#and theoretically this is health and not my field

[uswe]

Oh hey did u kno a1c (the way blood sugar over time is measured and a diabetes diagnostic) isn’t a number in isolation, it’s specifically in relation to hemoglobin (which is why it’s also called hba1c) and the numbers can be fucked up by anemia?

Anyway I’m going to try to put together an actual for reals study because I am mad as all hell, but poll time!!

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[ponett]

with the fallout of bandai namco's idiotic "it's up to interpretation" bs, do you think that it's possible to enjoy queer media made in a corporate environment in addition to independent works? is it even worthwhile to attempt making queer media in a corporate environment? i find it special how well the g-witch production team managed to tell the story they wanted even with the challenges and pressures they faced, but i have to admit that independent works like slarpg are always going to more completely tell queer stories. as someone who has resonated with both slarpg and g-witch, i was curious to know your perspective.

i'm probably less cynical about this than a lot of my peers are - not that i can blame anyone for feeling cynical about queer rep from corporate-owned media. (we've been through so many First Ever Gay Disney Characters at this point, and lord knows blizzard loves to tease that another overwatch character might be gay every year or so as a PR move.) unfortunately it's just extremely hard to get something like a full season of an animated series funded and produced independently, so the artists looking to enter these fields and pour their hearts and souls into meaningful queer stories as a full-time job don't have many options

going indie gives you theoretically endless creative freedom to tell your stories without corporate censorship, but it's also a massive gamble. only an extreme minority of indie creatives in any medium are actually able to make a living. the fact that i came out the other side of slarpg's development with enough money that i can keep being a full-time indie instead of being in massive debt makes me one of the lucky ones. and even with my modest success, i sure as hell don't have the money to hire a whole team, which limits the scope of what i can make. so i can't turn my nose up at the queer people writing disney channel cartoons where they can't say the word "gay" out loud. they have health insurance, i don't. for most people, what i do is simply not an option

with the corporate-produced Queer Stories i enjoy, i'm often able to squint and see what the creatives were trying to do, wishing that they could have done more while understanding that they probably had to fight tooth and nail for what's there

in the realm of children's animation in particular, i'm thankful that the people working at these studios ARE fighting for more, because it means that kids today have so many more positive queer stories to relate with. i didn't have a single gay character i felt i could relate to until i read scott pilgrim at age 16 and saw wallace wells. before that, i felt so alone in the world. i denied who i was for years because it felt like there would be no place for me. i didn't know anyone openly gay in real life, growing up in the south, and in fiction gay people either existed as the butt of a joke or not at all. the fact that queer kids are now able to see people like themselves in so many shows means something, even if we still have a long way to go and the big studios continue to be a major obstacle

on the subject of g-witch, i'm honestly unfazed by the statement from bandai-namco. i guess i wish they could've let suletta and miorine kiss, but like... the text of the show is extremely blunt about them being a couple by the end. it's not up for debate. and it's not like a gundam series having a meaningful story in spite of the wishes of the toy-producing overlords is anything new, this is just our latest example

all that being said, i do think people should branch out more and explore more weird indie shit if they want more wholeheartedly, openly queer stories. people gotta suck it up and embrace more outsider art instead of only valuing things with studio-level production values. start looking at ren'py visual novels, rpg maker games, obscure webcomics, zines drawn in sharpie, artists on bandcamp who aren't signed to a label, all that jazz. maybe part of the reason why i'm not more fazed by the state of affairs with corporate-funded fiction is that i'm constantly surrounded by furry artists who are telling their own little gay stories

[max1461]

I am, as usual, a counter-example to everyone's claims about higher education on all sides of the discourse, because I have a really weird academic history.

In summary: I was identified as a gifted kid at ~5 years old. Parents didn't act on that information because they didn't think accelerated classes would be good for me. Enrolled me in what I affectionately call a "hippy school", which I attended from 1st grade all the way through 12th grade. Before high school our work wasn't even graded, and homework was optional. The first time I ever had a piece of work graded I was 15 years old, in 9th grade, and it was terrifying. I don't remember what I got. Even in high school things were still incredibly chill and flexible, and grading was lenient. The first standardized test I ever took was the SAT.

As a kid, I had a hard time learning to read. I probably have undiagnosed dyslexia. Also, because my education was so flexible, the fact that I preferred to do other things over reading meant I got more practice at those other things, probably creating a bit of a vicious cycle. I liked math, and was good at it. When I got to high school, there were not enough math classes for me—this was more a consequence of the school being small than it being a hippy school. Nothing was offered above Calc 1. So I started studying math on my own. Actually I started studying math on my own before even taking Calc 1, because I didn't want to wait. I learned about complex numbers and some other stuff from YouTube lectures, but things really took off when I found out about proof-based math and started working through a copy of Herstein's Topics in Algebra in the summer before my junior year. I learned about groups, rings, fields and whatnot, how to write proofs, etc. I loved it and decided to major in math when I got to college.

I still couldn't read regular books at a rate much faster than a couple pages an hour, and I cheated on or blew off all my English assignments. I remain remorseless and regretless about this.

Around this same time I also discovered conlanging, and through that, linguistics. Somehow I started reading linguistics papers when I could find PDFs of them; I still don't really remember how this happened, in an episodic or theoretical sense. Like, I pretty much could not read, right? But I was reading linguistics papers? I think that I was skimming them + looking at the tables + way more interested in them than in books, so I was happy to spend a few hours on them. Plus papers are shorter than books. One way or another I learned a lot of linguistics, and decided I was going to major in linguistics when I got to college.

I was also struggling with some pretty bad mental health issues in my high school years, so a lot of it went by in a blur that I struggle to remember the details of.

I took the SAT three times, over the course of like a month? Or, I think the first two times were practice tests, administered in a realistic environment because I was taking an SAT prep class. I didn't pay much attention in that class, but getting used to the testing environment was kind of wild, because as mentioned, I'd never taken a test before. The first time I took the SAT, I scored dead average. The second time was ~200 points better (this is when the test was scored out of 2400), and the final time I took it I scored... 2100 or 2200? Something in there. I just remember that I got a perfect score on the reading comprehension section. I was a faster reader at that point, but more importantly the passages on the SAT were all short, so I had time to read them. And I guess my comprehension was good.

Other than the really bad mental illness, which had little to do with school itself, I enjoyed my high school years a lot and am glad I went to a hippy school. I think it was directly beneficial to my intellectual development to get to fuck around and place my intellectual energies where I wanted to place them, and I think it was good for my social development to get to blow off responsibilities with relative impunity as a 16 year old. I don't think I would have learned higher math if I had become accustomed to learning things in a spoon-fed way from an established curriculum.

Anyway, after all that, I got into a semi-elite college. I won't say much more so that I can't be doxxed. I had a plan to double major in math and linguistics, which I did. I was actually, before going, completely terrified of having real responsibilities for the first time, of actually having to go to class, actually having to do the homework, as the professor set it out, and not being able to just sort of talk my around the parts I didn't want to do. I had never had that experience before!

Miraculously, it went perfectly fine. I had basically no trouble adjusting to this new way of life, and ended up doing very well in college. I took a lot of hard math classes, and did well in all of them, and found that I greatly enjoyed the fast-paced, lots-of-work-and-lots-of-deadlines life (completely contrary to everything I had experienced up to that point). For this and other reasons, I enjoyed college even more than high school, and had a very good time there.

Uh. But yeah I still pretty much couldn't read, like, in the way other people read. I mostly still can't. In 2020 when I timed myself I was reading at 10 pages an hour but that pace was fucking painful, like it took all my concentration and exhausted me. Books my fucking nemesis. Also got a perfect score on the GRE reading comprehension section though.

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon,

I'm a recent grad planning to apply to psych PhD programs in the fall with the plan to pursue a career academia (despite how much I know it'll suck I've thought long and hard about it and truly don't think I would be as fulfilled doing anything else). My research experience has been in cognitive development and I keep on being drawn to questions about autism. I am Autistic myself and pretty much think the way we have historically thought about cognitive abilities in autism is garbage. I want to pursue my questions but am honestly terrified about trying to fight my way through the current status quo in autism research.

You're one of very few people I know of in the realm of academia with views on autism that I actually agree with and respect, so I would love your thoughts. Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into autism? Are there any researchers who you've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? Do you have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person?

Anything you can say to these questions would be much appreciated, thank you!

I'm the type to be brutally honest rather than uplifting and encouraging, so you know, take that into account when adjusting for the skew of my answers.

Any time a person reaches out to me seeking advice on pursuing a graduate degree in psychology of any kind, I advise them against it for the most part. The field desperately needs more research conducted by Autistic people, for Autistic people (and other neurodivergent groups) but I have never known a graduate program to be anything but extremely abusive, exploitative, ableist, and ill-suited to preparing a graduate student today for the reality of academic life as it now is. These mfers are playing by a rulebook that was tired in the 1980s and its downright detached from reality today. My graduate experience was so traumatic and disillusioning that I chose to abandon academic research or any hope of having a tenure track career altogether. Everyone that I know was either completely abused and traumatized by their advisor, or pod personed by them and transformed into exactly the kind of passive aggressive liberal manipulative ghoul that had once mistreated them. Graduate study ravaged my health and my self-concept.

Is there hope for actually Autistic individuals pursuing research into Autism? Well, there is a growing body of research by us and for us. Journals like Autism in Adulthood do give me hope, and help nourish me intellectually and improve my work.

Are there any researchers whom I've seen building community with Autistic people and listening to Autistic voices? All the ones that I've seen actually operating in practice use methods of communication and workflows that are profoundly inaccessible and harmful to us, even if they are incredibly well intentioned and open to the idea of neurodiversity. There is a lot of decent research coming out these days finally, but I don't know how all of that sausage gets made.

Do I have any advice for surviving in the field as an Autistic person? Make sure you have a very robust support system that exists completely independently from academia. Make sure you have a complete and rich life that has nothing to do with academics and do not give up even a SHRED of it, even if it means accomplishing less and taking more time while you are in school. Have hobbies, friends and loved ones you see daily, a spiritual or physical practice that helps you offload stress, vacations or little adventures within your community that renew you, and work that is applied and grounded rather than just basic/theoretical research. (especially needed if you're in cognitive psych land. shit gets so fuckin abstact and divorced from reality).

Read a lot of fiction or practice some art or do something creative that has nothing to do with your graduate studies. Do not sign up for meaningless committees. Poster presentations do not matter and don't help your CV much at all. Most committees don't either. Read the book The Professor Is In and the blog that goes along with it religiously. Do not trust your advisor. Do not expect your dissertation to be perfect and do not make it your most ambitious project, focus on making it something you can get done quickly that is just "good enough." Cultivate skills that will be useful outside of academia. Do not assume you will ever get an academic job. Read the statistics on how many PhDs there are relative to how many professorships. Speak to people who work outside of academia who have the credentials you are getting. Know how to market yourself and get a job outside of academia if you have to -- consulting especially may be a good fit if you are Autistic and not suited for a 9 to 5 in an office.

Grill any potential advisor at any program you are considered for, hard. if they are defensive being asked questions about their working style, their leadership style, their former students, etc, that means they do not like ever being challenged and that is a red flag. Ask to speak to *FORMER* students. Not current ones. Current ones will not feel safe being honest. Ask for job placement data for graduates of their lab. Look up reviews. Do not pay for graduate school, only apply to fully funded programs otherwise they are scamming you. Remember you can leave at any time. good luck.

[izzyspussy]

i don't remember what it is in canon and i haven't made it there again yet on the rewatch BUT. i always like... idk if i really had this interpretation of the text or whatever, but i like to THINK that when ian was away between s3 and s4 he didn't stay local or even nearby the whole time. i like to think he really traveled around a lot and like obviously a lot of that time was really very bad and he was in a bad place and doing dangerous things with dangerous people, but some of the time it was good! some of the time he made real friends who cared about him, some of the time he had real fun that wasn't a mania or drug high or solely for avoidance's sake, some of the time he learned new things and had new experiences and so on.

but anyway sometimes. i also like to think about a canon divergence where maybe in the middle of this, ian meets a psychiatrist or a counselor or a neurology professor or a mental health crisis responder or maybe a foreshadowy emt or some other kind of guy who would be able to correctly recognize many of ian's symptoms and who would be confident enough about his opinion and skilled enough at de-escalation to bring it up with him without scaring him off right away.

he met this guy at a bar or a party or through a friend or whatever, and he tried to seduce him, but the guy is miraculously not a fucking pervert freak shitheel unlike most of the men ian has met in his life and won't sleep with an underage kid. no, ian, not even an underage kid who is barely even underage. no, ian, not even an underage kid who's birthday could theoretically be tomorrow because actually an eighteen year old is still too young for him.

and ian has decided to take this as a challenge and has been staying with him, and the guy chose his field and profession in it for a reason, you know, he's a helper, and he really means it, so he's letting ian stay without rent or favor and he's trying to help him more on top of that too. (and at first probably ian is just convincing himself he's taken getting turned down as a challenge, though he is genuinely convinced the guy is attracted to him no matter what he says - which is maybe not totally untrue, but also he really is just a kid to this guy so it's more like a 'wow he's going to grow up hot and he's already on his way there' kind of thing - but he's really subconsciously latching onto this guy for a fucking break because he's been mattress surfing for his living space for months and honestly even while he was manic and hypersexual it was getting exhausting if only because not everyone you go home with when you go home with someone every night is going to be someone you'll actually be good in bed with and anyway maybe just maaaayyyybe he's starting to miss staying in one place for more than a week.)

ian met him at the tail end of a manic phase, when he was still way up there but it was fading off and he was getting tired. and i know in canon he had to have been gone for less than 9 months, but for this it kind of has to be longer even though he's almost certainly rapid cycle - wait nevermind i just looked it up and apparently rapid cycle is "4 or more cycles in a one year period" so that's one of each phase every three fucking months my GOD (but also rapid cycling usually isn't permanent so at least there's that, but still. goddamn). fucking shit man, in 9m ian could have cycled 3 entire times, provided he has very short maintenance phases if any while unmedicated. jesus. okay well. where was i.

oh right, okay. okay, so ian is at the tail end of his third manic phase of this period (which is about at the 9m mark, so i am still extending his period of absence beyond what it was in canon a bit) when he meets this guy. and he's done this twice now, and the first time he was half lucky half not and he'd already had someone he was welcome to stay with for a little while when this happened so he was housed and fed (inasmuch as he would eat the food he had access to) and that for at least part of the depressive phase before that person got sick of him and dumped him at a shelter like a pound puppy they changed their mind about. but the second time he wasn't lucky at all and didn't have anything lined up, and he ended up on the street and he's highkey refusing to look back on it but if he did he'd probably have to conclude that he only survived that because of other unhoused people helping him out as much as they could and the miracle of mild, dry weather the whole time.

all that to say, while he is absolutely camped out on the treacherous muddy river banks of denial about it, he does know what's coming and he knows he needs to find someone with a lot of hospitality for him to take advantage of and he needs to find them really fucking fast because he could have a whole week left or he could go down overnight. so he meets this guy, and he's hot enough that ian would like fucking him now and won't rather kill himself than let him do whatever later, and he looks like he has money, and he's familiar with the place they're at or maybe even knows the server/cashier/whatever so he probably lives around here, and he's charming and polite and kind in the few casual unglamorous ways you can see a person be when they're a stranger in a public space which really say more about a guy than grand gestures anyway. he's basically a first choice option, so because of the time constraint and because he doesn't want to have to take a downgrade, ian's approach is maybe a little bit- well. i won't say desperate because this is my precious baby i'm talking about here, but you can go ahead and think it for yourselves. quietly.

and the guy turns him down for sex, turns him down for a date, sees through all of ian's attempts to feign interest in anything he might need or want the guy's help or input on, like say attending the university he teaches at if he's the neurology professor or writing an article for a made up publication about ways to handle a crisis situation without calling 911 (and why you'd want to) if he's the mental health responder or the emt, etc. so ian is giving up, and he's having a pretty hard time not losing his temper about it, and he's having a pretty hard time not feeling genuinely rejected even though he knows they both know his ulterior motives were a higher priority than real attraction on his own part, and he's having a pretty hard time not getting really really really scared about what if the next guy says no too and the one after that and the one after that and he either has to settle for someone who will hurt him or what if he just dumps himself at the shelter but they won't take him either or he wears out his welcome there too or what if- so it's really very obvious how upset he is, and it's really very obvious it's not hurt feelings or bruised ego at being turned down. and ian is charming and polite and kind in all the ways that indicate a stranger is kind, and he's just a fucking kid, so the guy says listen. i'll buy you lunch - it's not a date! - and if you need a place to stay, i have plenty of room.

and also okay let's say. they have lunch, and over lunch they discuss the specifics. the guy does indeed have money, and he's single - not married! ian kinda wants him lol - and he also owns his own practice or for whatever other reason has a really nice private office that he's allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants with an no one else ever needs to use. so ian can stay at his house with him if he wants, where there's more space and it might be a little more comfortable physically speaking, but where the guy will be all the time and will have habits and guests and other things that might bother or be bothered by ian. or ian can stay at his office, where it's smaller and doesn't have, you know, amenities, but ian will have it all to himself for the bulk of the time, with the guy only coming and going for a few hours here or there on weekday afternoons.

and like i said. ian is getting tired. it's not just that the mania is fading, not this time. he's kind of getting a little sick of the lifestyle. it's exhausting, even when technically his energy is endless. and he's... maybe starting to feel just a little bit bad about himself, and then he feels bad for feeling bad because he's not doing anything wrong, and every now and then the drugs and the sex and the travel and the dancing and the club lights and the interesting new people that ian doesn't have to love and all the other things and even the dissociation and hysterical optimism on the upswing can't keep out a tiny but persistent little trickle of regret as some of the consequences for a few particular big decisions start to slowly, piece by piece, sink in. so even though he is, allegedly, trying to seduce this guy, he picks the office.

so he gets set up with a sheet tucked around the couch cushions, pillow, blanket. guy tells him the address, leaves a piece of mail in case ian forgets with a bunch of takeout menus ("old fashioned," ian flirts, gesturing to his smartphone and its location services and doordash app). he finishes out his last few days of mania crashing back to the office in the wee hours of morning, then spending the days really giving his all into getting this guy to sleep with him when he comes around to do whatever he does here for work. no dice, but the guy mostly just seems amused with him, and he's kept every word so far, so ian keeps himself from getting anxious about it sometimes with drugs and sometimes with giving it a rest and just genuinely getting to know the guy. and it's actually pretty nice.

then the depression hits, and ian hates himself and everything he's ever done. he would never have made it in the army anyway and he couldn't have gotten into college either and now he's an unfeeling junkie whore and he'll never be anything else. his siblings will never forgive him and mickey hates him and mandy's already forgotten about him and nobody else ever loved him because he didn't give them any reason to. they all deserve to live without him, and he deserves to die without them. and he doesn't eat and he doesn't shower and it should be easy to sleep after he can't even remember now how long he was up especially when he's so exhausted it actually physically hurts but he doesn't sleep either.

and the guy realizes maybe not exactly what's up, as in 'this kid has rapid cycle bipolar type 2', because diagnosis is complicated and takes time and shouldn't be done by anyone who isn't both trained and asked to do it. but he does realize ian wasn't the way he was because of the drugs and he's not like this now because of drugs either, and he also is informed enough about these things to know what's up beyond that more than just 'something is wrong with him'. at first all he does to help is get some immediate needs met. he sets out clean replacement bedding within ian's arms reach so if ian gets struck at some point by the inspiration to change them out he won't have to do any extra work and might be able to actually do it. he gets a bunch of nonperishable single serving finger foods, meal replacement drinks, bottled water, and leaves those within reach too. he opens and closes the curtains when he comes and goes, so that ian can get a little bit of sun but won't be bothered by the light when he can't get up and close them himself. unfortunately he can't move the bathroom closer to the couch, but when ian sometimes has to make use of one of the empty water bottles, the guy disposes of them for him without a word. he makes sure he doesn't leave anything in the office that could be easily used to seriously hurt oneself. he spends more time there just in case.

eventually it passes, and ian climbs out of it - though at a much more gradual rate than he dropped from mania. when ian gets close enough to sea level to start trying to apologize, that's when the guy makes the first attempt to talk about the situation. obviously that goes poorly, but it could have gone worse. he leaves it be there, but he does start picking strategic books off his shelf, sitting on the couch with ian (companionship is helpful, and also it forces ian to at least partly sit up), reading them a bit (he doesn't pretend; it's always good to refresh the info), and then 'forgetting' to put them away.

there's no tv in the office, you see. and there's only so fucking much you can do to entertain yourself on a smartphone (if you don't read fanfiction lmao). no mobile game or social media site can fill the hours of every single day for weeks on end. so. ian reads the books. and he learns some things from them that still definitely for sure do not apply to him, but are good to know, you know, as like general knowledge. or in case monica comes back. (it doesn't occur to him to think in case one of his siblings ends up having it; he knows it's him, and according to the stats he'll most likely be the only one. it also doesn't occur to him that he wouldn't already be back first when monica hypothetically showed up again.)

after a certain amount of books, the guy tries bringing it up again. ian still brushes him off, but not quite so firmly. he leaves it be again.

soon enough ian gets all the way back up. he knows he's "normal" again by how it feels inside his head, even though he is of course still exhausted, sad, and lonely. he goes back to flirting with the guy, but there's no intent behind it now and they both know it, which is the only reason the guy finally starts flirting back. it's just for fun. he's still hot as fuck, hotter now than when ian first met him really, but whatever attraction ian had before is pretty dead now. he doesn't think friendship would work out real well for them either, to be honest. even not accounting for age and all the other vast expansive differences they have with, as far as ian knows, having the same sex and orientation being the only thing they do have in common, there's also the part where this guy was a total stranger when he threw out ian's piss bottles for him. that's just a very strange - and, for ian personally, kind of humiliating - starting point for anything.

but speaking of things that are kind of humiliating... the more time ian spends around this guy in a stable and rational state of mind, the more he realizes he's ian's type. ian's real type that is (as opposed to his opportunistic and/or strategic type). he's got dark hair that cuts a striking contrast against his pale skin, with some silver mixed in. blue eyes. not the kind you'd describe as "baby blues". icy blue, maybe, even when they're not cold. clear and piercing. sharp nose, elegant neck, broad shoulders. plush lips for a white guy, with a kiss hidden at the corner like wendy darling. smaller than ian but he'd be in the same weight class; it shows when he takes off his blazer, when he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. he flirts like it's a fight he's already winning, but he'll happily throw it if you can manage to get a hit on him. ian's in a similar spot this guy is about him now. it'd be like meeting your boyfriend's dad if your boyfriend's dad was hot and not a worthless evil scumbag; you're not attracted to him, but someday you'll be attracted to someone who looks just like him.

once ian finally lets himself think about mickey, he can't stop from thinking about everyone else too. he's exhausted, sad, and lonely, and he misses them so much, and he doesn't want this to be his life. he wants to go home.

the only problem is... he's in fucking. kansas city or something idk. he's in kansas city, broke, and a fucking mess. he could make his way back to chicago the same way he got here, but that would take a long time and a lot of doing things he just doesn't fucking want to do right now, or ever again. at least that's how he feels about it at the moment.

he could call fiona. he could call lip. he knows he could, and either one of them, or fucking both of them probably, they'd instantly drop fucking everything and drive all the way here in the fucking ice cream truck to come get him. but they'd know. they're going to have to know anyway, eventually, but he's still pretending he doesn't, and they wouldn't pretend shit. or if they did they'd be ass at it. they'd see him and they'd know and they would start dreading the next time he leaves, the next time he needs them to deadlift him off of rock bottom, right then and there.

he could call mandy. she probably couldn't get to him herself, not without help, but she would figure something out if he really needed her to. she wouldn't know. but she'd ask. she'd see him huddled up under a pile of stinking dirty blankets on a stranger's office couch, in equally dirty clothes, limp hair, pale with dark circles, too thin, not yet a year after he said he was obliging himself to the united states government for four. she'd ask, and he wouldn't tell her, and they'd both hate it. and besides which, she can really only get the help from strangers ian couldn't stand seeing him like this, or lip. or mickey.

he could call mickey. he doesn't know if mickey would drop everything and drive all the way here to come get him. he doesn't even know if mickey would answer the phone. he wouldn't know and he wouldn't ask, and ian doesn't know if he would let ian tell him if by a strange twist of fate ian wanted to for some reason. but he knows mickey still loves him. and he can already hear mickey's voice in his ear with his phone still face down on the table. so he calls mickey.

i'm a voyeur (lmfao. obviously.) which means i want witnesses, so we'll have mickey be at the alibi when the call comes through. kev is just off to the side a bit, pretending to listen to some other all-day bar patron say some stupid shit, but he's got some of the facts sussed out so when mickey sees the caller id and puts down his beer so fast it spills to answer it, and the answer in question is just, "Ian?" and his voice is all breathless and wet because he's too drunk and too heartbroken-hopeful to play it cool or keep it quiet, Kev is goddamn Zoned the fuck In.

"yeah, i- me- yours too," mickey says. the other bar patron tries to speak. kev does not so much as glance at them, gesturing for them to be quiet distractedly and obliviously coming close to hitting them in the face.

"couple weeks ago," mickey says. "boy. terry's thrilled." he keeps whatever insult he might have used, but the depth of hatred it would have represented is still QUITE clear. clear enough for kev to nervously check over his shoulder, relieved to find the pool table unattended. "i know that ain't what you fucking called about. if it is you can go fuck yourself."

there's a long pause. maybe ian's talking, maybe mickey's just waiting for him to.

eventually mickey asks, "are you- ...where are you?" the answer is short and mickey says, "that's not that far." then, soft and aching like no one actually in the room has ever heard him, if they've ever heard it from anyone at all, "can i come see you?"

the answer to that is very, very short. mickey's face doesn't crumble, not quite. he just closes his eyes hard, painful crease between his eyebrows, a shamed dip of his chin. "sorry," he says, "fucking stupid questio-"

"oh," he says. and then, soft again, aching still but in a different way. "yeah, i can do that. i, uh," he looks at the beer he spilled, his fuck even knows round of the day at fucking 11 am or whatever, embarrassed, "i gotta sober up first, but i- yeah. i'm... on my way."

[magicalmanhattanproject]

Who's Training Whom? or A Screed Of Reasonable Length About Why Étoiles Is Still 15-0 In My Heart

So, through this whole Codes vs Étoiles arc, we've been repeating the question over and over again: who is training whom? Are the codes training Étoiles? Or is he training them? Is he just making them stronger and stronger? Well, it turns out the answer is neither because Étoiles is learning and innovating and developing new tricks and techniques and the codes have learned a grand total of One (1) trick and are mostly relying on Number Go Up in a way that's antithetical to everything I personally enjoy about Minecraft PVP.

The rest of this will be under a cut on account of how reasonable the length is.

Okay, so what makes Minecraft PVP more engaging to me than PVP in other roleplay or video game genres? Well, the thing that makes it unique is that everyone is starting from a completely even playing field. Look at it this way: if a DND Barbarian and Rogue of roughly equal level just stand there and take turns hitting each other, the Barbarian wins. The Barbarian has more health and does more damage and that's going to tell pretty quickly. Of course, there are ways to compensate for it and the Rogue can think on their feet and engineer a situation where they win and of course there are also advantages to playing a squishier class, but the point is that there are squishier classes and squishier players.

Minecraft doesn't have that. Everyone has the same number of hearts and can theoretically use the same weapons and armor. If you and a friend jump into a Minecraft world and just stand there and take turns hitting each other, whoever goes first wins.

That means consistently winning at Minecraft PVP requires you to get good at thinking on your feet and engineering situations to your advantage. You aren't a tank by virtue of picking the tank class at the start of the game, but you can become a tank by making a turtle farm for turtle master potions. You aren't a damage dealer because you selected the high DPS character five minutes ago but because you spent hours grinding the resources to upgrade your weapons to the best they can possibly be. You aren't winning fights because the stats on your gear are higher than anyone else's. You're winning fights because you know how to control the fight so that you can hit the other guy more than they can hit you. If you're winning fights with other PVPers, it's because you're better than them at their own game.

Unless you're the QSMP Code Monster.

And like, to be clear, I don't blame the admin(s) for getting frustrated enough to brute force it. We know current 06 is competent PVPer and so are a couple others we haven't identified for sure yet, but I doubt they were hired specifically to be cracked at PVP. But like, they also do have to fulfill the role in the story of being cracked enough at PVP to kill either the super well defended eggs or the French Beast. Like, they do deserve to take some shortcuts.

But also, it does really really undermine the narrative of the codes and Étoiles training each other when the codes aren't really learning from Étoiles because there's a lot they could teach him.

For example, they haven't really made much progress on learning to outmaneuver them. Watch back any fight where he's fighting them 2v1 after the sweeping edge bug gets fixed. If you're fighting someone 2v1, you want to be attacking them from two different sides since they can only defend and counterattack from one side at a time. Watch how often they're both attacking him from the same direction. That's not an accident. That's Étoiles constantly moving to keep both his enemies where he can see them and it's not something they've made much progress on dealing with. The fact that they'll have three codes present but only two of them attacking at once pretty clearly demonstrates that they haven't recognized the importance of using the numbers advantage and negating the shield.

(Also, this isn't super relevant, but Étoiles is a master of healing potion usage. Watch how often he throws them ahead of where he's running so he maximizes how much he splashes on himself and minimizes how much he splashes on the codes. It's good stuff.)

One really clear moment that shows how the admins have a tendency to brute force their way through Étoiles related problems is in the fight in the basement of the lore dungeon where Étoiles was convinced he was going to die and the admins had to give him a goodie bag afterwards. At one point, he digs himself down into a 1x1 hole and a code follows him down into the hole to attack him and prevent him from warping away. He grapples out and seals off the hole. From his expressions and reaction time, it's pretty clear this was a plan to trap the code the whole time. The code breaks the block and rejoins the fight. We have never seen a code break blocks before or since including in otherwise relentless attacks on eggs behind unprotected walls.

Like, dude, you got outplayed. Take the L. And no, I don't buy that it's just the code getting more powerful from training with Étoiles because, again, we haven't seen it break blocks since that one fight. This doesn't seem to have been an ability added to its bag of tricks.

Speaking of abilities which have been, I do think that giving it God apples in that fight was a fine play. Okay, it's getting stronger and it can buff itself now. Great! Genuinely! But again, it's only really getting stronger in the sense of Number Go Up.

How does Étoiles counter this new threat? Well, one day he's laughing hysterically at the idea of Tubbo using something as pathetically useless as a soul saber and the next day, he's got a soul saber of his own on his hotbar. Why? Because the soul saber's special ability is that it nullifies special effects. That's useless against 99% of mobs, but the hearts and regeneration given by the god apple are special effects that the sword can nullify.

Étoiles doesn't counter a new threat by buffing his stats or getting a stronger weapon. In fact, he gets a weaker weapon. He gets a weapon that he thinks is terrible and shitty and garbage, but that happens to give him what he needs for his specific use case. And that's enough to turn the code eating god apples from a seemingly insurmountable advantage into probably a mistake to even bother with.

Étoiles fights the codes with three weapons out. First, his broken sword, which does such absurd base damage that it's stupid to use anything else. Second, the soul saber which turns the Code's most obvious power move into a trap. Third, the nightmare scythe, which blinds enemies, leaving them disoriented and giving himself time to recover. He also has his grappling squowk for mobility, Enough healing potions (he prefers to have at least 1000), a lava bucket for chip damage, blocks for gaining distance and controlling enemy movement, a water bucket for controlling enemy movement and clearing cobwebs, and his xp backpack to keep all his gear repaired. This represents a massive amount of prepwork and theory crafting to put together and have ready and decide on what to have and how to use it. He also has to know his notoriously messy backpacks by heart to be able to navigate to his other potions fast enough to be able to use them in a fight, which is he is consistently able to do.

The Code has a healthbar that doesn't move, a single weapon that does too much damage for the repair upgrades to keep up with, and sometimes it can spawn a single cobweb now, which Étoiles already had a counterplay ready for.

Like, I get that Étoiles is the goat. I get that. I am not going into this discussion unaware of the fact that Étoiles is the goat. I am not expecting the admins to be able to play at his level and to be able to pull out all the tricks he pulls. In fact, it's fine and even good that the Code doesn't have the same tools and moves as a player.

But it still feels a little cheap to say that Étoiles isn't ready for the sword yet when he's outplaying them every single time it's even possible to make a play.

Oh before I forget to add it in, the cobweb is the One (1) trick the code has actually learned from Étoiles. It's a good trick, to be fair.

Anyway, the other big problem with Number Go Up escalation that we've reached a point where it's Literally Impossible to fight the Code without the Shield. Without the Shield, either the Code is gonna have to be randomly weaker for no reason, or it's gonna just gonna get to run around pretty much unchecked for a while. To be fair, the Code running around unchecked could fuck, except for the fact that there are counterplays available if it didn't three shot people in full armor.

The big problem with fighting the Code right now, aside from the whole three shotting people in full armor thing, is that it has that sword that makes you drop whatever you're holding.

Luckily, Étoiles and BBH both have their own separate, individual solutions. Étoiles never got the chance to test his out in a combat situation because he got the Shield before it came up, but BBH used his against Code Tilín during the new member code battle and it proved effective. Unfortunately for all of us, Étoiles still landed the final blow on that Code so I think a lot of people failed to realize just how powerful BBH's strategy is.

But since then, the Code's damage output has just simply gotten so ridiculous to be able to cope with how ridiculous the Shield is that all those interesting, exciting strategies get sidelined in favor of Number Go Up.

So, uh, yeah. I think that's about everything I had to say. In conclusion hashtag hire jojosolos to play the code monster please quackity please she's a cracked pvper and she knows modded please

[star-anise]

Riffing off of your recent post about Jordan Peterson, what IS the difference between counselling psychology and clinical psychology? I know it’s possible to get a PhD in either, but I’m fuzzy about the differences in approach.

My current therapist is a psychiatrist who is working with me on meds and also with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) talk therapy. I’m perfectly happy with him, but if he ever got hit by a bus or something (or simply retired at some point), I’d be in the market for a new therapist. So I ought to know the difference between clinical psychologists and counselling psychologists.

Thank you.

In practical terms, on the client end, there's very little difference. The real divisions you need to know are:

Psychiatrist: Someone who went to medical school and specialized in psychiatry; can diagnose and prescribe medication. Usually designated MD.

Psychologist/Therapist/Counsellor: Someone who has gone to graduate school and focused on psychology or clinical social work; can sometimes diagnose, but usually cannot prescribe medication.

Psychiatrists do sometimes do talk therapy! I had a psychiatrist like that once. He was great. Sadly, this is mostly going out of fashion. Because they have so much extra training, they get higher salaries; administrators who care about increasing efficiency and cutting costs will therefore change them from seeing a patient for an hour each, to seeing a patient for only 15 minutes to talk about medication, and shunt the clients to cheaper therapists for talk therapy.

Within the field of psychologists/therapists /counselors, there are approximately eleventy squillion different variations in education format, theoretical basis, research background, and bragging rights. That's where the Counselling vs Clinical division lives. However, all the fields have similar aims (helping people reduce distress and become more healthy) and similar approaches (sit in a room and talk) and they freely poach any techniques or knowledge from each other that seem useful, so there's very little intrinsic difference that you would see.

The one big difference you would see is if you needed a formal diagnosis, more than just the person who treats you going, "Yeah, looks like [fill in the blank]". This is usually only needed if you're applying to something specific, like government benefits or special education accommodations. Assessment psychologists/neuropsychologists mostly tend to focus only on assessment, which is a whole different field in itself. Because of their expertise, and that someone who provides psychotherapy with you might be somewhat biased with their own ideas of what your deal is, formal assessments are generally done by someone who is not your therapist.

Anyway. The big difference between counselling and clinical psychology is basically historical. Clinical psychologists historically descend from the workers in hospitals, asylums, and mental health clinics, who focused on people with acute mental illnesses. They worked closely with psychiatrists and emulated psychiatry's popular methods at the time (mostly Freudian psychoanalysis) and focused specifically on treating mental health as a disease. This has generally been seen as a relatively more factual and sciencey field, since it's where a lot of the research on abnormal psychology and how to treat it has happened.

Counselling psychology, meanwhile, descends historically from pastors and school counsellors—people in churches or schools with "normal populations" who were the obvious go-to people for those in emotional distress or uncertainty about their lives. Counselling focused on training people who needed the skills to help somebody grieving the loss of a loved one, or who needed to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. It has generally thus been seen as a fuzzier, less rigorous field, and less prestigious. It's also closely entangled with Social Work, which grew out of many of the same settings and focused on helping ease the lives of people affected by society's many ills.

But they were all of them decieved, for another Ring was made—

Counselling as a field got significantly transformed by Carl Rogers, who used scientific research to see what kinds of therapy approaches helped people—and to the shock and horror of many many people, the warm and gentle approaches used in Counselling and Social Work turned out to work better than Freudian impassivity—even in Clinical populations!

Because see, the division between these fields was based on a misapprehension. A hundred years ago, or even fifty, we thought that these fields focused on significantly different groups, and it turns out that's not really true. Freudian psychotherapy in its failure state was all about impersonal disconnection, pointing out the flaws and foibles of somebody's psyche and expecting them to fix it. Using Rogers' method of treating mentally ill people like human beings, looking them face-to-face and believing in their ability to better themselves as people, actually worked! Amazing!

And also, a lot of people with mental illnesses are really good at masking, compensating, and functioning as normal enough to avoid general detection and referral to medical treatment. Anyone dealing with the "general population" is inevitably going to deal with people with profound levels of depression, anxiety, psychosis, addiction, and every other mental disorder under the sun.

Therefore, anybody practicing in either field had to learn about both, because each required the skills the other had. These days, the difference is generally more about who your grad school was founded by fifty or a hundred years ago than your training recently. Counsellors get hired by mental hospitals, and clinical psychologists work in schools.

The differences still linger in little ways, like how in the Canadian Psychological Association, there are different "sections" that each organize their own newsletters and social media groups and parties during conferences. They discuss new research and issues relating to their areas of practice. Most people belong to three or four each, since they overlap—there's Counseling and Clinical, sure, but also Black Psychology, History and Philosophy, Psychology in the Military, and so on.

So I am mostly being petty and flippant when I say I'm glad not to be on the Clinical listserv, where there is, I imagine, a "Jordan Petetson is Making us Look Bad" Quarantine Thread, which will be locked after 9000 replies with no resolution in sight.

Anyway, that's all inside baseball and not useful to you. Onto the useful stuff.

Full disclosure: What I'm about to say may be unconsciously biased by my perspective, despite my efforts not to be so, because my Master's degree in Counseling means I have significantly less professional prestige than psychologists with doctorates, especially in Clinical Psychology. However, I earnestly believe that I am paying attention to the science and speaking the truth here.

All the best evidence states that what level of education someone has, what school they learned it in, and what therapeutic technique they are applying are not good predictors for whether therapy with them will help you.

And yet, therapy undeniably does work. It's just that, for all our trying, we still struggle to put our fingers on precisely what the difference is.

You are actually in the best position to predict success, because the best metric we can find is whether you, personally, feel that your counsellor is listening to you, understands and cares about you, and is helping you reach your goals. That's literally the most important thing. Does this counsellor seem like someone you could work with?

This means it's actively useful to provide feedback as you go, like, "I don't like that idea, what if I did it this way instead?" or "No, I think you're mistaken," or "I'm uncomfortable with this." Part of counselling is absolutely about sitting with discomfort and figuring out how to handle tough stuff, but your therapist should be someone you can at least discuss the whys and wherefores of the process with. They're a navigator on a journey with you, not a commander telling you where to march.

[dangerously-human]

The thing about this week's primary doctor appointment is I did walk out with almost everything I asked for - a referral for sleep testing, an appointment for blood work to get back on my existing meds, a suggestion for a nutritionist to meet with as a first step to sorting out my recurrent weight issues (I do not trust that field and the likelihood that I'll go is pretty low, but we'll see), even a script for Strattera... but based on the doctor's reticence and tbh kind of nastiness around the Strattera, I don't know if I should actually take it. The thing is that nothing in this world scares me worse than a depression relapse. I can do minor ones, I do those all the time in fact, but the idea of that as a med side effect scares the shit out of me, because now we're putting me back in the place I was when I was on antidepressants, you feel? And I'm very very scared of the effects of going off of mental health meds - knowing that I usually can't stay on anything consistently - having done my fair share of suicidal spins in college accidentally going off SSRIs cold turkey. And then when I tried to express that and ask what I should do to keep an eye out for it, and she said I should just be able to tell if my mood gets bad and I said well listen, I know I have a history with anxiety and depression and being autistic, I don't always notice a change right away, for her to then say, you have to be in therapy again, and you should probably go back on Lexapro, and probably your symptoms are just depression and I shouldn't even be giving you Strattera in the first place, that's when I really melted down. So you can understand where I might be a tinge concerned about taking this. Even though I actually think it will make my life a lot more manageable, on multiple fronts. Even though I'm old enough that the risk of depression as a side effect isn't so high anymore, and in fact this medicine works as a low-level antidepressant anyway. Even though I've gotten much better at staying on meds where there will be an immediate impact to quitting - I haven't had any issues with propranalol, for instance, just the ones that need blood work. And I guess, even though I'm scared, I'm also really excited by the prospect of being able to focus again in a way I haven't had for 10+ years, and maybe even keeping up with life outside of work and school. If I treat the ADHD, theoretically it would become much easier for me to stay on top of all my meds anyway. My mom suggested that I make an appointment with my old therapist to ask for her advice, and she also thought I should get back on thyroid meds first to see how that helps my attention - but the executives were dysfunctioning even before I went off that, and also it'll take a couple months for the Strattera to kick in, which would be minimally helpful for grad school purposes if I don't start now. So, where does that leave me? Idk, honestly. I guess the first step is just to pick up all my pills from the pharmacy, and then I think and pray about whether and when to take them. I wish I had a doctor I trusted enough that this didn't feel like a big decision.

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 13

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ just like this blog Word Count: 24.9k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Extremely Emotional Pero (EEP!), Pero versus technology, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (referenced), biting. Mention of suicide (theoretical).  Summary: The long awaited reunion of our soulmate pair is not without its dramatics. Notes: Great big giant bear hugs to everyone for being so kind and supportive while I was dealing with covid! I’m so, so glad to be back and to return to my beloved Soulmate Sundays. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12

When the time comes, Cabello is packed down with supplies with a heavy heart. Pero feels as if he is being torn in two – yet there is no question what his choice must be. The life he has established here with his adoptive family or his soulmate. He must journey to the Stones to see if he can make his way to you. The babe is growing, sitting up and recognizing him with coos and squeals when he comes in from the fields with Briac or when Arwena brings out a large stone jug of cool spring water to quench their thirst. The house is repaired, the fields starting to bloom again, and it is time for him to leave.

Even the colder months are not so cold on the Valencia coast. The farmhouse is cozy and its inhabitants welcoming the morning slowly when Pero comes back inside to say his final goodbyes. Baby Perito is cooing happily in Arwena’s arms as Binx curls protectively around the young mother’s feet. Briac is minding the porridge over the fire, but he stands when the door opens.

“The horse is ready.” Pero admits, wishing that he did not have to leave, that he could take all of them with him. “I should leave to get to the boat soon.”

“You should not delay.” Arwena tells him, though she cannot keep the thickness out of her voice. She wishes that you could come back to them here - to this beautiful life they have made in Spain - rather than lose both of you to the Stones. But she knows that Pero belongs with you as surely as the sun belongs in the sky.

“I know.” His own heart is heavy and he’s delayed putting back on the protective leathers so he can hold Perito one last time. “Give him to me.” He insists, walking over to her and the babe.

“He is full of joy this morning.” She has no hesitation in handing her son to the warrior - seeing only a babe in his grandfather’s arms and nothing else. “I think he knows that you will be happy again soon.”

“I have been happy here.” Pero protests, never wanting her to think that he was unhappy living this life with them. He just wasn’t whole. He never would be until he is back with you, if he is back with you again.

“Sí. But you will be happier when you are with her again.” Briac does not take it as judgment or any type of statement against the life they have built. He would not be happiest without Arwena and he knows that Pero feels the same about missing you.

“Hola, bebita.” Pero carefully takes the child and immediately is cooing at him. It has been a joy having the little one around and he has learned a great many things about a child, including how messy they get. Still, the namesake of his never fails to bring a smile to his face.

Perito squeals and giggles, reaching for his abuelo with one tiny hand and wiggling fingers. The habitual scowl on the older man’s face makes the baby laugh.

Pero will let the child pull and slap at him as long as it doesn’t happen to Wena. He knows that the child can be rougher with him and he is just a baby. “You are going to be a handful for your mamá.”

That makes Perito giggle again and Arwena laughs in turn. “He will have the whole orchard to play in, and we will make sure he has siblings to pass the time with.” She is glad for this morning to come for Pero’s sake, but so terribly sad to see him go. “His first sister will be named for her. It has long since been decided.”

“She will weep.” Pero predicts, knowing that you would have loved watching their - your - family grow. “Just so you know. Just like I wept.” The day Perito had been born and named for him, the warrior had shed tears of joy and humble gratitude.

“These are for her.” The stack of letters tied up with string are mostly her thoughts and musings from the last few months. They are words of love and hope, and even sometimes melancholy. Arwena presses them into Pero’s hands with a smile. “I know you will deliver them faithfully.”

“It will be something that is given to her as quickly as possible.” All of them know that first will be the reunion between soulmates, but he will not forget it. Nor would you let him.

“You have enough food to last you? Enough herbs to make your tea?” Since Pero has no talent with fire, Arwena has made him a potion that would provide him warmth from the inside and taught him how to brew it himself. “It will grow colder as you journey north.”

“I do.” Pero nods, aware that he has made fires the normal way without magic for his entire life, but he knows Arwena worries. He looks to Briac. “I– I wish for you to carry my sword.” He tells the man he looks on as a son. “Pass it to Perito when he is old enough to lift it.”

“How will you journey without it?” His eyes widen and his throat tightens, gratitude and pride making his chest puff up to hold the boundless swelling of his heart. “Padre, I am honored, but you must be safe.”

Shaking his head, Pero motions towards the table where his weapons are still laying. “I will have my axe. I will be safe, I wish for you to carry it as you have decided to carry my name.”

“I will do so with pride.” Briac swears, not hesitating to embrace the man he has come to love and respect as his chosen father. This parting will be much harder for Briac in many ways and Arwena steps aside to let the men have their moment to say goodbye.

It is more gentle than it would have been if the baby hadn’t been between them. The back slapping covers the raw emotions of the moment. “He will know fine stories of his abuelo,” Briac promises, caressing his son’s forehead tenderly.

“And his abuela.” Pero smiles as he wishes that you could see this baby.

“And his abuela.” Enough good words could not be spoken about the woman who saved his soulmate’s life, and Briac knows that Arwena will always sing the songs you taught her and carry your magic through to their children.

There is one last kiss to the baby, a move that never fails to make Arwena smile - the sight of such a gruff mercenary being soft for her child - and Pero hands the boy to his father. “Come give me a hug, girl.” Pero huffs at Arwena playfully.

“Insolent man.” Arwena laughs to mask the tears, practically falling into his arms to embrace him. “So gruff with your daughter.”

Despite his gruff tone, his arms are like steel around her, holding her close. “Cuidar a nuestro familia.” Take care of our family. Pero whispers in her ear. He has made it known around the village that the land and the house is theirs, knowing the elders will respect it.

“Siempre.” Always. She nods against his chest, letting only a few tears fall there. She will save the rest for after he has gone, when she sits before the fire and holds little Pero. “Everything we are is thanks to you.”

“Te amo.” Pero murmurs, leaning back and gazing on the face of the girl that has come to mean so much to him. The one you loved like a daughter or a sister. “Siempre.”

“I will love you always.” Nothing could ever shake that truth from her. It lives in her very bones and the air that she breathes. “You and Sassenach gave me the courage to command my own life, and I hope to God that you will live out the rest of your years together as joyfully and freely as we will live ours here.”

“If I cannot….” Pero breaks off, unable to speak it for fear of it coming true. “I will return.”

“You will always have a home with us.” As desperately unhappy as it would make him to not be able to reach you, she would always welcome him back with open arms. “And if one day you should return with your wife by your side, we will welcome you both.”

“Aye.” Pero nods again and leans in to kiss her check gently. Emotions are thick and if he stays too long, he will weep. “I should get my leathers on.”

“It will be a long journey. The more daylight you have to get you to the port, the better.” Arena wipes her eyes and steps back, giving him the space he needs to move around. “I know you have thought of what you will say when you see her,” she hums as she takes the baby back from Briac. “But…what do you think her time will be like? Can you imagine it?”

“Foreign.” Pero worries about that. Wonders if you will hate him being in your time, encroaching on your freedom and having him rely on you for everything. At least until he learns to navigate your strange time.

“She spoke of her home being very beautiful.” Sensing she has struck a nerve, Arwena immediately vies for the positive. “Warm and sunny all year long.”

Pero shrugs, knowing that it will not be Spain. He wonders if it is close in temperature. “I will find out when I make it to her.”

“We will pray for you.” Though Pero has already said his goodbyes to the priest that has come to mean so much to their family, Briac has invited Malcolm to be with him and Arwena that night for supper to mourn the departure of their friend together. He knows they will pray together then.

“I know you will.” Pero is still not as spiritual as Father Malcolm would like, but he has respected the religion of his birth. “I am grateful.”

“All will be well.” Arwena rocks Perito in her arms and offers the elder Pero an assured smile. “I can feel it my bones.”

******

Without the small family he has made, the journey is miserable for Pero Tovar. He doesn’t sleep as well as he does, hearing the baby stir or Briac and Arwena murmur softly from their room. Lonely for the first time since he had awoken at your hearth, recovering from an illness which would have ended him, he endures the rocking of a boat that he hates, wishing he was at the Stones already.

It takes weeks to get to the Stones, and the carefully portioned out food stores that he has traveled with have kept both him and Caballo strong despite the misery of the journey. His horse is gone now, though, left at the inn in Inverness where he stopped for an ale before venturing on to the Stones. If he does not make it through to you, he can collect Caballo that evening and begin the long journey back home to Spain. If he succeeds, the innkeepers will have gained a trustworthy steed.

There is an air of anticipation, a tingling in his belly that he would have considered nerves if it weren’t for his years as a mercenary. He’s worried, that’s what he tells himself. Worried that he won’t make it through, or he will and you will have died. That is his worst fear.

The sound of buzzing fills his ears slowly but steadily. Something you had spoken of so long ago but he had all but forgotten in the haste and panic of his last trip to this place.

The wobble in his step has to be the uneven ground, the unsteadiness to his gait attributing to the way that his heart races. Sweat trickles down his brow, despite the snow on the ground. He watches, listens to the surrounding woods as he creeps towards the Stones.

The wind kicks up, a determined gust that seems to urge him forward and sweep him toward the center standing stone. The place he last stood with you in his arms, and the place he had knelt and wept so fiercely after losing you. It has been a year since then, though sometimes it feels like mere days and others it could be an entire lifetime.

His bag is slung over his shoulder, dagger at his waist and his axe is strapped to his back. Sure that he would not need them because of what you had told him about your time, he still cannot risk leaving himself exposed and unable to defend himself. He sees the faint bloodstains still present after a year and he exhales softly. “Sassenach…bring me to you.” He murmurs softly, reaching out to touch the stone that had brought you to him, and taken you away.

******

The pair of hikers stopped to rest on the top of the hill where Craigh na Dun stands hurries over when they see the crumpled form of a large man in dirty clothes amongst the Stones. “Sir!” The smaller man’s heavy Irish accent is not altogether unfamiliar to Pero’s ear though it has been nearly two years now since he last laid eyes on William. “Are you alright?”

Pero feels like he is about to throw up as soon as his eyes open. Shaking his head and blinking at the pair of people in strange clothes, he chokes out a sound of surprise that he has done it. “What year is it?” He demands roughly.

“Uh…it’s 2022…” The Irishman’s companion has a flat and deep voice, coupled with a concerned look of confusion on his face as he creeps closer. “Are you feeling okay, mate?”

“Where is she?” Pero demands, your name nearly bellowed as he stumbles to his feet and starts to spin around to gather his bearings. “Sassenach!”

“There’s nobody else up here.” The Irishman tells him, one cautious hand pulling his friend back from the odd and potentially dangerous stranger.

“Where is she?” Whipping around, Pero sends the Irishman a withering glare. “I’ve traveled too far to lose her now! Where is she?”

“Where is who?” He probably should just step away and leave the man to his own devices, and the Irishman shrugs. “Whoever you’re looking for isn’t here, mate.”

Sharp pain rips through Pero’s body, especially his face. Growling, almost shouting, Pero hunches over with one hand over his face and the other reaching for his dagger. “Arrrrrghhhh!”

“Dude…” The Irishman’s companion winces to see the scar rip its way across the stranger’s face. “You…you have a hell of a soulmate,” he grimaces at the idea of being stuck with a facial scar.

It takes him a minute, the leaves crunching underneath his feet as he sways. The pain eases and he blinks several times before Pero starts to laugh maniacally. Tossing his head back and barking out a harsh laugh as he drops back down to his knees again. Relief makes him unable to stand another minute as he realizes you are alive and he is still your soulmate in this time.

“Okay, uh…you have a good day, man.” The hikers retreat as quickly as they can, now determined not to get tangled up in whatever this madman is up to. That’s plenty enough weird for them today.

Traveling through time is disorienting, and thirsty work. Pero is parched, climbing to his feet to stumble towards the small river that had been near the Stones. He needs to find you, but first, he needs to drink.

The stream is much smaller than it once was, running downhill toward the city of Inverness with all its modern delights and busy occupants. There is barely enough to scoop into his hands, and the warm summer sun couples with a lack of snow to tell him for certain that it cannot be winter that he has arrived in.

“The water is different.” Pero huffs, shaking his head at the taste but he is thirsty enough that he continues to scoop up the water until it slacks off, sighing as he wipes his hand on the back of his bracer and stands to truly look around this new world for the first time.

Cars whiz by on a nearby road, the commotion more noise than he had heard since the battlefield. The sight of Inverness and its loch are completely transformed into an enormous city of twinkling lights even in broad daylight. It is a remarkable and unbelievable sight.

He is a fish out of water. Completely thrown out of his element and the only thing that makes him feel relatively normal as a sound in the sky makes him look up to see a strange bird racing overhead is the axe in his grip. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by everything around him, Pero scowls and keeps his head on a swivel as his boots slap against the hard trail with strange markings.

The horseless carriages you had told him about are far faster than you had said - or at least than he could understand. They zip around him and blast their ear-piercing alarms at him and some of the men inside even curse, until one seems to begin to chase him specifically.

Pero’s gaze is over his shoulder as he hustles faster. Watching the strange thing you had called ‘car’ stop abruptly and turn around to zoom back towards him. He speeds up more, nearly running when he hears it get louder, looking over his shoulder again to see it gaining on him.

“Pero?!” Sarah rolls down her window, calling out the name she memorized months ago and hoping he will stop running as she pulls her car to a stop on the side of the road. “Pero Tovar!” She had just gone out to run an errand. A rare errand that took her outside the city - to a particular music shop that carried the specific guitar that would be Hadley’s birthday present in a few days. She had never expected to actually see this man who might supposedly come through the Stones one day.

Pero turns, axe firmly in his grip. “Who are you?” He snarls, squaring his shoulders as if he was about to battle the Tao Tei again. “How do you know that name?”

The broadest grin in the world spreads across Sarah’s face as she jumps out of her car and gets a good, long look at the scar running down the man’s left eye. “My name is Sarah,” she tells him, keeping her distance because of the weapon. “And I…I know your Sassenach.”

At the strange woman’s words, his guard drops, shoulders slumping and his axe swings down to his side. Anyone not familiar with the weapon would have chopped their leg off, but the handle just bangs against his thigh. “Where?” He chokes out, stepping towards her almost desperately. “Where is she? Is she safe? Her illness….how long has she been here?”

“My god, you’re really real…” She laughs out of sheer disbelief, practically cackling with glee and waving him toward her eagerly. “She is safe, and recovering at home. Please come with me?”’ She motions to the car behind her. “She asked me to look out for you before she went home. It was six months ago.”

“Six–” Pero shakes his head, unable to fathom the difference in the way time moves. “How long had she been gone from this place? When she returned?” He warily glances at the strange carriage she wants him to approach. How do they work that thing? He had seen fantastic things at the Wall, but this is beyond his belief.

“Only a few minutes.” Sarah admits, taking a cautious step forward. She needs him to trust her if she’s going to keep the promise she made to you. “I own the inn that she was staying in on her visit.”

Pero narrows his eyes at the strange woman in front of him. It is almost too convenient that someone who knows you appears almost instantly. “Is this some kind of test?” He demands. “How do I know the woman you speak of is my Sassenach?”

“Did she explain to you what a cell phone is?” Pulling hers from her pocket, Sarah is prepared to call you in Florida right on the spot. It is barely past seven in the morning for you, but she doesn’t think you will mind being woken up for this.

“A magic box.” Pero narrows his eyes even more at the strange thing, jumping back slightly when it displays a strange light and a portrait on its face.

“Aye,” Sarah can’t help but laugh lightly at that. “A little. It is a device that does many things. It will allow you to speak to her. To see her right now.”

“Show me.” As much as he distrusts that magic box, his desire to see you outweighs it. “Conjure her.”

“You have to come closer.” Still she unlocks her phone and selects your number from her recent FaceTime list. The last time you talked was just a few days ago - sharing tea together across the ocean while you told her about more things you found in your grandmother’s grimoire. The phone begins to ring as they wait for you to pick up and Pero inches closer with great caution.

“Sarah?” Barely awake, wrapped in a light robe over your chemise as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and wait for the coffee to finish brewing, you aren’t even looking into your phone screen when you pick up. “Is everything okay? It’s early.”

“Sassenach.” Pero whispers in awe, eyes wide as he stares at the portrait of you. The fact that it moves, that he can hear you is pure magic itself. He can’t tear his eyes away from the profile of your face, his heart bursting that the first sight of you, hearty and hale, that he has seen in over a year.

“Pero?” You nearly drop your phone but manage to hold it up higher, tears instantly springing to your eyes when you see him standing beside Sarah and hear the sounds of traffic in the background. “You—how? I–I—can’t—you’re really here?” There aren’t words in any language or any time to express how shocked and overjoyed you are all at once as you stutter at him over the phone.

“How–” Pero’s eyes shift, begrudgingly, away from the magic box and he looks for you to appear around the woman holding it. “Where are you– come here.” He chokes out. “Sassenach?”

“I am far away, mi amor.” The hand not holding your phone reaches out, wishing you could touch him. “But I will come to you as quickly as I can. The very first flight to Scotland that I can get. I swear.”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Sarah promises, knowing that that is the most important thing she can possibly do now.

“Thank you, Sarah.” You’ll be in her debt forever for this, and you don’t ever care. Not for a second. “Mi amor, please stay with Sarah. I—” The way you shudder with fresh sobs makes you cover your mouth, showing him that his wedding band sits firmly in place on your hand where he placed it in Gretna. “I am in Florida. The place across the sea that I told you about. It will take a day for me to get to you.”

Pero frowns and shakes his head, unhappy that he must spend another minute away from you. He had expected you to be here when he came through the Stones. “I do not understand–how?” He huffs, pouting that you will be so long to get to him. “A day?”

“I’m going to get on the first flight to Scotland,” you promise, already aching that you can’t be with him immediately. That he came after you and you weren’t there waiting for him. But he came after you. You know he wouldn’t leave you. “Do you remember that I told you once about great carriages that fly through the air like birds and you laughed and called me bruja?”

“You are a bruja.” Pero nods, his fierce pout slightly relaxing and he glances up to the sky before he looks back at the box and leans in. “I think I saw one, Sassenach. It looks very odd, shiny like a blade winking in the sky.”

“Yes!” The sound and sight of him makes you feel like you could fly yourself right across the ocean even without a plane, and you carry your phone with you as you hustle through the apartment to throw some things into a bag. “One of those will carry me across the ocean to get to you, and we will ride one together to come back to Florida.” He’s here. He’s here. He’s actually here.

“A day?” Pero demands. “No more? It has been a year since you disappeared from my arms.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I–I tried, mi amor, the Stone would not let me go through before I learned magic. I did not leave you. I did not send you back alone on purpose. You– you were dying.” He chokes out.

“You learned magic?!” Once again the phone nearly drops from your hand but you catch yourself in your shock. “I want to hear everything when I get to you, cariño. I will be there as fast as I possibly can be. Please go with Sarah for now. She and her soulmate will keep you safe. Sarah knows our story. I told her everything after I left the hospital.” Sinking down on your mattress, you sigh softly and reach for him again, wishing you were already in front of him. “Mi amor, you saved my life. The doctors said another day or two and it would have been too late.”

It’s ugly, the way Pero scrunches his eyes closed to keep from crying. His choked sob at being right is relieving him of the guilt he has carried for you going back despite your plan to stay. He hadn’t failed you. He must sway on his feet because a hand touches his arm and he nearly jumps again. “Yes.” He manages, opening his eyes and blinking away tears to see your face on the magic box again. He wants to see you, for real, to touch you and pull you into his arms. “I will do what you ask.”

“I will send messages to Sarah letting her know how close I am. How much longer you will have to wait.” If only you could send yourself through a text message. You would do it instantly no matter the danger. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can, mi amor, I swear it.” A long, drawn-out breath leaves you and you search his face, just so grateful to see him again. “Love…how long has it been for you?”

“A year.” Pero wants to reach out to touch your face, but he is scared that it would make the box’s magic stop working. “There is much to tell you.”

“It’s been six months for me.” You sigh again, smiling softly. “Arwena? Briac?”

“They send you their love.” He promises, his heart aching because he knows they will never see each other again, but he is here with you. He had done it. “I have many letters from the girl.”

“You will not believe what I have to tell you about her. Or show you.” Blindly tossing things into the open bag on your bed, you smile at him and wish to god you could wrap your arms around him. “Te adoro, cariño. I will be with you as soon as I possibly can be.”

“I have missed you.” Pero murmurs softly, ignoring the woman who is listening in with apparent fascination and studying him like he is an unknown creature.

“I have missed you, too, amor.” More than you can possibly say. Your fingers flex again, but your smile only grows wider. “A day, love. No more. I promise you.”

He grunts, unhappy with the prospect of having to wait, but there is nothing that he can do. “I will wait.” He huffs.

“I love you.” They’re simple words, but unwavering and unfailingly true. “And I will see you soon.”

“I will take care of him,” Sarah promises. “Hadley will feed him and I’ll set him up in a room. He’ll be just fine.”

The picture cuts away and Pero is left feeling unsure, shuffling slightly and bewildered that he can be talking to you one moment and then you are gone. A car flies by the pair of them standing on the road and blasts noise out as it passes, making him jump and re-grip his axe. “Mierda.”

“You must be overwhelmed.” Sarah observes gently, tucking her cell phone back into her pocket. “Things now are very different from when you are from. But…if you’ll trust me a little like she’s asked? I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

"I–" He would do anything that you tell him, his trust in you complete and if you say that this woman is to be trusted – he will believe that. "I do not know what you need from me." He confesses, unsure of those car things that are flying around at the speed of an arrow. You want him to get inside one?

“For now, let’s start with having you get in the car and I’ll bring you back to the inn.” Sarah sidesteps to open her car door to let him see inside, figuring that the whole thing must be fairly terrifying. He knows nothing of this world, yet he came here anyway. For love. “My soulmate, Hadley — She’s an amazing chef. I don’t know much about time travel but strange things always make me hungry. Food can be comforting, ya know?”

Pero grunts in acknowledgement of that universal truth. He had been too nervous to attempt to eat before making his way to the Stones. His frown is permanently etched on his face as he examines the inside of this car and he looks over to the woman for a confirming nod before he tries to climb inside.

“Excellent.” Sarah breathes a sigh of relief before reaching in to point out the seatbelt. “Do you see this strap here? If you pull it across your chest there is a device at your hip that it fits into. The buckle on the strap just clicks into it. For safety.”

He thinks about the gear that the Cranes would wear on the wall. To prevent them from falling to their deaths as they leapt out into the space. Confident that the ropes and hoops would hold them and bring them back up. Only the monsters accounted for the bloodshed during battles there. He grunts and yanks on it, frowning even more when it yanks back and refuses to completely go around him.

“Careful.” Quickly climbing into the driver’s side of the car, Sarah reaches across to help him with the seatbelt and smiles when it clicks into place. “There are lots of things these days that you have to be gentle with.”

His eyes are darting around the car, trying to absorb things that he doesn't understand and there is a moment when his axe is dropped on the floor of the tiny box that he is in and his hands fly for whatever he can grab when the demonic thing that he is in lurches forward suddenly.

Thankfully, the drive to the inn doesn’t last long. Pero clearly despises it and Sarah is eager to get him out of sight - although in a car like this he just looks like a man in a costume. “Hadley!” She calls, herding the ancient mercenary into the brick walls of the inn. “Honey, you’re not going to believe this!”

It is a house, Pero recognizes that but that is where his understanding of the building ends. It's strange, completely different from what he knows. Bright with a light that is whiter than the flicker of a fire and there is this strange noise that fills it. A humming or a buzzing like bees are around. He stays quiet, nervous and on edge as he tries to remember everything you had told him about your time.

“Mo chridhe?” Hadley’s head pops out from the kitchen as soon as she hears her wife’s voice, but her eyes go directly to the man standing nervously behind Sarah. “Oh my god…”

Pero shuffles, eyes flickering between the two women as he stands there. They are lovers, married if the rings on their fingers are any indication, and while Pero doesn't care about what they do it's surprising that they are allowing him into their home. Perhaps it is not shunned in this time like it would have been in his.

“Mo grá, he came through the Stones today.” Sarah beams, urging Pero toward the kitchen with a huge smile on her face. “I’ve already called our friend. She’s on her way, so she should be here tomorrow. Pero…” she looks up at him and there is nothing but awe and excitement on her face. “This is my wife, Hadley. Hadley, this is Pero Tovar.”

"Wife." Pero nods, looking towards the other woman and shuffles forward. He cranes his neck and looks around again, feeling out of sorts and his mouth is dry. "Buenos dias." It seems as if they are the only ones in such a large manor and he wonders if they are wealthy.

“Buenos dias.” Hadley nods, swallowing thickly as she tries to shake off the surprise and awe on her face. “You—you must have a lot of questions.” She knows she does. She can only imagine he has more. So in true Hadley form, she pulls out a chair for him at the little kitchen table and immediately starts bustling around to cook something.

He doesn't know what to do so he stands there until Sarah motions for him to sit. Shuffling over, he sets the axe down on the small table with a thud and the seat groans as he plops down into it. The other woman, Hadley, opens a door that makes Pero gape. Strange things fill it although he recognizes a few vegetables. "I–what is that noise?" He demands, unsure of where to start but there is a louder buzzing noise now that has him looking around the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sarah grins, realizing that this is about the giddiest she’s been since the week she married Hadley. This is the most insane and unbelievable thing that has ever happened. “It’s the dishwasher. Erm…a device that washes our dishes for us, so that we don’t have to do it by hand.”

"Device?" Pero frowns, unfamiliar with the word and he looks around the strange room. "Where is your hearth? How do you cook, heat water for this device?"

“Did she ever explain electricity to you?” Hadley asks, knowing that you had said that you told him more than you should, but not exactly what.

"The strange magic that allows fireless light and 'power'?" Pero asks, frowning again, wondering how he will ever adapt to this time if he knows nothing about it.

“Exactly.” Nodding, Sarah decided that - all things considered - it probably isn’t too early for a drink. “This is a refrigerator,” she explains, opening the fridge again to grab two bottles from the door. “It keeps things cold without needing ice. Would you…uh, she said you like ale?” Sarah asks, offering him one of the bottles.

Pero eyes the bottle, strange and small with writing on it before he looks up at her. After a moment, he nods. "I do." He wonders how electricity would allow things to stay cold without ice or snow.

Sarah twists off the bottle cap and offers it to him again, hoping that a small show of hospitality might help things along. “Electricity is everywhere in our time. Some people even think it has taken the place of magic in a lot of ways, but I don’t know about that. The fact that you’re here…that is real magic.”

Pero takes the bottle, staring down at it when it is cold to the touch despite it being warm outside. "Magic is useful but only for some." He agrees, sniffing the contents before he brings the bottle to his lips.

“It has served my family well enough.” Sarah smiles, taking a sip from her own beer. “I might not have magic, but my ancestors did. Some of them, at least.”

Pero nods, relaxing slightly and looking at the bottle again. The ale tastes different from what he is used to, but it is refreshing. "That is good." He grunts, turning it up again and draining it quickly.

Both women chuckle, and Hadley grabs another bottle for him. “Your wife said you like spicy food,” Hadley poses, hoping to continue to make this extraordinary man feel more comfortable. “You must be hungry?”

The cold ale slides down into his belly and Pero nods. "Sí, spicy food warms you from the inside." He murmurs, taking another sip of the new bottle. "Gracias, I know that I am a stranger to you. How many coins for the food and drink?"

“She was heartbroken to come back without you.” Sarah tells him, remembering how many tears you had shed the night you sat with her in the library. “She knew you would not have left her willingly. There hasn’t been a single day she hasn’t thought about you, Pero. I promise.”

"It took a long time to learn the magic I needed to come through the Stones." Pero bites his lip, looking down at the bottle and wondering how much you told these women about your time in his world. Even though he has not seen much, he can tell that it is completely different.

“She’s so glad that you did.” It would have been obvious to anyone, the awe in your voice and the way you lit up hearing his. Seeing his face for the first time in months. “Tomorrow when she gets here, you two can stay as long as you need. There are things about this world that I’m sure she’ll want to teach you before you decide to stay.”

“I–have a coin.” He promises, pull a small pouch from his belt. He won’t let you care for him in everything. He can help.

“No, please.” Sarah shakes her head, though she has not stopped smiling. “We will settle any debts later. But I have dreamed of meeting you since your wife first told us you might arrive. I’m so glad you’re here.”

His brow pinches in confusion, unsure why the woman would want to meet him. “Sassenach has to travel, so I am here until she arrives.” Pero murmurs to himself. “What shall I do?” It’s not uncommon to have him help for his lodging. Chopping wood or hunting. It is a strange place but there must be something he can help with.

“Would you be willing to tell us your story?” Sarah thinks of the stacks of journals and cases of photographs and other evidence in her study - her entire family’s collective effort all in one place. It’s pretty much the only thing in the study. “I have hers sets down…her story of traveling to your time, but mostly of you. It would be wonderful to have both sides of the story.”

Pero frowns, wondering what you might have said about him. Worried that it might not be very good, considering what he is. "What would you want to know?"

“Anything you are willing to share.” Sarah takes a sip of her beer and reads his concerned expression before shifting to give him her full attention. “You can listen to her story if you want to hear her voice again. I recorded it. Which is…like preserving the memory of her voice in an object you can play any time you like.”

"Sí." His agreement is immediate, almost slightly desperate. "I–it does not feel real." He explains, confused by his own thoughts. "She is not– I could not touch her. Yet I could see her, hear her." He will not fully relax until he is touching you again.

“We call it technology.” Hadley explains, though she knows the word will mean nothing to him. “That is the magic of our time. Science and technology.”

Pero is not a learned man, but he is smart. He had to have his wits in order to survive as long as he had. Nodding, he tucks away the strange words to ask you about later. "I see."

“For now?” Sarah offers him the most supportive smile she can. “Know that you’re with friends. Safe. And with friends.”

Reminding himself that you had said he could trust them, Pero nods again. Hadley is still rushing around the kitchen and he looks to Sarah. “Can I tell you while I eat? I am hungry.”

“Of course.” No matter when he is ready to tell his story, Sarah will be ready and eager to hear it. “Do you mind if I record you too? You don’t have to do anything but talk. The recorder will take down everything you say so I can write it down later.”

Pero nods again, unsure of what it means to record, but he will trust your judgment. You’ve never steered him wrong. “Yes.” His stomach grumbles slightly at the smells that are filling the kitchen.

Hadley’s spicy Szechuan noodles with veggies and chicken is a quick and easy recipe that she modified from an old friend, and she knows from Sarah’s replaying of your tapes that Pero spent time in China - so when she piles three bowls high with the delicious dish and brings them to the table she’s glad to see him perk up at the scent. “‘Ere we go.” She smiles happily but fixes Pero with a serious expression. “If you don’t like it, I won’t be offended. We have plenty of other food about to fix for you.”

“It smells good.” Pero insists, reaching for a bowl greedily. He frowns at the metal object in the bowl and pulls it out to inspect it. “What is this?”

“Forks look different now,” Sarah grins. “Three prongs instead of two. And you don’t have to carry them with you. Any place you eat will provide them for you.”

Grunting, he’s suitably impressed. This time must be very wealthy. He bites it and then pulls it out of his mouth again. “It is not silver.” He murmurs, not quite finding it to be steel either.

“Silver is rarely used these days.” Sarah tells him with a shrug. She’s just as excited for spicy Szechuan noodles as Pero seems to be. “Only the very rich or old-fashioned use it. These are a combination of steel and…aluminum, I think? That’s what most people use now.”

Humming, Pero examines the fork carefully. He has used one exactly three times in his life, all while being treated at a lord’s table. The rest of the time, he ate with his dagger or his hands. “No doubt you are very rich to have these.” He compliments before he starts to dig into the noodles.

The women smile at the compliment, deciding not to get into the mechanics of the distribution of wealth right now. “We are lucky to have our own business and for it to be doing well.” Hadley praises instead, knowing how hard Sarah works.

Pero isn’t listening, instead he is hunched over his bowl, having a moment with the food. Reminding him of some of the flavors he had in China, his eyes are closed and he is letting out a groan that is nearly obscene.

“Hadley’s food is amazing.” Sarah offers the praise right back to her wife and takes advantage of the moment to sneak a photo of Pero enjoying his lunch to send off to you. “Pero,” she says his name to catch his attention when she checks her phone. “She’s boarding the plane now. She’ll be here very, very late tonight.”

“Plane?” He searches his memory. “The thing in the sky.” He nods and motions to Sarah’s box. “Did she write you on that?”

“She did.” Sarah turns her phone around to show him the text message thread. “It is like…letters that can be sent instantly through the air.”

“Magic.” Pero huffs, shaking his head and dives back into the food like he has not eaten in months. His mood brightens at the prospect at seeing you again.

******

The flights seem interminable. St. Augustine to New York is just a little over two hours, but from there it takes another ten hours to get to Inverness. A rental car at the airport takes more time than you had hoped, but it’s late at night so you just decide to be grateful that someone is even working the rental desk. You feel like you’ve been shaking since Sarah called you this morning, so unbelievably excited and nervous to see Pero again that you could almost explode. The drive from the airport to the inn is negligible, thank god, and you pull into the small parking lot beside the building much faster than is probably safe. At this point he is mere steps away, and Sarah had texted you his room number so you could sprint past the front desk and straight upstairs as soon as you get inside.

Top floor. Top floor, room in the corner. Room 315. Standing in the hallway you have to force yourself to stop and breathe, barely holding back overwhelmed tears as you knock softly on the door.

It takes less than a second for Pero’s boots to thunder across the floor and the door is snatched open. The fierce scowl on his face freezes and the dagger that is in his hand clatters to the floor. “Sassenach.”

“Pero!” Your bags drop from your hands and the tears are instant as you practically fling yourself through the door to wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest like you’re trying to burrow as deeply into his body as humanly possible.

After several hours alone in the room he had finally felt comfortable removing his leathers so he was in just his breeches, boots and tunic. Groaning at the warmth of holding you again, he feels whole. For the first time in a year, he is complete again. His own tears spill hot, soaking into your hair as he breathes you in. “God, Sassenach, I– you’re–” he chokes out and crushes you to him.

“You’re here.” You breathe, sobbing into his chest just as desperately as he is into your hair. “You’re really here.”

“I am sorry.” He breathes out, needing you to know that he never wanted to send you back on your own. When he made the decision to take you back to your own time, he put aside his very valid fears for your sake. “I tried, amor, I tried to come with you. You disappeared from my arms.” He sobs, breaking down again for the first time since that night at the Stones.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Nudging him backward into the room, you barely glance behind you to drag your bags in too, then pull the door shut and turn the lock. Alone with Pero in your own time. This is the moment you have been dreaming about for the last six months without fail. “Mi amor, you saved my life.” Wrapping your arms around him again, you let him get out every tear he has to cry. “You are my savior. Mi angel. I would have died if you hadn’t been brave enough to get me to the Stones.”

“Mierda.” Pero chokes out, eyes red and tears wetting his cheeks as he pulls back and cups your cheeks. “Te amo, te amo, te amo.” He promises, lunging forward and pressing his lips to yours desperately.

“Te amo.” It is absolutely surreal to be in his arms again, and you feel like you could burst apart from happiness at being able to kiss him again.

He can’t stop kissing you, again and again as he tries to convince himself that this isn’t a dream. He had tormented himself several times over the past year. Dreams so realistic that he had woken up angry that you weren’t in his arms.

The two of you stumble together, clinging to each other and refusing to separate for so much as a breath. He had said it was a full year for him, and if your own six months of heartbreak without him are anything to go by, he has been in hell just as you were.

“I–” Pero pushes back towards the bed that takes up a large portion of the room. He has to touch you, he will feel like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. “Amor–” he groans, his hands starting to roam, although he doesn’t have easy access like he did when you were in his time. No skirts to lift.

The way you giggle against his lips is music to his ears, even when you stop kissing him momentarily to drink in the sight of him in front of you. Electric lights, modern furniture, and Pero Tovar. It is very literally your fondest dream come true. “Modern clothing is harder to get into than just throwing my skirts up,” you tease, popping the button on your jeans and drawing down the zipper so he will not have to wrestle with them to get you out of your jeans.

He grunts, huffing at you as he starts to kick off his boots. He knows he needs to clean up, bathe if he can figure out how that happens here, but he doesn’t think you mind right now. “Skirts are better. Easier to make you squeal.”

“I’ll switch back to dresses immediately.” Flats, jeans, and blouse are all gone in mere moments, desperate to have the feeling of oneness back that always comes from intimacy with Pero.

He doesn’t care about what you wear, he cares you are here. The eagerness that he has for you is the result of not having you for the last year. He had grown very used to being in your bed and between your thighs. “Hermosa.” He whispers, pushing his breeches down to reveal the threadbare underclothes you had stitched for him.

“You still have these?” It’s surprising to you that they survived, considering you were never the best seamstress in the world.

“Of course.” He scoffs, surprised that you would even question it. You had given them to him. They were one of his most precious possessions. “I have kept them.”

“Pero…” Your hands caress his face, thumbs dragging down the line of his jaw as you look up into his eyes. “I don’t care when or where we are, mi amor. But I never want to be without you again.”

He swallows, his own head immediately bobbling in agreement. “Never.” He agrees, his voice lowered to a rough whisper. “I–I lost my scars. I didn’t know if you–” he chokes up slightly, clearing his throat.

“I lost mine too.” You had realized in the car on the way to the airport that what you had thought was a weird Charley Horse or some other odd pain this morning was actually your scars coming back. His scars coming back. “Te amo, mi amor.” You promise him, stepping forward again to press your lips to his.

Your lips on his ignites a fire inside him. The hunger for you flashing to the boiling point and Pero wraps his arm around you to turn you so that you fall back into the bed with him braced over you.

Crashing down into the bed is like being transported, and suddenly you’re back in the little stone cottage in Brittany without any concerns beyond each other’s pleasure. Your hands grasp and wander, reminding yourself of the shape of him. He tastes the same - of memories and joy and every good feeling in the world. “Pero.”

Your name pours from his lips as he starts to frantically kiss your body. Every inch he can reach while his hands squeeze and massage your breasts. Desperate to reacquaint himself with your taste and sounds.

Every inch of fabric is torn away, every inhibition tossed aside in the desperate need to feel each other again. Your fingertips trace every mark on his body, memorizing them all over again and each moan loosed from your lips is swallowed up by the constant stream of deep kisses shared between you.

He would prepare you, treat you like he had so many months ago as you were discovering each other’s bodies, but he is too frantic for you. “Lo- siento.” His cock slips between your thighs easily and he ruts up against you.

“I’m not.” The low chuckle from deep in your chest makes both of you smile even momentarily, but it’s cut off by a moan when he grinds against you again. “Please, Pero — fuck.”

“Tu serás mi muerte.” You will be my death. Pero groans, reaching between you so he can line up. It’s been a year and he knows he won’t last but he can’t wait another second to slide inside you.

You’ll apologize to Sarah in the morning for making a racket, but the utter bliss of feeling him inside you again has you gasping and crying his name, nearly sobbing again in relief. There is nothing like this feeling - it is coming home again.

Pero’s eyes would close if he did not want to memorize your face again. Teeth clicked together to hold onto some semblance of control while he growls out your name. “F-fuck.” He hisses, unable to hold still, rocking his hips while he is buried as far as he can go in your body.

“D-don’t—” You gasp out, fingers digging into his back to hold him close and feel his heartbeat against yours. “Don’t hold back, amor.”

Permission granted, Pero goes crazy. Lips, teeth and hands all working in tandem while his hips start to furiously move. Feeling like an untried boy with his first tumble, he gasps and groans as you take him.

Meeting his rhythm might be a challenge if you weren’t also so damn frantic for him. Six months without the touch that makes you feel whole means that you don’t hesitate to bite your nails into his skin or bruise his neck, sucking on his salty skin and making sure he will bear your mark for days to come as you rock your hips in time with his.

“Madre de Dios.” Mother of God. Pero’s body lurches forward when you are just as aggressive as he is, just as frantic. All the worries, the fears that you wouldn’t be happy he was in your time dissipates in the frantic pace of his uneven thrusts.

It could have been five minutes or five hours. All that matters is that you are wrapped on him again, panting out his name as you climb closer and closer to a shattering orgasm. Nothing in the world could be as perfect as this - no dream of your reunion ever came close to this reality.

Now Pero squishes his eyes closed, body tense and primed to cum. Overwhelmed by the euphoria coursing through his body. “Sass– fuck, fuck!” He pulls you with him over the cliff, desperately tangled in each other and pouring everything you are into a kiss as the two of you cum together, shaking and shattering in each other’s arms.

Shuddering and gasping, Pero pours himself into you. His very soul fusing with yours in an interwoven pattern that would never be unknotted.

“Te amo.” You cling to him, eyes open like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you shut them even for a moment. “Te amo para siempre.” I love you forever.

His arms stay pushed under your back, holding you close as he says against you. “I love you.” He murmurs, turning and tucking his head into your neck, hot tears fresh in his eyes. “I– alma gemela.” Soulmate. “Amor de mi vida.” Love of my life.

“Mi esposo.” My husband. With your arms wrapped around him, you hold him close to your chest and blink back more tears as your heartbeat returns to normal.

It takes a long minute, but eventually he manages to shift off of you. Reluctantly pulling out of you with a groan and curling up against your body, unable to stop touching you.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” you murmur, well aware that you lost your temper at several airline employees to get across the ocean as fast as humanly possible.

There is a moment where he huffs, pulling back to frown at you as if you are crazy. "One year, amor." He grumbles. "It took me a year to get back to you. What is a day? We are together now."

“Forever.” You lean your forehead against his and sigh. “I tried to get back to you, amor. I went back to the Stones but they wouldn’t let me through.”

“Loca.” Crazy. He huffs, pulling you close. “You – you almost died.” He murmurs quietly. “I would rather you be in your time and alive, than dead in mine.”

“I don’t want to be without you.” The fact that he saved your life is something you will never forget, and if your roles were reversed, you would have done the same for him. But months apart have proved to you that you are no longer your full self without him.

“I am not leaving you, amor.” Exhaustion hits him like a wave now that you are in his arms. It’s been a very long day and he has been on edge. “Never. You will have to send me away.”

“Never.” He lies on you heavily, a feeling you relish and remember fondly. “Sleep, my love. We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Stay.” He murmurs sleepily, eyes already drifting close. “Be here when I wake.” The plea is soft, breathed out as his body relaxes.

“Nothing could drag me away.” The promise is murmured against his temple as you lay a kiss there, letting your eyes close a moment after his, at peace for the first time in months.

******

Pero jumps, reaching for his absent dagger when there is a noise that is foreign, dragging him out of his exhaustive sleep. Gasping when he feels someone next to him, it takes a moment to remember yesterday. He had made it, you were here and in his arms. Instantly settling him like nothing else could.

“Sorry.” You mumble, peeling your eyes open at the sound of your alarm. You had taken off of work for a family emergency, but forgotten the simple things like shutting off your daily alarm on your phone. At least your jeans are close enough to the bed that you can just reach over and grab the device to shut it off.

“Are we…under attack?” He asks, looking around in bewilderment. The blaring had sounded like a horn, a signal for a battle to begin.

“No, amor.” A soft chuckle bubbles through you and you turn back to Pero to wrap him in your arms. “I have to wake up at a certain time each day. The alarm wakes me.”

He groans, frowning slightly as he wonders why you have to awaken so early today. Instead of asking, he burrows into your arms, the doubt of his future here already intrusive this morning. The dream hadn’t helped.

“What’s wrong?” You may have only had a few months together in his time, but you know that groan. He is upset and trying to mask it with grumpiness.

“Nothing amor.” The last thing he wants is to make you wonder if he is unhappy being with you again. “The noise hurt my ears.”

“You’re a poor liar, Pero.” Tipping your head back lets you look him in the eyes, and you bite your lip in concern. “Talk to me?”

Staring at you for a long moment to see if you will back down, he blows out a breath when you don’t. “I had a dream.” He admits, rolling his eyes as if it is of no importance. “It…rattled me.”

“A dream of what?” It must have been something vivid to make him so upset this morning.

He knows he won't be able to distract you. Pulling away, Pero rolls to his back to look up at the ceiling. The whitewashed walls are a stark contrast from the thatched roof of the home he had left to come here. "Your time is different, sí?" He asks, not expecting an answer. "I– I could not learn how to be here, to live and you–" sighing softly, he closes his eyes. "You wished I had never come here."

“That will never happen.” You can promise him that without hesitation, and draw him close with one arm around his waist. “If you are unhappy here, we will try to return through the Stones together. It is as simple as that. I meant when I said that I do not care where or when we live as long as we’re together.”

"I– I want to try to live here with you." Pero admits quietly. "You have suffered so much in my world." The fear of you being attacked again or being branded a bruja again is enough for him to want to stay.

“It is very different.” To pretend otherwise would be an outright lie. “But if you are unhappy here, I would go back with you. I don’t care. I only care about staying with you.”

"I have only been here a day, amor." Pero murmurs. "We don't know if we tried to go back when we would be there." The idea that Briac and Arwena would be dead or elderly breaks Pero's heart.

“Would you like to see some of my world today?” If he wants to stay here there will obviously be adjustments to make, not the least of which will be clothing. “If it sounds like too much, we can just stay here at the inn today.”

“No.” Pero shakes his head, aware that he cannot hide away. “I do not wish to hide from your world, but I–I look strange here, sí?”

“We can get you some new clothes.” Fingers brush his hair from his forehead and you leave a kiss there in its wake. “I told you about clothing shops once. Merchants who sell ready made clothing.”

“I had believed you to be joking.” Pero admits, shooting you a sheepish look. “Since your sewing skills are poor.”

“I never had to sew my own clothes,” you shrug, knowing the idea of shops for everything will completely boggle his mind. “We will see if there are any modern clothes you like.”

He frowns, unable to even imagine it. “I will wear whatever you choose.” He tells you, knowing that you would be able to better decide.

“We will find you something.” Ducking your head, you press a kiss to his chest and offer him a soft smile. “I heard you liked Hadley’s cooking yesterday. Do you want to share a shower and we can go downstairs for breakfast?”

“It was good. Like the food I had at the Wall.” Pero grunts, feeling better now that he has talked to you. This time is strange to him, but it seems as if you have settled back into your world with no issue.

“Come, amor.” Sitting up, you tug on his hand a little to get him to follow you. “We can share a standing bath and I can give you your first pieces of modern clothing.” The layover in New York had been short but given you the chance to think - and you had grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that you hoped would fit him.

“Standing bath.” He hums, admitting that it sounds nice, cleaning up. He had been nervous about things and hadn’t even looked to see where the chamber pot was.

“I think there are some things about this time that you will enjoy.” Leading him into the bathroom, you point out the sink, toilet, and shower and explain all three of them as best you can. “Indoor plumbing. It keeps things clean, and homes smell far better.”

“I– this room was here behind the door?” He asks, eyes widening as he looks around. “Is that the chamber pot you were talking about?”

“You can sit right on it, and there is paper just there to clean yourself. Just press down on this button when you’re done and it all goes away.” Modern technology will take quite a bit of getting used to, but you know Pero can adapt.

He’s doubtful but he reaches over and pushes the button, jerking back slightly when the toilet starts to flush. Frowning to himself as the water swirls in the bowl. “Mierda.”

Trying not to laugh, you can’t help but bite back a grin at his reaction. “It can’t hurt you. It’s just water.”

"It disappears." He huffs, looking at you as if you are the crazy one. He looks back down at the bowl and almost reaches out to press the button again. "It is a chamber pot, sí?" You nod and he gives a small shrug. "How do I piss in this?"

“Stand and aim at the water.” Oh, introducing him to this world is going to be infinitely entertaining. “Or sit and aim down. It is up to you.”

He huffs and cuts his eyes at you, sensing he is being teased. “Hush woman.” He grumbles, sidling up to the bowl, his bladder is active this morning already.

“Remember, you missed me,” you tease, slipping out of the bathroom quickly to grab your toiletries from your carry on. The miracles of dental hygiene were a wonder to rediscover and you still can’t wait to brush your teeth every day.

“Of course I did.” Even as he is relieving himself, he calls out to you. Aware that even with your biting tongue he has missed you. Maybe because of it.

“I missed you, too.” You promise him when you reappear - toothbrush and toothpaste in hand and your other things spilling out on the countertop. “Life is…incomplete without you.”

Pero nods, accepting that to be true. After all, you had come to him when you learned he was here. “What is all that?” He asks, motioning towards your bag.

“This time values cleanliness,” you explain, lining things up for him to inspect after he flushes. “Here.” Turning on the sink startles him slightly but you pump a little hand soap into his hands and put them under the tap. “Most soap is liquid now. Lather your hands with that and they will be clean and smell of perfume.”

Pero frowns and brings his wet hands up to sniff. “Everything smells like rich lords?” He huffs, wondering if his smell offends you now. It had been too cold to bathe before he got to the Stones.

“Sort of.” It makes you laugh to hear it put that way. “When we get home we can find a scent for you that you like. One that isn’t so…lordly. They make things that smell like the woods that I know you would love.”

“I wouldn’t mind smelling like a lord.” Pero concedes before he scowls. “As long as I am not as stupid as one, I will be fine.”

“No one could accuse you of being stupid, mi amor.” Quickly brushing your teeth, you explain the concept of toothpaste and mouthwash to him and concede that it does sound a little odd but it feels very nice, so Pero tries the mouthwash you have and ends up sitting it out in disgust after just a few seconds. “It takes getting used to,” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips and raising an eyebrow at him. “Do you think we can manage a shower without fucking?”

“You are naked.” Pero growls, shaking his head as he pulls you close. “I thought you told me how you loved the idea of fucking under your warm waterfall?”

“I absolutely do love that idea.” And you won’t deny it for a second, especially not when he growls like that. “It was an honest question, not a judgment.”

“I want to clean first, but I want you again, amor.” He will admit that easily. “I miss our bathtub.” There had been times that the water had been reheated several times while you and he had lazily made love in the tub.

“I have a large one in the apartment in Florida.” The one here at the inn is small - too small for that kind of activity - but you don’t mind right now. You have a lifetime with Pero. This just proves it.

"Apartment." Pero rolls the foreign word around on his tongue and wonders what it means. Instead of asking, he turns towards the glass of the shower and grunts. "There is a lot of costly glass in your time."

“It is not so costly anymore.” Reaching in, you turn the knob and watch the water explode from the heads built into the wall. “And we have something called plastic now. Which is like an imitation of glass, and much harder to break.”

Pero's eyes widen, filled with awe as he watches the water cascade down into the small little room beyond the glass. Unable to have imagined your 'shower' until right now. "Mierda." He shakes his head, eyes flickering around the room to find where the water comes from. "I don't understand."

“There is a pipe inside the wall.” Stepping inside to show him that it’s safe, you offer him your hand to help him inside. “The pipe brings water from a heating tank through the inn, and it comes out through here,” you explain, pointing to the shower head with your other hand.

He has questions but he doesn't want to waste the hot water. So he climbs inside the glass room with you, immediately letting out a filthy moan when the hot water hits his skin. It's hotter than any tub of water he's ever bathed in and it feels amazing.

“A warm waterfall.” It had been the best way you could describe it to him and you happily let him sink against you under the hot water.

"You can live in this room." His eyes slip closed and he rolls his head back, sure that he actually died and this is his version of heaven in the afterlife.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Pressing a kiss to his chest, you will happily hold him for as long as he wants to stand here and enjoy the hot water.

"Better with you here." He promises, turning his head and pressing his lips to your temple and leans his head against yours. "Are you ready to make me smell like a rich lord?"

The shower does devolve a little, with hands wandering and pleasure for both of you, but when you eventually shut off the water and climb out you’re relaxed and ready to start the day. “I brought you some modern clothes,” You tell him, handing him a fluffy towel from the bathroom shelf and taking one for yourself. “I don’t know if they’ll fit you well, but I kind of had to guess.”

He feels cleaner than he ever has in his life, layers of skin seemingly stripped down until he practically squeaks. He does smell flowery, but he doesn’t mind it because you smell the same. Watching in fascination as you rub something under your arms, he takes it from you and sniffs it, frowning but lifting his own arm then switching to the other to copy you. “You have no hair under your arm anymore.” He realizes. “Or on your legs.”

“No.” Last night had been far too frantic for any kind of inspection, but you had readopted shaving about a month after returning to your own time. “It is the fashion now. And it’s what I’m most used to.” Worry creeps across your face though, and you bite your lip. “Do you hate it?”

“No?” Pero frowns and sets down the deodorant. “Do I need to do it too?” He asks, glancing down at his legs and wondering how you got your skin so smooth without cuts. “It would take a lot of passes with the dagger.”

“No, amor.” That makes you giggle, and you lead him out into the bedroom to pull his new clothes out of your bag. “It is the fashion for women. You have nothing to fear.”

“Good.” He grunts, feeling a little awkward. “It is fine if you like your legs hairless. I do not care as long as you are happy.”

“Just as long as my cunt still keeps its hair?” You smirk slightly and hand him the fresh jeans, boxers, and t-shirt before grabbing clean clothes for yourself.

“You would have that bare too?” Pero’s eyes widen and he looks down to your cunt before his brow lifts, trying to imagine it. “Truly?”

“Some women do. Some men do not like hair there or use it as an excuse not to give a woman pleasure with their mouths. But I know you do not feel that way.” It’s a pain in the ass to keep up with, but you had done it in the past for other lovers. At this point the other thing you care about is that Pero is happy, so if he wanted to experience it then you would shave for him happily.

That makes Pero scowl. “They have hair on their ass don’t they?” He huffs, shaking his head at how weak men are in this time. “What does hair have to do with eating a woman’s cunt and making her cry in pleasure?” He smirks and steps closer to you. “What do you say?”

“Honestly?” Even having him step closer with that sexy little smirk highlighting his love dimple makes your throat run dry. “You never had any trouble eating my pussy before now, but if you’re curious I’ll shave.”

“I should eat it now.” He rumbles, eyes darkening slightly. “So I can see if there is a difference with it bare if you want to show me.”

“Would you enjoy that?” Your panties are in your hand but are already being tossed aside before he can even answer you. Apparently fingering you until your legs gave out in the shower was not enough for him.

“I am a hungry man.” Pero growls, reaching for you and dragging you over to the bed that feels like a cloud. “Your cunt is a feast I have missed.”

“We might never leave this room today.” Not that you mind, not with your legs opening automatically to let him lie between them or whatever else he wants to do.

“That is fine with me.” Pero smirks down at you as his fingers caress both of your knees, shuffling between them. “Everything I need is right here.”

“We have lost time to make up for.” His year apart from you has made him hungry and you can feel anticipation tingle through you completely.

His grin is wicked, dangerous as he ducks his head down and bites your knee before starting to kiss up your thighs. Breathing in the clean, fragrant scent of you. He had fucked you and fingered you so far, now it was time to eat you.

Pero has always had a predatory edge to him that you found sexy rather than alarming, and it all comes rushing back to you with hot cheeks and a rapid pulse as he sucks bruises into the insides of your thighs on a slow descent to his prize. His ability to have you panting and begging is uncanny, and you squirm underneath him in delicious anticipation.

“I’ve never savored a meal the way I savor you.” He groans, burying his nose in your curls and inhaling your scent. Cock already throbbing but he’s going to do this. Needs to like he needs air. Greedy, his tongue darts out to carve through your folds.

Your sharp gasp makes him chuckle, the filthy sound of being utterly pleased with himself rumbling through you when he’s barely even begun to taste what you have to offer him. One of your hands threads through his damp hair readily, knowing he likes it pulled tight as much as you do, and grinning when he grunts and opens his mouth wide to seemingly swallow your entire cunt whole.

It doesn’t matter what time Pero is in. You taste the same. Feminine and musky, better than his favorite ale or his beloved cheese. If he could survive off of your cunt alone, he would do it. His fingers dig desperately into your hips and drag you closer.

Anyone within about twenty yards of your room could instantly guess what is going on inside but you just can’t bring yourself to care right now. Not when the only thought you can manage to have in between gasping his name or cursing vividly is how much you’ve missed him. It’s a miracle that Pero managed to get through the Stones and not one you’re apt to take for granted - and because of that you will be happy to stay in this room all day if it means being devoured by your soulmate’s talented tongue.

There is a rhythm to your pleasure. The way your hips roll tells him how to keep time. His groans are filthy as they pour into you and he loves every gasp and cry of his name. Soon he will have to do something else, but for now, this is his only task.It's impossible to think that you only had a few months together so many centuries ago - the way he knows your body should speak to an entire lifetime of pleasure. It's like you hadn't missed a single moment, bodies rising and falling together in that bed as he licks into you over and over again.

Eyes fixed on your face, Pero watches. Watches the way your lips part on a gasp or your teeth sink into the tender skin of your bottom lip when you think to stifle your sound. He watches the way your eyes flutter under your lids as you writhe in pleasure. His tongue flicks over your clit again, wanting to watch as you fall apart for him again.

There is nothing subtle or understated about the way he devours you. Pero's focus is entirely on pushing you over that last edge of pleasure now, and there is obviously no gap in his memory of how to do so. His lips curl into a satisfied smirk just before your eyes clamp shut - head tossed back on a cry of his name as you fall apart beneath him.

There’s always a moment right before your thighs try to close around his head. One where your entire body shudders and nearly lifts off the bed. The edge right before over stimulation and Pero groans into you when he feels it again. His tongue easing up as you gasp and moan, slowly circling your clit to bring you back down to earth.

"Fuuuck." You couldn't do anything more than collapse right now even if you wanted to, legs still shaking just a little and gorgeous aftershocks shooting through your system as Pero places soft kitten licks and kisses everywhere he pleases.

“Mmmm.” Pero lifts up, shuffling up the bed to lay down beside you and his arm easily drapes over your body. “Now that I remember what you taste like, you can cut your hair off and I’ll see what bare cunt tastes like.”

"I doubt it will taste any different," you giggle, rolling your eyes at him as you curl into his side. This is the only place in the world that you want to be right now and you're so grateful that you have this chance again. "But you can have as many tastes as you want, amor."

“Good.” Everything is right when you are in his arms and he sighs softly. “Show me the clothes you brought me?” He asks, knowing he can’t wear his breeches and tunic around town.

"You want me to move after you make me cum twice in twenty minutes?" Grumbling at him is only teasing, of course, but you throw him a playful pout as you reach for the stack of clothing on the bedside table. Boxers, Jeans, and a t-shirt that will hopefully fit him well enough to go out and try on an actual wardrobe. "These are only temporary. If they're not comfortable for you, we will pick out other things at the store today."

“Do you have enough coins to purchase such things?” He asks, frowning as he holds up the jeans. It is a strange type of cloth but it seems sturdy.

“Yes.” Standing up, you grab your own panties again and slide them on, before looking back at him cautiously. “I have lived with careful finances for most of my life, and have a job that pays well.” Not well enough for all the bullshit you have to deal with, but you’re very comfortable. “While you are adjusting to life here, I can provide for you. Though I know you well enough to know that you will not allow me to do it forever.”

Pero frowns and nods. “I will trust that you will not take on too much.” He murmurs, knowing you will share if it becomes too much. There is too much between you now. “I will try to ease your worries wherever I can.”

“I would not feel safe with you living the life of a mercenary or soldier in this time.” It’s a lot to admit, but knowing that a lot of his former standard practices would now be considered war crimes? It just doesn’t sit well with you. “There are many paths you can choose now, amor. You can start fresh. Be whatever you choose to be.”

His lack of learning still worries him and he frowns. “What would I be able to do?”

"Anything you wish." Cost be damned, you would make sure that Pero has the opportunities in this lifetime that he never could have had as a medieval farmer's son. "Even get an education, if you wish. There are even special educations you can get for certain jobs. Training. Instead of apprenticeships, we have training programs now for anyone who wishes to join."

His brow raises and he nods. “That is very - anyone can do it?” He whistles, knowing there were many titles he could not hold because of his birth or lack of wealth. “Interesting. I could become a huntsman.” He offers, knowing he would be able to hunt any game for a wealthy lord in your village or surrounding lands.

"There is not much call for huntsmen anymore." Slowly getting dressed, you smirk when Pero watches you put on your jeans with intense interest. He's leering a little, yes, but he's also learning the new garment. "But to be a butcher is a very good occupation. Or to work on a farm or a ranch, if that is what you want to do." Offering him your best and most encouraging smile, you throw your shirt on over the ultra soft bra you packed and grab your sweater. It may be July in Scotland, but that's a hell of a lot colder than July in Florida. "You don't need to rush the decision, love. Let's just enjoy ourselves today. How does that sound?"

“Sí.” Pero nods, his own clothes going on much slower and you have to help him with the button of the jeans when he huffs in frustration. “Do I walk barefoot?” He asks, wiggling his toes in the new socks you made him put on. “These are your shoes?”

"You can wear your boots under the jeans." They would be well hidden from view, and only look slightly out of the ordinary if someone decided to pay extremely close attention. To the casual observer, he's just wearing leather boots. "I had absolutely no idea of your shoe size, so I decided not to guess."

“Shoe size….” Pero frowns and then shrugs it off, pulling the shirt over his head. At least the tunic is familiar, although tighter than he was used to. “How does it look?” He asks, holding his arms out for you to inspect him.

"You look very handsome." It's not an exaggeration in any way, shape, or form because he is always handsome. Is it slightly odd? Perhaps. But that is through no fault of his own. It is because you lived essentially naked with the man for months on end in the cottage. "Come and look in the mirror. Tell me what you think."

He had been startled when he discovered the costly looking glass in the room. Having it make him reach for his dagger a few times when his reflection was captured in its view. Pero dutifully walks over to you and turns, much more interested in looking at you, although he does stare at himself for a long moment. “This is– what I am?”

"Are you comfortable?" The jeans look a little baggy on him and the t-shirt is working overtime to stretch across his broad shoulders, but for guessing sizes on a man you hadn't seen in six months it's not too bad.

“The pants sit weird.” He admits, tugging on them slightly. “But I am thankful.” He adds, not wishing you to think him ungrateful. “It will take time to get used to.”

"There are other types of pants that might be more comfortable." It's beyond you not to want to touch him all the time, grateful in your own right. Simply that he is here and so willing to try to live life in your time. It is more than you had ever let yourself hope for, really. "Just because I brought you these does not mean you have to like them."

“I am used to...fitted breeches.” He admits after a moment, wiggling his hips slightly. “Though I could hide many weapons.”

"We can certainly find you something tighter if you would prefer it." God knows you're the last person in the world to discourage him from flaunting what he's got. "However...the concealed weapons...are a bit illegal now. By a bit, I mean very."

Pero frowns fiercely. “You cannot carry a dagger or sword?” He huffs. “What kind of place is this?”

"The kind of place where you will need a license to carry a weapon." You shove your hands in your pockets and shrug at him lamely. "No one carries swords anymore. Or daggers, really. We have...they're called firearms, and they are not needed to defend yourself for the most part. Things are much safer than they used to be."

He is skeptical about that, knowing that no matter when in time it is, there is evil in the hearts of men. Still, he grunts and puts down the dagger that he had been about to slip into his waistband. Or the leather belt you had told him was the modern version of his.

"It will take getting used to." Especially for someone like Pero, who had been a warrior until literally yesterday. "Are you ready to get some breakfast before we venture out into town, love?"

“What is there to eat?” He perks up at the prospect of food. Despite the time travel, he loves to think with his stomach and those noodles were tasty. “Do you think she will serve more of those noodles for breakfast?”

"Maybe she'll make some more for us for dinner if we ask." You have no doubt that Hadley would be happy to honour the request and take the compliment for exactly what it is. "But let's go downstairs and see what she's made for breakfast this morning."

Pero grunts, unused to having something different for breakfast beyond leftovers or some bread and cheese. But then again, the idea of cheese has him pulling on his boots and quickly following you.

******

“Well there ye are.” Hadley grins unrepentantly when you and Pero appear in the kitchen, hands tangled together and looking infinitely more relaxed than she’s ever seen either of you before. “I thought I heard ye were awake.” There is nothing but warm teasing in her tone, though there had been a noise complaint this morning that Sarah had already swept under the rug. Nothing to bother you with, not during such a happy reunion. “This morning there’s Quiche Lorraine, scones, and a salad of arugula, fennel, and grapefruit all ready for ye. Coffee and tea, a’course. And some juice if ye’d prefer.”

“Thank you, Hadley.” Your warm hug is full of gratitude, knowing that Hadley and Sarah had taken on quite an adventure yesterday in looking after Pero. “Everything sounds wonderful.”

Pero grunts, unsure of anything that she had just said. You sound pleased and there is one thing that you had talked about a lot. “Coffee?” He asks, looking at you. “Tea? You said you missed those things.” He reminds you, eager to see what the fuss is about.

"Would you like to try them?" His curiosity makes you smile, and you take Hadley's invitation to skirt the kitchen counter and make drinks for yourself as she excuses herself to clean up the dining room. "They both have caffeine in them, so you may feel jittery or energized." Explaining the properties of things like sugar and caffeine to him had been like explaining any other potion that he watched you brew. Not very difficult at all.

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “So you feel like every man when he’s too deep in his cups.” He muses, sniffing the air and approving of the scent.

"It's slightly different, but not too much." Amused at his blasé reaction, you pop a capsule into the Nespresso machine to brew into the waiting mug below and flip on the electric kettle after making sure it had water in it. "I will make both, and you can try them." Cream and sugar are easily obtained, and you portion out two plates of food from the usual overabundance of Hadley's cooking. The woman really is incredibly skilled.

Everything is strange and there isn’t an open flame or cauldron to be found. The only thing remotely familiar to Pero is the black skillet that the woman, Hadley, is hovering over like a hen protecting her chicks. He looks over at you for reassurance, the sounds of the kitchen along with the hum that seems to be constant throughout this space loud.

"Sit, amor." He looks a little lost so you try to give him a little direction, setting the tray of coffee and tea things on the little kitchen table before you put down two identical plates of food. "This is coffee," you put down a mug of fragrant black coffee in front of him and then another of rich, unaltered tea. "And this is tea. Most people add milk and sugar to them, but you don't have to."

“Sugar?” Pero frowns and looks up at you again, unsure of what you are talking about. “What is sugar?”

"This." The little ceramic bowl painted with flowers has a spoon in it, and you scoop some of the crystals out to leave on the rim of the saucer that his teacup is currently sitting on. "Try a little of it on your finger. It's sweeter than honey and far easier to come by."

Sweeter than honey. That gets his attention. He had always been eager to get his hands on honey, loving the sweet nectar. Risking stings to claim honeycomb from hives. Reaching out, Pero manages to grab a few granules of the sugar between his fingers and bring them up to his lips.

You grin when he groans, knowing how much he loves sweets. When he had discovered that you could make jams from some of your dried fruits he had nearly dragged you into bed in gratitude. "We'll have to find a chocolate shop today," you decide. "Too much sugar all at once will make a person feel sick, but chocolate is absolutely divine. Sweet and rich and creamy and just...absolutely delicious."

Pero moans again, thinking about sweet things. “Make– can you–” he nods towards the drinks you set in front of him. “Make them how you think I would drink them.” He begs.

"I'll make them how I like them, how about that?" When he nods again you shift the cups around, adding cream and sugar in measured amounts to each one and stirring them before moving them back in front of him. "If you don't like either of them, there are other things to drink."

The tea is first. Pero takes a cautious sip and hums. It’s good, but it reminds him of the herbs you would boil in water. “This is your tea, huh?”

"There are many different kinds. This is one of them." But you can see the way his lips are curled and you shake your head. "Not to your liking?"

“It is fine.” He won’t insult your favorite brew but it is not exactly what he had been expecting. “The coffee, right?” He asks, picking up the still frothy and rich looking drink.

"I think you'll like that more." Despite having humble beginnings, Pero does have a taste for the rich and luxurious. You happily take the tea from him though, glad to have a cup this morning despite being fully awake.

“Does it go with cheese?” He asks, frowning when he doesn’t see any among the breakfast fare.

"It can." You grin, stifling a giggle. "There is cheese in the quiche, amor. Try a bite." Picking up a bite for him on the fork that was set in front of him, you're happy to offer him the first bite of one of your favourite breakfasts. Although at this point you're thinking you might find a place that does charcuterie for lunch.

There is probably nothing that you offer him that he won’t try. His mouth opens and he accepts the bite, eyes widening slightly as he quickly inhales the delicious, eggy pie. Groaning, he nods. “That is– very good.” He hums, lifting up the the coffee cup to his lips to try it. Another, louder moan escapes his lips on the first sip.

“And so is the coffee?” You guess, grinning when you put his fork down in front of him. For the way Pero loves food, he will likely end up loving modern foodie culture above everything else - although definitely not the pretentious diets.

Even though the coffee is steaming hot, Pero continues to slurp it down like it will vanish from in front of him. Moaning the entire time until the entire cup is down and he is licking his lips and looking disappointed that it is gone.

“Do you see why I missed it?” Laughing lightly, you pop up from the table to get him a glass of orange juice to go with the rest of his breakfast and leave a kiss on his cheek before you sit back down. “We can get another cup later, while we’re out. I don’t want to give you too much caffeine all at once until we know how sensitive you are to it.”

Pouting slightly, he wants to scoff and boast that your modern day drinks won’t affect him, but he doesn’t know that. Instead he just sets the cup down and reaches for the juice, eager to try it since he is more familiar with this than anything else.

Breakfast - brunch really, considering how late in the morning it is - passes easily and quickly. Pero has never been one to dawdle over his food and Hadley's cooking is too good for you to not enjoy eagerly. Before too long you're hand in hand again, heading outside to the rental car that you picked up from the airport. "There's a shopping mall we can go to," you tell him, checking your phone for men's apparel stores in Inverness. Thank god for Google. "It's...malls are indoor markets with permanent merchant stalls. The stores are there every day, for anyone to shop at. They're a little bright, and pretty loud, though. So if it's overwhelming for you, we can go somewhere else." The noise of the future is definitely a difference that you noticed when you came home, never having known anything different before you went to his time.

Pero eyes the car, noticing that it is different from the one he had been in yesterday. “We will…it is the same as other caaaars, sí? It is faster than an arrow?”

"Yes." You nod slightly, but squeeze his hand and try not to laugh. It is completely reasonable for him to be wary of cars. "But I am a better driver than Sarah. I promise you will be safe with me."

“Mierda.” Pero huffs, looking at the handle and reaching for it to copy the way he had seen Sarah open it yesterday. “You must think me stupid.” He grumbles quietly, completely out of his element and feeling as if there is so much he does not understand that comes natural for you.

"Not at all." Slipping into the car beside him, you reach for his seatbelt and show him how to situate it comfortably across his chest. "I had to learn an entire way of life as an adult once too, amor. I know it can be difficult. And scary. But I was lucky to have kind friends then, to teach me the things I did not know. I only want to be that for you, if you'll let me."

He realizes you did have to learn how to live in his world and you had thrived there. That, more than anything, makes him smile slightly. He reaches over and takes your hand, bringing it up to his lips. “Te amo.”

"If you have questions, as I am sure you will, ask them." His kiss to your hand is answered by a chaste but thorough kiss to his lips, and you offer him a reassuring smile. "Te amo, cariño. We will find the way in which you fit into this world. Together.”

This trip is less terrifying than the first. More relaxed simply because it is you that is beside him. The major anxiety of his first trip extinguished by your presence and safety. Cars pass by and houses dot the landscape before you enter the town, making his eyes widen when he sees how large it is compared to the small villages he is used to. “Mierda.” He whispers in awe.

"Inverness is a city now." Knowing that he must have come here at some point if he and the others brought you back to the Stones, you drive through the oldest parts of the city to let him see something that he might recognize the shape of before continuing on to the mall. The large, busy building is imposing from the outside and you park reasonably fair enough from the entrance that you can take your time walking up and give Pero time to adjust to the idea of one of the largest buildings he's ever seen in his life that has nothing to do with royalty or war.

It takes him a moment. So many people, the bustle that has nothing to do with survival taking him aback, he narrows his eyes as he surveys the area. Shaking his head after a moment. “It is so different.” He whispers after a long moment.

"Yes." There's no way to deny that. You both climb out of the car again and you reach for his hand, as much to be a comfort for him as to remind yourself once more than he is actually here. That it isn't a dream. "It is different, but that doesn't make it better or worse. Some things are easier now, but that just means that there are other things to be worried about."

“Everyone moves so fast.” He muses, watching people rush by the two of you. He had thought he moved with purpose in his time, but it seems as though people are running from merchant to merchant. Was there a limited time they could be in the shops?

"Some people say that people could stand to slow down these days." You chuckle a little, linking your fingers through his and guiding him through the walkways of the mall. "I have felt that way myself, since returning."

It is so very different. The light is brighter than the sun and the sounds, different ones challenging his ears to keep up. Pero bristles when someone bumps into him but you are there to calm him down with a stroke to his arm. It’s nearly overwhelming and he can’t seem to keep his eyes from darting around from every movement he sees.

The first men's clothing store that doesn't seem to favor athleticwear is where you steer him, hoping that by limiting the number of directions all the sights and lights and sounds are coming from you can keep Pero from being too overwhelmed. Having explained the concept of trying on clothes and using dressing rooms to him in the car, you're hoping this will go somewhat smoothly.

If he is honest with himself, Pero hadn’t believed you about the ready made clothes. Jaw dropping when you pull him into the store and he sees racks upon racks of clothes. All seemingly the same. “¿Qué clase de brujería es esta?” What kind of sorcery is this? Pero breaths out, reaching a hand out to run over the button up shirts of multiple colored boxes.

"La magia puede ser divertida. Por eso te casaste con una bruja." Magic can be fun. That is why you married a witch. You tease him, picking out one of the plaid shirts he is touching in a size you think will fit him. It will all be a fresh shopping hell when you're at home dealing with American sizes, but he just needs a few days' worth of clothes in order to get there.

“It is wealth that I’ve never imagined.” He admits, craning his neck to see all the fabric, much of it unfamiliar. “What would you have me wear?”

"I would have you be comfortable." Although you know that for him comfort is a very different thing, it is an honest answer. Summer means that there are t-shirts and polos in dozens of different designs, short-sleeved button-down shirts, and even some long sleeved things in soft cotton and linen. Shorts, jeans, and more linen options for pants hang along one wall. "Why don't we try on a few things in different fabrics and sizes, so we can find what will be the most comfortable for you?"

“Whatever you want, Sassenach.” This is your time and he will follow your lead, although his eyes drift over to a purple hued shirt. Only wealthy lords could afford brightly colored cloth. The darker squares made it appealing and he looks to you for approval.

"You like this one." It isn't even a question, you can see the way his eyes light up at the purple plaid cotton button down. Seeing him get excited about something as relatively simple as a shirt makes you feel just a little more relaxed and assured about this whole trip, and you take one off the rack that you think will fit him, plus a size larger because he's built so broadly. "I like it, too."

“You do?” He’s almost shy about it; never giving much thought to clothes because they were a necessity rather than an indulgence, but this is the definition of luxury. “Then we will get it.”

"Does anything else catch your eye?" There are other purple shirts, other plaids, and other soft materials to be had, and you wonder which things he will gravitate toward.

Pero frowns slightly and looks down at the shirt he is wearing and the points at the shirt that is on a rack. A Henley. “That is different from this.” He comments. “I will try that?”

"Sure. You can try that." You're sure you've done a damn poor job of hiding how excited you are at the prospect of Pero trying on anything that will cling to him, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters to you is that he leaves here with things that he likes and doesn't mind wearing. The fact that you get to play dress-up with your soulmate is a fringe benefit.

Pero doesn’t miss your happiness as he starts to shift through things. Rejecting some outright and agreeing to others until there is too much. “Amor, I have one ass.” He huffs. “I cannot wear all this.”

“People have more than two or three sets of clothing now, amor de mi vida. This is just so you can try them on and we can find your size.” The employee who takes the small stack of pants and hangers from you seems nonplussed about the fact that you obviously intend to go into the dressing room with Pero, and does not stop you from disappearing behind the closed door with him. The little stall is barely big enough for two to stand in, but you can sit and mind your business in the corner easily enough.

“Truly?” He shakes his head and looks at the pile of clothes. “Now I just put them on? To fit them like armor?”

“I’ll keep everything organized for you.” The purple shirt he loved is the first thing you hand him, and a pair of gray pants that are stretchier and softer than denim despite probably being made of a nearly identical fabric.

He notices you watching as he undresses and smirks at you. “See something you like, amor?”

“Always.” And who are you to deny it? That would be downright untrue. “But it is rude to use a dressing room as a place for pleasure simply because I see something I like very much.”

“Hmph.” Pero frowns but he doesn’t argue with you, knowing that you might have different rules for propriety than in his time. Even then you are his wife and not some common wench he paid for the pleasure of her body.

“We’re not animals, mi amor. We can wait until we get back to the hotel to have another tumble.” Though the frown on his face does make you laugh, knowing that if it weren’t for public decency laws, you would gladly just have each other right here on the dressing room bench.

Pero narrows his eyes at you playfully. “I know that.” He grumps at you. “It is my cock that does not listen. It is bewitched by you.”

“Sshhh!” You nearly burst out laughing, forgetting momentarily how matter of fact he can be. “It is also not polite to talk about sex quite so loudly in public.” Of course, it never was, but Pero has never cared. You just don’t want him to have a cross sales clerk to deal with when he is trying to learn a whole new society. Pero smirks at you and lifts a brow, about to say something else but he doesn’t want to embarrass you. Instead he just winks at you and starts to strip his pants off.

The purple shirt fits him almost perfectly, though nothing can offset the way his shoulders make him larger than life. The pants take a few tries to get right, however, since years as a warrior has given him a trim waist and a preference for clothing that he can move in. You’ll have to explain later the magic of things like simple sweatpants. “What do you think?” You ask him, nodding to the mirror after the third pair of pants. These hug his ass so well that he actually has one in them and you’re prepared to say a prayer of thanks to the fast fashion gods for it.

“Do you like it?” For him, that’s all that matters. He doesn’t want to shame you, since it is obvious that the two of you are soulmates. “Does it– do I look like a man from your time?” That is his biggest worry, that people will know that he doesn’t belong here, belong with you.

“Yes, amor. You certainly do.” There’s room enough for you to stand next to him, and you slip out of your seat to put your arms around him and squeeze gently. “I want to try to give you the best chance at a normal life here that I can. If you hate this clothing and want to wear something else there are lots of options, I promise. I will always find you handsome no matter what.”

“This is comfortable.” He admits, moving around as much as the small space would allow. “I just want to make sure you like it. I could be bare assed and not care.”

"That would certainly attract you some extra attention." You snort at the mental image, just thinking of how many people would end up staring at the well-endowed and well-built Spaniard.

“What now?” He starts to drag the clothes off again and put the original clothes on, not sure what was next for you.

"Do you want to try on the other shirts?" He had found a few different styles and you definitely don't object to watching him try on clothes. "Then we can see about finding you some shoes? And maybe..." You bite your lip, not because he is shirtless - although that's a good reason - but because you're almost afraid to ask. "Maybe you can tell me...about Arwena and Briac? Whatever you know, anyway?"

He hadn’t mentioned them because he did not want you to feel bad, but now that you have brought it up he is happy to talk about them. “I have letters, from Wena.” He tells you with a grin, reaching for the other shirts to try on. “A stack of them. She was writing you almost one a day.”

"Where did you go?" What you really want to ask is what the hell happened when you got sick, but the dressing room in the Eastgate Shopping Centre Fatface is not the place for what you have a feeling is going to be a serious conversation. Much better to keep it light, if you can. At least for now.

“After you…disappeared, we traveled to Skye to seek out the mysteries of the Stones from Father Malcolm’s clan.” Pero explains, remembering how unresponsive he had been while traveling to you.

"You met Grandmother Ede?" Remembering the old woman brings a smile to your lips, although you might be smiling a little bit more right now watching Pero fight his way into the tight Henley shirt he picked out. "Did...Malcolm go with you? From Gretna? I-I don't remember much after the morning after our wedding."

“Yes.” You wouldn’t have remembered anything. Pero turns and sighs softly, knowing that you would have wanted to exact your revenge yourself. “Your monster, your dragon, was slain outside the stables in Gretna. And Wena– she took out the bastard that hurt her. The Father came with us to the Stones to return you and keep us safe from questions.”

"Who did it?" As quiet as the question is, and as probably inappropriate as the timing is, you need to know. If Wena had slain her own dragon then you only actually need one guess to know who slayed yours - but you want to hear it from him.

“I made sure that I repaid him for your injuries, for the injuries he had visited upon other women.” Pero murmurs, his eyes flashing with satisfaction of the blood he had spilt on his hands. It had been the last man he had killed so far and if that was the end, he would be content with it. “He knew terror before he drew his last breath.”

"Mi guerrero." My warrior. It's probably not something other people would be proud of, to know that their soulmates had spilled blood in their name. But considering what was done to you? Standing again, your arms find his waist easily and your face tucks into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of your soap and new clothing along with the scent that is only his. "Gracias, mi amor. I...I do not know if I could have done it myself."

“You could have.” Pero has no doubt of your strength, he knows you would have done it if only to spare any other from suffering your fate or worse at his hands. Still, he preens slightly under your praise and hums softly at the feeling of you in his arms. “I only did it because you were too sick to conjure your flames.”

"So Wena had to confront her father after all?" The thought stung and festered over the months – wondering what had become of all the people you had left behind. Even when the answers are unpleasant, it is still good to have them. Knowing Arwena was strong enough to face her father and her attacker and still move forward completely validates all of your belief in her.

“She was amazing, amor.” Pero murmurs, knowing that you would be proud. “Her handling of that shit stain who claimed to be her betrothed was magnificent. Briac was proud of her, even if he itched to kill the bastard himself. And she did it while carrying the babe.”

“She was already pregnant?” You look up at him with wide eyes, although you’re not sure why you’re so surprised. The road from Brittany to Scotland hadn’t exactly afforded anyone a great deal of privacy. So much so that you had all joked about it at length.

“Yes.” Pero smiles, remembering her pregnancy fondly. Even if she had complained about the travel and the upsets of having a babe growing inside her. “You are an abuela. A perfect little boy.”

“It is…more than that, I think.” Your thoughts redirect instantly to the grimoire, sitting safely under lock and key in your apartment. The list of names in the back cover begins with you - something that makes sense if it is contributors, but also if it is family. And if Pero is calling you an abuela, then they certainly still considered you family. “I was going to tell you tonight…the whole story.”

“You should read her letters. I was there when she gave birth. She– they named their son after me.” He whispers, a proud smile on his face. “They took Tovar as their name as well.”

“You kept our family safe.” It’s just a whisper back to him, but you tighten your arms around him and hold on, for the first time feeling absolutely grateful that the Stones hadn’t allowed him to follow you immediately. He was needed. He was needed in that time and place, to make sure that Arwena and Briac and their little boy were safe. To make sure that you…that your family line would truly begin. “I need to tell you something, amor.”

Pero frowns, worry making the creases of his eyes more prominent than they normally are. “What is wrong?” He asks, fearing that you might have learned something horrible about the time after he left.

“Some months ago, Beth and I were cleaning…” Beth was cleaning, you were resting, but that is beside the point. “And we discovered a box from my own abuela. Some belongings of hers that she meant to pass on to me before she died.” Your fingers twist in the Henley he is wearing and you know you’ll be buying it for him regardless of the fit, just because it has already been stretched. “Wena’s book was among them.”

Pero frowns and shakes his head. “I do not understand. She had the book. She would write in it and read your writings all the time.” He huffs. “How do you have it?”

“I did not understand either,” you admit, urging him to sit with you and lowering your voice a little. “But the back of the book…there is a list of people who contributed to it over the centuries. M-my name is there. Right at the top…and the most recent…is my abuela.”

He frowns again, biting his lip. “They were happy when I left. Little Perito was growing like a weed and Arwena was already speaking of having another child.”

“Yes.” When you nod again, you take both of his large hands in your smaller ones. “And I believe that that family…it is possible that I am their progeny.” And the beauty and oddity of it always manages to bring a tear to your eye, if you’re honest, making you shrug at how impossible it seems. “I believe that Arwena and Briac may be my ancestors.”

It takes him a moment to really grasp what that means and when he does, his hands tighten on yours. “You– mierda, their kin?” He huffs, nearly blown away, although all he can think is that your magic made it possible. Without you there, Arwena might never have been strong enough to save herself.

“I think so.” Leaning into his side of such a relief. To be able to discuss this with someone who holds the same affection for the younger couple is a weight lifted off your shoulders. “I have no way of proving it, of course, but I will show you the book when we go home. It is a miracle that it has lasted.”

“She was talking about a way to preserve the book.” He murmurs. “To pass it down to her children like you did for her.”

"It seems to have worked." And for a spell like that to have lasted for a thousand years? Arwena must have become a far more powerful witch than either you or her had ever thought.

“Amor…”Pero looks over at you. “Do you believe you were supposed to go back? To find her and me?”

"I have believed for a long time that I was meant to go back in order to find you." It feels like a large thing to admit - almost a confession - but you know that Pero can appreciate a little better now the enormity of finding yourself in an entirely new life. How difficult and scary it can be. How thinking that you are there with a purpose can be such a relief. "I've thought that since the day you came to my doorstep. But now? I don't know. It seems...foolish to think that any of it happened by accident."

“Too much of a pattern to be an accident.” Pero wraps his arms around you and sighs softly. “They wish us to return, if you wish to.” He confesses, knowing you would be upset at him if he had not been truthful with you.

"Do you want that?" Tilting your head back, you manage to leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth and try to read the expression on his face. If he wants to try to go back, you will. You just have no idea if it will work. Or if the Stones would even send you back to the same time if it did.

His frown is conflicted but then he blinks and shakes his head. “No.” He growls softly. “I– I cannot risk losing you again.” He had nearly lost you forever and just the idea of you vanishing and him remaining or him returning without you is enough to make his heart start to hammer in his chest. “I– will not survive it.”

“I can’t lose you again, either.” Burying your face in his chest hides the frown on your lips, knowing that he probably would be happier in his own time. But you respect him enough to let him make his own decision, and you love him enough to be grateful that his choice is you. “I promise I will do everything I can to make you happy here, cariño. I swear. On our family.”

“I don’t care where I live.” Pero promises you, pulling back so he can cup your cheek, his thumb brushing the base of your scar. “As long as you are with me, I am happy. You are my home.”

******

After trying on more shoes than a bride with an unlimited budget and finding an old fashioned sweets shop to introduce Pero to the wonder of modern candy, you had walked around the mall a little while longer. His curiosity generally overcame his discomfort, especially when he would get the odd compliment or smile from a stranger than thought he looked quite good in his short-sleeved Henley, jeans, and Doc Martens. You had just giggled, told him you completely agreed that he looks good, and taken him for his very first ice cream before heading back out to the car.

“We can eat that every day?” Pero asks again, licking his fingers even though there is no more of the sweet ice cream left on his skin. “Different kinds? There were so many at that merchant.”

“We can buy it in containers from the market and bring it home any time we like,” you giggle, delighted with how enraptured Pero has been with the easy delights of the modern age. He was very literally like a kid in that candy store earlier, and you know you’ll have to stop him from overdoing his sugar intake and ending up sick.

“I want to try every one of them.” He insists, practically smacking his lips in anticipation. “But they must go in that big steel box, sí?”

"Yes." When you reach the rental car, you unlock the doors and set the half-dozen bags from your bag into the backseat. "But we have one of those - they're called freezers - at the apartment. I think I might even have an ice cream maker in the cupboard somewhere. We can try making our own, if you want."

“There is so much to your time.” Pero shakes his head, nearly unable to believe that he is not in some fantastic dream. “I don’t know how you experience it all.”

"You don't." Shrugging slightly, you open the car's passenger door for him before going around the car and letting yourself into the driver's side. "There are countless things that I have never done. But that's okay. I just make sure not to waste time doing things I don't like unless I have to."

He contemplates that silently as you turn on the car and pull out of the parking spot to go back to the inn. “I wonder if the Wall is still there.” He murmurs softly, looking out the window. “I would like to see it again. It was magical, bruja.” He looks over and tosses you a grin. “So high you will not believe. It is bigger than anything else in the world, I am sure of it.”

"You're right." In some ways, at least. "The Wall is one of the great wonders of the world. Most of it is still standing, and people visit it in droves every year." You glance over at him at a traffic light, loving the look of excitement on his face. "We could go, one day. If you wanted to. China is very different now than it once was, but we could definitely go and visit the Wall."

“Have you ever been?” He feels like you would have spoken about it after revealing the truth about where you came from, but maybe you had thought to spare his feelings.

"No," you shake your head as you turn back to the traffic, making sure to drive safely and not too fast so he isn't uncomfortable. "I haven't. I had never even left my country until I came to Scotland to see the Stones."

Pero snorts, smirking slightly at how that had turned out for you. “What ‘countries’ would you say you have visited now? Is Spain still there?”

"Spain is certainly still there." Rolling your eyes slightly is just good humor, but it makes him laugh and that was your only goal. "I had always wanted to see it even before I met you. The city I live in was founded by Spanish settlers. Adventurers. A very long time ago, but not as long ago as your time."

He grunts, slightly proud of his Spanish brethren for traveling across the large ocean you told him separated your land from Spain. Especially since the end of the world was that way. “Good.” He shuffles slightly, a little motion sick from how fast the car was going. “I will take you there one day. When you want to see where I settled Wena and Briac.”

"Was it your homestead?" That had been the plan, after all, but anything could have happened to prevent them from actually making it to his village in Valencia.

“It was.” Pero closes his eyes, smiling slightly as he remembers the home he had only left a month ago but was now a thousand years in the past. “The house was empty, still standing. Wena birthed our nieto in the same bed I was born in.”

"How old was he when you left?" It must have broken his heart to leave that small family behind, knowing how close they had all become. Knowing that he had actually been an abuelo to little Pero and that he must have helped Briac fix up the farmhouse that he was raised in.

“Little Perito was four months old when I left.” It’s strange to think that he is now dead and his bones are dust in the earth. He had lived a full life and most likely had a family since you are thinking you come from their line. “They were happy there. Father Malcolm settled there too, at the church.”

"Malcolm went with you?" Somehow you had imagined that he might have stayed behind in Skye with his clan. Or perhaps you had only thought that because you had wanted to think it would have made him happy.

“He did.” Pero nods. “It was good, to have a man of the cloth take up for Wena. To settle people if rumors were to start.”

"It sounds like you were happy." And like you would have been, too, if you had managed to make it there with them. It might have been even happier than you had been in the cottage in Brittany because you didn't have to fear the village turning against you. Pero is right - having a man of the cloth to stand by Arwena's goodness could only have helped.

“There was something, or someone, missing.” Pero reaches over and squeezes your knee. “Your presence was missed every second.”

“I missed you all so much.” Your hand over his is a warmth and a comfort, and you steer the car down the main road easily with your other hand. “I think yesterday was the first day I didn’t cry for missing you all, and it was because you called me so early in the day that I hadn’t had the chance yet.”

“We are together now.” Pero rumbles, pleased that you had missed him as much as he had missed you, although he hates to hear that you cried. “Nothing will tear us apart.”

"I'm afraid we'll have to be married again." Not that it's a thing you're afraid of, per se, but it's something that you had gone over and over again in your mind since waking up in the hospital. If Pero ever made it through and if he wanted to stay, it's something you would have to take care of. "I don't think modern governments are in the habit of honoring thousand-year-old vows."

“I will marry you a thousand times, if that is what it takes.” He doesn’t care what he has to do, even if it's to kill someone. As long as you are happy and he is with you, that is all that matters. He will find a way to provide for you. He’s made arrangements that hopefully would have survived a thousand years.

******

The inn is bustling when you return, filled with new arrivals checking in that all look like they’re part of one big party. You and Pero slip through the lobby with your bags with just a wave and a shout from Sarah to make sure you come down for dinner later.

Pero follows you up to the room, comfortable enough here but there were a lot of people down there. He feels exposed without his dagger on him and he hates it.

“We can hide up here until the crowd dies down.” You offer, setting his bags down at the foot of the bed. “Did you have fun today, amor?”

“It is different.” Pero admits, still blown away by the casual luxury that is available in this time. “I just feel…naked without a dagger.” He admits. “There must be some weapon I can carry.”

“We can find you something.” Not being terribly well versed in concealed carry laws, you tilt your head and think for a second before a possible solution comes to mind. “There are things called pocket knives now. Blades that fold into their holster to be carried in your pants pocket. How does that sound?”

His eyes narrow, imagining how a blade could fold. “Fantastic.” He mutters to himself before he nods eagerly. “I must see this ‘pocket knife’ and have one.” He tells you with a satisfied look.

The flash of excitement in his eyes makes you laugh, and you pull him down on the bed next to you to put your arms around him. “We’ll get you one when we get back to Florida. You’ll have lots of options.”

That makes him feel better, grumbling slightly at your amusement at him. “I carry weapons.” He huffs at you, his own arms wrapping around you and he pulls you closer as he flops down onto the marvelously comfortable bed.

“And if you would like to continue carrying weapons, I understand.” After all, he had spent almost his entire life with a sword on his hip. “Maybe I can ask my friend if her soulmate’s security company needs an extra pair of hands?” It had crossed your mind, obviously, but if Pero wanted to continue to be a warrior in this time - if that is what makes him most comfortable and fulfilled - you would gladly talk to Beth and William.

“Like guards?” Pero frowns. “People still need hired swords in this time?” He was familiar with the work, sometimes being hired by a lord to guard his home from his enemies. It was the easiest of the work he had done.

“Will’s company mostly works for businesses. They provide private security for companies rather than people.” Lying in bed with him has always been the most comfortable place to be, and you nuzzle into his side so easily. “I don’t really know the ins and outs of it, but…he knows all about you. I’m sure if you wanted to talk to him about it, he would be happy to.”

“It will be good to earn coins to help you.” Pero acknowledges, surprised when you had told him that the bartering for skins or game was nearly completely dead in your time and coin was how you bought everything. It worried him, because in his time, coin was the hardest thing to come by and he wanted to contribute. To not be a burden.

"We will find you something that you enjoy." The last thing you want is for him to settle down with you in this time only to end up regretting the choice because twenty-first century American grind work culture makes him miserable. Shit - it already makes you miserable, he shouldn't have to be, too.

“Enjoy?” Pero chuckles and looks up at the ceiling again. “Bruja, the differences between your time and mine are vast.” His hand rubs up and down your back, sliding underneath your shirt so he can touch your skin. “We do not do things we enjoy, we do things to survive. My joy comes from being with my soulmate.”

"I love you, too." His hand on your back is steadying. Comforting in a way that lets you just shut your eyes for a second before looking up at him again. "But I already have a job that I hate that makes plenty of money. If we can find you something that you don't hate, I would love that for you. That's all."

Pero frowns, not happy with your comment. “Then I will learn your world and make sure that I can provide for you. So you can leave what you hate and go back to what you love.” You had loved your potions and herbs, healing people. He will make that happen for you.

"I can't ask you to do that." Especially since you don't actually know what path you would take if you could start over. Healing had been rewarding, but modern medicine is very different. Cooking is fun but not a career path you had ever been interested in. And your college English degree practically has dust on it by now. Your main hobby had been photography but that is a tough as nails path to take. "As long as we're together, everything will be fine."

Pero grunts, the idea that had been forming in his head one that he will need to ponder on before he talks to you about it. Learning your world will be daunting enough but he learned magic to be here and he was going to put in the effort.

******

It's a few hours later, after wandering hands turn into slow lovemaking, you and Pero get dressed again and wander down to find out what Hadley has made for dinner. The large party that checked it early seems to be a wedding party that is trickling out for the night, maybe out for bachelor and bachelorette parties or else out for a large dinner, and Sarah looks relieved to see them go when she flashes you both a smile from behind the front desk.

“It always smells good down here.” Pero tells you, sniffing the air and his mouth waters at whatever Hadley has prepared for dinner. The food tastes so different but he is overwhelmed. Especially when you had shown him a selection of cheeses.

"Smells like garlic and duck." You could practically float downstairs, following the scent of cassoulet into the kitchen where Hadley is just beginning to scoop out four bowls of the gorgeous provencal stew while Sarah cuts slices of fresh baguette to pile into a basket accompanied by herb goat cheese and honey. "We thought we could all eat together tonight," Sarah offers, smiling when you and Pero walk into the room hand in hand.

“Do you not eat with your guests often?” Pero asks, tilting his head curiously. He would think that the honor of the lord's table was still granted to those visiting, although it might be a separate area, according to rank.

“When the place is full up it can be hard,” Sarah admits. The tray of bread and toppings gets drinking glasses and flatware added to it, and lately a large decanter of wine. “But…we had something we wanted to surprise you with tonight.”

That has his interest and apparently yours from the way that you tilt your head curiously. Pero focuses on the wine and smirks, wondering if it is as good as his time.

“Dinner isn’t surprise enough?” They’ve already done so much for you, in the support they’ve given you over the last six months and the way they took Pero in yesterday without hesitation, you don’t know what else they could possibly do.

“A’course not.” Hadley huffs, rolling her eyes like there isn’t a Nutella soufflé in the oven for dessert. “Sit an’ eat, an’ we’ll tell ya.” You don’t have to be told twice, helping Sarah set the little kitchen table for the four of you as Hadley sets out full bowls of fragrant, delicious cassoulet. Sarah pours out the wine and dinner is served as easily as that, but the younger of the two women is obviously a little eager. Or else nervous. “I’ve had a call with my auntie earlier today,” she starts, looking at you with a meaningful glance. “Sarah’s tía went through the Stones to 1692,” you tell Pero. “She stayed a few months before coming back.”

Pero shakes his head, eyes wide. “Did–did she go back? Or did someone come with her?” He asks, wondering about others that might have come through and been out of their own time.

“Auntie never spoke of anyone special from her travels.” Sarah shakes her head, wishing she could tell him otherwise. “But she spoke of another traveler that she had known…a woman whose story she took down for the archives…and that the most difficult thing she encountered was not having papers.” Papers. Your face falls noticeably, realizing that even though you had to grab your driver’s license and your passport in order to get to him, you had forgotten that he would need those things too.

“Only lords have papers.” Pero huffs, shaking his head. His name might be recorded in the church when he had been baptized as a baby, but his parents couldn’t read, or write, so there was no family history other than the stories his had been told. Nobility was the only class that matters as far as proving you are who you say you are.

"Not anymore." You glance at Pero beside you, already setting your fork back down in your bowl and trying to figure out how the fuck to deal with this road block. "Everyone has them now."

"We dinna bring it up to make ye sad." Hadley assures you both, nudging her wife. "No one cleverer than a MacLeod woman when ye find yerself in a bind."

Even Pero can see the problem with needing papers. He frowns slightly and his fork stops halfway between the bowl and his lips. “Shit.” He hisses under his breath.

"Luckily for you both, I have a slightly checkered past that comes with excellent connections." It really isn't something she would otherwise be proud of, but right now it's something that is so incredibly important. "In two days Pero will have a Spanish passport that even the king wouldn't see a problem with."

Pero has no clue what a passport is, but you slump down in relief makes him believe that it is important.

"Two days?" You nod, swallowing your fear and leaning slightly on Pero's arm beside you. "We can do that. I–I don't care what it costs. Whatever you had to promise, it's worth it."

Sarah snorts and shakes her head. “Cashed in some favors.” She assures you. “We just need to add photos to them. Also have a birth certificate and Visa for him so you can start getting him documents in the States.”

"I don't even want to know how you managed all of that." You're clutching Pero's hand for dear life at the table, feeling like you could burst with appreciation and gratitude for everything that Sarah and Hadley have done. "I–I can't possibly say how grateful I am. You've done so much for us."

“MacLeod.” Pero rocks his jaw, thinking back about the brief time that he had spent on the Isle of Skye and the conversations he had with Father Malcolm during the year that he had spent learning the magic he needed to get back to you. “You’re kin to the old woman who told me her theory of the Stones.”

"My family has collected the stories of people who traveled through the Stones for hundreds of years." As everyone starts to slowly pick up their forks again, Sarah sits up a little straighter with familial pride. "Did you...in your travels, did you encounter Clan MacLeod?"

"Oh my god..." you look to Pero in shock, realizing that you never connected the dots before now. "Malcolm was a MacLeod."

Pero nods, and gives a small smile. "The old woman...." He grumbles in admiration. "Do you have a story of a Spaniard coming to ask how to get through the Stones?" He asks Sarah.

"I...think so?" There are a lot of stories, as unbelievable as that seems, and Sarah takes some time to roll back through all the stories she's read since she started taking an interest in the Stones as a teenager. "I remember a story about a man who wanted to follow his wife through the Stones? He was with his children and...a priest? A cousin? I can't remember now, it's been a long time since I read it." She puts her wine glass down, looking at him in utter fascination. "Was that you?"

"It was." Pero closes his eyes and reaches for your hand. "If it– if she had told me there was no hope, I was planning on settling Wena and Braic and then..." He swallows, voice breaking slightly. "Make sure I fell on my sword."

If anything in the world could make you lose your appetite, it's the idea that Pero had been ready to refuse to live without you. Your fork is down again instantly, letting you cover his hand that you are holding with both of yours and squeeze it tight in your grip. "I was going to come back to you, if you didn't come through," you promise him, feeling the lump in your throat stick and pull at your heart. "I'm still taking medicine for the infection that almost killed me, b-but when it was done...I was going to go back through the Stones. To find you again."

"It doesn't matter now." He sees the panic in your eye, the horror in the tilt of your brow and he doesn't want you to worry. He lifts both of your hands up to his lips and kisses the back of them. "I am here with you, where I belong." Pero is not a sentimental man, or at least he pretends not to be, but his soulmate brings it out of him.

"So what will you do with a few more days of vacation?" Sarah asks, wanting to lighten the mood a little and help the unique couple feel a little happiness and positivity for their new start.

"What is this vacation people keep talking about?" Pero frowns in confusion, never hearing the word before this time. "Tell me about it."

"It's what we call the time when we aren't working." You explain, not letting go of his hand but understanding that crushing his finger bones isn't going to help anybody. "The time that you spent in the cottage? Your winter months where you didn't sell your sword? We would call that a vacation now. Although most vacations are when you just go away to have fun somewhere. Like a honeymoon, for instance."

“Honeymoon?” Pero remembers you using that word when you had married but he had been too busy making you his wife to care. The idea of a vacation is logical when you explain it. “I see, so most vacation when the weather is bad in their area.”

"A honeymoon is a vacation for a newly married couple. A time when they can be alone after the chaos of planning their wedding and just spend their first times as husband and wife as a pair." It was a time that was rudely interrupted for the two of you but also for Arwena and Briac, when you got sick. "And...yes, actually. Like people who live in a very cold place will often go somewhere warm for vacation. Or people who live in hot or rainy places might go to a place with lots of beautiful snow in winter to enjoy that difference."

Accepting that, Pero grunts and lets go of your hand to pick up his fork again. The food has cooled down but he doubts it will affect the taste. “So I should give you a honeymoon when we remarry.” He decides, smirking slightly at the idea.

"Where would you want to go?" Watching Pero pick up nuances of modern life more quickly than he thinks he will is equal parts amusing and endearing. He's so much more clever than he thinks he is and it's wonderful to see. "To the Wall? Back to Brittany or Valencia? Or someplace new?"

“I do not know.” He gives a small shrug of his shoulders, although his face is smug. “Somewhere you wear as little clothes as possible.” He winks and leers slightly at you, ignoring the manners that would say that he shouldn’t say such things in front of Sarah and Hadley.

For their part, the other couple burst into snickers, completely amused by the way your shoulders shrink just a little bit in embarrassment but without any shame. "We went on a cruise," Sarah offers, beaming happily at her wife. "To the Caribbean. Jamaica was gorgeous."

Pero frowns again, unused to the words she is using, but your eyes widen slightly. You like the idea, obviously. “Then we will go on this.” He nods. “A cruise.”

"A cruise is a ship," you explain, amused that Pero has simply jumped on board with the idea without knowing what all of it is. "You told me you hated to travel by boat, mi amor." Shaking your head, you take a sip of your wine and pull out your phone to Google Caribbean vacation photos. "If you want to go to the islands...they are very hot places with beaches where people swim and drink and bathe in the sun. And women wear things like this," you turn your phone screen to show him a picture of a beach covered in women in bikinis and men in various versions of bathing suits.

Pero’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. He’s seen flesh, but often whores would not undress. You had been the woman he was most used to seeing. “They– in public? And they are not…selling their wares?” He leans in and whispers the last part, a flush running up his neck and over his cheeks.

"Maybe some of them." You shrug, loving the look of shock on the gruff Spaniard's face. "But that has nothing to do with what they wear. Women have more freedom to dress as they please in this time."

“Do you own these?” He jumps on the question immediately, eyes darkening at the thought.

It would be easy to mistake the question if you did not know Pero as well as you do, but your lips quirk into a smirk at his very direct and very intense interest in bikinis. "Yes," you tell him simply, trying not to laugh. "Two of them."

The noise he makes would be mistaken for disapproval if it weren’t for the fact that he is nearly devouring you with his eyes. His cock twitches violently and his fingers tighten around his fork so tightly, he’s surprised he didn’t bend the metal. “You will show me.”

Sarah and Hadley can't help themselves, they burst out in giggles politely hidden behind their wine glasses. Their laughter takes you with it, and you smother it in pressing an earnest kiss to his lips. "I promise, amor. Florida is very warm and I like to go to the beach."

“If that is what you wear, I will like this Florida. But I will cut off the man’s hand who touches you.” He vows, suddenly stern when he realizes other men would want you.

"I don't think anyone would dare come near me with you glowering at them like that." Lord knows you wouldn't, if you were on the outside of the situation.

“Good.” His growl is softened by the absolute smugness of your assessment. “I will be eager to see you walk around in such things.”

"I'm sure you will," Sarah smirks. "Maybe tomorrow you should have your soulmate show you what lingerie is."

Again, another word that Pero doesn’t understand but he is smart enough to know it must have something to do with the scandalous outfits that you are talking about now. Pero bobbles his head immediately and turns his eyes on you. “You must teach me, bruja. Your time is very freeing. I must know about this lingerie.”

“I’ll take you shopping again tomorrow.” You promise him, shaking your head a little in amusement at his sheer enthusiasm. It is going to be extremely fun to teach Pero about some parts of the modern world. “This time we’ll pick out a few things for me, instead.”

______

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My Masterlist!

[sirwow]

Having some WC gameplay shower thoughts today about how i would actually make 5 captains work so time for a bit of a ramble.

though before i do ramble i wanted to do some clarification of the different parts of WC. The tag #pikmin wratihs call refers to the entirety of it- the story. When it comes to the theoretical gameplay tho theres 2 (or kinda 3?) different parts. First part is just Olimar and Louie being rescue corps members and generally being pretty similar to Pik 4 gameplay outside no oatchi. Second part follows Olimar, Louie, Alph, Brittany, and Charlie all returning to 404 as corps members with their own ship and the gameplay is pretty original outside the general skeleton of Pikmin gameplay. in between those is a koppai focused story but that would only work if it was a pikmin graphic novel game as there literally is only actual pikmin for about 1 page lmao.

Now then on to how Iv been thinking about making 5 captains work in the 2nd half of WC:

Essentially at the start of every day it starts off in the main ship and you choose how many captains you’re bringing out into the field. More captains the merrier obviously but when you bring one out there’s a major caveat. Each of the 5 captains don’t just do nothing while left behind, they have their own upgrades they develop over the day that they’re left on the ship! Some projects might take them multiple days but regardless they’re always working towards something in their own given fields.

Said fields for each goes as following:

Louie: Food! Louie for once actually gets to subject the others to his meals he makes and each one will give a different benefit for the day, starting simple with simply moving faster or having more health, up to his more ambitious meals that can have more extreme changes to the day with their own extreme draw backs (such as a food that makes a day 50% longer but every enemy in the area respawns) He has to perfect and collect the ingredients for said meals though so he needs the off time to do so

Alph: Suit/Gear upgrades. No raw materials required but time and patience is. The suits are only just now custom made since the urgency of this mission was so high and so he’s up to the task of gradually upgrading them on the mission.

Brittany: Onion and even Pikmin improvements. Her botany might as well be used to help the little plants that help them and so she’ll work towards safe ways to biologically improve the state of your onion and the pikmin that come out of it (Such as making it passively grow pikmin or even at a higher level, flower a few of the pikmin inside at the start of a new day)

Charlie: Physical training of the captains, basically like puppy point training but it’s timed instead. Running, swimming, jumping and hell even pulling things. Dw he’ll make the captains who were out for the day pull an all nighter to learn them /j

Olimar iv yet to come up with a good one yet.,. I thought maybe the ship but it would be stupid to force people to wait to go to a new area, especially thinking about my speedrunning chums. Treasure is still all you need for power.

This whole system is basically to encourage people to play with all the characters and really plan out the day ahead. Also a way of making each play through a bit different then the last as you could prioritize upgrading one thing over another.

Now then lastly I just have a few gameplay changes; Spicy spray will still effect all pikmin in play but will not flower them. Instead nectar puddles can be picked up if you so wish and eventually used in one large burst to flower all pikmin out on the field. Ice pikmin are nerfed- they can only freeze an enemy if eaten and otherwise will just slow down an enemy while attacking and have the same pitiful damage as winged pikmin. Purples are technically not nerfed but due to the new mechanic of carrying pikmin around in the pack to go up ledges and stay together easier, they have one downside of being stupid heavy on the captains. 100 carry weight pack can only carry 10 purples due to their weight. Whites now get a buff that will passively poison enemies over time depending on how much were on them and how long.

That’s all my thoughts atm, always open to questions about mechanics or anything else really. Currently still can’t draw bc of my hand tho so no doodle for ur time <\3

[your-darling-gaze]

After months of full-hearted efforts and research full off devotion, I hereby announce the completion of my first-ever invention:

The Artificial Gravity Generator

Creating an artificial gravity generator, as seen in science fiction, is a complex and theoretical concept that current technology and physics have not yet achieved. The idea is to simulate the effects of gravity in environments like spacecraft, space stations, or potentially even on other planets.

The concept of artificial gravity has been a longstanding goal in the field of space exploration and technology. As humans venture further into space, the challenges posed by microgravity environments become increasingly significant. These challenges affect not only the health and well-being of astronauts but also the long-term sustainability of space missions. Artificial gravity generators represent a potential solution to these challenges, offering a way to simulate Earth-like gravity in space.

I am pleased to announce my newest, dearest piece of tech with a whole potential and completely functional unit of working.

I have also, signed a Patent Claim with regard to this new invention of mine and am pleased to make it a private idea, feasible and available only on agreement basis and make it a limited source.

I am thankful to all the people who helped me make this project a success including my mentor Mister Anthony Stark ( @tony-starkinator ) and guiding me onto the right ways for making this a big achievement.

You know what they say, a man will die, but not his ideas.

Regards,

Darling Grace

(Experiment Handler and Alloy Specialist, Stark Industries; Co-researcher and data analyst, The Verizon STEM Effort Organization; Sub-lecturer, Wellington International University of Arts and Sciences.)

A peek into our newest tech:

Look into our report:

PROJECT ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY

___________________________________________

( @soldier-bucky-barnes @the-loss-of-my-life @imnothulk )

[kart0]

Thoughts about my life

Have you ever thought that you are going to the wrong path ?

I am an art student. I study visual arts, basically exploring all types of arts, painting, drawing, ceramics, sculpture, photography, performance, wood cutting, metal cutting ? Anyways, anything you can imagine, we do that.

I've been always disconnected to what I did though. I see all my colleagues, working on their projects with such dedication, such passion and I can't help but think that there's something actually wrong with me. Didn't I want that ? Or did I think this was the only thing I was good at ?

I do not feel enough. And that's an obvious statement. I actually always wanted to be a singer. And a biologist. And a veterinarian. But art was something I always did. So obviously it made sense that I should be doing that for the rest of my life.

I feel so bad. I am wasting my parents money. I am wasting their work and time. And I am wasting my life.

I am a firm believer that getting more knowledge is always a good thing, so maybe I shouldn't be that negative. I've learnt a lot in college. I did things I never thought I'd do, and I actually enjoyed them, such as analog photography. It was fun. It's been fun. But is that all ?

Aren't I supposed to do something bigger, better ? More important ? Shouldn't I try to change the world for the better ? What am I doing, painting silly pictures, making silly art. I could be helping people, helping animals, doing more.

There are no jobs for me here. There are no internships for my course. Nothing. I will not get a job on any company. I will never get a vacation, or health insurance. I will never buy a house, nor a car. What am I doing.

I have to be realistic. I need a job. The world isn't built for people like me, and sure, changes are happening but. They're not enough, and they will never be. I keep thinking I am too different, too off. Like there's something viscerally wrong with me, in my head, in my body.

Here's a secret. I was really serious about biology, and veterinary. Ever since I was a child I was always fascinated with insects. I loved ants and I really really wanted to dedicate my life to them. I wanted to understand their behaviours. What made them do what they did. I gave up after telling myself I wasn't smart enough. I wouldn't pass any entrance exams. The thing is, I know for a fact I am very smart. I'm just lazy. I do not work hard, for anything at all. I am too laid-back. I did not want to study, so therefore there was no point in doing any entrance exams for bio or vet. I wouldn't get in anyways. But. I keep thinking. Where would I be now if I did try.

I keep thinking why am I the way I am. Why am I not passionate over anything ? Besides haikyuu and now, apparently, genshin impact. Why. Is there anything actually wrong in my head ? I am autistic and I am bipolar so like, theoretically, yes, there is something wrong with me in fact.

It upsets me. Why can't I do more. What should I be doing. I wonder what am I going to do.

I can't see myself selling merch on events forever. I'm going to get old, and ugly, and I cannot sell gay merch forever. It's an unstable field, I do not get benefits from a company like health insurance or vacations. I have to be realistic. One day I'm going to get old and my art won't be enough. It's not even enough right now.

One of my hidden wishes and life goals is to work with wildlife rehabilitation. I would love to do that. Sounds very fun, and fulfilling. I am a very methodical, practical, organized individual. I am extremely aware of rules and I am very good at following them. I feel like I'm too much in my head for art. I feel like there's something I lack. Which is, that passion, that fire. I don't have that.

There's the thing though. Would I be fulfilled if I did anything other than what I'm doing right now ? I would wonder why I didn't go to arts, why I am studying this boring shit. I would wish I could be sculpting and drawing. And in the end, all of this would be just a waste of time, helpless and stupid thoughts, that would lead me nowhere. Like now. I know theres no point in thinking and rambling about what I could be doing. It is in my nature to self doubt anything I do though.

Maybe when I'm older and have time, and patience, and love, I can study animals. And work in a rehab center. And take care of birds. I love, love love love birds. I do love cats but I am so passionate about birds.

Maybe I can grow to be an old grandpa, who takes care of birds, and does art for fun as a side job.

But maybe, instead, I could be an artist, who volunteers in rehab centers. Who knows ?

I know for a fact I do not regret going to arts, I love it. It's the perfect field for me. It complements me. It makes me happy. But I keep thinking it's not enough. I'm not going to survive.

Anyways,,,,, just wanted to share some thoughts going through my head rn. I will not be giving up, of course. I just needed to vent a little bit. Thank you.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Sorry if this is intrusive but I have some disabilities and I really like history, is archives hard for you to do?

The usual caveat of I'm a north american who works very broadly but still mostly anglophone archives, I haven't finished a library degree and while I've got a shit-ton of experience, I'm not an infallible expert. And while I do experience disability, I am white presenting, cis, and I do not present as queer. That said, onwards and upwards.

It can be hard for me to do. It really is going to depend on where you work and what the nature of your disability is. Archivists who work in smaller institutions often have very little help and it can be very challenging but those who work in larger institutions might have more access to assistance. Right now, I'm by myself but even while I was casually trying not to bleed to death and my boss was worst off, I made a choice and got up on ladders and down in sepulchers. But I drew a line around cemeteries when it began to fuck with my lung health and things that could truly harm me.

But I am also extremely fucking good at my job and what keeps coming up on my evaluations is that yes, I am limited in what I can do and I take way too much time off but I'm smart enough I compensate for it. That sounds arrogant but I'm not even kidding when I say someone has sighed and gone "you're lucky you're so smart" When I applied for yet another round of sick leave. That's not something I can always keep up and it will likely change over the course of my life but I'm early enough in my career that I feel I still have to max out my brain-cells and impress to satisfy my ambitions. Most people will have to compromise in some way eventually but libraries are often among the most accommodating workplaces. That's not universal, especially in public libraries in conservative areas but there are work-around, there are ways. You can make this work.

Archival science a very diverse field. There are reference archivists, digital archivists, and rare book archivists. Someone with asthma might have a very hard time in rare books but be really happy as a digital archivist. Someone with migraines might find digital archives harder but be absolutely thrilled to be a field archivist. It all depends on who you are, what you want to do and what you need for accommodations. If you ever want to drop into my inbox and be more specific or shoot me a DM, you're very welcome too. Diversity and sometimes the lacktherof in archives is something I've been forced to become an functional if not theoretical expert on and I would be more than happy to give you advice or if its out of my wheelhouse, redirect you to where you could. Having the audacity is a lot of how you get anywhere in a field like archives. We tend to be an antisocial lot and in a world where democratic access is becoming the key to the field, it is increasingly down to fortes fortuna adiuvat. Fortune favours the bold.

However you identify and however you need to be accommodated to get you the life you want, the career you want, the passions you want to follow and you yourself are always going to be worth fighting for.

[shirogane-oushirou]

edit: i decided this would drive me nuts, but i still want to keep it in case there's something worth salvaging in the future. ignore all of this ^_^

for some reason i'm interested the idea of poke!ren beginning our friendship with that like... unintentional infantilization a lot of people do with disabled people when they're trying not to be actively ableist? not because i enjoy that LMAO ABSOLUTELY NOT -- and my pokesona is prideful as hell and would DESPISE it -- but i think it would make sense.

[cw casual ableism, infantilism of disabled ppl. also, disclaimer: i'm basing some of this loosely on my own health issues so it may not 100% apply to all disabled people. just want to keep that straight LMAO.]

most many doctors are SUPREMELY ableist, but doc!ren went into his field SPECIFICALLY to help disabled people and so focused on how best to treat each individual person according to their personalities and disabilities. sure, poke!ren's also technically both a clinical doc and researcher, but if doc!ren is like 80% clinical 20% research, poke!ren is like 10% clinical 90% research.

so poke!ren... doesn't have that knowledge. he does mostly field work and some lab work, with the rare "what do you think about this specific medical case?" appointment. he's the kind of person who hates the more vocal brands of ableism, but is consistently overbearing with his treatment of disabled people in a way that's inadvertently exhausting to deal with because "what happens if i tell him this is also ableist? will he have a fit? will he get angry or upset? will he decide disabled people are too picky if i'm not the Perfect Disabled Little Meow Meow?" so you just end up suffering through it.

therefore, he goes full "paper skin, glass bones," with me, very, "oh i can get that for you! no don't stand up, i can do that. can i cook something for you? no no no, i mean, i know you COULD, but wouldn't it be /easier/ for me to make it for you? you might hurt yourself!". 🙄

we have an evening outing in another city. it gets dark, we're not at the point where we're comfortable staying at his place together, he offers to maybe help me find a hotel, and i say "nope i've got this!" and fly away home on a Fucking Lugia.

and then he has to sit with that and realize some things.

like the fact that he has no idea who the fuck i am beyond surface level. after all, i've been carrying a legendary bird around in my back pocket and he didn't know until now, months after we first met.

like the fact that i can take care of SOME things by myself with the right "tools" or pkmn. i SOMETIMES need help, but i don't ALWAYS need help, and if i DO need help i have the option to tell him myself.

like the fact that he simply saw me as Disabled. as though i didn't have a life before or outside of Disability. i was simply the pitiable, lonely, disabled vn nerd he talks about games with.

and then he has to relearn Me from square one, and it makes our relationship so much stronger. we're able to work on our perfect balance together and build the trust that HE won't take things over for ME when I'M capable of something, and that I will let HIM know when i need HIM to do something I can't do. he has to trust that i'll let him be more doting on the days when i'm having flare-ups, but simultaneously has to respect when there are things i still want to do myself even on those worst days.

.........idk. this is a lot of words to say "god i want to be taken care of, but in a way where the other person sees me as an adult with a personality and decision-making ability and a life that's deeply AFFECTED by disability in many ways but isn't JUST disability." yk?

tbch, after writing it all out, this maaaay end up as canon..... OR it might remain a theoretical offshoot depending on how comfy i am when the Mental Movies (tm) of us finding that trust come together. poke!ren's supposed to be like. PURE escapism, so something like this honestly might hit too close to home to feel good fdhfghfg. like at least he'd end up learning that balance, which is nice... but everything leading up to it? 😬 Maybe A Bit Too Painful....

(damn. verbose king over here, wrote all of this TWICE just to say "i might throw it out" lKNMADKJFNKJDNF)

[oceanlandworld]

I have long believed that trauma treatment must address the effects of the traumatic past, not its events. Being able to tolerate remembering a horrific experience is not as important a goal as feeling safe right here, right now—or being able to reassure oneself that the racing of the heart is just a triggered response, not a sign of danger—or being able to relate to shame, grief, and anger as the feeling memories of child selves too young to comfort themselves. In my view, resolution of painful past events cannot truly be achieved without reclaiming the lost children and disowned parts of ourselves, extending to them a helping hand, welcoming them “home” at long last, creating safety for them, and making them feel wanted, needed, and valued. It took many decades of scientific research for the clinical world to accept that child abuse constituted an epidemic, not a rare occurrence, and that untreated post-traumatic stress resulted in tremendous social costs, not just individual suffering. Only in the last ten years have the concepts of implicit memory and bodily-driven responses to trauma become increasingly widespread (Ogden et al., 2006; Van der Kolk, 2014), but, even now, theoretical ideas about splitting, parts of the self, and dissociation are still controversial and often avoided. We as a field have not yet accepted that compartmentalization is normal under stress and much more common than we generally recognize. In a parallel process, the mental health world has had a history of disowning the prevalence of child abuse, dissociation, and fragmentation of the personality, either by ignoring its manifestations or by invalidating it as “factitious” or “malingering.” To be the “good child” in the psychiatric treatment world, therapists have been under pressure to “un-see” signs of dissociation, to diagnose voices as a psychotic symptom, and to treat fragmented clients “as if” they were whole integrated human beings. To be an integrated human, as Dan Siegel (2010) insists, requires “differentiation—with linkage,” that is, it necessitates the ability to make distinctions between different parts of the self, to name them as parts, but also to link them to other parts and to the whole of which they are a part. Disowning parts of one’s self and over-identifying with other parts does not facilitate integration and a sense of being whole, nor does it engender an internal sense of safety that could counteract the after-effects of an unsafe, unwelcoming hostile world.

Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors: Overcoming Internal Self-Alienation (Janina Fisher, 2017)