#also you do not want to know how long i spent scrubbing through the last couple of episodes of black sails for a screenshot to go with this

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

Don't you just take the past and put it in a room in the basement and lock the door and never go in there? [...] And then you meet someone special and all you want to do is toss them the key. Say, "Open up. Step inside." But you can't. Because it's dark and there are demons, and if anybody saw how ugly it is...

-The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

something that we’re not // fred weasley

Summary: You and Fred are friends. Best Friends. Who happen to cuddle and sleep in bed together all the time.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: lots of pda, fluff, jealousy, reader gets slapped by her friend

A/N: As always, remember English is not first language. Also, thanks to @coffee-jelly544​ for proofreading this.

main masterlist

You huffed with relief and exhaustion as you exited the potions classroom and made your way through the dungeons to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Detention with Snape was the most agonizing experience you'd ever had. You've spent the last two and a half hours cleaning cauldrons just because you hadn’t turned in your essay on time, and it didn’t help that the greasy-haired professor had it in for you.

You weren't sure what was the cause of this animosity. You were a straight A student, always acing your exams and were proud to say you’re very good at potions. However, Snape always seems to have something against you. Also, you supposed it didn't help that Fred and George Weasley were your best friends. At every opportunity the twins would try to prank or annoy the teacher, seemingly without remorse and understanding of the consequences of their actions.

‘He must enjoy sucking the life out of his students.’

“Hi there, love,” Fred's cheerful voice greeted you as you entered the common room through the portrait hole. He was sitting on the wide sofa, with George next to him. You spotted Angelina in one of the love-arm seats and Lee on the floor near George's knees, even though there was another vacant love-arm seat in the room.

When he noticed your long face, the older twin reached out his arms and drew you into his lap.

“How was detention?” George asked.

“Awful,” you mumbled against Fred's chest. He caressed your back while his other hand played with your fingers absentmindedly. “I hate Snape.”

Lee guffawed, "I don't think anyone in their right mind likes Snape."

“Greasy prick had me scrubbing his filthy cauldrons for two and a half hours.”

“Oh! How dare he,” Fred mocked dramatically, causing a small smile to break out on your face. “Do you want Georgie and I to prank him?”

You lifted your face to connect your gaze with his, “Would you?”

“Anything for you, snookums.”

At his honest response, you squeezed his waist and buried yourself further into his chest.

“Perhaps you could try not to get into trouble next time,” Angelina, who had been quiet until now, advised.

This made your brow furrow, “I only gave him the essay two days late, and it was because I was bedridden, as you know.”

“Yeah, Angie,” George came to your defense, “Snape only gave her detention 'cause he has a grudge against us.”

Your eyes grew heavy, and the muscles in your face relaxed, releasing the strain of the day. Your limbs became limp, heartbeat growing tranquil. Your breathing slowed as you felt the steady rise and fall of Fred’s chest.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me?” Fred teased.

You hummed, “I might. You are quite comfortable.”

With a smirk on his face, Fred accepted the remark, “That I’ve been told before.”

George rolled his eyes at the silly—but typical— interaction between you two. Like the rest of your friends, he had grown accustomed to your flirting and displays of public affection, which you swore wasn’t hiding anything romantic.

“Carry me to bed?” You didn’t have to ask him twice. Fred tightened his grip on you, and with you safe in his arms made his way up to the girls’ dorm without complaint.

“Are we sure they’re just friends?” Lee inquired, intrigued.

“That’s what they say,” Angelina said in response.

“Fred!” You whispered-yelled, trying to wake your friend up without disturbing the other three blissfully sleeping on their mattresses. “Fred!” You tried again, this time lightly shaking his arm.

“Y/N/N?” His speech was sluggish, and his eyes were barely open, still half-asleep. The redhead looked down at his nightstand; the clock there marking 2:30 in the morning. “What happened?”

“I had a nightmare.”

Fred detected something peculiar in your small voice, and somehow knew you had been crying. He lifted the covers off his bed, inviting you to get in. He drew you close, your head resting on his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding once you were in the safety of his arms. You gripped him in fear that he would vanish, and you were pleading with him to stay with you.

Fred noticed your distress and asked, “What happened, love?”

“I had a nightmare,” tears filled in your eyes as you recounted the images that had woken you up in the dead of the night. “You– You died, Freddie,” you wept, out of breath. Fred tightened his grip on you. “It was awful.”

“It was just a dream,” he tried to soothe you, running his hand through your hair.

“There was a war, and you were there, and there was this wall… it crumbled, and the rubble—” you couldn’t finish telling him as your words broke into sobs. Hot tears streamed down your face, and you squeezed your eyelids shut in the hope the tears would stop.

“Shhh. I’m here, love. I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Freddie.”

“Who said anything about losing me?” He tried to lighten your mood. “You know I’m too stubborn to die.” He could feel you start to relax against him, but he still added, “You’re gonna have to put up with me for the rest of your life. It’s what you signed up for when you befriended me.”

His stupidity managed to make you crack a smile, and your choppy breathing and watery eyes slowly came to a stop. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Good. Me neither.”

Neither of you spoke again. You didn’t return to your dorm, and Fred didn’t ask you to either. You knew that if you let go of Fred's arm now, the nightmare would most likely strike again, depriving you of a good night's sleep.

Being wrapped in Fred’s arms calms you down and allows you to fall asleep, and slumber hits you after a few minutes.

The sun flowed golden through the window, making a polite announcement for the rising sun. The sunlight created rainbow diamonds that swirled across the wall's canvas.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” George’s chippy voice made you groan and bury further in Fred’s chest.

“They look very cozy, don’t you think, George?” You recognized Lee's voice.

“They certainly do, Lee.”

“Shut up!” Fred opened his eyes and tossed his pillow at his brother and best friend, who were standing at the foot of his bed. “People are trying to sleep over here.”

“Have you seen what time it is? You'll be in trouble if someone sees Y/N leave the room at this hour.”

That caused you to widen your eyes and turn to look at the clock. It was barely half an hour before breakfast.

“Oh shit!” You exclame.

“Why didn’t you wake us up sooner?”

George shrugged as he gazed at his brother. “You seemed very comfortable. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

The older twin rolled his eyes.

“Hey Y/N,” Lee called for your attention. “You are welcome to return tonight and sleep in my bed. I’m a better cuddler than Freddie.”

George laughed at his friend’s suggestion, but it didn't elicit the same emotion in Fred, who rolled out of bed and smacked his friend across his head.

“Ouch,” he grumbled, massaging his head.

“Watch it, Jordan,” Fred warned, pointing his finger at him.

“Yeah, Lee. Don’t you know Freddie boy here is the only one allowed to cuddle little Y/N/N?”

Fred was about to reprimand his brother when he was startled by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut. When he turned around, he saw that you had already left the room.

You crept down the hallway of the boys’ dorms back to your room trying not to be caught by other students. When you reached the girls' dorms there's a loud noise around the corner and you quickly ducked into an alcove. You peek out and spot a group of girls chatting and laughing as they walk down the hall toward the common room.

Once the coast was clear, you went to your dorm and softly pushed the door open, trying to make as little noise as possible, until you were safely inside.

“G’day, buttercup,” Your friend, Alicia Spinnet, greeted you. “Fun night?”

She and Angelina were already dressed in their uniforms, gazing at you  like a deer caught in headlights. Angelina was looking at you, admonishing, while Alicia's eyes were amused. You didn't need to tell them where you'd spent the night because you were confident they already knew.

“You should not be sneaking into the boys’ dorms late at night. I’m sure you have plenty of time to snog your boyfriend during the day.”

“C’mon, Angie. Let the girl have her fun.”

You frowned at her. “Fred’s not my boyfriend.”

Angelina laughed at you humorlessly. “Yeah, sure.”

“What’s your problem?” You approached her, facing her. “You’ve been a bitch to me lately for no reason.”

“I’m the bitch? I’m not the one that sneaks into the boys’ room in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry that my friendship with Fred bothers you that much, but blaming me for his rejection will not make him want you.”

Something smacked against your face, and your cheek began to sting. When you realize your friend had slapped you, your heart began to race.

Angelina had always been there for you, through everything. She was, along with the twins, one of the first people you befriended during your first year at Hogwarts. But now, after years of friendship, she had finally let herself go too far. Slapping you in the face hard was something you never expected from her.

“Angie!” Alicia gasped horrified.

“It’s alright,” you interjected, taking a long breath. You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you altered. “Do you feel better now?” You looked at your friend, but you didn’t wait for her reply nor did you expect her to reply. You picked up your uniform from your trunk and made your way to the bathroom.

It'd been a week since your altercation with Angelina. She couldn't get the rage out of her head since then. Every time she saw you, she would experience an illogical outburst of anger. You haven’t tried to talk with her either. You were stubborn, but you weren't in the wrong this time, and she had no right to tell you the awful things she did, let alone hit you.

As if on cue, Angelina and Alicia entered the room. The smile on Angelina’s face caused by whatever Alicia said evaporated as her gaze was drawn to the table in front of her—you were sitting on one of the Gryffindor common room sofas. Fred's head rested on your lap, his legs sprawled out along the length of the couch while you ran your fingers through his ginger locks, braiding them.

Anger simmered inside her as she glared at you. She stomped her foot and mumbled a string of curses, her hands into fists as she marched towards the stairs that led to the dorms. Alicia smiled apologetically and followed her friend's lead.

“What’s wrong with her?” Fred gazed up at you, perplexed by the Quidditch Captain's actions.

“She’s upset that you don’t wanna go to the Yule Ball with her.”

“Still? Godric, you girls need to let things go.”

“You tell her that,” you grumbled, “She thinks we are dating.”

Fred didn’t seem fazed by your words. “Yeah. Lee and George think so too.”

“You have really soft hair,” you muttered, trying to change the topic of the conversation, as you didn’t like where it was heading.

“It’s the Weasley gene,” he joked, making you laugh.

“See, you can’t do shit like that and not want us to think you’re a couple.”

George and Lee dashed down the stairwell. They strolled over, leaning over the back of the couch, looking with amused eyes at the display of affection between you and Fred.

“I’m just braiding his hair,” you said more defensively than intended.

“You’re just jealous that you don’t have a best friend who braids your hair.”

The younger twin cracked a sly smirk. “Would you braid my hair, Y/N?”

“No, she won’t,” Fred answered almost in an instant, lacking amusement.

“Why not? She’s my friend too.”

“Exactly, you said it yourself— friend. Not best friends. You are just her friend. I’m her best friend and she can only have one best friend.”

“You’re so childish.”

“He’s like a possessive boyfriend who doesn’t like his girl hanging around with other guys,” Lee whispered in George’s ear.

“Watch this,” George mouthed at Lee, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Hey, Y/N,” you shifted your gaze away from Fred’s ginger locks to look at the other ginger. “Do you happen to have a date for the Yule Ball?”

Fred’s body stiffened at his brother’s words.

You squint your eyes at George’s question. You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t asking just for the sake of asking. “I don’t.”

“Wanna go together?” He wriggled his eyebrows, “I’m the family's best dancer.”

“I doubt it,” you replied to him. “I bet Ginny’s got that talent, along with the brains.”

Lee roared a chuckle, and George placed a hand on his chest, a mock offended expression on his face.

“You hurt me, Y/N/N.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics.

“Who are you going to go with, then? I doubt you'll find a more suitable suitor than me.”

“She’s going with me,” Fred replied casually.

You lowered your gaze at your friend. “I am?” You inquired, “When did you ask me?”

“Now,” he said, smiling broadly, “Would you do me the honor to accompany me to the Yule Ball, dear Y/N?

Yule Ball night.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, your reflection stared back at you. You had never felt so beautiful before. You admired your dress, feeling happy with how it looked on you.

You were wearing a beautiful gown in spring garden hues. It had delicate blossom details and it was made of beautifully draped plisse tulle that pleats over a nude corset bodice. Whispery yet regal, plisse tulle at skirt had underlayers with subtle sparkle that made it truly magical.

You spent hours debating what to do with your hair, and in the end, following Alicia’s suggestion of a low bun with a French braid. You wrapped the bun with a lock of hair already plaited in a French braid and pinned it in place. And as a final touch, you added a cute hair clip for some extra glitz.

“Wow,” your friend gasped behind you. You turned around to meet her already in her gown. “Fred’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you.”

“I can say the same about Lee,” you smiled, “Have you seen yourself? You’re stunning!”

You took one last look at your reflection in the mirror before leaving the dorm. You couldn’t help but smile at yourself; this is going to be a night to remember.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off you as you descended the stairs. You had always been beautiful to him, but tonight you were especially stunning. Watching you now, he couldn't believe that he was about to have the chance to dance with you. He had a warm feeling inside of him, and he couldn't help but smile at you. As you came closer, he could see the happiness in your eyes, which made him even more excited.

“Hi,” you greeted him when you reached the bottom of the stairs and walked over to him.

“Hey,” Fred smiled at you, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Shall we?” Fred inquired, extending his arm to you. You nodded and walked over to the Great Hall, linking your arm with his.

Soon enough, you were in the middle of the crowd, swirling around to the music. As you danced together, Fred felt like nothing could tear you apart. You laughed and smiled as you moved around the ballroom, and it was honestly one of the happiest moments of Fred's life.

As the night progressed and the music got slower and more sentimental, you knew that this would be one of the most memorable nights of your life.

“Are you having a good time?” Fred asked. You had your arms around his neck and his hands were respectfully on your waist as you swayed to the rhythm of the music.

You hummed in response and gazed up at him. “Thank you for taking me. Even if you only did it to piss your brother.”

“What?” he frowned, “I didn’t take you to piss George off. He asked you to piss me off.” Fred grumbled.

“Why would it piss you off me coming with him?”  

Fred tensed briefly at your question, but he quickly brushed it off. “I didn’t say it would piss me off; I meant that he believed it would piss me off,” he quickly explained, “Y’know, since he thinks we’re dating.”

You took in his explanation, still not convinced enough. “And then you asked me just to prove to him that it did, in fact, piss you off?”

“I asked because I wanted to spend the night with you.”

“Then why did you wait ‘till the last minute?”  

You weren’t truly bothered, but you liked how he squirmed with each question you threw at him. It was hilarious to watch him so uneasy. It wasn’t something you were used to, so you were savoring the moment.

He was going to defend himself again when he saw the smile breaking out on your face. “You’re so mean,” he pouted.

“Sorry. You’re fun to mess with.”

As the songs continued to play and you kept swaying, you slowly –and probably unconsciously– brought each other in close until your bodies were pressed tightly against each other and you could feel each other's pulses racing under their skin.

“A little too close for a friend’s dance,” Angelina's crabby voice resonated among her friends at the table as they watched you and Fred dance a few feet away.

Alicia sighed at her friend’s snarky comment. She was tired of the situation and being in the middle of her two best friends’ feud, trying not to take sides.

“Still upset by Fred’s rejection?” Lee teased, “Or is it the fact that he’s in love with your best friend that bothers you?”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “I don’t bloody care who he likes. They could just say they're together once and for all, and not make us look stupid.”

“I don’t think they are together,” George chimed in, after a lengthy gulp of firewhiskey. “But there’s definitely something there.”

Lee frowned at the younger twin, “What made you change your mind?”

He was perplexed by his friend's quick change of heart. George was the first to suspect you and his twin were secretly dating and denying it to annoy them.

The ginger simply shrugged and sipped his drink again.

“I wish the school did more things like this,” you reflected. You were sitting on the couch in the Gryffindor’s Common Room, the ball had ended hours before, but the night hadn't ended for you and Fred. He was seated next to you, with your head resting on his shoulder. You sat there watching the fireplace flames dance and shimmer. You've always enjoyed the sound of a crackling fire and the warmth it provided during the winter months. However, Fred was completely focused on you. He admired the flickering light from the fireplace as it played off your features, making them shine. He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

He loved everything about you, from your laugh to your dimples.

Fred had never felt this way about someone. 'Should I say something? What if she thinks it's weird?' Maybe it was just because he'd never had that type of connection with anybody else before, but he didn't want to ruin it by intruding on your night.

“You didn’t have enough of my dance moves, did you?” He laughed, attempting to put any other thoughts to the back of his mind.

“You were pretty good. Surprisingly.”

A faux offended expression played on your best friend’s face. “Excuse me?” Fred placed a hand on his chest in mockery. “What do you mean by surprisingly?”

Before you could even get a clue of what was happening, you were pinned down on the couch, Fred's body hovering over you while his large fingers tickled your sides. You laughed hard, doubling over in pain and joy.

“Stop,” you said between giggles, trying to get away from him as he tickled you further.

"Okay, okay," you finally said when you knew you'd never be able to break free from Fred's grip, “I give up.”

When he was done, you lay there, gasping for air and laughing uncontrollably.

Fred reached for your face with his palm, tucking away a few strands of your hair, clearing the way so your gazes could meet.

You've always thought Fred’s eyes were beautiful and bright, always holding something special inside. It was difficult to put into words how much you loved looking into them, but it was definitely something special. Maybe it was just the way they made you feel small and vulnerable in a way that nobody else ever had, but there was just something about them that made you complete.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered ever so softly, and something turned in your stomach.

“You live to flatter.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“I never said I loved you.”

He smirked at your words. “Then, tell me,” he challenged, “Tell me you love me.”

You grew a sneaky grin on your face, moved in closer — if that was possible — and whispered in his ear, “Make me.”

His eyes darkened, and his smile became wider. His fingers sank into your waist again before you could react. “Tell me you love me!” he exclaimed.

“Never!” You shouted, giggling.

His fingers continued to tickle your sides, making you laugh, squirm, and beg him to stop.

“Say you love me, Y/N.”

“What in Merlin’s beard are you doing?” A reprimanding voice from the staircase made its way into the Common Room. “Do you know what time is it? You are gonna wake everyone up.”

George gave you a disapproving look, and he was too exhausted to see that he had wrecked the moment between his brother and you that Fred had been looking forward to for so long.

Fred sighed and got off of you, you followed his actions and went to pick up your heels from the floor.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you apologized to your friend, “You’re right, it’s late. I’m gonna head off to bed. Goodnight, guys.”

You didn’t spare a glance at the twins. You couldn’t look at Fred after what had happened,  and all you could think about was what might have happened if George hadn't walked in.

'Would you have confessed?

Would he have told you he loved you?

Would you have kissed?

What would it have felt to kiss his lips?'

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind of any stray thoughts concerning you and Fred.

You were only friends.

Best friends.

And that’s all you’d ever be.

But would let the rest of the world keep thinking that you were something more.

[atinystraynstay]

You Calling My Name - Seo Changbin

Synopsis: You were his favorite. His favorite person, his favorite scent, his favorite sound. Being away from you for so long was driving him insane, but thank god for modern technology.

Pairing: idol! Seo Changbin x fem reader

Genre: Smut, established relationship, long distance - Minors DNI

Contains: nudity, male masturbation, mentions of oral (f. receiving), video call sex, dirty talk, pet names, female masturbation, dacryphilia, orgasm

Word Count: 3k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was around 12:11am, meaning it was a little after 2:11pm in Korea. You did an everything shower - washed your hair, did a sugar scrub on your legs and arms, shaved, and moisturized your legs. You had put mousse in your hair, giving the extra volume you know that drove Changbin wild.

It's been over two months since you last saw Changbin. You were fortunate to have been able to fly out to visit him during your fall break of your college program. You spent five days exploring Seoul together, him showing you his favorite spots and introducing you to his friend group. You even got to meet his family and sister! It was a wonderful trip, but one that happened far too quickly for your liking.

In just a few short weeks, Changbin would be flying from Korea to America to spend the holidays with you - both Christmas and the new year! You were beyond excited to spend one on one time together, as well as get to show him around like he did for you. You also were excited to be able to spend your favorite time of the year with the love of your life.

That didn't replace the emptiness you felt. You craved his touch, you craved his kisses, you craved him. And for now, FaceTime was your only option that got you two close to satisfying your desires.

Soon, you heard your laptop ringing, indicating you had a FaceTime call coming in. Right on time. You looked over to see Changbin's name in the corner with a green accept button and a red decline button. Quickly, you situated yourself so you were sat up on your knees. The white tee shirt riding up gently to expose your bare thighs on the call. In fact, it was a tee shirt of his you stashed away in your suitcase before leaving. You made sure your hair looked neat before answering.

"There's my girl," he said the moment you came into view.

He was leaned back in a chair, assuming he was back at the dorm. Stray Kids had just completed a successful dome tour in Japan, so they were getting some well-deserved time off before their schedules ramp back up in 2023.

Changbin was wearing a black t-shirt and black sweatpants. What drew your attention first was his naturally curly hair. God, he was so gorgeous. From his position, you knew he had his laptop on the coffee table so you could see him fully relaxed. He had his legs slightly spread, hand resting on his thigh close to his crotch. What you would give to be on your knees in front of him right now.

"Hi Binnie," you said softly. "How are you doing tonight?" "It's been an alright day so far, doll. But this is my highlight. God, I wish I was there with you right now. Is that my shirt, by the way?"

You glanced down, unable to hide your smirk. Your fingers twisted the hem of his t-shirt. The movement gave him a glance of the pink lace underwear you wearing. Just for him. You could have sworn you heard him groan from your computer. I guess he saw a glimpse of his surprise.

"Maybe it is," you said nonchalantly before looking up at him through your lashes. "I just wanted something to remember you by," you confessed.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm not mad. I can't be when you look so perfect for me. I just wish I could jump through the screen to be with you."

Your heart fluttered at Changbin's words. To the world, he was this tough guy who rapped insanely fast. He was buff and intimidating, someone who you didn't want to anger. Yet, you knew the real Changbin. To you, he was your adorable boyfriend who couldn't harm a fly even if he tried. He had a soft heart and gentle touch, but ready to go to war for those he cares the most about.

"You know, I feel like I'm wearing too much clothing. Why don't you get comfortable, baby?" You suggested.

Changbin smirked at your question, nodding his head. He wasn't the type of guy to be sly. He liked getting straight to the point. He stood up from his seat, very slowly undoing the tie around his waist that kept his sweatpants at his hips. You subconsciously squeezed your tights together as you watched him. He knew how much you adored his thighs. If you had to pick a favorite feature, his thighs might take the crown.

His hands gripped onto the waistband of his sweatpants as he slowly pushed them down. Your eyes widened as you noticed he wasn't wearing any boxers. Like you said though, Changbin always knew what he wanted and didn't like to waste time. His cock was already hard, slapping up against his clothed abs. He stepped out of his sweatpants, not wanting them to just pool around his ankles before reclaiming his seat in front of you. You weren't sure where to look - his cock with a flaming red tip or his bare face.

"What you got underneath for me, sweetheart?" He asked.

Slowly, his hand grasped onto his hard cock. But he didn't move it. He didn't want to get too ahead of himself. Changbin always favored when you two finished together.

You smiled at him sweetly before sitting up straighter. Both of your hands this time grabbed onto the hem of the t-shirt before lifting it above your head. Much to his surprise, you had no bra underneath. The extra large shirt did a good job of hiding that surprise. His jaw was dropped which caused you to giggle.

"Like what you see, baby?" "God, you already know I do, darling. I love it."

You leaned forward, bringing both of your hands to rest on your knees. You pushed your arms somewhat inward so they brought your breasts closer together. Changbin just wanted to put his face in your breasts and plant kisses all over. He also was hypnotized by your hard nipples, thanks to the chilly air in the bedroom. He wanted so desperately to wrap his lips on one and suck as if his life depended on it.

"Do me a favor. Sit back against the headboard, spread your legs for me. I want see all of you."

Shivers ran up and down your spine. Memories from the last time you were in this position came flooding back to your mind. You remembered how Changbin placed his head in-between your legs. Every time he ate you out, he treated you as if you were his last meal. If you closed your eyes, you could see feel his tongue sliding up and down your slit just before sticking his tongue in your pussy.

You were his favorite meal after all.

Compiling to his request, you scooted back so your back rested against the dark wood of your headboard. You slowly spread your legs open for him. Through FaceTime, you could see a darker pink patch forming on your crotch.

He didn't know where to look first. His eyes first went to your panties, noticing the wet patch forming and getting larger by the second. The second thing he noticed was how hard your nipples were. You were laid out for him, just waiting for him to pounce. He began to move his closed fist up and down his cock, thumb teasing the angry head as you would've done. His precum already collecting on his thumb.

"God dammit, baby. You really must miss me? Just the sight of my cock over FaceTime and you're getting so wet. I wish I could taste you right now."

You whined slightly at his words. You wanted that more than anything. You wanted to feel his hands run all over your body, you wanted his mouth everywhere and anywhere. You just wanted him. Subconsciously, your fingers began to move towards your clothed pussy and ran over it gently. "I bet you smell so delicious too, hmm? Why don't you take the panties off and show daddy what is mine. Show me your pussy." "All yours, baby. Just waiting for you."

You moved your legs together and lifted your hips, just enough to slip the panties off of your hips. Changbin's eyes followed as your panties sliding down your legs, until they were out of the view from being dropped on the floor. You resumed your previous position, legs spread and now your glistening pussy on full display.

"The moment I get home, I'm ruining that pussy. You hear me?" He growled. "I'm going to make you cry, scream, or cum so many times you lose count. I'm going to make up for all the time you've spent without me."

You wanted to squeeze your thighs together in response to Changbin. You craved the feeling of him pinning you down, doing whatever he likes to you.

Your fingers at the moment ghosted over your clit. You didn't allow yourself to touch yourself, not yet at least. Even though your lover was already masturbating to the sight of your naked form, you had to wait. Changbin prided himself in being able to provide for you, taking much of that pride from your intimacy. He was in charge. "S-Sir, can I please touch myself?"

Changbin groaned hearing the name you call him. You noticed his free hand moved down to fondle his balls, just as you would do if you were on your knees. Your voice shook a bit, fighting off your own urges.

"Baby girl, there's no need for formalities right now. But I do appreciate you asking. Go ahead, show me what my poor girl has to endure while I'm away."

You didn't have to be told twist. You spread your legs as wide as they allowed you. Your fingers circled your clit at first, almost to get you warmed up. Yet, since the moment you got ready for him, you've already been in the headspace. You moaned softly at the feeling of your clit getting pressure it desperately craved.

"Atta girl. Keep going," he encouraged you.

Your fingers traced figure-eights first into your clit. It was Changbin's signature move until you begged for more. His words though were enough for the time being, as you both were horny and just wanting to watch each other.

As your fingers slipped from your clit to your pussy, you kept your eyes on him. You noticed the vein on the side of Changbin's cock becoming more prominent. The pace of his hand had picked up a bit. If you were there, you would have taken over for him. You would jerk him off as you suck him dry.

"Is my girl lost in thought, hmm?" Changbin questioned. He noticed how quiet you got rather quickly. Yet, your eyes twinkled as you watched him jerk off to the sight of you. It made his ego swell. He loved knowing you were attracted to him.

"I c-can't help it, Binnie. You just look so handsome," you whimpered.

Two of your fingers slipped into your pussy. You arched your back slightly at the relief and pleasure setting in. You pumped your fingers gently, not quite matching Changbin's current pace, but you were building up to it. Your fingers already curling into your g-spot.

Changbin was nearly drooling over you. He saw the way your wetness coated your inner thighs and now your knuckles that were in your pussy. He found himself growing jealous, wishing that was him fingering you instead of yourself. it was indeed a heavenly sight to see his angel blissed out, but he wanted to be the only one giving you pleasure. "I miss your cock, Binnie," you called out to him. "I miss the way you fill me up. I miss the way you make me scream, make my body ache. I miss you filling me up with your cum," you panted out.

He had gotten so focused on watching your fingers go in and out of your soaking, tight cunt, he didn't notice what else you had gotten up to. Your free hand had reached up to cup your breast, squeezing it every now and then. The feeling of your harden nipple underneath the palm of your hand caused you to scream. Your body was trembling slightly already.

He could feel his orgasm approaching him, but he didn't want to rush this moment. He didn't want to rush time with you.

Suddenly, you cried out in frustration. You were trying to move your fingers at a faster speed, trying to reach deeper inside of you. But you couldn't. You never could reach the same spots that Changbin could, the same spots that made your toes curl and made you see the stars.

Changbin noticed the tears starting to fill and fall from your eyes. While it pained him to see you frustrated, he found it enduring and even attractive. He liked knowing he was the only one that could give you pleasure. He liked knowing that you needed him that desperately that you couldn't even bring yourself relief. He groaned as the tears began to run down your face. If he was there, he would run his tongue over your cheek to rid of them.

"Binnie, I-I can't. I can't make myself cum. I need you."

His baby needed him.

"Yes, you can, angel. I know you can," he cooed. "Move your hand off of your breast and play with your clit as you finger yourself. It'll help." "What will actually help is having you fingering me," you whimpered.

But you did as he said. Your hand leaving your breasts to occupy your clit. This time, your rubbed it in harsh circles. You could see the way that Changbin's breathing was harsh and quick, signaling he was close. Some of his curls were sticking to his forehead yet all his attention was on you.

You felt your pussy walls squeeze your fingers now from the extra stimulation. You head tilted back in relief, finally getting close to your orgasm. You quickly picked your head back to look at Changbin. The man looked like he was about to burst at any second. "Baby," you called out to him. "Please cum for me. I want to see you paint your stomach and thighs in your cum." "Now, sweet girl, you know I like to cum together." "But I think watching you could help me. Please. I want to see you cum so bad."

More tears fell from your eyes. How could he ever deny you?

His fist picked up the pace. He was groaning out your name as he felt his hard cock throbbing in his fist. His hands that cupped his balls squeezing hard, just enough to bring him to the edge. What got him through was thinking of you. He longed for your warm touch and kisses, he wanted you to be pressed up against him. He was eager to see you again, in person and not through a computer screen.

He loud out a loud moan, head tilting back as you watched him cum spurt out of your cock. His cock twitching as the cum covered his lower stomach and thighs. Changbin had tilted his head back against the back of the chair, his chest rising. Yet, his eyes never left yours.

You continued your own pace, chasing after your high. Your fingers were going at record speed while your other fingers of your opposite hand catered to your clit. Your pussy walls were beginning to spasm against your fingers, knowing you were close.

You cried out his name as you felt your orgasm hit. The knot coming undone in your abdomen, sending your back arching and legs trembling. It wasn't the greatest orgasm you had, but it was probably the best for now. Your best orgasms were always with Changbin. Your vision blurry from the tears. "So gorgeous," Changbin whispered. You didn't even notice that he began to clean himself up. You slowly moved your legs back in front of you. Your body felt exhausted, being that this was the first time you've cum in weeks.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" He asked. The silence again taking over. He had pulled up his sweatpants then leaned in close to the camera. He frowned, feeling guilty that he wasn't able to provide you appropriate self-care. To him, the after care was just as important as sex. Maybe even more.

You nodded your head, offering him a gentle smile. You tucked your legs underneath the comforter of the bed, leaning up to grab the laptop. You moved your computer to rest on the pillow, on the side where Changbin normally sleeps. You pulled the blanket then up to your chin as you sunk into your side, letting the blanket completely cover you. "I'm just tired, Binnie," you whispered. He nodded as he watched you get curled up. He wished he could do more for you in this moment. H wanted to play with your hair, to comfort you. He wanted to place tiny kisses all over your face, all over your body. You could sense that something was troubling him. You could always just tell with him. If you two had it your way, you'd be in person. But soon enough.

"Binnie?" He perked up hearing you call for him. "Can you sing to me?"

He smiled gently at your request. "For you? Anything." He moved his face closer to the computer, much to your delight. Your smiled as you took in the sight of his deep brown eyes, his nose, his smile. He was all yours. And you were all his.

He began to sing "Because" which caused you to smile even wider. Your head nestled into the pillow beneath you.

It was something small he could do for you, but he would do anything and everything for you. That was not up for compromise. You were his whole world.

[mediumgayitalian]

When Nico asks him out, there is vomit on his scrubs. His hair is disgusting. The bags under his eyes are actually the size of Texas, and he was born there so he says it in good confidence.

Also, it goes right over his head.

“Gods, yeah,” Will sighs, relieved. “Yeah, I could —” He laughs, a little hysterically, scrubbing his hand over his face and trying to blink the sudden onslaught of dizzy away. “I’m starving. I am — tired of this stupid room. I could use dinner out.”

“Great,” Nico says, rocking back on his heels. He twists his skull ring around his finger, like he does when he’s nervous, but there’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth that Will has learned, in the past few weeks of his help in the infirmary, is a smile. “I’ll — um, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Will glances down at the rapidly-drying splatter of vomit spreading from his right shoulder all the way down to his belly button. The nasty brown-yellow colour of it clashes so violently with the mint-green of his scrubs that it might be a felony, actually. The one whole spaghetti noodle smack in the middle of it does not help.

“Yeah, I’ll need at least that long in the shower.”

Nico’s face goes through a very complicated string of emotions. “I think you look nice,” he offers.

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘nice’, di Angelo,” Will snorts. He gestures behind him. “Bye, Nico. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Right. Bye, Will.”

“Hey, first name status!”

“Shut up, Solace. Go change your shirt.”

Will snickers, jogging down the Big House stairs with a backwards wave. He hustles past campers jogging towards their daily activities, ducking into the Apollo cabin before someone can ask him for something.

It’s been a busy few weeks.

The Giant War was…well. It’s over, now, is the point, but it was not without casualties, and it was not without injury, and injury, and injury. Plus the flu that just had to hit right before the Romans were about to head back to California. Will has spent more nights in the infirmary in the last few weeks than he ever has, including after the Titan War. Understaffed does not begin to cover it. He had to beg Cecil for his secret Redbull stash after his third straight day on his feet, praying to his father, his aunt, and any other god who was listening to keep his hands from shaking. Without Nico’s help — well, he doesn’t want to think about how things would have gone without Nico’s help.

He’d slept through his promised three days in the infirmary. Will had restitched his werewolf scratching (—his werewolf scratches his fucking werewolf scratches his fucking shitting goddamn werewolf scratches that he stitched with sewing thread and left for gods know how many days and Will is going to quit his job, he is, he is going to live in a hut in the Florida Everglades and chase questers away with a fucking broom—) as he slept on the first day, then spent the next days glaring at him in seething jealousy.

He had wanted to sleep. He had wanted to sleep so godsdamn badly. And yet. He was plastering salve on the translucent fingers of a dumbass who pushed himself too hard.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Will had mocked, ignoring the yelled you’re losing it, Willy! from Kayla as she passed by. “Nyeh nyeh nyeh. I can shadow travel wherever I want. Nyeh nyeh nyeh. Catch me I’m about to pass out. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

“I never asked you to catch me,” muttered Nico, groggily, and Will had screamed.

Not his best moment.

Luckily, his string of colourful cursing had killed any idea that Will was scared of him, or something, and the list of chores he’d doled out the second he made sure Nico could walk had put the idea in the grave.

He still can’t quite believe that Nico actually, like…listened. But he’s a good bandage cutter (very accurate) and, as a super fun bonus, the Romans were all scared of him, so when they tried to get out of their cots while their limbs were literally hanging onto them by a thread, Will just had Nico stand behind him and glare at them until they sat their asses back down.

(“You are without a doubt the best nurse I’ve ever had,” Will had grumbled, sticking his tongue out at Austin, who lazily tried to trip him. Nico had rolled his eyes, huffing as if he thought Will was joking.)

“Wow,” says Cecil, sitting in Will’s bed for some reason. He rakes his eyes up and down his body, whistling appreciatively at the towel around his waist. Will rolls his eyes and starts digging through his dresser drawers. “Look at you! So human-like! No zombie eyebags to be seen!”

“Showers don’t erase eyebags, dick for brains.”

“True, but you’re so hot when you’re not covered in blood and vomit that I can overlook them.���

“Kiss my ass, Cecil.”

“Really? Is that permission?”

Will laughs, admitting defeat. He tugs on a pair of boxers, then tosses a few clothing options on his bed.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be out, Zeus’ beard. Nico’s taking me to dinner; d’you know if it’s cold in the city? And I should probably wear real shoes, right, Annabeth mentioned something about New York bacteria —”

“Woah, woah, hold on, William, pause there for a second.”

Will looks up, frowning. “What?”

“Nico’s taking you to dinner?”

Cecil’s eyes are wide. Reflexively, Will pats his chin, paranoid he’s got something on his face.

“…Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, nothing.” Quickly, Cecil schools his face back to its usual smirk, leaning casually against the bedpost. (He misses. Mercifully, Will decides to let it slide and wait for him to straighten himself. He’s a good friend, like that.)

“Well, obviously something.”

“Nope! I’m just —” He softens. “I’m glad you’re taking a break, Willy. We’ve been worried about you. Remind me to send him a lock pick set.”

“Most people send fruit,” Will suggests gently. He cuffs Cecil playfully on the jaw, rolling his eyes when Cecil catches his hand and presses a loudly exaggerated kiss to it. “Or flowers. Also, don’t call me Willy.”

“Sorry, Willy.”

“Gods, you’re infuriating.”

“Mhm. And yet you adore me. Oou, wear the grey plaid shirt, it makes your eyes look bluer. And for the love of Hermes, do not wear shorts.”

———

At seven o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?”

“Nico!” Will says brightly. “Hi! You don’t have to wait by the door, dorkus. Come in.”

With a second of hesitation, Nico steps in. The usually creaky floorboards are silent under his black Chucks. Will chooses to believe that’s on purpose, because it’s cooler.

“You can sit if you want! Unless we gotta leave right away. I wasn’t actually sure, are we just going to McDonald’s or something? Also, I told Cecil he couldn’t come, I figured three would make it a party or something but lemme know if we’re bringing friends along and —”

“We’re not,” Nico interrupts.

“—tell them.” Will blinks at him, then smiles. “Just you and me, then.”

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah.” He glances up at Will, and away again, like he can’t hold his gaze for too long. He looks a little flushed. “You, uh. You braided your hair.”

“What? Oh!” Will touches the French braids on either side of his head, smiling. “Yeah, I finally had the time. Keeps my hair back better than much else. Hey, Nico, you good? You looked flushed, maybe you should —”

Nico catches his hand. He smiles.

“I’m fine, Solace. You just look nice, is all.”

Will snorts. “No kidding. Anything’s better than the vomit shirt.”

———

Nico refuses to answer any of his questions about where they’re going.

Or, well. Will asks him and endless string of questions and receives only hums or nods in response, except for the odd huff of laughter when Will pouts.

“C’mon! Can’t I just know where we’re going?”

“You’re about to.”

“I mean now, Death Breath.”

“Well, now I’m definitely not telling you.”

“Ugh.”

Nico places a fleeting hand on his elbow as they reach the base of Half-Blood Hill, stalling him.

“Wait.”

Will pauses, listening. His heartbeat picks up. Monster? Monsters?

He glances over at Nico, noticing the tension in his face, the twist to his mouth, the —

Oh, no he doesn’t.

“Hold it, Gerard Way!”

Nico startles.

“What?”

“I know that face! You are not shadow-travelling us to the city, no way, no how, do you want to dissolve —”

“Will,” Nico interrupts, laughing softly, “Will, trust me for a second. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Nico blinks. Will flushes.

“That was fast.”

“Well! Well.”

“I’m not shadow-travelling,” Nico promises, changing the subject when it’s clear Will has nothing to say. “I’m just summoning our ride. I promise it won’t drain me.”

“…Fine.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Nico screws up his face again. The tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose are more obvious when he wrinkles it. Will has to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching them.

One moment, there’s nothing but empty road in front of them. The next, there’s a massive fucking limo, driven by what Will can only describe as a ghoul.

“There,” Nico says happily. “Our ride!”

He jogs over to the sleek black limo, leaving Will gaping. With a quick hand to keep the driver from getting up, he opens the back door, gesturing broadly.

“C’mon, Sunshine.”

Will recovers quickly. He’s never been in a limo before — hell, he’s hardly ever been in cars. He slides into the black leather seats, gaping, barely noticing Nico ducking in and closing the door behind him.

“Cleveland and Merrick, please, Jules-Albert.”

Limos are crazy.

If hotel mini bars were, like, physical places rather than tiny bottles in mini fridges, they would look like limos. The windows are tinted, so the interior is dark, illuminated a softly glowing red by strips of LEDs. There is an actual TV screen, although it’s not on. Will feels like James Bond.

“Gift from my dad,” Nico explains. “He knows he can’t always be there to drive me around, so he got Jules-Albert to take me places. He’s cool. He even answers to me, technically, and not my dad, so if anything happens back here he won’t snitch.” Nico gets so violently red he damn near goes invisible under the LEDs. “Not that — I mean, it’s more like —”

“That is so cool,” Will breathes. “Oh my gods, Nico, you are literally the coolest demigod in the world.”

“Hah,” says Nico weakly. The limo (!!) slows to a stop. “We are — here, let’s go!”

Nico practically throws himself out of the limo. Will takes one last look, thanks Jules-Albert, and hurries out after him.

———

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” Nico looks at him defensively. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I thought it was pretty funny.”

Apollo Restaurant Diner, reads the garish, flashing yellow sign. Seniors half-off!

Will nudges Nico’s side as they walk in. “You should ask for the discount.”

“Keep it up and you’re paying for yourself, Solace.”

Nico guides them into a booth by the window before he can say anything. In seconds, a server is strolling up to them, popping their bubblegum and grinning.

“Welcome to Apollo’s, where if we don’t predict your order, it’s free! I’ll get you guys some sodas, and…hm. Fries to share, I think.”

They’re off, ponytail bouncing, before either of them can say anything.

“Well,” says Nico after a moment. “I guess we’re having fries.”

Will snorts. “You love fries. You love anything fried and battered, because there is nothing you love more than poor decision making.”

“Caught me, Solace.”

“Aw. I thought —”

Their server pops back in with their sodas, nodding as they thank them.

“— I thought I was bumped up to first name status! You called me Will earlier.”

Nico slurps obnoxiously at his cherry coke.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did too!”

“Not a jury in the world will believe you, Solace.”

Will blows his straw wrapper at him. Nico barely dodges, laughing — a real, open laugh, where some of the guard drops from his shoulders, where his smile is wide enough to show his teeth, where his dark eyes cringe near shut.

“You’re so lame. Get your stupid straw wrapper away from me.”

Will feels like he doesn’t respond for ages, mesmerized by the crooked curve of Nico’s smile. There’s mischief in that smile, and oddly it makes shyness bloom in Will’s chest, it makes the tips of his ears red, makes him duck his head.

Will’s saved from trying to come up with a comment by the massive — truly gigantic — platter of fries set between them.

“Holy shit,” breathes Will, alarmed.

“Holy shit,” breathes Nico, eyes wide. The smile grows wider. “Holy shit!”

Will’s stomach growls. He’s reminded how truly hungry he is, and without another word, the two of them dig in.

They end up ordering another platter. Will theorizes that, in total, they eat at least seven whole potatoes.

“How many fries do you think is in one potato?”

“A yukon?” says Will. “Like, twenty-five, at least. Wait, hold on, pass me your napkin, lemme do the math.”

“Gods, you are such a nerd.”

Will loses count of how many times they refill their sodas. Too many. Camp food is usually very healthy — as head medic, Will has to set an example, but it’s just Nico, here. Will eats himself into a minor food coma and relishes in it. When Nico asks if he wants to order one of the giant milkshakes, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Duh. Strawberry.”

“Gross, Solace. Vanilla or nothing.”

“Basic ass bitch.”

“At least I’m not vying for strawberry!”

By the time Nico gets up to go get their bill, the sun has long since set. Will realises he forgot to put his watch back on after his shower, and has no idea what time it actually is.

“Nine-thirty ish,” Nico says, opening the limo door for him. “We’ll be back at camp at ten.”

Will grimaces. “Fuck. Will Jules-Albert chill overnight? If we try to go back to our cabins, the curfew harpies are gonna eat us.”

“Scared, Solace?”

Nico’s eyes are bright and teasing. Will wonders how the hell other campers find him so frightening — the little twitches of his mouth are so obvious. Some people are just oblivious.

“Of course I’m scared, you dickhead. What am I gonna do, sing a hymn until they go away?”

Nico snorts. “You worry too much. They’re afraid of me, you know. They’ll steer clear.”

“You have a lot of confidence in how much you scare people, which is crazy for someone who’s five eight.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Will grins. “Never.”

The drive back to camp feels shorter than it is. The limo’s seats are stupid comfortable, and Nico is a warm presence beside him, and more than anything, Will is exhausted. Last time he slept was — Thursday? He’s pretty sure? He definitely slept on Wednesday, and he’s pretty sure Kayla locked him in the back office with a pillow on Thursday. But maybe that was this morning.

“Will, hey.” A cool, calloused hand brushes over his forehead, and he leans into it, humming. “Get up, you loser. We’re here.”

Will groans. “Five more minutes.”

The soft, gravelly chuckles are the most musical things he’s ever heard. “Up you get, Sunshine, or I’ll let the harpies eat you.”

That gets Will up fast. He shoves Nico away, who’s still snickering at him, grumbling as he crawls out of the limo.

“It’s like you want me to die of stress.”

“Nah.”

They wave goodbye to Jules-Albert, who disappears in a blink. Halfway up the hill, a hand closes around his. Will glances over to Nico in surprise, but he looks resolutely ahead.

“I can feel you freaking out.” He clears his throat. “I told you, Solace. I’ll protect you.”

“That’s not what you said,” Will grumbles, but it’s hard to get his attitude across when his cheeks ache from smiling.

Nico ends up being right — the harpies steer clear of them. He looks very smug about being right, smirking all the way up to the Apollo Cabin door. He walks him up the creaking steps, pausing at the door. He lets go of Will’s hand, which is kind of a bummer. Will had liked holding his hand — physical proof that Nico was becoming more comfortable with him.

“So,” Nico says, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So,” Will parrots, grinning. He grins wider at Nico’s scowl, gently illuminated by the soft glow of the Apollo cabin. “I had fun tonight, Nico. I needed that.”

Nico’s whole face softens. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Will smiles at him again. “Thank you.”

For a second, Nico’s slight smile melts into a more serious expression. Will finds himself lingering, searching Nico’s face. Waiting.

Quick as a dart, Nico leans up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

“Oh,” Will breathes, eyes wide. His fingers come up and brush the spot Nico kissed, skin tingling.

Nico looks at him nervously. “Was that okay?”

It takes Will a solid few seconds to answer. Even then, it’s not any recognizable words — more of an embarrassing hnnnnngh wha.

Nico grins. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

“Nico — wait.”

“Harpies, Sunshine.”

Will could swear he sees Nico’s shoulders shaking with laughter as he walks away. Which — huh! Pardon! Excuse.

“Nico! Was! Was this a date!”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Will.”

“Nico!”

Nico disappears down the bend without answering. Will manages to catch the curve of his smile before he goes.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

[intheholler]

Do you have any tips for being more comfortable using your natural accent in front of people? I was bullied for it as a kid and scrubbed my accent away through teenhood. As an adult, I feel like I still have to put on a neutral accent so people at work won't judge me. I told one of my old bosses that I was from Appalachia and he went on about how he'd seen do many documentaries on Appalachia and what good people we were, but also added that "Wow! I never would have known. You don't have an accent at all. You're so well-spoken!" and it felt bad. I think he had good intentions, but it made me feel like a zoo animal. I always see comments on other Appalachian folks' posts about their accents too, and there's always a handful of jerks who have to say something about their intelligence or make an incest or drug addict "joke".

It all hurts a lot and makes me self-conscious, but I don't want to be this way around my friends. Do you know how I can stop letting peoples' ignorance and classism get to me? Worrying about how I pronounce words or if I'm using region-specific slang all the time is so exhausting.

hi there <3 this is a topic near n dear to my heart because i spent so much of my life trying to avoid sounding appalachian, and the last few years of it desperate to sound so aggressively appalachian that yankees can't understand me, lmao.

that is all to say: this is gonna be long as usual.

first: class solidarity, family <3 this stuff really sucks.

what inspired me to push past the discomfort of using my natural accent after a lifetime of getting rid of it was actually along the lines of what you mentioned: people being shocked that i could be from appalachia, and be articulate at the same time. there are so many nasty, hurtful implications there.

i hate to say it, but there's no easy answer to this.

something in me just… snapped one day about ten years back. i started to look inward, and i discovered this overwhelming pride and passion and love for my home that i had denied myself my whole life, out of fear over how it made me look.

i started doing the self-work and digging deeper into that. it wasn't comfortable, but once i embraced appalachia, i wanted to defend her. the best way to do that for me was to be loud. my pride in where im from outweighed the rest.

maybe you should start there, too. look inward, break down your own subconscious biases about yourself and about our home. find out why you have been made to think this way.

work on loving the appalachian parts of yourself. GET. FUCKING. ANGRY. at those who poisoned your mind with this shit, and use that fury to work on dismantling the beliefs they imposed upon you.

because why shouldn't we talk like our mamas just because some asshole thinks its funny? why should we give up ties to our community and culture, just to be respected? why should every blessed conversation be emotionally and physically taxing just to make a classist more comfortable?

it isn't my shame to carry, and it isn't yours. it is their shame, and their self-work to do. it is not our responsibility to coddle their ignorance. that is on them.

now, when someone hears me talk, it causes a sort of dissonance that they then have to wrestle with. it shifts the discomfort and emotional labor away from me, and puts it on to them instead.

every time i speak proudly, they have to confront themselves and their biases, and how it harms someone that they respect--you.

and if they aren't the kind of person empathetic enough to do that, literally who gives a shit what someone like that thinks about you.

turn those 'jokes' they make about it right back on them:

why is drug addiction funny? why is incest and sexual assault of children funny? why are underfunded schools and a failure to give children across the nation a fair and equal education something to laugh about?

framing it in my mind that i was taking back control in conversations this way helped me speak more comfortably. it made me feel empowered.

i think of it like this: by speaking in my dialect and embodying positive and "unexpected" traits from the region (leftist politics, anti-racism, things like that), i reclaim my power. i use that power to slowly shift the opinions of appalachia with the people i interact with.

it was scary, and it's still scary. but by making a conscious decision every day to speak in our dialect and be courageous even when it's hard, we are reclaiming the parts of ourselves that they took from us. we are bettering the image of the region we love so dearly.

it is INCREDIBLY empowering now to settle into my accent. but it took a LOT of self-work, courage and self-respect to be able to do it.

it ain't easy. i do still struggle with it; i catch myself code switching all the time. i don't think you or me or any of us trying to reclaim our accents will ever fully escape the weight of the classism that dictated our manner of speaking for a huge chunk of our lives, unfortunately.

but if you do that difficult work, it is so, so liberating, family.

you can do it. talk to yourself when you're home alone. let the accent get comfortable again on your tongue. start there, then let that beautiful dialect out for the world to hear <3

[jenna-ortega]

grey november

vertigo act iii

pairing - joel miller x female reader word count - 4.1k warnings - angst, pinv, meanish joel, tommy being a golden retriever, kissing, joel is stupid as always but he redeems himself, also fluffy joel a/n: hello all! hope you like this chapter! it proved to be difficult, since i hate writing fluff but lowkey it's there. let me know how you like it, and if you have any ideas for what you want to see next..i may or may not heed that advice ;)

SUMMARY: you and joel speak about what you saw, and you've decided you need time. needing time being you running and hiding from joel every chance you get. that is...until he catches you at thanksgiving. can you forgive him for what you think he's done? joel sure hopes so.

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series playlist by the wonderful @lovers-liability

"Didn't expect to find you here," Joel muttered, crossing his arms. You turned off the faucet, swallowing hard before meeting his gaze. "I needed a moment," you replied, your voice steady but laced with unease. "A moment, huh?" Joel scoffed, his tone cutting through the air. "Funny how you seem to need a moment every time we're in the same room lately." You averted your eyes, the memories of your last conversation with Joel resurfacing. "What are you even doing here, anyway?" Joel continued, his frustration palpable. "Tommy invited me."

You had fallen for Joel Miller, and now you had to deal with that. You had to deal with the suffering only someone who had power over you could cause. Your body aches as you’ve spent countless nights awake, wondering what this suffering was supposed to mean. Does it make you stronger? Does it thicken your skin? Is suffering always meant to be brushed aside as a means of growth? Suffering has no glorious purpose. It only hurts. 

It takes courage to lift your bones from your bed, to face the same pain you’ve been feeling through every simmering sun, and every crested moon. A man can do this to a person? You think to yourself. You want to ask him why, you want to shout at him, and beat at his chest. You want to hug him and kiss him all at the same time. Fall to the feet of the one who broke you and look for the healing you desperately needed. You feel yourself changing as the leaves start to change outside…is it November already? Are we bound to repeat the same cycles until even after the end of times? 

Your body on autopilot as you walk to your shower, making sure the heat of the water burns to the touch. You need to boil your skin clean. Need to wash away any piece of skin that he once touched. Scrubbing yourself clean of him physically. 

You hear cells take 7 years to regenerate. 

Would it take that long to be a body Joel has never known? 

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across a quiet jackson, you found yourself perched on the edge of your steps. Feeling the cool air hit your cheeks as you try to breathe through your heavy chest. Grappling with a tangle of emotions. 

Soft footsteps echoed a few feet from you, your body stilled, and when you lifted your head, there stood Joel, the man who had left a trail of heartache in his wake. 

Joel’s eyes reflected a mixture of remorse and determination as he began to speak. The wind seemed to hold its breath as you waited for him to start, too confused and numb to begin to hold the weight of what this conversation meant. 

“Hi,” Joel clenched his fists, guilt etched on his face.

You scoffed

“Hey.”

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his gaze unable to meet yours. The air felt charged with tension as you faced Joel, your eyes reflecting the storm within.

“I-I don’t know where to start,”

“Try starting with why the hell you’re at my doorstep. And then end it with you getting the fuck off my doorstep.” your teeth clenched, spitting attitude at Joel. 

You began to walk away from him, trying to go back inside. You’re upset. Upset Joel didn’t stay away longer. You needed time to forget this, you needed to tell yourself he wasn’t real. You made him up, and now you’re back to the real world. 

Joel stood there, frustration apparent on his face as he tried to reach out to you, who was briskly walking away. Joel grabbed your elbow, pulling you back to him, looking down at you with his eyebrows furrowed, 

“Please, just hear me out. I'm trying to apologize."

You glanced up at him, eyes cold, but stopped reluctantly. Pulling your arm from him and crossing them. 

"You can't just apologize your way out of this mess."

"I get it, I messed up. But walking away won't solve anything. Can we at least talk about it?"

You sighed, patience wearing thin.

“What is there to say?”, you shook your head in defeat 

Joel ran a hand through his disheveled hair, finally not avoiding your gaze. 

"I don’t know why she was there. I threw her out as soon as you left." his voice was strained, pleading to you. 

A heavy silence settled between you two, until you spoke again, tone cold.

 "I need time to think. Leave."

Joel nodded, sighing heavily, and turned to leave. As he reached the bottom step, an unexpected surge of anger consumed him. The weight of his guilt transformed into the Joel who destroys, and he turned back to face you.

"I'm sorry, alright? But you don't get to play the victim here. You have your faults too," he spat.

“Excuse me?” your nostrils flared, eyes flashed with indignation. "My faults?”

You both were about to put on a show for anyone who dared come near you two. 

“Don’t act like it’s not normal for her to possibly be in my house. Remember what we did to her. Remember what you asked me for.” 

Tears welled in your eyes, not believing what you’re hearing, you raised your hand to Joel, watching his head swing sideways as your palm landed hard across his face. 

“Fuck you.”

It happened fast. He rushed your body back into your house, slamming the door shut behind him before he took his place back in your face. Holding both your wrists against the wall behind you, caging you into his body as his nose was practically against yours, looking deeply in your eyes as you’re both panting. 

“You were the one that started this.” he picks your wrists up and slams them back against the wall, earning a whimper from you, raising his voice a little louder, “You don’t get to act like a brat when your actions have consequences.” 

He lets go of your hands, and you begin to rub them furiously to try and dissipate the pain.

“Listen,” his demeanor is calm again, but you shrivel up against the wall to make yourself as small as possible. Feeling yourself begin to sink to the floor, you remain silent. 

You sat on the floor, eyes downcast and silent. The weight of the argument lingered, suffocating the room. Joel took a deep breath, the gravity of his words settling on him like an anchor. He approached you cautiously.

He said your name, his voice low and remorseful, "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

You remained silent, gaze fixed on your hands. Joel sighed, a mix of frustration and guilt gnawing at him.

“I hate that we're both feeling like this," he pleaded.

You nodded slowly, and he lifted you up from the floor, both of you retreating to a quieter corner of the room, away from the remnants of your argument near your front door.

“I’ve been an asshole. Feels like I've said this all before to you,” he breathes out an airy laugh, you don’t budge. 

He noticed your unease, your quiet demeanor signaling a vulnerability he had never intended to expose.

“How ‘bout we take a break from all this.” 

You yearned for him even after it all. You desire things patterned to always destroy you in the end. 

“Yeah, I-, I don’t think I'm ready to talk about us.” you stuttered out, afraid to make eye contact with him. Afraid if you did all your wishes from early to fall at the feet of the thing responsible for the collapse might come true. 

Joel nodded, sucking in a breathe, 

“Okay.” 

—

There was a warm glow casted over the horse stables as you worked diligently, pitchfork in hand, cleaning out the stalls. The familiar sounds of horses neighing and hooves against straw filled the air. Your focus was on Sparkle, a gentle black mare with a shimmering coat that seemed to live up to her name.

As you worked, the rhythmic scraping of the pitchfork against the straw was interrupted by a light voice behind you. "Hey there! How's it going?"

Turning around, you were met with the smiling face of Maria, one of the many important people on Jacksons committee. "Hey, Maria! Just another day in the stables, you know," you replied, wiping a bit of sweat from your brow.

She leaned against the stall door, eyeing Sparkle with admiration. "Sparkle's looking as beautiful as ever. You really have a way with her."

You grinned, patting Sparkle's side gently. "Yeah, she's a sweetheart. Just needs a little extra care, don't you, girl?"

Maria chuckled, then her expression turned curious. "By the way, I haven't seen you at the bar lately. Everything okay?"

You paused, glancing at the pitchfork in your hand. "Oh, you know, just been here. Busy."

Maria tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Busy, or avoiding the usual crowd?"

You chuckled, feeling a hint of embarrassment. "Maybe a bit of both. Sometimes, I think I'm too old to still be working there."

She nodded, understanding. "Fair enough. But you can't escape the social scene forever, you know. We miss having you around."

You sighed, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "I'll make an appearance soon, I promise. Just got a lot on my plate right now."

"Well, whenever you're ready, we'll be at the bar, waiting for you," Maria said with a friendly wink.

She leaves, and you’re left alone. The chatter is constantly getting old for you, you want to be left to your own devices. You want people to stop caring about where you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re going. You need to be invisible. You need to make yourself something Joel forgets. 

You were finishing up your early morning stable duties, and a gentle breeze carried the familiar scent of hay and warm animal fur. You found yourself behind the sturdy door of one of the stalls, placing your tools in a bucket filled with lukewarm water. The horses startle when they hear the opening of stable doors before you, and you froze. Turning quickly to see him.

fuck. Shit. 

You duck, hoping he hadn’t caught your eye behind the thin door of the stall. 

As Joel approached, you couldn't resist the urge to observe him unnoticed. His confident stride and the set of his jaw spoke of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You crouched down slightly, peering through a small gap in the door, attempting to stay hidden.

Joel, engrossed in the routine of preparing his horse, seemed to sense your presence. His gaze flickered in your direction, and for a moment, you held your breath. However, his expression remained unreadable, and he continued his tasks as if he hadn't noticed.

The rhythmic sounds of grooming and the soft noises of the horses filled the air. You couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervous energy.

After a few moments, Joel finished tending to his horse and turned to leave the stable. As he passed your hiding spot, his eyes met yours for the briefest moment. There was a subtle acknowledgment in his gaze, one of hurt and one of anger.

Joel walked away without a word, and you emerged from your hiding spot, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anguish. If this is how you would now have to live your days in Jackson, you don’t know how much longer you would survive.

—

It’s been 21 days. 

The warm aroma of roasted turkey filled the air, and the laughter of friends and miller family fun echoed through the spacious dining room. However, for you, the atmosphere was anything but festive. Being at the miller’s thanksgiving was anything but relaxing. 

It’s been 21 days since you’ve had to endure Joel Miller. 

You’ve done your best to avoid him, not seeing him at all, wondering if he knew better than to show up. Knowing you had Tommy to protect you, knowing everyone heard what he did to Vanessa, the whole town talked. And Tommy invited everyone to his thanksgiving. Joel would be brave to show his face, but you’ve always known him as anything but someone who’s scared to cause a little bit of trouble. 

It’s been 21 days since you’ve been avoiding Joel Miller. 

You stopped working at the bar, not for him, but because you knew he’d try and find you there. Knew it wasn’t something you wanted to do long term, and this just gave you an excuse to try something else. Now, you clean the stables bright and early, lucky to also avoid Joel when he picks up his horse every now and again for patrols. Your walks home are filled with a deep set regret for everything. Should you have heard him out? No. You knew better. You knew what kind of man he was, and would continue to be. You fight with yourself on it everyday, and your heart stops as you hear it, 

It’s been 21 days since you heard his laugh. You won’t get to call it 22 days, and when you realize it’s him, you don’t look back. Pacing past the living room and to Tommy’s small bathroom. Your eyes bloodshot from too much shitty pinot noir. 

—

​​The sound of the Thanksgiving celebration echoed through the Miller residence, but in the quiet refuge of the bathroom.

You were just splashing some water on your face, attempting to compose yourself amidst the chaos, when the door creaked open, revealing Joel Miller, his eyes narrowing as they met yours in the mirror.

"Didn't expect to find you here," Joel muttered, crossing his arms.

You turned off the faucet, swallowing hard before meeting his gaze. "I needed a moment," you replied, your voice steady but laced with unease.

"A moment, huh?" Joel scoffed, his tone cutting through the air.

"Funny how you seem to need a moment every time we're in the same room lately."

You averted your eyes, the memories of your last conversation with Joel resurfacing. The heated words, the accusations, and the unresolved tension had left a bitter taste that lingered.

"What are you even doing here, anyway?" Joel continued, his frustration palpable.

"Tommy invited me," you said, attempting to keep your voice level. "I'm not here to ruin your family dinner, Joel."

He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "Ruining it? You already did that weeks ago."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "Joel, can we not do this right now? It's Thanksgiving, for God's sake."

"Thanksgiving?" he scoffed again. "A lot to be thankful for, right? Like the way you disappeared without a word."

You clenched your fists, the guilt and frustration mounting. "It wasn't like that, Joel. You know it's complicated."

"Complicated? You think I don't get it?" he snapped, his voice rising. "But that doesn't excuse shutting me out completely."

Silence hung between you like a heavy fog, the distance growing even in the confined space of the bathroom. The distant laughter and chatter from the dinner table seemed a world away.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant laughter and music from inside. Joel broke the quiet, his voice softer than before.

"I didn't want things to end like this, you know?" he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"Me neither," you replied, avoiding eye contact.

Joel's jaw clenched, and he looked away, frustration etched across his face. The distance between you felt insurmountable,

He stepped closer, his hand finding yours. "I've been a jerk, haven't I?" he took his olive branch moment, hoping you would extend a white flag as well.

And in that moment, his dark eyes caught yours, and your heart dropped. You wanted your Joel back, you wanted to collapse and give up whatever game you were playing. You needed him, you wanted him. 

It’s been 21 days too long without Joel Miller, 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe a little."

Joel chuckled, a hint of relief in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things get this far."

"And I should have communicated better," you admitted, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, a sincerity in his gaze. "Can we start over? Forget the fights and just... be us again?"

You smiled, feeling the weight lifting. "I'd like that."

"So, what now?" Joel asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You smirked. "Well, I was thinking we could be lovey-dovey in the bathroom."

He laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet room. "Lovey-dovey, huh?"

"Yeah," you teased, "like in the good old days."

Joel tilted his head, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I wouldn’t call what we do in bathrooms lovey-dovey, darlin’.” his hand wraps in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, gently suckling a bruise there,

“But I’ll warn you,” his warm and wet breath spread throughout your neck as he smiles against your skin, 

“I think I need to make this filthy mouth of yours beg, and never talk back to me again.” 

You hummed in approval, moaning silently, “Impossible.” you teased, 

Joel let go of your hair, hands now sliding down your body and giving your hips a bruising grip to remember, 

“Always so mouthy, baby girl. Can’t be now with the town downstairs cutting the stuffing,” he bites his bottom lip, quickly swatting at your ass, a loud smack echoing off the walls as you squeal in surprise, 

You shot him a quick glance, your usual sarcastic retort momentarily absent. Instead, you shrugged, feigning innocence.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Joel chuckled,

You shot him a mock glare, finally finding your voice. "Very funny, Joel. I can be quiet if I want to."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. "Sure, but that requires a well-behaved version of yourself."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the back of Joel’s head, your hands locked in his hair–

 "I can be well-behaved when I want to be."

Joel smirked, pushing your bodies closer. "And do you want to be right now?"

You giggle slightly, nodding your head “no” slowly, 

—

You both have to be really, really quiet. Moving from the bathroom into a room that looks alot like..shit. This is Tommy’s bedroom. 

“Really..” you squint, not having much time to speak as Joel is already pushing you back onto the queen sized bed behind you,

“Fucking me in your brothers bed?” you smile into the kisses Joel has been smothering you with, sucking your bottom lip as he pulls away from you, lifting his shirt up and off of his toned body. 

“Someones gotta get some in here.” he jokes, smirking down at you as he takes his belt off quickly, 

Joel goes back to devouring you, pulling your brown dress up to lay at your waist, exposing your clothed cunt to him. His eyes go darker as he pulls your legs apart so easily, sucking in air as he tilts his head to look at you. His permanent scowl plastered on his face as he focused in on your pussy. 

“Baby,” he puts one of your legs down as he uses his thumb to rub against where your clit is beneath your underwear. His palm against your mound as he does so. 

You moan out, squirming in his grasp, “Joel, I missed you,” you whine, 

Joel leaned over, his bulge met your core as he began kissing you against. Both your moans being captured by each other's mouths. Dry humping each other in the process, 

Confidence suddenly burst inside of you, holding his shoulders as you pushed your hips up as hard as you could, moving them in circular motion, hearing a small groan escape from Joel’s lips, 

“Fuck” he groans in your ear, 

“Gonna take this fuckin’ i give you?” he questioned rhetorically, because you didn’t get a say on whether you were taking it or not.

Pushing himself off of you, he now towered over you. Leaving you on your back with your legs spread open, 

“Take these off, now” Joel pulled at the top of your panties, snapping them against your skin harshly. 

You obeyed quickly, while watching him release himself, a long thick cock hanging out of his pants, warranting a gasp from you, feeling your own juices flow from you, staining the bedding beneath you,

Your reaction seemed to satisfy Joel, who was watching you as if you were prey, 

“I want you. I want you right now.” his voice deep, dripping with lust as he walked back to you, grabbing your legs and dragging you to the edge of the bed, hearing you squeak as he did so.

He flipped you over, and your ass was up in the air, your entrance glistening for him, he couldn’t help himself, and that’s when you jumped forward screaming loudly as you felt a stinging sensation on your cunt. Joel’s hand vibrating off of the skin there, 

“Not so quiet after all, honey?” he mocked you, rubbing anything that leaked from you back on your clit, you moaned lowly, soon turning it into a loud moan as you felt the thick head of his cock rub against you, teasing your entrance, dipping the tip in, causing you to grip the navy blue sheets beneath you, moving up with each tease. 

“Don’t run from me.” he stated gruffly, and  you turned to look at him, his wavy locks falling beside his face, his eyes caught yours, winking as he pushed inside of you, stretching you far enough to feel as if your insides were burning. “F-fuckOH” he was enjoying the way your cunt spazzed around him, feeling his cock enlarge even more at the way you pulsed for him, 

Joel began thrusting harder, pushing your body forward with every hard snap of his hips, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Your body was on fire, feeling your heart sink as he bottomed out inside of you. With every thrust he tore into you further. Your body invites him in more as you feel yourself drown him with your cum, his cock becoming adjusted to you, taking advantage of every shake and squeeze.

“Joel–, fuck, faster,--” you felt your feet levitate off he ground, him holding your hold bottom half up as he obeyed your request, laughing at your whimpers. Your feet now dangling as he manhandles your body, fucking down into you as he grunts, his balls hitting against your clit and causing you to spasm even harder around him. 

“Take it, baby.” his hips snapped harder into you, the room filled with panting and the loud clapping of your skin against his, moaning into the bed as you felt your release coming closer as he reached around you to rub your clit, moaning with you as you began letting go for him, feeling something inside of you begin to snap, you tried grabbing behind you, but he pulled your hand against your back, pushing your body further into the cushion as your pussy convulsed, and you came on him, shaking as he walked you through you orgasm, 

“Cum around me just like that.”

“Darlin’ you feel so good, you’re doing so well.”

“Your cunts meant to take it like this.”

Joel’s low voice barely noticed as your ears rang from how hard you had cum. Joel following after shortly, 

 “Shit. Shit.” 

“S–Shit, so, fucking good.” Screaming your name as he produced enough cum to cover your cunt and your ass entirely. 

You were panting heavy as he fell on top of you, completely fucked out as his limp dick sat against your back. Joel is still in bliss, moving your hair away from the back of your neck and kissing along it, slightly humming into your glistening skin. 

His lips only leave your skin to whisper to you in his daze, 

“ s’ gonna be pissed if he finds out what happened here.” 

You both laugh at the uncomfortable reality of this. You both will eventually have to get up and face the crowd. But for just a few more moments, you let yourself feel the comfort of being smothered under Joel’s body. 

—

It’s been 21 minutes. 

The door creaked open, and you and Joel stepped out of the bedroom, both wearing wide grins that couldn't be contained. The sound of Thanksgiving chatter from downstairs seemed muffled in comparison to the joy that radiated between you two.

As you descended the stairs, hand in hand, Tommy looked up from the crowded living room. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of your shared happiness.

"What's got you two looking so... giddy?" Tommy asked, a curious smile playing on his lips.

Joel chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with you. "Oh, you know, just enjoying some quiet time away from Bill's stories."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's all?"

You couldn't help but giggle, feeling the need to share your newfound joy. "Well, we might've had a little heart-to-heart. It's Thanksgiving, after all."

Tommy's eyes widened, a sly grin forming. "A heart-to-heart, huh?”

Joel laughed, playfully nudging you. 

Tommy continued to scrutinize you both, but his teasing demeanor softened. "Well, as long as you're happy." you both smiled at him,

“And as long as it wasn’t in my room.”

You exchanged a glance with Joel, your smiles widening.

[jacks347]

Eternity has never been kind to lovers

Word count: 5000 Enjoy my pretties >:3

~~

Albus had once been asked if there was anyone he left at home when he went off to be a hero. He'd laughed off the question, saying he wasn't a hero and he had no home so who would be waiting for him?

In truth, his home was a place that hadn't existed for him in many years. As an immortal demon, time had stopped really having a meaning to him. So the years had all started to bleed together, his trips back to the little house in the woods becoming less and less frequent. He'd failed to notice the silver starting to thread through Devlin's hair, the lines creasing around Faith's eyes and mouth, or the little girl becoming not so little anymore.

It wasn't like he meant to, it was just how things ended up. He gained more credibility and prestige as a bounty hunter and got more lucrative jobs that took him farther away for longer. He visited home less and less until he eventually stopped going altogether. And now he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his little family. Hell, if he really thought about it, he could barely even remember what they looked like. Was Faith's hair black or brown? Which arm did Devlin have the enhancements on? All the details had slowly blurred together in his memories and he hadn't even noticed.

Well, until those memories came waltzing back into his life. And by the gods, more time had passed than he thought.

~

"Albus, someone has a job for you." The bartender he'd come to vaguely know popped his head into the private room he'd come to occupy. Albus lifted his head from where it'd been resting against the wall to fix the bartender with a look in his slightly drunken stupor. What was his name again? Ah, who cares, he wouldn't remember it anyway. "And? They can post it with the bounty hunters like everyone else." "That's the thing, she asked for you specifically." "Is that so? Who is it?" "She didn't give me her name. Said she was your daughter."

That knocked the alcohol right out of him. Daughter? Him? No, that was impossible. He made sure of that. Well, when he was sober he made sure. Which, frankly, wasn't a lot. Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do? The kid had spent gods know how long looking for him and now what? Hell, he couldn't even say which woman gave birth to the girl. Or if he wanted to know.

Gods above, is this what Dad was like?

He violently shook the thought away. No. No no no. He would not become his father. Abso-fucking-lutely not. "Alright, let's see her." The bartender shrugged and left, his voice fading as he called for the girl. Albus sat up properly, unwilling to admit his heart was beating worryingly fast. Doc would probably say he was having a heart attack.

Huh, Doc. Wonder what happened to him. Mafia, probably.

When the door opened again, a woman stepped in. Like, a fully grown woman. She looked in her 50s. And definitely not young enough to be his kid. At least, not as of recently. But she somehow looked...familiar. Were those his features he saw in her or was that his imagination? His brows furrowed, could he even remember anyone that far back?

The woman smiled, showing off the gap in her teeth. A very familiar gap in her teeth. "Hi Mr. Albus. Seems you haven't changed a bit."

That voice...

"Kerano." He breathed as recognition slammed through him. "Fucking hell kid, how did you find me?" Kerano just laughed, settling into the chair across from him and letting him get a good look at her. He could see bits of that little girl he left behind; the freckles, the wide smile, the eyes shining with mischief. But he could also see the years that had disappeared; lines starting to crease around her mouth, silver threading between the normal brown, the sag to her posture as years of growing up weighed down on her. "Man, I haven't been called "kid" in decades. Though I suppose everyone is a kid to someone who lives forever." She shrugged. Albus scrubbed his hand over his face. "You didn't answer my question. How did you find me? And why?" "Okay, the how is the fun part. The why is the not so fun part. Which do you wanna hear first?" She giggled and for a second, he was back in New Tennessee watching Faith chase her around the ship. But then he blinked and the second passed, his heart sinking with it. "Well it's me so I guess the fun part." "Good, I was hoping you'd say that."

Kerano sat back in her chair, a smug smile creeping across her face. "So, I needed to come find you for reasons I will explain later. But you haven't been back home in over 30 years, no one knows where you are, and any of the ones who could are old or dead. So I was on my own and had to follow the trail of breadcrumbs. Starting in Maya. And honestly, I expected this to be a lot harder than it was but all it took was a couple pointed questions to the receptionist at the Hunters Guild and I was on my way. The hardest part was actually finding you once I got here."

"And you wanna tell me why the bartender said you were going around telling people you were my kid?" Kerano's smile widened at that, holding back a laugh. "What? It was the fastest way to get people to listen to me. You're a very mysterious person, Mr. York. People will take any advantage they can to get to know something about you." "Even if it's a complete fucking lie?" "Like you've ever had a problem with lying to get what you want." "...Fair enough. Shit, you really could be my kid. But now tell me why." She chuckled, her smile slowly fading. "That's the hard part. Um..." She chewed the inside of her cheek, squirming in her chair a little. "Big sister, she's...she's really sick. I mean, she hasn't been the same since she got the dementia diagnosis but now it's gotten really bad. She's-" Kerano's voice wavered, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. "She's dying, Albus. The doctor says she won't make it to spring."

The words hit like a ton of bricks. Faith? Dying? No, that wasn't possible. Not his bright, spirited, fire-blooded Faith. No no no, she was far too alive to die. Not her. Anyone but her.

"Dementia? What-what is that? Can it be fixed?" Kerano snorted softly. "Right, forgot, you wouldn't know what it is. Dementia is a brain disease. It slowly attacks your brain functions until you can't do anything yourself. Eventually, it reaches the brain's ability to regulate heartbeat and breathing and that's what kills. There is no cure for it. The most notable symptom of dementia is memory loss. Of which she is dealing with in spades." Kerano traced the grain of the wood in the table, refusing to make eye contact. "It started a few years ago, she started forgetting prayers she'd known since she was little. I didn't think too much of it, I mean for gods sake she was almost 70 of course she's going to start forgetting things. But then it started getting worse. Forgetting appointments, directions to places she'd been a hundred times, stories she'd told me dozens of times. And now it's...it's really bad. Her moments of clarity are getting further and further apart. Hell, she barely remembers me half the time. And it's really hard, especially after we lost Devlin 'cause now I'm the only one who can take care of her and she gets pretty feisty when she has one of her episodes and it's just-" Kerano dropped her head into her hands, sniffling softly.

Albus was left completely frozen, watching as Kerano choked back sobs and tried to pull herself together. So much had changed after he'd left and he hadn't even realized. Faith was sick, she was losing her memory, Kerano had to take care of her after...

After...

Holy shit.

Devlin is gone?

When did that happen? How had he fallen so out of touch with the family he loved that he wasn't even told when the brother he'd come to love so deeply had died? He couldn't process this correctly. It felt like his brain was shutting down. How long had Faith been alone? How long had it just been her and Kerano in that house? How long had she needed him and he wasn't there because he'd forgotten her?

How long had he forgotten about her?

Albus was pulled out of his thoughts by Kerano's head snapping up, watching as she swiped at the lingering tears staining her face before clearing her throat. "Anyway, not what I came here for! I came for a job, not to make you my therapist." She laughed wetly. Albus just blinked at her, remembering that this little reunion wasn't just to rip his heart out. "It's not a job in your typical sense. I'm not asking you to hunt someone down. It's actually more of a request. Faith doesn't spend a lot of time in reality and when she isn't, she's in the memories she still has. And most of them are with you and Devlin on that ship back in New Tennessee. And she...she asks for you. And every time I say you're not there, she gets so sad and worried. She'll ask where you are and if you're okay and...I can't keep doing it. I can't keep breaking her heart. So my job for you, come home. Come home and see her before she dies with a broken heart."

Not his typical job indeed. His reason for fighting was dying and all she wanted was him to come back. But could he? Kerano said it'd been over 30 years, he'd missed his own brother's death, how could he possibly go back? How could he ever deserve to stand by Faith's side again after all the years he'd left her behind? The silent guilt that he'd shoved down for years began to crawl up his throat once again, threatening to cut off his air and choke him with his own misery.

"Kerano I...I can't. I've been gone for so long, I couldn't possibly go back." I don't deserve it. I don't deserve her. I never did. I never will.

Kerano frowned at Albus, folding her arms like the stubborn child he remembered her to be. "So you'd rather stay here? You'd rather stay here and continue to be a stranger to everyone rather than return to the woman who actually knows you?" "She doesn't know me, no one does." "Cut the self-deprecating bullshit Albus. Even if she doesn't know all of your broken blackened emo heart, she knows part of you. She knows the part of you that died to protect her and her mission. She knows the part of you that was human. And that's more than most people here know."

He hated how she was right. He hated how she reminded him of that weak, pathetic voice in the back of his head that mourned his humanity. It'd been there for so long that he'd learned to let it blend in with the rest of his thoughts. So long as he never acknowledged it, it would never be loud enough to remind him of everything he'd lost.

He hated how much she reminded him of Faith. He could see so much of her in Kerano, in particular her annoyingly persistent stubborn streak and her uncanny ability to cut right to the center of all the emotions he told himself he didn't feel. He hated the desperate part of him that wished she was her, wished it was her sharp eyes and pouting lips that were scolding him like she used to. He hated how much he missed her. He didn't deserve to miss her, not after he'd been the one to leave in the first place. Besides, that soft spot was going to get him killed one of these days. Maybe he really shouldn't go back, maybe it would let that lingering weakness in him finally die.

Maybe then he'd finally be free.

His blood ran cold at the thought. How could he possibly think that? This was different, this was Faith. This was his Faith. She was his oath and like hell he was going to forsake his honor for some perceived weakness

Kerano's hard stare bore into him, her disapproving frown looking sorely familiar. "Albus, she needs you right now. We need you right now. And if you ever actually loved-"

"Don't you dare fucking finish that sentence."

Her eyes widened, shrinking back against the sudden demonic energy pouring off of him. Albus tried to reign his temper back in, willing himself to have his voice not come out in a growl.

"I loved that woman more than anything. I still love her with everything I am. Don't you ever even imply doubt in that again. You don't understand everything I've done to protect her. To protect you. And it would take an eternity to try and explain it."

He sat back in his chair, fixing her with a glare of his own. How dare she try and accuse Albus of never actually loving her. How dare she try and say that the only woman who had ever truly meant anything to him was just another notch in his bedpost. That was his Faithful. His beautiful, caring, frustratingly loyal when he was the last person who deserved it Faithful. "I'll go. I'll see her. But I can't be the man she remembers from back then." Kerano sighed, her anger deflating. "I don't need you to be. I just need you. That's good enough for me."

Kerano stood from her chair, offering him a weak smile. "I'll tell her to expect you. She'll be ecstatic. You know where to find us, we've never left." He gave a stiff nod and she left, seeming to take all of his energy with her. He dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud, groaning softly. That was exhausting. Are reunions supposed to be that tiring? I suppose I wouldn't know, not like I've got a chance to have many of them.

He forced himself back upright and called for the bartender. He was going to need so much more alcohol.

~ Albus couldn't tell if he was seeing double from the relentless hangover he was dealing with (he really shouldn't have had that last round before he came here, everything was spinning) or if because he was really back here. Back at this place he'd called home for so long. Back with these people he'd called family for so long. His stomach twisted and this time he knew it wasn't from the alcohol.

Could he really do this? Just waltz back into this home like there weren't decades worth of dust on his place in it and just insert himself back into the quiet lives of the people who had grown to fill his spot? No one had seen him yet, he could still just turn around and act like nothing happened, like he'd never even been there. No one would notice, he could act like that whole conversation with Kerano had never happened and forget it all. He could let Faith go peacefully without ever bringing his chaos and bloodshed back into the fragile peace she'd built without him.

But then she'd die without him ever getting to say goodbye. She'd die scared and alone, thinking that the only person she could still remember had left her behind. She would die thinking he didn't love her enough to stay. And he just couldn't have that. Kerano couldn't let Faith die with a broken heart and now Albus couldn't either. He couldn't bear the thought of it.

"You gonna continue to just stand there and stare or are you actually gonna come in?"

The teasing voice snapped Albus out of his contemplation, forcing him to look up at Kerano. She was stood on the porch, mild amusement written on her face. "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough to watch you have an entire crisis before inevitably deciding I was right because of course you did cause I know I'm right." "...y'know if I didn't know any better I really would suspect that you're my daughter." "I'll take that as a compliment. Now come on, she's inside."

Albus walked through the front door and almost thought he was in the wrong place. Gone was the life and liveliness that he was used to. There were no sounds of talking or laughing or smells of something cooking. There was nothing but silence and the staunch smell of disinfectant. "What happened to this place?" His voice came out an involuntary whisper. Kerano snorted softly as she closed the door behind them. "Death and disease. Big sister was crushed after we lost Devlin and she was getting older so she couldn't keep up with the housework like she used to. So things got simplified. Really simplified. I know she hates it, she always has, but there's nothing we can do about it. When she has her moments of clarity she complains about how plain the house looks. I mean, coming from the woman who was always covered in ten pounds of jewelry whenever she had the chance, I suppose you wouldn't consider that to mean a lot but even I get it." She ran her hand over the wall, rubbing the dust between her fingers. "This house is nothing but a shell of itself, of everything it used to be, especially to the people who lived in it." She glanced at Albus during that last sentence but moved on before he could say anything.

"Come on, she should be in her room." He followed along silently, taking in the last remaining bits of life along the way. There were still some pictures on the wall, mostly of Kerano as she was growing up but there were a few of Faith and Devlin as they got older. It was strange, seeing the people that in his memory were so young and vibrant and had their whole lives ahead of them as so old and lived. They'd been through so much together and he'd missed it. What kind of stories would they tell if they had the chance? If he had found the time, would he have listened? He'd taken advantage of his eternity so much he'd forgotten that not everyone got to live it.

Kerano came to a halt in front of a door, knocking softly. "Big sister? Someone's come to see you." There was no answer and Kerano sighed. "She always does this." She muttered with a shake of her head before turning to Albus. "Go on, she doesn't want me. She wants you." She stepped back and gestured for him to open the door.

This was it. The point of no return. He could open the door and shatter the reality he so fondly remembered and replace it with the stark reality that he was about to lose the woman who held his heart in her trusting hands for half a century, who would take that heart with her when she left or he could turn around and run and never have to face his failures, never face the fact that he had left her when he promised he would always protect her but that would mean living with the fact that he willingly left her.

Dammit. How do you always end up making me do the things I don't want to Faith? Do you take joy in forcing me to make life-altering decisions?

He opened the door before he could talk himself in circles again, bracing himself for whatever was beyond it. He wasn't sure he braced hard enough.

Sitting in an old rocking chair staring out the window was Faith. Or at least, what was left of her. She was still dressed in her sister paladin best but her strictness was starting to slip, pieces of silver hair untucked from beneath her headscarf to frame her face, looser fabrics taking over the usual tighter ones that had given her more shape. She hadn't seemed to notice the door opening, probably assuming it was Kerano.

"Faithful?" He attempted softly. Her head snapped to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Albus?" Her voice was weaker, scratchy and weathered from age. "You're really back?" She reached out for him, hesitating like he might just be an illusion or a trick her mind was playing on her. He kneeled next to her, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to hold his face. "I'm back, faithful. I'm back."

Her eyes sparkled with tears, sniffling softly as she brought her other hand to hold his face properly. He could feel the bones of her fingers through her thinned skin, see the deep lines in her face and the silver that threatened to completely take over the brown in her hair. He could feel his heart thump painfully in his chest, she was so...different. She was older, yes, but she was different. His Faith was bright and fierce, taking life by the horns because no one else would. This Faith, one so subdued and broken down by time and circumstance was so foreign to him. "Oh Faith...what happened to you?" He whispered, cupping one of her hands with his own.

She laughed quietly, smiling in that way she always used to when she thought he was being ridiculous. "Oh Albus, my Albus..." She even said his name the same way, with that quiet fondness that she used to be so embarrassed to admit was there. She was so different but at the same time, exactly the same. Her eyes held that same fire that they used to, determined to take the world by storm and correct everything she saw wrong with it no matter what it took. But her body could no longer keep up with her soul's desire to do right by the gods she had so treasured. "Where have you been all these years?" She asked, her thumb stroking over where his beard melted into the rest of his face. He sighed, leaning into her touch and laying a light kiss to her palm. "Don't you worry about that. I'm here now and that's what's important. I'm here for you." "Why? Why come back? I...I thought you were gone. I thought I lost both of you." Her voice tapered off into a whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

It nearly knocked the wind out of him. It was one thing for him to recognize that he'd been gone for too long, it was entirely another to know that Faith knew it too. That she thought she was alone. He never should've let it get this bad. "I know, I'm so sorry faithful. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you. I was just...I was scared. Scared that you wouldn't want me back after so long. Scared that you had moved on from me." She clicked her tongue, frowning at him like she was about to reprimand him like she used to. Honestly, he wished she would. "I could never move on from you. You've carried my heart with you every time you've walked out that door and that last time was no different. I just wish you'd told me beforehand how long it would be until I got it back, I would've prepared better." She giggled before pinching his cheek with a surprising strength, her nose scrunching. "Never do that to me again, you hear? Had me here mourning you while you were still out there alive and well and having no reason to give me such anxiety."

Albus burst into laughter, trying to pull away from the iron grip she had on his skin. "Ow, ow, ow okay I get it I already said I'm sorry! Gods above you've gotten stronger since I left." "It's a grandmotherly perk. Once you get above 70, your pinching strength increases tenfold to discipline rowdy grandchildren. Though you wouldn't know anything about that, would you mister immortal?" "Shit, yes I understand can you let go of my face before you rip a piece of it off?" "Hm, you better." She huffed as she let go of him, leaving him to rub the now sore spot. "Y'know, you've had Kerano worried sick about how you weren't like you used to be but you seem just fine to me." "Hey, don't you bring me into this. This is for you to atone for your crimes of leaving us with no one but each other for 15 years." Kerano snorted, leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile as she watched the interaction. Faith turned to Kerano with a sad smile, leaning back in her rocking chair. "Oh give the girl a break Albus, she's dealt with a lot with me being...out of sorts." "Oh is that the word we're using? Big sister, you know I love you, you tried to throw me out the window." "I thought you were an illusion!" "Doesn't make it any less terrifying! You ever almost get literally shoved out a window by an old woman with a strength you didn't even realize she had?" The two glared at each other for a few moments before both burst into giggles.

Albus rolled his eyes at the display. "I will give no such breaks, the girl went around saying she was my daughter in order to find me." "You did what?" Faith suddenly whipped her head to look between Albus and Kerano. "You're not being serious, are you? Tell me he's not being serious!" "...sorry big sister." "Kerano! What in the hell would possess you to do such a thing?" "You couldn't see it sister! You were so...hollow. You kept asking for him and well...with your prognosis, I couldn't just sit back and do nothing! So I went and found him! It was just a little harder than I thought it was going to be so I found a way! And hey, it worked, didn't it? He's here and you're lucid and everything's the way it used to be. Can you blame me for simply wanting to fulfill a dying woman's wish?" "I thought I told you to stop talking like that." Faith huffed, turning her pointed glare to Kerano. "But you are-" "And I know that Kerano. But I don't need to be reminded of it. I'm still alive and I intend on remaining that way for as long as possible. So do not call me dying until I lay on my deathbed, you understand me?" "Yep, that's Faith." Albus muttered with a soft smile, earning a sarcastic stare from her.

Faith just sighed, running her hand through Albus's hair with a slight smile. "Won't you stay? At least for a little while? I...I don't want to risk forgetting about you." "Of course faithful. I'm not going anywhere, not until you tell me to go." Not until I see that fire leave you. Not until my faithful is really gone. Not until I actually have to say goodbye to you.

Faith stared into his eyes and he could see every moment between them, their entire history laid out in the color of her eyes. He feared the day he'd see blank spots in that history. That day when she'd forget he loved her with his entire being. That he'd fought against armies and demons to return to her side. That he'd given up his life for her once and he'd do it again in a heartbeat if she simply asked. He leaned up and kissed her softly, like she would break if he pressed any harder. She pushed back like she was trying to send a message. He hoped she could read his own.

I'll love you for eternity Faith.

I've loved you for my eternity Albus.

He stepped back, running his thumb over her cheek one final time before heading towards the door. "I'll check in on you tomorrow, don't go anywhere." "Not like I could if I wanted to." She laughed as Albus closed the door behind him, leaving just him and Kerano in the hallway again. She looked on the verge of tears and he was about to ask what was wrong when she threw herself into his arms, squeezing him tight. "Thank you. Thank you for bringing her back." She whispered into his chest. He slowly hugged her back, letting her cry out her relief into his shirt. "Thank you for letting me bring her back." He responded, petting her hair.

She pulled back after a couple minutes, wiping her eyes. "I'll go get a room ready for you, sounds like you'll be here for a while." She headed down the hall into a separate room, leaving Albus with his thoughts once again. He wished that would stop happening, his thoughts were getting quite headache-inducing recently.

He still couldn't entirely believe that he was here, that he'd seen Faith again and had gotten the chance to love her again. To love her like she deserved until her mind finally left her.

I've got so much lost time to make up for. There's so much I've missed, so much I have to learn about you, Faithful. But maybe I can start to work for your forgiveness. I just hope I'm not too late to earn it.

I'll stay by your side until the end, I promise. I'll be your warrior again if that's what you need me to be.

I'm yours Faith. Always yours.

Until the next sunrise

Oops, wrong universe, sorry-

[douglysium]

Episode 12 TMP Quick Thoughts

Housekeeping and Prologue

Hello, this is Douglysium and you might not know me as that guy who wrote over 100 pages of analysis on the Eye (which can be read on Tumblr here (https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/735599414228484097/the-relationships-between-the-dread-powers-the) or Google Docs here (The Relationships Between the Dread Powers: The Eye- Knowledge is Fear and Ignorance is Bliss)) or as that guy who wrote an article on the Extinction (which can be read on Tumblr here(https://douglysium.tumblr.com/post/717929126195003392/what-would-avatars-of-the-extinction-be-like-a) and Google Docs here(​What would Avatars of the Extinction be like?: A TMA Speculation)). Suffice to say I might be a bit of a TMA fan. Also, spoilers for TMP up until episode 10. You can read my ramblings on the last episode here (Episode 11 TMP Quick Thoughts).

However, Protocol offers a very unique opportunity and experience for me because I didn’t actually get into TMA until after it was over and I binged all of it. So this is my first time experiencing something even remotely similar to what the original TMA fans probably experienced when waiting for each episode week by week and slowly having to put everything together with the limited information they had. So I decided to throw my hat into the ring since this might be my only chance to do something similar. However, I’m working on some longer form TMA content so I can’t spend as much time on these articles giving a bunch of super detailed thoughts. I will try to keep these short and that inevitably might mean some could have questions about why I think or predict certain things and in those cases I would probably recommend you read at least some of the two articles I mentioned above to get a better idea of where I’m coming from. This also means I won’t be giving you a play-by-play of every single thing that happens in the episode so I encourage you to listen to or read them yourselves and feel free to comment if you feel something is important.

These reviews are probably going to end up focusing mostly on the Entities and their manifestations as they are what I have thought about the most and spent the most time interpreting and there’s been a lot of… interesting theories floating around about how the Entities are manifesting that I want to go over.

Finally, I’m just going to say it right now, spoiler warning for all of The Magnus Archives. I know that Jon and co said one could start with Protocol and be fine, and while that’s probably true, media like this tends to be made in conversation with or take into consideration what came before it in the irl chronology in order to connect them. While I’m sure you could skip The Magnus Archives, I don't really see the point of skipping over it when we are already getting characters from TMA showing up in TMP in Protocol. So to me it’s pretty clear that if we want to understand the full picture of TMP and all the things it is trying to say then we can’t just try to pretend TMA doesn’t exist or scrub it away. Just because you could understand what’s happening without the context in broad strokes doesn’t mean you're getting all the nuances.

These articles are meant to be quick and short so sorry if there’s typos and if I don’t address every possible question or possibility. I don’t want to repeat myself too much in this series outside of the prologue so be sure to skim some of my other articles.

Episode 12 “Getting Off”

I think this episode is definitely one of the more straightforward Protocol episodes we have gotten so far, so hopefully this Quick Thoughts won’t br too long (but knowing me I probably just jinxed it).

We take in the scene through a CCTV in the breakroom of the OIAR at night. The transcripts clarify that Celia is very tired and searching through the cupboards for something and it is quickly made apparent that she is looking for tea and, since the break room has run out, Sam gives Celia a teabag from a secret stash that he apparently has. Sam then asks Celia out on a date and while she is busy at the moment she does show that she is willing to go out with Sam on “Saturday, 6? under the clock at Leicester Square. That work? We’ll go for dinner- well, breakfast- you know what I mean.” Once again, we see that the OIAR jobs appear to be very exhausting and have odd work hours. I also wonder what Celia’s end goal is. Does she genuinely like Sam or does she see him as means to an end. Is Celia here to help Sam and co or is she here to harm them?

As Celia leaves, Alice walks in and proceeds to make fun of Sam for clearly being extremely nervous as he asked out Celia. Alice says “(normal again) You know it’s rude to have absolutely no game? Christ, all these years and you still ask people out like a baby foal learning to tapdance.” A reference to the fact that she and Sam dated at some point, and how Sam probably acted very similarly when trying to ask her out. Sam does point out “Look it worked didn’t it?” which seems like it could be a sort of double meaning. Sam’s nervous approach got Celia to agree to a date but also Alice presumably agreed to go out with him in the past too.

Sam apologizes to Alice for dragging her to the ruins of the Institute only to fund nothing… well nothing Sam and Alice know about since something escaped the Institute. Sam says he’s done with Magnus stuff and Alice responds with “So you’re telling me that if I had a case full of emails with the title “Magnus Institute re: Samama Khalid – Massive Conspiracy” you wouldn’t be tempted?” to which Sam says no before asking “You don’t, though. Do you? That was just, like, a joke. Right?” Alice then says “Come on, for now let’s just focus on getting you as jaded and apathetic as possible.” Considering that Alice does appear to be pretty jaded about listening to the cases and piecing them together this could be related to her point about ignoring the talkers and not getting caught up in thinking too much about what’s happening. 

NORRIS starts expositing the next case

“Claim Review: EL-56920 

Policy Holder: Soho Jack’s Ltd. 

Policy Number: 548651-656 

Policy Type: Employers’ Liability 

Site Address: Soho Jack’s, 9 Carlisle St, London W1D 3BK 

Affected Employee: Ms. Jordan Bennett 

Date of Incident: 9 March 2024 

Incident Location: On site. 

Documentation: Crime Report – Submitted 

Medical Practitioner Report – Submitted 

Incident Book Entry – Submitted First Aider’s Report – Submitted 

Supervisor’s incident Report - Submitted 

HSE communications - Submitted 

Health-And-Safety policies - Submitted 

Employment Contract - Submitted 

Claim Valuation: £1,560,000 Assessment 

Conclusion: Claim Denied Reason: Fraudulent claim (see incident description and police report)”

This, along with some information Jordan mentions later, means Jordan is suing Soho Jack’s Ltd. They go on to say that their lawyer has advised them to cooperate with Soho Jack’s insurance claim as a show of good faith, even if they’re planning on “suing your asses to kingdom-come.” They start recounting an event that occurred on the company’s property and apologize for their terrible handwriting (which we later learn is probably because Mr. Bonzo bit off one of their hands).

They go over how they started working at Jack’s in the spring of 2021 after they had finished Flair Academy. After struggling to find a job they managed to get an interview and then job at the aforementioned Jack’s. The club seems to have a good reputation as Jordan refers to it as “the Soho Gentleman’s club.” The company’s building “...has dances on the bottom two floors with VIP suites for hire above with a dedicated bouncer keeping them separate. Really, it’s just a quieter box with a private bar, some comfy chairs and the option of private dancers.” Despite this being “THE” Soho Gentleman’s club Jordan says “It’s always booked up with swank dickheads trying to show off, but Stags are the worst: they’re cheap, they’re loud, they drink too much, tip too little and only ever hire one dance for the groom. Plus there’s always some “nice guy” that won’t shut up about exploitation without even bothering to stop staring.” 

Jordan begins to explain how the party the specific party that led to them wanting to sue Jack’s. They state that this specific party’s lot was not the worst and were “Just a bunch of heavyset, middle-aged lads with names like Ozzer, or Rozzer or whatever. ” and notes that “The groom was fine, acted embarrassed even though he was obviously keen and they were easily pleased. ”

“They started giving the groom gifts. Same old tat as always, cufflinks, poo gags, all the standard stuff. Then the groom spotted the last one on the table, this cheap yellow and purple kids lunch box. It looked old and shoddy and no one admitted to bringing it but the groom just squealed with glee and carefully opened it before pulling out a bunch old souvenir merch. Pencils, postcards, keyrings, all sorts of crap, all the same yellow and purple and last of all a cracked CD case. When they saw it the whole bunch gave this big laughing cheer.” I have talked about how I think Mr. Bonzo is probably tied to The Stranger if we view him through the lens of Smirke’s 14. I will retread some of those reasons later but right now I want to point out that no one admitted to bringing the Bonzo CD. It could simply be that it’s a prank and someone happened to grab an artifact or something tied to Bonzo, and maybe someone from the OIAR even planted it there, but it could also be connected to the idea of The Stranger and the fear of the unknown because it could be that no one actually knows who got that CD.

We also know that The Stranger is no… stranger to dropping off or delivering strange artifacts in order to feed on the fear of people interacting with unknown /mysterious objects. Breekon and Hope’s delivery service are a good example of this (strangers that show up and drop off never before seen or uncanny objects and artifacts).

“I could see which way the wind was turning and sure enough the bestman came over and asked if he could play it. The cover had this awful comic sans title: “Mr. Bonzo’s On His Way” and I wasn't exactly thrilled by this.” Jordan explains that “Mr. Bonzo was way before my time and from what I had seen online he had always looked pretty messed up. But hey, it was their night, if they wanted to spend it on some cringy nostalgia trip, who was I to say no?” Which could mean that Jordan doesn’t know a lot about Mr. Bonzo, and lack of familiarity with something is one of the things that we know entities like The Stranger love to prey on.

“This kind of thing happened often enough that we kept a battered old CD Player in the back that we could patch into the room's speakers, just in case. So, I ducked back there, put it on, turned the volume down as low as I could get away with, and prayed it wasn’t too obnoxious. Immediately the cheering children’s voices blared out the speakers accompanied by bouncy tubas loud enough to drown out the rest of the club’s music. It was awful but I could hear the lads stamping the floor in rhythm and as the kids started singing the men were singing along: “Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play! Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play!” If you want to listen to the song Jordan is referring to it is actually available on Youtube: Mr Bonzo (from 'The Magnus Protocol'). Maybe you can put yourself in the shoes of an annoyed Jordan or ecstatic old man at the club.

Jordan clearly finds the song annoying and after waiting a minute, in order to avoid being a “total killjoy,” they decide to turn off the song before “ Derek came down from the office to “have a word.” I assume Jordan meant Derek would complain about the music. However, when Jordan turns the CD player off it “...just grew louder, rattling the glassware in the bar: “Mr. Bonzo’s on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play!” I even yanked the cables from the speakers, but it just kept getting louder.” Obviously, something supernatural is going on but Jordan reasonably assumes that the player just broke and begins to reach for their walkie talkie in order to call for some tech support. However, as they do so they are interrupted by a massive crash coming from another part of the room followed by a cheer. Jordan gets ready to reprimand the party goers for whatever mess they might have made but instead sees Mr. Bonzo. “It was hunched in the doorway, a bulbous figure with a purple hat that cast crazed shadows in all directions thanks to the club’s lighting effects. Then it doffed its hat and pushed itself into the room, foam catching on the doorframe with a squeak that set my teeth on edge. Its massive bulbous google-eyes seemed to roam all over the room before settling on the groom and it was almost as if the huge toothy grin grew wider when it saw him.” We know that Gwen delivered a name and address to Bonzo and in the previous episode Lena even tells Gwen “I’m sure you’ve already worked that out. But just in case you haven’t, keep an eye on the case loads over the next few days. It should become abundantly clear.” Implying that this could be the case Lena was alluding to or that the groom (or someone else in the room) is Bonzo’s target (but it’s almost definitely the groom).

Everyone in the room assumes the appearance of Bonzo is some sort of gift or prank and “The rugby boys were tripping over themselves to get in and hug it, laughing and pushing the groom to the front and so I figured at that point it was a prank. Again, none of them took credit for it and there was a moment of genuine hesitation, until one of them yelled out “It's ya lapdance, Baz!” and they all fell about laughing.” Jordan is furious that a coworker named Joey presumably let Bonzo in and the idea that Joey might have bailed on Jordan again by “ducking out for a smoke.” But as Jordan moves forward they notice something- “I began to stride over, readying for the inevitable complaints then hesitated as I saw something far more unnerving than the ugly costume that was capering with the groom in the middle of the group. There was a pair of heavy boots on their side, poking just inside the still open doorway. Joey’s boots, and they weren't moving. Just then the google eyes looked turned to me, and a puffy finger raised cheekily to its mouth.” So Joey was killed by Bonzo and all the while “the men had all started chanting “Bonzo! Bonzo! Bonzo”, stamping their feet and banging the tables in a circle around the pair in the center…” and the music kept getting louder. So loud that it began to sound distorted from the strain the song was putting on the speakers.

Out of all the Entities the Slaughter seems to have a pretty strong connection to music but The Stranger also has a strong precedent for music. For example, The Calliope in TMA is an artifact tied to The Stranger. In MAG 024 (Strange Music) it is mentioned that the instrument has "Be still, for there is strange music" carved into the cover of the keyboard. While The Slaughter’s connection to music is probably due to an association between rhythm and war (think the marching of an army or the phrase “drums of war”) as well as the fear of “violent” music, The Stranger’s connection to music seems to come from the idea of either strange unknown sounds or a song / sound that sounds really uncanny. It is noted by Jordan that Mr. Bonzo’s song grows louder and more distorted overtime which would mean that the song is becoming more and more incomprehensible as it would slowly change into a song with lyrics you couldn’t understand or identify as easily. It could also be that the song sounds uncanny in the sense that it is familiar in some ways but something is off about it.

Jordan tries to call for help on his walkie talkie but can only hear Mr. Bonzo’s theme blaring out of its tiny speaker. Jordan tries to warn everyone and get out but no one can hear him over the music. Bonzo takes the groom and begins to “dance” with him by spinning around faster and faster until Bonzo decides to rip his arms off and even as this act of gorey brutality took place the other party goers present continued to laugh and laugh until Jordan’s scream caused them to realize this wasn’t some sort of prank. Almost everyone begins to yell in terror but some yelled in rage and proceeded to attack Bonzo: “A few of the bigger guys picked up chairs or bottles and began to beat and slash at the thing. It didn’t seem to notice, its bulbous, bloodshot, eyes staying fixed on the groom’s body as it raised it overhead.” Bonzo then proceeds to continue pulverizing the body by smashing it against the ground over and over.

“For a split second, all was still but the music just pounded on, barely recognizable now over the distortion from the smoking speakers as those voices, no longer childlike, still chanted the words “He’s here to stay… He wants to play…”” “Then Mr. Bonzo turned towards us with its head bowed almost reverentially and everybody went silent. Slowly, awfully slowly, it raised its head, titling it coquettishly to one side. Then the seams across its face split revealing its gaping maw filled with even larger, sharper teeth.” Jordan admits that they don’t remember much about what happened after that but “I dream about it most nights. In the dream it digs through all those men to get to me, grabbing fistfuls of them and throwing them to smash against the wall. The strobe fires as its hands plunge into the pile of us and each flash shows a little less flesh between me and it, between me and all those teeth… finally everyone else is gone. I raise my arm to protect myself and it gently but inexorably lifts it into its mouth, smiles and bites… None of us was left whole but I was the luckiest. All I lost was a hand, it wasn’t even my dominant one.” The biting was set up previously in episode 10 when the transcripts mention “Gwen holds out the envelope and Mr Bonzo snatches it into his mouth, audibly chewing it. His teeth are not soft.”

Jordan says that they “told the investigators everything I know, doctors too. I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything, why the cameras weren't working, why it let me live. But I do know why there weren't any bodies. All I actually want is my hand back so I can tend bar but that isn’t going to happen is it? So I’ll have to settle for the next best thing and sue you for everything I can get, because I don’t know what happened that night but it was in your venue and no one came to help. Not Derek, not another doorman, no one. So yeah, you’d better have one hell of a settlement waiting for me, or I'll see you in court.”

While you could make an argument for themes of Entities like The Desolation, Flesh, Hunt, etc. I’m still going to primarily argue for Bonzo being tied to The Stranger or a similar Entity due to what we see in his previous appearances. For the sake of clarity, if there is any debate about what The Stranger embodies in MAG 200 it is stated “And as they learned to know their friends and kin, so too did they learn to fear the unknown figure, the coming of the stranger” and in MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” while in MAG 111 (Family Business) Jon says “The Stranger is the unknown. The uncanny.” and Gerard doesn’t correct him.

However, a lot of Mr. Bonzo’s behaviours in previous episodes resembles The Stranger (and The Stranger has violently attacked or killed people in the past). Mr. Bonzo is also described as being a clown. Something we know The Stranger has a precedent for manifesting as, probably due to both the idea of the uncanny valley being achieved with a costume or makeup and the idea of a traveling circus full of strangers you don’t know from out of town in addition to a clown costume acting as a disguise that can obscure whoever is wearing it. Not to mention that Mr. Bonzo is described as a suit, which could very easily connect to an Entity like The Stranger. Firstly, The Stranger tends to have a big emphasis on wearing things like skins and suits. Additionally, Gwen mentions in episode 11 “That… abomination wasn’t a costume. That was skin. It was sagging, it was sweaty!” and we know The Stranger has a tendency for wearing skin, skinning things (such as with taxidermy), etc. as a form of disguise, in order to hide itself, or to metaphorically rob something of their identity.

This also applies to costumes in general since usually wearing costumes or disguises can actually obscure who is wearing them and thus their true identity is unknown. There’s also the fact that costumes themselves can easily fall into the uncanny valley. Ever since Five Nights at Freddy’s became popular there’s been an uptick in horror media focusing on how creepy and uncanny things like animatronic suits can be. Not that Mr. Bonzo is an animatronic but it is a suit. Also, Bonzo apparently has hard teeth and having solid teeth on a suit could look uncanny.

The surprise gift and sudden appearance of Bonzo that others assume is some sort of surprise or prank could also tie into The Stranger and the idea of something mysteriously appearing or not being expected. Bonzo was originally made to prank celebrities. As Nigel explains in episode 10 that his produce ““inviting a famous person on, someone really serious, and we tell them we’re going to have them do a segment with a popular children’s entertainer. Now, obviously these folks won’t have any idea about what kids are actually watching, so we could come up with the most horrendous thing, claim kids loved it and see how long it took for the guest to realize that they were the joke. That they’d been “berried”” and “The problem with a surprise prank is that doing it on Saturday night primetime means pretty soon everyone knows about it, and the guests knew it was coming. A couple even requested it. So the prank part of it sort of died, and he just became an SOS mascot. One of my many tormentors in the dungeon. By the end we’d even retired Mr. Six, and it was all Bonzo.” Once again, a focus on surprise and I think it’s interesting that Bonzo loses his punch the more people know about and understand him. Bonzo is a character that thrived specifically on the guests not knowing who he was and did. So a potential relationship with the unknown again.”

In episode 10 Nigel says to Gwen ““Try not to stare. He doesn’t like it when people stare.” Which could relate to The Stranger. While all the Entities are connected, overlap, and need each other for a ritual bringing them into the world to work, with even seemingly opposing Entities bleeding into each other or having overlapping fears, The Stranger can often have an antagonistic relationship with The Eye and forms of being known. The Stranger tends to thrive off the fear of being unknown so staring at something aligned with The Stranger might make it react negatively. In MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” In MAG 165 (Revolutions) Not-Sasha says this in regards to The Eye’s Post-Change world “Do you know how it feels? To be – anonymous? And yet known! To have all the sweetest dread I can create tainted by the relentless gaze of that damned Eye. I’ve suffered enough.” So if my theory that Bonzo is tied to something like The Stranger is correct, that could explain a potentially negative reaction to being looked at for too long since aspects of The Stranger often don’t like it when people try to figure out what they are. This could ring extra true if it does turn out that the OIAR is somehow connected to The Eye.

Bonzo’s eating and biting could potentially be linked to The Stranger’s tendency for odd uncanny behavior, like that time Breekon / Hope ate a butterfly. The fact that this monster looks like Bonzo could also be related to the idea of the uncanny, since he would resemble Bonzo but behave and look a bit off. Also, it seems hard to tell if Bonzo is a costume or a monster resembling a costume which makes it harder to know what he is for sure, and The Stranger loves playing up mystery (think how we never know which character is Breekon and which character is Hope from Breekon and Hope in TMA, and Jon describes one of them as “one half of Breekon and Hope”). Also, Bonzo can only say his name which means you never really know what he’s saying or talking about.

Bonzo killing everyone in the room but leaving someone alive is not a completely unheard of idea. The Entities in general often seem to leave witnesses if in doing so more fear is generated and we see creatures like the Not-Them kill and replace people while ensuring that at least one person remembers what the original persona actually looked like even if no one else does. The reason for this is because if the Not-Them’s disguise was perfect and changed every bit of memory and evidence then there wouldn’t be anyone to be afraid of the idea that someone they know has been replaced by a stranger.

Jordan mentions “I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything, why the cameras weren't working, why it let me live. But I do know why there weren't any bodies.” which emphasizes his confusion about what’s happening. While confusion is often tied to The Spiral, in this case it stems from a bunch of unknown factors and variables, like why there were no other witnesses and why the cameras weren’t working.” As far as there being no witnesses and the cameras failing to work, the Entities are known for usually being on the downlow and not common knowledge but Entities like The Stranger tend to thrive off the fear of mystery and have a precedent for things like mysterious disappearances or hiding people / things. The Calliope I mentioned earlier mysteriously disappeared from the Institute’s archives at some point in TMA and in MAG 092 (Nothing Beside Remains) Jonah tells Jon “We thrive on ceaseless watching, on knowing too much. What we face is the hidden, the uncanny, and the unknown.” Jonah specifically mentions that The Stranger has a connection to “the hidden” among other things. In MAG 102 (Nesting Instinct) Jonah even says that The Stranger essentially hid Jon from him when saying “I was doing everything in my power to locate you. Everyone was working on finding the ritual site.” and “[Irritated] I am sorry, John, that my powers have not yet reached the level of omniscience.” Jordan does say that they know why there weren’t any bodies which implies that Mr. Bonzo probably ate them.

Jordan having trouble remembering exactly what happened actually does have a precedent with The Stranger since the Entity does have connections to memory loss or a loss of identity. In MAG 165 (Revolutions) we see Not-Sasha watch over a Domain that takes the form of a merry-go-round with people fighting over faces. People with no faces must fight over the faces of others to rip them off and regain some sense of identity. When they lose their face it is said “And soon enough they will forget they ever even had one, rest assured; it’s best to step the dance and keep your face secured as much as you are able. Just. Keep. Running.” Jon and co also face memory loss when they interrupt The Stranger’ ritual in TMA and forget who they are and what they are doing for a period of time.

Some other Entities this statement parallels are that of The Slaughter (with sudden brutal and gory violence), The Flesh (via bodily disfigurement by way of losing a hand, Bonzo being described as releasing “some vile mixture of putrid water, rotten foam and rancid meat.” when cut at some point, and Bonzo biting into people), The End (a lot of people brutally die), The Corruption (from the aforementioned vile mixture pouring out of Bonzo), and even The Eye (with the strange and horrifying dreams Jordan is forced to relive over and over resembling how people who give Jon live statements are forced to relive said moments in the form of nightmares over and over). Like always, I have to at least touch on the fact that The Eye doesn’t seem to just be the fear of being watched but also being a witness to something you don’t want to see. Jon can force people to recount and relive terrible moments, Jonah can force information into the heads of people like Melanie and Martin, and in MAG 200 The Eye is stated to have been born from the fear of one’s own eyes showing them too much.

All this being said, I still think the OIAR is somehow connected to The Eye. There’s the cases being like statements but also the fact that they supply sensitive information (such as names and locations) to things like Mr. Bonzo. People like Jonah could almost always know one’s location thanks to their Eye powers and The Eye is connected to the fear of someone / something knowing too much about you (such as knowing where and who you are). I wonder why Bonzo was sent to kill this particular groom when he was just partying? Did the groom know something or overstep some line or was the groom just some sort of offering to appease Mr. Bonzo? How was this person’s name and address obtained? Was it just mundane tracking or something closer to Jonah’s clairvoyance? Nigel acted like he was doing the OIAR a favor so right now it seems like this was a target decided by the OIAR and not necessarily Nigel. Unless you want to argue that the “favor” is aiding in keeping Bonzo pacified, under wraps, or something potentially more mutually beneficial. I wonder if Jordan’s dreams are somehow connected to being directly involved in a case or facing an External of the OIAR? It could also simply be that Jordan is traumatized.

We cut to Gwen and the transcripts say she “is sat at her desk, stunned by what she has just heard.” and she only says “Jesus Christ…” I wonder if this is because the case is unusually brutal or gorey when compared to most others or if she realized there’s a connection between the letter she delivered and what happens in this case. Considering what Lena said it's very possible that some of the cases the OIAR gets are connected to the activity of their own Externals (such as Mr. Bonzo).

ALICE CONT. 

“Gwen? Hello?”

GWEN 

“(dazed) What?”

Getting sucked into a statement like this and statements having a negative impact on one’s mental state are both things we have seen in TMA. Jon had a hard time stopping once he started a statement and at one point Jon expresses worry that Martin was listening to a bunch of statements for Peter Lukas and his plan in regards to The Extinction. Although, it could be that Gwen is merely shocked.

Gwen explains that she met one of the Externals but Alice seems to think Gwen is just referring to some annoying assholes as opposed to any supernatural monsters that takes the form of beloved childhood characters.

Gwen seems to finally wonder the question that I’ve been wondering for a while now:

GWEN 

“What do you think we’re actually doing, here at the O.I.A.R.?” 

ALICE 

“Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet?” 

GWEN 

“We’ve both been here long enough to know this place. We’re not doing good. We’re not just sifting random data. There’s something wrong here.”

ALICE 

“What are you getting at?”

GWEN 

“You never wonder what the point is? Who benefits from all this awfulness?”

ALICE 

“I don’t wonder. I know.”

GWEN 

(sitting up) “What? Really?”

ALICE 

“(portentous) Oh yeah. I’ve known for a while. What we’re doing here, it’s all part of a grand plan to satisfy one of the most unspeakable evils known to mankind... “

Gwen’s on the edge of her seat. 

ALICE 

“(almost a whisper) …the UK government.”

In TMA the point of the Institute sifting through statements and stuff was twofold. Firstly, to feed The Eye but also to set up the lynchpin for The Eye’s ritual with the position of the Archivist. I wonder if something similar is going on here but I can’t say since while you could argue that being an Externals Liaison is like the Archivist and shares the role as being a “living chronicle of fear” (especially since Lena remarked that Gwen should show fear via screaming because Externals tend to like that) Gwen had to blackmail her way into that position. I have no idea who was the Externals Liaison before her or if there are other Liaisons, if there even was one(s) before / with Gwen at all. Also, unlike the Institute, the OIAR is explicitly connected to the government and is meant to respond to things (not just watch). So it’s very likely that the OIAR has a role that is different from just “The Mass Ritual / Institute 2.0.” They could still be gathering fear related to the statements and being observed like the Institute in TMA though. However, even the Institute still wanted the Archival staff to do a good job following up statements and stuff. Jon tries to reorganize the Archives after Gertrude purposefully left them disorganized and Tim corrects Jon about some errors he made when reading some statements. The OIAR doesn’t really seem to care how well or poorly their workers categorize the cases and I don’t know if anyone checks.

Alice’s joke about the greatest evil known to mankind being the UK government feels like foreshadowing considering that the OIAR, and by extension all the Externals like Bonzo, are connected to the government.

Alice’s comment “Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet?” references how stressful this job seems to be.

Conclusion

Yeah, idk. This was a very simple episode overall and it mostly just seemed like it was following up Lena’s point about paying attention to the caseload.

Okay, hold on, before I end this I figured I should actually try to look at the voices in the computer system a bit more closely, since quite frankly, like with the alchemy symbols, I’ve admittedly been neglecting them and not focusing on them as much as I should have. This is because I actually couldn’t tell if there was any kind of correlation between the voices and the kinds of cases they read but a video by Maddie’s Maxis called “This Channel's First Video - The Magnus Protocol Analysis and Theories” (which you can view here This Channel's First Video - The Magnus Protocol Analysis and Theories) hypothesizes that there is actually a correlation. As we all know two of the computer voices sound like Martin and Jon and Maddie argues that the kinds of statements the voices read correspond to something that had to do with the character. For example, in theory NORRIS (Martin’s voice) tends to have statements relating to self-loathing and loneliness. I don’t know what they are feeding Maddie but Maddie is potentially cooking here. So I decided to glance over at some of the statements and see if there are any patterns.

I’m going to start with the theme that seems the most concrete in my opinion. The cases that NORRIS (Martin’s voice) reads seem to often be tied to themes of isolation, losing loved ones, or feeling abandoned. I should make it clear that while I know Martin in TMA is connected to The Lonely I am not saying all the cases NORRIS reads are connected to The Lonely. The mere presence of feeling alone or isolated doesn’t automatically make a statement Lonely related in the same way someone dying, getting attacked, or something taking place at night or in darkness automatically means End, Slaughter, or Dark respectively. Also, it’s important to remember that every Entity, even seemingly opposing ones, have overlap, shared fears, commonalities, etc..

But let’s look at the cases to see if this pattern is really there. The case NORRIS covers in episode 1 involves the Anglerfish, or something resembling it, killing and replacing their romantic partner. Harriet even says “And that voice I have loved for twenty years answered: “Some of him.”” So loss of a loved one.

In episode 3 NORRIS covers a case in which Dr. Samuel seems to feel immense guilt and sorrow about the death of Maddie. Once again, the loss of a close loved one.

In episode 8 NORRIS goes over a report Terrance submits about the effects of brutal liminalism. While no one dies or is replaced in the actual events of the case, Terrance does mention “originally took my role as a night janitor at Forton following a protracted divorce which cost me the majority of my friendships.” So while their partner isn’t dead they did lose a loved one, and if you read my thoughts on that episode you know that I actually think the case has a lot of similarities with The Lonely. The fog, the vaguely familiar but impossible to understand gibberish, people with repeating features, being isolated in a dark void, etc.. Even if you disagree that it’s The Lonely there is still a connection to themes of losing someone close and being alone.

If there was an episode to disprove this theory it would probably be episode 12 since it’s just Bonzo murdering a room full of people. Jordan does say “I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything” and earlier in the case they mention that they believed their coworker by the name of Joey the doorman might have ditched him again but this definitely feels a bit more like a stretch. Jordan does seem to blame the establishment for what happened and this is because from the perspective of Jordan no one came to help despite how obvious and loud the commotion was. Which could maybe tie into the idea of being abandoned or left alone but this is definitely pushin it and it’s clear that our understanding of what kinds of cases each voice reads might expand as the series goes on.

Maddie argues that CHESTER (Jonathon’s voice) seems to usually cover cases related directly to the Magnus Institute. Which is generally true, CHESTER covers the cases of RedCanary spelunking in the Institute’s ruins in episode 1, and the gambling dice being submitted to the Institute in episode 9 for example. But CHESTER also covers the case about Tom wanting to watch Voyeur in episode 5, the case regarding Hilltop Center in episode 7, Gordon’s encounter with the tattoos and Ink5 during construction in episode 11. It’s very possible that these are just related to the Institute in ways we don’t understand yet, for example some of the characters that appear could be members of the Institute or something, but in my opinion this definitely throws a wrench into some things.

CHESTER seems to have a stronger case for a theme of curiosity and a desire to know in general as opposed to just the Magnus Institute. RedCanary investigates the archives out of curiosity, Tom really wants to see the Voyeur movie for their blog, the narrator explains that they experimented with the gambling dice to figure out how they worked, and Gordon keeps talking about how they “just need to see it. I need to know what’s in the water.” As I’ve mentioned previously, The Eye also has a major emphasis on a desire to know and understand something even if it comes at the cost of yourself and / or other people. Hilltop Center still seems like a bit of an outlier here but while Dianne isn’t spelunking through ruins or anything she does mention that she was looking for people to help her work at the center. Which, while a bit of a stretch, could fit with a theme of curiosity or desire to know in the case of Chester. Or at least the idea of something being searched for as a theme at least. 

If you wanted to argue that CHESTER actually related to things being looked for you could say that the case about the gambling dice revolves around the narrator giving the Institute artifacts, and they even say “So yeah, I tell you all about them, how I got them, all that crap and you just… You take them away, right? You accept them? Good. I think. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. It’s how it worked for me, at least. Put them in whatever vault you like, bury them, drop them in the ocean, for all I care. All that matters is that they’re yours now.” So you could say that the Institute was looking for artifacts. You could also argue that the narrator was looking for people to roll the dice, looking for good luck, or started making their way towards Gary when they found him.

AUGUSTUS has a voice I am not familiar with (and we will get to the popular theory in a moment). I can only recall AUGUSTUS voicing one case, I might be forgetting one or something, so I don’t have a lot to go on. AUGUSTUS could be covering really old statements, as Sam notes the one in episode 4 is from the 18th century, or statements revolving around others climbing their way to their top and doing whatever it takes to do so. It’s kind of unclear until I can see some more AUGUSTUS statements.

There’s also some obvious character associations with this theory. Martin, someone connected to The Lonely, has statements reflecting some kind of isolation or abandonment, Jon, the Archivist with a strong tie to The Eye and someone who was strung along while trying to solve Jonah’s plan and learn the truth about the Entities, has statements involving extreme curiosity or people looking for things, and Jonah, someone who is really old and ruthless (so ruthless that they made the world a fear hellscape in an attempt to avoid death), has had a statement taking place in the 18th century involving someone giving a blood sacrifice to play violin super well.

There’s a popular theory going around that the three voices in the computers are actually Jonathon, Martin, and Jonah, and this definitely seems like one of the more credible theories floating around the community to a degree. AUGUSTUS’ unfamiliar voice could be the voice of Jonah’s original body. Jon, Martin, and Jonah were all in the panopticon when the Change ended which could be the event that got them tied to the computers. It could also have to do with being the pupil of the Eye somehow. Jonah and Jon were both the Eye’s pupil at some point and Jon got his position by killing Jonah to take his spot. It’s possible something weird happened like Martin was about to become the Eye’s pupil after removing Jon from the position, giving them this common link, but I can’t say for sure.

Maddie also points out another big thing to remember in the video. I have mentioned that Annabelle seems generally right about what happens to the Entities’ various Monsters and Avatars after the Entities get pulled into the next universe. Monsters, like potentially the Anglerfish, presumably get sucked into the new universe since they are part of the Entities. Other people may or may not get sucked into the universe depending on how attached they were to the Entity. It’s also possible that they will always just be left behind. However, Annabelle also mentions that it’s possible the Entities will take the aspects of a person that are connected to or are a part of the Entity. So, it’s possible that the parts of Jon, Martin, and Jonah in the computer are not them in their entirety but merely specific aspects of their personality or being. It could literally just be their voices taken by one or more Entities for all we know.

We also know that some Entities, like The End, seem capable of making copies or “memories” of people after / when they die. In MAG 154 (Bloody Mary) Eric states “I know that I’m not really Eric; I’m just a memory someone wrote down. It hurts, most of the time. I don’t like it.” So one could argue that the voices in the computers are not the fully sentient original versions of Jon, Martin, and Jonah but “memories” or copies created by one or more Entities. This could also explain why the third voice might be Jonah even though Jonah potentially died before the Entities jumped universes. This voice could simply be The Eye’s metaphorical recollection of Jonah or Jonah wasn’t completely dead when the Entities switched universes. This also means that the voices in the computers could be more malicious than we first assume if there’s a chance they are in actuality not Jon, Martin, and Jonah or are in truth aspects of The Eye or bits of their personalities trying to achieve a specific goal.

As I’ve mentioned previously, the cases the voices read out don’t seem to be completely random. The second Sam is about to give up his search for the Magnus Institute CHESTER spits out a case that is perfect for reigniting his curiosity with the addition of a new clue, and when Celia takes the job the first case she gets is about Hilltop Center (which could relate to Celia’s questions about multiversal and time travel). I still can’t say if the CHESTER or any other of the computers are trying to help Sam or use him for more nefarious purposes.

I’m not super confident about this being the patterns the computers follow at the moment because frankly there isn’t a lot of cases to go off of, and I need to see more AUGUSTUS. It’s also possible that the cases are more variable or context dependant. What the voices read could depend on the person at the computer, for example: it’s possible CHESTER reads a bunch of cases connected to the Institute because that’s what Sam was most interested in. There are also some cases we don’t have enough context behind yet, for example the mysterious figure in the Hilltop Road case could be connected to something like the Institute in some way, or that some of the voices focus on certain Externals Liaisons, people, etc..

If you want another TMAGP theory video to watch here’s one by Pinkelotje: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MX51EHLy7BQ&ab_channel=pinkelotje.

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 22

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

Also, note that we are now going into a pagan village. I wasn't able to find much good information on how they function and are laid out, so much of this is going to be derived from what little information I could find combined with my own ideas.

As the day wore on, (y/n) and Adeline spent hours doing chores together and catching up on everything that had happened while apart. They reminisced about days long past from their little village, all the jokes they'd tell, and the adventures they'd have before everything changed.

Currently, both young women found themselves sitting by a river doing laundry, the sound of children playing in the distance, splashing in the water downstream. (y/n) was casually scrubbing away at some stubborn grass stains in her red dress. Meanwhile, Adeline did the same with one of her husband's shirts. She was attempting to scrub out a bloodstain he had acquired on one of his last hunting trips. One where he found himself tumbling into a ditch. As Adeline told the story of her husband's nearly-failed hunting expedition, she smiled fondly.

"I love him, but he can be so clumsy when he isn't careful," She thoughtfully ran a thumb over the stain before returning to her work. As she did so, (y/n) looked up from hers.

"Adeline, why do you love Tolys?"

"I beg your pardon?" Adeline sounded confused.

"I do not mean to sound rude, I just... These pagans are the ones who attacked our village. They murdered everyone, our parents included. How were you able to find someone to love here? I just don't understand."

Adeline, who arguably would have every right to find offense in this statement, didn't. Instead, she looked on at her friend with a deep understanding in her eyes.

"Your confusion makes sense. I think what helped me was realizing not everyone here was like that. And that Tolys in particular was nothing like the men who attacked our village," She explained. "Tolys is not a warrior so much as he is a hunter. Rather than going out fighting, he makes sure people are fed. Not to mention he's one of the kindest people I have ever met.

"When I was brought here and put to work, I was terrified. I didn't know what would happen to me, even after I began my work with the children. Then I met Tolys. He was kind. Patient. He looked out for me and defended me at every turn. He was my arm to lean on, my shoulder to cry on. Someone who'd lift me up every time I fell. Through him, I learned the language and traditions of the land. And it was through him that, even though I was still in pain from losing all I had ever known, I discovered I could still find happiness. Joy. Peace."

(y/n) took in her words, amazed at what she said. She's found such peace and happiness through this one man. We have both been through Hell, yet she was able to find something through it all. I suppose I am the same.

"I see. That makes sense. I went through something similar at Malbork Fortress," (y/n) admitted, a fond smile crossing her face as a particular knight came to mind.

"Oh? Do tell?" Adeline tilted her head, curious about what her friend had to say. A smirk then crawled across her face. "Tell me, did you fall in love too?" She teased.

(y/n) couldn't speak, her face going bright, berry-red at the question. Adeline's jaw practically hit the ground and she set aside the shirt she was washing along with (y/n).

"Oh my!" She put a hand up to her mouth.

"Oh, shut up," (y/n) splashed a little bit of water onto her.

"Well, did you?" She laughed heartily. (y/n) began to shift uncomfortably where she sat.

"I suppose so," Her voice began to shake, awkwardness taking over. "So um, you remember the knights who used to guard our village, right?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Do you remember the one you teased me about? The albino?"

"Aahhh!" She squealed before the reality of the situation hit her. "Wait, he's a knight. (y/n), you fell in love with a Teutonic Knight?! You know about their vows, right?"

"Of course I do! And if I remember correctly, I had to have this same conversation with you every time you flirted with one of them!"

"Guilty!" She shrugged. "But to be fair, I was only messing around. You actually fell in love with one of them?"

(y/n) sighed, her mood beginning to dampen. "Just my luck, huh? The first time I had ever fallen in love, and it had to be with someone who could not return my affections because of his duty to God. Not that he would have felt the same way for me." Her thoughts turned to how Gillen had been treating her for the past couple of weeks. How distant he had become. She felt her heart begin to ache.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was he like? This knight of yours?" Adeline inquired.

(y/n) gave her friend an odd look.

"I... Sorry, never mind. That was insensitive of me."

"No worries, you are fine. I don't mind it." (y/n) sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She looked off across the running water, allowing the memories to take over. "His name is Gillen Beilschmidt. He's not only a knight there at the fortress but is a doctor as well. And a highly skilled one at that. He was the one who treated my injuries when I first arrived at the fortress. He treated me for several weeks before I began training alongside him as a nurse. He was very quiet at first but was deeply respectful. He made it a point to prioritize my comfort and privacy, especially in a fort of only men. He was exceedingly gentle with me, as well as kind. Though I will admit, a little stubborn. We ended up butting heads a few times when talking about religion, but we managed to work it out, more or less.

"He's also quite funny. I never knew someone who could make nursing comedic, yet somehow, he accomplished that. He looked out for me, made me smile," Unconsciously, (y/n) brought up her hands to her arms, hugging herself. The ache within her began to worsen. "I felt safe with him. He is also quite talented in sword fighting. I have seen him duel before. He moved with such grace and skill. And while I could see he enjoyed it, I understood that his desires lay in the medical field. Among his books and herbs. Watching him work was amazing. So focused and knowledgeable. I could work alongside him for hours."

"(y/n)," Adeline called her friend's name softly, tenderly caressing her face with her hand, catching tears.

Strange, I didn't realize I had started crying.

"But that is gone now. I am no longer at the fortress. And even if I was, the captain wanted me to go somewhere else. And besides," She could feel even more tears coming. "He hardly talked to me for the last couple of weeks. It was as if he had just, I don't know. Perhaps he knew what was coming and didn't want to make it difficult." Tears began pouring from her eyes, and Adeline moved to wrap an arm around her. (y/n) finally began to break down, crying into her friend's shoulder. The ache had become too much to bear.

"You really do love him, don't you?" Adeline's voice was kind and sympathetic.

"I do" (y/n) sniffled and choked on her words. "For goodness sake, what is wrong with me?! All I want is to have him by my side. But what's the point when I know he'd never want me how I want him?" Gillen, I love you. You don't know it, you probably don't even care, but I love you.

She continued to cry, her heart shattering with every tear. As she mourned, another thought came to her mind.

"And now I'm going to be married off, aren't I?" (y/n) looked to Adeline. "You told me that the chieftain wants his men to marry women and bear them children, is that right? You were married off here in the span of a few weeks."

Adeline didn't say anything at first, only biting her lip. She knew all too well that nothing she said would help. She took a deep breath as if preparing to choose her next words carefully.

"You are right. If anything, I would not be surprised if the chieftain is seeking to arrange a potential match for you as you speak. I would wager that sometime in the next few days, you will be called into his quarters."

"How would that go?" (y/n) asked raggedly, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Before Adeline could answer, the young women looked up and saw a few men walking toward them from down the river. Their faces were gaunt and serious, appearing almost like warriors. Their presence sent shivers up (y/n)'s spine.

"I suppose you are about to find out." 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Okay Gillen, where are you? Your girl needs you! As always, let me know your thoughts!

[pockavas]

Halsin - trusting your fears

P.S. First time posting such thing. Hope all will enjoy it.

It was a long and tiring day, after which you didn't even want to talk to your campmates, but to retreat to some quiet corner and be alone with your thoughts.

Covered in dirt and dried blood, Ross decided that this peaceful spot by the nearby river stream is perfect and through its clear and cool water she could shake off the accumulated dirt on her body.

She hurried through her tent to get clean clothes and a special jar of scented oils, with that much-loved mix of rose oil and honey.

She liked a stony spot on the bank of the stream, where she could comfortably sit down and enjoy the refreshment. She didn't strip naked, she decided that there was no need, and started dousing herself with the towel, diligently scrubbing every single spot of blood and mud that she could see. When she decided she was clean enough, she devoted herself to caring for her hair, rubbing the oil in thoroughly, inhaling its relaxing aroma.

Immersed in her work, until the last moment she did not notice the approaching huge bear on the opposite bank, which with clumsy but steady steps directly entered the stream, noisily splashing the water around its powerful paws.

As a ranger who spent most of her conscious time in the backwoods and was intimately familiar with the flora and fauna of the forest, Ross decided it was best to lay low and see where the course of the event would take her. She took a closer look with her trained eye, and thankfully realized she knew this bear, it was Halsin, in his wild form. What a majestic beast he was in this condition, inspiring fear among enemies and respect among allies.

This druid, this rock of nature, was all that attracted Ross. Older, more experienced, wise even, strong and powerful, at the same time infinitely attentive, tolerant, concerned, funny even.

During their weeks together, in camp or on the battlefield, they got to know each other. Ross was definitely interested in him, and more than once she had asked him out for a drink, to relax away from cares and others, but he always refused, managing not to be rude and at the same time saying things that suggested to her that Halsin also has an interest in her but restrains from action.

Halsin Bear entered the stream up to his belly, and in the next moment he transformed back into his human form. This was always accompanied by a blinding golden light and was always impressive. Ross never moved, but he noticed her immediately, their eyes meeting. There was a moment of surprise in his look, and then he became calm as morning light, and a soft smile crossed his lips.

Ross hesitated for a moment longer how to react, seeing him naked to the waist, the water dripping from his hair, his wet body, his broad shoulders, his strong arms. It was a sight that made her hold her breath.

"- Sorry if I startled you!" Halsin said meekly, "I needed to get the goblin blood out of me. Although children of nature, they deny everything she stands for."

"-Yes, I understand you completely. I too felt this need and came here first."

"-But I interrupted you, I didn't mean to disturb your peace. Come, the stream is all yours."-Halsin held out his hands beckoningly to Ross, but she did not reach for them immediately. "-What's wrong, why are you hesitating?" he asked worriedly.

"-Well... I... Do you remember when we shared things about ourselves the first time, and I told you that I was afraid of water. At first you thought I was joking, but it really is. About this I'm standing here in the shallows."

Halsin's expression softened even more, a hint of apology running through him. He stepped towards her, still with outstretched arms:

"- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have underestimated your words then. Now I'll show you it's not scary. Trust me!"

Ross trusted him, he had saved her life more than once and she had saved his. She didn't wait any longer and placed her hands in his, which were immeasurably larger, stronger and surer. Like this, Halsin backed into the deeper part of the stream, slowly and calmly, reading her every expression. After only a few steps, Ross stopped feeling the bottom beneath her feet and panic began to rise within her.

One by one she removed her hands from his palms, clinging tightly to his biceps, then wrapped both arms around his neck as if she were a drowning man clutching a steady log, trying to stay afloat.

Halsin smelled the scent wafting from her hair, his favorite honey, a scent that made him inhale deeply and close his eyes for a moment. He remembered the first time he'd spotted it in the goblin lair, when Ross had saved him from them, saved a raging bear, not knowing if she'd be attacked in return for her help.

Halsin sensed Ross's fear instantly, not protesting but wrapping his powerful arms around her waist to make her feel more secure. She was so small and fragile in his arms.

And what a certainty that was. Halsin was like a monument that you knew would never yield. Every muscle of his felt infinitely warm, despite the cold water. A hug you never want to leave.

"-It's okay Ross, I'm holding you. I'm with you!" - he whispered to her - "There is nothing to be afraid of."

"-I... I know, I'm at peace with you, but it's a fear deep inside me that's hard to fight. Primal. You know what it is! And against nature, it's hard to fight."

Halsyn gently released her arms from the grip around his neck, placing her palms on his chest. She felt his pulse, so calm, steady, balanced. She just had to follow that rhythm.

"-Let me show you how nice it is to let the current wash everything away from you."

Everything needed to convince her was read in his eyes. Holding her hands again, Halsin placed her in front of him, now holding her with one hand on her back and one on her stomach. Without giving her a sign, Ross closed ers eyes, surrendering to her trust in him. She leaned back as if the water were the most comfortable bed, only her face remained above the surface.

It felt like you were floating on clouds, not swimming. For a moment the world disappeared, no stream, no enemies, just her and Halsin's warm hands on her skin.

Halsin was beside her, smiling blissfully, seeing the effect this small gesture had on Ross's mind.

He decided enough was enough. He gently straightened her up and pulled her to him. Ross didn't rush to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw him looking at her. She was all in his eyes, sinking into them. Ross realized that he had been staring at her. That her wet hair fell over her shoulders, that her underwear didn't really hide her nakedness, that her breasts had hardened, her nipples even more, from both the cold water and his unrelenting presence beside her, one of her straps had fallen, revealing part of her tattoos.

She didn't mind it, she wanted him to look at her, and not only that, she wanted more from him, but the current problems with the Shadow Curse, the guilt gnawing at him, made the deflections of her invitations somewhat murky. And she had decided, as much as she wanted it , to respect his will.

And how much he wanted her! But he couldn't indulge his desires just yet, not until the job was done. Until then, everything had to remain in his mind, in his dreams. But he couldn't deny his body. This woman, an excellent hunter, master of the bow, flexible and agaile as his string, fearless in the face of danger, yet so frail and small in his hands, who shared her only fear with him.

Wet, fragrant as spring, with clothes as transparent as morning mist, only hinting at the treasures beneath.

"-Halsin?" - called him quietly by name, approaching him, placing her hands on his chest again - "Halsin?" - even closer now. She could feel his warm breath on her face.

"-I'm sorry, I..., I forgot myself, I forgot I was immersed in the beauty and genius of Mother Nature's creation. I am happy that she trusted me and shared her innermost fear with me. It is a gift that I will keep close to my heart ."

Without waiting for her answer, he led her back to the shallows, leaving her to sit by the jar of fragrant oil.

"-Don't stay wet too long, I don't want you to catch a cold."- he ran his fingers down her arm, to her shoulder, a simple touch electrifying her skin, he put her shoulder strap back in place. A gesture that completely contradicted what he wanted to do - to tear the thin fabric and soak up every drop of water from her skin with his lips.

Realizing that Halsin actually intended to leave, Ross put her hand on top of his while still on her shoulder, the other running through his wet hair that was dripping onto her. Halsin was kneeling next to her, literally casting a shadow, so large he was, encompassing her entire being.

"-You don't have to leave. You can stay and make sure I don't catch a cold."

"-Don't think I don't want it. My desire extends far beyond that, ...but I must stay focused on the dangers that lie ahead. I fear that if I get too distracted, it could cost us dearly.

... And also.... I want to be able to give my full attention to the object of my desire, because it deserves everything, and nothing less. To do otherwise would not be fair, but egotistical on my part."

"-Halsin...."-what can you say against those words, sincere, kind, spoken in the warmest voice -"I will always respect your position. What else could I do?!"- Ross gave him an encouraging smile , behind which there was a slight sadness and a note of disappointment.

She didn't wait for Halsin to leave, got up before him, gathered her clothes and started back to camp. She did not notice that the jar of perfumes was left, a fact that did not escape Halsin's sharp gaze. He reached for the small container, opened the decorated lid. He couldn't resist inhaling the aroma that grabbed his mind and took him momentarily into his dreams where he was holding Ross in his arms, their bodies entwining in pleasure....indulging in their nature.... Even only in his, this vison, this desire, it was so strong that it strained his muscles, from the back of his neck to those between his legs.

Halsyn wrapped his fist around the jar, opened his eyes, a mixture of lust, disappointment, and anger. Lust and passion, struggling with disappointment in himself, that he has to turn his back on the object of his feelings for now to atone for his guilt. Anger at the whole situation, anger at him for almost pushing her away, denying the nature of both of them, and not knowing what the new day and the dangerous world they live in will bring.

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Heart to Hearts

28. Cursed

From this list of gt prompts

AU: A Patient, and Time (Donna AU); direct continuation of Clutter

~~~

The Doctor was quietly ashamed that he didn't see this coming. He'd known since the beginning that Zepheera had lived an abnormally long life compared to the rest of her people, and while that was a curious thing indeed, he thought it best not to look into it at the time. Zepheera had only just been rescued from people experimenting on her, and the last thing he wanted was to retraumatize her.

He was so wrapped up in the accommodations for their new companion that he hadn't given much thought to the implications. She, more than likely, didn't know at first about her ageless nature until what should have been later in her life. One could excuse mistakes they made in the past when they had the morbid comfort of knowing that life was too short to dwell on such things. Old age was the true catalyst for dwelling on past regrets and life choices, and Zepheera was at an age to have reached that point long ago.

Despite all the time they'd spent together lately, the Doctor and Zepheera had never really talked. He knew a lot about her recent trauma, but that was a six-month fraction of her 158-year-long life. This was the closest she'd come to opening up about anything that personal, with the Doctor at least.

So he got up, carefully stepping around the mess he'd made of the console room floor, and cleared a space to sit next to the chair Zepheera occupied. One shoulder gently rested against the seat, and one leg ended up dangling through a removed panel space. He wasn’t facing Zepheera head-on, but they were at least at a passable angle for conversation.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The borrower’s gaze, angled up to watch his approach, turned down to let her short hair hide her face from him. Spotting the tension, the Doctor swung an elbow around to carefully place on the seat so he could lean in; not invading her space, but emphasizing his presence as slightly as he could manage.

He assured her, “You don’t have to worry about shocking me. Not to turn it into a contest or anything, but… Like you said, nine hundred years. Plenty of time to build a bank of regrets myself, you were spot on about that, too.”

Zepheera’s tiny shoulders slowly unwound their tension, and she gave a soft sniffle and brushed her hair out of her eyes without meeting his gaze. She took the time to breathe before she spoke up at last.

“I… When I found out that I was…that I wouldn’t… I was married.”

The Doctor’s hearts sank to hear those words. True to his word, he was hardly appalled, but that didn’t make the admission any less heartbreaking. Clearly, it was a heavy burden for Zepheera, as it took a few more breaths for her to compose herself enough to continue.

“I loved him so much,” Zepheera whispered, struggling to speak around the emotion threatening to close her throat. “And the thought of staying the same for God only knew how long while he…” She reached up to scrub at her eyes, visibly willing herself to keep it together and get this off her chest. “I didn’t know what to do, and I was so scared. All I could think to do was…run away. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

She paused to work up the courage to look the Doctor in the eye. Despite his words, she’d half expected to have made him uncomfortable with such revelations. She found him quite intent and engaged with her story, and the amount of understanding she found in his gaze encouraged more to come forth, along with fresh tears.

“But there's more. Because I didn’t just take away his wife. Without knowing it, I also took away his child. Our daughter." A small hand clutched at her shirt just below the neckline, as though saying what happened aloud broke her heart all over again to the point of physical pain. "And I ran away from her, too, the moment I could.”

The moment the words were out, Zepheera deflated. Her face was buried deep into her hands as she wept quietly, yet viscerally. The Doctor looked on, giving her the time and the space to work such intense emotions through her body. Despite her broken appearance, he knew that it had to be an incredible weight lifted off her heart to admit to.

He waited for Zepheera's sobs to start evening out before reaching a hand toward her. The tips of two fingers gently came to rest against her back for emotional support, ready to pull back if she seemed not in the mood to be touched. She offered no protest, so the Doctor stayed put.

"You asked me how I cope," said the Doctor, practically in a whisper. "I do and I don't, I suppose, if I'm being honest."

He felt the slightest pressure in his fingertips of Zepheera sitting up, still in the process of pulling herself together. He paid that little mind as he adjusted to her movements and went on. "Funny ol' universe, isn't it? Because out of all the people who could have rescued you or met you at any point in all this, we happened to meet. And I completely get where you're coming from."

"You do?" Zepheera finally dared to meet the Doctor's gaze again, and he gave her his best reassuring smile.

"I'm always running. Running from, running towards… can hardly tell the difference anymore. Seems we have that in common," he shrugged as his eyes drifted off to one side to follow his train of thought. "And plenty of times, I've had to grapple with the fact that the people I meet and travel with, they can't do that forever. Over time, they'll fade, and I'll still be here.

"But the main difference is, I knew that from the off. Time Lords don't age, you see; at least, not the way humans or borrowers do. Eventually, our bodies can wear thin, or if you live the way I do, things can happen to us that would outright kill other beings, but not us. Our way around death is to completely regenerate our bodies. Every single cell becomes new, and an entirely different body comes together to begin what's essentially a new life cycle.

"I've done this almost as many times as a Time Lord can physically handle. So many different faces and personalities over the centuries. Traveling a universe full of species with much shorter lifespans than myself, often makes me think that a Time Lord lives too long. I've looked at it as a curse, one only I bear because I'm the only one of my kind left." 

Catching himself rambling, the Doctor looked back to Zepheera. Now it seemed it was the borrower's turn to sit attentively, hanging on his every word. She made no move to interrupt.

"My point being… For lack of better phrasing, it sounds to me like you suffer a similar curse. Only, this long life isn't expected of your kind, so it isolates you from them in a way they can't understand." He watched Zepheera blink back more tears, but she nodded slowly in agreement. "That part's very different from my experience, but I know how that loneliness can feel. I know how those thoughts and those memories can creep up on you, because a part of you can't just forgive and forget. I can't exactly say I'm an expert in dealing with it all in a healthy manner, but… I do cope with it in my own way."

"How?"

A soft smile made its way to his lips, and his gaze slid over to the door that led outside the TARDIS.

"All that traveling… seeing what's out there, meeting all kinds of people and helping them out. I keep moving, and I don't walk away if I can do something when no one else will or can." Turning back to Zepheera, he gave a small shrug and admitted, "It's not perfect, and it won't change the past, but… it does make it all feel worth it, in the end."

Zepheera's gaze remained locked on the door as she pondered his words. It seemed odd at first, that all those adventures he and Donna went on could be a coping mechanism for the Doctor. Still, she could hardly discount it.

She thought back to the little community of borrowers she'd brought together decades ago. Stroke of luck, really; she'd happened to run into a group, and they were in need of a bit of organization. What started out as one good deed led to Zepheera being rather depended on, which was new. For so long she'd kept herself to herself, reasoning that the loneliness was better than having her heart broken all over again. Despite that, those lovely people wormed their way into her affections, and though she did try to distance herself from leadership of any kind once things were well established, she did stay near enough that she could be reached. 

Helping her fellow borrower had been the first proper gleam in Zepheera's life since…

"I want to try again," she declared, finding a strength in her tone of voice that surprised herself as well as the Doctor. Violet eyes reached out to his, imploring him with their stare. "Coming with you and Donna."

The Doctor hesitated only briefly before gently asking, "Are you sure?" He didn't want her to feel he doubted her, but considering her harrowing experience previously, he was concerned.

Zepheera nodded, slow and decisive. Maintaining his gaze, she scooted slightly to the side to place herself in the curve of his fingers. Such a small movement spoke volumes to the Doctor. 

"I think we are alike, as you said. Maybe seeing what you see, helping people the way you do… It could give me the strength I need to keep moving, and not just be stuck like I've been." One very small arm curled under one of the Doctor's awkwardly hovering fingertips, and he let her pull it closer. "I trust you. And I trust Donna. I know I'll be okay with you two."

Feeling the slightest squeeze of his fingertip, the Doctor swallowed past a lump of emotion. This was the most Zepheera had asserted herself in the time she'd been with them. Her final words on the matter very nearly pushed him over the emotional edge, and he knew that her decision was final.

"And…I want to help make other people okay, too."

[microcarbo]

ohh 1, 7 and if u want 11 for the Durge creator asks? I'd love to hear more about your Durge!!

Aaaaaaa thank you a lot it makes me so happy to know you want to hear more! Answering this ask game What or who inspired your Durges design the most? A particular idea or vibe or perhaps another hottie or baddie? Character design comes a lot more easy to me if i think about characters in terms of their lived spaces so my first steps when i'm making up a guy are almost always a) doing a bit of research about the general setting (this blog has a ton of useful posts about D&D lore, i spent a lot of time reading them and the wiki!) and b) using the information i gather to imagine their room/workplace/usual haunts. I knew about durge's child of bhaal's bit already because i happened to see a very cool fanart of the temple before i started playing, so from there on it was a matter of asking myself: what would this dude i got a very general idea of put in a room to make it "theirs", what would fit their vibe? I liked the idea of them keeping a lot of scattered paper, scrolls and books around and from there i made up their interest in history and magic. The temple is home to a murder cult, it has corpses lying around and blood running all over the floors so i went on by wondering how they would react to the smell and found out that i liked the idea of a killer being squeamish about it, someone who would hang censer burners to the walls and obsessively scrub out every bit of gore after a kill, maybe even keep a little collection of perfume vials. There also are a lot of candles down there and they were my main inspiration for their clothing lmao head to toe flowy, wax-white robes. Once i managed to get all these little bits down, i developed further from there while playing and adjusted the details on the go (: Is their personal story represented in their overall design? Do they carry any mental scars or physical alterations from the shit that happened to them? Yes! Their pre-tadpole design features very long robes and a veil and if i'm drawing something related to that phase of their life i never represent them without it (i've read that bhaalists are known to wear it to cover their faces, though i've taken the liberty of making it white instead of black/purple). Even their slayer form retains some scraps of it over its eyes and body. They lose it post forced lobotomy and during the events of act I and II they only retain the robes, which they discard completely after the duel in act III to adopt civilian clothes. Rejecting Bhaal also changes their class from the canon storm sorcerer to wizard, because i like the idea of their magical talents being directly related to their demigod status. I feel like this last bit is particularly relevant to their development because it puts them in the position of only needing to rely on knowledge they have gathered by their own volition (something they start pursuing and studying post nautiloid incident but can't quite indulge before that), and because they actively have to keep nurturing it if they want to keep making progresses and sustain themselves on it. What's your go to medium for their portrayal? Google Docs, a niche notes app, perhaps one specific for writing, Procreate, Clip Studio, MediBang? Hit me with those recs. Do you sometimes mix em up? It truly just is my head and a questionably legal version of PS i got back in 2021.....i can't even say that i have a moodboard or something because while i like researching lore through texts i absolutely loathe gathering references lol I DEARLY WISH i hadn't completely stopped writing for pleasure after high school and that i had put more effort into learning english because sometimes i feel like wanting to portrait something that would work way better in a written format than how it would with illustrations...i want to make it up for it eventually but it's a slow process, so for now art it is hehe

[inthewindandinthewater]

(Can We Be Friends) Pt. 3

A/n: Hi everyone :). First, thank you for the love on the last chapter, and thank you especially to anyone who followed me after reading it. It really encourages me to keep going. This next chapter is a little shorter, but it has more Sirius content.

My classes just started so I won't be able to write as much, so expect either shorter chapters or slower updates. Also please lmk if it's getting hard to tell when the scenes are meant to be set, I just wanna make sure it's clear when the flashbacks are happening (not that it isn't 90% flashbacks at the moment :/). Anyway, thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy this next one.

Warnings: Heavy use of y/n, small arguments, cursing, poor grammar perhaps

Chapter 3

That detention drug on and on for (Y/n) as she worked with Sirius to polish the trophies in the cases outside the great hall. For the first half hour neither of you said a word, until Sirius broke the silence. “I wonder how long this has been a punishment for” He wondered aloud. “Huh?” she said back, not fully understanding what he meant, “Like, I wonder who the first person was that was sentenced to polish these damn things” He said, scrubbing a little extra at a particularly stubborn smudge before giving up with a shrug and placing it back on the shelf. She eyed him, she looked a bit taken aback at what he had said, what an odd thing to bring up and why try to start a conversation now? “I have no clue, but they definitely get their fair share of polishing.” He laughed a little at that “yeah mostly thanks to me and James, but somehow they’re always so goddamn dusty” he replied. She huffed softly and he looked over at her. Some part of him was pleased to have gotten a pleasant reaction, so he tried again. “Do you think Filch comes down here at night and sets that mangy cat on them?” That made her look over at him, a bewildered smile creeping across her feature, “I mean there is a troubling amount of cat hair in here.” He said with an exasperated look, holding her eyes for a few seconds before she began laughing. It was a breathy thing, not a full blown laugh. More like a placating chuckle, something you would do in response to a mischievous child or an annoying animal, but it was a laugh nonetheless. 

They went on like that for a while, Sirius making little jokes and jabs and her either correcting him or rolling her eyes. It made the last few hours bearable, even if they did drag on and on. When they finished Sirius had offered to walk her back down to her dorm, but she had refused him. “And why would you do that?” She had questioned, giving him an incredulous look. “I was trying to be polite, but if you want to be a rude ass then I won’t bother” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. She just huffed, rolling her eyes and turning on her heal in the direction of the dungeons. He thought about following her, about continuing to pester her all the way back to the common room. But he stopped himself, why exactly did he want to do that? He didn’t even like her, so why was he bubbly inside every time she turned her attention his way? It was probably the sleep deprivation. Yeah, it was late at night and she was a pretty girl, his mind wasn’t functioning properly. That’s all. 

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Now, a year later, he still got that feeling in his chest whenever she looked at him. And now he had an easier time swallowing that information, not that he planned to do anything with it. Over the course of a year (Y/n) had managed to prove herself much more tolerable than he originally thought. He could even say that he enjoyed the time he spent with her, although they didn’t get much time alone. She was incredibly smart, not only academically but she was witty too. He had heard some of the little remarks she and Peter threw back and forth, it was hard to stifle his laughter, knowing either of them they likely would have stopped had they known he was listening. She was also incredibly insightful, always dolling out rational advice whenever anyone asked it of her, and on occasion even when they didn’t ask. That was something he remembered about her from when she was younger. She always thought she knew best, and sometimes she was right, more often than he’d have liked to admit. 

It was something that gave Severus a bit of an edge on him and his friends. They didn’t always think things through when exacted their revenge on the Slytherin boy, he on the other hand thought everything out. The four had originally tacked that up to him alone, but upon further inspection they had found it to be her who toned down his theatrics in favor of more realistic ideas. At the time it had made Sirius bitter towards (Y/n), anyone who helped the enemy was an enemy as well. But now that he was older and now that he had the chance to see that logic work in his favor, he didn’t mind it so much. 

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It was a chilly morning at Hogwarts, the late January air swept through the castle and nipped at the ears and noses of the students who were attempting to settle back in after break. There was a quiet sort of atmosphere in the halls, but that wouldn’t last long. No, quiet wasn’t something James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were conducive to, and they didn’t plan to start now. 

The plan was brilliant really, or at least that's what they thought, although it wasn’t exactly novel. The plan was to set off fireworks interrupting Filch's yearly welcome back speech; they assumed everyone would be thankful for the distraction, especially since Filch's “speech” was typically no more than a droning tirade about the new rules he’d be instituting for the upcoming year. After six years of hearing the same thing reiterated twice over every semester, the boys were ready to shake things up a little. The four weren’t quiet about anything, this was one of many things they did not have in common with (Y/n)- who had made an accidental habit of eavesdropping due to her quiet footsteps and unassuming demeanor. One thing she did have in common with the four miscreants though was her inability to leave something well enough alone. 

“You could not have picked a worse way to go about that.” She interrupted, making Peter jump three feet out of his seat. “Godric (Y/n), where did you even come from” Sirius sighed. “It’s the library, Sirius. Anyone could be here at any time, and you four aren’t the most perceptive when you're scheming.” She said, snidely as she rounded one of the couches to sit beside Remus. He smiled down at her as she sat, an action that did not go unnoticed by Sirius who could not help the eye roll that slipped out. 

“And how would you go about it?” The taller boy said, turning his body to face the girl next to him. She turned to match him saying “Well, I wouldn’t hide the fireworks behind the tapestry near the Hufflepuff table, the fourth years sit at that end and they’ve been learn their Incendio charm this week.” Remus nodded, immediately understanding the issue at hand. Peter on the other hand looked utterly lost, so she continued. “They won’t be much good to you if they set off early and burn down the castle.” The blonde let out a small ‘Oh’ and turned to the two boys seated on the couch opposite them. “How were we supposed to know that?” James questioned, “I don’t know, maybe you should be in touch with your student body. Since you are vying so hard for head boy next year, Potter.” She raised an eyebrow at him, to which he simply sat back smirking “Fair enough, (L/n).” “I don’t see you throwing out better ideas.” Sirius finally chimed in. “Actually, if you hid them in the alcove behind the Slytherin table you have a much lower chance of anyone finding them.” The raven haired boy scoffed loudly at that, “Please, you can’t expect us to hide them behind the snake den, that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard” He said, leaning toward her. The three other boys exchanged glances, it wasn’t uncommon for Sirius and (Y/n) to argue for the hell of it, but the tension had seemed tighter recently. “Why shouldn’t you? It’s a perfectly fine plan, unless you are fully incapable of seeing reason” She spat back at him, leaning towards the boy across from her. “Oh I’m incapable of seeing reason is it, how would we even get back to them?” He added; James, Remus, and Peter exchanged yet another glance, he had a point. “Just pretend that you’re coming to see me.” She said simply, her sentence punctuated by the realization that their faces were mere inches apart. 

With that realization they both sat back almost immediately, and for a moment (Y/n) almost thought she saw a slight tinge of red on the Black boy's face. But by the time he was sitting back in his seat it was almost imperceptible, if had even been there at all. “Well then. I suppose that would work,” he said quietly. “Perfect!” James said, clapping his hands together as a means to diffuse whatever had just occurred. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow evening” (Y/n) said, standing to leave. “Goodnight,  (Y/n/n)” The boy next to her said softly. “Goodnight, Remus,” She returned. “Night, (Y/n)” Peter chirped, giving her a genuine smile. She smiled back at him “Night, Pete”, she simply nodded at the two other boys before making her exit. Upon her absence the three of them turned to an unusually quiet Sirius, but with a hand raised in front of him he stopped them before they could begin to speculate “shut it.”

[chryzure-archive]

a century later, and now you ask?

ALT TITLE: somebody take pet names away from gil. he literally has anxiety?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: got a little too serious thinking abt chrysi’s death and the way it makes her think of azure while writing this. suddenly i am thinking abt chryzure instead of chrysigil. on chrysigil day. oh no :((

———

The first time Oz yelled at Gilbert after they reunited was on a lovely spring day, deep into one of Chrysi’s week-long spring cleanings. She’d assigned the three of them—Oz, Alice, and Gilbert—the kitchen, citing that the last time she’d tried to deep clean the kitchen, Gilbert had yelled at her. 

He vaguely recalled the incident—not being able to find anything in the entire kitchen from Chrysi’s relocation of every implement, plate, and spice, for reasons she hadn’t specified—but he had half a mind that Chrysi dramatized the whole incident. 

Either way, it meant that Gilbert wouldn’t have to brave the children’s closets and the dusty mess under their beds. He, himself, had been yelled at by Oz when they’d been children, and he would rather have Chrysi be the one to deal with accidentally throwing away some item of dubious value to Oz than have it be him ever again. 

At least, he had—before the argument. 

Oz slammed down the cast-iron pan with enough force to make Gilbert worry for the granite countertops. 

“What do you mean you don’t call Chrysi by any pet names?” Oz cried. 

Gilbert didn’t know how they’d gotten here. He also didn’t know why it upset Oz so much. It was a bad time for it to come up—when he was looking particularly ridiculous with a polka-dot bandana pushing back his hair (tied with a bow, courtesy of Chrysi), large yellow rubber gloves (well, glove—Gilbert didn’t like wearing the prosthetic after the majority of 100 years spent with one arm), and a blue gingham apron (he didn’t want to comment on this. He’d been gifted it by Chrysi sometime fifty years into their wait, and it held up remarkably—even if now it was only good as a clean-up apron). 

“Now, wait a second,” he started. He held up the scrub brush in his hand as a defense. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Yeah,” Alice chimed in from atop the counter, not helping in the slightest, “what do you mean you don’t have pet names for her?”

Gilbert shot Alice a harried scowl. “You don’t actually care about that.”

Alice smiled wide in that feral, Alice way of hers. “Answer the question, Seaweed Head.”

He opened his mouth, but Oz cut him off before he could say anything. 

“And even if she doesn’t, I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest, face twisted in disapproval. “Why has she even stayed with you for so long?

Heat shot across his face in an old, familiar way that he hadn’t experienced in well over 100 years. 

“We don’t need anything like that between us,” Gilbert protested. 

Oz clicked his tongue in annoyance and rolled his eyes. The cross of his arms tightened in unison with the eye roll. 

“Serious,” he continued, feeling more defensive by the second, and his ears burning hotter still. “She’s never said anything one way or the other. It doesn’t matter.”

Alice sighed noisily from her perch. Gilbert glanced at her to find that she had stretched her hand up to the top shelf to search for the cookie jar he’d hidden up there. 

Catching his look, she narrowed her eyes at him. Daring him to call her out. 

He pursed his lips. With one arm, he didn’t think he could chastise her the way he used to—complete with lifting her entirely off the ground and setting her elsewhere. And besides, he had a rubber glove on. It made his grip less certain. 

Her eyes narrowed further, all the way to slits. Whatever she saw there made her scoff. 

“Useless,” she proclaimed decidedly. 

Gilbert was not going to be insulted by the girl with her hand in the literal cookie jar. “Hey—”

“Indeed,” agreed Oz.

Electricity jolted through him, a hurt he didn’t know he could sustain after so long. He turned to find Oz’s eyes glinting like shards of green glass.

At his attention, Oz lifted his chin, a fearsome jut of his jaw. 

“You said you waited for Alice and I until you guys got married, but who’s to say you’ll even get married when you don’t care enough to give her a pet name?” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. “What—do you not want us married?” 

The thought made him want to cry. 

Expression darkening further, Oz snapped, “Of course I do! That’s why I’m trying to fix your mistakes!”

The ceramic lid of the cookie jar clattered shut behind them, followed closely by the sound of Alice flopping back into a more comfortable seat than before. 

From his periphery, he could see Alice holding four cookies in hand. In any normal situation, he’d be nagging at her that too many cookies would make her stomach hurt. In this situation, he would’ve nagged at her. 

But then Alice said, “Even that blonde bastard has a nickname for Chrysi already.” She crunched down on a cookie thoughtfully, her normal arrogant expression swapping for a simpler, wide-eyed look at the ceiling. Her mouth twisted to one side. “He calls her Princess.”

Oz recoiled at this information. “Still?” He shot Gilbert a dubious look. “You let him call her that?”

Gilbert shifted, heat collecting under his collar. He’d become a bit more comfortable with Jacks’s presence in recent years. To deny Chrysi’s friendship with him was to abandon her as a lover—though sometimes Jacks made it a little too clear that he’d rather that happen. 

Whatever. He dealt with Jacks’s obsession with Chrysi, and Chrysi dealt with his brother with the same patience. Well—probably with more patience than Gilbert dealt with Jacks. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he protested. 

Oz stared at him pityingly. 

“100 years didn’t change anything,” he said. “You’re still totally hopeless.”

Alice chomped on her cookie in agreement. 

And though Gilbert wanted to argue, he couldn’t help but look at himself from the outside view—with his ridiculous bandana headband, a 1950s apron, and his single arm with its single rubber glove—and he, too, wondered why Chrysi was still with him. 

Should he have given her a pet name?

—

“What about lovebug?” Alice offered from her position at Gilbert’s left shoulder, her hand poking from the spot where his left hand once had been. She held a pen aloft in her hand, despite the fact that it wasn’t her dominant hand in the slightest.

Together they sat on the ground—Gilbert in cross-legged front, and Alice kneeling behind him. Oz bent over the paper from his perch on the couch. And Alice’s arm moved in the space that Gilbert’s left arm once took up, one hundred years ago. 

The way her hand moved gave Gilbert the impression that he’d gotten a possessed fifteen-year-old’s arm grafted in the place of his old one. What was that movie Chrysi forced him to go see in the theatres twenty years ago?

…He couldn’t remember. But the hand was possessed, and the way Alice decided she’d play his left arm for the day brought back memories of the cool air of the theatre and Chrysi leaning her face into Gilbert’s shoulder sleepily. 

“Um,” he said.

So far, the brainstorm for pet names hadn’t brought up anything that really caught his eye. Sweetheart sounded too childish for Chrysi, darling too formal, and Gilbert had never really been able to call anybody sunshine, for how absurd the nickname sounded in his voice. 

“Write it down,” Oz said. He eyed Gilbert doubtfully. “We’ll need any help we can get.”

Gilbert frowned up at Oz as Alice dutifully scratched out the letters onto the paper. “I don’t know how many of these really seem like names that Chrysi would like.” 

Like… any of them. Not a single one suited her. 

At least, not coming from him. 

“You don’t know that,” Alice said cheerfully, her face pressed somewhere behind Gilbert’s left shoulder. Her hand scribbled out something else sightlessly. “I think she might like buttercup.”

“Like the girl from The Princess Bride?”

She paused. “The hell’s that?”

Gilbert took a deep breath. 

Oz peered over Alice’s half of the list before Gilbert could chastise Alice.

“Well, you know,” he said, voice breezy, “I don’t think that lice is a very kind pet name.”

“What?” 

After an uncomfortable moment of jostling around Gilbert’s left side—his scars still bothered him at times—Alice poked her head out from under his shoulder. Now it looked like he’d grown a mutant head in addition to a possessed arm. 

He closed his eyes. That wasn’t a very pleasant thought.

The paper crinkled in Alice’s hand.

“No, that says love!” Indignance colored her tone.

Tilting his head, Oz squinted at it. 

“Oh. Never mind. That’s a good suggestion.”

Gilbert eyed the scratchings on the left margins of the page. He still couldn’t quite figure out which one was meant to read as love—or lice, as Oz thought it read. 

Suddenly, Gilbert was exhausted. 

“Is this really such a good idea?” he asked, thinking of the happy moments with Chrysi reading a book aloud and talking to him from her perch on the kitchen island. They’d gotten by just fine.

Oz’s sharp green eyes cut to him and narrowed. 

“Jacks has a nickname for her,” he reminded him. 

Ugh.

“Gil?” Chrysi called from the floor above. 

His head snapped up. That same horrible anxiety he’d thought he’d left behind reared its ugly head in his chest, wrapping about his heart in a stranglehold. 

“Yes?” he called back. Fortunately, the only hint of his inner turmoil was a slight tremor. 

Oz jabbed him in the side.

He bit down on a yelp, but he couldn’t help the spasm that wracked his body. Instinctively, he curved around the electric shock in his side—a delayed attempt to protect himself from Oz’s sudden attack. Instead, he merely crashed onto his side. 

Alice pitched forward onto their page of pet names. The paper protested—it had already been subjected to worse and worser nicknames, scribbled out in both the heavy, non-dominant hand of a fifteen-year-old and the morose hand of a century-old man. 

It took Gilbert a moment, but he managed to flip onto his back to shoot Oz a glare, feeling distinctly like a beetle at the hands of a cruel kid-god.

“Are you going to help with laundry or not?” 

Oz indicated their brainstorming page, crinkled underneath Alice’s scrambling limbs. 

Biting down on a heavy sigh, Gilbert crossed his arm across his chest like a corpse in a sarcophagus. 

“I’ll be right up, dear.”

“Oh.” Chrysi hesitated. “Alright?”

His eyes drifted closed. 

Inwardly, he scratched dear off their list.

—

“Good morning,” Gilbert tried on another day, “darling.”

Chrysi rolled over in the bed to shoot him a narrow-eyed look. 

“What did you do wrong?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction.” She sat up, her eyes still narrowed in the sunlight. “Why’d you let me sleep in so late?”

Gilbert didn’t want to answer, mostly because he was curious about what could’ve possibly happened before he’d been with Chrysi to instill such a strong auto-response that it persisted after a century. 

Well, no matter. 

Clearly darling wasn’t in the cards either.

—

Oz came skittering around the corner before Chrysi did. Though even if it had been Chrysi, Gilbert still would’ve sent the hot pan into the air from the jolt that went through his body.

The pancake he’d been making (caramel M&Ms sprinkled in, because Alice had insisted on using up a packet she’d brought home from school) flew straight up into the air. It hit the ceiling with a hearty thwack. And up there, it stayed. 

The same couldn’t be said for the pan. 

Gilbert leapt back from the stove before the burning metal hit his feet, a colorful curse on his tongue. 

Oz screeched to a halt, his mouth open in an O. “Are you alright?”

Well, as luck would have it, Gilbert was not alright. It was one thing after another, ever since he’d woken that morning to their cat on his face (one hundred years with Chrysi aside, there was still an element of anxiety up close and personal to a cat—especially when said cat was suffocating him under his weight), he’d had to take a call from Glen and set up an out-of-town trip for the end of that very week (annoying, since he’d been actually excited to go to Oz and Alice’s first parent-teacher conference), and he was certain a rainstorm was rolling in (on account of his whole left side set ablaze with agony. The usual.)

He took a deep breath, then exhaled. 

“I’m,” he said, “fine.”

Oz looked unconvinced. Gilbert couldn’t blame him. It took a deep inhale-exhale for him to speak a single word. 

He ached to grab his lighter and his box of cigarettes, but Chrysi’d been trying to keep him from overdoing it most days—and besides, Gilbert didn’t like smoking while he was preparing food. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gilbert stepped back from the remnants of disaster. 

“I can help?” Oz said, uncertainly. 

“No!”

Oz drew up short. 

“It’s okay,” came Chrysi’s voice around the corner—then she was there, holding a bag of groceries that Gilbert needed to finish their dinner. She smiled when Oz looked guiltily at her, her eyebrow arched. “Unless you’re looking for an excuse to procrastinate on your homework?”

His eyes brightened. “Are you offering?”

“Nope.” Her gaze flashed over the state of the kitchen—pausing on the ceiling. Her eyebrow raised incrementally. 

Gilbert flushed. 

She continued, “But I bet you could finish it in ten minutes, tops. Then you won’t have to worry about it for the rest of the night.”

Oz loitered at the base of the stairs, frowning. 

Chrysi rolled her head in his direction. Her smile dropped in favor of a vaguely amused line at her mouth and an unimpressed heavy-lidded look. “Go on.”

“Fine.” But that didn’t stop his desperate glance at Gilbert, begging him to set him free. 

Gilbert mostly couldn’t stop wondering if and when the pancake would peel off from the ceiling and fall atop his head. It would be the icing on the cake of this miserable, miserable day. 

What was more concerning was that it wasn’t coming off at all. 

Oz tramped up the stairs, footsteps dejected. 

Chrysi waited until he’d reached the top before she turned to Gilbert.

“You’d think I’d doomed him to essay work,” she drawled, “when I know for a fact Mrs. Lee only hands out fill-in-the-blank assignments and a video to go along with it.”

He cracked an anemic smile, then flicked off the burner. No need for the house to go up in flame too. “I think Oz would prefer an essay. He’s too smart for fill-in-the-blank.”

“Good point.” 

Chrysi walked into the kitchen and set down her bag of groceries. Gilbert saw her eyes catch on the pancake again. Her mouth twitched.

“Don’t laugh,” he begged. He didn’t know if he’d laugh with her or cry instead. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She bit her lower lip to battle the hitched corner of her lips. Her eyes remained glued to the ceiling. “Do you think that’s going to come down at any point?”

Gilbert couldn’t say.

“Maybe we could get a chisel,” she suggested, as if he’d answered. “Or Goo-Gone. Do you think Goo-Gone works on something like that?”

He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Chrysi planted her hands on her hips. Her eyes grew thoughtful as she gazed up at the half-cooked pancake. Whatever she saw there made her come to a decision. 

“Yeah, okay,” she said after a beat. “I think I can get a ladder and a sponge and Goo-Gone it away.”

Wait, what?

“Er…” He stared at her worriedly. “Don’t do that. Don’t break your neck, love.”

“I wouldn’t… Huh?” 

Gilbert blinked. “What?”

“What did you call me?”

And that was strike three. 

—

He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. He’d become tense at the thought of Chrysi coming around the corner, uneasy with the rapidly narrowing list. Lovebug, as suggested by Alice, reminded Chrysi of ladybugs, and he’d spent the rest of the day squinting in the sunlight while Chrysi hunted for them in their garden. Buttercup ended similarly, though then Gilbert had to also help Chrysi with the weeding—and his shoulder ached from the prothstetic he forgot he didn’t like as much as going one-handed about the world. Angel made Chrysi laugh, and sweetpea made her groan so loud that he’d forgotten what his sentence was going to be in the first place. 

His head hurt. 

Just when he was going to call it—Oz would be displeased, but Gilbert truly didn’t want to try and fight Jacks with an equally groan-worthy pet name—Chrysi walked into the living room with a sheaf of papers in her hand. Clearly aggravated, she rubbed her forehead.

“Can you take a look at these, Raven?” she asked. 

Gilbert leapt up, stiff as a board. 

“Absolutely,” he said. Then, unnaturality burning acidic on his tongue, he rushed out, “Honey.”

Hand still tangled in her hair, Chrysi paused to shoot him an odd look. 

He froze. He hadn’t even reached out for the papers. Now they were just staring at each other, the word he’d uttered sitting between them like an awkward child that accidentally ran to the wrong parents. 

Her gaze flickered over him, mouth hitching. In what sort of expression, Gilbert couldn’t say. Anxiety black-spotted his vision—another mainstay of a set of nervous, humiliated emotions he hadn’t felt with Chrysi since last century. 

Why’d Oz have to bring up something like that?

“Oka-a-ay,” Chrysi replied. She tilted her head. “Thanks, peanut butter.” 

He furrowed his brows. “What?”

She handed him the papers instead of replying. 

“Alice bit another kid at school yesterday. We have a meeting with the teacher.” She paused. “Again.”

And with that cheery note, Chrysi walked from the room.

—

Chrysi still had nightmares sometimes. They both did.

They’d gotten better over time, but… 

Well, Gilbert had no clue what Chrysi went through when she’d died. All he knew was that he was grateful she didn’t stay dead. 

If she had, he thought he might’ve gone insane waiting for Oz and Alice alone. 

That night, Gilbert woke to a suspicious lack of Chrysi in the bed, and he knew precisely what sort of nightmare had struck her this time. She always went wandering whenever she dreamt of that night in the Abyss—before it had returned to the golden-lit dreamscape with Alice’s twin sister, the Intention, and they’d visited regularly with the rest of the Baskerville clan.

Normally, he let her wander. But, with Oz’s fear of Gilbert losing Chrysi, he also found himself wondering if maybe he hadn’t been attentive enough to Chrysi’s needs. 

So he pried himself off the bed and stumbled blearily through the house. No amount of rubbing at his eyes cleared his vision—which was just as well, with the blackness of the house. It wasn’t like he needed to see anything anyway. 

He found Chrysi in the downstairs living room. She hunched over on the edge of the couch, holding a rod with a string and a feather on the other end, only the light of a lamp perched on the set of drawers to see by. 

Half-heartedly flicking the feather, Chrysi looked blindly over the room. 

Gilbert eyed the shadows—but not even their orange tabby showed himself. Odd. 

“What’re you doing?” he whispered. 

“Oh.” She stopped waving the feather around. Slowly, she leaned back in the couch, until she reclined over the armrest, her eyes foggy with sleep still. “Raven. You’re awake.”

He stared down at her, worry tightening in his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t a girl play with shadow cats on her own time without being questioned?”

“What?”

She smiled wryly. “Don’t worry about it. Here.” She scooted a bit on the couch and patted the spot next to her. “Come here.” 

Gilbert obliged—mostly because standing there in the shadows alone unnerved him, just a little. Though Chrysi seemingly wasn’t playing with their cat, he couldn’t be certain Megalomaniac wouldn’t come pouncing out of the shadows to attack his leg. It he did, they’d have a cat flung off into the nothingness and two kids wondering why someone yowled like the damned in the middle of the night. 

Squeezed between Chrysi and the arm rest, Gilbert thought only of the way their shoulders pressed tightly together. Sometimes, only that connection made things manageable. 

He breathed out long and low. He laid his head atop Chrysi’s.

She paused, then leaned her head down slightly, pressed into his shoulder. 

Gilbert’s neck would protest later, but for right now, he didn’t mind.

“What was it tonight?” he asked softly. 

“What is it any night?” she replied. She pressed harder against him. “Just… before.”

Gilbert waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. 

How frequently did she do that? How frequently did Gilbert let her do it?

“Before what?”

Her sadness filled her voice, made distant by her fatigue. “Before everything became something I could handle again.”

Oh. He knew what that meant.

Back when Azure died.

Gilbert didn’t get anxious or jealous anymore. Sometimes, he even wondered if he would’ve gotten along with Chrysi’s dead fiancé, if they’d ever had more than two conversations. He hoped so. At least he knew that, in the last moments of clarity, Azure was happy that Gilbert could be there for Chrysi. 

But he knew what those nightmares did to Chrysi. She’d been the one to find his body and she’d been forced to take the brunt of Azure’s father's rage when she did. He couldn’t even fathom the agony she felt when she realized that it was Mordecai LaFaye who had his own son killed. 

“I’m sorry,” was what he mumbled. 

She sighed and shrugged—something he felt more than he saw. “It’s over now. At least when I’m awake.”

Gilbert frowned. 

He wrapped his arm around her, feeling distinctly useless. This was the best he could do. 

He wished he could do more. 

Chrysi began nodding off, nestled against his shoulder. She pressed into his side. 

The weight and warmth of her felt so familiar that Gilbert wanted to fall asleep here too. The temptation only tempered itself with the knowledge that they’d both wake up sore and uncomfortable. 

What cruel god made it so that a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in would only mean pain upon waking?

“Alright,” Gilbert said, fighting the sleep threatening to overtake him. “Let’s get up, dream girl.”

With a half-asleep, delirious laugh, she stirred against his shoulder. 

“Dream girl?” Her voice lilted like a lullaby, unfiltered from the cleverness that normally trapped her in the daytime hours. “You have never called me that before.” 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a quick kiss across the lips.

When they pulled away, she looked at him with sleepy, gold-sparkling eyes.

“Where in the world has your head been lately, Gil?” 

Heat colored his cheeks, but Gilbert allowed himself a tiny, sheepish smile.

“Worth a shot?”

“Sure.” She laid her head on his collarbone. 

Gilbert anchored her to him with his arm and stood. With her grip around his neck, he lifted her easily. “Never again?”

Chrysi hummed sleepily against his neck.

“No,” she answered. “Probably not.”

No surprises there. 

Gilbert sighed.

—

Chrysi finally snapped after a week. Honestly, Gilbert couldn’t blame her for it. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d chosen that particular pet name, besides utter desperation. Even Oz called it a last resort—but they couldn’t have known that Chrysi would have such an aversion to all the other, more acceptable nicknames.

He walked in from the en suite bathroom, toweling his hair dry. Chrysi sat on the bed, reading. Lamplight haloed her curls and gilded the slight furrow to her brow. 

Gilbert couldn’t tell what that meant. Once, it was abject horror in response to step-cousins being reincarnated lovers. Another time, it was delight at a character being blown up in half by gingerbread-scented smoke. Just because Chrysi was an expressive reader didn’t mean that he knew what the expressions meant.

She didn’t look up as he came in. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Yeah, babe.” 

Ugh. Even just saying it, Gilbert wanted to crawl out of his skin. Like all the others, it sounded wrong coming from him.

Lifting her chin, the book in her hands snapped shut. Chrysi tossed it onto the nightstand and sat back, threading her fingers together in her lap. She eyed him seriously.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

Gilbert hesitated, the towel slipping over one of his eyes. His heart rate kicked up. “What’re you talking about?”

She opened her hand and gestured vaguely. “I have not heard my name from you in over a week. What’s going on?”

The whole week crashed down on him. The nervousness that he hated, that he’d tried to leave behind, and the weird looks Chrysi shot him, and the entirety of Oz bothering him over it. His limbs trembled, weak from coiling and tensing like a wrung-out towel. 

He dropped the towel to the ground and crawled onto the bed.

On instinct, Chrysi opened her arms. 

He gladly took the invitation. 

Gilbert laid his head on her chest, curling his arm around her. Her heart steadily beat under his ear, warm with each breath she took.

Fingers already carding through his hair, Chrysi asked, “So what’s been going on, Gil?”

Shame flushed his cheeks. Somehow, he’d gotten swept into one of Oz’s ridiculous schemes. Things really didn’t change, not even after a century apart. 

But he didn’t want to admit that to Chrysi.

“I feel bad,” he said instead. 

Her hand swept his hair away from his face. “Oh yeah? Why would that be?”

He tilted his head, just so that his ear pressed closer to the thrum of her heartbeat. 

He’d almost lost that once. No, scratch that—he had lost it, once. And still, despite that, he’d never given Chrysi a term of endearment. What was wrong with him?

“Jacks calls you princess,” he mumbled. 

This made her soothing strokes pause.

“Hmm.” The noise vibrated through her chest like a purr.

Gilbert allowed his eyes to close as he settled into it. One hundred years with Chrysi meant a bit of desensitization to his fear of cats. 

“He does,” she agreed. She tapped a thoughtful pattern over his skull. “Does it bother you? ‘Cause I can get him to stop. Easy.”

He shook his head. He wasn’t expressing himself right.

“No, I mean… the pet name… thing.” Ugh. He wished he didn’t have to explain this. Even just speaking it aloud made his face burn. “It’s just… I feel bad.”

“You already said that. I also still don’t know why.”

He wanted to bury himself in Chrysi’s arms and not think about it. The honeys and the sweethearts and the dears, darlings, loves. For some reason, none of them sounded right when he thought about using them in the place of Chrysi’s name.

Gilbert mumbled, “We’ve been together for over one hundred years and I still only call you Chrysi.”

She paused. “Well… yeah.” Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp. “Have you ever considered that I like being called Chrysi?”

He didn’t say anything. He hadn’t, not really. He hadn’t thought about the way he referred to Chrysi in the first place—the first time that it had been brought to his attention was when Oz complained about it. 

She laughed and it warmed Gilbert’s ear. 

“We’ve been together for over a century, Gil. I guarantee you, that’s more than enough time for me to have brought it up, if it really bothered me.”

He shifted. “Really?”

The smile in her voice wrapped around him like another hug. “Of course. Why, did Oz make you feel bad about it?”

He didn’t say anything. 

“Oh, Raven,” Chrysi groaned. “Oz said you needed to propose to me publicly with a diamond ring, remember? That didn’t work out, now did it?”

“Well,” he started.

“He also dressed up like a girl and followed you when you went out with Dahlia to ruin your relationship with her,” she reminded him. 

He grimaced. It wasn’t his best moment. “Oz really wants you as a sister-in-law.”

“And he’s super sweet for that. But he’s already got me as one.” 

Gilbert lifted his head. 

Chrysi’s eyes lingered on the ceiling, lamplight making her eyelashes angelic. Her mouth relaxed into a faint smile.

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful.

Her eyes flashed down to him, the curve of her mouth twisting uneven. 

“Well, I didn’t stay with you for over a century for no reason. Just call me Chrysi like you always do, and there won’t be any problems.”

He smiled embarrassedly. “It is a bit silly, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Gil.” Chrysi beamed at him. “That’s why I fell for you in the first place.”

[ahsokathegray]

I Bleed the Same || Twelve

Pairing: Rexsoka

Summary: Ahsoka and Rex try and make sense of who and what they are after Order 66 occurs. Figuring out what to do with themselves, they remain together for a period of time before parting in their own directions.

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of Order 66, ptsd, injury, death, and future nsfw situations

Word Count: 2,756

A/N: a shorter chapter than what I've been producing, but also the last slow one! things will be picking up and moving fast from here on out. also, rexsoka week 2022 starts this sunday 12/4 so keep an eye out for my one shots! (they're to blame for this week's short chapter lol). final note... would anyone like a playlist dedicated to this series??

read on ao3! / series masterlist

The things that went through his mind during her absence horrified him. Every worst case scenario he could imagine was running rampant in his head. His brothers, Maul, the citizens — anyone killing her and him having to leave without her. Rex struggled to keep his train of thought from derailing. 

He dug the plastoid he’d found on Jabiim out of his pocket and began mending the blaster shot in his pauldron. That shiny had hit him with pure luck. It was honestly an impressive shot. He’d be congratulating the rookie if he hadn’t been aiming to kill. It was about as perfect as he could get it, the color was close too. It was no 501st blue, but it would do the job. Once they had more proper materials, he’d focus on getting it more exact.

Rex's internal conflict had returned at full momentum. 

His nervous ticks began to set in. It started with the bouncing of his right leg, then rubbing the back of his neck. Rex then clasped his hands together to try and keep them still, only to rapidly tap his thumbs against one another. It wasn’t long after that he stood from his spot by the water and started pacing. 

R7 beeped at him. 

“I know how long it’s been… I’m just worried about her. I can’t be patient. You should power down R7, we don’t want to draw any attention.”

The droid gave a solemn beep and Rex felt bad for hushing him.

Waiting wouldn’t be so bad if he’d had something else to distract himself with; something to keep his hands busy. His usual solution to this problem would be to clean his blasters — take every small piece apart and scrub them all individually until he could see himself in them. This was neither the time or the place for that. It was, however, something he did need to do eventually. 

He wished for a distraction. Distractions had become a way for him to escape his worries. He’d nearly worried himself to death over Ahsoka when she left the Jedi Order. At this point, he’d spent most of his life worried over her. He figured he’d be doing just that for the remainder of it, too.

Focusing on negative outcomes didn’t benefit him in any way. What were the positives? He thought of the last good news he received. 

The day Skywalker told him she was coming back was the best news he’d received since finding Echo alive on Skako Minor. Good news had become scarce.

The General had trusted him with the box that housed her lightsabers. Besides her silka beads, they were the only other indication that she’d been real. Rex had longed to see them again after Anakin told him she’d left them with him. All he ever got were glimpses of her Padawan beads in her Master’s chest pocket. 

After the box had been handed over to him, Anakin rushed off to retrieve their Commander.  

While the boys nervously chatted and admired their paint jobs, Rex turned his back to them and started to lift the lid of the box. He hesitated at first… heart racing at something so small. A deep breath helped him regain some clarity and he opened it. Ahsoka’s lightsabers. Just as she left them. Just as he remembered. 

When he’d laid his eyes on her again after all that time, it took everything in him not to run up to her, pick her up, and lock her in the tightest embrace he could manage. His heart swelled three times its size at the sight of her. She’d grown and grown even more beautiful than before, if such a thing was possible. He noticed that her lekku were longer as well, more shapely, the chevrons in her pattern were starting to become complex.

Her anticipated reaction to the helmets had made him anxious. It was a rush job in truth, but she seemed to enjoy them nonetheless. He wished he’d come up with the idea himself, but it was actually Jesse who asked if they could paint their helmets in her honor. Jesse wanted to join in, but he and Rex agreed to keep their buckets as is. 

The irony stung.

Right when he thought all the excitement had died, she’d ignited her twin sabers. 501st blue. His blue. 

They were gone now, for good. Left behind on that moon, with the rest of the men and remnants of their now previous life. She’d parted with them for the final time. 

Rex left a defeated sigh loose and went to grab the datapad from the ship. He sat back down by the river, outstretching one leg. He needed to stop moving so much. If the situation were switched and it was Ahsoka who was waiting, she would have begun to meditate. It was either that or tinker with the ship and R7, but he thought he knew her well enough to know what she’d choose.

Although, she hasn’t meditated since everything went down. 

He gazed across the water. It was still and looked like glass. Small insects skated around the surface, creating the tiniest of ripples. Rex took a few breaths, trying to recall how she explained meditation to him.

“You just take deep, even breaths. Focus on that. Once you get it down, listen. Listen to everything around you. Don’t hone in on only one thing. You’ll notice everything humming and buzzing with life. Go past that. There is where you’ll find a center. When you’re still, and calm, and everything goes quiet then you’ve reached the destination. You can stay there as long as you like.”

She was much younger when she’d offered him that explanation. It was a lot of words with not much actual direction. His first attempt at meditation would not be tonight. Focusing on anything but not losing her was an impossible task. All he wanted was to see her climb back down the towering cliffs that she had effortlessly scaled earlier. 

When she returned to fight Mandalore’s battle for them, he didn’t think for a second that he’d be back in this position. Yet, here he was again, yearning for her safe return to him. 

He settled on scrounging the public online databanks for news on… Well, just about anything. 

The battle droids were being decommissioned effective immediately following the Declaration of New Order. Hah! So long clankers. Maybe not all good news was gone.

Decommissioning of the clone army was currently being determined by Admiral Tarkin. Rex knew the man left a bad taste in his mouth when they’d rescued him from the Citadel. The report stated that the Admiral was making regular trips to Kamino to oversee operations. Yeah, Rex had a feeling that Kamino would be under heavy surveillance. 

It was looking like something called chain codes were being enforced as well. Now everyone would have an assigned number, not just the clones. Rex couldn’t stop finding the irony in each of these situations. 

He then found the article on the Declaration of New Order he saw mentioned further up in the feed. Footage from the Senate was attached. He put the datapad on low volume and played the holo of Chancellor Palpatine’s speech. 

“Citizens of the civilized galaxy, on this day we mark a transition. For a thousand years, the Republic stood as the crowning achievement of civilized beings. But there were those who would set us against one another, and we took arms to defend our way of life against the Separatists. In doing so, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within.

The Jedi, and some within our own Senate, had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy's leader. They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures.

The Jedi hoped to unleash their destructive power against the Republic by assassinating the head of government and usurping control of the clone army. But the aims of the would-be tyrants were valiantly opposed by those without elitist, dangerous powers. Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple and quelled uprisings on a thousand worlds.

The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. Any collaborators will suffer the same fate. These have been trying times, but we have passed the test.

The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning.

In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for 10,000 years. An Empire that will continue to be ruled by this august body and a sovereign ruler chosen for life. An Empire ruled by the majority, ruled by a new constitution.

By bringing the entire galaxy under one law, one language, and the enlightened guidance of one individual, the corruption that plagued the Republic in its later years will never take root. Regional governors will eliminate the bureaucracy that allowed the Separatist movement to grow unchecked. A strong and growing military will ensure the rule of law.

Under the Empire's New Order, our most cherished beliefs will be safeguarded. We will defend our ideals by force of arms. We will give no ground to our enemies and we will stand together against attacks from with or within. Let the enemies of the Empire take heed: Those who challenge Imperial resolve will be crushed.

We have taken on a task that will be difficult, but the people of the Empire are ready for the challenge. Because of our efforts, the galaxy has traded war for peace and anarchy for stability. Billions of beings now look forward to a secure future. The Empire will grow as more planets feel the call, from the Rim to the wilds of unknown space.

Imperial citizens must do their part. Join our grand star fleet. Become the eyes of the Empire by reporting suspected insurrectionists. Travel to the corners of the galaxy to spread the principles of the New Order to barbarians. Build monuments and technical wonders that will speak of our glory for generations to come.

The clone troopers, and proudly wearing the name of Imperial stormtroopers, have tackled the dangerous work of fighting our enemies on the front lines. Many have died in their devotion to the Empire. Imperial citizens would do well to remember their example.

The New Order of peace has triumphed over the shadowy secrecy of shameful magicians. The direction of our course is clear. I will lead the Empire to glories beyond imagination.

We have been tested, but we have emerged stronger. We moved forward as one people — the Imperial citizens of the first Galactic Empire. We will prevail. Ten thousand years of peace begins today.”

Rex’s entire body burned. Every single word the man spoke was a lie. The Jedi would never start an uprising. They were not the enemy. 

He couldn’t speak for Krell, or Barriss, or any other Jedi turned Sith. To Rex, the Jedi were the epitome of peace. Sure, they had their faults, even Ahsoka saw the clarity of that. But they weren’t evil.

They’d but hunted down and defeated, along with their collaborators. Rex already knew he and Ahsoka were walking targets, this only confirmed it. She wasn’t even a Jedi, but his list was steadily growing. 

He was a deserter, an enemy of the Empire for refusing a direct order, and a Jedi conspirator. 

His brothers… The stormtroopers had all taken part in executing Order 66. They had all rendered the Jedi extinct. Rex felt sick. 

This so-called New Order was not about peace. It was about control, complete control. This Empire, this Imperial rule would not go unchecked. Rex vowed to uncover the truth and get to the bottom of what had happened to them, to the galaxy as a whole. If anything, he would do it for her. Someone like Ahsoka deserved so much more. She deserved better cards than the ones she had been dealt. 

~~~

As promised, Ahsoka did return. He stood at attention. She said nothing. Rex’s shoulders dropped as she walked into his arms. He wrapped himself around her small form, holding her close and tight, convincing himself he could shield her from the galaxy if he wanted it badly enough. 

“He’s gone,” she choked out, hand gripping the armor on his bicep. 

He further enveloped her, “Was he with her?”

Ahsoka inhaled a shaky breath and pulled away, “No… Bail told me. He didn’t say how.” She held out her hand, revealing an oversized comlink. 

Rex took it from her outstretched palm, knowing there was no tracking element but checking the device anyway. 

“He said that it’s easy to get lost with everything that’s happened, that we have a duty… an obligation to uphold when we’re able. I tried to refuse it… He insisted I contact him if I needed anything at all,” she recounted slowly. 

Rex processed the information. They had at least one ally. One was better than none. He hoped that other Senators shared Bail Organa’s same philosophy. After what he heard on the holonet, surely there were others who knew how wrong this all was.

“We should get going,” she suggested and slipped away from him. Rex placed a hand to the middle of her back and guided her to the open hatch of their ship. 

He saw to it that she got in comfortably before following suit. The engines powered up, and he lifted them off of the ground and into Naboo’s indigo washed night sky. It’s a shame. For how beautiful the planet was, it now only looked haunting to him. The last time he’d been here, both he and Ahsoka had almost died. 

There was that irony again. Somehow the cold, emptiness of space was more welcoming than the planet itself. Rex moved to look at the forlorn Togruta behind him. She had a hand pressed to her cheek and was leaned up against the glass.

“We can’t go back to Jabiim… At least for the time being,” Rex stated. 

“No,” she agreed, “We cannot.”

Based upon the holo, he knew he needed to figure out everywhere that was no longer safe. Coruscant would be one planet and Kamino would be another. More would follow and soon.

Suddenly, Rex remembered one brother in particular, a brother that the Empire wouldn’t know about. The deserter. His mouth fell agape. She gave him a look, wondering what loop he’d just found for them to jump through. 

“The deserter, Cut Lawquane. Early in the war, we were sent to Saleucami. I was injured… He helped me. I have to warn him about the chips.”

Ahsoka didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, but nodded with fresh determination, “Let’s go find him, then.”

Rex returned her nod and began punching in Saleucami’s coordinates. Hope beat in his chest. He might still have a brother who didn’t want to kill him. Whether that was true or not, they’d find out soon enough. 

The ship hurtled into the route and they began back the way they came. Rex's mind was so scrambled when they’d been on Jabiim that he didn’t think about how Saleucami was so close. They’d been right there the entire time. Choosing to hide out on Jabiim had been the best choice they could’ve made.

“Look, Ahsoka… This may be difficult for you to hear right now,” Rex started, the blue of hyperspeed dancing across his facial features. 

She pressed her lips into a firm line, preparing for yet another blow. 

“You’re gonna want to watch the holo on that datapad.”

He motioned his head down to where he’d placed it back into her pack. The footage was still pulled up. Rex asked R7 to take over for them. 

Her features fell with every word the self-proclaimed Emperor uttered. 

Rex wished that their seats were not compartmentalized, he felt helpless with only a small piece of ship between them. There was nothing he could do except listen as she cried and watch as her tears fell onto the screen in front of her.

[sabrinamichele]

Coming back up for air

(i.e., 2022 was really fucking hard, and 2023 wasn’t much better)

It has taken me such a long time to get here. “Here” representing so many things for me, but we’ll start with finally feeling like me again. To feel happy, to feel peace, to feel something past the hurt and grief that I inevitably feel when something has ended and that, this time around, represents not one, but two relationships ending in the past year (for good), as well as the end of one of the most trying and stressful situations I’ve experienced with the loss of the place I called home—time and time, and time again. Throw in an unexpected job loss and you’ll have a sense of what 2022 and 2023 had in store for me. It’s one thing to go through all of those stressful, hard situations, but it’s also another navigating the incredible empty space left in its wake. Something I have had a lot of since then is time and peace, which I have learned is especially uncomfortable when you realize your normal has been chaos for so long. Both of which I have been learning to lean into, to find ‘me’ again in what I can only say feels like a new chapter. As cliché as that expression is, it feels fitting after so much heartache, loss, and change. And when I say loss, I don’t mean just romantic relationships, but unfortunately friendships as well. 

Something I have realized recently in the time and space left for me to process everything is how much of my writing has been focused on the relationships and their endings. I don’t think I’ve ever spent time dwelling on or talking about the grieving, the healing, and, hopefully at some point, the closure that comes after something ends. I think, in so many ways, the reason is because I didn’t know how to. All I knew how to do was feel—all the raw emotions, hoping that at one point it would stop or I would have someone (new) to help me forget the hurt and pain the last person caused me. I think it’s only now, in the absence of chaos and distractions, that I’ve been forced to face it: the grieving of a relationship. And processing all of it—the good, the bad, what you need to take away from it, and what you need to truly, finally, let that person go, for good. I’m grateful for the humans who have showed up for me in this space of life. It’s hard for me to talk about it—any of it, because the last few years have felt…well, it feels like I have been scrubbed raw in so many parts of my life. I have had two big, big loves; both broke my heart, each in their own way, but I think the biggest and hardest part for me was that I could see it. “It” being a life with him. It was the longest and the closest thing to the relationship I have been looking and longing for—and yet, also not what I deserved or needed. In each of the loves I have felt in the past eight years, I cannot regret falling for either of these two men either; but with that said, the hurt that each one inflicted—it’s the kind of pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. As hard as it is for me to admit here, it’s a pain I feel even more keenly as I identify as a highly sensitive person. It’s not something I have ever felt comfortable sharing before, but as I openly talk about grief, loss, and healing it feels only appropriate to share this. I don’t just ‘bounce back.’ I don’t date or love casually. I never have. I love and feel deeply, and the magnitude of the pain I feel when it ends is commensurate to the love or feelings that I felt for that person. Every loss is a bit different, the pain feels a bit different, but I will say, this most recent loss, it gutted me. There really isn’t much more I can or want to say about the man or the relationship, but I want to at least acknowledge its existence. I want to say this, and then no more: 

I got to feel what it is to feel love beyond the beginning stages. I got to feel cared for in a way I never imagined possible in a world full of selfish, and unsafe love. I got to imagine a life spent with this person. And as amazing as all that felt, it was all the more devastating when it came crashing down. Despite all that happened, and all that was said, he burned us to the fucking ground, and as hard as that was, I am at least left with the knowledge, and the undeniable truth, that I deserve so much more. I deserve better. And as hard as it has been, I can now grieve. I can heal. And I can move on. And I am. I have. I’m just doing it alone, and that’s okay. 

I think a big reason why I feel I want to write about it—not just the hurt, but also the grieving, the healing, the moving on, is because, 1) I want to acknowledge this space; it’s not just a gap in my writing—hard shit has happened and I haven’t been okay, but also, 2) It’s only now that I can finally write about it because I do (finally) feel like I can. I can’t write about a hard break-up when I’m still “in it.” It’s far too triggering trying to and it can even put me in a dark place mentally just trying to write about it too quickly. Even here, writing these words, it has been fucking hard. Thinking about it has brought these feelings back, and with them tears, but I do truly feel like I have grieved; I have moved on and I have closure, so I feel safe to finally go there now. 

— — —

Picking these words up again, months later, it all feels exactly as it did when I first wrote them, and yet, also so much farther away, but in a good way. It’s been almost exactly a year since one of these relationships blew up, and while that pain is still there (even now), when I think about him, about us, with each month that has passed, with it has been healing, and I do finally feel good again—like ‘me’ again. While that closure and space hasn’t brought with it a new relationship, it has left me with the knowledge and confidence that I am ready for all that I am wanting. I don’t know the when, or the where, but me—who I am today—is ready for a different kind of relationship, a different kind of love. And I can’t tell you how good that feels. Am I never going to make mistakes again? No. Am I going to easily navigate dating someone new for the first time in a very long time? I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think and hope that I will do so better with each time I attempt to. But I also know that I am going to navigate it as me. I’m going to keep communicating. And with each person, be more honest (clear is kind, unclear is unkind). And continue practicing the hard things for me, namely, asking for what I need. And I already know this version of me is already the best version of me that’s ever been, and I love that. I’m so fucking proud of that. 

— — —

I suppose it’s safe to say that with it taking me this long to write this—across three separate writing sessions, now—it is a testament to how hard it has been for me to write about this. Initially I didn’t know how to speak to a relationship that, on its head, was complicated and never public knowledge. Then, following me finally finding the words to start talking about it, “Okay, how do I actually end writing about this?” Not that every story has to be prettily wrapped up—to essentially “put a bow on it.” But, to still find a meaningful way to close this. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and how I want to speak to it, but the completely honest truth is that I feel there is an expectation from the people who read this (for lack of a better expression) to hear a “happy ending.” “The girl in our story has her heart broken, time and time again, but she’s finally met someone. She finally has someone who lights her up. Who feels safe. Who when she talks about him, she lights up like the fourth of July.” But the hard truth is that this still hasn’t happened. To steal a quote from a dear friend, every time I have a glimpse of something, every time I have hope, water gets poured all over it. I still think this may be an entirely different post—that I have dated, mostly unsuccessfully, for close to nine years. I repeat, “Nine years.” In this space I have fallen in love, and I have had my heart broken, five times now. Which doesn’t even include all of the other men I dated that I wanted to feel safe to fall for, but never did. So how do I speak to all of this? I will speak my truth. Even when it’s painful and inconvenient. I am still just me. I am still so unbelievably strong, resilient, and to add a new word a new friend recently shared with me, “brave.” And this last word feels fitting as being strong for so long feels so incredibly exhausting. I can’t tell you how long I have craved to have someone to lean on in these hard moments and seasons that life has dealt me. But it hasn’t. Life hasn’t given me that, for some reason that I can’t begin to comprehend right now, because I know all that I am and all that I have to offer. I know how amazing and deserving I am. So I am brave. I am brave every day that I get out of bed and face what life has to throw at me that day. I am brave when I go on that date (again). And I am brave for (somehow) not letting all of the bullshit harden me. For not becoming jaded. For somehow still having this incredibly big, soft heart. But, with all that said, it’s a heart that has zero fucks left to give, who will kick anyone to the curb who disrespects her, her time, or is a shitty fucking communicator, or who doesn’t match my effort, so fucking fast. (And no, I am totally not venting about how shitty the men of Sacramento are right now.) laughs I am proud of the woman I am today. Even if I never imagined, nine years later, that I would still be single, I see all the versions of me that have come into being in these nine years—each one stronger, more secure, more confident, more owning all that she fucking is than ever before—and I am so proud of this woman. Even if, and maybe especially because, she is alone. And while I still hope for and want a partner in my life, I feel very proud of the life I’ve created, just me. 

Going back to where this all began, nine years ago—me finding myself again post my ex leaving/my divorce, I wanted to create a life I was excited and proud of. I knew in this rare moment, I have the capacity for real change. And I fully embraced it. For the better. What I couldn’t comprehend then, but what I’ve witnessed is continual growth. An evolution into the best version of me that I could have ever hoped for. With all of that said, I recognize that this doesn’t make finding someone easier—if anything, it’s much harder—because I know myself, I know what I want/deserve, and I abso-fucking-lutely will not accept anyone’s bullshit or shitty behavior any longer. So yeah, the bar is set high. But I also wouldn’t have it any other way. When I think of how best to put this, I think of what we tell our children to aim for in life: 

Aim high. Go all in. Shoot for the stars! Because you can do anything, baby. The sky’s the limit!

Cliché? Maybe. But I’m being me. And I’m aiming high. I feel blessed to have gotten to experience and feel each of these loves, as hard as each fall was; I still felt that. And there’s no coming back from that. There’s no replacing true connection. True chemistry. The person you can talk to for hours. Who feels like home when you’re with them. I don’t know why life has been so cruel these past nine years but I have to trust there is a reason. And as I stare down my next birthday, a new decade, I can’t help but believe it’s the beginning of another new chapter for me. Frankly, this particular chapter has been so bad I almost want to call it a new book. Whatever I call it, I sense big changes are in store, and I am actively willing them into being, even if life seems dead set at laughing at my attempts to speed up her timing for my life. Even so, I still believe big and beautiful things are in store. And yes, there is my seemingly never ending optimism to wrap this up. Yes, I do laugh at myself a little for it, but to that I can only say, I have to hold onto hope. Hope that this hasn’t all been in vain. Hope that ‘it’ still exists. Can exist. Just as I exist here, writing these words. So that one day a different kind of story can be written. Until then, I promise to keep being the painfully honest Sabrina you know me to be. And I promise to share more soon. Currently just trying to make it out of what has been an incredibly long, hard, sad season. But with the arrival of Spring, and the promise of a beautiful Summer, I feel that I am coming back into myself. And I will continue to keep showing up. To keep being brave. And to keep trusting: There is so much more in store. And it will get better. Soon.

Until then, sending my love. Always.

Sabrina 

XO