#while it isn’t okay for me to go about this world drenched in my trauma

[mrs-han]

Something that I need to revisit — a pain I keep burying, and words I wish I could have said.

This is very out of character, especially for someone like Jumin. Feel free to skip this piece; I couldn’t come up with an ending.

“Do you… do you not want to be with me anymore?”

“I don’t.”

Your heart paused - then hammered with a vengeance in your chest.

Jumin’s words - so immediate, so decisive - were worse than any punch to your gut. You had done it. You pushed your… husband…? So far away that he couldn’t find his way back.

And he didn’t want to.

Realizing you weren’t breathing, you shakily turned to face your desk. What were you supposed to say? What were you going to do, now? The man you had been with for so much of your life didn’t want you anymore.

The man who had promised you forever decided forever was too long.

Jumin spoke your name - loud and firm - but all you could hear was a sharp ringing in your ear. Like a bomb had exploded near you. Or inside of you.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll have the divorce papers filed and faxed to you.”

“Jumin —”

“Forgive me. But I don’t want to hear any more excuses from you.”

So cold — so unfeeling. You had done that to him.

“I… I’m sorry —”

“I know. You’ve said it many times before.”

“Jumin.” You stumbled towards him. You didn’t like begging anybody for anything. But there were always firsts for everything. Clasping your hands in front of you, you stared into his eyes, void of any sentiment. “I know I haven’t been easy to live with, but you can’t…”

Jumin crossed his arms definitively over his chest — blocking himself from you completely. “I can’t what. I can’t leave? Is that what you’d like to say?”

Power surged through your voice. “I promised you till death do us part, and you promised me the same!”

He didn’t say anything. His expression towards you didn’t change.

“You — you saw me at my worst, and decided that it was too much?”

“Every time I tried to help you, you shoved me away. You were always angry with me over something — something.” A trace of emotion escapes Jumin’s lips. “Each time, you’d apologize. But nothing came from it. You remained closed off, hostile, insufferable.”

You trembled harder now. “Have you stopped to think that I’ve put up with your imperfections without complaint? I’ve always had an open ear for you. My arms were always open for you. And — when things were too hard for you to talk about, I’d show you more compassion than you had ever shown yourself.”

Jumin’s eyes stayed trained on yours. “You didn’t sit in front of our bedroom door, stressed beyond belief because I wouldn’t open the door for you. You didn’t have to chase after me —”

“I didn’t?!”

Jumin closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. The vein on the side of his neck started to swell.

You swiped hastily at the tears in your eyes. “I know I can be difficult. I know that I still have a lot to heal from, but I am not the only one.”

Jumin’s brows lowered.

“When you proposed to me, did you stop to consider that I am my own person suffering from my own demons? Or were you too absorbed in what you wanted in the moment?”

Jumin didn’t say anything. His body language didn’t reveal anything to you. His silence was deafening.

Frustrated beyond comprehension, you broke the skin on your palms, nails digging too far in. “When you saw me… all of me… you decided it was too much. But the surface level of my soul would have sufficed, right? The honeymoon phase of us was enough, right?”

Jumin finally broke eye contact with you… and checked his watch. “Can we wrap this up? I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

Your fingertips tingled. Your head pounded. Finally, your knees buckled — and you retched into the trash bin beside your desk.

[atlafan]

Wrecked - One Shot

a/n: this is slightly inspired by the wilds because I watched that recently, but it’s in no way as messed up or sad. psychologist/therapist!Harry is detective Nikki Reese’s ex’s best friend. They end up on the same cruise, and the two end up going overboard due to a freak hurricane. What happens while they’re stranded? Well, you’ll have to read to find out! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful! I really want to know what you all think of this one!!! (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: a lot of angst, a little fluff, and some smut. TW: trauma/dealing with trauma (Nikki is an SVU detective, so some things of that nature are brought up, but not in graphic detail)

Words: 14K

Pairing: Harry x OC

It was supposed to be a cruise, a ten-day cruise around the Caribbean to help clear her head. Well, it was originally an engagement present to herself and her ex, but since they were now broken up, it was to help clear her head. Nikki never would have thought she would end up in this situation, and especially not with someone she hated just as much as her ex…his best friend. As she lays under the stars for yet another night, she can’t help but think back to how she got herself into this mess in the first place.

//

She was packed and ready to go, excited even. Nikki had never gone on a cruise before, and she was looking forward to meeting some new people. She was never one to be nervous to go to things alone, she knew how to take care of herself and keep herself safe. She had grown up as the mom friend, so her purse was always stalked with essentials. She had one of those ones that was like a little backpack.

Nikki got to the docks a little later than she was hoping, but there was nothing she could do about getting stuck in traffic. She gets out of her cab in her white sundress, large sunhat, and sunglasses, and rolls her suitcase up the pathway to the boat. There was a bit of a line, but she didn’t mind. For the next ten days, she had all the time in the world.

There was a large area for her to check in at, and get her room key. She was surprised she wouldn’t be able to do it over her phone, but she knew that once they set sail the WIFI may not be as strong in certain places. She brought a spare lanyard to stick it on and everything.

“Hello, Miss.” The woman at the table smiles.

“Hello, I’m Nicole Reese.” Nikki smile.

The woman nods and looks her up in the system. She takes out two room keys and hands them to Nikki, along with a couple of pamphlets that were full of activity options, and where the boat would be stopping.

“Here you are, Miss Reese. We hope you enjoy your stay with us. It’s going to be an excellent cruise. Your other party has already checked in.”

“My who?” Nikki’s heart stops.

“There’s two of you signed up for this suite. A nice gentleman checked in about twenty minutes ago.” She taps a few times on the keyboard. “A Mr. Harry Styles.” The woman smiles. “Has there been a mix up?”

“Nope.” Nikki swallows. “Everything’s fine.”

Nikki quickly makes her way to her room. The ship was pretty easy to navigate. She was enraged. Had Kyle sent Harry in his place? Why the fuck was Harry even there? Did he suddenly acquire time off from work? She scans her key card, and enters the suite.

“Jesus, fuck!” Harry shouts. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?! What are you doing here?!”

“Kyle sold me his ticket…he…he didn’t think you’d still go.” His face falls. “Why did you?”

“Because I paid for my own fucking ticket, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin my trip! I planned the god damn thing, I should get to enjoy it. You need to leave before the ship does.”

“Sorry, I paid to be here too, I’m staying.”

“Don’t be a prick, Harry.”

“M’not trying to be. I got the time off last minute, I need a vacation just like anyone else.”

“And you came here alone?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Thought it would be nice to meet some new people…apparently you thought the same. Unless…oh no, did Alex come with you?” He groans.

“No, she’s not with me.” Nikki rolls her eyes. She knew it was useless to argue with Harry. “That couch should be a pullout, you can sleep on it.”

“But I’ve already started to unpack in the bedroom…you know I have a bad back, Nikki, come on.” He follows her into the bedroom. “It’s a king sixed bed, we can just share. I’ll even make a pillow divider if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I am not sharing a bed with my ex fiance’s best friend!” She looks around. “It’s bad enough we have to share a fucking bathroom.”

“Look, if I thought this boat would have any extra room, I’d go ask for one, but the woman at the desk said it was a fully booked cruise.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation…but think of this way, it’s nice to know at least one person here, right?”

“Wrong.” She shakes her head. “I came here so I could have some time to just not be reminded of Kyle for one fucking second! Now with you here…I’m gonna be reminded of him every single fucking day.” She blinks away a few tears. “You probably think I’m being stupid since it’s been three whole months since we ended things, but-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid…you two were together for three years, that’s a long time to be with someone.”

Nikki nods, and then sighs heavily.

“I think they’re going to make the safety announcements soon. Uh, let’s back out to the main deck, yeah? We can figure all of the sleeping arrangements out later.”

“Fine.”

The two silently head up to the main deck and listen to all of the announcements on how to stay safe, and other things they might need to know. There were a lot of passengers all around them. Nikki was hoping to have some type o rebound while on this trip. How the fuck was she supposed to bring someone back to her room with Harry there? Maybe he was thinking the same thing. His cruise could have easily just been ruined like hers.

“Have you told him I’m here?” She asks him as they move towards the railing to watch the boat take off.

“No.” Harry says. “My phone’s on airplane mode, I’m trying to unplug while I’m here. It’s really none of his business, Nikki.”

“That, or you just don’t want him asking questions.” She scoffs.

“Either way, I haven’t told him, and I’m not going to, okay? You can relax.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the suite I thought I was going to have to myself has been infiltrated by a six foot, curly headed, no good moron!”

“Hey! I’m not the one who cheated on you, okay?! Don’t take it out on me. Maybe you should have been a better partner to him and he wouldn’t have felt the need to stray.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” Nikki huffs, and walks away from him.

He knew he shouldn’t have said that, but she shouldn’t have called him a moron. That was the problem with Nikki, she thought she was smarter than everyone else, but you don’t get to become an SVU detective by being stupid. It wasn’t her fault that her work was a 24-hour job. She was lucky she even had the time off for this. All activities on the boat were all inclusive, and she wasn’t going to waste it. When she gets back to the room, she starts to unpack so she can freshen up. Harry comes in shortly after. She was just getting out of the bathroom.

“Nikki, look, I-“

“The pillow divider should be fine…I’d feel bad if you hurt your back.”

“Are you serious?”

“We’re both adults, think we can share a bed without it getting weird. You were right before…it’s good to know at least one other person.”

“Nikki, I’m sorry about what I said before.”

“Don’t be. You were absolutely right. I drove him to it.”

She knew how to play the game and keep the peace with someone. It would be easier to play nice with Harry so she could enjoy her trip than it would be to fight with him the entire time. And he was right about one thing, he wasn’t the one she was truly mad at. A little resentful maybe, but she wasn’t mad at Harry.

“Do you…wanna head down to the bar?” He asks her.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “That sounds good.”

Nikki doesn’t stay with Harry for long. She finds herself talking to a cute guy that was seated next to her. Harry didn’t mind because he was talking to some other folks as well. Nikki has dinner with the cute guy, and eventually goes back to his room with him. She has her fun and goes back to her own room. Harry was there, just getting out of the shower, his towel hanging low on her hips.

“Hi.” Nikki says, blushing. “Are you done in there?”

“Yeah, it’s all yours.”

“I…I talk in my sleep sometimes…and sometimes I…punch.”

“Punch?”

“Yeah, I have, like, bad dreams because of work.”

“Oh…well, thanks for the warning. I’m sorry that happens to you.”

“I’ve learned to live with it.” She grabs something to wear to bed before going into the bathroom. She takes a shower, and then comes out. She smirks when she sees the pillows in the middle of the bed. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your vacation.”

“You didn’t know I was coming.” She gets into the bed and turns the light off. “Just like how I didn’t know you were coming. I had a bad reaction before.” She sighs as she gets comfortable. “Nice bed.”

“Yeah, better than a hotel. Well…goodnight, Nik.”

“Night, Har.”

//

Harry was rustled awake around four in the morning. He looks over his shoulder and sees Nikki thrashing around. He sits up immediately and moves the pillows out of the way. She was drenched in sweat, so he rips the blankets back. She was gritting her teeth and kicking her legs.

“Nikki!” Harry grabs her shoulders to try to wake her up. “Nicole!” He straddles her hips to try to still her body. She was really strong. Her eyes burst open and she gasps for breath.

“What are you doing?!”

“You were having a bad dream!” He strokes her cheek, and moves her matted hair away from her face. Her breathing calms eventually and he gets off of her. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Please.” She sits up. Harry jumps out of bed and goes to fill up a glass. He comes back quickly and hands it to her, sitting on her side of the bed. She takes slow sips. “Thanks.”

“That looked pretty scary…do you remember what your dream was about?”

“Um, yeah, but I don’t want to scare you. I can’t really talk about cases.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I don’t-“

“It’s fine, Harry.” She snaps.

“Is…is this why you and Kyle never moved in together? Because you get these night terrors?”

“That…among other things. I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.” He puts his hand on her leg, giving her a squeeze. “Why don’t I put the TV on, hm? We can just relax for a bit, and-“

“Harry, fuck, I don’t need you to be my shrink!”

“I’m not trying to be! Jesus, you cops all think seeing a therapist makes you weak, but it’s actually the strongest fucking thing you can do.” He huffs. “I’m turning the TV on so I can get back to sleep. I need the white noise.”

He grabs the remote off the dresser and turns the TV on. He flips around the stations until he finds MTV.

“MTV?” Nikki asks.

“They show music videos early in the morning. It’s what the whole fucking station was created for in the first place.” He puts the volume on low, and gets back into bed. Neither of them bother putting the pillow barriers back.

“You don’t understand the stigma. If we see psychologists…they think we can’t do our jobs properly.”

“So you just suffer in silence? Must be fucking terrifying to have nightmares so often.”

“It’s my problem, not yours.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a problem, there are a lot of things you can do to-“

“Harry, please just drop it.” She turns away from him, sinking back into the mattress, and pulling the blankets back onto herself. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Whatever.”

//

They barely speak for the next couple of days, which sucks because the first couple of days are just spent on the boat until they reach the Caribbean islands. Their first stop would be in Florida, and Nikki couldn’t wait to get off the boat and explore where they were getting off at.

“Hey, uh…do you think we could grab breakfast together this morning?” Harry asks her just as she was packing her bag for the day.

“Sure.” She sighs.

He nods, gets his own backpack together, and they head to the breakfast buffet. They both had started to make other friends, but Harry thought it might be nice to explore the Florida coast with her. Luckily, Nikki hadn’t had any more night terrors since that first night. Her head was really starting to feel clearer. They’re quiet at the table they choose to sit at. Harry sighs heavily as he sips his orange juice. He notices Nikki stuffing a few apples into her bag.

“What are you doing?” He asks her.

“We’re going to be out all day today, I wanted to make sure I had snacks.”

“You need three apples?”

“For someone else…if they need one.” She mutters. “I just like being prepared, I can’t help it.”

“Well, I suppose if I get hungry later, I’ll be thankful.”

“Oh, are we wandering around together today?” She raises her eyebrows, and takes a bite of her bagel.

“I was hoping so. I don’t like that we’ve barely spoken these last couple of days. We’re friends, Nikki, why can’t we act like it?”

“I stopped being friends with you the day I found out Kyle was fucking cheating on me.” She stands up and storms off. Harry groans, but follows her. It had gotten increasingly windy out, normal stormy morning in Florida. Although, it had started to drizzle. “Stop following me, Harry!”

“No!” He grabs her wrist. They were outside on one of the lower decks. Not many people were outside due to the weather. “I didn’t know, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t know Kyle was cheating on you!”

“How could you not have known, you’re his fucking roommate! And apparently, it was going on for over six months!”

“He never brought her home! Any girl that he brought over was you, and any time he was gone for the night I just assumed he was with you…if I had known…” He steps closer to her. “I would have confronted him, and told him to cut it out. I would never condone something like that.”

“But you’re still friends with him! You just sat in your room while we were fighting!”

“I’ve been friends with him since uni! I was confused, I thought it’d be better to be on his side and keep the peace. I yelled at him afterwards. I told him he was an asshole for proposing to you while having someone else on the side. And I don’t live with him anymore, alright? I moved out a month ago, got my own place. We’re still friends, yeah, but I…I couldn’t look at him every day knowing what he did to you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I always liked you, Nikki. From the second he started bringing you around, I thought he hit the jack pot, and he fucked it up.”

“He told me I drove him to it. That I wasn’t around enough, that I wasn’t giving him what he needed, but he didn’t feel like he could break it off because we already invested so much time. The fact that it was with his co-worker, someone I never even really trusted.” Nikki scoffs. “I’m glad we weren’t living together, sort of made things easier.” She looks down. “I can’t help that my job keeps me busy, and that I’m not always up to fucking my boyfriend after dealing with a sexual assault case.” She looks back up at him.

“I get it.” He sighs, and grips the railing. “Somedays I come home after a rough session with a patient…like, you know when it’s so bad that when you drive home in silence and go the speed limit?” She nods at him. “It sucks sometimes…being someone that makes other people’s lives easier.”

“Right, because telling a worried mother that her child was found dead and buried in the woods totally makes things easier.” She rolls her eyes.

“That mother gets closure at least. She knows where her kid was and what happened. It helps with the grieving process.” He looks at her again. “You know I work with a lot of victims and survivors, right? I’m not out prescribing anti-depressants to a bunch of rich fucks.”

“I guess I forgot about that.” She furrows her brows at him. “You really didn’t know he was cheating on me?”

“Nikki, I swear, I had no idea.”

Just as she was about to say something else, the wind had picked up. Everything happened really fast from there. Sirens had started to go off, a hurricane was whipping up the coast. It wasn’t supposed to, it was supposed to travel out east, but it didn’t. Harry and Nikki had grabbed onto one another, but it wasn’t enough to stay grounded. They both got flipped over the side of the boat. Nikki had just grabbed at one of the life boats that was attached to the side in time. She pulled the tag, it inflated, and they landed in the water. They were dragged under at first, trying desperately to hang onto the raft. Nikki wasn’t sure how much longer she could hang on for, though. Everything around her started to fade. All she could see was her hand grasping around the rope of the raft before everything black.

//

Nikki’s eyes fluttered open when she felt water splashing on her face. She sits up slowly when she realizes she was drifting along the shoreline. She stands up and tries to figure out her surroundings. She remembered the storm, but she could have been blown all the way to Cuba. She looks to her left and sees the orange raft. Her backpack was next to it, thank god. She stands up slowly and goes over to the raft to flip it over. She steps back when she sees Harry laying there.

“Fuck.” She breathes and kneels down next to him. She almost forgot he was swept away with her. She checks his pulse first, he’s alive. She starts performing CPR, just the chest compressions. Before long he’s coughing up water. “Oh, thank god.”

“What…what happened?” He sits up slowly.

“We got…blown off the boat, I think. There was a big storm that wasn’t properly forecasted. I wonder if anyone else got thrown off like we did.” She looks around, but doesn’t see anyone else. “I have no idea where we are.” She opens her backpack. Everything was wet, but still useful. “My phone’s fully charges and working.”

“How?”

“I have one of those waterproof cases.” She squints at it, raising it up. “No signal.” She digs through her bag and finds a small baggie.

“What’s that?”

“Personal hot spot.” She turns it on and connects her phone. “The signal’s weak, but it’s there.” She stands up and starts walking around. “Map app won’t work.” She groans. “Fuck, I just wanna know where we are!”

“Try calling the ship director, I bet they’re taking attendance for safety measures.”

“Do you happen to know what that number is?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I. Let me call my partner. The WIFI calling should work.” She taps the number and puts the phone on speaker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“Dan! Thank god you answered.”

“Woah, Reese, what’s wrong?”

“There was a freak storm down in Florida…I got thrown off the boat. I just woke up ashore somewhere, but I have no idea where…could be an island off the coast, or we could be in another part of Florida.”

“Can you try sending me your location?”

“The map app won’t work…”

“But you might be able to send your location over iMessage. Are you alone?”

“No…a man named Harry Styles got thrown over with me. He’s a friend of Kyle’s.”

“Gross.”

“There are worse people to be stranded with.” She smirks at Harry.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“I’m a little achy, but nothing’s sprained or broken. Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” He says as he stands up.

“Alright, I’ve got your location…shit.”

“Dan.” She sighs. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Cuba.”

“How the fuck did we end up in Cuba?!” She shouts. “The ferry here would be an overnight trip for fuck sake.”

“Don’t know. I’m looking into it now and it looks like a pretty powerful hurricane swept you guys away. It’s like it chewed you up and spit you out. You’re lucky to be alive. I have the name of the cruise ship, since you left me the contact info, I’ll alert them right away. I’m sure they’re taking stock of who might be missing. I’ll have to get special clearance to get you out of there. It could take a few days. Do you have any supplies?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my mini water purifier, and a couple of bottles, some fruit and granola bars…basic essentials.”

“Okay, stay where you are, try to make a shelter in case more rain comes. Don’t use your phone at all unless I call you. I don’t want your battery running out. I’ll get you out of there, Nik.”

“Thank you, Dan. You’re amazing.”

“I’m sorry your vacation got ruined. I’m sure Captain will give you an extended leave.”

“I’m not worried about that right now. It’ll be dark in a few hours and we need to get to building a shelter like you said. Keep me updated.”

“Will do, stay safe.”

Nikki hangs up the phone and looks around.

“What are you looking for?”

“Drift wood. We can use some and the raft to make a little shelter to huddle under. We also need to make a fire to stay warm. If we’re going to be out here for a few days, we need to think smart.”

“What if there are wild animals running around, or-“

“Harry.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “I know this is really scary, but you can’t freak out, okay? Did you ever read Hatchet growing up?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Okay, so, that little boy got stranded in a fucking forest in Canada…in winter! We’re at least on a warm beach. We can still wash up, and I have a mini water purifier. We’ll be okay. I just need you to not freak out. I’ll need your help.”

“Okay, but after we’re rescued you better let me freak out as much as I want.”

“Deal.” She sighs and goes to her backpack. “Here, put on some sunscreen.” She hands him the sprayable can.

“What are you, the fucking grandmother from Halloween Town? Is that a bottomless bag?” He chuckles as he sprays himself with the lotion.

“No, but I’m a detective that helps people that go missing, so I’ve learned some things along the way. I never leave my house without a stocked bag.”

//

The two work together to move the raft back so it wasn’t near the water. They’re able to find some wood sturdy enough to prop it up for a small shelter. Next, they work on making a fire. Luckily, Nikki’s lighter was still working. Harry was able to keep things going as she checked their supplies.

“We’ll have to ration a bit. Apples are high in carbs, so they should keep us full enough. I’ve got two bottles of water in here. Once we finish them we can use the purifier. I even have two travel toothbrushes and toothpaste in here.” She smiles. “I have deodorant too, but no soap, sorry. We’ll just have to use the salt water to keep us clean.” She furrows her brows as she keeps looking at everything. “I have granola bars as well. Ugh, thank god I had my period last week. I’d be pissed if I had to deal with that too.” She takes out a couple of tampons. “Besides, these’ll be great fire starters.”

“I guess things could be a lot worse.” He sighs and sits next to her once the fire is good to go. “We’ll probably have to take turns watching it, huh?”

“Most likely.” She starts laughing.

“What could possibly be funny?” He asks.

“Nothing, just…wouldn’t it be hilarious if we were just in some rich family’s backyard?” She looks behind them. “I know we’re not, but it would be funny.”

“Yeah.” He smirks. “Well, now that most of the excitement is over, I’m gonna go take a leak.”

“Hey, if you shit, make sure you dig a hole first and cover it. We don’t need to attract animals.”

“Not that I have to do that right now, but you don’t have toilet paper in there do you?”

“I have a packet of tissues, but they need to dry out a bit. Got pads too, those could work…but I may hog them since I have more areas to wipe than you do.”

“Fair enough. Suppose I could use some leaves if need be. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into a discrete area so he can wee, and then comes back to find her rubbing lotion onto her bare arms and legs.

“I’m really glad I wore shorts today and not a dress.” He sits down next to her. “Don’t worry about your luggage back on the ship, either, Dan will make sure everything will get back to us.” She takes out a gun from her bag.

“Holy shit.” He flinches.

“Relax, it’s a flare gun. I’m saving it to use for when they come for us. No use in using it now. I don’t really feel like getting thrown into a Cuban prison.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly on my bucket list.” Harry chuckles. “What did you do to the water bottles?”

“Oh, I used a marker to mark off how much we should drink at a time to conserve it.”

“God, if there was ever someone to get stranded with, I’m glad it’s you. You’ve thought of everything.”

“I’ve just been trained well.” She shrugs. “Wish I had some blankets or something. It’s gonna be shit sleeping on the sand.”

“We could lay our clothes out and sleep on those.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. We’d create more body heat if we’re almost naked.”

“Oh, so we’re cuddling?” He smirks.

“Not cuddling, surviving.” She corrects him.  “We could drag out some of the larger leaves too. Make a pellet of sorts.” She stands up. “Come on, let’s go search for some.”

“Okay.” He watches as she grabs a lipstick out of her bag. “Freshening up?”

“It’s to mark the trees so we don’t get lost.” She deadpans, and he follows her into the unknown territory.

//

“Four days?!” Nikki shouts into her phone.

“I’m sorry, that was the quickest I could get clearance for a plane to Cuba.”

“But it’s a rescue mission, Dan!”

“Yeah, into a non U.S. territory, Nikki. I spoke with the cruise ship director, you were the only two unaccounted for. Your things are safe. I flew down to Florida today and gathered both of your things. I made sure to get you both a full refund on your tickets. I also contacted the people on your emergency contact lists so they’re informed. It’s going to be okay, you just need to survive on that beach. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning if I get any new information.”

Nikki sighs heavily and lays back under the raft. Her and Harry had made a decent enough pellet with leaves so they could keep their clothes on.

“Four days we’re going to be stuck out here.” She shakes her head. “This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry lays back next to her.

“If I hadn’t stormed off from breakfast, we never would’ve been swept off the ship!”

“Hey,” he turns on his side to look at her better, “don’t do that. Neither of us had any idea a hurricane was coming. At least we know someone’s coming for us. So we’ll feel a little hungry and maybe we’ll get bored. Let’s just pretend we’re on a really remote vacation.” He smiles at her.

“I have to pee.” She stands up and finds a spot to do her business before joining him back on the ground. “Let’s try to get some sleep.” She rolls away from him.

“Didn’t you say we needed to keep each other warm?”

“Yeah…I…prefer to be the little spoon.” She smutters. Harry wraps his arm around her, and gets his leg between hers. “Hold on.” She sits up and takes her bra off under shirt, then she takes her shorts off. “Need something to put under my head…and I can’t sleep with this thing on.”

“Good idea.” Harry peels his shirt off and puts it under his own head. They get back into position. She feels warmer with his bare chest against her back. “Goodnight, Nik.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

//

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone. He sits up and gets his shirt back on. He squints towards the water and sees Nikki in her bra and underwear. She was about calf deep rinsing herself. She brushes her teeth and walks back towards their little campsite.

“Morning.” She says as she throws some wood on the fire. “Water’s warm. I was just cleaning off yesterday’s sunscreen.” She grabs the can and sprays her body, rubbing it in on certain spots. “What?” She noticed he was staring at her.

“N-nothing, uh, where’s that other toothbrush?”

“Here.” She tosses it to him, along with the toothpaste.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and gets up. When he comes back, he sees that she’s put her other clothes back on. “So…how should we handle not dying today?”

“Think we need to treat it as a beach day, but in the shade. I don’t want us getting dehydrated.”

“I can’t sit around for four days, I’ll go bananas.” He sighs. “Can’t we go for a walk?”

“Sure, but we shouldn’t go too far.” She looks at her watch. “This’ll tell me when we hit a mile, how does that sound?”

“Works for me.” He shrugs. The two go for a walk. Nikki puts her phone and hotspot in her back pocket. “What’s your percentage at?”

“Eighty. I put it on airplane mode last night to conserve it. I know it won’t last a full four days, but I’m hoping Dan can get here sooner than that. Special clearance for a fucking rescue mission.” She scoffs. “This is ridiculous! Who’d you put as your emergency contact?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Harry.”

“It’s Kyle, alright?”

“Wow, so you can barely look at the guy, but you put him down for an emergency contact.”

“I’m British, my family lives in the U.K., he’s the only person close enough to me here that I could put down. Who was yours?”

“Alex.”

“She’s so annoying, I don’t know how you stand to be friends with her.”

“I happen to love her, so it seems like a you problem.”

“She’s never been nice to me.”

“It’s because she likes you and you don’t like her back, and she’s not great with dealing with it.”

“She likes me?!”

“Yeah, she thinks you’re cute.” Nikki shrugs. “Think you were still seeing Tina when I first introduced her to you, and then you broke up and didn’t make a move, she was sort of hurt, but to be fair she didn’t make a move either.”

“She’s pretty, but she’s not my type…sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Can’t help you like, you know? I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for a lawyer, especially with the business that I’m in.”

“You know, he used to talk about you all the time. He loved how were this strong, independent woman who was just…badass. He saw you as fearless, and he really liked that. We’re both needy guys…I think the busier you got, he just didn’t know what to do with himself. I personally would have tried to talk to you about it and not my colleague, but that’s just me.”

“He’s a brilliant lawyer, but he sure is a fucking moron. Has he…mentioned me at all since we broke up?”

“I know he felt like shit at first, but…th-the woman, Katie, moved in with him when I moved out…I’m sorry.”

“Well, they’ve been together nine months, perfectly acceptable amount of time to be together before moving in. I bet she never has nightmares.” She looks down at her watch. “We should turn around.” They do, and get back to walking towards their things.

“I know you were blindsided, but…I think things happen for a reason. You two weren’t supposed to get married. I…and this is just my inner psychologist speaking, but when I’d observe you two, you just never really seemed all that compatible. Especially as time went on. Your witty banter turned into hushed arguments. I think when two people get too comfortable, they’re too scared to break it off and start all over.”

“I wanted to marry him. He was the love of my life, Harry. And he…he ripped me to shreds. In my profession, it’s pretty male dominated, or there’s a ton of lesbians, which is fine, but…sometimes I don’t always feel like a woman first. Kyle…Kyle always made me feel like a woman first, and a detective second. It made me feel special.”

“Nik…he…he learned how to treat you like that because of me. He was constantly asking me for advice on how to deal with you.”

“How to deal with me?” They get back to their camp. “Didn’t realize I needed to be dealt with.” She huffs.

“See, that’s your problem right there. You’re extremely hot headed! Are you, like, the bad cop at work? Do you get into the suspect’s face, and scream at them?”

“No, I keep my cool at work. No one gives you information when you yell at them.”

“You’re constantly jumping to conclusions, Nikki. You look down on people when they can’t figure things out right away. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t know how. So I helped him.”

“Right, are you done pointing out my flaws now?” She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not trying to do that. I just think-“

“That’s your problem. You never stop thinking. You never do. You’re a fucking wallflower, Harry. You come off cool with your tattoos and your nail polish and your rings, but underneath it all you’re a shy little boy who never speaks up when he should.”

“And you like to push people away so much that every word you spit stings.”

“I think we should not talk until it’s time to eat later.” She says, looking away from him.

“That’s your best idea yet.” He says, and storms off. She watches him peel his cloths off, stripping to his boxers, and dive into the water.

//

They share an apple in the midafternoon. She was able to cut it up with her swiss-army knife. They didn’t say anything to each other. Nikki and Harry used to have a decent enough friendship. He would often watch a movie with her and Kyle, or he’d come out to the bar to hang out with their other friends. They got know each other well for the most part. She hated feeling such disdain towards him, but right now he was the only punching bag in sight, and she was abusing him for it. Around three in the afternoon, she comes over to sit with him.

“You should put more sunscreen on your face.” She hands him the can. “I just reapplied.”

“Thanks.” He spritzes it into his hands and works it into his skin. “Look, about before…I’m sorry we keep getting into these heated debates. I truly think you deserve better than Kyle, and it kills me to see you still so hurt and hung up.”

“I’m just…grieving the loss of the last three years still. I’m sorry for flipping out so much.”

“You get a pass while we’re stuck here. It’s not easy to keep your cool while you’re stranded.” He nudges her and she chuckles. “Can we just call a truce for the time being?”

“Yeah, definitely.” She smiles at him. “What do you say we go with that beach vacation idea of yours, and build some sand castles?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

The two get to work on building sand castles, and laughing when they knocked them over afterwards. It was good to exert a little energy so that they could sleep that night. Just like the night before, Harry cuddled Nikki with his bare chest pressed to her covered back. They didn’t get any updates from Dan that day other than an iMessage that things were still a go for a rescue plane to come in a couple of days.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night feeling cold. When he reached for Nikki, she’s not there. He sits up in a panic. He hasn’t really panicked yet since he woke up the other day because she told him to stay calm. Without her, he wasn’t sure how to stay calm in such a stressful situation. Yes, they knew people were coming for them, but it was still their job to survive on this unknown beach. His breathing slows when he sees her laying closer to the fire, staring up at the stars. He gets up, without grabbing his shirt to put back on, and goes to lay next to her.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack.” He says, turning his head in her direction.

“Sorry, I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright…just got a little cold is all.” She hums her response without looking at him. “Are you looking at the constellations?”

“Not necessarily.” She sighs. “The only time I’ve ever seen the sky this dark, like, without light pollution, was when I was twenty-one. I got to go to Israel for a birthright trip with my older sister. We camped out in the desert. We all stood in this big circle and preyed and reflected on where we were. I had never seen so many stars.” She turns to look at him now. “I was so overwhelmed that I cried. It was so beautiful.” She looks back up at the night sky. “What you said earlier, about things happening for a reason…I think you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t a cruise that I needed to clear my head…maybe it was getting stranded out here with zero distractions. That’s all the cruise was, a big distraction, but now…being out here…my head’s never been more clear.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m done mourning that relationship. The good was good, but the bad was bad…we weren’t right for each other, and I think I’m starting to really see that now. I…I’ll never forgive him for hurting me the way he did, but I want him to be happy, and if that other woman makes him happy and can give him the things that I couldn’t, then, well, good for him.”

“That’s a very adult way of looking at things.” Harry smirks. “It’s amazing what a little unplugging can do for people? A lot of the time I tell my patients to think of a calm, happy place when I have them close their eyes. Nine times out of ten guess what they say their happy place is?”

“Where?”

“The beach. And not at a resort or anything fancy, they just see soft sand, warm water, and a place for them to just sit and breathe for a while. It’s good you were able to come to those conclusions on your own, Nikki.”

“You helped me get there.” She looks at him with a smile. “Guess I respond better to tough love than anything else.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars either, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” She sighs. Her lips start to quiver, and she sits up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry sits up as well and gently rubs her back as she starts to cry. “You know, other than the fact that we’re stuck on an underdeveloped area of Cuba.”

Nikki chokes out a laugh, and turns to look at him.

“It’s just…I’m so lonely, Harry.” She sniffles as more tears pour from her eyes. “I love my job, and I know I have this tough exterior, but…it’s so fucking hard to meet people in my line of work. I feel like I just latched on to Kyle…and when we ended things I was like what the fuck am I gonna do now, you know?”

“You’ve got Alex…and your partner, Dan…”

“As close as I am with him, I’d never date my partner. Things get too complicated that way. Alex is my best friend, she’s not someone I can be in a relationship with. And I can’t…talk to her about everything. With Kyle, like, he understood where I was coming from sometimes with my cases.”

“You know you can always talk to me. I was sort of…sad that we lost touch when you and Kyle broke up.”

“I hated you by association.”

“Clearly.” He keeps his arm securely around her shoulders. “You and I aren’t so different, Nik. And…sometimes I need someone to talk to too. I listen and help with such heavy shit all day, it’s hard to shake it off and pretend like everything’s normal. I’d like for us to be friends again.”

“I’d like that too.” She wipes her tears and gives him a soft smile. “I’ve missed hanging out with you, you were always so much fun when we’d go grab drinks.”

“Wish we had some booze here. It would certainly take the edge off.”

“Wait!” She stands up. “I think I have a few nips in my bag! I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want us to get dehydrated while we were out in the sun. Hold on.” Nikki quickly goes over to her bag and pulls out two nips, and then goes back over to Harry. “Grapefruit vodka, it’s really good.”

“Anything sounds good right now, honestly.”

They clink the little plastic bottles, open them, and down them. Normally something of this size wouldn’t have an effect on either of them, it was just a double shot. However, with little food over the last couple of days, the alcohol went straight to their heads.

“I don’t know why people hate on grapefruit so much. It’s sweet and it’s got a kick.” Harry says.

“It’s the vodka.” Nikki says. “Vodka makes everything better.”

“Scientifically speaking, it doesn’t. It’s a depressant, and a poison, so technically-“ In an instant Nikki was straddling Harry and putting a hand over his mouth.

“Hey, shrinky-dink, shut up, yeah?” He nods his head yes. “Good.” She gets off of him and sighs as she lays back into the sand.

“Did you ever own shrinky dinks?” He asks, hugging his knees to his chest.

“What?”

“You know, those little plastic things you’d bake in the toaster, and then they’d harden into these little keychain things.”

“Oh my god! I remember the commercials for those! I always it, but my parents never bought stuff off infomercials.”

“We saw it in the store one day. I whined until my mum threw the box in the cart. Even though she was mad at me for behaving poorly, we had a blast making them together.” A few tears come to his eyes. “The first thing I’m gonna do when we get back is call her. She’s probably worried sick.” He wipes under his eyes.

“You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What?”

“Get a Big Mac from McDonald’s.” She looks up at him and they both start laughing. “Yup, gonna stuff my fucking face. Might sue the cruise company too, just to see if I can make a cool million and never have to work another day in my life.”

“Now that’s a brilliant idea. Might have to join in on that. Might just offer us a settlement so we don’t have to go through the whole court process.”

“That would be too easy. They’d say something like, ‘the hurricane was just as much of a surprise to us. We put on sirens’.” She scoffs.

“I think the sirens are the last thing I remember hearing before you woke me up. Can’t believe I only have a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I know, we’re lucky the ropes from the raft didn’t get stuck around our necks.” She sits up.

“Extremely lucky…in all sorts of ways.” He puts his hand overs and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, we should try to get back to sleep. We need to look for more wood tomorrow for the fire.”

“Yeah, alright.” She sighs and they both stand up. They head back over to the shelter and lay down. “Do you think…would it be alright if I just rest my head on your chest?”

“Sure, makes no difference to me.”

She gets comfortable, resting her head on his bare pec, her arm string across his stomach, and a leg over one of his. He puts his arm around her, keeping her close. They don’t say anything else to each other, they both just drift off, succumbing to sleep.

//

“God, I feel disgusting.” Nikki groans the next morning. “I wish I had a razor in here.” She mutters as she rummages through her bag.

“You’re telling me, I usually like a clean shave because my facial hair grows in all patchy.”

“Actually, a little scruff suits you.” She says without looking at him. “I wouldn’t want you with a full beard, but just a little something looks nice.”

“Nikki.” Harry chuckles. “You don’t want me at all.” Her head whips in his direction and he blushes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“N-nothing.” He clears his throat. “Uh, why do you think you need a razor anyways?”

“Because my pit hair is starting to grow out, and when it grows out I sweat more, and if I sweat more I’ll stink more.” She says in a quick breath. “Also, my leg hair is starting to get prickly, and I have sensitive skin so it itches like crazy.”

“You could try rubbing your legs with some of the mud and salt water…that might help.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” She sighs. “Think I’m just gonna go for a swim and clean up that way. You know how I said I was going to get a Big Mac?” Harry nods yes. “That’s now the second thing I’m going to do.”

“What’s the first?”

“Shower, in fact, washing my hair is the first on the list.” She takes out of the elastic and shakes it out. “it’s all greasy, but the salt water’s been good for it, I think.” She peels off her shirt and wiggles out of her shorts before walking down to the water.

Harry hadn’t been able to relieve himself in almost a week, and it was really starting to get to him. It especially wasn’t easy because he was around someone like Nikki. Harry always thought she was beautiful, and he thought Kyle was the luckiest bastard for scooping her up. When he saw her come into the suite that morning, he hid how overjoyed he felt. He hated fighting with her, but he was grateful for any interaction he was having with her. He missed her. In all honesty, his plan was to reach out to her another month or so from now, reconnect, tell her how he felt about her…how he really felt about her. It took him nearly a year to figure out why he liked being her friend so much, and why he was so happy for Kyle. It was because he liked Nikki…as more than a friend. But he wasn’t the type of guy to make a move on his best friend’s girl. He wanted to throttle Kyle. Harry truly had no idea he was treating on Nikki. He would have knocked him off his ass and gotten him to either stop, or just break up with Nikki before anyone had to get hurt.

He decides to get up and join her for a swim. He takes his shorts off and goes down to the water in his boxers. He dives in to submerge his body, it was incredibly refreshing. He stands up so he’s only about calf deep. They both agreed not to go too far in because there could be sharks or other predators.

“Think I’m about done with this underwear.” She says to him. “Might go commando for the rest of the time we’re here.”

“You could walk around naked for all I care.” He smirks, and she splashes him. “Oi, I was kidding!”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls here eyes. “I’m gonna go dry off, and then we can look for more wood.”

“Okay.” He nods and watches her walk out of the water.

They’re able to find more wood later on to keep the fire going. They split a granola bar, and they both sigh once it’s gone. The sun was setting, and Nikki couldn’t help but take a picture of how beautiful it was. Just when she was going to put it down, Dan calls her.

“Hey, Dan.”

“Hey! Great news, I’ll be on the rescue plane first thing in the morning. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re…okay. Mostly just hungry. Bring lots of food.”

“I’ll try. The medic may not want to overwhelm your stomachs. We’re gonna bring you both right to the hospital to get checked out. Your bills are going to be paid by the cruise ship company. If I were you I’d threaten to sue to get some money out of them. They’ve been able to keep this story under wraps and I’m sure they’d like to keep it that way.”

“Okay. I have a flare gun, what time should I set it off so you can find us?”

“Try for around 7AM, we should be close by then.”

“Sounds good, thank you.” She hangs up and looks at Harry. “They’re coming for us bright and early.” She nearly squeals.

“That’s incredible news.” He sighs with relief. “Think we could eat some more food?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s like, you know how the night before it snows you don’t do your homework, but you don’t end up getting a snow day so you’re fucked?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d rather not eat the food just in case something happens.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “Think I’m just bored anyways.” She sits down next to him.

“Me too. We’ve already played twenty questions, never have I ever…I think if we play another game I’ll go bananas.”

“We could have ourselves a wank.”

“Very funny.”

“M’serious, Nik.” He looks at her. “I think I’ll go bananas if I don’t come soon.”

“Harry, it’s only been a few days…”

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything in over a week because I thought it would be disrespectful while we were sharing a room on the boat.”

“Alright, so go behind a tree and jerk it.” She shrugs.

“Yeah, I could do that…or…”

“Harry Styles.” She gasps, a smile growing on her face. “Are you seriously suggesting that I stick my hand down your sandy pants, and give you a hand job?”

“I’d be getting you off at the same time so-“

“Are you kidding?! I’m all stubbly down there, and I probably smell disgusting, and-“

Just as she had done to him the night before, he was pinning her down and putt his hand over her mouth.

“Nikki, if you really don’t want to, I’ll drop it and go behind a bush and handle things myself, but I have no problem with a little bit of hair, and I’m just offering to finger you, my face doesn’t need to go anywhere near you if you don’t want it to.” He lifts his hand away from her mouth, but continues to hover over her.

“It’s just…we’re friends.”

“Friends help each other out, don’t they?” She nods her head yes. “Do you want to? Don’t let me pressure you.”

“I…I want to, I mean…getting off doesn’t sound terrible. And it could be a good time killer.”

“Right.” He smirks and moves to lay on the ground next to her. She rolls onto her side and so does he. “Can I…touch your chest?”

“Yeah, I’ll take my bra off, but I’m leaving my shirt on. I just…I feel gross, you know?”

“Whatever makes you more comfortable.” Once she’s situated, she unbuttons her shorts. “I went commando today…put my underwear in the fire.”

Harry nods and undoes his shorts. He was a little nervous.

“Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

“We’ve been brushing our teeth, what’s the big deal?”

“Kissing would make it more intimate, Harry. I don’t want this to be some big, emotional thing.”

He furrows his brows, but chooses not to speak. Instead, he reaches his hand inside her shorts and starts to rub at her folds. Her breath hitches, but she reaches him. Her hand slides inside his boxers and she starts to pump his hardening cock.

“You’re already hard.” She breathes. Their faces were only an inch or so apart.

“M’turned on.” He grunts as her thumb swipes over his tip. He feels her getting wet, and he drags it up to her clit. She bites her bottom lip and twists her hand around his cock. He slides his middle finger inside of her and her mouth falls open. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“Haven’t done this in a while.” Her hips buck in his direction. “Feels nice. Use two.”

“Are you, ngh, sure?”

“Yes.”

He slides a second finger inside of her and uses his thumb on her clit, applying just enough pressure as he presses circles into it. A moan leaves her lips, and for the first time he was hearing because of something he was doing, and not through the walls of his old apartment. It just makes him work harder, curling his fingers up inside her.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” She mewls. “Don’t stop.”

He presses his forehead to hers and pinches his eyes closed. He was getting closer. His cock was slick with precoma, and she was pumping him perfectly.

“Shit, Nikki.” He moans, and it makes her own closed eyes pop open. She had never really heard a guy genuinely moan before, and she thought it was hot, really, really hot. His fingers were petting against her g-spot in just the right way. He opens his eyes and sees her already looking at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, just…say my name like that again.” Her hips were grinding against his hand. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too.” He pants. “Fuck, Nikki.” He moans again. He bites his bottom lip to ground himself.

“Oh my god, Harry!” She cries out as she comes around his fingers, and she feels warmth against her hand. He had also come to his release. He slowly takes his hand away, and she does the same. “Shit.” She breathes and sits up. “I, uh, I need to go pee, excuse me.”

He watches her grab some tissues, and she goes to her designated bathroom area. Harry lays back under the raft and tries to catch his breath. He could clean himself up later.

//

The next morning went by painfully slow. They were up at sunrise in anticipation of the plane coming for them. Nikki’s phone and hotspot had finally died. They made sure to put the fire out safely, and once 7AM hit Nikki shot the flare gun. About ten minutes after that a small plane flew over them, and a rope ladder was thrown out.

“It’s here, we’re saved!” Nikki exclaims, throwing her arms around Harry. He holds her tight for a moment. “I’ll climb up first, okay?”

Harry nods and watches as she starts moving up the ladder, her backpack slung on her back. He climbs up after her, and they’re both pulled inside. Nikki falls into Dan’s arms.

“Thought I was gonna have to go through getting a new partner.” He mutters into her hair. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

“How you holding up, Harry?” Dan asks him as the medic checks Harry over.

“I’m alright, I’m feeling really tired, though.”

“So am I.” Nikki says.

“Rest up, we’re headed to a good hospital in Florida.” Dan says, keeping Nikki close to him.

The next time Harry wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. Kyle was sitting by his side. Harry groans as he looks over at him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Kyle says. “I flew down here as soon as they called me, man. They said you were severely dehydrated, and you had way too much sun, even with all the sunscreen you guys were using. They want to keep you overnight for a psychological evaluation.”

“Makes sense.” Harry sighs. “We’re bound to have some shared trauma, nightmares, remembering certain parts of being thrown off a fucking cruise ship, you know, normal stuff.”

“I haven’t been able to see her yet. I guess Dan’s been in with her, trying to get more info on what happened.”

“Is she awake?”

“I think so…I’ve walked by her room a few times. Did, uh, did anything happen between you two out there?”

“Right, because being stranded is super romantic.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“M’serious, man, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how you feel about her. The way you’d look at her sometimes…I could see it.”

“Nothing happened.” Harry swallows. “We were out there as friends, and we came back as friends.” Harry sits up a bit. “Is your girlfriend here?”

“No, she’s back at home. She was, uh, very understanding of me wanting to come down here and make sure you both we alright.” Harry nods at that. “If…if something did happen, like, if the next person she ends up being with is you…well, I’d be alright with that.”

“Oh, well, thank god for that. I was really worried about how you’d feel about her moving on.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kyle. “You really fucked her up, you know that? She’s not going to be happy to see you.”

“I know what I did was wrong, but I still care about her wellbeing. I’m gonna go check if I can see her now.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Kyle stands up and goes down the hall to Nikki’s room. Dan was no longer sitting in there, so he figured it was now or never. He knocks on the door, and she sits up when she sees him.

“Kyle?”

“Hey.” He comes in cautiously. “When Dan called me…I got down to Florida as soon as I could.”

“Yeah? Where’s Claudia?”

“Back home…how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” Nikki sighs. “I’m not roughed up or anything, I guess we were really dehydrated, though. Must have been from all the sun because I had my water purifier…must not work as well with really salty water.”

“I was really worried about you, Nik.” Kyle starts sniffling as tears come to his eyes. “I would have never forgiven myself if you died and the last words you said to me were that you hated me.” He takes her hand in his. “I miss you so much. I hope…I hope we can find a way to be friends.”

“You can’t be serious.” She scoffs and takes her hand away. “You come here, make things about you, and then ask me to be your friend? You cheated on me for six months, Kyle, six months! And you still had the nerve to propose to me! You broke me in so many ways, and I’ve finally been able to put myself back together. Getting stuck out there was almost a blessing. It gave me a lot of the clarity that I needed.”

“I didn’t think you’d still go on the cruise…if I had, I never would have sold Harry the ticket. You must’ve been so mad when you saw him.”

“I was…but he was the perfect person to get stuck out there with.” She shrugs.

“Did anything happen between you two?” He chews on his bottom lip. “I saw him before you, and he said nothing happened, but…he’s a terrible liar. He said you went in as friends, and come out the same way, or something.”

“Well, he’s not wrong about that.” Nikki smirks. “You really wanna know what happened between us?” Kyle nods yes. “Too bad.”

“What?”

“You don’t have the right to know. I meant it when I said I hated you, Kyle. I do, I hate you. It was very nice of you to come down here and make sure we were both okay. I actually appreciate it, but I’ll never forgive you for what you did. Cheating…it’s just not something I can forgive.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Well…I…I really am glad you’re alright. Did they tell you when you’d be able to go home?”

“In a couple of days. They’re keeping us overnight, and then they’re sending in a shrink to evaluate us. Standard procedure.”

“If you need anything at all when you get home…any help suing the cruise ship company, please don’t hesitate to ask. I could help you pro bono.”

“My god, how selfless.” She rolls her eyes. “Go home to Claudia, Kyle.”

“Bye, Nikki.” He lingers for a moment, and then leaves. A few tears roll down her cheeks, but not because of him. She just…missed Harry and wanted to see how he was.

//

Nikki and Harry weren’t given much time together during their evaluations. They were each spoken to separately, and when they were brought into the same room, they had to speak to the psychologist directly. Nikki desperately wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but she wasn’t really given the chance. Harry was able to catch her in her room before they left the hospital. They were to go directly to the airport to head home.

“Hey.” He says to her.

“Hi.” She says as she zips up her bag. “I think I’m sitting with Dan on the plane.” She swallows.

“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Um, listen, when we get home…don’t be afraid to talk to me. Like, if you have a nightmare or something, don’t be afraid to call. I won’t care what time it is.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks, but I’ll be alright. It’s no different than seeing some bad shit at a crime scene.”

“No, it’s not.” He sighs. “You might-“

“Harry, please.” She shakes her head as she grabs her bags. “I’m a big girl, I think I can handle what happened. It’s not like it was traumatic.” She scoffs.

“Yes it was, are you kidding me? A hurricane-“

“I was there, I know what happened.” She shakes her. “I appreciate you being so nice, but it happened, and it’s over now. Back to reality.”

What she said carried a lot of weight. She was coming down from her cloud, and she realized her and Harry needed to part ways here. Every time she looked at him, she saw Kyle, and she just couldn’t deal with that right now. Harry knew what she meant too. He was extremely disappointed. Even though he was the one that suggested they do what they did that night, he was feeling a lot of emotions about it, almost regret because he knew he’d never get another chance to feel her like that again.

//

“Captain, I swear I’m fine. I just want to get back to work.”

“I know you do, Reese, but you’ve been through a lot, and-“

“Sir, not to be disrespectful, but I disagree.”

“Nikki.” He sighs. “Take another week off, alright? Work will be waiting here until you get back. I’m happy to see you, but I’ll be happier once I know you’re home. It’s an order, Reese.”

She sighs, but does as he says. She couldn’t really argue with the captain of her precinct. She tells Dan she’ll be out for another week, and then heads home. She hadn’t spoken to Harry, but to be fair he hadn’t made an attempt to reach out to her. He wanted to give her some space, and let her come to him if she wanted to. By the third night she woke herself up screaming and in a cold sweat, she knew she had a problem. She kept having flashes of being dragged under water and not being able to breathe. She finally worked up the nerve to call him…at 3AM.

“Nikki?”

She could tell she had woken him up, but it felt so good to hear his voice.

“Hi.”

“Are you alright, love?”

“No.” She swallows. “No, I keep having nightmares.”

“So do I.” He sighs. “Do you want me to swing by?”

“No, that’s okay…I kinda just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“It’s not…it’s nice to hear yours too.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out until now. I feel like I’ve been trying to pretend nothing happened.”

“A lot of people try to cope that way, but repressing shit isn’t healthy, Nik.”

“So I’ve come to realize. It’s crazy, like, I work with all of these victims, and I’ve never really understood how they couldn’t remember certain things, but I get it now.”

“Trauma’s funny like that.” He says softly. “Have you been back to work?”

“I tried, but my captain told me to take another week off. What about you?”

“I’m doing the same. I’m too distracted to properly help my patients. They’ve been very understanding.”

“That’s good.” She chews her bottom lip. “So, you’ll be home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I could come by in the afternoon? It would be nice to talk…maybe we’ve been having the same nightmares. I keep waking up screaming and sweaty.”

“Are you dreaming about being dragged under the water?”

“Yeah…”

“So have I.” He sighs. “Come over around two tomorrow, yeah? I’ll text you my new address.”

“Okay, that sounds good, thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Well…I’ll let you get back to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Nik.”

//

Nikki knocked on Harry’s door promptly at 2PM. She was just in a simple quarter zip and jeans, along with her hair up in a messy bun. Harry opens the door wearing a tee shirt and joggers.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” She says.

He steps aside to let her in. They look at each other for a moment, it looks like they’re both about to speak, but they both close their mouths. There was so much to be said, but neither were sure how to articulate it. Her eyes well up with tears, and she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, crashing her lips to his. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around her, and returning the kiss. Even though her mouth was preoccupied, kissing him made her feel like she could breathe for the first time in days.

“I missed you.” She says, pressing her head into his chest.

“I missed you too.” He rests his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, I just-“

He cups her cheeks so she’ll look up at him. He gives her a soft smile.

“Nikki, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…I was pretty jealous of Kyle for a while. I’ve always thought you were wonderful. Feel like we have a lot in common.”

“We do.” She agrees.

“We don’t have to rush into anything…I’d rather us work on ways to not have nightmares and such, but…if you’d be willing to give it a try, I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird…about Kyle?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I…I don’t think he’s really someone I want around anymore. I’d rather have you around.” He kisses her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip for just a moment. “I really fucking like you.”

“I can see that.” She swallows. “I think…I think we could have a lot of fun together.” A smirk grows on her lips. “Just don’t become my therapist, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise.” He smirks, nuzzling his nose to hers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing how you use your handcuffs.”

“Remember when I called you a moron?” She chuckles. “I meant it.” She shoves him.

“I was kidding, relax.”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls her eyes.

“Do you want some tea? We could sit and chat. I’ve been trying to record the dreams I’ve been having in a journal. I have my patients do it, so I figured I’d take my own advice.” He leads her into his kitchen and has her sit. “I keep having the same one: drowning.”

“I have that one, and then I have one where…where I wasn’t able to hold onto you.” She frowns as he gets his kettle going. “You know…I had less night terrors sleeping on that beach with you than I have in a long time.”

“Can I ask…would Kyle hold you at night?” Harry sets a mug in front of her before he sits down.

“Um, usually when I’d first fall asleep he’d spoon me for a bit, but he’s not a cuddly sleeper, and he’d eventually roll over. We didn’t spend a lot of nights together because I’d usually wake him up by accident. What does any of that matter?”

“I held you all night while we were on the beach.” He puckers his lips in thought. “Do you have a weighted blanket?”

“No.”

“Do me a favor, get one. You may need the extra weight at night to keep you calm. They work wonders, I have one myself, and a body pillow. I’m a cuddly sleeper.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll look into that.” She takes a careful sip of her tea. “How can I get them stop? The nightmares.”

“Well, talking about it usually helps, and doing things like getting a weighted blanket can help. I think you’ve repressed a lot, Nikki…you need to talk about the things you see and feel.”

“It’s not that simple, Harry.” She sighs. “If anyone at work found out I was seeing a therapist-“

“If it’s that big of a deal…then don’t tell them.”

“Things have a way of getting out.”

“Then…just say you’re seeing me.”

“That’s not fair, though.”

“Nikki.” Harry sighs and places his hand on top of hers. “I’m not offering to be your therapist, I’m just offering to be someone that you can come to if you need to talk about something. M’a really good listener.” He smiles.

“I know you are…thank you. I just don’t want to come to you, and dump on you when people pay you to do that all day. Why should I burden you with my problems?”

“Oh, darling.” He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. “Nothing about you is a burden. Tons of people feel that way, and that’s why they don’t want to talk to anyone, but once you get talking it just gets easier and easier. I always liked when you’d tell work stories…you could just tell me about the not so great stuff when it’s feeling really heavy.”

“So, if I come to you and say I just spent the day searching for a kid, and we found their dead body in the trunk of a car, you’d be okay with that?”

“Probably wouldn’t wanna chat about it over dinner, but sure.” He shrugs. “Nikki, I told you, I see people who have been through shit, victims and survivors, that stuff doesn’t scare me.”

“I may not open up right away.”

“That’s alright, we don’t always have to talk about the heavy stuff.” He smiles.

“What if I don’t wanna talk at all?” She mutters.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember what happened between us that one night on the beach, but I’m pretty good at not talking too.” He smirks.

“You know, if I had known you had liked me for a while, I wouldn’t have been such a jerk about kissing and stuff that night.”

“I was too blissed out with your hand wrapped around my prick to really care.”

Nikki licks her lips and swallows, looking at his lips briefly.

“You know what would be great?”

“What?”

“A tour of your apartment.”

“How rude of me to not offer when you first came in.” He stands up and extends his hand. She takes it, and lets him lead her around. He shows her the art on the walls, and the various books in his home office.

“Do you ever see patients here?” She asks as she sits down in one of his comfy chairs.

“God, no.” He shakes his head, leaning his bum on his desk. “Sometimes patients can grow certain attachments to their therapists, it’s better for them to not know where I live.”

“Right, because you’re the hot Dr. Styles.” She smirks. “Same thing happens to me sometimes. I’m usually the one they send in undercover to seduce some sick fuck.”

“That’s because you’re incredibly skilled and talented at what you do, Detective Reese.” Nikki stands up and wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re also insanely gorgeous, but that’s besides the point.” He kisses her nose. “Would you like to stay for dinner and watch a movie?”

“Yeah, I would.”

//

Five months later…

“Dan…what is this?” Nikki points to the plant Dan plopped down on her desk.

“It’s a bonsai tree, they’re super easy to take care of. Consider it your first house warming gift.” He beams at her.

“Aw, you old softie, thank you.” She gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Allie can’t wait for our next game night, by the way. She was thinking we could have you two over to play Clue once you’re all moved in.”

“Yeah! That sounds great. Oh! I wrote down that recipe for that dessert I made for her.” She grabs an envelope from her desk. “That cookies and cream pudding pie.”

“God, thanks.” Dan takes the envelope. “She’s been dying to make it, but she wants to make it the way you did so she can start selling it at the bakery and call it ‘The Nikki’.” He chuckles.

“She’s too sweet, honestly. If you don’t put a ring on it, I will.”

Things had been going really well for Nikki. Thanks to Harry, she had gotten better about opening up about things. It was so slow going at first, but eventually she got to talking, and it helped her be a better detective. Being Harry’s girlfriend was amazing. It didn’t take much for her to fall head over heels in love with him. And there was no denying that he was gaga over her. That’s why after just five months of dating, they were moving into their very own town home together. It didn’t feel fast to either of them because they had known each other for years, and they slept at each other’s places all the time as it was. It just made sense to move in together. They were in love, and were a great pair. Alex had even gotten used to it, and Harry set her up with one of his friends, Ben. Their friends helped them move, and Nikki put her new bonsai tree in her kitchen bay window. Everyone left after having some pizza and beer.

“Can you believe this is all ours?” He says into her ear as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

“No.” She giggles as he nibbles on her earlobe. “But I’m really happy.”

“Me too.” He hums. He sponges kisses to her neck and sinks his teeth into her skin.

“Harry.” She whines. “We need to unpack.”

“Don’t wanna.” He mumbles into her skin.

“Can we at least do the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom? You know, the, um, essentials.” She swallows. Harry was often very affectionate with her, and she liked it. She really, really liked it.  

“Fine.” He turns her around. “But when we’re done with the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom, we’re doing the bedroom.”

“Seems fair to me.” She pecks his lips.

The two work in tandem to put their essentials away. It was actually fun to organize the cabinets together. Next, they go upstairs to work on their bathroom. Actually, Harry handles the bathroom while Nikki gets some fresh sheets on their new king sized bed.

“Bathroom’s all set.” Harry says.

“I just got the foam topper and the fitted sheet on the bed, I just have to – ah!”

Harry had grabbed her and thrown her onto the bed. She squeals as he launches himself onto it, almost crushing her in the process.

“Making the bed fully would be a waste of energy.” He says into her ear as he pins her wrists down. He sucks on her supple bottom lip, and lets it go, causing her to whimper. “Don’t you think?” She nods her head yes. “Just wanna fuck my new live-in girlfriend, can I?”

“Please.” She breathes. “Need you to take care of me.” She pouts at him.

“Aw, my angel-baby-detective needs some lovin’?” He pouts back at her.

“Uh-huh.”

He grins at her and has them both sit up. He peels off her tee shirt, and lifts off her sports bra. He gropes her breasts before kissing on them. He sucks bruise after bruise into her plushy skin. He pulls her into his lap so she can grind on him while he paid attention to her breasts. She liked it when Harry left marks on her like this. She liked being his. He lays her down onto her back. He kisses down her torso, nipping where he pleases. He loved kissing on her pudgier areas because he wanted to show how much he loved every inch of her. She did the same with his love handles. He drags her yoga pants and underwear off, and tosses them to the floor.

“Look at you, so wet already.” He says as he pulls her thighs apart.

“You were already making me feel so good, Har.”

He hums his response as he laps his tongue around her center. He moans once he gets a proper taste of her. He licks his way up to her clit and sucks on it while he works two fingers inside of her. She grabs at his hair and tugs on it while her body starts to tingle.

“Fuck, just like that.” She mewls while raising her hips to meet his mouth more. She comes to her release, and she tugs him up to her. She licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue. “Get naked, now.” She nearly growls.

Harry grins and gets his clothes off. He sits up against the headboard and waits for Nikki to swing her leg over his lap. She lines him up with her center, rubbing his tip along her clit before sinking down onto him. They both moan out, and he grabs at her hips to help her find a rhythm. She puts her hands on his shoulders and starts bouncing up and down on his cock.

“God, I love you so much.” He grunts.

“I love you too.” She kisses him and runs her hands through his hair. “Don’t know I ever survived without having your big dick inside me, fuck.”

“Yeah? M’making you feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good.” She pants. “Best I’ve ever fucking had.”

She comes again, and with the way she clenches around him he nearly loses it inside of her. He lifts her off just in time and comes on her stomach. He kisses her over and over, and they both giggle. Once they’re both cleaned up, Harry helps Nikki get the bed made, and they both climb in. She rests her head on his stomach while he reads his book.

“Harry?” She looks up at him. “Could you out your book down for a second? I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, sweetie.” He dog-ears the page he’s on and sets his book down. “What’s up? Oh, is this about me buying the Hamilton Beach food processor instead of the Cuisine Art one like you wanted?”

“No.” She chuckles.

“Are you sure? Because you cried when I brought it home. I swear, the Hamilton Beach one had better reviews, that’s the only reason why I got it.”

“I cried because I was hormonal.” She chews her bottom lip. “Harry, I’m pregnant.”

“But I came on your stomach.” He blinks, and then looks down at her.

“Yeah, tonight you did.” She sits up so she can look at him better. She kisses his shoulder and then smiles at him. “My period was late, so I took a test just for the hell of it…I’m six weeks.” She grabs her phone off the side table. “I even took a selfie with it to show you.”

“Oh my god, you’re not kidding.” He looks at the picture and then at her. “How long have you known for?”

“Only a week. I wanted to wait until the move was over to tell you. How, um, how do you feel about this? We haven’t really talked about kids or anything.”

“I know.” He hands her back her phone and throws his arm around her. “I mean, I fully intended on proposing and all that, just not for another few months. I wanted to see how living together went.” He smiles down at her. “And I was hoping you’d want kids at some point…think you’d make a great mum. I’ve seen you with kids, you’re amazing.” He kisses her temple and starts laughing. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father.” He shakes his head. “Thanks, Nikki!”

“You’re such a dork.” She chuckles. “You’re really not mad, or upset?”

“How could I be? I’m living with the girl I never thought I’d even get the chance to kiss, and now she’s pregnant with my baby. I’m ecstatic.” He pecks her lips. “How are you feeling about all of it?”

“I’m…actually pretty excited. I mean…I went off birth control months ago for this very reason. I didn’t think it would happen quite this fast, but this is a pretty happy accident.”

“I wonder what we were doing six weeks ago.”

“What does it matter?”

“I’d just like to know how our little fetus got conceived.”

“I, um, think it was the night, you, uh, let me lick the whip cream off you on your desk.” She swallows.

“Oh, yeah! Blew my load right up into you, didn’t I?” He smirks. “We should do that again, it was a great sensory exercise.”

“Harry!” She smacks his chest.

“You’re really okay with all this, Nik? It’s your body.” He caresses her cheek and she leans into his warm palm.

“I’m more than okay with it. Just don’t rush an engagement or anything like that, okay? I wanna marry you at some point too…but…not just because I’m pregnant.”

“So…if like four months from now I had a long weekend for us planned to go apple picking up north, and while we were settling down in the evening getting cozy in front of a fire place…you wouldn’t want me to propose?”

“You know, I hear being pregnant can make you forget all kinds of things, so I can’t wait to be surprised four months from now when you suggest going away for a long weekend to go apple picking.” She beams at him. “I think I’d really like that.”

[windless-hurricane]

Sparks

Chapter Two: Orientation and the Crazed Potato Girl

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: *SPOILER ALERT*

I was originally going to cut this chapter, but I just couldn’t after what happened a few episodes ago... 🥺 Sasha, you will forever be in our hearts!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

TAGLIST: @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @nekohwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb​ @bleepop​

SPARKS MASTERLIST

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• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

“You, cadet! What’s your name?!”

“(Y/N) Bauer, sir,” you shouted back with an angered look in your eyes.

If he hadn’t told you that you stuck out like a sore thumb moments before, you wouldn’t be as angry as you were now.

You knew your hair was quite...white for you being a teenager, but it wasn’t your fault. The last few years have been hell for you, especially since the Titans broke through the wall and destroyed your hometown. It hadn’t been easy, but for this man to come at you for it, it was unforgivable.

You wanted to snap at him, but you caught the eyes of your brother from afar. They were stern and told you exactly what not to do. So, you simply took to answering Shadis’s questions as fast as you could.

As a few cadets watched, Reiner did the same. However, something was eating at him. ‘Bauer, where have I heard that name before,’ he thought to himself.

Shadis hummed. “Would you happen to be related to Kurt Bauer?”

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed. “He was my father.”

Reiner’s eyes widened. White hair, Kurt Bauer. He knew exactly who you were.

“Ah, no wonder you looked so familiar. Your father had a full head of white hair when he was your age too.” He grabbed a strand of your hair, examining it, before nudging your head back roughly. It took everything in you to not retaliate.

“Well, do you hear that, maggots,” he shouted. “You have someone from the esteemed Bauer family here, the family of humanity’s best and strongest soldiers.”

In a split second, everyone turned their gazes to you and ogled you from afar.

You and your brother were from a very popular family, the Bauers to be exact. While you were proud of it, you were always embarrassed at how much attention it brought you. You already felt your ears burning as Shadis spoke again.

“I trained with your father and mother and trained your eldest brother. All real talents. Such a shame they didn’t put it to use though…”

You froze at his statement. What?

“...They all joined the Garrison Regiment.”

They did, you knew they did, but it was all for a reason and he didn’t know anything about it. No one did. No one had the room to talk about them.

Your jaw clenched from anger as your body trembled. No one...

“Hopefully you don’t make the same mistake,” he remarked, finally taking a few steps past you. However, he didn’t get far.

Right behind his feet, you hawked up a loogie and spat it out. He came to an abrupt stop as a few of the cadets surrounding you gasped.

He turned around slower than death and looked straight into your eyes.

“Cadet, could you tell me what you did just now?” His voice was menacing and low, and it made you smirk.

“I apologize, sir,” you saluted with an ever growing smile on your face. “It was just so dusty, I had to clear my throat.”

He lunged toward you in an instant and if anyone was watching from afar, they would say you were about to take your last breath because the man in front of you was going to slaughter you worse than any Titan ever could.

However, you grinned.

Everyone was looking at you like you had a death wish, while your brother simply slapped his hand onto his forehead. Reiner, on the other hand, grinned along with you.

“I know a great place where you wouldn’t have to worry about dust,” he mentioned and your eyebrow shifted.

“Care to show me,” you asked sarcastically.

You hadn’t expected him to show you the lake after orientation and you certainly hadn’t expected him to tell you to jump in and swim past sunset.

Yet, there you were. Still in full uniform, swimming your ass off.

Your entire body burned as you spent hours swimming laps in the lake. Your lungs were on fire and your vision was beginning to blur. If it wasn't for the cold breeze that hit the half of your face as you lifted it for air, you would’ve passed out a while ago.

As you looked into the distance past the splashing water, the orange mass was setting. Thank goodness, you thought.

You kept pushing for what felt like five more hours until the darkness completely overwhelmed the sky. The blackness made you want to close your eyes and drift to sleep, but drowning wasn’t an option now.

So, you used whatever was left of your might to swim to shore and pull yourself out of the lake.

You were drenched, exhausted, and crawling onto the sand with blurry vision. The last thing you were able to do was turn onto your back before collapsing entirely. You panted heavily, your cloudy breath staining the air.

You wanted to strip of your uniform, but couldn’t lift a finger to do so.

You smirked to yourself. ‘I’m going to die out here,’ you thought. ‘I’m going to get hyperthermia and die. Then, Shadis can get fired.’

As you hoped for Shadis’s firing, a pair of footsteps made their way over to you and stopped by your head. You attempted to look, but even that hurt you. So, you simply waited for them to move.

They knelt down beside you and wiped your forehead with a handkerchief. The closer they got, you realized who it was.

“Vik...tor,” you panted and he looked down at you with a confused look on his face.

“Why are you smiling,” he questioned, still wiping your face. You chuckled.

“Just...thinking about Shadis…getting fired...if I die.”

“Tch, you’re not going to die.”

“Well...he still...deserves it,” you remarked, causing him to roll his eyes.

“You’re really unbelievable, sister. C’mon.”

He wrapped his arm around the back of your shoulders and sat you up as slowly as he could. You still groaned in pain however and threw a coughing fit shortly after.

Your brother patted your back as he sighed, “There you go, just let it all out.”

Once you were done, you let out a huge exhale and felt slightly rejuvenated. “Shit, Shadis is a bastard.”

“Did you learn your lesson,” he questioned with a quirked eyebrow and you simply chuckled.

“No.”

“Tch,” he shook his head. “Maybe you really do take after dad.”

“Do you see this hair,” you snorted and he smirked faintly.

“Fair point.”

“I still don’t understand how you only got away with a streak of white hair,” you pointed out, causing him to shrug.

“Well, our family isn't lucky when it comes to stress,” he remarked. “Guess you just got the unluckier side of things.”

“Maybe.”

“Anyways, you need to eat.”

He unexpectedly pulled out a loaf of bread from his pocket and offered it to you. However, your eyes widened in panic.

“But isn’t the mess house still open?” He shook his head.

“This was all I was able to get.” You sighed, but were still content with what your brother had brought you.

So, you nodded thankfully before wrapping your hand around the loaf. However, the moment you did, you both heard growling from afar and froze. You looked to your right and saw a girl in the distance. She was on all fours and watched the both of you with glowing eyes. You squinted harder, trying to make out who it was.

“Wait a minute, isn’t that…” right as you trailed off, she ran toward the both of you at an inhuman speed. “Potato girl?!”

In an instant, her jaw was latched onto the loaf of bread and you and your brother shrieked in fear. He fell back, while you still clung to your bread. You were still very confused as to what was going on, but were deathly hungry. You didn’t even care if you were in pain. You wanted your bread.

You leaned forward determinedly and grabbed her face with one hand.

“Stop acting crazy, potato girl! It’s my bread,” you yelled, attempting to push her off, but her bite was relentless.

You kept pushing on her face as she started doing the same to you and you would have succeeded if your arm didn’t give out from exhaustion.

You fell back in annoyance and watched as she ravaged your poor loaf. Then, she screamed, causing you to flinch.

“Hey, what’re you-“ but she cut you off.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so hungry.” Her mouth was full of chewed up bread and you would’ve been disgusted, if you weren’t more surprised by the fact that she wasn’t acting like an animal anymore.

“It’s whatever,” you pouted.

“Here,” she motioned and you looked down at her hand. There was still a piece of bread in it. While it wasn’t much, your mouth still watered.

“It’s fine,” you cooed. “You can eat it.”

“No, please,” she pleaded, taking your hands abruptly into hers and forcing the bread into them. “Eat it!”

You blushed in embarrassment before pulling away, “Fine, um, thank you...Sa-”

“Sasha,” she nodded. “Sasha Blouse.”

“(Y/N) Bauer,” you gestured to Viktor. “My brother.”

He was still gazing at Sasha nervously, but managed to smile, “Viktor Bauer.”

“Hey, is everything okay out here? I thought I heard screaming,” a new voice asked and you all looked to the owner of it. She was a small blonde girl, stopping once she neared the three of you.

“Yes,” your brother reassured, standing up quickly. If it wasn’t so dark, you would’ve seen the blush on his cheek.

“Oh, that’s good,” she smiled sweetly. “I just wanted to give you bread.” She held out two loaves and your mouth along with Sasha’s began to water. “I know you were running all day and you were swimming, so I thought you might be hungry.”

You and Sasha both looked at each other with wide eyes before looking back at the girl whose name you could’ve sworn was Krista.

“Are you…” you started to say.

“A goddess,” Sasha finished and you looked at her in disbelief.

This really was going to be a long three years.

[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: Deshumanization; pet/slave whump; reference to past trauma; ptsd/panic attack; Last time was fluff so now it’s angst.

Haru was organizing Master’s bookshelves as usual, trying to keep himself occupied. Master told him he didn’t have to do it but… He didn’t really knew what else to do when he wasn’t around. If he stopped for too long… His thoughts went to dark places.

Besides, now he could hum to himself while doing it. He… He hadn’t shown Master he could do it yet. He was a bit nervous about it. But it soothed him when he was by himself.

And as he placed a book on the shelves, something fell from inside of it. He reached to grab and… His humming stopped. He could not breathe. Getting up was hard.

His hands trembled as he tried to understand the paper. It… It was a folder for some kind of… Rehabilitation place… for… for pets.

…He couldn’t. Haru clutched the paper, falling to his knees, out of air. He held his chest, gasping just from the effort it took to breathe. Did… Did he do something wrong? W-was Master angry? I-it wanted to stay. It thought it was doing good! Master said it was doing good, always said that it was fine and… and seemed so patient! Was… was it really patience though? Or was it just indifference? Maybe Master never liked the pet, didn’t care enough to even punish it!

That had to be it. Master just didn’t care. It said that it was good just to not have to deal with the pet. But Master didn’t want it. How did it even think for a second that Master would like it? It was so ugly and broken and useless and scarred and it couldn’t do the ONE THING it was good for.

…But it was scared to leave. It was so so scared. What if the next Master just hurt him again? What if NO ONE wanted him? What would happen then? What else was there to him?

Pet felt tears falling through his face. It couldn’t let this happen. It struggled to breathe, struggled to get up, and started his tasks all over again. It would do it all again, would do it better. It would show Master that it wasn’t useless and could be good.

Pet even made a nice meal. There wasn’t ever much food on that house, but it made the best it could with what it could find. It even surprised itself with how nice it looked but he didn’t dare try. Master said it was fine for pet to eat but that was just because Master didn’t cared about having a well behaved pet.

So it waited. Master would find the house in pristine condition, food ready and the – bad, useless pet – kneeling and on its best behavior.

It shivered as the door opened, almost hugging the floor. Master placed some groceries on the table, and it was going to jump to help put them in place but… All his strength just… Just left it as Master approached and sat in front of it.

“…Hey there darling… Can you look at me?”

He hesitantly got his face up, meeting Master’s green, blank eyes…. And he… And it…. Misbehaved once again and jumped into Master’s arm, clutching him with all its strength as if that could somehow show Master that it was good. Stupid and pathetic. That’s what it was.

“Oh dear… What’s wrong?” Master didn’t push him away. It… it couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak or think or breathe. Shaking, it hoped its pleading eyes were enough… But it knew they wouldn’t be.

“P-p-ple” …It was too hard. It hurt. Today, earlier, pet had been humming and lately, it had seemed easier and easier to use a bit of its voice but… But now it swallowed it all dry “p-plea…P…”

No advertences or punishments for speaking. Master didn’t care enough to punish it… Master reached for the notebook and tried to offer it to pet but… But it shook it’s head, it couldn’t stop clutching to Master. If it let go to use the notebook… the pet felt like it would never ever get hugged again. It would never feel any kind touch again. Never.

“P-pleas…” it spilled. It was the most it could manage… even though it had so much to say… Please don’t leave me please it can be better it can do more for Master it will be good won’t ever do any noise will do its tasks better and wont be annoying and-

Master held pet closer, leaving the notebook to the side. Calmly, Master pet its head, whispering ‘it’s okay, it’s okay’ under his breath. Pet couldn’t hold it anymore, and the tears came all at once.

…He cried until his head hurt, until his chest felt empty, and he felt numb. The sun went down, the kitchen got dark, stars appeared and Master patiently waited all this time, not once pushing him away.

Slowly he moved back, scared to look at Master, to face the situation. Master had held him for god knows how long, when he had much better things to do… So… he did care right? At least a little bit? There was… maybe a chance.

Master touched his face, cleaning away the leftovers of tears. He trembled, keeping his eyes down.

“Darling… You know you can tell me anything, right? I promise, I’ll try to help. I’ll keep you safe” Master said, a sad smile on his face.

But at this point he… He didn’t even knew what to say, where to begin. He felt empty, drained. He got the folded paper from a pocked and trembling, handed it to Master.

He squinted, trying to read it in the dark.

“Oh.” Master looked away “Where did you find this? I didn’t realize I still had it.”

Master drenched in his silence, eyes glazed and lost somewhere far away, grinding his teeth it seemed. But the silence was scary, he was waiting for something else, so he whimpered. Master looked back at him, snapping back into the real world.

“Ah…Are you… Are you scared of going there?” he pointed at the paper on the floor “Is… Is that it? I’m not going to send you away, dear. Not unless you want to go”

He sighed in relief, exhaustion washing over him, and shook his head, no. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to be good and stay with Master. Master nodded, pulling his own knees close, nails digging in his jeans.

“This folder… It’s… It’s not a bad place. It’s not supposed to be. They say they help people who went through the same things you did to go back to living normally… Like getting jobs, and not being so sad” Master took a deep breath, as if struggling to speak… A feeling Haru understood very well “Is just, when I first got you… I wasn’t expecting it. I can barely take care of myself, and having someone else here was scary and strange.”

Haru leaned in closer again, entangling his fingers on Master’s. Master stared away again… a tear forming in the corner of his eye, shining in moonlight.

“You deserve better than me. People who can really offer you the help you need. But… I couldn’t trust them. Every time I looked at you I saw myself. And I’ve been through so many places and met so many people saying that they wanted my good and they all failed me so bad that I… I couldn’t bear the thought of the same happening to you” the tear fell, running down Master’s cheek “And the longer you stayed… The more I didn’t want to let you go. And I don’t know anymore how much of it is my distrust of… Of everyone out there and how much is just me being selfish. I don’t want you to go and I don’t want to be alone again. You are the only light I’ve seen in years.”

Haru blinked away the remnants of his own tears, too tired to cry anymore, a hurt in his chest from seeing Master so sad. He tried to copy Master’s gesture of cleaning his tears, pulling Master’s face to look at him. Master smiled.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to… To take care of me dear. That’s my job isn’t it?” he chuckled “Listen… You have a home with me. It’s not perfect, it’s not… not all you need. Hopefully someday it will be. But… no matter how much time passes, what happens or where life takes us. I’ll always offer you shelter. If someday you feel ready to leave… it’s okay too. I’ll be here when you need somewhere to rest.”

He leans forward into Master, and is held, silence falling over them. They eat together in the darkness, without a word. The meal is cold now but... it really is good. And later, he doesn’t want to let go, so Master sleeps with him. He is too scared of the bed still, so Master lay with him on the floor, on the pile of warm blankets and pillows, where he feels warm, and safe and sheltered.

tagging: @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @twistedcaretaker 

[twitchyglitchy]

Goodbye Hand, Goodbye Gordon.

An AU I thought about a couple months back, but had forgotten to post about. I was originally going to make an animatic out of this. I might still do it, I don’t know yet. Depends on how much people want it.

Bear with me, this is copy and pasted from a Discord chat and I only looked over it like once or twice. This was more or less half explaining the AU half fanfiction.

Content Warnings: Major character death, bl//d, amputation, unsanitary, funerals, and a whole lotta angst.

So the AU basically starts at the betrayal scene, that's when things get different.

Gordon does his thing: Be skeptical about Bubby and Benrey but goes into the room anyways. 

Lights go out, Gordon is ambushed and loses his hand, etc. Everyone scatters in fear, especially Bubby and Benrey for what they did. Bubby still ends up being taken to his tube. 

Gordon is losing a lot of blood as you would when you get your hand severed. Getting chemicals, dirt and grime in the wound isn't doing much to help either. He wakes up in the trash compactor and narrowly escapes it, stumbling his way through the sewer drains outside until he gets to where Tommy is. 

Being attacked by headcrabs along the way that were scurrying around outside, and the HEV suit's morphine isn't doing him any good, nor is the suit charged at this point so it’s lack of support is like an extra set of twenty pounds on his shoulders and back.

Tommy finds him when he falls from the sewer grate into the room, horrified to see his friend in such a horrid state. Despite how heavy Gordon is with the suit and his deadweight, Tommy helps carry him around through the facility until he finds the Coomer clones. Gordon is protected by Tommy to the best of his ability but is still greatly injured by the clones' attacks.

Soon all the clones are gone, bodies everywhere. Tommy celebrates their victory, but is quickly cut short when he turns to see Gordon lying on the floor, breathing shallowly. He rushes to his friend and tries to cover the wound where his hand was so it could clot, but it's so infected and lost so much blood at this point that his lab coat he tried to use to hold it is drenched. Gordon shakes his head and reaches out to Tommy with his good hand, holding his forearm since he couldn't reach his shoulder. "It's okay, Tommy... I should've seen this coming." Gordon lowers his hand, but Tommy drops what he's doing and holds it close to his heart. The 36 year old is panicked and distraught.

He can't- he can't go. He was the leader of their Science Team. He said he'd help them get out despite the circumstances, and he promised. Tommy feels Gordon's hand get colder, losing body warmth. Gordon set down his crowbar and smiled the best he could. It was small, weak, but warm all the same. The most genuine smile Tommy's seen from him since this whole mess started in the first place.

Tommy begs him to stay awake, saying that if the clones were nearby then maybe their Coomer was there. It was all too late by the time Coomer arrived though. He greeted Tommy who had his back turned on him, grieving over a body. His friend has never seen him so upset over a dead person this entire time with all the bodies they saw and caused. Coomer comes around Tommy to see what he's crying over. His heart stops for a few beats and his breath is caught in his throat. The world felt colder, and crept up his spine like a snake bite.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t meant to happen.

Gordon Freeman, he didn't make it.. 

Coomer stands there for only a few minutes or so in silence, both of them staring over the soulless body in the HEV suit. This can't be. The room with metal from wall to wall echoed and bounced with the sound of Tommy's loud cries. It was gross sobbing, but the young scientist didn't care. He didn't care about anything else right now. Not even escaping Black Mesa. He only cared about his friend. A friend who actually understood him and cared for him back. A friend who's. . Well, now gone.

It was a long while, what felt like hours, until Tommy's cries died down and had the time to actually catch his breath. Coomer had a hand on his shoulder and soon picked up Gordon's crowbar. He held it out to Tommy and set it in his lap.

"I think he'd like for you to have this." He spoke softly. Not like his cryptic whispering or his boisterous voice. It dripped with misfortune and despair that overcame the physicist. 

Tommy hesitated, but took the cold piece of metal into his hands and hugged it close to him for dear life.

Tommy didn't want to leave Gordon behind, but they couldn't just carry a dead body through the facility. He doesn't even know how much further they have to go. Coomer could carry him, but only for so long, and he needs his fists to fight. Tommy leaned down and cupped Gordon's cheek, carefully sliding off his glasses with his other hand and tucking it into his lab coat pocket.

"We- We'll come.. We'll come b-back for you.. We'll come get you once we get out of here, Gordon." He stammered, lowering his hand from his face and staggering to his feet. Coomer adjusted Gordon's body to look more comfortable and presentable. Despite his bloodied state, it's only fair to do something nice for his body out of respect.

The two said their goodbyes to Gordon and soon left, taking his glasses and crowbar with him. 

Later on, they meet up with Bubby, who's in his tube complaining. Tommy ends up going nonverbal for a bit, to which Coomer quickly takes note of and tries to lead the conversation. Bubby and Coomer go back and forth for a bit, Coomer showing sympathy, and decides to let Bubby out. It wouldn't be fair anyways, Bubby didn't know this would happen. It’d be best to break the news.

Bubby steps out of the broken containment tube and looks around. 

"Where's Gordon? I thought he was with you."

Tommy's words are caught in his throat, tears threatening to fall again. Coomer's expression falters and soon does his own words. The silence was enough evidence for Bubby to catch on to what's going on. "Oh. . .He's not, with you, is he?" Tommy gripped the crowbar until his knuckles turned white. It hurt too much to talk, to think, to breathe. His head felt like it was pounding but a headache never came. His hands felt clammy but never broke a sweat. His eyes burned but tears never came. 

Coomer nodded and told them that they should keep going, and that he'll explain later. Bubby for once had no quip or even a scoff to their words, he held his own tongue and decided to keep quiet.

They never did find Benrey. Wherever he went, he was long gone now. The journey was long and uneventful too. Silence wasn't ever awkward since everyone was trapped inside their own heads, thinking about their friend. They do meet Darnold though on the way to the Lambda Lab and take him with them, and he actually comes along with them until they escape. The military finally ceased their fire, and surrendered offhandedly. The US government soon came forth to offer them a full removal of their bounty and move on with their lives if they swore to never speak of the events. After some- or a lot of paperwork, The Science Team was free to just go back to their normal lives. It's not normal anymore though. Every single one of them had trauma and. .Oh god, breaking the news was horrible.

They had to tell Joshua, but telling a kid was enough to make all of them cry. He was too young to understand, but knew that he'd never see his dad again, and that was enough to break the poor child. 

The funeral was private, and rather small, since no one could tell anyone how Gordon died under the agreement of their contracts. The government was kind enough to go retrieve Gordon's body from Black Mesa once all the aliens were dead and mostly gone. At least, to their knowledge. They probably just contained what remained of them.

The Nihilanth never came, and somewhere within Xen, you could find it's body gone, dead.

He looked so nice when they held the service, and was made sure they hid his cleaned and wrapped nub of a hand under the sheet he lied with. The casket was closed after everyone's goodbyes and was lowered. The whole thing hurt every ounce of their bodies, and not much could be said once everything was over. Everyone who attended said their condolences, their sorrows, their goodbyes, and dispersed.

Within a week, his tombstone was set, it was small but it was sweet. The all too familiar lambda was engraved below his name. Flowers decorated the barren space around the grave, and his crowbar was set right in front of it all.

Joshua ends up being taken care of by Tommy and his dad, who he sees as a older brother and Bubby and Coomer as his grandparents. Whenever they're busy, Darnold is around to take care of him, who is actually great with kids. At least Joshua is beginning to be happy again. After everything that’s happened that is. He still misses his dad a lot.

Slightly off canon Epilogue (as requested by previous readers)

Sometime later, someone approaches the grave, standing over it with a rose in their hand. These are good enough, right?

Benrey was there, in his still bloodied and dirty uniform, holding a rose and staring down at the grave. He kneeled down and rested the rose next to the crowbar and all the other flowers. Looked good enough. Hope he liked it. 

"Uhh.. Hey, Gordon. I know you hate me, and- and all.. I just wanted to say my condol- con- I'm sorry. I didn't know, man. I just wanted them to eruh, toughen you up. I didn't think they'd go that far. You can't really forgive me now, can you? You're not here. I bet you're sooo mad at me right now. Yeah, I guess I deserve it. You can come haunt my ass or whatever if you want, at least we can talk then. I didn't mean half the stuff I said either. I was just coming up with an excuse to follow you around. I knew the cascade thing was going to happen, so I tried to get you to stop it. I guess I can't change that from happening either. So uhh.. I didn't actually write anything- I should've- should've done that.. I saw everything from the outer walls too, I should've used the... The heal beam thing. I don't think it would've worked though. Too big of aaa.. Hurt. Anyway, I'm sorry. I'll go now. Bye Gordon." 

Benrey hears a gust of wind sing past his ears under the helmet, and leaves pass by his head. He turns around and sees someone there, wearing the same nice and fancy suit they wore earlier. They looked calm and even smiled a little. Benrey stopped in his tracks and just stared at them as they stood there with their hands held with fingers intertwined. 

"Hey Benrey."

[theexistentiallyqueer]

It’s been a while, what with me being being more active on Twitter these days, but I had some thoughts churning around in my brain and this felt like a better place to post them rather than threading them over there.

This is a post about Persona 5 and restorative justice. Before I go any further, though, a note: this is meta about restorative justice and prison abolition as ethical philosophies only, how it can be expressed/structured in works of fiction, i.e., Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal, and what the importance of doing so is.

I should also note that I am not a philosopher, a legal scholar, or an activist, I just like to read, and I strongly encourage you to look into the topics I’m discussing in this essay. If you want specific recommendations you can DM me; again, this being meta about a video game, I think linking those titles here would diminish their importance regarding what they’re actually about.

Ready? Okay. Let’s get started.

what is restorative justice?

‘Restorative justice’ is a concept in ethical and legal philosophy that holds itself in contrast to two other kinds of justice: punitive and carceral. Punitive justice is justice as punishment, i.e., an eye for an eye, while carceral justice involves justice as the confinement of criminal offenders. While both have heavy overlaps with one another, they’re distinct in the generality vs the specificity of their outcome: punitive justice can involve the death penalty, property seizure, permanent loss of rights, etc., carceral justice refers strictly just to the incarceration of criminal offenders in institutional facilities (jails, prisons, etc.).

Restorative justice, in contrast, roots itself in the understanding of closing a circle: the best and most holistic way to heal harm one person inflicts on another is to have the person who inflicted the harm make reparations to the person they hurt in a tangible and meaningful way. This can take many forms, and if you’re passingly familiar with restorative justice already, you may have heard about it involving the offender and the victim meeting face-to-face. This does happen sometimes. Personal acknowledgement of the harm you’ve inflicted on someone is important, and direct apologies are important, but these need to also be coupled with actions. The person behind a drunk hit-and-run of a parent could help put their orphaned child through school, or a domestic abuser could be made to take counseling and go on to help deter domestic violence in other households, and so on. 

The vast majority of states across the world use punitive/carceral models, though small-scale community trials of restorative justice have been attempted, to varying degrees of success. No one is going to argue that it would be easy to implement, but it is important. Restorative justice is about recognizing that crime, specifically crimes against other people, are fundamentally still about two people: the perpetrator and the victim. And we have to look beyond the words perpetrator and victim to recognize that they are both human beings and challenge ourselves to build a society where our concept of justice means healing hurts instead of retaliation.

It’s not easy, but it is possible. It requires changing your own perceptions of justice and humanity and society and the big wide entire world to have the kind of mindset that allows it to be possible. But it is possible, and I know that from personal experience, because it’s my own mindset and I’ve been through trauma too.

prison abolition and the god of control

Persona 5 has an authority problem. By which I mean, Persona 5 has a problem challenging authority in any way that functionally matters.

The game is drenched in heavy-handed prison imagery, from jail cells to wardens to striped jumpsuits to cuffs and chains to an electric chair. Throughout the long build-up of the main storyline we’re treated to a confectionery delight of punitive justice, stick-it-to-the-man justice: the Thieves find a bad guy who coincidentally has personally hurt or is actively hurting one of their members, and they take it upon themselves to make the bad guy miserable and then send him off to jail. By the end of the arc you’re meant to feel like you accomplished something heroic, that by locking someone up you’re balancing the scales of justice. In the Kamoshida arc Ann even frames this in restorative justice terms, telling him he doesn’t deserve the easy way out of ending his own life and needs to live with his mistakes and repent, but he’s still sent off to jail regardless and Ann and Shiho are left to struggle through the trauma he put them through without anyone to really support them. This repeats itself, over and over: Madarame, Kaneshiro, Okumura, Shido--expose the bad guy, bring him low, publicly shame him, and then send him away (or, in Okumura’s case, watch him die on live TV to riotous cheers from the public).

And what does this all accomplish, in the end? You get to the Depths of Mementos on Christmas Eve to find the souls of humanity locked away in apathy, surrendered willingly to the control of the state, and your targets right there with them, thanking you for helping them return to a place where they don’t have to think of other people as people any more than they did before. In prison, they can forget that they are human beings and that all of the rest of the people in the world are too. The Phantom Thieves march upstairs and defeat the Gnostic manifestation of social control, that being that masquerades itself with lies as the true Biblical god. And then you go back home and the adults tell you that everything is okay now, the system itself isn’t rotten, and you just have to sit back, stop actively participating in the world, and let them take the reins.

It’s one of Persona 5′s most ironic conceits. “Prison abolition....good?” the player asks, and Atlus swats you on the hand and says, “Silly kids, prison abolition completely unnecessary because you can trust the state to not fuck up anyone’s lives anymore ever.” All while using prison imagery to present prisons as institutions inherently divorced from what might constitute actual justice.

Prisons exist because hierarchies exist, and so long as hierarchies exist, inequality will exist and people will commit harm who otherwise likely would not. But you can’t have your cake and eat it too, Atlus. You can’t frame prisons as an inherently unjust institution used to control people because you didn’t do anything to get rid of the hierarchy. You just gave the hydra a few new heads.

restorative justice and rehabilitation

Rehabilitation is Persona 5′s favorite buzz word, and for all that it’s used the game never really clearly defines what it’s supposed to mean. Yaldabaoth uses it as a euphemism to describe the process by which he creates his ideal puppet, but Yaldabaoth bad, and by the end of the game, Yaldabaoth dead. We get barely any time with Igor after that for Igor to define rehabilitation properly on his terms, which is notable in that Igor is the one who’s supposed to be the spiritual mentor of the wild card within the Persona universe. 

We can only infer from that that it’s the player who’s meant to define what rehabilitation is by the end of the game, but because the game fails to take any concrete stance on its themes that could in any way undermine the idea that society isn’t functionally broken, it’s hard to figure out what conclusion we’re supposed to draw. As I stated above, the game immediately walks back any insinuations that it’s the institutions themselves that are rotten by having Sae and Sojiro step in and assume responsibility for making the world just by continuing to operate within the rules society itself has created. If you can’t beat them....join them?

If anything the closest we can get to coming up with a definitive understanding of what the game wants us to understand rehabilitation as is when the protagonist is in juvie. During those months we’re treated to an extended cutscene of all of your maxed out confidants taking action to get you out of jail, but because you can trigger this scene even if you haven’t maxed out all of your confidants, and because the outcome (getting out of juvie) is the same even if you haven’t maxed out any besides Sae, then we’re right back where we started.

But that cutscene still has a sliver of meaning to it despite it being largely window-dressing, because the game does push, over and over, the argument that it’s through your bonds with others, through building a community, that you’ll rehabilitate yourself and find true justice.

And that’s what restorative justice is about: community.

the truth: uncovering it vs deciding it

I can’t find enough words to convey how infuriating it is that Atlus comes so close to telling a restorative justice narrative and then completely drops the ball on displaying it at all in Goro’s character arc.

Goro’s concept of justice is fundamentally punitive, the textbook “you hurt me so I’m going to hurt you back.” In doing so he goes on to hurt a whole bunch of other people: orphaning Futaba, orphaning Haru, triggering a mental shutdown in Ohya’s partner Kayo, and also killing countless millions other instances of mental shutdowns, psychotic breakdowns, bribery, and scandal that caused people material harm and, in a handful of cases, killed them.

Yes, Shido gave him the gun, but Goro pulled the trigger. And in a restorative justice framework, you don’t bypass that fact: you actively interrogate it.

There’s been a lot of really great meta about what the circumstances of Goro’s life were like, including the Japanese foster care system, the social stigma of bastardy in Japan and the impact it has on an illegitimate child’s outcomes, and the ways in which Shido groomed and manipulated Goro into being the tool of violence he made him into. These things aren’t excuses for what Goro does, however: they’re explanations for it. They are the complex social issues that create a situation where a child feels his best choice, indeed maybe his only choice, is to take the gun being offered to him and use it on other people. If you want to prevent more kids from slipping through cracks into those kinds of situations, you need to understand the social ills that made those cracks appear in the first place and you need to fix them. Otherwise there will always be another kid, and another recruiter, and another bad choice, and another gun. Systemic problems require systemic solutions.

Even so, none of that bypasses the fact that it was Goro’s hand on that gun, that it was Goro who performed the physical action of killing Wakaba’s and Okumura’s shadows, and that, as a result of Goro’s direct actions, Wakaba and Okumura died. You can say Okumura deserved it all you like, but Haru doesn’t deserve to be an orphan. Haru deserved to repair her relationship with her father. Okumura deserved the chance to learn and make direct, material amends to the employees he hurt and the families of those who died on his watch, and they deserved to have him give them a better way to heal.

But this isn’t about the loss of Okumura making amends to his family or his victims: this is about Goro Akechi, and the fact that even in Royal his fraught relationship with Haru and Futaba is never explored, barely even addressed. There’s not even any personal, direct acknowledgement from him of the pain he put them through.

You can say he doesn’t care, and that’s fine that he doesn’t care. And it is. He’s a fictional character, this is a video game, they are anime characters.

But Persona 5 flirts with the idea of restorative justice and never fully explores it, and it’s a weaker game for that.

the thin place, the veil between worlds, the line in the sand

This is the last part, I promise, and I’ll be short and brief here, because the truth is that none of this matters, at least not in the way that you think. Persona 5 is a story. It’s a lie that we buy. It’s all zeroes and ones and electrical signals and optical images on a blank black screen.

But art can be powerful. Art is like magic, the deepest magic, the oldest kind. We human beings are creatures of art and poetry, of images and patterns, of music and words. Good art, really good art, can allow us to explore new ideas and critique our internal assumptions about how the world works.

No, fiction doesn’t affect reality, not the way that you think it does.

But if you’ve gotten this far, I just got you to read an essay on restorative justice and prison abolition in regards to a Japanese role-playing game, and that is something to think about.

How do you define rehabilitation? What kind of justice do you believe in? Is the way you conceive those things really the best way?

And how much more interesting could a story that challenges those concepts be?

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

16. Faith in Grace

She had been working on her artwork again. The first time she got interested in it was whenever she was in the institution. Prior to that, whenever she wanted art, she had gotten it from The Apex, namely 808. So, that was who she “turned to,” while making her therapeutic artwork. She became a muse of sorts, even if it had only been for a time, and even if Grace didn’t even realize it at the time. 

Whenever she was locked up, she had been asked about her goals. It was a really bizarre question and it took her and her psychiatrist a long time to even get her to the point of comprehending just what the woman was asking. Basically, she wanted to know what Grace wanted out of her treatment, her life, and herself. At the time, all Grace wanted was to take care of her Apex family. So, her goal was, “To go home,” and whatever that entailed was what she was willing to do.

Her parents were there frequently, having every possible visit that they could have with her. She was awkward every time, barely remembering the days when she wanted their attention so much that she had literally risked her entire life just to be noticed. She felt so stupid now. The only way for her to NOT feel stupid was to try to forget that girl ever existed. Whoever she was when she was 10 and left these people, she certainly was not by the time she was 18, and that kid had been beaten to death, as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t trying to ever revive her. RIP to Grace Monroe, but I’m different.

Still, she felt for the Monroes. She herself had personally lost two kids, right before her own eyes, and several others out of sight. She knew that it was hard for them, maybe even as hard, if not harder for them as it was for her, looking at them. She tried not to be angry with them for never finding her, for giving up, moving on, and letting her rot away on the streets. She blamed them for having to watch herself burn and to come through the fire as someone whose face seemed unfamiliar to herself and whose hands were so drenched in blood that she seriously wondered if they would ever be clean. But… getting along with these, now, complete strangers was part of the proof that she was growing, and ready for release. It took her a couple of years to convince anybody - her parents, her doctors, hell, herself that she was capable of doing anything besides play acting as a person and getting violently angry when nobody was convinced.

Her doctor asked, “What do you think keeps you from showing your real feelings?”

“Showing my real feelings is why I’m HERE and not with my family.”

“Your family comes to see you all of the time and you never seem to really want to engage with them.”

“Ugh. Not the Monroes. The Apex!”

“Do you want to talk more about them?” 

Grace had been avoiding it. She worried that no matter WHAT this woman said, the police would storm through the abandoned train or the warehouse and take all of them away, separate them and never let them see each other again. But, maybe if she was careful, and didn’t give away any clues, that wouldn’t happen. She DID want to talk about them. She thought about them every waking moment. “They were my kids. I was their leader. I’m responsible for them, and now, 747 has to take care of them. He’s good for a few days, maybe, and it’s a really big maybe, a few weeks… But, for how long I’ve been away from them… For all I know, 152 has to take care of them… and I don’t know if he has the stomach. Maybe 1K will step in. Just maybe… but… I’m not there, so I can’t know for sure. Somebody could be murdering one of them right now, for all I know. Every time I try to sleep, I see their blood spilling. I wake up with it on my hands…” She hugged herself, crying now. “There was nothing left of Hazel to even hold. It wasn’t like with Todd. Todd’s face was gone, but I got to hug him, to apologize. Hazel was… there were remains, but it was like… saying goodbye to… to… wreckage. Human wreckage. Other people killed them, but MY hands were supposed to be holding theirs. They weren’t supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to have to hurt that way.”

“There are a lot of things that happen that feel like they aren’t supposed to.Some can argue that nothing is supposed to happen. That things happen as a result of millions of other threads and that none of them can be foreseen by those that they happen to. You say that you were meant to protect these kids, but you couldn’t have been there for each and every one of them every moment of every day. One of the most human things in the world is to expect more of ourselves than humanly possible, and those expectations are magnified in childhood. Whenever you consider all of the chronic trauma you were going through, and add all of these elements into your development, you should treat yourself with the same gentleness that you intend to treat your kids. If you could give them anything at all right now, what would it be?”

“I can’t give them anything…” Grace said, helplessly.

“Imagine it this way… If you had all the power in the world, all the money, all the access to everything good and right, what would you do for them?”

“Oh! I would put them up in nice places to live - with warm beds and complete meals. They wouldn’t have to steal or break into somewhere for that. They’d have it everyday. Food, clothing, shelter… That seems like the kind of stuff that should be free to all kids, no matter who they are. So, I’d probably see who I can talk to about making it so that it’s illegal not to feed and clothe and shelter kids. I mean… They say it IS illegal, but it's not /illegal/ illegal. Like, sure, if you’re not giving that stuff to your kid and somebody calls the kiddie people on you and they come in and see that the kids don’t have it, after they’ve told you a few times to get your act together, they’ll take the kids and put them somewhere where they’ll have the stuff, but it’s like cheap stuff and in a place with a bunch of strangers and stuff. And if the parents CAN’T give the kids that stuff… They shouldn’t have to go live in a kiddie prison. Lot of those Apex kids came from group homes and stuff because their parents lost them. From how they explain the system to me, it didn’t sound like programs were really there to help them at all - just to maybe stop people from hurting them, IF anybody even noticed. Some of the kids… nobody did notice and they left home on their own, wound up getting taken. That's not fair. There should never be remedial action for taking care of kids. From the moment that they’re born, whether or not their parents can afford it, they should be given everything that they need.”

“You want your kids to have needs. Is there anything else?”

“Of course! There’s loads else. They get sick and we try to figure out the meds. I’d make sure that they can see real doctors and get real meds. Make sure that they get real help for ailments and stuff. And then there’s the ones that still have dreams. They still wanna do cool stuff with their lives one day. 808 wanted to be an artist and go to France. I’d make sure that she got to do that, and stuff like that. I don’t know! There’s like a thousand kids! I can’t tell you every single thing that they need in one little sitting!”

“That’s okay. To sum it up, it sounds to me that if you had nothing holding you back, what you would be willing to give them all is everything that they need to live their best lives and in addition to that, the things that would make them happy.”

“Yeah,” Grace said. ‘ Obviously,’ she thought.

“I want to challenge you to do something.”

“I love a challenge.”

“I want to challenge you to give everything that you have the power to give, and give all of that to yourself.”

“What.”

“Everything that you need? Accept it. Everything that you want? Embrace it. Take the power and the resources that being here allows you and treat yourself, with those, like you would one of your kids.”

Grace struggled with this. Sure, she had been known to be very self absorbed and even egotistical to a huge degree, but the fact of the matter was that her kids were her responsibility… But… She guessed… Now, SHE was her responsibility. What the hell did she even “want,” now. Books.

Grace had always been an avid reader, and whenever she was kidnapped, that didn’t go away. Sure, it was a couple of years before she was able to read regularly, but she would definitely always gather up books from those book donation bins when she was at the warehouse and she stole so many books over the years from stores, stands, and even the library, that she could confidently say that she read everyday for at least the past 6 years. It was the only way that she had to do things. She had been a little behind on the Internet, since she wasn’t really allowed on it by herself whenever she was taken, and by the time she was the leader, they were able to get into public libraries whenever something serious came up and they didn’t know what to do (and if you’re wondering, the reason that they didn’t think to look up their parents or things like that was because Grace was the oldest… and it definitely didn’t occur to her that you could find people on that thing. She wasn’t even fully cognizant of what social media even was). The concept of “You can find anything on the internet,” in her mind meant articles about what to do when a kid is allergic to beestings and has been stung, or pictures of turtles and cats, She felt so STUPID now…

Reading was a good escape for a while, but after a few weeks, she began to lose focus a lot, or rather, she would be focusing on a lot of different things. The fact that she was nurturing herself while her kids were still out there alone, every kid’s face, what they must be thinking after having seen her pummel Bugle with a bat.. “Reading isn’t working!” she complained. Nobody had told her that she had to read, nor that reading would “work” to help her with her feelings. She had desired to read. 

So, the psychiatrist confirmed, “Would you like to try another activity besides reading?”

She nodded, aggressively and nodded her head. That was when her parents paid for art classes. She was able to have one on one, supervised lessons and they of course, chose the finest that they could afford, for the situation… and they doubled the pay. Grace didn’t love learning, but new experiences brought her joy.

She was trying to recreate symbols that 808 had created in her graffiti and doodles. She would try to remember how the girl had drawn names together, or made a pattern out of their numbers, or even the general structure of how she made faces. She couldn’t… but she had begun drawing now, getting why it had been so effective in taming 808. It wasn’t that it was necessarily calming - in fact, for Grace, drawing often had an opposite effect of calm, but it was… distracting.

She didn’t think about all of the different things that her brain would rush through whenever she was set on trying to create something. She drew odd pictures of Hazel being a turtle, transforming, or hiding out in her shell, waiting for the dangers to go away before she peeked out. She drew her as a girl, enjoying life with the Apex, being happy and perfect. She drew her as an angel. She wondered… Did she make it to some other place, or was her legacy simply a cautionary tale for street kids? ‘Don’t trust strangers or run away from home. You might wind up in a gang and get crushed by a train.’ Or was there more to life, and if there was, what was out there?

Grace had never thought about that before. Her first 10 years were all about appearance and reputation. Growing up seeing her mother on magazine covers, many of which were immortalized in frames in their home, she aimed for beauty and poise. Her mother’s walk always reminded her of a melody, as the woman was performing, even when there was not a camera in sight. Her walk was a strut down the runway and her speech was a charming interlude to an neverending ball, filled to capacity with important people.

In the home, Grace realized that she couldn’t remember how her mother looked. She had forgotten her father’s face ages ago, but she would steal mirrors whenever she was younger and if she looked in one, for a while, she would see her mother. They had the same face. As she grew up, she still looked into mirrors, but her mother’s face had faded. Her own face had faded. Did she ever look like the woman that she used to call “Mom?” Did she always look like this girl in the mirror? 

  A thing about the latter numbers - they came a little bit later and a little more stretched apart. The couple of years that the first 500 were brought in, they’d come from a variety of places and situations. Any addict with a jones might have traded their kid for cash, any gang member trying to get street cred might have handed over some unattended kid that they found in the park to a steward in exchange for a weapon or something to sell and build on. The first 500 had been more organized of an operation, as far as secrecy and hiding, but it had been kind of erratic and messy in handling business. The first 500 had been hard to figure out how to feed and house and keep under control. 

But, the first 500 had gotten this little bit of information from the stewards about the first 100. 

According to the stewards, the first 100 were hard to control and hard to hide, so they had taken all of the ones that they couldn’t control and disfigured them. Harder to fight back when you only had one hand. Harder to talk back when you didn’t have a tongue. Harder to run away when your legs had been broken. Of course, they were too young to know that damaging kids in such a way made them virtually useless, so the fear of being cut or broken was enough for many of them. For those it wasn't, there were the vanishing tales. The first 100, even the ones who had been good and smart, along with those disfigured and virtually useless had to be sold off quick for a pending raid. They were sold to some foreign business man and what happened to them beyond that was up to the steward telling the tale’s discretion.

Grace had heard that those with any use were put to work and that the useless ones were locked in a freezer and used as meat to feed the worker children. It was a scary thought whenever she first heard it. But. As she got older, she thought it was inspirational. Either you have use and you use your skills to further things, or you’re useless and will be discarded, replaced, or eaten. It made her mindful of figuring out what good the kids were for (much like the steward who took the money and ran told her) - with her gifts, she was worth more to the stewards than some of the other kids. 

So, whenever kids came in, any after 500, when it was a slow business of getting new kids and more of an industry of maintaining the child slaves that they had, Grace was usually the one trying to assess them and appraise them. She would take those with value under her wings and keep them close, and help them navigate. The ones that she didn’t do this with, she tried not to think about how hard their journey might be… where they might wind up… in the belly of a beast or at the bottom of the river. Alexandria was one of those kids… not the ones that she took under her wing… one of the ones she expected to wind up in the river. 

First off, she didn’t pay attention. She didn’t listen. She didn’t assimilate or adjust. She was always trying to run away. The stories of getting maimed didn’t scare her. The thought of being eaten didn’t move her. But, the idea of spending the rest of her life in the warehouse, unable to draw and paint and make things beautiful or feel things that she enjoyed… 808 preferred the idea of death. She also preferred the practice of self preservation. It befuddled the others. 

Because before her, both things weren’t optional. Who chooses both themselves and death? Who chooses not to listen, but also to protect themselves? Who would come to a place like this and try to both make the best of it, and also to do everything in their power to make it difficult? 808. That was who. 

“What do we make of the new girl?” Xander wondered.

“She’s really scared,” Heath said. “She’s like 747 was. We need to help her.”

Grace shook her head, “I don’t think she can be helped. She’s gonna be fish food before too long, and I don’t want her to drag any of you down with her whenever she gets tossed out.”

“You thought the same things about 7,” Heath reminded her. Xander gasped. “And now, he’s the most helpful kid here.”

Grace shrugged her shoulders. “You’re free to check. If it turns out that I’m wrong, I’ll eat crow. But, I’m positive, that girl is not one of us.” She wondered how 808 was, when they were apart, more than anybody else. She was Xander’s girlfriend, so maybe she was helping him to hold things together out there. But, what if she wasn’t? What if something happened to her, or to them, or to him? Were they gonna see Hazel and Todd again? Were they gonna just be dead and gone and haunting her dreams for the rest of her life?

“When people die, do they go to a good place?” She asked, drawing sketches of the Apex, in her own developing style. 

“There are a lot of different perspectives about it.” 

“What’s yours?”

“It isn’t actually something that is professional to discuss with you, but I assure you, whatever your perspective is, I wouldn’t judge you or try to lean you in a different direction, so long as your perspective isn’t harming anyone.”

“Do they have books about it?”

“Millions of them.”

“I need some. Do we have some in the library?”

“We have various subjects. Next library visit, we can ask them for something that you might be looking for.”

Grace began to study religion and philosophy a lot. She began to research psychology and sociology in her busy time. She began to take proper classes again and try to revisit her love of foreign languages and dance. She started… relaxing into the idea that she might be able to do more to help the Apex if she was better, herself, and if she didn’t get better as a person, then she would put her street smarts to work and get better as a hustler, so she could get the hell out of there and back to her family. 

A few key things happened whenever she was into her studies and training herself to act like a normal person… She began to attend mass at the chapel - this institution was affiliated with a hospital, affiliated with a church. She hadn’t ever in her life thought about rebirth or resurrection or restoration. She had never thought about salvation. But, it sounded interesting. Not the parts about self sacrifice and worshiping God… but the parts about repenting from old ways, and becoming a new creature, a new person, washed clean and living with purpose. That all sounded like nice stuff and the chaplain was pretty sweet, so she liked to use this, too, as a distraction.

The other thing was that she was given, by this sweet chaplain, a comprehensive book of saints. She began drawing her friends as saints, each and every one of them, but never herself. Something didn’t feel right about that. Somebody else had to declare you a saint. A church or whatever, but like… for her own artwork, anybody she chose could be a saint, who would stop her? 

“Joan of Arc killed people!” she said, excitedly. “She led troops! She was a soldier, a fighter, a leader. She was fighting for her people, against oppressors… against monsters…” 

“You seem to be enjoying your book. Do you identify with or maybe even look up to Joan of Arc?”

“I identify!” She cheered. “But, what’s even more interesting… She flipped through the pages, which had been tagged, and notated, the whole book through, is that she claimed to have been counselled by Catherine of Alexandria, who, while not a warrior in her day was a leader, a scholar, and one badass bitch. She was so eloquent and confident and fearless. Imagine that - not fearing death, for what you believe in? And IF, IF she DID counsel Joan of Arc, she also believed in retribution. She believed in battle. She believed in bloodshed, if it was right…”

Her life was changed. She didn’t get any visits from saints, or have any visions, but she suddenly felt like she knew who she was, who she had to become, and what she needed to do. No… it didn’t occur to her to start killing aggressors or to avenge the Apex… that was already inside of her, and she had killed before and wasn’t hesitant of doing so again. What this did was give her faith in something that she wasn’t sure that she really had before… herself. A woman on a mission with a belief, a brain and bravery could change the world and make history, and she was such a woman. After she was released, she changed her name and started this new life, this uncertain mission. 

First and foremost, she would lead the Apex to society, get their needs met - food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, etc. She would not have called herself a saint, but she did change her name to St. Catherine, so… yeah, she would… a little bit. Who was going to stop her?

It made her think of 808, though. She wasn’t around whenever Grace went looking for them. She had moved on. The last Sunny knew of, Tuba had offered her a place, but she promised to get word to her that Grace was back. Grace went to find her, to apologize to Tuba, and explain why she felt she had to do what she did, to look at Bugle, but she felt no need to apologize to her. She wouldn’t have comprehended it anyway. 808 had a tattoo, by then. Grace didn’t know what it was supposed to be, at first, but noticed it was a lit ball bomb. Cute. She was only 16, but Grace imagined that she probably did that to herself. Tuba was far more understanding than expected. She had already heard the full story, What Bugle had done to Hazel… it was understandable how Grace had reacted. But, whenever she invited 808 to come along with her, because she knew of a place where they could have all their needs met and be free, Alexandria laughed in her face, “Grace… I AM free. I’m the free-est that I’ve ever been. No thanks to you. You, who left us and went and got yourself all cleaned up and fancy.” She picked up one of Grace’s locs, “My, how your hair has grown…”

Grace sighed and pulled something out of her backpack, “I was thinking about what you said that you wanted to do. You wanted to go be an artist, in France…” I’ve been looking into it and I found an art school in France. You can make a portfolio and we can…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She looked at Alexandria’s expression. She looked furious. She looked like she wanted to hurt her. “You vanished for a year, got yourself taken care of, and you think that you get to just come back here and just dangle some childhood dream of mine in my face and what, I’ll just throw my arms around you and take you back? You never wanted me anyway. You never felt like I was one of you. Why are you here?”

Grace twisted the printout in her hands, “I… was wrong. You were one of us. You were always somebody that I leaned on, 808…”

“ I NEVER reclaimed my number, you just always insisted that I do!

Nobody calls me that shit anymore!” She hissed. 

“Alexandria,” Grace said. She looked down at the ground. The thought that she wouldn’t be received with love by everybody never crossed her mind. She presumed that they all would be just as happy to see her as she was to get back to them, and it had been a long, LONG time since she hadn’t seen 808 as one of them. Alexandria… “If you ever changed your mind about the school, I have a scholarship with your name on it.” She extended the papers and Alexandria snatched them from her hand and tossed them aside. “ I thought about you a lot whenever I was in there. I took some art classes to try to get as good as you, but it didn’t pan out,” she laughed nervously, sadly. Alexandria softened, She wasn’t sure WHY she was so mad at Grace. Grace had always held her close to her side, even though she had a feeling that she didn’t like her as much as the others, she trusted her and seeing Grace sad caused a very visceral reaction inside of her. Grace pulled out a rolled up canvas and handed it to her, “My best work… It’s you, but as Joan of Arc.” Alexandria accepted that a little more gently than she did the papers, and as Grace walked away, she unrolled it and cried, for the first time in a while, definitely since Grace hadn’t been around, but maybe longer than that, much longer.

“Grace!” The woman turned and Alexandria rolled the artwork back up, “It’s beautiful. It’s really nice. Your style is amazing.” Grace bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes looked a little less sad, and Alexandria felt such a rush, from just that one moment of effecting Grace Monroe. SHE had moved Grace. She… mattered to her… She watched her go and cried harder. She never did make it to that art school, but she was able to take the scholarship money and open her tattoo shop whenever she finished her apprenticeship, so… she… did in a way feel like she owed Grace, whenever she next called upon her, and the way that Grace would light up when she saw her and treat her like an equal, some of the time… it was better than dopamine. It was… enough to keep her in that web that Grace spun, whether she intended to or not. 

It was why, even though she knew Grace was upset with them all, it gave her butterflies to know that Grace wanted her to check on her, to come see about her. She wouldn’t do it, Grace was too upset and she didn’t want to have to face her after what she had done… but she did love that feeling it gave her when she knew that Grace cared. That she mattered to Grace. 

That simp O was right about it that night. She… had an effect on people, on Alexandria. She wouldn’t go by to see her, but she did send her a piece of artwork with a fancy scripted note that read, “I’m sorry,” on the top

Grace unrolled the canvas and saw the image of herself, painted as a saint. Catherine of Alexandria, and it read: Grace St. Catherine. Grace opened the card and written in Alexandria’s handwriting was a question, “Did you know that Catherine mentored Joan of Arc?” and on the back, “Of course you did. Show off.” But, Grace read it in Alexandria’s voice and knew just the smartass inflection that sent it from a pissy declaration into a show of her jaded affection. She turned to Simon and said, “Alexandria finally checked in with me! Look at what she made me!” She was very excited and awestruck. “She’s so talented. So talented. Always was.” Simon had to listen to her gush about how Alexandria and Xander used to splice their names together when they tagged places, how they were Xan and Xan and called their ship name Xannax and other… things… that he not only didn’t care about but hated to hear. He didn’t like them. He would get along with them for her benefit, but those were not his allies. He definitely would use them for what he needed - to get all of this Date Night shit out of the way and in the read view mirror, so that he could FINALLY have Grace all to himself and she wouldn;t have to worry about this mission that almost got her killed for a bunch of ingrates who not only would rip the two of them apart if they could, would resort to trickery to do so, and the worst sin in his mind… leave her to die…

“I made you something too!” he interrupted, jealous and frustrated by all of this tenfold forgiveness that she granted them. To his extreme pleasure, her smile grew and her face brightened. “Well, I’m in the process of it, but I think it’s gonna be great. I think you’ll love it.” 

She smiled softly and booped his nose, “I’m sure I will,” she said. She had taken the hint. He was feeling some kind of way about her excitement over Alexandria’s gift. She didn’t think it was necessarily jealousy so much as the fact that Alexandria had done him a huge disservice by creating that fake art that sent him back down this downward spiral, and that was one of the main reasons why Grace wasn’t going to fault him too much for his… possessive ways right now. They had a lot of other things that they could focus on and work through. He was trying to live without her and thanks to her own, he had failed at that. She wasn’t going to forget that when dealing with him, nor could she forget that they were the reason that they had been apart in the first place. 49 whole days, according to Simon. It felt longer - to both of them, but he felt at least entitled to that much time for him to have her to himself  without them, and she was in no condition to entertain, anyway, so she found that not only agreeable, but a relief. His intensity whenever she spoke too fondly about her friends was troubling, but at the time, she didn’t feel like she was in any position to articulate her unease without disrespecting this huge life change that he was going through. She had been a murderer for years. Simon had only just done this and it was on the heels of a long, lonely winter. She just… didn’t have the heart to address some shit like that right now. Anyways, Valentine’s Day was soon approaching… technically, it had almost been a year since they noticed each other. It should be a good one. She was going through her own things too, but… she wanted to focus on the good things.

17. Where the Heart Is

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele - XIII

A/N Another chapter ahead of schedule because I’ve been making good writing progress :)

T/W Mentions of physical and emotional war trauma

Daniel kept silent, staring down at Elizabeth’s soft face, expressionlessly, his cap clutched tightly in his hands.

“You’re looking at me like I’m broken.” she spoke softly, cracking a small smile up at him from the hospital bed, her green eyes tired and framed with red from the gas attack, her voice still rough around the edges.

“Well, you are a little.” Daniel mumbled from his spot on the wooden chair beside her.

“What a charmer.” Elizabeth tisked, reaching for his hand and he let her intertwine their fingers.

Daniel smiled a little, looking down at their hands. After being taken from the battlefields, unconscious from lack of oxygen as her airways were closing over, the hospital treated Elizabeth well and soon she was breathing just fine again. Of course, her true identity was revealed in the hospital, earning her a ticket back to England as soon as she was fully recovered.

Even still, Elizabeth was more than pleased with herself for making it a full day on the front lines, being able to fight alongside the men for her country.

“Mother is going to be pleased with me for what I did.” Elizabeth smiled to herself, running her thumb over Daniel’s hand.

“She is going to be furious. What if you died?” Daniel asked sharply.

“No reason to worry more about me than you.” Elizabeth shrugged.

“I have way more of a reason to worry about you.” Daniel whispered, “I almost watched you die in front of me.”

“Zach said you were hysteric.” Elizabeth giggled.

“This isn’t funny, Elizabeth.” Daniel said sternly.

“I’m sorry, my love.” she whispered, pulling his hand closer to make him shuffle nearer, “I’m alright though. Now I get to go home and wait for you.”

Daniel sighed as he watched her kiss the back of his hand before resting their hands against her chest. They fell into silence.

“Elizabeth…” Daniel breathed, closing his eyes tightly. She waited for him to continue, keeping her gaze on his obviously stressed expression. He bit lightly at his lip before speaking cautiously, “I don’t know if I can…if I can keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Elizabeth frowned.

“Fighting out here.” Daniel’s voice was trembling, and he swallowed back his forming tears with a glance around the bustling hospital.

“Don’t say that. You’re doing so well. Making us all so proud. This is what you wanted, remember?” Elizabeth gave his hand a squeeze.

“But I didn’t want this.” Daniel gestured to her laying in the hospital bed with his free hand. “And I didn’t want to hold my friends while they…” he faded out, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back his tears.

No one wanted to see a man cry. His father had told him so plenty of times.

“And what if I don’t make it home to you?” Daniel breathed.

“Daniel Seavey. Don’t you say that.” Elizabeth scolded.

“But Jack was so set on making it home and with one shot he just…” Daniel took a deep breath, looking up to the tall ceiling to try and calm down. “Who’s to say it won’t be me next?”

Elizabeth sighed, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, setting both her hands over his one against her chest. She kept her eyes on him, worry etched onto her tired features as she watched him battle with himself to hold back his tears.

“You can cry, you know?”

Daniel shook his head, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took a trembling breath before shifting in the wooden chair, looking down at her as strongly as he could, “I’m okay.”

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows, disbelieving, watching how his blue eyes were shimmering in the afternoon sun that leaked through the stained-glass windows, his brown hair matted down across his forehead with mud and dried sweat. He wasn’t same sweet, careful boy she had fallen for a year before; but she loved him just as strongly.

“Listen to me, darling,” Elizabeth forced herself into a sitting position on the rickety metal bed, shifting a little bit to face him, taking both his hands in hers, running her thumbs over his callused hands. She paused her statement to tilt his chin up so he was looking at her, resting her palm against his cheek and he leaned habitually into her gentle touch, “You keep doing what you’re doing out here. You’re an amazing soldier, an amazing man – my amazing man – and I’m so proud of you, you know?”

She ran her thumb over his cheek and kept his deep eye contact, his lip between his teeth as he searched her promising face for any sort of hesitation.

“Marry me.” Daniel whispered after a moment.

Elizabeth laughed lightly, dropping her hand back into his, “Ask me again when you get home to me, okay?”

“No. I need to ask now.”

“Daniel, I’m not answering that question until you’re home again. You’re going to be home again. You’re going to be home again in my mother’s back garden in your freshly ironed trousers and my favourite blue button up dress shirt you like to wear and you’re going to ask me to marry you there.” Elizabeth smiled softly at him, brushing a hand through his tangled hair, “Not here, in a front-line hospital when you’re drenched in dirt and blood and sweat and feeling hopeless. What kind of romance is that?”

“Ours.” Daniel whimpered, his voice breaking and his bottom lip trembling as he dropped his gaze to their hands together on the side of the hospital bed.

Elizabeth took his chin in her hand and brought his lips to hers. He leaned in closer, kissing her with more desperation, his eyes scrunched closed as his heart beat hard in his chest. He pulled back with a small breathless gasp, eyes opening to lock on hers.

Their moment was interrupted by someone clearing their throat from the foot of the bed and they both turned quickly to see the Lieutenant Colonel standing there.

“Christian.” Daniel whispered mostly to himself, standing up quickly to offer a salute to his officer. Elizabeth set herself back against the metal headboard, hesitantly moving under the serious stare of the broad man in front of her, being her first time formally meeting the eldest Seavey brother.

“That’s fine, Private.” Christian waved him back, giving him permission to sit down again.

Daniel kept his eyes on his brother as he sat down again, letting his hand fall into Elizabeth’s.

“Good to see that you are doing well, Miss Fisher.” Christian spoke strongly, his hands held tightly behind his back.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth pulled a small smile, glancing to Daniel has he clung tightly onto her hand.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked his brother.

“The Division is moving forward. We got notice from Army Command that we are to attempt to break through German lines farther west so we will be setting up camp farther inland, around the town of Passchendaele. You have heard of it, I’m sure.”

“Yessir.” Daniel spoke slowly.

“You will return with me and we will make our way to the new front lines before nightfall. Additional trenches will need to be dug so we need all men on hand.”

“I’m not leaving Elizabeth.” Daniel spoke strongly.

“Dani.” Elizabeth whispered sharply.

“It’s a direct order from Army Command, Private. You will return to the Battalion with me and travel with us to help capture Passchendaele. Immediately.” Christian barely even blinked, staring down his nose at the young couple in front of him, eyes glancing only for a second at Daniel’s hand wrapped securely around the girl’s.

“No.” Daniel said through his teeth, glaring angrily at his older brother, his whole body starting to tremble as he had been holding in his tears for a while.

Christian took a breath, glancing between the two of them, “Not following orders is considered treason and it can be punishable by law.”

“What are you saying?” Daniel asked slowly.

“If you do not obey my orders, I will have no choice but to put you under military arrest.”

“Daniel.” Elizabeth gaped, turning to him, concern spread all over her face.

“I am not leaving Elizabeth.” Daniel repeated slowly.

“You have two minutes to say goodbye. If you are not outside with me by then, I will turn you in for resisting orders and you will be arrested for treason.” Christian took one step back, keeping his dark blue eyes on his younger brother before looking to Elizabeth for a moment before turning on his heel and marching towards the doors, his boots echoing through the nave of the church.

“Christ.” Daniel exhaled deeply, holding his face in his hands.

“It’s not a difficult decision. You’re going with him.” Elizabeth said strongly.

“I can’t leave you again.” Daniel’s voice broke as he looked back up at her.

“And I can’t bare to see you in jail, darling. Don’t be stupid about this.”

“This is stupid!” Daniel said loudly, making a few patients and nurses look their way. He lowered his voice, “This whole war is bloody awful.”

“Listen to your brother.” Elizabeth whispered, ignoring his futile attempt to change the ways of the world. She slid her hand into his, “Stay safe.”

“No. Elizabeth, no.” Daniel said through his teeth. 

“You don’t have a choice here.”

“Lizzie-”

“Daniel, you don’t have much time. If you get arrested, we can’t get married. Think about that, please. Just promise to write me and kiss me goodbye.”

Daniel pulled his mouth into a tight line in thought before he nodded once, “I will.”

He stood up, arranging his equipment on his uniform. Elizabeth smiled sadly at him, keeping her hand in his for as long as she could.

He leaned down, hesitating a moment as he looked at her, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” she smiled, welcoming his strong kiss as her hand squeezed his lovingly. He pulled back slowly, her free hand raising to caress his cheek, “You’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll write you every day.”

“Take good care of Zach.”

“Always do.” Daniel chuckled, stopping to kiss her once more.

He stood up, taking a moment to admire her, a frown on his lips as he brushed his left hand through her short blonde hair, still as soft as he always remembered it. Elizabeth brought his right hand to her lips and pressed a lingering kiss to his skin before sending him a warm smile.

“I love you.” she whispered.

“I love you.” Daniel couldn’t help but smile at her. He took a small step back, feeling her hand fall out of his as the distance grew between them.

“I’ll see you soon, darling.” Elizabeth called softly; their eyes locked as he backed slowly to the narrow aisle at the end of her bed. They paused a moment in perfect silence before Daniel dropped his eyes to the marble flooring and turned for the door without a look back. 

[wait-thats-illegal]

@shaunthegooddoc @muslimintp-1999-girl y'all asked to be tagged when this oneshot was done, and it's done! This is pure maldrisa fluff because I Can

---

Three Steps Ahead And Just Out Of Reach

You know, I’ve always loved the rain.” Edrisa says, staring blissfully at the rainy city. “It’s calming.” 

“Oh?” Malcolm responds, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her waist while laying his head on her shoulder. “I didn’t know you liked the rain so much.” 

She smells heavily of cherry blossoms, and Malcolm breathes deeply and holds her closer.

She laughs softly and leans into him. 

“Yes, Malcolm, I like the rain.” She laughs harder at his actions. “Don’t you?” 

“Sure, I guess.” He looks out the window, through the glass and locks of ebony hair that had fallen into his face. “I never really thought about it before.” 

“Really?” She pulls away and gives him a confused look. “You, Malcolm Bright, are telling me that you’ve never thought about the rain? The man who is a profiler and thinks for a living, has never thought about the rain? I don’t believe you.” 

Malcolm laughs and says, “No, you’re right, I have thought about it but not a lot. In my world, there are bigger things for me to think about. I wanna think about little things, but the big things scream louder.” 

“Ah,” Edrisa nods. “Sometimes the little things drown out the big things’ screams. Ever consider that?” 

“Not really. The screams are too loud.” He lays his head back down. 

“Okay, well, how about this?” Edrisa spins around in his arms and grasps his hands. “How about you dance with me and pretend the big things don’t exist?” 

She steps and sways and Malcolm laughs too hard to do much of anything. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed this hard.

“Oh, but how can we dance when we have no music?” He exclaims, his voice raising in a joyous shout. 

“We don’t need any music--the rain is our music!” 

After a moment of Edrisa dancing alone, of her smiling and swaying to the pounding rain, Malcolm slowly begins to step in time with her. 

Eventually, they’re dancing and laughing to the point of tears. They cling to each other in attempts to stay standing, but at a point it’s futile because they’re on the floor, laughing and crying. 

“You know what would make this better?” Edrisa asks, wiping away tears. 

“What?” Malcolm asks. 

“Follow me!” She jumps up, stumbling a bit, and runs towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Malcolm stands and tries to keep up, but Edrisa is always three steps ahead and just out of reach. 

She runs down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Malcolm runs close behind. 

Once she reaches the final three steps, she leaps to the floor and pushes the heavy door open. 

She runs out to the sidewalk and into the rain, not even bothering to grab a coat or umbrella. 

Edrisa throws her arms out and screams, “Rain makes everything better!” 

She stands on the sidewalk, arms outstretched, drenched in rainwater and happy tears. 

“Risa, you’re gonna catch a cold.” Malcolm says through laughter. 

I’ve never laughed this hard, Malcolm thinks. And Risa has never looked so beautiful.

“I don’t care!” She screams, unmoving. 

Malcolm laughs. He realizes she isn’t going to come inside on her own, so he steps before her and lifts her up and over his shoulder in one swift motion. 

She pokes at his back but he ignores her, their laughter echoing off the brick walls and rain drops. 

Malcolm carries Edrisa up the stairs and through his doorway, and brings her all the way to the sofa and drops her on the leather, ignoring the rain water drenching their clothes and dripping off their skin. 

She curls onto her side, laughing to the point her tears mix with the rain water. Her ebony hair sticks to her face and water droplets smear on her glasses, blurring her vision but she didn’t care. 

Neither of them cared about anything, they were too caught up in the bliss of the moment. 

Edrisa forgot about the horrors of her job, about the disturbing mutilations she sees daily, about the knowledge of the world’s evils. 

Malcolm forgot about his nightmares, about the trauma from everything he’s experienced, about the living hell he suffers through. 

They laugh and cry happy tears, laying together in a jumble of limbs and tears and rain water. 

They danced and cried and laughed and together, they forgot about the big things and focused on the song of the small things.

---

I loved writing this one, it's just pure fluff and the love Edrisa deserves. I've grown more into these oneshots and I think I'll upload more, and I'm almost finished with the newest one so I'll let y'all know when that ones done! Love y'all!!

- m

[meibemeibelline]

part 3 (FINAL) of highlights from that 32k word doc i wrote when i marathoned gazette songs (2012-2018)

PART 1 | PART 2

once again:

This is a combo of thoughts on music, lyrics and other random things I wrote while listening. Not every song will be featured, sorry.

I sometimes directly quote translations and when I do, I’ll specify whose it was. Here are the masterposts of lyrics by Heresiarchy , Defective Tragedy and Trauma Radio

I will write song titles for which there are warnings in bold and all caps

So this part will be a bit different because mental health and The Band became really prominent themes in their music in a way it wasn’t really before, so rather than simply writing about songs as they come, I do (attempt to) connect some dots between songs and albums

Also this is REALLY LONG (~5k words)

If you read any of these posts, thank you <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: murder (In Blossom), reference to abuse (In Blossom), suicide/suicidal thoughts (Kagefumi, Deux/Blemish), reference to PTSD (Incubus). Overall LOTS of discussions about mental health.

buckle up folks it’s gonna be a long one

So I listened to Division according to the limited edition version where the songs got split into the ‘story-like songs’ and the ‘hype songs’. Just while we’re on that, I like to think that Vein is the story part because these songs (the blood) are meant to go TO our hearts, while Artery, which is the ‘raw emotion’, is the heart doing the talking and supplying the oxygen that will do its thing. LIKE HEADBANGING.

“Ibitsu is not the first song they’ve written about changes in the music industry, but it’s quite different from others like 13Stairs[-]1 and Dim Scene. They were quite angry about the state of things, lamenting it. But here, Ruki is writing his and the band’s place in all of that. It’s like in the other two songs he’s like, “wow look at all this rubble. This sucks.” But in Ibitsu he’s writing about how he’s also in that rubble and thinks about what HE feels about it in relation to himself and the GazettE. And I find that quite interesting. Also hell YES imagery – skies as ideals, the world around them collapsing into ruin, the band as a flower amidst the rubble that can’t reach the sky. It sounds like he’s trying to navigate how he’s supposed to move forward when his ideals and what’s happening in the industry oppose each other quite a lot. He doesn’t reach an answer in this song and ends by asking whether it is actually in ruins or whether he’s just afraid of change, I think.” - interestingly, he uses this same imagery in Kuroku Sunda Sora to Zangai to Katahane to write about anxiety and not feeling good enough.

Quick disclaimer on KAGEFUMI: I do want to say first that I’m talking about this purely as a piece of art. Not as in, like, “this is peak romance”, but just as an artwork I can have Opinions™ about, even if they’re possibly in disagreement with that of the creator. “The shadow tag metaphor for a couple committing double suicide meaning that they’re ‘becoming one’ and being together in death is A Lot. There’s an incredibly strong belief in an afterlife where they can be together makes (what Ruki describes) this stronger bond between them that literally lasts or even transcends the boundaries between life and death, rather than a tragic end (unlike Tokyo Shinjuu). Musically, I love this song and think it’s gorgeous, the way it’s sad yet hopeful. We over here with that bittersweet stuff again but lyrically it’s a WILDLY different route than others before it.”

“Yoin is such a heavy end to disc 1. The ending lines, “The sea of loss / Understanding of helplessness / That day we grieved” about the Tohoku earthquake/tsunami and the nuclear disaster is just so ……. And not only that, but how even though people still struggle to survive, people are moving on like it’s a thing of the past. It’s SO heavy.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

“I think [Derangement] is about a massive internal struggle between wanting longing for the past, knowing it won’t come back, but also wanting to destroy the past out of self-hatred. There are aspects of the past, perhaps ambition and drive for example, that are good, but other parts that are not. It’s almost like a continuation of Remember the Urge but like…angrier and with more hatred towards his own past rather than only the longing of it. Which is also really interesting.” – this is definitely one of the themes that comes up A LOT from now, ESPECIALLY in Ninth. We’ll get to that.

“IS KAI GOOD??? That man is NOT human. I swear to god his drums in Required Malfunction are INSANE. ANYWAY, this song is about how people cannot be perfect and we all have flaws, especially in the context of relationships. I like that even though people argue and butt heads sometimes, there’s that Japanese verse where he sings “Let’s send a song without stains / to that innocence without lies / so you can swallow those wounds” and the last lines “Because you are always here, I can advance” to mean like…them being together can ultimately make them better and it can be a good relationship (if they work on it, imo). Also, I love the language he uses here – viruses and malfunctions and inputs – a very non-human way to write about human relationships.” (Cr: Trauma Radio)

(Dripping Insanity) “Solitude drenched in red laughs / in the insanity dripping in silence” is SUCH a good line yes hello I appreciate this. (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“EYYY HAVEN’T HEARD FORBIDDEN BEAVER IN FOREVER. At first I was wondering if this might be judgmental but honestly? I think this is satirical, especially from the line “May the truth you spew on taboos going frantically around / Shred the rhythm of high society”. Like the fact they’re gossiping about a famous woman who has a lot of sex and just TARNISHING her name bc of it, to Ruki, is a load of bullshit. Also, some of the lyrics in the chorus are funny coming from Ruki – “She has a sex addiction / Bang! Bang! / Cute luv machine” – like he does NOT ever write like this and this song is just a huge satirical joke I’m YELLING.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“The transition from Malformed Box to Inside Beast >>>>”

“[Inside Beast] is definitely about having a ‘beast’ inside you that’s like all your demons and ugly feelings and to let them all out. He wrote about demons in Derangement, but the way he writes about acceptance is like…empowering and freeing. Not necessarily through words but through the music and just how hard this song slaps.”

“I really love the lyrics of [Until it Burns Out] and its whole thing about valuing the time they have as a band and to be together making music precisely because it’s going to end someday, and it’s going to be their last shot at living their dreams, which is to make music and perform TOGETHER as the GazettE. Like that’s so meaningful, and powerful in the way they just…grab it by the fucking throat. Breaking down the walls that hold them back, TOGETHER, towards the future in which they see their dreams. Like they’re not letting this be the end. They won’t allow it. UGH. UGHHH. The middle eight is so beautiful and I love the lines “The light that colours this irreplaceable scenery / burns the significance of standing here into me / Until the last” like they just love performing SO MUCH UGGGHHH FEELINGS”. (Cr: Trauma Radio)

“[REDO] IS SO GODDAMN SENTIMENTAL I’M IN MY FEELINGSSSSS. Kai being the composer, I can’t help but feel this is him paying homage to jazz, which is the music his mother plays and he loves her so so much. I’m probably reaching but THAT’S JUST HOW I FEEL.”

“EVERBODY SHUT UPPPP IT’S LAST HEAVEN TIMEEEE. It’s so gd gorgeous and sweet. I’M GETTING REALLY EMO WHAT THE FUCKKKK. BRUH. BRUUUUHHH. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL //THROWS. SHUT UPPPP. TOO MANY SKY, STAR AND FOREVER REFERENCES FOR THIS TO BE OKAY BITCH. This is Ruki’s love song to the cosmos, wishing to be eternal like the stars but acknowledging that all he can do is chase it knowing his life will end, BUT THAT THEY DON’T HAVE TO GRIEVE BECAUSE THEY WILL MEET AGAIN IN THE AFTERLIFE BECAUSE IN SOME WAY WE /ARE/ ETERNAL. IT’S LOVING AND INNOCENT AND WISTFUL. This song is the goddess to all the GazettE love songs. THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK. “The distant sky, this infinite moment / I now wish from the visible stars / in this youthful merry-go-round / that continues to turn endlessly / I want to be eternal like you” – is just…such a beautiful image. “Let’s stay like this, having dreams we cannot reach / Long road which leads to the calm hill / I go, leaving my sadness behind / Good night…my beloved / Last heaven of mine” – it’s yearning but it’s the yearning for LIFE. And to leave behind sadness…Ruki very rarely writes about pain like this. And to call the ‘beloved’ his last heaven, the last thing in his life that’s just THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO HIM AND THE THING HE WANTS TO BE ETERNAL WITH goodbye………GOODBYE. “Love without shape changing day by day / Close together / we become / one shooting star” – AAAHHH AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH. Also, for him to say ‘memento mori’ which means “Remember, you must die” in the middle eight of a song about wanting to be eternal just gives the entire sentiment a new meaning ;-;” (Cr: Trauma Radio)

“There’s a particular sound to Division and Beautiful Deformity (but more in BD). It sounds like rushing water. Loss in particular sounds like this. Like, the sound isn’t just ‘dark’ and ‘heavy’, it moves A LOT and there is sooo much emotionality in the songs on this album. It’s really dynamic.”

“The Stupid Tiny Insect revisits the theme of inner demons. Specifically, in this song it sounds like negative internal self-talk. It’s interesting though, the way that Ruki writes it as an entirely separate being to how he writes inner demons and whatnot in other songs, where it’s either another entity within a person that is part of them OR just…themselves. Here, they are VERY separate, and that probably allows him to feel and express rage instead of helplessness or confusion. I also love the reference to pretending to be okay – “I get high on delusion / And act as if I made them die out / ‘Just like a summer moth to a flame”.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“IN BLOSSOM is pretty fucking brilliant lyrically imo. It reminds me a lot of 32 Koukei no Pistol in that a protagonist who was abused/neglected by the parents kills them, and in the latter’s case only, also themselves. Some other differences: In Blossom is WAY angrier (and a lot more loaded) and the protagonist is trying to ‘make their own life’ (even if the way they choose to do that DOESN’T WORK), whereas the narrator in 32 Calibre Pistol was mostly lamenting that they’ve ‘lost their way’ and deep-down were wishing for their family to be happy together. I can’t say WHY that is. But it’s interesting that in In Blossom, the abuse just…DESTROYED their concept of family that they used to believe in entirely, and the fact they cannot separate themselves from their abusers neither by dying nor killing them is A Lot. So, they try to free themselves and ‘get hope’ by killing their abusers as revenge (“Die away, along with these wounds I’d counted”), but it doesn’t bring them happiness or heal them (“Even if I slash so much it’s unparalleled by the wounds I’d counted, it still starts to ache / It doesn’t even fight off the decay, much less heal me”). It’s very much saying that despite pain, revenge is not the answer. I also love the line “They adorn vividly – have blossomed beautifully / The sun that has started to set makes sure of it” to describe the wounds as the narrator kills their abusers and their loss of sanity as they do so.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“To Dazzling Darkness is about that moment when a concert is over and the lights start to come on. It’s so gorgeous. This is sort of like, the other side of Until it Burns Out. If UIBO is about the band then TDD is about the fans, and the band’s place in the world. I love the imagery in the first verse – darkness is usually associated with bad things, but here darkness is peace, escapism and unity that are part of the happiness of a concert, while the light symbolises the continuation of life. The scenery here is the same scenery in UIBO, which is the scenery of a concert that this band cherishes. There’s also the acknowledgement that time is fleeting and nothing is forever. Like, this is really the other side of the coin and I love it.”

“Dogma defines their new (2015) sound so well, which is HEAVY AND DIRTY AS FUCK. Like, it is SO conceptual and experimental and the painting is just GORGEOUS. I love the harpsichord in this song – as the predecessor of the piano, it was used in a lot of churches and religious music in the Baroque period (1600-1750ish), so using it here in a song where the band is likened to idols (the religious type) is super cool. And to combine it with these really low and heavy guitars just gives the DARKEST image.

And there’s so much going on in the lyrics – MANY MOTIFS, MANY MEANINGS. They bring back the concept of darkness as a symbol for escape from harsh life and of unity during concerts. As for death, Reita has an iconic quote where he said something along the lines of: “we often say in lives ‘to die’, but what we actually mean is to live. Live and be free”. I see death for GazettE as a kind of transformation – and end, yet also a beginning to become something or someone new.

Ruki hasn’t really mentioned god since Ogre in Dim, in which he basically wrote “idk if God exists but I don’t really care – all I need is me”. But here he likens the band to an idol of worship. We as the fans worship the GazettE, and they are also gods to us, their followers, in the sense that they provide us with life and unity (referred to here as death and darkness, respectively). The GazettE as a band brings darkness and death to the world (with their own meanings, of course).

This is also a song about the band breaking away from current gods and dogmas of the music industry, and from its greed. I also love the line, “The rite I must face is cloaked in darkness and isolation” – this process of their journey to finding their truth is lonely, and no one but them can do it for themselves. To do so also isolates them from everything they once knew. It’s them navigating what is expected of them by the masses and those they work with vs doing what they want without getting shunned for it.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

 “DAWN IS ABOUT REDISCOVERING THEMSELVES. I love the number of metaphors he brings back in this song – 13 stairs, death, merry-go-rounds and again dogma. Death here is about the transformation of them as a band, which occurs at the top of the 13 stairs to the gallows. And I find that so interesting because he uses the image of gallows (eg: 13 Stairs[-]1 and Forbidden Beaver) as like…an actual Death that means the end of a genre or a person’s reputation, but here it’s a place of transformation. In Last Heaven, the merry-go-round is a symbol of life – it comes back here but this time it’s red instead of blue (youthful) and is paired with the image of a mad banquet with emotions running wild (ie concerts). Basically, this is about the band’s life and, like, their life being about concerts. My favourite part is “Overcoming a period of confusion, I took those stirring emotions / And hung them up high on the 13 stairs” because there’s also the line “I’ve already had a lethal dose of misfortune / The ruined gallows towers above me” -> WE WENT THROUGH SOME SHIT BUT WE FOUND OURSELVES AND SURPRISE BITCH, BET YOU THOUGHT YOU’D SEEN THE LAST OF ME.” (Cr1: Heresiarchy, Cr2: Defective Tragedy)

Not from my notes directly but I feel like the difference between Bizarre to Juuyonsai no Knife (ie the only two songs about Real juvenile criminals) is a REALLY good representation of how Ruki’s lyrics have changed over the years. He went from taking perspectives of people who perpetrators of violence (to write horror stories, imo, but also to generally Explore their minds through art) to making comments about society and how systems affect people in real life. Not to say he doesn’t write about killers anymore or that social commentary is NEW for him, but just…a big change in what’s PROMINENT.

“Interesting that Wasteland is next, which is about Justice on the Internet. I know Ruki has always been really critical of the internet and the kind of social processes that occur online (see: Nakigahara) and here it’s about morality and justice, but more importantly the way it’s about crowd mindsets and CONTROL. And he just summarises it SO WELL in the first verse: “The thousand eyes that can kill even God / Transform into rebels that lust for control / If the time comes when right and wrong disappear / It will all end with a blood-red moon”. There’s also the line “Innocence gives way to sinful judgment” ie the innocent go along with their ways or it’s the innocent (the weak, as he says later) that are scrutinised. And I think about this a lot considering…some other fandoms I’m in >.>” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

(INCUBUS) “The song is a lot of wondering what they did to deserve their trauma and how they want the dreams/nightmares to go away. I do like that at the end of the song they come to the conclusion that they cannot change what happened and decide “fuck the why”, accepting they didn’t deserve it. Even though the narrator is still stuck in the maze (of trauma), the letting go of asking why it happened is like, a really important step in healing. Because it’s the end of self-blame. So, I hope narrator can heal :( “

(DEUX) “My dumbass never realised this but the music of Deux itself has DUALITY. Metal with solo piano. IT REALLY TOOK ME FIVE YEARS TO REALISE THAT HUH. It’s about two conflicting selves (which to me sound more like intrusive thoughts, considering Blemish’s VERY LOUD “These days I’m better dead”) and the effect that has on like, your emotionality and how it leads to loneliness. His use of nightmares in this song is fascinating – the Japanese word he uses (sakayume) is like…a reverse dream, like if a child has a nightmare you tell them it’s a sakayume so it means what happened in their dream definitely won’t happen AND something good will happen instead. And this is something Ruki prays for.”

(Ominous) “The imagery is really dark in this – “A prayer crushed under wreckage / Reflects in your eyes as you start to fly / I see you in the sky thick with shadows / Spinning around with nightmares” – there’s a desperate attempt to fly and get better and do Well but still they’re surrounded by darkness and nightmares, unable to escape. “Don’t forget that a heart cannot die / Don’t forget that dreams aren’t predictions of the future” –There’s hopefulness in a heart not dying yet a very strong despair when he says dreams don’t predict the future, not even reverse dreams. “It steals away my still-unformed future, and whenever I step forth / I can’t see a thing in that shadowed sky / My screaming can’t save anything / when I’m killing myself with sadness” – oh that hurts, that hurts A LOT. He wants to fly but he can’t. This is just SO MUCH. And they didn’t even have an instrumental outro, IT JUST ENDS WITH ACCEPTANCE OF HOPELESSNESS AND DEPRESSION.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“The drums in Goddess uggghhh UGGGHHH. AND THE GUITAR TOOOOOO. Lyrically, this is really a mid-point between depression and healing. It’s A Lot. He writes about his suffering, wanting to make something of his mistakes and his sins and actually WANTING TO LIVE. But it’s so sad that in the end he still feels really helpless – the subtle changes between “I want to become the stars that fill the silence” vs “I can’t become the stars that fill the silence”. But I think that on some level he knows what the next step is. He wishes in the last two lines, “If only I could share my grief that can’t be put to words / If only I could face reality and live accepting my crippling despair”. THAT’S THE FIRST STEP!!!! THAT’S A STEP!!!! TO HEALING!!!! “These bleak thoughts are my sacrifice that will one day begin to thaw into a selfless, smiling heart” – this line is fucking LOADED. Like, he sacrifices his bleak thoughts by expressing them and by making art out of his pain in hopes that he will be able to acknowledge and accept his suffering and his pain as a means to heal, as a way of allowing him to have a selfless and smiling heart. Like, this is SO much of what his art is about and what it has been for SUCH a long time it makes me so emotional that this is what he’s saying about his own lyrics.” I realise too that the goddess is likely the same goddess from Blemish. I’m still unsure what to make of it because Blemish ends in Ruki writing he doesn’t wants to be reborn, and not abandoned. But here he ends with wanting to heal. Wanting to move on and live.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO UNDYING.

“WHEN HE BROUGHT BACK “SLEEP, COUNT ME DOWN AGAIN” >>> God, this song is so powerful. THERE ARE SO MANY CALL-BACKS TO DOGMA. I SHOULD’VE KNOWN THIS BUT STILL. BITCH WHAT THE FUCK. It’s a direct continuation of Ominous (“I won’t arise from this”). I think in this song he’s becoming that figure that is flying in Ominous, and the one that is surrounded by nightmares and shadows – the first verses are about how the future is drenched in misfortune yet we must continue to live (and suffer, but WE CAN AT LEAST BE A BIT HOPEFUL). Ruki says this YET HE IS STILL DREAMING, EVEN AS THE END COMES (“My heart starts to disappear along with the spirit of my words / And though it knew the end was near / It dreamt of things it shouldn’t want / And even now I am still—“). There’s also his mentions of sins again that he continues to drown in :( But overall, this song is really about living despite all the pain, which is really meaningful after Dogma ended on such a note of hopelessness. There’s so much power in this song.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“Vacant doesn’t necessarily sound like a romantic relationship breaking down as much as it is about making a mistake and being unable to fix it between you and someone else (or other people), even if Ruki said he wrote it with a band’s image in mind. But the gist is is that there is yet again a struggle within the self (“Self-condemnation distorts the answer / And I lose sight of what I should be / Because of those unconscious actions / I can’t even dream”). The line “In the pain of not being able to tie back the undone thread / The traces left by stopping time keep piling up” really got to me – being stuck in time and constantly wishing for something that was and being hurt by the fact it’s gone is something I personally relate to. But even as the narrator is stuck in time, their grip on the past is loosening – they are forgetting, memories fade, and they lose their strength (“Vacant, you are withering”).” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

(Faling) ““Together, embracing the same pain: it’s only temporary / Don’t forget that this is not the end / So come on, let’s open our eyes and fall / We just believe in ourselves to die / Sometimes it’s okay to be broken” THIS MEANS SO FUCKING MUCH AFTER THE AMOUNT OF TIMES RUKI ENDED DOGMA SONGS WITH HOPELESSNESS AND AT BEST “WE HAVE TO KEEP LIVING AND SUFFERING AND BEING IN PAIN” BUT IN FALLING, PAIN IS TEMPORARY. PAIN IS TEMPORARY. WE WILL HEAL, BITCH. WE WILL GET BETTER, BITCH.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

Can’t find my notes bc it’s somewhere else in my Tumblr drafts but basically: I consider Mortal, Utsusemi and Sono Kore wa Moroku like a Depression Trilogy™ in Ninth. Mortal is about depression, loneliness and loss but like, tying it to a singular person or event in which the narrator felt grief. Utsusemi is about loneliness and depression as well, AND RUKI USES THE CICADA SHELL METAPHOR, WHICH IS THE SAME AS CRUCIFY SORROW (ALSO ABOUT DEPRESSION, BUT SOMEONE ELSE’S). But then, Sono Koe wa Moroku is THE turning point and where he first mentions (in this album) and actual DESIRE to heal and like, ON HIS OWN. IT’S ABOUT BEING STRONG FOR HIMSELF AND THAT MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL. And as I mentioned before, Falling also ends on a hopeful note about sadness not lasting forever – it’s like he’s prefacing the album with the fact sadness IS temporary and that there IS a turning point.

“Babylon’s Taboo is interesting…so apparently Babylon is a figure of western imperialism and capitalism in the Rastafari movement (an afro-centric anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist movement from Jamaica). The narrator is COMPLETELY aware of the oppression and injustice that goes on around him but confesses to doing nothing. I interpreted this as complacency to violence, which Ruki has written about before. Also, he describes a starry sky (which I presume represents wealth and happiness) as a lie, and that they are actually black eyes that watch and look down upon you. In the context of anti-capitalism, my interpretation is that the ‘guaranteed fate’ he writes about is the life-long struggle to attain wealth and happiness – we are doomed to dedicate our lives to this, futilely, to no end. and there’s nothing we can do about it. Another line that stood out to me most is “all I need is sanity but uncertainty will do”. this, along with the rest of the song, implies that the narrator is PRETTY DAMN SURE that we’re all fucked so like....HAHA COOL.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

(Two of a Kind) Okay so…another motif I noticed in this album is an I and a You. And I know this sounds weird considering almost EVERY SINGLE GAZETTE SONG uses first and second pronouns, but mental health is SUCH a prominent, overarching theme in a way no album concept has been before, hence why I’m saying this. Two of a Kind is really solidifying this for me, but they appear in almost every song (but the You is known as ‘she’ in The Mortal). This pair are connected in an extremely emotionally intimate way. For one, they share pain and understand each other’s pain. Secondly, the narrator falls into depression after they’re gone. A part of me thinks it could be a past self and a current self, considering Ruki’s said this album involved the Most introspection from him and Falling writes about sins and past mistakes again. So, it could be a way of separating a past and current self – a past self that was perhaps lost, and made mistakes, but ultimately creates his current self.

But it could also be another person, as this You figure is also a source of light – someone Ruki shares his wounds with, in Two of a Kind. If it’s another person, it may also make sense that the depression and loneliness written about in The Mortal and Utsusemi is triggered by someone extremely close leaving him. Either way, it is this understanding and connection between the I and the You that also bring hope for the future and I REALLY love the way that hope is conveyed in the chorus of Two of a Kind. There’s so much light in it compared to the parts of the song where ruki calls himself filthy and ugly, and when he writes about negative feelings that never go away and bleed into this other person. but i think this other person understands it, and that’s why he can move on.

“Abhor God is a REALLY dark and heavy take on MOVING FORWARD. Like there’s so much rage in the way he writes about killing his lust, pride and anxiety and stringing up his nightmares in a noose, yet so much power in how he moves forward and sings victory with his music and his art. This is likely connected to Ninth Odd Smell and Uragiru Bero - where he writes about the band’s history and his imposter syndrome as an artist despite the band never going to die just because of that. He contrasts ‘too fast to live’ and ‘too young to die’ like, he’s really in a sort of purgatory where he’s constantly making too many mistakes to be happy but has too much to do for him to give up. So it’s here that he chooses to keep going no matter how weak the beat is. Imagery-wise this feels like.....continuing to live not because you have happiness to look forward to but just out of sheer willpower. Like it’s just so angry. Angry at the world, at yourself, but carrying that anger to try to be better and move forward.”

“And Unfinished is about the fans being his reasons to live and IT MAKES ME VERY EMOTIONAL THAT THIS IS HOW THE ALBUM ENDS!!!!!!! WITH HOPE!!!!! AND MOVING FORWARD!!!!! THEY LITERALLY ENDED THEIR ALBUM THAT’S ABOUT THEM ‘MAKING THEIR MARK ON THEIR WORLD’ WITH LIGHT AND HOPE AFTER LIKE TWO STRAIGHT ALBUMS OF /DEPRESSION/. EVERYBODY GO HOME WE LOVE HEALING IN THIS HOUSE.”

AND THAT’S THE END FOLKS!!!! if you made it here thank you so much for reading my ramblings and i appreciate u so so much <3 i hope you learned something new about the gazette’s music (i sure did - it’s why i went on this marathon in the first place!!) and again i have a list of posts i might write (which will definitely be shorter than these) so! yeah! anyway!! it’s past 11pm and i have no more brain cells. thanks again love ya have a good day/night <3 <3

[shyvioletcat]

Climb - Part 1

Remember that angsty Feysand fic I mentioned? Well, I finally got around to editing some of it. This piece is long and not like anything I’ve done before. Sp please be kind. Because it is so long, I’m not making any promises about the next update but I do already have a chunk written. PS you can thank @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty and @bookofmirth for this. They convinced me to do it. PPS Timeline wise it’s like post ACOTAR into ACOMAF but modern AU.

*WARNING* This does include depictions of domestic violence.

Things hadn’t been right between Feyre and Tamlin for a while now. They were barely speaking and when they did they either fought or just progressed into a sullen silence because neither could get what they wanted from the other. Tamlin blamed it on work, he had too much to do and he was stressed. Feyre said he’d changed changed since the accident. Whatever the reason, those walls had steadily been built. 

At least that’s what Tamlin called it. An Accident.  Feyre knew the car crash hadn’t been an accident. Amarantha, Tamlin’s ex, had hit them on purpose. Sent her and Tamlin off the bridge in their car and into the river below. Feyre still had nightmares about what happened that night. She woke up drenched in sweat and shaking after dreaming about being trapped in that car in the icy waters, sinking lower and lower, her lungs getting tighter and tighter. Almost as harrowing as the actual events. Since that night Tamlin’s impulses to protect her had gone into overdrive. Feyre went almost nowhere unaccompanied, either Tamlin or his friend and employee Lucien went with her. Of late it had been Lucien more than it had been Tamlin. Work was taking up more time of his, so they had been seeing less of each other, which was only adding to the strain on their relationship. Tamlin’s solution was that Feyre work less and he had talked her into taking less shifts at the small boutique she worked at. Then to add to this she hadn’t seen her sisters in months. Feyre did all this for all the reasons Tamlin insisted on. “You’re still recovering, you should work less.” “Seeing your sisters is too stressful for you.” “That doesn’t fit with my plans, we’ll arrange it for another time.” “I work to support us, you don’t even need to have a job.” “My work is too important. I can’t change it just for you.” Feyre had felt herself switching off from the world, almost entirely. She went through the motions but she had lost that joy, that spark, the urge to do something more. Why bother? Tamlin was right in many ways. He made more than enough to support them, surely this controlling phase was only a temporary thing, Tamlin was everything she wanted and needed. Feyre often reminded herself that he was still healing too, he had experienced the same trauma. This was his way of dealing with it. But that stubborn, defiant part of Feyre still held onto her job. Mainly because it allowed her to see her best friend who owned it. Morrigan was a bit of brightness in her life she wasn’t ready to let go of. They had met at art school where Feyre was studying fine arts and Mor was studying fashion design. The had met in a sketching class Mor was taking to improve her fashion sketching skills. That very first day Mor had forgotten her pencils and had very kindly begged Feyre for one. It was that introduction that led to coffee dates, lunch dates, studying at Mor’s apartment and the best friendship Feyre had had in her life. When Mor had opened her boutique Feyre was the first person she asked to work with her. Feyre insisted she was entirely wrong for the job as she definitely was not a people person. But Mor insisted, saying that there was no one else she would rather work with. 

That’s where she was on her way to now, being driven once again by Lucien. Feyre would have driven herself except for the fact that she didn’t have her licence. That was another thing Tamlin didn’t see the point in her having. Why did she need a licence when Lucien could just drive her anywhere she wanted? Lucien pulled over in front of the boutique. “Thanks,” Feyre said grabbing her purse from the back seat. “You’re welcome,” Lucien replied. “I’ll pick you up at 5:30?” Feyre just nodded and got out of the car and headed for the door. As she reached it she took a deep breath just to ready herself a little more. “Good morning!” Mor sung from the register, a bright happy smile on her face. Which fell when Feyre’s came into view. “Sweetie, you look terrible.” “Thanks,” Feyre said, but it had no bite. “No, but really. Are you okay?” Mor followed Feyre into the back where she dropped her bag on the counter of their kitchenette area. “Yeah, me and Tam had a fight this morning.” It wasn’t the first time Feyre had used that excuse, and she sure it was not the last. Mor’s lips pursed like she was trying real hard not to say something. Feyre wasn’t in the mood to hear what it was so she deflected away from the subject. “Did that new stock come in? Want me to set it up?” Feyre asked. Mor, it seemed, was not giving up and she asked quietly, “Feyre, has he hurt you?” Feyre blanched. Tamlin hadn’t been violent… well not to her. He’d thrown things, usually things that smashed, and punched a wall a few times, but never had he touched her. “No he hasn’t,” Feyre said but Mor didn’t look convinced. “Truly, Mor. He’s not like that.” “Okay, I believe you. But if he was you can tell me. Please tell me.” Mor pulled Feyre into a quick hug. “I’ll go start unpacking the new stock,” Feyre said as she disentangled herself and set off to work. ~ It was 5:35 when Rhysand wandered up to his cousin’s boutique store. He spotted Lucien in his usual spot out the front and Rhys gave him a two finger salute, which Lucien pointedly ignored. Rhys just laughed and kept walking. Just as he was about to open the door it swung out and almost hit him in the face. “Sorry,” Feyre said, hurriedly apologising. But her face fell a bit once she realised who she’d almost hit with the door. “Oh, hi Rhys.” “Hello Feyre, darling,” Rhys said cheerily watching as the scowl spread across Feyre’s face, the on that appeared whenever Rhys used his pet name for her. “Goodbye, Rhysand,” was her reply and she was off into the awaiting car before Rhys could say anything more. But he waited and waved Feyre off as she drove away, she didn’t return it. When she was out of sight Rhys went inside. “I’m waiting for the day she knees you in the balls. I really hope I’m there to see it,” Mor said as Rhys came in. “Lock the door?” Rhys did as she asked. “Why would you wish such a thing on me?” “Because it would be funny,” Mor said simply, not taking her eyes off the computer screen at the register. Rhys came up to where Mor worked away and lent his elbows on the counter. “She looks terrible. I think she’s lost even more weight since the last time I saw her. Is she alright?” “I ask her and she says yes,” Mor said while she clicked. “Tamlin isn’t good for her. And I can’t believe Lucien just goes along with it.” “Lucien is probably just as trapped as she is,” Rhys mused. Mor shut down the computer, her face no longer illuminated but the screen. “Feyre asked me to cut her shifts down again.” Rhys let out a low curse. “I managed to cut it down to just a half day. The more she’s out of that house, the better,” Mor said. “Come on, where are you taking me for dinner?” ~ “Did you talk to your boss about cutting down your hours?” Tamlin asked as casually as he could but Feyre could hear the tenseness in his voice. “Mor, my friend, was very accommodating,” Feyre said letting the bite come through in her voice. She saw Tamlin visibly bristle. “So just two days a week?” He said just before he took a bite. “Two and a half,” Feyre replied, shifting the food around her plate. “I thought we’d agreed on two.” Feyre put down her fork. “You decided on two. Mor and I compromised on two and a half because she needs my help, and I’m her employee and friend.” “I need Lucien free another full day. Not half a day.” Tamlin snapped back. “Well Mor needs me. I certainly don’t need Lucien to chauffeur me around,” Feyre snapped right back at him. “You don’t need that job,” anger laced each one of Tamlin’s words. Feyre knew that the rein on his temper was slackening. “But I want it,” Feyre said, her voice raising a little in response to his. “This isn’t about what you want Feyre!” Tamlin yelled, and slammed his fists on the table making a Feyre jump. “This is about what I need. I need Lucien back at work, preferably full time. But because you have this stupid fixation on this job you don’t need I’m down one man half the week. I support us, I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t give up this one thing for me?” “You can’t have everything your way all the time. I’ve had enough of this,” Feyre said as she stood the leave the table. But Tamlin grabbed her forearm before she could even make it more than half a step “This discussion isn’t over,” Tamlin hissed back fiercely. “Lucien doesn’t…” Feyre started, her temper rising, but Tamlin slammed his free hand down on the table cutting of what she was about to say. Feyre jumped but didn’t go far as Tamlin still held her arm in a vice like grip. It was tight enough that it hurt which made Feyre look at it. Her arm was so small compared to his hand, like Tamlin could easily snap it like a brittle stick. That fire in Feyre guttered out and she said quietly, “Tam, you’re hurting me.” He immediately let go and sat back down in his chair, Feyre did likewise. There was a look of guilt on Tamlin’s face, his remorse evident. “I won’t,” Tamlin yelled but then he dropped his voice, “I won’t leave you unprotected. She… she could still have people out there who want to hurt you. Hurt us.” Feyre leaned her head back. It was the same argument they’d had a thousand times. This was always the point where they came to a stand still. Where Tamlin made it about his love for her, his need to make sure she was safe overrode everything. How was Feyre supposed to question that? He reached out his hand palm up, the same hand that he had slammed on the table, “Can you please ask Mor again about cutting your hours back. Please.” Feyre looked at his hand, then to Tamlin’s face. He was pleading with his eyes like a lost puppy in need of a home. Feyre was his home, and he was hers. She put her hand in his. “I’ll try.” ~ She was trapped the icy water rising higher and higher. Tamlin was there, his head bleeding from the impact. The water was up to her chin now, seconds before it would be to her mouth and she’d be under. She tried to fight it, she thrashed but it only made her sink faster. She tasted the water, she screamed… Feyre woke with a jolt, her body both hot and cold at the same time, making her feel sick. So sick she almost didn’t make it to the toilet before she vomited. When she’d finished Feyre just lay down on the bathroom floor, savouring the coolness of the tiles on her skin. It grounded her, linked her to something in the real world. Tamlin didn’t come in, he never did. He never even woke up the times she managed to stay in bed. Looking up at the small window Feyre saw that the sun was already up. Deciding that she would just get up instead of going back to bed she headed for shower. Today was her first half day for Mor and she still felt a little bad about it so she wanted to get to work a little early. On shaky legs she stood and turned the shower on. It was while she was reaching for the tap that she saw her arm. Where Tamlin had gripped her was turning purple, undeniably finger imprints. So far just a very light discolouring but Feyre knew a developing bruise when she saw one. She tried to ignore it as she showered, but her eyes kept wandering to the marks. Every time she did her gut clenched and she felt sick all over again, or maybe it was because the shower was too hot, or maybe lingering nausea from the nightmare. Whatever the reason, once Feyre was out of the shower she was vomiting again, sweating and shaking in the aftermath. She rinsed her mouth out at the sink and brushed her teeth to get rid of the acidic taste. When Feyre looked up into the steam edged mirror she barely recognised herself. Beneath her eyes was purple and she had lost much the fullness she once had in her face. Her eyes were dull and lifeless as she stared at herself. Who was this shell of a person she had become? ~ “Feyre, is… are things okay? I mean, do you feel okay?” Lucien’s clumsy question had Feyre subconsciously pulling down the sleeve of her sweater. “Everything is grand,” was her monotoned reply. Lucien glanced over from the drivers seat, not believing a word she’d said. She hadn’t expected him to. If anyone, it was Lucien who had the best understanding of what her life was like. “I told Tamlin that I didn’t mind driving you, and that I didn’t mind taking the few days off.” Hid voice was sympathetic. “What did he say?” Feyre asked. Lucien shook his head, “Just told me he needed me back at work and…” Lucien clamped his mouth shut. “And?” Feyre pushed. “Just tell me. I’ve probably heard it before.” Lucien let out a heavy sigh, “And that you didn’t need the job anyway, so what did it matter.” “Yep, heard that one before,” Feyre said as she looked out the window. “I think this job is a good thing. Being locked up in that house won’t do you any good.” Lucien’s voice was gentle, sincere. Which was enough to give Feyre the confidence to ask, “Why is he like this?” Lucien sighed. “He’s had… issues since what happened to his family. Then the accident, it made things so much worse for him and brought a lot of things back to the surface. He feels like he failed his family. He was too young to really have done anything to help them but he can’t get over that. Tamlin couldn’t protect his family but he can protect you. He loves you.” Sympathy roiled in her in Feyre’s gut, along with shame and anger. The only time she had seen Tamlin cry was when he’d told her about the fire that had killed everyone in his family, except for him. He’d been 17, his mother had asked him to grab some batteries for the smoke alarms on his way back from school as ones in the house needed replacing. He’d kissed her on the cheek and promised he would. But instead he had gone to a party. The fire department couldn’t determine if the alarms had gone off or not as the damage was too extensive, but because no one had managed to make it out in time they assumed the worse. Tamlin had blamed himself for the last ten years. His guilt and anger simmering inside him. Of course he’d want to protect Feyre as much as could, of course the accident would make him sensitive, how could Feyre fault him? But she was angry. Angry and how his actions had led to her being so lonely, isolated and unhappy. He’d closed her off from everyone except Mor, and even then he was trying his hardest to cut that final tie. Lucien pulled over outside the boutique. “Give him time, Feyre,” Lucien said as he stared at nothing in particular. “Give him time and he’ll be himself again.” Feyre didn’t say anything. Didn’t even nod. She just got out of the car and went inside the store. Feyre went to call a greeting to Mor but she stopped dead when saw who was casually leaning on the counter. “Good morning, Feyre,” there was a pause and Feyre rolled her eyes as she went to drop her bag in the back. Then she heard, “darling.” Feyre just walked back out and folded her arms across her chest. “Where’s Mor?” “The polite response is ‘good morning Rhys, you’re looking very handsome this morning’,” he said with a smirk. Feyre gave him a long look. Rhys pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger once, “Mor had bad cramps this morning so she asked me to open up. She said she’d be in before your shift ends though.” Feyre’s stomached dropped, as the implications of what Rhysand had said hit her. She didn’t even notice when he came to stand in front of her, dangling the keys in front of her face. He said something but she didn’t hear it. Rhys touched her arm that had fallen by her side and Feyre flinched. “What’s wrong?” There was concern on Rhys’ face as Feyre put a step of distance in between them. Feyre shook her head trying to shake away the thoughts in her head, “Sorry. What did you say?” “I asked you what’s wrong,” Rhys’ brows were furrowed now. “No before that,” Feyre said with an awkward wave of her hand. “Mor said I should give you the keys and leave the store in your very capable hands,” Rhys explained, again. Rhys offered Feyre the keys again and she took them, “Thanks.” Then she went to the register to boot up the systems but she saw Rhys already had. When she looked up Rhys was on the other side of the counter. “What?” Feyre snapped. “I know I’m not your favourite person Feyre, but regardless I still care for you…” Feyre didn’t want to hear another word out of Rhys’ mouth, she knew what the next question would be. “I. Am. Fine. Why does everyone keep asking if I’m alright?” Just for something to do fiddled with the few bits of stationary on the counter that were fine where they were. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” There was an edge in Rhys’ voice Feyre had never heard before. “Excuse me?” Feyre knew exactly what he was talking about, but still his words hurt. “I think I’ve got it from here. You can go.” Rhys looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut and shook his head. Feyre turned to the computer screen, doing nothing, just pretending to be busy. “I gotta get to work. Have a good day Feyre.” Feyre didn’t watch Rhys go but she heard him leave, the bell jingling as he closed the door behind him. It was only then that Feyre sat down on the stool behind her, taking in deep breaths. Mor wasn’t in because she was at home with period cramps. Feyre knew that if Mor didn’t get onto the painkillers early enough her cramps would be bad. Mor was usually super prepared because Feyre always, always, got her period first. Mor called Feyre her dooms day clock. When Feyre’s period came Mor would joke about prepping for her own upcoming doom. But Feyre hadn’t got her period. Her being late could mean absolutely nothing. She’d been late before, multiple times. It could be anything from her bad diet, to her lack of sleep, or her undeniable weight loss. It still didn’t stop her from asking Lucien to stop by the chemist on the way home. Mor arrived, as promised, 15 minutes before Feyre’s half day shift was supposed to end. Mor blustered in like a whirlwind, complaining about being a woman and what not. When she noticed how quiet Feyre was she stopped and enquired if Feyre was feeling okay. Feyre insisted she was but asked if she could leave a little early. Mor agreed, of course, told Feyre to call her later and kissed her cheek. Feyre nodded and left and jumped in the car. “Can we go by the chemist?” Feyre asked and she clicked in her seatbelt. Lucien checked his watch, “Does it have to be now? I’ve got to get to work as soon as I can.” “Yes,” Feyre said. “What do you need. Alis is coming tomorrow morning. Maybe she can pick it up for you.” Feyre leaned her head against the back of seat. Of course thus wasn’t going to be easy. “It’s for lady’s things, Lucien. And I need them now.” “Oh,” Lucien said with no hint of embarrassment, more like understanding. “Sure thing. I dint even want to go into work today anyway. The less time I spend there the better.” Lucien parked behind the chemist and waited in the car while Feyre went inside, asking her to grab him a chocolate bar or something. Feyre nodded and went inside. Now she was standing in the feminine products isle staring at all the boxes. Feyre had no idea what she was looking for. There were the classic sticks, but then there were strips and digital tests. Feyre rubbed at her face. She could feel herself chickening out and she was about to bolt when a voice behind her. “Can I help?” It was a kindly looking middle aged woman with a basket of stock she must be putting away. Feyre felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Um, I want to buy a test,” Feyre said as she indicated weakly at the shelves. “Ah,” the woman said as she shifted the basket to sit on her hip. “Is it for you?” “No. For a friend.” Feyre didn’t know why she said that. She wiped her palm on her thigh as she felt the sweat start to build. “Ok, well,” the woman browsed the shelves for a moment, fingers wiggling, “this one is probably the best.” Feyre took the box from the woman with a quick Thanks. She looked down at the box, a big bubble read ‘early detection with weeks indicator’ and turned out it was a digital one too. Not risking the chance of chickening out once she actually had what she needed Feyre grabbed some pads and tampons and headed to the checkout. She blindly grabbed whatever chocolate bar was closest. “Can you put the test in the bottom of the bag?” Feyre asked. The person at the checkout nodded and Feyre pulled out her wallet from her hand bag. Feyre sighed in relief when she saw she had enough cash to pay for her things, she’d rather not have Tamlin ask questions about her purchase. If he looked at her accounts, which wouldn’t be the first time, she didn’t want him asking questions. Feyre got her change and made her way back to the car, pulling out the chocolate bar as she went. Lucien was on his phone when Feyre slipped back into the car, her heart skipped a beat. “Did you tell Tamlin where we’d stopped?” Lucien gave her a quizzical look, “No. I was just checking my expanse of social media. Should I not?” “If you could not tell him, I’d really appreciate it. Please.” “Okay… I guessed I just stopped for petrol then.” “Thanks.” Feyre ignored Lucien trying to catch her eye, trying to ask more questions. But Feyre ignored him, ignored him until he drove through the gates of Tamlin’s house, ignored him until got out of the car and walked into the quiet and still house. ~ Feyre sat on the edge of the bath just watching as the timer on her phone counted down. This test only took three minutes. The timer said 1 minute 30 seconds. She was half way. Feyre just focused on her breathing. Each breath passing another second. The alarm blared and Feyre jumped, almost falling backwards into the tub. She picked up the stick off the sink, hand shaking. Pregnant 2-3 weeks The test clattered as it hit the floor. Feyre just stared at it, the result conveniently facing up at her. She, apparently, was pregnant. 2-3 weeks. It made sense, sex was the only thing in their relationship that her and Tamlin excelled at. Their various other forms of communication had completely disintegrated, but their love making it was soothed both of them and connected them in more than just a physical sense. That was until the euphoria wore off and they were back exactly where they had been. Feyre grabbed the test from the floor and put it back in the box, and then back in the bag from the chemist. Then she dropped it all on the floor and kicked it under the bed before she climbed into it. She didn’t move and just waited for the darkness and oblivion to take her.

~~~~~

Notes: Like I said in my little opening blurb this angst kind of fic is not my usual thing. I grew up in a very conservative household, so unfortunately a lot of my creative flair was restricted for appearances sake. I very clearly remember being told “If you write something like that what will people think of you?” So I always shied away from anything that wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Even all these years later all you can find on my page is an abundance of fluff and not much else. Definitely not looking for a pity card here, just spreading my wings finally. I wanted to extend myself even though it makes me hella nervous. So PLEASE be kind. 

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @galyxsy @tangledraysofsunshine @highqueenofelfhame @maastrash

[razorblade180]

Scrappy

[Lasting Embers universe]

Deep in the forest of of Menagerie an obstacle course as been set up for a group of individuals; all of them in black cammo pants and form fitting black t-shirts. Men and women crawling under wire, balance beams sprints, monkey bars, and worst of all a rope. This extended 75ft in the air with a bell that few can reach; including a sixteen year old white tiger faunus that was currently covered in mud.

Ilia:Come on rookie!!!!! You’re not even half way up there yet and I can tell you’re drenched and about to pass out. If you can’t do this then I don’t even know why you bothered showing up to boot camp!!!

Sienna:*inching up* Come on Sienna, you got this. So what if you’re tired? Doesn’t change the distance or the goal, just....keep....climbing.

Various recruits scream various things that are both positive and negative as instructed. Others toss small mud balls to add to the difficulty.

“You can do it!”

“Just fall already!!!!”

“Give it up runt! You’re the smallest here.”

“Show him what you’re made of!”

“Miner kid....”

That one caught her attention. She looked to her right to see a smug recruit on the ground staring at her with his red eyes. He was a stocky and in his early twenties. Brown hair and a scar across his face were all that really made him look interesting. Sienna would’ve gave him another one if she was allowed to.

Sienna:Of course Damon is trying to shoot me down. *climbs harder*

Damon:Aww don’t ignore me. Did I say something rude miner? That word should mean nothing to you right. *chucks mud ball*

Sienna:*blocks it* Fuck off......

Ilia:Language! You all might be thugs and mercenaries at heart but that doesn’t mean you get to act like it. Being apart of The Shadows means-

Recruits:Using ruthless lifestyle skills to uphold the honest living of others.

Ilia:I will give you all 50 more laps if you do that again.

Damon:That little mission statement is fine and all but does that even apply to kitty over here? Last time I checked this organization is supposed to have the most lethal people around and here we have a kid that doesn’t even a semblance. Can’t even smoke.

Sienna:Considering how my scores are better than yours, me not having a semblance should make you feel happy; it give you a chance to keep up with me. If breathing is still possible for you; might wanna quit while you can Mr. Mercenary.

Damon:*grits teeth*

Ilia:If you can talk then you can climb! Hurry up before I start chucking mud at you myself.

She did as she was told and picked up the pace as best as she could. Her arms felt like fire and the mud drying on her wasn’t helping. By the half way point things were slightly better; dodging mud was easier when none could travel that high up. Until one actually did make that far and landed right on her face; smacking her off the rope like if a baseball hit her.

Recruits:*catch her* Are you okay?

Sienna:Ow....what was up with the mu- *picks it up*

It’s as dense as a literal baseball and perfectly round for a moment before falling apart like normal mud. Her icy blue dart towards Damon as he tries not laugh; the recruits back up as they notice her pupils slowly get more cat like as they hear a low growl.

Damon:What’s wrong kitty cat? You seem a bit a bit ruffled. I’m just trying to bring out the best in you; a person with no semblance should work twice as hard to even get close enough to the same skill as someone who does. Think of it as real life experience.

Sienna:*gets up* The nurses will get real life experience stitching you up when I wrip out your-

Ilia:Enough! Both of you.

Sienna:Me!? But he’s the one who-

Ilia:Sienna, just walk away. I will handle this myself now go hit the showers.

Sienna:......*walks away frustrated*

Damon:That’s it? I expected more from you. I guess being oppressed and underground for so long made you used to being beneath others. Anyone else here would at least try putting me in my place. You however, I guess your just a runt after all. Bet your family pulled your weight in the mines.....

Sienna’s footsteps immediately stopped and pivoted around. Before Ilia could even register what was about to happen it was too late. The young Shadow in training was already passed her and swiping at the older man with close out and dangerously sharp. Each attack filled with rage as they failed to connect with her target that was reading her like a play book with ease. If she was thinking then it would’ve been clear a match with a seasoned mercenary wasn’t going to be some walk in the part. A quick jab to her nose and a foot ramming into her ribs made the message clear with obvious pain now shooting through her. His boots felt like straight steel.

Damon:Oh so you do have fighting spirit? Or at least try to that is....

Sienna:I’LL SHOW YOU FIGHTING SPIRIT!!!! *leaps at him*

Damon:*catches and throws her* Geez you’re like a rag doll. Light and totally flimsy. *puts boot on her* I’ll admit you have guts but that’s about all you-gah!!!!

Sienna:*clawing his leg* Do you ever shut up? Your voice is hurting my ears.

She manages to get her right leg in between both of his and wrap it around the punks leg from behind; her left leg does the same but wraps around the front of it like a vice. All of her wait is focused on driving her legs to the ground, causing the man to fall and put into a leg lock. Bone and muscle can be heard through the painful grunts from both fighters.

Sienna:I’ll break it, I swear I will.

Damon:*smiles* I believe you....

Suddenly the ground below them gets harder as he raises his pinned leg and slams it against the ground. Sienna’s head smacks the floor hard, everything gets blurry. Then everything got dark.....

[Oasis]

Jacquelyn:*watering flowers* hmmm hmm🎶

Jael:*running*Moooooom!

Jacquelyn:Hey there sweetheart *picks her up* why are you running? You know it’s dangerous for you.

Jael:Mom, I’m ten years old. I know my limits *pouts*

Jacquelyn:I know you’re upset right now but your pudgy cheeks are too adorable to take you seriously. *hugging her*

Jael:Agh, you’re squeezing too tight! I was running because you have a call!!!! *holds up scroll.* stop leaving your scroll around.

Jacquelyn:I got a call? That’s rare *answers* Hello, Jackie Frost speaking. Oh hi Ilia!!! How is training the-.....

Jael:???

Jacquelyn:SHE’S WHAT!?

[Infirmary]

Boot camp was a lot of things, unprepared wasn’t one of them. You don’t get together some of the most aggressive people the world has to offer without proper medical care. Breaking without consequences is another thing that isn’t tolerated as Sienna is learning. Only moments ago did she wake up to find herself with bandages around her head and in a hospital bed; also her left arm handcuffed to it. Everyone was about to be treated to a loud scream from the girl who wanted answers but thankfully Ilia walked in before Sienna got the chance.

Ilia:Well look who’s finally awake? The troublemaker herself.

Sienna:ME!? I- ow...*holds her head*

Ilia:Woah there...*leans her back* Try not to scream or move around idiot. Concussions don’t like those things.

Sienna:N...noted, damn that Damon. Slamming me into mud wasn’t good enough; he had to make it hard as stone. I wouldn’t be surprised if the fall off the rope caused this either.

Ilia:I hear you blaming Damon but yet not yourself. This could’ve been avoided if you walked away. He was already gonna be punished but you had to escalate the situation didn’t you?

Sienna:But-

Ilia:No buts Sienna!

Sienna:.......

Ilia:In a mission you are expected to follow orders to the letter without hesitation. No matter what he said about you, disobeying me was the wrong call. Again and again your temper clouds your judgement; can you guess how many times I’ve seen you get into a fight.

Sienna:.......are we counting my whole life or just boot camp?

Ilia:Sigh......I think I should opt you out of Shadow training.

Her blood went cold at those words. If it wasn’t for the concussion, Sienna would’ve been shaking her head in denial and protest.

Sienna:You....you can’t do that. I’ve passed all tests, making the grades, honing my skills, I-

Ilia:You are young and hot headed. Not to mention filled with so much potential to do anything with your life. Damon is right about you not being like everyone else. Yes you’ve seen the worst of what this world has to offer since you were six but only as a victim. These people are used to being the thieves, spies, and murderers. Hands like yours shouldn’t be tainted like that. Especially when your family-

Sienna:Foster family...... I love them but that title is very important to me; it separates the past from the present. Also, are you forgetting I already have one person’s blood on my hands? *stares at them*

Ilia:That was self defense.

Sienna:Don’t care, they’re dead and I have to live with it. Those mines.....those stupid isolation rooms and “treatment’ programs. *clenches teeth* No way I could just go live some ordinary life after that. I’m only alive because clung to it and killed the part of me that could’ve lived normally. Guess in that phrasing then it means I killed two people that day. If I become a Shadow then I can stop horrible people from causing pain before they get the chance. I can stop more people like me from being shaped by such trauma. So please.... *tears up* don’t take me out the program. It’s my dream.

Ilia:.....I-

“Let her stay”

Both of them look towards the door to see Adam standing there with his arms crossed and learning against the door frame. Instantly Sienna’s ears and head drop down in guilt; upset with herself for causing such a mess that the leader of the whole organization swooped by.

Ilia:Shouldn’t you be laying low and doing paperwork?

Adam:Everyone here is sworn to secrecy and it’s not like those papers are going anywhere. *walks forward* Sienna......

Sienna:*Looking away* Yes sir......?

Adam:What’s with the formalities? It’s just us in here. Let’s try this again *slowly turns her head* Sienna.....

Sienna:.....Yeah dad?

Adam:It’s starting to feel like we see each other during lectures than at dinner.

Sienna:Maybe because you’re not home half the time....

Adam:Fair point, but you get what I’m saying right? Take it from me, short tempers get you into nothing but trouble that could’ve avoided entirely.

Sienna:It’s just....all the things he kept saying I....I can’t stand being weak. I’m the youngest there, no semblance, and completely wet behind the ears like he said. Still, I hate how he looked down on me. I know my grades should speak for themselves but they don’t.

Adam:I see, respect is what you wanted. Validation of all the effort you’ve put in. Tell me, is something like that really worth it from someone like him? Not only is he also a recruit but his scores are lower than yours despite his advantages. Do you know why?

Sienna:I want it more than he does.

Adam:Precisely, in this world you got so far by having a hunger to keep going like no one else; it was press on or lay dead on the bloody floor. Not many can do what you did at such a young age. As far as I’m concerned he’s right about not being like the rest; you’re better.

Sienna:*red*.......

Adam:Not to mention you got a pretty big heart that genuinely wants to help the best way it knows how. As a parent the path you’ve chosen scares me, but as your future boss I hope when I’m long gone that someone like you can continue keeping things on the straight and narrow. Before all that though you still need to graduate. How will you do that?

Sienna:*takes a breath* Following orders.....and learning to keep calm like Ilia says. I’m sorry dad.

Adam:I’m not the one who needs an apology.

Sienna:Ilia, I’m sorry for being such a handful. May I please stay in the program?

Ilia:......You’ll be on leave for two weeks. Just enough time for all the work you’re gonna miss to be annoying; also enough time to put you through horrific drills after your head heals. But yes you can stay. One day for sure I’m gonna make a fine Shadow out of you.

Sienna:*smiles* There’s not a doubt in my mind you will ma’am!

Ilia:Ugh, I feel so old when you say that. By the way your punishment begins now; I called your mom.

Sienna:You did wha-

Jacquelyn:*runs through door* Sienna!!!! Oh thank goodness you’re okay and- *gasp* Is that my darling husband!?

Sienna:Wow mom, I feel the love and concern right now...

Jael:*runs in* Sissy!

Sienna:Hey there kiddo! Oh I’ve missed you while I was at camp.

Jael:*sits on bed* Well maybe if you wrote letters then you’d miss me less. You’re as bad as Father!

Adam:Ouch.....right here.

Jael:*smiles* I know, why is my sister handcuffed?

Sienna:Don’t worry about it. I was misbehaving and they had to.

Jael:Hmph! That’s dumb...

Jael grabs the chain and squeezes tight. Soon after, her hand glows and she snaps snaps it easily. Sienna is amazed every time she sees her little sister discover how to use her semblance. Gravity control is a very useful thing to have.

Jael:All better! Whoever did that to you has to face me!

Ilia:It was me you little rascal.

Jael:Aunt Ilia? Fine, I meant went I said! *puts fists up*

Sienna:Looks like I’m not the only one with fighting spirit.

Ilia:I hope she doesn’t have an explosive temper like her big sis. *smiles* the world isn’t ready for that.

Adam:I’ll say, me or the world isn’t ready for that force of nature yet.

Jael:Please, like I’ll ever be as hot head as you two. I’m as cool as they come.

[six years later, hospital]

Sienna:*watching over a comatose Adam* If you don’t head out soon you’ll miss your boat to Beacon.

Jael:I’m leaving now. *opens door*

Sienna:Jael......don’t do anything reckless you hear me? You’re as cool as they come remember?

Jael:.......I thought I was. *leaves*

Sienna:I don’t know if you can hear me dad but please watch over her. Guess I wasn’t a very good role model.

Nothing was said after that, it wasn’t like she expected a response anyway. She began to close her eyes and hold her hands together. Sienna was never one to pray often, but this was too important to take any chances with. Selling her own wouldn’t be a bad price to pay if she could.

Sienna:Please.....don’t let her end up like me or the rest of us. Keep her hands clean....

[pkucin01-blog]

Prompt: Since being diagnosed with a rare blood condition, you have required regular transfusions. This lead to discovering an unexpected ability to glimpse memories of the donor & while you came to enjoy this window into other people’s lives, the memories of your latest infusion has left you...troubled

                I closed my eyes as the nurse inserted the needle into my arm. A sudden pinch was soon met by a familiar chill as normal saline began to flow through my veins. I couldn’t bear to watch this part of the process, no matter how many times I’ve had to endured it. I turned my head to face the window. Sunlight billowed through the pains of glass, engulfing my face in a warm embrace. Once the I.V site was established, the nurse began her craft. Out of the corner of my shut eye, I saw she hung a red bag of blood, which glowed a crimson red in the afternoon sun. The tension in my forearm lessened. The blood was heated to body temperature, which brought slight reprieve to the cold sting radiating up my right arm. The worst was over. I opened my eyes once again.

                This procedure was far from unfamiliar. For the past 11 months, I have been receiving treatment for Thalassemia - a genetic condition normally inherited at birth. However, this is not a trait my parents carried. After a traumatic work accident, I underwent massive reconstruction surgeries to save my life. It was like my body was undergoing a midlife crisis. I received a new liver, a new spleen and new bone marrow. I do not remember the accident itself. After months spent in a coma and countless surgeries, I find myself alive, albeit a half-life. New organs weren’t the only thing I received. A rare blood disorder was also transferred to me. My body can no longer produce adequate hemoglobin levels.  Along with a dozen different daily medications added to my regimen, I must now also receive bi-weekly blood transfusions to function at near-normal levels. It is a small price to pay to remain in this world. However, there is one silver lining which no one could have predicted. One that I have told no one about, out of fear the doctors may confuse it for a mental deficit. I can SEE into the memories of those whose blood I receive.

                It is a crazy notion, I know. I first experienced it when the transfusions started. Initially I was scared, thinking it was a side effect from all the pain medication I was receiving. However, after several sessions, I realized it for what it was; someone else’s reality. Flashes of people’s lives overcame my vision, much akin to wearing a virtual reality headset. I was still aware of my surroundings while simultaneously experiencing a film play out before my eyes. I could hear, see and even FEEL what was unfolding before me. A birthday. A cake. Happiness. Childhood. Gifts. Sadness. Loss. Where is dad? Why isn’t dad coming to my party? Crying. Suddenly, back in the treatment room. The nurse disconnecting my I.V site. It was over as quickly as it started. After awhile, I went from being frightened of these episodes to being outright ecstatic at the promise of what they would bring; a break from my own life. I found solace in this escape. It quickly became the highlight of my week. It was like a T.V series to me, and I wanted to binge every episode.

                I have come to call these episodes “mind movies”. Most vary in intensity, depending on how strongly the memory lies in the owner’s mind. A man barbequing at a party, a feeling of intoxication and happiness filling my body as he sips a beer, unable to make out what is happening in the foreground. A woman having a first dance at her wedding, feelings of overwhelming joy trickling down to my very bones as her father gazes on lovingly. A mother yelling at her son for leaving the kitchen a mess, annoyance bubbling up from my chest. The more infusions I receive, the deeper I want to go. I sometimes find myself slowing my infusion rate when the nurse isn’t looking, in the hopes the mind movie lasts just a little bit longer. I crave it. I need it. I need my release.

                The sun which is beating on my face begins to cool.  The nurse adjusts setting on the I.V pump. The blood is circulating around my veins, finding its way to my heart. My vison slips to darkness before me. Ahhhhh, so it begins. Like curtains drawing before me, the main feature is about to start. The treatment room fades to black. Then…a piercing cold meets my cheek. A cement floor presses against my face. I am under a bed in a dark room. A sharp pain in my feet. Looking down, I barely make out the ropes bound around my ankles, securing me to the bedpost. Bruises old and new surround the site. I have been here for some time. In the distance, a loud creaking escapes from the hinges of a shelter door. Sunlight slips into the room. I get a glimpse of my soundings. I blink sunspots out of my eyes. I am in an underground cement room. No windows. No furniture. Water leaking down the wall. At its’ base, a pool of partially dried blood. A metal door directly adjacent to my location. The sound of someone. Some…thing, climbing down what sounded like a metal ladder. The door slams shut. The light quickly vacates the room. Darkness once again. Foot steps approach. Fear fills every fiber of my being. My body shakes uncontrollably. Every inch of my body begins to ache, as old wounds remember repeated trauma. The foot steps get closer. I gasp for air. My heart beats faster…and faster. The footsteps stop.  I hear Keys jingling. The door creaks open. A pair of muddy black boots enter the room. They find their way to the bed. They turn to face me. Suddenly, a tool box drops to the floor. Knives, hammers, whips and all sorts of instruments of torture slams on the floor with a loud bang. I let out a blood curdling scream…

                Sir, sir SIR, are you okay? I open my eyes. I am back into the treatment room. A nurse bending over me. A blood pressure cuff squeezing my bicep, a stethoscope pressing against my arm. I am drenched in sweat. I blink repeatedly at the sun blazing threw the window. I welcome its presence. The nurse jots something down onto her note pad. She presses a call bell and summons an overhead response. More nurses and doctors come. They give me some I.V medicine, unhook me from the infusion pump and wheel me over to a bed. They lay me supine. I try to find my breath. My mind is racing. Who was that? What had happened to them? How did I get that person’s blood? I never want to feel those feelings again. I flew too close to the sun. But I know that I cannot avoid the infusions. The only other option is death. But is that worse than that cement room?

[ernmark]

Fragment of Memory (part 3)

That’s right, folks, we’ve got another one.

Remember, this is a horror story, so things get intense. 

Part 1 | Part 2

That night, Juno dreams about hallways. 

Not marble and wood, but red stone worn smooth by ten thousand years, lit up on all sides by glowing hieroglyphics that seem to whisper and move as he walks past them. Between steps, the scene shifts, and he’s walking past riveted steel and the pale circle of a flashlight on poured concrete floors. The smell of burnt flesh and wet earth shifts into the oily stench of diesel fumes and then back again. 

There’s someone beside him, but he can’t see their face. 

He’s looking for something, but he doesn’t know what. 

And just past the edge of his vision, something is watching him.

“Well,” Ramses says at their next meeting. “You’re looking better.”

“Not a lot to do besides play dress-up,” Juno mutters. After he found his way back into his room last night, he locked the door behind him, and then locked himself in the bathroom for good measure, clutching the straight razor from the medicine cabinet like it was a dagger. At some point after its angles left indentations in his palms and his hand started to cramp, he started feeling a little ridiculous, so he started actually shaving with the damn thing like an adult. It helped, actually: there was something grounding about working a hair treatment into his scalp, shaving his legs, brushing his teeth, scrubbing the accumulated oil off his face. He even considered putting on a bit of cologne. He might not remember the last time he groomed himself properly, but the actions were comforting in their familiarity, too mundane to exist in the same world as invisible monsters. “Would it be the end of the world if I got a book to read or something?” 

Ramses chuckles. “Starting to regret your bare bones decorating?” 

“I’m sure it came in real handy when I actually had things to do with my time,” Juno says, trying not to sound testy. “Speaking of which, any idea how long it’s gonna take your people to get my memories back?”

“It’s going to take time.��� Ramses’ answer feels a little too rote, a little too practiced to be sincere. He mulls over his next words before he lays them out. “Juno, are you sure that would be wise?”

What kind of a question is that? “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

Ramses folds his hands over the desk in a motion as ritualized and familiar as shaving had been for Juno. “Because you took the Lotos for a reason.”

The words hang in the air, thick enough to crush Juno in their gravity. “Do you know why?”

“No,” Ramses says. “But I know you were determined to forget or die trying.” He steeples his fingers. “You’ve always been reckless, Juno, but in the weeks before you took the Lotos, your behavior turned erratic. You were a danger to yourself and everyone around you. You turned off the extraneous functions in your eye to reduce some of the stress, but it didn’t help.” Ramses sits back, distancing himself from the words. “Whatever it was that pushed you over the edge, I believe it’s better forgotten.”

The haggard face from the video flashes back into Juno’s mind. 

There are some things you’re better off knowing, okay? Just… trust me.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Juno asks. “How am I supposed to do my job if I don’t remember a goddamn thing about my life?”

“You were my employee, Juno, and you were hurt in my home. I’m not about to leave you out to dry.” 

“And what am I supposed to do about that thing in the hallways?”

Well, that’s not a look he was wanting to see on Ramses’ face. “Juno, what are you talking about?”

“The thing!” Juno’s voice rises. “The invisible thing with the cold hands that keeps following me around. The one that disappears when the lights come on.”

Ramses has one hell of a poker face, but it still takes him a second to put it on. That’s plenty of time for Juno to recognize concern and dismay on his face. “Juno, there’s nothing out there.”

“Yes, there is,” Juno snaps. “It keeps saying my name. It keeps trying to grab me.” 

“Juno--”

“I know what I heard.”

Ramses takes a steadying breath. “I believe you, Juno. But you have to understand, the things you feel and hear might not be real.”

“I’m not crazy--”

“I never said you were,” Ramses says, so firm that there’s no room to argue. “The drug you took was designed to interfere with the workings of the brain, and your body is still processing it. What you’re experiencing might be no more than a few misplaced fragments of memory without context to tether them to.”

Some of the fire goes out of Juno. “I... guess that makes sense.”

“It’s not an uncommon side effect with Lotos,” Ramses says, softer. “If it’s more intense than usual in your case, it’s only because of your dose. But this is normal, Juno.”

This is normal.

“The things you’re seeing aren’t real.” 

It isn’t real.

“It will go away on its own if you give it time.”

Juno keeps walking. His eyes are fixed straight ahead. His pace is slow enough that he’s never too deep into the dark before the motion sensors light up the next patch of hallway. He marks his trail by opening every door he passes and leaving them ajar, taking mental note of the things he finds inside: bedrooms, drawing rooms, utility closets, more branching hallways. He’s going to figure out his way around this goddamn mansion, and no stupid hallucinations are going to get in his way. 

Even if he can hear footsteps creeping up behind him, irregular and eerie. 

“That you, Evelyn?” he calls over his shoulder without looking back. If it’s really her, then she’ll  answer him. If it’s not, then it isn’t real.

It doesn’t call back.

“Juno...”

“You’re not real,” Juno calls over his shoulder, and he keeps walking. There’s a darker patch on the red marble; in the dim light, it looks too much like a pool of blood. He steps around it, just to be safe.

He must be getting closer to the kitchen or something, because a smell hits his nose, faint but unmistakable. It’s familiar, but he can’t place it. Not quite floral, not quite food. A spice, maybe, but he can’t place what it is or where it’s from. It feels familiar, though. Maybe he’s eaten it before. Or--

No. No, that’s not food. That’s cologne. But not Ramses’ cologne, or the stuff that Evelyn wears. 

Someone else. Something else.

He pushes open the door. Maybe the kitchen was a better guess, because in place of the red marble and dark wood is an expanse of riveted steel. 

He frowns and starts to step through when a hand closes on his shoulder.

“Mister Steel,” says Evelyn. “I need to ask you not to go down there.”

“Jeez,” Juno mutters, trying to uncoil his fingers from their fists. He almost slugged the woman. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, will you?” 

Evelyn’s expression is unreadable “You need to stay away from there,” she repeats. “We have a lot of complex machinery down that way, and you no longer have the proper safety protocols. You could get yourself hurt.”

She’s close enough that he can recognize notes of cinnamon in her perfume. It’s ordinary. Familiar. Not the same scent he caught before.

“Sure. Whatever you say. By the way, was there somebody else down here a minute ago?” Juno asks. 

“There shouldn’t have been.”  She frowns. “But I can check the schedule if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” Juno says distantly. “That sounds great.”

The dreams keep coming back. 

The hallways stretch on forever, miles upon miles of steel and stone and sewage, the mixing smells so thick they leave him nauseous.  

There are people beside him, until he turns around and they’re gone, snatched into the dark while screams echo around him.

He sees monsters at the edge of the light-- the features of an old woman sliding haphazardly over a boneless form-- his own face leering back at him from the body of a shark-- a little girl crying into her hands until she looks up at him with a mocking smile. 

Every morning Juno wakes drenched in sweat.

He keeps trying to tell himself it’s just a dream. Just a dream.

But dammit, he can’t make his heart stop pounding. He tries to huddle under the shelter of his blankets, but they feel impossibly restrictive and constraining, less like a shield and more like something trying to squeeze the life out of him. Frustrated, he throws them over the edge of the bed.

Just a dream.

The clock on his comms says it’s two in the afternoon, and Juno’s just gonna have to take it at its word. With nobody around and no windows to let in natural light, it might as well be two in the morning. He keeps darting from one pool of light to the next, clutching his comms and hoping that the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall are his own.

“Might as well be wearing a lacy nightgown,” he mutters to himself. 

The echoing hallway catches his words and throws them back to him, sound uncannily like a chuckle.

It’s just a memory, he tells himself. Just a scrap of an old memory, bubbling to the surface He pulls open the next door he comes to and pokes his head inside. 

It’s library, from the looks of it. The hallway light glitters back at him like stars, reflected in the crystals hanging from a flight of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Beneath the chandeliers are dozens of tall freestanding bookshelves, arranged around reading desks and chaise lounges, and each chair has its own personal reading lamp. On the other end of the maze is a second doorway.

He weaves his way through the shelves, glancing through the titles. Maybe he’ll grab himself something to read while he’s here; he could use a way to pass the time that doesn’t involve wandering through the dark like an idiot. He’s thumbing at a volume on the history of organized crime in Hyperion City when he hears a sudden knocking.

He freezes, grabbing the book off the shelf. It’s large and heavy; good for blunt force trauma. He casts a glance over his shoulder. The door he came through is wide open. The hall behind it is empty.

“Hello?” he calls.

The only response is another knock, louder this time.

“Evelyn?” He tightens his grip on the book. “Ramses?”

The next knock is so loud that it sounds like the wood might crack. 

Over the vanilla smell of ancient paper, he catches the faintest hint of cologne. 

He takes another step, then another, slowly reaching out. The instant his fingers brush the doorknob, the heavy wooden door swings open with a long, agonized creak.

On the other side of the door, the hallway light flickers on. 

And... and he knows this hall. He’s been here before. There’s the dark patch on the marble floor, like a pool of blood. Immediately across from the library there’s another door. 

The knock comes again, and it echoes through the wide hallway like thunder. There’s no question about where it’s coming from: the door across the hall bulges with every blow.

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang.

He steps closer, and it grows louder. More insistent. 

Bang. 

Bang.

And with an almighty crash, it bursts open. 

There’s nobody on the other side. Just a staircase heading down, and a wall covered in riveted steel.

For a long moment there’s nothing but silence. Then a sigh.

“Juno Steel,” says a muffled voice. “If you don’t know, that’s your name. If you do...”

He blinks, staring at his comms. The recorded video is on, playing under his sweating palm. But he didn’t turn it on. He didn’t open the file. He didn’t--

He frowns at the image in the video. Not at his own face, but at the wall behind it. 

Riveted steel.

“I know how you feel about puzzles,” his past self says. “But this is one that needs to stay in the box. There are some things you’re better off not knowing, okay? Just... trust me.”

Juno ends the video before it can make another sound. 

It doesn’t have to.

“Juno...”

He swallows, but it catches in his dry throat. There’s movement in front of him: a shadow stretches out across the red marble, reaching out for the open door.

Panic rises in his throat, but he forces it back down. That’s his own shadow. The library lights must be motion activated, too, because the chandeliers and reading lamps have all flickered to life in unison. They’re obviously old, and they get brighter as they warm up. Brighter than the dim light of the hallway. Harshly, painfully bright.

He grabs for the light switch, but nothing happens. Maybe the lights are wired to a different switch, somewhere on the other side of the library. He turns to look, but before he can get two steps, a pair of icy hands close on his shoulders. 

The lights behind him are growing brighter, and his shadow is twitching and dancing on the floor.

No. This is normal. This is just a bunch of mixed up fragments of old memories messing with his head. It’s not real. Ramses said it isn’t real.

“This isn’t real.” He grabs the library door and slams it shut, cutting off his view of the steel wall. “You’re not real.” 

Forget the light switch. He needs to get out of here. He drags himself out of the icy grip and toward the other door, to the trail of open doorways that will lead him back to his room. He just needs to get back, and this will turn out to be just another nightmare. He needs to--

“Don’t walk away from me!” 

Overhead, the chandeliers explode with a sharp crack and a shower of glass. He throws his hands over his head, shielding his face with the enormous book. Around him, the reading lamps burst, one by one, flaring once and then plunging into the dark. 

Juno scrambles for his comms. The screen is cracked, liquid crystal still glowing in the distorted image of his face. 

The library door slams with a deafening crash, locking him inside. 

The cologne smell is so strong he might choke on it-- or is it burning flesh-- or is it diesel smoke-- or sewage--

Are those icy hands grabbing at his clothes, or are they metallic teeth, or tentacles wrapping around him, choking him, crushing him--

And all the while, he can hear it, its voice cracking like static: Juno-- Juno-- Juno--

“Mister Steel?” 

Juno gasps. The icy grip is gone, and the overwhelming darkness is gone right along with it. In its place is the blinding beam of a flashlight. She lowers it, and its brilliance is reflected like starlight off a thousand shards of glass. 

“Evelyn?” Juno coughs around the taste of blood. Was he screaming?

“It’s still happening,” she breathes. her face twisted in horror and pity. “Mister Steel, I’m so sorry.”

[egoiistas]

Please for the love of all that is holy, 38 and Royai.

Let’s pretend it hasn’t been like…..five months since you made this request, okay? ok! Have some young!royai with a little bit of trauma. 

words: 1791 ;; K+ 

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

A flash of lightning splits across the gray sky. It brightens her vision and she counts the number of seconds before the rumble of thunder reaches her. A gust from the rolling clouds fluffs her short hair and she lifts a hand to block her bangs from covering her face. “The storm isn’t far off now,” she says, turning to her companion. “According to your little trick.”

The city boy stuffs the centerpiece of their funnel cake into his mouth, nodding as he chewed. He swallows with exaggeration, as if he lacked manners. “How far away was that one?”

“Ten seconds,” she hums, calculating. “Two miles away.” Riza gestures towards the Hermanson’s barn; its interior is lit and with faint noises of people at work.  “The planners must’ve known it was going to rain too. They usually have the dancing at the end of the fair outside.”

“Is that right?” He glances over, shaking off the powdered sugar from his hands before stuffing them in his pockets. “How would you know,” He meets her eyes with a glint of mischief in his. “Bring any other boyfriends before?”

Her jaw slacks and a blush heats her cheeks before she can control it. He’s teasing her again and she always falls right for right for it. Every time. She lays it out like funnel cake and he eats it up at her expense. “You are not my boyfriend.”

“Yet..”

Her cheeks burns even more and she nudges his shoulder for lack of a witty comeback as the crowd moves around them towards shelter. She glares at him, “Come on, let’s go inside before it starts pouring.”

It is considerably warmer inside, and the petrichor mingles with the scents of tack, hay, and old wood. A bittersweet nostalgia settles from a time when farm animals were still kept in their barn, and her mother still graced her home.  A band in the corner plays a cacophonous warm up and people begin to situate themselves into seats or within their own crowds. She waves warmly to Mrs. Tilde who runs the bakery and the butcher Mr. Vibert asks for her father, offering a discount as thanks for his help before walking away. She realizes Roy is hanging out a few feet behind her and she motions him to come forward.

“Care to introduce me to the nice people of your town?” He says coolly, but the sway in his stance tells her something else.

Riza hops onto a haystack to sit. Her eyes narrow with a smirk tugging at her lips before she gasps in feigned surprise, “What’s this? Mr. Mustang is shy?”

Roy huffs, “Me? Never.”

“You’ve been here for almost a year. You’ve met most of them already.” She tuts, tapping her finger at her bottom lip. A gathering crowd of curious youths forms before them at a distance, but their sights on the newcomer is clear. “Ah, but it seems luck is on your side today. You won’t have to move a muscle.”

Roy quirks an eyebrow and it flattens with understanding soon after.

She leans into an upturned palm, having witnessed this before.

Tommy Chapman, a tall but stocky boy with a mess of red hair, steps up first. He speaks with a thick, East countryside accent - a rare treat, “Hi there.”

She watches Roy fidget briefly when he notes her absence by his side and awkwardly waves a single swoop of his hand before placing it back in his pocket. “Hello.”

“My names’ Tommy and this here is Bobby, Polly, Duke, Amber, Josh, Billy, Katie, Hunter, Will, and Billy, but he’s small so we call him Shortcake.”

“How do you do?”

Riza clasps a hand over her mouth out of courtesy.

“We know yous livin’ in with the Hawkeye family. We ain’t seen you around an’ we were wonderin’ where you were from.”

His face of confusion shakes her with laughter. But as her father’s apprentice, he picks up a bit quicker than she anticipated.

“Oh, from Central.” He says with his city boy smile. She can spot the twinkle in the girls’ eyes.

“From Central?!” Murmurs and gasps erupt from the small group.

Tommy tells them to hush. “Do ya’ll have lots of cars there?”

“Oh! Are there traffic hams?” Another chimes in. “You know, when there’n so many cars, you’re stopped on the road.”

“That’s traffic jams, you bumpkin.”

“Hey!”

Roy is no stranger to attention, she notes, when he answers each questions born out of fascination. She can’t help the giggle that escapes her as they surround him. He looks at her with pleading eyes to rescue him, but she shrugs in a “what can I do?” sort of way.

“Is it true that there are all sorts of military people there?”

“Are there people with lots of tattoos? I hear that’s becoming a thing now.”

Something within her unexpectedly plummets.

“Tattoos? What are those?”

‘No, don’t.’ Her eyes widen involuntarily and she slides off the hay, the prickling ends scraping at her flesh. Her feet turn into blocks of bricks.

“You know, someone takes some kind of sharp object filled with ink-”

‘Please stop.’

“Like a needle and inks your skin permanently. I saw it in a nickelodeon when I went to visit my Aunt Patsy in the No-”

‘Why me?’

All the noise - the band, Polly, and everything around her - garbles in her mind. Everything is muffled, like someone has stuffed her ears with cotton balls. A flash of cold sweat overcomes her suddenly, then the feel of her skin becomes a numbing sensation and her mind is swimming..

Pictures pop into her sight. Needles. The ink. The dark room. Her father’s study. Her mother’s apron. It burns. Searing, sweltering hot pain. Her arms are too short to reach. She feels it singe beneath her clothes. The funnel cake hangs at the back of her throat , mixed with bile and whatever else had once settled in her stomach. It is all threatening to release from the onslaught of nausea.

She needs to get outside. To breathe, to escape the barn walls from closing in.

When she begins to walk, her strength begins to wane. It seems so easy to just sit behind the hay but something urges her into the downpour.The flash of lightning jolts her, providing her with some clarity to move forward as normally as she can manage. She shakes her head, hands to her temples and closing her eyes to obstruct the images from late nights and silent tears. Riza grabs onto the one of the weight bearing studs for some stability before she wills herself to continue.

She stumbles towards the exit outside of the barn door, grabbing the attention of a few onlookers but no one thinks to pay any mind.

Off to the distance, she hears her name called.

‘Riza, be still.’

She gasps for breath as she reaches the threshold leading her outside.

‘And stop crying.’

The drops from the summer cloudburst pelts at her skin. It seeps into her linen dress and her hair clings to her face in a matter of moments. A hand goes to her chest. She briefly remembers reading about large snakes coiling around its prey. Currently, she feels like prey while an unseen force constricts her breathing. The thunder that roars overhead silences the cold voice of her father from her head. Riza manages to gain some distance from the barn, stepping into wet patches of grass, before her legs tremble and the world goes sideways.

Wrong, she was falling.

+++

The soft patter of the rain stirs her. She groans and notices a warmth underneath her, a comparison to the chill of her wet skin. Riza shivers from a soft breeze and she’s pulled closer to the source of warmth.

Riza’s eyes flutter and she sees the vibrant green shelter of leaves from a grand oak tree, the tiniest rays of sunshine poking through..

Someone gingerly adjusts her bangs away from her eyes, “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

She tries adjust to the light and the sounds around her. The rain splatters on the mud puddles nearby. Her head heavy as a tractor, she moves it slowly to see Roy looking down at her with his tendrils of black hair hanging toward her face, just as drenched as she. “What happened?” She croaks.

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

She grins at his absurd remark until the memory floods back to her. “Roy, I-” she clutches his arm, her eye blinking with the sporadic drops of rain landing on her eyelashes. His face falls into concern as he reads hers. She releases the tension in her chest and in her face as a sad realization dawns on her. If she were to tell him, absolutely everything, she knows he’d get uppity and risk his apprenticeship. Her eyes quiver at the thought of him going away, losing this opportunity, after achieving so much more than the others. She lets her arm fall. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he reassures her. “But I did tell you to stay away from that kabob.”

She releases the breath she held and laughs, nodding in agreement., “You were right, it was bad meat.”

“When am I wrong?” Before she can reply, he grunts and lifts her up, one arm hooking her back and the other under her knees.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Riza exclaims, looking around to all corners of the field but him. Her face heats up.

“Taking us home,” he tells her matter-of-factly, taking strides in the direction of the manor. “We’re soaked.”

“Yes, but-” Her fight to prove herself capable is short-lived. Her legs remain mostly unresponsive, shaking with any strength she tries to exert into them. Her arms are subdued by his grasp. Even as she tries to push away, he nimbly readjusts her back in his strong arms and she’s back to square one. She sinks into him, feeling the wet fabric of his shirt on the side of her face, “How embarrassing.”

“You’ll get over it.”

She looks up from her pout and he looks forward. Undisturbed by the rain, he wears a smile that puts her stomach through acrobatics. Her heart decides to join in, landing with heavy pounding and throbbing in her ear when she realizes her predicament. But she hears the thrum of his, through the moist fabric and warm skin - calm and steady.  He almost seems…relieved or happy and she’s silently thankful for him.

She closes her eyes after another string of lightning illuminates the clouds and she counts the seconds before it rumbles in her chest.