#^guy who reads too much Cicero

[a-passing-storm]

This is so embarrassing, but I keep forgetting that the Roman Empire happened.

[cathedralforlosers]

under hand tosses some tarot drafts at you sorry they're hard to look at i like to use the lightest colors to sketch and then boom i never finished them.

card explanation and choice reasoning under the break :)! Shout out google, i never learned to read tarot cards properly.

••The Tower (XVI), while upright can represent sudden change, chaos, and revelation- while reversed means personal transformation, fear of change, and averting disaster. It was between this, The World (XXI), and The Hanged Man (XII) but in the end it settled on the former for OG Mr Freeman. because honestly using the resonance cascade as a source of the 'chaos' to replace the burning tower was a vision that came to me in a fever dream.••

••The Moon (XVIII), upright represents danger, fear, anxiety, subconscious, hidden enemies, and reversed can represent release of fear, repressed emotion, and inner confusion. Honestly, it literally just screampt Feetman to me, based on how he really interacts with the science team and the environment around them.••

••The Magician (I), upright is all about resourcefulness, power, and capabilities, while reversed can mean poor planning, hidden potential and manipulation. To me, Freerun is just a fucking powerhouse. That man needs to go and he needs to go fast. In reality, it's all about repetition, mastering movement techs and perfectly timing everything down to the smallest pixel.••

••Temperance (XIV) upright represents balance, patience, and moderation, while reversed can mean imbalance, excess, self healing and re-alignment. In all honesty, he is more like Judgment (XX), but the thought of drawing him with wings lead had me crumbling. so. Freemercy Temperance be upon ye.••

••The Chariot (VII) represents control, willpower, success, action, and determination, while reversed represents self discipline, opposition, lack of direction, feeling powerless, and loss of control . And you might be thinking. Well. Doesn't a card like Strength (VIII), or even The Emperor (IV) make more sense for such a strong headed, stubborn guy? And you would be right. But what drove me to settle for The Chariot was the reversed meaning, specifically how powerless Freemind always seems to feel at every situation, and honestly who can blame him. Constantly fighting for control over every situation, the aggression that came with being backed into a corner. (<trying to justify why i didn't read too much into the emperor even though it's reversed meaning is literally perfect for freemind)

+++ some more that i hadn't really planned but man it would be cool

Gorgeous as Death (XIII) . death is not an inherently negative card. unrelated but . ultimate trans card too if you really think about it.

Don't know much about Cicero but i'm thunking.... The Sun (XIX)

Alyx would have also been Death (XIII) but in a different way from how Gorgeous is.

G-Man would be The World (XXI) and i will DIE on this hill. upright completion, accomplishment.

Barney Justice (XI) and i will die on this hill too. Upright fairness, truth, cause and effect. this guy is just fighting for good.

Adrian The Hanged Man (XII) catch me dying on these hills. upright pause, surrender, letting go, new perspectives. shepards path to start doing the right thing, his morals shifting during his time escaping black mesa. literally the hanged man card right there.

HLVRAI science team: Tommy would be the Sun (XIX), Dr Coomer would be The Star (XVII), Bubby would be The Devil (XV) no i won't elaborate, and Benrey would be Justice (XI) as well but different from Barney

[licncourt]

what are your most favorite caesar facts :-) (<- for brain distraction)

POV you asked an overexcited little boy to show you his favorite hot wheels

Despite the common English pronunciation, Caesar would have said his name something like "kai-oos you-lee-us kay-zhar". This pronunciation is the origin of the king's titles kaiser (German/Prussian) and czar/tsar (Russian)

On that note, his famous quote "veni, vidi, vici" would have been said "whey-nee wee-dee whee-key" which is less cool for gym bros to get tattooed. And while he probably didn't have any "last words" besides an exclamation of initial shock, the other most likely is the Greek "kai su teknon", meaning "you too, child", directed at Brutus. This is often assumed to be an expression of hurt and betrayal, but the wording is actually the same as known curse tablets and was probably more along the lines of a snide "and the same to you, boy"

He shaved his dick and balls and it made Cicero really mad

Had his co-consul thrown in animal manure in front of a crowd he'd gathered to watch. Later he had the guy jumped which scared him so much that he didn't leave his house for the rest of their term. This led to the common saying at the time that Rome was "under the consulship of Julius and Caesar"

His number one political rival Cato accused him of being part of a conspiracy when he got a letter covertly delivered to him in a senate meeting, but it was read aloud and was actually an ancient sext from Brutus' mom

He was probably part of the conspiracy too tbh but no one can for sure prove it

Helped his friend Clodius (noted crossdresser for pussy) get adopted by a guy younger than him to run a political scam

People called him the Queen of Bithynia because everyone liked to say he fucked Mithridates II of Bosporus, and he was often called "every woman's man and every man's woman". The poet Catiline also wrote a little ditty about how Caesar is a flaming gay who takes it up the ass

Not really a fun fact, but Caesar managed to kill off 1/3 of the Gallic population (about a million people) in eight years, putting him only a couple spots below the top ten most prolific killers in history

Caesar did not conquer Britain. They kicked his ass all the way back to Rome

Despite his reputation as the first emperor, Caesar never held the title of princeps. The first emperor was his adopted son and successor, Augustus. The only non-standard military titles he ever held were consul and dictator (not the current meaning of the term).

If you're interested in knowing what Caesar looked like, the Tusculum Portrait is the only image of him that can be confidently dated to his lifetime and was probably sculpted from life as well. Don't believe the later George Clooney looking busts

[queer-whatchamacallit]

I just rewatched 1x02 of The Bear, and took notes to get deeper into these fucked up silly guy’s heads, so here we go!!

Tw: workplace abuse, intentional emeto

The staff at EMP wear white tops, black pants, and a blue apron which Carm continued after his switch to The Beef

With both the “why?” bit and “Do you like working with fucking idiots?” “I’ll do better,” the only accepted response is that a mistake was made and it was their fault

“Do you like working with fucking idiots?” “I’ll do better.” “Say ‘yes Chef’” both serve to paint Carm as a fucking idiot and to show Chef as always deserving his respect

There’s a constant flip flop between absolutely tearing Carm to shreds and making him feel like dirt beneath Chef’s shoe for the problem that occurred and making sure he’s keeping work flowing at a rate and quality that’s acceptable to Chef (which it never will be)

I’m sure you’ve seen the “Chef saying ‘you should be dead’ was off screen so you can’t tell if it was actually Chef or if that was in Carmy’s head,” and I lean more toward the latter. I know it’s plausible (which is really fucked up), but I just like the narrative possibilities for Carm starting to hear Chef’s voice. It sounds different too. It’s whispered, but Chef had to be careful about who heard that one more than everything else, so idk

His eyes are kinda hazy through the whole thing, and when it’s over, he stalls for a second before blinking hard and brushing it off. He still sounds kind of off-kilter after though.

There’s a time skip I never noticed before where one moment, he’s desperately calling hands, and the next, they’re cleaning up after service. Maybe unintentional but maybe slipping in a little of that s1 unreality and showing that Carmy misses time sometimes

Marcus just loves messing with Richie, first his cologne and second “DeVry, we’re serious about success!!” and he’s so real for that

SYDNEY: [mocking laughter] <333

Carm doesn’t actually clean the floors with a toothbrush, he had a rag which feels… weird. His floor-cleaning toothbrush is such a staple in fics

He walks to and from work

On his coffee table, he has an ash tray, a mason jar of water, and some clutter I couldn’t make out

“YOU KILLED MICHAEL” on the order tickets is an interesting one. I’d probably tie this most easily to the train of thought that he wasn’t there, but he could have helped, and if he never left, Michael would still be alive. Maybe he thinks the pressure of having to deal with him as a kid contributed or that his success as a high end chef made Mike feel like shit by comparison, but idk, there’s a lot of ways you could go here

“That’s um… a lot of words.” We have a work day here and reading about managing his business is not fast and exciting and Carmy is a little blood-sniffing shark, if he stops moving, he’ll die. Fr kinda love him for this but am pissed at him for just shoving it back to Syd

“Is my hair on fire?” I had to look up a definition, but Carmy’s starting to wonder if he’s just totally fucked and if The Beef can make it out of this. It’s interesting to see him so unsure of whether he’s going to make it. “Not yet, no, but you need help,” just feels nice. It’s both sugar-coated and completely accurate

I love Ebra for just listening to T rant about how much she hates Syd, and later, he just fuckin rocks it when Syd calls orders out. Ebra’s one of my favs <33

Syd with her journal shows the first signs of her impatience and Richie interrupting her with the inspector I think finally flipped the switch of her just absolutely despising him

Them getting a C and seeing everyone go through the 5 stages of grief is so funny omg

Syd breaking up fights and stubborn idiot-proofing by getting the right caulk was so hot girl of her

“Fak, fix that fuckin sound.” I want to know what made the difference between this and the “I don’t mind it” alarm during the s2 Cicero meeting

“He’s a baby. Don’t get Carmen into trouble, y’know? I was a baby too once, Sydney. Nobody gave a fuck.” This is pretty self explanatory, but… yeah ouch

Carm’s willing to vent to Jimmy about work with the slightest encouragement. Might point to them having a closer relationship, or maybe Carm would vent about work to whoever will listen

“I asked you where you’ve been.” So he hasn’t seen Cicero or his mom since moving back, and I feel like him and Nat had at least texted or called before 1x01 but probably not seen each other, could be wrong on that though. So he just dove headfirst into the restaurant the second he got back to Chicago, and hasn’t even talked to the family he’s been self-isolating from for the past 5 years

I love Carm’s phone password being 11111

Edit: I’m watching this ep yet again, and the flowers on the table in the scene with Pete are the same from his cooking show dream in 1x08!!! Maybe tying in that he feels like his slow breakdown is being seen by everyone he knows, not just those connected just by cooking. Or maybe it’s connecting his conversation with Sugar to how he was also struggling especially hard at the time of the dream, but then, I feel like it would be in Sugar’s kitchen when they’re talking about it. Idk but I love this detail a lot

Sugar doesn’t seem to treat Pete super great :’(. She kinda pushes him away after he hands her the phone, and he instantly assumes that she’s telling him to shut the fuck up. She is the sibling trying hardest to change and be healthier, but she did indeed inherit that Berzatto temper and fast pace to the point of rudeness

Carm’s “Did you hear I apologized? :D” is so funny to me

Carm will vent to Sugar when something happens that’s more in the mental side of things. He wants to be casual about it, doesn’t want to think too hard into how deeply fucked he is, but he needed to talk to someone about almost setting his apartment on fire

Apparently he sleep cooks “sometimes,” and that wasn’t the only time

We know that the breathing difficulties started “sometime in New York maybe?” and I feel like crying out of nowhere is a little more recent, but the nightmares could’ve started at any time, or maybe he was saying New York for all 3, who knows

“I don’t want to bother you.” When considering who to tell what, he does consider his perceived burden on the other person

“I was throwing up every day before work… kinda dug it.” This quote has naturally festered in my brain for the past couple months because it says so much about him. He experiences stress nausea and maybe it became an intentional way of gaining control and consistency in an environment that fought so hard to make him feel faceless and powerless. It shows how far he is willing to go for this. He’ll do whatever it takes, including making himself vomit from anxiety. In his mind, it helps him become a better chef. Could also illustrate his likely connection between perfection and suffering. He kinda dug it. He felt like that self-destruction was necessary for him to excel. I could go on all day

He stayed there because “People loved the food. It felt good.” Here’s his stated motivation. His actual motivation is some messed up combination of that and lot of stuff he talks about in his Al-Anon speech: the excitement of being that good at something for once, just keeping going, hoping that one day, Mikey would acknowledge how good he was at it. People loving the food was confirmation that he was really fucking good at this. More than anything though, he wanted Mike to love the food

When the health inspector reveals that a pack of cigarettes was left by the stove, it doesn’t cross his mind that it was him. He was the CDC at EMP, he wouldn’t make a mistake like that, but he did, and now, this is just reinforcing how fucked everything’s gotten, especially himself. He’s just the type of person who leaves cigarettes by stovetops now

And yeah, that’s 1x02 - Hands all good and done!! Again, I don’t know how far I’ll get with these, but they’re very fun

Edit thanks to Pinterest scrolling: in Carm’s nightmare, the dates on the tickets are set before and after Mike’s death

[distantpagesandpapercuts]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN

NAME?: Leah

PRONOUNS?: She/Her (They is also accepted)

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION?: Discord is easiest for me cause I can get the notifications on my phone. (It makes noise so I like HAVE to check it.) Whereas there's days or even weeks I don't check Tumblr. SO- discord is best.)

MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?: I only have two. Cicero is usually the most active because he gets more interaction. But I like writing on both and do so as often as my depression addled brain will let me.

EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS?: Uhhh.... Well, over ten. Maybe... 13 years? 14 Maybe?

BEST EXPERIENCE?: I've made friends and lost friends and seen comebacks and such. But really I just enjoy consuming your guys' stuff. I read your stuff and alot of you do arts in some way or another about things I like so really it's good for me all around even if I'm not interacting with you at the time. I really do enjoy writing stories with you guys though. I wouldn't say I have one single best experience though. (Such a cop out answer I know)

RP PET PEEVES?: I dunno man. Maybe like... people who take themselves and writing silly little mind thoughts too seriously? I do this for fun, yannow? Its not my life. Idk something like that. It's not like I don't like people who are serious about their writing, it's more like having unrealistic expectations and standards pushed on me to fit into your narrative that I didn't ask for. (Or rather, pushing my MUSES into narratives that I didn't ask for. Like.... in a bullying sense. If that makes sense?)

I've been bullied and shamed and lied to in rp communities before. And I'm just like... over that kind of stuff. I just come here to write my little stories with my little online friends and that's as much as it is gonna be. Yannow?

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: I love more serious things like angst. But I also like a bit of soft too. I like writing smut, but sometimes it takes me awhile to work up to it because like.... I don't wanna embarrass myself? lmao

PLOTS OR MEMES?: I like both! Memes are easier to just wash your hands of. But also they're great starters and ways to get to know each other more often than not! I'm honestly terrible at plotting cause I'm such a people pleaser. But- I'm more than happy to talk things out with others and see where it goes.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: Both are fine I have no preference. Although I must say I have a tendency to ramble and multi-para even without meaning to. Cicero's got a lot going on in his head specifically and if I don't write it all out I feel like you're missing out on the experience, ya dig? So like... I LIKE writing both. But do I typically write one liners? Absolutely not.

TIME TO WRITE?: Really late at night or early in the morning. (Every so often the afternoon but that's usually when I'm napping. My sleep schedule is shitty cause of my job.)

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)?: There's some of me in both Cicero and Kira in different ways. They've also defs evolved over the years. Straying from what I intended and such. But I'm not displeased about it. I wouldn't say either are self insert-y though. Cicero is way more confident than I am and Kira is much more hardworking than I am ha ha.

Tagged by: @archerwhiterp

Tagging: Whoever would like to! :)

[t0yearnf0r]

I’m stuck in a hole again

I keep thinking about how Catullus died. I read an article whilst doing research for my dissertation, and lord forgive me I can’t remember what it’s called, and the writer pointed out that, since Catullus’ poems aren’t particularly organised, it’s possible that he died rather suddenly, or over a short period of time, where he wasn’t able to organise his works before he passed. I literally cannot stop thinking about this.

I wonder how he died. Was it some kind of illness? Was he assassinated? He did write some pretty inflammatory stuff about people… one website said he died of exhaustion, but I couldn’t find out what source they got that from so I’m taking that with a grain of salt. I wonder what you guys out there think?

I also think about his parents. They’re relationship seems to have been pretty good, from what you can gleam in his poetry. They’d lost their elder son - Catullus’ brother - and it had clearly torn Catullus to pieces. I wonder how they reacted when he died? Especially it was sudden. They lost both of their sons young (guessing on the part of his brother, catullus is said by Saint Jerome to have been around 30). I wonder what that felt like.

I think of his friends too. Catullus hyped up Cinna’s Zmyrna so hard lmao, I wonder how he felt. Calvus too - his great love Quintilia (I think her name was?) died at some point - and Hortalus, to whom poem 65 is dedicated. They must’ve been relatively close, I wonder how they felt.

Caesar too. They definitely didn’t get on lmao but if you believe Suetonius, they managed to patch up their difference at some point, and he may have been relatively friendly with Catullus’ father. Was he relieved to see the back of him? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sure Cicero was.

Who knows? I wish I did. I think about the subject of Catullus’ death way too much.

[nysus-temple]

In spain they talk about the retellings? I thought that was mostly on UK that had a big obsession with the greek gods so i assumed the rest of Europe is more chill

Well expect for the Greeks because it obviously concerns them when someone makes a media out of their myths 😅

Unfortunately yeah. I mean, I get that there's many works that we translate that are boring (Cicero, god damn it) but the fact that they refuse to like any of the "Classics" works like the Odyssey or the Theogony, while they come at me with "omg TSOA made me cry so much 🥹" like. okay. good for you i guess.

It's fine getting into the degree because of PJ. but IMO we're philologists guys, why are ya'll disappointed when we start reading about wars.

I remember having a professor who said the famous "it's not a big deal if we change the myths, the Greeks did it too" and i lost my shit there fkfnfkvm

[cicerosfavouritelistener]

Happy WIP (Not) Wednesday!

tagged by @stellarsightz, cheers mate.

If you see this n wanna do it then consider yourself tagged. Everyone I know's already tagged AFIK.

Literally had nothin for abit so like. Here's what I wrote this morn;

Boats were not something Slips-Through-Oblivion was too keen on interacting with, alas, Skyrim was a backwards ass country with no giant worms to take you where you need to go.

Slips-Through-Oblivion stared at the large book in their hands. "So… I have to read this?" They ask Frea. "Yes." She confirms. "This book?" "Yes, the Black book." "Read it?" "You have to open it and read it, yes."

Finally Slips-Through-Oblivion gives in. 'Surely Cicero can read the book to me if it's really necessary later,' they think, holding the book as they begin opening it. 'After all, usually the people who sent me out to find the book snatch it from me after I look at the first few pages.' They nod to themselves before opening their eyes and being disappointed with yet again, a book with pages they couldn't read. Not even a single picture!

As their head stops spinning they're suddenly in an odd world that was extremely green. What? Someone stood ahead of them surrounded by four tentacled beasts of the kind that Slips-Through-Oblivion had never seen before in their life. What in the name of Sithis was going on here? Speaking of Sithis, the familiar silence was back in their head again. Not a single laugh from Sheogorath, nor whisper of death from the Night Mother, not even Alduin's temptations of suicide was in their mind. That last one was nice, in all honesty. "The time comes soon when…" A voice speaks, likely the man or mer in front of them, cutting himself off as he turns to look behind him, quickly striking the saxhleel with some electric spell, knocking them to their hands and knees. "What? Who are you to dare set foot here?" He? He. He growls, stepping towards the argonian. He had an odd outfit, nothing like Slips-Through-Oblivion had ever seen before. He had a long golden mask completely encasing his head, the only thing Slips-Through-Oblivion was certain about this man was he wasn't a fellow argonian. "You are Dragonborn… I can feel it. And yet…" He continued and were it not for Slips-Through-Oblivion being paralyzed to the ground they would have torn out their listening glands.

His voice was grating on their ears, especially with the seeming surprise.

"So, you have slain Alduin… Well done." Was he being patronising? It sounded like he was being patronising. "I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path." Maybe them being paralyzed was a good thing, Slips-Through-Oblivion knew that if they had control of their mouth they would be mocking this man or mer or Khajiit. Clearly he couldn't actually beat Alduin, he's mad they could. Haaaah. "You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield!" Sithis was he still talking? Slips-Through-Oblivion's thoughts were interrupted as he performed a shout. "Mul.. Qah Diiv!" A bright light surrounded Miraak. His fists looked like they were on fire though harmlessly as the 'flames' turned from a vibrant orange to a cooler blue on his arms. The golden spikes were a bright blue to the point of white and spikier, more dragon-like. His mask also had the horns sharper and more pointed, much like Slips-Through-Oblivion's horns had become after they absorbed Alduin into themselves.

'Just what is this guy compensating for?' They think, frowning up at him in confusion.

"This realm is beyond you. You have no power here. And it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple, and I can return home." Oh, this is the guy who's been making everyone build weird shit all over Solstheim. Well, at least they knew who was causing that jank. He turned around towards the tentacled beasts. "Send them back where they came from. They can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel." He commands them, causing confusion to rush through Slips-Through-Oblivion.

If this fucker thought he could do anything to Ja'ava or Cicero they'll destroy him. Their want to destroy this stranger however was disrupted by the beings coming over to them and casting some sort of draining spell against them. Slips-Through-Oblivion groaned in pain as they felt their muscles grow weak and their mind spin. They used all of their strength to look up and after the man, watching him climb onto what looked like some sick dragon and fly off as they lost consciousness.

Suddenly they were on their feet again, back in the bowels of the Temple of Miraak, with Cicero fretting over them. "Listener!" He shrieked, his hands quickly on them, making sure they were truly there again. "Cicero is so glad you're alright, you scared me really good, you did!" He said, looking over Slips-Through-Oblivion, staying close. "What happened to you?" Frea asks, walking over to you, but staying a decent distance as the Keeper glares daggers at her. "You read the book and then… It seemed as though you were not really here. I could see you, but also see through you!" Ah, that explained Cicero's sudden increased possessiveness over them. "I'm.. not really sure. I saw… someone get onto a dragon." "Where?

[yeschefthankyouchef]

someday i will be caught up on this story, not today, but someday lol. although i almost don’t want to be caught up because i so look forward to reading these chapters and i’ve loved having a new one to read everytime i get the chance.

“It had been a year and it still wasn’t easy to look at any pictures of Mikey without feeling like your chest would cave in”

ooooomph. i felt that one in my chest. you have a stellar way of putting emotions that i’ve felt into words.

“She looked back down at the picture, your bright smile staring back at her as Mikey and Richie leaned in to kiss your cheeks. A fond memory of the three of you the night of your senior prom.”

STOP IT RN this is so goddamn cutie. nat is such a queen for making sure that this polaroid didn’t get shoved to the back of the closet and got a spot on the mantle as it deserves. i totally understand baby for wanting to just shove it all down, but you’re right, she needs to feel it as it comes so she can process it and move on.

“But at the end of the day, it was just you, an apartment full of memories, a voicemail you were too scared to ever listen to, and the shadow of your grief following behind you.”

oh goD NOT THE VOICEMAIL. so scared to find out what that entails.

“Too inebriated to unlock it you had essentially thrown yourself against the glass until it finally gave way to the weight of your body and you ended up face down covered in glass and the pool of your blood.”

holy shit. i knew it was going to be bad but i feel so sad for baby - this is next level stuff. for both her sake and for plot purposes (gots to get her in carmys vicinity) i’m glad she’s back in a place with a support system. AND HER OVERDOSING? she really is spiraling in a dangerous direction. nat(and pete) is the unsung hero of this story, and i didn’t know it was possible but i love her that much more. also i really love how you aren’t trying to sugarcoat any of the dark themes, you’re embracing them and aren’t afraid to get into the nitty gritty reality of it all.

“All you had at that moment were your racing thoughts and the regrets of a life you had almost ended too soon.”

this is a beautifully haunting sentence. that is all.

“Never thought I’d see the day you were nervous in front of me Baby,”

ITS HAYDEN WHAT!!! i was worried for baby for a second there. i love that he’s back in this. he was such a stand up guy before and his pretense is going to make carmy have to put in that much more work (if there’s one thing i love it’s a groveling man)

“Uh, the porn stache sure is a uh choice,”

curious to know if you have any face claim for hayden? like this line painted a vivid image of hayden in my brain and i’m curious who you see him as!

“You’re not just hiring me because we went to prom together, or as a favor to Natalie are you?”

we love a self sufficient queen!

“She knew Cicero would be there in the next hour, and that the money problem was their biggest issue in getting the new restaurant up and running.”

ahhhh i’ve been wondering where we were falling back into the story and i LOVE that you chose here, carmy is a bit more established in himself and the bear and the staff will all also be pretty established. can’t wait to see baby and syd interact fr. (i am a lil nervy about claire tho i can’t lie)

“You hadn’t realized how much you needed a hug from Richie until you were snuggly pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body helping to relax”

richie absolutely would give the BEST hugs, this is 1000% fucking canon to me. i will die on this hill.

“Sorry uh, big fan of your work. But uh, how do you play into all this.”

you definitely nailed syds tone - i love it already!

“Bullshit.” The sound of Carmy’s voice startled you, sure he had been speaking this whole time but it's not like you were paying that much attention.”

stay out of this carmy the adults are talking

“Carmy was also sure you didn’t have that scar a year ago, nor the smaller one that was carved into your upper lip.”

yikes so he doesn’t even know? he’s that far removed now? my boy is absolutely going to say something stupid like when her mom died and he DIDNT KNOW. they never learn.

“Your voice trailed off as your confidence continued to plummet, Carmy’s blank eyes doing nothing to quell your nervousness.”

sometimes i want to punch his sexy little face

“But he knew while you were here, in Chicago, surrounding yourself with him, the two of you would be given equal opportunity to put this years-long game of cat and mouse to an end; it was just a matter of who bit first.”

THIS LINE HAS ME SO GIDDY OH MY GOD. i feel like we just entered act ii of the story and i am beyond excited about it. god this is just so good and i am on the edge of my seat the whole time.

chapter four | to burden natalie berzatto

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing: platonic!natalie berzatto x f!reader | slight carmen berzatto x f!reader | slight the bear crew x f!reader | male!oc x f!reader |

summary: your lack of competent decision-making after mikey’s death puts natalie in a compromisng position.

warning(s): substance abuse | overdose | grief | self-sabotage | angst | humor as coping mechanism | one mention of ativan | unintentional self-harm | blood | hospitals | scars | mention of treatment centers | rehab | recovery | thoughts of relapsing | appreciation of natalie berzatto | avoidance of grief | selfishness | memory loss | unhealthy grieving mechanisms | PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

wc: 8.1k

please remeber you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any warnings trigger you DO NOT READ!

The smooth music filtered out of the record player, a rich voice singing through the house painting the atmosphere with a calm vibe. The two occupants were gathered in the living room, sifting through the last of the boxes that contained small decorations and keepsakes. Discussing what would look best where and what should have been left behind in the move.

You looked over your shoulder to check on Nat, her sudden silence cause for concern. Circling over to her you realized what had stolen the words from her lips. You maneuvered to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the framed photo in her hands, the two of you silently reminiscing.

You placed your head on her shoulder as she let out a quiet sniffle, her emotions heightened due to her condition. “You looked so beautiful that night,” you let out a quiet laugh before moving to stand next to Nat, eyes still focused on the framed Polaroid in her grip.

It had been a year and it still wasn’t easy to look at any pictures of Mikey without feeling like your chest would cave in. You hadn’t seen this particular picture since his passing, the grief too much, all memories painting your west coast apartment shoved into a nondescript box.

You understood now why it was so important to label your boxes when moving. If the box in front of Nat had some type of label on it, you knew for sure it already would’ve been shoved into the dark recesses of your closet.

“You can just put that one back in the box,” you left Nat’s side to continue going through your box, pulling out the book designated to sit on your coffee table.

Natalie watched you from her side of the living room, a small scowl painting her face as she watched you so easily disregard a memory that had once been so special to you. She looked back down at the picture, your bright smile staring back at her as Mikey and Richie leaned in to kiss your cheeks. A fond memory of the three of you the night of your senior prom.

Looking back at you one last time Nat let out a sigh before walking over to the mantle and setting it on the corner, visible for everyone to see. She understood how much Mikey’s death affected you, but there was no way you could heal from the hurt if you never allowed yourself to live in the uncomfortability of grief. It was something you had to want for yourself.

Nat had half the mind to keep digging through the box, eyes catching on another memory. Not wanting to sour the first night in your new home, she replaced the cover, doing her best to act as though she wasn’t curious about the box of memories.

The doorbell rang as you were looking for a place for the picture of you and your mom at your college graduation. Carefully sitting it on your coffee table you made your way to the door making sure to grab your wallet on the way. You opened the door to see the pizza delivery person standing there, giving them the money and a tip before thanking them.

“Oh that smells delicious,” you laughed as Nat followed behind you to your decent-sized kitchen. The two of you grab plates and a slice of pizza before heading to your couch.

Setting your plate on the coffee table, you left to quickly grab two wine glasses and the sparkling cider Natalie and Pete bought you as a housewarming gift. Stopping to grab a bottle of water from the fridge for Nat just in case the cider upset her stomach before taking your seat on the plush couch.

“I’m happy you’re home Baby.” Your eyes met Nat’s before you moved to pour yourself a healthy amount of sparkling cider, ignoring Nat’s laugh at the full glass in your hands. You raise your glass in a mock toast, at least one of you was happy that you were back.

“I guess it's good to be back. Nice to be around people that care about me,” the grateful smile sent Nat’s way as a form of thank you.

Natalie deserved more than a pathetic smile and both of you knew it.

You had been relatively alright after Mikey’s death, which came as a surprise to everyone. Your impromptu stay in Chicago after the funeral was a way for you to keep an eye on Natalie and Donna, occasionally helping Richie at The Beef when you could.

But you had to return to your own life eventually, and when you did shit spiraled out of control for you.

People always drone on and on about the five stages of grief and how it affects everyone differently, and you never thought that statement to be more true than when you stepped foot in your apartment upon your return from Chicago. Grief is supposed to come and go, you were doing everything that everyone was telling you to do. Following all the steps, checking all the boxes. Forcing yourself to try and heal, to feel your emotions as much as you would allow yourself to.

But at the end of the day, it was just you, an apartment full of memories, a voicemail you were too scared to ever listen to, and the shadow of your grief following behind you.

You experienced all the denial, anger, bargaining, and depression and you waited and hoped for the acceptance to come. But all that ever came was the cycle of grief replaying in your life like a bad dream.

You had thrown yourself into your work, anything to forget about the pain Mikey’s ghost left behind. And when your psychiatrist recommended a prescription to aid with your anxiety, you accepted. Anything to escape the shadow of a man you once knew appearing in your apartment on late nights.

But then the prescription wasn’t enough, and the alcohol you once used to numb everything had lost its edge, your days just turned into functioning as best you could. And then there were times you couldn’t even remember the previous day, the last five minutes, falling asleep on the couch.

You had become dependent; dependent on the alcohol and the drugs, and the way they made things all better for a short time.

And then you had woken up in the hospital one day, with no memories of how you got there, no care for what happened to you.

The figure in the chair next to you helped you to escape the fog in your brain. The woman you had known your whole life looking down at you with a tear-stained face, her hand tightly clutched around yours, her presence all the more confusing.

The silence in the room was too loud for you as you just watched the blonde, the lack of emotion on your face breaking the woman down even more. When the doctor came in to explain what happened it shocked you. Not because of the severity of the situation, but because you couldn’t remember a thing.

The theory was that you had been mixing prescription drugs and alcohol for some time, a truth you already knew and were purposely partaking in.

You were at your apartment after work winding down from the long day, pregaming for a night out with your co-workers. The Ativan you had taken earlier at work already put you at ease. You were trying to get to your patio for some reason but had trouble with the sliding glass door.

Too inebriated to unlock it you had essentially thrown yourself against the glass until it finally gave way to the weight of your body and you ended up face down covered in glass and the pool of your blood.

Not fazed by your injuries you collected yourself, glass and all. Grabbing your keys from the counter leaving to whatever destination you had in mind. Somewhere between removing yourself from the mess of your ruined sliding door and stumbling out into the hallway, you swallowed two more pills.

According to the reports, a neighbor found the mess of your body in the hallway, making it a mere few inches from your door before your body succumbed to the deadly cocktail swirling inside you.

In October of 2022, 8 months after Michael’s death; you would overdose.

You were broken from the haze of memories as you felt a dip in the couch. Natalie came to sit right next to you head resting on your shoulder, you gently laid your head on top of hers. You owed Nat your life.

A quiet sniffle left you, losing the battle to keep your emotions under wraps. “You’ve done so much for me Sug, and I…I’m sorry if I haven’t shown you enough appreciation.” You felt Nat’s arms wrap around you, squeezing you into a side hug as the two of you sat in each other’s presence.

It was no secret that without Natalie and Pete, you might not have been experiencing this moment. You for sure wouldn’t have gotten your shit together if you were still all alone on the West Coast. Nat had gone out of her way to find the best treatment facility on the East Coast for you, it had been decided that you would make the move back to Chicago when you were released.

So while you were away facing the consequences of the darkest moments of your life. Nat was at home picking up the pieces of your life while also trying to keep hers intact, not that you realized or cared back then.

Nat and Pete sold the family home that was still in your mom's name, nobody needed to ask to know that it wasn’t healthy for you to live in or across the street from a museum of memories. The couple got you a good deal on a quaint home not too far from them, the leftover money put towards the rest of your savings.

Natalie Berzatto, a miracle worker in your eyes had somehow pulled strings to get you an interview with the Tribune. So yeah, you owed Nat a lot more than placating smiles and cheap pizza.

“Are you sure you’re ready for tomorrow?” You shifted positions at Nat’s question, the two of you now sitting criss-cross applesauce, facing each other on the couch. You gave a small nod, fingers playing with your fuzzy socks.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” you let out a small laugh. “I can’t expect you and Pete to babysit me forever.” You smiled up at Natalie, the prospect of writing again caused a sense of excitement to stir within you. It felt like the only thing you had left, the only thing you were still good at. Although you had almost completely fucked up your life, you still had your writing, and that was a start.

“Maybe we can meet up for lunch after?” You didn’t want to celebrate too soon, you hadn’t even got a job yet, but the idea of a lunch date with Nat sounded like the best form of indulgence you had allowed yourself in a while.

The night continued with the two of you talking, Sugar doing her best to catch you up on all that you missed sans any mention of a certain blue-eyed baby brother she had. As the night began winding down the two of you cleaned up the mess of your dinner, before you sent Nat on her way with promises to fill her in after your interview tomorrow.

Making sure your kitchen was cleaned to your liking, you made your way into your room to begin settling in for the night. A knit crew neck you had meant to return to its rightful owner once upon a time, becoming the basis of your pajamas after a relaxing shower.

Settling into bed you couldn’t help but lie awake, mind racing with all the different scenarios that could play out tomorrow. This was your first night alone in your new home and the reality of just how alone you were slowly began to sink in. You knew Nat would always be there for you if need be, but she had her own life to live, the beginnings of a family in her near future.

All you had at that moment were your racing thoughts and the regrets of a life you had almost ended too soon.

You sat in the lobby of the Tribune leg bouncing nervously as you waited for your meeting with the editor-in-chief, resume, and copies of your work sitting snugly in your tote bag. You knew Natalie had already sent over your information, but your nerves forced you to believe that being over-prepared would be necessary.

The sound of the receptionist calling your name caught your attention. She was standing a little ways away from you waiting for you to follow her, you gave a nervous smile before rising from your seat and following the rhythmic click-clack of her heels down the hall. As you watched her walk in front of you, you thought you may have been a little underdressed in your casual street clothes, but you forced yourself to push your thoughts aside. They’d be judging you for your backlog of work, not your choice of attire.

The receptionist lead you to a corner office, the frosted glass of the exterior providing a sense of privacy. Ushering you into the empty room she let you know that the editor you’d be meeting with would join you shortly. You sent her a small thanks before walking into the room, eyes catching on the minimalistic decorations scattered around the office.

Your feet lead you to the wall of windows situated behind the desk, the view reminding you of an office you had occupied so many months ago. You looked out over the Chicago skyline, it still felt so surreal to be back in this city.

The face staring back at you something you were still learning how to get used to. The scars that decorated the right side of your face were healing up nicely considering how deep some of the glass had gone.

You jumped at the sound of the door closing, someone entered so swiftly you hadn’t even heard them, or maybe you were just too wrapped up in memories of a past life. You hurriedly turned from the window not wanting to seem rude, the man who had entered the room caught your eye before gesturing for you to take a seat at one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

You felt a little less concerned about your fashion choice as your eyes followed his Levi-clad legs as he settled into the chair behind his desk. You could feel your nerves returning, not knowing what to expect from this interview. In the most humble sense you had forgotten what being interviewed felt like, not having to go through the process since getting your first big journalist job straight out of college.

“Nervous?” Your leg stopped bouncing as the man’s voice met your ears, a shy smile curving your lips.

“Here I thought I was being subtle,” you tried to joke hoping to relax yourself a bit. The responding chuckle helped somewhat, so far the man sitting in front of you didn’t seem like too much of a stickler.

“Never thought I’d see the day you were nervous in front of me Baby,” you tried to control the look of disgust you felt begging to paint your features. You were grateful for Nat’s help but you were sure this was a mistake.

“I’m sure HR has their hands full with you.” You mumbled, the roll of your eyes showcasing your irritation. “Thank you for the opportunity sir, but I don’t think this is a good fit for me.” You reached out to the chair next to you where you had sat your tote bag wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“No wait,” the sound of the rolling chair moving rapidly caused you to stop, seconds away from rising from your chair. You turned your attention to the figure in front of you eyebrows pinched together.

“It's me, Hayden,” your brows furrowed even more, your mind searching your memory for that name. “I…uh, I took you to senior prom. We met in our creative writing class that same year.”

You felt your eyes widen as your mouth formed the shape of an ‘o’, eyes darting to the pristine nameplate facing you on the desk. The name ‘Hayden Ivanovski’ staring directly back at you.

“No fucking way.” The whisper traveled easily through the silent office, Hayden’s echoing chuckle caused you to let out a small one of your own. “I’m sorry, it's just nobody but close friends and family even call me that anymore. And, I really wasn’t expecting to see you.”

You watched as he nodded, you could see it now. The boy you once knew in the maturity of his face, hadn’t changed much but it was enough that you wouldn’t easily recognize him if he passed you on the street.

“Uh, the porn stache sure is a uh choice,” your hand raised to gesture to your upper lip, you couldn’t help the smile curving your lips.

Hayden laughed head dropping as he resumed his seated position. “Divorce makes you do crazy things,” your smile faltered, you hadn’t meant the quip as an invitation to discuss any personal grievances. “No need to look so sad, it was mutual.” He shrugged the topic off like he hadn’t given it a second thought in a long while.

You nodded your head distractedly, “Enough about my failed marriage, how have you been?” You gave him a small smile, mind going blank as you thought of the best route to take this conversation.

“I uh, almost died five months ago,” the laugh ripped from Hayden’s chest, the last thing you were expecting to hear. You watched as he found your eyes, his smile disappearing as he took in the harrowing look on your face.

“You-you’re not serious are you?” The question almost caused you to laugh.

“As serious as my overdose was,” you watched as Hayden shifted in his seat, the air easily became uncomfortable. “Sorry coping mechanism.” You laughed the topic off, you had assumed Nat told him when she booked you this interview.

“So um, when does the interview start,” your leg began bouncing up and down again, the nervousness returning. If you hadn’t already made a bad impression you were sure exposing your less-than-stellar life choices definitely lost you the job.

“Nat didn’t tell you?” You stopped your brows from pinching together, the constant frowning sometimes the tiny scar between your eyebrows. “I don’t need to interview you, you’re an amazing journalist. I hired you the second Nat told me you were moving back. That is if you want to work here.”

“You’re not just hiring me because we went to prom together, or as a favor to Natalie are you?” Nat had helped you to get your foot in the door, you had wanted to secure the job because of your merit.

You watched as Hayden quickly shook his head, “While it is nice to reconnect with you, we need some experience in our newsroom. I know before your uh… incident you were working as a travel journalist, and the pay here wouldn’t be the same. But you’d still have full control over the stories you write, although you might not write as often as you’re used to.” You nodded along listening to his explanation. The fact that this was happening failed to resonate with you.

“So, the position of Managing Editor is yours if you want it.” Hayden sent you a small smile awaiting your response, he did his best not to focus too long on your scars as he stared in your direction.

“As long as I can write and edit then I will happily work for you,” the large grin spreading across your lips stretched the small scar stitched into your upper lip.

The smile on Hayden’s lips matched yours as he walked around the desk to shake your hand. The two of you sat there going over the expectations that your new role required, Hayden explaining the environment he tried to uphold at the paper.

You finished the meeting off with a tour of the floor the Tribune occupied, the one you’d mostly be working on. The two of you caught up a little as he input you into the system and created your badge so you could easily come and go as you pleased. You learned that he married Marlene Buchanan, a girl you went to high school with. The ink of their divorce still drying after only being finalized two months ago.

He invited you out to lunch but you had to rain check explaining the plans you made with Natalie promising the two of you would work something out in the future. He walked out with you, the two of you parting ways once you left the lobby.

You stood on the sidewalk taking in the crisp Chicago air. Your life was finally starting to feel like your own again, and even though you had only secured a job, the inevitable weight of doom that followed you was beginning to feel a little lighter.

Natalie was pacing in the office quickly moving to close the door as the chaos sounding through the building caused a headache to form. She knew Cicero would be there in the next hour, and that the money problem was their biggest issue in getting the new restaurant up and running.

The urge to call you was immediate after speaking with Cicero. Nat knew how much you cared about this place, and regardless of what anyone else thought she wanted you to have a say in any decision they made now that you were permanently back in Chicago. And she’d be lying if she said the reserved funds that came with you weren’t also a reason to invite you to this meeting.

Shouts could be heard through the door as she finally made her mind up, you two had plans for lunch anyways so you could just meet her and the two of you would leave together. Any excuse Nat could think up to call you would help her.

Sighing she scrolled through her contacts before forcing herself to press on your name and just call you. She listened as the phone rang, part of her hoping you didn’t answer her call, the hope immediately dying as your voice sang through the speaker.

“Nat, hey! I was just about to call you,” She smiled at the light tone in your voice, a tone she hadn’t heard in quite some time. “We still on for lunch?” The question caused her to take a deep breath, it was now or never she either asked you or she didn’t.

“Yeah of course. Uhh but would you mind meeting me at The Beef?” She was hoping the question came across as nonchalant, she called out your name as the line went quiet, sure you had hung up on her.

“Nat, I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” the apprehension in your voice made her feel guilty for even asking you in the first place.

“Listen, Baby, I know how you feel but we’re making a big decision today and I feel like you deserve to have your input heard,” she waited for a minute before continuing. “If it triggers you we can leave immediately, no questions asked okay? I just…this might be good for you.” She bit her lip as she waited for your response, she would be okay with whatever you decided but at least she had put the opportunity out there.

“I think I can be there in 45 minutes,” the tired sigh that escaped your lips matched the way Nat was feeling.

“Thank you, Baby.” She listened as you said your goodbyes before hanging up the phone, Nat was sure if she didn’t already have morning sickness she would’ve thrown up from that phone call alone.

It was exactly as you remembered it. Not that you had expected the exterior to change in the year since you’d been there. Although not physically changed things felt different, it no longer felt nostalgic as you stood there looking at the newspaper-covered windows. You could feel the anxiety eating away at you, the sick part deep inside of you wishing you had something to numb your feelings.

You could hear the faint sound of an alarm blaring with how close you were standing, the sound helping you to focus on the things you could control. You hadn’t come all this way just to look at the old building’s facade, and part of you didn’t think you could take disappointing Natalie by walking away. Nat wouldn’t have been disappointed in you though, but since your accident, you were scared to ever see that look in her eyes again.

The deep breath of fresh air filling your lungs helped to cool you down a bit. The pairing of your puffer jacket and scarf felt a bit suffocating.

In through your nose out through your mouth, a few more deep breaths were all you allowed yourself before forcing your hand to grip the door handle and step foot into a building that might haunt you for a lifetime.

The constant screeching of the alarm was so loud it made you glad that it drowned out the sound of the bell ringing above the door. Your eyes traveled around the restaurant, it was the same but it wasn’t. Little things missing telling you that some type of work was being done.

“As I live and fucking breathe!” The loud voice you would recognize anywhere drawing your attention to the dining area, Richie’s large figure taking up the doorway.

You shared a small smile with him. Subtly adjusting your scarf to cover the most noticeable scar lining your face, you watched as the older man took steps to close the distance between the two of you. The tall man quickly pulled you into a tight hug.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed a hug from Richie until you were snuggly pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body helping to relax you. The unconscious thought crossed your mind that you might have never experienced one of these hugs again if you hadn’t made it to the hospital in time.

The love Richie was pouring into the hug caused your eyes to water, Mikey’s passing bonding the two of you, the loss of someone you both loved so much bringing the two of you impossibly closer. But not close enough for him to know the path you had taken after. And not close enough for you to want to burden him with being just another addict in his life.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your head before pulling away, the annoying alarm still blaring at full volume. You stepped back to give him space, “You been fucking around in the crawl space Richie?” The question paired with your signature grin as Richie let loose his boisterous laugh.

“Of course, you’d fucking know about the alarm.” Richie’s disgruntled mumbling met your ears.

“Hey, Richie, could you please turn that goddamn motherfuckin thing off?” The voice of Cicero filtered through your ears. “It’s making me insane!”

“My bad Uncle J, Baby just walked through the door and shit like a ghost. Fucking Mikey booby trapping crawl spaces and shit.” He poked his head back into the dining room to let the occupants know he somewhat had the situation under control.

“Mikey’s fuckin Kevin McCalliper-,” The responses correcting Richie caused you to let out a small giggle, the noise bringing a smile to Richie’s lips.

You continued standing with Richie as he spoke to somebody on the phone, the long one-word password he gave made you chuckle. Pretending you knew how to help Richie was an excuse to not join the conversation going on in the back for a while.

While the blaring alarm was causing your ears to ring, the loud noise was a buffer between your impending thought and the inevitability of being back in this restaurant. The sudden quiet was the only sign that you would have to face a now unavoidable situation.

“Here lemme take that,” Richie reached out expecting you to give him your scarf and jacket. You hesitated, your wardrobe feeling like a sense of armor for the time being.

“Uh, I’m actually pretty cold. Thanks, Rich.” Your hand shot out to pat his bicep, head jerking in the direction the voices were coming from. “Sugar in there?” You didn’t need Richie to reply to know the answer.

You followed Richie’s lead as he headed to the back, taking a deep breath to still your nerves, not all too sure what you were getting yourself into. You watched as Richie pulled up a chair next to Cicero for you, taking your tote bag out of your hands as he gestured for you to sit. You smiled politely, giving him a small nod as you moved further into the room.

Three out of four familiar faces stared back at you, the look on Nat’s face indicating how much it meant for her that you showed up.

“What is this an intervention?” You made the joke as a way to cut the tension that had filled the room, the silence felt even louder as Nat said your name in a reprimanding tone, the joke not being funny to her one bit. You shrugged before moving to sit in your designated chair, shooting a small smile to the dark-skinned woman who was eyeing you from across the table. Your eyes easily avoided the blue ones you knew too well.

You listened as Nat cleared her throat, all attention focused on her. “So uh, I invited Baby here because I think she deserves to be a part of this decision.” Four eyes flashed to you as you awkwardly adjusted in your seat. “And, um she has a decent savings account.”

A snort left your lips at Natalie’s rushed words, her ulterior motives for inviting you here reminding you a bit of her mischievous brown-eyed older brother.

“Sorry uh, big fan of your work. But uh, how do you play into all this.” Your eyes drifted to the unknown woman, a smile played at your lips, a feeling of shyness sweeping across you at the fact that she had any idea who you were.

“Family friend.”

“Old acquaintance.”

The three other people at the table looked between you and Carmy, eyes darting back and forth at both of your explanations. You couldn’t help the cackle you let out, missing the look of panic shooting through Natalie’s eyes. You couldn’t recall a time you would ever describe your relationship with Carmen Berzatto as an acquaintanceship.

“Baby is a close family friend,” Nat interjected before any other response could be given. “A friend we should be thankful for even considering investing in the restaurant.”

Your eyes finally found Carmy’s having a hard time taming the smile threatening to spread across your lips. The false confidence you were exuding helped you not overthink the situation you were in.

The conversation picked back up where it had left off after you entered. You sank into your seat shoving your hands into your jacket and tucking your chin into your scarf as you did your best to pay attention. You couldn’t help but let your eyes travel across the mostly empty dining room, memories of a life that no longer felt like your own clawing to overtake your senses.

Up and down, up and down. The tick you gained while in recovery helped you to remain in the present your leg working overtime as it bounced to keep you focused.

The voices talking around you are drowned out by your wandering thoughts. Thoughts that had you re-evaluating your relationship with Natalie.

It was no secret that you had become a selfish person after Mikey’s death, every decision you made was to benefit you, and if someone else somehow benefited from it then good for them.

That was the reason you stayed in Chicago so long after the funeral, telling yourself that the remaining Berzattos needed you, that you were staying to make sure they made it out of the deep end alive.

But that was a lie, you stayed because you were too afraid to face your own emotions, afraid to face your grief head-on. Even now you could say you stayed behind to ensure Donna and Sugar were okay, but deep down you knew that you stayed because you didn’t want to be alone.

You helped Richie at The Beef because he needed you, needed to know he wasn’t alone. In all actuality, it was you who needed them, you who had become dependent on people grieving just as much as you.

The same could be said about your substance abuse after returning to your reality. The idea of never being able to talk to Mikey, see Mikey, or hold Mikey was all just an excuse you used to justify your indulgences.

You constantly told yourself that it wouldn’t be fair to burden Sugar or Richie with your hurting, that they didn’t need to babysit you while trying to heal themselves. That when your memory became spotty and you missed more than one of Sugar’s calls, it was because she didn’t need to put up with you and your problems.

And then unintentionally or not, you became Natalie’s problem. Not even letting her brother’s grave grow cold before you forced her to face the idea of losing another person she spent her whole life loving.

You pleaded with the universe for Nat to wipe her hands of you. To let you waste your life away and rot like you were starting to. To turn her back on you, because how could you so easily fall into the same vice as Mikey knowing how much it affected him; knowing how much it affected the people who cared for him.

How dare you pretend as though no one would give a shit if they had to bury you mere months after putting Michael to rest. How fucking dare you be so selfish.

There were nights in bed where you’d lay awake questioning your intentions. Had you purposely thrown your life away because you knew Natalie would come to your rescue? Did you somehow manipulate Natalie’s good nature into digging you out of a hole you were so far gone in you couldn’t bring yourself back from?

You always got on Natalie about putting herself first, and how she needed to stop stretching herself so thin for everyone else. And then you went and almost fucking died, and you forced her to take on a role she had been playing her whole life.

You had willingly ruined your life and forced Natalie to face the consequences.

If there was one thing you learned in your recovery, it was that getting clean, staying clean, and becoming a healthier better version of yourself should never be done for someone else. You had to want it for yourself, but damn if seeing Natalie’s face didn’t push you to get your shit together you weren’t sure what did.

“500,” you weren’t sure where the confidence to speak up came from, not even entirely sure what the balance in your savings account even was. Your unfocused eyes now staring directly into Natalies. “That’s my offer.” You quickly glanced around at everyone else unsure as to what they were even talking about but needing to put your stake into the game.

“Like $500..or,” your attention turned to the other woman, her voice trailing off indicating that she indeed was asking a question.

A chuckle parted your lips as you shook your head. “No, I mean 500K.” You made sure to look at each person across from you individually, instilling how serious your offer was.

“Bullshit.” The sound of Carmy’s voice startled you, sure he had been speaking this whole time but it's not like you were paying that much attention.

You scoffed, eyes rolling in tandem with the sound. “I thought you needed money Carmen,” the name slipped through clenched teeth. You turned to face Nat. Your final numbers would be decided between the two of you, “Nat?”

“100.”

“450.”

“120.”

“375.”

“200,” you hesitated for a minute. The triumphant smile on Natalie’s lips caused your eyes to narrow.

“250, or I walk.” You leaned forward hands moving to lay flat atop the table, a small smirk played on your lips. Your leverage was total shit and Nat knew that there was no way you’d walk away from this project.

“Deal.” The smile on your lips faltered as you faced Carmy again, his annoying crystal blue eyes staring daggers into you.

Clearing your throat you slumped back in your seat, hands moving back to hide inside your pockets. The meeting finished on a good note without a hitch, with the restaurant gaining an extra 250K to put toward inevitable expenses.

You quickly stood from your seat moving to escape any awkward reunion that may have sprouted between you and Carmy. The interest in meeting Carmy’s partner was pushed to the back burner as you made your way through the restaurant, looking for the one other person you wanted to speak with at the moment.

Maneuvering through the kitchen you found Tina not too far from what you remembered to be her usual station. You leaned against the wall watching her work, the effort she was putting into saving burnt and rusted pots bringing a small smile to your face. You shrugged off your jacket and slipped the scarf from around your neck.

“Need some help?” The hesitation in your voice was evident. You weren’t sure where you stood with Tina, you knew how she felt about Mikey and how much his choices affected her. The thought of relaying the past few months to her was too much for you to think about at this moment, you had time, and when you were ready you would confide in her. But for now, there was no point in ruining a much-needed reunion.

You watched as Tina jolted, not prepared to hear your voice. “Ay, dios mío!” Tina turned to you hand raised above her heart, eyes wide. “Why the fuck are you sneaking around the kitchen.” You listened to the older woman’s voice scold you before making your way in her direction.

Not giving her another second before throwing your arms around her, you probably should’ve made sure it was okay, but there was nothing like a mother’s endearing hug to let you know that everything would eventually be okay.

The two of you stood in each other’s embrace in the middle of the kitchen. Neither of you said a word as your quiet sobs began to echo off the walls. You were crying for Mikey, and for yourself, and for all the lives the both of you had ruined, whether they knew it or not.

You were apprehensive to step foot back in this establishment so soon. But it had easily shown you all the things your life would have missed out on had you not allowed Natalie to get you the help you needed.

Carmy’s head perked up as he noticed you exit the kitchen with Tina. His irritation began to rise as he laid eyes on you, Sugar had blindsided him with your arrival. He hadn’t even known you moved back to Chicago, let alone that you had any interest in getting The Bear up and running.

You looked different. His eyes immediately caught the obvious scar tracing along your jaw. The tip of it started a few centimeters below your chin before meeting your jawline and finding its end just before your ear. It was a gnarly scar and he knew for sure the amount of stitches you needed must have been painful.

Carmy was also sure you didn’t have that scar a year ago, nor the smaller one that was carved into your upper lip. He would’ve taken notice, you can’t spend 48 hours with someone and not be able to recall all the puzzle pieces that were specially made to create them.

He watched the two of you approach the group at the counter, you hanging a little farther back than probably necessary, pretending to occupy yourself with the bare walls. Carmy might’ve smiled at your awkwardness if he wasn’t so confused by your presence.

A distracted farewell to Tina left his lips as he tried not to be so obvious in his study of you. His eyes refused to meet Sugar’s as he could feel her watching him, watching you.

Sydney’s return gained his full attention, forcing himself to focus on something else other than his thoughts that were racing and full of you. The clearing of your throat as you finally made your way to stand next to Sug had all six sets of eyes focusing on you.

You didn’t just look different. From the very few interactions the two of you shared and Carmy’s constant people-watching, you seemed like an altogether new person, the confidence and surety he was used to seeing in you was dull.

“I don’t mean to impose, but I was kind of hoping I could take on a more involved role in all of this?” Carmy’s eyes squinted as your hand raised in a flourish to signify you were talking about the restaurant.

You were met with silence. Carmy was too distracted by being in your presence after a drought without you, and Sydney still hadn’t even been truly introduced to you.

“Shit, sorry.” Your hand shot out to shake the woman’s hand as the two of you introduced yourselves. Although she read your articles, mostly your profile stories highlighting various chefs, it was different to be formally introduced to the person behind the stories.

“I uh, actually read most of your articles.” Carmy watched as you brightened up a bit your writing something that would always bring you joy. “I had to cancel my subscription though.” The sound of your laugh went straight to Carmy’s heart, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the delicate sound until hearing it again in this moment.

“I actually have a proposal for you three,” you paused, making sure everyone was paying attention before continuing your explanation. “What if I highlighted the renovation? I was..uh…before,” you had to stop yourself and take a deep breath to ground yourself.

“I was profiling The Beef and Mikey before he…yeah. Um, so I was thinking I could maybe continue that with The Bear,” you stopped to make sure everyone was following along, sending Carmy a small smile before continuing. “We could profile the team, give people a behind-the-scenes look into the renovation, and who’s behind it. I would publish it, it would be great PR and might help to fill seats.”

The following silence made you feel insecure about your proposal. “Maybe just give it a thought. No pressure or anything uh just let me know if there's any interest.” Your voice trailed off as your confidence continued to plummet, Carmy’s blank eyes doing nothing to quell your nervousness.

You turned your attention back to Sugar, a silent plea to leave in your eyes. She nodded “Uh, Baby and I had plans so we’ll be heading out.” You sent the two chefs in front of you a forced smile before hurriedly returning to the kitchen to pick up your jacket and scarf you left there. Call it cowardly but slipping out through the kitchen’s back door seemed to be in your best interest.

The fresh air whipped against your face like a blade, and the immediate change in temperature helped to relax you. There would never have been a perfect time to make your return to this restaurant, and maybe it wasn’t how you things to go, but you felt an immense pressure off your shoulders.

The hard part was over, you made it through the door, walked past the remnants of Mikey every time a specific spot reminded you of him.

It wouldn’t always be like today, you knew that. Some days would be harder than others as you worked through your struggles and allowed yourself to feel the loss of Mikey. One step at a time, it was cliche but it was really how you had to live your life from now on.

Being around Carmy would continue to be hard for the time being. You had essentially watched his brother deteriorate, watched as his mind no longer became his own. And you too had almost become a victim to the whims of your drug-addled mind.

You wouldn’t force a relationship with him and would make him privy to your shortcomings when you were ready. But you told yourself you would be okay if he wanted nothing to do with you, the choices you made would not be easy to come to terms with. And if Carmen Berzatto decided he was finally done with your constant disappointment in his life, you’d just have to accept it.

The sound of Natalie’s footsteps pulled you from the labyrinth of your mind, a small smile sent her way as the two of you made your journey far from this lot of memories.

Carmen stared at the outlines they had hung along the walls, eyes following along with tasks that needed to be completed to open in six months.

He didn’t want to admit it but he was a little bummed out that Sugar returned to the restaurant without you. Any small glimpse, or interaction he could get with you he would swallow like a man starving. The chef stood there doing his best as his counterpart gushed over meeting you, doing his best not to cringe at his two worlds colliding.

Carmy wasn’t sure if he could keep it professional while you worked alongside him on the renovation. Sure you would be doing your own thing in tandem with the work that would get done. But surrounding himself with you in an already stressful time in his life and an even more stressful environment wasn’t something he was prepared for.

He let his mind wander, thoughts of what happened to you in the year since your visit drowning him. Carmy had no clue what happened after you left that night, no clue what had seemed to connect you and Sugar more than you already were.

Seeing you again made his chest hurt. Seeing you was like a hot poker being shoved through his heart, unbearably comfortable but all so warming at the same time. He wanted to know you, know what had changed you since the last time his fingers had traced your skin.

Carmy knew the two of you were nowhere near as close as you had once been. Unsure if you’d ever share a connection like your past one. But he knew while you were here, in Chicago, surrounding yourself with him, the two of you would be given equal opportunity to put this years-long game of cat and mouse to an end; it was just a matter of who bit first.

a/n: well…here we are. i know this might read like baby’s life is just gonna be sunshine and rainbows from here on out but i can promise its not. she is a deeply flawed character with a lot of shit to figure out and a half baked relationship with everyone’s favorite chef won’t fix that. i’ve been around addicts my whole life so i have an understanding of what they can be like, i want to iterate that in no way am i romanticizing addiction. my personal experiences with functioning/addicts DO NOT make me an expert on this topic in anyway, but i do use those experiences to write for baby. i’m always here if anyone needs to talk. i hope you all enjoy <3

taglist: @hawkins-2000 @elliesbabygirl @allbark-no-bite @anakinswh0re3005 @rexorangecouny @thecraziestcrayon @fruitcupsworld @nishinoyahhh @lilylovelyxo @ridingthehotmessexpress @noas-ark @jadeittic @hellokittyever @luvr-bunnyy @sxgees @fandomhopped @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @kravitzwhore @chanluuvr @readingwiththereids @chims-kookies @ladygrey03 @ferida-kahlo @wanderlustnightwanderer @how2besalty @armydrcamers @jointherebellion215 @jackierose902109 @blkbxrbie-esther @ajordan2020 @head-slut-in-charge @magnet-girl @thebookwormlife @sevikasblackgf @writers-hes @senassn @bunnysthngs @khena @kailyn-g05 @ovaqma @fire-treasure-iii @frequentnosebleeder

unable to tag: @gcidrvsh @awatt31 @cauliflowerpatch

[breitzbachbea]

The Hetalia "Cell Block Tango" AU/Scenario

This idea left my brain last saturday and, as usual, has already completely spun out of control two days later. Much thanks to Riva (@fireandiceland) for their open ear and grandiose input, all of the following bullshit would not have been possible without them.

This is essentially an update to this post about a "Cell Block Tango" Performance for Hetalia ships that at some point could be construed as partner exercising foreign rule over the other. We've talked about it as a show that the countries put on for fun, so it's not really an AU. We're here to be horny and have fun, not to be dramatic and edgy, okay. (Or at least not "actual murder" dramatic).

Here's the list of the couples and their corresponding parts that we settled on. (I'll use the names of the characters from "Chicago" & their iconic little cue).

Liz/Pop - SuFin, with Tino as Liz. The ship was Riva's suggestion and I like them for this part not only because the triviality of the murder motive suits their domestic vibe, but the violent solution fits Tino's wilder/more darker side that sleeps under that friendly exterior.

Annie/Six - Spamano, with Lovino as Annie. Look, Riva agreed that loose lover Antonio seems plausible, I think poisoning is a good way to murder for Lovino and I also. Really. Just love the image of the "deathkiss" and then Lovino kicking Antonio two meters across the stage. And I am sure that Antonio feels the same way as I do.

June/Squish - DenNor, with Lukas as June. I mostly settled on them because I can see Matthias be somewhat possessive and I can see him thoroughly excited for the choreography. (Maybe also for the fact that he gets to wear no shirt). Riva also said that the scenario itself and the ambiguity about whether or not June actually cheated meshes well with Lukas' more elusive nature.

Hunyak/Uh-Uh - LietBel, with Natalya as Hunyak. (Natalya? Natasha? I'm sorry if I misremembered her name, use whatever floats your boat). We both agreed that we needed Natalya in this, but I couldn't quite find a ship with her quickly that worked well with my original definition of Empire/Territory. Giving her Hunyak's innocent part solves that problem, subverts her often arguably pretty meh canon/fanon interpretations and she gets to have a beautiful dance number with Toris. Toris, who is just really happy for his girlfriend and resigned between the hotblooded, horny chaos that is the rest :).

Velma/Cicero - TurGre, with Herakles as Velma. I thought the cheating situation suited them, as I have a weakness for Herakles being Sadık's favourite, but certainly not only bedfellow at all times and the intensity of the rage is one Herakles well-deserves (if only for show these days). Plus, their performance required a third person and lemme tell you, they do not lack options in my brain. I considered Mohammed (Egypt) at first, but then thought he'd probably politely decline but would surely love to watch the show for "moral support". So instead I went for my Sicily OC Michele as Veronica, because mom said it's my turn on the self-indulgence machine.

Mona/Lipschitz - AusHun, with Erzsébet as Mona. I was sold at the "a real artistic guy, sensitive" part (even though Roderich is rather a musician than a painter) and Riva pointed out that the cheating also could be a great reference to the Habsburg marriage politics.

Further Thoughts (& Thots) for this under the cut, because I knew if I had this post uncut on my dash, I'd murder someone too:

- Mads is really excited about the choreography until he realizes that he has to basically throw half a bridge and hold it for most of Natalya's part. Mads: "Oh. So I gotta keep this up for the whole number now?" Lukas: "Quit whining ..." One of the others: "What, is the viking already folding?" Mads: "Pfft, as if, no problem for me!" He looks up at Lukas. "Besides, the view from down here isn't that bad either." Lukas threateningly lifts his foot with dangerously high-heeled boot. Mads: 'Don't say Step on me, don't say Step on me, don't say - Ah crap, I already did, didn't I?' Practice has to be paused and Natalya chews them out for ruining her practice!

- As Riva put it and I then expanded upon:

How we imagine Hetalia Cell Block Tango: Intriguing, dark, erotic.

How it actually is: Antonio, Mathias, Berwald, Sadık about to cream their pants while Lovino, Lukas, Tino, Herakles live their dreams. Natalya fighting everyone who makes a single wrong step during her part of the performance, Toris trying to calm her down. Erzsébet pulling Roderich off stage to do a private tango. Ex-Imperial dick measuring contests between Antonio, Sadık and Roderich, although the latter of course tries to not to get dragged into any thing so undignified. However, there are still ties with Antonio and also, a bitch (Roderich) may not start a fight, but a bitch is sure going to end one! Or at least attempt to do so. Endless South Italian Bickering, because Lovino and Michele may get on marginally better than Lovino does with Feliciano, but unlike Feli, Michè pays back in kind.

- Here's my two cents on the nature of the horniness of the "murdered lovers": Antonio and Sadık are unapologetically gawking and can't imagine anything better than being 'mistreated' by their darling. Being kicked across, shoved nearly off the stage is part of the fun and they don't hide it. Rest in rip everyone else who has to witness this. Matthias tries to half-heartedly hide how turned on he his, but as we saw above, he isn't very good at it. Maybe it also just looks like he's trying to hide it because he is North European after all, so it looks tame next to the two other horndogs. Berwald's extremely flustered, which is either clear as daylight to everyone around him or he tries so hard to stay 'professional' that his hands shake and he can barely talk. (Which I'd personally find hilarious when contrasted with Antonio one number over). Roderich acts as if he isn't as affected, but his façade also cracks often enough. He's got it just as bad as everyone else for his Erzsì, but he doesn't want to show it in front of other people.

- I also wrote a Minific yesterday, mostly concerned with Michele being asked to participate & some bitching between him and Lovino. If I find the time, I'll clean it up tonight and post it some time.

That's it! Thank you for reading and if you any additions, I would love to hear it (and I am sure Riva would love so, too!). I'd also love it if you wanted to share any fanart, fanfic or anything else based on this - even if you just take the basic premise and change things from how I described them because you think something else works better for you.

[aaami]

random question but: do you think cicero (or the dark brotherhhood as a whole) would like cole dragon age? specifically despair era Coerced Assisted Suicide Counts as Compassion cole dragon age. he's my weird little scrungly guy and i just think he's neat but i want to know if the db would like him

Tbh, I think at first it would be difficult for Cicero to be around Cole, because of his ability to read emotions and memories and he would likely bring up things that Cicero doesn't want to think about (all the things that made him snap, the lonely years in Cheydinhal). If it's okay for me to throw Kajo into this scenario, she would probably have a chat with Cole tho, just gently explaining that those memories hurt Cicero and while she doesn't think Cole did that intentionally, he perhaps shouldn't speak outloud what he reads/sees/hears from other's emotions/memories without them giving consent to it first.

But once this boundary is established, I think Cicero would be cool with Cole! Maybe a bit wary of sometimes, since he can pretty much read his mind. But he would likely find this a fun party trick too, asking Cole to join in on some shenanigans. Probably not the best influence to Cole, lmao.

As for the DB, I think they all would similarly be a bit cautious with Cole at first, since many of them have things in their pasts that they would rather forget. But as a family of assassins who worship dark and sinister things, the Void itself, they can't be too judgemental and would give the kid a chance. They would see that he is another troubled soul, perhaps searching for a purpose, and that is exactly how most if not all the DB members found their way into the family.

[woodsteingirl]

Who would you invite to a dinner party, living or dead? (I'm genuinely curious now after seeing your post lmao)

OMG HI HI HI <3 so im laying out ground rules first to establish a control system to get that out of the way. there’s gotta be a universal translator. i have a very limited knowledge of latin and that’s kind of a bridge language but only for a certain period of history. so i want to be able to understand everyone. no one can kill each other (or me!) this is very important. keeping all debates verbal. this is also a casual dinner party like we are friends, not a formal ordeal, or a glorified socratic seminar.

rules out of the way i can get into it. i’ll try and go chronologically (newest to oldest), but i don’t know dates sooo well so i might fudge it a little bit. okay. mike duncan, my history teacher from last year, and steven saylor are my mediators pretty much, i wouldn’t want this to get out of hand. i don’t really have a theme for this one (i could go insane thinking of themed dinner party guests if you want to keep me occupied for a few hours.) so im just going with whoever. oh also tom stoppard. okay i don’t even really care about modern people other than those four listed, so im already moving back. jean paul sartre, simone de beauvoir, and albert camus (the existential polycule.) are all my modern philosophers. to add some intellectual conversation and also relationship drama. back again! i know nothing of people here in this era (ww1/ww2) thar i would want to invite to my party so. going back further. billy the kid (no killing people rule important here!) for my american west moment, further back i invite Robespierre and lafayette. I FORGOT ABOUT RASPUTIN HES HERE TOO.

even further back from there; (we’re in like renaissance-ey times now.) this is where i start to go crazy. my dear dear friends the philosophers/writers; shakespeare, dante, da vinci, petrarch, and descartes (so i can debate him and win.) the rulers: mary queen of scots, catherine howard, and lady jane gray. and joan of arc just because i think she’s sooo cool. also Benedetta Carlini thee lesbian nun. now it’s medieval times. umm. Peter Abelard and Héloïse d'Argenteuil, empress theodora, and Geoffrey Chaucer.

NOW ITS ANCIENT TIMES AND IM GOING FULLY INSANE. elagabalus, augustus, and agrippa, for leaders from the roman empire. and oh no it’s the republic… cicero because i think he would hate me and it would be funny, clodia because she’s my bestie beloved, mark antony because he’s LITERALLY fun at parties, cleopatra, mark antony’s boy bestie curio, yk what just for giggles julius caesar can come too also for giggles sulla can also be there. those are all my political figures now im getting into the arts. (read: poets.) ovid, he’s my dear friend, vergil, catullus, tibullus, sulpicia (BOTH of them.), and lucan.

further back than that! sappho of course can also come, homer can come too but only if he tells me the truth that he actually was in prison and he told the story of the iliad to the prisoners in prison. the guy who wrote the epic of gilgamesh, and ea nasir are also there.

that concludes who i would invite!!! you can ask me what happens while they’re all there and slash or how im setting up dinner tables because i will elaborate if prompted, but i hope you enjoyed my list <3

[melfinawins]

Lmaoooo that post is too much!

I know they hated seeing a black woman being "uppity" lol

The kind of theories I've read about this show from these weird fucks would drive you wild.

Here's one:

The mob is after Carmy, Richie and Cicero. Mikey didn't kill himself but was murdered by the Chicago mob as a hit for the money Mikey stole from Cicero who owed it to them via money laundering. The reason why Sydney and Nat are around is because Nat turned on the family and is an informant. Sydney works for the FBI and is there undercover to bust the case wide open.

As in Breaking Bad, the authorities are the bad guys and all the women are horrible because they're really there to ruin our t white man's dreams. 🤢🤢

Let me start suiting up for war. We're looking at less than two weeks before the premiere of The Bear.

Gotta get myself ready to say that Sydney existing and also being a black woman is indeed not a moral failing.

It won't matter what happens in S3, that's the thing. Those types of people don't care. Mysogynoir is gonna be popping off, it's already seeing a resurgence on other platforms.

[fateology]

hiiii so i know u like classics/ancient roman stuff — how does one get into that? like what books do u recommend etc etc

HELLO and ok i’m so not an authority on this because i’m really just getting into the classical antiquity scene myself..but probably the start of my ancient rome madness was shakespeare’s julius caesar which i CANNOT stress enough slaps so hard. ***not like fully historically accurate i gather, but i love the drama and i’ve been delighted that actually most of roman politics WAS that dramatic in reality. cut bc i love to run my mouth

in terms of books i haven’t been reading that much because school term :-// but i read erich segal’s classical comedy anthology (aristophanes’ birds, menander’s samia, plautus’ menaechmi, terence’s eunuchus) recently because i wanted something free and easy and i liked the roman ones (plautus & terence)! recommend if you’d like something mindless (though ancient comedy does still tell u important stuff about society at the time) BUT much caution because as with a lot of classical antiquity the plays deal heavily with rape and misogyny (ancient comedian voice: watch how hard i can hate women!!!)

for poetry i’ve been in the middle of ovid’s metamorphoses (horace gregory’s translation) for a while but i like what i’ve read, like that the myths are split and small enough to uhh eat one at a time. ovid = snack real…….other stuff on my reading list are rubicon and attis by tom holland who other than being a critically acclaimed young british actor has also written some fantastically insightful historical non fiction …… this is a joke clap if you wish

what i HAVE been consuming however is loads of podcasts. they’re fantastic because i can put them on while i’m doing work..it’s really like SING MUSE! OF THE BATTLE OF PHILIPPI. come hither fair bard and play me some mother f*cking odes. in particular The Ancients which is on spotify and has loads of stuff on ancient history and the like; the guests on the show are all historians/classicists who’ve written about the content of their episode so if you like the topic you can do the further reading really conveniently. i recall that battle of philippi episode in particular made me very upset about cassius and the collapse of the roman republic….it’s a little scattered sometimes but i like it because it makes me feel like i’m piecing together gossip bit by bit. E.G. i think on one of the cicero episodes they mentioned his clodius feud and i, very unlearned at the time, went CLODIUS? OF THE CATULLUS BITTER BREAKUP POETRY FAME? WHO IS THIS GUY and i found other episodes of other podcasts about him and they just kept saying things. the scandals didn’t stop. #problematicfave #prettyboysupreme #legitimateplebeiantribune #gangleader

speaking of catullus YES also read catullus’ poetry. most of it you can find online and gay people on tumblr me included do translations like they’re being held at gunpoint (honestly maybe one of my favourite ways to consume translated works though it’s about the personal yet communal nature of it….sharing verses..sigh..) AND—re podcasts, i heard the cicero audio drama is really good, but it costs a bit to listen to and i haven’t figured out how debit cards work so that’s on hold for me rn, but i’m PLOTTING

ik you asked about ancient rome but ...read war music by christopher logue recently and ooohhh goodness. it’s great!!! i love fight scenes and the like so i suppose it appealed directly to me but it’s really cool in general (iliad books 16-19 translation/adaptation but guy didn’t speak greek at all! and it F*CKED! my idol). i’m in the middle of cold calls atm. i’d recommend the actual iliad but i can’t yet because i’m terrible, glossed it until i got to the river fight scene and haven’t gotten around to my reread, though i like caroline alexander’s translation a fair bit from what i remember. anne carson has loads of really good stuff but i’m biased bc autobiography of red cracked my head open and drank the meat the first time i read it. Float’s a great collection too and has the plus side of looking really pretty in a shelf. also gotta start the euripides play collection i got, eventually…! will update

[aloysiavirgata]

The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Title:  The Way That Light Attaches To A Girl

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG (language)

Timeline: Season 1

Summary:  Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor.

Author’s Notes:  Mulder reads Cicero and finds the method of loci tool useful in honing an eidetic memory. Also, the timeline of this show is absurd. Per canon, the Pilot is in March of 1992. But here it’s March of 1993 because...I just can’t, honestly. Thank you to @perplexistan for reminding me that I wrote this in 2013, and talking me through the timeline.

*** It's been a long December and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass - Counting Crows *** It’s gritty outside, gritty and gray with a rime of salt on everything. There are pockets of rotten snow for him to kick, slushy and satisfying against his heavy shoes. He pulls his coat tighter, feeling like a hard-boiled detective in a pulp paperback, thinking this would be a good time for a cigarette if he still smoked. His divorce papers were filed this time last year, just like his parents’ had been a couple decades back. The ink had scarcely been dry on the marriage certificate when they realized they didn’t know each other and changed their minds. It was the same time Diana left him and his - their - files for whatever the fuck had summoned her across the sea. Paperwork, as ever in his life, was all that remained of these experiences. If this were really a detective story, he thinks, stepping over a soggy Washington Post, a tall cool blonde would have walked in through the frozen mist and into his arms. Someone lithe, with red lipstick and half-lidded violet eyes. She would look like Veronica Lake and speak in a low, compelling voice, urging him to do brave and outlandish things to thwart the Nazis. He’d wear a fedora, buy a mink stole for the blonde. They’d drink martinis and make love in dark hotels smelling of leather and intrigue. But he’s not living in a dime-store novel, he’s living in Alexandria on Christmas Eve 1993 (“The New Age of Angels,” claimed Time magazine, somewhat cryptically) and is eager to turn the last page in his calendar. Mulder knows it’s symbolic only, that his Eurocentrism is showing, but he still watches the ball drop on TV. Last year he’d kissed a woman in a bar and gone home with her too, but doesn’t think he’d remember her face if he saw it. He hasn’t got the energy to entice a stranger this year, and Scully’s hardly his type. He shouldn’t be sleeping with coworkers anyway, it’s never worth the trouble and the FBI is full of people who are paid to do nothing but sniff out secrets. Besides, he is now 32 years old which is really about time to start getting your shit together even if your baby sister was abducted by aliens at Thanksgiving. Mulder generally holds the holidays in low regard. He pauses to watch a small flock of cats at an upended trash can, feasting upon pungent things like battlefield ravens. One of the cats glances at him sidelong, narrowing round yellow eyes as though Mulder has designs on the gray thing it’s gnawing at. He holds his hands up to show the cats he wishes them no harm, keeps walking. Scully had offered to drive him home but he thanked her and caught the blue line, the clank and rattle of the train making him feel like some variety of normal businessman. Maybe people thought he was a banker or a Congressional staffer, going home to a twinkling Douglas fir and a mantle hung with stockings. Nine months and a broken condom can, in many circumstances, result in a whole new person. But it’s been nine months with Scully and she’s still her own woman, though Christ knows Mulder’s tried to remake her in his own image. She’s trudged alongside him through graveyards, military bases, bad diners, and one memorable night in Pennsylvania where she had captured a frantic bat in the hotel lobby. (“Do you want to wait for it to take human form before I release it?” she’d asked drily.) Through all of it she remained disbelieving and supercilious, leaving him vexed. She’d chirped “Merry Christmas, Mulder” at him, assuming that he celebrated Christmas and was capable of merriment. He was afraid Scully’d bring in a little Charlie Brown tree for the office, ornaments smooth and shining as her earnest face. She is skeptical in all the wrong ways and probably has the Michael Bolton Christmas album on her stereo at this very moment. She probably has eggnog in the fridge and will drink it without rum. She probably likes fruitcake and ham with pineapple rings on it. Mulder, going home to the shadows of his apartment where he might listen to Pink Floyd and nurse his resentment with three fingers of whiskey, feels justified in his scorn. A couple loaded with gifts pushes past him and he nearly loses his balance on a patch of black ice, clutches at a lamp post. He gazes up at the endless sky as snow begins to fall again. (Scully’s probably delighted by the prospect of a white Christmas, probably whistling a few bars of the song as she puts on a green sweater.) But he’s being unfair, isn’t he? For all her tattling back to the higher ups, she’s never tried to present herself as an angel. Her primary fault is in not being Diana, not being a tall dark moon goddess. Being pretty rather than beautiful, being frank rather than alluring. He’s seen her smoking a couple of times, discovered that she says “Jesus!” a lot so that she doesn’t say “fuck” or “shit.” This amuses him; he thought the blasphemy would be worse. He knows Scully watches what she eats but turns to carbohydrates and wine in times of stress. He found out she was sleeping with that asshole Jack Willis, which really threw him for a loop because Scully has a schoolteacherish quality that led him to presume premarital abstinence. He thinks of her in that first motel room, her smooth back beneath his hands, her panic turning on some masculine caveman switch. It’s been a long year, perhaps she could be his type after all despite her sensible underwear. She’s attractive enough if you like that sort of Hibernian look. He can tell she’s a bit awed by him and he could manipulate that to his advantage. Mulder walks the last slushy block thinking impious thoughts about Catholic school uniforms and playing doctor. The honeycomb tile of his building is muddied, layered with fragments of leaves and footprints. A radio blares something about Barbra Streisand doing her first live concert in twenty years. Mulder shakes his head and imagines his mother on the Vineyard, frothing with excitement. “Merry Christmas Agent Mulder,” says Leo, the maintenance guy. Leo’s got some kind of intellectual disability that Mulder hasn’t bothered to diagnose, but he’s always quick to replace a kicked-in lock or a shot-out window, and Mulder therefore regards him as a master craftsman. He gives Leo money every year at Christmas. At present he’s attacking the hallway sludge with an ancient mop. “Merry Christmas, Leo.” He gets his mail, sorting through it as he ambles to the elevator. Bill; bill; Playboy; Christmas cards from his doctor, dentist, and insurance agent; coupons; a thick manila envelope from the divorce attorney. Mulder rolls it all into a bundle and shoves it under his arm. He’s fumbling with his keys when the elevator deposits him on the fourth floor. There are wreaths on most of the doors in his building, a handful of mezuzas. Number 42, as usual, conforms to no given standard. He stops when he sees Scully leaning against his door. “Um,” he says. “Hey.” She waves her fingertips, looking uncomfortable. She’s holding a cardboard FedEx envelope. “I forgot to give you this before you left.” “Okay,” he says, uncertain about the idea of Scully on his turf. “Hang on a sec.” He makes sure the packet from the lawyer is hidden, though she’s probably heard the whole story. He knows what the talk is. They all act like he’s John fucking Douglas, like he can guess what number they’re thinking of based on how they part their hair. He’s a sideshow act, the guy who can think like John Roche and Monty Props. A freak. Scully turns to slouch against the wall while he jiggles the latest lock open, wishing there were a convenient place to stash a can of WD-40. “So, uh, come on in, I guess.” She turns, walks under his arm as he hold the door open, and stands in the entryway. The door clicks shut behind him, a final sound. Mulder puts his mail on the kitchen counter, tossing his coat over it. “You want anything to drink?” he calls to her, unsure if he can make good on the offer. What the hell does Scully drink? Tea? Zima? He’s got a few beers in the fridge, his wife’s wine is long finished. “No, I’m good.” Her coat’s draped over her arm when he comes back out, and he hangs it up for her. He notices that she’s wearing jeans with a navy cable-knit sweater, no tartan in sight. Her boots are dark and practical. Mulder shrugs off his jacket, loosens his tie out of its regulation noose. “Here, sit down. There’s, uh, the couch is right over there.” His couch is the atramentous green of algae, appearing black in the close room. “So what’s up?” She holds out the folder to him. “I realized I had this when I got home and since it’s a three day weekend, I wanted to make sure you had it. I thought it might be important.” Scully sits down close to the edge of the couch, much of her weight on her knees. She presses her hands together between them after Mulder takes the envelope, bouncing a little bit. He looks at the return address and groans. Arlinsky, that idiot from the Smithsonian. Mulder’s got enough credibility issues without this nutcase on his tail. He tosses the envelope on his cluttered desk for later perusal. Scully, as the messenger, looks apologetic. “Bad news?” He sits next to her, why not? “Nah, just…you know. The usual.” “Ah.” He watches her do a quick scan of his apartment. He has nothing to be ashamed of, she can look around. Mulder removes his tie completely now, untucks his shirt and leans into the corner of his couch. “So I’m surprised you’re here, Scully. I got the impression Christmas was a…thing. For your family.” He waves his hand vaguely, as though families are something he read about in a Margaret Mead article but never fully understood. Something closes in Scully’s face, which intrigues him. Discomfort usually comes with a good story, but he’ll tease it out of her later. She scratches her elbow, stalling. “I’m going to go by my parents’ house tomorrow.” “Not tonight? No big Scully celebration with stockings hung by the fire and cookies for Santa?” He has picked these ideas up from Oxford and Christmas music. Santa would probably prefer a cold longneck and some nachos. “My sister’s coming in tomorrow, she’s staying with my parents so they’re getting everything ready tonight. My younger brother and his family too, they’re getting in late.” Scully looks faintly guilty for this wealth of relatives. Which one of them are you avoiding, Dana? “Fun,” he says in a tone that he hopes is not sarcastic. Scully shrugs, picks at the cuff of her sweater. “Yeah, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see my niece and nephew. What about you? What are you doing?” “Oh, just…you know. Laying low.” He’s meeting up with the Gunmen for Chinese food and bootleg video games from some Japanese guy they know, but he’s not ready to tell Scully about them. In part because she might want to meet them and would end up charging Frohike with a sex crime. “Sounds good,” she says in a non-judgmental tone. “I could use some down time myself.” “Job wearing on you?” Going to wimp out and request a transfer? She puffs a breath of air out, pushes the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “No. Well, I mean, it’s hard. We travel so much, I didn’t do that before and it’s taking some adjustment.” Mulder drapes an arm over the back of the couch, wishing he could take his pants off and order a pizza. But he wants to know more about what drives her; Diana left him wary of unknown quantities, and this is his first opportunity to peer into Scully’s head. “Yeah, I guess they mostly shipped the cadavers to you before, huh? When you were doing doctor things?” He sees a slight narrowing of her eyes at this, the implication that she’s not a doctor now. The fact that she took it as an insult means it’s a vulnerability. “Mostly.” He decides to push it, being as he has home field advantage. “How come you decided to stop practicing medicine?” Scully sits up straight, her palms on the tops of her thighs. “I didn’t realize I had.” Prickly. “Oh, sorry, no offense. I just….you left your residency to join the FBI, right?” Faker, he knows her career trajectory down to the day. “My work as a Special Agent has always revolved around my background in forensic pathology. I just felt…called to the FBI as the place to best put those skills to use.” Called, religious imagery. Interesting. Her reply had a rehearsed sound, it’s something she’s repeated numerous times. Who gives her grief about being an FBI agent? A younger brother wouldn’t, would probably look up to that. Mom or Dad, most likely, though it could be one of the older siblings. He’d put his money on Dad or big brother based on the cold formality of her words. Both men are in the military, she’d speak to that. And big brother wasn’t mentioned as being in town, so Dad it is. He throws her a bone for revealing so much. “I’ve heard nothing but commendations.” “Thanks.” The appreciation seems genuine. “So what about you, Mulder? Why….this?” Scully holds her arms out like an orchestra conductor. The gesture encompasses his desk, the groaning bookshelves and fading newspaper clippings. Area 51, Reticulans, ectoplasm, and jackalopes. “Study hard what interests you the most in the most undisciplined, irreverent and original manner possible,” he quotes. “Feynman.” Scully knows her physicists. “It’s the perfect con, really. I figured out a way to get the federal government to pay for my hobbies.” He hopes that will satisfy her, but knows better. “Why is it your hobby?” Ah, Scully. You little investigator, you. “I’m a lousy knitter.” She smiles. “Because of your sister?” He steeples his fingertips, taps them against his chin. It’s tempting to blow her off, but he considers the implications of her presence. There was no reason to bring that letter by; she could have called and he could have told her to round-file it. She’s trying to build something between them, she’s looking past his annoyance with her assignment and he’s not going to slap her hand away on Christmas Eve. “Hold that thought,” he says. Mulder goes to the kitchen for the beers and the churchkey magnet stuck to the freezer. He checks for food, but a cursory examination reveals that Scully is going to have to make do with some brews. She’s peering into the fish tank when he returns, scrutinizing the inhabitants. “I think one of your mollies is pregnant,” she says. “That spotted one.” “Yeah, they’re prolific little cannibals. Here, Scully. Have a drink.” He holds the bottle out to her when she turns, watches her hesitate for an instant before accepting. “Thanks,” she says. “Though I probably shouldn’t.” She pops the lid off when he’s done with the opener. Takes a long drink. “So,” he says, returning to his seat on the couch. “Why do I spend my time looking for ET and yetis, right?” Scully rolls the bottle between her palms. “It’s hard for me to understand why someone with your abilities chooses to use those gifts this way.” Once she rides out this dogleg, Mulder thinks, she’ll go far in the Bureau with her careful diplomacy. “When my sister was…taken, it was the first time that none of the authority figures in my life had an answer. Not my parents, my teachers, the police…no one could tell me what had happened. Years went by and there was still no solution. People stopped thinking about it, you know? They just acted like she was gone and that’s all there was to it.” “But not you.” Her voice is gentle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this was a question with an answer, even if no one wanted to delve deeper into what that answer was. I became, well, obsessed with the idea that there were all of these mysteries out there with answers that people were uncomfortable finding. So when I found the X-Files…” He glances sidelong at his partner, her nutmeg freckles and her cinnamon hair. “Isn’t that what you were doing already, though? Solving impossible cases?” He shrugs. “They weren’t impossible. They followed a pattern if you knew what to look for. But what I do now, no one wants the answer, Scully. That’s the real challenge.” “You caught Monty Props. Props, Jesus, that case is legendary! I want to understand, I do. I see what you’re saying about the challenge, it does make a kind of sense. But when I think about the people you stopped…” She shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. But she’s trying instead of dismissing him. That’s something. “That’s just it. Your reaction, it’s…look. Serial killers, they’re sexy. The public loves them. Everyone wants to be Bill Patterson or, or… Jack Crawford, right? People still read about Jack the Ripper, they practically turn these psychopaths into folk heroes. There will never be a shortage of people wanting to do what I did.” Half the beer is gone in his next swallow. Scully looks thoughtful, her thumbnail at the damp corner of the label on her bottle. “So this is like, what? Like a martyr thing? If you walk away from the limelight for this then it makes up for never knowing what happened to your sister?” She turns her head to give him a level gaze, her eyes so blue and clear they seem artificial at times. He’s been called worse than a martyr, but somehow it stings. “Martyr? That’s condescending.” “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I just, I guess it’s hard for me to understand what you hope to gain. What all this means to you in the end.” Mulder’s had enough of her analysis. “I’m not like you, I don’t crave approval.” It’s her turn to look stung. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He sighs. “Your questions aren’t unfair. It’s been a hard year.” “I heard.” There’s sympathy in her tone and he tries not to resent it. “Listen, Scully, I know you didn’t ask for this assignment and you’re doing your best with a bad hand. It’s just hard to share a career I’m passionate about with someone who pretty clearly thinks it’s a waste of time.” Scully sets her beer on the coffee table, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands cupped around her chin. Mulder props his feet up next to her bottle, patient in the silence. There are deep shadows in the room, illuminated by the ambient streetlight through the curtains, the cool blue aquarium lamp. Puddles of light leak from the kitchen, but they barely stain the rug. Scully looks like a Hitchcock girl, white and pure, untouched by the surrounding gloom. She reminds him of Ingrid Bergman or Greta Garbo, her good bones and heavy-lidded eyes. “You know,” Scully says, muffled, “Pathology’s hardly the hottest specialty in med school. It’s not really seen as a place to make a career.” “The malpractice can’t be bad though, right?” She rolls her eyes. “You spend years of your life learning to care for the living and use it to examine the dead. People have…opinions about that.” This had not occurred to him, and he says as much. Scully sits up and settles back into the couch. “And to then take that to the FBI, well…” Full circle to the truth. “Lots of grief for that?” She shrugs. “From some more than others. My dad, he – look, Mulder. I’m not saying we’re in the same place or have the same ideas or that we’re both noble misunderstood renegades. I am not trying to oversimplify anything. I’m just telling you that I know what it’s like to care deeply about something that other people don’t necessarily understand.” She looks defensive after this, takes a fierce swig of her beer. Mulder eyes her up with a new appreciation. “I guess I just figured all doctors sit on pedestals.” “If so, some of the pedestals are much higher than others. I know you don’t like me, Mulder. Or at least you don’t like our partnership. We may never be friends, I realize that. But it’s been three quarters of a year, you have to let your guard down if we’re going to work together. I want what you want, answers to these questions.” He smiles at her. A real smile, and thinks that it’s been a long time since he’s done it. “But you still think I’m spooky.” Scully smiles back. “Absolutely. And I still don’t believe in aliens. Or yetis. Or missing time or vampires or Nessie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are answers.” He scratches his chin, five o’clock shadow rough on his fingertips. Maybe she’s not so bad, this gingery little doctor. “I did say I wanted a challenge.” “You did at that.” She returns her bottle to the table, then turns to face him. The aquarium provides a ghostly backlight, her hair gleaming like rubbed copper. He holds this image of Scully in his mind until it is indelible, then tucks it away to remember her by. The Rhetorica ad Herennium advises sensory encoding to aid in recall, and so he places her in the sunlit portrait gallery of his memory palace. Scully stands, crosses the room to take her coat from the rack. “I’m sorry the letter wasn’t good news.” Mulder gets up to join her. “It’s okay.” He squints when she opens the door, the hallway so bright it hurts his eyes. “Thanks for bringing it by.” “Okay, well, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She seems hesitant to go. She probably feels sorry for him. “Thanks for the drink. And the company.” “Go,” he says. “You don’t want coal in your stocking for oversleeping tomorrow.” She laughs a little, then takes his hands in her small white ones. She gives them a squeeze. “This is going to be okay, Mulder.” He thinks she might be right, squeezes back. She lets go of him, walks out and turns right. He locks up behind her, her perfume still lingering on his side of the door. Diana’s not coming home. It’s time that he moved on.

[cambionverse]

envesseled (3 of 3): funeral

happy end of our 10th cambiversary day (for real this time), and the end—for now—of new envesseled content. but you may see more sneak peeks of envesseled during the writing process to come, because you guys: this one's a doozy. expect both length and angst.

this snippet comes with a big, major, huge spoiler warning - you know the one. it's basically an open secret at this point. content warnings for death and grief (which should be unsurprising, given the title).

thank you all so much for reading along and for joining us on this monumental occasion. we saved the best for last, so let's make you sad! <3

---

The new snow covers all but the freshest set of footprints. Even though Claire can't actually see Jesse, following him out of Singer's Salvage is easy. The clouds cover most of the moonlight, but white snow is still white snow, putting the silhouettes of trees into sharp relief. It isn't long before she works out his destination—the palo santo tree.

Where Ben is buried.

Claire could stop, now that she knows. Should stop, and give Jesse his privacy. But she doesn't. Like being unable to tear her eyes from a car wreck—part of her wants to see.

The grace protecting the clearing hasn't stopped the little wildflowers from being buried in white. Ben's grave marker could very well be buried too, Claire thinks—but her eyes land on it immediately, a large pile of stones pushed atop a shallow hole in the ground. Jesse, a black shape against the snow, stands huddled before it, bent against the wind or perhaps the whatever ill feeling he gets from the palo santo tree being so close. He stands there for a long time, without moving or saying a word. Snowflakes gather in his hair.

Eventually, Claire goes to join him. It's better than standing by herself, and—he looks so still, there in the snow. Jesse's indestructible, but she just wants to make sure.

Jesse starts when he hears her footsteps, but the hard line of his shoulders relaxes once she's close enough to make out his face. "So much for sleeping, hm?" he asks.

Claire doesn't say anything. The wind whips through the trees.

"I don't know what to say at funerals," Jesse says finally. "I've never been to one. Not my parents', or any of the Simms family—obviously." He shrugs. "I don't know what to say."

Is this Ben's funeral? A sorry excuse for one. He deserves better—but it doesn't matter, Claire reminds herself. None of this matters, none of it is real, because she's going to bring him back.

Jesse reaches into his pocket and produces a large smooth stone. "I've never really visited a grave, either," he confesses. There are tears frozen on his face. "But this is what you're supposed to do, right?" Carefully, so it doesn't fall, he lays the stone on top of the grave. "I don't know, I've never really known anybody who was Jewish except Ben, and I know he didn't keep kosher or anything like that. But the night before we left Cicero, after everything with the djinn, I found him picking out a rock. He said he wanted to leave it on his mom's grave, because it'd been so long."

They'd hung around in Cicero for a few days after everything happened, but Claire remembers now that Ben had disappeared for about an hour the morning they left, claiming he had some catching up around town to do. It was close enough to the truth that it didn't even set off Claire's grace. She hadn't thought much of it at the time—just another thing about Ben she wasn't paying enough attention to.

Jesse turns his head a little. "Can I ask you something?"

Claire crosses her arms, though even the snow doesn't really make her feel cold. Jesse seems to take it for agreement.

"Earlier today," he starts, and something in his tone sets Claire's teeth on edge. "Castiel said something like—it wasn't the first time he healed you?"

That's right, he did say that—and in front of everyone, because of course they all need to know about every horrible detail of Claire's life, she can't go around sharing things with people on her own fucking terms. Not enough for her to crack herself open and let Castiel back inside, is it? All he knows about her—from their time together, and after that—it's his to keep, and he can divulge it at a whim to whomever he chooses. Maybe that's why he brought it up to begin with: as blackmail.

"I thought you hadn't seen him," Jesse continues, tentative. "Since he...since you were young. I thought that was why you left home?"

Claire says nothing.

Finally, Jesse blows out a sigh that fogs the air around them. "All right," he says. "None of my business, I guess. Sorry." And he must be, for Claire feels no pain behind the word.

Still—Claire hurt his feelings, she can tell. After all, it must have seemed like a nice, private moment to divulge a secret. But he's right: it's none of his fucking business. She never told anyone about that night, not even Ben, and she's sure as hell not about to start now just because Castiel spilled the beans. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. None of it matters except getting Ben back. So that this—the grave, the body beneath it, this mockery of a fucking funeral—none of it has to come to pass.

Jesse lifts his head to look above him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but seems to think better of it, clamping his jaw shut and shaking his head. He takes a deep breath and holds it—to, perhaps, the count of four—and then at last says, "It'll be all right."

Following his line of sight, Claire spies a dark shape among the branches, swaying in the wind. Ben's bracelet, tied firmly around the lowest, closest branch to the grave. Small wonder she didn't hear it, with the rest of the tree sitting here singing so loudly it covers the sound.

She had wondered where it went.

Jesse turns away from it. "I'm freezing," he says finally, and gives Claire an expectant look. "Coming?"

Claire hesitates.

Something in Jesse's posture changes—the angle of his shoulders, perhaps. It's hard to tell in the dark. "All right," he says again. "I'll, uh. Be inside. If you need me."

She suspects it's Jesse who needs her, at the moment—even with the traps broken, he can't possibly enjoy being back in that house alone—but after a long silence, he goes on ahead without her.

When at last he disappears between the trees, Claire looks back up at the bracelet.

How she used to hate that thing, when she and Ben first met—a constant whining at the edge of her subconscious, reminding her that Dean Winchester's boy was nearby, a son in name whether or not that righteous blood was flowing through his veins. But just as she eventually took a liking to Ben, so too did she learn to like the sound. Some nights, after the grace sickness got bad, it was the only thing that let her drop off to sleep. Now it's entombed here just like Ben is, singing its song to no one.

A funeral. What do you say at a funeral?

Claire has only ever been to one funeral: the one she and her mother held a year after her father's first disappearance, just before Castiel. It was for closure, her mother said—to let go, move on, and leave the rest in the hands of the Lord. Even at age eleven, Claire had understood that the funeral was mostly for her mother, and so she let her mother do the talking.

And not two weeks after they laid her father to rest, he turned back up on their doorstep, Castiel and the Winchesters not far behind. The whole time they were letting him go, he was still out there, chained to a comet, lost inside that screaming light and condemned to a fate worse than death.

Claire didn't go to any more funerals after that, not even her mother's. A funeral isn't just letting go, it's giving up. And Claire's not going to give up on Ben, not when he still needs her help. All the years he stayed by her side when she gave him every reason to go, all the attempts she made to push him away that were met with his steadfast loyalty and patience—to repay that with a funeral is an insult.

Claire turns away from the grave. She will not mourn Ben. She will not.

The song of the palo santo grows fainter with each step she takes away from the tree. In her mind's eye Claire sees Ben's easy grin when he explained it to her for the first time, and then the lonely image of it stuck up among the tree branches, condemned to rot away in the elements after all the hard work Ben put into perfecting it. She thinks of the rest of her life, however many weeks or months she may have of it, spent in silence.

Claire stops.

This is not a funeral. This is not Ben's grave. He isn't gone, because she's bringing him back.

All at once Claire whirls, kicking up snow, and marches back up to the tree. It's nearly too high for her to reach, but after two tries Claire's hand closes around the branch and snaps it off completely. She pulls the bracelet off and tosses the branch carelessly to the ground. Now that she's touching the bracelet, she can differentiate its hum from the rest of the tree, and the song flows right up through her palm and into her bloodstream, momentarily cooling down her anger.

Claire's going to have to start wearing a jacket after all, she thinks, even as she slides the bracelet onto her own wrist. She can't let anyone see her wearing this.

She touches her fingers to the wood, and doesn't cry.

It's just like Jesse said: it'll be all right.

It'll be all right.