#using trauma in fic since 2004

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, angst, references to SA, depression, PTSD, some mild sexual talk

A/N: I live nowhere near the places we talk about below, I relied heavily on google maps

Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

July 2004

Denver, CO

It's been a little over a month since you and Joel fled Kansas City. Joel was determined to create as much distance as quickly as possible, focusing every day on walking as far as your legs would take you. At first, he was terrified of Amy's people coming after you when they inevitably found Keith's body. Once it became more and more unlikely that you would cross paths with them, his anxiety shifted to the terrain. There wasn't much cover between Kansas City and Denver, it being mostly open plains, so it encouraged Joel to constantly keep moving. He told you these excuses to keep you traveling west, towards the mountains, but what he didn't say was he wanted the distraction. For both you and for him.

Every spare moment he had he found himself reliving that horrible night, the things you went through while he failed to keep you safe. While fucking Amy was coming onto him in that shitty little office. He had never told you about his interaction with her. He knew right now it could be the very thing that would break you. He didn't see the point in it anyway, nothing had happened, but in the interest of being completely honest, he planned to tell you one day. Just not now. Right now, you were an absolute mess, like a fragile flower that had been ruthlessly stomped on and was desperately clinging to life. It broke his heart to look at your sullen features every day, features that used to be filled with so much joy and warmth. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw you smile or saw a spark in your eye.

Once your shock wore off, he found out very quickly that you didn't want to be touched. That first night when he made camp, after he got you out of the city limits and back into the forest as deep as you could go in the pitch black of night, he tried to hold you, tried to talk about what happened. But you had jumped at his touch, scrambling away with your eyes wild, nearly tripping over your feet. You apologized to him, and you forced yourself to let him hug you, but he could feel how tense you were in his arms, how uncomfortable you were, and his heart shattered. You had been through enough and he wasn't going to force you to do anything, even if it killed him every time he caught himself instinctually reaching out to you at night. He left it in your hands to make the first move. When you were ready, he knew you would. But it's been over a month, and you hadn't tried to touch him, even to hold his hand or to tap his shoulder to get his attention. He knew not to take it personally, that it wasn't his touch, but it was any touch that you despised. Even though he knew this, his heart and body still ached for you.

You would talk to him, although it wasn't ever playful or flirty anymore. Mostly just about survival. He felt like you were distant and detached, like you were on autopilot. You never mentioned the assault, and he didn't bring it up. He knew it was his fault. It ate him alive, and he carried that burden with him every day. Selfishly, he felt like he was grieving a loss. The loss of the person you once were. And he was terrified he was never going to get you back.

Joel did the only thing he could think of, and that was to give you space. He knew you needed to process your trauma and he didn't want to force you through it. So, he gave you space, but he physically never let you out of his sight. He was never going to make that mistake again. He wouldn't ever tell you that even when you said you needed to pee, he would follow you just enough to keep an eye on you. He definitely would never tell you that when he followed you, he watched you sob quietly into your hands for a few minutes almost every day, at least once a day. Most often he had to fight the urge to cry himself. It destroyed him that you kept your emotions hidden, that you didn't feel comfortable expressing your grief to him.

Before you entered the community in Kansas City, you had said to him "us or them, right?" And he told you yes, it was always the both of you against the world. It was beginning to feel like there was no more "us", that his broken promise destroyed everything. Even when you had to kill someone for the first time, it ripped you apart, but you still went to him for comfort. You sobbed in his arms until you ran out of breath, and then he tried to fix it for you. Afterwards, you were distant, but he was able to draw you back out. This was not like that time. Nothing he did worked, and his grief was morphing into fear. Fear of losing you forever.

"Joel?" you quietly called out behind him, and his head snapped around to face you, desperate for anything you offered him.

"Can we rest soon?" you asked, shifting your backpack on your shoulders. "It's so hot, and I -"

"Yeah, 'course, let's stop here. There's a stream I saw nearby, I can still hear it. We can fill our canteens and wash up a bit," he was too overeager, he knew it, as he tried to give you anything you wanted. You flopped down on a broken tree trunk and hung your head between your knees. He rustled around in his pack until he found some unopened trail mix and a can of chicken. He reached both out to you, waving them low to the ground so you would see. You saw the chicken and brought your head back up to meet his gaze, your jaw hanging open.

"When did you get that?" It was never a favorite of yours before the world ended, but you developed a taste for it over time, growing sick of the same old granola bars and soup.

He couldn't help but smile. You weren't the happiest he’d ever seen you, but some color returned to your face, and that was progress in his book.

"Found it in that rest stop yesterday. Wanted to surprise you," he shook the can and the trail mix, urging you to take it from him. You were so eager that your fingers accidentally slid along his, and his heart leapt into his throat. For once, you didn't flinch at the contact, or maybe in your excitement you didn't notice, but either way he had a hard time wiping the smile off his face.

He sat on the forest floor across from you and ate some beef jerky, admiring the trees. According to his map, you were on the west side of Denver now, in the middle of a huge cluster of mountains and forests. He noticed you seemed more at ease in nature. More protected. He had been to Yellowstone with Tommy in his 20s, and he had fond memories of the trip. Tommy always used to talk about it, and even had pictures framed in his office. He didn't mention it to you yet, but his goal was to take you there. Maybe it would give you peace the way it brought him peace in his memories. He remembered there being tons of campgrounds. He liked to imagine finding a safe and secluded area and fixing up a cabin to have a wraparound porch with blue shutters. He knew it was a long shot, but it was the one fantasy he allowed himself to have.

"We've been walking for so long, and it's been so hot," you said, breaking the silence. "Do you think if we find a place, maybe we can stay for a bit? Until the weather breaks?" You looked up at him from your food, eyes hopeful. He could never say no to you. Yellowstone can wait.

"Yes," he said, "I'm sorry. Next time we find a shelter that's in good shape, we can lay low for a while."

"You don't need to be sorry," you said, picking at your trail mix.

"Yeah, I do." Joel replied, his eyebrows bunched together. You regarded him carefully, reading between the lines.

You didn't want to bring it up. You didn't want to think about it. You shifted your weight uncomfortably on the tree and looked at the ground.

"You wanna go wash up in that stream? I'll keep watch, don't know if we'll get another chance for a while," he said, changing the subject immediately. You could see the pain he was hiding behind his eyes, you saw it every day. You wanted to reach out to him, to help relieve his guilt, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not because you thought it was his fault, although early on you admittedly did blame him. It was too much to process back then. Your own grief and trauma was taking precedence, and you had to let Joel work through his emotions on his own. The weight of what happened was holding you down so intensely that you couldn't bring yourself to take on one more thing.

"Yeah, sure," you said, finishing up your food and digging around your pack for some fresh clothes and a small towel.

Joel did exactly as he said he would. He stood guard while you washed up, your backs to each other as you peeled off each piece of clothing and cleansed the skin underneath it, before putting fresh clothes over and moving on to the next area. You weren't comfortable being fully exposed, and he understood that. You never really were comfortable with it in the woods. But it still made his chest ache. Like something was stolen from you that day, and he missed it.

It wasn't until three days later that you found a small cabin. From the looks of it, Joel guessed it was part of the national parks department, a place for service rangers to rest or call for help when on patrol. It only had a bedroom, a half bathroom, a small seating area and a kitchen that looked more like a breakroom. But it was secluded, and it was safe, so Joel agreed to set up camp for a while.

He was pleased to find a fully stocked first aid kit, no doubt courtesy of the government, as well as a reasonable amount of dried goods and clean linens. There was one rifle locked in a cabinet which was easily broken into with his hunting knife, just in case he needed the spare weapon. He wasn't sure how long you would end up staying there. He didn't want to rush you, there was no point. Nothing was out there for you, anyway. But he always imagined finding you a house bigger than this.

As Joel was taking inventory of the goods, you walked around the small space. There was a huge map above the couch that you examined. It was a close up of the forests you were currently in. You trailed your finger down the map, looking at how far the two of you had walked in the past month. The hilly terrain made your accomplishment all the more impressive. Joel had been watching you out of the corner of his eye when you spoke.

"We're close to the Wyoming border," you said, your eyes lifting towards the top of the map, but the state in question was cut off. Joel cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, I was thinkin'," he began, flattening his hands on the kitchen counter, "What do you think 'bout headin' to Yellowstone? You ever been?" You shook your head.

"No, what's in Yellowstone?" You turned to him now. His chest ached at how tired you looked.

"Well, nothin' really. I was there once. With Tommy, when we were younger. It's lots of land, forests, hills. Figured it might be safe," at the word safe, his eyes turned down to look at the counter and his fingers brushed over the keychain in his pocket, unable to look you in the eye. "Lots of campgrounds, some real nice ones. Maybe we find someplace we can call home."

You don't know why you never considered the destination before now. You always imagined the pair of you would always be on the move, always looking for something that inevitably didn't exist. Joel had always been so adamant about having a goal: finding your parents, finding Tommy, finding a community. He had never suggested just stopping and living your lives together, alone.

"What about Tommy?" you asked him quietly. Ever since he mentioned finding his brother all those months ago, you knew it was a lost cause. He could be anywhere; he could be dead. In all likelihood, he probably was dead. But that wasn't for you to decide. Joel needed to come to that conclusion on his own. And it finally seemed like he did.

"I ain't gonna find Tommy, it was a dumb idea in the first place," he said, a fist clenching as he rapped his knuckles on the counter. "We need to find someplace before winter. I don't wanna be out in the snow like last year. I just-" he kept his eyes cast down and gave a small shrug, "I just wanna be with you."

You turned away as you felt the tears stinging the backs of your eyes. You knew he was trying, and you knew the way you pulled away from him hurt. You tried. You really did. But every time you hyped yourself up to touch him, to let him touch you, you felt the bile rising in the back of your throat. It wasn't fair, it didn't have anything to do with your feelings for him. But it was like your body just couldn't accept it, that you physically recoiled from the slightest touch, and you couldn't control it. Your mind wanted to reach out and comfort him, but your body kept you firmly planted on the worn wooden floors.

"That sounds nice," you told him, looking back at the map. His eyes shot up at your words, his eyebrows raised. Relief flooded through him, hearing that you liked his plan. Maybe one day, many years later, the two of you would find a community or other people to trust, but for now, it could just be the two of you.

"Alright, then," he said, straightening up. "In the meantime, let's stay here awhile. Wait for this heat to break. I figure we can make it to Yellowstone by October if we really push. Before the snow flies," he chewed his lip and glanced at his watch. There was enough daylight left to go gather some wood for a fire and maybe even shoot a rabbit, if he was lucky. But he didn't want to leave you alone.

"You wanna come with me, explore the area a bit?" he asked, trying to sound casual. But you knew what he was doing. He hadn't left you alone for a month. You didn't push back, you let him be protective. It was the least you could do if you couldn't bring yourself to open up to him. You nodded and leaned over to pull your pack back on.

"Sure," you said, slinging your bow over your back and followed him out the door, back into the summer heat.

The next few weeks were pretty much the same. The two of you scavenged for food in the mornings, before the heat became too oppressive and the animals hid. You spent your afternoons reading or napping while Joel skinned whatever animal you managed to kill that day and gathered wood and dead brush on the outskirts of the cabin, never straying far and finding excuses to come inside and check on you every so often. There was a small creek about a 10 minute walk south of the cabin where you would both go to fill up your canteens in the late afternoon and take turns bathing. Then he would start a fire to cook the meat while you prepared some instant potatoes, or rice, or anything else you found. Your dry and canned goods were starting to run low, so you used them sparingly. After you ate, you spent some time outside, soaking up the sun or reading. Joel would always stay close, sometimes walking a circuit around the cabin or reviewing some more detailed maps of the area left behind by the park rangers. At night, you shared the small bed, guiltily clinging to the edge of the mattress to create as much distance as possible, holding back your tears until he fell asleep.

It must have been the end of August by now. The days were hot, but the nights were cool, indicating fall was around the corner. You remembered Joel's plan to reach Yellowstone by October, so you knew your time at the cabin was coming to an end. You were fine with that. The cabin served its purpose. It kept you dry and safe so you could both rest your bodies before the month-long trek ahead of you. And with your food supplies dwindling, you knew it was time to move on. Joel didn't say anything, didn't want to push you into leaving, so you brought it up on your own, asking him when he thought you should head out. He seemed surprised that morning, expecting you to want to stay longer. He searched your eyes to make sure you weren't bringing it up because you felt he wanted to go, that you wanted to leave on your own volition.

"Why don't we plan on leavin' in a couple days?" he offered, and you nodded, finishing up your bowl of blackberries from a bush you had found not too far from the cabin.

"I was thinkin', I saw some deer at that creek few days ago. Maybe I can get us one and we can make some jerky. Should only take half a day to cook it. It'll give us somethin' til we find more food on the way," he glanced up to look at you. "You wanna come with me? Bring that bow of yours, it's quieter." He already knew the answer, but he always asked you, anyway. He wanted to give you the choice. If you ever said no, which was rare, he would just skip hunting and make do until the next day.

"Yep, sounds good," you said, getting up to rinse your bowl in the sink with the rest of the water from your canteen. "I need to refill these, anyway." You placed them both by the door and walked into the bedroom to change, closing the door behind you. Joel's eyes remained glued to the door as he tried to stifle his sadness. Any time he thought you were making progress, something happened to remind him how damaged you were. Something like closing the door to change in private made him rub his chest. You never would have bothered before. He was beginning to think he would never get back what he had with you. That those animals stole something from you, and he fucking let them. He swiped at the corner of his eye before he stood up and gathered his things. He was checking to make sure the rifle was loaded when you came out of the bedroom, slinging your bow over your shoulder, ready to go.

As you approached the creek, he held out a hand to his side to signify that you should be quiet and slow, watching your step to make sure you didn't potentially scare anything away. You got to the creek and didn't see anything, so you stooped down to refill your canteens, then followed Joel to a boulder not far down on the side of the creek, posting up to wait for any deer who might come to get a drink on the warm summer day.

You sat in silence, watching the sun move above the trees and the sunlight dappling the forest floor. Joel kept his head turned towards the creek, but you stared directly ahead into the forest, lost in thought. You nearly jumped when Joel cleared his throat as quietly as he could, not wanting to touch you, to get your attention. You looked and saw a doe about 15 yards away, standing in front of the creek, flicking her ears and glancing around hesitantly before bringing her head down to the cool water. You handed Joel your bow and he took it without looking, eyes fixed on the deer, as he leaned forward on one knee and loaded an arrow, drawing back. You saw a flutter of movement in a bush next to the doe and let out a soft gasp as you watched a baby fawn stumble out from the thicket, legs still shaky.

You reached your hand out and placed it on Joel's shoulder, stopping him from shooting. He didn't realize he was so touched starved until the contact nearly made him fall over. Keeping his fingers on the arrow, he disengaged the string slowly, letting his arms fall to his sides. He sat back next to you, taking the pressure off his knee and tried not to chase after your touch when you let your hand drop. You both sat and watched the deer together, as the new life stumbled forward to hide under its mother while she continued to drink. It started as a single tear, and then before you knew it your cheeks were damp from the steady flow as you silently cried. Joel turned his head to look for your reaction when the fawn tucked its long legs underneath its body to rest against the doe, only then noticing your tears.

"You alright?" He whispered, face etched with concern and his fists clenching at his side to keep from reaching out to you. You just shook your head and buried your face in your open palms as a shaky sob erupted from your throat. You rocked back and forth, your face still hidden in your hands, while Joel struggled with how to help, his arms reaching out, hovering in the air, and bringing them back. Then, to his surprise, you dropped your hands and lunged yourself forward into his chest, your face pressed against his tanned neck and your arms wrapped around his torso as your body shook. He immediately pinned you to him, his arms holding you as tight as he dared, his cheek resting on the top of your head. He slid a hand up from your back to cradle your head, your tears running down his neck and chest. He leaned back against the boulder, pulling you with him. You clutched the front of his flannel in your fist, your face still streaming with tears, wailing against his chest while he rocked you back and forth. His eyes were burning with the tears he refused to release, desperately trying to be strong for you.

"I got you, sweetheart, I got you," he murmured in your hair.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," you cried, burying your face further into his neck as fresh sobs wracked your body. He shook his head fiercely back and forth, even though you couldn't see him, and two tears made their way down his face.

"Don't you dare apologize, you did nothin' wrong, you hear me?" he choked out, more tears flowing now. He swallowed roughly as he dragged in a shaky breath. "I'm the one who's sorry, it's all my fault. I shoulda listened to you, you told me so many fuckin' times and I ignored you. I swear, I'm never gonna forgive myself." He squeezed his eyes shut and held you tighter against him.

"It's not your fault, it's their fault," you said, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. "You were just trying to keep us safe; you didn't know."

He bit the inside of his cheek, overwhelmed with your kindness, to not place the blame on him. He would still blame himself, but it eased his mind to hear you say it anyway. He held you against him until your cries turned to sniffles. Then your fist relaxed, releasing his flannel from your grasp, and ran your hand under the collar of his shirt to rest your palm against his bare shoulder, his skin hot under your touch. He felt a shiver go down his spine, even under the warmth of the sun.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, but the sun had shifted to where it was blinding you through the leaves of the trees, so you removed your hand from inside his shirt and lifted your head up to look at him. His eyes were closed, and his cheeks were dried with tears as you watched the sun dance over his face. You took in his features like you were seeing them for the first time. The small wrinkles next to his closed eyes, his angular nose, his patchy beard that needed to be trimmed, and lastly you let your eyes settle on his parted lips.

You glanced back up to confirm his eyes were still shut. You knew he wasn't sleeping because you felt him mindlessly rubbing a hand across your back. You took a shaky breath and leaned forward, gently pressing your lips against his. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his eyes remained closed as he reciprocated your kiss, letting you set the pace. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek, pulling back a moment before gingerly pushing your lips back against his once more. You sighed as you broke away, resting your foreheads together.

"What can I do?" he asked you, "I need to do somethin'. I wanna help you."

"There is one thing," you told him, leaning back so you could look at him, your fingers intertwining with his on his lap. He sat up straighter, giving you his full attention.

"Name it, I'll do anythin'," he said earnestly.

"Find me a home, Joel," your fingers gently traced over his as you stared into his deep, brown eyes. "I want a new life. I just want to be with you."

He smiled when he heard you echo his words back to him and reached a hand out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"You got it, sweetheart."

That night, Joel gave you your space as usual in the small bed. He was on the verge of sleep when he felt your hand spreading over his chest and your face nestling in his shoulder. His heart hammered in his chest so hard, you could probably feel it. He wasn't sure if you would ever be the same again, or if your relationship would ever be the same, but he was ok with that. If you found a shred of peace by his side, then he would stay right there until his dying day.

September 2004

You had been traveling for almost three weeks, the crisp fall air biting at your cheeks. You weren't exactly sure what the date was anymore, but you had to guess it was the end of September by now, based on how early it got dark and the leaves piling up on the ground. You were in a very small town called Daniel, Wyoming. You walked down Main Street with Joel, eyeing up the buildings. It was quiet, most likely abandoned, and you hadn't heard any indication of infected nearby, so you held your bow loosely at your side as you read the signs outside the buildings. You both zeroed in on a trading store next to the post office, hoping it wasn't picked over and you could restock some of your supplies. You had gotten lucky over the past few weeks, killing rabbits and squirrels as your primary source of food and finding a few cans or dry goods here and there. The journey hadn't been too bad, but Joel was eager to get to Yellowstone and find you a home. He wanted to have enough time to stock up the cabin or house you picked with supplies before it got too cold.

Joel confirmed the store was clear and ushered you inside. It was warm, and you welcomed the break from the wind. Joel went to the clothing section to look over winter clothes and accessories you would need while you went to see what food was left behind. You were stuffing your backpack full of any food you could fit when your eyes landed on a red can. You flicked your gaze back to Joel, who was engrossed with picking out a flannel that looked exactly like the one he was wearing, but newer. You reached back onto the shelf and pulled out two cans of Beefaroni, shoving them deep down in your pack so he wouldn't see them.

As you were finishing up, Joel walked up behind you holding up a few long sleeve women's thermal tops.

"Whaddya think?" he asked, holding them up. You nodded, taking all three from his hands and then glanced down at your overfilled pack.

"Can you carry them for me? Mine's full." You held them back out to him, and he carefully folded them up and put them in his backpack. He jutted his chin towards your pack.

"Find anything good?" he asked as he shouldered his bag and picked up his rifle.

"Yep," was all you said, but he caught the corner of your mouth turn up right before you bent over to pick up your things. He looked at you curiously with his eyebrows pinched, a small smile playing on his lips. "What?" you asked him innocently.

"Nothin'," he said, turning back around to survey the store. "Do we need anythin' else before we head out? We got a few more hours of daylight, I'd like to make the most of it."

"I think we should be good til we get there," you told him, following him out of the store. "What did you think, another week or so?"

"Yeah, give or take. It's a big park, there's lots of areas to explore. Once we get there, we can take our time pickin' a spot, settle in, and stock up for the winter." He opened his map as you made your way down the street. "I reckon we can follow the 191 the whole way," he pointed down the street where you could see a T in the road. "That should be it right there."

You walked until the sun began to dip below the trees. Joel was building a fire and grumbling about shorter days and less time to cover ground while you were rolling out your sleeping bags. He picked up his rifle and stood to head out into the woods. You noticed ever since your breakthrough with him, he was feeling more confident about leaving you alone, as long as you were comfortable with it. And he always asked. Every time. Today was no exception.

"I'll go out and see if I can find us a rabbit or somethin', they'll probably be out now that it's dusk. You wanna come with or do you wanna hang back?" He had his rifle slung over his shoulder and he looked down at you with warmth in his eyes. It was funny, it's only been a year, but if your coworkers saw him how he was now, they would never believe it. But you knew he reserved this side of himself just for you. You remember seeing his darker side before, most prominently when he confronted Keith after your assault. At the time, it scared you how quickly he was able to flip that switch. But now you understood there was nothing to fear when it came to him. At least, you didn't have anything to fear.

"Why don't you skip hunting today, I have a surprise for you," you said, the corners of your mouth turning up into a smile. You were slowly starting to smile more again, and every single time it made him grin. He immediately slid his rifle off his shoulder and laid it on the ground, sitting down on top of his sleeping bag next to you.

"Well, how could I say 'no' to that," he teased. He dusted his hands on the sides of his jeans and looked at you expectantly. You turned to rummage in your pack, taking you a minute to find the cans you shoved all the way to the bottom. You pulled them out and hid them behind your back.

"Pick a hand," you said, and his eyes bounced back and forth between your shoulders as he decided, the light from the fire making them sparkle. Finally, he reached out and pointed to your right hand. He was still very careful about touching you, only ever doing so after you’d initiated contact. You took your hand out from behind your back and handed him the can of Beefaroni.

"Happy Birthday," you said as his face shone with excitement, his eyebrows raised high, and his jaw hung open. He reached out and cradled it like it was gold before looking back up to you.

"How do you know if it's my birthday?" he asked, and you shrugged.

"I guessed. It's gotta be around now, right? Do you like it?" You looked at him eagerly as he turned the can over in his hands.

"Well, that depends. What's in the other hand?"

You immediately brought your left hand around to hand him the second can, and he jokingly clutched his chest and fell backwards, his hand catching himself at the last minute, then pushed himself back up. You giggled, and his eyes shot up to yours, trying to hide his shock. That was definitely the first time you laughed since your assault. Warmth spread across his chest at the sound, and he looked down at the two cans in his hand.

"I never got you anythin' for your birthday," he said, still looking down with a smile. You waved him off.

"You're getting me a home, that's all I want," you told him, scrounging in your bag to find a can of chicken you tucked away for yourself.

You ate in front of the fire in a comfortable silence, watching the fireflies and listening to the insects chirp around you. He finished his can and set it down by the fire, leaning back a bit to fish the keychain out of his pocket.

"Beefaroni was a great gift, sweetheart, but this one is still hard to top," and he dangled the keychain in front of you. You were about to take a bite of food when your hand froze in midair. You looked from the keychain, to Joel, then back again before putting the fork down.

"Can I see?" you asked, and he placed the keychain in your palm. You could tell the chrome edge was worn from being rubbed in his pocket, but the Texas flag was still just as bright. You handed it back to him with a smile.

"I keep forgetting you have that," you admitted, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He tucked it back into his pocket.

"I always got it on me," he told you. You looked at each other in the glow of the fire until you bit your lip and looked away. Joel never pressured you to be physical after your assault. He didn't even flirt the way he used to. The best he would do was tease you a little. He left all of that up to you, and he was incredibly patient. You only kissed him twice since that afternoon in the forest, and they were both very brief. Even then, he never attempted to deepen the kiss, giving you complete control. You wanted that part of your relationship back, but you were scared what it would be like, or if you were ready.

You looked back over at him. He was staring into the fire now, his legs stretched out and leaning back on his hands. You swallowed, then inched over to him, tucking your head into his shoulder. He shifted so his weight was all on one hand, and he picked up the other to wrap around your hips, his palm flat against the top of your thigh. You turned your face up to look at his, and when he glanced down back at you, you leaned up to press your lips against his mouth. He kept his hands where they were and gently massaged his lips on yours, still not looking to take anything further. Your heart swelled at his patience and restraint, overwhelmed by his sweetness. Before you had a chance to overthink it, you delicately licked at his lips, wanting to deepen the kiss. You felt his hesitation before gently opening his lips, letting you be the one to explore. You nervously ran your tongue up and down his, moving much slower than either of you ever had in the past. All of your memories came flooding back of better times, and you realized just how much you missed being this close to him. You applied more pressure as his hand came up to cradle your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek as you swirled your tongue around his with more confidence. His hand was getting sore holding himself up, so he cupped your jaw with both hands while he eased himself back. He was lying flat on the ground now with you next to him, your upper body resting on top of his chest, your tongue never leaving his mouth.  You felt the heat from the fire on your back as you pulled back to catch your breath, leaving a slow trail of kisses along his jaw. His fingers gently raked up and down your back, his adrenaline catching up with him now. He was trying so hard to hold back, to let you take it as far as you wanted. His eyes fluttered closed as you peppered kisses down his throat. You were finding it difficult to reach his neck from your angle, so without thinking, you swung your leg over his hips, your mouth continuing its trail.

You should have gone slower, you should have thought it through more. The way you were situated on him now left your core directly over his growing erection. You didn't even realize it until you shifted your weight back on your hips, pressing yourself on him and feeling his hardening cock, and he groaned softly. Your mind didn't even catch up with your body before you found yourself scrambling backwards off his lap, back to the safety of your sleeping bag. He sat up with a jolt, his eyes filled with concern.

"What'd I do?" he asked, looking you over as if he could find something physically wrong. You shook your head, trying to rid your mind of the man who forcibly pressed your hand against his erection, rubbing your wrist subconsciously. Your chest felt tight as you gasped for air. You rubbed the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

"Nothing, you didn't do anything," you gasped. "It was me. I thought I was ready, I thought... I'm so sorry, Joel." Your face crumpled, tucking your knees into your chest. You tried to hide your face in your shoulder, but he reached out and hooked a finger under your chin, dragging your eyes up to meet his.

"You got nothin' to be sorry for, it's ok," he said softly, and you sniffled. "Don't cry, I promise it's ok," his thumb wiped a tear from your cheek as he gazed down at you. Your breathing was returning to normal, and your chest felt looser. You sighed and leaned into his touch.

"Why don't we get some sleep?" He asked, trying to change the subject. "I wanna take advantage of as much daylight as possible. Sooner we get there, the better, yeah?" You nodded and rubbed your nose on the back of your hand.

You waited until he got settled in his sleeping bag before tentatively reaching an arm over to drape across his chest. His eyes were closed but you saw him smile, and his hand came up to hold yours, bringing it up to his lips to plant a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

"You alright?" he whispered, turning his head to look at you now. You nodded.

"I will be," you said.

Over the next two days, Joel had you up at the crack of dawn to get started on your journey. The days were getting chillier, but the sun provided some warmth as you moved through the mountains. You were taking a small break, sitting on a guardrail eating while Joel examined his worn-out map, his eyes squinting at the paper. You poked him in the shoulder, startling him.

“You need glasses, old man?” you teased, and he couldn’t keep the smirk from his face. He shook his head at you before focusing back down on the map.

“I’m 37, not 77,” he muttered. You smiled as you looked up and down the highway, seeing nothing but a few abandoned cars, but then some rustling in the trees lining the road grabbed your attention. Joel held out his hand for your bow, hoping to snag a rabbit. You pressed it into his hand, and he grabbed an arrow from your backpack, loading it up and taking aim at the dense forest, waiting for the animal to show itself. But the animal that appeared was far bigger than a rabbit.

You blinked rapidly a few times, unable to process seeing a horse standing just 20 feet in front of you. Then, four more horses appeared through the trees, standing and staring at you. You assumed because you hadn’t seen a horse in so long that it took you an extra minute to realize there were riders on their backs. The people had their faces partially covered with bandanas and had their guns aimed directly at you.

“Drop the bow,” a woman’s voice said, taking you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’ve ever seen a female raider before.

Joel lowered the bow carefully, never taking his eyes off the woman in front who was clearly their leader. With the bow no longer obscuring his face, he held his hands up and jutted his chin out, sidestepping so he could block you with his body.

“Whaddya want?” he asked her roughly, his scowl returning. Before she could respond, another voice piped up from beside her.

“Joel?!”

His eyes swung to the man on the horse next to the woman as he yanked his bandana down, revealing his face for the first time. You gasped, then you both spoke in unison.

“Tommy?”

Chapter Eighteen

Tag list: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby

[yvesbuprofen]

random questions<3

my beloved @moonshapedbox tagged me in this <3

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur fav color - big fan of green!

: ̗̀➛ how long have u been on tumblr for - probably twelve years, I got into it because a girl I liked had one, and I wanted for us to have something in common lmao

: ̗̀➛ wheres a place u always wanted to travel to - brazil, I think it's such an interesting country, and I love the climate, and china, because I want to try all the yummy food, and go see the northern plains.

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur fav clothing brand(s) I mostly just thrift my clothes, but I love sketcher sneakers, they are so comfy.

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur fav singer/band(s) I'm a big fan of loona as most of you have seen and ichiko is up there at the top with them.

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur current phone lockscreen - it's a forest, and on my table it's that iconic photo of yves with the loop t-shirt.

: ̗̀➛ most recent/current hyperfixation - I'm currently compulsively reading saw 2004 fic, oughh the angst it's too good 🙂‍↕️

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur relationship status - very single, and just existing tbh, idgaf about having a relationship rn, I have radioactive levels of trauma I have to go through just to feel safe enough to get into one.

: ̗̀➛ what’s ur dream job - probably any kind of job where I don't have to talk to people (goes into teaching like an idiot)

: ̗̀➛ outside of tumblr, fav social app pinterest and spotify !! I'm really into neko atsume 2 rn

: ̗̀➛ do u have pets - nope, I live with my parents and they don't like animals :( I would like to have some kind of bug if I could though

: ̗̀➛ if u do have pets, what kind/how many - none

: ̗̀➛ do u prefer tea or coffee - big fan of tea, any kind, give it to me, I also drink lots of mate 🧉<3

: ̗̀➛ whats ur fav ice cream flavor - pistachio, since I was a child, I tried it because it was green lol

: ̗̀➛ tag at least three other tumblr accounts @sleep-tight-pupper @daerly-beloved @a-moth-to-the-light @kdramamilfs ! no pressure babes <3

[thistlecatfics]

ooh i’ll take 🍓 🍬 🦴 for the ask game please and thanks :)

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Remus (briefly) running away from Tonks when she gets pregnant is SUCH an interesting piece of his character. Fandom has tended to move away from the depths of his self-loathing but damn! This guy really, really hates himself and his lycanthropy and what it means for those around him.

oh also Remus is the last person to start doubting Dumbledore/rebel against Dumbledore, and it's wild to me that anti-Dumbledore side of fandom tends to pick him as the mouthpiece in fic!

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

I've been reading fic since I was in middle school in 2004-ish (starting with draco malfoy x mary sue fics lol), but I only started writing during early pandemic days partly because I suddenly had the time and the intense drive to explore fictional worlds again.

I read Blood Magic on a whim (as I discuss in my rec post here) and that fic in particular really inspired me to see how fanfic can be used to process our own traumas and experiences.

I've always been drawn to the house of black (Sirius/Bellatrix was probably my first OTP), and I was struggling to find portrayals of Andromeda and Tedromeda I really agreed with. I wasn't satisfied with a wholesome love story between a privileged pureblood and a muggleborn. I wanted more politics and complexity.

Combine that with the fact I was doing some intensive trauma therapy work for my experiences of incest as a kid, I then started writing my Andromeda series! And then I got more involved in fandom and discovered fests and communities and just got so enamored with all of it.

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing? 

I don't think there's a piece of media that inspires all of my writing, but Good Omens s2 inspired my Dorcissa fic and the novel My Dark Vanessa inspired my Bellatrix/Tonks fic.

[apprenticestanheight]

fic idea: first new years after the bathroom, Adam celebrating the holiday with Lawrence and thinking about how much his life has changed

Too Many Rock Bottoms- Adam Stanheight x Lawrence Gordon

Hiiiiiii nonnie!! I know that you sent this in either before or very very very close to christmas but I am SO SORRY for the wait time--I had meant to start it around christmas and get it queued for either yesterday, today or tomorrow because I knew myself and I knew that queueing it would help motivate me to edit, but then another passion project took hold for a bit and thus I got a delayed start with this one.

ALSO: this is technically the first new years after the bathroom--I had Adam go through a bit in the last half of 2004 because I was like 'okay yeah trauma but how does a romance develop in less than three months' so instead of being NYE into NYD 2004-2005, it'll be NYE into NYD 2005-2006, which I hope is all right with you!

If you're reading, though, I hope the wait turns out to have been worth it!

Fic type- this is fluffy!!

Warnings- this is very unedited, but there's also mentions of an infection from Adams wound being left for too long--it's nonspecific but there's mentions of it spreading to his heart and his lungs.

In the year since Adam woke up in the hospital post-escape, things have been quite the opposite of easy. Nightmares have become something of such a frequency that Adams body is capable of running on an hour of sleep so long as he stops at a gas station and buys a Redbull or two before he goes into work, and he can figure out when Lawrence has had a silent break down before he's woken up by just looking at him, tracing his face for signs of puffy cheeks or half-dried tear trails down his chin and neck.

He'd been trapped in the bathroom until very, very early October. Infection had taken hold of his shoulder and spread to his heart and his lungs and it was so severe that he had to be put into a coma to treat it.

He'd woken up three weeks after, on Halloween, and after an additional month spent in the recovery unit to make sure his shoulder wasn't paralyzed and that his heart and his lungs were working as they were meant to, he was released in very early December.

December of 2004, Lawrence walked into the hotel he was working as a receptionist at and just--just grinned like an idiot. He'd said that he'd heard where Adam worked from a friend of a friend (one of his fellow residents named Dr Lilith Whittaker was the girlfriend of Amara Saint Cloud, with whom Adam worked at the reception desk. Lilith had talked about how Amara was working with a guy who'd been said to have survived a trap and the road Lawrence walked lead back to Adam) and "let's grab dinner and catch up"'d his way back into Adams life.

A year on from that day and there are good days, bad days, and there are worse ones. Given, though, that Lawrences Christmas gift to him had been a series of kisses that left him delirious and the proclaiming of the fact that he'd booked the rest of the year off, he'd had a week of decent days to that point.

Their plans to ring in the new year hadn't amounted to much--Diana was spending that holiday with Alison as she'd spent both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Lawrence, so they didn't have a kid to worry about--Adam had figured that Lawrence would do some of the physical therapy exercises he'd been told he had to try to do at least thrice a week, and he would probably go for a walk to take photos of some of the prettier areas of Jersey before he came home with a pizza and a bottle of champagne, but they'd not really discussed doing much of anything.

Adam was happy with not doing anything, though. He'd never really understood the appeal of going out and getting shit faced on NYE, even though Scott had gotten him a fake ID and used to drag him out to the bars in the heart of the city while they were teens and up until they were both 21.

It didn't seem worth all the effort it took just to get drunk, woozy and if you were lucky, get something so strong that it just knocked you right out. He'd stopped letting Scott drag him out to places willy nilly on NYE when he hit 22, and at twenty-seven and living with someone who he cared about so deeply it astounded him, he found that he was in no mood to get drunk at a bar or get hit on by someone who thought he was straight enough to be interested.

Still, though, as he wakes up and thrums through the motions, it's hard not to think of the last year and reminisce.

This time last year, he was four weeks out of hospital with chronic shoulder pain, had still been living in a roach infested apartment that had holes in the walls from bullets and termites alike, and could hardly afford to put food on the table.

Now, though? Lawrences place is no longer just Lawrences place, but it's theirs. Adam wakes up next to Lawrence everyday, goes to sleep next to him every night. It's Lawrence who coaxes him into the shower when the fear of water kicks up so bad that Adam has to fight panic attacks, Lawrence who kisses his shoulders and the back of his neck whenever something has tripped the trauma up and caused a bad reaction.

He's the one who calms Lawrence down whenever the phantom pains from his foot give Lawrence the jitters or a flashback, the one who makes him coffee when he wakes up from a nightmare or pulls him back into his arms while he reminds Lawrence that it's just a nightmare, it's not real, he'd had no choice but to leave Adam behind to survive and Adam had survived anyway so it balanced out.

Things are just so different to how they used to be, and as Adam goes through his day, it's hard not thinking about it.

He thinks about it as he kisses Lawrence goodbye to take a photo walk, thinks about it again as he snaps a photo of a crow, which he knows Lawrence will, at a minimum, find amusing because the crow is wielding one of those white plastic forks you get when you order takeaway.

He reminisces on the first of many late-night phone calls as he grabs a book that Lawrence had mentioned wanting a couple days beforehand, the fact that what had started as a bickering match over which Christmas movie was better--the options being White Christmas and It's A Wonderful Life. Adam had won the debate and Lawrence had snickered when Adam made the point about the fact that Clarences angel thing could've been a hallucination and yeah, the acting was iffy but anything was better than something that featured Bing fucking Cosby--but had ended in Lawrence apologizing for shooting him and Adam shushing him by reminding him he had to do it.

On the walk back, he thinks of the first night he'd spent in Lawrences house, barely managing to make it through a shower because the trauma had kicked up nastily that day, putting on one of Lawrences t-shirts and being engulfed in the scent of his cologne. They'd not meant for Adam to stay the night but by the time they were realizing how late it was, it was almost midnight and Lawrence had offered to let him use the shower and lend him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, which Adam would never have refused.

He remembers falling asleep with Lawrences heartbeat thrumming in his ear that night, the two of them lightly bickering as they dozed. He remembers wanting to fall asleep the same way every night for the rest of his life, scoffing at the idea because never did someone like him ever get that fuckin' lucky.

As he unlocks the door, the book he'd bought for Lawrence tucked under his arm, a smile has crossed his face.

He's had a year of ups, downs, and far too many rock bottoms to justify counting all of them, but it's been a better year than the last one was, and as he opens the door, steps into his and Lawrences place, he has to think all of it was worth it just to get to that point.

[mannatea]

Predictably asking for Symphonia for the fandom meme!

I stan. 🙏

the first character i ever fell in love with: Raine. Even as a teenager she was my favorite and I loved her immediately.

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not: I actually think I used to really like Zelos and found him hilarious when I was a teenager myself, and now I'm like 😨 about half of what he does and says. Yikes, bro. It actually makes me wonder how differently he would be written if the game was coming out for the first time now, because a lot of the stuff in the game just would NEVER fly these days.

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not: Ah. Behold, my personal cringe: I used to ship Kratos/Raine. It didn't last very long because my fellow shippers in 2004 made me abandon ship entirely & do a heelturn toward my current OTP out of pure spite. If I'm being honest I was only shipping it because they were the only two adults in the party for a while, anyway, so it wasn't a serious attachment. 🙄 But like, it should be noted that this happened while I was in the middle of writing a love triangle fic. (My other personal cringe, shh.)

my ultimate favorite character™: RAINE, MY BELOVED. 🤍 I literally love every single thing about her.

prettiest character: You thought I was going to say Raine didn't you? WRONG. It's Yuan, actually. Look at him.

my most hated character: RODYLE. He's just so hateful.

my OTP: Regal/Raine. I will die on this hill, actually. (And have been quietly since late 2004.) This is the only ship I just won't compromise on. What can I say about it? Their dynamic just hits on a lot of notes that work exceedingly well for me personally. I won't write a manifesto here (you may thank me for holding back for your benefit) but I love both of them so much and think their personalities balance one another out incredibly well, which is a lot of fun to write.

my NOTP: Basically any Raine ship that isn't my OTP is a NOTP for me, though I do have two in particular I would consider NOTPs. IYKYK.

favorite episode skit: The My Sister skit. IT GETS ME EVERY TIME.

saddest death: Marble. SHE'S AN OLD WOMAN. PLEASE.

favorite season side plot/scene: Virginia, honestly. It messes me up every time. The doll haunts me to this day. Also, that they so INTENTIONALLY made Raine look exactly like her. Poor Raine just can't escape. And the trauma?? AHHHH.

least favorite season side plot/scene: That buffoonish Peeping Tom thing at the hot springs. I wanted more meaningful conversation with my girls and I had to deal with that instead. NO WAIT I HATE THE SCENE IN SYBAK LOOKING FOR THE LITTLE BOY'S MOM SO MUCH MORE. ZELOS'S BOOTSTRAPS SPEECH WAS THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF READING, not because it wasn't 100% in character for him (HILARIOUSLY IT IS VERY IN CHARACTER 🤣) but because I feel like nobody else in the scene was written in a believable way—not Regal, not Colette, and not Lloyd. WTF WAS THAT SCENE?

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate am lukewarm about: Hate is a strong word here so I toned it down. I feel very lukewarm about Kratos. In fact, I'd go so far as to say his potential was a bit wasted just because they didn't bother to do enough with him.

my ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave well-liked’ fave: This is a hard one, because the trash characters are still trash to me. I'll maybe go with Kate or George for this. They both did terrible things but I still find them interesting and compelling as characters.

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Colette, always. Also? Presea.

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: I don't have one because you'll never see me shipping something like this. It's not my cuppa.

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: This is a hard one. Maybe Genis/Presea for this? I think they are good for one another but they're both too young BY A LOT to really be thinking that deeply about things. However, their respect for one another and their compassion/understanding of what the other has been through could lead to something nice later in life. I'm not over those adorable skits where Genis asks for advice from others on what present to get for her and they all collectively give him the worst advice imaginable and he ends up buying her a whetstone because he KNOWS HER AS A PERSON and she LOVES THE GIFT. This is what peak performance looks like in a person, actually.

Thanks! ♥

[liminalpsych-in-teyvat]

…I have written ~32,000 words of a single story in the past month. I haven't done that since high school.

Wait. No. Holy crap. I take that back. I stalled out at 25,000 words during NaNoWriMo in high school in I think 2003 or 2004, and that was the farthest I got in a month's time. So this is the most I've ever written in such a short time. But I haven't written this avidly, this many words, this consistently since high school, at the very least.

(oh no I adhd'd in the morning when my meds were half kicked in. That's always a mistake of uncontained rambling. I'll be surprised/impressed if anyone actually reads the rest of this post; ...actually I'm going to put it under a cut because it just got out of control)

It's such a nice feeling! I had given up on writing fiction for a long time, especially after working in residential treatment (2008-2010) when I just. Stopped reading fiction and stopped writing it, because I felt like I "should" be spending my time on "productive" things instead whenever I had time to write (it felt like a trauma brain, survival mode kind of mindset; I was pretty shut down and dissociated).

And when I tried to write any time after that, I got blocked too from overthinking it, knowing just enough about psychology to feel like I was Doing It Wrong with character portrayals, but not knowing enough to do it "right" or for it to flow more naturally. 13-15 years, a graduate counseling degree, and 8 years of post grad experience in the counseling field later, that's not a problem anymore, and not even a stress point.

It's been interesting trying out different approaches to writing. I'm not doing pure discovery writing anymore (aka seat-of-the-pants writing aka pantsing, not having any outline or any solid idea of where you're going, discovering as you write); I've outlined more for this story than I ever have. I'm doing more editing than I did when I was younger (I'm gonna blame adhd meds for that one, thanks adhd meds, you're the best!).

I've also been using a thesaurus for the first time in my life as a writer, which is just embarrassing. It's because I haven't used my extensive vocabulary nearly as actively, not unless it's psychology related. So while I know a lot of descriptive words, I don't have easy access to them. I'll be like "…all I can think of is this direct/simple word, but it's not the Right Word, I know the right word exists but I can't remember what it is, it's kind of like this word but not quite" and so I have to look up synonyms until I stumble across the word I was trying to remember. 9_9 I'm sure it'll come back as I read fiction more and write more.

(Possibly some of it is the head pressure/health issues? Because I'll lose words when I'm having really bad symptoms, and lose a sentence halfway through speaking. But that feels different. Pretty sure this is just because of atrophy from not writing prose for so long, and for not reading fiction nearly as voraciously as I once did.)

(But I hadn't realized I could lose access to my vocabulary from disuse. It makes sense, because I certainly have lost access to the Spanish I was once fairly fluent in. I can still understand a good amount of Spanish when I hear it spoken or read it; I just can't spontaneously access the vocabulary to speak it anymore.)

but man. you definitely get more hits and comments on AO3 for fanfic in a larger fandom like Genshin Impact (65 million active players in March 2023) than in a tiny one like Arthurian literature (20 gay people on Tumblr, that's it, that's the fandom. ...this is hyperbole, but only barely, we might be up to 40 gay people on Tumblr by now with all the Reddit refugees).

and very likely you get more hits for Explicit rated fic / erotica than for non-erotica, but I'd have to post a general audience fic in the Genshin fandom to find out. (I definitely can't say it's porn without plot, the label I used for this fic before I figured out a title was "Kushiel's Impact", basically sex-and-trauma-and-sexual-trauma political intrigue story.)

[songsofadelaide]

Asleep Among Endives

Chapter 3 — Ordinary Days

In 2006, you entered the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College as a first-year student, the only healer in your class of three. You did not witness the devastation that forced Satoru to unlock his untapped potential when he was on the brink of death, the little god from your childhood now revered as the strongest sorcerer of your generation. 

[A Gojo Satoru x Reader fic, ongoing]

cw/tw: implied/referenced childhood trauma, everyone just having a great time until they weren't, character death wc: 15.8k. ✾ Fic Masterlist ✾ Chapter 1 ✾ Chapter 2 ✾ ~Interlude~ — In the Quiet

— Ordinary Days.

~ 2006.

It became a well-known fact that the heir of the Koganei Clan could be a brute if the situation called for it. Your reputation as the so-called heir striker followed you wherever you went after the incident with the heir apparent of the Zenin Clan, and while it was an amusing anecdote for some of the older people in jujutsu society, younger sorcerers grew to know for certain that you weren't someone to be trifled with. 

Satoru wasn't there when the incident occurred because he just started high school at Tokyo Jujutsu High. When he first heard of it from Kazuya during one of his now fewer visits to the Koganei Estate, you could have sworn his uncontrollable laughter rumbled throughout the whole family dojo. Acts of violence rarely impressed him unless it was only for showmanship, but there he was in the Koganei dojo, rolling in laughter, tears, and pure amusement, but part of you knew he was also a bit proud of you for pulling that stunt. 

Naoya was surprisingly gracious about the whole thing, but only because he uses it as leverage against you, claiming he remains hurt by your actions. Contrary to the popular belief that he's a goody-two-shoes and always listened to his father and uncles, he was actually incredibly conceited and was a stickler for tradition. When he found that he couldn't get you to come to Kyoto, he decided to come to you like you initially asked even though you thought he never would. He made a lot of visits to the Koganei Estate following that misencounter in 2004— a lot— that your family had a hard time balancing and dividing the days between him and Gojo Satoru and ensuring the two heirs would never be under your roof at the same time.   

But eventually, the inevitable happened. 

Satoru and Naoya, now aged sixteen and fifteen respectively, found themselves at the Koganei Estate at the very same hour on the very same day. How this came to be, you'll never know for sure. The boys knew each other longer than they've known you, having been introduced when they were only three and two respectively and have met in passing afterwards. Satoru always got a rise out of teasing Naoya regardless of whether he truly was joking about something or not. 

They were completely aware of your visitation arrangements with each other and it wasn't at all a huge deal for Satoru since he was mostly there by Kazuya's invitation to train and spar. The courtship aspect of his visitations was only secondary (for now, he reminds you). For Naoya, however, he was definitely there to impress you and win you over again. Not that any of his attempts have worked. 

There was an extra serving of chaos in what was supposed to be a peaceful lunch with whoever was scheduled to be there with you. Even the servants were whispering about this incredulous occurrence as they entered the dining hall with food for three in tow. 

—what an odd sight seeing both the young masters of the Gojo and Zenin Clans here—

—but surely Otome ojou-sama knows what to do—

—how could our Mistress commit such a mishap?—

How indeed, you thought to yourself. Your mother was usually cautious about these things. Could her age finally be getting to her? 

The meal was one you loved a lot— gyudon with a runny egg topped with scallions and beni shoga, miso soup, steamed vegetables in butter— broccoli, cauliflower, carrots and the like. For dessert, there was your family's special custard pudding, which became one of Satoru's many favourite sweets. 

The two boys sat across from you, knees and elbows brushing as they helped themselves to lunch. It was mostly the same scene— Satoru in his cobalt blue yukata and Naoya in his emerald green haori and hakama— and some bristling at how close they had to sit together. There were certain changes to their appearances that you took note of— Satoru and his pair of dark sunglasses that didn't seem to fit his look today, and Naoya's shocking blonde hair, part of his tips missing out on the colour and somewhat made him look like a pudding cup.  

Your tsukumogami Marin happened to be present as well, undoubtedly amused at the sight of two nearly grown boys trying their best to stay on their best behaviour. She sat quietly outside the room, soaking up the afternoon sun while keeping a watchful eye on her charge and her guests, who would be strictly apprehended if they tried to do anything strange. You were obviously baffled at what was happening at the moment. You will definitely ask your mother how she bungled this day by forgetting who exactly was supposed to be there.

"Here you go, Otome. Don't mind Naoya and just eat up like normal," the silver-haired boy stated with a smile as he picked a piece of steamed broccoli and placed it on top of your bowl. 

"Oh, uh, th-thank you, Satoru. You know, I—"

The dark-haired boy quirked an eyebrow at what he heard. "Since when were you two on a first-name basis?"

"Since forever," Satoru said, bringing a piece of cauliflower to his mouth. He didn't like vegetables that much, but he'd stomach the serving for the opportunity to spend time with you. And perhaps annoy his unbearable little rival while he's at it. 

Now that he's thinking about it, Naoya wasn't initially so insufferable. One could even call him friendly back then. As fellow promised children, they were expected to get along with each other to ensure the fragile peace between the two families was maintained. Satoru and his wily, mischief-making nature clashed with Naoya's more strict and straightforward attitude, even more so as they grew older and increasingly more powerful. Whether or not they were friends didn't exactly matter to him, but their lives were so intricately entwined that it was impossible not to mention him whenever the subject of heirs was discussed.

Something warped Naoya's mind during their period of discovery that propelled his growth to the point where his arrogance thrived as well. What, or who that could be… No one will ever really know. But seeing him like this— agreeable but still rather curt— reminds Satoru of that time when they weren't pitted against each other like mad dogs being bet on. 

"You can call me by my first name, too, Otome," Naoya stated, finally dropping the honorific from your name. "Satoru and I are the same. I see no need to use honorifics with him since we've always been on equal standing, aren't we, Satoru?"

"I don't know, Naoya. Are we?" The blue-eyed boy shrugged at him in response, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face meant to tease the other. "I mean, I ascend as soon as I graduate from high school, no brothers or uncles to contend with or anything…"

Naoya wanted to clamour, but he held his tongue. Satoru was right, after all. "Gh— That's beside the point!"

"Naoya-sama—" You started, only for him to cut you off. 

"You can call me by my first name!" 

Satoru elbowed him. "Whoa! No need to shout at her, man!"

"I wasn't shouting!"

And so forth. You may as well be watching the whole place burn down.

After your meal, the boys shared hushed murmurs between them, with Satoru disappearing from the garden not long after losing their single round of janken, but not without knowing full well that he'll have his time with you once Naoya leaves for the Zenin Estate in Kyoto. 

For all of his supposed prickliness, Naoya was always warm and cordial to you during his visits. He speaks to you kindly, as though you've never heard the stories of his curtness and rather measured kindness towards the daughters of other sorcerer clans. In the Koganei Estate, he was nothing at all like how his family vividly described him— spoiled and insufferable— perhaps boys like him always want their good side to shine. You can tell by the way he looks at you that he remains terribly enamoured by your person, never mind the fact that you punched him in the face before. 

He is just as touchy-feely as always, but he is more careful now whenever he wishes to make any physical contact with you. He would take your hand from time to time, grasping it as if you'd leave him to wander off on your own rather than keep him company. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

He paused in his tracks and turned to face you, taking in your features as though he hadn't done it earlier. "What is it?" 

"We've known each other for quite some time now, Naoya. When did you, um… start liking me? If it's all right with you, of course." 

It was a question he often wondered why you hadn't asked yet. A question he always had the answer to but never got around to answering. 

It was a well-known fact that women who were part of the Zenin Clan were classified as second-rate citizens, their specialness only defined by the men they were bound to. For a woman to rise to the rank of clan leader was uncommon but not completely unheard of, especially when Koganei Suzuna took the helm of her clan from her own father. She was an only child who possessed Kin'iro no Shishu— Golden Embroidery, a tamer version of her family's inherited technique and a kind of reverse cursed technique meant to heal more surface wounds and minor injuries but not exactly to the point where they can restore a person to their state before becoming injured. While she fell short in possessing the more potent Kin'iro no Namida, she proved herself a worthy heir and did an excellent job at managing her family's affairs when leadership was passed on to her. 

And Suzuna expected you to follow suit ever since she named you her heir, even more so since you inherited your family's prized Golden Tears.  

Naoya first learned about you after receiving an invitation to your seventh birthday. He was fairly acquainted with Kazuya but had no idea he even had a younger sister. It was only when the other boy explained their family dynamic that he came to understand. You fascinated him with your mere presence— a daughter born from the more solitary branch family, exalted as your clan's heir, defying all the expectations placed upon the women in his family and most of the other sorcerer families. 

And when he saw you sitting in the middle of your audience hall on your seventh birthday, an air of regality about you that seemed otherworldly to him, it was pretty much love at first sight for him. Not that he'd ever say. 

"Do you remember your seventh birthday?"

"That long ago?!" You exclaimed in complete surprise.

"…And when you arrived on my ninth birthday wearing the kimono my family gifted to you… It was almost like you were asking to be…"

It was a memorable present, after all, something you thought would be fitting for the occasion that was the birthday of the heir to the Zenin Clan leadership. 

"I was…?"

"Asking to be part of my family," he stated with a soft sigh. "But I suppose that was just my imagination."

Oh. So that explains why he circled you like a planet around the sun back then. And why his family was surprisingly kind to you.

"Anything else you'd like to know? Or tell me, perhaps." 

"I remember your ninth birthday very well. Jinichi-ojisama gave me a jar of konpeito back then!"

"What?! That dirty old man really—!"

"And… Wait, why exactly did you dye your hair that colour?"

Naoya made most of the time granted to him, basking in your undivided attention and savouring the sound of your laughter whenever he made an occasional joke. When it was time for him to leave, you sent him off with a smile, admittedly enjoying his company that afternoon. 

"May I hold you?" He asked you with expectant eyes, even though you know he's not one to do so. Whatever pride he has is thrown out the window when it comes to you. His pride nearly cost him his relationship with you, after all, and a black eye he couldn't possibly be upset about. It is only when you nod at him that he slowly wraps his arms around you, the scent of his woody and spiced cologne rising to your nose. 

He must dislike it, you thought to yourself. —Having to seek my permission just to hold me. If he does, he is doing a fine job of hiding his disdain. You gently return his embrace, prompting him to hold you even closer. And when he takes your hands in his, you don't see anything, just him and his same sharp gaze and a smile that doesn't really reach his eyes. 

"As I thought, seeing you certainly lifts my spirits. Holding you even more," he said. "I'll see you again soon, Otome. I…"

He pauses, and you can't help but ask him, "Naoya?" 

His ears turn bright red, and you assume he was embarrassed by the way you said his name, his preferred honorific forgotten this time as he asked earlier. 

"I don't know what I'd do with myself if you eventually turn me down," he chuckled. "The old man is always telling me to listen to reason and my intuition because they are rarely wrong and not to put all of my eggs in one basket but I can't help it…"

Naoya's grip on your hand tenses ever so slightly, but he eventually releases you. "I like you a lot. But we don't… see visions when we touch and I know that for certain because we would have spoken about it already."

"Oh…" Came your only response to his statement. Somehow you couldn't help but think what if you did see colours when you first made contact with him? Would it change how you feel about it? Would it make you just as giddy? Would it trap you? You'll never really know for certain anymore. 

"This day hasn't done anything for my reputation here, I think. I understand your family must think I'm still a brat like always and I don't blame them," he told you, bringing your knuckles to his lips. "However, I would like to continue seeing you until it's time for me to begin… considering other options." 

"Of course," you replied with the same warm smile. "Take care on your way home, Naoya."

He could tell by your smile and the look in your eyes that you preferred him this way— kind and affable. Not that he really was, but it made him feel good that the way you saw him improved over time. You made him feel good.

Naoya stilled on his spot, still holding your hands in his own. He looks back to his father's words to him— devotion to anything other than power will lead to your downfall. Yet it bothered him to no end how Naobito still managed to maintain the balance and momentum of being a top clan leader, an excellent sorcerer, and a father at the same time if the old man was so devoted to solely one thing. 

Naobito's power was built upon the enduring strength of tradition. So long as men like him are in charge, jujutsu society is still far from changing, and Naoya himself will have no need to change, either. The absurdity of your family's history and direction glides through his thoughts once more— you should be his bride, his wife— and it should be a pleasure for you to shower your sweetness and diligence upon him graciously and gratuitously. Yet you have made it perfectly clear to him that you have no intention of being like bamboo and bowing even to the storm that was the heir apparent of the Zenin Clan.  

Moreover, he knows well enough that you only continue to see him out of courtesy. He is well aware of what this one-sided affection means and the turmoil it wrought in his heart— and it clouds his judgement so. 

He looks up at your face, any trace of your disdain and resentment gone. It annoys him a little, for it only means you no longer see him as a threat, only as his equal, a truth he still can't wrap his head around. He decides he may not be so kind the next time. 

"Thank you. I'll be off, then." 

The Zenin servants left with their young master in tow with little to no fanfare. It surely won't be the last time you'll see them. 

Meanwhile, Satoru thought your goodbyes were too drawn out. While he lost their game of janken on purpose in order to have the rest of the day with you, he had to admit that he wasn't exactly the best at waiting. He had grown peevish having to play second fiddle to the Zenin brat today of all days, one of his very precious rest days from school. 

"Your impatience shows in your countenance, little godling."

Satoru, who was lounging back at the dining hall when you disappeared into the garden with Naoya, turned to the only other being in the room, Marin, in the same royal blue kimono she has always worn. 

"Aren't you worried that Naoya might try something, Marin?" 

"The Zenin child holds much affection for my mistress, as do you. I personally think he learned his lesson from last time," she replied. "Though I suppose you're only asking me this because you're bored yourself and you're not exactly one who shares."

He thought it was odd that your so-called spirit guardian didn't follow you out. 

"My mistress insisted I stay behind," she told the boy as though she read his mind. "The Zenin child behaved, after all. And neither do I accompany her when she is with you."

Point taken, he thought. Though he knew he was undoubtedly more well-behaved than Naoya. 

"Say, Marin, were you around when the battle between the last users of the Six Eyes and Ten Shadows happened?" 

"Unfortunately not, little godling. Though I've heard tales of it. 'Twas a devastating fight that ended in both their deaths," she answered him, a curious smile on her face now. 

It was a silly thought that Satoru tried not to entertain. Surely he and Naoya wouldn't have to come to blows when it came to—

"They fought for dominance, that much is certain. But for a girl? I think not," said the spirit guardian, a glint of mischief in her eyes. 

"What? I-I wasn't—" He stammered all of a sudden. "Be honest, Marin! You can actually read minds, can't you?" 

"I'm afraid not, little godling. But I suppose if you've lived as long as I have, you grow to have a better grasp of people and their emotions."  

"So you're what they call an empath…"

From the garden once more came measured footsteps carefully ascending to the redwood engawa. You looked into the dining hall and found Satoru sitting across from Marin. "I'm back! Were you guys talking about something?" 

"Welcome back, aruji-sama."

You nodded at Marin, signalling her to rest now. "Thank you, Marin. I'll see you again tomorrow."

"Have a good night's rest now, aruji-sama, and the little godling as well," Marin bade you farewell, condensing her cursed energy once more until she had completely taken the form of your hairpin. You placed it atop your head again before turning to your other guest. 

"Sorry about that again, Satoru…"

"Don't sweat it, sweetheart," he responded with a smile. "I just thought that it was too bad I had to share your time with Naoya, of all people." 

"I have all the time in the world right now, if that's what you're worried about," you smiled right back at him, gesturing for him to walk with you. 

"Not everyone has that luxury, I'm afraid," he rose from his seat on the tatami and followed you out of the dining hall. "You know how I've been busy with school last year? It's gonna be pretty much the same thing this year."

"Ah, yes. You and your missions with  Suguru-san and Shoko-san, am I correct? No need to worry about me, Satoru. Your pursuit of education is admirable, though I know you're just looking for a reason to leave your home."

No shit, he thought. One thing he remains entirely grateful for is the opportunity to study at Jujutsu High. What should have been his home, his safe haven, slowly evolved into his prison, a ball and chain shackled to him— his family's growing expectations of him— 

"Okaa-sama said I should go to Serinuma Suiren Private Academy with Kazu-nii and Chiemi-chan. It's a private non-sectarian school and there are other sorcerer children there as well," you said, slicing through his innermost thoughts. "If I remember right, the children and heirs to the Amamiya, Sasoriza and Sakashita Clans are studying there." 

"You know a lot of people, huh?" 

"Okaa-sama said that familiarity helps foster good relations," you replied, a thoughtful hand on your chin. "If I remember right, Ryuu-kun and his sister Risa-chan are studying there—"

"Who's Ryuu-kun?" Came Satoru's question, his face saying I'm curious but also kind of annoyed.

"He's the Amamiya Clan's heir and one of Kazu-nii's close friends. I think he got the idea to study at Serinuma Suiren from—"

"Otome, you do know that our utmost duty as sorcerers is to prevent calamities brought about by jujutsu, right? That and all the other bureaucratic bullshit the higher-ups feed us. You should know that private schools won't provide you with the proper education for sorcerers. And if the headquarters decide to assign missions for them? How will they be equipped for it? English and arithmetic won't help exorcise curses," he stated matter-of-factly. "I'm assuming the other families will compensate for their children's lack of sorcery knowledge through home studies instead. However, if they're doing this to get out of the system, that's where they're wrong. Not even clan leaders are exempt from having missions assigned to them." 

"O-Oh! I never thought of that…"

Ah. It was an epiphany being stated to you. Most of the responsibilities your mother imparted to you pertained to your house of sorcery, but perhaps she was only about to get to that point of your duties… But no, that wasn't exactly an excuse for your ignorance of what should be a sorcerer's most important commitment. 

And then there's that other thing about you and Satoru… 

"Suzuna-san still receives summons and assignments from the headquarters, as far as I know," he said, the same thoughtful hand on his chin as well. "Though I understand your family's inclination to forego the traditional jujutsu education since you guys are mostly for support… Ah! But Kazuya's Lightning Rod and Raiden can be classified as offensive combat techniques. And even your brat sister's Golden Embroidery will be useful—"

"But okaa-sama sai—"

Satoru furrowed his brows at your remark before gently elbowing you. "It's always your mother this, your mother that. Come on, Otome. What do you want to do?"

"It's… not that simple for me, Satoru…" You stated with a soft sigh. Something your mother told you earlier this year rang at the back of your head. "There's a reason why I'm not studying at Jujutsu High."

"I'm pretty sure we're burdened by the same responsibilities and expectations."

He was right, and yet he wasn't, either. Despite sharing the same responsibilities and expectations as heirs to your age-old sorcerer families, there was a fine line that separated you from him— a line your mother warned you well enough not to cross. 

"Okaa-sama told me that some of the elders warned her about something. It was about us," you told him, holding his curious gaze. "You and me, Satoru. They say we're dangerous together." 

Oh. Satoru was easily able to put two and two together now that he heard it from you. His family gave him a similar strong word of caution that should have dissuaded him from continuing to see you. 

"I don't see anything particularly dangerous about two kids in love if you ask me," he said with a shrug. "And all of this secrecy just makes me want to annoy those old farts even more. Now come on, Otome! Don't you want to study at Jujutsu Tech? I'm certain you'll learn—"

He was surprised you paused in your tracks, suddenly burying your face in your hands. "Otome? Hey, you—"

You look up at him with the heat of embarrassment spread across your face. "D-Did you just say we're in l-love?!" 

"A-Aren't we?!" He sputtered back, a blush creeping up from his neck to his face now. "Come on! I know I mostly come here to train with Kazuya, but it's always my time with you that I look forward to more!" 

"I—" 

Satoru didn't think twice anymore before leaning down to meet your nervous breath with his mouth, a strong hand on the small of your back as he steadied you on your feet. His hold on you was warm even over the layers of your yukata, his lips even warmer. You felt him smile against your kiss as you tenderly and unwittingly coiled your hands around his neck.

"You're so cute," was the only thing he said when you finally let go of each other, your vision shining as you gazed into the endless blue that was his eyes. 

"…You're cuter," you murmur right back at him before hurriedly looking away from him. "Th-This is definitely not good for my heart, Satoru…"

He chuckled at your reaction. "Oh? Wait 'til we start doing—"

"AAH! NO! Don't say it, please!" You exclaimed, gathering your sleeves to cover your ears from any more of his jokes and inappropriate talk.

His laugh was low, hearty, and absolutely mirthful. "What are you, some pure-hearted maiden?!" 

For the normal onlooker, there was no denying that this was merely the banter of two kids in love indeed, but the elders of jujutsu society impressed a vision upon your mother and other clan leaders. It was a sight so surreal and mystifying yet terrifying to anyone who might lay eyes upon it. 

The ominous figure of the vengeful spirit Michizane Sugawara. And perched atop his shoulders was the flaming phoenix Suzaku, its wings akin to plumes of fire spread menacingly over its onlookers.  

Upon Satoru's departure that evening, you found your way back to your mother's den, where she was preoccupied with the documents on her ornate walnut chabudai. It was an assortment of readings that included letters to the clan leader, mission briefs, and invitations to celebrations. 

"Satoru has left, okaa-sama," you told her, taking a seat across from her as she paid no mind to your presence so far.

"And was the afternoon pleasant, daughter?" Suzuna asked, not at all glancing at you as she continued her reading.

"I-It was odd, okaa-sama! Both Satoru and Naoya were here at the same time! Did you perhaps…"

"No, I did not make any mistake, Otome," she replied, eventually meeting your shocked gaze. There was a hint of… mischief in the older woman's eyes. "Everything that occurred today was all according to plan."

"O-Okaa-sama?! You… You did that on purpose?!"

"It was bound to happen one of these days, daughter. More importantly, that shows just how difficult a position our family will be backed into if those… boys continue this strange pursuit," she stated with an exasperated sigh, dropping the document she was reading on her table. "Honestly… As far as I'm aware, other families have daughters your age yet they seem so fixated on you. Most especially Satoru-kun. Though I suppose he's not easily impressed by just anyone."

Suzuna flipped through more sheets, the sheen of her moss-green yukata illuminated only by the candle on her table. "Ah, here it is. Your requirements for the new term. The academy was kind enough to send this over to us since we have at least three family members enrolling." 

She handed you a crisp sheet with the school's emblem printed on its letterhead— Serinuma Suiren Private Academy Yokohama. It was an ostentatious display of the school's supposed long history, but it was truly just a normal school that catered to normal students, mostly those from the middle to high socioeconomic status. Where your family stood didn't really matter to you right now…

English and arithmetic won't help exorcise curses. You recall Satoru's words from earlier. Not that you had the right technique for it, but if you truly wished to be better equipped for such instances, you have to learn everything from the right place. A school for jujutsu sorcerers run by jujutsu sorcerers.

"Okaa-sama," you started, swallowing the lump in your throat. There was no use being so nervous now. "I would like to study at Jujutsu High." 

Suzuna quirked an eyebrow at you, slowly taking back the letter you ignored. "Otome, we already spoke about this and you already agreed to study at Sesui with your siblings. Where did you get this absurd idea? From Satoru-kun, I can only presume?"

"But sorcerers have a duty to prevent disasters brought about by jujutsu! How can you expect me to do that if I'm not prepared for it?!" You shot back at her, but not before realising you raised your voice ever so slightly. You lowered your head to the tatami. "I apologise, okaa-sama."

The older woman dropped the letter with the rest of her documents. "Since when did this interest you, Otome? You're still years away from even receiving your own missions and yet…"   

"This is our most basic duty as sorcerers, okaa-sama. It's not… just an interest," you replied, still unable to meet her eyes after your little outburst. Your relationship and communication with Suzuna slowly improved as time passed by. As her named heir, she did her best to mould you into her example, one which you diligently tried to follow as you grew older, especially after being given the cool yet distressing nickname heir striker. There was no helping those impulses, though— and the quirks in your character that made you unique from your mother's personage. 

"Raise your head, daughter. I take no offence to what you said. You're right, after all. Sorcerers indeed have a duty to prevent disasters brought about by jujutsu," she stated, eyeing your graceful movement with a look of satisfaction. "If you ask me, I see no reason to separate you and Satoru-kun. However, I can't just ignore the elders' warning. If they're baulking right now, imagine the clamour they'll make if he actually decides to propose to you."  

Yes, Suzuna remembers their warnings well enough. They don't want a dangerous stockpiling of power to occur that may give the Gojo Clan even more leverage than what it already has. That will only happen if a user of the Six Eyes comes into possession of one who cries Golden Tears. Then again, the same will apply to someone with the Zenin's Ten Shadows or the Kamo's Blood Manipulation. Right now, it just so happened to be Gojo Satoru. 

"I…" You started, only to lose your voice in resignation. "I… understand, okaa-sama. I wouldn't want to put our family in a precarious position."

Yet we already are, Suzuna thought to herself. The fact that your fates are woven so intricately has already spelled the doom of our family. Though you've always been one to defy gravity.

— A Time of Romance… ~ July 2006.

There were whispers about a new student enrolling in the middle of the school year— A first-year with such a prized cursed technique that their family had reservations about sending them there in the first place. While Gojo Satoru was never easily impressed, he was still rather curious about this miracle child joining their ranks, especially since their background sounded oddly familiar. He and the rest of his three-man class already threw a welcoming ceremony that was more of a party for their adorable kouhai when the school year started earlier in the year.

He passed by the first years' classroom to sate his curiosity and found a girl standing before her classmates, a hastily-prepared welcoming sash around her upper body and a smile he's seen somewhere before. Never in his wildest dreams was he this thoroughly impressed. 

It was you, the equally miraculous and equally troublesome child from the Koganei Clan, being introduced to your two classmates, the stoic Nanami Kento and the upbeat Haibara Yu. You were in the standard jet-black school uniform, and pinned to your left breast was the school's emblem, the symbol of your allegiance to its cause. Satoru knew for a fact that the Koganei Clan would never let you out of their sight, seeing as you were their promised child, the only one who could cry healing tears in your family. How you managed to convince them and slip through their fingers, he'll never know for sure…

Haibara saw him standing outside their classroom with a bewildered look on his face and beckoned him to come inside. "Gojo-san! Come and say hi to our new classmate! The new student!" 

A smile graced his face as he accepted his kouhai's invitation, stepping into the classroom with his hands in his pockets. When your eyes meet once again, he swears he feels like he's riding on a cloud now, the soft rays of the early morning sun beating on his face.

"Been a while. How are you, ohime-sama?" 

"Satoru!"

"Huh? You two already know each other?" Came Haibara's confused question as he held the opened party popper in his hands. 

"Oh, we go way back," the silver-haired boy said with a chuckle. "Say, you three aren't doing anything particular today, right? Wanna go grab some food to celebrate your arrival?" 

"Um, sure? If it's all right with Yu and Kento, of course."

Haibara was all smiles as well as he followed you and Satoru out of your classroom, Nanami trailing with a look on his face that said, oh, how troublesome. 

Following the college's assessment of your technique and skills, they deemed you another valuable resource— a reverse cursed technique user— a boon upon the scourge of curses and cursed spirits roaming the land at large. The school would make use of your technique, raw as it is at present. You would have to develop it yourself, though, to a more efficient way to utilise your cursed energy rather than just crying all the time. 

Upon your introduction to everyone, though, the school left out one minor detail that caught everyone by surprise.

Cafe Lilico was a tiny, rustic red brick cafe mostly hidden between Shibuya's high-rise buildings. The little place was owned by a retired sorcerer who sought to keep a place open for people and kids like you— sorcerers, both young and old, were welcomed and offered a reprieve from their taxing work of exorcism and execution. The shopfront had a lot of flower pots in full bloom, concealing most of the cafe's inside to the curious passersby.

On your shared table laid an assortment of snacks and drinks— black coffee, sweet teas, creamy frappes and cream sodas, berry tarts, classic New York-style cheesecake, salt and pepper fish and chips, and sweet potato fries— and floral-printed porcelain plates and saucers atop the plaid red tablecloth. 

From across the table, you could perfectly see the astonished reactions of your classmates as you concluded your long, long story of how you first met Gojo Satoru when you were children. You didn't go into any of the finer details of your relationship anymore since everything was confusing as it was already. "…And that's how Satoru and I met. We aren't exactly together, together. It's, um… a work in progress." 

"Wait, wait, wait! You mean to say that you," said Shoko, Satoru's only female classmate and a reverse cursed technique user just like you. She pointed a finger at you and another one at the boy wearing sunglasses, trying to make sense of the facts laid out to them. "…And Gojo are childhood friends? And that you guys are kind of engaged?"

"I think the more correct term is childhood sweethearts. And betrothals are still pretty much a practice for old sorcerer families like ours," Satoru stated with a wide grin as he gently corrected his friend. "So many people are against us getting together, though. Some of the old farts are calling it a dangerous accumulation of power or some other bullshit."

"So Haibara had no chance from the start!" Shoko said teasingly, nudging the wide-eyed boy sitting beside her. 

"Ah, it doesn't matter!" Haibara said with a hearty laugh. "Cute girls will always be cute and I think I'm lucky enough to be able to see another cute girl like Otome every day."

The other girl brought her arm to the table and rested her chin on her hand, a curious look on her face. "What do you like about Gojo, Otome?"

"The real question is if she actually likes him," the other dark-haired boy, Suguru, teased his friend. "Are you sure you aren't being tricked, Otome?" 

"O-Oh! I actually like Satoru a lot…" You started sheepishly. "He's always been very considerate of me ever since we were children."

"How straightforward of you," Suguru stated with a smile. "I find it hard to believe we're talking about the same Satoru here, Otome."

"Totally. You know no one's buying this kind big brother act you're putting up now that she's here, Gojo," Shoko nodded in agreement. "Otome, did you know that Gojo is terribly spoiled and self-centred—"

"Okay, okay! I get the message, you guys. Geez!" Satoru exclaimed in disbelief that his friends had just thrown him under the bus in your presence. "But you heard her loud and clear, yeah? She likes me, and no tricks, too!" 

"Satoru's been spoiled ever since we were children, so I'm not exactly surprised," you reply with a small laugh. "But I suppose it's only because he has people like Suguru-san and Shoko-san keeping him in check that he hasn't gotten into any trouble so far."

"Gojo-san has been a good senpai to us, too, Otome. I'm pretty sure he's bound to pay more attention to us now that you're part of our class," Haibara grinned at you. "Ah! Now that you mentioned it, you'll probably be joining us on some missions."

"That's right, though mostly for assistance and backup," you replied before taking a sip of your cream soda. "Shoko-san and I will have rotating shifts in the infirmary and morgue, too." 

"It's too bad you missed the Goodwill Event a few weeks back. I would have appreciated the extra hands to help with healing," the other girl said before helping herself to her iced frappe. 

"That and more. I would have loved it if you saw me wipe the floor with Naoya," Satoru chuckled. "The dork was so arrogant, too. I felt so bad for his classmates and upperclassmen." 

"The Zenin kid, right? He didn't really strike me as a heavyweight," Haibara said before stuffing himself with the sweet potato fries. "He was fast, though! Even faster than Nanami, I think."

Nanami didn't speak, though his brows crinkled at the sound of his name as he sipped his black coffee. 

"Goodwill Event?" You inquired curiously.

"It's a yearly event and competition between Tokyo and Kyoto Jujutsu High students," Satoru answered you, a finger absentmindedly playing with your hair. "Oh, man. You could have just punched him again and called it a day, huh?" 

"S-Satoru!" You exclaimed, obviously embarrassed at his remark. 

"What?! You punched the Zenin kid before, Otome?!" Haibara asked rather excitedly, his eyes sparkling in utter admiration. "So you do know how to defend yourself, then!"

"I-It was a—" You raised your hands in defence, the heat rising to your face as you tried to explain the infamous incident from 2004.

"She even got a nickname," the silver-haired boy said, the same Cheshire Cat smile on his face. "Isn't that right, heir striker?"

"Satoru, stop! D-Don't make me live up to that nickname!"

Your first school days at Jujutsu High were nothing like the languorous moments you spent at home with your mother and governess. Yaga-sensei always put you through your paces regardless of whether there was not much to do or there was actual work to be done. Much like Shoko, you were never given any dangerous missions and mostly helped with patching up your schoolmates and other sorcerers who came through the school doors. 

It was Haibara who regaled you with stories about their missions, while Nanami was not at all entertained by the thought of having to exert so much effort into everything they had to do. On the very rare occasions you were required to accompany them, you always kept a safe distance away from the conflict with at least one of them safeguarding you. 

Before you knew it, a month had passed. With Satoru often busy with his own missions with Suguru and Shoko, it was no surprise that he'd jump at the opportunity to come and see you and spend a considerable amount of time with you whenever permitted. 

On your way back from Shibuya after having lunch with Satoru, you were greeted by a familiar face on the school grounds, his Western-style school uniform rather out of place in the more traditional tranquil atmosphere of Jujutsu High. "Oh, it's Kazu-nii!" 

"Hello, Otome. I see you've already adjusted to your life here. Your uniform suits you!" Kazuya greeted you with a smile. Still in his own school uniform— a mauve blazer and black trousers, he waved as you made your approach, a brown document envelope in his hands. "And Satoru! Good afternoon."

"Hello, Kazuya," came Satoru's rather curt greeting, taking his place behind you. "What brings you here?"

"I came here with more of my sister's documents. And to remind you again that you are obligated to return home once a month, Otome. Learn to keep track of your priorities if you're to become the clan leader. Yaga-sensei was made well aware of this arrangement, too."

How irritating— was the very first thing that popped into the silver-haired boy's head as he eyed your interaction with your older brother. They might be friends, but something about the other boy just rubs him the wrong way. And now that he's thinking about it, he and Kazuya are around the same age now, though the other boy could be a bit older. Boys like them— ones born into sorcerer clans— start sifting through potential bride candidates when they turn eighteen. Surely Kazuya wasn't so depraved to even consider you, his adoptive sister as—

His line of thought was broken when you cut off your brother's monologue. 

"Yes, yes, I'll keep all of that in mind, Kazu-nii," You nodded at the older boy and waved a hand at his concerns . When Kazuya reached for it, you were immediately pulled back against Satoru's broad chest, colliding with him with a small thump.

"I have an even better suggestion. Why don't you become the leader of your clan instead, Kazuya? That role should have been yours from the start, right?" Satoru stated all of a sudden. Your eyes widened in surprise as you whipped your head back to look at him. 

He had a smirk on his face, one laced with so much pettiness and arrogance that made your brother flinch in his spot. 

"That's… impossible, Satoru. Otome was raised by our mother for this very purpose. For me to replace her would mean the family's efforts have gone to waste. Besides, there is no reason for—"

"I have one. A reason, I mean," Satoru carried on, not at all missing a beat. His confidence was off the roof right now with you standing right before him, not even an arm's length away from him. He is claiming you now, as though saying it would make it any easier. "Otome and I are going to marry."

Kazuya's brows furrowed in confusion. "Wh-What?!"

"Our marriage would be equally beneficial to our families, wouldn't you agree, Otome? Kazuya will retain his birthright and become the leader of your clan," The taller boy clamped his hands on your shoulders, steadying your footing and pulling you slightly further away from your brother's reach. "But as the leader of the Gojo Clan of the Great Three Sorcerer Clans, the family of my bride will fall under my protection. That would make the Koganei untouchable . Your family will be free to continue their work in assisting sorcerers and non-sorcerers and more! No one will dare bar you from doing anything!"

"Satoru—" Kazuya tried to interject, only for him to be further silenced by the other boy's 

"Think about it. Think of all the things I can do for your family," Satoru said with a shrug. "Or won't."

Hearing his proposal made your blood run cold all of a sudden, your pulse ringing in your ears that you couldn't even make out what he and your brother were arguing about. Part of you always thought he saw you as an equal, or at least acknowledged you as someone skilled and trustworthy enough to stand right behind him, if not beside him. 

"Otome? You're shivering. What's—" Satoru asked, his hands gentle as he tried to turn you in his direction. Though you tried your best to calm the quake that slowly climbed up your spine, something inside you snapped.  

"Is that all I am to you? Some conquest?! Does this mean you never really saw me as the heir to my clan?!" 

"What? No! That's not what I—" 

"I heard what you said! You clearly stated that Kazu-nii should inherit instead of me, so I could be your wife! Like I can't be both," you angrily stated, hastily shrugging away his hold on you. "Y-You're unbelievable! You're no different from Naoya if that's how you think!"

And Satoru, who was normally calm and collected, felt a sense of panic rise in him all of a sudden. He hurriedly reached out for you before you could stomp away from him any further. "Otome! You know I—" 

Thunk.  

However, you were insanely quick on your feet, your fist even faster as it landed a hit to his jaw, with just enough strength to knock him away from you. "I don't appreciate you deciding my fate for me! In case you've forgotten, I am an heir just like you! I am the pride of the Koganei Clan, the vessel of Suzaku, the only one in this world who can cry its most precious, golden tears!"

It was a title you loathed all your life, yet it defined your very existence. 

So cry you did, even as you ran back to your room in the dormitories. When Nanami caught you sobbing by your door, he was taken aback by how your tears were imbued with so much of your cursed energy that it seemed entirely wasteful to him. 

It was Shoko who came to see you the very next morning after hearing what happened from Satoru. She didn't find you in your dorm room, but in Nanami's room instead, still fast asleep and bundled up in his camel beige blankets. From the looks of things, your eyes were puffy from all your crying yesterday, and your classmates were kind enough to harbour you in Nanami's room rather than just leaving you on your own. Haibara was also still fast asleep on the floor beside a plastic bag filled with snack wrappers and empty canned drinks.

"Long night?" Came the older girl's question to the only first year that was awake. 

"She was done crying when Haibara came over with sweets. It was only a matter of keeping her distracted afterwards," Nanami replied with a small sigh. "Her tears are… fascinating, but also terrifying, especially if they fall into the wrong hands."

"You don't say?" Shoko said, a small smile on her face as she clamped a hand on the blonde boy's shoulder. "Good job, Nanami."

"I think… it was a silly thing to cry over," Nanami stated, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned on his doorframe. 

"Don't say that," she replied, the same easygoing smile on her face. "I think any person would cry if their entire reason for being was put into question and carelessly disregarded. You did well to cheer her up, but this is really on Gojo for being insensitive." 

"His lack of delicacy is nothing new." 

"What are your assignments for today, Nanami?"

"A simple search and exorcise. Some third-grade cursed spirits have been terrorising a private school in Yokohama."

"Easily handled, then. Take Otome with you," Shoko stated. "Keep her busy."

"If that means intentionally getting in the way of trouble just so she can cry over us, then I'll have to disagree with you there."

It didn't take long for you to put two and two together to realise that Shoko planned for you to join Nanami and Haibara on their mission to Yokohama. When Nanami told you that you were tasked to come along with them as support, you knew that your senpai wanted you to return to the infirmary with a clearer and cooler head. Shoko wanted you to exhaust whatever negativity you harboured in your chest before being permitted to return to your real tasks at hand.

Fortunately, Satoru and Suguru were out on a mission of their own and you were somehow glad you didn't have to play an awkward game of evade and avoid on the campus with the older boys— you simply weren't in the right headspace for another conversation with Satoru. 

The train ride to Yokohama was uneventful as it was, with Haibara trying his best not to doze off and Nanami keeping a watchful eye on your surroundings. Since you weren't included in the mission brief, the blonde boy did his best to explain the task at hand as simply as possible. Your classmates' mission for that day was to exorcise the multitude of third-grade cursed spirits hounding a certain student from Serinuma Suiren Private Academy. 

You did not expect that certain student to be your younger sister. 

"Oh my. To think I'd see you so soon again after you had just left home, onee-sama."

The one who welcomed your classmates to the prestigious campus was none other than Koganei Chiemi, who was now a first-year student at Sesui. The Western-style school uniform suited her more exotic, foreign appearance, her wavy blonde hair pulled up to a high ponytail. 

"Hello, Chiemi-chan," you greeted her courteously, not at all rattled by the sharp and snide expression on her face. "Have you been well?"

"Well enough," the younger girl replied with a measured smile. "I assume you're part of the group tasked with handling the cursed spirits infesting our school. If they needed a healer, they didn't have to look far because I, too, am skilled in utilising reverse cursed techniques."

"We appreciate your enthusiasm, Koganei-san," Haibara replied with his usual cheer. "However, you're designated as a civilian in the mission brief, so you can't practice your sorcery unless absolutely necessary."

…To which Chiemi replied with a small hmph!

"Otome," Nanami stated, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder before eventually unpacking his carefully maintained weapon from his usual carry-on bag. "Haibara will stay with you. I'll handle things from here."

"Call us if anything unusual comes up, Kento!" You called out to him as he followed Chiemi into the school building. "…Though it's probably nothing he can't handle…"

"So she's your sister, huh? The bratty girl Gojo-san spoke of the last time, Otome?" Haibara started, taking his place beside you as you entered the school gates. 

"Yeah, but not really. We're only distantly related, after all. We don't share parents, just certain blood ties," you replied. "She was born a year after I was. She and Kazuya share the same mother, but her father's an unknown quantity."

"Your brother must hear a lot of weird stuff when they're at school."

"Definitely. Though Kazuya has been nothing but patient with her," you said. "If I'm being honest, I'm certain no one in our family would have minded him inheriting the leadership even if he did not inherit Golden Tears. He received the same formidable Lightning Rod Technique from his father, and I'm sure he'll only grow stronger once he masters Raiden." 

"Oh, he sounds like a big deal, all right," Haibara replied, a hand on his chin as though in deep thought. 

"Kazuya didn't resent me at all when I was brought into their home. He could have easily hated me too just like Chiemi, but he didn't. Instead, he poured all of his efforts into training to become my shield in the future. Lady Suzuna did well on her promise to beat the anger and resistance out of me. She said things would be easier for me if I just accepted my destiny, so I did. I tried my best to follow her example and didn't let anyone talk shit about my family—" You paused all of a sudden, feeling yourself tear up. "All my life I've been told I was special because I could cry tears of gold that could help people. I accepted my fate, so what am I exactly if not that?" 

What am I? It was almost haunting having to hear that question from yourself. You were everything your family asked you to be now, but the prospect of your entire identity being taken away from you didn't sit right with you—

"What do you mean what are you if not that? You'd still be an incredible sorcerer in your own right, of course! The fact that you chose to remain kind and true to your purpose despite your stern upbringing is proof of your strong character and your integrity. You're giving yourself way too little credit," the brunette smiled at you, bringing a hand to your head before eventually fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket. "Here. Don't go crying on me now because I'll get an earful from Nanami." 

"Thanks, Yu. I appreciate it," You smiled at him, taking the plaid handkerchief from his hand. 

"You know, I'm sure Gojo-san didn't mean to put it that way. When he said your brother should inherit your family's leadership instead. He doesn't talk about his family much, so I can assume he's not exactly a fan of how they run things," he said. "I'm sure he meant to say that he sees you as your own person and he wants you to be with him as your own person."

"O-Oh. I never really thought of it that way…" 

"But I totally get how you felt back then, too!"

"For a musclehead, you're surprisingly perceptive, Yu."

"Hey! I can be smart if necessary!" Haibara playfully elbowed you, only for the two of you to jolt in surprise at his phone's ringtone. He picked up the call with his same warmth and cheer. "Nanami! Yeah? …Ah, all right. We got it. We'll be there, then!"

"I-Is something wrong?" You nervously asked. 

"Nanami's fine, Otome! He said we can finish faster if we work on things all together," he pocketed his phone. "We can clear out a bunch of low-grade curses, yeah? Remember to stick close to me!"

"Sure!" You eagerly nodded at him, trailing his steps into the school building. 

The mission indeed concluded much sooner than expected when you swept through several floors with Haibara. Strangely, Nanami seemed to be in a hurry to leave Sesui and did not even bother to say goodbye to Chiemi, though he had no particular task at hand or no place to be afterwards. After a little bit of chiding, the blonde boy agreed to have brunch at Cafe Lilico, drawn by the allure of the place and the delicious food he last had there. 

Haibara ordered a katsudon lunch box set and green tea for himself, while Nanami had a Spaghetti Alle Vongole and the cafe's famous garden pizza, along with a cup of black coffee. Meanwhile, you helped yourself to an Aglio e Olio and another cream soda.

"Your sister asked for my contact information," Nanami cooly stated as he took a sip of his still piping hot black coffee, slicing through the agreed silence while you had your meal. 

"I-Is that so?" You asked, only partly surprised because this is probably the first time Chiemi met another person like her. A hafu? Or a quarter foreigner, at least…

"I refused," he replied flatly. "She is pretty, but not exactly the kindest, I can only assume. The curses…"

"What about the curses?" Haibara inquired midway through a bite of his katsu. 

"Your sister has a lot of enemies at her school. Does she relish the thought of people disliking her? It's such a dangerous mindset that can cause harm to others."

"I'm… sorry, Kento. I have no answers for you, to be honest. Chiemi has been like that for as long as I can remember and the people at home are quick to sweep her actions under the rug…" You tell him. "I can talk to our brother if that'll help."

"Don't worry. Your family will find out about it soon enough when they receive a mission debrief anyway," Nanami replied, his movements measured and graceful as he spun his fork around his pasta. "It must have been rather difficult for you to live with a girl like her."

"I got used to it pretty quickly if I'm being honest. Chiemi pushed me off the engawa on my seventh birthday and I learned soon after that I really can't be too careful around her," you said with a small laugh as you poked at your pasta. 

"Don't laugh at her attitude. She won't get too far in life with that," he concluded. "Stuck-up girls like her will have a hard time fitting in with the rest of her school." 

"Sorry, sorry!" You replied. "I actually thought Chiemi would mellow out once she started high school, but I suppose that's not the case and she ostracised herself bad enough that no one wants to be friends with her. No cafe dates after school, no one to talk to about boys, no one to take those cute little pictures with—"

"Purikura! It's all the rage with the girls today, if I remember right! My sister and her friends are crazy about it," Haibara interjected. "Aaand if I remember right again, there's one across the street from the cafe!"

"Really?!" You exclaimed rather excitedly. "Oh…"

Nanami feigned a cough. "We need to file our report as soon as possible, so…" 

But there was really nothing he could do when you and Haibara looked up at him with matching puppy dog eyes that screamed, pleaseee! 

"…Fine. But please make it quick."

There was nothing quick about the way the rest of your morning passed. After having brunch, the three of you crammed yourselves into a tiny purikura photo booth which produced copies upon copies of your and Haibara's silly expressions and Nanami's stony-faced resistance, only putting up a peace sign after your insistence. There was little he could do except follow the trail of excitement you left as you walked ahead after being outnumbered two to one.  

Haibara entertained you by playing solo games at the nearest arcade, winning rolls and rolls of tickets to get you a prize of your choice— a little plush chick purse.  

"Thank you!" Was all you could exclaim after being handed the prize. It was soft and cute and could easily fit all the coins in your current purse. More importantly, it was from a friend.

"So this is what you scallywags have been up to!" A familiar voice cut through your merriment, followed by three figures in the same jet-black Jujutsu High School uniform. 

"Gojo-san! Geto-san! And Ieiri-san, too!" Haibara exclaimed as well, still all smiles after being caught playing hooky by your upperclassmen.

"Having fun, you three?" Came Shoko's easygoing laugh. "Are you feeling better now, Otome?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, I am. Thank you, Shoko-san," you sheepishly replied. "You can delegate tasks for me today, too…"

"Let's worry about that tomorrow," the older girl smiled at you. "Playing hooky sounds like a great idea, wouldn't you agree, Gojo? Geto?"

"No missions today, so I see nothing wrong," Suguru replied with a shrug. "And it seems like our kouhai are becoming experts at it, too."

Neither you nor Satoru moved from your spots, seemingly frozen still as your respective classmates argued and agreed on what else your group of lazy kids could do today. 

"What do you say to that, Satoru?" Suguru turned to his friend, who looked up from his absentminded daze after being called by his name. 

"Uh, yeah, sure. Let's do that," the silver-haired boy replied, though not quite sure what he agreed to. 

And maybe he should have asked. 

The rest of the afternoon passed by like a gentle haze. Satoru didn't think much about their walk to a different venue, only that he wanted to walk right behind you, right beside you, taking the more dangerous side when crossing the road, steering you away from any roadblocks without you knowing at all, and watching you— because there was no way he could start a conversation with you after seeing you cry yesterday. 

Even as children, you rarely cried, even less so in front of him. Whatever hurt you felt was mostly kept to yourself, so many praised you for having such an excellently grasp on your emotions. (Except, of course, for those times you forget— and find yourself with a bruised fist.) For you to cry in front of him could only mean that whatever he said was indeed hurtful.  

One minute you were at the arcade, and now you were in a karaoke booth listening to Haibara's most enthusiastic rendition of UVERworld's Colors of the Heart, the lights seemingly moving around to the song's tempo. 

"The stronger the light, the deeper the darkness. Even if you realise it, there's nothing to fear— The colours of everything are born deep in your heart. I can open my eyes and gaze at them again!"

"Yu's energy is unparalleled," you told Shoko, who was choosing a drink from the establishment's menu with her usual relaxed smile. "Luckily it's not infectious!"

You didn't know when this started to get easier for you— losing yourself in fleeting moments of bliss. Your responsibilities weighed very little at the moment, seemingly forgotten in the high and happiness that bounced off the karaoke box's four walls. 

I shouldn't get used to this, you remind yourself. Yaga-sensei made it clear to you that day, too. Danger will follow you wherever you head, regardless of what you do— 

But I can't help it—

Amidst the shining lights, you could make out Haibara happily pushing the microphone towards Nanami, who was vehemently opposed to singing anything. You couldn't help but clap to yourself when Shoko asked for the mic herself, singing an older song from Hamasaki Ayumi. 

Rainbow. How unexpected, you thought. You were so caught up in the cheeriness that you didn't notice Satoru sitting right next to you. And now that you know, you couldn't help but feel entirely self-conscious now. 

"If there's a pain you feel you can't get over, then shall we walk, sharing it together? If you brought more joy than you can hold, then shall we walk, sharing it together?"

Satoru slowly rested his head against yours, long arms crossed over his chest. So many sounds filled your ears— the lively music, the rush of blood to your head, the beat of your pulse— yet you heard his murmuring loud and clear. 

"I'm sorry."

And you turn to him, prompting him to lift his head from its rest. "Are you really?"

His blue eyes gazed at you through his dark sunglasses. "I am."

"Remind me again tomorrow," you told him with a grin. "I'm way too happy today to be angry, after all."

"Satoru! Sing something!" Suguru was laughing as he handed the mic to his friend. "No takebacks!"

"Fine, fine," Satoru stated, punching his chosen song into the touchscreen device. "But don't say I didn't warn you guys!"

"You didn't!" Shoko jeered at him. Everyone in the box was surprised to hear a rather popular foreign song playing. 

"Am I more than you bargained for yet? I've been dying to tell you anything you wanna hear 'cause that's just who I am this week—"

"What?!" You couldn't help but laugh. Since when was Satoru so good at singing? No, he wasn't exactly good, but his enthusiasm makes up for his terrible crooning. Haibara was doing air guitar movements behind the singer, carefully headbanging to the beat of the song. 

"We're going down, down in an earlier round— And sugar, we're going down swinging! I'll be your number one with a bullet. A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it!"

I shouldn't get used to this, you reminded yourself once more even as you clapped your hands in cheer and excitement. But I can't help myself—

—I'm having so much fun!

Yesterday's merriment was like a fever dream you had a hard time shaking off. The entire day was an anomaly, after all, with all six of you free from the burdens of school and responsibilities… Until a new mission brief came for your classmates and you had infirmary duty the very next day, as though it were retribution for being bad influences to your upperclassmen, who clearly had just as much a great time as you did. 

The second years were luckier today, with no missions coming their way as of yet. Regardless, Satoru and Suguru were on their way to the training grounds to remain on top of their game in case they did get called for anything. 

And Shoko just handed you a number of tasks to complete while she was on morgue duty. 

"Now let me get this straight. You threatened her brother, of all people, then you proceeded to propose to her in the most humiliating way possible— by disregarding all the effort she put into becoming her family's heir. You did all of that because…? Did Otome's brother seem like some sick fuck who wanted to marry her himself? You are absolutely deranged. Deranged and whipped, Satoru," said Suguru as he walked a few paces behind his closest friend. Only he noticed the upbeat approach of a certain kouhai as they phased through the school halls like aimless ghosts. 

"You shut up, Suguru. Who the hell are you callin' whipped? I'd never—" Satoru blasted back at his best friend, only to be cut off just as soon as he started.

Suguru raised a hand in greeting. "Otome!" 

That one name caused the silver-haired teenager to freeze on his spot, evident only to his friend, who tried to suppress the smile on his lips.

"Oh, it's Satoru and Suguru-san! Just the guys I was looking for," you happily stated as you came up to the pair. "Hear me out a bit. Kento and Yu are still on their way back from a mission, so I was wondering if you could—"

"Sure we'll help out!" Exclaimed Satoru, not even letting you finish. "Suguru and I h-have time today, so—!"

You were taken aback by his enthusiasm. "A-Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose…" 

"We do have time, indeed," the dark-haired boy said with an amused smile. He clamped a hand on the other young man's shoulder that seemed to bring him back to earth. "Right, Satoru?" 

"Just Gojo, actually," came Shoko's voice from behind you, prompting you to turn back. "I need your help with something, too, Geto."

"Sure thing," Suguru replied. "Can you two manage on your own?" 

"Um, yeah! I suppose Satoru will be enough. Thank you, Suguru-san!" You stated with the same warm smile and intention as you waved see you later to the other two retreating figures. "I guess Shoko-san needs help at the morgue, too. I'm stuck with you, then." 

"Otome! Since when were you capable of saying stuff like that?" Satoru placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt as he hung his head in defeat. 

"Oh, please, Satoru!" You replied with a laugh before starting your walk back to the infirmary. 

"But what is it? What do you need help with?" He asked, trailing behind you a few paces back. It made more sense to him once you reached the infirmary on the other side of the maze-like campus and found unopened boxes upon unopened boxes lining the hallway of the otherwise sterilised room. 

"Just some hard labour," you finally tell him. "I need some help moving these here and there and some have to be brought to the morgue." 

"All right, easily done!" He replied with the same enthusiasm he had earlier. Shedding his school jacket, he rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and took note of everything you pointed at.

"It's actually pretty hot today, isn't it?" You remarked as you watched the taller boy effortlessly move box after box into the cream white room. 

"I thought you guys used your reverse cursed techniques to heal people. Why's there so much medicine?" 

"Well, we do use our techniques, but that doesn't mean there's no more use for practical medicine at all. There are injuries that don't require us to use our reverse cursed techniques, but just good old bandages and antiseptic," you replied, scanning through the list of supplies on the clipboard. "Whew. I can see why Shoko-san has such a hard time keeping track of things here. There's so much stuff to take note of."

Even as a child, he always thought your straightforwardness was charming. You were nothing like the other mild-mannered daughters of sorcerer families who had to accept everything being handed to them with grace. Your ferocity was something that took other boys aback, but it didn't scare him away. You punched a boy and nearly lost your heirship because of it— and he found it absolutely endearing.  

"Don't you think I deserve a reward for helping you out, nurse-san?" He said teasingly as he sat himself on one of the pristine white infirmary beds. 

"Not until I've worked you to the bone, Satoru," you laughed at his remark, arms crossed over your chest now. "You're obviously not used to being bossed around and you always get what you want, so it's a little strange hearing Gojo Satoru asking for rewards, of all things…"

"How cruel," came his defeated reply, his shoulders dropping all of a sudden. "Well, if you put it that way, I suppose I should put in some more work…"

"Well, I have this. It's melon-flavoured, though. Kento didn't want it, so…" You said, fishing out a single piece of hard candy from your skirt pocket. You placed the sweet into his bigger hand and watched as he happily unwrapped it, popping it in his mouth like a child tasting candy for the first time. 

"Mm. Good enough for now," Satoru said before eventually reaching for your hand. He gently pulled you down into his lap and you cautiously lowered yourself into his hold. 

"Satoru…?"

"I'm sorry," he stated plainly. "I'm sorry I said all of that to you and to Kazuya. I wasn't thinking straight. I was just… so jealous."

"You were… jealous? Of Kazu-nii?"

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, obviously embarrassed at having to reveal the pettiness of his heart. "It's not just him. It's all so irritating. Your brother being so entitled to you, that idiot Naoya still trying to get ahold of you, and Haibara… Ugh, why does that kid have to look at you that way? I hate it all so much…"

The softest of laughs left your lips as you allowed yourself to be held by him, his long arms possessively coiling around your waist. You managed to slip off his ridiculous sunglasses and place it on top of the nearest pillow. "You're so silly, you know. Didn't I already tell you that it's always been you? I saw the colours— the visions— with you and I—"

You're right, he couldn't help but think to himself. Nothing else could ever come close to shattering the otherworldly bond you shared with each other— he, the snowy sky, and you, the shining sun.  

Satoru brushed his nose against your warm cheek before moving to kiss you tenderly. He was ready to let go all too soon until you eventually reciprocated, wrapping your arms around his neck to anchor yourself to him. His lips were sticky sweet on yours, leaving the lingering taste of the melon candy he ground to dust with his teeth. 

"It's just the two of us here," he whispered, his voice low and his heart hammering against your own chest. 

"I-I know…"

And he kissed you again softly, reverently— a current running up your spine as he gently caged you in his embrace. It's been a while since you were last alone with each other and it made you contemplate his affection. He's always been very affectionate, you thought as you rested your cheek on his shoulder, the heat of the day making its presence known through the sweat that made your uniform cling to your figure. You sat there utterly dazed for a moment, allowing Satoru to pepper your jaw with the softest of kisses. 

"You know, Otome, I did mean every word I said back then. I want to marry you," Satoru started, his voice reverberating in your chest. "You'll still consider it, right? You'll consider me first before anyone else…"

"I-I…" You stammered at him, unable to tell which one of you was burning up blazing, or if it was both of you. "Oh…!"

You were jolted right back to reality when you felt one of his hands on your thigh, the tips of his fingers grazing dangerously near the hem of your skirt. He hoisted you up on his lap so that you were straddling him, giving him the most perfect view of your adorable love-drunk expression.

"You'll consider me first, right?" He asked again, his hands still warm on your thighs. Why was it suddenly so hard to think at that moment? 

"Of… Of course," was all you could say. 

A twinkle of elation lit up his eyes as he looked up at you expectantly. "Can you kiss me again?"

Ah… Your mind went blank as you easily caved into his request, your hands resting on his broad and rigid shoulders while he steadied your quivering torso. He smiled to himself as he felt your lips move against his own, as though coaxing him to relax even though you were tense yourself. 

Something gurgled soundlessly at the pit of your stomach, only making itself known to you and you alone. And you knew exactly what it was— 

Desire.  

Ugh. It was both pleasant and bothersome to you— feeling Satoru melt like putty in your hold. But more importantly, it was absolutely improper. You were at school, too, of all places. You could feel your common sense slowly exit the room and you had yet to stop it from doing so. But how? Kissing felt so good, and kissing him—

"Eek! Wh-What was that?!" You squeaked as you felt something squirm between your legs. "S-Satoru! Was that—!"

"Whoops! That's mine, sorry," Satoru replied with a laugh. He lifted you off his lap and sat you down beside him. "We kissed a bit longer than I expected, so there's that."

"I—" You started, only to be cut off when he ruffled your hair, making sure it fell over your eyes. "S-Sat—"

"Please don't look at me right now. I feel so uncool," he stated before eventually standing up. Oh, how he wanted to jump out of the window at that very moment. He may as well. "I'll catch you later, Otome."

"H-Hey! Satoru!" You hurriedly brushed up your messy hair before giving chase, only to find him gone from your presence. "That idiot…!"

The infirmary door rattled open, followed by the recognisable cheer in Haibara's voice. "Otome! We hurried back here after we got your text! What did you need help with?" 

The presence of your classmates startled you even further, but you didn't want them to notice. Please don't notice. Please— "O-Oh! I, uh, just finished, actually!" 

The brunette slightly tilted his head as he gazed at you. "Are you okay? You look a bit—" 

"I-I'm okay!" You squeaked at the two boys before they could get a better look at you. "I-I'll catch you guys at the canteen later! F-For dinner!" 

You ran off and out of the infirmary without a second thought anymore. The place was more organised now that you managed the inventory, but you left in such a hurry that you left your friends with even more questions than they initially had. 

"What's up with her?" Nanami wondered out loud. 

"I don't know, but Otome had a pretty erotic expression on her face just now," Haibara chuckled, a hint of a blush on his own face as he made his way out of the infirmary. "It must be this heat."

And Nanami simply shook his head as he caught a glimpse of their most annoying upperclassman's easily recognisable sunglasses left on one of the beds. "That and something else." 

— …and a Time of Heartache.  ~ August 2006.

When two upperclassmen vanished from the radar for two days, the second years were tasked to search for them and back them up, only for the trio to botch the mission after failing to put up a curtain. The chaos of "unknown" origin made headlines all over Tokyo, and Satoru received the castigation of a lifetime from Yaga-sensei. Regardless of that, he and Suguru were off on a mission once more, one of certain importance that deemed even the help of your own classmates absolutely vital.  

But that didn't mean they wouldn't see you with the very precious free time they had in their hands. Before being driven off to the airport to be on their way to Okinawa, Haibara and Nanami popped into the infirmary with a chilled can of your favourite cola in hand. 

"Yo, Otome! We're off to our mission," the dark-haired boy poked his head into the room with the same infectious smile on his face.

You looked up from your clipboard and happily greeted them back. "Take care, you two. Please be careful! And be sure to come to see us for an assessment when you're finished with the mission debriefing."

"Will do, ma'am!" He said with a salute. "We're still on for lunch in the city on the weekend, yeah?" 

"As long as Kento's in the mood for it," you chuckled. 

"As long as I get my coffee," was Nanami's only reply. The pair bade you farewell in the meantime with only a promise of reunion soon enough. 

"Better make myself useful, too," you said aloud, as though giving yourself a little pep talk. 

A steady stream of sorcerers with minor injuries and sometimes something more serious often came to you and Shoko for medical assistance, which gave you the opportunity to practise your existing technique— and mould a new one. It wasn't the easiest thing to do given your background. Kin'iro no Namida was the epitome of reverse cursed techniques in your clan and anything unorthodox didn't exactly sit well with them. 

To think that crying healing tears was the best your family could come up with. 

Fortunately, Shoko was around to help you with the basics, such as recalibrating and refocusing the flow of your cursed energy to allow you to heal without the use of your tears, therefore not having to cry all the time. 

In between your spells and training was worrying about the eerie radio silence from the others in Okinawa, and the scent of your upperclassman's cigarettes filling the morgue. 

"They're fine," she said with a little flick to your forehead as you eventually pocketed your phone. "Let's grab some food." 

For all her supposed detachment, Shoko had a lot of faith in her friends. Satoru's big talk about being the strongest was kind of annoying at first, but she came to realise that it was indeed a truth of the matter. 

Until it wasn't.  

You only heard from Shoko that something went terribly, terribly wrong with the mission and that she needed help— And how desperate was she that she needed help from you?  

You did not witness the devastation that forced Satoru to unlock his untapped potential when he was on the brink of death, the little god from your childhood now revered as the strongest sorcerer of your generation. He came home to you broken and not quite like himself, but there was a certain clarity in his eyes you hadn't seen before. He asked to be held and you did so, though he did not dare to unload the woefully dense illusory weight on his shoulders. 

"I'm kinda exhausted, but I can't stop—" He said cryptically, like he was working on a puzzle in his head. 

"Then rest for a while," you told him. "Please, Satoru." 

He slept for a whole day. Shoko told you that Satoru and Suguru failed their mission, that Satoru died— or nearly did— and came back to life by sheer will, and that something was keeping Suguru up at night but he couldn't tell. 

It was a tragedy, you concluded. And everything has changed.  

The year passed by astonishingly fast. There was no stopping your heart from racing in both fear and anticipation of every assignment tasked to you and your classmates, each one with the potential to destroy you or draw out the best of your capabilities. 

Something propelled Satoru to take his training even more seriously now. If he truly wanted to be the strongest like he claims to be, he knew deep inside that there was still so much work that had to be done.

You weren't there on the day Gojo Satoru tasted his first drink of defeat, but to hell with the consequences if it were to happen again. No, it won't happen again. You were determined not to let anyone else die, at least not on your watch. 

Shoko observed carefully as you treated one of the older sorcerers in the force with nothing more than your own hands, just like her, a testament of your own training now coming to fruition. 

"Good job," she said with a small smile. 

"Thanks, Shoko-san. I really appreciate all your help and support," you stated, bowing down before the older girl in gratitude. 

"Don't thank me. I'm glad to have someone to share my work with," she replied with a laugh. "You and your Holy Grail have your work cut out for you, so no growing complacent."

Complacency was the last thing on your mind at that moment. All you wanted right now was to remain consistent and steadfast and true to your purpose and actions. That, and I need to keep up everyone's exponential growth.

~ 2007.

Satoru had started taking solo missions, evidence of his exponential growth over the last year following the failed mission to escort the Star Plasma Vessel to Master Tengen. What happened to the young Star Plasma Vessel was something that deeply hurt both Satoru and Suguru and inexplicably drove a wedge between the two of them, one that thrust the young heir of the Gojo clan to further hone his already god-given skills and into the spotlight as the world's strongest jujutsu sorcerer— and eventually alienated him from the only person who could ever claim to understand him. 

There was something about the dead-eyed look on Suguru's face— the sombre expression and how it seems like he wants to say something but doesn't — that unnerves you. He never really gave you any straight answers when you asked him if he was all right. 

How could he be? You thought to yourself. This isn't just about failing to protect the Star Plasma Vessel. It was evident that he was deeply disturbed by something, his psyche so shaken that he hardly looks like himself anymore. 

When you found him at the canteen later that evening, you decided to step up and offer him an extra of your favourite comfort food. He looked like he was nursing a headache as he quietly sat on one of the many empty tables in the room.    

"Suguru-san, I had extra cup noodles. I thought you might be hungry," you said, placing one of the cup noodles before him. "Shoko-san says you've hardly been eating anything lately."

"Thanks," he managed a small smile. "And sorry for making you worry, Otome."

"There's no need to apologise for anything, though… Please, help yourself. If you want more, I can always grab some from my room."

Silence. He hasn't moved from his spot though you heartily slurped your still-half-cooked noodles, partly hoping to encourage him to eat up. The cup was still piping hot, and when he helped himself to a mouthful of noodles, he felt something inside him spin around. 

Suguru placed a hand over his mouth, some spit-up slipping through his fingers before he got up from his seat and hurriedly ran to the nearest sink he could reach. 

"Suguru-san!" 

He couldn't hold anything in his stomach, not even a measly serving of cup noodles that should have warmed his gut enough to make him hungrier for something more nutritious. You ran a hand over his hunched back as he hurled whatever contents his stomach still had. 

"I'm sorry, Suguru-san. I should have offered you water…" You told him with a quivering voice. "I-I… P-Please, if there's anything we can do for y—"

"Don't," he rasped at you, his hand as cold as ice as it gripped your wrist. Could he tell that you were about to cry at that moment? "You save your tears… save them until we actually need them."

It didn't feel like a premonition at first, just a simple warning from an upperclassman to be prepared for anything. You didn't expect to need your tears so soon.

You weren't there the day Nanami returned from their mission to exorcise what should have been a second-grade cursed spirit. Only one of them made it back alive and he was lucky enough to have been able to recover his comrade's corpse. Some aren't as fortunate.  

Your supply run was cut short when you heard the news from your senpai Suguru, the adrenaline pumping through your body making you forget all about your transportation to the city and back to the school. You ran, ran, ran as fast as your feet could possibly take you and you still had so much energy left to burn when you reached the school. You felt like clawing your heart out of your chest when you finally arrived at the morgue. And while Shoko may have wanted to spare you the pain of having to clean up after your own classmate, seeing Haibara's lifeless body still shook you to the core so immensely that you couldn't even hear yourself crying.  

"N-No…! Yu— Yu!" 

Yet no amount of crying or weeping or wailing could bring him back anymore, and you would have wrung yourself dry if Suguru hadn't implored you to cease your tears. Nanami was more resentful than exhausted and you couldn't blame him for snapping at you for wasting your cursed energy over someone whose pulse was long gone. 

The words you wanted to say were all caught and stuck in your throat, everything you wanted to say all strung into a single scream of agony that melted into smaller and smaller sobs. 

Jujutsu sorcerers live short lives— at least that's how you and everyone else have been warned. It just so happened that this one ended far too soon. This was the first time Haibara ever broke a promise to you. He and Nanami promised lunch in the weekend, like always. Like always.  

You couldn't breathe.  

"Yu… I'm sorry…"

Your senpai's hand was cold on your back as he soothed you from your crying, much like how Nanami's hand was freezing in yours.

~ September 2007.

[—In accordance to Article 9 of the Jujutsu Regulations, he is now considered a curse user and subject to execution.]

You were not privy to the downward spiral that resulted in Suguru's upheaval, though the signs have made themselves known. When the word broke out about his defection from Jujutsu High, you weren't entirely startled anymore. The most unfortunate thing would have to be that you understood him in a certain twisted way. Sorcery was a tiresome, thankless job. And people like you, who could see these… things in the first place, always only had one road to take— It was always sorcery.  

Satoru was heartbroken, to say the least. The only reason he was ever allowed to be so spoiled was because Suguru was there to pick up after him. Suguru served as his moral compass, the other half of the 'strongest' of your generation, but now he was a shadow— a curse user, unfortunately misguided but at the same time enlightened by his choice of principles to follow. 

What he wanted wasn't so bad when you first thought about it. A world only for people like you? Would sorcerers actually be safe? Young sorcerers, more importantly. They'd no longer be cannon fodder.

There was something terribly disturbing about how jujutsu society relentlessly pursued and collected young sorcerers in the making— or even those with an aptitude for seeing cursed spirits— only for their deaths to be swept under the rug in order to maintain the peace and order of society in general. If only they took better care of their sorcerers, then maybe… 

No, you couldn't help but think. A misprint about the disparity between their mission's level of danger and their current level of skill cost Haibara his life. His death was reported and most likely neatly filed into an archive for everyone else to forget. He would be a statistic, a warning, a cautionary tale for future sorcerers who become far too complacent—

Haibara's death was a catalyst for Suguru's descent to madness. Only, it wasn't madness to you. Or to Nanami.  

Later in the year, you and Nanami received a letter of gratitude from Haibara's younger sister, mostly for being there for her brother when their family was unable to come as soon as they could— and you both nearly lost your shit when she expressed the slightest interest in following her older brother's footsteps even after he dissuaded her from doing so right from the start. She called sorcery a noble profession, and that her brother died a hero, a defender of the defenseless. 

You wanted to scream. It felt like an itching scab from a still-fresh wound, something you wanted so badly to scratch but couldn't because it will leave a scar. Yet it doesn't matter. Haibara was gone and the wound remains— flaming, puckered, demanding for the hurt to be felt. It was way too deep, and the deeper the wound went, the darker the scar surfaces. 

The wound still burns for you and Nanami. How dark it'll be once it heals, you'll never really know for sure.

In the end, you wrote back to her, once again insisting on choosing a normal life like her brother initially implored her to do, saying it would surely please him to see her grow old with her own family. You didn't write about how he would never forgive you if something were to happen to her. 

When your family finally caught wind of Geto Suguru's actions and defection from Jujutsu High, they wanted you to quit school and return home out of fear of reprisal from the curse user, but you stood your ground and reiterated that you will finish what you started and no phantom can terrorise you into hiding.  

It took you a few days to recover from the shocking revelation, but you and Satoru came to a similar conclusion— you could never hate Geto Suguru, but you couldn't let that feeling cloud your judgement when the time comes to see him again. The road your senpai painstakingly carved in order to follow his ideals was just as true as your own conviction: that sorcerers have a duty to prevent disasters brought about by jujutsu, even if it meant protecting the 'monkeys' he so despised now. 

"Satoru," you called out to the boy in black standing right outside your childhood bedroom at the Koganei Estate. It was a time of peace— for now. A time of quiet. A time of rest. He lifted his gaze from the perennial ginkgo tree that rained, rained, rained its golden leaves all over the place. 

It was during one of your most treasured rest days from school that you realised one thing. 

Uesugi Karui stated before that she did not pass on any curse to you, yet you feel like she burdened you with a heart incapable of hating anyone or anything even if it already hurts so much. 

"Can I stay here instead? With you?" He asked absentmindedly, though you could tell that he was still in deep thought about something. 

"Of course," you replied to him with a smile, one that anchored him back to a glowing reality: you were still there with him. "I can ask one of the servants to fetch your yukata."

"Thanks."

You decided not to pry anymore and instead extended your arms to him, beckoning him to come closer. He did so slowly, his figure far too heavy for you but you steadied him still, running a calming hand over his nape.

"…Must be awfully lonely up there," you murmured against his neck.

His strong arms gently coiled around your waist. "Otome."

"Hmm?"

"This may sound stupid, but if I lose another one, I don't think I'd know what to do."

"Losing people will always be an inevitability for us, but I know for certain that you'll always know what to do," you told him, tenderly nuzzling your nose against his wind-chilled cheek. "Aren't you the brightest, the greatest, the strongest— "

He chuckled at the ticklish motion and buried his face into the crook of your neck, basking in your warmth like that of the afternoon sun.  

"You're right. I'll never lose my way." 

"Never," you repeat after him. "And in the unlikely event that you do, remember that I'll drag you back here kicking and screaming if I have to."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." 

Author's notes: — This is probably my favourite chapter so far. But I suppose those ordinary days are not so ordinary after all… — Yu, Shoko, and Gojo sang the following songs during their karaoke afternoon: Colors of the Heart by UVERworld, Rainbow by Ayumi Hamasaki, and Sugar We're Goin' Down by Fall Out Boy. All three were staples from my own teenhood. (It's been 84 years… lol.) — Cafe Lilico is a recurring theme in most of the stories I write. It's based on a real place from where I live, but you can think of it as your local old rustic cafe in your neighbourhood. The little cafe is one of my favourite plot devices and the reader is often seen interacting with other characters there. The cafe is a red brick building concealed between the city's skyscrapers and is surrounded by bright flowers like Bougainvilleas. According to the internet, Bougainvilleas symbolise welcoming visitors and beauty, and it also stands as a symbol of peace and an encourager of free trade between two entities. It's not really relevant to the story, either. I just like bright-coloured flowers. This is a work in progress, one which I am very happy to be writing! You can get in touch with me on Twitter or Tumblr @SongsOfAdelaide if you wanna drop me a line or something! ~ Mari / SongsOfAdelaide ♡ ♡ tag list: @woozzz @lilacdreams-00

✦ Asleep Among Endives Masterlist ✦

[nebulousmistress]

On Body Types...

Kylo Ren can be built like as many brick shithouses as he likes.

For Hux I need a different type of strength. Especially for my Hux. He kills people with his teeth, he can hand-to-hand a fully armed and armored riot trooper with only a pair of knives. And he weighs five pounds.

I’m drawing from somewhere a little personally dangerous for this but I have a spotter. She won’t let me go that far again, even if I’m accessing the very memories that drove me to anorexia.

I danced ballet as a teenager. At 120 pounds I was considered ‘fat’. I had Dem Hips even then. My B-cup tits were considered too large to be costumed properly because they bounced. My bare skeleton without flesh (the thinnest I ever got) was still a size 3, too wide to be pretty. After being turned down for parts and denied en pointe...

Anyway. Ignoring that. Ignoring that hard. I left it behind. I’m 16 years clean, and by clean I mean 16 years of eating relatively normally. I’m dieting now because I hit 210 pounds, not because I need to be tiny, and because my brain runs better on keto. That’s it. [/self pep talk]

I remember the type of strength we all had and what we looked like. Lifting each other on the practice floor because we were bored. Competitions for who could jump the highest, contests I lost despite clearing a meter from plie (I’d jump higher if I lost weight). Pulling and stretching each other’s joints just to see how far behind our heads we could stick our own feet. Muscles moving under skin despite the graceful curve of our arms and legs. I still have the ability to move every thoracic vertebra independently, to pop the joints in my ribs and sternum, to hold my arms outstretched and steady even if my humerus isn’t fully in the socket, and to move each toe independently (because fuck anatomy textbook lies, we had to prove we could do it in order to be considered for pointe).

Hux has never been well-fed. I would not be surprised if he’s had refeeding syndrome in the past due to Brendol’s mechanations. Even once Brendol dies I don’t expect his diet to change much because of bad habits and self-imposed restrictions. Yet he’s always been expected to survive, to excel, to rise above his peers to become something more. Even if the only expectations he met were his own. This is why I write him as weighing 5 pounds, hyperbole included. He’s managed to develop the strength of a ballet dancer because he’s had the grueling training of one and he eats like one. 

So yes. Kylo Ren built like a brick shithouse. He can keep his giant man-tiddies and his huge yet soft Alderaanian biceps. Sure he’ll beat Hux at a bout of arm wrestling. He’ll also find himself surprised when Hux grabs and twists and Kylo winds up in a shoulder lock with no idea how he got there. At first it’s shocking and odd but over time Kylo learns not to mind much, he could just stand up and walk off with Hux perched on him like a housecat trying to tackle a moose while projecting that exact mental image to everyone within radius.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, language

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

February 2004

Des Moines, IA

You gripped your knife tightly in your fist, the blade pointed towards the ground as you crouched silently forward, choosing your steps very carefully. About 5 feet away from the runner, you stupidly stepped on a piece of glass you didn't notice embedded on the thin carpet. The runner whipped around with a scream, lunging towards you snapping its teeth in the air. You sidestepped it at the last minute, kicking and making it fall face first onto the ground. You jumped on its back and jammed your knife deep into its skull, blood dripping down to absorb into the floor as you panted heavily.

"What the hell was that?!" Joel yelled, whipping the back door open. You felt the cold blast of air hit you, even from all the way across the restaurant. You tugged on your knife, removing it from the runner's head and wiped it on the back of its shirt before putting the knife back on your hip.

"There was one left, must've missed it," you called back to him, brushing yourself off and walking towards the back of the room.

"Shit, I swore I got 'em all. You good?" He said, looking you over with his flashlight as you approached. You held up your hand to your eyes to block the beam of light.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I fucked up," you said, lowering your hand when he aimed his light down, satisfied you were not harmed. "I stepped on some glass, had to get creative. You think we can stay here the night? I think these cushions come off the booths. Not sure we can find any extra blankets here, though."

"We can put on layers, we've been through worse," Joel said, already yanking on some of the booth cushions, pulling a few out on the floor to sleep on.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, then check the kitchen. I'll be right back," you dropped your pack on the ground and strolled off towards the women’s room in the corner. Once you were done, you stared at yourself in the mirror over the bathroom sink, shocked to see how different you looked. You hadn't seen a mirror in several weeks. Your face looked more hollow, you definitely had lost some weight. You pulled your hair out of the ponytail you typically kept, realizing that it was the longest you’ve seen it since you were little. You tried running your fingers through it to manage it a bit, but it seemed hopeless. You gathered your hair back behind your head and slid the hair-tie over it once again.

You didn't find much left in the restaurant kitchen, which was a huge disappointment. You were running low on food, having walked through thick forests and then open prairies for the past two weeks, not coming across any shelters to raid. Joel had purposely redirected you to this city in the hopes of restocking your food supplies and taking a short break from sleeping in the freezing cold wilderness. Luckily, your bow and arrows proved very useful, and kept the two of you fed when you had barely anything else to survive. Joel had never used a bow before yours, so you had taught him the basics from what you could remember. He seemed to have a knack for survival. He caught on very quickly and soon became better with it than you.

You sighed as you opened the last cupboard door, finding it just as empty as the rest. You were about to close it when a colorful wrapper caught your eye, shoved all the way in the back behind some pots. You reached your arm in as far as it could go, your fingertips barely grazing the item before you managed to pull it forward a smidge and grab it. You could have cried you were so happy with what you found.

“Joel!” you called out as you walked back into the dining room, heading towards the small lit up area he made for the two of you and your sleeping bag already rolled out on your cushion. “You’ll never believe what I found!”

He turned around from adjusting his own sleeping bag. He immediately spotted the jar in your hand and groaned. “Peanut butter!” he exclaimed with relief, “Fuck yes.” He sat down on his cushion to dig out the spoons from your packs. You both ate in silence, enjoying eating something other than rabbit or squirrel for the first time in weeks. You still had some provisions in your packs that lasted you about a week after you left Chicago, but as you traveled more out west, the options became limited, and the weather slowed you down significantly, causing you to eat through a lot of your food. You had become dependent on the wildlife for sustenance, and you got lucky, but it was getting old.

Joel had been kind enough to bury your parents before you moved on. He didn’t want you to have to help carry their bodies, so he had to make do with burying them where they were killed. He found a broken shovel about half a mile down the road in an abandoned mechanic’s shop, and it took him the rest of the day, but he made sure they were taken care of. He even found some large rocks to mark their graves. He was worried about you for a long time after that. You were distant and didn’t speak much. He didn't know what to do, other than giving you space and time to process your grief, while taking on as many of the responsibilities he could to keep you both alive. He insisted on being the one to hunt as often as possible. He sought out as many safe places indoors to set up camp as he could, even if it meant wasting half the day’s sunlight, he would sacrifice it so you would be more comfortable. He stayed in those places a day or two longer than he wanted, just so you could possibly sleep a little more soundly. It hardly mattered anyway: he wasn’t convinced he would ever find Tommy, or even if he was still alive. There didn’t seem to be much rush to your journey anymore, but it gave you something to fight for, so he kept pushing forward.

Then, one day, he did something to make you laugh. He couldn't even remember what it was, but hearing the sound made him desperate to make you do it again. So, the next day, he tried telling you a shitty joke, and you laughed again. Every time he heard it, he felt his chest loosen and his breathing eased. You seemed like yourself again, but he could tell the deaths of your parents changed you. You became more hardened, more focused, and angrier at the world around you. He noticed the way you took down infected with such ferocity, such disdain. It used to bother you, but now you could kill one without blinking an eye. He knew it was foolish to expect your innocence to remain intact, but every night he still wished he could somehow shield you from it all.

Somewhat full, you laid down on your cushion and wrapped yourself in your sleeping bag, exhaling softly and closing your eyes. Joel gazed at you a little longer than he should have before he leaned over to turn the lanterns off. Tomorrow, he knew you would have to venture back out into the cold and find some more food. He had hoped this restaurant would have had more than enough, but someone before him must have thought the same thing. He turned his head to glance over at you again in the darkness, listening to your steady breathing. He still ached for you, desperately. He hoped he didn't read the signals wrong that morning in your bedroom - there was no way he could have - but the more time that passed, the more unsure of himself he became. He was so close. So close to tasting you again, holding you in his arms, protecting you from the evil surrounding you.

He stared up at the ceiling and focused on falling asleep. He needed to be alert and well rested so you could finally find some food and get back on the road.

The two of you were walking down the street the next morning after having eaten the rest of the peanut butter and not much else. This part of town seemed to be abandoned by people, but you did come across a few infected. Most of the time, you heard them clamoring about in a closed up building you passed, but a few did cross your path that you had to take down. Joel had a theory that the infected slowed down in the colder months, that maybe they went dormant, or it was just harder for them to move. Whatever the reason, he seemed to be right. Even when you did come across one, they seemed a lot slower, making your job much easier.

As you made your way towards the end of the road, the houses and trees cleared and you could see further ahead, smiling when you saw a familiar logo. You turned to Joel, who seemed to notice it, too.

"I don't think I've ever been so excited to see a Walmart before," you said, smiling in his direction. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"It's a big store, we gotta be real careful. Ain't no way we can clear the whole place by ourselves," he told you as you entered the parking lot. "Gotta stay close together and be silent. No guns. Let's just stick to the grocery section, take what we need, and get the hell out." You nodded, looking at the building as you approached it from the outside, trying to listen for any noise coming from within. Joel put his hand out on your arm to stop you, making you twist around and giving him a confused look.

"I mean it," he said, looking serious. "Could be a whole hoard in there. And it'll be dark. It's risky."

"I know, I'll be careful, I promise," you gave him a look just as serious to prove you were paying attention. His eyes shifted back and forth between yours before nodding his head in the direction of the store.

You both stepped quietly inside the store through the broken sliding door, clicking on your flashlights and looking at your surroundings before making a move. Your attention went up to the signs hanging above the aisles, spotting the grocery section was straight ahead past the cash registers. The two of you crept forward, careful not to step on anything that would give away your position. You walked through the bakery, surrounded by moldy bread. So far, the place seemed quiet, but that didn't necessarily mean it was empty.

The store was reasonably picked over but there were a few things left on the shelves you could use. You packed your bag with rice, chicken broth, a few cans of dented soup, and a jar of pasta sauce. For the sake of being extra quiet, you motioned with your finger for Joel to step forward, and you stretched to whisper in his ear.

"We should check out the stock room," you said quietly, your breath tickling his neck. It wasn't the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to him, but that didn't matter. He nodded and suppressed the urge to shudder. He picked up his bag and led you to the end of the aisle, looking both ways before leading you to the swinging doors on the wall. Joel held out a hand for you to stay put while he pushed the door open a crack, sweeping his flashlight across the room. It had aisles, just like the store, but it wasn't as neatly organized. Once he confirmed it was safe, you both entered, scanning the shelves to pinpoint where the groceries were stocked. Your flashlight landed on a corner of the room where you recognized boxes of crackers and cans of vegetables. You nudged him with your elbow, and you both made your way over, checking down every aisle before advancing.

Your jaw dropped at the amount of food that was left. Someone had the same idea as you, it wasn't fully stocked, but it was much more well stocked than the shelves out front. You hurriedly packed your bags with as many useful items as you could carry. You were so hungry, but you had to resist the urge to rip into anything right then and there, afraid the noise of a wrapper would possibly draw attention.

You were just finishing up when Joel wandered towards the end of the aisle, his flashlight settling on something shiny the next aisle over. He squinted and bent down to get a closer look through the shelves. By the time he realized he was looking at blood pooling around a dead clicker, it was too late. A pair of arms reached out behind him, yanking him backwards. A hand covered his mouth and an arm squeezed around his neck, making his vision go fuzzy. His eyes shot over to you in a panic. You were still crouching over your backpacks, facing away from him, and zipping them closed. He brought his hands up and laced them together before driving his elbow behind him, hitting the man right in the diaphragm. The grip on his throat instantly loosened and the man doubled over coughing. You whipped around now, your knife already in your hand. You watched as Joel brought his knee up to the man's face twice, blood bursting from his mouth and nose, staining Joel's pants. Joel drove his knife into the man's eye, his body twitching before slumping on the floor at his feet.

Joel looked up just in time to see you dodging the knife of a second man, kicking him in the groin before shoving your knife between his ribs. He ran down the aisle to you, hearing the man's raspy breaths as blood filled his lungs. You pulled your knife out and stabbed him again, this time closer to the heart. The raspy breathing stopped, and his body relaxed against the linoleum floor. Joel sighed in relief, slowing his pace, his heart pounding.

Then he felt something hard hit the back of his head, causing him to fall forward, his vision narrowing as he fought the urge to pass out. Joel felt the heavy boot of his attacker sticking to his back as he tried to push himself up, but his head was swimming, and he couldn't find the strength. He collapsed back on the floor with a grunt, blinking his eyes frantically trying to clear his vision. He was struggling to breathe with the weight of the man's foot pressed on his back, and once again raised himself up to try and roll over when the pressure on his back was suddenly gone. He gasped for breath, pulling himself into a seated position and shaking his head wildly, his vision finally clearing.

You had tackled and pinned Joel's attacker on the ground, sitting on his chest as you struggled with his knife between the two of you, the blade pointed downwards towards his throat as you gritted your teeth and pushed down with everything you had. His feet kicked wildly underneath you, trying to roll you off, but you weren't budging, your eyes burning into his as the blade scratched at his throat. Joel stumbled to his feet, still dizzy, as he struggled to make his way towards you. With a loud grunt, you put all your weight onto the hilt of the knife, lifting off his chest and finally piercing through his skin until you could feel the tip of the knife make contact with the linoleum. He laid underneath you gurgling as blood poured from his neck, his eyes wild with fear. You panted heavily, letting your muscles relax after the strenuous fight. With your weight off his chest, the man was able to grab a second knife you hadn't noticed from his belt and stabbed frantically at your side, which you tried to swat away before his arm grew weak and he stopped breathing.

Joel's arms wrapped around you and lifted you off the dead man, turning you around to look at you closer with his flashlight. Your face was splattered with blood, your hair wild, covered with sweat and still gasping for air. He aimed his flashlight lower and noticed a big red circle of blood staining the side of your t-shirt. His breath caught in his throat and the adrenaline sharpened his vision as he lifted your shirt up gingerly. You winced when the fabric peeled away from your skin, not realizing you had been hurt until that moment.

"Oh, fuck," Joel whispered and his breathing picked up as he glanced around for something to stop the bleeding. You had been stabbed along your ribs and down your side. He couldn't tell how deep the wound was in the dark, but it was enough to cause you to bleed heavily. He grabbed a used rag from his jeans pocket, pressing on your wound firmly, making you cry out in pain. He wrapped your hands over the rag and instructed you to press as hard as you could. He ran back to grab your packs, slinging both backpacks, the rifle and the bow over his shoulder. When you saw him trying to pull everything onto his back, you held your hand out to him.

"Give me my pack," you rasped. He shook his head, still trying to find a way to carry it all. "Give it to me!" you raised your voice in a harsh whisper now, giving him a look that meant were serious. He relented, gently putting the straps over your shoulders, then pulling out a new rag to wedge between your side wound and the strap of your backpack.

You leaned on Joel as he led you out of the back room, pausing briefly to make sure there weren’t any others, then headed back towards the front door. It began snowing while you were inside, and the wind was picking up, making it difficult to see. He looked around, desperately trying to find a safe place to take you.

Across the street he could make out a strip mall, and one of the buildings looked like it was a dentist's office. It was a long walk across the big parking lot, but he moved as fast as he could while you leaned on him for support. He propped you up against the building to catch your breath as he used his knife to work the lock of the office open.

"Stay here," he instructed. You nodded weakly; your eyes half closed. He pushed the door open and checked to make sure the small office was empty of threats before taking you inside. He helped you sit down in one of the exam chairs, pushing it back so it reclined. You stared up at the ceiling and at the lamp dangling over your face. Joel pushed the curtains open in the room and looked down at the wound on your ribs, noticing the amount of blood increased due to the walk across the street: it was now trailing down past your hips and nearly touching your mid-thigh. He took the soiled rag from your hand and replaced it with a fresh one while he went to work ripping open drawers and cabinets. He finally found a needle and thread and a stack of stainless-steel bowls. He set the needle aside and picked up some of the bowls.

"You keep pressin' as hard as you can, you hear me?" he said, and you nodded as you draped your other arm across your eyes. "I gotta go out and get some snow, I'll be back in a minute. You holler if you need anythin'."

Joel stepped out the door with the bowls in his hand, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. He scooped up snow into the bowls, grateful it had begun to storm since it would hide your tracks and keep any raiders away.

He came back into the room and saw you had nearly bled through another rag. He set a couple bowls aside to melt into drinkable water and took a handful from another, pressing it against your wound. You hissed at the contact, but after a minute the numbness from the cold made your muscles relax.

Joel dug around in his pack to find some rubbing alcohol he had taken from your apartment months ago. He found another clean rag to drench the alcohol in and removed the snow from your side.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, this is gonna hurt. You need to hold onto somethin’?” he asked you, trying to hide the tremor in his hand. You shook your head, turning your face away from him and gripped the arm of the chair anyway. He pressed the alcohol-soaked rag onto the stab wound, finally cleaning some of the blood away to get a better look at what he was dealing with. You groaned and your body tensed, but you remained as still as possible while he cleaned you up. He could see a stab wound between two of your ribs. It didn’t look very deep, but it was wide. He made his way down your side, cleaning the blood up as he went with the snow and then the rag, refreshing it with alcohol when he needed to. There was a longer gash down the length of your side, maybe about five inches long. It was wide, but it was shallow. There were a few other scratches as well, but those would be fine to heal on their own. He gauged the main problem would be the wound between your ribs, and the long gash.

He turned around to prep the needle, filling a bowl with some rubbing alcohol and pulled out more rags. Turning back to you, he was startled to find you looking at him. He swallowed, bringing the needle and black thread towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asked you, and you nodded steadily, but he could see the fear in your eyes. He laid a hand on top of one of yours reassuringly. “I got this, I got you,” he said. You turned away from him then, staring at the wall opposite you as you braced for the pain. The first few times he pierced you with the needle hurt the most, then as you got used to the pain and knew what to expect, it got a little easier to handle. He took his time with the stab wound, he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to redo that later, then let you have a break before starting on the long gash. He told you it would only need a few stitches, just where the wound was the widest so it wouldn’t scar too badly. That part ended up hurting the most since it was closer to the bones of your ribs and there was less fat to cushion the pain.

Once the stitches were done, he rinsed everything with the rubbing alcohol from the bowl, his hands and needle included. He made a mental note to keep that needle in his pack in case one of you got hurt again.

“You hungry?” Joel asked you, and you nodded eagerly but then winced at the pain the movement caused. He dug around in his pack for some of the food you had grabbed from Walmart and set you up with a few things to eat, then went to explore the rest of the office in hopes of finding some medicine. He got lucky in the dentist’s actual office, finding a few bottles of antibiotics and some pain killers in his desk drawer. He made sure you took two antibiotics with your food before finding something to eat for himself. He sat hunched over against the wall in the room, looking down at his food and avoiding eye contact. You adjusted yourself in the chair so you could look at him and let out a whimper when the movement was too much. He shot up to help you, but you waved him off.

“What’s going on?” you asked him directly, staring him down. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with grief and anger.

“This was my fault,” he said bluntly, a clipped tone to his voice.  “I wasn’t payin’ attention, I should’ve seen that guy comin’, and it got you hurt. If somethin’ worse woulda happened, I never would’ve forgiven myself,” his voice broke at the end of his sentence, looking away from you so you couldn’t see the emotion in his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. We got jumped, don't beat yourself up about it. Please," you told him, trying to catch his eye again but failing. "Joel?" you said, but he turned away, rubbing his hands up and down his face like he always does when he's frustrated. "Joel!" you called out again, this time more firmly. He stilled, and slowly turned to face you, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Us or them," you said, staring intently at him, desperately trying to communicate the words you couldn't say.

He let out a shaky sigh, and nodded, breaking eye contact with you and gazed out the window at the snow fall. "Shoulda been me," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well," you grunted as you struggled to sit up in the chair, "I'm glad it wasn't because I couldn't carry all our stuff and you out of there," he turned his head to look back at you, then giving him a smirk, added, "I would've left you for dead."

His lips twitched as he tried to hold back his grin at your joke, not ready to forgive himself yet. He cleared his throat and leaned over to sling your backpacks over his shoulders.

"The dentist had a couch in his office. C'mon, grab my shoulder, lean on me," he said, bending forward so you could get yourself into a standing position. It took a few tries; the pain was worse than you had expected now that you were moving. You slowly ambled down the hall with Joel, and he got you stretched out on the couch before he unzipped your sleeping bag and rested it on top of you like a blanket.

He rolled his own sleeping bag out on the floor next to you, grateful the couch came with two pillows. It had been a long time since either of you slept on one. It was still daylight out, but the blizzard made it darker outside. Joel let you rest while he went around the office to see if there was anything else of use now that he wasn't so frantic. He had completely missed the small break room towards the back of the building. He found some unopened bottles of water, snacks, a couple cans of soup and crackers. He spread all the usable food out on the table but brought the crackers back with him to check on you. You were still laying stiffly on the couch and staring at a stock photo of a beach on the wall, looking uncomfortable.

"Are you in pain? I got some pills from the drawer," Joel dug out the bottle and read the warning label. "They sound pretty strong." You shook your head, not wanting to dull your senses in case of another attack, but now that the stiffness was setting in, the pain was getting worse. You glanced out the window, seeing the storm outside. Deciding it was unlikely anyone would be out in the snow and find you, you changed your mind and stuck your hand out to him. He dropped two pills into your hand and gave you a water bottle.

"Here, have a little somethin’ more to eat with those, don't need you gettin' sick," he said, offering the crackers in your direction. You took the sleeve from him and munched on one slowly as you waited for the pills to kick in. Joel walked around to the desk and collapsed into the leather chair, kicking his feet up on the desktop and mindlessly flipped through open patient charts left on the desk. You shoved another cracker in your mouth and watched the snow coming down outside. You sat up a little more on the couch. The movement made you feel dizzy from the pills, but you hardly felt a thing at your side when you moved. Your eyes drifted lazily to Joel’s broad figure sitting behind the wooden desk. It brought back memories you hadn’t thought about in months. Memories of a different time, when you would sit on the other side of his desk all flustered and nervous.

He looked up and caught you staring at him. “What?” he asked, a bemused expression on his face. You shook your head but couldn’t stop the stupid smile from spreading across your face. Goddamn pills.

“Nothing, it’s just funny…” you started, trailing off and then giggled, causing Joel to raise his eyebrows and grin.

“Those pills must be workin’, huh?” he asked, his grin widening. You nodded, stifling your giggles and took a deep breath.

“I was just thinking, everyone used to be so scared of you in the office, they would warn me to steer clear of you, that you had a horrible temper. And look at us now,” you let out another giggle before continuing. “What the hell happened?”

He smiled at you again and tipped his head back on the top of the leather chair to look up towards the ceiling, remembering life the way it was before.

“Yeah, I was an asshole, wasn’t I?” he said, making you laugh harder now, then you clutched your side with a small wince. “Hey, take it easy, you might not feel anythin’ but you can still pop a stitch.” You quieted your laughter now, knowing he was right, and chewed the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, reminiscing about those days just 6 short months ago. Joel rolled his head to the side to look at you. “I didn’t scare you, though,” he said quietly, not sure why he was encouraging you while you were in this state.

You glanced back at him and shook your head, then held up one finger. “Only once,” you said definitively.

He stared at you and held his breath. He knew exactly what you were referring to: the argument the two of you had that was never brought up again. The day he called you a whore and ruined everything. He was the first to look away, casting his gaze back down on the desk before him. He should have apologized by now, he should have explained himself, but he always found an excuse to avoid it. Today’s excuse was you were too loopy on the pain pills and that conversation needed to happen when you both had a clear head. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as you waited for him to say something. Anything to take back what he said. 

“I think you should get some sleep,” he finally told you, dropping his hand and looking up at you. You knew he was going to avoid talking about it, but you were still disappointed. The pills had really taken effect now as you felt your eyelids grow heavy. You sighed, scooting down to lay flat on the couch and pulling your sleeping bag over you. You closed your eyes but couldn’t resist saying one more thing.

“I would do anything for you,” you whispered before nodding off. Joel’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as he tried to hold back the tears that unexpectedly sprung to his eyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back, but you were already asleep.

The storm let up after another day, which was just as well since it allowed you more time to heal. Joel didn’t want to stay long at this place, worried that the attackers had a larger group and would come looking for you. Once the snow stopped and you had replenished your backpacks with more rags, first aid, and the food from the break room, you were off at first light. You both realized quickly that you were making terrible time since the snow was knee deep and you were already struggling to stay balanced due to your injury. After a very slow mile, Joel had found a sturdy fallen branch for you that he broke down into a more manageable size, allowing you to use it like a cane in the snow. You had to admit that it made traveling a lot easier, but you were still fighting to hide the throbbing pain at your side. After another hour, Joel agreed to let you rest. He made sure you took your antibiotic and ate some more crackers. Your feet felt numb, even though you had 3 pairs of socks and thick hiking boots.

"Joel," you whined, looking up at him standing guard as he surveyed the thick forest around you. "How much longer are we going to walk? This snow is so deep, and my side is killing me."

"I gotta find us somewhere safe, then we can stay there til you're all healed up and we'll wait out the rest of winter, I promise," he said, looking down at you now and meeting your gaze, "I'm gonna take care of you."

You sighed and regretted complaining almost immediately. You could tell he was still beating himself up over how you got injured and you didn't want to keep reminding him of it. He was shouldering too many responsibilities and you could see the worry and anxiety behind his eyes.

"Alright, let's get moving, I'm good," you said, using your stick to pull yourself back up into a standing position. Joel glanced over you once more to make sure you were, in fact, 'good' like you claimed. Satisfied, he turned and led you through the woods. The trees were thick, mostly pine trees that kept all their needles in the winter. It was good to keep you hidden but it was also bad because it could keep someone else hidden, too.

After another few miles, Joel paused a moment to examine his map. He had a general idea where you were, but he didn’t exactly have a destination in mind. He just figured he would know it when he saw it, and it turned out, he was right.

His head was down examining the map in his hands as he walked through the forest and approaching a clearing. Now he wasn’t sure he knew where you were, since the location on the map still showed greenery up ahead. He was mumbling to himself about getting turned around when you gasped, and his head shot up.

You had stumbled across a small neighborhood of about ten or twelve houses, all surrounded by the lush forest you had just hiked through. He had to blink a few times, feeling like he was looking at an oasis in the desert. As you approached the neighborhood, you passed a sign that read 'Hidden Springs - lots starting at $200,000'.

"Man, they really knew what they were doing when they named this place," you joked as you walked side by side down the abandoned street. The houses were all finished except for three which were partially constructed, forever frozen in time.

"This must be a new neighborhood, that's why it ain't showing up on the map," Joel said excitedly as he spun around to make sure you were still alone. "I haven't seen any tracks or smoke or nothin', this place is off the grid," he turned to smile at you. "We can work with this."

You grinned happily, so relieved to finally have found a place where you could rest for more than a couple nights.

"Well, which house d'you want?" Joel asked, looking at all the houses up and down. They were mostly two-story houses, but there were a couple of small ranch homes interspersed. You spotted one in the middle of the neighborhood on your right-hand side and pointed to it. it was a white two-story house with blue shutters and a red door.

"I've always wanted a wraparound porch," you said. "What do you think?" He couldn't keep the smile off his face, the whole place seemed too good to be true and best of all, you would be happy and safe.

He made his way up the front porch to peer inside the windows. He didn't see any movement, and fortunately it looked like the previous owners had a chance to move in, spotting the fully furnished living room. He had insisted on making you wait outside until he could be certain the place was abandoned before letting you in. The house was beautiful and practically brand new. You drifted from room to room to get a feel for the layout: the stairs and a hallway leading to the kitchen faced you right as you walked in the front door, a living room to your right and a den to your left, and a half bath attached to the hallway. The kitchen had a small mudroom attached, which led to the backyard. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom was the only room that had windows facing the front of the house, so you chose to stay in that room, both of you slipping into the king size bed without even questioning if you should sleep apart.

Chapter Thirteen

Taglist: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777

[aelaer]

iron man 1 and ant-man!

iron man 1 - what made you first get into fanfiction?

Into reading: Honestly can’t remember. It was the early summer of 2003, though. I probably heard of its existence on Neopets, which was my game/social platform at the time. It was one of the best communities and platforms out there for both kids and adults who liked those pet games from like 2000 to 2004/5 xD It has sunk so far RIP.

Into writing: I saw Pirates of the Caribbean also in the summer of 2003 and thought “wow, I love this film so much and I love these characters so much, I am going to write them in my favorite world of Middle-earth” and posted the first chapter on Sept 1 of that year. And fuck, that fic is still the longest of all my fics which I really would like to change one of these days. But I’ve come nowhere near reaching 200k again xD I’m just glad I finished that sucker (after like, 20 edits over the years).

ant-man - send a few headcanons of your favorite characters! 

Stephen:

Stephen selects the color blue for his custom robes because the blue reminds him of blue scrubs and the reason he went to Kamar-Taj in the first place.

Stephen was incredibly offended that it took the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame over a decade to finally put Rush into their lineup. Absolute travesty. (That one is in honor of my dad, the Rush fan.)

Stephen likes Tolkien (obligatory authorial interest insert)

Stephen had a dog growing up, but has a general affinity for all animals. He wanted to be a vet before human medicine grabbed his interest. But because he grew up on a farm, he has no issue eating meat, especially if the animal was raised for human consumption (i.e. animals bred for it, as opposed to wild venison). That said, he did have a stint of vegetarianism in college before giving up.

Stephen's knowledge in neuroscience makes him especially talented with mind-based magics, such as memory alterations and removal, mind-reading, and delving into memories. He avoids using these as much as he can, however, and only uses them as a last resort.

To earn a stipend while training and learning magic in Kamar-Taj, Stephen helped repair and bind books with magic stitching in the library under Wong's tutelage. This helped him regain some of the motor skills needed to make the gestures necessary for his spellwork, and served as much-needed PT as well.

Wong:

Wong is a big, big fan of trash TV.

Wong is his last name. He isn’t fond of his first name, and so doesn’t give it or use it.

Along with being the librarian, Wong is also the primary accountant and bookkeeper of Kamar-Taj and all of its expenses, and is basically the keeper of the keys to all things finance within their society. Some apprentices do some more menial tasks, but he’s the head honcho there, possibly making him the most powerful person in the Order of the Mystic Arts in terms of hierarchy with exception to the Sorcerer Supreme. And since the MCU is lacking one of those, that sort of makes him the de-facto deciding vote on any issues within the society, even if it’s not really stated by others.

Wong didn’t actually do a ton of field work compared to other sorcerers; he was busy with administrative tasks, even before he took over the role of librarian along with all the other things he does (and he took it because he figured he could just work in the library with little change in the amount of work he had to do, and had a much better ability to defend it). He went out on occasion to keep himself up to snuff. He took on more field work once Stephen became Master of the New York Sanctum as Stephen had lost his other mentors and the fledgling sorcerer really needed an eye. I like to consider he led a group effort in that first year.

Tony:

Tony’s favorite chain burger is In-n-Out. That bag in Iron Man 1 was an In-n-Out bag, not a Burger King bag. *This is the real canon*.

Despite copious amounts of drinking and partying throughout his life, Tony never developed a physical addiction for alcohol. While the mental addiction had the possibility of latching on, he ended up pouring a lot of his trauma and troubled times into instead throwing himself into his work to (also) unhealthy levels, but this did help him keep his obsessive tendencies on his work as opposed to drinking all his troubles away. Happy, Rhodey, and later Pepper were integral in helping keeping him as a social drinker rather than an alcoholic.

Tony is equally talented as a mechanical engineer, software engineer, and electrical engineer, but his favorite by far is mechanical engineering. It’s one reason he loves cars so much, and he enjoys tinkering with them.

[princeescaluswords]

that’s why you write sceo fics and erase scott’s canonical love interests (malia and kira) in every single one of your sceo fics, pew? you want to replace canon with your delusional fanon fantasies? your concern trolling and hypocritical “think of the children” rants would be more effective if you weren’t a white republican man in his mid-fifties who’d rather ship scott with the character who killed him in the actual show than with malia, his canonical girlfriend. just saying

You like to make up things, don’t you?

1.  I have written 11 stories (out of 59 total stories) with Scott x Theo.  Eight of them are post-canon.  Of the three in the canon time period, two of them are Theo having unreciprocated feelings for Scott and one of them is Scott having feelings for Theo but not acting on them.  None of them treat Kira and Scott’s relationship or Malia and Scott’s relationship as if they weren’t real or special; none of them even imply that somehow it was Kira or Malia’s fault that they didn’t last.  In fact, some of the best writing -- in my opinion as author -- of some of those stories is how much attention I give to Scott’s previous relationships.

You see, writing about a non-canon ship doesn’t require anyone to piss on canon ships or even canon characterization.  It doesn’t require anyone to indulge in racism or misogyny.  My problems with most of the Sterek and Steter fictions I read -- and the problems I address in my critiques -- are that the way they treat Scott (or Deaton or Malia or Kira) as the enemy, as a tyrant, as a monster is based on their race, not because canonical Scott (or Deaton or Malia or Kira) would act like that.  The authors hate the idea that Scott was the main character and seek fictional revenge.

Don’t believe me?  Read my stories for yourself HERE.  

2.  I have never said ‘think of the children’ in my entire life unless it was ironic.  Racism affects children but it also affects adults as well.  It permits people to achieve their personal pleasure by diminishing or warping characters of color, which excludes others from fandom.   Racism leads people to believe that they are entitled to prioritize white characters above all others.  In other words, if people think that Scott McCall is such a big piece of shit on his show, why did they watch his show?  They can find dozens of other shows with white men in them.  But it pisses them off that this is not the case.

3.  You really like hitting at me for being fifty, don’t you?  I am actually fifty-two, even though that is completely and utterly irrelevant.  I’m not trying to date anyone on Tumblr.  I’m talking about racism and its affect on the United States culture.  And while I am a white man, I haven’t voted for a Republican since 2004, seventeen years ago.

4.  You are correct, I prefer Scott with Theo than Scott with Malia.  I think that Scott and Malia’s relationship in 6B was written as simple pair-the-spares bullshit, created to fulfill MTVs teen romance and sexy-times quotient.  It was given minimal thought and minimal development.  Do you know why I think that?  Because if you removed Scott and Malia’s romantic relationship from Season 6B, the only thing that would need to change would be the ridiculous kiss-him-and-make-it-better scene at the end.  Nothing else would have to change.  That’s not  the hallmark of a well-developed relationship.

In addition,  it ignored the significant problems that ruins Scott and Malia’s relationship for me: Peter.  It’s just another instance in a long line of decisions by the production to vanish Scott’s trauma, emotions, and history because it’s inconvenient.  I can’t imagine Malia and Scott lasting long because of Peter -- does anyone really think that Peter would leave Scott and Malia at peace so they could develop a real romance?  Peter would make Chris and Victoria look like Scallison Boosters, because he wouldn’t have any of their restraint.  Think about it -- if Scott and Malia became long term, what would their romance be like?   Would they have Peter over for Christmas?  If they got married and/or had children would Scott sit his child on his knee and say “Hey, let me tell you about the time that Grandpa Pete helped La Loba kidnap me and take me to Mexico so I could be turned into a ravening monster and kill my friends?” Since they refused to really give any true weight to Scott and Peter’s story and ridiculous amounts of unearned weight to Peter and Malia’s story, that romantic relationship was going nowhere.

But here’s the secret -- I can write a story about Scott and Theo without turning Malia into a rhymes-with-witch or disrespecting the moments they had together. I don’t have to scapegoat Malia to explain why Scott and Theo get together.  Again, if you don’t believe me, my stories are easily accesible.   I practice what I wish that others practiced -- you can write a Sterek or a Steter story easily enough without twisting Scott into a villain.  

You just don’t get it.  You seem to think the Sterek stories and Steter stories REQUIRE Scott to be mischaracterized, or you think that Sterek stories and Steter stories must serve the purpose of diminishing Scott.  This is a popular trope in the fandom, that only Sexy White Older Man can love the Stand-In with the Stiles Name Tag.  I believe differently. You can write Sterek and Steter stories without being a racist asshole.  I’ve read and enjoyed Sterek and Steter stories that didn’t use racist tropes.   I’ve written them.  

Maybe you could try? 

[lovelazarus]

rating: Mature

archive warning: graphic depictions of violence

words: 2645

tags: Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm (fairly graphic), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, graphic description of suicide attempt, Flashbacks, Trauma, Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Dean is alive, Castiel is alive, Hurt/Comfort, POV Dean Winchester, brief mention of John Winchester - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Sad with a Happy Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Past Abuse, Homophobic Language, 15x20 Fix-It

summary: (This fic starts out with a graphic dream/flashback of Dean's mid-20s.) Cas showed up to save Dean in 15x20 after he let himself get impaled on rebar, his attempt to stop living while thinking Cas was truly gone in the Empty. It's been a few months since that event in the Barn. Things have been calm since Chuck lost his power & Jack brought Castiel back to help rebuild heaven (although Jack isn't in this directly!). Even with things being okay, Dean's decades of trauma are still bubbling up and Dean has to face the reality of his actions (past & present).

PLEASE read all tags before reading!

The last thing Dean remembers is sitting down on the couch in the Deancave, waiting for Cas to come pick tonight's movie. He must’ve dozed off at some point because suddenly it's 2004 and he’s 25 years old again.

The two years Sammy was off at Stanford was one of Dean’s lowest points in life; including his trip to hell, being a demon & helping kick start the apocalypse. He was completely alone.

Sam was gone, John was irate and blamed Dean for Sam leaving, for not stopping him from leaving. Dean was hunting alone, without his family, for the first time in his life. His last hunt however was the first to deeply scar him irrevocably.

A father and 2 sons, roughly the same age apart as him and Sam. Both attacked by an extremely vengeful spirit, the father was gutted and the sons were supernaturally manipulated into hanging themselves. Dean walked into their house hoping to save the family after following trails of the case, but he walked into a gruesome scene that left him shaking and holding back from vomiting.

In Dean’s mind, it was a representation of his own torn apart family. He left the home, found the grave of the spirit, and put it to rest with unsteady hands and bleary eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time… I could’ve saved you and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t good enough to help you. I’m so sorry.” Dean whispers, half to the victims and half to his younger brother, thousands of miles away and unable to hear his plea.

He gets to the motel room he rented with his duffle slung over his shoulder and stands outside the door with the key in his hand, almost afraid to enter, lest he finds another sick and twisted scene inside. He exhales roughly and shoves the key into the door and strides in.

All that's inside his cheap bottle of gas station whiskey and a pack of menthols.

He drops his duffle on the extra twin bed before scooping up his liquor and smokes. He wants to erase this entire hunt from his mind if he can.

Oh, how he wants to.

Three hours later his whole pack is gone, cigarette butts shoved into an old ashtray, and 3/4th the bottle of whiskey is sitting harshly in his stomach. Dean can’t stop picturing that family as his own. Thoughts of his father’s anger circle inside his mind like a tornado.

“I told you to watch out for Sammy, boy! Do you even use that brain other than to continuously disappoint me and fail your brother? To fail Mary?”

HIT

“I left you alone for two weeks! TWO WEEKS THAT'S ALL! Now Sam has run off and you’re going to pay for it.”

HIT

“So you blew through all the money I left you and now you’re turning tricks like some little faggot? You’re going to influence Sammy to that shit and I won’t allow my sons to be like that.”

HIT

With each memory of John rushing back into Dean’s mind, he can still feel the physical hits coming. His dad was right. This would never have happened if he hadn’t been more careful. If he had protected Sam like he was told to. If he had been a better son.

He finishes the last of the whiskey as the screams of his father’s voice start to fade back into the black void inside his mind. But the moment the last drop of liquor touches his tongue, he breaks. Every punch landed by his father that he took in order to protect Sam comes rushing back. Every harsh word and drunken fight he got into. Every argument with Sam over being too controlling, too much of a soldier.

Dean feels sick.

The toilet in that crappy motel room has certainly seen better days, but no matter how much Dean vomits, he stays just as drunk.

In a moment of blind anger, he destroys the kitchenette, the TV, and the nightstand. He chucks the empty whiskey bottle at the wall and watches the glass fly everywhere as it shatters.

He absent-mindedly picks up a large piece of glass.

This could kill me. One quick and easy slash to my neck or wrist and that’d be it. No more pain for Sam, and no more disappointment for dad.

He lets his hand drop to his side and allows the shard to fall to the floor. This isn’t the first time he’s had thoughts like this in moments of weakness, but it's certainly the first time there was a calm push behind it. He collapses to his knees with a broken sob. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He's tired.

God, he is so tired.

Dean isn’t sure when he decided this was his only option to stop the deep visceral pain he’s feeling, but it's where he’s at now.

Swallow all the pills in the med bag? No, that's what bitches and girls do, plus… it's painful.

Slit his wrists in a nice warm bath? Even worse than pills! You really are some kind of faggot, aren’t you?

Shotgun to the face? Now that's the man’s way out.

He pauses, looking over to his favorite sawed-off. It’ll be an absolute mess if that’s the way he goes. He thinks again to the family he couldn’t save; how gory and horrific it was. He shudders and breathes in sharply. He can’t do that to someone else, especially not some innocent civilian.

“Of course,” he mutters under his breath “I have a rope in the trunk.” So that’s the plan.

He stuffs all his shit into his duffle, writes out an apology to Sam, Bobby, and John (it’s a suicide note, but it doesn’t explain anything), and then he ties a military-grade noose. He finds a chair that isn’t completely destroyed by his earlier rage and begins to tie the rope onto the ceiling fan.

He stands there for a moment, contemplating. “Am I really about to do this? I’ve fought monsters and demons and ghosts for twenty years and this is where it ends?”

He shakes his head and shrugs.

“Always knew I'd die before thirty.”

He raises the noose to his head and just as he is about to slide it around his throat… The chair breaks apart, and he's left lying on his back with the wind knocked out of him.

“FUCK!” he manages to yell out before his lungs and chest start burning again. Tears begin to pinprick at his eyes as he lays motionless (and probably concussed, he didn’t break his fall at all). “I can’t even kill myself right.” he thinks to himself.

Slowly, he gets himself off the floor, groaning at the pain in his skull and back as he does. Crawling over to his bed, he sees the glass shard he dropped earlier.

“I just want to stop this fucking FEELING” his mind screams. “Just do SOMETHING you worthless son of a bitch!”

He picks the glass back up.

Everything is hazy when his brain starts to come into focus again. His hands feel slick and wet, so he brings them to his face to see what he touched.

Blood.

His own blood.

Three long gashes across his forearm, roughly a quarter-inch deep and four inches long each. He needs to stitch himself up for sure.

30 minutes later and it just looks like a hunt gone bad, his arm is sewn up and all the motel towels are stained red.

For a fleeting moment, he feels at peace. The rush of discovering what he did in a fog of failing to kill himself and the overwhelming feeling of failing his family, he feels like this was something he deserved. Like he deserved to be punished.

After an hour of dissociating and staring at the wall, he passes out and sinks into a moment of silent nothingness. No nightmares, not yet.

Dean practically jumps out of his skin when he hears Cas’s voice from the doorway.

“Dean? You look pale. What's going on?” Castiel asks with his familiar cadence.

Dean wishes he knew what brought that memory back up. Instead, he plasters on a fake smile and shakes his head reassuringly the best he can.

“Nothing Cas, just thinking I guess. What took you so long? You burn the popcorn or somethin?” Dean knows he sounds insincere, he knows that Cas knows, too. He doesn't want Cas to worry any more than he already does, though.

“Dean, your heart rate sped up and you were on the verge of hyperventilating, what happened?”

Damn it. He should’ve known Cas could still do that weird x-ray angel shit. Instead of trying to hide it further, he sighs and motions for Castiel to sit beside him on the couch.

However, he blanches when Cas passes behind him and brushes his hand against Dean’s shoulder. Cas sits down carefully, not to overwhelm Dean. Castiel has seen him during a flashback before, especially after hell. Cas looks inviting, ready to listen to whatever Dean has to say. Cas was always trying to be open with him lately, Dean knows it’s because of the struggles the last six months.

Cas dying, if briefly. Dean ALMOST dying, because of it.

Wait…

That's when Dean realizes.

Every time he’s lost someone, it's been bad. Drunk passed out on the floor, let Baby be filthy, run into hunts without any concern for his safety, bad…

The two worst times were when he lost Sammy, and when he thought he lost Cas to the Empty.

Dean must’ve been sitting there with a strange look on his face for a while cause Cas reaches out gingerly to silently ask if he’s alright. Dean gives him a half-smile and lets out the breath he was apparently holding.

“Cas, did I ever tell you about what I did in 2004 when Sam was off at Stanford and I was hunting by myself?”

Cas tilts his head in that endearing way he always does, “Not that I recall. Is something from back then troubling you now still?”

Dean clenches his jaw and runs a hand over his mouth, a nervous tic he picked up from John decades ago. “I did something similar back then to what I did in that barn. I gave up.”

Castiel’s eyes widen a bit, starting to understand what Dean is trying to say, but staying silent, to let him get this out.

Dean cracks a wry chuckle, “y’know, when you pulled me outta hell and into my body again, I was surprised you wiped the slate and got rid of all my scars.” He glances at Castiel, just for a moment, to see his reaction. It's soft but a little confused.

“At the time, I thought you would like to come back whole. A fresh start after what you went through in hell. I know now that life is about the imperfections and that the littlest things have meaning and memories. I’m sorry if I took those from you, Dean.” Cas meets Dean’s eyes with apologetic fondness and sincerity.

“Cas, it's okay. Really. Sometimes… I don't know, there's some scars I just miss sometimes.” He runs his hand along his forearm, where the self-harm scars would’ve been. “The ones that were here… they gave me a constant reminder of what almost happened. What I almost did.” Dean can feel his face getting warm as he talks about it, eyes watering up but no tears slip down his face.

Cas seems to nod along, waiting for him to continue with concerned patience. “I tried to kill myself back in ‘04. Sam was gone and doing fine without me, he had Jess. Dad was pissed at me for not getting him to stay and hunt. I had no one. I hit a low point after finding a really fucked up case about a vengeful spirit that gutted a family, father, and two sons…” Dean chokes up, as he pictures the glazed eyes of the corpses he found. A shiver runs down his spine as he can still picture it like it was yesterday.

“You saw your father and Sam in them and it brought up a lot of emotions, that’s understandable.” Cas tries to reassure him but doesn’t quite understand what Dean’s trying to get at.

“I got drunk after I salt and burned the spirit's corpse. I felt empty inside and like nobody needed me. I couldn’t save those kids and I didn't see any point in saving myself…” tears are now flowing gently down Dean’s face as he tries to push out what he needs to say, what he needs Cas to understand about this. “When you, when you said all that stuff before you left… I felt that same exact way. Even though I had Sam and Jack and then the whole bullshit after with Chuck and Lucifer and Michael… I felt so damn alone. Like I’d failed you, cause I couldn’t even save someone I love the most.” Dean’s voice goes harsh as he full-on sobs at those last few words.

The past few months since Castiel has been back, they haven’t talked about Cas's confession before being taken by the Empty, and Dean hasn’t said it aloud (even though his mind is screaming those three words every time he looks at Cas). Dean feels Cas touch his hand gently, reverently. A sob violently racks his body as he looks up into blue eyes also filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry Dean. I’m sorry.” the last word catches in his throat as Dean grabs his hand fully, intertwining their fingers.

“I know Cas. You did it to save me. You seem to keep doing that, huh? From hell, saying yes to Michael, Billie, from myself…” Dean softly strokes his thumb against Cas’s hand while tear tracks continue to stain his face. “Cas, thank you. I know I’ll never be able to pay you back for all that you’ve done for me and for Sam but… thank you.”

They lock eyes for a moment, Dean knows Cas loves him and he knows he loves Cas. He can’t think of a goddamn thing standing in the way right now. Dean releases Cas’s hand, cups his face, and brings their lips together, finally.

It takes a moment for Castiel to understand what's happening, but he quickly catches up and kisses Dean back fervently.

Cas tastes like summer rain after a long drought, like lightning and thunder all at once, like earth and something ethereal Dean can’t quite place. Cas tastes like coming home, and he is.

“Me too, Cas. Son of a bitch, I love you too.” he whispers into Cas’s mouth as Cas lets out a sob-laugh.

They pull apart for a moment, hands still against each other's cheeks. Communicating with their eyes is something they’ve mastered after 12 years, but there's something unknown now. Something new, something hopeful. And dammit if Dean isn't going to latch on to that hope.

They decide on an old western, Dean’s seen it a hundred times before. They’re leaning into each other silently watching as Dean’s eyes begin to close. He can feel Cas running his fingers against his arm, where those scars would’ve been. It's then, in the comfort of his Angel, that Dean falls fast asleep.

For the first time in 40 years, he doesn’t have nightmares. Not of yellow eyes, not of losing Sammy; not of John’s anger, not of hell; the apocalypse, Michael, Chuck, losing Cas… it all feels distant and far behind him now. When Dean wakes again, Cas still has his arms around him, eyes closed, and is running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean knows all his trauma won't just vanish, but in this moment with Cas...it feels possible.

[ryttu3k]

Doing those ship meme questions only it's the new OT3 (Beckett/Sascha/Ilias) because they're my main source of serotonin these days. Occasional appearances from Anatole and Lucita, too.

Not doing all, but there are A Lot.

1. Who's the one who's reckless and always getting into trouble while the other gotta pull em out

Beckett and Sascha actually do have a lot of braincells between them but none of them are in use for 'can sense danger'. Ilias has gained some minor common sense since his 'hey, I'm going to ask our Antediluvian for power to help face its favourite childe oh whoops I am possessed' thing and is usually the one sighing fondly and saving their asses.

2. Who's the one to send the other "I love my gf/bf" memes

Ilias. 100% Ilias. He would go out in public in a shirt saying 'I <3 Sascha' and calling them ‘my flower’ while Sascha is just pleased they can't blush any more.

3. Who's the one who listens to a music genre the other doesn't like and how does the other react

God their music tastes are all over the place. Sascha is over a thousand years old and has seen and heard A Lot. They consider the Romantic period 'modern music'. Beckett is similar albeit with about 350 years of it. Ilias got hurled from 1233 to 2004 and after a period of ??? went, "Oh, Romanian music!" and it was. Dragostea Din Tei. Like can you imagine one moment it’s 1233 and the next moment you are listening to Dragostea Din Tei. Also thanks to the language drift they only caught about a quarter of the words so it was this whole thing where he almost, almost was understanding it but the rest was just, “...what.” And that’s how Ilias discovered modern music.

Anyway yeah they’ve pretty much decided that their collective music tastes are so disparate no one is allowed to comment on them.

4. Which one spoils the other more and do they ever get competitive to show the other more love

Honestly, they all kind of spoil each other, albeit in different ways. Like Ilias will just randomly pop a handmade flower crown on Sascha’s head. Beckett will occasionally find an extremely rare book on his desk and know Sascha found it for him. Beckett always tells Sascha first when he’s found something cool so they can be the first to investigate it. And they absolutely get competitive, yeah.

5. How many years did it take to get married or was it just not for them

Sascha and Ilias have a mutual blood bond, which is more or less the equivalent of thus. Beckett has a mutual bond with Anatole, but he and Sascha have a level-2 bond.

7. Are their friends/family supportive

 Honestly, uh, Sascha and Ilias don’t really have anyone else. Beckett’s companions tend to range from, “They’re terrifying but I trust your judgment :D” (Anatole) to “hahahahahaha if Vykos harms one hair on Beckett’s head I’ll end them” (Lucita) to “WHY” (Aristotle, Okulos, most others tbh).

8. How does one comfort the other when the other is in distress/having a panic attack/crying

Sascha is the one most prone to panic attacks because trauma is a bitch and basically just... Beckett and Ilias both respond by with hugging/gentle restraint (if they’re okay with touch) or by giving them space and doing things like running a hot bath when they’re touch-averse.

9. Which one dissociates

Honestly Sascha spent most of 1234 to 2006 lowkey dissociating, which is fair when there’s literally another essence fused to yours. Post-Dracon, they still get the occasional dissociative episode, but it’s much easier to bring them back to themself.

10. Which one stares at the other's booty like “damn” and how does the other react when catching them

All three tbh. Beckett stares at Sascha, Sascha either gets a bit self-conscious or a bit ;) , depending on mood. Sascha stares at both Beckett and Ilias and gets a bit embarrassed when caught (Beckett will laugh it off, Ilias will basically be ;D). Ilias stares at both and is completely shameless about it because he may no longer be on the Path of Pleasure but he’s absolutely not going to feel ashamed for admiring his gorgeous lovers.

11. When they live together what kinda place do they live in? What does their home look like?

Beckett and Sascha travel too much for one place, honestly, and Ilias accompanies them a lot. They do have a few houses scattered throughout the world, though, including one in the Carpathians (nowhere near Brasov, tyvm). Not really as big as the monastery, it’s mostly like... big library, a few comfortable places to sleep or rest, Ilias likes having a garden these days and grows a lot of flowers.

12. What do their dates look like

Museum heists.

13. How does each act when getting drunk

Ilias gets even more handsy. Actually he can get to be a bit of a pain, but he does listen immediately if one of them tells him to tone it down. Beckett gets very enthusiastic and fired-up and a bit more feral and he’s gonna go find Enoch right now and prove Caine wasn’t real once and for all. Sascha, uh, tends to get a bit emotional and also very talkative, but can literally like. Talk their way into minor breakdowns. Basically less barriers.

14. Which one rolls over in the morning evening to wake up the other one just to kiss them

All three :3

15. Have they saved each other's lives before

Yup!

Ficverse-wise, Sascha did also save Ilias from becoming a bogatyr to the Eldest, although that was also Sascha and Beckett both saving themselves by being emotionally honest. Yeah XD

16. Does one have an interest the other think is weird but wants to listen to it regardless

Ilias’ spirituality conflicts a bit with Beckett’s... atheism, I guess? Like he’s definitely not sure he believes in the spirits that Ilias regularly works with as a Koldun, but he’s willing to keep a relatively open mind. (He’s a bit less open-minded in Sascha’s belief in - and support of - Caine, given that he’s literally based his career around the metaphor theory!)

17. Which one uses cropped hentai as reaction images

Sascha.

They have troll tendencies, okay.

18. Does one of them kinkshame the other

There is absolutely no kinkshaming here. Listen Ilias was a Priest of Jarilo. Sascha was once on the Path of Pleasure too. Beckett seduced Dracula for information then forgot to ask his question. They’re all very open about everything.

There may be teasing about the odd hobby or interest but it’s pretty lighthearted.

19. Is one of them self conscious about their body? If so how does the other comfort them

Beckett occasionally has Moments over his hands and worries about hurting Sascha or something. They basically respond by being like “are you kidding the claws are hot as hell”. On occasion, Beckett will get one of them to Vicissitude them down if he wants to use his hands more, although they’ll regrow and be achey for a night or two afterwards.

20. Say they were cuddling on the bed while listening to record player playing the background. Which song is playing?

Honestly I want to say Third Eye by Florence + the Machine just for fic reasons. When I was writing Mantle I saw it very much as Beckett towards Sascha, but it fits with Ilias towards them as well.

I have no idea how they would have discovered F+tM but anyway.

23. What kinda joyrides do they go on? Relaxing ones or wild ones?

It. I imagine it usually involves police chases. When it doesn’t Beckett will occasionally go wolf so he can stick his head out the car window like :P

Shh don’t tell anyone.

25. Do people ever get annoyed of their pda

God probably. One of the main exceptions is Anatole, who’ll basically go, “Oh! Are we cuddling?” and flop on top of Beckett.

27. Which one’s the red, which one’s the blue

They’re all red. Fear. Ilias is probably closest to blue.

28. Are either of them mentally ill, if so how do they help one another cope

Sascha has both PTSD (from Symeon and Michael, and from the Eldest) and C-PTSD (from being bound to the Dracon for literal centuries). Also depression and anxiety, which are... pretty common with those. See question 8 for some of the coping methods, the rest is just... taking each day as it comes. Like they’ve lived a very long time, but they only got free of the Dracon in 2006, so it’s still a very new thing.

Ilias has some trauma from some of the things he’s had to do to survive since waking up with the Thirst of Ages, and gets into guilt spirals on occasion. He mostly focuses on Path of Nocturnal Redemption methods to work through it; he’s kind of adverse to anyone seeing him vulnerable like that. He knows Sascha has done some awful shit, but they weren’t themself at the time so Ilias feels it doesn’t count, and Beckett is like, Humanity 6? He just doesn’t get it, so Ilias keeps it to himself.

Beckett has an odd, acquired one - his experiences in Jerusalem left him with the ability (if it could be called an ability!) to occasionally hear the Cobweb (the Malkavian Madness Network). While his connection isn’t nearly as strong as an actual Malkavian’s, he does get odd flashes of Insight; less helpfully, it can occasionally get, uh, loud in his head. This tends to ramp up a bit with proximity to Malkavians, so when he’s around Anatole, Anatole will help him filter the voices and thoughts out by teaching him meditation techniques. (Given that Anatole - correctly - feels responsible for Beckett being afflicted thus, he wants to make sure it doesn’t hit his lover too badly.)

29. Does one have a spot on them where they would melt when the other kisses them there

Give Beckett head scritchies and he’ll turn into a puddle :3

34. Are they a reckless couple or safe

*loud, prolonged laughter*

37. Do they get into fights often? If so what do they fight over and how do they make up?

Sascha and Ilias are usually... very chill; if they argue, it’s over the other’s safety, like Ilias wanting to do something reckless and Sascha being very much ‘please do not’. Sascha and Beckett argue a bit more, although thankfully they have now stopped trying to literally kill each other XD When they do, it’s usually ideological, related to Gehenna, Caine, et cetera. Sascha is still very much a part of the Sabbat, and Beckett is, well, basically an atheist.

40. Who would fight in honor for the other if someone would insult them

All three tbh. Here’s a fun bit from the novel:

Still really dig this bit from BJD, too!

No misgendering on Beckett’s watch!

42. How would one react if the other was to die

Uh.

Poorly.

Like most of Sascha’s sanity slippage was due to the Dracon’s essence being fused to their own and just how the Eldest... did that, but a good part of it was absolutely due to Ilias’ death.

43. Who dies first

...canonically, Ilias XD;;

It’s okay he gets better.

[operaghostnocturne]

The Problem with ‘Love Never Dies.’

“Love Never Dies,” 2012 Starring Ben Lewis as The Phantom, Anna O'Byrne as Christine, watched on Youtube, 4/24/2020 SPOILERS.  I would like to note: I enjoyed the set design, costume design, some of the music, and production of this version of Love Never Dies.  I also really liked the actor’s performances.  They did a good job.  I especially loved Ben Lewis’s singing voice.  (Derrick Davis ((US Restaged Tour)) is still my favorite.) The problem with Love Never Dies is its a sequel to Phantom of the Opera, the characterization, and writing. ALW’s Phantom of the Opera stands alone. It was never meant to have a sequel.  It really doesn’t need one.  I do feel there is a big disconnect between POTO and LND. I think LND could be rewritten to have nothing to do with the original POTO and would not suffer for it. To me, LND feels like someone’s fixit fanfic that doesn’t actually fix anything.  POTO is also insanely iconic.  It is hard to follow it up. While LND’s music is pretty good, I don’t think its nearly as memorable nor iconic as POTO’s.  I also don’t feel it balanced original POTO music with new material.  Honestly, it needs to pick one. Something ALW does in his musicals is reuses the notes of a song, mixed in a different pattern to make a new one.  “The Music of the Night” and “All I Ask of You” are like this (look at sheet music if you don’t believe me.)  This is not a complaint.  This helps with cohesion of a musical.  It also makes refrains, duets with battling music, and sometimes even story, clearer. When its done well, its unnoticeable. In fact, I got to play a POTO compilation in a semi-professional concert orchestra in high school.  I never noticed ALW does this until when someone pointed it out to me like a month ago.  In LND, I can constantly hear the rifts from the first musical, to the point where I think one of those songs is about to start, or it gets super distracting.  I noticed this especially in ‘Why Does She Love Me?’  I’m 80% sure it was based of POTO’s main theme (like the song ‘Phantom of the Opera,’ or the ‘Overture.’)  Again, I liked most of the music in LND.  But it doesn’t hold a candle to POTO. oh look I made a pun. Having said that all that: LND feels like a sequel mostly to 2004.  In my opinion, 2004 has the most sympathetic version of the Phantom, and the one that could most likely end up with Christine in the end.  Especially compared to the US Restaged Tour.  In 04, I also feel like the Phantom and Christine (not their actors) feel closer in age than other productions of the musical, other Phantom adaptations, and even the book.  (For those who don’t know: Erik is 50-60 in the book, Christine is like, 16.) LND’s writing is not great.  First of all: THE PHANTOM’S NAME IS ERIK. I know they were trying to have a MYSTERY pun. Mister Y does not work for that, especially in a format that ISN’T BEING. READ.  I can understand why its left out in POTO, as it lends the Phantom some mystery (though I do not like it.) There is LITERALLY no reason not to have the Phantom called Erik it LND. Granted, this is a complaint I have from POTO too.  I kinda feel like the Phantom not having a name dehumanizes him. That is a discussion for another day. I absolutely HATE that the Phantom runs a circus company.  A big part of Erik’s trauma comes from being in a freak show.  I don’t believe Erik would be willing to go back to that.  I also don’t think it would be his scene.  The Phantom of the Opera belongs in an Opera house, or at the very least a music all. I don’t know why he couldn’t have started something like that instead of a freak show.  Or perhaps be an eccentric composer. Especially if he is getting help from the Giry’s.   I do think its fitting that he’s working with/employing disabled, or deformed people, and other societal outcasts.  However, being the owner of the VERY THING that treated him horribly is pretty bad, especially since we don’t know if he treats these people any better than he was treated. Also, every time the music switched to ‘show tunes,’ I felt Erik’s soul dying.  On that note, when LND shifts from a musical to addressing the audience directly in its ‘show tunes’ sections, its jarring.  It breaks the fourth wall way too much and really pulls the audience out of whats going on.  The way Erik is in POTO, chased away from the world and the light, is why he is like he is.  He became fascinated with the night, the macabre and darkness because of his experiences with the world. That’s a pretty big point in POTO.  Its one of the things that make him sympathetic. After all “THE WORLD SHOWED NO COMPASSION TO ME!” is the Phantom’s excuse in the final lair. LND tramples over that.  Gustave seems to be interested in the same darkness his biological father is, as seen in “The Beauty Beneath.”  Erik’s obsession with the dark, night, and macabre is turned into genetics.  Which is pretty bad for Gustave if you think too hard about it. Erik is a serial killer.  I do believe talent can be passed in genetics.  I also think the way we view said talent and how we use it is shaped by personal experiences and preferences.  On that note, Gustave could have gotten his musical abilities from his mother, or his grandfather, both of whom are also talented musicians.   Another thing LND suffers from, is making Christine a prize again. Raoul and Erik do not see her as a person.  ‘Devil Take the Hindmost’ is literally the boys having a dick measuring contest, with Christine as the prize.  That is not okay. I hated the ending. For several reasons.  First of all, the Phantom is still abusive.  He is a puppet master. He is still not capable of having a healthy relationship with Christine.   Secondly, Christine dies. ALW, if you are gonna write a fixit fic the LEAST you could do is let Erik be happy.  Plus, Christine is killed by a cliche ‘I just wanted you to notice me’ subplot. One that wasn’t entirely well set up or thought out.  Which is disappointing and frustrating.  Last two things I hated: when Christine kisses Erik for the last time, she doesn’t take off his mask.  I feel like they missed a good opportunity to show Christine being completely accepting of who Erik is, including what he looks like (again, would be better if Erik wasn’t abusive.)  I also NEVER like it when we don’t get to see Erik’s deformity in any version of Phantom.  The only other one that doesn’t I’ve seen/read is Dance. (Which I dislike greatly. Its at the bottom of my list.)  I’m kinda good either way if Gustave goes with Erik or Raoul (preferably neither, if I get a choice, which I don’t.)  Erik and Gustave can connect over music in a way Raoul and Gustave cannot. Erik can teach Gustave about music and the beauty beneath. Raoul did raise Gustave.  Raoul might also have a serious heart change after the events of LND that we are not shown.  Or we can do that one AU where Raoul and Erik become Gustave’s two dad’s (either gay or not, whatever floats your boat.)

The worst thing about LND is it completely ignores the character growth in its predecessor. Characters completely regress into who they were before the ending of POTO.  This is annoying and bad writing. Lets start with Meg and Madame Giry.  I don’t like that Madame Giry is helping Erik. Yes, she helped him escape the freak show in 2004 (and possibly other versions.) BUT, she was also absolutely TERRIFIED of the Phantom in POTO.  She helped Raoul find the Phantom’s Lair, with the full knowledge that Raoul intended to put a stop to Erik’s madness.  I think it would be more likely that Madame Giry would stay as far away as Erik as she possibly could. Madame Giry also feels like a secondary greedy villain in LND, and that feels WAY off base for her. Maybe Erik being manipulative has rubbed off on her? Again, I don’t think she would be in this position in the first place (nor would Erik be manipulative, because I see him as realizing he DUN HECKED UP at the end of POTO). Meg, I could see wanting to help the Phantom (she even does in some versions.)  I see this as her being enthralled by the legend of the Phantom, and less that they actually know each other. As for her loss of innocence, I don’t think it was set up well, nor was it executed well. Also, Meg wanting the Phantom to see her is a cliche. Cliches can be okay, if they are handled well. I don’t think LND wrote it well. The only person I feel that has consistent characterization from POTO is Raoul (well, a specific version of it.)  I have always been of the opinion that Raoul is a jerk.  Having him spiral into gambling and drinking after a traumatic event is not surprising.  Could be something that was always there, could be PTSD.  Who knows, it wasn’t really talked about beyond Raoul feeling sorry for himself, and him being frustrated that he can’t connect to Christine on a musical level. Christine’s arc in POTO was about taking back her own power and becoming her own person. Of letting go of the past and moving forward.  This is thrown out. She is once again caught between two men in a dick measuring contest, both of which are trying to manipulate her to one side or the other, completely powerless.  This time, there really wasn’t a way for her to get it back. I feel like she felt obligated to sing for the Phantom, even without Gustave’s life being threatened, and the Phantom’s manipulation is what made Raoul leave  (Granted, I think Raoul leaving makes sense in the context of LND.)  Christine has no agency in LND. Finally, the ending of POTO is what redeems Erik.  He is the one with the biggest character arc and character growth. He learns the most.  I do believe he had a genuine heart change at the end of POTO.  What happened wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he needed to become a better person, and start moving past his trauma. Ignoring that is a big mistake. Yet, in LND, he is back to being an arrogant, abusive, manipulative, puppet master.  Sometimes, I can see small pieces of character growth. He seems less bothered by his appearance, and maybe slightly more mature. Though, even these glimpses are often overshadowed or ignored in the next scene.   LND is NOT continuation of the characters we met in POTO. Much of the writing that connects LND with POTO is meh.  Honestly, in some ways it feels like less a sequel and more its very own adaption of Phantom. Which is half its problem.

[youtuberswithalex]

Aight Imma do a rundown, the others will add on when they’re out

Alter: Alex Mettleson

-Age: 22 (Aging linearly) -Formed:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Been around for a while. Been the host since 2016 after he and Emmy split in half, so technically since 2013-ish? -Theme color: Blue (although Red’s been coming WAY high up on his favorite list since starting his Youtube stuff) -Career choice: Youtube! -Side most like: Logan -Queer stuff: Trans, aroace! -Fun facts about him: Only one who’s out during Phi Mu Alpha stuff, and the only one who “knows” anything of it in the system!

Alter: Emmy Seymour

-Age: 20 (Aging linearly; originally the same age as Alex, but when they split, she went dormant until 2019, so she’s two years younger now, but they still call themselves twins) -Formed:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Again, been co-host since last summer, but technically since 2013-ish -Theme color: Pink!!! But she also really loves yellow -Career choice: Artist~ -Side most like: Roman -Queer stuff: HUGE LESBIAN -Fun facts about her: Chose her birthday to be the same day as the NASA moon mission because she loves space, and, coincidentally, we got to celebrate her first birthday on the day of the 50th anniversary!

Alter: Turner Imin (that’s me!)

-Age: 23 (Aging linearly) -Formed: 2003/2004-ish? -Theme color: Greeeeeeen -Career choice: I’d love to be a park ranger, but god knows the body could not handle that, nor could all the alters after we had a traumatizing hiking situation (not like, getting attacked by a bear, but we were hiking for like two days on a church mission trip, and we got severely dehydrated and nearly had to go to the hospital, and we had severe panic attacks on the nights we had to camp out, so. Yeah. Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. I just like being able to hang out with Alex again) -Side most like: R E M U S -Queer stuff: Bi, or something. Also this doesn’t technically go in this category, but I know it causes a lot of confusion-- I’m a girl. (I think.) Always have been a cis girl. My name’s Turner because I named myself after our 1st Grade teacher, and we didn’t know it was a boy’s name until, like, 6th grade, at which point I was too attached to it to change it. I might be an enby, I dunno. Maybe it’s just because of Emmy being so femme, but. I’m a girl, I go by she/her pronouns forever -Fun facts about her: I was the first alter to form! I’ve been around for, like, ever. Alex and I grew up together, and when he was “””too old””” for “””imaginary friends””” he made me a character in a lot of his stories, so if you see me in some of his old fics, that’s why!

Edit: OH ALSO I ALMOST FORGOT WE’RE SPECULATING THAT I HAVE BIPLOAR DISORDER AND AM A TRAUMA HOLDER WHUPAH *finger guns*

Alter: Eddie

-Age: 16 (permanent age... for now) -Formed: 2011-ish? -Theme color: Red or black and white -Career choice: “I don’t fucking know, I’m a goddamn teenager, what do you want from me? I want to fucking exist” -Side most like: Virgil -Queer stuff: N/A -Fun facts about him: He’s got a tongue piercing, and when he aged up from 14 to 16 last November, he went from being a cute kid version of Alex to this sick punk kid (and grew into himself a lot)

Alter: Evan Polters

-Age: 38 (permanent age) -Formed: Late 2019 -Theme color: Black/white (mostly white) -Career choice: Doctor (Medical practitioner, specifically) -Side most like: Logan. Hands down -Queer stuff: I think he’s gay? I dunno. He’s a single dad and doesn’t talk about having any partners or anything -Fun facts about him: He’s British and is in charge of our hygiene. The first thing he did after forming was take over and make the body brush its teeth for the first time in months. That was fun to explain to our therapist

Alter: Boulos

-Age: ????? Maybe ageless??? -Formed: Late 2019 -Theme color: Purple? -Career choice: Philosopher -Side most like: Deceit -Queer stuff: N/A -Fun facts about him: He’s the first Alter that gave us a SUCKY split. Spent the whole night trembling and having horrible anxiety, until we got a bad headache and then there he was! Took him a long time to settle on a name, too. Liked Boulos bc he wanted a “Paul” name and it’s the Arabic version of that (iirc). Also based his appearance off of the name, so, dude’s Middle Eastern

There’s two more that don’t want to be introduced, but, those are the main ones for now, I guess. We had some others in the past, and we’re still learning more about the system (There are definitely others that Alex hasn’t met yet), but, like I said, we’ll update this as people want to. Hope you like the intro!

-Turner :P

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Why Fanfiction?

Hey guys. Okay, so, a few weeks ago one of my coworkers asked me this question. And it has been bothering me ever since. 

Y’see, there’s this problem about explaining fanfiction, or fandom for that matter, to people who have never been a part of this culture. And, no, I don’t think that culture is too grandiose a term. The problem is everyone wants to rationalize fanfiction, justify its existence. Anyone who is not a part of fandom, literally any fandom, wants you to explain why you use your time this way, why you create this way, and why you feel entitled to do so. People struggle over basic things like creation existing outside of monetary gain or copyright, but even that’s not the intrinsic thing outside people don’t understand. 

I spent minutes trying to explain to my coworkers why as they pestered me with the same series of comments we’ve all been called to answer a hundred times before, “Why do you do that?” “But it’s not yours!””Who don’t you write your own work?” “That character wouldn’t do that!” etc, etc. And between trauma flashbacks to 2004 when I was 12 years old and we had the wars of What Is And Is Not In Character, I realized what the problem is: fanfiction is for fun. 

That’s it, plain and simple. I do it because it’s fun. You do it too! You draw or write or read or make or remix or whatever! You participate because it’s fun! That’s really all there is to it. And you and I don’t ask for more reason than that. But I was talking to outsiders. 

And here I should explain that I work in a college. I was talking to academics. Hell, I am an academic, I teach college English. And English professors, god help me, English professors are the absolute WORST at justifying fanfiction. You get two flavors of English professor when it comes to fandom: 1) that’s stealing or 2) that’s deconstruction. If the first, fuck you, I don’t have time for your precious proprietary sensibilities, learn what derivative means and then tell me if your near-and-dears are so goddamn original. If the second, I love ya, pal, and I know you’re trying, but you do too much. You do too much. 

For all of us in fandom, we understand that for every meta-critique, every genderqueer retelling, every better rewriting of a poorly articulated story, there are fifty hackneyed, hand-on-the-crotch, author-kink-specific "adult content” fics (Just in case tumblr got any ideas about censoring this post). And THAT’S NOT A BAD THING!

If you haven’t yet, you will meet people who will go out of their way to defend fanfiction’s literary qualities, but they Bowdlerize it! Sanitize! Clean! Purify. Intentional or not, and sometimes it is definitely intentional, many people feel that in order to justify and defend fanfiction, they must eliminate the porn, forego the smut, ignore the self-indulgent, half-crazed teenage lust that is the life’s blood of fanfiction. And that is some hypocritical, restrictive horseshit. Never mind the fan that chooses to throw the first stone, but what a fundamental misrepresentation on behalf of the authority! 

One of my favorite professors of all time offered fanfiction as an assignment option in every one of her classes. But she always did this with this fundamental misunderstanding of what fanfiction is and what it is for. Yes it CAN be incredible critical thought. Yes it CAN be a literary revolution. Yes, yes, yes. But it is not only this. And it always made me cringe to listen to her sing fanfiction’s praises without embracing all of the gutter trash that is my heritage, my home. I am by no means saying that fanfiction should not do all the meta-analysis and social critique that it can, will, and does do. But that is not all that fanficiton is nor should it be. Fanfiction is also the 18th coffeeshop AU you’ve read for the same ship. Fanfiction is also the soulmates AU for your rarepair. It’s the LOTR crossover. It’s the character death fic that serves no purpose but to make you sad. And it’s the OOC crack nightmare that you wrote at 4 am when you were 13 and don’t share with anyone, but it gave you joy to write. I will never defend fanfic without defending these also. 

And this is what my coworkers struggled with when I tried to explain. They could not accept this simple fact that fanfiction exists, primarily, for joy. And I would not treat fanfiction as high art existing only to hold a mirror up to media. Absolutely fuck that ivory tower bullshit. And they could not wrap their heads around enjoying this. 

One of them understood why I might write fic, but did not understand why I might want to read another’s. For this I can only cite his ego as the reason he would perhaps not like to read from someone else’s imagination. Another insisted that I ought to write my own work, rather than manipulate someone else’s characters. And this was someone who espoused death of the author and freedom from censorship! But still I could not convince her why it would be fun to play around in someone else’s sandbox. And the answer I gave at the time was not what I wanted it to be. I played it off as cowardice, fear of judgment about my own work. And, to be fair, that is one of the reasons I balk at original fiction, but again, fanfiction needs no justification! It is NOT second best! It is a full and legitimate art form in its own right, requiring new and different skills every bit as nuanced and delicate and time-consuming to acquire as those for any other kind of writing. Social acceptance does not make a creation good. Nor does profit or being studied by institutions. These things are accolades and easily recognized to mean value, but they themselves are not what make a creation good. You already know what does that.

And this is why it is so terribly hard to explain why fanfiction? You may as well ask why art?