#weirdly the chapter where Glimmer realizes just how in love she is

[nny11writes]

“You listen to me right now. You...you scared me but I don’t want ya to leave. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not...not ever, you understand me?”

When Catra just stared like she’d never spoken a lick of English in her life, Glimmer tried again. “You know that I care about you right? This, this was- ha, this was a lot today. A lot.”

In the pause where she tried to figure out how to properly express herself Catra squeezed her hands. “Yeah, suppose it was.”

[nincompoopydoo]

PINING, BAGELS, REPEAT.

— WHEN THE DRINKING'S DONE ; PART 6 / ?

( gif from this gifset by @jascontodd )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

SUMMARY: Sunday night dinner with your mother doesn’t go as planned when Bruce shows up unexpectedly at your door and you both know how your mother really loves him alot.

A/N: Slow and kinda long-winded chapter again haha. I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t write long stuff. Now look at me. Who is she??? Enjoy this one yall. Probably one or two more chapters to go, depends on how much I can write <3

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol. I write about what I feel and they are very real. So if you find these things triggering, please do not read this.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Sunday night. You’re in an apron, flushed from the heat of the stove. You’ve just poured a glass of wine for your mother, but she doesn’t drink it—too busy walking around your apartment, clearing your stuff as she criticizes your lack of cleanliness and organization. Grading papers during exam season keeps you busy. Needless to say, you don’t have the time to clean your goddamn house.

You still love her anyway.

You’re at the sink, purple-stained fingers from peeling the tunic of the red onions are under running water when there is a knock on your door. It’s deafening, rapid, and agitating. You’ve just spilled boiling water onto your hand and you really don’t need another problem to come charging at your front door. Literally.

Moving out of the kitchen with haste, you call out over your shoulder to your mother to quit rearranging with bits and bobs of stationary and papers because yes, it’s messy but you know exactly where everything is. The knocking doesn’t cease, and your annoyance aggravates further. You’re gonna have to punch someone or something if it doesn’t stop.

You aggressively pushed the barrel of the bolt lock, swinging the door open as the strands of your wild hair flew backward in the sudden blow of air.

All forms of anger and agitation disappear as soon as your gaze meets the flushed face of none other than Bruce fucking Wayne, dressed in a grey dress vest, tie hanging loosely a pristine white shirt, and an ebony tweed overcoat. This feels like deja vu. Your expression goes through a series of mixed emotions, mostly confusion, when it morphed into a guise of embarrassment, cheeks even redder. “Don’t tell me I texted you by accident again?” He blinks, seemingly as bewildered as you are. “What? No, no. No. I—” His sentence is cut short when he takes a moment to catch his breath. Your brows are frowning even deeper than before. “Did you run here or something? And what are you doing here anyway?”

Bruce shifts in his stance, a palm against the door frame, shaking his head. He feels small under your interrogative stare. “No, I came here to see you…” he trails off, eyes shamelessly skirting across your figure. He just now notices that it may be a bad time for him to turn up, and you’re hit with the realization you’re in a ratty apron, very red and very sweaty. You’re right. It is deja vu because why are you always a mess when Bruce shows up at your front door unannounced? You abruptly pull the apron over your head, hurling it behind the door, hands palming the frizz of your hair into a somewhat presentable look.

“Look, I need to talk you—”

“Honey! Who’s at the door?” He’s being cut off mid-sentence again. This time, by your mother’s voice from the living room. Your eyes are wide again—so are his.

Your mother’s fondness for Bruce is an understatement. Obsession is a better word. She had only met him once, and that was six years ago but the conceptualization of being somewhat related to an exceptionally handsome and successful man had gotten to her head all those years ago. Hell, she loves him more than she loves you. Your mother—A woman who wishes to call your best friend ‘son’ with a whole lot of love to give. If she discovers Bruce is here, at your doorstep, she will never let go. Never. And you both know it. There’s a silent understanding that travels between the two of you and the look you’re giving him tells only one thing—Run before it’s too late.

“Bruce Wayne as I live and breathe...”

Well, too late.

A small-statured lady stands on the farther side of the hallway, face lit up with sheer joy and excitement as if she had just won a lottery. She approaches him with arms open wide and soon, her hands are laid on his cheeks, examining the man’s face carefully. Bruce just stands there, stiff as a rock, unsure of how to regain his composure from all the adrenaline of wanting to see you now that he was in such close proximity to the woman who raised you. When it’s you, he tends to struggle with timing and it’s partly the reason he has never managed to act on his feelings for you. For the longest time, he has wanted to be more than friends or whatever the hell this was. He had been hesitant but now, he’s very sure.

Sometimes it feels like it's the right person but the wrong time. He doesn’t want it to be that way. He wants to make things right with you.

And there he was, being squished under the grasp of the lady that loves him very much.

He catches your gaze; you flash him a sympathetic smile as you mouth the word “sorry.” Bruce arches his brows, indicating he has no idea what to do or how to get out of this situation.

“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!” the older woman exclaims, a hand now firmly on his shoulder, the other brushing away his long strands of hair from his face with affection. Bruce would never admit it; he likes the attention your mother gives to him—the touch of a mother. Something he longs for.

“Why don’t you come in and join us for dinner? There's more than enough food.”

Crap, you should have known that question was bound to be mentioned. You’re not convinced that you will be able to suppress your emotional heartburn and the idea of Bruce tasting the dishes you’re cooking, it’s making your palms sweat. But what the hell. You shouldn’t be this nervous around him, you’ve known each other for years. He has seen you at your worst and vice versa.

Still, you’ll like to avoid the predicament of a dinner table set for you, your mother, and the man you secretly love. You’re quick with an answer. “Oh, I’m sure he has other important things to do. Bruce is very busy—”

“I’ll be happy to. I have no plans for tonight after all.”

You stare at Bruce, eyes glimmering with shock and betrayal—he is supposed to be on your side. He simply sends you a swift wink, and you feel the growing and most likely apparent deep red of your already flushed cheeks. You glance away to face your mother, eye crinkling in hopes of concealing the effect he has on you. Well, at least your mother looks fucking overjoyed. Maybe the night won’t end in disappointment.

-

The scent of chicken and spice whiffs through the air from the dishes of chicken and chorizo paella you’ve managed to whip up in a quick thirty minutes—a recipe you came by in an article titled “Fancy dishes for lazy cooks.” Well, it’s certainly working; everyone looks pleasantly surprised when you emerge from the kitchen with a cast-iron skillet within your kitchen gloved-grasp.

Happiness is the sound of the clinking of cutlery against nearly empty smeared plates, the splash of wine cascading from the bottle you held into the glasses of your guests, and the occasional laughter that erupts from your mother as Bruce tries to make a joke through mouthfuls of paella. A symphony of contentment and comfort, composed and orchestrated by the two most significant individuals in your life. Beauty is made anywhere beautiful people are; in this space, cramped up at the beech wooden table made for one by the casement window that overlooks the apartment across yours.

This side of Bruce—where boyish smiles were manifested and hearty laughs arising from the belly—is the side you miss the most. Years ago, things felt simpler though your past self would deny that notion as human life continues to become more intricate as we grow older and our eyes see more. Innocence to maturity. Happiness to grief. But, the complexity of this warfare between the brain and the heart seems to reside in perpetual darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel. For a long time, you thought deciding to be alone could eventually bring peace to the madness but maybe, you’ve been with the wrong people this whole time. It’s your reflection against the window pane that shows the evident crinkle in your eyes and the constant upward in the curve of your lips even though it contrasts the gloomy hues of blue from the sky at twilight—you’re happy.

It’s the way your mother leans over and wipes off the bits of rice from the corner of your mouth and the exchange of awkward smiles when Bruce accidentally brushes his hand against yours when reaching for the fork. This is what you want. And maybe, just maybe, you deserve to not be alone.

“So, have you decided on who you’re taking to the wedding?”

Your mother’s voice hauls you back from your daydream. She gives you a knowing look, discretely glancing towards Bruce on the other end of the table. She knows you don’t have a date, and you know she wants you to bring Bruce. You feel your anxiety creep back in.

This is weirdly the second time you’re in this situation.

“I don’t know yet...” In times like this, you wonder if your mother wields some sort of magical ability of truth or something because no matter how much you try, you can never lie to her. And now, you wish the ground would collapse and swallow you up. You know she means well, but oh my God, Bruce is staring at you and you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

“Wedding?” Bruce chirps with a questioning brow as he glances between you and your mother. Now, you’re forced to explain for the sake of context. “My cousin’s getting married next week and mom here wants me to bring a date.” Your mother’s expression indicates that you’re lying through your teeth. Yet in reality, it’s not technically a lie if you’re leaving parts of reason out of the explanation because it’s true she wants you to bring a date but you don’t mention how you don’t want to go alone because weddings make you sad.

It sounds pathetic.

Bruce just nods, taking a sip of his wine. The fact he’s not saying anything is making you anxious. You thought you didn’t want him to be your date but now, maybe you do. These feelings are messing up your brain. It’s just mush now, and there’s no cure.

These are the times you want to say “Fuck you, Bruce” but in the nicest way possible.

“Why don’t you bring Bruce?”

She was direct as they come but is mostly tired of your lack of initiative and doubt. I mean, it’s not like you’re asking him to marry you, right? And honestly, you’re kind of relieved you didn’t have to be one to do it but you can’t keep depending on her to do all the heavy lifting for you. You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re a goddamn grown adult.

Nevertheless, you peer at his reaction to this from the corner of your eye, fully expecting some sort of a resting jaded expression or eyes wide in horror but he’s just looking at you...with that look—highly bewildered and almost seems to be entertained by your embarrassment. Despite the purse of his lips, you manage to catch sight of the slight impish tuck of his lips.

He thinks it's the wine, but he isn’t exactly sure.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

-

“Are you sure about this?” you cross your arms, as you watch Bruce shrug on his coat from the rack. The two of you are squeezed in the entryway of your apartment, huddling in hushed conversation. “About what?” he asks absentmindedly when in reality, he knows exactly what you’re referring to. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s an excuse to be around you longer. You purse your lips, shifting in your stance, eyes flickering away from his gaze. “About coming to the wedding,” you say it slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to and you’re not sure why. He nods with the furrow of his brows, tugging his hands into the pockets of his ebony tweed coat. “I’m sure...Unless you don’t want me to come—”

“No, no. God, of course, I want you to come,” you stop, realizing how your sudden outburst of excitement must have made you seem desperate. You clear your throat, feet shifting once more. “I don’t want to pull you off work just because I don’t want to be alone.”

He raises his brows, nearing a little closer to you. “So that’s the real reason?” A hint of a smile—it’s a teasing one. You simply throw a fist to his arm yet unable to stifle your growing smile. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Bruce winces followed by a laugh that comes out more light a puff of air as he bares his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Maybe, it’s the walls of this hallway, covered with hung framed photographs of family, childhood, and friends because it’s starting to feel warm. You think it’s the way his eyes light up when you laugh, radiating a sort of comforting warmth on this cold night. It feels like home. Bruce feels like home. You notice the prominent stain of your mother’s lipstick on his left cheek. You bring one hand to rest on the curve of his cheekbone, thumb trying to efface the smeared stain away.

You’re not sure if it's the smell of his deodorant or the sudden sense of his breath on your skin that made you comprehend the closing gap between your face and his. In an instant, your hand jerks away and returns to your side, clenching to a fist. Bruce clears his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the growing stubble at his jaw. The touch of your fingers lingers like a burn.

Recognizing the tension in the air, you decide to avert your thoughts back to the conversation you were having in the first place. “You know, you don’t have to come. Really. You’ve done a lot for me, and you know that.”

“Yes...but I’ll always have your back no matter what.”

He smiles at you. The kind that reaches his eyes. He looks younger like this.

“And I’ll always have yours, Bruce.”

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. You’re just two idiots, standing in the hallway with hearts that feel like they’re about to explode. Despite the lingering tension in the air that’s still present, you bring him into an embrace. It feels natural, your arms around his shoulder and his on the small of your back. “Thanks for everything. Especially for making my mom really happy.” you punctuate your sentence with a gentle caress to the back where his shoulders meet. You hear the muffled sound of his laugh, feeling the rumble of his chest against yours as you try not to squirm at the brush of his unshaven chin against the curve of your neck. “No problem,” he mumbles before pulling away.

“And you need a shave.” You’re pointing to his chin and he finds himself scratching it again. He merely hums in response.

Swinging the door open while you wave him goodbye feels like a part of you is leaving. You’re not sure why you’re feeling this newly found emptiness in you when you know you’ll see him next week. You decide to blame the wine. It’s easier that way.

He’s walking away, already out of view when you decide you should really say something at least.

“Bruce,” you suddenly call out; he turns on his heels and backtracks a little too eager to face you at the doorway. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” He frowns in response, head tilting in a questioning manner. “When you came here, you said you needed to talk.”

He recalls the real reason he was here in the first place. Rushing to your door like you’re about to disappear any minute. Yet, you’re here, still at the doorway, three hours later. Fuck, he was about to confess.

Bad timing. Again.

Right person, wrong time.

No. He’ll make it right. Just, not now.

“I was...going to thank you for the bagels; Asiago. Nice choice.” Is what he says instead of reciting the words that had been running through his head in rehearsal since the drive to your apartment. He ignores the way your shoulders sag, perhaps in relief—he doesn’t want to know. He ignores the burning in his chest when you nod, the corners of your mouth tugging into a faint smile as you raise a palm in a somewhat solemn wave of farewell. He ignores the sting in his eyes when the door closes on him, symbolizing finality when he really doesn’t want it to end. Left alone in the dismal light of the hallway; it acts as a poignant reminder of his bereavement and how much of his consolation depends on your presence.

When the drinking's done, does it make it any easier for him to open himself up to you?

Bruce allows himself to cry once he pulls the car door to a close because he feels overwhelmed by the conflicting thoughts that continue to reside in his mind. The regrets, the what-ifs, and the should-haves. He forgets himself sometimes because he gets so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

You keep him grounded. You remind him who Bruce Wayne truly is.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror.

You’re right. He does need a shave.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 131

Two things about this chapter:

One: I am a sucker for these domestic chapters. I love showing people being people, and weaving world-building and plot development into those scenes.

Two: I am currently doing better from a work-exhaustion perspective, thank you everyone who was concerned!  I actually took the day off the day before I wrote this and just slept as much as I could that day, because the last day I worked, I was literally swaying on my feet if I stood still.

As always, thanks to @the-raven-fae, @baelpenrose, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going, along with every. Single. Person. Who has found this story somehow and just binged it as fast as you could. I love when my inbox gets detonated by someone new, please never stop!

Glimmering Feathers Podcast is currently doing The Miys from the very beginning! Please listen and support!

“Have the shelter locations for non-combatants been shortlisted?” I panted as Tyche and I sat on the floor of the gym after an intense cardio and sparring session.

She shook her head as she took a gulp of water. “Not that I know of, but Xio hasn’t really told me anything yet.”

“You would think we would be told pretty quick,” I complained. “After all, we’re supposed to be putting together the rosters of who goes where.”

“We put together the lists of combatants and non-combatants.” She stood and held out a hand to help pull me off the ground. “Our part is done for right now, and we’re pretty far ahead of schedule, honestly.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of thing we want to leave to the last minute.”

Tyche groaned. “Right about now, I wish you were planning the Festival still. You get crabby when you’re stressed and don’t have anything to work on.”

I scowled and made pincer-like gestures with my hands.  She just laughed and shook her head before I asked, “Are you and Antoine coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Only if you let me shower first. We both stink.”

There was no way I could argue with that, especially as I went to put my glasses on and caught a whiff of myself. “Showers, then dinner at twenty-oneish?”  As we exited the gym, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the far-dimmer lighting. Chills ran down my back every time I recognized the similarity to the nightmares Else had given me while trying to communicate, and I always had to spend a few minutes forcing myself not to step over debris that wasn’t actually there.

“Can we do vegetarian tonight?”

“You have to talk Conor into it.”

 A couple hours later, we were standing in my kitchen area.  Tyche was aggressively mashing chickpeas while staring down a nearly-flinching Conor.

I leaned over from where I was mincing herbs. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m making him lamb, he just doesn’t know it,” she whispered back from the corner of her mouth. 

To avoid smiling and giving it away, I called out instead. “Hey, Antoine, can you come start the tzatziki? You’re better at it than I am.”

“If you would give in to the existence of salt, Sophia, you would be a much happier woman,” he teased with a serious face.

“I use salt!” I objected.

“At the end,” my sister pointed out. “He salts the cucumbers before mixing everything together.” She glanced back at Conor before arching an eyebrow at him.

Distraction time. “Love, how are the plans for the housing fabrications coming?”

“Your mate Arthur apparently convinced Huynh - somehow, it’s not like they talk - that we don’t need fortifications,” he groaned. “I keep trying to explain that we aren’t putting up fortifications, it’s for agriculture.”

“Wait, what? What does that have to do with housing…?”

He tilted his head side to side as he considered. I could almost see him rewinding. “We have several different blueprints drafted for housing, dependent on what we learn when we drop into ‘real space’. Lots of them include plans for those espell-things to grow on the side, but Huynh is pushing back. It’s holding up the approvals.”

“What does Charly think?”

“Anything that helps us grow more plants with less impact on the environment is a win for her, so I’m trying to take the long view. He can decide whatever he wants now, but she’ll go with the plants every time.”

Antoine appeared next to me, wiping his hands. “How would your plan work if there is a cavern system, as suspected, rather than a surface settlement?”

He conceded the point. “Still working on a sustainable grow-light system for that one. But if it works, we would have year-round crops, so it would solve for the problem of storage in the winter.”

The door to our quarters opened just then, and a very tired-looking Maverick paused to take off his boots. “What would solve for the winter storage issue?” he asked.

“Sustainable grow-lights,” Tyche tossed over my shoulder from where she was hiding the lamb.

He made it as far as the table before dropping into a chair and leaning heavily on Conor, who wrinkled his nose. “Mav, you stink.”

“Turns out grav-mechs are greasy, even in space,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the other man’s shoulder instead of taking the hint. “I hate calibrating them.”

“No dirty hands at the table!” I reminded him. He didn’t move his head, just held up two meticulously scrubbed hands. “Fine…” I surrendered.

“Why are we talking about grow-lights?” he asked.

“Huynh is fighting with me ‘bout the housing solutions,” Conor explained, stroking his hair.

“Ah… the plants?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just make the plants where they can grow with less light? I thought you were already working on that.”

“They turned black, tasted horrible, and we ended up with a sentient plague,” I pointed out. “No more dinking around with plant genomes please?”

Tyche turned around, hands on her hips. “We are already trying to manage a food festival and a potential invasion by space-pirates. No more plagues. Knowing her luck - “ she jerked a thumb in my direction “- this one won’t be the apologetic and cute kind.” Apparently the words that just came out of her mouth registered, because she rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air before turning back to her top-secret dinner plan.

I finally finished turning the pale green paste into patties and shoved them in the oven, removing the griddle that had been warming in there. Hefting it onto the heating elements that served as a stove, I started putting together dough for pitas. “So, grow-lights. What kind of light do we need for them to work?”

“Blue, ideally,” Conor responded without even having to think. “Four-fortyish nanometers. Weirdly red light, six-fiftyish nanometers works, too.”

“So explain the issue, because I feel like I’m missing something. Charly designed lights in both those colors.”

“Wrong wavelengths,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s apparently really hard to finetune the wavelengths of organic lighting. She’s managed to get it right, but only for about twenty four hours before it shifts too far one way or another.  We don’t want to depend on completely inorganic light, if Von is as metal-poor as we think it will be.”

“Can’t replace them,” I half-asked. He winked and shot me a finger-gun to confirm my suspicion. “Yeah, that’s a huge problem.”

“The star emits just the right kind of light, barely, so if we stick with surface settlement, we should be okay.”

“And that’s where the storage issue came up,” Maverick mumbled sleepily, bringing us back to the original question he asked.

Conor jostled him gently, and I heard something about a shower to wake up before Maverick padded off in the direction of the bathroom.  Right at the same time, Tyche reached around me to flip a pita before blowing her fingers and cursing softly.  Apparently, her secret was done, so I handed her the spatula and started rolling out more dough.

By the time Maverick came back with wet hair and a too-big shirt that had to be Conor’s, most of the food was on the table and we were ready to eat.  Conor started grumbling about no meat and how could us weirdos eat a meal with no meat when he was interrupted by Tyche clearing her throat. His head snapped up and his jaw dropped.

“You! You are the sneakiest, most beautiful sister in law I could ever ask for,” he extolled dramatically as he saw the platter of lamb skewers in her hands.

She moved the platter out of his prodigious reach as she approached the table. “There’s a catch. You have to at least try the falafel. By itself, no lamb. Then you can have the meat.”

Maverick, more awake now and with half a sandwich already in his mouth nodded. After chewing and swallowing, he nodded again. “It’s really good, I swear.”

I pretended not to notice that he grabbed a skewer off the stack.  Then again, Maverick also wasn’t a grown man who still had to be bribed to eat vegetables. Usually, he had to be bribed to eat meat actually.

Conor, on the other hand, took the falafel pita that Tyche made for him and eyed it skeptically. “I feel like I need to point out that this isn’t a sandwich, this is what you put on a sandwich.” His hesitancy lasted about as long as it took for Antoine to stand and pick up the platter before he took a huge bite out of fear that the lamb would be taken away. He chewed frantically until Antoine put the platter back down, before he actually registered the taste.

I wanted to laugh at the confusion that flooded his face as he stared down at the sandwich in his hand. Finally, he swallowed, but the confusion didn’t stop.

“That’s…. Actually not bad. I thought vegetarian food was supposed to be bad?” He flinched when dual glares were thrown his way by me and my sister. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant - you know what, I’m going to shut up and eat before you two ladies decide I’m for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Very wise course of action,” Antoine confirmed solemnly as he carefully spooned tzatziki on his own, onion-loaded sandwich.

Still shaking my head, I started making my own food when I realized something. “I thought we made a lot more falafel than this?”

Tyche smirked but didn’t say anything. Neither did Antoine, focused on his own meal. Maverick however, was suspiciously quiet. I glanced over at him, only to see him staring really hard at his plate, which now had three empty skewers on it.  As my mind caught up, I actually found the sight kind of adorable.

I must have stared too long though, because Maverick muttered pathetically. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

Kissing the top of his head, I put another pita on his plate. “Baby, we made more than enough. Eat all you want. I just don’t want you to choke, that’s all.”

A long-fingered hand with slightly ginger hair on the back put a skewer on his plate. “Love, we can’t eat all this, you’re fine.”

“I always make enough food for ten people when you two are eating,” Tyche confirmed, not even looking up. “Teenage nephews in the Before. Lots of practice.”

He slowly looked up at us, and realizing that no one was angry, just surprised, he looked less afraid and sat up straight. Conor patted the top of his hand before deploying one of his weaponized, thousand-watt smiles. “C’mon, I’ll show you to make one with the lamb. You’re gonna need a lot of onions for this…”

I groaned, setting off a round of laughter. I wasn’t against onions on a sandwich, but they didn’t have to sleep between two men with onion breath.

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[malachi-walker]

So Difficult, So Simple ch 4 preview

All right, so I’ve been slowly working away at the final chapter of this segment of Rhythm & Blues, but since it’s been a while I figured I’d give you guys a quick preview to tide you over. ;) It’s from the opening scene, so it’s not really spoiling anything.

Featuring: exhausted Adora, world’s best advice giver Scorpia, and past Lonnie somehow managing to out-disaster the disaster gays.

“Ahhhhh. All right then. So what do you want to hash out?” Adora took a deep breath. No time to chicken out, even though admitting this was practically killing her. “Basically, we almost kissed back at the party. The moment felt right, and now things are just awkward. I just… want to try to make that happen again. But it’s hard to do that when we’re already…” “Romantic as hell? Yeah, I get that,” Dumping some sugar into her tea and delicately stirring it, Scorpia looked Adora dead in the eyes, an unusually serious expression on her face. “Ok, we’ve got two options here. Your choice: do you want the standard stock advice for these situations, or do you want the real deal? Even if you probably aren’t gonna like it.” Adora exhaled heavily, running a hand through her hair. “Well let’s be real here: it would kind of defeat the purpose of seeking you out if I didn’t ask for honesty. If I wanted stock advice, I could just go to Glimmer and Bow.” “Glad we’re on the same page,” Scorpia smiled, reaching over to pat Adora’s other hand consolingly. “Basically, you’re trying too hard.” Adora frowned. “I mean… It’s Catra. So of course I’m trying.

"Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t put in the effort. That’s what keeps relationships going, you know? But this thing you’re doing, driving yourself crazy trying to orchestrate a perfect moment? Well… Remember that story back at the pool party?” “The summer solstice incident or the time Rogelio and Kyle went viral while twerking to Catra hitting microwave buttons?” Sure, Adora knew that wasn’t it, but there had been a lot of embarrassing stories shared during that game of questions. “Not that one, though I do recommend that video,” Scorpia chuckled. “I’m talking about Lonnie trying to confess to me.” “Oh, right. You didn’t really elaborate beyond having to go to the hospital. I woulda asked, but I was too busy being amused by Lonnie being the lesbian dumbass for once.” “Well, as you know, love makes fools of us all,” Scorpia said with a wink. “But here’s the basic rundown. Lonnie tried really, really hard to come up with a way to confess that would impress me. Inviting me out to a classical concert despite hating most of the genre, taking cooking lessons for like six months, standing outside my window with a boom box… And then of course, the tequila incident when we were all out together at New Year’s.” “Um… Wow,” An understatement, Adora realized, given that Lonnie–arguably the most stable of them all–seemed to have gone through the entire romcom playbook just to ask out her girlfriend. “What happened to mess her up so bad?” “Well, we ran into my moms at the concert and that made her too nervous, we discovered she’s allergic to abalones when she offered to make me dinner, and lastly she woke Catra up first–I wear earplugs to bed–and by the time Catra came and got me the boom box had shorted out. I’m not even sure where she found one.” “Oh my God,” Adora had to cover her mouth with a hand to tamp down on her laughter, planting her closed fist on the table as her shoulders shook, because seriously: what on Etheria had Lonnie done to end up that cursed? “I mean, didn’t you…?” “Oh yeah, I figured it out pretty quickly. But she seemed so determined to find some grand way to confess that I didn’t want to undercut her efforts,” Scorpia admitted with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “The tree punching incident was where I drew the line, though.” “An entire third of tequila?” “On her first try,” Scorpia confirmed, smiling wistfully. “Catra and Rogelio were basically frog marching her when she shook them off and started shouting about how beautiful and wonderful I was and that she felt bad she couldn’t think of a way to impress me, but she could totally punch down this sapling to show how much she meant it. We were all a little bit tipsy, so we weren’t fast enough to stop her.” I am never going to be able to look Lonnie in the face again without thinking about this. Adora thought. “Wait, didn’t Catra drive?” “It was a few hours until we realized she’d actually broken two knuckles. Catra and I had time to fully sober up, and we were watching over her at our place so she wouldn’t vomit in her sleep. So she was still shitfaced but no longer immune to pain, and Catra was good to drive while I sat with Lonnie in the backseat and tried to keep her comfortable.” “That’s… Actually weirdly sweet once you get past the overall disaster.” “Aww, thanks,” Scorpia giggled a little, reaching out to take her plate from the waiter. “But the point I’m trying to make is that Lonnie kept getting messed up because she was so focused on forcing a perfect moment that something was bound to go wrong. Just the law of the universe in effect there.” “Yeah, I thought so…” Adora sighed, picking at her plate with her fork. “So how did you two…?” “Well, that’s the thing. After all that time trying to orchestrate a perfect moment… Well, the actual moment was when Lonnie woke up with the worst hangover of her life and just looked so cute and confused that I just had to tell her that I’d be happy to date her.” “That… Wow. Dunno what to say that wasn’t already covered by ‘that’s really sweet.’ Congrats, I guess?” “Thanks. Think that helps you any?” “Yeah, I get it. Chill out or you’ll just self-sabotage,” Adora smiled ruefully, propping her chin on her hand and gazing out the window at all the people milling about on the sidewalk. “It’s just hard to relax when it all means so much, you know?” “Oh yeah. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t fall into the exact same trap when our first anniversary rolled around,” Glancing around like she expected eavesdroppers, Scorpia held up one claw and whispered. “But between you and me… I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you may have sent me requests according to this marvelous card!

We've always been fucked up because nature is, in fact, a dirty little bitch who enjoys itself with abnormalities. She gets amused by giving birth to men in women's bodies or does the opposite, sometimes.

This story absolutely isn't for the faint of heart. It openly and severely deals with gender dysphoria. It may be phrased with my usual dose of purple prose bullshit sparkles, but that's kind of it. It's still raw. Needless to say it's based on personal experience. Also, hahaha, guess who got stuck with his stupid ideas. I don't even remember why I picked "Forced Out of the Closet" back in August. I think I was planning on making this an original work thing, but it ended up never panning because I switched fully into fandom mood shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure I was saying that about my first card back in April for "Panic Attack", no? Well, it ended up becoming this thing. I don’t know what to make of it yet.

It's a really weird note to end my 2nd BTHB card on. Until now, compared to the first card, I've been much more focused on physical pain. This has none of it and only 2nd POV narration and angst. I originally started it in a 3rd person POV, but it didn't work out and I thought it'd be worse if I wrote it in a 2nd person POV. It is. It's vivid and it's painful. I love it. Again, thanks to my Writing Crew for the support despite me being an edgy-ass bitch. I guess yiu can also call us the Derek Suffering Crew?

The title of this was what I wanted to give to the sixth chapter of Earth Never Stops, but it ended up not really ringing right with that chapter in particular. I feel like it fits here much better. And of course we gotta go with a rewritten Angie because, y'know. Canon Angie is canon Angie...

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Like Honey in a Cup of Acid

Summary: You may have explanations to give to your assistant now that she's discovered something wasn't exactly normal, Derek. (You may also like not to do so because you want to forget).

Fandom: Trauma Center Relationship: Pre-rel DerAng

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​ (Thank you so much for having me for a second time!)

AO3 version available here.

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A sort of weight immediately hits you when Angie asks you if you can have a little talk now that your thoughts aren’t just a painkiller-induced mishmash of words and incoherent thoughts with neither head nor tail. She looks concerned and perplexed, puzzled even, her eyes never truly looking into yours. Almost as if, for once, the fierce and daring Angie is intimidated by something about you. Sounds farfetched, right?

Well, there could be a number of reasons. You did almost just die on her a couple days ago and surely you can’t look much better than your own patients at the moment. You know, the usual: pale face, dark rings under the eyes that look like trenches, reddened eyes… She could just be very concerned for you like Kimishima has told you before when checking if you were still amongst the living.

 When you finally have the “little talk”, it’s in your hospital room, with you still bedridden and her on a chair to your left, next to the IV drip still inserted into your wrist, her hands pinching her skirt or clutching a notepad against her chest when she holds it. You’re not sure if there’s something even written on the thing, wondering if it isn’t just her way to cope with stress and whatever is making her anxious. Her fingers are shaking and the hair on her exposed forearms is risen. How come she’s so terrified? Do you really look this awful?

“What did you want to tell me about, Angie?” You ask, in a gentle tone, making sure you aren’t forcing on your throat so you don’t worry her even more. The tense silence in the room and the lack of noise in the later hours of the evening helps your low voice to be heard.

“I… Huh… Well, it’s just that… I was curious!”

“Curious? About what?”

 Angie looks away, red creeping on her cheeks, breath hitching in her throat. She gulps, shakes her head, takes a deep breath in, another out, and finally, looking at the ground, starts speaking again.

“When Dr Kimishima started the operation I…” She hides her face in her hands, her notepad and pen clicking against the ground. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since your operation!” Well, this sure is going to be a dirty secret, as Tyler would have said. “But, when she started the operation, I noticed something on your chest, and…”

Your heart skips a beat. You forgot about that, haven’t you? You forgot she’d notice such a thing, didn’t you? Alas, it’s a bit too late to pretend like she didn’t see what she must have seen. Kyriaki nor Paraskevi are known to leave stains on one’s skin, they aren’t Tetarti.

“What did you see?” You ask, feigning ignorance.

“Ah… I don’t know how to describe them well… But they were two weirdly shaped scars around your pectoral muscles. They kind of looked like –”

“—crescents, right?”

“Yeah!”

 Angie picks her notepad back into her hands, avoiding eye contact, much to his satisfaction. You really, really don’t want to have this conversation, this awful, rotten conversation you’ve had a couple times already. If it’s never ended too badly, even with your own mother, you still don’t want to live through it again. Alas, did you really think you’d escape it forever, especially with someone you hold so close to your heart (and in more ways than one too)? You’d have had to tell her one day anyway, so better get on with it, right?

Wrong. Your hands are trembling and your throat is tied into a knot. You don’t want to utter these forsaken words. You want that part of you to remain a secret from the entire world. But, alas, you also don’t want to lie to your trusted nurse, to your best friend during surgery procedures. In any case, she’d eventually guessed you lied to her, so popping the bubble off now or later is kind of the same. But, even with that knowledge in mind…  It doesn’t make what’s about to happen any less dreadful.

 Derek?

What if she isn’t as accepting as she seems? What if she stares at you right in the eyes like a freak, like a circus monster, like a broken doll that was badly stringed back together, like something that shouldn’t be, like, like…

Huh… Derek?

And, hey, what if she thinks you’re not fit for you job because of this? You’re technically experiencing a state of distressed triggered by the littlest things. It’s about faraway childhood memories, whenever you see a father with his biological child, when someone mentions a monthly event you’d have rather never known… Hey, what if that happened during an operation?

Dereeeeek? Are you still here?

You can’t ignore the existential dread coursing through your veins. You know, the one that happens when you remember that your father never called you by your right name, what was written on your birth certificate, what they called you in high school, how you look on all the pictures your mom won’t set fire to like you wish you could do… Yeah, that dread. That toxic, lava-like dread.

Hey, Derek, what’s wrong?!

 Her urgent tone makes you snap back to reality. She’s staring at you with big, full of concern eyes, her hands on your shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Ah, sorry, I… must have zoned out. Sorry for worrying you, Angie…?”

“Are you alright? You’ve got tears in your eyes…”

You realize you have to look dumb and weird, so you take your glasses off and rub the water away.

“What were you saying, then?”

“Ah, huh… I was talking about the scars you had on your chest… I’ve never seen such specific shapes before. So…” Her hands tangle together. “I was curious, that’s it. Feel free not to reply, if it throws you in such a state of distress…”

“No, it’s… It’s fine. It’s just… difficult to explain.”

 Your voice breaks when you try to push the words out of your tangled throat. You aren’t ready for this. You’ve not found your way out of there yet. You’ve been pushed into a corner and the only way out is to find the right words at the right time while not knowing how she’ll react. Maybe she’ll really think you’re the error of nature you are, you whose brain and body weren’t able to match, you whose chromosomes and spirit never agreed before your birth, you who has had to fight your way out of the mess your own biology threw you into before you were even born.

Her fingers are cold against your feverish skin, against the goose-bumps that your medical gown doesn’t hide well. You’ve made it this far only for your world to perhaps crumble again and the existential dread appears again. What if she never accepts you again? What if she calls you “Mr Stiles” again, starts staring at you with an amused glare? What if this supportive glance she gives you and the kind words she’s offered since you got over your differences disappeared as soon as she knew? Why is it that you always have to throw a shot in the dark when the truth of your story comes back to bite you?

You need to trust in Angie, don’t you? She’s been kind of your guardian angel until now, would she give up on you for this? Do you believe so little in her for that to happen? Aren’t you too harsh on her, aren’t you getting too caught up in your own web?

 “I… got them from a surgery I had in med school. As far as I know, only Tyler and a couple other people are aware I have them.”

“From what kind of surgery?”

Here it comes. The nausea’s already here, twisting your stomach, squeezing your heart as it increases in pulse, choking your throat shut. If you weren’t in this bed, surely your head would spin.

“…Top surgery.”

Angie seems fairly confused, until her eyes snap open, glimmering in realization.

“You mean, like a mammectomy?”

“…Yes.”

Your voice almost fails you again. You feel tears you want to dry again burning your retinae, blurring your vision and the candid face of the nurse who’s just realized what you really were. You fucking liar.

“For…”

“Part of gender dysphoria treatment,” you reply trying to pretend to be an encyclopaedia, to be the internet pages you read in your teenage years when puberty got confusing and warped into a lucid nightmare.

“Oh my God…”

 Angie’s face distorts in what you can only qualify as distress, horror or disgust. She tries looking at you, fixating on your bandaged chest, her gaze struggling to even meet with your face. You wish you could pat her head, tell her it’s fine, that she didn’t know, that you’re sorry for being that and not telling her before, that she’s right to feel betrayed if that’s the case; but your hands are numb and dirty, covered in acid and black mud, and you can’t dirty her like that because you, yourself, are a special kind of a biological and anatomical failure. She’s a collection doll, you’re a broken toy.

“I’m sorry, Derek, I’m… I… I shouldn’t be like that!” She stumbles on her own words. “You’ve just told me such an important thing and I… I…”

“It’s fine…” You try to sound reassuring, but the truth is that you’re still shaking, terrified and apprehensive.

“I should’ve known! It’s such a sensitive topic, I… God, Angie, you need to pull yourself together and stop being so noisy!”

He clutches her hand at last.

“It’s fine, really. I’m… at least glad I could tell you by myself…”

That’s not entirely wrong. You just wish you didn’t feel backed into such an uncomfortable corner. It’s not her fault, of course, she was just concerned for an abnormal thing about you… A lot of you is abnormal, after all.

 “I’m still me, though.” He wants to assert that with that shaky voice of his. “It’s just something I don’t like… talking about, per say.

Angie takes a deep breath and focuses back into a state of stability.

“Of course you’re still you, Derek. You’re still the surgeon who saved the world from GUILT. I would never stop thinking that. You’ve always been Derek to me, why would that change now?”

The warm smile he gives her make the hair on his skin calm down, little by little. It’ll be okay, eventually.

“I’m just… so sorry I forced you to confess like that.”

“I’d have had to tell you anyway, one day, I suppose…”

“You didn’t have to. At least, not this early…”

“It’s fine anyway. I forgive you.”

“Thanks…”

 For the first time since she’s entered the room, you can exhale with a relieved heart and a normal pulse, profit from the rainbow that shows up after the rain. The dread is still there, hiding like a snake in your stomach, ready to bite into your throat at any moment of vulnerability you show in front of it; but, now, you have a new ally to help through the storms.

“Just promise me you’ll never tell anyone, okay?”

“I never planned on having that secret exit this room. Not even the walls of Caduceus will know about it!”

You chuckle.

“I like your spirit.”

 You want to thank her again, but it feels like overkill, and you want to have the snake finally resting, asleep in the pit of your abdomen. For now, a serene silence is enough. It’s more than enough after all this trouble, all the turmoil and all of the acid rain that drenched the both of you…

There’s no need to worry anymore when you have nothing left to hide and no one but a guardian next to you; so relax, now. It’ll all be fine, from now on, now that the lead prison around your chest is gone…

[1358456]

Review Response, May 5-11, 2019

Heart got updated in this week, and... got very, very little to show for it. Instead, got some... fossils getting some reviews. Hehe...

And since I wasn’t home yesterday, I guess I’ll include the one review that I got at 5 am today.

Cycle #001

1) Tho lemme just say one more thing. In reality, Gold is a dick. And I think it's great that Crystal is trying to help him out on that aspect. I forgot to mention that in my last review. I mean, the things he does and says, but I also think it's innocent in a way. Almost like he just doesn't know better. Now I could just be romanticizing it, but I think Gold just needs to learn about how to treat other people, and especially WHY. Once he understands why, that'll be when he starts to learn how treat his friends and such. Besides that, ye Gold is an asshole. And I still don't know why I defend him, or why I think he's still a great guy.

Hm. This order is a bit messed since you dropped the review for the second chapter first, but... ehn. Anyways.

I wouldn’t say that Gold is a total dick. He at least pretends to be, but not even that deep down, he’s generally a good guy. Just doesn’t want anyone else to think that he’s a good guy. That said, he’s still a very BAD influence to the younger kids, which is what Crystal doesn’t like. So Gold just needs to learn to be a better example for the juniors. So I guess Gold is more of a jerk than a complete dick? Hmm...

Cycle #002

1) God Nicole! I know you said you have sweet stories, but for some reason I keep picking the ones that aren't. Ah well, maybe next time. Anyway, on to my thoughts on the chapter. This was very good! I can't tell you how many times I've read a fan fiction with a horrible plot, the characters with the wrong personality, or just really bad grammar. It feel really nice not to experience any of those. So really, thank you for this. Personally, I know how difficult it is to write something good, and be able to post it online. So congrats to you! Anyway, I felt that I understood both sides (that is Crystal's and Gold's POV on things), I was cheering fro Gold, but I was also agreeing with Crystal for trying to teach Gold a lesson. Though to be honest, I'm not so sure that Crystal should have been trying to change Gold so much, I mean, it's good to help him better himself. And that's what I liked, she gave him the opportunity to improve, she didn't force it on him (only encouraging him to do it with the promise of a date). But, nonetheless, Gold is Gold. If she can't love him for him, then maybe she's right in thinking that she'll never fall in love with him, which would make the whole baiting him with a date actually really cruel in a sense. But, I feel that this is Crystal's mistake, not yours. You wrote the story in a way, where this can't be seen as a pothole of yours, it actually goes with the story very nicely. So again, you did nothing wrong, Crystal did. Tho in reality this is just my opinion, you're free to think whatever you want. Anyways, keep up the good work! I'll make sure to post another review soon! (sorry for the long ass review tho kek)

I have plenty of sweet stories! You’re... looking in the wrong place? Hehe. Yes indeed, there are a lot of horrendous stories out there. I try not to add to the pile.

The important thing to note in this story is that Crystal does NOT and is not trying to love Gold. Her line of reasoning basically goes as: “I know he likes me, but I don’t like him. But if I can use him liking me to try to steer him into being a GOOD guy and not such a jerk all the time, then this is a great opportunity.” It’s something that has a decent probability of occurring, given Gold and Crystal’s personalities and preferences.

Heart #004

1) Y and white’s interactions with each other in this chapter were so good. Keep up the good work!

Thanks! Yay for friendly banter and interactions between multiple generations of Dex Holders!

... And that’s it for Heart, huh? Hm.

SC #001

1) Wow. I really don't know what to say. But I feel like I will continue to ponder this even when I'm supposed to be sleeping. A part of me hopes that the real Blue doesn't feel like this, but of course she would. Anyone would in her position. Oh, really Nicole, my heart ached for Blue in this one. I could feel her pain even though I don't exactly know what she's going through. The first thing that hit me in this chapter was when she says. "I got too attached." or something or other. This line was before the paragraph where she explained that she should have listened to Pryce. But even then, I knew. This girl was so influenced by Pryce when she was younger, she thought she had escaped him, but his teachings till live on in her. At least the small ones. The ones that slowly creep up, and once you notice they're there, it's too late to get rid of them. Yep, that was the line where I knew that Blue was completely and utterly broken. I mean, you get that sort of idea earlier, obviously, it's not hard to tell. But before there was a glimmer of hope, a little nit of light. That line completely destroyed that little ray, and really plunged the entire thing into an "Utter Darkness". (See what I did there?) Anyways, your writing was wonderful as usual. You really know how to play with emotions, and you also have a way with people almost empathizing with the characters (I say almost because obviously we've never experienced that, or at least I haven't). I would say more, but I've already said so much in this review. Thank yoouuuuuuuu, so very mucccchhhhhhh!

Given Blue’s past, this is a very likely scenario to occur if she is denied the warmth and care that she would need deep inside. Yes, Blue’s heartbreaking situation... during the time I tried to pair her up with Green even though neither are really compatible with each other... That sure explains why all that happened in Destiny! Poor girl, huh? :(

Thanks so much for the long review!! <3

SC #006

1) I can't even. This was amazing, what Black did was sorta cruel, but that's exactly the kinds thing you do to your best friends. But seriously, I'm tearing up here (not really, but let me be dramatic). This was short, but it was short and sweet, and sometimes that's the best thing that someone can offer. As usual, your grammar is on point. I realize that while reading your stories, my view sort of narrows (something I have trouble doing even with some novels), and I'm focused only on the story. It's a great feeling actually, being totally engaged and unaware of your surroundings. Haven't felt that in a long time, so thank you again! You're the best.

Hehe. Best friends trick friends into playing a horror game! Hehe. White was the most obvious victim for such a thing, which automatically meant that Black had to be the one to do it. And it works out! Hehe...

Thank you sooo much!

SC #009

1) Oooooooooh, Nicole I really enjoyed this one! This was with no romance, just simple and pure fun! Ugh, I live for these kids of fics. You, dear, are amazing. Your writing is engaging, and I honestly felt bad when each person "died". The end was also perfect, I had completely forgotten about Crystal, and you took advantage of that. I applaud you, and thank you very much.

Yep! Purely for fun game of paintball survival! Purely friendly no-doom, no-heartache, no-romance, no-holds-barred game for pride and not losing money! Ehehe... thank you!

Indeed. Crystal went forgotten just so she could end a stalemate and so that her seniors don’t lose their pride.

DE #027

1) Guh. It was adorable, from Diamond's sincerity to Platinum's hesitance. And they kissed at the end! Who knew you were capable of sweet stories. (Maybe it's time for an oldrival sweet one eh) I'm just kidding. I won't ask that outright of you 'cause I know it's hard work, but just letting you know, that f you do decide to make one. You know the person to send it to ;). In any case, I'm going to go read some of your other stuff (with reviews at the end of course!). But before I do that, lemme just say. That everything I've said in other reviews about your writing applies to this one, I just won't repeat it because after a while things can get tiresome. It's just! When Diamond asked Platinum if he was making her uncomfortable, I was like, "*squeal* He's so kind!". I kid you not, I want to squeal even now, but if I did my mother would look at me weirdly. Anyways, until next time!

Hey, I write a lot of sweet things and certainly capable of it!! Hehe. And... heh, that pairing is not going to happen anymore, so... sorry :(.

Anyways. Diamond is such a sweet boy. And he does (should) understand emotions better, so he’d know that Platinum would feel uncomfortable before she realizes it. And since he’s so damn sweet, he’d try to make her feel comfortable to the best of his abilities! Ehehe... and fun fact! From when Diamond makes the... comment, exactly 135 shooting stars are mentioned. 135...

SA #015

1) “It’s not like I was hit by spike cannon”. Hmmmmm

Heh. The power of foreshadowing~! ... That no one caught on before it actually happened 15 chapters later. Hehehe...

[ghostmartyr]

Assuming you've seen the preview for ep 35, how do you feel about this season's deviation from the manga?

Since last weekend I was a bit preoccupied, I thought maybe I’d wait and give you a better answer to go with the result of that preview.

Weirdly, I don’t think that’s helped.

In many aspects, Ymir’s backstory is one of the most beautiful sequences the anime has created. It’s gorgeous, and fleshed out around the edges just enough to bring the story on home.

I…. can’t stand it?

Not in a hyperbolic how dare you way. It bothers me.

Which has been a horribly confusing experience. Because it is beautiful. The extra addition of Ymir wondering if she’s going to fall back into lies is the type of anime filler that I’ve been dying for this entire season. It’s excruciating and fantastic, and without context, it would take my heart and whole life too.

We’re not exactly there.

I could rant about pacing, but that wouldn’t really be fair. I mean, I could argue the case fairly well, but shouting down the anime for being guilty of the same STOP: Introspection Time flashbacks the manga has all over the place is mean. If they’d done an expanded version of the wild adventures of Marcel and RAB to take up the same amount of time, I would probably adore it.

But I really, really hate this, and I’m having a hard time putting my finger on why.

Some of it might be that there’s a certain poignancy to the unknown of Ymir’s story; what it is matters so much less than what it’s made her. Her second life is where she lives.

That doesn’t really sound right, though. Flowery enough to sound like a solid reason, but that’s not it.

If I had to put words to the closest thing I can find to what bothers me… well. This is me trying, and I can’t find them.

In the manga, Ymir’s backstory is told through a letter she writes Historia. Historia, who we’ve come to know very intimately in the chapters during Ymir’s absence. Every word of her background screams the pain that binds them together. Their happiness is dependent on everyone around them. All they have to do is perform that one role they’re asked to, and the world works so much easier.

Ymir doesn’t need to say, “This is why I found you.” Historia sees it, plain as day. After a full arc devoted to how warped a life like that can make someone, Ymir’s clumsy, indirect description cuts straight to the heart.

Ymir gives her life story to the girl she loves when she’s imprisoned and expecting to die (points for getting that half-right, anime). She remembers freedom, and the glimmer of unfulfilled dreams.

To steal from Bertolt, in the manga, Historia finds Ymir. Ymir’s words, and life, and pain, reach out to the one person she wants to know her, and that person hears her. It’s a history written in isolation, but it is shared. Historia sees her.

Ymir joins the military looking for someone. That someone turns out to be Historia, but it’s the fact that she looks at all that matters. Familiarity, and a sense of community. Friendship through shared experience.

Not being so fucking alone.

It’s always about how Ymir understands Historia, and what she’s been through. Historia’s got the main char cred, and it sticks. Ymir’s the one who realizes how alike they are, and desperately seeks out that specific connection without knowing how it’ll end up.

Historia feels it too, though. Not as eloquently, or as distinctly.

But when Ymir finally tells her story, Historia gets it. And through her, the full impact of both of their childhoods crashes home with a force that neither story can match on its own.

The anime connects the two as best it can (and truly, it is unfairly gorgeous in its attempts).

It only has Ymir’s half of the puzzle right now.

Historia’s isn’t going to show up for a while.

I always liked that Ymir doesn’t have a full flashback in this arc. It’s enough that she understands what makes Kristoria tick, and that they find each other, without needing a big production. …That’s what falling towers and spirited yelling is for.

There’s magic in things that are always just shied around; memories too powerful to speak out loud even while their shadows cover everything someone does.

I don’t know, now I’m back to making it all flowery, and I don’t think that’s what I’m trying to get at.

Let’s just… do the simple version, I guess.

In the anime, Ymir is thinking to herself.

In the manga, Ymir is sharing herself.

The anime sells Ymir’s scenes with more care than I could have hoped for.

I hate that they did it this way.

To answer your question more generally, if you care for that, with the exception of some cut Levi and Mikasa lines, Nanaba’s additions, and the atrocious Utgard transition mess, I’ve mostly really liked the anime deviations. I think they’ve followed the manga so strictly in some cases that a little of the heart gets lost, but whenever they stray outside the lines… yeah, there it is. The love in their labor really comes through when they leave the pages. It’s impressive.

Not impressive enough to make up for how upset I am with 35′s choices, but they’ve mostly done a fantastic job.

One last time, since I barely believe it myself: wow do I hate this.

Thanks for the ask. Um. Sorry for the answer.