#the-hummingbird-writes

[the-caffeinated-hummingbird]

I need to start sharing my poems again. So in the spirit of that… and also insomnia. 😆

[1d1195]

Hummingbirds

~5.2k words

From me: Based on a song of the same name--you'll see the lyrics in a moment. You'll need to suspend your belief a bit. I'm not sure everything makes perfect sense, but. Some of this story takes place through emailing and I didn't have a good method for this. So bold will be Harry's emails. Pink writing will be hers.

Warnings: angst, fluff, anger honestly just fluffy. second chance love

Summary: Harry has been angry for a really really long time. Only one person ever made him confront his anger.

“Eli, baby, we have to go!”

Harry could hear her from outside. He smirked, sipping his tea while he waited for Buddy to do his business. The air was crisp just like October should be. Decorative spider webs lined the front porch and the flower bushes in front of it. He was utterly pleased with his life. So completely happy.

“Mommy! I can’t find my dinosaur sneakers!”

“I don’t know how to spell it,” Evie frowned. “I’m going to fail!”

“Just do your best and practice, my love. I believe in you,” she assured as she zipped her backpack up at the doorway and stuffed her feet into the slip-on sneakers by the door. They make me feel old, she told Harry. They’re the perfect shoes for a busy Mum, he assured her. And I think y’look hot wearing them.

“Eli, honey!” She called back. “They’re here by the front door!”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “How lucky am I, Buddy?” He asked shaking the leash slightly. The dog turned to him and then tugged him around the yard looking for the right spot; totally unaware or unaffected that Harry had the best life there was to live.

“I-M-P-E-R-U-T-I-V-E.”

“Close, baby girl,” she smiled encouragingly. “It’s an A, not U.”

She looked miserable as she stepped off the porch. Evie approached Harry while his wife bent to help Eli with his sneakers. “I’m going to fail, Daddy.”

He chuckled at the little nine-year-old. Crouched to her height twirling the leash tight around one hand. He straightened her little hair bow on the side of her head, pinning her hair back to one side. He kissed her forehead. “Mummy said y’were close. Y’did a great job. Y’jus’ have t’remember there’s an A,” he reminded her and then pinched her cheek gently. “Like the grade you’re going t’get, right?” He winked at her.

Evie’s sweet eyes lit up with new hope. She turned to the pretty woman at the door holding Eli’s hand to usher him quickly out of the house now that his shoes were securely on his feet. “Mommy! Did you hear what Daddy said to help me remember?”

She grinned so beautifully; it melted him. The center of his chest felt deliriously warm. It felt equivalent to being snuggled under a blanket with her, warm and close while it snowed outside their house. The kids drinking hot chocolate at the coffee table and a movie playing in the background.

It was unbelievable she was all his. “What did Daddy say, Evie?” Eli held onto her hand tight while he jumped from the second to last step of the porch while Evie explained the A she was going to get. “Well, I guess you inherited your smarts from Daddy, hmm?” Which was unequivocally a joke. She was a hundred times smarter than him. Or at least it felt that way. But he loved her so much for never making him feel less than. She was good at that. It was impossible to feel less than in her presence.

She was good at everything. Her job, being a wife, but perhaps his favorite thing, she was a tremendous mother. Something he knew she would be good at, but not to the extent he witnessed on a daily basis. Eli hurried to Harry and Buddy petting the dog’s head and giggling when he licked his face. Harry kissed the top of his head and gave his little body a squeeze. “What smarts?” Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes as she finally approached her family. “You’re plenty smart, baby,” she shook her head with a gentle smile. The two kids that looked like the perfect combination of them went to her car and climbed into their respective seats. Harry wrapped his free arm around her back and pulled her to his side. He kissed her temple, nosing along her hairline.

“Not as smart as m’beautiful wife,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“I love you.” She tilted her head up for a kiss which Harry never let her wait for.

“I love you,” he grinned into the kiss.

“Ew!” Eli called.

“Mommy, let’s go!” Evie was eager to get to school and ace her spelling test.

“Bye Daddy!” Eli shouted. She gave his cheek a final peck and she headed across the yard to take their kids to school. “See you at my soccer game!”

“Hey kitten?” He called.

“Yeah?” She asked over her shoulder.

“M’a lucky man t’have you,” he reminded her.

She shook her head, laughed. “Me too, baby. Luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

The second her door closed behind her a swarm of hummingbirds fluttered so loudly into the yard. Seemingly out of nowhere. The noise of their wings was unbelievable. A dull roar. It was hundreds of the little birds, and she paid no mind to them as she started her car. Buddy didn’t care about the intrusion either. Even the kids were indifferent. “Are y’seeing this?” He called out to her. He blinked curiously when she didn’t respond. “What’s with all the—”

*

I had a dream last night / we were married in that house you always talked about / you were rushing to get the kids to school / packing their lunches, reviewing their spelling words / it was hummingbirds

Harry’s heart was beating like he had just finished a workout. His skin felt clammy. The sheets were wrapped too tightly around his legs. He groaned as his alarm vibrated to the same hum of the birds in his dream. The music playing alongside the vibration made him grumpy. “What the fuck?” He whispered and smacked the song off. He wished he could go right back. Did Evie pass her test? Did Eli score a goal?

Did she still love him the way he dreamed about?

*

Dr. Hendren listened to Harry’s dream but very much already knew the ending. It was the same as all his dreams with the house and the girl that he had been hearing for ten years.

“Harry,” the doctor said gently as he watched Harry on his screen. “Do you know what hummingbirds symbolize?”

“No,” Harry was grumpy. He always was after a dream that was so real so lifelike. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted her back. Wanted to see her. Wanted to know.

“Healing.” Dr. Hendren was quiet while Harry processed that. He worked his jaw, swallowing, and flexing it as he tried to get the words to come out. His body felt tense. Like he was trapped inside a box that was too small. That didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like he was healed. He was still frustrated most of the time. Work was a minor distraction, and the loneliness was crippling at times. The only reprieve was dreaming of that pretty girl he knew so many years ago.

Why did it have to be her? She didn’t deserve Harry and his bad attitude. She already suffered through it for two years at a time when life should have been fun, lovely, sweet. They were kids and Harry was an ass. He never even said he loved her back then.

“Don’t you think,” Dr. Hendren continued quietly, and Harry knew what he was going to say. “You’ve been quiet long enough about what you want?” He shrugged. “Harry,” he tutted.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”

“You were a kid.”

“She deserved more.”

“Then tell her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t want to talk to you and you’ll have some closure and you can stop dreaming about it.”

Harry remained silent, looking around his empty apartment. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I’ll reach out to her.”

“Harry,” Dr. Hendren said quietly. “Have you thought about the best-case scenario?”

He shook his head. Thatkind of hope could kill him. But he knew why the dreams were so powerful these days. Why they were so steady and quick.

Woke up bleeding from my mouth / I bit my tongue right through / well I broke the habit / I guess that I’d had it not saying the things I need to

The following morning, he searched his inbox from an email he hadn’t used in ten years and found the address he never thought he’d email again after he broke up with her way back when.

But Harry wasn’t twenty anymore. He was trying to move on. Trying to fix things that should have been fixed a long time ago. He sat on the couch, typed out seven different versions of the message and clicked send before he could overthink it any longer. He slapped the computer shut and rubbed his hands on his pants. He took a sip of the tea he made hoping to calm himself and told himself that it was okay if she didn’t answer.

Hey. Long time. Not sure if you use this email. I know it’s been a long while. Hope you’re well. ... I’ve been thinking of you. And truthfully, I had a pretty realistic dream that you were in the other night. Nothing weird. Just my old self and back then and... I don’t know. ... How are you?

If she was working, she might just be getting settled. Or maybe out with a friend. Running errands. He refrained from imagining a little family that was waiting on her for dinner but reminded himself anyway that there were a million reasons she—

His phone lit up on the table beside the computer and his heart skipped a beat.

Harry Styles. As I live and breathe :) I’m well! How are you?

That little smiley face made his heart ache with adoration for her. He could picture her pretty face smiling. But she answered.

Good. Yeah. I… I’ve been going to therapy regularly. Finally had to and... my doctor and I have discussed a lot of things. You were one of them. I just... wanted to chat with you. I’m sorry, this is so out of the blue and weird.

No! Not at all, Harry. I’m glad you reached out. It’s really nice to hear from you. Therapy? That’s amazing! Do you like it?

I’m a work in progress.

Aren’t we all? :)

He smiled feeling relieved. Even just reading words on a screen made him feel at ease. He could practically hear her sweet, encouraging voice.

What are you up to? Do you live in state still?

Yes! I actually just moved down the road from the college. I’m a guidance counselor at the local high school.

That’s lovely. I’m not surprised you accomplished your goals. Your students are lucky to have you. Are you doing okay? It has to be draining.

A lot of the time yeah. But it’s rewarding as hell. You know I love kids, and I love being able to help.

Harry wondered if it was possible to love her more than he ever had before.

There’s a shadow on my shoulder / always whispers in my ear / that I’m so angry all of the time / I should be alone another year / I didn’t say it how you needed it / must have written it down a thousand times / all the things I would scream at the top of my lungs / if I wasn’t so busy saying I’m fine.

Harry had a habit of not saying what he was feeling. He bottled so much of it up and hid it from the rest of the world. Even people he loved. When he was dating her back in college, he kept a lot hidden and exploded when she asked him simple questions about himself. Trying to understand him and why he was angry all the time. Her willingness to look past it, try and help, and just continue to be kind to him made him angry too. It was constant, draining. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

There was a tiny voice in his head that told him he was too angry for her. She deserved someone lovely and sweet. Someone who would talk to her and tell her things. Be the person she deserved. Because despite everything, Harry loved love. It was nearly impossible for him to show it back then. But he did. He wanted to love her the way she needed.

But he was so busy being angry and bottling his emotions he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t love her the right way.

It was so unfair to her and looking back on it made him feel like a proper ass.

So, he was grateful for the email communication. He couldn’t imagine having this conversation with her about all this in person. They chatted for days. Catching up on things, reminiscing. Their email chain was up to 100 something messages. Some messages were long. Harry chatted about his family and she about hers. There were updates on work. On friends they still spoke to and no longer did. The conversation continued over the course of a little under a week.

But the most shocking details came from her.

I mentioned I moved... my ex-fiancé broke off our engagement. Don’t feel too bad for me, it’s actually a relief in hindsight. Something I’ve been trying to figure through. It’s why I know that anything you feel you did wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it was. There’s far worse relationship enders than a little bit of anger.

Jesus, I’m so sorry, kitten.

Well, isn’t that a sweet name for sore eyes :) Don’t be sorry. It’s good. I have this cute apartment to myself and it’s for the best it happened now before there were too many variables to consider...like kids or a house or something, you know? I’m definitely sad. But he wasn’t the one for me at the end of the day.

Sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s not really fair given our past. I think a lot of my friends disagree with my choice on this to let him go so it’s nice to just tell someone non-judgmental.

Harry felt angry the way he used to. The way that made him want to scream and he felt the desperate need to message Dr. Hendren because he felt out of his depth. All he said was sorry. How could she feel he was non-judgmental. He was judgmental. He was judging the fuck out of the piece of shit that broke her heart and made her sad.

But he was no better.

The man is an idiot to lose you. I know from experience.

:) I have to head to bed, there’s a big pep rally tomorrow at school so I have to have my brain ready for chaos. Sleep well Harry.

Good night, kitten.

He reread those messages over and over and right before he was going to fall asleep, his phone lit up with one more message.

You’re not an idiot by the way. He might be, but you, Harry Styles are not.

So of course, he dreamed of Evie, Eli, and the sweet girl at the other end of his emails that night.

And hummingbirds.

Thousands of hummingbirds.

*

Most of their messages were short.

I’ve been going to therapy for three years now.

That’s wonderful, Harry. Really. Do you like it?

Yeah...it’s hard.

:( Yeah... It really is. Do you like your therapist?

Yeah. I’ve had him the whole time.

Yeah? That’s good. I’m... proud of you. I don’t want to be weird about it, but I know you were angry. Really angry. It wasn’t good. You didn’t deserve that. I’m glad you have someone to help you work through it.

...You were so nice to me. When you shouldn’t have been. I didn’t treat you right.

You were wonderful, Harry. We were practically kids. If our relationship had any faults, it was because we were too young. I don’t regret a second of time being with you.

His heart skipped a beat. He felt that frustration from back when they were young, and she was so understanding but it didn’t make him grumpy or feel inadequate. All he felt was a sense of belonging. Something he probably would have felt back then if he could have gotten out of his own way. She was willing to look past it then as she was now.

You’re much too forgiving. He wrote. Because old habits die hard.

You weren’t fine, Harry. You didn’t know. We didn’t know what we were dealing with at that age.

Harry hadn’t a clue what he was dealing with. Did he even know now?

Can... can I give you something?

Give me something?

Yes. I... I can bring it to your apartment or to school or we can meet, I just... I’ve been trying to let it go but I think... I think my dream was reminding me that... there’s more to you. More I need to do for you.

Sure, if you think it will give you closure.

God, Harry wanted anything but closure.

Just to clarify: I don’t think you owe me anything.

I kept a lot hidden from you. I held back and it wasn’t fair. All you wanted was to love me and I wouldn’t let you.

It’s a vulnerable thing, Harry. To be loved. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were just young.

But... you knew I wasn’t fine, and you tried and... I just wasn’t fair to you.

You were fine, Harry. I promise. Bring me whatever it is that you need to give me to make you believe you did what you could with what you had.

*

Her apartment had a wreath on the door. It was beautiful with an array of burnt orange and red flowers and green vines. The perfect fall wreath. Beside the door were three pumpkins of different sizes. If he didn’t have her address, he almost thought he would know it was her place. He looked at the mat in front of the door that said welcome, and he wondered if there was any other place where someone actually meant it.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and knocked. After a minute, the door was out of the way.

At 18, Harry thought she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever met. During the time they dated, he thought she got more beautiful every second. Apparently, he was right because the woman before him somehow got exponentially more beautiful. Her smile was so inviting, so warm. Like he was seeing an old friend. “Hey Harry,” her voice was sweet. Not an ounce of distrust, frustration, nothing. Their breakup was ten years ago. Not a degree of anger was left.

Harry wasn’t angry either. Not anymore. But if she had broken up with him and he hadn’t done all this work to better himself, he would have been. He didn’t know how she could be so sweet after all she went through.

“Hi,” he swallowed. “I don’t want t’keep you. S’really nice t’see you,” his dream didn’t do her justice. Sure, she was beautiful especially with their imaginary kids. Simply stunning. But this was more. This was the beautiful angel he loved so much even when she wasn’t his to love.

“You’re not keeping me; do you want to come in?” She shifted to open the door wider. “I can make some tea. Or we can order pizza?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I jus’ want t’give y’this,” he handed her the shoe box.

She opened the lid. “Well, you know I won’t say no to shoes,” she smirked.

As much as he wanted to laugh at her joke, he felt like he made a mistake. The box was out of his hands. Not because of what was in there but because of the fear of rejection and being so vulnerable. Feelings of inadequacy were currently circulating through his bloodstream. “Um... s’not—”

“What is this?” She asked, tilting her head. He swallowed, pinched his lower lip between his fingers and took a deep breath.

“S’letters.”

“Letters?”

“I wrote t’you.”

“Me?”

He took a deep breath. “M’sure y’know m’not good at saying what m’feeling.”

She replaced the lid, leaning against the frame. “I feel like I’m a little lost here, Harry.”

He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget or reach back out to take it from her. His mouth felt dry. He wished he had taken her offer for a glass of water now.  “I know y’said y’thought we were fine. But m’not happy with how I treated you. Y’were an angel. The perfect girlfriend and I treated y’unfairly a lot. I guess I’ve really held onto that and some of those letters are old but when I hit low points I thought ‘bout what y’said back then. How I wasn’t on m’own. I was allowed t’be angry. But I had t’let people in. All that. I wrote t’you a lot over the years. M’therapist said it was actually one of the smartest things I’ve done on m’own,” he chuckled. “I want you t’read them. When y’have time. I guess. I don’t know,” he cleared his throat. “This is really scary,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she nodded encouragingly and reached out to his forearm. She squeezed it reassuringly. It was only a touch on his arm, and he felt so good feeling it. He knew it was her training kicking in. Like a broken, beaten student at her office door. “I can do that,” she assured him. “Do you want me to text you about each one? Or just a summary of all of them? Or do you want me to not say anything?”

He looked at his feet. “Fuck...” he whispered to himself. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ll start reading tonight and I’ll decide in the moment. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

He nodded, looked at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“S’a lot.”

“I enjoy reading, Harry,” she grinned and moved her hand to his upper arm and soothingly rubbed up and down. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Of course he did. There was no one else he really did. He nodded, feeling nauseous but still lighter. “I’m gonna go now,” he swallowed.

“I’ll email you,” she assured him with a smile and headed inside.

*

Like it grows old real fast / how much you can love and not get it back / were we too attached? / It’s a shame how often goodbyes last / I thought we were better than that / I thought I was stronger at last.

The knock on the door was hurried, eager. Insistent on being heard.

At first, he felt frozen in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner he made himself and placing the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he imagined the knock. Maybe he was just dreaming again. Plus, she said she would email right? This wasn’t something to feel nervous about.

But the flutter of knocking continued. He hurried from his frozen position as the rapid taps hit the wood. He knew. His gut telling him exactly who was on the other side of that door. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed before pulling it out of the way.

“You bought me the house?!” She shrieked.

Harry dipped his head to avoid her eyes. “Yes.”

“Harry Styles, what the fuck?!”

He felt sick. “You hate it?”

Her eyes were red, glossy. Not what he expected at all. But why wasn’t it? This wasn’t normal. After a breakup of her own where she was sure she was going to marry the guy. Harry appeared out of nowhere. Telling her that he had a dream about her, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

She covered her mouth and shook her head. “Harry,” she croaked.

“I’m—"

“You can’t buy me a house! We’re not even... Harry. This is insane! You have to see that!”

He shrugged. “I guess... but... I don’t know, kitten. I think about you all the time. I see this house in my sleep. I see our life in m’dreams every night.”

She was wearing only socks. Like she didn’t even have time to put on shoes. She held the paper in her hand wrinkled like she had read it hundreds of times already even though he had only given it to her the night before and he just knew which one was in her hands. She cleared her throat and read the date from ten years ago before she read the remainder of the letter.

To the resident(s) of 1278 Chestnut Street

My name is Harry Styles, and I am a college student in town. My girlfriend and I walk by your lovely home every day when we head to our favorite coffee shop after class. We love your home. Or I should say, my girlfriend LOVES your home. She claims it’s her dream home. The porch, the yard, the location... everything. She even loves your driveway. Every bit of your house is part of this fantastic dream she has of the life she wants in the future.

I don’t know if I’ll be with her forever. I am... working on myself. I’m not very good at all this relationship stuff. Especially when it comes to her. Quite frankly, I think she deserves way better than me. But on the off chance I am lucky enough to keep her in my life for as long as I would like, I want to make her dreams come true. She deserves that. She deserves every single one of her dreams to come true. She is the kind of girl that deserves every good thing that can possibly be provided for her.

If you ever find yourself selling, would you please consider emailing me first? Of course, if you have family that you plan on giving your home to, I understand. I can’t even promise I’ll be able to afford it, but I’ll want to know. If only to pass on the message to her somewhere down the line. She deserves the chance to have all her dreams come true.

I’m not sure where you are in life or if you have ever been in a relationship like this one. This girl is so special. She’s an angel. The kind of love that even a movie couldn’t show, or a book couldn’t write. I’m lucky to have her right now and I don’t know why she’s with me. I don’t know why I’m even sending this crazy letter other than I know I have to try. Even if she’s smart enough to leave me, I want her to know her dream home is available. Somewhere down the road. Even if we’re not on the same road anymore. That’s what she deserves.

I’m sorry to bother you like this. I hope you can understand what love can do to a guy in college with a girlfriend who is LEAGUES above him. Thank you for taking time to read this and I hope you continue to enjoy your lovely home.

Sincerely,

Harry

Her voice shook as she read it. “You sent that when we were in college.” He nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the packet stapled together. “They emailed you,” she whispered. He nodded again.

“Dear Harry. We got your letter. When the time comes. We’ll be moving closer to our children. They’ve never expressed interest in our house the way you have. My wife and I met in college and believe me, I know a little something about finding the girl of your dreams. It’s nice you’re working on yourself. You deserve the life that fits this house too. We hope it’s with the girl that is leagues above you (although, we imagine she’d think differently). We’ll be in touch. The Andersons.”

Harry watched her flip the page as she made eye contact with him briefly before returning her gaze to the paper in front of her.

“Dear Harry. We hope life is treating you well. That you’re working on yourself, and your girlfriend is still around. If she’s not, we hope you’re not being too hard on yourself. We wanted to let you know we’ll soon be moving to a retirement community close to our son. We want to have you (and your girlfriend) over for dinner if you’re available. Let us know.”

Harry knew what was coming but he was still terrified. Why was she here? Barefoot. Reading the letters to him. What did she think.

“Dear Harry. It was so nice to meet you in person. Here is the contract we discussed. See you soon.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Kitten,” he whispered.

“Dear Harry. We hope you get her back. Enjoy your home. Never stop giving out your love. The Andersons.”

She was teary, swallowing hard. Her hands were shaking as she held the papers in front of her. “You bought me a house.”

He nodded. There was a pause. “M’sorry I took so long.”

She dropped the papers and launched herself into his arms. He stumbled back at the impact. Her arms around his neck, her feet barely touching the floor as she tucked her face into his shoulder. “Harry,” she whimpered. Harry sighed, wrapped his arms tightly around her, one at her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” his voice felt raw. Like he was the one that was crying and shaking. Not her.

She sniffled and nodded. “I know,” because she did. She read every single letter. Watched the date change but one thing never did and that was the love she felt in each letter.

“M’so tired, kitten,” he croaked.

“Of what, baby?” She cupped his face. The emotion on his face was tender and nothing like she remembered from ten years prior. Her thumb soothingly rubbed his cheek.

“Life without you,” he closed his eyes tight. “This house is yours I want nothing more than for you t’have it, but I want it t’be ours.”

She sniffled, ducked her head briefly as she glanced around. “You decorated it for Halloween,” she whispered.

“You would have done better.”

She snorted. “Harry...”

“If this is the house that makes you happy then I want it jus’ as much, kitten. But you’re my home. You always have been.”

“I don’t know what to say Harry,” she whimpered.

“Say yes.”

“Harry...” she whispered.

“Please, I’m so tired of loving and loving and never feeling that way. I know s’how I made y’feel in college and y’jus’ dealt with it. Y’jus’ wanted love and I didn’t give y’what y’needed. But m’ready now. M’so ready t’do whatever y’need t’love you the way y’deserve. The way y’always deserved.”

Not for the first time in his life, Harry prayed that if this was a dream, he would never wake up.

He never thought he would hold her again. Never thought she would be in the house she always wanted. Or that she would know he was sorry for how he was back when he was an angry kid.

Perhaps most importantly, he never thought he would feel her lips on his ever again.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[sweetmelodygraphics]

[puzzling-reeds]

I know this has been talked to death in the Yu-Gi-Oh 5D's community, but....

This is gonna have spoilers for this almost 20-year-old show. You've been warned. This analysis is also long. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm a heathen who doesn't know what word counts are.

Early-days Jack x Carly is legitimately so cute. Perfect? Nah. But pretty dang good as far as Yu-Gi-Oh romances go.

Briefly recapping: After losing (again) to Yuusei, Jack's ego is obliterated, and he starts to question his past choices. He betrayed his closest friends chasing a life that wound up being so transient, and by the time he meets Carly, Jack's regret over those decisions is at its highest.

As a journalist, Carly has her own reasons for entering Jack's orbit, but she comes to realize he's not as self-absorbed as she initially thought he was. Carly herself is a foil to the old Jack. She's driven in her work but describes herself as someone who finds joy in the success of others. She's a lot closer to Yuusei in that way, as she's willing to put aside her own interests (e.g., getting the scoop on Jack being from Satellite) for the sake of other people (e.g., having a moment of human connection with Jack when he's at his lowest).

In the end, she offers him some advice. She doesn't try to appeal to his ego and instead states that Jack is capable of redemption. He should abandon his past conception of what it means to be a king and instead try to be a "real king," someone who "brings joy to everyone."

After this conversation, Jack resolves to be a better person and leaves with more clarity on who he wants to be, symbolized by him leaving behind his fake glasses at the end. Jack and Carly part with mutual respect and a broader perspective of one another. Even later heading into the Dark Signers arc, Jack expresses worry for Carly despite his secretiveness about the signers, telling her to be careful.

And then Carly

Dies.

Her last thought is of Jack and regretting she couldn't be with him again. That regret allows her to be reborn as a dark signer, and she and Jack rocket toward an eventual clash. Her dream of being together with Jack is corrupted to such a degree that she's willing to embrace the apocalypse and rule over the ashes with Jack. Obviously, this dream contradicts Jack's new character, and he knows the real Carly would feel the same.

Their conversation inspired such a fundamental change in Jack that he's only willing to kill her if he dies with her. Moreover, Carly is presented as Jack's better half. While Jack abandoned the glasses of his earlier disguise from the park, he holds onto Carly's glasses that she lost when she died. He clings to his memory of her and--to a greater degree--her values of compassion and vicarious joy.

Before Jack can activate his trap that'll kill them both, though, Carly activates her own trap that kills her alone. In the moments leading up to her death, we get more insight into Carly's worldview.

Carly's dying wish was to be with Jack, and she's now wracked with guilt for having desired her own happiness that wasn't contingent on the happiness of others. This is Carly's internal philosophy: She is only deserving of secondhand happiness. Obviously, this is an incorrect mindset. If seeking your own happiness is wrong, then no one would ever be happy. Jack makes this point in his following comment. Notably, Jack's point doesn't entirely sink in for Carly before she dies. She continues to view her happiness as subservient to others', adopting a bystander/cheerleader role.

Still, before she dies, Carly finally confesses that she loves Jack. They're able to be together briefly like she wanted before she disappears, leaving behind only her glasses that Jack's kept with him this whole time.

Jack also confesses his own love for Carly and later reiterates that love during his duel with Godwin.

CHARACTER ANALYSIS

Although they don't have too many conversations together, we get enough insight into Carly and Jack's individual viewpoints on life throughout season two. Since both Yuusei and Carly are foils to Jack, I think it's worth defining how their positions differ.

Jack and Yuusei are foils regarding their ideas of bonds.

Yuusei, through his duels with Kiryuu in the Dark Signers arc, realizes that he has an extreme view of bonds. He was willing to give himself up to the police for Kiryuu, taking credit for his mistakes, and that backfired on Yuusei tremendously. In short, Yuusei's fatal flaw is that he is too self-sacrificing. It's important to note that Yuusei's flaw is apparent during their Team Satisfaction days--before Jack's betrayal. Jack's actions serve to solidify Yuusei's self-sacrificial view rather than create it.

Jack is on the other extreme. Jack is willing to sacrifice everything to achieve his dreams, but after losing to Yuusei twice, Jack starts to see the fault in that logic. His dreams were shallow without friends to share them with. It's only upon talking with Carly that Jack formally resolves to do right by others from then on. He expresses to Godwin that Carly showed him that bonds are inescapable, and during his earlier duel with Carly, Jack is willing to sacrifice himself to be together with her in death--a choice he never would've made before meeting her.

In these ways, both Yuusei and Jack are on opposing sides of this debate, and other characters motivate them to remedy their flawed positions.

Jack and Carly, however, are foils regarding their ideas of happiness.

From her final conversation with Jack in the Dark Signers arc, we learn that Carly is hesitant to pursue happiness for herself, considering it selfish to do so. She celebrates the happiness and successes of others and must learn that it is OK to seek that same happiness for herself. Jack calls her out on this warped perspective at the end, arguing that everyone would be selfish if her viewpoint were reality.

Jack, on the other hand, is originally dismissive of the happiness of other people. He betrays his closest friends in order to leave the Satellite and openly mocks Yuusei when they finally meet again in episodes three and four; he feels no sense of obligation toward the well being of his friends. Carly encourages Jack to be the kind of king that "brings joy to everyone," injecting her own opinion that it is possible to find happiness in the happiness of others.

Another way Jack and Carly impact each other is through how active they are in their own lives. Although Jack is duped by Godwin, he is an active player and wants to view himself as such. He's openly upset at himself for falling for Godwin's appeals to his ego, calling himself a clown for doing so, and strives to take charge of his own destiny.

Carly, conversely, remains an observer in her own life. She is active in her career, yes, but her motivation to become a journalist is grounded in her desire to highlight and celebrate the achievements of others, not due to any personal ambition like Jack. This passiveness is further clarified by Carly and Jack's relationships with destiny. Carly frequently uses her deck as a horoscope, and Misty foretells that Carly will die. Even after Carly becomes a dark signer, Carly proclaims that she and Jack are connected by fate.

During their duel in the Dark Signers arc, Carly's dark signer voice presents itself as an extreme version of this belief: What Carly wants doesn't matter, as she has no autonomy in the face of destiny.

On the other side, Jack is the philosophical opposition. He backs Carly into a corner with his card aptly called "Change Destiny." He says that Carly inspired him to take control of his own life and encourages her to do the same with his "Change Destiny" trap. Carly has to choose whether or not to kill Jack (securing the victory she apparently wants as a dark signer) or benignly restore her own life points. She ultimately chooses the latter, proving Jack's point and his faith in her.

Even when he decides he'd rather die with Carly, Jack frames it to himself as a destiny he's chosen. He wants to go out on his own terms, not as a puppet of fate. In the end, Carly decides the same, saving Jack and encouraging him to save the world.

In these ways, both Carly and Jack's conflicting views push them toward moderating their perspectives. Their contrasting ideas of personal fulfillment and destiny make Carly and Jack's relationship rich for exploration, especially seeing as Carly still has room to grow by the time she dies at the end of the Dark Signers arc. What does her taking control of her own life look like after her revival? Does she pursue her own definition of happiness, and what does personal happiness mean to her?

So, what does happen after the Dark Signers arc?

Carly comes back to life but doesn't remember any of the Dark Signers arc. Occasionally, she feeds Jack convenient plot info or helps him out, but mainly, Carly pines comically for Jack, who wants nothing to do with her all the way through the series finale. :/

WHERE WAS THE "I WAS CHANGED BY THE LOVE OF A WOMAN" ENERGY???? WHERE WAS IT???? DID NONE OF IT MATTER????

Maybe the true clowns were the ones we became along the way.

Jokes aside, we all know this was a missed opportunity. But what could the writers have done?

My Clown Fanon Takes

Frankly, I don't think they would've had to have changed too much. Let Carly keep her memories. Let her and Jack be a couple. They can do cute cameos in the background together or a filler episode or two exploring their relationship while Carly follows leads and Jack duels. But most importantly,

Make 👏 Jack 👏 a simp!

And by simp, I don't mean pathetic. I mean have him actually treat Carly right. Jack has a rough-and-tumble nobility about him, so go the chivalrous route. I'm talking "girlfriend's heels are killing her after scoping out a gala for leads so you lend her your big man shoes and hold her stilettos" type chivalry. I don't say this because I think it'd be cute (as much as it would be), but because I think it's a natural extension of the relationship they already had.

Carly struggles to accept happiness for herself. Jack is learning to find joy in the happiness of others. It'd be fitting to have Jack sacrifice in small, healthy ways because it shows that he cares for Carly and that seeing her happy makes him happy by extension. Carly would obviously still show up to Jack's tournaments, cheer him on, and help him when he was hospitalized during the World Racing Grand Prix, keeping a good give-and-take balance in the relationship.

Similarly, the second point of exploration for Carly's character was ambition. In the beginning of season two, we see that her professional life is in shambles. Her boss sucks. She lives in her car. Keep her as a journalist, but have her pursue a different job. The WRGP is an international tournament, so perhaps expose Carly to global reporting while being at the tournament. Maybe she'd like to work on international projects?

That being considered, how would Carly's revelation impact Jack? By the end of canon, Jack decides to pursue a career in the Ride Ace Dueling league because they send him an invite. Instead, have Carly mention that she'd like to do more global work and give Jack a moment to consider what he'd like from their relationship and what he'd like to do going forward. Ultimately, Jack would be the one to apply for the Ride Ace league so that he can participate in global matches and follow Carly. It'd still be in his wheelhouse (i.e., working his way up from the bottom of a new league to be the king again), but more importantly, it'd be a choice that's in support of Carly rather than Jack's typical moves characterized by his own ambition. Not only would that solidify their devotion by the end of the series, but it would reflect a lot of growth on the part of both Carly and Jack: Carly has taken the reins of her own life and learned to accept joy for herself, and Jack has learned to weigh his own dreams and the dreams of others, finding happiness in supporting the people he cares about without sacrificing his own wants and needs.

Anyway, I fear I've gone on for too long. What are your Jack x Carly thoughts? How would you have carried their relationship into later seasons?

Thanks for reading!

[invinciblerodent]

I'm a little sad that I didn't manage to get her to be exactly the way I wanted (there wasn't much room for small details like her vallaslin or her earrings and pouches), but finally I let go of my perfectionism and finished my tiny Bellara plushie ❤️

she's all of 5 inches tall (a whole inch of which is just her bun); A5 notebook for scale ❤️

[feral-ballad]

Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "I need never sigh"

[Text ID: “Let me fly near you like / the nightingale that flies. / Let me hover over you / as the hummingbird does.”]

[hayaku14]

kuroba kaito

also shinichi in that one kaishin fic probably

[peitalo]

already attached to hummingbird now thank u

THANK YOU…. :”>♥︎

[kaythefloppa]

The in-dev versions of the Wild Kratts flash games are trippy as fuck.

For anyone wondering how the fuck I managed to get this, a friend of mine who was just as enamoured by the flash games sent these to me a while back. They were found on several PBS Kids subdomains that contained flash games prior to the End-of-Life (a good majority of them nowadays are gone unfortunately). I was able to use the flash emulator Ruffle to be able to access them again and yeah, it's really fucken interesting.

For those who want the link, here (I'd advise you install Ruffle beforehand it make it easier to automatically emulate the game. Also disclaimer, bc it's in-dev, the controls do not work).

KangarooGame (early version of Kickboxing Kangaroo)

DracoGame (early version of Draco Glide)

And ofc, if you want to play the games themselves you can download Flashpoint where nearly all of the WK flash games from the 2010's are accessible to play.

[flowersforthemachines]

Ghilasara Codex: Day 18 - A description of your OC’s family by a future historian

Masterpost of all Ghilasara codex entries can be found HERE.

By virtue of Rook being a city elf, we remain largely in the dark about her early life and extended family. What we know is that her mother, Innan Thorne (maiden name: Elgaris), hailed from a Dalish Clan of an unrecorded name and left it to marry a Haslam city elf Yeren Thorne presumably the same year that Rook was born. 

When Yeren died in 09:33 Dragon, Innan left the Haslam alienage to join a passing Dalish clan. She reunited with her daughter in 09:53 Dragon after Rook rescued her clan from the venatori, and the two kept in contact all the way until Rook’s death eleven years later. Innan lived well into her eighties, outliving her only child by a decade. 

Out of Rook’s romantic relationships of most note is the one with Lucanis Dellamorte, the First Talon of the Antivan Crows from 09:53 to 09:67 Dragon. Despite over a decade of romantic involvement, the couple never married or left behind any children. Numerous evidence and witness accounts suggest a tumultuous relationship between the two, though also one that continued the entire time they knew each other. Dellamorte was the last person to see Rook before her death, by her own invitation, and was observed to be in mourning even several years after her passing and died unmarried, reportedly never taking another lover. 

The book series “I Once Got Very Close” by the author Vera-Siobhan — frequently theorised to be the pen name of Bellara Lutare, Rook’s closest friend and confidant — is based on a similar premise of a complicated relationship between a Grey Warden and an Antivan Crow. While not recognised as an official source by any historian, the series is greatly beloved by fans of romance and tragedy, and is believed by some to provide insight into what could’ve transpired between Rook and Lucanis Dellamorte. 

 — From “The Heroes of Our Age: The Life and Death of Ghilasara “Rook” Thorne” by Nesiana Andras published by the University of Orlais in 09:99 Dragon

[lazy-universes]

actual footage of my girlfriend when i dared interrupt her coding to ask for a small smooch

[winterwandersland]

According to the survey, full chapters are preferred, so here is the fully rewritten first chapter. The second should be up within a week.

cw/tw: SA, mentions of...rape, human trafficking, torture

Word Count: 8.6k

Simon's mission goes awry.

Chapter One: Captured

DAY 1

Simon, beaten and defeated, felt intense pain as his arm forcefully collided with his bruised rib cage upon being thrown to the ground. He emitted a gurgling noise as he choked on his own blood, rolling to his side to relieve his airways of the fluid that rapidly ran down them. Giggling filled the halls, drawing closer to Simon, followed by a jingling and a click of the door lock. A man’s feet shuffled towards Simon, sending him into a seated position on the ground, facing the man with a look of defiance in his eyes.

“You should try to get to know your cellmate. She doesn’t speak much, but you two will spend a lot of time together.” Major Vernon was a traitorous and demented man, turning his back on his country and giving up Simon and some of his squad mates to the one person they were attempting to capture, Manuel Roba. The mission was nearly a success until the big betrayal at the end. It was unforgivable. Something that Simon was determined to make Vernon pay for. He was there to torture Simon and his team. To break them. This was only the start-letting Simon know that there were others like him and his team. Trapped and destined to die.

Simon scanned the dark cell across from him, separated only by the tall jail-like bars, keeping two cells shared by a barred wall. He could easily reach his hand through the cell, but the openings were not enough to fit a body through; the openings were enough to fit maybe a toddler, but nothing more. There was a slight light beaming from the bars of the door, aiming at the cold concrete that illuminated a tinted white color, coming from the dimmed lights that keep the hallways lit.

As he scanned the cell, Simon saw a frail woman, appearing to be starved and beaten, most likely imprisoned long enough to have attained such an appearance. There was a blindfold on her face and her dark, curly hair fell mostly to her sides, with some pieces getting stuck to the fabric of the blindfold. She wore only a t-shirt that fell to the middle of her thighs and she laid with her back on the wall of her cell with her knees to her chest. Judging by her appearance, she had been here at least a month, maybe two. Three? Four? Simon couldn’t tell, but he knew it had to have been an extensive period.

“Hello?” he called with a hoarse voice.

The mysterious woman didn’t respond, but she turned her head, signifying to Simon that she could hear him. She’s alert. Alive. That’s good. And it was. It meant that the prison was survivable. Simon and his team could survive. It was possible.

“Who are ya? ‘ow long have ya been ‘ere?” he loudly whispered, unable to be as quiet as he wanted to be.

There is still no response, Simon’s whispers being the only thing other than their bodies filling the closed off cells. The woman slightly turned her head towards Simon, as if trying to pinpoint exactly where he was. As her body faced his direction, the latch to the small door of her cell opens up and a plate of unidentifiable food slides through. He watched as the woman snapped her head back and slowly crawled towards the food, as if waiting for something else to happen before receiving it. As she crawled, he could see the chain latched to her ankle that kept her attached to the wall, obviously weighing nearly half as much as she did, leaving bruised marks on her leg. It seemed to only be long enough for her to reach each wall of the cell and stop right in front of the door, nothing more. Right before she reached the door, it came swinging open, nearly hitting her and her body flew back, sending her scrambling back to the wall.

“Here, have this.” Vernon said. He set a cup of a watered down golden yellow liquid onto the ground and snickered as he looked at the men gathered behind him, giggling as Vernon sat down the cup. She slowly crawled towards the cup, carefully feeling around to find it. Once she found it, she held it up to her nose, identifying the unknown liquid as urine.

“Drink it.” Vernon said firmly, never moving an inch away from the woman. Her head tilted up, and she turned toward him as if attempting to look him in his eyes. The cup is steady in her hand as she stands, slightly hopping back to keep the chain from tugging too hard at her ankle.

“I said ‘drink it’” Vernon repeated gruffly. The woman was unfazed and continued to stand with the cup remaining in her hand. If Simon could see her eyes, he would assume the men were receiving a death glare that could cut deeper than a knife. Without hesitation, she tossed the cup of urine toward the men, using their giggling to pinpoint their exact direction. The men’s giggles halted, and they grew noticeably enraged as the woman stood with a devious smile on her face, as if proud of what she had done. She throws the empty cup towards the men and it shatters on the wall behind them, some of them dodging the throw.

The woman's assailant beat her to the ground within seconds, leaving Simon unable to comprehend the speed of the attack. Her attempts to put up a fight grew weak as she spat out blood, clutching onto the damaged and-more than likely, broken-parts of her body. The guard in the back pulled out a baton, and the woman cried out in pain as the guard beat her relentlessly.After a few minutes, the men ceased their actions and Simon heard a splutter, spit being ejected onto the woman, who remained in the fetal position. The woman laid in a puddle of her own blood, shivering and wincing in pain once the guards exited.

Ten minutes went by before the guard came back in a dry uniform with another cup of yellow tinted liquid. Without hesitation, he threw it onto the woman and shut the door behind him without saying a word. The woman scrambles to her feet now drenched with urine-the aroma traveling through the entirety of both cells-and blood. She didn’t speak, and she didn't cry as she slowly limped back, returning to her original seated position curled up on the wall.

Shortly after, a tray of mystery food is slid into Simon’s cell, unbeknownst to what it was.He gave it a try, but it lacked any taste. There was a slice of bread on the side that was hard, but it was still bread. Something that was edible and could be eaten. He looked at the woman as she faced the cell door, as if waiting for someone to come in.

“Here,” He said as he slid a piece of bread between the cell bars.

She didn’t move. Instead, she put her head between her knees, completely ignoring Simon. Eventually, her rapid breaths became sluggish and softer. She kept her position for the next few hours until the guards came back to take her away, her never putting up a fight as if it were a routine. The bread was left on the ground for whenever she came back, though Simon didn’t know the bread would become inedible by the time she returned.

He laid on the ground aching in pain knowing that these three and a half walls will be the last things he saw in life.

Day 10

Simon was awoken and watched as the woman’s cell door opened and the guards dragged her in. Blood ran down her legs and she seemed incapacitated, and still looked frail,though, slightly less than before. Wherever they took her, they must have fed her. She was no longer in the shirt she wore the first day he saw her, but wore underwear stained with blood and a brassiere. There seemed to be lash marks on the soles of her feet and partially on her legs.

As the men carried her in, she seemed to have woken up, her body making slight twitches and her head had moved slightly as they practically dragged her. They laid her against the wall and put the heavy metal chain back around her ankle. As the guard, who appeared heavier than the rest, did so, Vernon squatted beside her and slowly trailed his hand up her leg, the woman having no reaction until he reached her underwear.He had slowly started moving her underwear to the side before she gained the strength to kick him away, resulting in him receiving a foot to the jaw.

“Don’t…fucking…touch me,” she hissed. She was obviously in pain, but Simon noticed she still had some fight left in her. The woman was tired, frustrated, but still just as defiant as the first day he saw her. While they still hadn’t exchanged words, Simon observed some characteristics about her.

Within seconds, a loud shock echoed through the cell and a bright white light flashed. The woman rolled over, clutching her stomach in pain, before being met with a boot to her back. It didn’t take much before she was groaning in pain, the electric shock still traveling through her body, a pain much worse than the kick she had just received.

“Leave her alone,” Simon said gruffly. Why he decided to defend her knowing he stood no chance in his condition-he couldn’t tell you. What he did know was that the woman looked innocent, more than likely a civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or she could be a soldier like Simon. He considered the possibility. It could be why she was holding up as well as she was. Her accent told Simon she wasn’t British, but he would have to hear more to determine anything else. Her voice sounded too tired and pained for him to draw finite conclusions.

The men simultaneously turned their heads towards him and back at each other with a smirk. As the heavy set guard unlocked her ankle chain, they collectively dragged her out, the woman still not putting up a fight, more than likely still in pain from the shock she had just received.They opened Simon's cell door and threw the woman at his feet.

“If you want to save her, fuckher,” Vernon said firmly, a command that sat heavy in Simon’s stomach. Vile people are what these men were. Simon looked down at the woman, clearly in pain, and barely recovered from her time away. He looked up at the guards as he sat tied to a metal chair.

“I said ‘Fuck her’, English” he stated, more aggressive than he was before.The two men stood together, appearing to anticipate a performance, but Simon refused to comply even under duress.. “No,” Simon murmured. It was all he could really muster up. A coughing fit from the lack of water he had would pain anything else.

“Just…do…it,” she panted, her breaths too close together for her to say much more. Whether she was having a panic attack or still recovering, Simon could not tell. Either way, the woman knew something Simon didn’t. She had been there longer. Had learned the rules. Knew what to do and what not to do, though even that was a gray area.

The men giggled as they looked Simon up and down. He gave them a blank stare, not moving an inch.

“Fine, we’ll have her then,” the guard said. He and Vernon seemed to be partners in crime,he always showed up when Vernon did. The men picked up the woman as she put up a lazy fight, desperate for Simon to do what he was told.She appeared too pained and tired to actually put in genuine effort, causing her attempts to exhaust quickly. Her punches failed to inflict any damage on her takers and only amused them instead of hurting them. It was as if she knew her efforts were no good, but it was better to put up a fight than no fight at all, showing them she was a fighter, not a coward.

Manuel Roba came shortly after with a woman in skimpy clothing behind him. He said no words to Simon as he entered his cell, instead towering over him as he still sat tied to a chair, clothed in only his boxers. “You can have him. This is how we will start each day. It’s your choice,” Roba said to the woman. Without skipping a beat, Roba closes Simon’s cell door, leaving Simon and Pilar alone, something that would become part of Simon’s torture routine.

DAY 15

To no surprise, they dragged the woman back into her cell, and the routine chained lock up followed shortly after. She was clean, her hair not as matted as it was before. Within the hours, she had still said very little, both she and Simon sitting in the cell, cold and wounded, though he noticed the woman’s wounds had disappeared. She barely ever moved from her spot against the wall, only slightly shifting to nestle herself into a more comfortable position. Simon still continued to share his food whenever the woman did not receive any, pushing it through the bars to her side of the cell. He would also save some of his water and slide it next to the saved food, hoping she would drink it to wash away the unpleasant taste of whatever they were given. Some days after he woke up, he would find the food was gone or at least somewhat eaten and the water almost always gone. Still, every time Simon looked at the woman, she sat against the wall with her knees hugged against her chest like she only moved when he wasn’t looking.

DAY 20

Nowadays, Simon often sat with his back against the barred wall, staring at the blank wall opposite of him, hoping to catch the woman moving towards the food. It was possible he could get information out of her or find out who she was. Her unit could be looking for her. Or her family. Whoever she was, she had to have known something given the extended amount of time she was there. As he rested his head against the bars, he heard a quiet shuffling behind him. As he turned his head, he noticed the woman slowly inching towards the food, as if afraid to come too close to him; she either knew he was there or was used to cautiously approaching the food. The blindfold still secured to her face, she felt around to find the food that normally sat along the same place of the bars. Her left hand landed on the bread of the tray as she used her right hand to balance herself along the bars. In her attempt to grab the bars, she accidentally grazed Simon, and she scurried back, dropping the bread and nearly knocking over the cup of water.

“It is alright,” Simon said. He didn’t want the woman to fear him. Every bone in his body wanted to save her, but he had to save himself to do so.

The woman still sat back on her hands, unmoving, afraid of the familiar yet unfamiliar voice. Without being able to see, she could only grasp that this was the same trapped person in the cell with her. The one she could hear them beat and assault, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. It was a torture in itself, having to hear someone be hurt and there was nothing she could do about it but listen and wait for her turn. At least then, she knew his pain and suffering would temporarily end.

“You can have it, it’s alright,” she heard him say. Something about his voice told her to trust him, even though her instincts have proven her wrong countless times. But she was hungry and in need of food. It was survival over instincts. The worst had already happened to her, so she convinced herself that the man could not hurt her more than she had already endured.

She slowly started to re-approach the food in a walking squat, using her hands to balance herself as she moved with one foot and knee laterally. Simon realized the woman moved differently, as if her mobility and movement developed like that of another species.

He observed the woman as she slowly lifted the bread to her mouth, but not before smelling it. She took small bites, as if trying to savor the bland food. Simon observed the woman and her features, her hair slightly knotted, but yet her coarse curls remained defined, falling just above waist and over her ears. Her inner thighs had scars on them, as if a blade cut them, but they were fading, their depth telling how deep the original cuts were. She had warm brown skin and seemed covered with new bruises and cuts. Spots partially freckled her face, which appeared to lighten temporarily when stimulated. As she ate, her freckles that aligned her nose, cheekbones, and the middle of her forehead shone lightly a tinted brown orange light, a few freckles lighting on her chin. She had faint brown stripes, barely noticeable, but able to be seen if close enough, along one of her legs and her back. While Simon had seen nothing like them, he thought her features were quite unique, making her more alluring than anyone he had ever seen.

As the woman finished her bread, she felt around, searching for more. Unfortunately, there was nothing left, so Simon offered her the water he had, handing the cup in front of the woman. He tried to take the woman’s hand to feel the cup in front of her, but she quickly pulled back and let out a drawn out hiss, nearly knocking the water out of Simon’s hand.

Her fear was called for, but the hiss was not. It took Simon aback, a human hissing at him like an animal, but he ignored his own fear to try and assure the woman that he was not there to harm her. In a gruffly manner he said, “I’m trying to help you.” This may be more of a task than Simon first assumed, now knowing that the woman was either raised around animals or partly one herself. How is that possible? Human experimentation wasn’t unheard of, but many if not all had failed, especially ones pertaining to genetic modifications. Even the experiments conducted on animals in the past had failed.

Although taken aback, Simon attempted to move the cup back in front of the woman, moving it toward her mouth, though careful not to be too harsh. She seemed to feel as the cup came closer to her and grabbed it, downing the water until there wasn’t a drop left in the cup. Once she finished the water, she slid it back through the bars and slowly side crawled to the back wall, all without saying a word to Simon.

DAY 30

Eventually, both Simon and the woman had to rely on each other for comfort, finding solace in each other’s presence, though the woman’s silence still made him uneasy. After a month, the routines seemed to be the same. Simon fought. They did their best to break him. At some points, he thought they would. He never knew exactly what happened to the woman whenever the men would take her, but he had his ideas. Whenever she was thrown back into her cell, he looked at her with sorrow. Whatever drugs they had given her made her seem like she was never actually there. The blindfold covered her eyes, but he imagined they would look lost and empty. Sometimes her body would tremble like she was immersed in ice cold water moments before, but her body would remain warm. Other times, Simon could see the sweat drip down her body, detoxing from whatever they had given her.

On this particular day, Simon received no food or water. The woman noticed as she didn’t hear the tray slide under his door like it routinely did, but hers instead. When she approached her food, she did her normal ritual, smelling what it was, cautious enough to make sure she wasn’t being fed feces like she had once been before. Simon sat against the wall facing the bars between them, watching the woman inspect her food. He expected her to devour her food, but she turned her body towards him, instead sliding her food between the bars, never having a bite herself. Simon limped to the food and pushed it back towards the woman, making sure it nudged her enough for her to notice.

The woman needed the food more than Simon did, so he refused to take it. “No, you keep it,” he told her. She pushed the food back towards Simon and shook her head, adamant on him taking the food. “Спасибо (thank you),” she says softly with an accent, one that Simon could partially recognize. She spoke too softly for Simon to recognize what she said, but he was sure it was not English. He couldn’t help but to notice how the woman sat back, as if attempting to watch him eat, her blindfold taking away the one sense she wanted to use. Her knees touched the bars as she held onto them to steady herself up, facing Simon. He attempted to hand her food, softly patting her leg to get her attention, careful not to spook her again. She shook her head again and pushed the food away. “For you,” she whispered.

Simon couldn’t tell if the woman spoke English fluently because while he had heard her speak before, it was almost never in complete sentences and not loud enough for him to analyze her speech patterns. Her accent became more recognizable to Simon, though he needed her to speak more to really pinpoint where she might be from. If she didn’t speak English, getting information from her would be more complicated.

He had begun to slowly eat the food, saving the woman some. She expected him to eat it all which caused Simon confusion; he only ever gave her some of his food. Usually, he would eat enough to keep himself alive and give her the rest. He only ate a portion of the food before pushing it back to the woman.

She rarely ever gets food, he thought. Why give him food without taking any herself? It was seldom she received much if any food, so why not take the opportunity? It didn’t make much sense to him. She didn’t want to take the food, but she was starving and didn’t have the energy to continue to go back and forth with Simon. She slowly picked at the food as if testing its quality, often sniffing it to smell for any abnormalities to see if Simon had tampered with it.

“Ya speak English?” he asked her. She hesitantly nodded her head which only semi-convinced Simon.

“Ya ‘ave a name?” She kept silent as if pondering what her own name was. The drugs must have done a number on her for her to not know her own name-or so Simon thought. So, he started with his own name. “I’m -.”

“нет (No),” she interrupted, as if he were speaking of someone who shouldn’t be named. It was quick and abrupt. She knew what Simon was going to say and she did not want to hear it. “Do not tell me,” she quickly followed with, never giving Simon time to figure out what he was doing wrong. There is silence between the two before Simon spoke. “Нет? Russian?” he inquired, finally able to figure out the origins of the woman he still knew next to nothing about. If she was Russian, she could be Spetsnaz. Russian Navy, maybe.

“Yes,” she answered, almost regretting telling Simon anything about herself, though her birthplace would become the least interesting of her past. Simon’s cell door swung open, and the woman quickly shuffled back to her back wall, awaiting someone to come into her cell shortly after. Simon slowly shifted back, desensitized to the presence of anyone who entered his cell.

“You two been conversing, yet?” Vernon asked with an almost derisive tone, hinting at the fact that there is something Simon doesn’t know. Simon sat quietly as he peered at the dark-haired man while four other men came to tie Simon to the chair that awaited patiently in his cell. Though he tried to fight, he was still weak. The men left the cell and Vernon leaned on the doorframe.

“You two must have gotten to know each other. Or maybe not. She doesn’t speak much, does she?”

“You speak a lot,” Simon said crankily, sending a glare in his direction. Vernon snickered as he looked at Simon, holding an extensive file containing multiple white pages. “I have her file here. A pretty thing, ain’t she?”

“Ты действительно думаешь что я симпатичная (Do you really think I am pretty?),” she asked, her voice sounding flattered and soft, though her question went ignored due to the language barrier. She sat facing Simon’s side of the cubicle, though still keeping her distance. “Let’s read this, shall we? Then you can get an idea of the so-called ‘woman’ you share a cell with,” Vernon said, flipping open the file that he held. Simon sat quietly, expecting Vernon to read off a file of a civilian, a soldier, anyone but what he had heard. “Aurelia Petrova. Genetically modified and trained as a living weapon. Product of the infamous ‘Devil’s Room’, also known as Triple 6, or T6, as I like to call it. Genetically modified in-utero, carrying several physical traits of the Pandora humanoid species, the Na’vi.” Simon peered over at Aurelia, trying to read her expressionless face, though he could slightly see a small frown gradually emerging.

“Only survivor of the T6 experiments, though deemed defective. Known to many as the ‘Reaper’ or the ‘Ripper’, I guess it depends on who you’re asking,” Vernon snuck a glance at Aurelia, more than likely hoping to get a rise out of her. “Recognized as the most skilled assassin to ever exist, out ranking the Red Room’s infamous Black Widow and White Widow. Seems hard to believe given she doesn’t seem very sharp, especially if she ended up here. Surprisingly, she speaks at least 8 languages, English not being one of them, though I heard she has picked up a few words. Born in Tolyatti, Russia to an Ethiopian father and an Indian mother. How they got to Russia? Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Ya done?” Simon interrupted, irritated by Vernon’s voice. “Almost. Don’t get too excited. I’m getting to my favorite part.” Vernon said excitedly as if he was reading Simon a novel.

Simon let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, doing his best to drown out the agitating voice he was hearing, one he used to recognize as a friend. “Says here she’s worth over a million dollars. Ya hear that, English? She’s a whore. Looks like she has been since…,” Vernon followed the words on the document with his finger. “Bought at 9 months old. Guess she was born to be a whore.”

Simon’s stomach dropped and his heart sank as he thought about the atrocities the woman had been through. She never stood a chance. He wondered where her family was. Maybe he could help her find her way back to them. She could make it out of here. But what would she do when she left? Vernon said it: she’s an assassin. Simon couldn’t figure out if letting her out would put others at risk or if it was best for her to continue to suffer in expense to keep others alive. “You see, English, she isn’t here because we need information. This is her test, and surprisingly, she’s passing. Every injury she has had a typical human without her genetic components wouldn’t be able to survive. Others wouldn’t have even survived a week. But her…she’s the real deal. She heals quickly, if you haven’t noticed. What would take you 3 months to heal would take her 3 days. Within her eighteen years of life, she has most likely endured more injuries to parts of her body than most of the human population. And you probably can’t even tell. And whatever you saw is gone now. No trace. No evidence. That’s the best part about it. Doesn’t matter what we do to her. You would never even know.”

The more Vernon spoke, the more Simon realized how wicked and deranged he was, that each of the men were. Causing Aurelia pain and suffering was a fun game to them, one that was never ending, not until she or they were dead. “Anyway, that’s that. Just wanted you to know you rest your head next to an animal.” Vernon closed the door behind him after releasing Simon from the chair as an eerie silence filled the cage.

3 HOURS LATER

Simon and Aurelia both sat at the bars of their cells. Though speaking in broken English, she does her best to converse in a soft-spoken manner. Simon didn’t want to think about what Vernon had told him about Aurelia hours earlier. It could have all been hearsay, though allegations such as that seem hard to make up.

“So why can’t I tell ya my name?” Simon inquired. It seemed harmless to him. If they were going to be stuck together, they could at least get to know each other’s names, or at least Aurelia know his name. “It is-,” she pondered her next word, figuring out how to best word what she wanted to say. “Not safe,” she finished, hoping Simon would quit asking her questions, so she gave him a name to keep the peace. Simon sat silently, trying to figure out what to say next. While it didn’t make sense before, it did not. Names are dangerous. It made things personal and put others at risk. “Ghost.” she uttered, a light smile crossing her face as she faced Simon. “Huh?” Simon questioned. It was random. A ghost? The drugs may have started to catch up to her. “You. Ghost.” she answered.

“M’not dead, yet,” Simon joked, not understanding where Aurelia was coming from. “No, your name. Ghost,” Aurelia explained, not sure how else to put it. “Hm. That’s my name now?” She nodded, hoping to hide the fact that she was hinting that he would die, or at least that is what she thought. “Why ‘Ghost’?”

“You die here. You are ghost,” she answered. There was no other explanation needed. “Fair enough. ‘Ghost’ it is,” Simon chuckled. While he took it as a joke, Aurelia’s smile faded as she thought of the numerous ways that they would kill Simon in an attempt to break him, or even her. What she didn’t know is that Simon was determined to not die and if he did, he wasn’t going to die a traitor to his country; that he was sure of.

It was obvious Aurelia could fully understand Simon, though she partially struggled to find the proper words to respond. Throughout the weeks, the two continued to converse, Simon often helping Aurelia with her English. He found it amusing how she slightly picked up his accent in a mix with her Russian one. She seemed to mimic the tone of whatever was said to her, making her speech patterns more interesting than anyone Simon had conversed with.

DAY 60

Simon and Aurelia had no sense of time. They slept during the small times they could. Their pastime was sitting along the bars, speaking to each other, enjoying the small times they could to smile and laugh, though they tried to not be too loud so the guards could not hear.

“Why don’t you take off the blindfold?” Simon asked Aurelia. He had never seen her without the blindfold that, from his perspective, seemed easy to remove. “Can’t. Также (also), it makes everything worse,” she answered, though never explaining why.

Simon pushed Aurelia’s hair back, revealing her pointed ears that seemed to move slightly during their interactions, another discovered feature of hers that Simon found interesting. He went to remove her blindfold, but stopped as he found a nail that seemed to secure it. He pushed her hair back on the other side of her face, revealing the same situation on the other side of her head. “I see,” Simon stated, saddened by the pain that Aurelia must have been in.

“‘ow will ya know wha’ I look like?”

“Why do I need to know?” Aurelia asked in a Russian accent. It was a fair question. She didn’t foresee her or Simon making it out anytime soon or even together. Someone would die in this prison.

“For when we get ou’ ov ‘ere. ‘ow wilya know tis’ me?”

“I can hear you. It is better if I do not know how ya look,” she responded. She knew she was giving false hope, but maybe there was a chance that one of them could make it out and she hoped it was Simon.

He reached out his hand, offering it to Aurelia, making sure to make gentle contact to get her attention. She allowed him to take her hand as he gently glided her hand across his face. She spent a few moments taking in the feelings of the textures of his face, the freckles on her face beginning to glow before she was interrupted. Simon watched as her ears shifted back and in a downwards motion, her immediate frown showing her fear. While her ears resembled that of typical human beings, they moved in a way he had never witnessed before. Her cell door swung open, and she quickly shuffled back, trying to get back to her normal position against the wall.

“Oh, you two have been conversing? How is that going for ya?” Vernon asked derisively. Simon nor Aurelia had answered, causing Vernon to grow slightly irritated. He walked up to and grabbed Aurelia by her hair, dragging her to the bars where Simon could see her more clearly, close to the same spot that they sit and speak at. She kicked and attempted to swing out of his grip, but her attempts failed. He forced her to the ground, causing her to hit her head on the bars in front of her, resulting in a trail of blood dripping down her forehead. While trying to gather herself back into a seat position, Vernon brung out two ice picks, showcasing them to Simon.

Simon’s cell door swung open, and he was handled into the chair, tied down by the same guards he would see before. The men faced the chair towards Aurelia and Vernon on the other side of the cell. Almost immediately, Vernon drives the icepicks through Aurelia’s eardrums, causing her to let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling back to the ground. Vernon leaned down, removing the icepicks from her ears viciously, giggling as he moved toward her.. “Have fun conversing now,” he said spitefully as he closed the door behind him.

Aurelia continued to scream out in pain, both her hands grabbing at the sides of her head, covering her ears, in between her fingers dripped with blood. Simon struggled in the chair, attempting to fight his way out to help her. She goes into a fetal position as she cries into her knees, her hands continuing to cover her ears as the blood dripped to the floor.

6 HOURS LATER

Aurelia’s cries subsided, but she still continued to wince in pain. The men were trying to use her to break Simon. They made him watch almost everything they did to her and there was nothing he could do. Though, sometimes they would take her for days at a time. He did not know if they took her somewhere within the facility or outside, but he knew that every time she came back, she seemed more lost. His attempts to speak to her would go unnoticed, and she didn’t touch her food. Simon worried for Aurelia; he knew either they would kill her in front of him or they would rot in the cells together.

3 MORE HOURS LATER

The men returned to Simon’s cell, dosing him with a sedative. They carried his body to a room surrounded by concrete, leaving him in only his boxers. The room had to be only ten to twenty degrees. They placed him against the concrete back wall and left the area. Fifteen minutes later, they returned with Aurelia stripped down to her bra and underwear. She was flung into the concrete room, landing adjacent to Simon. She seemed weak and barely conscious as the men threw buckets of water on them. Simon woke up drenched, seeing the blurry men standing at the door.

“One of you dies tonight. I don’t care who,” Vernon said as he tossed a blanket, only big enough for one of them, into the room. They shouldn’t be this unbreakable. Everyone has a breaking point. Vernon just had to find theirs.

Aurelia barely moved an inch within the next forty-five minutes, though Simon noticed as her body shivered. She was covered in blood and still often tampered with her ears. He called out to her, but his calls went unanswered. He limped over to the blanket and picked it up, carefully placing it over the girl before returning to the wall to freeze to death. Simon was prepared to die for his country and he wanted Aurelia to live. She has something to live for, he thought. Even if she was an assassin like Vernon said, she could come back and take out Roba and Vernon herself. She would take revenge for both of them. Though they were only four years apart, he considered her youthfulness to have more potential. He laid his head back on the wall as his body grew colder, drifting to sleep before he felt a lightweight and warmth on his body. Aurelia had made her way on top of Simon, wrapping the blanket over her back and around his sides, barely reaching around his back.

Simon had an athletic build and stood at about 6 feet, 4 inches. The blanket itself could barely fully cover Aurelia, let alone the two of them. Simon attempted to pull her legs more under the blanket, curling her body on top of his own. Though he tried to find a source of stable warmth on Aurelia, his efforts ran dry. She laid seemingly asleep, motionlessly curled up on top of Simon with her only movements being the rise and fall of her chest. Her ear pressed against Simon’s heart and her hands against his abdomen. He felt as she shivered and her body seemed to grow colder. A sense of warmth spread throughout his body, and he felt confused about how he was returning from the brink of freezing to death.

He looked under the blanket to find Aurelia’s hand that laid on his abdomen being surrounded by a brownish orange aura. Simon sat confused as he didn’t understand what the aura was. It was majestic and looked unreal. It reminded him of dust, but more visually appealing. As it grew, so did Simon’s warmth, but Aurelia had begun to feel like ice. He tried to shake her out of her sleep while calling out her name; she did not move or respond. “What are you doing?” he murmured. It occurred to him she was transferring her body heat to his own.

Aurelia stayed asleep, her breathing becoming more shallow. Simon attempted to wake her up by gently tapping her on a face a few times and gently shaking her. He got no response, so he turned her over to her back, her head now resting in the crease of his arm. He used his opposite hand to tap gently on her chest, hoping to get a reaction.

Nothing.

“No, no, no. Wake up,” he murmured again as he frantically patted her chest. This couldn’t be how she died. She was supposed to live. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. He pressed his middle and index finger against Aurelia’s neck to check for a pulse. Her body grew even colder than before. Simon failed to find a pulse but still attempted to wake her for the next thirty minutes. Eventually, he wrapped her body and brought it to her last position on top of him as he held her close, cradled in his arms. Her arms and head fell limp and Simon supported her neck with the crease of his arm and moved her icy hand on his chest. He positioned her head to fall back near his heart before falling asleep with his head atop of Aurelia’s, his cheek buried in her hair. When he woke up, her body was gone, and the room seemed to be at normal temperature. When the men walked back into the once freezing room, Simon became enraged.

“Where is she?” he asked furiously in a half yell, unable to fully unleash his fury. “Doesn’t matter where she is.” Roba answered. Before Simon could say anything, he was drugged and taken back to the cell that now sat silent and empty.

DAY 150

At least three months had gone by and there was no sign of Aurelia. Simon missed her company, but he was sure she was dead now; there was nothing he could do. Vernon was dead as he failed to successfully brainwash Simon. Forced to kill and hung from a meat hook, Simon sat in his cell half dazedly, his laceration growing infected from the lack of treatment. There is banging at his door, bringing him back to his reality

“Hey, Hey English!” A familiar voice called.Washington, one of Simon's fellow comrades, called out and explained to Simon how they were going to get out, but not before they heard other familiar voices down the hall.

“Where’s the girl?” Washington asked as he attempted to open Simon’s cell door. “Gone.” Simon replied in despair. As the voice comes closer, Simon gets his comrades to get away before the men catch them too.

“Rise and Shine, English,” a voice calls as he opens Simon’s cell door.

Three heavily armed men appear at Simon’s door. They brought him outside to humiliate him and place him inside a coffin; Manuel Roba was done with him. Simon is accompanied by the dead body of Major Vernon and Simon is buried alive.

APPROXIMATELY 13 HOURS LATER

There is commotion going on in the facility. Men were slaughtered as Roba planned and succeeded in his escape.

“No puedo encontrarlo (I can’t find him)!” Aurelia was alive and well, and while she couldn’t exactly speak fluent English, she resorted to another language she knew fluently, Spanish, one that her new companion could understand.

“Do you know which cell you two were in?” the man asked Aurelia, who was covered in blood and angrily trekking through the halls. She gave the man a side eye in response to his question. “Right, right. You were blindfolded. Dumb question. Sorry,” the man said dismally. He knew Aurelia to give more nonverbal responses, learning how to read her expressions more than listen to her. “How would we know who he is if you never saw him? How do we even know he is alive? This could be a waste of time and there could be more people coming right now,” the man said, annoyed. He hadn’t exactly agreed to come on the journey, but Aurelia was adamant and he couldn’t let her do her bidding alone. She was strong-willed, that’s for sure.

“He is alive. Lo sé (I know it),” she replied. She had her doubts before, but she knew he was alive. He didn’t die like she originally thought he would. “Well, every one of these cells is empty. So he isn’t here. Maybe he got out. Maybe he’s-”

“No,” she interrupted. “He is here.” She refused to be convinced that Ghost was dead. She may not have known his name, but she knew who he was. The man and Aurelia continued going about the premises, killing any guard that seemed to stand in their way. She came across a man who seemed to still be bleeding out. She grabbed him, aiming a gun at his head.

“Where is he?” she asked demandingly. The man laughed with blood filling his mouth. “So you live…I knew they couldn't have killed you with a little cold air. How’d you get out? Tell me,” the man said, his words attempting to taunt Aurelia. She was determined to find Ghost if it was the last thing she did. He would make it out, she would make sure of it, even if she died in the process. In her eyes, his life was worth more than hers.

“Where is he?” she repeated, her voice instilling more fear into the man, though he did not give in. The dying man leaned against the wall, holding his side and looking Aurelia in her eyes. “Where you should’ve been,” the man said belligerently.

Without hesitation, Aurelia shot the man in the head, blood and brains spreading on the walls and causing a painful ringing in her ears and walked away, knowing that may have been her only hope at finding Simon, the man whose name she did not know, but called Ghost. She believed his name fit, as she believed he was dead, just like she said he would be, but she still had a sliver of hope. An inkling that she couldn’t shake. As she and the man made their way back outside to sweep the area, the man spotted slight movement from afar and ran towards it, motioning for Aurelia to stay back. She continued to do a sweep through the remaining area before she heard her name being called from afar. She ran towards her companion to investigate. “I think he’s alive,” the man says as he finds a pulse on the severely wounded man who was laying on the ground, beside an opened hole. “Looks like he busted out this coffin. Tough guy,” the man continued.

“Is this him?” the man asked Aurelia. “I can’t hear him. No sé (I don’t know), Joel,” Aurelia responded, irritated by the question. “You think you can tell if you hear him speak?” the man asked

She nodded. She had only really ever heard the man, Ghost. She knew nothing of his physical features. Though he allowed her to touch his face, it wasn’t a long enough time to really gather his features, but the memory and what she could feel stuck with her. She seemed to remember everything including little details. It is why the men kept her blindfolded knowing her history of going after people she remembered from her past. What they never considered is that she remembered every scent, voice, noise, and feeling that she experienced. She thought of it as a blessing and a curse. She may have been able to remember the people who wronged her and she may have been able to kill them, but the memories and the feelings of what they did to her would never leave. She wished she could forget the memories and act as if they never happened, but her body and mind would not allow her to do so.

Joel helped the wounded man, and Aurelia assisted as best as she could. Both the men had quite the weight and height on her, but she did her best to help get the large man to the truck. They made their way to their vehicle, and Aurelia started the car as Joel put the man in the truck's backseat. While unsure of who the man was, Aurelia knew that there was no one left in the facility, but she still had a weird feeling.

“You drive,” she demanded, getting out of the car before Joel could confirm. He sat in the driver’s seat, but before he closed the door, he saw Aurelia running towards the facility. “What are you doing?” Joel called out behind her.

She was quite fast, so Joel knew it would be no use running after her. When she reached the facility, she did one quick last sweep, looking for any evidence of what was done and possibly anyone else who was left behind. She took any files she could find and stuffed them in her bag. Once she knew it was clear, she set the building ablaze, throwing up on the side of the building before making her way back to the vehicle. The fire could be seen from miles away. She ran back to the truck, tossing her book bag to the ground of the backseat and sat next to the mutilated man. As Joel drove, Aurelia examined the man. He had multiple infections, seemed delirious, and was dehydrated. She attempted to give the man water, but he swatted her away.

“I help you!” Aurelia exclaimed

After a slight struggle, she could get the man to calm down, though she was sure it was because of his injuries that he could not fully overpower her. The man drank the water that she offered and she held the canister up to his mouth, allowing him to drink as much as he wanted, never once interrupting as he gulped down most of the water.

“¿Cómo esta? (How is he),” Joel asked, looking at Aurelia and the man through the rearview mirror.

She explained how the mystery man had multiple infections, and she was afraid he may develop sepsis, sharing how she believed his injuries were from mutilation and were poorly treated, if at all. She sorrowfully looked back at the man, glancing at the large infected gash going through the man’s abdomen.

“Here,” she said as she placed her hand along the laceration, emitting a brown-golden like aura from her hand. The man looked up at Aurelia as he noticed familiar lit freckles line Aurelia’s face. He noticed the brightened freckles ran down her arms, creating one long lit path up to her hand, which radiated the aura. He attempted to speak, but his voice was too hoarse, disabling his ability to properly speak. “It is alright,” she assured him, repeating the same phrase Ghost had once said to her in an attempt to calm her.

The aura died down and the man had immediately felt better, though he still carried other injuries that prevented him from fully recovering. The opened and infected laceration now looked as if it was healing. While it was still there, it no longer emitted pus and caused an odor. Though there were other injuries that were surely causing the man pain and mostly infected, the biggest threat of injuries was eliminated. The other injuries could be treated with medicine and bandages.

He hissed at the application of alcohol, but had no energy to fight it, drifting to sleep shortly after Aurelia finished her aid. Aurelia watched before she closed her eyes herself, resting her head on the window.

[1d1195]

Hummingbirds Extra I

Read Hummingbirds here | ~2.8k words

From me: Hope you like it :) it's very disjointed on purpose. Thank you to my 😺-anon for some suggestions on little looks into their lives 💕

Warnings: mostly fluff, but this Harry's got some stuff he's working through so angst is a good warning as well.

Summary: Harry had resigned himself to the fact that he might never be happy. He didn't know she could make feel so good to forget about all that heartache.

There was a snowman on their front lawn.

When Harry was in therapy, he imagined about a hundred lovely little things like this. Dr. Hendren said it was okay to think about them. It was good to think he deserved lovely things. But to know that she was behind the new little snow decoration presented him with the feeling of joy that he couldn’t possibly have imagined all those years ago.

His throat felt tight with emotion. Harry wasn’t one for crying. He was angry all the time for so very long. Crying seemed weird and a type of vulnerable he wasn’t fully prepared to deal with nor equipped to handle.

All because of a snowman.

Pushing the door open, Harry was greeted with delicious smells coming from the kitchen. “Hi, Harry!” She chirped. Harry heard her footsteps practically bounding down the short hall between the kitchen and the front door. Her gorgeous smile was nearly blinding. Harry was overwhelmed by how beautiful she was simply because she was happy.

She was there in their house.

He grinned in response, dropped his bag next to her shoes she left by the door for easy slipping into before she left the house. All while she continued forward. Normally Harry was home before she was but today was special. Therefore, the greeting was special, out of the ordinary but by far one of his favorites.

Another thing Harry didn’t think he could have imagined five years ago if he tried. Her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He squeezed her tight, burying his face into her neck inhaling her sweet-smelling hair that got caught between. “Hi kitten,” he murmured quietly into her skin.

“I missed you,” she sighed like he had been gone for weeks and not hours.

It was music to his ears. The euphoria he felt was unbelievable. It was like light was warming him from the inside out. His whole body felt airy. The world seemed brighter. “Missed you too, baby,” he pressed his lips to her temple and let them linger there. “What smells s’good?”

“I made stuff for tacos since it’s Tuesday,” she pulled from him, dropping her feet to the floor. She released him except she kept hold of his hand as she tugged him back toward the kitchen. “I was going to see if you needed a margarita or not,” she squeezed his fingers.

“No, kitten. I had a good day,” he chuckled. “S’perfect now that m’home. You are...” he shook his head smirking in half-disbelief that she was real. “...Amazing. Smells delicious.” It was winter break at her school, so she got to spend the day relaxing. For which, Harry was so grateful. She spent so much time and energy on her students because of course she did. She was perfect in every way. In his humble yet perhaps biased opinion, no one deserved a break more than she did. She worked so hard and did her best for every student on her caseload. “Did y’have a good day off?” She stopped in front of the island looking at the layout of food in front of her. Mentally running through a checklist to make sure everything was in place for the perfect taco night.

“Yes, I made a snowman because I went to get the mail and it was just like the right amount of crunchy snow, you know?”

He didn’t, but that didn’t matter. He nodded and smiled. “S’very cute.”

She grinned sweetly. Like he told her she was beautiful. Which she was but he didn’t say it and he thought she was adorable. He followed her around the island and placed his arm around her waist, trapping her between him and the counter. He kissed her temple. She turned slightly to speak again. “Harry, I don’t think I thank you enough for this beautiful home and this lovely life we have,” she reached out to cup his face, ran her thumb along his cheek. “It took you a lot of work,” she reminded him. “That’s very special.”

“God, kitten,” he shook his head. “Y’never have t’thank me,” he smiled, releasing the counter and mirrored her hand position and dipped his head so he could meet her lips. She tasted like sunshine and hope. Her mouth was so soft and he loved her so much he couldn’t think of anything else.

She grinned around his lips and kissed him back. “Tacos, baby,” she whispered.

“We can reheat them,” he murmured against her lips and pushed her back toward the living room because the bedroom was simply too far for what he needed to do right then.

*

The drive home was tense with bitter silence. Harry felt sick to his stomach. It was all his own doing. As he always he had, he kept a lot of his frustration bottled up—even the kind that was done by his own hand. He didn’t know that it was going to be brought up at the work party.

“Kitten.”

“Harry, I’m not in the mood right now to discuss it,” she grumbled.

He felt shattered. All those feelings of insecurity and doubt filled his bloodstream. It was a miracle he could still drive when he seriously thought he was dying slowly from the inside out. His skin felt tingly. His heart was pounding. The kind of worried beating that occurred right after he had to dodge a car in traffic through a dicey maneuver that left his hands sweaty. His limbs shaking even though he was otherwise fine.

The air felt like something bad was going to happen. It was terrifying. “Why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid,” she snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to what? Keep it from me that you got a promotion? That your entire division is moving?”

“I’m not taking—”

“Harry, what the fuck? We’re supposed to be a team.”

He swallowed hard trying to keep calm. He was angry with himself. The kind of anger he felt back when they were in college, and he wouldn’t tell her big important things just like this. The kind of frustration that she just turned away from and let him simmer because he was too young and stupid to let her in.

“I’m sorry.” And he was. He was so apologetic he felt like he didn’t deserve to feel another emotion as long as he lived because he upset her. He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be bottling up his emotions and frustrations. Especially not around the girl of all his dreams, the love of his life, his reason for getting better.

“Sorry?” She repeated. “You’re sorry what? That you made me look stupid in front of all your coworkers and superiors or that you didn’t tell me you got a really great opportunity and didn’t think I was worth telling?”

He swore the contents of his stomach were making their way up his esophagus. Fortunately, he pulled into their driveway so at least his shaky hands wouldn’t cause a car wreck on top of all that too. “Kitten, I didn’t mean t’make you feel—”

“But you did Harry, and you don’t seem to be grasping how—”

“Please stop interrupting me,” he begged softly trying to remain calm when all he wanted to do was shut down. Or scream. “I know I messed up but—”

“No Harry, no buts. I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all and I—”

She put her hand on the door handle and the wave of nausea felt so intense. Harry locked the door quickly in a frantic panic.

“What are you doing!?” She gaped pulling at the handle as she was trapped inside. She whirled around to face Harry like he was a serial killer in a movie. He couldn’t blame her for looking at him like that. “Harry—”

“We can’t fight inside,” his voice was quiet. But it was clear, decisive.

“What are you talking ab—”

“This house is everything I wanted for us... for you,” he murmured. “M’not tainting it with argument because m’a proper idiot,” he looked at the steering wheel. “I can’t go in there and let y’tell me I messed up and y’hate me and don’t—”

“Harry,” her voice was softer, and her interruption didn’t make him feel angry anymore.

“—want to be with me anymore because—”

“Harry,” she whispered and grabbed one of his hands from his lap.

This was it. All those years and dreams. All the effort to get the house, reach out and find her. All those letters.

And he just completely fucked it up in one night.

He was so fucking stupid.

“Baby,” her voice was so soft. At least she was going to be nice about breaking up with him. Harry was the angry one and he didn’t like when she yelled. He worried it would hurt her throat. She wasn’t cut out for anger. She was sweet and lovely and the fact he made her mad was another reason he deserved to be alone.

“Harry let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care how stupid you make me look; I will never hate you. I never hated you ever and I don’t see a situation in which you could ever make me hate you,” she reached over and squeezed his hand. “Look at me,” she whispered.

He tentatively peered at her. It was going to be harder on him if he had to look at her while she left him. “M’not good at telling y’things that are hard.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t want the promotion.”

“Shouldn’t we at least discuss—”

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “We’d have t’move and y’have your job that you love, and you’re so loved by... and we have this house, and nothing is as important t’me as us being happy in this place we’ve made a home.”

She smiled sadly, but there was soft fondness in her eyes that Harry hadn’t anticipated in their breakup. “We’d make any house a home, Harry.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Harry,” she held his hand in both of hers now and applied more pressure. “I’m sorry I yelled and interrupted you. I was upset, and that doesn’t make it okay. Can you listen for a moment? Really listen?” He turned to look at her squarely. His eyes felt hot, and his head was starting to ache. “I’m not with you because you bought me this beautiful house that I dreamed about. I’m not with you conditioned on the fact that I have a good job in town where I’m also needed or loved by those around me. I’m with you because I adore you and I love your heart. Every part of it. Even the parts that try to keep me out. Even the angry parts—the scared parts. I love you. If this house burned down, I would still love you,” she sounded so reassuring it hurt almost as much as thinking she hated him. The relief was crushing.

“But...I want you t’have the house and job anyway,” he mumbled.

She smiled, cupped his cheek. “I know, baby,” she nodded. “And I wish you had told me, but I can see that it wasn’t malicious. Of course it wasn’t. It was rude of me to imply that I was upset, and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?”

It was ridiculous she was asking for forgiveness. She didn’t need it. She hadn’t done a single thing wrong. “I didn’t think t’tell you because I thought—”

“I know, baby, I know,” she nodded. “Let’s go inside and watch a movie before bed,” she leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips. “Forget about all this,” she rubbed her thumb on his cheek. “We have a beautiful house and life waiting to be lived in there thanks to you.”

The feeling in his fingers started to come back. The nausea subsided.

Harry remembered what Dr. Hendren said about the hummingbirds in his dreams meant; that healing was happening.

Maybe that’s why it felt like there were a hundred hummingbirds in his stomach as she got out of the car.

“So we’re not allowed to fight in the house?” She asked with a smirk.

“Um,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, no...” he shook his head. “S’too important.”

She stopped on the step outside the front door. “No fighting in the house. You crazy psycho,” she giggled. “Locking me in the car.”

“I was scared!” He protested.

She rolled her eyes. Then she smiled, grabbing his hand again and bringing it to her mouth. “You don’t have to be scared, Harry. Not about us. I’m not going anywhere.”

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, Harry really believed in something that resembled hope.

*

It was a warm summer day and Harry came home to an empty house. There was noise coming from the backyard, so he followed the sound of giggles and running water.

Miss Evie was standing beside her water table, splashing in nothing but her diaper, her little wisps of hair matted to her head. She was slathered in sunscreen and the umbrella from the patio table was moved so that the shade went right over her splashing zone. Beside her was the prettiest woman Harry had the pleasure of knowing; her legs outstretched on the deck, her back against the railing slats, and her pretty body adorned in a bathing suit, hidden beneath a coverup. “Hi Daddy,” she giggled at his approach. She was wearing sunglasses, but he could imagine her mischievous gaze all the same.

Harry felt his cheeks turn red at her innuendo and he shook his head at her. “Hi, kitten.”

“Dada!” Evie bounced up and down excitedly.

“Hello, pretty baby,” he bent down beside the table and scooped his wet daughter into his arms not caring that she soaked his clothes or got sunscreen on them. The baby giggled and nuzzled into his chest.

“She might love you more than I do,” she grinned.

Harry chuckled. “S’probably too much love for her little body to handle,” he mumbled kissing the top of her head. Beneath all the lotion, she still smelled like baby.

“That is a real possibility,” she agreed. The idea that she loved him more than their daughter’s body could handle was sweet. She tilted her head up to soak up the sun. She was so stunning, it practically hurt Harry to look at her, but it wasn’t going to stop him. “Evie baby, show Dada your splashing,” she grinned. Evie huffed and giggled as Harry steadied her back on her wobbly feet. She wasn’t walking but she was good at balancing and standing (especially with the support of the splash table). She slapped her hands on the surface getting Harry more we. He kissed the back of her little head.

“Nice job, baby,” he cooed proudly.

Evie made little gurgling noises and babbling sounds. “Buh-buh-buh,” she shook her head back and forth. Then she pointed at the birdfeeder right beside the deck. One little hummingbird fluttering beside them.

“That is a bird, Evie! Good job!” She laughed.

Evie splashed and Harry made his way around the splash table and crouched over the love of his life. “Hi,” she smiled dreamily. “I like this view,” she admitted.

“Keep it in your pants, love. Our daughter is right there.”

“I’m not wearing pants,” she reminded him with a grin.

“I love you,” he stated ignoring her as he straddled her thighs, kneeling so he wouldn’t put his weight on her body against the hard deck.

“I love you,” she responded with a smile that was sincerely brighter than the sun that was warming her pretty skin. Harry felt hot just looking at her and not because of the weather.

Harry kissed her and thought of all the years and nights he dreamed of these kinds of moments. How he felt unworthy and that they would never happen. How lucky he was to have her in his life making sweet memories and with a beautiful baby that he truly couldn’t imagine life without.

“I think Evie needs a sibling.”

“Are y’okay, kitten?” He chuckled at the implication.

“Warm weather,” she smiled impishly.

“Maybe we can get my mom to watch Evie? Or would Gem want to have a sleepover?” She asked trailing her finger along Harry’s neckline.

“Kitten,” he laughed.

“I’m sorry do you not want me?” She pouted dramatically.

“No, baby,” he shook his head at her listening to the sounds of their daughter having fun in the backyard of their perfect home. Their perfect life. “You know I always want you.”

--

general taglist:

@justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl @emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10 @tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269 @jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle @mypolicemanharryyy @harry2121

[teecupangel]

OH OH BUILDING ON THE HUMMINGBIRD

Ezio with a hummingbird! Ezio gifts the bird to Pettruccio (is that how you spell that?) and when Petruccio (how the fuck is it spelled?!) does he takes the hummingbird.

But BUT Desmond-the-hummingbird is with him when he finally gets to the Vault later and Minerva just stops her monologue, looks straight at the bird, and says in a deadpan tone “What the fuck are you doing here Desmond.”

(The hummingbird!Desmond idea with Altaïr)

The end was fast approaching and Minerva had failed.

They had failed.

Too focused on the humans.

Too focused on their own selfish desires.

His father had given up, gracing the halls with lavish banquets to drown his sorrows and guilt.

Juno had been imprisoned, not for the heinous crimes she had committed against the humans but for using such experiments to one of their own.

Perhaps this was their punishment.

They have been at the pinnacle for a long time now.

It was only natural that they would fall.

But this was such a cruel punishment.

The flames of the Solar Flare will consume all.

Those who deserved to be punished and the innocents who do not deserve such an end.

And those flames could not cleanse them all.

Some will survive.

Some who deserved to survive and some who do not.

Minerva does not know which category she would fall to.

But she was going to survive.

This facility would survive.

It was meant to house those for her kind that had committed the most heinous of crimes.

It was meant to survive the most destructive of attacks.

And here…

She finished her final work.

A second Eye.

To connect to Desmond Miles’ Prophet.

The stage has been set. The script has been imbued to the Parcae System.

As long as no one with the knowledge of what will come to pass takes direct actions against Parcae System, Desmond Miles will be born.

And he will receive her message using his Prophet.

The Eye began to hum and she stared at it, its gears turning as it slowly floated away from one another.

Until at the very center of the Eye, she sees him.

Desmond Miles’ Prophet.

He looked at her with wide eyes and she greeted calmly, “Greetings prophet. It is good you have come. Let us see it. To give thanks.”

He held out the Apple towards her and she touched it, locking many of its capabilities until it would come into contact with Desmond Miles.

This was his Apple.

The weapon Minerva have chosen to give to him.

She dropped her hand and turned to where Desmond would be watching this memory as she said, “We must spe-”

She stopped.

As a small bird floated where she was staring, its wings flapping furiously to stay in place.

Her eyes widened.

The Isus do not see the world the same way as humans do.

The closest the humans could see the world as the Isus do would be through their Eagle Vision but, even that paled in comparison.

Everything in this world glowed in an Isu’s eyes, different hues to show more information about them than what human eyes could perceive.

And the bird’s hue.

Its glow.

The white that glowed like sunlight.

The golden smoke emitting all around it that slowly turn to golden dust.

There is only one being to ever glow such a hue in Minerva’s eyes.

“Desmond?”

[royboyfanpage]

What would you consider to be the defining characteristics of Roy? Like what makes Roy Harper well Roy Harper?

Please and Thank You ☺️

Hi! That is a really great question

Okay the first defining characteristic is easy to answer: love. Romantic, platonic, familial etc. He loves so strongly, and once he’s loved someone once he’s pretty much gonna love them forever. You can see it with Lian (which I think is particularly present during Lian’s early appearances- baby Lian era- but is also very evident all throughout her existence), you can see it with how he never stopped loving Jade, you can see it with how he lets his heart get broken for Donna, you can see it with Dick and Ollie and Dinah and everyone important to his life, and regardless of if these people hurt him he’s still gonna love them. Which leads onto his second defining characteristic-

Forgiveness, and emotional honesty. In my opinion, a good Roy Harper does not hold grudges, at least not for very long. This is something that I think’s most interestingly demonstrated in Titans (1999) #15, wherein the Fab Five are all on an island together where their emotions are being manipulated to turn them against each other. And the main reason I think this issue in particular is so interesting is because when everyone else is there bringing up resentments and grudges, particularly towards Roy, Roy doesn’t. The only times that it could be argued that Gargoyle’s manipulating Roy’s emotions to make him more hostile, it’s always in direct response to something else that’s happened there- take, Dick insulting Roy and calling him unreliable, for example. And when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense. Roy’s generally perceived as the “hothead” of the group and, while I don’t like it that much as a negative connotation (though there are undoubtedly some moments where it is a negative), it is in a way true. He’s very much an immediate responder- he won’t let things fester, he’ll immediately call things out when he doesn’t like them, and then once he’s gotten that out in the air he’ll drop it even without any apology (which, to be honest, 9/10 times he does not get an apology). He doesn’t hold grudges because he takes action immediately against things he doesn’t like, and then ends it there once he’s voiced his thoughts. He forgives incredibly easily, which unfortunately has made him a bit of a punching bag among his friends- everybody knows Roy as the one who doesn’t hold things against you, and so they don’t have many reservations about calling him a junkie or insulting him (which as a little aside is why I love Roy punching Dick in Outsiders so much- this isn’t a new occurrence, people have been calling him a junkie for years, but he actually stands up for himself which. Good for you baby.) Obviously this isn’t always the case, and a really interesting casual observation I’ve made recently is that it’s definitely something that came about more after Lian was born. I haven’t thought about this in great depth before, so I’m not taking into account the original Teen Titans run because it’s currently 5am and I cannot be arsed to reread it all looking for panels that back up my point, but Roy’s emotional honesty was definitely not as key pre-Lian as it after she came into his life, particularly surrounding Ollie. Maybe I’ll make a separate post about this at some point when I’ve thought about it more, but essentially my point is that Roy promised Lian that he wouldn’t lie to her, and a part of not lying is being more open and honest in all aspects of your life.

And then the next is Roy’s abandonment issues. Is he even Roy Harper if he doesn’t have abandonment issues. A key part of Roy’s relationships is that he expects them end, he expects everything to go wrong and for him to be once again left on his own. The most clear example of this is with Donna, particularly their relationship in Titans ‘99. In #5, he asks her on their date “With all the great guys in your life, why the hell are you out here with me?” To which her answer is essentially he’s not Dick, Garth, Wally, or Kyle, nothing about who he is, just who he’s not, which she later expands on in #6 by saying she wanted to date him for his “reputation”, so she could be seen as less of a nice girl, which again, isn’t really saying anything about Roy as a person, just what function he can provide as a boyfriend at that time. And then again in #15 (have I mentioned before that the Gargoyle storyline is one of the absolute best stories for Roy analysis? Because it is) when Donna tells Roy that she doesn’t intend on staying with him, saying “when we break up”, Roy just… leaves. Which I think is a really interesting juxtaposition against the last point I made, it’s one of the few instances where Roy actually can’t immediately voice his feelings because he just can’t handle having his fears confirmed one more time, he has to leave. And then when Donna and Roy finally have their heart to heart at the end of Donna’s “who is” arc (I can’t remember the exact issue), Roy has this… one split second, one single panel where you can see his pain, before he puts a mask on to go back to the carefree Roy Harper, essentially telling her he’s glad he chose her out of everyone to experiment and that he’ll always love her regardless of if they’re in a relationship, despite the fact Donna doesn’t really acknowledge his feelings- just Lian’s. I just think it’s really interesting how Roy’s usual openness about his emotions isn’t as present with Donna, and he’s way more likely to lie to her to hide his pain. And Roy’s abandonment issues are so important throughout his story- he can’t stand being alone, he’s hardly ever a solo hero, but he expects it. There are a lot of reasons why Roy got addicted to drugs, but the main one which was present in both the original Snowbirds comic (through Roy’s speech about how “someone” might turn to drugs in order to deal with an “older friend” leaving them) and his Secret Origins story is that he turned to drugs because he couldn’t handle Ollie leaving. I’m not gonna go into depth with Snowbirds here, I’ve already done that a lot, but his abandonment issues are absolutely a core part of his character particularly in the fact he’s proven right so often. But what’s most interesting is something I made a post about before is that Roy’s abandonment issues don’t manifest in the way you’d expect. Usually, a character who has abandonment issues will hide themself away, not let anybody close for fear of being hurt again. Roy? His arms are always open. He will let them into his life, fully expecting them to hurt him, and he’ll do this again and again and again. He’s attracted to it like a moth to a flame- he can’t be alone, he’s an extrovert to the highest degree, and he keeps getting his heart broken because it’s always on his sleeve.

There’s a lot more I could talk about here, but I’ve been typing for like an hour and my fingers hurt now. I hope this is satisfactory :)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

bllk is not angsty enough i need to destroy these deranged soccer players in every conceivable way. i need them to feel love on a cosmic scale and then lose it in an inevitable and earth-shattering tragedy that you cannot look away from no matter how horribly you know it’s going to end.