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macfrog · 9 months

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hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

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Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. …said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you��re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

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ode2rin · 1 year

Text

slowly yours

pairing. chigiri hyoma x gn!reader

content. 1.2k wc | part 2 of this one (it's chigiri's pov yey!) | idiot bffs finally into lovers | this is me trying to comfort chigiri lovers ;)

at the reckless age of 16, chigiri hyoma had come to understand that invisible lines existed.

lines that, once crossed, could change everything.

he had seen the consequences play out in novels, the heartache and longing that followed ill-fated confessions, imprinting upon him a cautiousness that would shape his actions.

and usually, he loves lines that draw the thrill of victory. he relished the sensation of crossing finish lines with his unparalleled speed.

not this one, however. this one held stakes that were too high.

it was the line that separated friendship from something more, the delicate boundary that stood between him and the unspoken emotions that pulsed between you.

would it upset you if he told you he knew?

he knew about all the times you stayed behind him, felt the weight of your quiet affections hanging in the air whenever you were together. your subtle gestures, stolen glances, and tender moments whispered of a connection that ran deeper than what you claim you two are.

he knew about it.

and yet, he hesitated. because he also knew what it meant to be in love with someone you call your best friend.

but as days turned into months and months into years, the line between friendship and something more blurred. chigiri couldn't help but wonder if his hesitation was costing him something greater. he yearned to bridge the gap, to pause for a moment and truly see you, to cross that line and explore the profound depths that lay beyond.

he had come so close, so very close.

until time stood still for chigiri hyoma, and everything went downhill from there.

“hyoma, please slow down. you will hurt yourself. the doctors said –”

“leave me alone,” chigiri's voice cut through the air, his stubbornness unwavering.

with every stride, his pace quickened, leaving you struggling to keep up. the worry in your voice went unheard as he pushed himself further.

“alright, i won't stop you,” you said, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation, “but let me be by your side. please, i need you to wait for me.”

the words left your lips in a pained and choked voice, as if you were begging him not just to slow down physically.

for a brief moment, chigiri almost stopped in his own tracks, as if compelled to hold you, to acknowledge the depth of your plea, to hold your heart that has been breaking for him.

but he didn’t, not when he was drowning in his own sorrow from his now broken dreams.

he can’t afford to cross no damn line, at that time. it wasn’t just right to be with you when he’s becoming half a soul.

he knew you’d understand; you always did. but he just can’t find the right words to articulate how hellish it felt to run faster than everyone else only to meet an edge of the cliff. his pain was his alone, something he couldn't burden you with.

and so, he looked away, even when he wanted nothing more than to let his eyes wander in yours. letting go of your hand that wasn’t even his to hold, yet.

it had been years since that aching chase, the echoes of your pleading voice still resonating in his memories. the image of you, determined and breathless, calling out his name with a mix of determination and yearning, remained etched in his mind.

but he couldn't help but think of himself as pathetic — for hoping that even after all those years, it would still be you and him in the end.

as the memories of that fateful chase played in chigiri's mind, he found himself transported to a different scene— the bustling stadium filled with cheering spectators. the air was electric with excitement, and the sound of the crowd echoed in his ears.

was he being greedy for wishing you were here?

it didn't matter if your cheers were swallowed by the surrounding multitude, drowning in the sea of sounds. you didn't even have to scream his name for your cheers to reach his heart. as long as you were there, watching him, nothing else mattered.

the stadium was filled with a frenzy of cheers and anticipation as chigiri stepped onto the field. his focus was on the game ahead, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, oblivious to the presence of a familiar figure in the crowd.

but fate, as it would have it, intervened.

chigiri's gaze met yours, and for a fleeting second, time seemed to stand still. in that instant, you could see a hint of recognition in his eyes—a spark of connection that transcended the noise and commotion around you.

it was as if the world fell away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent exchange.

in that shared moment, words became unnecessary.

because to him, in that one single profound glance, he swears your eyes look like coming home. and it’s everything he needs to know.

he was damn well going to cross that line.

minutes turned into hours, and as the final whistle blew, marking the end of the match, chigiri's gaze sought yours once more. amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, your familiar eyes were all that he could see.

and there you were, just as you had always been.

“hey there, striker.”

“you came,” he whispered, surprise coloring his voice.

a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. “of course i did,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth and a hint of self-deprecation. “i’m a bit late, though. you know me, i'm always a bit slow.”

chigiri's lips formed a gentle smile, a silent acknowledgement of the parallels that danced between past and present. “i know,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

in the midst of victory and the deafening cheers, neither of you could bring yourselves to look away.

with a mixture of trepidation and determination, you asked, “is it okay?” if i was late? if i was slow? if it took me time?

all of these questions hung on your lips, but there was no need to voice them. something in your eyes told him that you weren't just referring to your late arrival to his game.

your eyes have always been so damn expressive, it’s hard to not know what you were thinking. it was as if your eyes held a language of their own, one that he longed to learn.

“it never bothered me. i could wait, if it's you i’m waiting for.”

the years of pining and longing were encapsulated in those simple words, their double meanings understood by both of you.

“we have a lot of lost time to make up for,” you said, searching for reluctance in his expression.

he didn’t respond right away, instead, he started making his way towards you. with each step, the invisible lines that had held him back faded into insignificance.

and now, he’s standing in front of you. chigiri hyoma was finally in front of you, facing your heart laid before his eyes.

and in that single, profound moment where your eyes finally met, the weight of unspoken words melted away. the stadium faded into the background, and it was just the two of you, suspended in time.

“no need to rush. we have all the time…” he reassured, his voice steady and brimming with a gentle warmth.

softly smiling at you, he continued, “we'll take it your way, we'll take it slow.”

note. maybe i got a bit carried away w these friends/bffs to lovers trope all around my fyp and decided to fool around to make this, it's not the best but i really love pinning :( and wanted to write something abt it :( this wasn't proofread at all pls tolerate my laziness (also also i was listening to gold rush and run by ts for thisss)

to that anon, here you go!

#☁️ my ode to you #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #chigiri hyoma #chigiri hyoma fluff #chigiri hyoma x y/n #chigiri x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #hyoma chigiri x reader #hyoma chigiri

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spookypete-94 · 6 months

Text

Friday Ice Cream

wanted to write something a little sweet for simon, slight spoiler for MW3- but nothing directly. Think this is going to be something I turn into a series and will have an actual name eventually.

It had been a tradition for you to end your week with chocolate ice cream from your favorite parlor in Manchester since you were small. In fact, you had been doing it since the time of leaving primary school and taking your neighbor friend Simon with you when he didn't want to go home.

The chocolate comforted you both - it being yours and his favorite. Life hadn't exactly been kind to you both. Your father had left your mother when you were young, and Simon's father was a terror. Many times, you had wished that his father would have left like yours did. Sure, it made things hard on your mother, but you never lived in fear like Simon did... Often standing in line, you couldn't help but think of him. He stood by your side in this line every Friday, you buying him ice cream with money given to you by your mother, and it was always the same. Your mother always made sure she treated you this way, no matter how difficult money was - sometimes it came down you buying one and sharing with Simon. But you always made him feel included. It was important to you.

At the ripe age of 17, he stopped attending with you. You hearing that he joined the military young made your heartache that he just seemed to up and disappear. Gone without a trace.

But him standing next to you in this line every Friday, you understood why. His life was hard, but you just had wished he would have said goodbye.

Moving up the line little by little, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt glancing around out the windows periodically. At the front of the line, you didn't even get to recite your normal weekly order... it was already slid to you across the counter from the cashier. Chocolate with drizzle, small brownie crumbles on it. Seeing your confused face, the cashier answered your unsaid question, "A man that was in front of you about 3 orders paid for yours."

Surely not... "Did he say who he was?"

"No ma'am, just got the same thing you did."

"Thanks," you said, rushing yourself to try to catch him. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings earlier. He was always bigger than you in youth, but other than that, you'd have had no idea what he looked like. Bursting through the door, you looked left and right- but you saw no abnormally large man. He left you once more, making your heart sad.

Next Friday, you paid better attention. Sure enough, there was a large man about 4 people in front of you. But by some act of God, you weren't quick enough to get to him in time. People in the way, workers in and out of the line. It's never this busy in here. it's like the world knew your task and worked against it. Sure enough, walking past the front register, your ice cream was pushed to you, paid for once more. Sighing and feeling defeated, you ate your ice cream on your walk home. Already deciding a plan, next week was going to be different.

On the 3rd Friday, you sat outside of the parlor at a table early, ice cream already bought for the two of you. Staying vigilant, your head turning back and forth to look for him. At last, a large man walked past you, a shadow casted over you. Your heart stopped knowing at the bottom of it, that this was him. Standing up, you gently caught his elbow, making him stop. "Simon?" Maybe it was his size, maybe it was the fact that you hadn't seen him ten plus years, maybe it was the look in his eye when he turned to you or the fact his face was covered with a mask leaving you unable to read anything about him.

"Simon?" you repeated.

"It's me," he finally answered. You let go of his arm. Handing him the ice cream you got for him, pulling out the chair.

"Would you sit with me?"

It was almost comical in away, he dwarfed the small chair. It was quiet at first. You could see his broken eyes staring at the ice cream. Your much smaller hand reaching for his.

"Hey.." you said quietly, making him look up at you. "I'm here, you alright?"

"Lost a..." he seemed to struggle to find the word, his brow squeezing together. Gripping his hand just a little closer, "A brother recently..." Your thumb stroked over the back of his hand. "And it made me think of you, I don't have many friends... I wondered how you were if you were still around."

"Still here, I didn't get very far, I'm sorry, Simon. I wish you didn't have to deal with that..." He didn't say anything, and you didn't want to pry.

"How have you been?" His voice finally echoed to you.

"Just the same old. My mom passed about 3 years ago, and it's been just me now. Still make time for ice cream, though."

"Sorry bout your mom," his umber coals locked with yours. "Ice cream is how I found you." His voice is low and raspy, seeming a bit lighter now.

"Clever, I'll give you that. Think I'm gonna change up my routine, some seeming as I'm so easy to figure out."

"You should," he said dryly, making you chuckle.

Looking down at your ice cream, you noticed it started to melt over the containers.

"You want to get out of here? You can tell me about your friend somewhere in private?"

"Yeah," he muttered, standing up from the seat.

"Missed you, wished you would have said goodbye or how to stay in contact.." You blurted, unable to contain the hurt you've felt over this decade.

"I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye, but after losing someone special out there- I knew what I did to you wasn't right."

Tired of making him feel even worse, you tried to joke. You knew this was a serious matter to him, but joking was how the two of you coped as kids through all the dark things you both encountered.

"You got so huge too. What the hell are they feeding you over seas?"

"Not chocolate, maybe why you are so small in comparison."

"Still a funny guy, at least," you said, running your shoulder into his arm. You could hear the snort of air that he always made when he smiled as a kid.

That's how it felt to you, at least, being a kid walking next to someone you grew up with. Like somehow, you've traveled back in time. There next to you was that same sweet boy dealt a difficult hand. He was and will be someone you confided in when things were going wrong or hard. He felt the same. He always had you. Maybe that's what tied you both together and why he felt bad about leaving you behind with no word. He's here now, and he is going to make up for lost time.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

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bangtanhoneys · 11 months

Text

Lights Will Guide You Home - Seokjin & Grace

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Fix You - Coldplay

Mandatory military service.

18-24 months of service required of all able-bodied South Korean men aged 18 to 28.

Delayed so Kim Seokjin could continue being a member of BTS but now entering as a private citizen, not a member of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

It brought heartbreak to millions, no one more so than Grace Chu.

Of course, in private, this decision had been discussed and made very early on. Many discussions had taken place that Jin wanted to go into the military after their Maps of the Soul tour but then COVID hit, Butter and Dynamite arrived, Permission to Dance on Stage and then the FESTA announcement of their solo projects and then finally, finally, Busan.

Every time he had planned to go, there was a pushback and a delay and now he was finally going, December 13th 2022.

Privately, Grace had accepted it and had done her goodbyes to her boyfriend of four years. Together they had worked through their problems of being a couple and being in the biggest band ever seen, of Seokjin's insecurities of not being good enough, of Grace's problems with her identity. Together they had been through it all but now it would just be Grace, who would have to go through this another seven times.

It was the worst kind of heartache - knowing your loved one was only hours away yet on the front lines, limited phone calls or texts, days off were only a day and she wouldn't see him properly until 2024. Until that time, her schedule was packed to the rim with her own projects such as an album, a tour, photoshoots, contracts with designers, meetings and more. There wouldn't be time to understand the loss of one of her biggest supporters, there wouldn't be time to adjust to having none of them there.

It was a horrid awareness Grace was experiencing as she and the rest of BTS were saying goodbye.

Of course, they all put on brave faces, as they each took pictures with Seokjin and goofed off for the BANGTAN BOMB camera. It was easy to slip into the public persona even in front of families to starve off tears that threatened to spill over.

Hobi, understanding what was needed, managed to drag Jimin and Taehyung to distract the camera long enough for the couple to have their private moment (or as private as it was going to get).

"I'll contact you the moment I can," Seokjin's voice was muffled behind the mask he wore as he pulled Grace to his chest, allowing her to hide her face in it even if more a moment.

"And I'll keep you and ARMY updated as often as I can. Don't let Jungkook distract you too much, and work hard and send me photos of where you're going. And I'll make sure the guys are safe too. Oh and don't forget to eat, go home and see your parents and look after Min-Ji."

"Are you going away or am I?" Grace asked, chuckling as she reached up to use the cuff of her coat to wipe her cheeks. "And Jungkook won't leave me alone, I think he's pretty much moved in at this point."

It was just as hard for Jungkook. It had always been joked around that Seokjin was one of the main reasons Jungkook had stayed in BTS, he was the one who had raised the fifteen-year-old, helped him do his homework, take him to school, put up with his antics, and was Jungkook's safe place. He had been silent the whole day since they all arrived, barely able to say a word or two but he didn't need to.

Seokjin knew Jungkook's silence better than anyone.

I'll miss you. Don't get hurt and hurry back because it's going to hurt without you.

And Grace was exactly the same.

I'll miss you. I love you. Don't leave but I know you have to so hurry back because I can't do this life without you.

Seokjin pressed a kiss to Grace's forehead, knowing he couldn't do what he wanted to do while in front of everyone. But he didn't need to because Grace knew it all behind that kiss - I'll miss you as well and I'm proud of you.

Grace pulled away to let the boys continue their goodbyes and she used Namjoon's huge frame to take a moment to wipe her tears, to compose herself and slip back into her stage persona. Because it was easier to show that than it was to show what she was truly feeling.

Alone.

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder and gave his noona a gentle nudge to the shoulder, giving her his silent support. Yoongi came wandering over and reached up, making sure her mask was in place and gave her a look to say 'You've got this. We're here.'

Finally, Seokjin was called over to begin his entrance ceremony and Grace felt a hand slip into hers. She looked up to see the youngest, his eyes just as watery as hers even underneath that bucket hat and she gave his hand a squeeze back. Under his breath, he began humming Jin's Astronaut song causing her to smile.

It would hurt to do this seven more times, it would hurt to say goodbye over and over again and it would hurt to be standing on stage as the only member of BTS remaining but the countdown began to 2025 when all of them would be back in Grace's arms and they would be all together again.

She just had to wait.

Note: Listen to Fix You by Coldplay and Jin's The Astronaut while reading this. I did that and I made myself cry.

#bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts scenarios #bts female member #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts fic #seokjin x oc #seokjin angst

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 11 months

Text

To Make a Heaven of Hell (1/?)

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Virgil knew he was dead, somehow.

And somehow death was loud and bright and overwhelming, the people within it were beautiful and diverse and strange and the places big and magical and wonderous.

But it was hard to accept that you are good, after a short life of being told that you are bad.

Sometimes, all it takes is a little help, some hot demons and a whole universe full of new friends and family to get you to accept your paradise.

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| Ao3 | Next Chapter -> |

Fic Warnings: Implied/referenced character death, trauma, homophobia/transphobia mentions, abuse mentions, other canon-typical (to Hell's Belles) heavy topics, canon-typical (to Hell's Belles) violence.

Pairings: Prinxiety, Intrulogical, all canon Hell's Belles relationships.

Notes: Why hello there, I see you've clicked on my silly little crossover hm? I do hope you enjoy!

To any SaSI readers who have no clue what Hell's Belles is, you're welcome to read, I've tried to provide enough exposition that this can be read without prior knowledge but also not too much that the people who DO know the series get frustrated, haha.

Also yeah I know this wasn't what won the polls, but it's my poll I can do whatever I want shush.

This fic may go into heavy topics typical to Hell's Belles, which is the main reason for all the tags, but it shouldn't go too dark for the vast majority of the fic!

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Chapter 1 : What Comes After

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Everything was black, for a long while. Too long, in his opinion. And… empty.

They remembered everything, the pain, the hurt, the struggling and the heartache that had come with their… too-short, lifetime. He remembered the yelling - they had been arguing about something that felt meaningless now - he remembered the screeching of brakes, the smell of burning rubber on the tarmac, the crunching of metal as their car had crashed into another. Oh, he hoped whoever had been in the other car was okay.

And he was… dead. Somehow, in Virgil’s mind, he knew that he was dead,. Even as he hung in this dark void of nothingness, everything and nothing at once, where his feelings felt like they were locked behind a wall of glass, he knew. Eventually - after floating for a time that felt far too long and far too short at the same time - he noticed a door in the dark void. After a moment’s hesitation, they opened it and stepped through.

The sudden presence of bright lights and loud sounds and a massive open space filled with people and… different people was immediately overwhelming. Virgil whirled around and there was no door behind him, nothing showing that he’d come from… somewhere else… at all. The cathedral-like space - though nothing like any cathedral he had ever seen - was amazingly huge, bigger than any building he’d ever been in by far. There were people everywhere, appearing out of nowhere just like they did, sitting, standing, talking with other people and walking around.

“Hey, sweetie, you new?” Someone asked, Virgil turned to see a taller woman whose features they definitely weren’t going to remember, he gestured to himself and she nodded, confirming that she was talking to him.

“Oh, um, yeah? I… think so?” Virgil said after too long of trying to force the words up through his throat, luckily she seemed to be patient enough.

“I can tell, the first time can be really overwhelming,” She said, nodding along, “Whenever you’re ready you can head to that desk over there - they’ll tell you where you need to go.”

“Right,” Virgil nodded, “Um, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” She smiled, waving as she walked off in the opposite direction, towards a strange-looking hallway.

Looking back around, Virgil faced the desk she had pointed to and found he could see a whole range of people sitting behind it - age, ethnicity, time period, even people who he wasn’t sure were even human. Most of the desks had lines of people waiting and others seemed quieter. He began to walk over before pausing and looking back. They’d just… died. Because their boyfriend had crashed his car. Virgil wondered if he would be following.

When no one they recognised appeared out of thin air after what felt like a few minutes, Virgil let himself breathe a sigh of… what might be relief. He wasn’t here, and that quick realisation… really took a weight off of Virgil’s shoulders.

Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, Virgil walked over to the desk, trying to seem as confident as he possibly could as he approached one of the desks without a line. Granted, he was still completely terrified, but maybe if he pretended to be confident, he would feel it eventually.

A file appeared on the person’s desk as he gestured for Virgil to take a seat in the comfortable chair that stood before the desk. They did so as the other silently flicked through the file with a blank expression on his face, dark green eyes behind thick glasses barely telling a single emotion. His hair was pulled back into a neat bun - though the textured hair seemed to be trying quite hard to escape its confinement. Virgil started to feel a little awkward as he hummed, placing down the file again and looking back up at him. He could see his name glittering on the front page.

“Hello,” He said, “I’m Logan, you’re Virgil Byrne, correct?”

“I- yeah- wait-” Virgil said, raising a hand, out of everything that was happening, there was one thing that really stuck out to him, “That - That file is about me, right?”

“Indeed,” Logan nodded.

“It… it shows my chosen name?”

“The files show the name connected to your soul,” Logan explained, “For most people, that is the name they are given at birth - and usually this remains consistent through lifetimes - however, sometimes souls are placed in the wrong bodies, and therefore end up with the wrong names - along with other things. Virgil is the name your soul identifies with, therefore, that is the name on your file. You should also - as a soul - have a body that more accurately aligns with your gender identity.”

“That’s - wow,” Virgil mumbled, looking down at his hands, he immediately filed that information away to have a crisis about later, “That’s-”

“Overwhelming? It can be,” Logan nodded, “You will have time to process everything later. Are you aware of how you died?”

“I- yeah, yes,” Virgil nodded, “Is this… the afterlife?”

“Part of it, yes, this is the Front Death-k,” Logan grimaced as he spoke the pun and Virgil couldn’t help but smile, “Where new souls come to find out where they are supposed to go next, now, did you follow a religion in life that you were prefer to be judged by?”

“Can’t you see that in the file?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can, but I prefer to hear the answers from the soul directly,” Logan explained, “Sometimes the religion a person followed in life isn’t the one they want to be judged by.”

“Right, I uh- my family were catholic,” Virgil started, taking a deep breath, “But um, I never really… clicked with it, and I never got the chance to learn enough about other religions to… know.”

“That’s alright,” Logan nodded, “With that, your options would either be to be judged by the Christian belief system, since it’s the one you’re most familiar with, or you can go through universal judgement, or I suppose you could also take a lottery-style pick of any belief system, but the vast majority would rather not.”

“What’s uh- what was the second one?” Virgil tilted their head.

“Universal Judgement: the process most people not connected to a religion go with,” Logan said, “By which you will be judged by the universe itself, hence the name, after which you will either be allocated a paradise or you will have to choose a punishment realm, depending on the outcome.”

“Well that’s not terrifying at all,” Virgil said, trying to offer a joke to hide the fact that the ideas of such a harsh judgement set his hands shaking and his teeth on edge. Well, at least he knew he hadn’t lost his terrible anxiety, even in death.

“No, it’s not,” Logan said, seemingly taking his sarcasm entirely seriously, “The universe is very fair in its judgement and takes many things into account, you do not need to worry, if you choose to take that option, that is.”

“...Okay,” Virgil nodded, “I um- I think I’d rather do that than the Christian judgement system…”

“Wonderful,” Logan nodded, “I’ll walk you to the universal judgement gate when you’re ready, meanwhile, do you have any more questions you’d like to ask?”

“You mentioned… punishment realms?” Virgil said tentatively, “If I end up there…?”

“If you were to come out of the bad side of Universal Judgement, you will be offered a choice of punishment realm for you to spend your sentence. Some people stay forever, others are able to reincarnate after a time. But remember that the punishment realms are more a system of justice, but unlike the mortal justice system you’re used to, it's not obscenely biased and cannot be incorrect.”

“...right,” Virgil nodded slowly, “And the paradise?”

“If you achieve it, your own space that fits your soul’s true desires, usually a house or community that represents your perfect ‘heaven’ of a sort. Of course, different belief systems will have different versions of this - for example, the Norse may have paradises in Valhalla, while Christians may have theirs in Heaven, though people not attached to religion will still get a paradise in a more general ‘paradise’ realm.”

“Right, that’s…” Virgil took another deep breath. The idea of paradise sounded… nice, but… well he didn’t know if he’d even get there, of course, a large part of him doubted it - after all, no one in his life had had faith in him, his parents so convinced he’d go to hell that they kicked him out of their house, but… if he did achieve it… how would that feel?

“I’ll give you a moment to think,” Logan told him, “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Won’t I hold up the line?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Logan shook his head, “Most people gravitate to some of the other workers here.”

“...Okay.”

—-

Virgil wasn’t sure how much time passed - their concept of time had been screwed over when they were alive, and there didn’t seem to be any kind of clock or other time-telling devices around this space, but he thought maybe it had been about five minutes before he finally told Logan that he was ready and let him lead them off to that same hallway the woman had gone down before.

Eventually - after some time Virgil spent trying to block all of the confusing sensory input from all around him, trying not to spiral into a panic as they approached what could only be the universal judgement gateway, a stone archway that seemed to glitter with a strange rainbow iridescence.

“You step in there,” Logan informed, “And the universe will take you where you need to go, good luck, I’m sure you’ll end up exactly where you need to be.”

“Thank you, um, for your help,” Virgil said, trying to offer Logan a smile through his bubbling panic.

“I’m simply doing my job,” Logan nodded, “But you are welcome.”

Virgil nodded, before turning to look into the grey mist that formed the inside of the archway, taking a deep breath, and with a final glance back at Logan who offered an encouraging nod, he stepped through the archway.

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General tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

Hell's Belles AU tags: @awitchbravestheverge @twoalpacas @goldnskyart @anxious-mess19 @doteddestroyer

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| Next Chapter -> |

#sanders sides #hells belles #hells belles au #virgil sanders #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #rowans writings

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the-raging-tempest · 25 days

Text

Genuinely woke up and still haunted by the quiz results for the swans. Here’s the results and me just rambling about them.

Lariel

SUB ROSA

‘Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.’

___

Zrise

MOTHER’S DAUGHTER

‘Being her child was akin to a whispered apology, another wailing hug, another day you repent for complaining about the fact that she hasn't said anything nice to you. You bring her flowers and are met with the inconvenience of a vase that has to be found instead. You bake for her and feel the warmth of fresh cut bread fill the kitchen; but the dirty dishes remain. Even if you were to bring in the mail and lay down the knife next to your plate, she'll cradle another. Love is an endless apology to you. Averting eyes to desperate tears and sunken teeth in lower lip at the dinner table. Do not repent for who you are, as it is enough. Gather your courage to love again and reveal the honeydewed structure of a swelling heart once you feel safe to do so instead. Love isn't a confession booth of all you are not, settle down and unclasp your hands. You're all anyone could want already.’

___

I’ve been thinking about this since last night. These results feel particularly heartbreaking.

Lariel who is always trying to hide her love and affection under a guise so it doesn’t make others uncomfortable or indebted to her. Afraid to put her foot down because she doesn’t want to watch it scatter. Her romance scenes are always about her trying to come out of her shell while being dangerously close to recoiling back. Trying to follow her heart but afraid she’d crush others. Drown them in her wake. She feels she’s loved people best at a distance. Forgotten, lost, invisible. Lariel watching at a distance and dreaming for what she wants has always been safer. But she’s learning to risk the heartache. Because it will be there regardless.

Afraid that if she gets too close, is too big, or asks too much, she’ll lose all she has with someone. That she’ll be alone again if she speaks her truth. Advocation of the self has always been squashed.

Zrise… the line ‘love is an endless apology’ hit me hard. That’s basically how he does see it. The confessional. It’s so wild to me because both ‘love confession’ scenes for Zrise I’ve written are also him confessing to a crime. Apologizing. The first just begging to be given an another chance. The second asking to be left behind because he’s afraid of himself. Love a tortured reminder of all his failures. His love at its best has always been a burden to others, at worst destroyed them.

Always ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I’ll do better.’ ‘I don’t deserve your kindness.’ Never good enough. Always fighting to earn love but never feels he’s done enough.

#oc: lariel #oc: zrise #quiz #damn #crying about my ocs this morning

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kaija-rayne-author · 1 year

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Some thinkee thoughts about 'the scene' and Solas's Romance. Spoilers for DAI Dragon Age Inquisition.

Okay, so, I've finished the base game part of the Solavellan playthrough. I've read a fair bit of responses to it all by now. But there're a few things I haven't yet seen. It's possible I just haven't discovered them, but I found some very salient character/story things in Solas that I want to share.

Please no spoilers on Trespasser or the books. I haven't gotten to them yet. My Inquisitor is non-binary like me, but because of how I RP her, I still use she/her or they/them pronouns for them.

For context, my real life job is an editor, and I'm a multiply published author.

The Solavellan Romance is an absolutely stunning example of a star-crossed lovers relationship. It's incredibly obvious they love one another, but due to Solas's plans and beliefs, they can't be together.

In the line 'in another world' you can sense his longing to set down his burden and just love her.

I can clearly see that it's this world, and this enby he's falling more and more in love with. But she will disappear when he works his plan. He's already in too deep. He just doesn't understand that yet.

That is the chef's kiss of star-crossed lovers. The longing, the subtle desperation, the knowledge of your love, and the deeper knowledge that you can't have it. That the stars are crossing the path of the love and severing any possibility of continuance.

All of that is beautifully crafted into Solas as a character.

I have so much professional and heartaching praise for this perfectly executed star-crossed lovers set up. Patrick Weekes deserves all the props for that. Star-crossed isn't easy to write. I know because I often write it. I have a deep weakness for star-crossed lovers, so I read it a lot too. This one was perfect.

I have to admit I don't understand all the fan reactions hating on Solas or acting as if he doesn't actually love the Inquisitor.

I mean, love or hate him, I don't personally care what people feel about him because it's a very personal thing. I just know how he makes me feel (and thus, my inky too).

But why are people questioning whether he cares about, loves, the Inquisitor? It's written all over him! Every gesture, every facial expression. Every tiny hitch in his breath.

I don't think I've seen his fear mentioned anywhere. Again, I just may have not run across it yet, but for such an integral part of that break up scene, you'd think people would be talking about it. He's running scared, utterly terrified. He's not leaving her for anything else.

Think about it. He's (likely) immortal, or at the very least nigh-immortal. Some estimates of his age are in the 5000 year bracket. From his perspective, he wakes up from a really long nap to find out the world he loved; the world in which he rebelled against the powers that were (who were possibly even his family) to save his people, only to find it has turned into something so unrecognizable that he feels honour bound to rectify his mistake. Honour is a heavy and incredibly important thing to Solas. You can see that in his reaction to Blackwall's revelation.

Solas is ashamed, grieving, planning to fix it but not sure he can. Alone, because he can't count on anyone else. (And his greatest fear is dying alone!) OF COURSE he's scared of falling in love. NOW IS NOT THE TIME must be ringing through him.

Hell, many many people are afraid of falling in love and they don't have a spot on the Dread Wolf's baggage.

Lavellan makes him feel. For a mortal. She draws his fascination away from the fade. Something he's said straight up is something that's never happened and he didn't think was possible. She jeopardizes his plans, yes. But if you've never experienced that kind of love, one thing I will say about it is this... if you fall deeply enough, there is very little that's unthinkable in reaching a place where you can have that love. That's the crux of his motivation in that scene.

That's what made him suddenly break it off. You can see it in the moment he pulls back from the kiss. He's blissed out when he's kissing her. The curve of his eyebrow and the way he has his eyes closed show that clearly. But then it hits him... he can't do this. His eyes widen just a fraction and you can see the moment he realizes he will absolutely lose himself to Lavellan. He would go down the path he's likely seen hundreds of thousands of times, falling in love. So deeply in love that he’d give up everything else for the path that would see him accept the world as it is, something he finds anathema, so he can stay in her arms, keep her, keep her freely offered love. His honour could never allow that.

Our wolfy boy is so terrified he turned tail and skeddadled with said tail tucked between his legs like the wolf he is.

I don't think I've seen even a peep about his fear. The reason he would tell everyone (and himself) for breaking things off with inky is that if his plans succeed, she won't exist anymore. There's foreshadowing on this in his personal quest with the spirit.

He believes so strongly that he needs to fix what he broke that he is cutting his heart out and leaving it on a silver platter because his people need him more than he needs his heart. That's his bedrock belief. And he can't let anything get in the way of that.

He's telling himself he has to let her go because of his plans, but that's just his excuse. Apparently, even immortal elven gods lie to themselves about love.

When he breaks it off with Lavellan, it feels like a shock because it's a shock to him as well. He took her to the waterfall to tell her the truth about himself.

His voice hitches just a little before he switches paths to tell her about the Vellaslin. I'd bet he was going to tell her who he is. But at the ultimate moment, he chickens out.

Wish I could draw better, I've got a hilarious image in my head of Solas as wolf covered in chicken feathers running full tilt away from Lavellan. Who has a silvery leash from her heart to his throat. The guy is lost already, he just doesn't know it.

He surprised them both. The depth of his feelings for her scare the shit out of him. He suddenly knows that he would give up everything for this love. He panics, and he's running scared from committing to the enby he loves.

There's an interesting bit of coincidence in that theme, and it's been used in Dragon Age before. Soilers for DAO

If you ever managed to piss off Alistair in DAO on the kingship path, (I managed it without trying hard 😅) he breaks up with you for much the same reason. His dialogue there includes 'I could get lost in you'. And that is what has sent our wolf running for the hills.

Solas has so very obviously never been in love before. He's hinted at that several times in his dialogue. TBH, I get 'virgin in the real world' vibes from Solas.

He may have had relationships with spirits, he may have done as Blackwall hinted and 'gotten frisky with a spirit in the fade'. But Lavellan is the first time (and Dreadwolf may very well prove me wrong) that Solas feels actual romantic love on the mortal plane. And for a mortal nonetheless! At the WORST possible time.

Another thing I don't see people talking about much, if at all, is how heavily neurodivergent coded Solas is.

I mean, nerdy research expert type dude who has eons of knowledge. (Walking encyclopedia thing, anyone?)

Esoteric artist using ancient methods?

Extreme reaction to an innocuous beverage like tea? (Taste/texture sensitivities anyone?)

Always on the edge of things?

Knows far more than he says?

Always observing, always learning.

He even stims in the cut scenes several times. He's heavily coded as either autistic or ADHD or both.

I've seen complaints that Solas isn't very emotive. But to me, he's screaming emotion with every gesture, every breath. Especially in the dawnlit and waterfall scenes.

I'm not even sure what to call it, animation? Modelling? What kind of name can you give moving artwork like a modern video game? Anyway, whoever took the writing part and made the visuals for Solas, I think, understood neurodivergency and enacted it perfectly.

His emotional tells are there. But, like the character himself, they're subtle.

Given how many complaints I've seen about that topic, I have to then wonder if I can see it better because I'm neurodivergent and my family is too. I'm used to reading neurodivergent people.

That's... that's not me being arrogant. Neurotypical people cannot read autistic and ADHD people very well, if at all. Our body language and facial expressions are so subtle or different that we're often accused of being angry when we're having a good time or are just deep in thought. Heard the term 'resting bitch face'? Yup. That's a common (soooo common) marker for an autistic or ADHD or autistic/ADHD person.

He's heavily neurodivergent coded, maybe that's why I don't have any trouble reading him? Are people just not picking up on all the details I do? (There's no judgement or fault in this. It's just fact. A lot of autistic and ADHD folks can't read NTs either. I can, but it’s something I learned to do vs anything innate. We're wired so differently and speak completely different non-verbal languages.)

During the waterfall scene, before the final part, he's got so much love and awe on his face and in his body language that it's so so obvious he loves Lavellan. I just can't grok the questions of does he or doesn't he. If he didn't, he'd have acted much differently.

It's just as obvious by the end of the scene that he's convinced himself he can't have her. That they can't have each other.

I've absolutely joined the Solavellan hell carousel 😆. I desperately hope Dreadwolf offers some sort of positive closure for Lavellan and Solas. I hope bioware believes in happy endings.

Aaaand my opinion is subject to change after I play Trespasser. I don't know very much of what happens in that, so I may have to eat these words.

#dragon age series #solas #solavellan #solavellen hell #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age confessions #lavellan #inquisitor lavellan

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kovaipaavai · 1 year

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Marumurai

Vaanathi was an odd child , as odd as one could be, after living through the same life for thousands of years. Treading the line between non-interference with fate and active interference was a fine balancing act , and with time came practice , but even with practice Vaanathi found it difficult to disguise her interference as premonitions or signs from the divine in this life time , as she was just five years old.

Her earliest attempt to save Periappa had left him so spooked , that he had escorted her to Pazhaiyarai, wanting to find a solution for her premonitions and soothsaying. Pazhaiyarai was home , but twenty five year old Vaanathi inside her five year old physical self was terrified at the prospect of surviving the palace and its politics , without the twin shields of age and wit, not that she'd been great at survival even otherwise.

At Pazhaiyarai, Vaanathi had always felt less than when compared to other palace women. She was often called Arunmozhi's Idhaya Raani, but that epithet was one of scorn and derision. She was many things in her lifetimes : Kundavai's beloved sister; Vandhiyar's Maaya Kannan and Kodumbalur Kula Vilakku ,but not her beloved's heart and never her beloved's desire . In the beginning , she had blamed her vow for the distance in her marriage but repeated cycles of the same cursed existence had taught her otherwise.

Arunmozhi continued to live in Tanjai , with visits to Pazhaiyarai few and far between. While his initial visits made her hope, his later visits had filled her with anger , dread and misery. "En Idhaya Raani" , he'd say with derision , "Idho , en andhapurathu's raaniyai ungalidam oppadaikkiren. Neengal , dayai koornthu nam vaazhvil ivalai anumadhikka vendum" , and Vaanathi , would be left helpless even as the other woman looked at her empty self from the corner of her eyes with something akin to pity and scorn. With every wife Arunmozhi thus introduced , Vaanathi had died a little inside , until all that was left of her was a living husk filled with anger and sorrow. Try as she might to change the outcome , every life had been more of the same until this one , where she had decided to live her best life , love be damed.

As she peeped from behind her Periappa's legs , familiar yet unfamiliar faces greeted her with differing emotions. There were some new faces too , faces that she'd never seen in Pazhaiyarai , faces that seldom held joy, serenity or content , faces that reminded her of the fate that awaited her if she didn't interfere .

Aditya Anna and Nandini stood by the corner , immersed in themselves , oblivious to the world around them. Vaanathi had stared at them , until Aditya Anna had reached for her , only to lift her up and ask why she was staring at them . "Andha raani migavum azhagaaga irukkiraal " she'd said , only for Anna to respond that Nandini was his Idhaya Raani and his newly wed wife.

The Chakravarathy had laughed then and handed her over to Nandini's care and the only thing that had prevented Vaanathi from screaming bloody murder was her resolve to stay away from Arunmozhi. Even as Nandini took her from Anna's embrace , Vaanathi had wanted to turn away . Every instinct that she possessed warned her away from the Pazhuvur Paambu , but this Nandini seemed different and in her Vaanathi saw a way out of heartbreak and heartache.

The years that followed in Kaanchi were a welcome relief from constant heartache. Vaanathi grew up amongst war and chaos, but it was a very welcome change from those years in Pazhaiyarai. The Vaanathi from Kaanchi was Aditya's beloved princess and Nandini's chella kuzhandai . The childless couple had directed all their love and affection towards the orphaned Kodumbalur princess and Vaanathi had responded in kind , refusing to leave them for the comforts of Pazhaiyarai or even the company of beloved Akka. Nowadays , Akka was also a constant presence at Kaanchi. When she was not governing behind the scenes , Akka loved spending time with Vandhiyar and Vaanathi was overjoyed to have Akka's company without the looming shadows of Arunmozhi's suspicions and disinterest.

The years in Kaanchi had come to an end like all good things did. Arunmozhi was in Eezham when the conspiracy to crown Madhurantaka and imprison the other princes had come to light. Even as they were making plans to march to Tanjai, word had come of Arunmozhi's drowning and with it a sense of dread and fear.

Nandini departed for Kodiyakkarai , seeking intelligence from Thirumalai ; Anna and Malayamaan Thatha marched to Kadambur to foil the plans for a revolt ; and Akka headed to Pazhaiyarai to break the news to Paati and seek her help. With increasing trepidation , Vaanthi watched her loved ones scatter even as she wished for them to stay put and stay alive.

A missive had arrived days later. Arunmozhi had survived and was being treated for an ailment in secret . Anna , Akka and Nandini were on their way to Naagaipattinam but needed someone trustworthy to handle Arunmozhi's care in the interim. Even as her instincts warned her away , Vaanathi made her way to the viharam and submitted herself to the care of the monks and will of the Gods.

As days blended into one another ,she tended to Arunmozhi, comforting him through the periods of delirium where he cried out for his love and repented his callous actions. Even as her heart hurt with those cries, Vaanathi had been thankful. His cries had strengthened her resolve to stay away from him , even as her heart continued to fall for him.

As exhaustion of the body and heart stole upon her , Vaanathi continued to pray. She prayed for deliverance from Kaalachakkaram, she prayed for Arunmozhi to unite with his one true love , She prayed for Anna and Nandini's happiness as well as Akka and Vandhiyar's well being. Vaanathi continued to pray even as Nithra Devi stole upon her. Vaanathi continued to pray even as she slept , beggaring her happiness at the cost of other's delight and then she woke up.

Vaanathi woke up at Arunmozhi's cry , only to be crushed into his embrace seconds later. They hadn't met in this lifetime , yet Arunmozhi looked at her with those familiar eyes and a wide smile . As tears and love choked his throat, Arunmozhi spoke of unending misery through multiple lifecycles . As longing oozed from every single pore of his physical being, Arunmozhi spoke of his unending love. It didn't make things all right though : A few words of love paled in comparison to centuries of regret and Vaanathi remained unmoved even as Arunmozhi wept.

The next day , he'd beseeched her to walk by his left and his blinding smile at her acquiescence had been a balm to some of her wounds from the past. As Anna , Nandini and Akka had watched , Arunmozhi vowed to honor her , cherish her and have her but no other. As Vandhiyar had laughed , Arunmozhi called her the queen of his heart.

As Arunmozhi helped her up the elephant , to the cheers of the crowd, Vaanathi started hoping in her heart. As the elephant moved forward among the crowd , Vaanathi started hoping in her heart - she hoped for trust , she hoped for love and she hoped for a better tomorrow.

Note : I wanted to write a multiverse story featuring Vaanathi for the last couple of days and ended up writing a multiverse story that's a companion of sorts to Mudivilla Kaadhal and Oomai Vizhigal

#ponniyin selvan #parallel universe #arunmozhi #arulmozhi varman #vaanathi #fan fiction

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taizi · 1 year

Note

If you’re still taking fic prompts, how about some good ol’ fashioned woodyangelo cos you write them so so well and I can never get enough of them both 💛

set in 2012 'verse, but the turtles are all different ages, like they are in rise <3

They weren’t sure about Woody at first. None of Mikey’s brothers were, it wasn’t just Leo.

The guy was just so… normal. He wasn’t thrown into their lives the way April and Casey both were. He didn’t prowl around dark alleys in the middle of the night, picking fights with crime lords and brain-shaped aliens in power mechs. His hobbies had absolutely nothing to do with sharp weapons or parkour.

So it just didn’t make sense. There was no common denominator. He had no stakes in the game. He could walk away from them at any time and upend their entire existence and it wouldn’t cost him anything. Just because he hasn’t yet doesn’t mean he won’t.

But it was a mistake to say as much to Mikey. ‘Mistake’ is putting it lightly.

Leo has absolutely never seen his littlest brother’s eyes turn so sharp. Mikey drew himself up like he was bracing himself for a knock-down, drag-out fight. It was like looking at a younger Raphael, except he burned hot, and apparently Mikey burned cold.

“You don’t like any of my friends,” Mikey said plainly. His arms were crossed and he wasn’t budging. “You call Mondo annoying right to his face, and you’re scared of Leatherhead because he’s stronger than you so you’re always weird and rude around him, and every time Renet comes to visit you look at her like you think she’s stupid. And I can tell, ‘cause it’s the same way you guys look at me.”

“Woah,” Donnie said, putting up his hands. His eyes were round and stunned. None of them had come into this conversation expecting it to spiral into an outright confrontation so fast. “We don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Sure,” Mikey said in a tone that made it sound like he was actually saying ‘yeah, right.’ His mouth was set in a firm line, brows drawn together under his mask. “So are you gonna tell me to stop hanging out with Woody? Is that what the point of this was?”

Originally? Yes. But Donnie was stricken, and Raph kept shooting sidelong stares at Leo that said Abort, Fearless, abort! as clearly as if he was shouting it. But more than that, it was the way Mikey was looking at him.

He looked like he was ready to get his feelings hurt, and it was the first time he’d ever looked at Leo like that in his entire life.

Leo was doing his best to lead the family without Splinter’s patient guiding hand, but there were days that he really struggled. Days that he’d give anything to see his father again, so he could ask for one more answer, one more moment of wisdom.

But he didn’t need anyone to tell him what the right answer was here.

“No, Angie,” Leo said quickly, the old nickname slipping out on its own. “I’m sorry I came at this so wrong. I just want you to be careful, okay? You know I—I worry.”

Mikey’s expression softened. Underneath the unfamiliar angry, defensive shell, he was still the sweet kid that brightened all of their days. He surged forward and Leo readily enveloped him in a snug hug, swaying him side-to-side in a playful way.

“It’s okay, Leo. I’m not very smart, but there are some things I know for sure. And I know Woody’s good.”

“Okay,” Donnie said, breaking up the hug with a brisk clap. Now he was the one who looked ready to go on a warpath. “We’re talking about that next. You are not stupid.”

“And I’m not scared of Leatherhead, that's dumb,” Raphael blurted, like he couldn’t go another second without saying it. So the Woody conversation quickly winged away in another direction, but they all ended up talking about things that needed talking about, and Leo soaked up their company the way other turtles basked in sunlight.

It would be easier if he could protect his brothers from every uncertainty and every stranger and every heartache, but doing that would sabotage all of the potentially good things, too. And Leo’s brothers deserved every good thing the world had to offer. What the world didn’t offer, Leo would take for them.

He still wasn’t sure about Woody—that hadn’t been cleared up at all—but he wasn’t going to deny Mikey anything that made him happy. Leo’s job as big brother and stand-in parent was to step in when things went wrong and make them right again. Until then, he would just pray they didn’t go wrong.

When Christmas Eve rolls around, the lair is packed. There’s music and cheesy Christmas movies and a rich spread of food. All of their friends make an appearance, even if they can’t stay. It’s so different from the Christmas celebrations of his childhood that it might as well be a scene from some alien planet. Splinter raised his sons with warmth and love, but he had been so alone in the world. Leo and his brothers are really lucky to have as many people to count among their family as they do.

He almost misses it entirely when Woody shows up. Maybe he would have, if Mikey hadn’t shouted out loud in pure glee. He watches his littlest brother jump down from Leatherhead’s shoulders and sprint across the lair at full ninja speed. Woody is laughing when they collide.

Leo isn’t close enough to hear their conversation over the noise of the party. Casey and Shinigami are doing karaoke now, for some godforsaken reason, and they could easily drown out everything else within a ten mile radius.

But he can see the brightness on both of their faces, the dimpled grin Woody’s wearing as he absorbs Mikey’s special brand of light, the easy, familiar way they lean into each other’s orbit.

They start to venture toward the kitchen, and like an act of gravity, Mikey’s closest friends peel away from the party to fall into step with them.

“—thought the movie tickets were my present!” Mikey is protesting, a big theatrical pout on his face. “The Force Awakens was amazing, and the theater was so cool!”

“The movie tickets were a red herring,” Woody replies. “My sister works there and it was really easy for her to get us in, especially because she’s been trying to get fired for weeks now. Your real present is actually in your house already. I had no idea how to get it down here by myself, so April and Karai helped me smuggle it in yesterday. I think they hid it in the pantry.”

Now it made sense why April has been guarding that particular corner of the kitchen so fiercely. Rockwell almost lost a hand when he went looking for some chips earlier. She tips her snowman-shaped mug at Woody in solidarity and he nods gravely back.

Leo is curious. He drifts over to join April when she moves over to stand just inside the doorway, propping up a wall. There’s a crooked smile on her face.

“You’ll want to see this,” she says, so certainly that Leo believes her.

The present, when they wrestle it out of the pantry and onto the kitchen island, is fairly big, and it’s easy to see how one skinny teenage boy would have struggled to get this into the tunnels by himself. Mondo immediately plucks the bow off the box and smacks it onto the top of his own head, because he’s—

Leo catches himself.

Because he’s a kid, Mikey’s age, mutated at fourteen years old and abandoned by his family and left to make his own way in the world. And maybe he’s annoying sometimes, but that’s not all he is.

“I’m a gift,” the gecko says proudly.

“To the world,” Renet and Woody say at the same time, utterly serious, and Mikey laughs.

He enlists Leatherhead’s help in unwrapping his present, because the metric ton of tape Woody used is no match for the alligator’s knife-point claws. Then all the paper comes off, and Mikey takes one look at what's underneath, and the smile falls right off his face.

It’s a KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer, in bright buttercup yellow, with a bunch of attachments included in the box. Leo stands a little taller, eyes narrow as he takes in the scene, trying to suss out what caused that expression on Mikey’s face.

He looks absolutely dumbfounded. He thumbs at a corner of the box like he’s making sure it’s real.

“It’s exactly the one I wanted,” Mikey says really quietly. He’s clearly overwhelmed. “I never said anything. How’d you know that?”

“C’mon, amigo, of course I knew,” Woody replies. He’s a little self-conscious now. “I had to do a lot of extra deliveries to save up for it. But I figured I had lots of Christmases to make up for. And I wanna be around for all the rest of them, too.”

Mikey sniffs, and then starts rubbing his eyes, his shoulders trembling.

“Aww, Mikey, nooo,” Renet says, sounding choked up, “if you cry I’m gonna, like, start bawling my eyes out! Please think of my eyeliner!”

“They don’t have waterproof makeup in the 79th Dimension?” Mondo asks judgmentally.

Leatherhead chuckles warmly, a low rumble that sounds more like a growl than laughter. He’s so laughably big he barely fits in their kitchen, but he fits. It has a lot to do with the way he smiles at Leo’s baby brother, like he knows exactly how special Mikey is.

All of Mikey’s friends look at him like that. Even Mondo, skating in circles around the kitchen island, is sort of grinning to himself.

“Can you stay the night?” Mikey asks wetly. “I’m gonna make homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast with my new mixer.”

“Mikester,” Woody says, resting his weight on his elbows and leaning across the island to give Mikey his undivided attention, “I would literally rather die than miss your homemade cinnamon rolls.”

“Hard same,” Mondo adds.

Renet sighs, puts one arm around Mikey’s shoulders and the other around Leatherhead’s snout, tugs them both in really tight, and says, “This Christmas is one of my favorites. I come back to it all the time.”

“Stop trying to give me an existential crisis!” Woody demands, tossing a napkin at her. “I have enough of those on my own!”

Leo glances at April, and finds her already smiling back at him. The last stubborn guard around Leo’s heart folds, just like that. He gazes across the room at the ragtag little group his brother picked out for himself and realizes for the first time that he has a lot less to worry about than he thought he did.

Woody wasn’t forced into this subterranean life of secrecy and subterfuge and war. He could bail anytime he wanted and leave these abandoned subway tunnels behind for good, the way any normal person probably would, and there would be nothing that Leo could do to stop him.

He doesn’t have to stick around. Which makes it even more special that he’s still here.

And he looks at Mikey the way everyone who loves Mikey looks at him. Leo would know that look anywhere.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #woodyangelo #hamato michelangelo #hamato leonardo #woody dirkins #april o'neil #renet tilley #my writing #tmnt fic #prompt #anonymous

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fantomcomics · 11 months

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What’s Out This Week? 6/14

Have you seen our LIMITED EDITION Fantom shirts yet??

Alora: Witch Princess GN - Kayden Phoenix & Phineas Conrad

Alora is one of the five Possibles, a princess that may become the true princess of Citadel. These Possibles were found, trained in their magical energies, and took classes together in the palace; all in preparation for the Majo Majo Celebration. The Possibles completes tests in a magical carnival to see who the one true princess is.

At 30, I Realized I Had No Gender GN - Shou Arai

At age 30, Shou Arai came to a realization; they had no gender. Now they were faced with a question they'd never really considered: how to age in a society where everything is so strongly segregated between two genders? This autobiographical manga explores Japanese culture surrounding gender, transgender issues, and the day to day obstacles faced by gender minorities and members of the LGBTQIA+ community with a lighthearted, comedic attitude.

Bettie Page #1 - Mirka Andolfo, Luca Blengino, Elisa Ferrari & Joseph Michael Linsner

It's la dolce vita for Bettie! Beautiful Bettie has been cast as the lead of a film shooting in Rome, but before she can experience the sights and sounds of Italy, shady-looking thugs try to kidnap her! Why? Well, Bettie happens to be the spitting image of another woman...a woman who's in BIG trouble with trouble-making types! Can Bettie negotiate her way through a madcap adventure of mistaken identity and star-crossed love, Italian-style?

Dead By Daylight #1 (of 4) - Nadia Shammas, Dilon Snook & Ivan Tao

PREQUEL COMIC BASED ON THE BEST-SELLING HORROR GAME, DEAD BY DAYLIGHT! When the rebellious FRANK crashes into the lives of JULIE, JOEY and SUSIE, together they'll unleash bloody chaos onto the sleepy, dead-end town of Ormond. Witness the terrifying origins of THE LEGION.

Death Drop: Drag Assassin #1 - David Hazan & Alex Moore

Death Drop, a hitman turned drag queen, enters a race against time to find her missing drag sister as a mysterious rash of killings and disappearances spreads across the city. With the specter of her former mentor haunting her every step, Death Drop must decide how far she is willing to be pulled back into a life of violence in order to protect her community in this supernatural queer noir.

The Faint Of Heart GN - Kerilynn Wilson

Not that long ago, the Scientist discovered that all sadness, anxiety, and anger disappeared when you removed your heart. And that's all it took. Soon enough, the hospital had lines out the door. June is an exceptional high schooler, though not in the way you'd expect. She is the only one in town who still has her heart. When she looks at her heartless family and friends, she knows she can't become one of them. But the pressure, loneliness, and heartache are mounting, and it's becoming harder and harder to be the only one with a heart. And then June comes across an abandoned heart in a jar. The heart in the jar intrigues her, it baffles her, and it brings her hope. June wonders if the heart can be used to revitalize her sister. But the heart also brings her Max, a classmate with a secret of his own: though he had his heart removed, he is starting to feel again-and it hurts. June will have to choose between a boy she barely knows-a boy who's in pain-and the sister she loves dearly-who feels nothing. But will her own heart rip in two in the process?

Family Style: Memories Of An American From Vietnam GN - Thien Pham

Originally posted on Instagram, this young adult graphic novel details the author's childhood immigration to America with his family, through the lens of particularly meaningful food and meals. Thien's first memory isn't a sight or a sound. It's the sweetness of watermelon and the saltiness of fish. It's the taste of the foods he ate while adrift at sea as his family fled Vietnam. After the Pham family arrives at a refugee camp in Thailand, they struggle to survive. Things don't get much easier once they resettle in California. And through each chapter of their lives, food takes on a new meaning. Behind every cut of steak and inside every croissant lies a story. And for Thien Pham, that story is about a search - for belonging, for happiness, for the American dream!

Frank Frazetta’s Mothman #1 (of 5) - Tim Hedrick, Luis Guaragna & Andrea Mutti

From 1966 to 1967 in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, several witnesses reported seeing a man-sized, winged creature with glowing red eyes. Circa 1980, Frank Frazetta painted his iconic work "Mothman." Now you will learn the truth-and it's weird. Emmy nominee Tim Hedrick (Avatar: The Last Airbender) and artist Andrea Mutti (British Paranormal Society) bring you the next expansion of the FrazettaVerse!

Gnome & Rat GN - Lauren Stohler

Gnome and Rat are best friends who live together in a charming forest. Rat enjoys drinking tea and finishing crossword puzzles. And Gnome... well, Gnome likes to polish his pointy red hat and eat delicious sausages. Join these funny friends on their various adventures, whether it's celebrating Hat Day, perfecting magic tricks, or tracking down a new signature hat for Gnome. Whatever their antic, these two know exactly how to have a good time: with each other.

Haunt You Til The End #1 - Ryan Cady & Andrea Mutti

In a not-so-far future rife with climate disasters and worldwide instability, an eccentric billionaire and his crew-a disgraced journalist, a radical doctor, a TV demonologist, and a squad of hard-bitten military contractors-set out to prove the existence of life after death. But even if their mission is a success, the truth behind the "most haunted place on earth" may not be the comforting revelation the world is hoping for.

Intertwined: The Last Jewish Daughter Of Kaifeng #1 - Fabrice Sapolsky, Fei Chen, Ho Seng Hui & Fred Pham Chuong

In time for Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month as well as Jewish American Heritage Month, fan-favorite series INTERTWINED is back with a 64 page special dedicated to the only Asian Jewish character in comics: the new Spirit of Water! After the events of the original INTERTWINED series, Leah Ai Tian's life has changed drastically. She had been dragged in Juan Jin's adventures with the Spirits of WuXing against her will and Lady Xia passed on the mantle of Champion of the Water Element to her right before she was murdered. Now, Leah fights along the Spirits of the Earth, Wood, Fire and Metal to preserve the balance of the universe while fully living her Jewish faith. But her past has come back to haunt her. Why did she really leave Kaifeng and China? And what do Mob Lord Yuk-Long wants so much that he sent his goons all the way to Chinatown New York to find her?

INTERTWINED: THE LAST JEWISH DAUGHTER OF KAIFENG is a fast paced action adventure tale dealing with deep real life issues: the meaning of faith in a country that, at that time, doesn't recognize Judaism as a religion, the condition of women in the early 1970s and freedom of choice.

Klik Klik BOOM #1 - Doug Wagner, Douglas Dabbs & Matt Wilson

Meet Sprout, a mute assassin who communicates exclusively through polaroid pictures. Being raised by her doomsday-prepping grandfather in the rolling hills of Idaho, Sprout has never been around other people, watched TV, or seen clothes outside of Army fatigues. Now she's headed to the big lights of New York City to avenge her grandfather's murder, but will the city's mesmerizing glitz and glam help her succeed-or be the death of her?

Legends Of The Pierced Veil: Izuna GN - Saverio Tenuta & Carita Lupattelli

Since the dawn of time, the Izuna wolves have been entrusted as guardians against Japan's evil spirits, protecting the veil that keeps the spirit world of the Kami and the human world separate. One day, a dark force known as the Noggo appears, spreading infection throughout the spiritual plane. As the Izuna battle against the Noggo's invasion of their land, an Izuna cub is born in the form of a young human girl. Can the Izuna protect the Veil from the threat that could come from within?

Lizard Prince & Other South American Stories GN - Kate Ashwin & Kel McDonald

Cursed princes, doomsday prophecies, and a fateful nighttime visit from a legendary sorcerer-these are just a few of the ancient tales whispered in the forests of South America, retold in this beautifully drawn comics treasury! This anthology series features modern takes on folklore from across the continent, for a wide-ranging fireside collection of thrills and spooky chills. Featuring the work of Shadia Amin, Coni Yovaniniz, Verónica Alvarado, and more!

The Love Report GN - Beka & Maya

BFFs Grace and Lola talk about everything related to romance-and have lots of questions: What about the mysterious allure of the popular girl at school? And the rebellious goth with the reputation? And boys. They don't quite understand what makes some school romances soar to legendary heights, while other flirtations fizzle. Lola has an idea-they'll observe, study, and analyze all the couples at their Junior High-and compile their findings as The Love Report. Surprises await them, and force them to learn to see beyond appearances in this fast-paced series opener. They'll also discover secrets between themselves.

LSBN GN - Emma Jayne

A lesbian mech rom-com graphic novel by Ignatz and Prism Award-winning cartoonist Emma Jayne! After many grueling years of defending against colossal, violent creatures, the machine that will turn the conflict in humanity's favor is nearing completion... until the war unexpectedly comes to a sudden, peaceful resolution. The world rejoices. However, two women fall into crisis as their life's work becomes obsolete. Commander Sugimoto and her lead engineer Mischa Polyakov have spent nearly every waking moment together since the project's inception, but without the pretense of their careers and world-ending calamity, do they have a reason to stay in one another's lives?

MTG Planeswalkers: Noble #1 - Stephanie Williams, Daniel Warren, Dave Rapoza, Alberto Locatelli, Lea Caballero, Arianna Consonni, Raúl Angulo & Jahnoy Lindsay

Planeswalkers Karn and Ral Zarek team up to navigate the lonely and often treacherous space between flesh and machine...Meanwhile, a romantic outing featuring Jace and Vraska? The circumstances are less than ideal, however, and even perilous!

Between fan-favorite pairings and unexpected, exciting alliances, the stellar creative team of Stephanie Williams (Nubia: Queen of the Amazons), Daniel Warren and Dave Rapoza (Steve Lichman), Alberto Locatelli, Lea Caballero, Arianna Consonni, and Raúl Angulo take readers to unforgettable realms in the Magic Multiverse!

Mexica: Aztec Princess GN - Kayden Phoenix & Fernanda Lozada

Mexica's princess initiation has begun. She's given three riddles and ventures out of Aztlán with her pet ocelot, Elote, to find the prizes. Unbeknownst to her, she fights a neighboring tribe thinking they're apart of the princess initiation. Mexica unknowingly saving the kingdom and ultimately returning as Aztlán's crowned princess.

Mighty Marvel Team-Up Spider-Man: Animals Assemble! GN - Mike Maihack

When the Avengers are assembled to contain a super threat in New York City, Spider-Man is given the most important job of all: to make sure all the Avengers' super pets are safe! Spider-Man wants in on the bad guy fighting action, but with great power comes great pet sitting. Featuring fan favorite Avengers like Captain America, Captain Marvel, and Black Panther, this fun and funny original graphic novel sees the mighty web-slinger teaming up with the most unlikely of heroes to save the day!

My Dear Curse-Casting Vampiress GN Vol 1 - Chisaki Kanai

The world is full of vampires. Supernatural creatures who drain the blood from humans without mercy-fighting such beings is the foundation of Isuzu Osaka's life. But humanity is losing the war, and so desperate times call for desperate measures...And so, Isuzu sets out to strike a deal with a powerful vampiress whose beauty drives all who gaze upon her insane in the hopes of protecting his friends...

Night Fever GN - Ed Brubaker, Sean Phillips & Jacob Phillips

Who are you, really? Are you the things you do, or are you the person inside your mind? In Europe on a business trip, Jonathan Webb can't sleep. Instead, he finds himself wandering the night in a strange foreign city with his new friend, the mysterious and violent Rainer, as his guide. Rainer shows Jonathan the hidden world of the night, a world without rules or limits. But when the fun turns dangerous, Jonathan may find himself trapped in the dark-the question is, what will he do to get home? NIGHT FEVER is a pulse-pounding Jekyll-and-Hyde noir thriller about a man facing the darkness inside himself.

Nuking Alaska GN - Peter Dunlap-Shohl

Nuking Alaska is an unnervingly funny tale of life in Alaska during the tensest times of the Cold War. It recounts the surprising and tragicomic details of the nuclear threats faced by Alaskans, including Project Chariot in the late 1950s and early 60s, the near-nuclear disaster caused by the Great Alaskan Earthquake of 1964, and the 1971 test of a nuclear warhead on the island of Amchitka. Alaskan resident Peter Dunlap-Shohl shares the terrible consequences that these events and others had for humans and animals alike, all in the service of "atoms for peace."

Parallel TP - Matthias Lehmann

Karl Kling's story is one of revelations, and these he has addressed in a letter to his daughter, Hella, who had disowned Karl many years ago. Karl's letter is a cri de coeur from a father to a daughter he never really got to know, and he comes clean to her about his failed marriages, his fractured family relations--and his love for men.

Taking place between the end of World War II and the 1980s, Parallel chronicles Karl's efforts to comply with social norms in order to keep his sexuality a secret. It also paints a picture of a life torn between conformity and rebellion, and the cruel realities of twentieth-century German society, where homosexuality was proscribed and punishable until 1994. Matthias Lehmann poignantly depicts the story of a decades-long yearning to live an open and free life, and the price Karl and those he loves must pay for it. It is also a story of finding the courage to finally tell the truth no matter the obstacles...or the cost.

Prophecy Complete Edition GN - Ran Kuze

The mind twisting thriller series that was adapted into a life action film, is now in a new complete omnibus format! A newspaper-masked vigilante who broadcasts his acts of vengeance before committing them. A newly-formed police division tackling the new frontier of internet-based crime. As the sun rises on the Era of Information, can a group of people who found themselves at the bottom of the food chain rattle society through the web and avenge a fallen friend?

Barbaric: Queen Of Swords #1 - Michael Moreci, Corin Howell & K.J. Diaz

Spinning out of the pages of BARBARIC comes an all-new, standalone, rip-roaring fantasy adventure, filled with mayhem, humor, and a bloodthirsty weapon that just won't stop talking! Serra is a witch with a checkered past; Ka is an assassin with an agenda all her own, and Deadheart is a barbarian who wants to bash everyone in her path. They'll have to unite their unique skills to track down a powerful foe who's tied their lives together. Get ready to meet your new favorite instrument of death-the evil Ga'Bar, whose spirit is now trapped in Deadheart's sword!

Discover the origin of the dark magic that turned Soren into the tattooed witch she is today, in this totally new story, the perfect place to step into the world of BARBARIC for the first time!

Reggie: Kid Penguin GN - Jen de Oliveira

Fans of Babymouse and Owly will love this early graphic novel series about the everyday adventures and high jinks of Reginald "Reggie" Guinn, a little kid penguin with a big personality! Reggie is just like any other kid: always looking for fun and adventure! But Reggie's curious, playful side sometimes gets him into trouble. Like when he tries to give himself a haircut before picture day...and ends up gluing his feathers back on his head! Or when he sneaks a mouthful of cookie dough from the kitchen... then feels the sun baking cookies in his tummy! Or when his babysitter puts him on a kid leash while they walk to the park... and he rebels by acting like a dog!

Santa Latina Superhero GN - Kayden Phoenix & Eva Cabrera

Santa lives in Wexo, a made-up bordertown in Texas. With elections coming up, the tension rises as the conservative frontrunner, Illena Chavez-Estevez, AKA ICE, wants to start a race war in the town. On the Domino side, we have La Politica running. Comadre, the mentor and veteran, ends up recruiting Santa for La Politica's campaign and as the racial tensions rise in the town, Santa learns what it means to be patriotic while harnessing her Mom's military past. When civilians start getting stolen, Santa finds her voice and strength to raid the detention camps and take down ICE.

Spider-Man: Fake Red GN - Yusuke Osawa

Yu's new high school is kind of awful. He's failing his classes and striking out socially. Everything changes when he finds one of Spider-Man's costumes abandoned in an alleyway. At first, it's fun to put on the costume and play hero, but when powerful enemies start to appear, Yu quickly realizes he's out of his element. Still, with Spider-Man nowhere to be found, the city needs someone to save it...

The Prophet GN - A. David Lewis, Kahlil Gibran & Justin Renteria

First published in 1923, Khalil Gibran's The Prophet is unquestionably the most popular work of free verse published in the English language during the 20th century. The slender book tells the story of exiled Almustafa, leaving his refugee home of Orphalese after twelve years of banishment. Before he goes, however, he has words of wisdom for the people who took him in. This graphic adaptation features a faithful rendering of the original text with a flashback sequence that explains the prehistory of Almustafa and an afterword by A. David Lewis.

This Is Not My Story HC - Ryan Uytdewilligen & David Huyck

The brave captain of a tiny spaceship is surrounded by flying saucers. Though the situation appears dire, he knows just what to do... um, wait! The brave captain-ahem, boy-tells the author to stop the action: He's got it all wrong. This is not the boy's story. He belongs in a different story. The author considers this. Then he begins again, with a story about Cattle King Carl, the quickest cattle wrangler in the West... No! Still not the boy's story? Hmm. Is he a dragon-slaying knight? No! A vampire's next victim? No! A boy going on a date? No! Will the author ever come up with the right story?

Twisted Tales: Part Of Your World GN - Stephanie Kate Strohm, Liz Braswell, Kelly Matthews & Nichole Matthews

Discover a new side of The Little Mermaid in this darkly romantic reimagining of the classic Disney film! It's been five years since the infamous sea witch defeated the little mermaid... and took King Triton's life in the process. Ariel is now the voiceless queen of Atlantica, while Ursula runs Prince Eric's kingdom on land. But when Ariel discovers that her father might still be alive, she finds herself returning to a world-and a prince-she never imagined she would see again. Ursula has been making the most of her role as princess: With the kingdom-and Prince Eric-under her spell, the sea witch has been plotting, scheming, and waging war. And after the disguised sea witch catches wind that Ariel has resurfaced, her thirst for power threatens both land and sea. It's up to Ariel to overthrow the murderous villain before Ursula can destroy her home, her prince, and the world she once longed to be a part of.

Void Rivals #1 - Robert Kirkman, Lorenzo De Felici & Matheus Lopes

War rages around the Sacred Ring, where the last remnants of two worlds have collapsed around a black hole in a never-ending war. However, when pilot Darak and his rival Solila both crash on a desolate planet, these two enemies must find a way to escape together. But are they alone on this strange planet? And what dark forces await that threaten the entire universe?

Why I Adopted My Husband GN - Yuta Yagi

As a gay couple living in Japan (where gay marriage is not yet legal), Yuta and Kyota have found a unique loophole in order to live together and support one another financially, legally and medically; Kyota adopted Yuta. This nonfiction manga depicts how they met, living together, discussions with their parents, and their future anxieties and determination as they strive for independence and equal rights under Japanese law.

Xino #1 - Chris Condon, Nick Cagnetti & Matt Lesniewski

Because the future is getting weirder everyday, we give you XINO #001-the first of three OVERSIZED, 40-PAGE intra-ocular lozenges of subversive, surrealist science-fiction to cure your awful awareness of it all. Try not to worry-the insertion process will be guided by the megawatt brilliance of Oni's brightest talents (past, present, and future) as they slowly tune your hopes, dreams, desires, paranoia, alienation, anxiety, and adrenaline to produce the desired results. In our first exploratory outing: Rising stars Melissa Flores (The Dead Lucky, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers) & Daniel Irizarri (Judge Dredd) surgically activate the hidden dimensions of the human senses; cult phenoms Christopher Condon (That Texas Blood) and Nick Cagnetti (Pink Lemonade) debut the world's first intravenous video game system; Underground radicals Jordan Thomas (Weird Work) and Shaky Kane (Bulletproof Coffin) surveil the suburbs for signs of covert infiltration, and master cartoonist and foundational Oni creator Phil Hester (Gotham City: Year One, The Coffin) returns to the fold to leave his deepest mark yet!

Whatcha picking up this week, Fantom Fam?

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polutrope · 1 year

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Having a Moment about Luthien and Daeron over these two passages:

Luthien to Beren in Lay of Leithian (lines 2843-53):

'Yet Doriath my heart did hate, and Doriath my feet forsook, my home, my kin. I would not look on grass nor leaf there evermore without thee by me. Dark the shore of Esgalduin the deep and strong! Why there alone forsaking song by endless waters rolling past must I then hopeless sit at last, and gaze on waters pitiless in heartache and in loneliness?'

and from The Silmarillion, 'Of Beren and Luthien':

And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. [...] But seeking for Luthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Luthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

I can't handle it. The fate she dreaded without Beren is the one Daeron lived without her 😭.

#daeron #luthien #I need some tol galen ot3 #something about all joy being balanced by an equal amount of suffering

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verhalenbrianna · 2 months

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in another lifetime - short story

Six years ago

We sat across from each other in my room, drowning in silence and heartache.

We’d just made love and now sat in silence.

“I’m tired.” I declared.

“I’m tired, too.”

“Why can’t we just be happy?”

“We’ve tried everything.”

“I know.”

We’d just made love and now it was ending.

He stared down at his hands clasped tightly together.

I looked at him and for once since what felt like ages, really looked at him. His dark brown hair, his skin the perfect shade of olive- he was nothing shy of perfect to me.

“We’ve tried everything but being… apart.” I choked on the last word, staring at the beautiful boy sitting across from me with tears in my eyes.

“But…” He trailed off. “This is my bed.” He placed his hands on the comforter slowly, feeling every curvature and pattern. “This is my room.” He looked around and I noticed, too, tears falling down his cheeks. “This is all ours.”

We spent the evening in each other’s arms, never knowing it would be the last time.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” I said as I clung to him. The feeling of his shirt wet from my tears. I looked back into his eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown I’d ever known.

“I can’t do this.” He pleaded.

“Please don’t forget about me.” I begged, running my hands through his hair, holding the sides of his cheeks.

“I don’t want you to forget about me.” He replied, holding the sides of my hands that rested upon his face.

I kissed him. Not just a simple kiss, but with every fiber of my being exuded into that kiss.

“You’re my best friend. Nothing is going to be the same. And I’m going to miss you so, so much.”

----

“Why did you keep this to yourself, why suffer in silence for six years?” She asked. We’d been friends for years and I never expressed how much my heart ached for him to this day.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly.

“I had no idea you still thought of him like this. I thought you had moved on. With, uh, what’s his name, John?” She quizzed me. I couldn’t blame her though, I didn’t mention a word of this to anyone for years.

“John is a really great guy, but he doesn’t want any kind of relationship. Besides… he doesn’t hold my heart the way Phoenix does.”

“Does?

“Very much so.” I pursed my lips and held my hands tightly together on my lap. We should have been working, but this took priority.

Sarah, my dear, dear friend, had nothing to say. I could see the lines on her forehead elude as she tried to think of something to say that would suffice. I didn’t know what to say either.

“He’s engaged.”

“I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“I asked him how he was, and he replied with he was engaged. I didn’t mention I had seen him out shopping for rings. I saw him, and we passed right by each other, as if mere strangers.”

“Wait, wait, you actually talked to him?” She sat upright, turning her body toward me.

“Briefly. It had been so long, I wasn’t even sure he’d respond, but he did. He seemed happy. Asked me how I was, which I replied, and then he just… liked my message. No reply back, nothing.”

“Not a word?” The lines in her forehead prominent now. She was obviously bothered.

“No.” I felt my stomach concave.

“I think this is your sign that it’s time to move on, Sloane. He’s getting married. You know how much that means to him. He’d never done it if he didn’t mean it.”

The tears started to pool in the corner of my eyes. “I know.”

“Is he… happy?” I hesitantly asked.

She thought for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “Yes.”

I took a long breath and smiled weakly. “I thought, this whole time, he was out there making stupid mistakes and being a normal twenty-something year old who sleeps around and does stupid stuff with their friends. That, one day, fate would bring us back together again. We could finally be happy…instead, he was getting better for someone else.”

For a brief moment, Sarah lit up, as if she had the best idea that ever occurred to her.

“There is this place in Charlotte…Fenders or something, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think they could help you.”

“What do you mean they could help me? What, like some sort of therapy?”

“No. They help to erase unwanted memories. Maybe it would be a good idea for you. Help you get over… him.” She hesitated.

“No.” I fired back. I was slightly offended she’d even offer such a suggestion. Her hands went up in surrender.

“Your choice, Sloane. I really think you should consider it. Here-“ She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing down the name again for me. Cautiously, she handed it to me. I thanked her for it and proceeded to place it in my purse. But, once she was out of sight, I crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash can beside me.

I spent the whole evening replaying our conversation, bouncing back and forth between genuine curiosity and offense.

Why would I want to forget him? I love him. I kept repeating it over and over. I love him. I love him. I love him.

I don’t want to hurt anymore, I’d retort in response.

---

I sat down at the kitchen counter with my head in my hands. I felt the goosebumps evade my skin as the AC kicked on. Suddenly, my phone pinged next to me.

I took a deep breath and looked at it before the screen had a chance to black out again.

From: John

Hey, you up?

I sighed and placed my phone screen down back onto the counter. I was so tired of these kinds of texts.

I instinctively picked the phone back up and checked social media, aimlessly scrolling through random posts and videos.

I glanced over to the search icon for a few moments. I bit my lip anxiously as I went to search for his name in the top right, knowing I shouldn’t… that no good would come from it.

I did it anyway.

P..hoen..i..x

His profile suddenly appeared. My thumb hovered over his photo for a few seconds before I gathered the courage to press down.

In an instant, my face was illuminated with photos of his life since that day six years ago.

I scrolled down and made my way back up. He was smiling more than I ever saw. Photos with friends, family… even some photos still exist of gifts I had given him.

I didn’t notice I was crying until a single teardrop hit the screen. I was half startled and immediately clicked out of the app, slamming the phone down on the counter.

My breath heaved before the tears became endless. It was so hard to breathe, so hard to think straight knowing how happy he looked in all his pictures, pictures without me.

Was he… happier? Did he mean what he said to me that day? Did he forget me?

I made my way to my room in silence, the only sound echoing through the halls was the muffled sounds of my cries.

My heart shattered at the idea that I was no longer a part of his existence. He woke up, every day, no longer thinking of me. He woke up, every day, and lived a life in which I was no longer involved in.

I cried for what felt like hours.

---

I awoke in the middle of the night to a nightmare in which I could not remember. I looked over at the clock that read 3:33am. I searched around my sheets for my phone, but I remembered I left it downstairs in the kitchen. I sighed heavily and rested my head back down on the pillow. I laid awake for minutes before I realized sleep would evade me for quite some time. I went back downstairs and sat by my computer, checking emails and work-related nonsense.

Leaning my leg over the chair, I accidentally knocked over my small, white trashcan I kept at the base of the desk. I rolled my eyes and began retrieving the loose items all over the floor when I remembered what Sarah had given me earlier in the day.

I sat there for a moment, pondering what the name of the site was she had written down. I opened up Google and began searching for similar names until I found the right site- Fender.

After hours of reading different testimonies and side effects, I understood how experimental it was.

Could I live in a world where I didn’t know him? Could I throw away all the years, the love?

The nagging pit in my stomach spoke up again.

He’s marrying another girl. It’s over.

I wiped a single tear from my eye and leaned my cursor over the “Make Your Appointment Today” button.

I hesitated for a few seconds before I pressed down.

---

I sat in the office chair, quietly- eerily quiet. I looked around me to see the faces of strangers, all who looked like me. Normal, but so wary, so tired.

No one spoke. We all sat in mutual silence until our names were called. It was antagonizing, I wanted to race to the door, while another part of me made me want to stay. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been curious. For all I knew, this could be a fluke. Did I hope it would be?

I looked down at the paperwork in front of me, aimlessly clicking my pen. I wrote down the basics- my name, address, phone number, primary care physician… then noticed the list of medications, mental health history, family health history… pretty intrusive questionnaire, I thought.

Was I going to cause myself real damage with this process?

I fumbled with my necklace, one of the last cherished things I had left he’d given me. The old rings had rusted away from years of use, so I kept those safe in a box in my closet.

“Ethers.”

I jumped up, startled before I could think twice. I had sat here for so long, so quietly, the sound of my name made my stomach drop.

“Yes.” I weakly responded.

“He’ll see you now.” The nice gentleman at the desk called out. I nodded toward him and began making my way through the double doors on the other side of the room.

“Good luck.” His mouth tilted upwards as I passed by, hands full with my sweater and clipboard.

“Thank you.” I said. Did I mean that? Was that an appropriate response to this? I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure about any of this.

I was greeted by a beautiful blonde-haired woman, who claimed to be my nurse. She guided me into an auspiciously white room, where she sat me down and asked me endless questions to test my psychological status. Then the physical exam, which only lasted a few minutes. She was very thorough about the paperwork I filled out, which I appreciated for such an experimental treatment. The hours of research I did a few nights before only appealed to my curiosity.

Then asked me to talk about him.

“What would you like to remove, hun?” She asked me, her slight country accent coming through. She could tell how nervous I was and placed a hand on my knee.

“We do cases like these every day, sweetheart. Think of it as a new beginning- a do over. You don’t have to be haunted by your memories anymore.” She smiled.

“I want to forget I’d ever met him.” I swallowed the large lump that sat at the base of my throat. Lie.

We went through all the memories, all of the tears and the laughter, the love making and the arguments. The little looks from across the room, and the sleepless nights up talking. I shared everything.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I think I have enough. The doctor should have more than enough to take care of you.”

“Will it hurt?” I asked her.

She paused for a quick moment, contemplating how she’d respond. She turned slightly toward me and replied, “It won’t hurt anymore.”

I understood what she meant.

The doctor had a large personality, which he over exaggerated to try and make me less nervous. It didn’t work, but I appreciated the effort.

I sat in a comfortable pleather chair, leaning back slightly. The nurse began the IV through the top of my hand. I winced slightly at the prick of pain. All I felt was cold running through me once she started the saline. I guess my couple years of medical training didn’t leave me completely useless, I thought to myself.

The doctor, Dr. Anoia, walked me through the procedure twice to ensure I knew this was what I wanted. I hesitated the first time he asked me, but not the second time.

I leaned my head back as they placed the electrodes against the sides of my forehead. I slowly breathed in through my nose and out of my mouth, like all the anxiety websites said would work.

“We are ready to begin now, hun. Take a deep breath.” The nurse placed a hand upon my cheek and returned to the doctors side, dimming the lights down.

It was then I heard a few clicks of a machine nearby.

Suddenly, it was as if my brain was on fire. Not in a painful kind of way, but an electrified, static electricity throughout my body kind of way.

Thousands of memories spearing through my conscious- childhood, adolescence, early adult hood- you name it, I saw it. Even things I had forgotten about.

“We’re almost there, Sloane, please remain still.” I heard the doctor say. I was honestly, for the most part, enjoying most of the memories. I could easily surpass the negative ones.

Then his face appeared.

“I didn’t know if you would spend the day with me.” He smiled.

“Do you ever think about what our future would look like?”

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I will never do that again-“

“You are everything to-“

“Our daughter will have your ey-“

“I love you, so much.-“

The memories became too much, like a bombardment of hundreds of pictures and videos. I started to panic.

“Wait, please, can I keep this one memory, please?” I begged through tears, clenching my necklace.

“Honey, it’s for the best, this is what you wanted. Stay still.” The blonde-haired nurse spoke softly. She was so oddly comforting. Her hands warm, not the sweaty kind of warmth you’d expect, but warm.

“I can’t do this, I can’t forget him, I love hi-“

Another brain wave pulsed through me.

“Please calm her down.” Dr. Anoia urged from behind me.

“I-“ The images were slowly being removed from my memory.

“Phoenix.” I spoke one last time as the tears came to a sudden halt.

“Sloane…” I heard the nurses voice echo through the room. Things went black, for how long, I wasn’t sure. I could remember the feeling of someone taking my hand, but for all I know that could’ve just been a dream.

“Sloane, hun, are you feeling okay? It’s over now.” She cooed. I slowly started to come to.

“Sloane, this is Dr. Anoia, do you know where you are?”

I looked over to him, slightly startled.

“Fenders.” I whispered. I looked down at my hand wrapped in a death grip around my necklace. My brows furrowed as I slowly released it back upon my chest.

“Sloane I have to ask you a couple of questions, okay?”

I nodded my head.

“Sloane, what is your last name?”

“Ethers.”

“Good.” He continued on. “Where do you go to school?”

“Arizona State.”

He leaned over to check my chart and nodded.

“Good job.” The nurse encouraged me.

“Sloane, I have one more question. Who is Phoenix to you?”

It was silent for a few moments as I tried to rack my brain.

“I don’t know a Phoenix.” I said blankly, slightly confused. No emotion to it.

“I think we’re done here.” The doctor said as he handed back the controls to the nurse.

“You did wonderful, Sloane.” The nurse chimed in before I sat all the way up, slowly, and removed my IV.

I was helped down from the chair and guided back towards the hallway.

I walked back to the waiting room in a daze. The nurse handed me some papers of what to expect after the procedure. She explained I was here to erase some unwanted memories, but of what, I couldn’t recall. I guess it worked then.

The lobby was less full than I remembered it being. I wasn’t sure how long I was back there for.

A young man’s named was called as I walked back through the double doors. Our paths crossed for a moment.

“Excuse me.” I said politely as I moved around him toward the door. For a brief moment, I looked up at him. He was breathtakingly beautiful. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes to compliment his olive-toned skin. Skin that was just sun kissed enough, as if he spent a lot of his time in the sun. He even had a name tag like mine, although the name my brain seemed to skip over.

He looked down at me and resembled a look of confusion, almost as if he knew me from somewhere. Shortly after, he simply nodded with a small smile, letting me pass. I made it all the way to the door and paused with my hand on the handle. I looked up and sat there for a moment, sitting in a puddle of confusion and wonder.

I smiled and shook my head ever so slightly, as I opened the door and let it click back behind me.

Maybe I’ll see him again, I wouldn’t mind. I thought, then presumed. I have so much to do.

Maybe in another lifetime.

#short story #short stories #creative writing #nostalgia #love #we cant be friends #heartbreak

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dearestgojo · 2 years

Text

The Age of Our Youth

Aki x Fem reader

Summary: Some loves are meant to be forgotten, but others are meant to follow you a lifetime.

A/n: I'm honestly so nervous about this 😭, I feel like this chapter is bland, but I hope y'all stick around enjoy this short series.

Genre: Romance. Angst. Modern Au.

Warnings: None really for this chapter

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Masterlist | Wc: 7.2k

With your heart thumping against your ribs, you stare at the droplets of water sliding down the expanse of the window of the restaurant you're seated in, pen tapping lightly against the white surface of the table. You can feel the strings of your heart being tugged at, sweat forming in the palms of your hand, and your heart feeling as if it’s going to climb up your chest and spill on the table. Nothing you can think of to calm your nerves, not even the tea in front of you seems to have helped, and the nauseating feeling only grows whenever a small ‘ding’ of the door opens and closes.

You refuse to look up scared that you’ll meet the blue eyes that once you used to take your breath away. The same blues that you had looked up to as if they held the universe in them. You knew better now; years of empty ice cream containers, sleepless nights, and countless heartaches had taught you that no man truly holds the totality of the world. You were truly starting to regret agreeing to this get-together Denji had set up with the entirety of your friend group. Checking the face of your wristwatch, you notice that they’re all late.

“Sorry I’m late, looks like we’re the first ones here,” the sound of his voice sends a shiver up your spine. The air no longer seems able to travel into your lungs. Aki's voice had grown deeper. Deep and melodic. “It’s nice to see you again, y/n.”

Breathing in deeply through your nose, you look up from between your lashes, avoiding his eyes, and give him a tight-lipped smile, “It’s nice to see you too, Aki.” You pause for a second, taking in the full sight of him while he stands at the edge of your table. His hair is longer now, sill pulled back from his face with a few loose strands falling into his eyes. The dark bags from long night shifts no longer decorate the bottoms of them. He holds himself up with the same confidence, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, something new you notice. You wonder if he dresses like this all the time now. “How have you been?” You ask, shaking your head and lifting the empty cup of tea to your lips.

Aki pulls the chair out in front of you, sliding into the seat smoothly, raising his hand to call over the waiter, “I’ve been fine. What about you? How have you been?”

“I’ve been better,” you reply, setting the up-down, eyes focused on the remains on the bottom. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you think back to the recent Facebook update you had seen on his profile thanks to your mother, your heart aching a bit when you bring it up. “Congrats on the engagement by the way,” you clear your throat, feeling the need to clarify your reason for knowing about it when you and he are no longer Facebook friends, “My mom told me about it.”

Aki nods his head, lips formed into a thin line, “Thanks.”

You pretend not to notice the long sigh he takes afterward or the way he fiddles with his fingers. You certainly don’t notice the way his eyebrows furrow in what seems to be frustration at the mention of his engagement. you put the pen you had been fiddling with back into your purse along with the notes you had been taking.

The air is filled with tension, each of you refusing to look at each other directly. How long had it been since the two of you had been in the same room? Five years? Three Years? The last time you remember seeing him was at Denji’s Christmas party a few years ago, but you hadn’t talked to him. Instead, you had avoided him the entire time you were there, mostly because you didn’t want him to introduce you to the girl that was hanging off his arm, the same girl he was now marrying.

“I saw your brother the other day,” Aki interrupts the awkward silence.

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Mmh, not much, he just told me that your parents are selling their house.”

You're now facing each other, eyes meeting for a second before yours drift down to the cup in your hands, “Y-yeah. It was random too…it’s been on the market for a few weeks.”

He nods again, the awkwardness settling again, you almost want to cry when the waitress finally shows up to take Aki’s drink order, filling the quiet. You stare out the window, watching as cars pull in and out, waiting for Denji’s blue mustang to pull into the parking lot. You glance at Aki, who stares at the bottles of liquor on the shelves behind the bar. You notice that his hair is now a bit longer, a few loose strands curling around his ears. Ears that now have new piercings, the jewelry reflecting the light above you. Your hand instinctively travels to the small flower-shaped in the inner part of your ear, the one that matches his.

“I think they're here,” Aki’s voice draws your attention back to the parking lot, a dark blue mustang with neon lights flashing under pulling up.

“Finally,” you whisper under your breath, watching as both Denji and Power walk towards the front, both laughing and pushing each other along the way. You can feel some of your rigidity loosen at the sight of them, your shoulders relaxing finally. The door dings when they walk through their loud voices bouncing off the walls. A handful of people turn around and look at them. “Oh my god,” you whisper, sinking into your seat, trying to act as if you don’t know them even though they're being led straight to your table.

“Aki! Y/n! You’re already here!” Power greets you both.

Shooting the hostess an apologetic smile you nod your head and make room for Power next to you, “You two are late.”

“Sorry, we got pulled over,” Denji answers, knitting his fingers together in front of him, “I got a ticket for speeding.”

Power laughs next to you, leaning onto the table, her chin resting on the back of her hand, “Can you believe this dumbass thought he wouldn’t get stopped when he sped up after clearly seeing a cop parked.”

Across from you, Denji pouts, rubbing his hand over his eyes, “Whatever,” he mumbles. Turning the attention away from himself, he looks at you, a friendly smile spread across his face, “Haven’t seen you in a while, y/n. How have you been?”

Returning to his smile you try to ignore how the whole table turns to look at you, “I’ve been busy, but okay. What about you? How’s the wedding planning? Last time I saw you or Reze was when we met up after we went dress shopping.”

“She’s doing fine. We just need to find a venue, which someone had to beat us to the only decent venue in town,” He answers, jamming his elbow into Aki’s arm playfully.

Ignoring Denji’s comment, he opens the menu that’s placed in front of him, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together separated by the piece of plastic, a habit you remember him doing during all your dates. You catch yourself watching him do it, a small smile starting to curl on the corner of your lips, but you shake your head and turn back to Denji.

“Can’t you just look for a different place? There are some nice venues outside of town,” you tell him, opening your menu on the table, barely glancing at it while your fingers dance along the surface of it.

Denji shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes, “Reze wants to have the reception in that place. It’s apparently where everyone in her family has gotten married.”

“Who hasn’t gotten married in that place,” Power adds sarcastically to the conversation, laughter erupting from you.

“Try telling her that,” Denji laughs.

You feel warmth spread across your chest as you laugh with them, your head feeling like it's floating up. It feels as if you’ve traveled back in time, the jokes that get tossed back and forth between the three of you, Aki giving the three of you annoyed looks, looking up occasionally up at the ceiling as if that would get the other two to be less quiet. All the awkwardness is replaced by nostalgia.

A homesick feeling settled in the bottom of your stomach, that spread up to the back of your throat, for a time when things were much easier. When you didn’t have the gaping hole in your chest with adulthood. Before you longed for success, happiness, love…for something to make you feel fulfilled. You yearned for the carefreeness that came with the early days of your youth.

August 2012

The sun burns the skin of your shoulders and nose while you look up at the sky, sweat coats your forehead and travels down your back, and the tank top you're wearing changes to a dark shade and does very little to cool you down. Even the water your feet are soaking in does very little to cool down the burning feeling. You can hear the chirping of the cicadas that sing along the riverbank, the sound causing you to feel irritated combined with the heat. You’re already doing your best to ignore the way the wood beneath you is hot and uncomfortable to be sitting on.

A few feet away from where you sit you can see the two idiots who are the cause of your dilemma. The reason why you're out in the scorching heat instead of sitting in front of the ac. Denji and Power splash water at each other, their laughter and howling can be heard from several blocks down, but no one is out in the streets to complain. Only people who were out of their minds would be out in this heat. And apparently, you were one of those people having let them drag you out of your room with the disguise of studying at the library for the first test of the semester, only to end up at the small riverbank of the town.

“You know if you get in the water you’ll feel much better!” Power swims up to you, pushing herself up on the small wooden dock you're sitting on.

You scrunch your nose at her, watching as droplets of water travel down the skin that her two-piece swimsuit doesn’t cover, “No, thank you.”

“Come on,” she begs, twisting her hair causing water to hit your thigh, “it’s not even that deep.” You shake your head again, laying down on the wood a loud hiss leaving your lips when your skin makes contact with the wood. Power scowls next to you when you don’t give in to her, pushing herself up and reaching for the oversized shirt she had worn to come here, “Fine, then we’re going home.”

“Power,” you say her name sternly, knowing that she’s about to throw a fit at you without getting in the water with them, “ you know I can’t swim.”

She doesn’t look at you, choosing to slip into her sandals, “It’s whatever. Denji, let's go!” Power glances at you, her lips pressed into a line, “You hungry?”

You sigh, already knowing that if you don’t give in a little she’ll most likely be angry with you the rest of the week, “Yeah.” You stand, dusting yourself off, “want to go to that small restaurant by campus?” you ask, already knowing her answer since it was one of her favorite places to eat.

Her mood seems to change towards you when you offer to go there, a smile spreading on her face almost instantaneously. She hoops her arm through yours, resting her chin on your shoulder to look at you, “That sounds perfect actually.” Glancing over her she calls out to Denji again, scaring him and almost causing him to fall back into the water, “Denji, hurry up! I’m hungry!”

Hooking her arm through yours, Power leads you back to the small apartment the three of you were currently able to share, a courtesy of your absent father trying to crawl his way back into your life ever since his now ex-girlfriend had left him. It was a decent-sized apartment with two bedrooms, a small balcony, and its living areas, big enough for three fresh out of high-school students. It was located a few blocks from the campus, surrounded by small boutiques and restaurants. To think that your father had put this much thought into choosing the apartment was unreal and you refused to believe that the man who hadn't talked to you since you were twelve had put in the effort.

It doesn't take you long to enter the neighborhood, the three of you avoiding the sun by staying under the large umbrellas many of the shops had hung outside their establishments. Power drags you and Denji down the sidewalk, in a hurry to change and head to the small restaurant.

You can feel your bones aching with every step you take, the heat of the sun heating the sidewalk which then seeps in through the soles of the sandals you wear. Looking behind you, Denji is shirtless, sweat dripping down his temples and his face a bright red, you're not doing any better with your shirt clinging to your body, yet somehow Power seems unaffected by the smoldering sun. Her hair isn’t stuck to her back or forehead and there are no signs of moisture on any part of her body as she skips ahead. You almost want to strangle her for it too.

Reaching the front of the building, you and Denji let out sighs of relief, quickly followed by groans when you both remember that the elevator is out of service, watching Power take two steps at a time. By the time you reach the coolness of the apartment, you don’t want to go back out into the heat, your brain is thinking of ways to delay the trip to the restaurant till after the sun goes down. Meowy greets the three of you along with the sound of the AC when you open the door.

“I think I’m dead,” Denji moans, letting his body collapse in front of the wall ac, face pressed against the cool boards of the floor.

You follow him, landing on his back, laughing a little when he groans, and then rolling over onto yours, “Me too.” The room falls silent while you both listen to the water of the bathroom start to run, and the soft sound of the ac motor. You can hear Power moving around in washing the remnants of the river water, and you let yourself relax under the sounds of the quiet house, staring up at the dancing shadows of the house plants you keep. Turning your head you find Denji with his eyes closed, breathing softly through his nose. You know he isn’t asleep, the lack of snoring is a clear sign, so you move closer to him, letting your head rest on his elbow, “You know, I think we should get her a pet to keep her busy, I don’t think the cat is enough.”

The comment immediately makes the two of you burst, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes, and the tiredness of the walk disappearing.

Power walks back into the living room, the cat wrapped in her arms, “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head sitting upright, smiling up at her while she makes her way to the kitchen for some water, “Nothing. I’m going to shower real quick and then we can go.”

“Okay,” both respond in unison, Power making her way to the pantry for cat food and Denji dropping his head back on the floor.

You make your way to your shared room with Power, sun pouring in from the large window in front of your bed, drawing attention to the large mess of clothes spread out across the floor. “Power! Please get your clothes off the floor before we leave!” You call over your shoulder, knowing that you’ll probably end up cleaning up the mess when you get back. Pushing aside some of the mess, you make a path to the closet that still has most of your clothes in it, pulling out a satin top and a pair of pants, expecting the evening to be cooler than the day.

You make your way to the bathroom, which is a few feet on the opposite wall from Denji’s, you and Power dictating that if anyone should break in he should be the first to go instead of the two of you when you first moved in, and check the clock on your phone.

Two O’clock in the afternoon. There were still six hours to kill till the sun started to go down, and you could take an hour in the bathing which would leave you with five. But of course, you would want to eat before eight so really you had four, you could probably convince Denji to also take an hour-long shower, so really you had three.

Three hours to find something to distract Power. You were going to have a long afternoon.

It’s still early in the afternoon when Aki finds himself standing outside in the blistering heat of the summer under an umbrella that did very little to help keep him cool. His white dress shirt was sticking to his back and he had sweat stains on his underarms. The ice-cream cone that he was holding was melting, making his hand sticky, only making him more irritated. He wants to go home, back to enjoying what was supposed to be his day off, his eyes traveling to the small air-conditioned convenience store at the end of the block.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Himeno asks next to him, paying for the ice cream she had bought from the vendor.

“Yeah. I am,” he responds, licking the bottom of his cone where the ice cream is pouring over the edges.

Himeno leads them away from the shade, towards a small bench that is seated under a small tree that does not protect them from the sun. “Okay, then what was I saying?”

“You were telling me that the suspect we’re after usually hangs around this place and that you wanted to go out for drinks.”

Himeno sighs, crossing her legs, “I hate how you do that.”

The space between them fell quiet, both slowly eating while watching as people walked in and out of the buildings of the small neighborhood, neither of them in a particularly talkative mood with how suffocating the hot air felt. Aki isn’t sure how much time passes, the curves of the sun just starting to hit the line of the horizon; the sky is painted in a bright orange and grayish blue, and the air around them finally starting to feel cooler. His shirt is still clinging to his body, and his head felt like it was being repeatedly hit. He is tired of waiting and counting down the minutes before he can go home, but when Himeno suddenly stands, he follows her lead and comes up to his feet.

“That’s our guy, the one in the red,” she points to a man in his late twenties coming out of the convenience store across from them. He’s wearing a faded red shirt and blue cap, head hanging down. Himeno throws the stick to her popsicle and starts to cross the street, “Come on, we don’t want to lose him.”

They both cross the street, keeping a few yards between them and the man they’re following. There aren't many people on the street, so it’s difficult to make it seem like they are pursuing him, even with the distance between them it’s very evident that they are. Himeno takes her left hand out of her pocket, sticking her thumb out towards the street on the other side, telling Aki to switch sides.

Aki nods his head before crossing over, reaching over his head to tighten his hair. He keeps his eyes on the blue cap of the man, the crowd around them slowly growing as they approach a busy side of town, walking side by side with Himeno who remains on the other side. He can see the man looking over his shoulder towards Himeno, his hand turning to all sides looking for an escape. Aki starts to walk faster, soon walking a few paces ahead of his superior, ready to run if he needs to.

From the back of his peripheral vision Aki sees Himeno take and light a cigarette, her eyes always on the man in front of her. She takes a step off the sidewalk before it even happens, letting Aki know that he should start to start to run, the man sprinting across the road right after she does. His blue cap falls off his head when a car almost hits him, but it doesn’t stop him from running to Aki’s side.

Aki’s sure the man didn’t expect two people to be following, because he can see the way his shoulders relax when he looks over his shoulder and sees that Himeno isn’t even following. The man’s pace slows down once the bottom of his feet touches the sidewalk, thinking that he’ll be able to blend into the crowd and lose his pursuer. A second later letting out a surprised yelp when Aki pushes him to the ground, his hand pushing his head into the cement and twisting one of his arms behind his back.

“What the fuck!”

Aki pushes his knee into the center of the man’s back, Himeno jogging up behind them. “Akio Sato you're under arrest accused of money laundering, the possession of drugs, and the trafficking of drugs along with several other misdemeanors. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you,” she recites, just as two cop cars pull up next to them.

Aki cuffs both arms of the man below him before forcibly pulling him up and handing him over until one of the officers walks up to him. Looking he feels some of the stress from his shoulder release when he sees Angel, a friend of his from the academy. “Damn, already caught your first criminal before me.”

Smiling, he shoves Akio towards Angel, “Of course I did.” Aki feels his heart pounding in his chest, his head feeling light. He’s breathing heavily, adrenaline running through his veins still. He lets out a shaky laugh, head tilting back to look up at the sky, the sun burning his eyes.

Angel smiles at him, reaching up behind his head to tie his hair, “Well that’s great, I’m proud of you.” The back of the car is shut, the door automatically locking, “We should celebrate later,” Angel looks over the top of the car, his partner getting in, “Text me and we’ll make plans.”

“Sure. Bye, man.” Aki waves a quick goodbye. He resumes looking up at the clear sky, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Himeno walks up next to him, lighting a new cigarette, smoke coming out of the corner of her lips, “Now that we’re done here, how about we go out and eat something nice? There’s this nice little restaurant around here.”

You somehow manage to delay your trip back out into the hot weather until the sun is just starting to fall below the skyline, painted in bright pinks and pastel purples, by offering to trim Denji’s hair and then forcing him to shower. The air feels much cooler now, small gusts of air blowing, the skirt of the dress you're wearing fluttering around your knees. There are more people out on the streets now that the sun has gone down, some are sitting on the benches outside of convenience stores and restaurants while others order from the food trucks that are parked on the edges of the sidewalks. Couples are walking, their hands intertwined and smiles spread across their faces, making it difficult for your trio to walk down the narrow walkway.

Power and you walk with your arms hooked to each other, Denji walking right behind you in between your arms, walking in the inner part of the sidewalk, you walk closer to the building. You catch endings of conversation, Power nudging your side when someone says something juicy, all of you finishing the ending with your version of what the conversation could be about. Lips inches apart and foreheads less than an inch from touching. Both of you leaning towards each other, whispers and giggles reaching Denji.

When you reach the small restaurant, the blue light from the fluorescent bulbs comes out through the window, lighting the small piece of sidewalk in front of it. There are only two other small groups of people inside spread out. The three of you walk in and head towards the rectangular window that takes up the center of the furthest wall from the entrance. Pen, who owns the place greets you, her salt and peppered hair pulled back out of her face into a tight bun. She greets the three of you with a wide smile like she does every time you come in, resting her elbows on the counter, “Hi guys, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have the same as usual,” Denji answers, already walking towards the usual spot you sit in near the back corner, a smiley face neon sign each face colored a different color, and four different colored chairs.

You and Power lean over the counter, looking over the menu that’s taped onto it, though you both know you're going to order the same thing. Pen hums, her nails light beating against the surface. “We do this every time, and you girls always end up ordering the same thing,” She teases.

“You’re right, I’ll have what I usually get, but I’ll have tea instead of strawberry soda,” you respond, pushing yourself off the counter to head to your table. You sit on the opposite side of Denji, leaning back against the wall and resting your heels on the edge. Looking at Denji, running your fingers along the surface of the table, “I haven’t seen Reze lately.”

Running his fingers through his hair, he looks up at you, “Uh, yeah…we sort of had a fight last Saturday, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

“Oh. Well if you want to talk about it or need advice, Power and I are here for you. You know that right?”

Denji nods, “I do.”

“Good.”

Power joins you at the table, her fingers reaching for the hair band that’s around your wrist, “Pen said our food will be out in a few minutes. What are you two talking about?”

“Just talking about how Reze hasn’t been around much,” you answer, looking at Denji out of the corner of your eye.

Smiling teasingly, Power leans back in her chair, only two of the legs remain on the floor, “What did she get tired of you and dump you? I mean I get why she would.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Denji’s jaw clench, and his knuckles turning white. You lightly kick one of Power’s chair legs, “Power stop. They just had a very bad fight, and she hasn’t gotten back to him. Let’s change the subject, and try to have fun.”

The door dings open, your attention snapping towards, and a woman with short hair steps in, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She’s dressed in a black suit with high heels, an eye patch covering her right eye. She’s followed by a younger man, dressed in a matching suit, the tie undone, and jacket thrown over his shoulder. He has long hair, that is pulled out of his face, and a stern look on his face that doesn’t match his young appearance.

“He's kinda cute,” you mumble just loud enough for Power and Denji to hear you.

Power smiles, her manicured nail between her teeth, “Bet you can’t talk to him.”

You look at her, raising an eyebrow, “What? Are you serious?”

“Of course, it’s easy money for me.” She turns towards Denji, “You in?”

Denji looks up at the two of you, eyes crinkling a little on the edges as he smiles a little, “Sure.”

“Okay, what are we betting?” You take your feet over the edge of the chair onto the floor and lean closer to Power.

Leaning in towards you she smiles, “How about a month's worth of chores?”

Your nails tap on the table, “Okay, but it doesn’t include laundry.”

“Okay, but you have a fifteen-minute time limit.”

Extending your hand towards her, “Deal.”

“Deal,” Power takes your hand and you both shake.

Pen walks to your table with your food, placing it on the table along with your bill. “You guys enjoy,” she says before turning around and walking back to the counter to take the newcomers' orders.

The minutes pass and the two take a seat a few tables down from where you’re sitting, chatting quietly among themselves. Power keeps shoving her elbow into your side while you eat, she and Denji laugh every time you spit up your food when she does. Almost every person, in the restaurant, turns to look at the three of you, annoyed looks painted across their faces. Denji and Power have no problem ignoring the ugly looks, however, you on the other hand give apologetic smiles.

“It’s been eight minutes,” Power whispers, “I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

You shove the last of your food into your mouth, “I’ll do it, just waiting for the right moment.”

“Sure.”

From the corner of your eye, you see the cute guy stand up and walk out the front door, the bell above it ringing when the door opens and closes. “Okay, I’ll be right back,” you stand and lean over Power’s shoulder to whisper “You two better keep your end of the bet,” before walking out of the restaurant.

The night has fully taken over, the moon fully visible in the dark sky along with the twinkling stars. It’s still early enough that a few people are still out on the streets, eating at food trucks and sitting along the sidewalk enjoying ice cream. The man you came chasing after is leaning against the arm of the bench that rests between the restaurant and the boutique next to it, his phone in his hands.

You clear your throat, and swing your body from side to side, looking around into the busy street, “It’s a nice night out.”

He looks up from his phone, eyeing the space around where you both stand to see if you're talking to him or someone else. When he sees that it’s only you and him he answers, a curt answer before returning to his phone, “Yeah I guess.”

You feel uncomfortable when it’s quiet again. A cool breeze flows through, lifting the bottom of your skirt an inch. You take in a deep breath just as it does, your nervousness calming a bit when you smell the fresh scent of freshly mowed grass mixed in with the aroma of the foods being cooked. You look at the man again, side-stepping towards him, and commenting again, “It’s much better than the hot night.” He looks up, his eyes making direct contact with yours. You want to turn away, your face burning, but the dark blue of his eyes draws you in. Swallowing the spit in the back of your throat you start to rock yourself again, “Don’t you think?

“Yeah, I guess.” He smiles when he sees how awkward you’re being as you sway on the heels of your feet.

You cover your face with your hands, “I’m so sorry, my friends and I made a bet, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s fine. I got to meet and talk to you. Names Aki.”

You look at him, smiling a little, “It was nice meeting you, Aki.”

Aki can feel the heat rising to his face and his heart skip a few beats when you say his name for the first time. He doesn’t understand the feeling that is swirling in his stomach, and why his hands are sweating so badly. He just met you, so why does the sight of your smile make his heart beat irregularly in his chest? Swallowing the spit in his mouth, he returns your smile, “It was nice meeting you too, y/n.” Aki’s eyes travel behind you, watching as your two friends step out of the restaurant, leftovers in their hands. He points behind you, “Your friends are out.”

You peer over your shoulder, “Oh, I guess they are. I should go. I’ll see you around.” Taking one step back you raise your hand giving him a small awkward good-bye wave.

Aki watches you walk back to Power and Denji, his stomach still doing flips, and heart pounding. He watches you smile a big bright smile at Power, your arm hooking with hers, and the three of you start to walk away in the opposite direction. You look over your shoulder one last time, your cheek resting against Power’s shoulder, and give one last smile. He’s still looking in the direction you walked off in long after the three silhouettes disappear into the distance, the lights on the street buzzing, and he wonders if he’ll see you again soon.

Present Day

As the afternoon turns to night, the table becomes louder and louder, Power and Denji telling you of mishaps that had happened to them while you were busy with your own life, and Aki's body seems to relax against the chair he’s in, speaking and laughing more than he did at the start of the night. The plates of food from your table had long since been removed, replaced by alcoholic drinks and dessert. The tension in your body releases the more you drink and laugh, time feeling as if it's barely moving.

It’s not until a different waiter than the one who had first served comes up to your table with a check in hand, telling you that they're about to close that you realize how late it is. Looking around you see that the restaurant is empty excluding the employees.

“Oh, we’re so sorry,” you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out your card like the rest of the table.

“Fuck, Reze is going to be pissed,” he stretches the last of his sentence, “I told you I’d only be gone an hour tops…it’s been like four.”

Power laughs at him, raising the straw from her drink to point at him, “And that is why I don’t date.”

“You don’t date because everyone who dates you finds you annoying,” Denji throws back, moving out of the way when she throws an ice cube at him. You and Aki laugh next to them, your eyes and mind dazed over by the alcohol.

“We should do this again soon. I missed hanging out with you guys. Even you Aki.” You blurt out, eyes on the two idiots, not noticing the way Aki gawks at you.

It’s the first time since Power and Denji arrived that you acknowledge his presence, even though he’s sitting right across from you. And the fact that you finally did has the inside of his chest feeling a little warm, something that he hadn’t felt in a while.

Aki answers in a quiet breath when the other two don’t hear you over their play fighting, “We should.” A rush of emotions goes through him when you look at him, your eyes glazed over and your lips slightly parted. Time stops for the both of you.

The waiter comes back with your cards and receipts, walking all four of you out the front of the restaurant and locking them behind you. All four of you stare at the closed door.

“I think they didn’t want us to come back in,” Denji says, turning and walking towards his car.

“You’re driving? Didn’t you drink?” you ask, the floor underneath you feeling unsteady with every step you take.

Denji shakes his head, nodding towards a wobbling Power, “I have her to take care of.” He looks around the parking lot, “Do you need a ride home? I don’t see your car.”

“I took a Lyft here. And no, I don’t want to bother you, my place is the other way,” you pull out your phone holding it up facing him, “I’ll just take one back.”

“Not going to happen.” Aki interjects, “It’s late, and there are a lot of creeps, I’ll drive you home.”

“There’s no ne-”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s not safe,” he interrupts your protest.

Denji speaks up as he steps backward towards his car, “Aki’s right. If you don’t want me to drive you home, let him. I think we would all feel much relaxed knowing we all got home safely.”

There’s a need to protest again, but instead, you just nod, hands clasped in front of you. You both watch as Denji wraps an arm underneath Power’s underarms and waves goodbye before loading her into the passenger side of the car.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Aki sighs, hands shoved into his pockets, turning and walking away from you. With no other choice, you follow him to a white BMW, sweat forming in the palms of your hands, you wish you were someone else right now.

You get into the passenger side, hands folded neatly in your lap as Aki starts to the car, eyes flickering across the clean interior of the car and sniffing the faint scent of cigarettes. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Aki’s fingers hover the screen in his car, a keypad popping up, “Yeah, I guess we haven’t seen each other in a while. Do you still have the same address?”

You nod your head and hum a response, “Yeah I guess we haven’t, and kinda, I’m still in the general area. I moved to a new condo a year ago. Here I’ll type the address.” You lean forward to put it in, your hand pushing his hand out of the way. The quick and simple touch of your skin touching his causes your face to burn, “Sorry.”

The car falls silent, except for his music, as he pulls out of the parking lot. You watch buildings pass you, feel the movement of the car when it turns, and can hear the thumping of Aki’s fingers against the steering wheel above the soft sound of the engine whenever the car stops at a red light. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes before the silence becomes unbearable.

“So how are things with your dad?”

“Um, th-they’re okay. He’s getting married, so that’s exciting,” You turn to look at him.

Aki’s fingers stop tapping against the wheel, blue eyes glancing at the GPS, “To Tomoe?”

You shake your head, laughing awkwardly, “They broke up a long time ago. No, um, it’s some woman he met abroad. Half his age.”

He reacts with a long, “Oh,” his fingers resuming their tapping on the center of the horn.

“Yeah,” you stretch out, the tense silence settling between the two of you once more. Staring out the window again, you notice that you're now in your neighborhood. The streets are empty and the lights to the windows of the buildings are all shut off, the only source of light coming from the street lights that run along the edge of the sidewalk.

Aki pulls up next to the condo building where you live, the lights from the lamps outside lighting the space up to the large glass door. The two of you remain still and quiet, staring at the road ahead. You feel as if you should say something. Feel the need to finish, and get closure, on the conversation from five years ago.

You can still hear the echo of the words you said that you didn’t mean and can feel the knot from that day lodged in your throat every time you think about it. Glancing at Aki you wonder how he feels about how you left things if he felt the same nauseating turn of his stomach when he remembers.

“Aki?” You whisper, swallowing the spit that forms in the back of your throat.

“Mmh?”

He turns towards you, both of his hands still resting on the wheel. He isn’t smiling at you, but he also doesn’t seem to be having the same emotional turmoil that you are, his expression unreadable. You open and close your mouth, losing the train of thought on what you wanted to say to clear the air, but with the way Aki appears unaffected by your closeness in the small space of the car, you decide that maybe he doesn’t need the same thing closure you do. “Um, Thanks for driving me home. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at you, “It was nothing, and I really wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I hadn’t.”

“Well thanks anyway,” you reach for the door handle and open the door “I-I should go in.” You get out of the car, “Bye, Aki.”

Aki lifts one of his hands and gives you a small wave, “Good-night, y/n.”

You close the door behind you and walk a few feet up the pathway to the door, pulling your keycard from the back of the pocket attached to your phone. The ground underneath you still feels a little unsteady, but you manage to get to the front of the building, up the three stairs, and into the building.

When you're closing the door you notice that Aki’s BMW is still parked outside. His dark tinted windows are rolled up, and though you can’t see him you still raise both your hands and wave a last goodbye smiling with your head tilted to your left, before stepping away and heading towards the elevator. Your phone dings a second later, a tiny smile spreads across your face when you see Aki’s name pop up again for the first time in years, and you open the text, the smile spreading a little wider despite the words deepening the ache in your chest.

Sleep tight. See you around.

#aki hayakawa #csm aki #chainsaw man aki #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa angst #chainsaw man angst #csm angst

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inamindfarfaraway · 2 years

Text

Phantom Knight Afterlife Club: Part Two

Part One

Characters

Name

Akane Gushiken, aka Phantom Blood.

Age

Nineteen.

Appearance

Akane has a tall, muscular build with no excess fat and a gaunt face. Her tanned skin bears a multitude of scars, some of which are hidden, but that apart from the stab wound that caused her death she doesn’t mind being seen. Her thick black hair is back-length, unwashed and matted, in a scruffy ponytail to keep it out of her face. She has light brown eyes with blood red scelera. Her weariness makes her look older than she is.

She wears a black leather jacket with the silver zip on the right side, silver studs on the lapels and a red heart symbol over her heart with red major blood vessel lines branching out from it across the jacket; a dark crimson top; a thick, study bright red belt with a silver buckle; asymmetrically ripped black trousers with red hearts on each hip and knee; and black leather boots with more silver studs on the toes. Her living magical girl costume was similar, but had orange instead of red. Eight black steel pint canisters with vertical glass windows are securely attached to her belt, four on each side, containing a metaphysical facsimile of her lost blood. The belt also has a loop for her knife. Her shackles are around her wrists with short broken chains from over the inside, where she would be able to feel her pulse if she still had one (symbolic of her active, pugnacious, hands-on nature).

Power and Weakness

She can manipulate human blood and any other liquid containing so much as a drop of it (though more blood content means greater ease and finesse). She can freeze it into any shape and make it a vapour. Losing all her blood would make her cease to exist.

Weapon

A machete with a black hilt.

Backstory

Akane was born into a low-income family in an impoverished inner city district with low education and high crime rates. Her parents were loving and did their best, but her mother was a career thief to provide for her family and went to prison when Akane was seven, pushing her father Hikaru to work so much to keep them alive that he could hardly spend time with his daughter. Feeling invisible and unheard even if she was loved in theory, she spent lots of time playing on the streets and looked to children her age and older for belonging. Making lasting friendships was easier said than done. She ended up entangled in the area’s gang politics and her bonds with her peers were strained by their frequent separation for months at a time to go to court, correctional facilities or hospital. She’s been carrying a knife to defend herself since she was twelve. Sometimes people she’d called friends actively abandoned and betrayed her, sometimes they lost touch, but either way friends soon felt like more trouble and heartache than they were worth. She also almost consistently struggled at her poorly funded and run school, except one year where she had a considerate and nurturing teacher she made real progress under. Then that teacher had to move and Akane dismissed her progress as a fluke. She dropped out when she was fifteen to have more time to take care of Hikaru, who had developed prostate cancer, and make money for them.

It was at this low point that a fire spirit, Farei, offered her the chance to be a magical girl warrior with fire powers. She jumped to take it. Magic seemed the perfect escape from her miserable civilian life. It gave her a sense of purpose and slaughtering demons was a highly cathartic outlet for her previously aimless anger and disaffection. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was good at something. Like she was good enough to make a difference. A magical girl duo in a neighbouring territory were impressed by her skill and invited her to join them several times. She rudely declined, believing she could handle anything herself and unable to trust them.

Two years ago, Hikaru passed away. His cancer had worsened and he hadn’t been able to get a diagnosis until it had progressed to stage three, limiting the effectiveness of treatment. They’d grown a lot closer since she was little and he was the only person in her life she cared about, Farei more of a colleague. She was absolutely devastated. She got more and more reckless and self-destructive, chain-smoking, drinking more and picking fights she knew she couldn’t win, and these patterns of behaviour persisted up to her death, after she’d begun to come to terms with losing her dad.

Her insistence on going solo backfired when following her takedown of almost fifty demons consecutively one night, the last demon standing stabbed her in the back. Too exhausted and in shock to call an ambulance, she bled to death alone. This was coincidentally and the same night the Tenebrous Emperor was killed.

Personality

Akane is pretty disillusioned with humanity, caring little for the good of the many at first and quick to assume the worst of people. In physical combat and social interaction, she believes the best defence is a good offence - and she’s used to needing to perpetually defend herself. She’s easily irritated and belligerent. Anger is the emotion she’s most comfortable expressing. She possesses a sharp tongue, habit of being verbally aggressive and grim, sarcastic, irreverent sense of humour. She relishes the thrill of a good fight, to the point of drawing battles out and provoking strong opponents on purpose when she’s desperately bored or or desiring distraction. Or feeling she deserves to be punished, as she did in the initial throes of her grief. Even if she’s in a good mood and getting along with someone, she likes to playfully tease them. A sign that she’s extraordinarily upset is her not having the energy or engagement to mock or insult anyone, and responding to things that aggravate her with resignation or overt hurt, not snapping.

The other side to this relentless passion and drive is a valiant heroic spirit. Her courage and resilience is unshakable and she will never back down from a challenge, even knowing she’ll lose, if she believes it’s right. Once she sets her mind on something, she will not let it go. And by the same token, she won’t give up on her friends either. She may not have had it as a primary motivation until her teammates roped her into it, but she finds she does earnestly enjoy helping others. It’s so much more satisfying to have a significant positive impact on the world than a significant destructive one. That was a forgotten aspect of the rush of her early days of service. It’s just she believes hurting is what she’s best at and will probably end up doing anyway by her nature, so it’s less wasted effort not to try to do anything else. Harming the already downtrodden or mistreated really infuriates her, most of all children being hurt, manipulated or exploited the way the adults running her old gang exploited her.

She actually loves being a ghost and prefers it to being alive. She can still fight demons, the only thing she lived for; she has cool new powers; she doesn’t need to worry about survival besides the blood thing (it does annoy her that she can die of the exact same thing she already died of); and no human can hurt her ever again. Dying a war hero was honestly the best future she had hoped for in the last two years of her life. It beat going to prison. What does she have to mourn? Lost opportunities for a better life? What happiness and good relationships she did have? She was mourning those already. Being a magical girl was all she had and now it’s all she is. Telling herself she had nothing left to lose anyway and enjoying the perks of her new existence is how she deflects from processing her grief for a) her cruel death young, alone and unloved, b) the true injustice of the hand she was dealt in life and c) her parents, especially her dad. Her personal desire is to find Hikaru’s ghost, or if he isn’t a ghost, figure out how to get to this higher plane he’s on. She struggles the most out of the four to turn visible and tangible, because of her refusal to let herself feel emotional connection to the living world.

Akane is fiercely independent and afraid of vulnerability. She’s deeply averse to self-reflection because of her self-hatred and instead externalizes her turmoil through lashing out. She deliberately pretends to be stereotypically stupid and simplistic muscle so she can trick enemies into underestimating her, but more negatively to consciously stay or try to stay in ignorance of difficult, distressing insights and not have to unpack her feelings. Besides, school always made her feel stupid; she probably is, right? The truth is she’s sharper and more cunning that even she gives herself credit for and often wins using pragmatic tactics. If she would realize her mental strengths and apply herself to improving them, she could achieve much more. She lacks the social skills to be a good manipulator, however.

Over time she comes to care profoundly for her teammates and defend them loyally. People beyond her family showing her kindness like she’s worthy of it is a novelty, but even if she can’t comprehend what value they see in her they’re the best friends she’s ever had and she tries to show that she appreciates it in her own indirect manner. She develops particular protectiveness and affection toward Tomoko and Miu because the obvious pain and injustice in their lives before their deaths resonates with her. She used to disrespect Miu, but her new goal is teaching her to challenge people and express anger. Meanwhile, she thinks Shiko is a spoiled snob and has a rivalry with her. Shiko likes clever plans and leads most of the time; Akane usually thinks brute force would get the job done more easily and sometimes takes the lead in combat since she has the most experience killing demons.

Phantom Pain Form

Spilt Blood. She gets glowing, solid red eyes. Her canisters open and her blood engulfs her in a roiling orb, then freezes into a shell and cracks apart. She emerges with tracks of blood streaming down her cheeks like tears. Her hair bursts out of its ponytail and grows to reach her ankles with crimson streaks. Her clothes’ red and black are inverted with her heart symbols broken in two, the rips her old costume had when she died manifesting in them. The studs are now spikes. Her chains extend and join together, but are pretty loose and she can deftly wield the giant, two-handed sword her machete becomes.

She has Akane’s anger issues and love of violence taken to the extreme and all her inhibitions removed, manically revelling in brutality and willing to hurt anyone, even her friends, who gets between her and instant gratification. She’s essentially feral. She isn’t evil, but amoral and savage, consumed by primal instincts just as Akane has been in survival mode for most of her life. Not thinking critically and engaging her higher thought processes in favour of following her surface emotions is Akane’s main unhealthy coping mechanism, so her Phantom Pain form takes that and runs with it.

***

Name

Shiko Doi.

Age

Seventeen.

Appearance

Shiko is a fair-skinned girl with a curvaceous figure and long legs, fit beneath her plumpness because her level of dancing is strenuous exercise and she’s been doing it regularly for years. Her wavy, glossy dark brown hair hangs loose to her shoulders, neatly brushed and coiffed with pink streaks (that interestingly have returned from her old magical form despite her dying as a civilian). She has brown eyes with white sclera. She wears soft, feminine pink lipstick and eyeshadow and her fingernails are painted the same shade.

She wears an elegant white and pink minidress with crack patterns on the white sections; high white heeled boots with crack patterns; and a flashy gold necklace, earrings and twin bracelets with rhombus-shaped rose quartz gemstones. She has shackles around her upper thighs with chains hanging down to her knees (symbolic of her dynamic, strong and proud nature, always standing tall and striding forward).

Power and Weakness

Geokinesis, based on the mineral component of bones. She can also more intuitively control bone itself. She will die if her spinal cord is disconnected.

Weapon

A poleaxe with an indestructible ghost-bone head that she can reshape and add to at will, e.g. giving it an additional curved spike at the back for grappling, two blades or a flat bludgeoning side. It has a rose quartz rhombus on each side of the bladed end of the handle. When not in battle, she enjoys casually experimenting with new decorative designs once she gets over her squeamishness about it being bone.

Backstory

The sole child of a wealthy family, Shiko grew up pampered. She was popular at school too. She always loved music and became an incredible singer, as well as a talented dancer and actor. She became a magical girl three years ago at fifteen, gifted the power to cleanse locations, objects and people’s souls of runaway dark magic’s spiritual corruption that was rampant in her town’s area, and heal any damage it wrought. She found it easiest to channel through song, when she was totally in tune with her positive emotions.

In a matter of weeks an idol company scout latched onto her. Seeing singing on a larger scale and going on tour as a means of widening her magic application to do more good, she accepted the job and took the stage name Sakura. She had a flower theme with pink as her primary colour (drawing parallels to the Greek goddess Persephone with her theme changing to the inorganic earth when she is suddenly ripped away from life to become a being of the afterlife, and in tandem her trading a cute childlike look for a more mature, regal one). While Sakura was an admired, beloved rising star, over time the stresses of idol life got to Shiko. Her manager was strict and dictatorial. Between training, performing and cultivating and maintaining her image she was so busy she eventually could hardly fit in the magical girl duties not sublimated into her performances. She had little to no quality time with her family and friends. Keeping up with the pressures of sudden fame slowly switched to being her top priority.

She died a week before Akane by accidentally running in front of a fast truck without checking the road for oncoming traffic at night. This was panic, not plain foolishness; she was in a hurry to get to the privacy of her home because she was being stalked by paparazzi. The collision gave her many injuries, but a broken spine was what killed her. Forming the team was her idea.

Personality

Shiko is a professional in everything, realist and generally levelheaded. She likes discipline and structure, one reason she always thrived in school and could hone her artistic talents so well. She doesn’t like to dwell on negatives and wallow in feeling bad, but does account for present and potential problems in order to fix them. She has a strategic, analytical type of intelligence, willing to sacrifice and take the long path to satisfaction, and trying to use every available advantage. Her fighting style is calculated, deliberate and a balance of graceful and forceful. Because of her more grounded nature, she finds making herself visible and tangible intuitive and has fun blending in with the living, grateful that her eyes look normal if the green blood vessels go unnoticed. She deeply resents dying when she had her whole life ahead of her and knows she could have had such great success in adulthood.

She’s very socially skilled: confident, charismatic, a reassuring listener and persuasive speaker. She can intuitively recognize people’s individual strengths, flaws and insecurities and put them to good use, making her as highly effective a leader as she is uplifting and dependable a friend. She’s also prepared to challenge and call out her friends when they’re behaving irrationally. Being respected is more important to her than being liked. She still makes an effort to be liked, of course, but not trusting her, listening to her or valuing her skills will offend her much more seriously. To her ranking them the other way around would be frivolous and petty. For example, if she had to choose between the greater good and a friend’s feelings, she would sacrifice the friend’s feelings, telling herself the friend would understand why she was right and thus no longer be upset when they talked it out. That requires her to be very adept at the art of talking things out. She befriended multiple rivals during her idol career.

Although her motivation is genuinely wanting to help people, it is partly rooted in a subconscious sense of superiority - she doesn’t need help, she’s the one who helps others! Shiko has a lot to be justly proud of but goes too far into vanity. She can be attention-seeking and demanding. The trend of her serving as the voice of reason means she’s quite self-righteous and haughty, and so is awkward, shaken, defensive or downright in denial if it’s pointed out that she’s being irrational or in the wrong, and she can’t receive criticism and correction with nearly the amount of grace with which she expects others to accept hers. As a living magical girl and idol, she was constantly playing to a crafted persona and that mindset is initially her default. She’s inexperienced dropping her perfect walls and allowing people to understand and connect with her true self, and vice versa. The result is her sometimes lacking empathy. Without it her kindness becomes condescension and her inspirational confidence sheer arrogance.

She’s afraid of vulnerability in that she wants to seem like she always has the situation, or at least herself, under control and wants to be treated like an adult when she just isn’t yet, and infallible when she can’t be. She likes to remind her teammates that she was only a couple of months away from her eighteenth birthday. She was looking forward to it, hoping legal adulthood would grant her more autonomy in her career. Her excessive need for control is overcompensation for the lack of it she had as an idol. She’s ashamed of her death, because she threw her life away by not taking the care to look both ways before crossing the street; and because to explain why she wasn’t careful would mean admitting that she didn’t enjoy and control every aspect of her idol life. She’s also more generally ashamed of having been so burdened by consequences of the career she chose and strove to be successful in.

The liberty from life’s concerns and her new friends’ influence are encouraging her to live in the moment and let her guard down more. Shiko is increasingly comfortable acting like a normal teenager. For all her and Akane’s differences, she does begrudgingly recognize her insights as valuable and wishes she would use her brain more, and respects her and the others’ greater knowledge of demons. She encourages Miu to be more confident and tries to accommodate for her voice and ideals in her plans, and be a reliable rock for her to lean on. She has a sisterly bond with Tomoko. She’s actually mildly flustered by the depth of Tomoko’s admiration for her, wanting to live up to it and having never been this personally close to a fan before.

Phantom Pain Form

Shattered Bone. Her eyes glow solid white. In her transformation sequence we see her as in an X-ray, showing the damage the truck’s collision did to her skeleton. Her poleaxe gets new spikes and the blade fractures and becomes serrated due to the smooth edge breaking off in shards. Her chains extend into the earth to restrain her legs. Her limbs split apart along the complete breaks, the pieces floating near each other (by default) with pink light shining out of their severed ends. Small bone fragments and rocks float loose in midair around her. She can use them as projectiles. Her outfit turns whiter with the pink relegated to the inside of the wider, longer and more numerous cracks. Her hair turns fully pink and styled in low, thin, waist-length pigtails, each mostly contained in a white tube with two rounded puffs of hair at the end, resembling cartoonish long bones. Her default expression is of shock, terror and horror, the exact one she wore in the second between realizing the truck was about to hit her and being hit. She mostly manipulates her poleaxe telekinetically like a fifth limb.

Shiko tries so hard to keep her composure; Shattered Bone is what happens when that composure is obliterated. She runs on pure emotion. The upside is, she can recognize her friends and is very protective of them. The downside is, she’s volatile and unpredictable, normally in a blind, frenzied state of rage and anguish that she takes out on her enemies or at worst whoever else available in hopes of some measure of catharsis. Shattered Bone has none of Shiko’s technique in how she uses her power and is messy and imprecise.

***

Name

Miu, aka Phantom Breath. She doesn’t have a family name.

Age

Sixteen.

Appearance

Miu is a slender, lean, average height girl with dark skin. She has thick, kinked black hair tied by yellow bows in high, intricately braided pigtails that imitate wings at the side of her head, the rest in wavy cornrows. Her warm brown eyes have sunshine yellow sclera.

She wears a canary yellow knee-length A-line dress with fluffy matching feather trim on the short puffy sleeves and skirt, a black belt and bows on the skirt. She also has forest green tights and black patent leather Mary Janes with gold buckles. She wears a shackle around her neck with the chain section hanging from the front (symbolic of how her voice and spirit were stifled long before she died, and reflecting her strangulation).

Power and Weakness

Aerokinesis, including the ability to sense the chemical composition of air she touches. Unlike other ghosts, she needs to breathe, though the content of the air is irrelevant - she just needs to have some kind of gas to inhale or she’ll suffocate.

Weapon

A fine, light indestructible golden net of shimmering metal wire that can shrink or expand as much as she wills it to.

Backstory

A little over three years ago, when the Demon Empire first recognized the original magical girl team as a serious threat, the Emperor decided to fight fire with fire and had a healthy human girl kidnapped without a trace. Surely it would throw these pesky vigilantes off to have to face an enemy so similar to them. Her biological family eventually presumed her dead. Her memories were erased and for the next year she knew nothing but her new guardian’s indoctrination (he told her he’d saved her life because he saw potential in her) and abuse until she was deemed ready to fight on the frontlines. She had no magic of her own, but was trained in espionage, combat and the use of magical tools. As a dark magical girl, her canary motif was linked to the idea of a canary in a coal mine via specializing in weaponizing gases - knockout, poisonous and enchanted varieties, the latter having a range of effects, from filling people with irrational rage to standard mind control to affecting the environment with mystical corruption (she wore a grey titanium gas mask over her mouth and nose, stiff and pointed like a beak). She also wielded feathers throwing blades. The yellow and black in her dress were inverted and the green was more prominent and murkier, conveying toxicity. For stealth and intimidation, and to avoid saying anything wrong, she tended not to talk. She didn’t talk much at ‘home’ either, her ‘father’ making it clear her input and opinion wasn’t wanted and didn’t matter.

The first people to take interest in her personality and treat her like a sapient being were the heroes she was pitted against. They realized she wasn’t happy or loved, so they reached out to her in friendship. Though obviously she didn’t instantly trust them, but when they repeatedly proved their cared more about her than the Emperor and vice versa, it led to her questioning her indoctrination, the justness of the war and whether she could have an identity outside of a soldier in it. Her investigation found plenty of evidence she was on the wrong side, but directly disobeying her abuser seemed impossible. A year ago the team leader was captured. Miu was her only chance of salvation. In this critical moment she chose what was right rather than what was safe. The new friends escaped together and Miu officially joined the heroes.

Despite all her growth like learning to trust people and understanding that the abuse she experienced wasn’t her fault, she never forgave herself for her crimes or fully internalized that she was innately worthy of love. But she pretended she was further along her recovery than she was for her friends’ benefit. This barrier strained her side of those friendships to a degree and she would secretly wonder how secure her place on the team truly was. After all, they’d been a perfectly balanced well-oiled machine before and she worried she’d disrupted that. This doubt was never resolved.

The climax of her redemption arc came when she confronted the Emperor alone in a heroic sacrifice to protect her friends. She rejected his manipulation and denounced him to his face, and damaged his armour, which would later enable the rest of the team to defeat him; but he fatally strangled her. They swore to avenge her and validate her sacrifice. After watching over them for the month until they killed the Emperor, beating herself up for not living to help them, she made new friends and saw she was unhealthily torturing herself. She agreed to join their team and travel to make the most of her afterlife.

Personality

Miu is selfless and empathetic to a fault. She’s caring, patient, polite, respectful and intensely loyal, recalling how invaluable her living friends’ persistence in supporting her was. On the surface, you could believe her to be everything you’d want in a friend. That’s what she aims to be: exactly what she was missing. She’ll always put your wants and needs ahead of her own… always. Her sincere kindness is conflated with a pathological fear of conflict and compulsive people pleasing. She has the habits of swallowing or downplaying her opinions to avoid clashing with anyone and evaluating every question, even casual ones, to figure out the desired and ‘right’ answer. It’s taken her a while to internalize that every disagreement or fight won’t rip the group’s friendships to shreds. She’s still uncomfortable and anxious during arguments. She does her best to keep the peace in the group, but may ignore or be complicit in relationship problems to avoid addressing them, preferring to change the subject if a solution or compromise can’t be efficiently found. Being so agreeable and passive is her main social survival mechanism.

The severe trauma of the Emperor’s parenting style has fundamentally shaped her character. She has low self-esteem, does not think that she deserves unconditional love and struggles to grasp that concept itself, and is excessively humble and self-deprecating. She apologizes reflexively and inordinately, used to being declared to be in the wrong anytime without warning. Feeling completely safe is very difficult for her and managed the easiest with her friends all around her, in a secure shelter with good visibility - but depending on how close to okay she is internally at that time, may still be impossible. She’s hypervigilant, timid and jumpy. She needs to believe so ardently in her higher ideals and causes because her belief in herself is so frail. She used to be terrified of how her friends would react to her dark past. Even now that she’s told them a vaguer, abridged version of her life and they didn’t love her any less afterward, she can never quite shake the concern that they might leave her. Because really, how worthwhile could she be? Stuttering and losing her speech are telltale signs that she’s afraid, upset and specifically triggered. On the worst days she’ll barely say a word.

Her driving motivation is to atone for her crimes and put enough good into the world to outweigh them. Having clawed her way to morality out of hell, her code of ethics the one thing besides her love of her friends she’s unwilling to compromise on. She tries to see the best in everyone and believes firmly in redemption; she’ll even attempt to reason with the more humanlike demons, and with every ghost and human antagonist they meet. She isn’t naive. She knows all too well about irredeemable evil. But she knows you can’t change unless you know that it’s possible and have the opportunity first. Her discomfort with violence, still associating it with her abuser, means she seeks diplomatic solutions and has a merciful, indirect fighting style focused on restraining the foe, tiring them out and other nonlethal methods. Her net comes in handy for this. She’s also very generous with second chances and will put her personal grudges aside to uphold her ideal of forgiveness to a surrendered or reformed enemy. These pacifistic policies are impractical sometimes, yes, but they’re Miu’s way of keeping herself inside the lines of her redefined identity and preventing backsliding.

Miu isn’t traditionally intelligent and in her memory hasn’t had much of a formal education, but she’s good at working with what she has. She’s highly resourceful and adaptable, and more perceptive than you might presume. Hypervigilant, remember? While she doesn’t have a good head for plans, a far better follower than leader, she possesses strong lateral thinking skills and can solve problems and win battles creatively and unpredictably. It helps to offset the practical cost of her strict moral code. After all, demon society was rigid and oppressive and she escaped it by broadening her mind to think outside its boxes. Let’s put it this way: she’s talented enough in this way to admit that she has some talent.

She may not trust herself much, but she does trust her friends. She and Akane had the rockiest relationship at first - Akane dismissed her as a wimp and Miu was on edge around her and disgusted by her combativeness. Since learning the basics of her past and getting to know her better, Akane has connected with her over their shared experience of being in survival mode in dangerous, precarious, traumatic situations for years on end and greatly respects the inner strength it took to betray the Emperor. Shiko in contrast is almost unfailingly nice to her, but doesn’t understand what she’s gone through at all and can inadvertently be insensitive to her C-PTSD. Miu is avoiding this issue and the first to bow to Shiko’s assertions of authority. She has the clearest view of Tomoko’s own low self-worth and relates to it. Her sensitivity and caution ground Tomoko and in return the younger girl teaches her most prominently how to have fun and live in the moment.

Phantom Pain Form

Last Breath. A miniature tornado whips up around her and when it clears, she’s wearing her old villainous outfit, the tip of the gas mask broken off. Her eyes glow solid yellow. Bruises are visible on her neck where they extend above and below her shackle. The chain extends to join a new loop on her bodice positioned at the bottom of her trachea. Large black bird wings that are lung-shaped when folded grow from a curved green ridge imitating a trachea going down her spine and have visible green bones in imitation of air passages. Her hair lengthens, gains yellow streaks and the braids of her pigtails, though not the pigtails themselves, come loose to better flow and lash in her wind. They’re always being blown around, even if there isn’t any wind that anyone else can feel at the moment. Her net turns black.

Representing Miu’s fear that she’ll never overcome her dark past, she makes people very appreciative of her peaceful nature in her right mind. In fact Miu’s behaviour as an agent of evil was dispassionate and efficient, but her anxiety and trauma has exaggerated her own evil in her self-perception. The result? Last Breath is nothing short of sadistic. She will pull enough air out of your lungs to make you experience nearly dying before she puts it back, repeatedly, for fun. She likes using her net to strangle her enemies and restrain them in painful and/or humiliating positions. She can be bargained with and directed, but only if your proposal or plan still involves someone suffering, preferably at her hands. That she maintains Miu’s sweet, pleasant mannerisms and attitude adds to her creepiness.

***

Name

Tomoko Fujisaka, aka Phantom Nerve.

Age

Twelve.

Appearance

Tomoko is thin with youthfully round cheeks, and small by the standards of her age. She has pale skin, a shock of white hair in a pixie cut constantly spiky with static in an exaggeration of her messy living hairstyle, and pink eyes with light blue scelera.

Her clothing is a form-fitting purple speed skating outfit with light blue interconnected neuron motifs on the trunk, and darker blue knee pads and rollerblade boots with three pink wheels each. She wears a pink safety helmet, which resembles a brain with light blue hemisphere outlines, wrinkle and fissure lines, her chain on the back connecting the ‘hemispheres’ (symbolic of her intellect and obsession with knowledge). It can be taken off, but if she tries to leave it behind it’ll teleport back onto her person. She also wears purple glasses with bright blue lightning bolts arcing along their arms.

Power and Weakness

Electrokinesis. She can generate electricity (coloured faintly bluish white) through her body and rollerblades, the wheels of which crackle and spark when spinning, letting her skate on a stream of her own lightning. Later she discovers the ability to change her body itself into a bolt of lightning briefly. Even when she isn’t literal lightning, she can move about as fast. However, she is vulnerable to strong magnetic fields like electricity, the more so the more she uses her power. Unlike the others, magnetism won’t kill her unless it’s extremely intense, but before reaching that level it can disrupt and temporarily deactivate her electrokinesis.

Weapon

Her weapon is a purple handheld catapult that fires ball lightning.

Backstory

Tomoko was born to a loving middle-class family in a big city. She was bookworm and excelled in school, said to be a pleasure to have in class, and an athlete, especially loving roller skating and then rollerblading. Her sister Rai, six years older, was her hero and they were very close.

Rai and her four friends were one of the earliest magical girl teams to spring up. Her parents remained oblivious, but Tomoko soon found out and begged them to let her help and accompany them. After impressing them with her courageous assistance defeating a powerful demon - mostly through diverting his attention - her wish was granted and she was made a part-time member, with a view to being a full-time one when she got older. Life was amazing.

The problems began a year into this merry status quo. Being albino, her vision was naturally poor, so her parents thought little of it when she needed stronger glasses. But then her motor skills started to regress and she grew uncharacteristically forgetful and confused, forcing her to reluctantly, bitterly resign from skating and being a magical girl. She and her family realized something was badly wrong. Tomoko was diagnosed with childhood dementia, the symptoms of a rare neurodegenerative disease she’d had the horrible luck to inherit. Her health rapidly deteriorated. She began to have seizures and they just got more frequent. Wearing a helmet went from being a necessary precaution skating to one in everyday life, to mitigate the damage of her falling on her head. She forgot how to write, read, speak and walk in an agonizing decline, until five months prior to the Emperor’s passing she died abruptly during a seizure.

Her death rent the Fujisaka family apart. Her parents’ relationship has grown dysfunctional; her sister fell into depression and quit being a magical girl, breaking the item she transformed with to seal it; and without their leader or ray of sunshine, the team disbanded, their morale crushed. In their absence the city has become a burgeoning dark magic hotspot. Tomoko doesn’t know any of this. She darted out of her old neighbourhood immediately to explore Japan and isn’t ready to see her living loved ones again.

Personality

Tomoko never does anything by half. She’s overflowing with energy and intense, bubbly cheer, slow to lose hope but quick to grow restless if unstimulated. She can find fun, or at least engagement, in almost any situation. Her hyperactivity, impulsivity and impatience have only increased since getting super speed; she’s using her powers more often than not, and activates them for the sake of it by far the most of the team. Being so optimistic, she typically expects the best of endeavours. She also has solid confidence in herself. But that makes her cocky, foolhardy and stubborn, hesitant to admit to her miscalculations, as often as nobly bold.

She is very precocious and intelligent in terms of vertical thinking. She has an insatiable appetite for knowledge and understanding, apparent through her habit of questioning everything and knowing stories and concepts notably above her age level (let alone the one she was in when she stopped attending school; and a knack for breaking complex things down to their most important parts. If Shiko devises a clever plan, Miu does something creative or Akane employs a cunning tactic in a fight, Tomoko will rapidly recognize what they’re going for and be able to explain it well. She’s talkative and surprisingly sophisticated in speech, having a reader’s accent (mispronouncing words she’s read but not heard). Her memory is sharp and specific. She consistently learns from her mistakes in the sense that she won’t make the same practical one - e.g. taking on an enemy too powerful for her or attempting a mission with elements that aren’t her strong suit solo - twice. However, her naivety impedes her reckoning much with the underlying flaws that lead to her those decisions.

Tomoko wants to be capable and useful more than anything. This stems from the combination of wanting to make the people she loves proud of her (even more than in life, thanks to believing she let down her parents, sister and old team), and loathing and fearing the feeling of lacking skills and knowledge that she should have, especially compared to the precedents she sets. That’s all she felt when she was slowly dying. Feeling it again triggers her traumatic memories of that period. (She hates hospitals.) Her worst fear is being a failure, useless and worthless and helpless. This obsessive craving for competence is the root of a lot of her behaviour, like her tendencies to overachieve, leap into danger, bite off more than she can chew and go against her protective teammates’ wishes to try to prove herself.

Her insecurities are part of why she values knowledge so much: it’s simultaneously ammunition to prove her worth and a distraction. Information can be understood objectively, clarified, organized and articulated in ways emotions can’t. The fear beneath her bravado also explains why she’s, if she can help it, always either thinking about something external, doing something, or finding something to do or think about. As long as she never slows down, she never has to process her trauma. That and it feels so incredibly, addictively wonderful to have not only normal levels of ability, but actual superpowers after the level of motor skills she was reduced to. Yes, they and superhero antics are more distractions.

She is determined to be, if not necessarily a great hero, at least her teammates’ equal - and the more they bond, the deeper the worry that one day she’ll let them down irreparably burrows. Shiko is the most similar to Rai and soon takes the place of a second big sister in her heart. Seemingly incongruously, her authoritative presence either has the best results in making Tomoko stay out of trouble because Tomoko can’t stand to disappoint her, or incites the most rebellion and shows of independence from her. This is due to Tomoko’s subconscious guilt that she’s dishonouring and replacing her sister by loving someone else the same way. It urges her to throw in fits of conflict and distance between them to try to prevent them getting that close. Where Shiko and Miu’s measured approaches balance her out, Akane is similarly action-oriented and reckless, if more pragmatic and brutal, and they get up to a lot of chaos together.

Phantom Pain Form

Raw Nerve. Her whole eyes glow blue and so do the nerves nearest to her skin. Lightning surges through her from her heart outward, disintegrating her glasses, helmet except the chain, and clothes and replacing them with the grey T-shirt, blue shorts and purple socks she was wearing when she passed away in her hospital bed. The chain extends and stiffens slightly to be a whole loop encircling her head. Her hair spikes grow into long locks branching in all directions that resemble the dendrites of a neuron and link to the inside of a cerebral cortex-shaped construct of crackling electricity surrounding and above Tomoko’s head, her body representing its brainstem. The wheels from her destroyed boots float horizontally around her waist and channel and direct lightning bolts.

In stark contrast to Tomoko, Raw Nerve is joyless, quiet, blunt and coldly, ruthlessly logical and she usually hovers in place or moves so fast she practically appears to teleport. She attacks purely remotely with lighting strikes and blasts (no longer needing her catapult) rather than also incorporating hit-and-run tactics like Tomoko. She’s so emotionally overwhelmed inside that she externally shuts down. Part of the personality shift is also wanting to be mature, since Raw Nerve is the embodiment of her unhealthy response to her fear of being weak and useless. When she does express emotion, she quickly gets distraught and risks zapping everything and everyone in the vicinity, friends included.

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