will love you with everything she has.

Whiskey chose Gale as her person seven years ago. She can sense what he’s feeling by the set of his shoulders, by the tone of his voice, by the nearly imperceptible tremor in his hands. He’s sad. He’s angry. He’s grieving. So she grieves with him.

Gale absently strokes his hand over Whiskey’s big ear, feeling the soft hair against his skin. She blinks up at him, huffing hot breath against his leg, and he smiles sadly, fighting the tears in his eyes. He can hear Marge’s footsteps coming closer.

For all that talk about a good mare, that doesn’t mean Gale doesn’t love his gelding just as much.

It doesn’t mean he didn’t love his gelding just as much.

Marge pokes her head into Whiskey’s stall, and she looks like she might cry, too. “Oh, honey,” she sighs when she sees Gale. She opens the stall door and goes inside to sit down next to him. She just leans back against the wall, looking straight ahead. She squeezes her eyes shut when Gale’s hand, the one that isn’t petting Whiskey’s face, seeks hers out, and she twines their fingers together on top of her knee. 

“Benny told me,” she says.

“I figured.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I-“ Gale doesn’t have words. There’s no words that can possibly encompass this feeling. This loss. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

Marge feels her heart breaking, tearing at the seams for her best friend, practically a brother to her. “Sweetie, no. No. There is nothing that could’ve kept this from happening.”

Gale knows that. Somewhere. But it doesn’t change the fact that his heart has been ripped out of his chest, reshaped with a missing piece, and shoved haphazardly back in. He needs someone to blame, and there’s no one but himself. 

“Gale,” Marge says, her voice sad and pleading. “Look at me.”

He does. He bites nervously at his lower lip, trying to hold himself together.

“It’s not your fault,” Marge insists, squeezing his hand. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just… it’s just awful, awful luck.”

Gale nods dumbly. Luck. That’s what took his gelding away from him.

Apollo. The sweet little gelding that Gale had been bringing along. The same horse that colicked right before Gale flew to the Games. The one he stayed up with all night, making sure he was okay. The one that had landed him on that plane with John Egan.

It happened again. He started showing severe colic symptoms in the middle of the night stateside, and the barn staff did everything they could. By the time the vet made it, it was probably already too late. They’d called Gale, asking if he wanted them to try the surgery, and he’d said yes. But the horse died on the table.

And Gale wasn’t there.

Sometimes Gale wonders if the heartache of this sport is worth it. It’s taken years off his life, he’s sure. Raising and training a horse is like dedicating your existence to trying to keep together an animal that's intent on finding new ways to tear itself apart. They always find new ways to hurt themselves or get sick or otherwise need special attention and care. Every day it’s something new with these horses, and losing one isn’t like simply losing a pet. It’s losing a partner, losing a child. 

But then Gale looks into Whiskey’s eyes, and he knows. It is worth it. It has to be. Every single second. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Marge squeezes his hand again, a silent I’m here, and he squeezes back. But she knows her friend. “Do you want to be alone?”

He nods wordlessly. He just needs to sit here with Whiskey and grieve. So she kisses him on the cheek, stands up, and she leaves him be.

“Marge?” he says softly as she closes the stall door behind her. She looks back over at him, a silent question. He meets her eyes. “I was supposed to meet John for lunch.” He’s late. And the thought of Bucky standing alone, wondering where Gale is, drives another spike through his chest. He feels empty. So tired and defeated. He doesn’t have the words or the energy to explain this cruel twist of fate to a man that he loves too deeply for such a short amount of time and yet who he isn’t convinced will stay. 

He doesn’t know if that’s unfair to John, or maybe unfair to himself.

Marge nods. “It’s okay,” she tells him. “I’ll let him know. He’ll understand.”

And Gale knows that he will. 

–

Gale doesn’t look up again until a good hour later, when a shadow blocks the light streaming into the stall from the windows in the aisleway. Whiskey stood back up some time ago and is munching on hay in the opposite corner, but Gale hasn’t moved. He’s just been watching her, worried that if he takes his eyes off of her, she’ll leave him, too. 

When he was just a kid, no older than ten, one of his father’s horses broke a leg. She was a lovely little Appaloosa mare, about 15 years old. She was the sweetest thing, one of the first horses Gale himself learned to ride on. He loved that mare to pieces, and he thinks she loved him back. 

The thing about Gale is he spends so much time acting unemotional, like nothing phases him, when in reality, he feels too much. It’s how he’s always been, since he was a kid. He loves hard, and he cares deeply. Neither of those traits were valued by his father. 

So when that pretty little mare that Gale loved so much broke her leg, Gale knew what his dad was going to do. He watched his dad take the rifle out of the safe and walk outside, towards the barn. And hell if Gale didn’t throw himself at that man, grabbing at his arm and begging him not to do it like that. Begging him not to stand that mare by a tree and look her in the eye, so scared and innocent and in pain, and put a bullet through her head. 

His dad had tried to throw him off, to shove him away, saying “this is the best thing for her. Quick and easy.”

But little Gale Cleven could not fathom doing that to any animal, no matter the reason, especially one who was loved so deeply. So he begged. 

He begged and begged and begged even though he was certain he’d get a beating for it later. He tried to pull the gun away with his little hands, tried to block the stall door, cried even though he knew his dad hated tears. 

He threw his arms around that horse’s neck, and he begged. 

To his surprise, his dad looked at Gale, his son who loved too deeply and cared too much, and he sighed. He set down the gun. He called the vet, even though the house call fee alone was exorbitant. 

Gale watched, trying not to cry too much and failing miserably, as the mare was humanely put down, and that was one of the few kindnesses his father ever afforded him. Gale didn’t even get a beating later. All he got was his father’s hand on his shoulder, the words “I’m sorry, son,” ringing in his ears. 

That was the only time Gale’s father ever did that. The next horse that had to be euthanized, he said he couldn’t afford the vet fee, no matter how much Gale protested. Gale learned to say his goodbyes first, and ride off into the mountains so he didn’t have to watch, a gunshot echoing behind him. 

That’s what Gale is thinking about, a sick feeling in his stomach as he stares at Whiskey, when that shadow appears. He frowns and squints at the silhouette on the other side of the stall door. “What are you doing here?”

“Marge called me.” Bucky gives a weak smile, motioning to the latch on the door. “Can I come in?”

Gale wants to snap. Say that he just needs to be alone. That he can’t deal with this right now. But one look at John, and he knows that isn’t quite true. The truth is, Gale doesn’t know what he needs. He hasn’t felt this small since he was just a bruised and banged up kid trying to break his way out of Wyoming. So instead he nods silently.

Bucky settles down beside Gale, where Marge had sat an hour ago. But instead of taking his hand, instead of just silently being by his side, Bucky wraps an arm around him and pulls him close, and that’s when Gale breaks.

He tucks himself against Bucky and cries against his shoulder, fingers clutching too tightly to the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He shakes as he tries not to make too much noise, hearing his father’s voice – quit cryin’ boy, you’re too old for that. But small gasping sobs tear out of his throat here and there anyways, making him flinch in anticipation of a reprimand that won’t come. 

Instead Bucky’s other hand moves up to cup the back of Gale’s head, stroking his hair soothingly and pulling him closer. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Gale mumbles, sniffling against Bucky’s neck. He’s embarrassing himself. 

Bucky shakes his head and presses his lips into Gale’s hair. “Don’t be sorry. I’m right here with you, darlin'.” The kindness makes Gale lose control that little bit more, choking on a sob as he clings tighter and tighter to Bucky. Bucky just keeps running his hand over Gale’s hair, calm as can be, as he whispers “You’re okay. You’re okay,” and holds Gale through it. 

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” he says. 

When Gale eventually pulls away and settles back against the wall, still sniffling quietly, he looks up at the rafters above. Bucky looks at him. 

“Sorry,” Gale says again. 

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Gale shrugs. “Crying’s not somethin’ that was accepted in my family,” he admits. 

Bucky sighs and strokes the sweaty hair back away from Gale’s face. “Look at me, Buck.” Gale does, and Bucky tries to force every ounce of sincerity he can into his expression. “Do not apologize for that. Okay? You have no reason to apologize.”

Gale can’t really fully comprehend that right now, but he nods anyways to make Bucky happy, and he thinks maybe he can learn to understand what Bucky’s trying to tell him. If Bucky will stay. 

They sit in silence for a while. Bucky is once again struck by the fact that they’ve only known each other for a matter of weeks, and barely that. They talk and laugh and kiss and comfort each other in a way that feels so familiar, like they’ve known each other for years. And yet there’s so much about one another that they don’t know. So much beneath the surface, slowly clawing its way up in bits and pieces that reveal themselves all out of order. 

Bucky wants so badly to know more. It hurt, the way Gale flinched every time he so much as made a sound as he cried in Bucky’s arms. As if he expected to be punished for it, as if he expected Bucky to be angry with him for being devastated by a devastating loss. 

But he watches Gale watching Whiskey, and all he can do is keep his arm wrapped over Gale’s shoulders, holding him close, and try to reassure him that whatever he’s feeling, it’s alright. 

“Tell me about him,” Bucky says. “The horse.”

Gale is quiet for a long time, and Bucky thinks he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, Bucky thinks. He’ll just sit here as long as Gale needs and they can talk or they can just be quiet, listening to the sounds of Gale’s mare still very much alive and well. That’s fine. 

But then Gale’s mouth tries to do this thing where it frowns and quirks up in a smile at the same time, and Bucky is fascinated by it. He gently plays with the soft hair curling at Gale’s nape, trying to offer comfort. 

“His name was Apollo,” Gale says. His voice is carefully controlled, but Bucky can hear the faint tremor in it. “He was only four. This absolutely beautiful bay Thoroughbred. Harding and I bought him as a yearling, planned to bring him up the levels and maybe get him here someday. He had so much potential, John.”

“How can you tell, that young?” Bucky asks. He’s worried for a second that he shouldn’t have asked, should’ve just sat and listened, but Gale looks at him, and he looks sad. But his eyes are also so full of love. 

“The way they move. The way they look at you. The way they’re built. There’s so much you can know about a horse before you even get on them.” Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of listening to Gale talk about horses, because his voice changes, when he does. He sounds open and joyful with this wistful, loving look, like he’s endlessly in awe of them even when he's falling apart. “They tell you everything you need to know if you know know how to listen.”

Gale leans his head against Bucky, and it makes Bucky feel warm. He’s never had this before, someone who looked to him for comfort like this. But holding Gale like this feels so natural, and for a second they aren’t in Paris. They’re not at the Olympics. The world isn’t expecting great things from either of them. They’re just them. 

Two people, sharing a moment, sharing a loss. 

Gale sighs. “He was a real good horse. Not like Whiskey, but damn close. We could see when he was just a year old, he had this incredible trot. Looked like he was floating. And he was the sweetest thing. I loved him immediately, and…” he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I started riding him a year ago, when he turned three. And I was right, John. He was perfect. He moved so beautifully. He wanted to do the work. He wanted to learn. He was-“

Gale shakes his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I know.” Bucky knows too well, and his heart breaks for Gale. “It’s not fair.”

"If I’d stayed with him-"

“No,” Bucky says, echoing Marge’s words. “It’s not your fault, Buck. It’s not.”

They sit quietly, and every once in a while Gale says something else about Apollo. 

“He liked sour patch kids.”

“I think he would’ve been a great jumper.” 

“He had the softest ears.”

“The first time I asked him to canter he bucked me off and then stood over me like ‘what the fuck dude.’”

“He was a damn good horse.”

And sometimes he laughs the littlest bit as he talks, a wet, bubbling little noise that breaks through the sadness in his voice. “Ridiculous creatures,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

Bucky isn’t sure if he should, but he repeats the words that Gale said to him before: “A miracle they’ve made it this far.”

Gale nods, every possible emotion coursing through his body and showing plain as day on his face. Love and sadness, anger, pain, grief, joy for what he had. “But I’m damn glad they did,” he sighs.

I love him, Bucky thinks. I love him. 

“Thank you for being here,” Gale says quietly, after they’ve sat in that stall watching Whiskey putter about for who knows how long.

“Of course,” Bucky says. Of course he’s here. Of course he wants to be here. Of course he feels far too many emotions about the fact that, of all people, Gale wants him to be here. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter one

live to rise series

one: they'll find you, burn you

series masterlist | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths, many minor character deaths, Din has hearing loss, angst by the bucket, Din Djarin takes the helmet off (kind of)

Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s morning when the news breaks.

By lunch, datapads are discarded in favor of gossip. It’s as useless as the Imperial rags parading as official broadcasts—all speculation and slander.

While the details of the Mandalorians’ final stand for their homeworld circulate above, the stiff air of the lower complex is thick with the question: to whose barracks will the fallen king be assigned?

You know the answer. Your datapad had pinged early, much before your day should have begun. Much before the news went live across the galaxy.

Cell C-5 had been scrubbed clean on your perennially bruised knees the day before when Dup, a young Gungan whose face was bruised as if he’d already gone a round, had failed to return from the arena.

He had been brought in late the previous night, shaking and weeping and not speaking a lick of Basic. Those were the hardest. There was no comfort, no preparation, no honor you could give them.

He didn’t return after his first battle.

It was the way of things. Many never saw a second sunrise.

As caretaker for Barrack Cresh, whether your fighters eat, drink, bathe, get medical attention and fresh clothing, or, well, anything, falls on you.

So you stocked C-5 with the basics, but the Mandalorian King’s file is barren when your clearance arrives. You bristle at the lack of biodata. How are you supposed to provide proper clothing or order his dinner?

It becomes obvious when he arrives that evening.

You’re not.

It’s past curfew when they bring him in, and normally, you’d be in bed. But one of yours had come back a few minutes earlier from the medbay and you know the state they usually return in, so you’re in C-2 with the door shut.

The ex-Rebel pilot, Gino, doesn’t argue as you dab the shallow cuts on his face with an alcohol swab, but he does flinch when you tug the split skin on his calf together like a stubborn bedsheet to apply suture tape. They had used just enough bacta for his serious injuries and left the rest to bleed.

“Sorry,” you hiss, but it’s lost in the pneumatics of the door.

Gino is on his feet immediately, shushing you with a finger to his lips. You can’t risk being seen through the little window, so he minds your space as you flatten to the ground and peek through the delivery slot.

At first, all you can see are boots. So many boots. And among the shiny black rubber is the oddest pair of worn brown leather. It’s been so long since you saw anyone in shoes but the guards; your stomach churns with fear.

Gino taps at your head, and you let him help you up to peek once they’re past the cell.

It’s the Mandalorian. There are five of the Moff’s personal guards in their black kits restraining him, and they still have to jab him with an electrostave in order to shut the cell door fast enough.

He’s snarling, the modulator of his helmet warping and crackling the terrible cacophony. He’s also huge, and the strip of lights shines off his dark armor like someone took a handful of the night sky and smudged it across the wall of the cell.

You brush away the errant question of how much of his bulk is the armor and how much he comes by naturally. You’ll find out tomorrow, like everyone else.

The hype alone ensures a sold-out arena. The officers and their simpering spouses and sycophants are salivating for the battle—or at least for the profits.

The headlines fill seats to a swarming mass, everyone vying to see the latest and shiniest trophy.

He won’t be shiny for long.

Not after they strip away the beskar that protects one of—if not the last of—the “galaxy’s greatest warriors” and see if he’s worth anything underneath.

They don’t expect him to survive. They don’t want him to, really. They want to crush the will of any who would still defy the Empire. A very public, humiliating execution is the Moff’s wet dream.

The Mandalorian is gone before your morning rounds, dragged up to the arena’s cage to watch his fate play out on the faces of others. Either end is the same, really.

And if he survives, it won’t matter. Sure, prisoners can earn their freedom through a percentage of the money they bring in from wagers, or they can die trying.

But no fighter has made it out alive. Not even close.

You’re close, though. Not that you’re in an arena contract. But you’re nearing the end of the third year in a five-year indentured servitude sentence, and it carries a lower fatality rate.

Which isn’t saying much, really. It would be hard to have a higher fatality rate than the fighters.

There are twelve of you and ten barracks, not counting the fluctuating number of sponsored champions who have private accommodations.

Sixty standard fighters, never more or less as the sun rises.

Sometimes, you return to six empty cells.

Only once have you found your flock all home. You fell to your knees and cried right then, bringing acrid dread to a boil as you knew it would never, ever happen again.

Just three days ago, Din Djarin had stood in the grand hall at Keldabe, knowing it would be the last time.

It was still. Silent. Not yet in the chaos of war, but just on the edge, as when rainfall is a distant specter and the uneasiness cloisters in your lungs.

He takes in the art behind the throne with quiet reverence, eyes following the sharp lines and bold colors, the stories of their ancestors dutifully and beautifully eternalized.

The shame creeps up his neck again, but he shrugs it off. It will work. He’s known for his tight and effective strategy, and his advisors had agreed to the plan.

He only hoped the Ka’ra would accept his soul into the Manda all the same. That the blood of his brethren wouldn’t deny him the peace that he ached for.

He thinks once more of Grogu, breathes through the pain, and then clears his mind.

Turning from the throne, he strides to the grand windows—to Paz. With hands clasped behind his back, he follows his general’s focus to the TIE fighters breaking through the atmosphere.

Troopers are within the walls. The Destroyers won’t be long, now.

“Vod,” Din begins, angling toward Paz.

“Do not deal me the insult of an out,” Paz snaps.

“I would never,” Din says, throat cinching around the words. “It’s an honor to have you at my side.”

Paz dips his head. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, ner Mand’alor.”

Din knows he speaks true. Though they may not have always gotten along, they were still vod. Still loyal, until death.

Death they now stood on the brink of.

Outside, the fleet falls fast. Din grimaces as their ships careen to the surface and crush the city into crumbs. Fire spreads, and he has to pretend the homes are empty. That everyone got out in time.

The Empire assumes each Kom’rk-class fighter is full of Mandalorians waiting to drop into battle. They target them with glee, thinking they’ve devastated the sky and ground teams in one fell swoop.

But each ship has only a pilot. A pilot who climbed into the cockpit knowing they would certainly die. Willing to take the place of their vod.

Mando’ad draar digu. They will live on in him until he draws his last. More importantly, they will live on in their families, who—if he’s done anything right—will live far beyond him.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Din says.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Paz echoes.

They are to be the last words spoken to one another.

Inside the palace, the fight leaves no breath for such things. Not that they need it; their movements are fluid and equal.

It takes half the platoon to take Paz down and the other to take Din.

Unlike his vod, they do not grant him a warrior’s death.

In the arena, they’ve left him in the armor as he paces the cage. Every moment with it spurns the barb deeper in his gut, the terror turning terrifying as his rage becomes a tsunami.

The fights are nothing. The Imps who thought he’d be intimidated by them have clearly never seen an average Mandalorian brawl. These ended with a little more finality and a little less bickering over the winner, but the actual fighting? Mostly pathetic.

He doesn’t look upon them with scorn, though. These are beings stripped of all dignity, underfed, and devoid of hope. The Empire has ground them into the dirt beneath their glossy boots, and he expects that for many, death is a kindness.

In the end, he lets them take the beskar’gam from his bound body. They hold him, scanners at the ready, the whole of the galaxy waiting to witness his final defeat in real time. The giddy grins tell him what he already knows—they are certain this will break him.

He holds eye contact with Gideon just to see the shock that strikes him at Din’s defiance. He aches to smirk or snarl or sink his teeth into the man, but he won’t give him the satisfaction.

They don’t give them weapons for this fight. At least they’re being honest about their intentions.

Hand-to-hand combat with a Wookie should be a death sentence. Should be, for a lesser being. But the Mand’alor is far sharper than their blades could ever hope to be, and he wields his mind and body as expertly as he would a blaster.

Din doesn’t speak Shyriiwook. He wishes he did, for when he asks his opponent for their name, he fails to capture the response. It slips from his grasp, slick as his hands are from the Wookie’s blood.

Bare hands that have rarely dealt such tangible death. Dust stirred up from the struggle sticks to the thick, hot carnage. He’ll feel the give of the Wookie’s eyeballs under his thumbnails for days. The crack of his skull under Din’s knee, driven like a wedge into the soft cartilage, is at least slightly more familiar.

It’s not a long fight. After all, Din has something of which his opponent has long been deprived: something to live for.

The Mandalorian isn’t back by dinner drop-off, but your captain sent the cart loaded with a tray for him, so you dutifully set it on his cot atop the folded blanket.

There’s been no clean-up call, and the roster is empty. But you don’t have to wonder over his whereabouts for long.

In the servants' barracks—which are actually barracks and not a soft word for cellblocks—the reports are already underway.

Some of the attendants get to watch the fights. Or, rather, they have to, bound as they are to a single combatant. The mandated proximity is unforgiving, and no one likes to watch.

After all, there’s very little difference between you and the fighters. Instead, the attendants take on the solemn duty of letting the rest of you know how your residents fared or fell.

“He was a berserker,” Hali says in hushed whispers. “They took all that armor off, and he just looked like a man. A pretty man, but… just a man. But when it started, he moved so fast. It was over in, like, two minutes.”

“Shut up,” says Eli, your bunkmate. “He did not take down a Wookie in two minutes.”

“No, he really kriffing did,” hissed one of the new attendants whose name you hadn’t caught. “It was brutal. The whole arena went quiet. And he just stood there, covered in blood, looking at the crowd.”

“Okay, whose block is he in?” Eli demands. “Someone needs to spill now.”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“You haven’t said a kriffing word this whole time? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I only saw when they brought him in last night. He was still armored. And terrifying.”

“I saw him,” Hali says. “He was in the lounge.”

“They took him to the lounge after his first fight?” you say, jaw hanging open. The after-party was a grotesque performance, with sponsored fighters forced to smile pretty and play nice with their benefactors after a victory.

“No,” Hali’s face is grave. “They displayed him. They’ve chained him up next to his armor.”

You cover your mouth to stem the nausea. “No,” you hiss through your fingers. The disrespect hurts, raking through like a nexu claw to the chest, and you don’t even know the man.

Eli sets a hand on your knee from where he sits cross-legged beside you on the bottom bunk. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know,” you say. But he knows you, sees it written between your brows, and hears it in the crack of your voice.

It’s a weakness; you know it. It had been a strength back home. Every single being that passes through your barrack doesn’t have long. The small hall of cells is a port, and you are the ferryman. Knowing each of them for the last scant moments has only made you love harder and faster.

To try and ease a soul’s journey is a burden you have always chosen to bear.

Come morning, sure as the stars, your cells are full. The Mandalorian is not the only new face—there’s a humanoid woman in C-1, too. The Klatoonian had been gone before the noon bell prior, and his cell cleaned by your hands within the hour after. Ovesu had survived four battles over ten days, but no trace of him remains now.

You start with her, Reen Sala of Drall. She’s on the roster for early afternoon, and you want to make sure she’s got food in her.

You tell her as much.

“Today? Already?” She wraps her fingers around the window bars, peering at you.

“Yes,” you say solemnly, sliding the tray through the slit at the bottom of the door. “Eat quickly. They’ll be coming to get you any minute. They’re going to take you up and prepare you and make you watch the day’s first battles.”

She has a steadiness to her eyes and stock to her build, just enough to have a chance. When she begins to eat, her hands only shake slightly.

“Are you a farmer?” you ask, watching her broken, stubby fingernails wrap around the metal cup of water.

She nods, gulping down quickly to add, “Mostly grains. Eggs. Basics.”

You give her a wan smile, the image of her in a sun-soaked field behind your eyes. It would have to be enough. If she held on, maybe she could fill in the picture.

“Thought so. Me too. My parents have a grove on Hetzal,” you say.

You chat for a few minutes, exchanging tales of her chasing tipyip and you sneaking honeyfruit and shuula during harvest.

“Good luck,” you murmur when you finally step away.

You don’t linger with Disdraa, the Twi’lek in C-3. She took a nasty blow to the head yesterday, so you slide her tray in as quietly as possible, hoping she’ll steal some extra rest.

Which brings you to the Mandalorian. He has no other name in your database. A mistake, you wonder, or an erasure?

When you knock on his door, you keep your eyes downcast. The decision you made in the lift was impulsive, but clear. He will have this respect here, if nowhere else.

“Good morning,” you say.

It’s silent.

You slide the tray under the door. “Do you need anything?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll be back this evening if you think of something.”

Din rolls his eyes in the dark room. Does the quiet, simpering little act really work on the other prisoners? He vaguely considers rejecting the tray just to irritate you.

But he’s a Mandalorian. He doesn’t give in to petty spite when survival is on the line. He has battles to win and to do so, he must eat.

The food is bland but nutritionally complex, so if he keeps up a routine, he should be able to maintain his strength. He’s already run through and decided the optimal calisthenics and body weight routines he can do in the confines of his quarters.

He’s not stupid enough to think all the fights will be so quick or easy. The only benefit, and he’s unwilling to call it that, of not having his armor is that he’s so much faster.

He’ll get out.

He has a promise to keep.

When the Death Star fell three years ago, it took nearly the entire Rebel Alliance with it. The rest were scattered in the ash. And when the Empire barely flinched, the Mandalorians knew their time was running out.

With one loss notched on their belt already, they would have to strike swift and sure.

And so Din’s life as the rebel liaison began.

When he went to Gideon’s cruiser, he had no backup. Technically, no one even knew where he was. But espionage and false diplomacy took too long, purged time they did not have. And he wasn’t going to get another chance to try.

He lost the intel in the skirmish but gained a sword he knew not how to wield, a title he knew not how to bear, and a son he knew not how to raise.

The guards come for Reen, forcing you to finish your deliveries in a tense, silent two minutes.

She doesn’t come back. You paint her picture that night while her soft face and sun-streaked sangria widow’s peak are still fresh in your mind. It, as with most of your books, is stained with errant tears.

Eli had convinced you to keep the ones you ruined with grief, when you first began, desperate not to forget.

“It’s just more proof they were alive if they were also mourned,” he said, flipping reverently through the pages.

It goes against the practice, but it’s not even the most egregious way you’ve had to compromise, so you let it go. This is not the Hall. You have no easels, no canvas, no priestess.

You wonder who’s taken over your space, who they plucked from the apprentices to take over the memorials.

The pictures are small, stacked across the page like a quilt. Most of them have a name, maybe an age, maybe a planet, inked into the corners.

It's certainly not the scale you’re accustomed to, and your colors are limited to the pigments you can press from your dinner, unblessed and unpurified, but you make do.

You never paint them while they still live, not wanting to tether their souls to the pages while they have a chance. But they are yours, and so you will take the burden of remembering from their souls.

“Tray, please,” you say after knocking on the Mandalorian’s door that evening. He’s slow to respond, but you don’t mind. It’ll be a bit before he gets accustomed to the routine, if he makes it that long.

Most don’t.

It grates against the floor when he kicks it out, and you exchange it for the full tray of dinner.

“Do you need anything?”

Silence.

“Okay, have a good night.”

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s the way of things. Some of the beings who come through never speak a word to you. It doesn’t change your loyalty or your duties.

Din is determined to puzzle you out. Why the farce? Everyone else he’s encountered is open in their disgust and amusement. He’s a novelty, a prize, a disgrace. What purpose does your feigned care serve?

“—dining with us tonight?” calls the inmate to his right in C-3.

You make a show of rolling your eyes, taking the last two trays from the cart. You slide one to the Twi’lek who had spoken.

“Depends. Are you going to behave?” you say.

“I always behave,” the fighter lies.

You seem to laugh, just a silent huff of amusement, and sit down with your back against the wall between the two cells.

He can’t see you from here, but he can hear snippets of you making light conversation between bites.

Something you say gets a lighthearted rise from the Devaronian in C-4 across the hall.

“Old? You want to talk about being old?” he booms.

C-3 groans. “Don’t get him started, come on.”

You laugh. “—else to bitch about. I’m saving— trouble.”

“…that I should suffer your disrespect,” C-4 is trying to say over you.

“Yeah, yeah, Vrar, you’re a terrifying grumpy—,” you tease.

A pause. A murky mumble from C-2.

“—you, Mandalorian? How old—?” You ask, tearing a chunk off your bread roll and popping it in your mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

After you leave, it grows quiet. A few moments pass, as if he was just waiting for you to get out of hearing range, before Vrar speaks up.

“Mando. You holding up? Any injuries?”

Din sits silently on his cot, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me. But can you be more respectful to the girl?”

If it’s bait, it works. “I don’t make a habit of being respectful to my captors.”

To his surprise, Vrar barks a hearty laugh. “Is that what you think? She’s a slave, Mando, same as the rest of us.”

Din feels hot guilt rise in his throat. “My mistake. I’ll do better.”

Vrar grunts his approval, and that’s that.

The next morning, when you ask if he needs anything, he tells you, “No, thank you,” in a soft but sure tone.

You straighten a little abruptly and try not to look shocked. “Okay. Good luck today,” you say, and move on. You’re pretty sure if you draw attention to it, he’ll never speak again.

You aren’t privy to the way things operate up top. All you know is that they take your fighters randomly, with at least one day between as a rest. Sometimes, it’s longer between fights.

But not for Mando. For the next two weeks, it’s every other day like clockwork. They’re capitalizing on his novelty, you think, but also hoping to wear him down.

Rumors tell you he’s become a quick crowd favorite. It should mean he has a shot at earning his freedom, but rumors also tell you he has the highest price on record.

They don’t want him free, and they don’t want someone to buy him.

No, they want him to die in the arena.

next chapter

thank you so much for reading! i live for your feedback, and i'm not above begging so if you have any thoughts pls let me know

*title from "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace

[starlahuskyz]

Chances - Chapter 19

Summary: Jordan's story only goes downhill, the boys soon discover where he distrust and anxieties came from.

The follow up to Jordan's lore, this might be longer than the previous chapter.

Chapter 18 <<< >>> Chapter 20

TW// Vampire Indoctrination, Vomit, Implied Suicide, Blood and Gore

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

Everyone felt tense, no one said anything for a moment, Jordan shuffled a bit in Marko’s hold feeling discomfort. David spoke first.

“So those fuckers were vampires, I had a feeling.”

“I thought you guys could tell when someone was a vampire?” Jordan tilted her head in confusion.

“Well we didn’t know you were a vampire, so that’s not quite how that works.”

“Oh” She leaned back into Marko and Paul talked next.

“So, what did you think when you found out your boyfriend was a vampire?” 

“I’m getting there, warning you all now though it goes downhill from here.” She continues on.

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

Jordan had chosen not to tell her parents about what happened that fateful night. She pondered whether what happened was real or just a really fucked up dream. She had gone the boardwalk in search of Viktor to see if he could give her the answers she was looking for. She didn’t see him for a few days though, until she saw him performing again. After the performance she entered the backstage and confronted him, he was abnormally tense after seeing her approach him.

“Viktor, we need to talk.” Jordan grabbed his hand.

“I already know what you’re gonna say.” He pulled away from her grasp.

“That’s not what this is, I’m looking for answers dammit. What the hell was up with that night, was that all some sick prank or was it real?”

“What do you think? It should be pretty obvious what happened, I’m a vampire and killed those guys for you.”

Jordan was at a loss “A vampire? They’re real?”

“I mean you’re looking at one.” Johnny piped up from behind her and cackled.

“Okay, so if you’re a vampire…why didn’t you kill me?” Viktor looked surprised.

“Why would I? I love you, I wouldn’t even fathom doing such a thing. But now I must ask, how come you’re so…normal about this?” 

Viktor was genuinely confused, most people who learned of his true identity would run and scream and he’d have to unceremoniously end their lives. Yet, Jordan didn’t seem to care too much, she cared more about the fact he wasn’t too honest about being a night stalker.

“It hasn’t bothered our relationship up until this point, I don’t see a reason to get upset about it. You did save my life after all.” She didn’t seem like she was bluffing.

“I see. So even though I’m a bloodsucker, you don’t really care?” 

“Not really.”

Viktor only stood there thinking to himself, now faced with a scenario he never imagined himself being in up until this point. Having a mate who didn’t him being a vampire seemed like an impossible dream, and yet, here he was.

Viktor pulled Jordan close to him and relaxed, his bandmates also seemed relatively happy with Jordan’s thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear you’re so accepting of me, hopefully you can join us someday.” At that statement, Jordan pushed him away.

“No…I’m sorry but no. I can’t be a vampire, I have a family and a job.” Viktor’s smile faltered. 

“C’mon, won’t you at least consider it? Being a vampire is wonderful. You’ll stay young forever, never have to worry about being sick, and never let anyone be in your way. I implore you to at least think about it, please?” Viktor seemed genuine, but Jordan remained conflicted.

“I don’t know, maybe. I’ll have to take some time to think about it. It’s a big decision.” Viktor smiled.

“I’ll give you time.”

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

“So you found out he was a vampire and that’s how you react?” Paul looked at her with judgment in his eyes.

“I guess I didn’t really care because we had been dating for a while without issue. I didn’t really think that he could be incredibly dangerous to me.” Marko inhaled once again feeling peeved.

“Why couldn’t I have dated you first, you were so perfect.” He would’ve loved to date Jordan if she were this casual about vampires before she even became one.

“Thanks, but if I turned him down and stopped dating him he would’ve killed me. So be happy I’m here now and you have me.” She reached over to pat his head.

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

Jordan had distanced herself from Viktor and his bandmates for quite a while, they had been pushing her to become a vampire like them and she was very against the idea. She weighed her options a lot considering that Viktor truly loved her. She didn’t want to drop him completely considering he’d been the best thing that had ever happened to her. But at the same time she didn’t want to leave her family behind and become a killer to survive. And no matter what even after a whole month of thinking, she never came to a decision.

She sat in her room listening to her walkman as it played music that fell on deaf ears as her thoughts overtook her mind. She didn’t even initially notice at first but there was knocking at her window. She eventually noticed when the song came to an end and saw Viktor trying to open the window with varying degrees of success. She eventually opened the window to let him in.

“Hey Viktor, did you need something?” She watched as he climbed into her house through the window while holding a tall paper bag in his hand.

“Just came to check on you, you don’t come to the boardwalk a lot anymore.” He stroked her hair affectionately.

“I’ve been busy lately, that’s all.”

“Let me guess, still trying to make your decision?”

“Yep, it’s been seriously bugging me lately.” Jordan moved to sit on the bed again.

Viktor sighed “You really shouldn’t think too hard about this, just jump in and make a decision. And I got something to help make it a little easier for you.”

Jordan watched as he pulled out a very bejeweled wine bottle filled with what she assumed to be red wine. Jordan got a little tense because she was only 19 so not legally able to drink. 

“You know I’m only 19 I can’t drink yet-”

“One swig won’t hurt anybody, it’ll be enough for you to calm down a bit. And trust me I know, you need it more than anybody.” He handed it to her and she took it hesitantly.

It was covered from its neck to base in colorful gems in all kinds of shapes and sizes. She popped the cork off the top and looked inside the bottle, a red liquid filled the container and it smelled quite putrid.

“What is this? It smells awful.”

“It’s what I call a fine wine, it might not smell or even taste very pleasant for you. But trust me, it’ll make you feel fantastic.” He continued pushing the bottle towards her, pressuring her to drink from the bottle.

She decided not to question him any further, with a deep breath, she drank from the bottle. She could hear the deep rumble of a laugh that came from Victor when she started drinking. It tasted unlike anything she had ever had before, it was sweet but also bitter. It was slightly thicker than water and gave her an intense high that made her see stars. After lowering the bottle, she closed her eyes relishing in the feeling given by the liquid contents within the bottle. Viktor leaned into her side whispering something gentle into her ear.

“Now, our love will be forever intertwined…” He lowered his mouth to her neck and took a large bite, he sucked the blood out of Jordan, but at that moment, she could care less.

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

“So it’s a common thing for vampire indoctrination to include drinking a mysterious red liquid from a fancy bottle I assume?” Michael finally spoke after mostly listening the whole time.

“You know us too well, Mikey.” Paul really hammered the fact into Michael who only stared back less than thrilled.

“God I feel so stupid…” Jordan sighed frustratedly, Marko only held onto her tighter not saying a word.

“Everyone fucks up in life, you just fucked up harder than most.” David said not really helping Jordan.

“Thanks…dick. I know it was a fuck up, but if I would’ve believed the whole vampire thing to begin with, I would’ve just let him kill me right then and there. But now I’m forced to pay the price…”

No one spoke for a while, there wasn’t much the others wanted to say. Not including the half vampires, they hadn’t really thought of the idea of regretting becoming a vampire. They had all taken to being turned as a minor inconvenience that soon gave them many benefits. All except one…

“I get how you feel.” Dwayne spoke solemnly with a nod towards Jordan.

“Woah, really? I thought you loved being a vampire?” Jordan was surprised.

“I’m fine with it now, only because I got over my sadness now wanting to live a life of pure misery and pain all because I never moved past one bad decision I made many years ago. You need to do the same, you sit here talking about how stupid you were back when you were young. You’ve seemingly learned from your mistakes, so get over it, you’re just hurting yourself.”

The others were rather taken aback by Dwayne’s statement, they knew that he wasn’t in a very good place when he was turned and he always refused to even mention it. Now here he was talking about it with Jordan, someone he didn’t know amazingly well.

“I understand what you’re getting at, but it’s not very easy for me to forgive. And that includes myself, if it wasn’t for my stupidity, none of this shit would’ve happened.”

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

The night after Jordan drank from the bottle, she felt awful. She couldn’t keep her food down and kept running to the bathroom in pain and vomiting up whatever she tried to eat. Her parents grew concerned about her and they of course eventually found out what she did the night before and while they were less than thrilled, however they were more worried about making sure their daughter felt better. Both her parents thought she was suffering from a hangover or even alcohol poisoning and so decided to wait the day out and see how she would be feeling the day after.

Even after two days, Jordan wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was getting worse, she started getting sensitive to the sun outside and she still couldn’t eat anything being presented to her. This led to Jordan’s parents taking her to see a doctor to find some answers. The doctor simply said she might’ve been suffering from food poisoning and prescribed some medication for her in hopes it’ll cure her.

Nothing…after a week, no results. She still suffered the same pain and nausea, but now she was getting better at hiding it from her parents. She didn’t want them to worry, she was starting to suspect Viktor did something to her. Now she was dead set on going to find him and see if he could help her out. Now with her new sleeping habits, she slept through the day and stayed awake all night making it a perfect time to go and find Viktor.

She had hopped onto her bike and rode through Santa Carla in search of Viktor, it was late though…very late. The usually bustling town was now dark and quiet, she rode through stirring up the only noise that wasn’t commonly heard this time at night. She eventually reached the boardwalk and parked her bike near the beach and looked around, not a single sign of life was present around her. She didn’t even see the usual bonfire being lit by Viktor’s bandmates, even though she saw nobody and there was nothing to prompt her to look any further, she descended the steps leading onto the beach. 

The waves crashed violently as Jordan walked down the beach getting further away from the boardwalk and becoming more isolated by the minute. She could feel a pull taking her somewhere, she wasn’t sure what it was, but her body seemed to sense something her brain couldn’t. Then, she saw the only sign of life around her, a drunk guy who was standing facing the ocean with a bottle in his hand. Jordan could weirdly sense his mood, he was sad, upset, solemn. She approached him with caution.

“Sir, are you okay?” The man turned to her slowly, he wasn’t in a hurry or even alarmed by her sudden appearance.

“What do you want?” He spoke blankly with a slight slur in his voice.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, did something happen?” The man suddenly swung his bottle at her and Jordan backed up.

“I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP GOD DAMMIT!” He roared at her, refusing to listen to her.

Jordan’s patience was waning quickly, she only wanted to help this man and yet he seemed to have something against her. It was then that the man’s demeanor changed, he lowered the bottle and sat down on the sand sobbing hysterically.

“I can’t fucking take it anymore, could you do me a favor?” He looked solemnly at Jordan, who only dreaded to imagine what he had in mind. He spoke no more, but only lifted the bottle up to her as an offering. Jordan felt uneasy, yet she didn’t try to stop him.

“Are you sure?”

The man saw a rock to his side proceeding to shatter the bottle in his hands. In the process he cut his hand open making it bleed all of the sand, the man didn’t even care. He stood up and once again handed the bottle towards her direction, but now it was shattered and covered in the man’s blood. Then something overcame Jordan, it was a sudden pang of pain within her. She could hear the man’s pulsing heart and smell the blood coming from him, it all became quickly overwhelming to her.

Without even taking the man’s weapon offering, she lunged at him, pinning him to the sand and looking at his neck intensely. She felt an instinct kick in, it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was a primal urge to rip into him with her bare hands, she felt her teeth grow into sharp fangs, her nails grew sharp like blades. Without much resistance, she then dove into his neck biting down hard in an attempt to rip out his jugular. The man barely even reacted, only giving out strained gasps as he felt her rip into him. With a forceful pull, she ripped his vocal chords out of his neck and sucked the blood out of him greedily. She even clawed at his torso, tearing him up like an angry cat. It didn’t take long, only a few minutes and he was nothing but skin and bones. When she was finished, she felt a high come over her. The pain and nausea all gone, her discomfort left her and she relished in the relief…only for a moment.

The realization suddenly hit her like a brick, she came down from her high and stared down at her own hands and started to panic. They were covered in blood  Shaking her head back and forth in disbelief, she was at a loss at what to do. She looked around at her surroundings for any potential spectators. As she looked, she spotted figures approaching her.

“It’s not what it looks like I swear!” She immediately yelled, only to hear a slow clap from the person approaching her. It was Viktor and his bandmates.

“You don’t gotta hide it, babe. I’m proud of you.” Viktor pulled her into a hug despite her messy state.

“Proud? What are you talking about?” Her mind was racing still not quite processing what she just did.

“C’mon, you still aren't getting it are you?” Viktor looked at her with a raised eyebrow as if it was obvious about what was going on.

Jordan thought for a moment before furrowing her brows and looking up at him.

“What did you do to me?” Her tone was ever so slightly pissed because she knew he did something.

“Don’t you remember our night together, you had your first drink that night. I started you down the road to be like me, but tonight, you really…sealed the deal.” Viktor caressed her face with his cold hand.

Jordan was confused at first, she looked at the body behind her, then to Viktor. She thought back to the night they had spent together, and the wine he gave her. Then, it all clicked…

“You…YOU BASTARD YOU FED ME BLOOD!” She shoved him away from her in anger.

“Relax Jordan, it was going to happen eventually. I thought you wanted to be with me forever?” He tried to sweet talk her but she was beyond upset.

“Yes I did, but not like this! I told you I didn’t want to be a vampire!” Jordan pointed at him accusingly.

“Listen, I didn’t want to have to do this either. I wanted you to make that decision on your own, but you weren’t making any progress so I wanted to help you. Plus, vampires and humans being lovers never last forever.”

“I don’t care, change me back! I don’t want this!”

At Jordan’s request, Viktor faltered, not answering.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, at least…not anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Surely you can change me back!” She didn’t want to believe him.

“You were only a half vampire for these past few days, but now that you’ve made your first kill, you’re a full vampire now. You’re a killer now, and there's no going back.”

At his answer, Jordan felt her whole world come to a stop. She fell to her knees and threw her fists at the sand beneath her in a rage.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? YOU TOOK MY LIFE AWAY FROM ME YOU BASTARD!” She didn’t even look at him, she kept her head down and felt tears leaving her eyes and falling onto the sand.

Viktor kneeled onto the sand in front of her and pulled her in close.

“I did it out of love, it may hurt now, but you’ll feel better eventually. Soon the memories of your humanity will fade, and you’ll relish in the new ones we’ll make together.” Jordan’s despair was only amplified by his statement and she felt her fingers curl back into claws and quicker than anyone could predict, she snapped.

“I HATE YOU!” Before Viktor could respond, she swiped at his neck creating a large gash that sprayed blood everywhere. He let go of her and fell back gasping at the sudden attack.

The others jumped in to try and calm Jordan down but she wasn’t going down easy. She felt an inconceivable amount of built up rage within her that she was going to do whatever it took to get back at Viktor for what he did. Jordan found a piece of driftwood on the beach and started attacking the others with it. None of the band members wanted to get too close in fear of being staked. Unfortunately, Xavier got too close and received a stake to his heart, Jordan felt no remorse for him. The others now moved in to try and kill her, but it was a surprisingly futile effort. They one by one all dropped like flies, Johnny had his spine pulled out from his back, Jackson had his jaw ripped off and both of them were properly torn into. Bolt managed to get her down onto the sand and almost neutralized her, however, Jordan freed her hands and was able to rip one of his arms off. He got off of her and taking advantage of his surprise, she quickly grabbed his head and snapped his neck leaving him to fall onto the sand unresponsive. The only responsive vampire left was Vitkor, he was still bleeding out on the ground and watched her every move. He was incapable of speaking due to his wound, Jordan only watched him with hollow eyes and spoke. 

“You wanted to be with me forever, but now you lost your chance.” For good measure she retrieved the stake from Xavier’s chest and brought it over to Victor. She drove into his chest and then without dwelling too hard on what she did, she left the scene and ran down the beach with a heavy new undead heart.

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

Everyone at the camp was left in either surprise, shock, and a twinge of fear. No one spoke for a few minutes, taking time to process what she had just revealed to them. David was surprised that she had managed such a feat of killing her whole coven with just her unadulterated rage. The other boys were shocked but also not too surprised considering that she was able to rip Dwayne’s arm clean off. Michael and Star were also somewhat shocked because they never expected someone as meek as her to be so dangerous. Laddie was snoring away softly on Dwayne’s chest and was the only person who didn’t hear the ordeal.

“So you killed your whole coven…impressive.” David watched her with his icy gaze.

“Impressive? The hell are you on about?” Jordan was confused.

“C’mon, killing five vampires alone is not an easy thing to do! Especially someone like you, that’s what anyone would call impressive.” Paul supported David’s statement and egged her on with enthusiasm.

“So what if it was impressive? I could care less how cool it might’ve been. That was one of the worst nights of my life.” Jordan leaned back into Marko and sighed, continuing on with her tale.

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

She never looked back as she ran, the boardwalk was still deserted when she got back to it. She mounted her bike and immediately went home, praying that nobody would see her bloody appearance. She got home rather quickly and dumped her bike aside and ran to the front door. But before she could open it, she faltered. Her parents were no doubt gonna be waiting for her, and she didn’t want them to see her like this. So she ran to the back of the house and found the doors leading into the basement and broke the solid metal lock in order to get inside. Even though there weren't any light sources to be seen inside, she could still see everything inside. Mainly old dusty boxes and items that belonged to her grandparents. She closed the doors behind her and haphazardly went down the steps and into the heart of the basement. A linear path led from the back entrance to a door leading into the house. She walked down the path and accidentally tripped on a lamp cord making a loud ruckus inside.

After settling everything down, she heard footsteps approaching the door inside the house. The door opened up and a light shined in Jordan’s face making her cringed. She saw her father shining a flashlight onto her face, his face agape with the shocking image of her daughter covered in blood.

“Jordan…what happened to you?” Harold made no move to leave or get closer and stayed where he was. Soon, Jane came over to see what was going on and was equally shocked if not more.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, just leave me here.” Jordan pulled into the shadows concealing herself.

“If you don’t talk about it, we can’t help you. Talk to us, Jordan.” Her father’s tone was calm and collected, he really just wanted answers more than anything. 

Jane got over her initial shock and tried remaining calm, she moved down the steps and into the basement to try and talk to her daughter.

“Jordan, we aren’t gonna hurt you. We just want to know what’s going on, I promise we won’t get mad.” She took a few steps into the basement but stayed within the light coming from the house.

While Jordan didn’t quite budge at first, he took a minute to think. Her parents cared about her a lot so she believed they would show some understanding. But on the other hand, she never told them about her boyfriend’s affliction of being a vampire. She decided there was no reason to hide it any longer, her life was over anyways.

She peeked from her spot behind some boxes, “You promise you won’t get mad?”.

“Cross our hearts.”

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

“Man, your parents are saints compared to mine. My dad kicked me out for being gay…” Paul chimed in.

“Wasn’t it also because of drugs?” Dwayne countered.

“Well that too, but mainly for being gay.”

Jordan shook her head at his comment, Star looked at Jordan curiously.

“Your parents seemed to take you being a vampire rather well considering you still live with them now.”

“Yeah, it surprised me though. I mean, I never told them a damn thing about this vampire business and yet they totally took it better than I ever could’ve expected. I thought my dad was gonna take me out back and put me out of this misery.” Marko squeezed Jordan tight in his arms.

“If he would’ve done that, I would’ve killed him.” Jordan only laughed at his statement.

“You didn’t even know me at that time.” She looked back at him and he only nuzzled into her.

“But we’re practically soulmates, he would’ve been destined to die by my hands one way or another if he took you away from me.”

Jordan made a mental note to tell her father about what Marko said.

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

Sitting at the dining table, the family all sat in silence. Jordan had gone at length to explain everything that had happened, her parents were admittedly peeved a bit at the fact their daughter never elaborated on anything before. But the damage had been done and now her parents were at a loss, they weren’t quite sure where to go from here. Jordan made no move to sway their minds in any way, she just sat and waited to see what they would say.

“Jordan, you know we love you right?” Jane spoke first, Jordan still refused to even look in their direction.

Jordan nodded wordlessly.

“Even though we aren’t thrilled about what’s happening, we don’t want you to shoulder this alone. You understand?” She reached out a hand towards her daughter as a sign of affection.

“Why, I’m a killer now.” Jordan stared off into space blankly.

“Why? Because you’re our god damn daughter, that’s why. That no good piece of shit tried to take you away from me and I’m not letting him succeed whether he’s dead or not. If him being a vampire didn’t bother you at all, there ain’t no reason that you being a vampire should bother us as well.” Harold spoke firmly, he genuinely wanted the best from his daughter. 

He was definitely peeved by the situation but he wasn’t going to give Viktor the satisfaction of letting the vampirism drive his daughter away. Jordan finally looked at her parents and looked surprised, of all the outcomes she expected, this wasn’t one of them.

“Really, even though I’m a vampire?”

“We never gave up on you before, we aren’t going to do it now. Vampire or not.” Jane spoke warmly.

Jordan had no words to express her relief and gratitude she had been granted. She outstretched her hand and grabbed a hold of her mother’s already stretched out hand. It wasn’t going to be the easiest transition, but it was one she was willing to put herself through if it meant she could still live a somewhat normal life.

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

“So through 1987, I spent that time adjusting to this new life I still live now. We worked on moving my stuff into the basement and all the stuff from the basement into my original room. I changed my appearance as well, and vowed to try to only kill those who deserve death.”

With that, Jordan had finished her story and left the others processing what she had said. Paul decided to applaud her finishing the story and was feigning tears as if he was moved by the story.

“Bravo! That was a beautiful story, thank you for sharing. Is that the whole story, Ms.Jordan?” He moved over to Jordan and Marko’s spot leaning onto both of them in interest.

“I have some stories, but I’ll save those for later.” David then stood up from his spot and spoke.

“Good call, the sun will be up soon. We should all get some shut eye before we burn.” 

And with that, everyone got up to get going. Dwayne handed off a sleeping Laddie to Michael and Star and the boys all retreated to their bikes. Jordan hopped on her bike and watched as Marko joined her on his own, he started making a habit of taking her home even without her asking.

“Goodnight, love birds!” Paul called out to the two as they drove off.

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

Jordan arrived home pretty quickly and was mentally exhausted yet satisfied, she weirdly felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. She was happy she didn’t have to keep this secret around her friends and felt somewhat free now. She climbed off her bike and Marko did the same, Marko seemed a bit bothered by something though. His face was rather peeved and he was biting his thumb, a trademark for a bothered or thoughtful Marko.

“What’s up Marko, you look bothered.” She walked up to him grabbing his large hand on her own.

“I keep thinking about that guy you were talking about in your story, Viktor.”

“What about him, he’s not around anymore? And I say good riddance.” She watched as he furrowed his brow, still thoughtful.

“I just want to pummel the lights out of him for what he did. Tried to make you his mate, but he didn’t fucking deserve you.” Marko pulled her close and held her possessively which caught Jordan off guard. 

“You don’t have to worry about it, I’m yours now. Even if you can be a true shithead sometimes, at least you're honest about it.” Marko pushed her away to look at her, then he looked at the rising sun and thought for a moment. Without warning, he lifted Jordan over his shoulder and walked towards the door going into her house.

“Hey! What are you doing?” She watched as he snatched her house keys and opened the door.

“You said it yourself, you belong to me. So you aren’t gonna sleep alone tonight, maybe we can…make that official.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jordan who caught onto what he meant and she immediately started trying to wiggle out of his grip to no avail.

“Like hell we are doing that now!” Jordan protested, but Marko made his way into her room and threw her onto the bed climbing on top of her cuddling into her and purring.

“I’m joking, but if you ever want all of me, just say the word and I’ll be there.” Jordan turned over and laid face to face with him purring back at him.

“I’ll take that into consideration, but I’m too tired right now.” It didn’t take the two very long before they both fell into their day sleep while holding each other in their arms. Bixby soon found his way onto the bed and slept at the foot of the bed with them.

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

Taglist (If you wanna be tagged, just ask ^ ^)

@blog4horror @ria-coolgirl @oceansrose2002 @hypocriticaltypwriter @deliciousfestsalad @kristel1990

[lfghughes]

Heaven Can’t Help Me Now | Finale

a/n: kinda sad that this is the end of this story but i also didn’t want to drag it out too long. sorry to all the team jamie girls but there’s a little bonus at the end for you guys

“Don’t be an idiot.” The minute the words were out of Jamies mouth Trevor had a feeling where this conversation was going but he was actively choosing to play dumb. “About what? Come on, dude. Let’s just get another drink.” He put his hand up, trying to get the attention of the bartender but Jamie interrupted him, bringing his hand back down. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to protect me and my feelings by being a douchebag right now to her.” 

Jamie was absolutely right but Trevor wasn’t going to admit to any of that. “I’m just having fun.” He shrugged and Jamie let out an exasperated laugh. “No, you’re not. I see the look you get in your eye when she walks in and I saw the way she looked at you and how hurt she was when she saw you ‘having fun’” He used quotation marks around the words. “And seeing the way she looks at you hurts, of course because I wish she looked at me that way.”

Trevors heart hurt hearing his best friend say those words. “You have a good heart and you’re a good friend but don’t do this for me. Go after her.” The sincerity on Jamies face showed Trevor how serious he was and all he could do was nod his head. By the time he left the bar it was already pouring down rain but that didn’t matter, he knew where he was going. Once he pulled up to her house, he called her and he had to admit he was shocked when she answered. “I don’t want to talk right now Trevor.” Now that wasn’t a surprising answer from her. “Then why did you pick up?” He asked amusement filling his voice.

“Come outside.” He spoke quickly into the phone before she could hang up on him. “It’s raining, no” He got out of the car as the rain pelted him. “Come outside.” This time he hung up the phone and just silently hoped that she would come out. Luckily for him, he wasn’t disappointed as she came outside and walked over to him. “Trevor why in the world are you making me stand out in the rain?”

Without answering her question Trevor grabbed a hold of her face, kissing her the same way he had back when they were on the trip together and how he had wanted to kiss her every day since the day he met her and the way he wanted to kiss her every day going forward. “It wasn’t just fun and I wish for once you hadn’t believed me because I have been in love with you this whole time.” The words out of his mouth before he could stop himself and he could see the shock on her face as he said it.

“You love me?” Was all she asked and he nodded his head. “I do and I’m going to love you every day going forward…I mean if you’re cool with that.” Guess that would have been a good place for him to start. Relief washed over his body as she nodded her head. “Do you think maybe we can take this inside? Where it’s warmer?” 

“Just one more kiss, this is kind of like our movie moment.” He chuckled as he kissed her one more time, all the built up emotions pouring out of him in that moment.

Jamie

As he sat at the bar alone, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the friend he had in Trevor. The sacrifice he would have made for him. Of course it hurt but he knew this wasn’t pain that would last forever. “Girlfriend and best friend ditch you already?”

Jamie looked up at the young bartender, a pretty face that had been familiar from the times he had come here but he had never actually had a conversation with her. “Oh she’s not my girlfriend, actually I’m pretty sure they’re probably together right now.” If Trevor did the right thing of course. “Her loss for sure.” With those words she set a drink down in front of him with a small wink. “On the house.”

[noahreids]

Noah-a-Day-May (2023 Edition) | Day 4 ⇢ Discussing his portrayal of Hamlet

Noah describing the way a Neil Young’s song Natural Beauty allowed him to understand and portray the way that loss shaped Shakespeare's Hamlet. 

I felt like that sort of human connection through another voice, through the narrative and the music and channeling that into between my world of music and acting and how those things converge for me. It just felt like this total sweet spot that opened something in me that I felt I was able to sort of step into the circle of the insane circumstances of this character. You know now every time I hear that song I just like I just need to stop what I'm doing and just sit and hear it. I think that's sort of the benefit of the arts as they relate to the humanities, is that they have the ability to take you places and allow you to explore things without knowing that you're even exploring them. You know you can search for those things for sure but you can't plan on how they're gonna affect you. [x]

[lives-of-saints]

large text

Episode Two: The Lives of Saints

Opening:

[Young ALINA and MAL run through a green meadow outside the Keramzin orphanage, an older woman’s voice yells their names. Lying in the sea of long grass with the afternoon sun shining down on them, young MAL asks:]

MAL: Don’t you want to know if you’re Grisha? [Their hands clasp in the grass and the camera focuses on a serious young ALINA’s face]

ALINA: Not if we can’t go together.

[Young ALINA turns to stare into the sun. Sun fades into a quick flash of a giant majestic Stag before the scene changes to modern day.]

ALINA

KRIBIRSK, EAST RAVKA

[ALINA’s eyes snap open to reveal a bedraggled ZOYA peering at her, the LATE AFTERNOON sun shines behind ZOYA. ALINA groans in pain.]

ZOYA: (orders) Don’t move. (shouts) Healer! [ALINA sees an empty spot where MAL used to lay and has a quick flashback of his pained, dying face.]

ALINA: Where’s MAL? The tracker? (she breathes panicaly) He can’t...

ZOYA: First Army was sent to medical.

[The HEALER arrives wearing a red coat with white and gray embroidery. The HEALER puts her hands together, then over ALINA, we hear a bone snap into place and ALINA gasps.]

ZOYA: Now, move. We have a debriefing with the General.

ALINA: Who? (the healer moves her hands toward her abdomen, ALINA grits her teeth and stands)

[(Scene change) ZOYA walks in front of ALINA, who is followed by two guards in black and red uniforms OUTSIDE. ALINA is silently panicking:]

ALINA: It’s all my fault, isn’t it? They’re all gone. I’ll be tried for murder...

ZOYA: Quiet.

[They enter a large black tent. From over ZOYA’s shoulder, we see the GENERAL wearing a black kefta, who turns to stare into ALINA’s openly scared face. He holds a few papers in his hands. ALINA scans the tent where Grisha soldiers in blue, red, and purple keftas line the edges. As she scans her surroundings, we hear MAL’s voiceover say “I’ll meet in the meadow” and the same, hoarse old woman from the opening screech voiceover shouts, “It’s all your fault!”]

GENERAL: ZOYA, your report.

ZOYA: Fourteen total casualties, sir. Five injured, seven confirmed dead, with two First Army unaccounted for. A First Army soldier gave away our position barely three markers in, (grumbles from the Second Army soldiers). The volcra went after our Inferni and riflemen first. It would have been a total loss, had it not been for a searing burst of light. (At this last phrase she steps aside for ALINA to be fully revealed).

GENERAL: (smirks and reads off some documents in his hand) ALINA STARKOV, Assistant Cartographer of the King’s Army. (to ALINA) Your file is just like every other First Army recruit. No family—raised in the Keramzin orphanage. A minor infraction reported while in Poliznaya for basic training...

(ALINA shifts in place, confused and nervous from all the attention)

GENERAL: Yet there is one oversight in your ordinary file. It is customary for every First Army recruit to be tested upon entry, even if completed in childhood. Your form is blank, Miss Starkov. Tell us, were you tested?

ALINA: (expression nervous, flashback to her as a child in the orphanage being tested and again in a new army uniform, extending a hand to a Grisha soldier in a blue kefta, scene back to present) Yes, and when I was ten, sir. (we see the GENERAL’s annoyance)

GENERAL: Well then, (he strides forward, putting a pointy ring on his finger) let us just be certain.

[The little light within the tent is fully blocked out, leaving only ALINA and the GENERAL in view. GENERAL pushes up her sleeve.]

ALINA: What’s happening?

[Her sliver of a scared face is shown before it transitions to OUTSIDE where MAL opens his eyes and sits up.]

MAL: Where’s ALINA?

MEDIC: Apparently with the GENERAL, fulfilling prophecies.

[MAL darts off the bench, hobbling toward the direction of the GENERAL’S TENT.]

MEDIC: Corporal! You’re wounded!

MAL: We need to stop this.

MEDIC: What’s the big d—

MAL: What do you think they’re gonna do when they find out she’s not Grisha?

[From the outside of the GENERAL’S TENT, a giant beam of light shoots into the sky, every soldier in camp stops in shock, there are a few muttered “Sun Summoner” or soldiers who perform their religious signs.]

MEDIC: (awe) I don’t think you’ll have to worry ‘bout that.

[INSIDE the tent, ALINA stares at the beam of light then at the GENERAL in shock and fear. The GENERAL stares with a wisp of a smile on his face. The beam descends and ALINA jerks back from his touch, grasping the wrist that light just shot out of.]

GENERAL: Alina Starkov, our mapmaker—our Sun Summoner. (some Grisha kneel or do the religious sign, while others stare at her with confusion or jealousy.)

GENERAL: (to ZOYA) Take Ivan’s squad and escort the Sun Summoner to Os Alta. I will follow after speaking with the First Army regiments. (ZOYA nods) Dismissed.

[ZOYA pushes ALINA toward the tent’s exit. The tent flaps open to bright white light]

ALINA: What—

ZOYA: Move. You have a meeting with the King.

[SCENE CHANGE: The camera shows ALINA looking at a fancy black carriage. She stands beside an annoyed ZOYA, and IVAN. He is a Corporalki holding a healer kefta in his hands, and he opens the door of the coach for ALINA.]

IVAN: Get in.

ALINA: No, I’m a mapmaker. I’m not...There’s been a mistake. A trick!

ZOYA: We wouldn’t be here if so. Think of it as your reassignment. Now, do your duty. Get in the coach.

ALINA: But my friends—Mal...

ZOYA: If you really care about them, you’ll come with us. You’re useless to Ravka if you can’t summon properly.

IVAN: And if you don’t think every foreign scout in the area didn’t just see your little light show—

ALINA: That’s not my fault!

IVAN: (stone-faced) The sooner you train and take down the Fold, the better chance every soldier here doesn’t end up food for a Volcra.

[ALINA, with clenched fists at her sides and an angry expression, looks to the side to see dozens of soldiers (including MAL) staring at her. An uncomfortable look passes across her face as she steps forward into the carriage.]

[The carriage is shown leaving and the camera gradually moves up to show the high sun. Time passes where day becomes night. The almost full moon transitions into The CROW CLUB sign. It is MORNING.]

INEJ

KETTERDAM

[The club is vacant as the camera shows the booth where ARKEN VISSER, INEJ, KAZ, and JESPER sit. The table is full of maps, a few cups of coffee, and INEJ sharpens her knives]

ARKEN: I’ve sent word by steamboat. She’ll know to escort you across the Fold.

KAZ: How do we know we can trust her?

INEJ: A Grisha turning against the Black General?

JESPER: Unheard of.

[Camera focuses on ARKEN then transitions to NINA in NOVOKRIBIRK, WEST RAVKA as he speaks.]

ARKEN: Nina’s a radical. Thinks Grisha should get to choose whether they serve the Crown. She has her hand in almost every West Ravkan underground network there is.

NINA

NOVOKRIBIRSK, WEST RAVKA

[She wears her red kefta and reads a letter in RAVKAN with the letterhead of an eclipse. SCENE change to NINA in a meeting with ZLATAN and a few WEST RAVKAN military personnel.]

ZLATAN: Still no response from the East?

SOLDIER 1: None from this morning’s river barge, sir.

ZLATAN: (staring intently) They’re up to something. ZENIK, what of the cartographer’s progress?

NINA: She still won’t talk, sir. She needs more time.

ZLATAN: I gave you one task.

NINA: The brain is a complex system, especially given stress. Would you rather have her experience a stroke instead?

ZLATAN: (rolls his eyes) I want her information by eighteen bells.

NINA: (frowns) Yes, sir.

[Scene changes to NINA walking OUTSIDE past large tents and wooden structures for housing. A long shot shows an Inferni with wild red hair and blue kefta standing guard outside a small tent.]

NINA: Harshaw. (NINA smiles and nods at him) Any stirrings from her?

HARSHAW: Not a peep.

[HARSHAW winks and walks off as NINA enters the tent. INSIDE, FEMALE CARTOGRAPHER lays on a solitary cot, motionless. NINA softly smiles and she sits down on the edge of the cot.]

FC: Is he gone?

NINA: It’s just us, love.

[FC jolts up and hugs and kisses NINA. Her name is MORANA, who is disguised as FC. They break apart.]

NINA: I missed you too. (another kiss)

MORANA: How am I doing?

NINA: ZLATAN doesn’t suspect a thing. What did you find out?

[The camera focuses on who we thought was FC but we see that her once brown eyes are morphed with some blue spots, and strands of her hair and eyebrows have darkened in odd places.]

MORANA: (counting off on her fingers) Her name is Ruby. VERY pious, has all twenty-three Saints’ prayers memorized—

NINA: MORANA, the important bits dearest I don’t need her life story.

MORANA: (cheeks redden) Right. The delay with the skiff. She said...(pause) the Sun Summoner saved her.

NINA: You’re sure? But those are just stories!

MORANA: (nods) Some other cartographer...a part-Shu girl named Alina Starkov.

NINA: (serious expression) Alina Starkov...A Sun Saint in the hands of the Crown is dangerous.

MORANA: It would sway the people to them instead of accepting the secession. Does the Black General know about Ruby?

NINA: (shakes her head and hands her the letter with the eclipse symbol) The GENERAL wanted me to kill her...I’m not doing that to a girl just trying to survive.

MORANA: She’ll be on the ship to Ketterdam by tonight.

NINA: Good. I’ll inform ZLATAN of the Sun Summoner.

[They hold each other’s hands as the SCENE transitions to a map of EAST RAVKA. A sketch of a carriage follows a path outlined in bones, halfway between the FOLD and OS ALTA (which has a picture of a palace)]

ALINA

THE BONE ROAD, EAST RAVKA

[The carriage is then shown going through a wooded area versus the flat grasslands of KRIBIRSK. INSIDE the carriage, ALINA now wears the Healer kefta and fiddles with the fur lining. A FLASHBACK appears of young ALINA, wearing a red dress of the orphanage, falling asleep in a pew as a sermoner speaks.]

(In the background) Sermoner: The wrath of the Black Heretic is not only seen in the Unsea! But the evil acts man commits upon one another...”

[The old woman from the opening is shown wearing a gray dress, and sits right next to an asleep ALINA. The matron notices ALINA sleeping and drags her from the pew to the back of the chapel.]

YOUNG ALINA: Miss KRISTINA! I’m sorry!

KRISTINA: (whispers angrily) All you have to do is sit up and pay attention! (she grabs the young girl’s arm very roughly)

YOUNG ALINA: I can’t! I’m trying!

[Scene is snapped back to ALINA’s tense expression. She looks up at IVAN and ZOYA.]

ALINA: What will happen to me if I can’t do it? Can’t you transfer this power to someone else? Someone—

(ZOYA snorts while IVAN looks out the window and rolls his eyes.)

ZOYA: That’s not how Grisha power works. It is a gift from the Saints you’ll have for the rest of your life. I’d have figured a First Army grunt like you dreamed of being Grisha, the way you were drooling over our training practice.

ALINA: I was not—! It doesn’t matter. (She looks down at her hands)

IVAN: Train. Do your job. And you won’t have to worry about a noose. Even when you keep whining (to ALINA in a very rude, pointed voice) we look after our own.

ZOYA: We won’t let you fail. Like it or not you’re one of us. How it took this long to find you is beyond me.

[Camera shows ALINA’s uncertain smile and pensive face. She sways as the carriage jolts to a stop. ZOYA, IVAN and ALINA look around confused. OUTSIDE two soldiers in black uniforms walk ahead with guns as a few soldiers in blue keftas walk behind them.]

YouTube scene:

{A shot hits GUARD 1]

GUARD 2: Druskel—! (shot through the head)

[Two inferni and a squallor attack, a knife flies through the neck of the squallor as Inferni send fireballs forward. The Druskelle throw smoke bombs to cover their movements. We see ZOYA and IVAN leave the carriage. IVAN runs ahead, taking out a Druskelle by crush their heart from afar as they near the carriage. ZOYA stays back to guard ALINA. Then, ZOYA runs forward to clear the smoke and throw the Druskelle back. We see ZOYA lift soldiers in the air and spike them into trees. IVAN and another corporalki put their hands together then rip a fist back to crush the hearts of soldiers popping out from behind trees. But, the Druskelle sharpshooter pushes ZOYA, IVAN, and the other Grisha to cover making it impossible to move forward or take him out. ALINA hides in the carriage, covering herself with the kefta IVAN gave her. From behind the carriage, we see two FJERDAN soldiers drop from the trees, boxing in the group. One soldier enters the carriage and drags ALINA out. We see the other soldier fire toward ZOYA, whose attention is now split between the larger group and ALINA.]

ALINA: (Dragged across the ground, she kicks the Druskelle—who in turn hits her and her gaze shifts. She yells.) I’m not Grisha!

DRUSKELLE: (raising an axe) Drusje!

[We then see the GENERAL appear on horseback to the fight, he performs the cut, immediately slicing the DRUSKELLE into pieces. In this version of the fight, the GENERAL clears the battlefield with his shadows, killing the enemy soldiers with his shadows.]

[The camera then shows a bloody ALINA sprawled on the ground, terrified. The calm GENERAL offers his hand to her.]

GENERAL: You ride with me.

[They ride off into the distance as the scene transitions to the NIGHT of KETTERDAM.]

INEJ

KETTERDAM

[INSIDE, KAZ’s office, INEJ stands peering down at maps and lists spread out across KAZ’s desk. KAZ sits behind the desk, peering at the papers and slowly spinning his cane. JESPER paces and spins a gun as they talk.]

KAZ: We have our way across the Fold, way in the palace, and way out.

INEJ: And ARKEN?

JESPER: Already on a ship to NOVYI ZEM.

KAZ: All we need is a round trip to RAVKA.

JESPER: Get SPECHT to whip up our passports, easy. Tickets for the Os Kervo passage went down half a kruge!

KAZ: Steam ships check all the luggage.

INEJ: We can’t risk being documented in any way.

JESPER: (tapping the revolvers at his hips): I’ve got it! (he reaches in his shirt jacket for a crumpled list)

JESPER: I’ve been scoping out Fifth Harbor like you said (JESPER nods at KAZ, camera shows KAZ and INEJ look at him) Sturmhond will help us.

INEJ: Who?

JESPER: He’s a very rich pirate—works independently—but the RAVKANS love him.

KAZ: What’s the cost?

KAZ: Someone like him won’t come cheap.

[We see JESPER’s joyful face, he clasps his hands together and starts to walk out the door.]

JESPER: Well, lucky you have me then.

[Scene changes to the trio entering JESPER’s room. It is a bit cluttered with different clothes strewn around, gun parts, Ketterdam tourist knick knacks, top hats, and specific emphasis is given to what look like brand new textbooks.]

JESPER: They’re around here somewhere...(he goes under his bed to search for a mysterious object)

[INEJ picks up a wonky green plaid hat and looks at herself in the mirror while KAZ picks up a textbook. JESPER’s legs stick out from beneath the bed. JESPER pulls a large case from beneath the bed.]

JESPER: Please put everything back, there is a method to the chaos. (looks over at INEJ in the hat) Oh, except you INEJ. That looks so much better on you.

INEJ: (smiles and puts the hat back) Thanks, Jes.

KAZ: (serious) Are those the ZEMENI rifles I told you to take to the safe house?

JESPER: I’ve got a good reason! (KAZ stares at him and JESPER opens the case) What are you always telling me? Make the pigeons come back for more? I had to ensure the smuggler didn’t short us, didn’t I?

KAZ: (gruffly) Did they?

JESPER: (grabs one of the guns) Perfect condition except for one piece, which I have...(he searches around as if he just set the part down)

INEJ: This one? (she holds a circular piece of metal and throws it to JESPER) You left it on KAZ’s desk a few days ago.

(JESPER smiles at her)

KAZ: (staring off into space) Good. JES, you

deal with the guns. INEJ—get us a meeting and scope out the ship (she nods). I’ll arrange the club for our absence.

[INEJ pulls up her hood and leaves the room, hat in hand.]

ALINA

EAST RAVKA

[INEJ’s retreating form morphs into ALINA riding on horseback behind the GENERAL. ZOYA, IVAN, and three other Grisha follow on horseback. They ride along some green hills. They stop. ALINA bends down to stretch.]

GENERAL: ZOYA, ride ahead to inform the Palace of our arrival.

(ZOYA leaves)

GENERAL: (hands ALINA a handkerchief) For your face.

ALINA: (hesitates, takes it, and wipes her face) Thank you.

[The GENERAL hands some canteens to his Grisha. They all look tired.]

ALINA: Who were those men back there?

IVAN: Druskelle. Fjerdan Grisha hunters.

ALINA: But how were they this deep in RAVKA? Why—

GENERAL: They’ve been breaching borders far more the past few years. The Fold is making it difficult to properly move the military to support the rest of the country. As for today...you were probably just a happy accident for the Druskelle.

ALINA: (shocked) You deal with them often?

IVAN: You are lucky to live in RAVKA, girl. Most people that find out they are Grisha are killed on sight.

ALINA: (exasperated) Fantastic.

GENERAL: You get used to it. Now, rest up then let’s move. We’re too exposed.

INEJ

KETTERDAM

[The trio with JESPER in front, KAZ on JESPER’s right, INEJ on his left, walk into a large Captain’s office, TOLYA leads and holds the rifle case, while TAMAR follows the group and blocks the door. Behind a desk, STURMHOND stands in a teal coat.]

STURMHOND: Well, who do we have here? I must say, I had no meetings scheduled for tonight...my crew and I should be out getting drunk right now.

JESPER: (takes the seat in front of the desk as KAZ and INEJ stand and he reaches in his shirt pocket) JESPER FAHEY, gunsmith apprentice to ol’ Ren Botha. (he hands STURMHOND a business card)

STURMHOND: (raised eyebrows) Ha! He taught me everything I know!

JESPER: (nods) Look under the barrels on the port side gunners, that’s all my work.

STURMHOND: (whistles) We made it past Fjerda’s blockade with those cannons, didn’t we Tolya?

TOLYA: Work of beauty. A pleasure to meet you. (JESPER and TOLYA shake hands)

[INEJ and KAZ look at each other]

STURMHOND: So, JESPER FAHEY, what do you need? If you’re looking for work, I hate to disappoint you but our crew is full. No matter how skilled your partners are. (KAZ scowls while INEJ tries to hide a grin)

JESPER: All we seek is passage to and from RAVKA. We’ve already got a job lined up.

STURMHOND: Nothing untoward I hope?

JESPER: No, no. We’ve just had some trouble with customs in the past...what with WEST RAVKA’s tensions right now. (he pushes the case toward STURMHOND) Our payment, more than enough for passage and a bit of silence on our whereabouts.

STURMHOND: (opens the case and smirks) Looks like we’re off to RAVKA. (STURMHOND glances at TOLYA and TAMAR)

ALINA

OS ALTA, EAST RAVKA

[STURMHOND downing a glass of whiskey transitions into the image of the outer ROYAL PALACE. Servants in white and stable boys are waiting for their arrival. We see ZOYA standing with the APPARAT. Though she is an awkward distance away. The group descends from their horses, the GENERAL helps ALINA down from theirs. As the horses are walking away, ZOYA appears in front of ALINA and the GENERAL holding a green bundle in her arms.]

ZOYA: They’re ready for us, GENERAL.

GENERAL: Good, Miss STARKOV. Please put on the First Army uniform.

ALINA: I’m going to meet the KING like this?!

ZOYA: A loyal soldier turned Sun Saint plucked from his ranks to end all of RAVKA’s problems? You look perfect.

APPARAT: (appears beside her and touches her face and ALINA flinches back) A great story, but surely there is something more that can be done—

GENERAL: (places a hand on the APPARAT’s shoulder and graciously shoves him aside) Lead our procession in. We’ll have Miss STARKOV presentable.

(APPARAT exits)

ALINA: Is he always like that?

GENERAL: The KING’s Spiritual Advisor. Unfortunately, yes.

ALINA: Will I just get used to it? (she takes off the kefta and puts on the green uniform, it looks brand new and stiff)

ZOYA: Never.

[They walk into the castle, they are in large hallways just outside the KING’s meeting room]

ALINA: (nervous) But what do I do?

GENERAL: Just focus on me, and be respectful. It will be fine. (ZOYA leaves)

[They enter the courtroom where the KING and QUEEN sit on thrones, noblemen and servants line the walls. As the GENERAL and ALINA near the dais, they stop and bow.]

GENERAL: Moi Tsar, may I introduce ALINA STARKOV. Our Sun Summoner.

ALINA: (looks to the GENERAL then curtsies)

GENERAL: Miss STARKOV is our mapmaker who saved over a dozen of her fellow soldiers in a volcra attack.

KING: Well, get on with it. I do not need to hear how powerful the girl is.

GENERAL: (ALINA looks at him and he bows to the king) Of course, sir.

[The room darkens as the GENERAL faces ALINA. We see her unmasked nervous and annoyed face, from her view we see blobs of the KING and QUEEN.]

ALINA: How—

GENERAL: (lightly touching her hand leans forward to whisper in her ear) Now, call the sun.

[ALINA’s body lights up in white light, at first she is shocked, but the rays let her see the faces around her, emblazoned in awe and heads turned away from the brightness of her power. As her gaze catches the pair of shocked royals, ALINA smiles in enjoyment. The light gradually fades, but her visible joy does not. The GENERAL faces the KING again.]

GENERAL: ALINA STARKOV shall train at the Little Palace. She will take down the Fold. She will be East Ravka’s light!

[The KING nods, while the QUEEN claps and the nobles follow suit. They shout, “For RAVKA!’] [Outside in the hall, ALINA asks the GENERAL]

ALINA: But where did my power come from? (she smiles down at her hands) It felt...

GENERAL: (lightly smiles) It came from everywhere. It was all consuming, Miss STARKOV. Now, get some rest. Your training starts tomorrow. (addressing two guards) Escort the Sun Summoner to her quarters.

[ALINA is then seen following two palace guards down a hallway. They open a door for her, revealing a large suite. ALINA enters and as the door closes she leans against it and sinks to the ground. She finally lets out all her emo ions from the past few days. She cries and grimaces from all the stress. After wiping her face, she quickly searches the room, finding a small letter opener. She tucks it beneath her pillow. She then lays awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.]

END OF EPISODE

[kaitandcole]

I was standing outside my high school waiting to get picked up when I opened Instagram and saw the news, I thought it was a joke. Genuinely. Cut to me looking at @harryflorals on Instagram and all of my other fan accounts I follow to see if it was true. It was. My heart immediately felt heavier than it had in years. I am still filled with grief and shock. I feel for his son, Bear, who woke up without a father. I feel for his entire family, who is feeling one of the most complex, nuanced, and heavy feelings someone can experience: grief. I can’t imagine how the other boys are feeling. Grieving someone you have lost contact with or have bad memories with is so, so so hard and I know that feeling personally. Grief is devastating, it is confusing, it is paralyzing, it is all-consuming. When you’re a kid, in your mind the people you admire or look up to are immortal. They’re on a pedestal and therefore they cannot die. Especially if they are someone who, from a young age, was commodified and molded to be an object you could sell. It is shocking to be so abruptly brought out of that fantasy. I imagined being 50, having my children or my wife say “Did you hear (insert member here) died?”. I never expected to have to deal with this kind of grief until very later in life. I never thought I would be 17, scrolling through Tumblr and Instagram, trying to make sense of one of them dying so, so, so devastatingly young.

My second-grade teacher got me into One Direction, and over that year, I became a massive fan. I brought the boys up in every conversation—anyone who knew me back then can attest to that—and made them my whole personality. Sometime during the end of the second grade, they announced that they would be going on hiatus. I remember feeling numb and in shock, I had just gotten into them. When their History music video came out, my second-grade teacher, whom I still talk to, promised to premiere it on her projector at the end of class. I remember sobbing, my best friend at the time and I were holding each other. I was mourning, and grieving, and processing. That was a big thing for an 8-year-old to go through. What other loss does she know?

While having a family member be sick at home and eventually passing in the sixth grade, I regressed to my 8 year old self. I made One Direction my entire personality again. I lost friends because they “just didn’t understand it” (aka: they were sick of hearing me only talk about them). I would listen to One Direction all day at school, and read fanfiction on the school bus and before I fell asleep. I would watch any media I could get my hands on that involved them. They were my support, and my rock to fall back on during that hardship. After this family member passed away in March of 2020, just a week before lockdown happened, One Direction became even more of a support. I felt isolated and lonely but the online community and the fandom helped me feel like I had a place, and I know I’ll always be thankful for that of course. As I healed and found other coping mechanisms, I still kept them incredibly dear to my heart, leaning on them whenever I needed to.

Once the news broke about Liam's passing and everything that followed, it felt like everyone was coming together to mourn. People who have been active consistently for years, people who have been a bit more inactive (like me), and even people who got a platform from this community (Sarah Baska, Brittany Broski, etc). The community is the strongest it has been in awhile right now. We are all going through something so linear, and so complicated. We didn’t know him, but he was a part of all of our childhoods. I still have all of my old merch I’ve collected over the years. I look to my right and I see the throw pillow and body pillow that are tucked underneath my bed. I see my One Direction stuffed bear and my poster and the old, untouched electric toothbrush I thrifted when I was 12. I may not as big of a fan actively as I once was, but this grief still runs deep. He was infinitely too young and it hurts to think that he felt that way to do something like that.

To everyone who is also feeling this grief, I see you. You are not being dramatic. Your grief and mourning are completely valid.

[geekyglimpses-nest]

4. This Might Be The Beginning

Warnings: +18 minor don't interact, slow burn, graphic language, humor, sexual content, physical trauma, blood (gore), bodies/corpses, death, drug use, guns, murder (atempted), PTSD, violence, english is not my first language.

Summary: Delaney has finally found a place that could be a home for her new self. She finally feels the peace and quiet she's craved for so long. Everything seems perfect. But after almost a year of being alone, with no one she actually knows by her side, loneliness starts to be more present in her life, but not for too long. Meanwhile, subtle hints of mysterious dreams and visions with no face come during her daily rutine hinting at deeper complexities yet to be explored.

Word count: 1930 words

Notes at the end of the chapter

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Before creation itself, there where six singularities.

Then the universe exploded into existence, and the remnants of these systems were forged into concentrated ingots. Infinity Stones.

These stones, it seems, can only be brandished by beings of extraordinary strength. These carriers can use the Stones to mow down entire civilizations like wheat in a field.

Once for a moment a group was able to share the energy amongst themselves, but even they were quickly destroyed by it.

Beautiful. Beyond compare.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

1 year later

I wake from my sleep with my heart pounding and bathed in sweat. My breathing is erratic. I feel a pressure in my chest that make it hard for me to breath correctly.

Lately my sleep is been hunted by this dreams that I can’t understand. I don’t see faces I only hear their voices, sometimes is just one voice, others I hear various voices. This are not any kind of dreams, their the kind where everything feels to real to be just a dream, the thing is they never connect with each other, they’re random. I can feel something different from this dreams and my usual dreams, they feel real, but not as a deja vú.

I get up an my body immediately begs for caffeine. I take a shower to remove the sweat off my body, get ready for the day and exit the house. The nearest coffee shop is in town so I take the car. While I’m driving a call comes in, the name is familiar.

“Good morning Mrs. Durmaz, how did you sleep?” I ask “Very well accompanied I should say” she answers with a cheer in her voice “Oh… I take it the date went well. This one is really lasting isn’t, you’ve been seeing him for like what? 6 months now. What’s his name Arturo?” “Yes. He’s 10 years younger than me and we are having a lot of fun, and not only in a sexual way. We’re going to have breakfast right now, he’s in the shower” she says “Well… that sounds serious” I say as I take the highway that leads to town “I don’t know honey, I don’t want to create illusions or see things where there aren’t you know? You never know with these young one. I’m just enjoying it while it lasts.” I can tell she sounds a bit sad when she says it.

“Mrs. Durmaz you’re a beautiful, kind, experienced and sexy woman. If he doesn’t see it’s his loss and he doesn’t deserve you…” the line goes silent so I continue “Can I speak honestly?” she makes an agreement sound “By the way you’ve been talking about him lately, it sounds like he doesn’t see you as a regular fling either Mrs. Durmaz, things have been going to a very serious place and if he would’ve wanted it, he would’ve already left if that’s not where he wanted to take things and so do you. I know you, you would’ve already found and excuse or something wrong with him”

“To be honest… I’ve tried to find something wrong about him but I can’t seem to find anything. I’ve tried to find an excuse in the whole age difference, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem for either of us. I think the reason I don’t want to think this is serious is because of my husband.” her admission surprises me “I feel as if am betraying his memory, as if I’m cheating on him. Before, they were just one night stands, fun flings, distractions but now that Arturo is here, I’ve began to have feelings I thought I’d never feel again since my husband died.”

“Mrs. Durmaz he’s dead, you’re not. You said that you made a promise to him that you would move on and live a life, fall in love again if the chance ever presented itself. This could be your chance on loving someone again. In my experience, you shouldn’t waste it, that kinda of situations don’t present themselves all the time. Can I give you my advice?” I ask her “It’s why I called dear. I’m lost here”

“Talk to him. Tell him how you’re feeling your relationship is transforming into something more serious and tell him how that makes you feel, let him make a choice. You already said that you’d like for something more to happen. I mean it’s not like your getting married, take it on a slow pace, there’s no rush. Just talk to each other and end this torture for both”

“I think you’ve got a point there. Wow dear, I have to say that town you moved into has really changed you. You seem a bit more relaxed now. Is it everything you hoped for?”

“Yes, it has. It’s quiet and peaceful. There is no stress around here, it’s safe. I like it. How much longer am I going to have to ask to come stay with for a couple months” I ask “You already know the answer. I’m not a forest type a gal, I love the city. It’s noise, it’s life, it’s colors. I would miss it to much. But I swear I will spend Christmas there If you promise to spend New Year’s Eve with me” she says in that tone she uses to convince everyone to do as she wishes. “Fine. I will buy your ticket and mine, you can’t change your mind now.” I say threateningly “I won’t, I swear. I must go dear, he just got out of the shower and the show that’s about to happen is something I’m not willing to miss” she says naughtily. I laugh “Talk to you soon Mrs. Durmaz, take care”

“I will. Oh… before I go, I sended a small gift your way, let me know if you’ve received it”

“I will, goodbye”

“Bye dear, take care”

I hang the call and keep driving. The road is pretty empty, it usually is. I no longer live on Washington D.C, the city became to overwhelming for me, I felt watched and unsafe. After the attack D.C stopped being a home for me, it never really was, it was just the place I worked at. I moved to a town called Enumclaw on the King County, I live on the outskirts of town, on a two story wooden cabin, it’s small, cozy and beautiful, what attracted me to buy it was the view that could be seen from anywhere in the house. I wake and fall asleep to the view of Mount Rainier every single day. I some times wake up with the urge to go hiking, so I drive all the way there for about an hour, and I loose myself in the wild in between the green of the grass and the orange and red of the waking morning sun, I walk to the nearest lake and I sit there and admire as I sip through my coffee, I close my eyes and I allow the rest of my senses to enjoy the place. Mount Rainier stands as a sentinel of natural grandeur, its towering peak piercing the sky with awe-inspiring dominance. Cloaked in an ever-changing tapestry of colors, its rugged slopes are adorned with lush forests that cascade like emerald waves against the mountain’s formidable facade. As the morning sun rises, its golden rays dance upon the snow-capped summit, casting a radiant glow that illuminates the surrounding landscape. Crisp, alpine air fills my lungs, carrying with it the fragrant perfume of pine and fir, while the distant melody of cascading waterfalls serenades my ears. Throughout the day, Mount Rainier’s visage shifts and shimmers in the play of light and shadow, revealing hidden valleys and glacial lakes nestled amidst verdant meadows. Enchanting wildflowers burst forth in a riot of color, painting the landscape with hues of violet, crimson, and gold, while alpine wildlife roams freely, adding life to this pristine wilderness sanctuary. As evening descends, the mountain’s silhouette is etched against a canvas of fiery hues, the fading light casting a surreal glow upon its craggy peaks. The crisp mountain air grows cool and still, inviting quiet contemplation beneath a blanket of twinkling stars that blanket the night sky. There’s some type of energy I feel every single time I’m there, I feel a type of peace that I’ve never felt before. My worries stop existing. I sometimes like imagining that I’m not me when I sit in the rocks to contemplate the breath taking landscape of Mount Rainier, I reach such a level of concentration that i feel as if the entire place itself stands as a testament to the power and wonder of the natural world, a sacred sanctuary where the spirit of the mountains whispers secrets of the ages to those who dare to listen. I can hear voices through the air, chanting, laughs. I’ve always wanted to climb Mount Rainier, I’ve tried, but I never go to far. My leg starts warning me that if I don’t stop, I’ll regret it. One day I want to climb it, I want to reach the top of it and just admire the view from above. I think the day that happens, I hope, to be in a better place.

I arrive into town, it’s 10 AM. And I see people already walking on the streets, opening the doors to their small businesses. I see the small coffee shop is open and I can see the line is long but it’s worth it. I park the car and walk towards the door.

The weather is usually cold in the mornings and it becomes hotter throughout the day, that’s the only disadvantage for me. When the weather is cold my leg suffers a lot, I can’t move as fast and I can’t remain standing long period of times, the cramps I get are more usual, I have to stop walking until the pain goes away. Like right now, as soon as I get out the car a shooting pain makes me stop and I have to close my eyes and breath through it, and thankfully this one is brief.

When I enter the smell of fresh coffee and freshly baked cookies invade my nostrils, I smile internally and I line up in the queue. It’s early in the morning and the coffee shop is buzzing with people already. People talk as they sit across each other and sip their coffees between conversations and a few laughs, others read their books and others work on their computers with their headphones on, all sits occupied. To my left there’s a big T.V. that is transmitting the morning news. “A couple months ago we talked to you about the events that went down on San Francisco that ended in Pier 39 located in Fisherman’s Wharf, this is a very touristic spot for tourists to visit in San Francisco. This place was witness of a sighting of the super hero known as Ant-man. Police arrested, Sonny Burch and other accomplices, the criminals responsible for this accident, where thankfully there where no valuable losses. Join us later on to know all the details from this event on WHiH World News my name is Christine Everhart” the segment interrupted by commercials

I most admit, it’s been hard to follow the traces of Captain America’s team after the events that occurred on Berlin and Siberia, they’ve becomed experts on keeping themselves between the shadows without anyone knowing where they’re and when someone does they’ve already vanish leaving no trace behind. Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson and Maximoff seem to always go everywhere together. Barton seems to have retired because I haven’t found any activity from his side. Colonel Rhodes keeps working as War Machine, after what happened in Leipzig he seemed to recover pretty quickly and was soon back in action. King T’Challa seems to have assumed his new role as King of Wakanda and has decided to open his kingdom to the world and share their knowledge and technology. Thor and Dr. Banner are missing, no apparent way to be reached, I haven’t found any clues on where they might be. I don’t now why but while doing my research on Thor Odinson I’ve found myself intrigued by Nordic legends and myths in the hopes of finding traces of where he could be. During my search I’ve found a very interesting myth about some “gems” that contain immeasurable power, a power never before seen by man, that even the gods have tried to hide. I remember when I first read about this, my whole body shivered at the possibility for this power to actually exist, it could be catastrophic, it could mean the end.

“You’re back, will you have your usual” in front of my is Layla, the morning shift cashier and barista of the coffee shop, her smile as big as always. “Hi, yeah I’ll have my usual, please” “How you’ve been? You seem tired” she comments as she taps her screen putting my order in “I am, that what’s the coffee is for. I’ve been working on something big and it’s been keeping me from sleeping” I answer “It most be important to keep you up at night” I make an agreement noise, my response, even to me sounds short and cold but she keeps tapping. She’s always so kind and sweet but I haven’t had my coffee and I’d hate to be rude to her, I pray for her no to continue the conversation so I can leave. “That will be six dollars please” I give her my credit card, she takes it and charges me. I pull a ten dollar bill to put on the tipping jar. I see a new jar next to it and it reads: local theater presentation “What’s this” I ask pointing towards the new jar

“Oh I’m helping the theater kids put together a new play, it’s an original. You can contribute if you can” I put a hundred dollar bill on the jar and turn to look at her. She seems surprised, she looks at me and smiles while putting the a piece of hair that has fallen in her face behind her ear “Thank you. Your order will be at the end of the bar. Hope to see you soon” I walk towards the bar and wait, my name is called and I approach the bar and again I see her, Layla puts my coffee orders in front of me and next to it there’s a small brown bag “It’s cookie to complement your coffee, it’s not good to eat nothing with coffee” she smiles and gives me my order “The play premieres in about a month. I’d love to see you there.” I nod and smile to her, I take my coffee and the bag and leave the coffee shop to walk towards my car and I set course for the lab.

─━─━─━─「✦」─━─━─━─

I walk towards the entrance of the lab but sounds of whining stop me. I frown and look around to find where does these sounds come from, when I find nothing I decide to ignore it and keep walking.

“Morning Dr.Kingsley” says Elodie greeting me.

Elodie Wallace, a twenty three year old trans undergrad Princeton female student, that has a physics degree and is now working to get her Ph.D. on Quantum Science and Engineering. When I opened a the lab, several universities and collages approached me to be part of their doctoral programs so that their students could continue with their field work and research. I’d agreed because I like keeping in touch and help with the on the making talent from various science fields. Elodie is the first one I’d actually accepted. She’s currently working on her own personal research on the possibility to unite physics and quantum mechanics to discover time travel, extremely risky for a young woman like herself. Which is why I picked her, she reminds me of myself when so many called me crazy when I presented my own research on human made worm holes to discover beyond of what we know about the universe.

“Morning El” I say as I walk to my office.

She quickly leaves her stuff in her desk, grabs her tablet and follows me to my office. I sit on my chair and sip through my coffee. I give her hers

“Thank you, what’s on the schedule doctor?” she says exited “The results from yesterday came in?” I ask “Yes, they did” she says “Good, bring them to my office please” she nods and stands “That research you were talking to me about last week, about quantum mechanics, do you have it here?” I ask, she seems surprised I ask “Yes… yes, I… always have it on me, why?”

“Bring it too”

“Really!?” she basically jumps “Um… What from the research?”

“All of it. Bring all of your research. That’s our next project”

“Okey” she says on a whisper “Ohmygod, ohmygod…”

I breath and keep drinking my coffee, I look at the brown bag with the cookie in it and decide to give it a try, it’s sill warm. I give it a bite and I feel heaven melting on my mouth. Shit, it’s actually good. Elodie comes through the door and puts all the documents on the desk, together we start to organize them.

...

“So you’re telling me there is a theory that says that if you go on a molecular level small, you can actually travel through million dimensions and there are a million more we don’t even know about?” I ask Elodie

“Basically yes” she answers

We both stair at the pile of documents on my desk and the green board that is full of annotations and calculations “This could be the begging of the time travel journey. Quantum mechanics and physics are the foundation of what could be time travel” she says

“I mean, I’d say we are years of research away from figuring time travel but yeah, this is where we begin” I say as I lean on my chair. Elodie looks at her watch and jumps right away, grabbing her personal stuff as quickly as she can. I turn to my right were I can tell it’s night now “Sorry doctor, I must go or I’ll loose the bus that takes me home”

“Do you want me to take you to the bus stop?”

“Don’t worry. You should probably go home and have some sleep. Something tells me tomorrow will be a very busy day” she says her goodbyes and bolts through the door.

I organize the desk as much as I can, I grab the empty cup of coffee and as I am about to through it away I see something has been written on it and I hadn’t seen it before. There’s a phone number written on it and it has a message to: “Hope you enjoyed your coffee, let me know if you ever want to hang out. Layla, from the coffee shop” I smile at the message. I take my phone and put her number and name on my contacts. I message her “Hey. Glad to finally have your number”

I turn all lights off and make sure everything is in order before leaving. I exit the lab and walk to my car and just like in the morning I hear whining coming from the trashcans. I slowly walk to them and peak behind one of them. A small puppy is behind the trash can trying to find food. It looks at me scared but their tail wiggles, curious too. I kneel and try to grab it and it barks at me “It’s okey little one” I say calmly showing my hands “I’m not gonna hurt you. You look hungry I can give you some food” they seem to understand because their head rises and it’s tail wiggles excited, they approach me slowly and I can grab it. It’s a boy “Come with me, it’s cold for you to spend the night out here” I grab the small puppy and I put him on the passenger seat, I quickly hop on the drivers seat and the puppy immediately moves to my lap, I put him on the passenger seat once more and he insists on sitting on my lap “Al right buddy, you can stay there just don’t move a lot” When we arrive home I put him down and I can tell he’s a very curious fella because he springs in action and starts exploring the house and of course soon after pee’s on the middle of the living room “Of course you would pee in here and not when you where outside for most part of the day” I leave him to explore and go to my fridge to see what I can give him. I see I still have some leftover dinner from yesterday, a chicken breast with vegetable “I mean I hope you like this buddy because I’ve got nothing else to offer you at the moment” I microwave it, put the leftovers on a plate and put it on the floor. I call after him with a whistle and he seems to understand because he runs towards the plate and starts devouring it, I grab another plate to put some water and place it next to him. While he is busy on that I clean the spot where he’s peed. He’s a big boy, I can’t tell how much of pup he is, but he seems a baby. He takes no more than 10 minutes in leaving the plate shinning and drinks almost all the water “Damn buddy, how long since you last ate and drank water?” I ask as I scratch him behind his ears. He finishes and watches me almost with a smile, pleased “All right buddy if you’re gonna stay the night you’re gonna get a bath. I might not have all that is needed to bath a puppy but we can figure it out right?” I bathe him with my shampoo and dry him with my hair dryer. He seems to be recently abandoned because he has no fleas, he was just dirty. He also seems trained because he can certainly understand some things I say. I did found a couple bites on his ears and bruises but I can’t really tell if that’s what they are “How about tomorrow I take you to the vet and put up some flyers to try to find out your owner. Are you lost buddy?” I say as I play with him with the towel I’ve dried him with. I take him with me to my bedroom and the bath seems to have relaxed him because he goes to lay down on the carpet of my bed next to where the heater is.

I go to my bathroom and quickly shower, when I get out he’s still laying there passed out, I put an oversize shirt and head to bed. My body seems to want to cooperate with my tiredness because as soon as I lay my head on the pillow exhaustion takes over my body. Just as I am about to drift to sleep I hear whining again “What is it buddy” the pup scratches the bed sheets. He want to get on the bed, I sigh “Don’t look at me like that” I whisper and he barks

“Okey. Just for this one night” I say and I grab him and put him on the bed, he starts to smell all the bed, explores it and starts to scratch the sheets “Hey stop that, you’re gonna break them” He understands and stops, he makes a circle around himself and lays down, He looks at me, I pet his head and I lay down too “Good night boy” he responds with a bark.

Soon enough sleep takes over my body, just as I feel myself drift off I feel a small body behind me move to my front, the puppy sighs and soon drifts to sleep too. I smile.

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Notes of the author: I know, I know the pace is sloooow. There's a reason, please don't loose faith. I just really want to establish Delaney and her current life first and then the action will begin. If you feel like you can't decipher Delaney yet, that's the point. Remeber this is a slow burn

I also wanted to let you guys know that when I write this fanfic there sometimes are musical pieces behind them that can heavily inspire and illustrate the chapter, I'll be editing previous chapter that may need the addition of music and I'll be using this emoji: ♪ followed by the name and artist of the song.

Other than that thank you to anyone who's reading, I really aprecciate it. Don't forget to give it love if you liked it, comment your thoughts cause I'd love to hear them.

Geekyglimpses-nest, out.

[aajjks]

reward!jungkook

its been four days and jungkook hasn’t left the house. he’s too consumed by guilt and grief to step outside and show his face. no one has told him about syelle’s funeral and he wonders if it’s because nobody wanted him to attend.

he just lays in bed wallowing in his own regrets. he curses himself for being so stupid and so blind for you when he should’ve been syelle’s side. he holds onto her wedding ring and whispers apologies he hopes she can hear even though what he did was unforgivable.

how can he live on when he took an innocent woman’s life? why can’t this be one of his worst nightmares where he wakes up in a cold sweat? syelle is alive and you never existed.

why couldn’t it be him that died from a broken heart?

*ding dong*

“jungkook? hey!! it’s eunwoo open—“

“just break it down, eunwoo. he’s been in there for four days!”

“alright alright”

slowly, jungkook makes his way downstairs to open the door for eunwoo and his wife of 3 years, alina.

“jungkook! oh my goodness! i’m so sorry we’re late” says alina as she takes his hand in hers. “sorry for your loss. i know it must be traumatizing to find her there like that. are you okay?”

that’s right, neither eunwoo nor alina knows about his infidelity. they don’t know about the sex tape or you. jungkook wonders if he should tell his friends the truth considering they knew nothing about it. was he so wrapped up in you that he forgot all about his friends?

it all happened so fast that he can’t remember when it all came crashing down but he feels it. hurt, guilt, grief, hate, he feels it all.

“poor girl passed from a broken heart…was she depressed or something? you know what, don’t tell us. you’re still grieving and we don’t want to overwhelm you” says alina as the three of them take a seat on the leather couch.

“you haven’t called or texted us in weeks. we wanted to make sure you were okay”

“yeah, her funeral is tomorrow. we wanted to go with you so you wouldn’t be alone”

should jungkook tell his friends the truth?

Jungkook starts to wallow so loud, Eunwoo’s eyes widen but his wife is not surprised because he’s a grieving husband at the end of the day

“why are you so surprised? his wife died-if I died, wouldn’t you cry like this?”

She whispers getting close to her husband’s face, but right now they need to focus on their friend who’s crying like a kid. they didn’t know that he loved Syelle so much because it was more of an arranged marriage but of course, everyone falls in love with time.

And it’s so sad because she was so young and hearing that she died from a broken heart possibly could have went wrong?

“Come on man just tell us what’s going on why do you look so guilty?” Eunwoo asks and yes they’re curious because… jungkook is just refusing eye contact with them.

He needs to prepare himself for another punch to the jaw, or maybe his nose this time. So Jungkook takes in a breath, “I was having an affair.” He breathes out and the couples eyes almost pop out of their eye sockets.

“you bastard- WHAT THE FUCK MAN.” Eunwoo cusses. “ I had been cheating on her for more than a year with a girl I fell in love with…”

You.

“and the night she died. I was busy fucking yn.. but yn turned out to be a crazy bitch who sent her a video that I wasn’t even aware of being recorded- to her.. and she died..”

Honestly, who the fuck is yn? They’re both wondering and alina so disgusted while her husband gets up from his chair, and grabs jungkook by his shoulders to punch him.

That makes a cringing noise, but… he deserves it.

Jungkook hisses and tears come out of his eyes. It’s not because of the physical pain. It’s because of the pain in his heart.

“I-I know! THAT BITCH WON’T STOP CALLING ME- I left her I just want to die! KILL ME PLEASE.” He cries on pathetically, his lip has started to bleed.

“you’re fucked up you know that? SHE DIED OF A BROKEN HEART, BECAUSE OF YOU AT THE AGE OF 24. THAT’S CRAZY YOU’RE GOING TO BURN IN HELL WHO THE FUCK IS THIS WOMAN I NEED TO SEE HER FACE.” Eunwoo groans at jungkook.

“I KNOW, BUT I STILL LOVE HER- I CAN’T HELP IT BUT SYELLE DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE.” Jungkook actually crazy because he still feels like he loves you..

But his conscious, and his heart is so heavy with what’s happened to Syelle.

“I REALLY WISH SHE DIDN’T DIE.”

Alina has tears in her eyes and she can’t help but stare at the ring in jungkooks grip, he’s lying he’s not in love with you.

He’s in love with his wife, who is dead now.

“OH, YOU’RE PATHETIC.”

Jungkook knows.

“please I need to attend her funeral and I will stop with yn… I will be alone for the rest of my life because Syelle didn’t deserve this and now she’s dead because of me- THAT’S RIGHT YOU NEED TO REDEEM YOURSELF, SO GET READY TOMORROW AND WE’RE GOING TO THE FUNERAL OF YOUR WIFE-I swear to God if I see your mistress there, I’m going to kill that bitch with my hands.”

[acupofbullshit]

The ugly, ugly truth of a stone to the heart.

“Even on my worst days, did I deserve babe, all the hell you gave me? Because I loved you… I swore I’d love you until my dying day.”

Ladies, theybies, gentlemen and kinfolk alike gather round, Gather round!

For I have quite the tale to tell you.

It’s a cautionary true tale of tragedy, heart ache, heart break, love, loss, kindness and a lesson in why empathy isn’t always the best policy.

Our story spans the better part of a decade and… none of it’s enjoyable.

The people in this story are extremely real and is based entirely on fact, truth and genuine circumstance; that being said please do not take it upon yourself to absorb this traumatic situation to make it your own or to use this as a shield to hide behind your own feelings for the situation and the people involved.

If you care too greatly for those involved and you simply want to stay away from the details or would rather live a Schrödinger’s lifestyle I implore you to back out now, stop reading and call it a night… that’s enough social media for tonight.

If not, please read on.

To start I’ll answer some questions as I usually do.

Q. Why are you doing this?

A. I’ve been hounded relentlessly for it on NGL and there’s a character limit there so I figured if you really wanna know so bad? here we are.

Q. Why do you feel the need to do this?

A. Two reasons

1. He’s gonna say I’m crazy and hide the truth so might as well actually be crazy and spill the beans

2. I’ve accidentally opened a door to social media where some of you feel genuinely entitled to the details of my personal relationships and the damage is done.

Q. Will you share your life openly on social media in the future?

A. Maybe… maybe not.

If this experience has taught me anything it’s you really cannot trust the people around you and sometimes you need to trust that the universe knows details you don’t and hears conversations you can’t.

If the circle needs to close, let it close.

It doesn’t matter how much you love them or how badly you want things to change.

Q. Does the other party know you’re sharing these details?

A. Probs not, hey? But I also don’t care?

Not once did that man think about me or our children at any point through his indiscretions… so… 🤷‍♀️

Q. What happens if your kids read this in the future?

A. I’m extremely honest with my girls and they’re already aware of the important details and this is a lived experience for us all.

I’m not sharing aaaaaaaaalllll the traumatic shit because… I don’t want to relive that? Just the relative need to knows.

trigger warnings in effect for infidelity, abuse, anger, sadness, depression, miscarriage and everything else that feels like anguish.

Are you ready kids?

Because it’s gonna be a bumpy ride…

“I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace”

Let’s take you back 10 years. It’s 2014, MH370 Is missing, Ebolas a problem, Vine is popping off and Fancy by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX is taking the world by storm.

I’m a newly single 21 year with 2 kids under 3 and my friends are trying to set me up with a cute boy they knew who, I was CERTAIN wasn’t interested in me.

The boy could barely look at me without frowning and when I tried to speak to him he always looked like he was in pain. There was no way he liked me… and yet he was asking me on a date.

He was a little younger, lots of fun and very handsome… and also NINETEEN. And he didn’t have kids of his own. And liked to party. And he didn’t finish school. And he couldn’t drive and he didn’t have any responsibilities and he had his whole life ahead of him… why on earth would this man chain himself to a woman with 2 young children?

Trading in Kesha and Skrillex in dark rooms overflowing with booze and dimly lit with lasers for Peppa pig and Disney movies on the couch illuminated with a nightlight and a 3 years olds giggle… not the most ideal trade for a young man and yet still, he promised he wanted it.

He wanted a family, a life, a house full of love and children of his own someday.

“Even if it does work out and he actually likes me it’s a recipe for disaster … this is a bad idea” I thought to myself.

10 years later I kick myself for not trusting my instincts and hate the fact that, like always, I was right.

Ok I’m not always right.

Once I thought there were 100 seconds in a minute and 60 centimetres in a metre... yeah yeah, I know. I KNOW.

But I am always right about PEOPLE. who they are, how they act as their true selves and their core motivations.

When you’ve been through enough trauma to madden a small army you get pretty good at seeing things for what they are… and even better at delusionally pretending you can’t and especially so when love is involved.

Back to the story.

Time wore on and we were happy... Mostly.

Or at least we were right up until our first major hurdle as a couple… infidelity.

The genius accidentally showed me someone’s nude photographs on his computer while trying to open an anime for us to watch.

How was it handled?

He said I planted it there to make him look bad and that I was trying to set him up.

Listen, I’m crazy… but I’m not INSANE.

I dye my hair pink on a whim and drive interstate for a meal. I’ll laugh so hard at a seal screaming at a traffic cone I’ll accidentally trigger a panic attack.

See? Crazy, but not insane.

Naturally I rebutted and refuted his claims but he doubled down which is when he learned gaslighting was an effective tool to weaponise against someone with admitted lapses in memory.

Yes, you can start cringing now. It only gets worse from here.

We hadn’t even hit our first anniversary before the cracks were well and truly embedded and they ran DEEP.

And I stayed. Stupidly, because I thought somehow I DID somehow plant them there or it WAS somehow my fault.

What if it WAS an old photo that he just happened to have saved to his desktop that he forgot about? Benefit of the doubt right?

Wrong. WRONG.

I look back on that poor young gullible woman and I’m filled with rage. He’s nice, sure but he’s not worth the thousands of dollars in therapy and the years of happiness lost.

Stacey, you should have run. Got out clean! Dodged a bullet!

It doesn’t matter if there was another failed relationship, this wasn’t on your hands you don’t have to prove you can outlast something out of spite anymore.

BUT I DIGRESS.

we move on, things change.

We put in some work together, I change jobs he goes back to school to get his apprenticeship… things are going kinda great! (Aside from my medical mishaps and me losing my job that is)

…And then we got new neighbours.

That’s when the real trouble began.

Within a year of them moving in he had made friends, destroyed a marriage, broke up two families and forced us to move.

Why? Because he just had to try and (maybe) succeed in fucking his best friends fiancée (our next door neighbours).

That one was hard.

I had just endured a miscarriage and was undergoing a likely cancer diagnosis… I’d spent the day before having holes poked into my cervix to remove suspicious cells and I was worn out and exhausted.

After a long ass day of being in pain and raising girls I had just put dinner on the table and felt ready to cry. He tried to cheer me up and show me a “a funny meme” at the table. What he ended up showing me was my very pregnant next door neighbour masturbating in a towel.

I didn’t laugh at the hilarious portrait. He wasn’t laughing when I threw him out of my house and slammed the door. The neighbours saw, they whispered “see, he said she was insane”

I didn’t care.

He deleted the evidence of the affair and tried to convince me I didn’t actually see anything and i had just made it up. She got ahead of the curve and told her partner I was just an awful woman with an axe to grind.

“It’s the stress of the situation, it’s because you’re sick. You’ve just lost your job. You need me”

I could scream now.

Therapy made me believe I was somehow responsible for this adult child’s inability to regulate his impulses

“He has adhd… and addiction issues… relapses will happen but you love each other. He can’t be fully held accountable for his actions you’re going to have to learn to work around these problems”.

“You both want to work on this right?”

Right?

It’s not like you have a lot going for you anyway…

One more shot… just one more.

And then while we were in the thick of working on our relationship to each other he left for work again and lived in Newcastle 5 days to 7 days a week for 6 months.

I stayed here, trying to work full time, raise 2 kids and wrap up a custody battle.. he forgot I even existed. He’d forget to call… forget to message… forget to tell the girls good night…

You can guess what happened.

Of course you can, you see the pattern. You’re not blinded.

And you know what? I definitely saw it too.

Except now? He’s adored by my girls and were newly engaged I can’t just back out now.. I can’t take away their parent.

It’s not their fault he does these things and he’s mostly so good to them… maybe I could just learn to live with this….

Maybe if I just lost the weight or tried harder to be a better wife or was more demure and less abrasive… maybe I needed to change my hair or my style or my entire personality… maybe tattoos might help.

Maybe if I changed everything about myself it might make it easier for him to want to love me…

Stacey you fucking Brussel Sprout you’re TRAUMATISED.

He didn’t need to gaslight me anymore. I was doing it to myself FOR him.

Can you believe we haven’t even hit the half way point yet.

The next ones though… these were DOOZYS.

It’s now 2019. We’re supposed to be getting married in 3 months. Guess who’s texting pictures of his dick to women on the internet again? SPOILER ALERT: It wasn’t me.

The wedding is off. We’re just living together at this point out of sheer necessity.

And that’s when things really took a turn.

I won’t get into the details because.. this bit is really REALLY sad but the highlight reel runs: a broken hand from punching a hole through the floor, a trip to the emergency mental health unit for one, $30,000.00 in debt and three of us in crisis accomodation over Christmas in a hostel later I’m now free… and he was in the local gatts bed the day I left.

Moving forwards I have my own place, I’m feeling better, I worked on myself and I was feeling great about life again.

He and I are still friends trying to maintain a friendship for the girls who still adore him. They don’t know any different and I don’t have the heart to tell them.

And then covid happened.

And he started staying more and more frequently… and he’s changed and he’d worked on himself and things were different this time…

I wanna puke I’m so dumb. DUMMMMBB.

For a while though, things actually were great. We were working together as a team, the girls were thriving and things were going well…

So why won’t he commit to long term goals?

The tension was palpable. Our friends were CONFUSED. I was devastated.

From the very beginning all I had ever asked for was for him to love me and the girls unconditionally and that we’d get married and grow our family together.

This was only ever expanded to include “and to not cheat on me”.

He swore these goals were shared. Promised these were things he wanted too and that he definitely wanted them.

So why, after 7 years of back and forth would he not ask me to marry him and make things official? He’s asked before right? Why won’t he ask again?

Why after 7 years did we have no savings, no shared major assets and no real plan to expand our family? Why did we not have a 5 year goal?

Because he didn’t want too in the first place.

I begged.

Cried.

Pleaded.

“What can I do?” I’d lament.

“Why is this just not working” I’d whisper between sobs. And he’d comfort me. Reassure me it’s not me, things are just tough… the excuses were endless.

“Why am I not enough?” I was torturing myself.

We were in the throws of twice weekly couples therapy that I’m paying a shit tonne for.

I’m doing the homework, I’m working on my communication, I’m engaging in the sessions and baring all because I’m committed to making this work.

Him?

“It’s hard for me, you know I don’t like reading. Talking about myself makes me uncomfortable, I lost the homework binders, I hate doing these exercises they’re dumb and they do nothing”.

And then guess who unexpectedly fell pregnant? Me. It was me.

I was thrilled. He was mad.

I don’t think he actually expected this to happen, I mean I know he didn’t because he accused me of cheating on him for it to have happened. I didn’t, by the way.

No matter though, a routine check up revealed this little angel wasn’t proceeding.

I spent my New Year’s Eve in a hospital alone and scared having the news confirmed to me that the child I had longed for hadn’t made it and it was time to proceed with the next steps… and then we went to a pool party so he could ignore me.

“We can’t let our friends down Stacey, they’re expecting us. It might do you some good.”

My mind was elsewhere. I was a shell. On another astral realm while my body just robotically moved on the physical plane.

He? Was on an inflatable unicorn in the pool living his best life.

Splashing and smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong.

Was I wrong? Was I wrong to feel this way? It had only been 10 weeks maybe he’s right and maybe I was just too attached to an idea…

A few days later I proceeded to endure the most traumatic medical procedure of my life. After bleeding uncontrollably for hours at home I attended the emergency department where they completed a bedside extraction without pain relief because all the ORs were contaminated with covid patients.

A 24 year old nurse named Bethany who confessed earlier she was so overwhelmed and wanted to leave the profession held my hand and let me cry into her shoulder while another nurse held my legs apart so the doctor could do what he needed to do.

He stayed home and played Spider-Man to pass the time. Granted it was during covid and it was suggested he wait outside, I didn’t expect him to go home brag about finishing the game.

Y U C K

Then there was the incident at our best friends wedding… l wasn’t myself again yet after losing the baby the month prior but it was our friends wedding and I wanted to be there.

We booked a hotel room on the premises, I wanted to make it special. I put in some EFFORT to look as hot as I could… it didn’t work.

He got trashed and threw up in a garden because he didn’t want to spend time with me. I wanted to sit next to each other and dance on the dance floor and feel the love in the room…

He staggered to the hotel room.

I stayed a little longer because it was our best friends wedding? And I wanted to enjoy it?

I danced with my friends mum.

Hopped in the Photo Booth with some friends, ate some cake and then my social battery ran dry.

Exhausted, it was my turn to stumble back to the hotel room. My swollen feet rubbing in my heels, a little tipsy from the wine and lost because the room numbers didn’t make sense.

I find my way back and he’s passed out on the bed, fully suited, shoes still on and phone in hand.

Silly man. I thought. Had too much fun.

“I’ll get his shoes off for a start.. now I’ll put his phone on charge for him…” it was still unlocked. Messages open. He was sexting our old neighbour again.

I dropped the phone. Stifled my cry.

I sat cross legged in the bottom of the shower and sobbed for hours.

The usual.

I was embarrassed and ashamed.

My friends can never know… at their wedding?!

He’d be dead by morning.

I kept it to myself. I mean I confronted him when he found me in the shower but that one I wanted to keep to myself.

I wish I didn’t.

It wasn’t long after that he went away for work AGAIN. our entire life was him disappearing for weeks to months at a time for work. This time it wasn’t too far away and it was a short trip to Bathurst for a few days but I had a hunch…

Sigh.

This is just a joke now.

Cycle repeats. There’s another woman, there are photos, there are messages and I feel sick except this time there’s an ultimatum. Do it again and this time I’ll burn your life to the ground.

He promises and I do too. He promised he’d do the right thing, I promised I’d set fire to everything we’d built together just to watch the flames cleanse and scorch the earth between us.

He went straight back to love bombing and I’d just checked out at this point, going through the motions of life waiting for the inevitable error.

Because I knew it was coming.

It could take a week, it could be 5 years but I knew it would come…. And boy oh boy did it come.

The wheels well and truly fell off the wagon when he forgot my 30th birthday and said I was dramatic for expecting him to know he had to plan something.

… what.

It’s your significant others birthday… a milestone one… you didn’t have to build me a palace dude I just wanted a fuckin’ card and maybe for you to plan something with the kids.

I was biding my time. I knew our relationship was over.

We were now approaching 10 years of …. This… and there was still no ring on my finger. No love in our house and no children running free.

25 May 2024, the break up date was set in my mind.

I was waiting it out when again… 2 little pink lines came up in August.

I didn’t want to allow myself to be hopeful but I did.

The more time went on the more excited I got and the more distant he became.

“It’s just nerves after what happened last time”

*pterodactyl screech*

NO IT’S NOOOOOTTTTT.

The Second trimester rolls around, we’re starting to tell everyone... I’m jazzed. I feel like my life’s falling into a disjointed step and things are looking relatively good… that deadlines looking really silly now. Maybe I was wrong? I wanted so BADLY to be proven wrong. I had HOPED I was wrong.

The only thing that stopped me from announcing our news to everyone we knew? We were waiting on our harmony test to confirm a gender before I told my parents who I knew would be over the fuckin’ moon.

A 15 week routine check up confirmed our daughter Emery lost her heartbeat sometime that week.

I was devastated.

Gutted.

Drowned in grief.

And I felt so alone.

I felt like I was mourning this loss and a bit more on my own and I couldn’t understand why. I knew my daughter was gone but I couldn’t understand what else I was grieving.

Subconsciously I think I knew.

Like another cruel twist of fate I woke up in the middle of the night in excruciating pain. No waves of rolling pain it was just ow. It’s labour but it’s wrong.

In the middle of the night I drove myself to the hospital and delivered my little girl on my own. The staff were incredible and concerned I was alone.

They dosed me up on morphine and I silently wept for hours.

By the time he arrived to the hospital to “support me” I was ready to go home.

I drove myself home to cry my eyes out and get our kids ready for school and he went to work like it was another normal day.

Weeks go by and I’m lost; spiraling into a deep depression and I can’t anchor myself to anything to slow the decent.

I’m stuck somewhere between sorrow and anger and a weird dissociative state that I can’t shake.

I’m trying to run my household, turn up for work, parent my children, look after myself and be a good friend and an attentive partner but I’m falling short at every turn. Everything I touch becomes sick with melancholy.

Everything I’m trying isn’t working.

And then it hits me. I’m grieving alone.

I am GRIEVING alone.

I am doing it ALL by myself. All the household chores, all the errands, all the things required to maintain a family and a relationship. I’m going to my appointments alone. I’m going through the motions alone. I’m crying alone. I’m awake at night with my heart in pieces alone. I’m reading the books alone, I’m trying to cope alone and I’m trying to love again alone.

Our intimacy disappeared as soon as he knew we were expecting and it just didn’t come back.

He was always so angry at me because I couldn’t get it together and he’s constantly on his phone… I know what this is…. I’ve seen this movie before and I know how it ends.

My heart sank.

Dread seeps in.

The insidious feeling creeps into the back of my mind and I cannot shake it.

So I did the cardinal Cardi B sin.. I went through his phone that night and I found some things I definitely didn’t like.

He was cheating the entire way through our pregnancy, loss and afterwards.

Including the night I delivered.

Who is she? Some girl i met on TikTok. How long has it been going on for? Not long, a few months.

I saw red.

I cut sick.

I went feral.

You don’t need me to tell you why.

I was definitely done this time. The ick was severe.

I screamed in agony. Ugly hot tears spewing from my eyes with pure unbridled rage. How dare you. How very fucking dare you.

I threw what I could get my hands on, clawed at my own skin to try and hold onto the pieces of my soul that were so desperately trying to escape my body… I had descended into madness.

I spat words laced with venom from a place of hurt, building and bubbling over the last 10 years all coming out like an unstoppable crescendo.

My body in a state of shock didn’t know whether to turn my brain off as a response to trauma, have a panic attack or violently grieve through the pain I felt. Somehow, it did all three.

I’m not proud of the woman I was that night… not the nights immediately after.

Grief on grief on grief on grief… I had already lost so much it had just compounded into this hideous snowball.

My best friend, my child and now my love.. what could possibly be next?

Things became extremely uncomfortable when I confirmed to him I was definitely done this time. I couldn’t look at him and feel comfort and I couldn’t find solace in his eyes anymore. All I felt was a burning hot rage and bitter, BITTER betrayal and I wanted to rip down the walls of the house we built together.

He kept telling me we could make it work that it was a mistake and he was regretful and he was committed to change this time around.

Too late bro.

The little part of me that still loved you died the second I read you had called HER the day I delivered a corpse but you couldn’t call me to check on me?

Vile.

I had always thought that I wasn’t a prize, that I wasn’t worth shit and that nobody would love me and I should be grateful for the small bits of love and the bare minimum I got.

I thought that the love and affection I had so desperately tried to cultivate just wasn’t real and only existed to serve as a plot device in fairytales.

I thought that if I left him my life would be over and the walls would collapse in. That I couldn’t live without him in my life… like I didn’t know how. I wasn’t ready to let go or maybe I didn’t want too.

Our shared trauma bonds didn’t allow me to see what a life without toxicity could be.

It was awful and tumultuous but it was familiar and it was safe.

I was terrified of starting over and petrified of being alone.

That I would somehow be judged for not being able to make this work and that somehow it would be me to blame that I couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering. That my daughters would somehow hate me for taking away their father figure.

Stupid, I know.

That night was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. As soon as I verbalised to myself and to him that whatever this was was… whatever the last decade was… was done it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and the dark rain cloud drowning me had dissipated.

I began to feel free.

The person I thought I lost slowly began creeping back in… I felt more and more like myself everyday.

We made the decision to run the lease out and still live together for the time being. It was only a few months. It was achievable… right?

I hated the animosity I still felt but I loved the person I was rebecoming. I thought I could do it.

I am an idiot and I was wrong.

I hadn’t told anyone about what was happening except my 6 closest friends who have supported me through this like absolute legends. If you were anywhere near my socials you would have guessed something was up but I didn’t really elaborate to anyone outside the 6.

I was happy and coping as best I could. But I wasn’t immune. Crying fits, bouts of anger and just real mean shit wasn’t uncommon… it was quickly becoming apparent this was terrible for my mental health and couldn’t be sustainable.

I can’t live with looking at the face of my trauma and he can’t live with me wanting to rip his throat out of his body any time I see an exposed neck.

Something has to give.

Flash forwards to New Year’s Eve. Some time had passed and a very nice man who had been checking in on me as a friend messaged me nicely on Instagram to wish me a happy new year and said that they were grateful to know me and was excited for us to be excellent friends in 2024.

I echoed the sentiment.

He then replied to a photo I had posted to my story to say I looked very good and that the picture itself was Lock Screen worthy.

A little cheeky, a little flirty… but I liked it.

But just like anything in this story, it’s not quite that simple because even though he was a third party with limited knowledge of the state of my personal affairs except for the fact I was vaguely single and based of that information decided to compliment a girl on the internet… he unknowingly and unwittingly set off an uncomfortable chain reaction resulting in me learning exactly who my ex lover really was and what they were actually capable of… and this poor man was unfairly caught in the crossfires of someone else’s mistakes.

And that’s something I’ll be regretful for, for the rest of my life.

Unbeknownst to me, while I was reading the nice message of appreciation for my friendship and a cheeky compliment that had my self confidence on the rise so too, was my ex partner.

Reading over my shoulder in a veiled attempt to pry into my personal life.

He was big mad.

Mad someone had the audacity to be kind to me. Mad someone had the gumption to think I was pretty. Mad someone had the gaul to tell me so. Mad someone had the hide to appreciate my friendship and what I could offer.

He was MAD mad.

I promise you, if you saw a screen shot from this extremely tame and respectful interaction you’d sit there and think … “is that it?”

No grand display of love or devotion, no vulgar sexting, no big feelings and nothing even remotely derogatory towards my ex partner. Just two pals saying “happy new year and hey, you look cute tonight by the way”.

Until that very moment when he dropped a cheeky flirt it had only ever been platonic between us…Except for the night we met 2 years ago but that’s a story for another time haha.

So why… why was this man reacting like I’d tipped his mother’s ashes down the sink? Like he was somehow still entitled to me and the love I want to give and receive?

He stormed out of the room and disappeared for hours to sulk… I was confused. We weren’t together, it’s not my place to pry into his personal life and whatever’s got him upset… I guess I’ll let him go…

until I get a message from the nice man that read something like:

“Hey, uh I don’t want to start shit but I’m a little concerned… who is this guy and why is he liking my photos from years ago?”

… what.

The screenshots came in.

They didn’t know each other. I was their only mutual friend. I hadn’t mentioned this man by name. He doesn’t go by his legal name on the internet let alone his Instagram handle… How did he know who he was?

“I’m so sorry I’ll handle it”.

We duke it out. Not my best choice to do it infront of a giant glass window.

Our new years guests couldn’t hear what was happening but they sure could see…

I was in protective mode for a man I barely knew but why should this man be a victim of intensive cyber stalking for complimenting me? Why should his privacy be invaded like that because my ex couldn’t get his shit together and fumbled the bag?

None of that is this nice man’s fault.

Besides, WE WEREN’T EVEN TOGETHER. WHY DID IT MATTER SOMEONE ELSE WAS NICE TO ME.

More venom fell out.

“There’s been a line behind you waiting for an opportunity this entire time, you only held your place at the front because I left that place open for you”

Not my best work, but definitely a pivotal moment for my own self confidence because… there WAS a line. I AM desirable. I AM wanted. I CAN be loved and I don’t need to torture myself by staying with someone who can’t offer basic respect let alone something more.

I’ve got goals. I’ve got places I wanna be. I have achievements I wanna tick off and I don’t want to be held back anymore by an emotionally deficient fuck boy.

And I realised I can live my best life with my good Judy’s by my side, my girls by my side and my family by my side.

I mean it would be nice right to have someone love you and see you and love your kids unconditionally and have the same shared interests or goals… but I’m the master of my own destiny and fuck anyone that gets in the way of that.

Anyway, he flipped it.

So much so he did the unthinkable.

Now I understand being upset. I understand acting on impulse and I understand hitting someone where it hurts when they’ve wronged you if it’s deserved.

WHEN it’s deserved.

Over 10 years of knowing someone you come to learn quite a bit about them and what really gets them excited and in turn what really upsets them.

He absorbed my secrets, my fears and my insecurities just to weaponise them against me.

Cheating on me is one thing.

Lying to me is another.

Taking one of the worst parts of my life and making me relive it for your own entertainment and manipulation? NEW LEVEL OF FUCKERY UNLOCKED.

Over the next few days I started to receive some pretty nasty anonymous messages… some I posted to my story some I didn’t.

Most were targeted at me and my appearance, some were targeted at the man that was messaging me to spread rumour, some at my kids and some were targeted at my ex partner.

I’ve been the victim of a hate campaign before so these messages were admittedly quite triggering. They preyed on the most insidious thoughts that live in the back of my mind.

Who was this person? Why would they say these things to me? The only people sending me these messages are people I already know and I can’t imagine these people saying such awful things…

My mental health took a slight sidestep and I went full undercover operative.

I set up my own little investigation. No one was more surprised when it lead me to him.

No.. I must be wrong it couldn’t be…

Until it was with out a doubt confirmed when he stupidly dropped the nice man’s legal name in an anonymous message.

There were only 4 people who knew we were talking to each other let alone his name and I definitely didn’t send the message… neither did the nice man… my best friend certainly wouldn’t have done it so it left only one option.

I paid for premium access to the NGL app. Got the clues I needed about the sender of the messages and confronted him.

He lied.

He always does.

Even when confronted with the truth.

Tried to gaslight his way out of it. Again. But it wouldn’t work this time.

The proof was right in front of us. I had the very compelling evidence. It couldn’t be disputed.

After trying to lie for a 4th time he confessed it was true and he did send some of those nasty ass messages in an attempt to manipulate my self confidence, sow the seeds of deceit between the nice man and I so I wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore and to make me feel sorry for him for all the hate he was getting online.

Again, like a bull charging at a waving flag I saw RED.

“You have a month. Get out of my house. Never speak to me again.”

This was a new low. A real ugly point. I had never cheated on him. I’d never betrayed his trust. I’d never been intentionally mean like this.

Why…

W H Y .

I immediately unfriended him off what I could. What I couldn’t, I blocked.

We weren’t friends. We never truly were. Friends don’t hurt each other like that. Friends don’t do shit like that. That’s enemy behaviour.

Only someone who despises you would do those things, any of those things let alone all of those things over a prolonged period of time.

I didn’t think this could get any worse and yet there I was… publicly bullied by my ex on the internet for his own enjoyment.

It’s time. It’s time to tell everyone. My parents… my siblings… our wider network of friends… my girls.

My girls….

Sitting the girls down was tough… an activity I never want to do again.

A conversation I thought we would have with them together to tell them we couldn’t make it work and their stepdad would be leaving - the last little honourable thing he could do… apologise to them… be honest with them… love them… and let them go gently ended up with me in tears telling them on my own that everything had fallen apart and mum was sorry.

My best friend holding one daughter while I held the other. And we all cried.

My best friend was the one helping me to explain everything to our daughters and work through the complex emotions we were all feeling. Drying tears, answering questions and reminding them this isn’t their fault…

They were devastated. My eldest fumed and my youngest sobbed in pain… their first real heartbreaks.

I’m grateful for her everyday. I’m grateful for her kindness, her love and her support but this wasn’t heartbreak she had to endure. This wasn’t her responsibility to step in… it was his.

He aimlessly folded the same piece of washing and watched the conversation unfold.

He didn’t say a word.

If I had felt guilty before asking him to leave, putting my girls first or leaning into the nice man’s advances I definitely didn’t now.

… And I still don’t.

“2nd of Feb dude, you gotta be outta here. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have anywhere else I won’t put us all through this anymore you need to make your arrangements and your exit from stage left”

I’m in my healing era. My lover girl era. My ‘be a better friend’ era. My ‘be an excellent mum’ era. My stand up for myself era. My evolution era.

And I will not lie, romance has indeed found me along the way.

And I’m so okay with that.

It’s unconventional. It’s different. It’s kind and respectful. It’s considerate and tender. It’s FUN. it’s goofy and it’s pure…

I’m pretty sure it feels like it’s supposed to.

It’s not a fight to the death every day. It’s not a struggle. It’s not nights crying myself to sleep wondering where I went wrong (it was most nights that we were together… I won’t lie). It’s not toxic fights that have me worried about what’s going to be broken this time.

I don’t need to wonder if this man actually likes me, he makes sure I know.

It’s honest and supportive and REAL…

and it’s a steep learning curve.

I have a lot of unlearning to do and behaviours to quash to be a better version of myself… not just for myself but for everyone in my orbit but for the first time in a long time I’m excited for what happens next.

The next few months will be hard financially, emotionally and physically.

But I have a kick ass gang of friends, 2 amazing daughters who under the circumstances are thriving, a fantastic therapist (shout out gabz the big dawg) and someone I can invest all my extra love into and is more than happy to send it right back.

I’m going for surgery in a week, I have a plan in place to correct my health and I’m pushing myself to be the best possible version of myself not just for me or for them… but for you too, dear reader.

Given so much of my life was shared openly and then used against me to hurt me by people I trusted and loved I can’t say for certain this level of openness will remain.

Some aspects of my life will be kept just for me, my girls lives will still stay off the internet until they’re ready (occasional happy snaps and tidbits will still flow freely don’t worry about that), I’ll still share the cool shit I’m up to with work, the dumb shit my friends and I get amongst and life events with my new significant other will be shared when and if I find one.

But only if and when I want too.

And I won’t use social media to cover up my extreme unhappiness.

Not everything you see on the internet is real and I too have played a part in that.

Relationships are complex, no one has the perfect one and keeping up appearances only gives you more heartache than what it’s worth.

So if there’s any wisdom I can impart on you it’s this:

💜 You are more than your relationships.

💜 Fuck the haters, they’re gonna chat shit anyway you might as well give them something to talk about.

💜 You are precious and deserve to be protected and loved and to be happy.

💜 don’t settle because you’re expected to.

💜 You can cut parts of yourself down but no matter how far you trim you’ll never fit into the box you think you should be in.

If you don’t fit, get a bigger box.

💜 Nothing on the internet is real.

💜 Sometimes letting go is necessary to heal.

💜 Love will find you in the most unexpected of ways and in the most unexpected places.

💜 Listen to your friend that gets the weird vibes, they’re usually right.

💜 The NSW healthcare system both sucks and is excellent at the same time.

💜 Do what you want, it’s not too late to start over. You’re gonna die eventually… live the life you want.

💜 Live in the now and the future. The past is a place we can visit but you cannot live there.

💜 Just because you’re happy sometimes it doesn’t outweigh the heartache all the time.

💜 Don’t sacrifice yourself. For anyone.

💜 People will understand eventually.

💜 Just because you can do everything on your own doesn’t mean you have too

💜 You shouldn’t suffer in silence or alone.

💜 HABITUAL CHEATERS WON’T CHANGE

And thus ends a 10 year tale of a strong AF girlie who is owning a new, better phase of HER life.

She rescued herself from the damn tower, set her daughters free, reacquainted herself with her besties and picked up a cutie on the way out to get Starbucks.

I’m writing new pages in a book I thought I’d finished and I’m excited to see the life that’s out there waiting for me. I’m excited to reacquaint myself with myself again. I’m excited for new experiences, better relationships with everyone around me and not having to wear shoes inside to avoid the broken egg shells and bits of ego on the floor.

And him? Feeling sorry for himself I guess. Or not. I’m not sure and I don’t think I care to find out.

Maybe he’s realised what he’s lost, maybe he’s awake in the middle of the night languishing in pain, maybe he’s grieving or maybe he’s just fine and couldn’t care less.

Either way, my thoughts don’t live there anymore, they live with me.

“You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same cursing my name, wishing I stayed… You turned into your worst fears…

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain and crossing out the good years… and you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed… Look at how my tears ricochet” - Taylor Swift

[kipaia]

Post-Blitz One-Shot

Elysium, Petra Nebula, September 2nd, 2176

AO3

"Machines are talking to each other all of the time. Calculations, trajectories, comms, even every bit of information in the extranet is all compiled and understood from the ways machines talk to one another. That's what I do; I look at what the machines are saying, and I figure out the best ways of interpreting it so that we can understand it. I'm basically a robot interpreter!"

Athena Shepard swallows thickly around the knot of grief that has been wedged in her throat for the last two weeks since her husband's death. Hearing his voice again, particularly from one of his early messages to Kora, is like dragging a knife slowly through her chest but she won't show it; she can't afford to appear weak right now. Not with the Blitz still so raw and half the Batarian Hegemony outright calling for her head for the losses she had single-handedly been responsible for. Her brief this morning had made it clear that the publicity surrounding her frankly absurd hold of Elysium's perimeter was a double edged sword; for all that humanity as a whole was lauding her as the hero of the decade, she'd painted a target in blood on her back for the batarians.

A small sniff from her elbow brings her back to the present and she gently squeezes her daughter's hand, still so careful with the child. "Kora?"

Kora's free hand quickly comes up to wipe her face that is blotchy from trying to hold in the emotions that Athena was hard pressed to hold back for herself; the fact that she's managed so far is a testament to her inner strength, far beyond what any nine year old child should have.

"Sorry, momma," Kora whispers. "I'm t-trying not to, but I k-keep leaking."

The last comes out of her with such vehement frustration that Athena has to stifle a laugh, determined to not make her daughter think she doesn't take her seriously. Especially not today.

She lowers herself to one knee beside her daughter, ignoring the impersonal droning speech honoring her husband coming from the stage beside them as she takes both of her daughter's hands in her own. Her small hands are still swollen, dry and cracked from her chemo treatments, but Athena takes comfort that the treatments are over with and Kora won't have to deal with her painful hands for much longer. "Kora, no one is going to be upset with you for crying, especially not today."

Her daughter's brown eyes feel like they're boring into her soul as she shuffles a bit. "But this is supposed to be serious."

"Who said serious can't be sad?" Athena says sharply, too sharply; Kora winces, and Athena has to force herself to take a slow, deep breath before continuing. "Kora, aroha, this is a funeral. It is normal to be sad. You're saying goodbye to your dad; crying is part of saying goodbye."

"You always tell me not to cry when you say goodbye, though."

"Right, because I'll see you again." The knot in her throat seems to grow three sizes. "We're not going to see your dad again, so this time it's okay to cry."

Kora still doesn't seem sure, but they're interrupted by one of the Admiral's aids. "Excuse me, Lt. Shepard? They're about to call you up." The staffer at least has the decency to appear distinctly apologetic for interrupting the moment.

"All right." Rising back to her feet, Athena takes one more look at her daughter, taking in the red eyes (she's started 'leaking' again, as she put it) and trembling grip and sighs again. "Do you want to go up with me, or would you rather stay here with this nice young man?" 

The girl's eyes go wide. "But I haven't said goodbye yet!" 

"That's okay!" Athena assures her. "This isn't the goodbye part. They're just going to give us your dad's medals. The goodbye part comes after."

"His medals?" To Athena's surprise, Kora takes a moment to wipe her face with her coat sleeves and visibly braces herself, the exact same way she'd seen Mikhail brace himself a thousand times before doing something unpleasant, and firmly takes her mother's hand once more. "Okay. I'll go with you."

Athena nods and leads the way as the aid gestures them onto the stage. Kora's small hand squeezes tight as they walk under the lights, and though Athena focuses her eyes on Admiral Evans, her attention remains on her daughter's trembling grip. 

The medals are given to her and Kora both, a Purple Heart and a Palladium Star, one for each of them to take. Kora holds the star so carefully in both hands, Athena's hand resting on her shoulder as Mikhail's honors are finished. Before she can usher her daughter away, however, another aide approaches them with yet another small box, this one for Athena herself. By the time she is able to guide Kora back offstage she has risen in rank and received the highest honor of the Systems Alliance, the Star of Terra.

Mikhail Olegovitch Petrovsky is laid to rest an hour later, the burial attended by his wife and daughter and their close family and friends. All of Elysium is eager to honor the those dead from the Blitz, but for now the graveyard belongs to them and the families of the others who are being buried today. All in all Athena spies some three hundred people scattered throughout the area, most of them family of the civilians that had died in the attack; Alliance soldiers lost in the attack, though honored today, were mostly from off-world and would be escorted home from the memorial with full honors. Mikhail was one of only four soldiers who were being buried here in Illyria, right beside his grandmother.

Athena tries (and fails) to ignore the empty space next to him for her as she holds her daughter in her arms, rubbing her back in what she hopes is a soothing way as she sobs.

.

.

.

Hera Shepard regards her sister carefully, searching for any sign of injury or foul mood before sighing heavily and pulling the datapad across the table, reading through it quickly and pushing it back. "Everything is in order. I don't know what you're expecting from me, Athena. It's perfectly clear that this is the right choice for her."

Athena flushes, elbows on her knees and hands fidgeting between them. "What if she needs me?"

"That's what email is for." Hera sighs. She loved her sister, truly, but sometimes she is just too much of an overthinker. "Has there ever been a situation where you were the only person capable of giving her what she needs?"

". . . No."

"What makes this situation any different?" Her sister's eyes grow distant, her face pinching slightly. Damn. A step in the wrong direction; Hera knows what she is about to say and mentally kicks herself for her blunder. 

"Mikhail was always with her." Athena's gaze sank to her toes, her hands going still but for a slight tremble. Hera might not even have noticed it if she hadn't known to be looking for it. 

Hera stands and rounds the table to drop into the free cushion beside Athena, gently reaching out to clasp her hands. Athena is a soldier to her bones, just like their mother, and had gone through hell and high water for the Alliance before she'd even turned twenty. A tactician, a leader, the shining example of what a human biotic is capable of, it is so easy to forget that she is still only twenty-six years old and constantly weighing the demands of the Alliance against the needs of her own daughter. "Athena. Sending Kora to Grissom doesn't mean you're abandoning her," she assures her. "She's a brilliant child; Grissom is the best place for her to learn, somewhere where she can grow at her own pace and where she'll be supported by other students and teachers who can understand her. Did you resent ma for how much she was gone?"

Athena shakes her head. "That was different," she protests, but her heart isn't in it. "We had mom around."

One of Hera's eyebrows shoot up, the old familiar anger bristling down her spine. "Did we? Between the drinking and her job, how often was she really around?" 

She forces herself to stop and shakes her head, pushing the frustration back down. "This isn't what we're talking about now. Kora will have plenty of teachers and classmates to meet her social needs. Her medical team is right here on Elysium in case something happens, and I have it on good authority that Kahlee Sanders has high enough comm priority to get word to you, our mothers, or Anderson immediately in the event that something happens."

"She does?" Athena meets her sister's gaze with relief and hesitates a brief moment before plopping her head on Hera's shoulder, just like she used to when she was a kid. "I feel like I'm abandoning her."

Hera wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a soft kiss into her sister's hair even as she hides the way her eyes roll at Athena's dramatics. Anyone who has just buried their spouse deserves to be dramatic, even if it's, well . . . dramatic. "You're not. I promise. We're all here for the both of you, just like we always have been. If it helps at all, Dion is going to be enrolling at Grissom in the next few weeks as well."

"He is? Why?"

"To join the new Ascension Project; little bastard's a biotic. Kept it secret for weeks apparently, ma only found out when he sneezed his dinner across the apartment."

Athena snorts a laugh before sighing heavily. "That does make me feel better, actually. He's always kept a good eye on her."

"A good eye? That boy is almost as protective of her as you are," Hera accuses, but the fond smile softened her words. "He'll watch out for her. If anything happens and you absolutely can't take care of it, then either myself, David, or our moms will take care of it." She hesitates, for a moment uncertain if what she wants to say will be an assurance to Athena or a source of anxiety. "Iana is also willing to step in, if you're okay with that."

"Of course!" Athena doesn't even question it, to Hera's immense relief. Their family is usually great about her wife, but so many people aren't that it is often hard to put aside the wariness of how other humans react to their marriage. "Kora adores her and Lanaya; I'll make sure Kahlee knows they're both on the family list." 

She rubs her face wearily. "I hate to say it, but at least she's done with chemo. I can't even imagine having to deal with this and her appointments."

Hera stiffens for a moment and then relaxes, giving Athena's shoulder another squeeze as her thoughts jump to Artemis and the last time a little girl in their family had gone through leukemia treatment and never made it to the bell. Thank the Goddess that they still have Kora, that Athena still has Kora.

From across the apartment comes a series of thuds followed by a string of expletives from Dion and the sound of shattering pottery. The sisters exchange a knowing look as Hera stands, giving Athena's shoulder one last squeeze before heading for the door. "I'll go make sure they didn't break anything important. You okay here for a bit? I can run interference if you need me to."

Athena shakes her head. "I'm okay. Hera?" 

She pauses at the door, her expression as she glances back over her shoulder filled with compassion. "Thanks. You . . . This helped."

Hera flashes her a sad smile. "Anything you need, Athena," she says as she leaves the room wishing that there was more she could do to help her sister find her own smile again.