#referenced past sa

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Healing

to the surprise of literally no one, i've been insane about vincent again... enjoy the result of that: a continuation of this!! i guess this is a slight spoiler for @whumpcloud's story? but rather for the vibe than specific plot points

CW: implied / undertones of past sa, references to past torture and starvation

There it is again. The thing, the wobbly metal plate Vincent has come to think of as a weird mirror. It’s the best he’ll get anyway, even though he likes to steal glances at the way modern mirrors are shaped and designed so very differently than what he grew up with. He is denied any grace of a reflection though, another trade for immortality and power he thought so simple. And yet…

Sometimes when he sees Clary’s reflection, her posture held high and proud, just like she should be, Vincent’s mind drifts, wishing for a similar soul that would allow him to see himself as he is. Unlike before though, he doesn’t dwell on it. The knowledge simply is, passing briefly through him, but barely leaving an impact.

Now, he’s in front of his almost-mirror, that twists and turns his shape and everything around him, that Cai got rid of again after what happened the first and last time Vincent had it in his room. The dent –a reminder of what happened– is still visible, distorting the reflections even more. It surprises him that Cai didn’t throw it away and instead just disposed of it in this room, that holds so many memories but mostly also old possessions they can’t seem to bring themselves to get rid of. 

Today, the twins have decided to declutter and Vincent is more than delighted to help. Maybe his vampiric strength couldn’t protect him, but now it can help with the mundane chores that come with everyday life, and maybe that's worth something more too.

Which is how he ended up here, once again face to face with his own warped reflection, and he can’t help but stare. He looks…different?

Logically, Vincent knows he shouldn’t look the same as he did after years of starvation and torture, that he prefers to bury in some dark corner of his mind. But without a reliable method of visualising himself, and too afraid of appearing eternally, cursedly bloodstained, he never dwelled too long on how his body might look, never even debated asking Clary or Cai. It was for the better that way. 

He’s not bloodsoaked though, his hands are not stained with ash sticking to him like goo, the scars where he ripped his own skin off in an attempt to cleanse himself of the reminder are long gone.

Instead, as he steps forward to take a closer look, he finds that his face seems softer. Gone are the hard edges carved by malnutrition, the sunken-in eyes setting shadows over what remains of Henry. His now rounded jawline is a stark contrast to what it used to be, and together with his slightly plump cheeks, feign a picture of youth.  Against all odds and the passing of centuries, he feels like twenty-two again, when he was still unburdened with immortality and foolishly wishing for a change. 

His hair is changed too, though he consciously worked towards that. He knows from the way it feels, his curls finally getting defined, the length cut regularly. It takes work, but it feels nice, so nice to finally have something only he can control.

Suddenly, a stray thought overcomes him, and Vincent sheepishly looks around for any onlookers, even though his vampiric hearing already tells him that the twins are busy in the living room. Hesitantly, almost afraid of what he will see, Vincent lifts his jumper up.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed at such a childish action, but right now his curiosity overwhelms any sort of shame. 

He chose the jumper by himself too, just like he decides how his hair looks, even though Clary said it makes him look like a grandfather, said that he is finally acting his age. Before, he would have scrambled to rip the fabric off of his body in a desperate attempt to please her again, but now he knows that she is joking. It feels good to know.

His skin is more lifelike, a blush shining through the paleness that makes him look like a dead man. It’s not just that though. Where once protruding ribs used to sit, he can’t even see his bones now, not even a hint when he stretches. It’s a hard-earned layer of fat, chubbiness he’d never take for granted

All of it is both a gift and a symbol, showing the care of feeding him every single day even when it comes at a cost to the twins. He can’t even remember the last time someone showed him such consideration, and it must have been back with Henry, two lifetimes ago, but now that thought doesn’t fill him with the same sadness anymore that it did before. 

He is not just grieving something of the past. Care was given once before and it will be given again, no matter how unlikely that still feels to him. Every moment he spends with Clary shows him that. Despite it all, life became good again.

It feels almost easy to believe, that his flesh and skin are ignorant of what happened, that the memory went past them like a light breeze, leaving no mark. Like seeking a thrill, Vincent looks for the imprints he once saw, collaring his neck, tainting his heart and hips. He–

He can find none.

Like a piece of paper left blank, he feels oddly empty. Even without seeing them, he had grown accustomed to expecting them there. The knowledge painting a clear picture spoken in dark, hand-shaped prints holding onto him forever. Something even death could never erase, and yet… And yet he finds himself devoid of such things, finds himself almost—

He cannot finish that thought, cannot think further, not yet. 

The curiosity that had taken hold of him made room for a wondrous disbelieve. Vincent looks closer, he finally does, expecting to see contradictions to the fickle hope bubbling in his chest like a new heart.

Another person stares back. 

Not the timid boy, with his eternally lowered gaze for reasons he couldn’t understand, hunching his back to make himself as unassuming as possible, always, next to everyone else. Born soft and squishy just to force himself into a rigid form, fitting in with expectations he could never hold, his spine bending under the weight. That never changed, not even after becoming a vampire, especially not with Lyfelde. One head held up high, the other forcefully pushed down. 

That’s not who he sees, though. Instead, he sees a young man, standing straight, only bending through the warbling mirror. There is a shine in his Henry-green eyes, and for a moment Vincent thinks that if someone were to look in his face, they’d notice his eyes first and the scar second. Maybe, the scar wouldn’t catch their attention at all. 

He can’t remember the last time was allowed to look this soft, the last time he allowed it himself. It goes beyond his rounded cheeks that bring back an air of innocent youth, beyond the comfy sweaters with the good texture. It’s the smile that comes to him easier, the glimmer it brings to his eyes, the silly laugh at stupid things he isn’t afraid to hide. It’s the piles of books, old and new, about linguistics, and the evenings where Clary listens to his rambles. It’s that somehow, before this moment, he had never noticed it all like this, never noticed the meaning beyond the thankfulness that occasionally overwhelms him.

It’s that all of this has never been touched by Lyfelde.

Maybe some of his impact will never leave Vincent, like the honour of creating the last scar his body could ever remember. Maybe he will never be who he was before Lyfelde. But, and the thought makes him feel almost giddy, he is not who he was with Lyfelde anymore either. A metamorphosis maybe, two- or threefold, a life categorised by before’s and after’s but never always’.  

Vincent hopes –victoriously–, that if Lyfelde saw him today, with all of his joy, and love, and caring friends that are starting to feel like family, he would be unrecognisable to him.

[queermentaldisaster]

I crave soft Ghoap...

Give me Ghost constantly avoiding sexual intimacy with Soap because he's still working through that trauma from Roba.

Give me Ghost breaking down, feeling like he's a horrible boyfriend because he can't even be intimate with his boyfriend.

Give me Soap finding him in the midst of the breakdown and helping him through it.

Give me Ghost Simon opening up to Soap Johnny

Give me Johnny telling him that he'll wait until Simon is ready.

Give me their first time.

Give me Johnny comforting Simon and reassuring him the whole time.

Give me soft and tender Ghoap sex.

Give me Johnny helping Simon work through his trauma the best he can.

[jemshopes]

You Make Me Feel Safe

--sope / yoonseok 

--canon universe, hurt/comfort, angst, self acceptance, secret relationship, slowish burn, mild sexual content

--discussion of sa, panic attacks, past child abuse (unrelated to sa), ptsd, implied/referenced homophobia

* * * 

“I like you. I r-read them because I like you.”

When some of the other members discover the fanfiction people write about BTS, it starts a chain of events that leads to Yoongi and Hoseok trying to work out how to transition from co-workers and best friends to romantic partners--a relationship that Hoseok is desperate to keep secret even from the other members, and one that ultimately will force him to deal with certain parts of his past that have made him the mess he is today.

READ ONLY ON AO3

Follow me on twitter.

[scattered-winter]

who wants a piece of the fantasy oc angst I just wrote come get it while it's fresh and hot

[hectorthedoggo]

teehee!! new chapter!!

tws under cut (but, they have slight spoilers, so steer clear :D)

Tws: referenced underage drinking (/j), suicidal ideations, implied past es not living la vida loca (slight physical, emotional child abuse), also, there is no csa/sa at all in this fic for es, btw :)

(@kani-miso good morning)

[litnerdwrites]

Justice for Nesta recs (AO3)

Most, if not all, of these recs are in the Justice for Nesta/ ACOSF rewrite/fix-it vein. It will be updates as I find more fics, but feel free to send any recs you have.

TRIGGER WARNING! Many of these fics will be very dark, with references to suicide, ptsd, misogyny, and IC BS. However, I'll be sure to add specifics where applicable.

Fics For Those Craving Nesta JusticeI put all the fics I found into one collection on AO3 that, as the title suggests, are for those craving Nesta Justice. Please read the relevant tags for each fic, as many of them contain reference to PTSD, SA (both past referenced and in story), and general IC BS.

I'll also list every fic in this collection bellow, just to keep them all in one place. Feel free to also add your own finds or works if you have any. The collection is open, but moderated.

Those the Stars Cannot Hear by @kataraavatara An ACOSF rewrite where Mor makes good on her threat to leave Nesta in the CON.

Baby, now we got bad blood by Pumpkinspice_Lou They say you should never come between a male and his mate. Rhysand should've known better. Aka Cassian finally choosing Nesta. Completed two-shot.

A Court of Vice and Victors by Wishcamper Acosf rewritten by a therapist. Need I say more? Incomplete.

You Made Her Like That By BookWorm77071 A few days into their Hike from Hell, Nesta is able to form one coherent thought: I don't want to do this anymore. So she stops. Three chapter short story. Completed.

Nesta becomes a baby by Theladyofbloodshed Exactly what the title says. Oneshot.

A Court of Tangled Flames by Theladyofbloodshed A Neris fic where Nesta gets the love story she deserves.

ACOTAR snippet collection by Theladyofbloodshed A collection of Acotar what ifs.

Nesta vs. The Buffer by Theladyofbloodshed After Nesta finally snaps at another 'family' dinner, calling Cassian and Mor out on their shit, she begins to heal and fall in love on her own terms. With a certain shadowsinger. Completed. Nezriel fic. Anti IC but they kind of redeem themselves at the end. Completed.

AU Where We Pretend Acosf Didn't Happen by Theladyofbloodshed An alternative take to ACOSF, starting from post ACOFS. Nesta ends up leaving Velaris, starting herself on a journey of self discovery and healing. TW Beron Vansera, implied/referenced SA, IC being assholes.

Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream by This_Immortal_Hope Nesta was a wolf. So, much like a wolf, she bided her time, accepting her exile with ice in her and determination in her heart. When she was ready, she tore their Court of Dreams apart with their own hypocrisy. One shot. No ship. Rhysand is thoroughly put in his place. Oneshot.

Second Chances by miryamdev Cassian apologises to Nesta after the HOFAS bonus chapter.

A trick of the light by closet_monster There was nothing condemning about madness or paralyzing fear. Nesta was familiar with both — they seemed to be a recurring theme in both womanhood and life in Hewn. Oneshot. TW Depression, self harm, and implied abuse. Please double check the tags before reading.

Burn for Eternity by rosemai Nesta is defeated and broken down by the words of her sisters and the IC, so she takes matters into her own hands and meets a group on individuals who could give her the help she needs. Incomplete.

Nesta's Truth by grovellingboyfriends After another year of leaving Nesta alone, Cassian finds Nesta in her apartment on Solstice, standing over a dead man. TW for implied SA, parental abuse, Elain is a bitch. 3/5 chapters published as of making this post.

Daylight by Flowerflamestar Nesta Archeron, banished and betrayed, ran from cold and hatred straight into the light of Day and found a place where she could belong. Completed.

Might I Suggest You Don't Fuck With My Sis by MacabreGiggles The intervention rethought, where the Archeron sisters decide to stand up for one another and put the IC in their place. Incomplete.

I died. I will die. It's alright. I don't mind. By MacabreGiggles Nesta resorts to other means to cope, like drugs. Incomplete. TW. Abuse. Alcolism. Suicide. Sexual assault. Drug abuse.

The Veil of Silence by Hrizantemy There exists a veil of silence, it shrouds our voices masking our truths, muffling our cries, our voices are muted, and dreams whispered. Incomplete.

You're a crisis of my faith by porque_nolosdos Nesta and Elain leave the NC, and upon seeing the IC's reaction, Feyre decides to ditch them too. Incomplete.

A thousand cuts by adelindschade It finally clicks for Cassian just how badly Nesta was hurting (it only took three TW suicide TW attempts), so he decides to try thinking of what Nesta would want. This decision leaves a ripple effect that will change the NC as we know it. Incomplete.

The consequences of normality by TheTeaQueen After the events of ACOSF, things seem relatively normal. Until Cassian realises that Nesta doesn't ask for things, or that self hatred still grips her, or the facade she puts on for her family. When she starts cutting back on training and work in the library, he begins to worry. Maybe things aren't as perfect as he thought. Maybe their methods in helping her weren't as effective as he thought. Incomplete.

Three little words by TheTeaQueen Cassian finally says those three little words that Nesta needed to hear. Oneshot.

Like fire, she raged by TheTeaQueen Emerie stands up for Nesta and puts Rhys and Feyre in their place. Completed.

Of Death and Resurrection by TheTeaQueen Part 1 of In the name of healing and happiness. Nesta was ready to die. So to save Feyre and Nyx, she did. Can Rhysand, the only person who can save her, bring her back from the brink? Completed. TW Implied suicide, rape/sa, anti Elain.

Of Shadows and Light by TheTeaQueen Part 2 of In the name of healing and happiness. Technically more of a Gwynriel fic, but does have some Nessian since it follows the aftermath of Of death and Resurrection, only Azriel, Gwyn & Elain are the main focus. Ties up a lose thread or two from part 1, and is 100% Anti Elain. Completed. TW Implied child abuse, implied suicide, torture.

Of Reopened Wounds and Retribution by TheTeaQueen Part 3 of In the name of healing and happiness. A trip to the human lands to discuss the treaty leads Nesta to face Thomas Mandray again. This time, she has family willing to go to hell and back for her. Incomplete. TW Implied rape/sa, panic attack.

Lady Death and Her Kingdom by TheTeaQueen Amren pushes Nesta too far, causing her to awaken a strange new power. TW Implied child abuse. Incomplete.

The Hike, Alternatively by TheTeaQueen An alternative take on The Hike from Hell, where Nesta attempt to TW commit suicide TW, and Cassian realises just how messed up their methods, and the events leading up to the hike are. Written for Suicide prevention month. Completed. TW Self harm, suicide, The Hike.

To Pay a Debt by TheTeaQueen When Nesta sees that Feyre didn't include her in any of the paintings, she does the only thing she can think of; Run. Incomplete. TW, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentioned sa.

Burning from the Inside out by TheTeaQueen An au where Nesta's secretly lived with Chronic pain her whole life, only for the cauldron and her new powers to exacerbate it. Complete. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, ableism, internalised ableism.

The Whole Truth by TheTeaQueen An alternative take where Nesta's deepest secret comes to light when Elain explodes at the dinner table one night. This forces the IC and her sisters to reevaluate their perception of her. Incomplete. TW: Child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, forced prostitution, sexual assault (underage!!)

Set my Soul Alight by moodymelanist Nesta finds solace in Autumn. No Nessian. Completed. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture.

Falling by becauseofreading Another take on what happens after Cassian tells Nesta that everybody hates her. Incomplete. TW Self harm, suicidal thoughts, blood and injuries.

Destruction and Renewal by Vorbi Nesta is given the opportunity to form new alliances. Initially, she scoffs at the idea, but after a small, final act of disrespect from the IC, she decides to see where this new path leads us. Incomplete. TW Implied/referenced abuse.

No One Likes A Mad Woman by Separatist_Apologist You made her like that. Nesta has had her choices tripped away, so when Eris offers her an out, she takes it. No happy ending for Cassian. The Night Court gets no sympathy. Completed. TW Domestic violence

A Cup of Tea by shaziskhalid After realising that the Cassian of her dreams isn't the Cassian she's mated to, everything changed. (MCU! Wanda, modern Au). Incomplete.

Promise by Daughterofthesea Begins during that scene where Cassian follows Nesta, and ends with him understanding just how much pain she's in, and deciding to actually help her.

Stay here (I love you, but I need another year) by littleplease Nesta is tired, and losing the will to even try. Complete. TW Apathy, depression, vuage suicidal thoughts.

What you did to me (I'll spend my life trying to rise) by filthymouthedslut Nesta is done with the IC's holier-than-thou attitude. No ship. Incomplete (3/4) as of updating this post.

Everybody hates you by Booksandsushi A different take on the time Cassian tells Nesta that Everybody hates her. Incomplete.

Change is good by Booksandsushi Nesta figures her life out on her own. Complete.

Truth of the Heart By TheFreakPanda The months after ACOFAS leave Nesta presented with some new opportunities. Full of therapy and dancing. Completed.

I've Always Liked to Play with Fire by catalyste After her village is destroyed and family killed by Hybern following Feyre's revenge mission, you wake up healed in the NC. After Lucien leaves you there, you find yourself trapped with Nesta Archeron, who turns out to be an unlikely ally. The two of you plan your escape with the help of Eris Vansera. Polly, Neris/reader, with IC bashing, and dragons. Incomplete.

The relapse by Janes_Melodies Something broke in Nesta when she learned about the results of the vote, knowing it was a tie until Feyre. She was trying for her sisters and for Cassian, yet they still think she's cruel enough to create a whole new trove just to kill them all. For the first time in months, she gave into her desires. Incomplete. TW Alcoholism, Implied/referenced self harm, suicidal thoughts.

You're safe now by annieleonhardtsring Rewrite of the scene where Nesta falls down the stairs, and Azriel stands up for her. Complete.

Love her how she should be loved by julemmaes Cassian overhears his family making some not-so-subtle comments about Nesta, and it pushes him over the edge. So he goes to bat for her, blaming his friends for everything wrong with their relationship with his girlfriend. Modern AU completed.

The Nest World - The Next Life by bat_called_phil ACOSF canon divergence fic that starts with the intervention, but diverts when Nesta takes a stand for herself, and Feyre starts holding Rhys accountable. TW Implied/referenced suicide, Implied/referenced abortion.

A Court of Spite and Isolation by xxTAO Nesta choses the human lands, separated from the IC and the distractions from her trauma, she spirals. Incomplete (4/6) TW Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced alcoholism, Suicide attempt.

Come Home by Rhysanoodle Cassian learns how Nesta's been living since she came to Illyria, and which fears haunt her the most. Complete.

[xx-slug-xx]

//tw- antis, sa, death

Some shit I found on Twitter today. The fuck are antis on

When someone dies, it is traumatic. Full stop. Death is the worst fear that we, as people, instinctively have. If someone in our lives dies, it it’s terrifying. Not only is it a reminder of our own mortality, but it’s also heartbreaking to loose someone. Especially when it’s someone close to us. To say that it’s not traumatic because they are gone is absurd. It’s traumatic BECAUSE someone you love is gone. It’s not an “out of sight out of mind” type deal. People don’t suddenly mean nothing if they are dead. And if this anti was referencing how dead people can’t be traumatized by their own death, that’s still fucked up. It’s true, but their death will affect the people around them. And the people who experience attempted murder, and live with the trauma of living with a near death experience? Do they not matter? Should they have died instead of living?

If this is how someone truly feels about death (nonspecific and just generally death), I fully believe that they should seek therapy. This is an abnormal response to loss, and it can be a good indicator of underlying mental health issues that can and will cause further problems for both the people experiencing this sort of feeling and the people around them.

I don’t want the morality police to start saying this type of thing though. It makes their argument even more outlandish imo. If real death means nothing to you, but fictional death does, then what kind of moral stand point is that even supposed to be? And to say that people are better off dead than to live their lives with the experience of trauma is disgusting. Victims of sexual abuse, or anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort, often feel like they should be dead and struggle with suicidal thoughts. I know my own trauma has caused this in me when I was younger. By saying that victims are better off dead helps drive people over the edge. This is abhorrent. And maybe, that’s what they want. Victims deserve to live regardless.

There’s beauty in this world, and we are here too see it and to create more of that beauty for others. Nobody is better off dead because of the things in our lives that were out of our hands.

As a csa survivor myself, yes, my trauma is life long and will always affect me to some degree. However, I’ve grown past it. I’m more than my trauma, and so is every other victim out there. It’s important to my growth as a person and my experiences. But it doesn’t define my whole life. I won’t give my trauma the right to dictate who I am or how I behave. I’m not an animal that needs to be put out of my misery because of what I went through. Death is not a better option to living with past trauma

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: references to PTSD and SA, language, soft and fluffy Joel, some mild sexual references

Chapter Eighteen

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

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

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

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

Tommy slid down from his horse as the other four members of his party glanced at him curiously and lowered their weapons. He stomped across the road with his eyes locked on Joel, looking him over before breaking out into a huge grin. Joel was frozen to the ground in disbelief, wondering if he had finally lost his mind until Tommy's arms wrapped around him. When he felt his brother's embrace, he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled him further into the hug, swaying back and forth and clapping his back.

You stood behind Joel and watched as the brothers reunited. Tommy's face was lit up, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, not yet registering your presence. Joel's eyes were closed, but you could read him like a book, relief written all over his face. He was smiling into Tommy's shoulder, unable to keep his tough guy act up through his happiness, and you couldn't help but smile, yourself. It's been a long time since you saw him this elated. He had suffered a lot over the past year right along with you, and now, finally, something was going right. Your mind flickered back to your parents and what it would have been like, if you were able to reunite with them this way. It brought a sadness to your face, which you quickly wiped away when the brothers finally broke their hug.

"How in the hell did'ya make it all the way out here?" Tommy asked. Joel rubbed the back of his neck and cast a glance in your direction.

"Had some help," he said, still smiling, and Tommy finally turned his attention to you. You could see the realization slowly register as he recognized you. He gave you a half smile and shook his finger in your direction, then glanced back quickly at Joel, giving him a sly look before meeting your gaze once again, saying your name. You were surprised he even knew your name before the outbreak, let alone remembered it now.

"Hey... Mr. Miller," you said awkwardly. Tommy laughed and shook his head, heading towards you with his arms spread wide.

"I think you can call me 'Tommy', darlin'. I ain't your boss anymore." Your body tensed as you saw him about to envelop you into a hug, but fortunately Joel was two steps ahead and swooped in front of you, clasping his arms around Tommy again, cutting him off.

"I can't believe it's really you. C'mere," Joel said, trying to smooth it over. You could see Tommy's confused smile as he looked at Joel, but he let it go. He pulled back and waved the others over who were watching from the tree line with amused expressions. They slid off their horses and left them to graze as they strolled over to join you.

Tommy introduced you both to his group. Maria was the presumed leader, a beautiful woman with ebony skin and a quick wit. Also with them was a man who looked to be in his mid-50s with salt and pepper hair named Eugene, another man probably a little older named Seth, and a younger man with black hair named Jesse. Now that there was no threat, they all seemed very welcoming and pleasant. You noticed Maria caught your eye a few times, inspecting you closely, but you didn't get a bad feeling from her the way you did with Amy. You picked up a protective instinct, like she was concerned about you.

You all stood around in a circle as Tommy explained where his group lived. It was a place called Jackson not too far from where you were standing. There were about 30 people or so developing a sanctuary around a once gated community that existed there. As Tommy droned on about the advancements they were making with the place, Maria sidled up to you.

"Hey," she said, giving you a warm smile.

"Hey," you said back. "Thanks for not shooting us." She laughed, a sound that brought a genuine smile to your face, which Joel noticed when he turned his head briefly at the sound before focusing back on Tommy.

"Sorry about that. We are all bark and very little bite. The place we are building is in the middle of nowhere, and we'd like to keep it off the radar. Keep it safe," you nodded in understanding as she continued.

"We have a great group of people so far. It's really starting to feel like before. Like, life can be somewhat normal again."

"You really believe that?" you asked her before you could consider your words. "I don't mean any offense, but we've been traveling for a while. The QZs and other... places. They all think they can make it work, but there's always a catch."

Maria regarded you carefully, as if she confirmed something she already suspected.

"It's safe. It's not like those places. We are incredibly careful about who we let in. We haven't had to yet, but if need be, by democratic vote, if anyone steps out of line, they're out." The way her stare bored into you made it feel like she was trying to tell you something. Like she was trying to convey a message, and you were beginning to figure it out. Your eyes shifted back to the group of men chatting away, Joel's gaze frequently finding its way back to you to make sure you were alright. Maria took a step closer, but she didn't place a finger on you, giving you space.

"When did it happen?" she asked you quietly.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth and stared at the ground. You kicked at a weed sticking up through the dirt, trying to buy yourself some time.

"How did you know?" you asked without looking up.

"I used to be an Assistant District Attorney in Omaha," she said lowly, making sure the men didn't overhear. "I saw a lot of women like you come through my office. I prosecuted hundreds of men on sexual assault. And I've witnessed the aftermath... I guess I'm just sensitive to it now."

You nodded, blinking back tears as you stared at the ground.

"There was another community," you whispered. "They had a... system. That we were not told about when we joined." You looked up at Maria and you could see the disgust in her face. "The women were expected to..." you trailed off and she nodded, holding her hand up to cut you off.

"I can figure out the rest," she said. "No need to rehash it. When?"

"Umm," you took a shaky breath and looked up at the sky, the crisp fall air making your cheeks rosy. "Few months ago, I guess."

As if he could sense your energy, Joel turned his head to look at you, then Maria, then back at you, waiting until you met his eyes. You did, and you nodded to him, letting him know you were ok. He gave you one last look before turning his attention back to Tommy.

"Are you and him...?" Maria asked, catching Joel's looks in your direction. You nodded and finally met her gaze.

"Yeah. We all knew each other before. They were technically my bosses, although saying that now sounds so strange." You couldn't help but laugh at how much has changed in a year. "But he and I... that didn't happen til after. Well, kind of. It's a long story." She rolled her eyes and smiled.

"It always is." You smiled and bit your lip, then she asked, "Does he take care of you?"

You looked back over your shoulder at Joel while he laughed at something Tommy said. You nodded and turned back to Maria.

"Yeah," you said, "he takes care of me. He... he saved me. In more ways than one."

Maria nodded at your words, as if it was all she needed to hear.

"Join us," she said. "Both of you. We could use another contractor, and I think you'd really like it. It can be a home, if you help us."

Your thoughts drifted to Yellowstone, to the imaginary house Joel would fix up for you to live, just the two of you. Maybe on the edge of a beautiful lake, surrounded by trees and wildlife. But then you remembered Joel's face when he held his brother, and your chest ached. You would have given anything to hug your parents again. And you knew you couldn't take that away from him. You nodded.

“Yeah. Let me talk to him first,” you jutted your chin in Joel’s direction. “But… yeah. Thank you.” And you really meant it. You tried not to let your hopes get too high, but for the first time in a very long time, you were beginning to feel optimistic.

Maria took a couple steps towards the men and touched Tommy’s shoulder. He immediately swiveled in her direction, and you could see the adoration in his eyes when he looked at her. You smiled to yourself as Joel sidestepped to stand next to you.

“What’re you smilin’ for?” he murmured. You nodded your head gently in Tommy’s direction while Maria spoke softly to him, the other men carrying on a conversation amongst themselves a few feet away. He looked at his brother and then back at you, confused.

“He likes her,” you whispered, and Joel scrunched his eyebrows together.

“You think?” he said, stealing a glance back in Tommy’s direction. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I do think,” you said, gently poking him with your elbow, and he grinned.

“That the same way I look at you?” he asked you, still grinning. You blushed and nodded.

“Kind of.”

Your eyes landed back on Maria, and you exchanged glances. You placed your hand on Joel’s elbow, tearing his eyes away from his brother.

“Let’s go talk for a second,” you told him, leading him a few feet away to lean against a guardrail. He settled in next to you and looked down, the sun radiating behind him in the sky, warming your face.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he began. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna ask to join them, we can stick to our plan. And maybe every so often we can go visit Tommy, it’s probably only a few days walk. That is, if you’re up for it.”

The look he gave you was so sincere that it made your throat tighten. He really was willing to leave his brother, the only family he had left, just to be with you like he promised. You swallowed thickly, your emotions getting the best of you. His eyes trailed up and down your face and noticed your eyes begin to water. He reached a hand up to cup your face and stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"You'd do that for me?" you whispered, and he nodded.

"'Course I would. What's wrong?" He was confused now, his brow furrowed.

"What if I wanted to give this place a chance?" you said, bringing your hand up to his and pulling it from your face, interlocking your fingers together. He glanced over your shoulder at Tommy and Maria, who were trying not to watch your conversation.

"I'm not - I don't know if you bein' in a situation like that again is the best idea..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, struggling to find the words. "I mean, do you really think you're ready for somethin' like that?"

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know. But I don't think the answer is isolating ourselves forever because one bad thing happened," you stroked your thumb over the top of his hand and looked past his shoulder at the abandoned road that would ultimately lead to Yellowstone.

"Besides, I have a good feeling about this place. Tommy, Maria... I trust them. If we were to ever join a community, this would be it. We can help them build something, Joel." You squeezed his hand, and he shook his head, still unsure. The past few months, he was so absorbed in protecting you, making you feel safe, and giving you a place to heal that he couldn't bring himself to let his guard down, even for his own brother. But hearing you say you wanted to do this, wanted to try again in a community after you had been let down, made his walls start to crack. He hung his head, tucking his chin into his chest as he listened to you.

"I would feel safe with you and Tommy. But it's up to you. If you don't want to -"

He brought his hand up from his side to gently clasp the back of your neck, pulling you towards him to rest his forehead on yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as the soft exhale from his nose fanned over your face.

"You sure?" he asked so softly, you almost didn't hear him. You nodded and opened your eyes to find him staring at you, trying to read your face. The small wrinkles around his eyes scrunched and his eyebrows pinched together in thought.

"Yes, I'm sure. I want to do this." His eyes closed and you leaned forward to quickly press your lips on his, feeling Tommy and Maria’s gaze on your back. His eyes reopened when you pulled away. Joel grinned down at you and grasped your hand to lead you back over to the group. Joel cleared his throat to speak, but Tommy cut him off.

"C'mon, let's go show that girl of yours her new home," he said with a shit-eating grin, and you hoped they would blame the cold air for the redness on your cheeks. There was still something surreal about seeing these two men together again in such a different world.

Tommy handed the reins to his horse to Joel so the two of you could ride back together, and he joined Maria on the back of her horse. You pinched Joel's side when you saw who Tommy chose to ride with, and he smiled, shaking his head.

It turned out that Jackson was only about an hour from where they had found you on the road. You weren't sure what you were expecting. Maybe another big, abandoned building with tiny rooms, but you were never expecting an actual town. Not only a town, but a town with walls. Well, most of the wall was done. There were a few small areas that were under construction still. Maria explained that in order to keep the town safe, everyone took turns guarding the opening of the fence. She expected it to be completed soon, and gave Joel a look.

You had dropped your horses off at the stables. The three men, Jesse, Seth and Eugene offered to tend to the animals while Maria and Tommy showed you both around. There wasn't much to see yet, it looked like a regular town that was in the process of being remodeled, but you could see the vision as Maria walked and pointed at each building lining Main Street.

"That area over there used to be a gated community, so the handful of us cleared it out and set up camp. Then, we slowly expanded, and began coming up with an idea for the town," Maria paused to give a young woman a wave and a smile as she walked. "It worked out. We had somewhere safe to go while we built out the wall further to surround this part of town. We are also currently working on expanding the wall over that cluster of houses over there," she pointed to an area further back down the road that was currently barricaded, then she stopped in front of what used to be a bar.

"This is our kitchen and dining hall, come on in and take a look."

Maria led you through the doors of the Tipsy Bison and headed back to the kitchen with Tommy to find you some food. You spun around to take in all the American western decor hanging from the walls when you felt Joel's hand on the small of your back. His beard tickled the shell of your ear as he leaned into you.

"You just say the word if this ain’t what you want, you hear me?"

You spun around to face him and mockingly put your hands on your hips.

"Joel," you said flatly, "this place is incredible." A smile threatened the corners of his mouth, and he turned his head to gaze out of the window to hide it.

"Lotta work that needs to be done," he muttered. You glanced around to make sure you were still alone, then took a step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his chest, gazing up at him.

"I love you," you whispered, and that finally pulled the smile across his face, leaning down to kiss you. His lips were chapped from the wind and his beard tickled your nose, but you didn't care. You slotted your lips in between his and gave the bottom one a tug when he tried to pull away. You could feel his surprise, then his hands came up to cup your face gently, pulling you back.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked you inquisitively as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. You shrugged.

"Just happy, I guess," you said. His hand froze on your face and looked down to study you, as if he were trying to decide if you were telling the truth or not. Whatever he saw made his eyes light up and his mouth came crashing down on yours, tugging your chin up higher as his lips pressed firmly against your own. For the first time in a long time, he tested the waters and licked at your lips, very quickly, assuring you it was alright not to take things further. But you opened your mouth for him immediately, and your tongues danced together in a frenzy. You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to bring him further down, closer to you. He moaned softly into your mouth, and you felt a stirring in your lower abdomen you haven't felt in months. You continued to lick feverishly into his mouth as both his hands came up to the sides of your head, his thumbs gently pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

"Ahem," Tommy said from behind the bar. You went to throw yourself backwards, but Joel snagged your waist, keeping you pressed against him, your cheeks burning hot as you lightly panted for breath. Tommy smirked at Joel, absolutely loving the uncomfortable position he put his older brother in.

"Great timin', as always," Joel grumbled, but you could tell he wasn't actually mad. Maria came around the corner with two bowls of stew, unfazed by Joel's grip on your waist. She placed them on the counter and invited you both to sit. Joel released his grip and nudged you forward first so he could follow behind, trying to hide the growing erection in his jeans.

You both expressed your gratitude and began to eat, enjoying the way the stew was warming you up.

"So, here's the deal," Maria began, and you paused briefly to listen. "We don't have a house ready for you yet. It might be a couple months. The homes we have now are all spoken for, and we need to finish the wall around the others before we can assign you one," Maria shot Joel a quick glance. "Maybe you can help us build the wall, and we can get you a house faster."

"'Course I'll help," Joel said, scooping the last of the stew into his mouth. Maria smiled, happy to have another contractor’s assistance.

"In the meantime, why don't you both stay with Tommy? He's got a big house. You have the room, don't you?" Maria placed a hand on Tommy's arm and gave him a small smile, and you watched him nearly melt.

"S-sure, not a problem," he stuttered, then cleared his throat and straightened up. "So long as you two can keep your hands off each other," he teased, trying to steer the attention away from him. Your cheeks flamed hot as you looked down at your nearly empty bowl. Joel met Tommy's eyes when you weren't looking and glared, trying to silently tell him to knock it off.

Maria elbowed Tommy in the ribs before saying your name and dragging your attention back to her.

"How do you feel about helping out in the kitchen?" Your eyes widened and you felt your chest constrict. You shifted your gaze around, trying to hide your reaction, but Joel placed a hand gently on your knee.

"Do you got anythin' outside?" Joel asked her, much to your relief. You let out a small, shaky breath when she answered.

"Yeah, of course. How about the greenhouse? We just got it up and running, we could use the help planting and tending to the vegetables." You nodded enthusiastically.

"That sounds great, thank you," you said.

Tommy's house was cozy, but you could tell most of the decorating was done by whoever had the house before the outbreak. When you walked through the front door, there was a small living room to your right and the kitchen to your left. The master bedroom was off the kitchen and two bedrooms with a bathroom upstairs. Tommy led you both through the living room and pointed up the staircase.

"Make yourselves at home, I don't have hardly anythin' up there. I'll grab a fresh set of sheets from my room - you need anythin' else?" You shook your head and expressed your thanks as you headed up the stairs. Joel clapped a hand on Tommy's shoulder, nodding as he moved to follow you, but Tommy grabbed his arm, and Joel stopped.

"You gonna tell me what happened some day?" Tommy murmured so you wouldn't hear. Joel's mind immediately drifted to your assault, and he tensed, his jaw clenched.

"How in the hell did you two end up together? Was she... at your place, or somethin', that day?" Tommy clarified his original question, and Joel relaxed, letting out a puff of air.

"Nah, nothin' like that. We were at work when it happened." He glanced up the stairs, eager to follow after you.

"So, how did you end up findin' each other? I mean, were there a bunch of you from the office at first?" Tommy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the railing. Joel shook his head and ran a hand over his beard.

"I was chasin' after her down the street. She quit, I was tryin' to make her stay. Then these soldiers rolled up to the office and started shootin', and we just took off." Tommy's eyebrows shot up.

"Shit. I picked a hell of a time for a work trip, huh?" He chuckled and shook his head, then frowned. "Why'd she quit? I thought for sure you two were hittin' it off." Joel groaned and lifted a foot to rest on the bottom stair.

"I was bein' an asshole,” he admitted, and Tommy laughed.

"Man, you always were a charmer," Tommy's eyes twinkled. "But seriously, I'm glad you're both safe, I never thought I'd see you again," he said.

"Me, too. And thanks again, for takin' us in, I mean. I think this'll be really good for her." Joel gave his brother a small smile. Tommy waved him off.

"Alright, get upstairs and go rest. We'll swap stories another day. Dinner's served at 7, we can all go over together and I'll introduce you around." Tommy turned to head back to his room. "I'll bring those sheets up in a minute," he added over his shoulder as Joel ascended the stairs.

You were sitting cross-legged with your backpack on the floor, picking out what few clothes and belongings you had, when Joel entered the room.

"Everything alright?" you asked. Joel shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and leaned it against the bed, which was bare except for the mattress.

"Yeah, he's just got some questions," he told you, flopping down on the mattress with a grunt.

"I imagine he's got a lot of those," you murmured, and stood to open the closet for some hangers. You saw a comforter in a plastic bag on the shelf, along with a few pillows. His eyes were already locked on you when you turned around to toss the items on the mattress next to him.

"I didn't tell him," he said quietly, and you stilled, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"Well, Maria already knows, so he will find out soon enough, anyway," you said, turning back to the closet to grab the hangers. Joel sat up on the edge of the mattress.

"Oh. I didn't know," he said, scratching his beard. "You, uh... does that help? Talkin' about it with another woman?" You could tell he was being careful, trying not to ruin your mood when the day was going so well. You dropped the handful of hangers on the rug next to your shirts before responding.

"We didn't talk about it much, she could just tell, I guess. She said she used to be around a lot of people in my situation when she was a lawyer." You chewed your lip in thought. "Maybe, though. Maybe it does help, a little. I'm not sure yet."

Joel nodded as he rubbed his palms against his legs.

"Good. That's good." He swallowed roughly, looking around the bedroom, then he gestured at the walls.

"We gotta get rid of these pictures, they're awful," and you laughed, looking at what only could be described as hotel art mixed with framed pictures of people you will never know.

"Yeah? And what would Joel Miller pick out to decorate his room, if he didn't hire an interior decorator to do it for him?" you teased, and he pretended to be offended.

"Hey, now. I got good taste," he said as you took a few steps forward to stand in between his legs. You rested your hands on the tops of his shoulders and looked down at him, still sitting on the bare mattress.

"Oh, yeah?" you murmured, fiddling with the collar on his flannel.

"Mhmm," he said, bringing his hands to rest on the back of your thighs, near the backs of your knees, gauging your reaction before giving a gentle squeeze. "You bein' the perfect example of that."

You let out a huff at his corny line and rolled your eyes playfully as he smirked up at you. Neither of you heard Tommy come up the steps and pause outside the door, taking a step back so Joel wouldn't see him. He wasn't used to seeing his brother smile so much, finding it ironic that it took the world to end for Joel to finally be happy. He was about to knock on the door and hand over the sheets when Joel spoke softly.

"I love you, sweetheart," he looked up at you, his eyes bright and his gaze soft. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Y'know that, right?"

You nodded and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I am happy," you whispered. "Stop worrying about me so much."

Tommy quietly placed the sheets on the table in the hallway and crept back downstairs, this time choosing not to intrude.

Joel hummed as he rested the side of his face against your stomach, closing his eyes.

"Always gonna worry about you," he murmured into your shirt.

You raked your fingers through his long curls, scraping your nails gently over his scalp.

"You should worry about getting a haircut," you teased, tugging on his hair so he would lift his head from your stomach.

You took a step back out from between his legs, and he begrudgingly let his hands fall from the backs of your thighs.

"Why don't you go see where those sheets are, and I'll hang up our clothes?"

Joel sighed and braced his hands on his knees before standing up with a grunt. Right before turning to head down the stairs, he noticed the sheets placed on the table, with Tommy nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed before he picked them up and walked back into the room, fluffing out the fitted sheet.

"That was fast," you said, glancing over your shoulder as you hung up your thermal long sleeve shirts in the closet.

"Yeah, Tommy left 'em in the hall. Guess I didn't hear him come up," he explained, pulling the corner tight over the mattress.

"Oh, god," you groaned, and he looked up at you from his spot on the floor next to the bed. "He probably really does think we can't keep our hands off each other."

Joel shrugged and stood to flick the top sheet over the bed, adjusting it as it fluttered down.

"He only said that to get under my skin, try to embarrass me or somethin'. Just ignore it."

You watched him from the closet as he tucked the sheet under one side of the mattress, then the other side, and finished up at the foot of the bed. Before you could even say anything, Joel stopped you.

"Get outta that pretty head of yours, it ain't that serious," he shot you a grin and bent over to unzip the bag around the comforter, shaking it out a bit before tossing it on the bed.

"I don't know. It's kind of serious," you said quietly as you began to rifle through Joel's backpack, lifting all his shirts out and draping them over your arm.

"Why? Who cares what he thinks?" Joel asked, pausing as he was shoving a pillow into a pillowcase to scrunch his eyebrows at you. You flicked your gaze up to him awkwardly before looking back into his bag, then he realized what you meant. You weren't talking about Tommy.

"Oh," he said softly. "Y'know that don't bother me, it's fine."

"I appreciate that, but it's not fine, Joel," you replied, focusing very intently on hanging up his shirts so you wouldn't have to look at him.

"Hey, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that," he abandoned the pillow and strode over to your side of the room, putting his hand on your back. "I just meant that I'm fine with it."

"I know, I'm sorry," you sighed and turned to face him. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Nothin' to apologize for," he said as he skimmed his thumb over your lower lip. "Got everythin' I want right here." You rolled your eyes at him, knowing he was just telling you what you wanted to hear, but you weren't going to push it.

"Now, I've been dyin' to sleep on a mattress, my back's killin' me. How about we take a quick nap before dinner?"

"Sure," you said as you helped him shove the last of the pillows into their cases. He collapsed on the bed with a throaty groan of relief and shut his eyes.

"I'm just going to unpack a few more things, then I'll join you," you told him, and he nodded, half asleep already. You grabbed what few toiletries you had and placed them on the counter in the bathroom, then brought your eyes up to look into the mirror. For once, your hair didn't look too frizzy, having pulled it back into a neat ponytail that morning. You noticed the bags under your eyes that you didn't remember looking that heavy before, and your lips were chapped. Definitely a different look from a year ago.

You walked back into the bedroom and slid under the covers on your side of the bed, listening to Joel's heavy breathing and watching the slow rise and fall of his broad chest. You turned your head to stare straight up at the ceiling, sleep escaping you as you replayed your last conversation with Joel over in your mind until it was time for dinner.

After eating, Tommy dragged you both around the dining room to meet the rest of the group. There were about 20 or 25 people you hadn't met yet, and by the end of the introductions, your head was swimming. You weren't sure if it was due to your arrival, or if it was like this every night, but once dinner was cleaned up, the town broke out into informal groups throughout the room, sharing drinks and laughs amongst each other. Tommy slid a glass of whiskey into Joel's hand, and he looked down at it incredulously.

"We got all the essentials here, brother," Tommy clapped Joel's shoulder as he took a sip and nodded towards you. "What'll you have, darlin'?"

"Oh! Uh, I'm fine, thanks. It's been a long day, maybe another time," you replied. Tommy smiled and picked up his own glass of whiskey, clinking his glass against Joel's before taking a sip. He was about to say something when his gaze fixed over your shoulder, and he swallowed nervously. You hid your smile, knowing when you turned around you would find Maria.

"Hey there, how's your first day been? Tommy set you up with everything you need?" Maria asked, sidling up between you and Joel.

"He has now," Joel joked, raising his glass and taking another sip. "Thank you again, ma'am. This place you got here is incredible."

Maria's eyes sparkled with pride as she glanced around the room at the groups of people laughing and smiling.

"We got a long way to go, but I have faith we will get there," she replied. She and Tommy exchanged furtive glances and looked away quickly.

"Maria, why don't we leave these boys to have some alone time, let's go get a drink," Maria smiled excitedly at your suggestion. As you were about to turn away, Joel stopped you.

"Thought you weren't drinkin' tonight?"

"I changed my mind," and you gave him a quick wink before turning and heading further down the bar, finding two empty stools. Jackson had a lot of things, but they were light on the mixers, so you each had vodka on the rocks, wincing as the liquid burned your throat.

"Oof, it's been a long time since I've had anything to drink," you admitted, setting the glass down. Maria nodded, setting hers down as well.

"I don't usually drink too often, but today's a special occasion, so why not," she gave you a warm smile that you quickly returned. You were growing very fond of Maria. You could understand what Tommy saw in her. She was bold, brave, outspoken, honest, and above all else, beautiful.

"So, you're like, the leader here, right?" you began, settling in to learn more about her.

"By default, I suppose. But as the town grows, we will need to figure out a new system. It's already getting to the point where it's difficult for just one person to manage everything. I'm thinking one day of instituting a town council, an odd number of elected people to vote in the town's best interest, oversee any projects and work assignments," she explained as you took another sip of your drink.

It was just then you realized: there were lights on. Actual, honest to goodness, electricity.

"Oh my god," you said, covering your mouth in embarrassment. "I must be exhausted. I can't believe I just noticed you have power running through the town?" She laughed and nodded.

"Yes! And sewage. And plumbing, as of two weeks ago," your mouth dropped as she continued. "There's a dam nearby that we draw the power from to run everything. A few months back - Dan over there," she pointed to a man with brownish hair and a beard who looked to be around Joel's age. "We found him half dead in the mountains. Turned out he used to be a plumber. Once he rested up, he was so eager to help us that he spent every waking minute working on the plumbing for the town so we could have running water. No more bathing in cold streams for us."

You sipped from your glass, the alcohol going down smoother now. You couldn't believe the advancements they have made in just one short year.

You noticed that Maria glanced over your shoulder and tried to hide a smile. You turned in your seat to see Tommy and Joel at the table where you left them, their eyes glued to the pair of you.

"So," you began, and Maria could already tell where you were going with a playful eyeroll. "Tommy?" She took a longer sip from her drink before answering.

"It's nothing official. We just… kissed. A couple times," your eyebrows shot up and a grin spread across your face as she shook her head and waved you off.

"I don't have time for a relationship, I have so much to do around town, I can't commit to someone right now," she explained, casting her eyes down to the glass in her hand.

"Oh, come on. You can't put off a relationship for "the town". Your happiness is just as important as everyone else's," you told her.

She shrugged as she took another sip.

"What if we helped you?" you offered. The vodka was making your brain fuzzy, and you just wanted Maria and Tommy to be happy.

"How?" she asked, mostly sarcastically, but you could tell she was intrigued by your idea.

"Well, what if Joel oversaw all the construction in Jackson. Scheduled the work assignments, prioritized the labor. And maybe Tommy could be in charge of patrols: all the organizing and scheduling." Her eyes shot up to meet yours as she considered your offer.

"That would... free up some time. But that's asking a lot, Joel just got here, and Tommy -" you cut her off.

"Joel's used to it, that's what he did for a living before all," you waved your hands around. "This. He would be happy to help. And Tommy?" You huffed and shot a glance back over your shoulder. "He would do anything for you."

You could tell Maria was embarrassed at the last part, smiling and busying herself with stirring her drink. But she nodded.

"Alright. That's not a bad idea. I'll talk to Tommy in the morning, see if he's ok with it."

"Oh, he'll be ok with it," you laughed as you took another healthy sip from your glass. "I'll tell Joel to find you in the morning and you can explain to him whatever he needs to do. I promise, he'll do it."

She nodded and thanked you, allowing a comfortable silence to come over the two of you as you glanced around the room, absorbing the atmosphere.

"Tell me if I'm out of line," Maria began hesitantly, "but... how are you doing? Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You sighed and met her gaze.

"Thanks. I don't really want to give it any more thought than I already do. I just wish..." you trailed off, but Maria gently encouraged you to continue. "I just wish it didn't affect that part of my relationship. With Joel." You could feel your cheeks flush as you took another sip from your glass for courage.

"Ah," Maria said knowingly, nodding her head. "It's not uncommon. You just need to take your time and do what's best for you on your own terms. Does he... understand that?"

"Oh, yes," you said quickly, and she nodded her head in relief. "Yes, he's... great. He never pressures me, he's even careful about how and where he touches me. I just feel guilty, you know?"

"Yes, I do. You need to listen to yourself and make that decision on your own. Don't do it tonight because you're drinking, either, you’ll regret that," she warned, and you agreed. "If he really understands and he really loves you, he will wait until you're ready."

You smiled and she held up a hand to hover over your own that was resting on the bar.

"May I?" she asked, searching your eyes. You nodded, and she rested her hand on top of yours. You didn't see it, but from across the dining hall, Joel's breath hitched in his throat, seeing Maria touch you, and waited for your reaction, but none came.

"If you ever want to talk, about this, or... anything," Maria said, looking you dead in the eye, "you come to me, is that clear?" You nodded and gave her a smile, relief flooding over you at her touch as she rubbed her thumb reassuringly over the top of your hand. You turned your hand upwards and grasped hers, and she smiled in return.

"And if you ever want to talk, about Tommy, or... anything," you joked, and she giggled. "You come to me! Understand?" She nodded and squeezed your hand affectionately.

"Deal," she said, and you released her hand and grabbed your drinks, clinking the glasses together and finishing what was left in yours.

"Do you want another?" she asked, but you shook your head.

"It's been a long day, I think I will head back to Tommy's," you said, standing up from the stool, slightly unsteady. Lightweight.

"Alright, let me walk you back," she suggested, looping your arm in hers.

"Wait, I need to tell Joel," you said, and pulled her towards the table where he and Tommy sat, talking about Tommy's experience when the outbreak hit.

"I'm gonna head back," you told him, your arm still linked with Maria's. "I'm tired."

"Alright, I'll come with you," he said, flattening his palms against the table to stand, but you held your hand out.

"Why don't you stay with Tommy and catch up? Maria can walk me home," you turned to her with a smile that she returned.

He gave you a knowing look and cleared his throat.

"You sure?" he asked, clearly uneasy about you leaving his sight. You nodded.

"One hundred percent. Stay," you told him firmly, and he sat back down in his chair. "Spend time with your brother." Tommy shot you a grateful smile, but you missed it, trying to assure Joel through your gaze. "It's okay," you added softly, and he slowly nodded.

"I won't be long," he promised, and you waved him off.

"Take as much time as you want, I'm just going to fall asleep the minute I get back." If it wasn't for Joel witnessing your interactions with Maria, he would have insisted on leaving with you.

"Alright, then," Joel said, and you tossed him a wave as Maria pulled you towards the door and down the street.

Joel stumbled into bed a few hours later, trying his best to be quiet and not wake you, but he failed. You turned over as he sunk into the mattress, pulling gently on the covers.

"Have fun?" you mumbled sleepily, and he reached out to you, pulling you up against his chest.

"Yeah, how 'bout you?" he asked, smelling the whiskey on his breath. You nodded.

"Yeah, it was nice," you tucked your head under his chin and buried your face into his bare chest. He ran his hands up and down your back, pressing you against him as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Did you talk about me?" you asked him with a smirk he couldn't see.

"Little bit," he admitted, kissing the crown of your head. "Did’ya talk about me?"

"Mhmm," you said, breathing in deeply. "I may have signed you up for a leadership job."

The rubbing on your back paused.

"What?"

You pulled back to look him in the eyes.

"Maria needs the help, Joel," you told him, "I said you could oversee the construction. Not right away, but once you get the hang of things... isn't it what you used to do back at work, anyway?"

He smirked and pulled you back against his chest.

"We been here less than a day and you're already findin' stuff for me to do," he tutted, and you smiled. "Nah, it's fine. If you're happy here, I'll do whatever it takes to keep this place runnin'." He placed another tender kiss on the crown of your head as his hands started back up again.

The alcohol in your system urged you to reach down to his waistband, but Maria's earlier words floated across your mind, and you refrained. Instead, you trailed kisses against his chest that slowly lead up to his throat. He must have been holding his breath because he exhaled heavily when your lips finally reached his Adam's Apple. You made your way to the underside of his jaw when he finally spoke.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he said, his voice strained, and he swallowed when you nipped at his jaw.

"Sorry," you whispered, pulling back. You noticed he purposely was tilting his hips further away from you under the covers. "I just miss you. So much." He groaned.

"Me too. But I need to know you're okay first." He rubbed his thumb in circles against your arm, his pupils blown wide as he gazed down at you. "There's no rush."

You wished nothing more than to give in at that moment, but you knew it would be a mistake. So instead, you tucked your head back under his chin and he pulled you close, his back falling against the mattress as you stretched your arm across his warm chest and nuzzled your face into his neck.

You fell asleep that night wrapped in each other’s arms, the peace of mind of knowing you were finally safe lulled you both into the deepest sleep you've had in months.

Extra Scene

Chapter Nineteen

Tag list: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413

[aceandurmom]

Harlequin Hearts: The Archivist's Swordmaster Affair Chapter Five

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM//////////////////

TRIGGER WARNING: Toxic Relationship, Referenced SA

Waking up, your eyes darted across the room. Desperately, you searched for the cause of why you awoke at such an hour. With a quick glance to the window, the sun had yet to rise. The feeling of someone watching was causing chills to form on the back of your neck. 

Trying to remain as calm as possible, you sucked in a breath before laying back down. Appearing as if you were to go back to sleep so you could lure out whoever was out there. A shifting caught your attention, grabbing the pistol form under the pillow, you armed yourself and pointed where the sound had come from. A chuckle sounded from the depths of your room, but the unease remained. 

You knew the voice, had been hearing it everyday for years now. 

But this was the first time he had made his way to your room, especially in the dead of night. 

Rising, you went to make yourself presentable, only to be stopped in the process. The fishman approached, pushing you by the shoulders to that you fell back to the mattress. 

Eyes expecting, you had tried to question him. 

“Quiet. I have something to say to you.”

You had stilled, not wanting to disappoint. You only prayed the message was some kind of raise and nothing degrading. 

“You impressed me today. I didn’t think you would be able to do it, little minnow.”

A pause.

“You proved me wrong.”

The shark came forward, eyes angry. 

“I hate being wrong.”

A shudder swept through your body, freezing you in your place. You had upset him, not at all meaning to or your intention-

His webbed hand drew closer, delicately swiping away the tear you had been unaware even existed. 

Your breath hitched, aware of what Arlong did when he was angry. 

“But.”

Arlong dropped to one knee in order to meet your gaze. 

“I guess I’ll have to deal with it when it comes to you. So eager-”

His hand fell from your face, a cruel grin forming, teeth glimmering in the dark. 

He stepped closer, arms pushing you further down. His face all of a sudden right in front of yours, his strong arm flying in the corner of your eyes-

He flung his hat to the depths of the room, the dark concealing its existence. 

You were scared, not at all pleased with how he kept on approaching you. Feeling vulnerable, you tried to keep him in place, hands pressing against his chest to stop his descent. 

He scowled, not pleased. 

And what was a small human like you to do against a monster like him?

–

Waking up from the memory, you thrashed against the constraints of the duvet. Breathing heavily, you tried to push the past away, trying to repress it once more into the back of your mind. But Arlong had never been the one to ignore. And so the thought came back with a vengeance, throwing you back into the uncomfortable night. Growing colder and sick at the remembrance, your feet led you to the door. Hand hesitating in the handle, you tried to think of where to go, who to seek comfort in. 

And then you remembered a week ago, the moment shared with Mihawk. 

Ever since then, he had continuously been by your side, always offering a presence to be apparent in everyone’s field of view. If he was to be busy, he had insisted Crocodile to be there in his stead. 

Reluctantly, but not once complaining, the reptile had agreed. 

And Buggy had been all too happy to have them do so for his peace of mind. At least until he had deemed it unnecessary for them to do so. 

Mihawk was the one you had leaned on most in the days following. So, you thought it wouldn’t hurt to bother him now. After all, he had been the one to insist if you had a problem to approach him. 

Determined, your hand stopped its shaking. Turning the doorknob, you pushed the wood open. The cold air of night flew to your face immediately, seeming to freeze the spilling tears that had been dropping for a minute now. Scoffing at yourself, you realized how much of a crybaby you had been recently. Maybe Buggy would notice and decide you would be better somewhere else. 

The thought only brought more despair. The hiccup from the depth of your throat hadn’t been expected, nor one you could stop in time. The sound felt like it reverberated in the halls, heard from even outside the tent. 

Sucking up your tears, you fled from your doorway and down the halls, yearning for someone to share your burdens with. 

Approaching the wine red door, you had gone to knock before pulling back your hand. 

What the hell were you doing, going so late at night to wake up one of the leaders of the Cross Guild!? You were grown, you should be over this bullshit by now! 

But your appearance had already been noticed. 

Because of course it had, Mihawk wasn’t an amateaur with Observatin, it just wasn’t his most developed. But you were just outside of his room, a place that was way too close to him not to be unaware of. So he had stepped out of bed, thrown on a robe, and waited for you to gain the courage to knock. 

Unable to simply walk away now, you had conceded. 

Dracule had answered almost immediately, the door swiftly opening in a matter of seconds. The man of the hour appeared in its absence, his body seeming to glow in the light of the candles lit behind him. His silhouette was enchanting, drawing you in ever closer. 

Mihawk cleared his throat, drawing back your attention. 

Head hipping to face him, the swordsman recognized the telltale signs of your current state. 

The tear stains were there, even though you were no longer actively crying. The whites of your eyes were bloodshot, and the wobbling lips were only more damning. Sighing in defeat, Mihawk opened his door wider. Reaching out, the ravenette drew you into his domain. 

Once inside and behind the closed door, Dracule enclosed your weary body in a firm embrace, softly drawing patterns on your back. 

Voice quiet, he moved the two of you to the side of his bed. He sat, holding you still. 

“What happened, little rabbit?”

“Just a nightmare.”

“Nightmare or something you would have preferred to forget?”

He was so gentle, voice bordering on a murmur that you could barely comprehend. The deep timbre rumbling his chest so that you could hear it. Head tucked under his chin, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to collect yourself. 

“I forgot where I was. It was as if I was back there.”

An understanding hum escaped him. 

“It seems as though your recent encounter has brought you more distress than originally thought.”

Chuckling, you had to agree. Even when he was trying to be soft, he was so put together. 

“It would appear so. I imagined I had gotten past all of this.”

One of his arms broke free from his embrace, coming up to gently card his fingers through your hair. 

“Trauma comes back into the most unexpected of ways, my dear. It does not mean you are weak to experience it.”

“I feel like a child afraid of a monster that isn’t there.”

His chin plopped on top of your head, starting to softly rock the two of you.

“But he was.”

You paused, taking in what he had been saying. 

“He is dead now.”

“Say his name.”

“...why?”

Your voice was small, not wanting to do so. Mihawk had frowned, hearing the broken child Arlong had left behind. If the man was still alive, Dracule would have drawn out his death far longer than whatever Strawhat had. 

“I wish for you to accept it. He is dead, and he will not hurt you even if you speak ill of him.”

You didn’t respond, struggling to come to terms of such a request. You unintentionally drew in to yourself, curling up. 

“It was like he was untouchable. I think….I think I thought of him as a vengeful deity. I wanted to please him but I was terrified.”

It was hard to explain. 

But you didn’t have to. 

“I understand.”

And wasn’t that the only thing you needed? 

–

Arlong moved further, hand caressing your own before trailing up your arm. 

To your shoulder. 

To your neck. 

A breath of air escaped from your mouth. Water pooling in your eyes. 

Arlong noticed, grin crawling up even further up his face. 

“Scared, minnow?”

The question was airy, said more in a statement rather than a question. 

His dark hair fell from behind his shoulders, draping around your own face. 

He watched your face, trying to pick out what made you the most uncomfortable. 

His webbed fingers left your neck, slowly circling around your throat, holding you in place. You tried to ignore the hand, tried to look him in the eyes to show you weren’t afraid.

“So cute how you try to be tough,  I can feel your pulse, here-”

He pushed his thumb against your artery. 

“But what if…”

He removed his hand, drifting down to your chest. He brushed against the flesh there, watching as your breathing grew uneven. You closed your eyes, willing yourself away from here, any place away from Arlong. 

He chuckled low in his throat. 

Teeth shining threateningly. He backed away from you, completely removing himself from your personal space. 

“How fun. Do not ever disobey me.”

You nodded frantically, eyes closed tight.

He left, steps heavy in his departure. 

“Not here, not here-”

A sob escaped before Arlong fully made it out of your side of the hall. You heard him laugh, a cruel and evil sound that made you shudder. 

And continued to repeat your mantra. 

Until the morning came, the sun creeping over the horizon. You wanted to leave. 

But you go out of bed on shaky legs, stumbling through the room like a newborn faun. Finally dressed, you made your way to your office. And Arlong hunted you down, already a list made for your tasks for the day. 

And so it went. 

-

You spent the night clinging to the man, hungry for the peace of mind he gave you.You had finally fell back to sleep, only to wake up to the blinding sun assaulting every one of your senses. 

Mihawk was already awake, or maybe he didn’t sleep, and was witnessing you in all of your glory. 

Eyes shutting once more, you tried to dig deeper into the comforter, burying yourself into Dracule’s chest. You felt the rumble of what may have been a laugh, the swordsman apparently amused at your defiance to the world itself. 

“It is time for the day to start, mi paloma.”

You could hear the adoration even under the blanket, unable to push away the warmth rising to your face. There was no embarrassment that you felt, just flustered at the new kind of attention being received. It was different compared to what Arlong made you feel, the strange flutter in your stomach was usually anxiety…this was completely new to you. 

It was a good kind of new though. 

Dracule moved the blanket, slowly pushing it away so that you were gradually revealed to the world. Blinking, you grew used to the sun trying to blind you. You made out the figure of Dracule, tenderly smiling in the sun. 

Dear Nika, he was beautiful. 

“There you are, Star.”

Eyes wide, you tried to ignore the feeling that continues to swell in your chest. The endearment from Buggy was familiar, but when Dracule said it…there was something else. 

“Did you have any more nightmares?”

“None that were as bad as the first one.”

His golden eyes felt like they were staring through you, pure curiosity in his gaze. Sensing the lie, he tried to gently pry. 

His hand cupped your cheek, directing you to look at him. 

“Would you like to talk about it more, it may make you feel better.”

You shook your head, feeling much better compared to last night. 

And then the calm morning was destroyed by your beloved captain. 

“STAR!?”

The bluenette screamed. The clown was loud but this was impressive. His room was right next to yours, put there so he could help in case something went awry. He must have been concerned since you weren’t in your office. That alone told you how late in the morning it must be, usually you were there before any of the other three. 

Groaning, you shot Mihawk an apologetic look before rising. He nodded, normal scowl resurfacing on his pretty face. 

Before you could leave the room, your hand was caught. Turning to see what was the issue, you were met with the sight of Dracule reaching from the bed tos top you. He tugged you over, placing a light kiss on your knuckles. 

“I will meet you in the conference room in a moment.”

“Alright, I’ll calm down Bugs.”

“You do a wonderful job at it.”

And so you left the room with a blush decorating your cheekbones. 

Racing from the door, you ran through the plaid halls to meet your panicking captain. 

“STAR!?”

Your form finally comprehended in his mind, his body parts flying to you in hysteria. 

His hands cupped your face, turning you every which way to check for any injuries. 

“What happened, who touched you, did someone go into your room again, what-!”

Catching his disembodied hands, you reattached his limbs to his arms. 

“I just had a nightmare, Sir.”

He stopped, a concerned look falling into place.

“You should have woke me up, I would have made sure you were okay.”

Your heart stuttered, the kindness in his gesture catching you off guard. 

“I don’t know why you look so surprised. Your my sibling, dumbass. I worry about you. What was it about?”

You winced. 

“It was…”

You thought of what you had discussed with Dracule, contemplating the logistics of such. 

“Arlong. It was about my time with Arlong.”

Buggy choked on his spit, not expecting you to say it so straightforward. You normally darted around the topic, trying to distract from the topic at hand. 

“I-uh,.”

Shaking his head, Buggy steeled himself. 

“Who did you go to? Or did you go somewhere by yourself?”

He was back to fretting, the very thing you wanted to avoid. 

“I may or may not have gone to wake someone up.”

“Who.”

He went back to being a captain, knowing that you would never not answer him when he was serious. 

“Mihawk.”

He nodded before sitting there, frozen. 

“What.”

The office was dull, the bright colors no longer as vibrant as they used to be. The paint had slowly started to fade, and as soon as Buggy stepped in he had made a huge deal over it. He rushed around, frantically yelling orders for his crew of builders and sampling paint. Once he left, another man made his way into the room, just as he said he would. 

“Little rabbit, you’ve already caused quite a stir.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him. 

“My brother does that by himself, Dracule.”

He breathed in through his nose, eyes closed. You didn’t expect his approach, quick and silent. 

Swiftly, he turned you around to face him before gently pushing you against the desk you often overworked yourself on. You gasped, not expecting the sudden movement. 

He leaned in, nose brushing your own. 

“I crave you in a way I have not for a long long time. I wish for you to be pressed to me every moment we part.”

His spoke into your mouth, lips finally pressing harshly against your own. 

For a man so kind and gentle, he was incredibly passionate. 

Breaking apart, he studied your face before pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I hope I am not scaring you off. If this is too much I would understand. I can dim it down.”

You shook your head vehemently, not at all bothered by the man’s advances. 

You reached out, hand brushing along his neck. You threaded your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging him in your direction. Getting the hint, he kissed you again. 

His hands wrapped around your thighs, swiftly picking you up and depositing you onto the surface of the desk you were previously pressed against. 

He spread your legs, stepping between them so he could be closer. Dracule’s tongue darted past his lips, lapping at the seam of your own. You allowed him to do as he pleased, eagerly allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth. He traced your tongue with his before pulling back. Your mixed saliva connected the both of you for a moment longer, trying to reconnect, you were pushed away. Confused, you had reached out to him, but he stepped away further, pressing a finger to your lips to hush you. 

“Shh, my dear. There is someone coming this way.”

And right he was, as Sir Crocodile sauntered across the hall. 

Once the man saw the state you were in, the Swordsman tried to tidy you up. Brushing the spit away from your chin with his thumb, he placed a chaste kiss to your lips in an apology. 

“Later, mi amor.”

And he left.

[megyulmi]

➠ Sukuna, the ‘shunned’ child and the demonisation and worship of ‘unwanted’ children in Japanese folklore:

[long read. trigger warning: referenced folktales and practices depict themes of infanticide, religious rituals and child exorcism, demonisation and worship of children, ableism, suicide, implied sa, and period-typical outdated social views. they are not a representation of my personal beliefs. please read with caution.]

New revelations of Sukuna’s past in Chapter 257 made me look deeper into some of the tales and customs from Japanese folklore about children deemed ‘abominable’ in the eyes of society that I had previously noted down and I decided to share as I think they could offer a better insight into Sukuna as a character and what might have inspired Akutami Gege’s depiction of him.

It would be better to start with a bit of the social background of Japanese folklore. I will use the Emishi (an ancient ethnic group of people who lived in parts of Honshū, especially in the Tōhoku region) as an example, the oral tales of whom later blended with Shintō and Buddhist religious concepts and heavily influenced Japanese folklore. It is believed that many of their tales were shaped by the region’s difficult history of natural disasters, famines, and geographic isolation. In the Tōhoku region, infanticide was sometimes used as a form of ‘birth control’ due to repeated famines. The bodies of ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in rivers or lakes.

Another important source of such folklore is the city of Tōno in Iwate prefecture, known particularly for Kappa, tales of which could offer a good basis for the beginning of my intended analysis.

Kappa, a green, amphibious, child-like creature with a yellow beak for a mouth and a turtle shell on its back is one of the most popular Yōkai from Japanese folklore. Some researchers say that the darker aspects of Kappa tales in Tōhoku may be an echo of the region’s tragic history of famines and the high rates of infant mortality caused by a harsh climate, natural disasters, and the tax system that was paid in rice. Similarly, many people in Tōno (which is part of the Tōhoku region) believe that tragic history is one of the origins of the stories of Kappa. The Kappa of Tōno specifically are said to be red in colour rather than green, which may allude to the Japanese word for infant - akachan, which derives from aka, the word for red. From this perspective, Kappa are creatures born out of social challenges and disasters. They may not seem all too relevant to Sukuna, but the need to mention them will come up in the later part.

Moving on, at the beginning I mentioned that ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in the rivers and lakes, which is also found in the Japanese creation myth. I discussed the variations of the myth in this post about Sukuna previously (you do not need to read it for the moment, but please note that it has many variations), but somehow I did not mention their first ‘inadequate’ child. According to the myth, before they had Kagutsuchi, Izanagi and Izanami had a child as a result of their first attempt at a union, but the child, known as Hiruko (‘Leech Child’), was born deformed. The mistake was attributed to a ritual error on the part of Izanami, who, as a woman, should never have spoken first (i.e. initiated the union). Considering the child inadequate for a diety, they set him adrift in a boat in hopes he would die at the sea. This myth reflects how women and children who were born ‘different’ or seen unable to serve their ‘purpose’ were treated.

Continuing from the myth, Chapter 257 made me think of the tale of Katako, in which the protagonist is born half-human and half-oni. What is Sukuna’s true nature we cannot know for certain. We know he was a human once, but we do not know enough of his past to assume if there was more to him (how and why he as a human might have come to be called the King of Curses will be explained in the later part), but the tale still has the potential to give us insight into Sukuna and his mother’s relationship. The tale has various versions with different endings, but it generally could be summarised as follows:

[A long time ago, a man encountered a man-eating ogre (from here on referred to as oni) while working in the field. He told the oni how much he loved mochi (rice cake), jokingly adding that he could even trade his wife for it. Taking his casual banter seriously, the oni treated him to mochi. The man ate his favourite food to his fill and happily went home only to find that the oni had taken his wife in exchange for the treat. The man searched everywhere and finally found his wife on the island where the oni lived. The man and his wife managed to come back home with Katako (meaning ‘Half-Child’), a child born of his wife and the oni on the island. However, Katako was always ostracised by his human peers (in another version, it is said that he had an insatiable appetite for eating humans). At ten years old, tired of being ridiculed, he asked his mother ‘to cut the oni part of him into pieces’ when he died, and then committed suicide.]

In the tale, Katako’s relationship with his mother seems to be of trust. He is cast out of society by humans and despite his mother being one as well, he does not harbour hate for her, he trusts her enough to leave his final wish upon her. We do not know much about Sukuna’s relationship with his mother, but the manner he referred to her in the last chapter makes it seem that he also harbours no hostility toward her. This tale also shows how children deemed ‘different’ were treated.

In past ages, children, being considered closer to the gods and the Other World, also played the part of intermediary between humans and the gods in Japanese society. This task of mediation between two separate worlds fell to them because they were regarded as incomplete persons (until the age of seven it was considered uncertain whether they would live or return to the Other World: a belief related to the challenges indicated at the beginning). While considered sacred beings different in nature from adults, they were at the same time looked down upon and referred to as kodomo (where ~domo has a negative/belittling connotation), gaki (hungry ghost or demon; brat), or jari (lit. gravel).

Back in the day, people referred to the killing off of ‘unwanted children’ (mabiki or ‘culling’, a common old slang for infanticide) as ‘sending a child back’, and a dead child was given a special non-Buddhist funeral. The various rituals surrounding birth and the child’s upbringing were intended, through communication with the Other World, to transform the child into an earthly being. This aspect of the ritual made me think of Sukuna’s mask and how that part of his face resembles a burn scar (note: i am aware the nature of his ‘mask’ is still not clear and whether it is really one) in some of the official illustrations. It is known that rituals of purification included fire and water magic. Exorcism of demons, aversion of disasters, and other rituals for the removal of pollution were frequent. A katashiro (paper cut in the shape of a man) symbolising the disaster would be burned or floated down the river as well. Personally, I see the possibility of Sukuna’s scar (if it really happens to be one) being from one of such rituals. At the same time, it resembles a fragment of a wooden mask used in ceremonial rituals associated with Shintoism, where it represented a ‘spirit of a head,’ which was believed to be a god in the shape of a human. In this case, it can be a remnant of such ceremonial ritual gone wrong.

Continuing, there is a term - Goryō used to refer to the spirits of those who had died violently (e.g. by murder or execution) and have become gods. It also included those who had died untimely deaths and therefore had been unable to fulfil their purpose in this world. Some notable gods such as Hachiman, Tenjin, and Tenno were once considered powerful Goryō. Great natural disasters and social unrest were attributed to them; rituals designed to appease them were performed, and a cult of such worship evolved. It was (usually) as a result of belief in Goryō that particular individuals came to be worshipped as gods. At times when public unrest threatened the social order, elements estranged or excluded from the ‘normal system/order’ were assigned the status of Goryō and worshipped as such. The cult was intended to purify and renew society. Manga has given us a similar glimpse of Sukuna’s past, where despite being feared (and despised), people were ready to serve him (and pray in his name) for their own well-being. I think Akutami intended to echo this very aspect of society through the scene.

I mentioned that children were considered closer to the gods and the Other World, but not all children were treated equally. One version of the origin of Kamadogami (additional post on the parallels between Sukuna and Kamadogami after Chapter 258) in the Tōhoku region is that he was an ‘ugly child’ from the Dragon Palace who had been killed and was thereafter worshipped at household hearths. Zashikiwarashi, who often inhabits old houses and is said to bring good fortune while he remains, is another household god in the shape of a child or, in another version, the spirit of an unwanted child who, having been killed off, became the guardian god of houses. I mentioned Hiruko at the beginning as well, who was set afloat on the boat in the sea. Despite that, he is in some Shintō shrines identified with Ebisu, the patron of fishermen and tradesmen. Their worship was for the purposes indicated in the previous abstract, to avoid their wrath. Sukuna has not been ‘killed off’ like these children were, but such worship shows us the general psyche of the public.

The ‘ugly child’ who appears in the story of the origin of Kamadogami has parallels in Yokenai, Untoku, Hyotoku, and Hanatarekozo, children who brought good fortune and prosperity to the house in return for offerings to the Watery World of kadomatsu (pine-branch gate decorations for the New Year) and firewood. But despite that, their ‘ugliness’ and names were used as an indication that these children did not belong to this world. It is important to note that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated in the same manner (here is where the point connects to Sukuna, continued from the next part in depth). Such children were often associated with the colour red. For example, Zashikiwarashi is described as red-haired and red-faced. Kintaro, Shutendoji, and other children born in unusual circumstances (but may not have been considered an ‘ugly child’) and brought up in the mountain wilderness are also said to have had red bodies and were endowed with superhuman strength. I also mentioned that Kappa from Tōno were depicted as red. We see Sukuna often associated with the colour red, particularly, his eyes are red. I believe the above-mentioned could be the reason for that.

I indicated that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated similarly in the previous part. The character Dō of Dōji (童子, meaning child) once meant ‘slave’, tattooed on the forehead, and was closely linked to notions of personal status. It signified one who was not a complete person and also one who had not yet been initiated, in other words, one who did not belong to the order of this world, one who was in this world but not of it. They were despised, feared, and avoided by ordinary people for their strange appearance and magical powers. In some cases they even formed separate ‘child’ villages (dōji mura), calling themselves ‘descendants of oni (demons)’. Since they played the role of demons during the rituals, they were shunned by the nobility as if they were real demons. Could this somehow connect to Sukuna’s title? I do believe there is a possibility this could have inspired his being as the King of Curses.

Personally, what we know of Sukuna and his past seems to echo these folktales and practices as the foundation of his character. He was a ‘Demon’ for being an ‘abominable’ child, but he was worshipped for this same reason as well. Whether he was born that way after eating his twin in the womb or something happened to him later in life cannot be known yet, but it is clear his ‘abominable’ appearance could have warranted the same treatment from society. It could also explain Kenjaku’s ‘fascination’ with him as a being. We do not know what relationship they had or how exactly they came to know each other, but there is clearly a reason why a being such as Sukuna would ‘work’ with them. We do not know much about Kenjaku either, but it could be possible that they (Kenjaku) once were either (1) one of those ‘priests’ who performed exorcism to purify ‘demon’ children or (2) someone who offered such children refuge (perhaps and more likely, for their own personal gain). It would also relate to the variations of Ryomen Sukuna’s story that inspired Akutami Gege.

[Disclaimer: This post does not intend to demonise Shintoism or Buddhism, but to tell folklore and practices for analytical purposes. Additionally, English is not my native language and this is only a personal interpretation as just another reader that I am sharing in case someone finds it interesting or can use the information for better analysis.]

[corinthianism]

labyrinth | peter parker

pairing: peter parker (andrew garfield)/gn!reader additional tags: fluff, meet cute warnings: referenced character death (gwen), angst

summary: peter finds love again nearly a decade since gwen's death. note: this is like. a brain fart. i barely proofread this so like i'm just gonna HOPE it's not complete ass. happy reading!

The air was already biting cold in November. Peter had been sitting on the same bench for about an hour now, orange leaves clinging to his coat. Every so often, he would break out of his trance to brush them off. Gwen had gotten it for him on their first Valentine’s Day together after she saw him wearing one of his uncle’s old ones. She joked about how it made him look like he was hiding little packets of crack in his pocket. His lips twitched into a smile before he inhaled deeply, trying to remember the sound of her laugh. The real sound of her laugh, not the one that crackles through the speakers of his old laptop whenever he missed her. It’s been that long. He was always terrified he’d forget her: how her eyes twinkled when she learned something new, how her hair always seemed to be perfectly in place, or how her scent took over his room after every visit.

There were days when he couldn’t even get out of bed, too consumed by his grief to move a muscle. On the flip side, there were days when he could feel like himself again. Days where he allowed himself to smile and just be the nerd he’d always been. He knew it was what Gwen would’ve wanted. By some miracle, it was what she fell in love with. She loved Peter Parker and that was the only reason he had to not lose himself as Spider-Man. Despite it all, he found it got easier with time. It was easier to live with himself now. It was easier to accept that it wasn’t his fault. Four years has passed since her death and he was just barely accepting it still, but it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

It was rare for him to have the time to just go out and enjoy what the city had to offer. New York could be a real piece of work: that was evident from just how much Spider-Man had to deal with in the past few months, but it was home. Central Park was a place he hadn’t visited in a while, so he tried to not dwell in his thoughts too much and enjoy the rare opportunity. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do but people-watch, but it was a nice change of pace for Peter. With how hectic things were at work on top of his responsibilities as a vigilante, he was exhausted. He was tired of being Peter Parker. It was nice to just be invisible for once. 

He snorted. If middle-school Peter heard that, he would’ve been firmly smacked on the head by his younger self. He always wanted to fit in with the cool kids back then. He achieved that to some degree. Sure, he was more well-known as a dweeb rather than a cool guy, but he was still well-known. Even now, he realized his desires didn’t change all that much. It’s just that this time, he wished he could have a house and a dog and a proper job and be friends with normal people. Instead, he was still renting an apartment in a less-than-ideal part of town that he could barely keep. Before he could slip further into his self-deprecation, he was pulled away from his thoughts by something sitting next to him. On his right was a puppy, no more than a year old, slobbering all over the bench with a bright green ball in its mouth. Peter could only stare at it before the puppy carefully placed the wet ball on his lap, urging him to throw it. Before he could do anything, you jogged up to them and picked up both the dog and the ball.

“I’m so sorry, sir! I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately!” your eyes wandered down to the wet patch on Peter’s thigh where the ball used to be. “God, you don’t have somewhere to be, do you? I’m really, really sorry!” 

You were really jittery. That was the only word Peter could think of to describe you. You didn’t know where to put your hands: between holding the happy pup, the ball with said pup’s drool all over it, or trying to introduce yourself to the man your dog decided was “the chosen one”, Peter was pretty entertained. Then he felt bad. 

“It’s no problem really,” he reassured you before pointing to the troublemaker in your arms fondly. “You’ve got a cute puppy. Too bad I didn’t get to throw the ball though.”

The sigh of relief you let out must’ve been cartoony because you swore you saw him smile, then he stood up and handed you a handkerchief. You looked at it for a few moments before accepting it with your one wet free hand gratefully. He remembered thinking at the time that you looked so welcoming. Like a friend you can always talk to even if you haven’t seen each other in a while. It might’ve been his senses messing with him, but the air felt clearer then. Your arrival cleared a fog in his mind, and he didn’t even know your name. So he told you his instead, his gloved hand touching yours for the first time in what seemed to be just a polite handshake. Looking back on it now, perhaps that was the first sign. 

You told him your name, trying not to stare at the man in front of you. His eyes were so… kind. They were big and round and full of wonder, maybe a little dampened by age. Kind but tired. They should’ve been just as average as any other set of eyes you’ve seen, but when the sunlight hit them just right, it reminded you of swirls of honey. The rest of him surely didn’t disappoint. Maybe a few seconds in, you realized you must’ve been gawking at him, so you said your goodbyes and tried to forget about it on the way home.

Not that you could, but he couldn’t either. 

A couple of weeks had passed. His patrols happened less often now with him working so much during the day. Between the bills and the pressure of being a functioning adult, Peter found it difficult to keep his head above water. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror he got from May’s old stuff. He was older. He was sadder. The suit still fit as well as it could, but squeezing into it was more of a chore now than an exciting flipping-of-the-switch into his alter-ego. His hands shook, if only for a moment, before he pulled down the mask over his head. The fire escape creaked under his weight before bouncing back into place as Spider-Man finally leaped off and swung into the night.

“It’s just another patrol,” he reminded himself. “You get this done and you can get some sleep.” 

It must’ve been two hours into his patrol when he heard you. His ears perked up at the sound of your voice. Before he could even register what was happening, his body was already swinging its way to you.

“Sherlock!” you called out. “Sherlock! Where are you?”

This was impossible. You loved your dog to bits but you’d think he’d think twice before dashing away from you at the slightest rustle of a bush.

“You need some help?” a voice came from behind you.

You jumped and swung your fist at whoever it was. Peter managed to narrowly avoid your sucker punch so he stepped back and held up his hands, in fear of freaking you out even more.

“WOAH! Woah, woah, hey…” he tried to calm you down, his actions about as frantic as your own. “I’m Spider-Man! I’m here to help!”

Red and blue spandex. Wide white lenses. Your mind finally processed what was going on in front of you. Spider-Man was here. 

Holy shit, Spider-Man was here.

Once again, you were apologizing to him. Not that you would ever know that it was the same person. You explained that you were trying to find your dog, and he listened. He clung to your every word, whether he meant to or not. That same fog in his head cleared up and soon he found himself engaging in easy conversation with you as you both searched the neighborhood for your dog. He felt light, like this was the simplest thing ever. Why was it so easy to be with you?

How long has it been since he was in the company of someone other than May? Someone who wasn’t from Midtown High who would awkwardly comment on how different he looked. Someone who wasn’t from the Bugle who would sneer at him every time he messed up because he was exhausted. How long has it been since he spent time with somebody who could get to know him the way normal people did? 

He tried to shake off these thoughts. Who said anything about the two of you getting to know each other anyway? Peter looked back at you from the dark alleyway. You were on the opposite side of the street from him, hellbent on finding Sherlock. A happy bark echoed from his side of the street. The puppy he once could’ve scooped up with one arm was now thrice the size of what it used to be. Sherlock stopped to smell Peter. The dog barked once again, as if to say “Hi, I remember you!”, and then ran back to you before you could burst into tears of frustration.

For a minute or two, Peter stayed just to watch. You were so gentle with your pup, so genuinely concerned for its wellbeing that it struck something inside of him. With how long he’s been Spider-Man and how much he lost as a consequence of it, he often forgot that people like you still existed. He forgot that there were still good people in this world, people who would do the same thing he did if they were the ones bitten by a radioactive spider. People that would help a tourist get to their hotel safely, reunite a mother with their child or, like you, spend the rest of the night looking for their dog in the freezing cold. 

Peter tried to leave as soon as he could because there was something about you he couldn’t quite figure out and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing what it was about you that rekindled a flame in him he thought he’d lost. You didn’t even get a chance to thank him properly. He shot one web after another and then it was back to work.

Your voice and Sherlock’s cheerful barks echoed after him, “Thank you, Spider-Man!” 

He felt himself smiling underneath the mask. Even if it was just for that night, he felt like the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man again. For you, the walk home was peaceful, even with the ever-present noise of the city in the background, but you felt safe. Since that first meeting with the masked hero, you’d feel that someone was watching you every now and then… and you knew exactly who it was. It was always a blip of red and blue in your peripheral, but it was more than enough. 

In February, you got laid off from your job. You’d seen it coming but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t a complete pain in the ass. You just turned up to work, got handed your box of stuff, and sent on your way. It all happened so fast. Next thing you knew, you were sitting in some dingy old bar, your box of stuff forgotten in the trunk of your car while you nursed your drink. Some guy took a seat a couple of stools away from you, huffing as he rested his head on the counter.

It took you a while to recognize him.

“Hey! We’ve met before… Peter, right?” 

Peter sat upright then, an awkward smile adorning his face as he turned to you. He stopped himself from speaking right away. After all, you met him once. He met you twice, both as himself and Spider-Man. He had to keep that in mind. 

“Oh, uh, yeah! From Central Park?”

You laughed, “Yeah. From Central Park.”

There it was again. The ease of the conversation. The natural flow of your back and forth banter. He couldn’t tell if it was just you or his heart finally giving in after years of self-isolation that brought about this sense of calm, but he was grateful for it all the same. You told him about what just happened earlier that day and… something pushed Peter to just take one more step into the deep end.

“You could come work at the Bugle,” he blurted out. Fuck. You’re so stupid, Peter.

“What? The Daily Bugle? The newspaper?” you repeated in disbelief, all of your attention now on him as you shifted in your seat. It was overwhelming. Why was it so overwhelming? This was only the third time he’s talked to you!

Maybe it was liquid courage, but he found himself nodding and just going down the rabbit hole of trying to convince you to apply, “I mean, you’ve been at that company for how many years? And I heard they don’t just hire anyone, too. If anyone could land a spot at the Bugle, it’s you,”—he grinned and put on an accent—”mi amigo.”

You stared at him, perplexed. Then, a smile. You were his friend.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled back, trying to hold back the hope blooming in his chest. “I guess… I’ll be seeing you again soon?” 

You wasted no time writing down your number on a piece of tissue and sliding it over to him, “You bet, Parker.”

In the safety of his one-bedroom apartment, Peter smiled at the messy line of numbers you scrawled on the two-ply tissue. He called you the day after, eagerly telling you abut what life at the Bugle was like. In true Spidey fashion, he was honest about it. His horror stories of his boss didn’t seem to faze you at all. In fact, it only made you more determined to apply and prove yourself. He admired that.

One call became two, and two became three. And one after that… and another after that. That wasn’t counting the daily texting that ensued in between. Peter found himself looking forward to your texts in the morning, when he finally fixed his sleep schedule just enough to wake up before his alarm started blaring. By the time you were officially an employee of the Daily Bugle, he couldn’t contain his excitement. 

It was exhilirating to not be alone anymore. It was even better when he realized your cubicle was just right next to his. Peter made it his mission to ensure your work experience was a fun and pleasant one. It was so unequivocally him to do something like that. Each gesture started out small: he decorated your desk with two succulents when you started out. After a while, he would leave candy on top of your paperwork while you went to the bathroom. He always denied this. Then there were the sticky notes.

Peter didn’t come to work regularly, he was juggling two other freelance jobs most of the time but he always, without fail, managed to leave a sticky note on your computer if he wasn’t going to be around the next day. Like his other acts of kindness, these started small too. Imagining him hunched over a desk and writing these notes just for you made you more flustered than you could even begin to admit.

“Don’t forget to eat!”

“You’re doing such a good job :)”

“YOU’RE SO AWESOME!!! >:D”

But your favorite, favorite one, the one you kept safe in your phone case, was the note he left when you finished some of his paperwork for him. The two of you never spoke about the notes he left, both too scared to ruin the comfortable dynamic you’ve created. The very next morning, that familiar bright yellow poked out from in between the stacks of paper on your desk. You remembered the warmth you felt as you read his words. Something about his handwriting only intensified that.

“My hero :D Tell me how to make it up to you, you beautiful human being,” followed by a doodle of you in a Spider-Man costume. 

One day, when he’s ready, maybe Peter would tell you how you saved a life just because you finished his work for him. In your own act of kindness, you allowed him to start his patrol earlier and save a teenage girl from getting mugged, or worse. When you invited him over to your house that weekend and saw the angry bruise on on his cheekbone, he let you tend to the cuts that were littered all over his body. He let himself bask in your gentleness and care and sweetness and everything that made you, you. You asked him if he got attacked. He shook his head and ignored the sting of the hydrogen peroxide. 

“I fell into some bushes while hiking. Turns out it had thorns,” he lied. Lying to you didn’t feel great.

Instead of prying any further, you laughed and told him to be more careful. He could’ve sworn the room felt brighter then. 

In June, May came over to his apartment to drop off some good homemade food; something she was sure he had gone far too long without, since his culinary taste consisted solely of instant noodles and microwaveable meals. The TV hummed in the background as the older woman made some small talk with her nephew. The realization that he was no longer a little boy dawned on her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, but it was a hard pill to swallow. May saw how tired and beaten down he was, especially after Gwen’s death, and it wasn’t until recently that she noticed a change in the young man. The stubble he always forgot to shave was nowhere to be seen, his unkempt hair finally trimmed into a manageable shape, and his eyes were brighter. He was still tired, but he was happy. For a brief moment, she saw the little boy she used to bathe and sing to before bed. 

Peter was too busy munching on the chicken casserole she prepared to see his aunt smiling at him. Finally, she decided to speak up.

“Who is it, Peter?”

He looked up, not expecting the question, “Who’s what?”

“Who’s making you happy?” 

Peter thought about it for a while, not sure if the answer he’ll give was actually the right one to describe what had transpired these last few months, “I made a friend, I guess. They’re really nice and uh… they just started working for the Bugle. So. I see them more often.”

May nodded, a content smile on her face as she processed the information. A coworker. A friend.

“Tell me about them, they seem nice.”

Peter hesitated for a second, only to be reminded of your face and your bad jokes and your dog. Nice was an understatement. You were amazing.

“They are. Nice, I mean. We just sort of ran into each other at Central Park and then I saw them again a couple of months later and I recognized them. They’re… they make me feel comfortable. Appreciated, you know? I haven’t had somebody to talk to like this since—” he stopped. 

Since. 

Since Gwen.

In the time Peter’s known you, not once did he think about her. Then that horrible sinking feeling in his gut came. Years of falling and learning how to get back up went down the drain because he was reminded once again of what he lost. His thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, all of them connecting back to that one fact that he was sure would haunt him forever: Gwen Stacy was dead and she would stay dead and Peter couldn’t do anything about that, no matter how much he wished he could. Somewhere, deep down, a part of him never really grew up. How could he? What gave him the right to live the life he wanted when she couldn’t live hers because he couldn’t catch her?

Then you came into his life and pulled him out of his self-imposed exile. All at once, it was you flooding his senses and you weren’t even there. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

May could only watch her nephew go through a whole lifetime’s worth of pain all over again. In a flash, he was gone. May Parker was alone.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to leave his apartment. He couldn’t bear to let May see him like that again. He couldn’t… It felt too much like the first time. It felt too much like losing his uncle and his girlfriend. He didn’t want to relive it. New York’s skies were painted pink and orange as the sun began to set, but all he could think about was getting away. His feet simply walked and walked and walked, his mind in a haze until finally, finally, he stopped at the headstone that haunted him for so long.

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy

Beloved daughter and friend

March 2, 1996 - July 2014

A breath he didn’t know he was holding in escaped him. It had been nearly a decade since she died. She would’ve been twenty-seven. The air felt colder somehow, but Peter, even with his scientific mind, wanted to believe that she was there with him in that moment. He wanted to believe that Gwen Stacy never truly left. It was true, in a way. It was Peter that kept her alive, even if it was only in memory. 

“Gwen, help me out,” he whispered. “Help me out, please. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He struggled to keep his composure.

“I met someone, Gwen. It was an accident. Their dog was all over the place and for some reason, he chose me. Gave me his ball to throw. And then they came along and GOD! They’re just— They’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I just can’t… I can’t do that to you. Never to you. And I know what you would say and how I’m an idiot but,” his voice wavered. “How can I ever look at anybody else the way I looked at you?”

Soft footsteps came from behind him.

“You can’t, sweetheart,” May placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t look at anybody that way you did Gwen. What you had with her was special. It was you and her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start something new. Something entirely different and just as special. You know this is what she would’ve wanted for you, why would you deny her that, Peter?”

The dam broke. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

May held him tight. She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the cold with Peter, but the moment that little boy was left on her doorstep, she knew she would do anything for him. No longer was he little, but he was her boy, and he always will be. If she had to rub circles on his back for as long as he needed to pour his heart out to the world, she would do it. So she did.

You didn’t hear from Peter for the next few days. He always managed to evade you at work and when you did see him, he avoided your gaze and left as soon as he could instead of hanging around to chat about random stuff like he always did. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Peter was probably your first true friend in this city. He looked out for you in ways nobody ever bothered to, even people you’ve known your whole life. Peter Parker was your friend and you were determined to get to the heart of the problem and fix it.

Miraculously, you caught him just as he was about to leave the lobby. Hearing his name from your lips stopped him in his tracks, so he turned around to face you. You knew what he was going to say. It was going to be another excuse to leave and not talk to you.

“Oh, hey!” he greeted lamely. “Look, I can’t stay around for too long, I have to—”

“Cut the shit, Parker,” you hissed. If it came out harsher than you intended, you didn’t care. You deserved to know whatever it was that made him start avoiding you like the plague. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because it’s definitely something!”

He was caught. With nothing else up his sleeves, he pleaded quietly, “Not here. I’ll tell you, I promise, I just… Not here.”

A couple of hours later, you were face to face with his door. You hesitated to knock and as if on cue, Peter opened the door with a tired smile. His hair was damp and he was dressed in a shirt much too large for him and plaid sweatpants. He smelled of cheap bar soap and mint toothpaste. For a moment, all you could feel was him. It took all of your strength to push that thought to the back of your mind. There was a more important matter at hand, and that was figuring out what was bothering your friend.

He ushered you inside and you both awkwardly next to each other on his worn out couch. The broken leather pricked your legs every now and then through the old bedsheet Peter covered the couch with. All the confidence you mustered up throughout the day to confront him was lost now. You fiddled anxiously with the strings of a throw pillow, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

He broke the silence, “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself recently but… what I did to you this week was wrong. Sorry. Again.” 

You sighed. This wasn’t easy at all. The words came out before you could think, “I know. I just wish you would tell me. I think I deserve to at least know why you’ve been acting this way.”

Your heart thrummed in both anticipation and fear. Peter, with his enhanced everything, could hear it. That’s when he took in the sight before him. You were so gorgeous; an angel on Earth in his eyes. You, so beautiful in ways he didn’t think was possible, sat in his living room because you were concerned. May’s words of wisdom echoed in his mind. She was right. What he had with Gwen was special, she was his first love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form something new. It took all this time to realize he wanted to build that with you. Your eyes told him everything you didn’t say out loud. You cared. You cared, you cared, you cared. He loved you.

Peter Parker loved you. He just had to figure out a way to say it.

He was sure he looked weird in that moment. You stared at him so intensely, trying to figure out the enigma that was his emotions. His hands found yours and the first thing you could think was how warm they were. He squeezed, as if trying to reassure himself that you were real and that this was happening.

“I lost someone. She… she was my girlfriend,” he began shakily, trying to find the right words to describe the massive lump of something in his chest. “Her name was Gwen. We met in high school. All these years, I’ve tried to hold on to her. You know, to keep her alive in some way. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that maybe I was doing more harm than good.”

There it was. It was all out in the open now, bits and pieces of his heart sprawled out across the floor as he waited for your reaction. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head, all of them ending in you leaving him alone. Each version of you in his mind reflected the guilt he bottled up for nearly a decade, screaming at him and cursing him for the things he’s done and the things he couldn’t do. Then he felt your arms wrap around him. He didn’t even realize he was already crying.

“Peter Parker, you are a good person. I might not know the full story, but if she loved you as much as you loved her, then I know for a fact that she would want you to be happy. You deserve that. She deserves that.” 

You prepared yourself for his protest; for him to rebut everything you just said. You hoped you said the right thing but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he said next.

“If you keep saying things like that, I’ll fall in love with you even more.”

It was so quiet, just a little above a hushed whisper that you could almost fool yourself into thinking he didn’t say it if it wasn’t for that fact that his hold on you got tighter. He must’ve seen the confusion on your face because he spoke again, “I hated myself for falling in love with you because I thought it was a disrespect to Gwen’s memory. I wish I couId say I didn’t see it coming. I always knew I would love you. I just didn’t want to see it.”

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed there, his confession lingering in the air you breathed. It might be a trick of the mind, but you knew it was sweet. Peter pulled away; too kind, too selfless, too afraid to consider the possibility that you might just feel the same.

“Peter—”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“Peter—” 

“—ruin everything we had, I just couldn’t—”

“Peter!”

He gulped, clearly not expecting you to stop him from rambling. In his mind, you deserved an apology. In yours, you deserved a chance to speak.

“Peter,” you spoke softly, trying to reassure him that you weren’t offended in any way. “Have you ever once considered that maybe I like you too?” 

Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Peter learned to tune out the stimuli in his environment. It used to bother him so much; hearing and smelling and feeling everything all at once got overwhelming. Now, when all his senses pointed back to you, he finds he doesn’t mind at all. In that moment, he was so sure he’d die a happy man if your face was the last thing he ever saw. It took him a while to respond to your own confession, too wrapped in all of you to think clearly.

He asked you if you were sure. You said yes. He asked you again. You kissed him. 

The feeling of your lips on his both grounded him and blew him away. Somewhere in between that make-out session, his hands found yours. He decided this felt right. Maybe Peter will never fully overcome his own insecurities, and there was a lot of them. He was worried he was too tired, too beaten-down for you… and that didn’t even begin to describe the fear he felt knowing that you would have to find out about Spider-Man at some point. Again, he was reminded of your friendship and your kindness. You had given it to him so freely. He just needed to take another leap of faith and learn to trust himself as much as you did.

When November came, Peter didn’t find the air so chilly anymore. Not with you around.

[skyeblue8]

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐯𝐬. 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬 (𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬)

Whether or not you're all familiar with the Webcomic, Lore Olympus is an award-winning comic created by Rachel Smythe that's essentially about a modern retelling of the Hades and Persephone myth with various other Gods and references in it, and what not. And, assuming you have a critical eye when it comes to writing, it's has become wildly disliked and even hated by a lot of critics and former fans due to the butchering of myths and gods (and a religion), unlikeable characters, poor character design, poorer handling of sensitive topics like SA and racism, and overall the author's inability to listen and take critism that would've helped her improve.

The reason I bring this up at all is because I have the nagging fear that Helluva Boss and, by extension, Hazbin Hotel, are going to be doomed to fall into the same pit of failure as Lore Olympus is, mainly due to a nagging pattern that I've noticed between the two:

The Writers. The two are relatively close in age and, in my opinion, immaturity in writing as evidenced by the various plot inconsistencies, character treatment and development, and poor world-building established in both media. On top of that, however, both have a significantly bad reception to criticism of their work in any way, shape, or form. We've seen this before in how Viv herself states that she's been told that she can't take criticism well since she was 17.

Now, it's one thing to have these claims as a teenager, it's another to have them as a fully grown adult and not learn to mature past this issue by now. The number one issue with ignoring criticism for so long, especially in your very popular work, is that eventually, it's going to show. Sooner or later, many of your fans, regardless of how they felt about your work prior, are gonna notice small flaws that gradually become bigger and more glaring the longer they are ignored.

Time and time again, this issue has arisen in Rachel Smythe's work, both in design:

As well as writing...

Speaking of which, I'm beginning to see a similarity in their writing issues in the fact that, evidently, neither creator had/has any set plan for how their stories are gonna be told. Readers of LO have seen that from the frequent additions of various, random plots with the previously established plots having not been concluded in a meaningful or tactful way, and we see this with Vivzie and Season 2.

Going off this, both Vivzie and Smythe show blatant favoritism towards their main characters or love interests that prevent other characters from having their own development (i.e., Millie), as well as keeps the main couple from having any sort of flaws that the audience would perceive as truly bad, thus removing any nuance to them.

We see this in Persephone and her character:

And we see the same with Stolas and Blitzo, mainly in regards to Stolas' past and situation with Stella, as well as Blitzø's own past as we're made to constantly feel bad for him despite him not being the victim. It's made worse since we've yet to know what he did to every single person he's wronged, but, for that, I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt until we see more of Season 2.

Lastly, and probably the most glaring thing for me, both Smythe and Vivize take inspiration from real-world religions (RS –> Greek Polytheism; Vivzie –> Christianity/Demonology). These religions are both widespread in their popularity and, thus, are important to millions around the world. Because of this, both should surely have a sense of obligation to not bastardize the stories and characters they referenced in their work and/or should make their likeness relatively similar to their original works so others who know of it are familiar with the characters.

Both creators have failed to do so at some point in time and have gone so far as to push the blame on their audience rather than admit fault and work to improve.

Viv with Beelezbub

And Smythe with Persephone and the other gods/Goddesses:

Worst yet, both use social media as a means of weaponizing their fanbase against those who have a few critiques about each work of media. Now, what I can say for Viv is that the severity of these issues hasn't fully hit her yet, whereas Smythe, despite her awards, is feeling the brunt of her poor writing choices from former fans and readers. While Helluva Boss is more new and doesn't hold as much overwhelming significance to me, I've been with Hazbin Hotel since the beginning before the pilot even aired.

It's because of this that my greatest concern is that if Viv doesn't start seeing through these issues within Helluva Boss and, really, herself, then both shows may be doomed to fail, without Hazbin airing in its entirety. Worse yet, it would be a major blow for fellow indie creators who look up to her as an inspiration, so I really hope she doesn't reach RS's level of infamy in her work. 🙏

*PS: For a better Lore Olympus's viewing experience, I recommend this:

[sunriseabram]

andreil + nightmares? been thinkng about them a lottt lately

We're Okay (It Wasn't Real) | 08/07 (Read on AO3)

CW / Nightmares, referenced CSA & Rape, Drake Mention

Andrew Minyard was afraid of the dark.

He’d never told anyone—lest they use the information against him—but it was true. The dark was where monsters came out to play, lurking in corners and under bed sheets. The dark hid the horrors of life under its cloak. Nobody could stop what they couldn’t see.

For that reason, sleep had always been difficult. Sometimes, Andrew would stare at the ceiling for hours, hoping unconsciousness would take him. He would lay awake until the sun began to stream through the curtains and then get up just to do it all over again.

Neil had changed things. Against all odds, having Neil in his bed was a positive thing. He felt settled with him close. Even on dark days, Neil being within reach was a cure, rather than a cause. After all, the dark was not so scary when someone he trusted was there to protect him from the monsters.

Today had been a bad day. He felt like bugs were crawling under his skin, every touch akin to putting his hand on a hot stovetop. He knew the night would be difficult. He hadn’t intended to sleep at all, but Neil’s soft voice reading a novel had lulled him to a gentle rest.

It didn’t take long for the nightmares to hit. 

There were hands on him. Strong, muscular, disembodied hands holding him down against the bed. No matter how many times he peeled them off or pushed them away, more would come. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t find it in himself to scream.

He knew it was a nightmare, yet it felt so real. He was seven, so small and weak, so naive to the horrors that the dark could bring. His cries for help were left unanswered, no matter how many times he begged or pleaded for them to just stop.

He willed himself to wake, but he couldn’t. He was paralysed, stuck in a never-ending cycle of unwanted touch. He could feel the hands pulling at his skin, tearing chunks of him away until the bone was exposed. Until he was exposed. Exposed and open for all to see like an exhibit.

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it wasn’t real. He could pretend that he was numb to it all, that it didn’t affect him, that it didn’t leave scars on his already marked skin. If he zoned out, maybe they would lose interest. Maybe, he could forget—not that he ever had been able to.

And then he heard Neil cry.

Andrew’s eyes shot open, searching. It didn’t take more than a second to find him, and Andrew felt his stomach lurch in response.

Neil was pinned down to the bed by Drake, his head bloody and expression dazed. His face was pressed into the pillow, hands gripping the headboard with a white knuckle grip. No matter how much Andrew screamed and begged, nothing changed. Nothing ever would.

He was a failure. He had failed to protect Neil again. He had let his past hurt the one thing he loved more than anything else, and it wasn’t fair. 

“'Drew,” Neil said. 

His voice felt a thousand miles away.

“Andrew,” Neil said again.

Andrew woke with a start, sweat dripping down his forehead, and promptly threw up over the side of the bed into the trash can. His whole body was trembling, the sheets sticky against his skin. He threw them off and stumbled into the bathroom, needing to be out of bed.

He splashed cold water on his face with a gasp, before aggressively brushing his teeth.

“Hey,” Neil whispered from the doorway as if trying not to startle a wild animal.

Considerate as usual, Neil didn’t approach. He didn’t ask questions nor push Andrew for answers. He stood and waited for Andrew to finish brushing his teeth, before stepping aside to let him through.

Although he knew it had been a nightmare, Andrew still had to check. He had to check. He lifted his hand towards Neil’s head, waiting for consent before checking him over for injuries. His head wasn’t cracked open, and there was no blood on his pyjamas.

He was safe.

“We’re okay,” Neil said.

Andrew believed it.

[nordleuchten]

The man who hated La Fayette

I really struggled t find a fitting title for this post because I need you to read this letter! It is absolutely hilarious!

While in exile after the French Revolution and his time in prison, La Fayette and his family settled in Holstein in what was then Denmark on the country mansion Gut Wittmoldt. They were in contact with many of the local aristocracy. One family that was especially influential in that region at that time was the von Reventlow family. Now, I made a post in the past that not all of the von Reventlow’s were the biggest fans of La Fayette – I know Countess Frederike Juliane’s “this man” letter made not only me laugh. But now I found the one letter to rule them all.

Charles Claude d’Angiviller himself a French Émigrés, had settled in Holstein and was in contact with the von Reventlow’s. he even lived at their country estate Gut Emkendorf for some time. In 1798 he wrote a letter to Countess Frederike Juliane about her meeting the Marquis de La Fayette. I had to highlight the best part.

Eh bien! vous avez donc vu le froid, insipide et glacial Heros des deux mondes plus justement intitulé Gille César par le Duc de Choiseul? mot plaisant qui me semble le peindre parfaitement, car il s’est toujours présenté fierement à tous les événements, pour s’y conduire sans talent avec une insolence niaise et en sortir avec honte. Je doute d’ailleurs qu’au delà de la curiosité de la réputation appliquée sur le personage il vous ait infiniment satisfait, car toutes les fois qu’il a été dans le cas de parler, il auroit été au defrons de rien sans l’impudence d’immoralité qui a servi d’eclat à deux ou trois de ses mots, tels que l’insurrection est le plus saint des devoirs. Je crois que sa prison l’a conservé un grand-homme, comme ces fétus que l’on conserve dans l’esprit de vin. Je pense encore que la principale de ses qualités, qualité rare, et bien plus rare qu’on ne croit encore, est une sorte de ténacité et de suite dans la même idée qui fait qu’on veut, et ce qui est plus rare encore: qu’on veut longtems la mesme chose. Au reste ce n’est point une ame libre et indépendante, c’est un ambitieux hipocrite (…).

My translation:

Well then! you have seen the cold, insipid and icy Heros of the Two Worlds, more aptly named Gille César by the Duc de Choiseul? a pleasant word which seems to me to describe him perfectly, for he has always proudly presented himself at all events, only to conduct himself without talent, with foolish insolence and to leave with shame. I doubt, moreover, that beyond the curiosity of the reputation applied to the personage, he has greatly satisfied you, for every time he has been in a position to speak, he would have been a fool if it hadn't been for the impudent immorality of two or three of his words, such as insurrection is the holiest of duties. [d’Angiviller referenced the following quote of La Fayette here: “When the government violates the people's rights, insurrection is, for the people and for each portion of the people, the most sacred of the rights and the most indispensible of duties.”] I think that his prison kept him a great man, like those fetuses that are preserved in the spirit of wine. I also think that his main quality, a rare quality, and much rarer than we think, is a kind of tenacity and continuity of the same idea that makes one want, and what is rarer still: that one want the same thing for a long time. Besides, he is not a free and independent soul, he is an ambitious hypocrite (...).

I personally lost it at the point where d’Angiviller compared La Fayette with a preserved fetus ... this is an insult even I have not seen before.

But as seething as this letter is, I can not bring myself to completely disagree with d’Angiviller. In fact, I completely agree with him, that La Fayette’s imprisonment almost certainly helped his status and reputation in the long run. This came at an awfully high price, but it did help. Furthermore, d’Angiviller, mentions that La Fayette’s talent was to be persistent, to want the same thing for a very long time. I agree with that as well. Moreso, many of La Fayette contemporaries seemed to agree with this statement. One of my favourite quotes about La Fayette is about him having blinders. French writer, politician and historian François-René, vicomte de Chateaubriand, a contemporary of La Fayette and himself an ardent royalist wrote:

M. de Lafayette had one idea only; luckily for him, it was that of the century. The fixity of this idea gave him a kingdom; it served him as a pair of blinders; it stopped him from looking to the right and left; he walked a straight line with a firm step; he went forward without falling into the precipice, not because he could see it, but because he didn’t; blindness served him as genius might have.

While this statement varies greatly form d’Angiviller letter, I find it interesting to see that still the same idea, the same in perception in different statement, made by people with differing opinions about the same person.

[mybworlds]

Chapter 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… I haven't updated this story in months, probably no one will care anymore, but I'll be honest I didn't know how to end this third chapter, I had classic writer's block 'bout this, so here it is… 🙏 I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. 🔎 I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. 📖 If you didn't like this story, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

When you enter your room and Peña turns on the light, you both freeze at the sight of a single bed with midnight-blue sheets; there is no settee or a separate bed. On the other hand, there are red rose petals on your bed, you hear Peña snort and then go to the small balcony beside the bed, you see him open the shutters and let in the cool evening air.

“I'm not sleeping with you,” he sentences.

“That makes two of us who don't want to,” you affirm piquantly, closing the door behind you.

You look around there is a white closet in front of the bed, two nightstands the same color as the closet, and then there is a bathroom.

“But I can't sleep on the floor,” you say crossing your arms under your breast.

“I'll see if there's a bathtub over there,” he says as he re-enters the room and walks past you to go the bathroom.

“What does that have to do with the bed?” you ask puzzled.

“I'd sleep in the tub,” he replies, turning on the light.

“Don't be stupid,” you reply, ”it means I couldn't go to the bathroom.”

The man, when he comes back to you, is visibly annoyed, “So what do you suggest?‘’

“Let's share the bed,” you point your finger at him, ”with the premise that everyone will sleep in their own space, no hugging or anything.”

“That's obvious.” he retorts, resting his hands on his hips "Which side do you prefer?" he asks in a less annoyed tone.

“The one near the balcony.” you reply "Do you want to go to the bathroom first?" you ask him as you open your luggage.

“No, you go first.” he replies, looking briefly at your face, then turns his back to you and goes to the small balcony again where you see him lighting a cigarette.

You grab your bathrobe, shower gel, toothbrush, toothpaste and your pj's.

You go into the bathroom and lock yourself in, not trusting too much the man you share the room with, the policeman maybe, but the man absolutely not.

When you come out of the bathroom, Peña is still there outside at the balcony, but he has his gaze turned toward you, you immediately lower your gaze regretting not having chosen different, maybe a less low-cut pj's. . . you avoid crossing your gaze with his dark eyes, feeling uncomfortable as if he had seen you naked.

The bathroom is beautiful, quite large for a resort bathroom. You shouldn't, but your mind finds itself wandering wondering if you were really a bride at this time what you would have done, you imagine, in one of your wildest fantasies, that you would have shared the shower with your husband, made love in it…

You shake your head, you're a fool.

You're not married or anything, therefore, these fantasies have no reason to be, focus.

“I'm gonna go.” he says as he walks past you and into the bathroom, you don't hear the click of the lock, but you would never go and spy on him in the shower, you would never do any of that. You bite your lower lip thinking about how this whole situation is making you feel unusually insecure.

You close the balcony, leaving just a little bit of the slats open so you can allow a little air exchange, then you slip under the sheets: it's not cold, but you're uncomfortable. Your heart pounding in your chest, you attempt to regularize your breathing by inhaling and exhaling deeply, but at the moment with little result.

When you hear the bathroom door open, you pretend to be asleep, your back to the door, you don't want to see how he showed up to sleep. You don't dare to see him.

You hear him behind you fumbling with the gun, you hear him set it down on the bedside table, then you feel the bed bend under his weight, and finally the light goes out.

Javier Peña wakes up the next day with a pale sun illuminating his face, turns to you and sees you still asleep in a supine position. He sits up in the middle of the bed and takes the trouble to observe you, now that you are asleep he can do so freely and he even likes what he sees - your parted lips, your hair falling uncomfortably on the pillow, the soft roundness of your breasts clearly visible through the thin fabric of your pajamas - if only you didn't behave that way, if only you weren't so stiff, stubborn, maybe you would even be irresistible.

He then notices the fake wedding ring on your bedside table; he hasn't taken it off, instead, he twirls it around on his finger thinking maybe he should have taken it off too. Actually there is nothing true and right now you only share a bed because you are forced to, there is nor will there ever be anything between you.

He gets up and decides to get dressed right away, not wanting to make you more uncomfortable than you have to be. You're a huge pain in the ass, but that doesn't mean you have to feel out of place. He puts on a bathing suit and a plain white T-shirt, grabs his cigarettes, and leaves the room. He walks around the still deserted resort undecided about how to evolve that first day together of yours, he wonders if he will dare to relax even a little with you or if he will have to keep his guard very high at all times. He certainly won't indulge in long distractions from your goal, but he wonders if he can see you in a different guise, is curious despite finding you extremely irritating.

He goes to a very luxurious café asking for coffee and not missing a chance to look around, he knows he has to be discreet, in short he still has a wedding ring on his finger and then he is there for a reason! The young woman immediately spots him casting brief glances and winking smiles, now if the situation had been different, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, he would have taken her to his room and fucked her, but he couldn't, not in that circumstance and especially not with you in his, your, bed. So Javier was forced to smile fleetingly at her only a few times, then he looks around and gobbled down his coffee, goes back to his room.

When he returns, the bed is empty. He hears the roar of the shower, finds himself swallowing empty. It's just you. Nothing to get too upset about, and instead… he turns his gaze to the door for a moment, for a moment he was even thinking of opening the door, but then the thought that you are his thorn in his side, his touchy, punctilious colleague makes him desist. Rather, he sits on the bed and waits for you.

Before long the shower running stops and he hears you come out, he imagines you with your skin scented, soft, wrapped in some expensive North Carolina towel with your wet hair falling over your shoulders, he can even imagine the droplets of water dripping down your shoulders.

Peña pull yourself together! he says to himself.

When the bathroom door opens, you look up at him surprised to find him there.

“Hello.” you greet him, looking into his eyes, and Javier Peña misses a beat for a moment, but decides not to show that emotion of his, rather he rises from the bed coming toward you and lets his gaze wander over you. You are wrapped, as he had imagined, in a cream-colored towel and look at him puzzled.

“Good morning, hurry up, I'll wait for you outside,” he says before leaving the room without daring to look up at you again.

You felt almost out of breath in his presence, under his inquiring gaze, you even found yourself swallowing, what the fuck is wrong with you? You know who he is, don't you?

Yet, why did you have and are you having these overreactions?

It may be the sea air, it may be that being in these conditions doesn't help, but you won't relent.

You're wearing a bathing suit that suddenly seems too small, too low-cut, and then from on top of an emerald green dress that lets you clearly see your costume underneath, you're wearing your wedding ring again. Feeling your heart beating hard in your chest, you close your eyes for a moment trying to regain control over yourself, your body and your mind. You take a deep breath reminding yourself why you are there, not for a romantic vacation, not to suffer from some inferiority complex, but to catch El Diablo.

You open your eyes again and walk out of the room.

You are heading towards the beach, a light wind shakes the rows of umbrellas and beach chairs, small grains of white sand tickle your ankles, there is soft background music, but what strikes you most of all is the crystalline expanse slightly shaken at your feet. A little further on there are also small coves that, had you been more of a girl, you would have wanted to explore, maybe you would have booked all the equipment you need to make a good dive.

You see him, he's right outside your room. The room for both of you. You still haven't gotten used to that subtle difference, even if it's fake. He is waiting for you, he has sunglasses on his nose, a lit cigarette between his lips and he holds out his hand to you with a slight smile rippling his lips, you decide to play along, after all you have to do that: pretend to be what you are not and hope that fate is on your side. You return the smile and reach out your hand to him shaking it, you try not to lower your gaze and most of all you try to ignore that little cramp in your stomach you've had since sharing a room with him.

You smile at each other and, perhaps for the first time in two years, it is not a fake smile. His hand is so big that it completely envelops yours, his fingers intertwined with yours, your heart is pounding. You are pretending just fine, you tell yourself.

“How do you like the front row, honey?” asks Peña, you nod, rolling your eyes at hearing that nickname.

You sit across from each other under the umbrella, the Sun still not very hot, and you blame that for not undressing in front of him. He, on the other hand, lifts his shirt remaining with his torso completely naked revealing himself with a discreet, fair, well-proportioned physique, you look away from him observing the flat sea at your feet.

“If you never look at me, someone might start to suspect,” your partner calls you back.

You look at him, “Suspect what? We might even have had a fight,” you retort, immediately looking away.

“After the wedding night already we had a fight? That would be the shortest marriage I've ever heard of,” he says with a small smile.

“Maybe I didn't enjoy the night!” you exclaim before realizing how ambiguous that sounds.

His smile grows bigger, “We can fix it.”

“Don't kid yourself,” you say, settling yourself on the chaise so that you have the sea completely in front of you and bringing your knees closer to your chest.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were embarrassed,” he continues, turning your face toward him ”But you're not, are you?”

“Of course not!” he nods ”It's just that I've never worked undercover and especially not with a colleague who hates me.”

He looks away from your face, you see him intent on watching the sea “I don't hate you, I don't like the way you work, the way you act, like you're above it all, but that's not hate.” he clarifies and then goes back to looking at your face, you lower your gaze failing to sustain his deep gaze “And why do you hate me?” he asks you “Because I hit on you? Or is there something else?”

“I…” you don't want to hurt his feelings, you don't want to use inappropriate words, but since he brought up the subject, you might as well address it with the person concerned.

“Spit it out!” he encourages you.

“You're a good cop,” you begin by lowering your voice, not wanting to be heard about who he really is ”from that point of view you're the best, you're persistent, you do everything to catch the criminal on duty and for that you would be to be esteemed, but it's how you do it, your using-especially women-witnesses is something really bothers me and then what I really hate was that you tried to bribe me in order to get information that had been confided to me in order to get to You-Know-Who first. “ you shake your head “You made me feel … um … even insecure and I will never forgive you for that,” you add.

“Are you calling me a bully?” he asks you crossing his arms cocking his head.

“No,” you reply looking up at him, ”but it's this attitude of yours that is sickening.”

The wind makes your skin crawl slightly, you run your hands over your arms, “Are you cold?” he asks “Do you want a towel, or something . . .?”

“No, no, I'm fine,” you reply, sitting down on your sun lounger.

He gets up and sits down behind you and holds you tightly in his arms making you jerk and widen your eyes, “What are you doing?”

“Mi dulce mujercita tiene frio, yo la caliento,” he whispers.

“Estoy bien, no te preocupes.” you say turning to his face and crossing his eyes, you are about to say something very inappropriate to the image of you "Do you think we will see him?" you ask him.

He strokes your cheek and you lower your gaze for a moment, “Estoy seguro,” you nod, “Don't worry, I'll protect you anyway.”

You snort, “I don't need your protection . . . Diego.” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you just need to be hugged,” he retorts.

It's better for everyone to go back to where you belong, exactly as you need to be, you don't want his sympathy, you don't want to become one of his list.

“I think you need to keep your hands where they belong!” you whisper, pushing his hand away from your face and looking ahead of you again.

Peña does not add anything, but you feel that he has become stiff again. Your words have reminded him perhaps what his place is and that after all, this close contact of yours is a farce.

The water is cold and slightly more rippling than before. Under normal circumstances, you would have dived very slowly, getting wet slowly, but now you have to move away from your colleague. And quickly. You dive quickly and jerk from the sudden cold you feel. As if that were not enough, you decide to go underwater and swim a few lengths. You still have some old reminiscence about it and so you manage to move fairly quickly, but in doing so you pull away from the shore.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, you need to return to your boundaries. You don't want to cross them.

Already allowing him to have hugged you so tightly was an exception. You pull his muscular arms away from you altogether and slip off the dress you had been wearing and, without looking at his reaction, head for the sea.

You should have been the one to die! you almost feel like hearing your father yell at you when your brother was found. You gasp, not wanting to give in, but the water is so strong. So much stronger than you. You faint.

The sea is a dangerous place, your mother used to tell you after your brother disappeared at sea and his body was found two days later miles and miles from where he disappeared.

As you bask in these painful thoughts, a higher wave forces you underwater and you resurface a few moments later, a few moments later there is another wave and then another, you find yourself pirouetting pushed between waves.

When you completely regain control of yourself perhaps about ten minutes later, you sit down on the chaise sticking a hand through your hair, “I have to go to the room.”

You rekindle, but you don't even know how much time has passed. You are on the deck chair again, you are wrapped in two towels in which you squeeze even tighter feeling cold all of a sudden. You look around and see Peña sitting on the deckchair, looking pensive, clasping his hands convulsively and just letting his gaze wander from his hands to the sea. You sit up and only then does your partner turn and look at you, looking worried and angry at the same time.

You see him grit his teeth, but he says nothing, nor do you speak to him. You squeeze even tighter into the towels and close your eyes again.

Your partner doesn't respond, just nods, and you, still a little staggered, grab your things and go back to your room. You feel confused, dazed, and not only because you were about to drown yourself, but you can't even fully understand why you went so far out of your way to put your life in danger.

Hours pass, but Peña doesn't come. You are worried. You fear that the whole operation might be blown and that he is in danger, but you calm down when you see him sitting at the table. He has a lit cigarette between his index and middle fingers and a glass of what you imagine is an alcoholic beverage in front of him.

“Hello,” you greet him and then sit down across from him.

You both look tense, and in this you are true. You don't know what to say to him and he just stares at you, his eyes bore into yours for a few moments and then lowering and observing your cobalt-colored dress.

“What do you want to start with?” you ask him, trying to break the ice.

“I didn't know you were suicidal!” he exclaims at the same instant.

“No, I ain't,” you reply weakly, ”I . .”

“You? I'm listening,” he urges you, taking a drag with his cigarette.

You lower your gaze, “I don't owe you any explanation.” you retort annoyed as you look toward him “I don't owe you anything at all, also because there's nothing that binds us.” you add lowering your voice so that the only one who can hear you is him.

“Alright, what was it you were saying? Do you want to eat? Okay, let's order.”

You eat in silence, unable to tell if he is more angry or confused by your gesture, but you should not care about his reactions either. None of it is true.

You are in bed, but you just toss and turn in the bed, he is on his side and has his back to you, and you are first belly up, then you also turn your back to him, then you go back belly up.

“You can't sleep, can you?” he asks you.

You remain belly up, hands on your belly, “No.” you are silent for a few moments “I know I'm just a bitch to you, someone who goes on like a bull until she reaches her goal.” you hear him turn over in the bed “You're right, I am.” you add “I don't stop until I reach my goal. I can't afford any weakness because if I did, someone around me would get hurt.”

There is a strange silence between you, then he replies, “You see, I was right.”

“What?”

“De vez en cuando necesitas que te abracen para recordarte que no estás solo.”

You breathe deeply, “¡Bueno, tú hablas la mierda más aleatoria a veces, Peña!"

He tsks remaining silent for a moment, “All assholes never really are. They probably just suffered to get that way.”

“Don't psychoanalyze me!” you exclaim.

“I wouldn't do that. Not with you. You're hard enough on yourself alone; you don't need me to.”

You shift your gaze to his face for the first time since you shared that bed and see a pair of dark eyes shining in the darkness.

You don't know what to reply, better to let it go and drop the subject. You don't want to talk about you to him. You don't want to offer him other aspects of you with which he can take the piss.

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over (double chapter)

Chapter 7: Gleaming & Chapter 8: FISH n' CHIPS

Summary:

Gleaming

To describe something as good, desirable or brilliant. A particular favourite of the Guards Division. If something is ‘gleaming’ you’re probably onto a good thing.

FISH n' CHIPS acronyms, Fighting In Someone's House and Causing Havoc In People's Streets.

TF141/female reader, König/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, military inaccuracies, suggestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, domestic fluff, enemies to friends, becoming buddies, referenced torture, hurt/comfort, hugs, bar fights, alcohol, cuddles

previous: chapter six "contact"

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Chapter 7

How to tell a guy has a crush on you?

You immediately groan to yourself for googling this at your grown age. There was a time when you dated, you even had a boyfriend before all of this. Still, it feels like a lifetime ago, those thoughts were pushed to the back of your head for a while, but after your encounter with König you need answers. 

God, at what point I got so disconnected with emotions?

Ah, the good old WikiHow.

 1 - He talks to you—a lot.

Uhm...maybe?

2 - He makes eye contact.

Definitely, it’s kinda unsettling sometimes.

3 - He gives you his full attention.

Uh... I mean, yes. But isn't this like the bare minimum?

4 - He laughs at your jokes.

This is ridiculous.

5 - He tries to impress you.

Eh, perhaps.

7 - He lowers his voice when he speaks to you.

The fuck?

You cringe at yourself, before closing your computer and placing it next to you. I mean, maybe it’s not romantically? He clearly cares about you, after all, you don't just go through that for anyone, at least you wouldn't. Or would you? Fuck, this is hard.

König was---is your friend. You began to remember the first time you met him; you fresh joined KorTac, lined up in a row with other new recruits. Upcoming missions required weeks long deployments, and you were informed that some of you were needed for them as there was a shortage of staff in the base, due to the many operations KorTac was contracted to carry out, and that the commanding officers would pick a few rookies to fill the spots.

The first two officers went past you, not even giving you a second glance, just picking the biggest people in the row and calling it a day. The third of them, an American, just looked down at you and with a sarcastic tone said.

"I think you're in the wrong place, doll."

Cunt.

The sight of the fourth one immediately made everyone on the row stand straight. You heard someone beside you whisper "colonel". He was intimidating, tall as fuck, with a black sniper hood over his face and clear paint smeared on the fabric under the holes of his eyes, looking straight out of a Friday the 13th film.

He walked in silence, taking the time to examine each one of the remaining recruits in line. Opposite to the other officers, or at least the ones he talked to, he liked rookies. They were fresh meat, easy to mould to his liking. You saw him looking at you, slightly tilting his head like a curious dog, and you made yourself hold his gaze.

That might have caught his attention, because next thing you knew, he was in front of you. Looking down, probably standing too close on purpose only to make you look up even more, putting your neck in an uncomfortable position. God, it was humiliating.

"Name?" He asked, surprising you as his voice was not as deep as you expected.

"Sage, sir"

"SAS?" He asked, pointing at the Union Jack on your chest.

"No, sir. I was hired before I could try for selection. Corporal, British Army." You explained, and you saw him narrowing his eyes while looking at your face.

"You're coming with me, Maus." He said before simply turning around and walking away. Leaving you a little dumbfounded, as well as your fellow comrades, but soon you followed after.

And that was it, just like that you were under his command until you had the requirements to try and become a sergeant. You never asked him why he exactly did it, you didn’t want him to feel like you were questioning him. He was your superior, after all. Google just told you that "Maus" was a common term of endearment in German.

Those thoughts brought back to that day in Uzlovoye, Russia. Everything felt calm enough— just a rural town, you thought. You really don't remember much; you remember getting into what seemed like an abandoned building and having to collect a computer with vital information inside a bunker. You remember hands behind you, König's voice asking for updates through the comm, the growing anxiety in his voice at the lack of response, the hands squeezing your neck, and then everything went black. The next thing you remember was lifting your head, trying to move to no avail, something hard behind you, the feeling of restraints all around your body, and the disgusting smell of rust and humidity.

A knock on your door distracts you.

“Who is it?”

“Me,” Soap voice says from outside the door.

“Come in.”

He opened the door, finding you resting on your bed already in your pyjamas. One with bunnies this time. Looking around, he quickly realises you have already made yourself quite at home. The room is fully decorated now, except for some boxes piling up in the corner. He could even bet you would have painted the walls as well, if given the chance. You can tell he’s also ready for bed with a shirt from some band you don’t even know and tartan pyjama bottoms.

“Came for a tour?” You said it with a teasing tone from bed, looking up at him.

“Oh, sorry” He answered clearing his throat.

“I'm here to formally invite ye to our monthly film night” Soap said with a playful, elegant tone.

"Monthly? How come I'm first learning about this? I've been here for four months already" Seeing Soap standing on the doorway with a cocky grin.

"Sure, ye can get mad at us for not inviting ye...or ye can be over the moon we are doing it now" He said teasingly.

"Fine...just give me a minute."

And now you were there, in the usual sitting position, with Gaz in the middle, you on one side and Soap on the other. Ghost and Price are sitting on individual sofa at each end of the couch. All of them looked more casual, in their pyjamas as well. Maybe next time you could convince them to do a face mask and turn this into a proper sleepover, like the ones you held with your girlfriends back in high school. You brought a blanket with you to snuggle as well as a cardigan, the base felt like a freezer in the winter.

They did a rock, paper, scissors competition to see who picked the film. Something in you got suspicious when everyone groaned when Price won, even Ghost, but you gave his taste in movies the benefit of the doubt.

Fucking hell...

He picked Gangs of New York, and about half an hour later, the only thing keeping you awake was the feeling of your head bobbling every time you were close to falling asleep.

The only thing keeping Kyle entertained was seeing how hard you were trying to stay awake. From what Johnny told him, you apparently had trouble sleeping, often waking at night to sneak to the kitchen. So, to try and help you, at some point he shifted his shoulder a bit, so when you fell asleep, your head fell against it.

He felt how your breath slowly became even and calm, and you soon were sleeping like a baby. At least she can spare herself from this. As much as he tried to keep focused on the screen, trying to at least follow the storyline, you kept leaning more of your weight against him, seeking his warmth, to which he felt his cheeks warming up.

He took a look around, Ghost was watching the screen, Soap was asleep as well, and Price was watching the picture attentively.

His hand was awkwardly behind you, not sure what to do with it, as your body was pressed on his side. After a few minutes of consideration, he decided that to be comfortable, or so he told himself, to delicately put his arm around your waist, careful to be respectful and gentle. You shifted slightly, and he almost pulled away, but you just snuggled more against him, making him confident enough to cuddle you some more.

He leaned back on the couch, relaxing. It was surprisingly pleasant to rest like that. He could feel the warmth of your body underneath your clothes and how your body gently moved with each breath.

The light of the television illuminated your sleeping face, your muscles relaxed and a peaceful expression, quite the opposite of what he normally sees in you. You looked like a powerhouse when you trained, running through the o course like it was nothing, doing series after series at the gym, and relentlessly hitting whatever thing you had in front of you to train: the bag, mannequins, or Soap. 

In your sleeping thoughts, the heat coming from an unknown source was soothing, the aroma of cologne appearing in your dreams and the softness of the cotton of his shirt against your cheek.

He tried to remember the last time he ever was with someone like this. Probably before he joined the 141. Since he met Price, his life has been dedicated to the task force, his country, and saving the world. He almost forgot how nice this was.

The thoughts started to drift even more.

He imagined coming back to someone after work, lying like that while relaxing after a hard day of work, ordering takeout, watching the telly, and then heading to the bedroom. He didn’t realise until now that he craved that, the intimacy of a partner and the closeness of someone outside his friends. So focused on his job he almost forgot the feeling of a warm body pressed against him, the softness of the fabric of your shirt under his hand, your steady breath...he felt slightly flustered at the thoughts crossing his head, but he allowed himself to enjoy in silence. Just two co-workers resting on an evening—it wasn't a big deal. You looked adorable, he had to admit. And he enjoyed the moments he spent with you off-duty; going for the groceries, watching reality TV, or going for runs in the morning. All the stuff he dreaded or felt like chores of civilian life was now enjoyable. They almost made him forget he was a soldier, that he was in a base, and that you are there because you are a criminal. Of course, he would never tell you any of that.

"Kyle" You whispered groggily, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at you. You couldn’t even open your eyes, the sight bringing a soft smile to his face.

"How long until it ends?" You added it, making him chuckle silently.

"It's almost three hours long, and we're only one hour in, luv" He whispered back, amused.

"For fuck's sake" You muttered in an annoyed groggy tone, curling up on yourself even more while pulling the blanket up, wrapping yourself as you were still leaning against him, going back to sleep.

He could get used to this.

Chapter 8

With a unanimous vote, or so they told you, they decided to take you to the Battleship, a small bar close to the base opened by a retired SAS member mostly for other soldiers to hang out in.

You decided on putting on a long-sleeve shirt with some open buttons on the front that let it hang open enough for your tank top to peek out. As well as just some normal jeans, your tactic boots, and a jacket. You also decided to leave your hair down with clips to prevent it from falling all over your face. And just the tiniest bit of makeup—you were actually excited to see yourself a bit more dolled up than usual. Still casual enough, you think.

When Price sees you, a realization quickly strikes him. Yes, you were a merc, a spy, and you murder people—all crimes he was already too familiar with, and by the looks of it, so were you. But you were only a girl. When you arrived with a soft smile to meet them in the car park, it was like you didn't belong there with them. In other circumstances, you probably would have finished college by now; you would be getting ready to go out with your girlfriends for a drink after a normal day of work and chatter about your lives; you'd have a flat (a new one); and probably a partner. But instead, whatever life choices you made brought you here, going out on a Saturday night with four war criminals, older than you, to a shitty bar on the side of the road. He almost feels pity for you.

Pity he's quickly snapped out of when, apparently, once you got in the Jeep and you were getting comfortable, Soap got in behind you, accidentally pulling your hair with his arm against the seat, to which you winced and almost instinctively threw a very hard push against his shoulder, making him loudly groan but back out.

"Get off my hair," you said, glaring at him, picking up your hair and putting it over one of your shoulders, brushing it together again.

"I'm trying, but it's fuckin' everywhere. Can't ye put on a ponytail or something? Jesus Christ, no need to dislocate my shoulder." He said it with a small wince of pain, rubbing his shoulder.

"Muppets, behave," Price said with a sigh before getting into the driver seat.

It's probably going to be a long night.

He had yet to ask you for what fucked-up reason you ended up enlisting in the first place. But he saw you were uncomfortable enough when he tried to make you call your parents more frequently, and he didn't want to push any further.

He saw on the rearview mirror that Soap and you had made peace, and he was now telling you about how terrible the new recruits were and how they couldn't even handle a few runs around the base, and he was surprised when he heard a “I give them two more weeks” from Ghost, who was sitting next to you.

You seem well enough, considering your situation. He was glad when Kyle came to him, asking for permission to take you along with Soap to the town on a small shopping spree by the sounds of it.

Soap very much enjoyed the little getaway, even if it was for mundane things such as going to the supermarket, the bakery, and a small shop to get your mug. They made you wait in another aisle while Gaz and him debated between getting you the “I’m not short, I’m just more down to earth than most people!” one or the "Don't be a cuntcake" one that had a little drawing of a cupcake. Ultimately, their decision was the right one when you opened the box and cringed at the mug about your height. He really enjoyed getting to taste the macarons you bought. They were a bit overpriced for his liking, but they were tasty, so it was worth it.

"So... thoughts?" Gaz said, walking beside you as you entered the bar.

"It's...not bad," you say slowly, looking around.

It's clearly not your style or your idea of a bar. The decorations look like they were clearly chosen by a retired soldier (in a bad way), and it reeks of cigarettes; you could be smoking two cigars yourself by the amount of smoke you're breathing. Needless to say, it is quite busy, and Ghost and Price walk in front of you, with Soap behind as they go to the bar. Gaz just chuckled, probably sensing that this wasn't really your cup of tea.

"After a drink, it'll grow in you," he says as you start walking to the counter as well.

"Price! It's been a while, mate, what you've been up to?" The man at the counter asked cheerfully, already grabbing a bottle of whisky.

"Very busy months, Arthur. We are catching a break while we can," the captain answered while leaning on the counter.

"He is the owner," Gaz whispered to you.

You glanced at the man, looking him up and down. Checkered shirt, long beard, curly hair, missing a leg. Probably the reason why he retired in the first place.

"Oh, and who's this? Your daughter?" He said it with the same cheerful attitude, noticing you were looking at him and extending his hand to you. You chuckled as you shook his hand, and Gaz and Soap snickered at the comment as well.

"How old do you think I am? No, she's a new recruit," Price said in a mock-offended tone.

"Sa---...eh, Wire" Old habits die hard.

"Sorry, John. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.” He said it with a friendly tone, letting you go and putting a small bowl of peanuts in front of you.

“What can I do for you today?"

"Water, I have to drive."

"Whisky"

"Bourbon"

"Guinness, please"

"Do you have absinthe?"

"I actually do! It's been a while since someone ordered, but we serve it the classic way. Give me a moment." The man behind the counter, seemingly excited by the request, left to search for the necessary tools on the back.

When you looked next to you, your teammates were looking at you as if you had a second head.

"What?" Your tone was already defensive.

"Are you an alcoholic, bonnie?" Soap answered with his own question.

"I like the taste! It’s like liquorice."

"That doesn't help your case, luv," Gaz said teasingly, winning a playful scoff from you.

"Fuck off, it's just to warm up."

After Arthur came back, he made a small show of serving your absinthe, ice-cold water, absinthe spoon, and sugar cube, and you were surprised to even see a Pontarlier reservoir glass. After that, he went to serve the rest of the drinks less excitedly.

Once the first round was finished and Soap gagged after asking to try your drink, the five of you left the counter in favour of an empty table next to the pool, dividing into two teams: Soap and Ghost against Gaz and you. Price opted to be a spectator while smoking a cigar. After Ghost broke the aligned balls, their team had the solid ones, while you were left with stripes.

Alcohol must have really warmed you up because you were laughing more than usual at playful banter and at Soap's stupid dick jokes directed at Ghost regarding balls and pool cues.

Simon grumbled, but deep down, he didn't mind. For a change, it was nice to hear your laugh and to see your cheeks flush as you got hot from laughing and the heat of the place. He could see the men from the other tables ogling you, and although he knew you were perfectly capable of handling them yourself, he couldn't help but shoot glares in their direction when you weren't looking, making them immediately turn around at the sight of a man like Ghost catching them red-handed. A strange feeling of protectiveness was brewing in his chest—something about someone like you in a place like this and surrounded by rough men. It was foolish to think; he was well aware, and he felt almost embarrassed to even entretain the idea. Three months ago, he hated you and everything about you, and he let Price know multiple times that it was a terrible idea to have a criminal on the team.

But now...he had to look away when you bent over the table on your turn; suddenly, the inside of his mask was too warm.

"I need a drink," you announced, bubbly, stretching your back before handing Gaz your pool cue.

"No more absinthe, bonnie, won't hold yer hair while you throw up." Soap said, teasing, making you chuckle.

"I'm getting a coke; don't worry, mom."

"And I'm going to the bathroom," Price announced from the nearby table.

"Does anyone want anything?" You asked as you began to walk away.

"No thanks, luv," Gaz said, as Soap and Ghost only shook their heads as they were studying the table, seeing the best way to proceed as they were losing.

You walked away to the counter, which was across the bar, allowing the three men to keep sight of you.

Soap lowered his upper body over the table, hitting a red ball but missing the pocket, making him curse under his breath. Gaz chuckled at this, and they had a small break while you got back since it was your turn. He saw you waiting for Arthur to be done with another customer when a man he didn't recognize but saw on a nearby table approached you, shamelessly putting his hand around your waist as he stood beside you. The men on his table were watching the scene with a smirk on their faces.

This made him annoyed, and apparently, he wasn't the only one.

"Fucking dogs." Soap said, standing next to Ghost.

"Should we go for her?" Gaz asked, trying his best not to sound too eager. He saw you turn around with a scowl, clearly not happy.

"Lass can take care of herself," Ghost bluntly answered. Although his eyes were betraying him, he was still glued to the scene.

When he turned to look back at you, you were saying something to the man while glaring at him. The men chuckled and said something back, and you rolled your eyes. Your face went back to face the front. Maybe you didn't mind?

Then he saw how the man's hand slithered down your back, and he felt his blood boiling. But before his hand could reach its destination, a quick blow from your elbow harshly met its own destination, connecting with the man's nose. Not only making him pull his hand away but making him fall back with a whine of pain, and now everyone’s eyes were on the scene.

"You fucking whore!" The man said loudly before he got up, clearly aggressive. But you weren't backing up, either.

"Fuck," Gaz said before he quickly hurried up to the scene, followed by Soap.

As they arrived, Gaz got in between the man and you, and Soap quickly held you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. The man's friends are also holding him back, muttering stuff along the lines of “it’s not worth it” or “it’s just a chick.”

"Put your fucking bitch on a leash," he said angrily, blood pouring from his nose. Ah, a yank.

"Haud yer wheesht," Soap barked at him from behind you, still holding you as you tried to break free from his arms.

"I’ll chop your hands off." Not even you knew you had so much pent-up anger inside you, probably looking for the right situation to explode. Johnny was struggling more than he would like behind you, feeling like he was trying to hold back a bull. Bloody hell, maybe I should do more weightlifting.

"The fuck is your problem, mate?" Gaz through gritted teeth, but before the man could scream back, you were approached by Ghost. The man's eyes widened, and he stayed quiet, all the blood draining from his face.

"L-Lieutenant." He said this while standing straight, trying to sloppily clean the blood off his face with his hand.

"You are?" Ghost asked.

"Shadow Company, sir." You heard Soap muttering 'of course' under his breath, still holding you back.

"T-This girl broke my nose!" He said, pointing at you, making your efforts to break free from Soap's grip increased.

"Yer awfy crabbit, mo leannan," Soap whispered to you, not letting you go, trying to get you to calm down.

"Only because you tried to touch her ass like a fucking mutt in heat," Ghost answered bitterly, looking down at the man who looked as if he wanted the earth to swallow him.

"What’s the problem here?" Price approached the situation, fresh from the bathroom. At the sight of the captain, the man looked like he wanted to throw up.

"Graves men were getting handsy with the lass," Gaz explained, and he heard you groan in annoyance behind him.

"I can take care of him myself." You said through gritted teeth.

The same alcohol that made you giggle like a teenager is now making you thirsty for blood, as well as annoyed that they felt the need to handle the situation themselves, like you weren't an adult and a trained killing machine, just like them. All the frustration, sadness, and anger that you obediently swallowed in the first months of your new life, not wanting to worsen your already poor situation, is now coming back to bite you in the ass. You wanted to unleash every little one of your frustrations on the man in front of you.

"Mo chridhe, calm down," Soap said again. Gentle but struggling, you were using all your force to get out of his embrace.

"LT, help." He said in a strained voice as he kept trying to lock you in his arms, to which Simon rolled his eyes, but he eventually approached you. With ease, he wrapped his arm around your waist and threw you over his shoulder.

"Fucking hell, Simon," you said, now with a view of the 'Lieutenant Riley' written on his back.

"Some fresh air will do you good, flower." He said as he walked out of the bar carrying you.

This was a rather embarrassing situation, everyone was watching curiously. It was not the first time you were carried out of the bar, and certainly not your first fight. Probably not the last, either. You deep down knew that the gossip of the new girl getting into a fight and being carried away by her lieutenant was going to spread like wildfire on the base.

But, your head felt slightly woozy making you accept your fate as fresh air was starting to sound very nice.

"Sorry, Arthur," Price said with an apologetic look, looking at the bartender.

"Don't worry, John; good to see the new recruits still have some fire on them." He was hinting at the direction in which you disappeared.

"And you," Price said, turning around to the other men again. The main culprit is now holding a napkin against his nose, sitting down like a wet dog. John had a severe look on his face, making the men look more miserable. "Name. Now."

You sat in the Jeep with the door open. Ghost was standing in front of you, his mask lifted as he smoked a cigarette. You notice the blonde stubble; the concept of someone as big and intimidating as him being a blonde named Simon was quite funny, but right now you tried to focus on deep breaths, trying to calm your own anger down.

After a few minutes, you saw the Shadow Company men being pushed out of the bar by Gaz and Soap, followed by Price, who seemed to be on the phone. Your anger, far from diffusing, spikes again. You began to stand up again.

"Let them handle it." He says it in a calm tone, putting his free hand on your shoulder and making you sit again.

"I can handle it myself. My ass is the one involved, not yours," you answer, glaring up at him.

"I know you can, and as much as I would enjoy seeing you beat the shit out of them, you don't have to." He says, voice husky but surprisingly gently, looking down at you. You arched your brow at his words, and he decided to elaborate some more.

"Price is most likely calling Graves; they'll probably get a written reprimand, extra shit to do, and they will be banned from our sector on the base."

"I don't need Price to rat them out for me; I can take care of it."

"My point is that you don't have to. Listen: Despite everything, you are still on thin ice, flower. That thing is not a bracelet." He was gesturing to your ankle monitor.

"We don't give a shit if you kill them; in other circumstances, I would have gladly help you. Shadows are cunts, and they all act like mutts after a bone. But getting into a fight with people who are guests in our base is not a good view for the higher-ups, and Laswell and the Captain can only do so much in your defence." You listened attentively, his words making sense, but you still couldn't help but feel annoyed as you saw the man and his friends being escorted to their car, Price still on his call.

"Besides, you don't have to do it all yourself, you know?" He said that, and you directed your glance back to him.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't have to take care of yourself alone. We are a team; we take care of each other." You can't help but show a hint of surprise on your face.

"Are we?"

"Yes."

After almost four months...the bastard.

A smile slipped from your lips, and he kept looking down at you. In another context, he would be pissed at giving in, but he let you savour your victory, you deserved it.

The moment was broken as Price approached.

"Back to base, muppets," he said, opening the driver door, not before watching the car of the members of the Shadow Company leave the car park.

Soap came behind him to ruffle your hair, making you groan playfully.

"You okay, bonnie?" He asked warmly.

Gaz also arrived behind him, handing you your forgotten jacket and a can of Coke he bought you.

"Thanks, Kyle...yeah, I'm fine. Fuck... I’m sorry." A hint of embarrassment got to you as you rubbed your temples.

“None of that, bonnie. Anyone would have done the same. Not me, though; I would have kicked his balls.” Soap said, shrugging, making you chuckle.

“Not for punching him. For ruining the night.”

“Sweetheart, everything is fine. I talked to Shepherd; he’ll chew Graves ear off. For now, they’ll enjoy cleaning the showers with a toothbrush, and they’re banned from the mess hall and the gym, so you won’t see them.” You listened to Price, and you looked back at Ghost, who was giving you an ‘I told you so’ glance.

“Arthur said that you'd get a free drink next time.” Gaz said, also trying to lighten your mood.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, trying to avoid their gazes. You felt vulnerable, accepting help; it felt both terrible and surprisingly heart-warming.

The way back was actually nice, with Price telling a story from when he was a private and they had a few drinks while camping. One of them got so drunk that they made him believe there were lions in that zone, and he was scared shitless until he sober up enough to realise, they were in the German countryside.

The stories were a bit silly, but the way they were telling them was both endearing and entertaining. There was a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, and your cheeks hurt a bit because you were not accustomed to laughing and smiling this much.

next chapter: coming soon!

Thank you to the lovely people following this! <3: @no-lessthan3 , @blush-haze , @eustassh , @valkyrieunknown

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