#if i was less tired i'd make a terrible joke about that

[norahastuff]

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[theminecraftbee]

The moon has fully set over the horizon. The howling over the server has stopped. Four Hermits sit in a circle, staring just slightly away from each other, as to not be caught staring. Joe is miserably trying to wring mud out of his puppet. Stress isn't bothering about the mud at all but is despairing at how shredded her jumper is. Somehow, Zedaph has only lost a shoe, which is more concerning than any of the prior people. Xisuma is deliberately not checking himself. The damning lack of helmet on his head, though, means he can't avoid feeling how he underwent the same terrible transformation as everyone else.

"So," he says, finally.

"I could use pants," Joe says, finally giving up on washing out his puppet, and, ah. Yes. Those are pretty well destroyed, aren't they? Xisuma looks away politely, feeling his face heat up. It heats up more when he realizes everyone can see it, gosh, he's–he's not so sure how he feels about that–

"I think we all need pants. Look at us," Stress says, and if Xisuma can be looking away any harder, he sure is now. Wait, she said 'all', does that include... Oh, oh dear.

"Well I don't know about you, but I still have perfectly serviceable pants," Zedaph says imperiously.

"You know, if anything, that's weirder, given the way we were all giant wolves traipsing around in the night just now. Which is strange itself! However, wolves don't normally wear pants, so really, the fact the only article of clothing you've lost is your shoes is less miraculous and more actively impossible!" Joe responds.

"Well you're actively impossible," mutters Zedaph.

"My god, it was real," Xisuma says.

"Well, I mean, I sort of figured it had to be, what with the four of us being all covered in mud and tired and your helmet being gone and all that," Stress says.

"It was real," Xisuma says.

The four of them sit in silence a little longer. The sun continues its steady march upwards into the sky. It's April; the day is longer than the night, by now, so they aren't wasting but so much time compared to the time the moon was up. The time the moon was up feels a bit more like a dream than anything else, too; distantly, Xisuma wonders if this is what spiders feel like when they become angry during the night, or what drives the undead from the ground. It's a disquieting thought, and he'd literally lived in a skeleton!

"So," Joe says. "So. Which one of us is going to yell at Zedaph for biting us?"

"Rude!" Zedaph says. "Very rude, I'm not the one that bit you! You bit me! Xisuma bit me, actually, you all saw him!"

"What? No, I didn't!" Xisuma says. "Gosh, if I were a werewolf, don't you think you'd know by now?"

"Hm. Suspicious," Zedaph says.

"No?" Xisuma says.

"I mean, I'd try to claim it was my fault, what with being a monster and all, but I'm actually a different sort of beastie normally," Stress says. "Being all doggy is new for me. I should show Iskall. Hey, do you think I should bite Iskall?"

"Yes," Zedaph says.

"No," Xisuma says.

"I'll split the difference and say maybe," Joe says. "Also, since we're arguing about it anyway, I'll say that I think I'd remember if I bit someone, although maybe I wouldn't. It's been a weird night. Maybe I should just go ahead and get everyone apology gifts instead?"

"Please don't," Zedaph says.

"Aww, but I like his gifts," Stress says.

"Honestly, yeah, I was–no, Zedaph is right, it'd be too distracting," Xisuma says, thinking of many of the, er, gifts he's gotten from Joe in the past. "Besides, it's not your fault. But if none of us bit anyone, then why on earth are we all werewolves no–oh no."

"That was ominous?" Joe says.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh," Zedaph says. "Whoops."

"It was supposed to be a joke about investment bankers," Xisuma says.

"Wait, what, do you really think the silly name turned us into werewolves?" Stress says.

"I had other season plans, Xisuma!" Joe says.

"Hey, does that make me a sheep in wolf's clothing that's also a wolf that turns into a sheep that turns into a wolf? If so, neat," Zedaph says.

"Do you know how annoying it will be to get a werewolf puppet?" Joe says.

"Gosh, I absolutely have to bite Iskall now," Stress says.

Xisuma, for a moment, considers putting a stop to it. If it really is the silly name, the collective, the hats and the howls–if it really is the collective weight of story bearing down on all of them–then really, it's still so early that it would be very easy to stop.

Xisuma considers the competition the rest of the shopping district poses, and how easy it will be to move as a collective when they're also a pack.

Also, he hasn't actually been a wolf before. That's one mob he hasn't done!

"You should bite Iskall. I want to know what it does," Xisuma says, deciding that he's quite bored with being responsible and that if someone wants to stop it, it will have to be not him. "But, er, first, in the meantime, do you think he or Doc is better to ask for a helmet that'll grow to fit my muzzle instead of nearly trapping my skull?"

"Hm," Stress says. "Well, Iskall is pretty good at head electronics."

"Yeah, but Doc is a better choice for abominations against nature!" Joe says.

"What about me? I like abominations," Zedaph says.

"It's okay, Zedaph, it's just you don't make many helmets, is all," Xisuma says. "We'll run around being abominations of nature, gosh, most full moons together. Is that good enough?"

"Fine," Zedaph says. "I'm bringing the snacks. I have sheep, and I've always wanted to try cannibalism."

"I guess werewolves wouldn't have to worry about prions," Joe says, nodding.

"Well, if you're going to get Doc, I'm going to go bite Iskall. I know I don't got fangs right now but it'll be very funny either way," Stress says.

"Have fun!" Xisuma says, and even though he's still red, and no one has pants but Zedaph, and he feels vaguely sick without his helmet, he also feels something close to pure delight. Gosh. Werewolves, huh? What a concept, having a little pack. He'll have to make the most of it; they've already seen his face anyway, and not one of them have commented or looked him in the eyes. Clearly, it won't matter so much if Doc takes a while with the helmet.

[hotheadedhero]

First Date

AN: Wow, wow, WOW! You guys went haywire for 'Like 'em Big', didn't ya? I have yet again been surprised at the popularity of something that started as a joke. Thank you all for your patience and showing the love, it really warms my heart as always 🙏 Without further ado, here's part two ❤️(I'd also like to preface that I haven't been on a first date in years, so I apologise :'])

Part 1

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of ROTTMNT Movie, near peril (again), meddlesome brothers, cute idiots being cute

Returning home after the mind-boggling excursion you endured had tired you out to the point of near collapse. Yet, you couldn’t sleep after everything that happened. Your mind was racing. Not because you were nearly eaten. Not because you had met a giant turtle. Not even because you found that same turtle adorably attractive. No. It’s because you were fool-hardy enough to give him your number and after you embarrassingly called him beautiful, no less. More often than not, your overzealousness has been your downfall and you wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case here.

Universal blessings had other things in mind. The beacons lit, your prayers answered, and hope restored before your weary brain has a chance to sink - a text - and the chime of that first notification is a sweet melody indeed. All of that karmic debt seems to have been paid off. About time. Again, you won’t get too ahead of yourself but this is already a good start. And, so entails days of messaging, sneaking texts on work shifts, leg-kicking with the gushy motions, and downright losing your mind over how sweet this guy is.

As for Raph, this is uncharted territory; a piece of ocean he never dreamed he’d sail because he never thought it would be accessible to someone like him. He finds himself terrified of the mornings, worried that you’ll wake up with your senses and realise who - what - you’re talking to. Such concerns immediately disappear when he opens his phone to see a routine ‘Good morning’ paired with a heart or kiss.

During this time of exchanging pleasantries, he has been falling ever so gracefully for the character that makes up your person. He’s amazed by how bold you are in your messages during the times he shies away out of fear. It’s probably no surprise that a gorgeous lady such as yourself has at least some experience in the field, which makes him all the more nervous. Meanwhile, he’s working with two left feet and terrible advice from his family. Try as they may, he knows better than to listen to them where these things are concerned. The only one who has had experience is their dad and they all know how things turned out with Big Mama. 

Raph reckons he’ll take his chances. If your texting is anything to go off of, he likes to think he’s doing pretty well for himself. That hasn’t stopped his brothers from meddling, however. He expected Leo to poke his nose where he shouldn’t but he didn’t anticipate all of them getting involved. Even now, they’re desperately trying to clammer onto him in an attempt to get his phone. He has the advantage of being much taller than them but, of course, Donatello is resourceful and snatches it with one of his robotic limbs before throwing it to the youngest of the four. Lousy cheater. 

The unspoken rules of the game are the least of his worries when Mikey quickly messages you. He drops the phone as Raphael lunges for him and retrieves it before it hits the ground. Then he sees the extent of the damage dealt by his sibling: he’s asked you out on a date tonight. No no no! The large turtle is mortified! Sure, he’d considered the same proposal for a couple of days now but he wasn’t sure if it was too soon. This is going to make him look like a fool! He’s finished. You’re going to read it and you’re going to ignore it and he’s going to be ruined.

The receipt goes to ‘read’ and, surely, that to be the end of it until he sees you’re formulating a response. He bores holes into his screen. The taunting three-dotted line rises and falls and each second has him in the sweats. His brothers’ heads comically peak past his shell, each invested, placing bets on what your answer is going to be. Whoever had put their money down for a positive result is just that little bit richer. Three words. Three little words that would turn out to be Raphael’s salvation: ‘I’d love to! X’.

The joyous uplift of deliverance soon flees when it truly sinks in. You’ve agreed to go on a date with him. A date. With him. He’s going on a date. With you. Where will he take you? What will you both do? What is he going to wear? He’s desperate enough to call on his brothers’ aid for any input they can provide. After all, he can’t deny that their antics have led to this. Listen, these guys have all watched how much of an impact this has had on him. Sure, they’ll poke their fun but it’s genuinely warming to see their big lug of a brother with that dorky grin on his face. 

After a quick montage of his family hyping him up, going through outfits, and detailing the do’s and don’t’s, he’s finally ready. You both decide to meet on the roof of your apartment complex seeing as the sun will still be out. He double, triple, and quadruple-checks the location on his phone just in case he’s managed to pick the wrong one. As he’s about to check a fifth time, the little door to the side opens and out comes you in an even cuter outfit than the one worn on your first meeting. You, too, are in awe of what stands before you, having not expected him to go through the effort of dressing up at all. It’s nothing striking but it lights up all the parts of your objective brain that make you the size-hungry gremlin you are: a grey, sleeveless hoodie that shows off his arms very nicely. 

Sitting on the roof and people-watching seems to be a good enough pass time until it gets dark. Raphael’s legs hang over the side whilst yours lay to the side of you. He should have made a note of things to talk about. You’ve both already covered basic information over the phone alongside the odd funny video here and there but he’s completely blank now. Crap. He can feel the sweats coming on.

“So, hey,” he hears your voice suddenly, “what’s the highest up you reckon you’ve ever been?”

He knows the answer to that but it’s not an instance he much likes to think about. It would have been during the Kraang invasion years back when he and his brothers plummeted from heights of the sky no person should outside of a plane. That will be a story he keeps to himself. Too deep. He doesn’t want to dampen the mood. 

His brain wracks itself for something else and he says the first thing that comes to mind, “Uh… well, there was the time me and my brothers zip-lined from one building and into a roof pool.”

“No way! That sounds like so much fun!”

The elated look in your eyes makes him smile and his chest inflates with pride. “Yeah, it was! Our friend April even got it on video.”

“Do you have it?” you ask eagerly. “I’d love to see.”

That’s when you scoot closer to him to the point that your arms are brushing. Do you want to see it that badly? Yes. Was this an excuse to get close? You will die at your doorstep before you admit to anything without a lawyer. He sucks his lips in at the contact and looks down at your sparkling face before fumbling for his phone. He’s almost certain he has it somewhere. 

As you’re both watching the video, three sets of eyes have their sights on you. Three pairs of eyes belonging to three incredibly nosy brothers. They’re stood on one of the buildings behind you two, a few floors higher for a good view.

“So, how come we’re spying on Raph and his date?” the one in orange asks keenly.

“Listen, we all know that Raph chokes under pressure and we’re just here to make sure things go smoothly,” the blue-banded turtle responds with a hand to his chest. The other hand grips onto a tarp that seems to be shielding a box. “And I have just the thing to get some romance going.”

Beneath the blanket, Leo unveils a cage of doves all more than ready to be set free. Where, when, and how he managed to get these birds is a mystery but life is full of those. Best not to question his eccentricities. He quietly whispers, “Fly, my pretties,” before turning the latch and throwing a flurry of birdseed in the unsuspecting couple’s direction. 

Large brows furrow above concern. “Aren’t they a little too close to the edge?”

Ah. That might be problematic.

“Oh my gosh,” you laugh, “I think I would have a heart attack zipping along something like that.”

“It’s really not so bad when you get used to it,” Raph chuckles reassuringly. 

“Pft! You’re a lot braver than me.”

You both smile at each other as he puts his phone away. He doesn’t believe that for a second. You were brave enough to give him your number after all. He’s about to say something else when a series of aggressive flaps and coos break him of whatever thought he had. Following, a flock of doves barrages into the two of you. Luckily, he’s a sturdy pillar but the same can’t be said for you. A shrill scream breaks past your lips as you tip over the ledge. There’s a short moment when all that surrounds you is air. Nothing but air and the impending dread of what sits below. You were only joking when you said about dying on your doorstep.

Just as your eyes clench shut in preparation, the breath in your lungs gets knocked out of you when a force catches and cradles you by your gut. This strong force lifts you up and you’re met with an even stronger chest. You slowly take a look up at your saviour and he’s got you in a tight lock against his body. His other hand is clasped onto the roof ledge and he breathes heavily. Raphael swallows hard. That was close. Way too close for comfort.

Not wanting to dawdle over the long drop for much longer, he hoists himself back onto the roof with you in his clutch. The threat of falling diminished. The threat of falling in other ways climbs higher from your stomach. Oh lordy, you’re getting the vapours. As he gently eases you back on your feet, you look up at him with wide eyes.

“I think,” you breathe out, in again to recollect yourself, “maybe, we continue this on the ground.”

“Agreed.”

Thankfully, it’s dark enough that he should be able to waltz around in the public eye without it being too bothersome. From a neighbouring rooftop, there’s a rushed scurry but when he looks, nothing appears to be there. Must have been more of those doves or something. That still begs the question of where they came from but he’ll try not to worry about it.

So, a little bit of a rocky start but it doesn’t appear to have shaken your spirit. You’re a little jittery from the adrenaline, perhaps. That and being in his arms for that short moment made you realise what you’ve been missing out on all this time. You need to get a hold of yourself, woman. For the sake of not ruining this, get a hold of yourself. The slight tremble in your fingertips doesn’t go unnoticed. Luckily, Raph has just the remedy.

He walks you to a park, quiet from day nearing its end, lit up with the gentle hug of streetlamps dotted along the pathways. The setting itself is already enough to coax you back into a level head but curiosity peaks when the mutant urges you to sit on a bench. He asks that you close your eyes before dashing off. Just what is he planning? You’re tempted to take a peak but, respectively, you sit and patiently wait. When he returns, you open your eyes to see him standing in front of you, three hot dogs in one hand, two sodas in the other. 

“It ain’t much but I figured it’ll help,” he admits bashfully. “‘Specially some sugar.”

You blink up at him and shrink down with a shy bat of your lashes. “Thank you.”

Your lips spread into a mile-wide smile as you take the food and drink from him. He sits down beside you and you happily dig in. There must have been a food stand that you had walked past without noticing, yet he noticed. He’s also noticed how greedy it must look for him to have two hot dogs. 

Suddenly conscious of the fact, he clears his throat awkwardly, “I hope it’s okay I got two for myself.”

“Hm?” You look up at him with a mouthful and swallow. “Oh! Have as many as you like.” Your nose scrunches up as you wave him off. “The other night I had about five to myself. Not even with the buns either.”

You laugh at yourself as you take another bite. It sounds like a bizarre way to eat them outside of their intended purpose but when Mother Nature calls, there’s no point in questioning it. Besides, the best part of a hot dog is the Frankfurter. Why waste stomach space on all of that bread? You shrug it off casually but the tall turtle’s attention remains on you as he rallies something up in his head.

“How do you feel about salami?”

The way he asks is gentle, not interrogative but carefully interested with a harboured hope. What an adorable query. You can’t say you have any strong opinions about it but if it’s there in front of you, you know you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. There’s a glimmer in his stare as he awaits your answer and it takes a lot for you to not grin like an idiot.

You glance side to side, pretending to be shifty-like and lean in towards him whilst cupping your mouth. “Once, I ate an entire pack of assorted pepperoni and salamis in one sitting.”

Raph’s eyes sparkle, almost forming into hearts. He doesn’t register how he replies, going purely on automatic as his head wanders off into la la land. His free hand grips onto the side of the bench and he can feel his heart palpitate with a swarm of warmth. Has he just found his soulmate? Is it too soon to think something like that? Does it matter? He’s not too sure he cares now. Those rose-tinted glasses are his new contact lenses and he’s never taking them out.

A few trees over, the eclectic triad of trouble is back at it again trying to formulate their next plan in the ‘Romance for Raph’ operative. Donatello tinkers with something as the other two watch their brother. They have no idea what you said as you leaned into him but it must have been something mind-altering from the way he’s staring off with stars in his eyes.

“Hurry up with that thing, Dee! I wanna hear what they’re talking about.”

“You can’t rush good work,” he states, though he holds up the complete product no more than a second later. “But yes, you may now marvel at my new masterpiece.”

It’s a dinky-looking drone, fitted with the best mic system and soundless heli-propellers this turtle genius can build, small enough that it should be able to soar around unnoticed. Leo and Mikey tussle over who gets to fly the device first, each pulling on the remote control. During their scuffle, they hit a button and it quietly thrums to life. Before Donnie can intervene, the little drone is already flying around in seemingly no point of direction until it nose-dives towards them and crashes into the tree trunk. The entire tree shakes so much that a flurry of birds dart off and head for yourself and Raph.

They sore overhead with such ferocity that you both flail your arms up to cover your heads. Unfortunately, the soda in Raphael’s hand flies up into the air with the abrupt action. It falls onto the pathway but not before spritzing his hands with the fizzy liquid. Great. Now his hands are going to be uncomfortably sticky. What is the darn deal with these birds today? Alfred Hitchcock might have been onto something. The vermin of the sky turns into an afterthought when you spot your date looking over his fingers with a wrinkled frown.

Glancing around the park, you suddenly jump up onto your feet with an idea. You gesture for him to follow after you and lead him to a nearby lake. It’s the only way you could think for him to wash away the sugary beverage. As he gets on his knees and dips his hands in, you opt to stand and keep an eye out for any more winged miscreants. Figuring the coast is clear, you go back to facing the lake with your hands behind your back. 

“It sure looks pretty,” you remark quietly.

Not initially knowing what you’re talking about, Raphael glances up at you. He then follows your gaze back to the lake, taking his hands out to shake them dry. The water ripples from the movement but when it settles, he thinks he understands what you’re talking about. Starlight is often hard to come by in a city such as New York but it seems they have blessed you both with their presence. They twinkle delicately, reflecting off the water and it looks as though they’re dancing, like fireflies in the calm of night. Pretty indeed. He can’t remember the last time he sat back and appreciated something like this if ever he has.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he hears you again, quieter this time, “what made you ask me out on this date?”

His face and the entirety of his body warms. He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like that but he supposes you would’ve asked sooner or later. It’s only fair that you’d be curious. The palms of his hands press into his knees as he sits on his feet. 

“My brothers kinda had a hand in that. I’d been thinking about doin’ it before that, though!” he quickly rectifies just in case you thought this was completely his family’s doing but you giggle. He chuckles nervously and lowers his sights. “You just seem like someone I’d wanna get to know. Why’d you give me your number?”

“You saved my life that day,” you say as if it’s obvious. He narrows his eyes at you playfully and you figured he’d eventually realise that there’s more to it than that. “Okay, so, maybe there were other reasons.”

This is where your throat fails you and instead of talking, you attempt to motion with your hands. You hold them parallel to one another and map out the air in front of you sideways. Then, you make the same movement but vertically, one hand rising as the other lowers. He isn’t sure what you’re insinuating at first but it soon clicks. Are you referring to his stature? The thing that people usually fear? Nah. Surely not. That’s when it dawns on him. There was a word - one particular word that night which threw him off guard; a word he thought he had imagined but this just about confirms its existence.

With a newfound confidence, he sits up straight and raises a brow at you. “You think I’m beautiful?”

A brash heat burdens your cheeks as they puff out. You’ve certainly dug your grave on this one. How do you even answer? That probably isn’t an issue. Your reaction must be answer enough. With a blown-out breath, you swivel on your feet away from him, not knowing how to verbally respond. Just as you turn, a pebble hits you square on the forehead and knocks you back into the lake. It makes for a mighty splash but an incredibly discomfiting feeling around your body. Your head shoots up with a gasp and you hold your upper body with your hands in the sickly, cold mud, squelching between your fingers like wet clay. If birds had apposable thumbs, you would assume this was their doing considering how the night has gone.

Raphael shoots up to his feet and extends a hand to you, much like how he did when you first met. His face is laced with the same amount of concern as that day. Less hesitant than that instance, you immediately reach out and his fingers engulf your hand just as they did before. He hoists you up onto your feet, looking over you worriedly. You’re soaked head to toe.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear you laugh, “Deja vu?” 

His head cranes to the side but he finds himself smiling sadly when you continue to laugh. An unshakable spirit; that’s something he’s quickly realising you have and it’s admirable, to say the least. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for your body. You hug yourself and shiver, teeth almost chattering. Even summer nights can nip at the skin when drenched in freezing lake water.

In his haste to find a solution, he enacts the first thing that comes to mind without thinking of asking on your behalf. He quickly slips his hoodie off and holds it out to you. It’s probably a little counterproductive since it won’t dry you but it should hopefully shield you from the cold. Just enough to last you the walk home. You bite your tongue as you gratefully take the garment and slip it on. In a generalised state of mind, this is every girl’s dream right here. Your dream. It sits over you in all of its oversized glory like a great big hug. Perfect. It’s a shame to be calling the night to an end here but you both know you won’t be able to completely enjoy yourself with a dripping head.

Those same three figures dash off into the shadows, one sorely guilty for causing such a catastrophe. All Michelangelo had intended to do was throw that rock at Raph to gain his attention. It had a note stuck to it with some cute lines he could have said to you. The last thing he wanted was for it to smack you dead in the face and topple you over. He swears his aim isn’t usually that bad, hence he’ll blame the note for messing with the air dynamics or whatever Donnie called it.

As yourself and Raph journey back to your apartment, he finds himself in a bit of a funk. He tries to keep his enthusiasms up for the remaining minutes you have together but there were a fair share of disasters this evening. Not how he envisioned things panning out. He walks you up to your front door but lingers in the middle. You stop, too, and stride down one, meeting him head-level.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

"Sorry," he sighs as he sits on one of the steps. "This has got to have been the worst first date ever."

His whole body slumps and he hangs his head low in shame, arms resting atop his thighs with his hands dangling limp between his legs. This feeling just can’t seem to shake. There were so many mishaps: you falling off the roof, soda spilling over himself, and to top it all off, you got yourself a nasty bath in muddy water. He wouldn’t blame you if you took his presence as a bad omen. Disaster does seem to follow him and his brothers wherever they go. His eyes suddenly open wide and stare at the floor when he feels a soft cushion of skin against his cheek.

"Actually, it's the best first date I've ever been on," you say and he'd see a large smile on your face had he the strength to look. Removing the hoodie, you hang it over his arm and giggle, "I mean, I might have a fear of birds now but I’ve had a really lovely time. I look forward to the second one."

You peck his cheek once more before slipping off into your apartment, leaving him to sit with eyes like saucers and rosy cheeks. He supposes it wasn’t all bad. There was a lot of laughter. You two found a lot in common with one another and once you got talking, the conversation was easy. There weren’t many cases where he caved under the pressures of those ‘first date’ nerves. He felt comfortable. Really comfortable, in fact. 

Raph blinks down at the hoodie and holds it up to his face. It’s a little damp but the scent of your perfume lingers on the fabric. It smells nice and he hopes he isn’t creepy for being happy about having this until you next see each other. His face hurts from all of this smiling, achy and strained. Painful but a good pain, nonetheless. An experience so new to him. He doesn’t know what to do. His body is running on highs it’s never known before. The burley mutant stands to his feet, hoodie in hand, and does the only thing he can think to do: he dances, blissfully unaware of the three sets of eyes watching from a building across the street.

"Oh, god, he's doing his victory dance right outside her apartment. Can't he save it till later? He's gonna make a fool of himself."

"Aw, but look how happy he is!"

"Indeed. I would say this is a big win for our illustrious leader."

"Hey, don't forget about our win. None of this would have happened without us and that deserves a pizza reward. Am I right, guys?"

The other two nod and mumble in agreement. It’s probably best that they flee the scene before they’re spotted, anyway. They’ll be excited to hear about their brother’s ventures when he returns and, of course, they’ll act as if they haven’t witnessed every moment of it. Take it to the grave, boys. Take it to the grave.

_________________________

I kinda love how the first part of this story was written during a fever and I had to wait until I was ill again to finish this part. Also, have to mention... the comments people!!! You ravenous animals are as crazy as me, I love it. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading these comments and I just had to include some of them here

You are my people and I love all of you so much <3

[trueangel420]

Colin zabel , fem reader, he’s arresting you (rightfully so!) little tiny imagine wc 2093 (not proof read)

“I'm a detective. What do you mean I have to…”He coughed, his annoyance unmistakable. You sat on the curb, the cuffs heavy on your wrists. You let out a huff, the alcohol making you dizzy. “I'm a detective, Mare,” he repeated into the phone. Colin was usually calm, always the good cop who could control his nerves. But after being assigned to petty calls, his frustration was at an all-time high. “Come on,” he said, gently grabbing your arm and leading you to the back of his car. You followed him, your gaze shamelessly tracing the outline of his button up shirt, eyelids drooping. He placed you gently in the back seat, careful to ensure you didn't hit your head. You stumbled a bit, shuffling around and holding your temples.

“Head spinning?” Colin chuckled, trying to lift her spirits or at least make her headache feel less terrible. “Yeah, I can imagine. I'd probably puke if I drank as much as you did—that's a ton of tequila. Just try to relax.” He started the car.

You didn't know how you ended up in this situation. One minute, you were at the bar, throwing back drinks and dancing with random strangers, and now here you are, cuffed, confused, and sick to your stomach. You wore a black tube dress and Prada heels, courtesy of her daddy's money. You were the kind of girl who had never been in cuffs in your life. Back in the city, your dad was well known—anything you did was right, even when the law said it was wrong. You leaned your head against the window, stomach churning. You were only here for the summer; you'd never stay in this small, quiet town by choice.

“Your parents must be worried... what's a girl like you doing in a place like that?” Colin asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes focused on you in the rearview mirror. your legs started shaking at the thought of spending a night in a cell. Colin glanced down at your trembling body, trying to think of something soothing to say.

“Everything will be just fine,” he said softly, his tone comforting. “You're just in a bit of trouble, but it'll be sorted out soon. Take a couple of deep breaths, and try to focus on somethin’ else instead of being cuffed inside a police car.” He focused on the road again.

“I don't feel good,” you murmured, your cuffed hands fiddling with your dress. He glanced back, noticing how your eyes glazed over.

“Whoa, are you gonna puke, kid?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. “Not in the back of my car—” He quickly pulled the car to the side of the road, rubbing his forehead as he unbuckled his seatbelt. In one swift motion, he was at the back door, opening it and looking down at you. “I'm gonna put you in the front, okay?” you gave him a simple nod, the sickness creeping up your throat. You tried to hold it down with deep breaths.

He got you to the side, gently helping you into the front seat and buckling you up. “Don't go pulling anything,” he joked with a hint of worry. He was so used to party girls trying to bolt from the car that he assumed the same from you, even in your sick condition.

“Oh, trust me, officer, I'm not,” you replied softly, leaning back into the seat as the nausea began to calm. His eyes widened at the softness of your voice; he hadn't expected you to even speak. He walked back to the front, got in his seat, and started the car, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in. He sighed wearily as they pulled towards the station, noticing it was slightly empty with only one or two officers in the front. “Hey, it's Colin—what are you doing out here? It's one am,” the male officer yelled as Colin parked.

“Can you uncuff me?” you asked, your tone tired and annoyed. Colin's expression shifted from one of weariness to amusement at your request. “And let you bolt while we're walking in?” He raised an eyebrow, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“How about this? I'll keep your wrists nice and loose. But we're walking with a little bit of police officer-suspect dignity, alright? No sprintin'. And no kickin' my ass. Deal?” You rolled your eyes.

“I knew we'd come to an agreement.” Colin grinned, a chuckle escaping his lips. He reached for the keys and unfastened the handcuffs, gently loosening them around your wrist. His touch was surprisingly delicate, fingers grazing against the smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Yeah, just doing a few rounds... Mare asked me,” he replied to the officers outside, coughing slightly as he unbuckled himself and then you. You were a bit more sober now, mind clearing up as he walked you both into the station. He brought you to a seat.

“I don't think we'll do fingerprints and pictures if this is your first offense,” he started as you sat in the old wooden chair. He shifted around, grabbing keys and opening the cell. “You get a phone call,” he said softly. You nodded as he handed you the phone from the desk. You tapped the buttons, calling your dad.

“Hi... yes, I got arrested for, um…” You looked up at Colin as his eyes narrowed in a furrow. “Public intoxication and starting a bar fight. You threw a drink at one of the bartenders,... and missed” he said sternly, his eyes trained on you as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, for that... okay, see you,” you finished, fiddling with the loose cuffs on your wrists.

“Do I really have to stay in here” you asked, eyes closing as you sighed at your situation—this could go on record if he wanted it to. You walked to the cell, letting out another frustrated breath as you hooked your hands on the cold bars. “Gross…” you said under your breath, looking around the cell. He closed it and locked it. “If I'm in here, can you at least give me a blanket?” you groaned.

He thought for a moment, glancing at your small pout—you were seriously asking as if he was going to say yes. “Please,” you tried to convince. His expression turned into amusement, this girl really had a lot of request for someone in trouble. “A blanket... in a police station?” he asked, stifling his laugh. You groaned internally before pointing at something behind him. “They're in there, I know they are, and I'm cold... Look at what I'm wearing?” His eyes trailed down to your outfit, the black tube dress tightly clinging to your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He coughed awkwardly, still gawking at it. "Ok-Okay," he stammered a bit, grabbing the blanket and bringing it up to the bars.

You wrapped the blanket around her frame, snuggling into it a bit. “Thanks,” you said softly. His cheeks turned a bit pink, and he quickly turned away, sprinting to the desk. He decided that filling out paperwork would distract him until the next officer came to switch out. you knew you’d be in for hours, dad's warning echoed in your mind: “Don't cause any more trouble. I'm here for work. Next time, you're gonna spend the night in that cell.” And he meant it, here you were sitting there, boredly clinging to your blanket.

“Officer,” you called out, looking at him intently. His short brown hair was messy as he briefly glanced up at you. You noticed how dark his eyes were, almost black, his skin pale, he looked tired. He raised his eyebrow, letting out a hm. “Detective Zabel,” he corrected, his eyes staying trained on the paper. You bit her lip slightly, taking in his appearance before smiling. “Can I get a bottle of water, Mister Zabel?”

He looked under the desk, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge stored there. Jogging up to the bars, he slipped it through, setting it on the floor for her.

“Thank you, Detective... you know,” you started, grabbing it with her cuffed hands and twisting the top off with her lips. “My daddy's a detective too,” you said, your tone almost amused. His eyes widened in surprise as he leaned against the bars. “That should give you more motivation to be a good girl, shouldn't it?” he said, not realizing how he sounded.

“A good girl? i’m good” you scoffed, giving him a playful look as your cheeks heated up slightly. “Then why are you drinkin' so much, kid?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes.

“I'm an adult; I can drink,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water. Truthfully, you had a problem. you’d never admit it, but the stress of your father being so distant—always prioritizing his job over you—took a toll. Whenever you were reminded of your mother, you would drown the thoughts with whatever alcohol you could get your fingers on.

He could sense the inner turmoil just from that reply. Your nose wrinkled up as you said it, hinting at something deeper, but it wasn't his place to pry. Or maybe it was just that your nose wrinkling up distracted him—it was so cute. He shifted around a bit, moving away from the bars, trying to shake off the thoughts. He was a professional.

“True, but you aren't even 21 yet, kid. Drinking like that could get you into more trouble than you are now... I let you off, yanno,” he said sincerely. “Detective Zabel. You don't have to call me a kid—” you started, but he groaned, letting out a soft chuckle. "You are a kid to me," he continued, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You're like 28; how am I a kid to you?” you asked, your face twisted into confusion. Colin chuckled softly, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth the moment the words left your lips. “28?” he repeated, eyebrows arching slightly in surprise. A wry grin crossed his face, a touch of humor glinting in his eyes. “Try 35, kid. I may have been blessed with an ageless face, but these lines ain't no lie.”

You cocked your head to the side, doing a double take at him before shaking your head. “You look good, Detective Zabel,” you said with a shrug. Colin blinked his eyes wide, the corners of his lips curving into a flattered smile. His cheeks slightly tinged with a soft blush, the compliment clearly caught him off guard. He couldn't think of the last time he'd gotten a compliment from a woman, especially one so forward.

“Oh, uh- thank you,” he replied, rubbing shyly at the nape of his neck. You noticed his dimple poking out, smiling to yourself. You had made him fluster from one small compliment.

“Are you trying to butter me up?” he asked softly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. You shook her head, a hint of mischief dancing in your voice. “No, but a little conversation can make time fly by. I'm not getting out of here anytime soon,” you huffed, frustration evident in your tone.

“Why not, kid? Thought you were getting picked up soon?” he said, puzzled, looking at the phone and then back to you.

“Yeah, he wants me to deal with the consequences, yanno... detective stuff,” you said with a slightly bitter laugh. Colin nodded in agreement; he would be that strict too. “I would too, kid. Getting drunk and causing all that ruckus in a town as small as this—if you got out, everyone would know,” he adds tiredly. You nodded in agreement, but you didn't care about what they thought. you were there as long as your dad's investigation lasted.

“Well... you're still a young woman, a beautiful young woman, might I add. You stay out of trouble,” he replied awkwardly, letting out a yawn. You giggled softly, noticing his discomfort as his eyes avoided yours while he nodded.

“I'll try,” you teased, leaning against the wall, yawning quietly. “Oh, you're getting tired... I'm gonna give you something to lay your head on,” he said gently, looking at his jacket shuffled into the corner. He grabbed it before opening her cell, sitting it near her. “Go to sleep; by morning, your dad should be here,” he said, locking it and going back to his boring paperwork, his cheeks still red

[jackwhiteprophetic]

Okay so I don't usually go into asks, so l'm sorry if this isn't the correct etiquette (its not rlly an ask, more of a anti-bt rant), BUT the amount of bt truthers on my feed recently have been pissing me off, and then I saw this one post that said,

"honestly i love tommy not entertaining their shovel talk with any serious answers, he's like yeah this is my relationship with my adult bf who wants me so im gonna go eat my cake now (double entendre)"

Which??? I don't even know what to say.

honestly i love Tommy not entertaining their shovel talk with any serious answers

Shovel talk?? You mean them asking legitimate questions on his intentions with their friend, who they care about??? who they're protective over??? who's dating a guy that in the past was both racist and misogynistic??? Who treated hen terribly when she joined the 118???

Idk about some people but I'd def hold a grudge 💀??

And it's the way he's not even TRYING. Like they said, not entertaining their questions with any serious answers. he's just making poorly landing jokes (that apparently his cult following chalks up as sass????) and being so dismissive of everything they say.

"I'm wearing a medal" dear god I hated him before that clip but the way he was acting made me hate him even more and gave me SO MUCH of an ick.

It's the way his following are following him so blindly? That they can't see that he wasn't being sassy he was being a sarcastic little shit who doesn't know how to read the room. Henren are trying to look out for their friend who this asshat is dating and he can't even bring himself to try to assure them that he's good for buck.

Idk I think I might've gotten a bit off topic but bt stans are so aggravating???? I've been called 'delusional' by so many people in this fandom who used to be buddie shippers but converted as soon as Buck was kissed by another guy.... And I've seen so many bt shippers be like 'Oh, yeah, I used to be in that sub fandom, I know how annoying and pushy they are'. I'm SO tired of the infighting, and the sudden shitting on Eddie that's going on ever since Tommy reentered the picture. And I'm so tired of THEM thinking that bt will be endgame because it's Buck's first relationship with a man and Bobby gave his approval. They don't care about Buck. I saw another post the other day talking about how 'Evan Buckley better not break Tommy Kinard's soft gentle heart or they're gonna have words'. Atp all they care about is Lou/Tommy. 

Hello!!! Anyone is always welcome to send me asks especially just to rant, I don't end up responding to all of them because I don't want to only focus on Tommy or BT shippers because there are lots of other less aggravating things to talk about, but I saw the same post and I had the same thoughts and I will say I find it incredibly frustrating how some people have praised Tommy for that scene.

Because I think he should be a lot more ashamed of how he treated Hen, and I think if he understood the weight of his ignorance/outright bigotry on her in the past, he would be a lot more receptive of the fact that obviously she feels protective over her friend in this situation. The fact is, the characters of Gerrard and Tommy were written in S2 to show how fucking dangerous workplace bigotry is. They're firefighters. Try telling me that Tommy would have fought as hard to get Hen from a burning building than a white male teammate. Do we think that this extended to the public? When Gerrard was probably evacuating crew members from burning houses earlier than he would for white neighbourhoods, do we think Tommy stood up and said "no, I'm an ally and I say this is wrong, we should fight just as hard for every life". Or did he sit there like a fucking coward and think about cars or boxing or something? I don't have much more to add because I fucking hate the character so much and I am quite disgusted by the white people who excuse this or look past it. You should feel more shame and Tommy should show he is fucking ashamed of his actions and at least show Hen some fucking respect. Tommy should take Hen seriously because his actions had fucking serious real life consequences.

Anyway thank you for the ask!!! My ask box is always open for people to rant and I will always read them!! I'm very much limiting how much I talk about that character BC I am trying to focus more on positive stuff, but if anyone would like to message me ranting about him or any 911 thing I am always available!!!

[sordidmusings]

Just a life update and opening!

Brought up because of an ask wondering if I still do stuff here so I figured I'd put out some of whats goin on if anyone is interested! Also throwing it into the void of the internet feels less guilt inducing than forcing it on specific people especially after how overwhelmed folks tend to be cuz I'm bad at metering it out and not just being like 'light jokes about struggle that don't scratch the surface or say anything meaningful' and 'here is all the dark lore' 💀 It's also been a struggle because there really does sometimes feel like theres a whole ass language barrier within your own language when you're AuDHD.

I do still do headcanons and write and draw and yada yada there’s just been quite a bit happening and I’m doing poorly at keeping up with life maintenance let alone things I enjoy 🥴 with writing especially in my hobbies I find myself discouraged in what feels like poor quality of my writing and seeing that reflected back to me because I am Weak 💀 general overview of some of the bigger problems below the cut if you’re interested but I won’t bother y’all with the whole picture! Will be more a summary/overview/alluding to things over getting into gory details. Basically a lot will be covered but I won’t force anything below the broad strokes on y'all.

The end is an ask for people to please reach out if they are struggling so please take that seriously. I offer a space with me but please find wherever in this world you are at least somewhat comfortable and have someone be there with you while you process 🤍 I will have a header above that little piece just incase you'd like to skip to only reading that which is completely fine!

CW for mental health talks, allusions to family issues, references to rape and abuse, death by suicide, and suicidal ideation.

What's Up, Doc?

Between hospitalizations (old and new issues and unfortunate near misses 🤡), my couple jobs (the days my body ain’t tryin to give up and even some days it still is means back to the grindstone. Thank you capitalistic overlords 💀), money stresses (medical debt plus just like y'all know shit ain’t the best for most everyone rn), the spring struggle (nightmares + flashbacks get worse from seasonal + anniversaries of men not caring for consent amongst other things lmaoooo), the mental health slew (diagnosed with AuDHD and most of the big hitters besides a personality disorder), and a few other life happenings and old traumas I’m doing a terrible job at everything 🤡 most of it ain’t new so I know all the proper things to do to help for everything from years of therapy and managing the symptoms and all that but dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s hasn’t been offering any relief for a long while so I’m floundering and quite exhausted.

The health issues making everything difficult and painful ain’t helping but I’m also not being the best at taking care of some of them because Why Bother 💀 Many are issues I’ve had for years that ebb and flow in severity and I’m just tired of feeling them and having to manage them. I’m sure any of you with chronic issues understand the feeling well. Those with years and years of major depressive disorder probably also understand the frustration and exhaustion and guilt with knowing you should enjoy something, you WANT to enjoy it, but your body just can’t produce the reaction it should.

I tend to isolate because I’m managing it poorly enough that the topic tends to crop up with the closer few if they ask and that goes Badly cuz, even if they think they won’t, people get uncomfy with the topics which just makes me feel Worse from guilt and sometimes frustration from it being passed over for their comfort or lack of understanding. I am lucky enough to have more recently found one person who Gets It and a beloved soul from lovely old Jersey came back into my life so the bigger problem in that situation is me allowing myself to consistently receive support from them 🤡 One’s so sweet always telling me I can call any time and the other is of the same vein and my dumbass brain keeps being like “but that would bother them” or the usual “you deserve to get worse not get help” 🤡🤡🤡. Clown ass behavior.

Also some bad coping mechanisms make my typing and communication sloppy as hell and I’m quite ashamed of that so best hide that away while it’s going on 💀 due to insistence that it’s Fine I have forgone that instinct to what feels like very Poor Result 🥴 ah the eternal struggle between needing to be Seen to fight the sense of isolation and worthlessness but also being petrified of being perceived while imperfect. Not having any of the connections really be in person doesn’t help too much with feelings isolation because I don't really have anyone around me besides parents that have literally said "why are you making us deal with this" about the intentional near death miss 💀💀💀 my immediate world feels very much like it wants me gone in explicit and subtle ways but c'est la vie. Beggars can’t be choosers so at this point I’m likely just being ungrateful 🤡

One thing making it harder to keep trying is my folks’ years of insistence that I don’t understand my own experience and I’m just dramatic and make things up. It’s an echo of many painful experiences including a whole group intentionally playing games with my sense of reality to enable their friend’s abuse (they got unconsensual nudes from him out of it so that’s worth the price of treating someone like that right?). Such is life.

One of the new things I’m uncertain how to approach handling properly is the grief and such shifting back to the forefront from the first anniversary of my childhood brother figure being taken from us by his bipolar depression. I have known people taken by suicide before but not this close to home. My childhood wasn’t the happiest but he and his family were a bright place in it. His little sister was my best friend in the whole world through my childhood and their family treated me more like family than my own. He was the best mix of a good and bad influence in an older brother figure I could’ve wished for. He fought long and hard but exhaustion hits us all, sometimes even with proper help. What eternally pains me is knowing how helpless and scared he must have felt and even worse how absolutely alone he felt. That was his last feeling in this life. I can only hope that more than anything, whatever happens next is giving him relief, peace, and rest.

Talk on reaching out below!

On that note, if any of you experience suicidality too, my messages (or ask if you’re more comfy on anon) are always open. This is an issue that’s been in my life in many forms since I was 12, so I will not shy away from you or your thoughts. Even if shared with something uncomfortable or "ugly", I find the discomfort of sitting with someone’s pain negligible in comparison to being the one in pain so why not prioritize that person in their need? It’s also negligible under the importance of truly holding space to process those hurts and stresses instead of just simple little niceties.

I am not the best at being active but if I see any of these messages especially we will truly talk. I know how insanely isolating and disappointing it can feel when someone offers support to be nice and then shoves to the next topic or barely responds because it makes them uncomfortable. It is a bitter pill we must often swallow to forgive those who think they will help for making things worse because they have bit off more than they can chew. It is also a bitter feeling that that reaffirms to us that by our very nature, we are too much to handle and are too much to deal with for sharing our internal space and circumstance. But at the same time, all of us are simply human so who am I to malign someone for making mistakes or being imperfect? So long as someone truly wants to try, there is all the reason in the world to give them grace.

Qualifications kind of???

The one good thing that has come from a lot of the experiences that I’ve gone through is that it has forced perspective on me and forced me to learn skills in holding space, validating, and connecting to others in immense pain. No one is perfect in this skill (even therapists struggle - the number who have said they don’t know where to start untangling the traumas or who have cried at it and in turn needed comfort 💀 a strange experience I know my darling at least gets too lol) but I have found in both giving and receiving that honesty and openness is W A Y more important than being perfect.

This is something I’ve watched more people struggle with than not as life circumstances has not made it so that they must learn the skill at the same time that there are resources to learn it, so I may make more posts with advice for it than the bit I go through here. I’m not a licensed therapist so this isn’t going to be a clinical breakdown of how to be someone’s therapist but I would consider my experience as a confidant, consistent reading up on psychological and related sociological research, and experience going through various forms of therapy worthy of giving solid advice. Unfortunately, co-morbidities and resistant brain chemistry really make using the skills on myself Difficult 💀 but as brief examples of experience for validity speaking on this, I’ve been to a lot of group therapy where licensed therapists literally coach you on this, guided a safe space/group for SA survivors in college, coached friends who couldn’t afford therapy through suicidality or abusive situations, and coached survivors through feelings and decisions when deciding whether or not to charge or going through the process of charging their abuser. All of which is much easier to be effective to people you know irl but the support online can be nothing to snub your nose at either. None of this is to say I'm perfect or exceptional - neither is true - just that I’ve had circumstances and experiences that afford me a bit of extra knowledge in this.

In the vast majority of cases, someone who is struggling and coming to you for help wants you to be there - your thoughts, your feelings, your perspective. They don’t want someone sitting uncomfortably and saying the occasional “sorry” they want engagement because more than anything they don’t want to be alone. In a basic example, if you find yourself freezing when someone comes to you with something you don’t know how to handle, instead of saying nothing or only short cliches due to fear of making a mistake, be honest about that. “I’m not sure what to say right now to be honest because that’s so much to deal with. I can’t imagine having to live with that all the time. Is there anything in it frustrating you the most or that you’re having the most difficulty tackling?”. This is active listening and engagement. You are being honest with where you are at so they aren’t guessing what you’re thinking, you are showing that you see how overwhelming the situation is, especially for the person who has to live with it. If you can’t handle a conversation where these issues exist, how do you think it feels to live with them day in and day out, sometimes for years or the majority of a life?

Asking questions is SUPER important too. Trust the other person to only share what they are comfortable with and don’t assume all questions are bad. Asking questions is one of the truest and simplest ways to show you care because why would you want to know more if you don’t give a shit? Asking questions is also very helpful and one of the reasons talking to others about your issues is important - it gives the person struggling something to react to and give perspective. It helps them process the issue in ways they won’t be able to do by themselves. This may make the process sound slightly manufactured but I promise it’s not, especially as it becomes second nature to know what thing to use when. Communication is a skill so advice around it will inherently make it sound more clinical than the actual process is.

People are also not a monolith so while this type of being there works for the vast majority some people may not like it. That is also where communication comes in - check in with the person on if this is helping and what isn't helpful. Make sure to adjust when you make a mistake.

Conclusion

I’m happy to hold space for other issues as well. I’m no replacement for a therapist but I’ve been a helpful supplement to many people I knew struggling throughout the years so I’m at least okay at that! Since I’m doing pretty bad functionally right now the help won’t be as consistent as I wish but I will give whatever is in my power just like these things deserve. I hope to get better soon so that I can properly offer a stronger foundation of support outward again 🤍

[invisibleraven]

Fluff dialogue prompt 1, sweet tarts

"Reginald you are just exhausting."

Reggie heard that phrase more times than he could even count throughout his life. From his mom when he wanted to tell her about his day. From teachers when he got hyper fixated on certain facts or books. Friends who didn't care about the interesting bug or flower he found. Partners who didn't care about all the Star Wars trivia he knew.

So Reggie retreated, became quiet, determined to not be exhausting, to keep those few people important to him close. Sure his friends were his band mates and they were happy to discuss music the whole day long. Well, not Luke when it came to country, but Julie liked Dolly and Shania well enough, so that was fine.

He still has fears about his friends getting tired of him though. Finding a bassist who's better, who cracks less jokes, who isn't Reggie.

His therapist tells him that the people in his past didn't deserve him, and that no one in their right mind would ever tire of him, but he kinda pays Dr. Butler to say that kind of stuff, so it's a but of a harder pill to swallow.

So when he starts dating Carrie, that fear rears up once more. Carrie is the daughter of a literal millionaire musician. She's met celebrities and influencers the world over. She has signed copies of albums from artists Reggie would give his eye teeth to own. Her house is a mansion with honest to goodness servants.

Reggie isn't sure what he can offer her compared to all that given he's a decent bassist for an up and coming band with a high school diploma and an okay eye for photos in his back pocket.

But Carrie is kind of into him? Like she laughs at his corny jokes, sits through his terrible sci-fi movies with rapt attention, and is delighted when he shares random trivia with her. Especially when they're just watching Jeopardy and he sweeps the game time after time.

"You should go on there for real," she says one evening as he gets the Daily Double when none of the contestants do. "You could probably win enough to pay for five demos and Luke would love you forever."

"Nah, I couldn't stand the pressure," Reggie replies. "Plus I'd rather watch it here with you. Unless... are you tired of watching it? Or of me answering all the questions?"

"What? No!" Carrie replies adamantly. "Baby I love how smart you are and how you know all this weird, cool stuff. I love that you make me laugh and treat me like a regular person, not like I can do things for you because of who I am. I can be myself around you, which is something so rare and special to me." She cuddles into him then, pressing a tender kiss to the underside of his jaw. "I love how you love me, so sweet and tender and like I'm precious. Believe me, I will never be tired of you.”

Reggie tilts her head up at that, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes and he dives in to kiss her, a deep passionate kiss that makes his head spin, but with the underlying sweetness she had just praised him for.

They break apart eventually, foreheads resting against one another as their noses nuzzled. "I don't think I could ever get tired of you either," Reggie whispered.

"Good," Carrie said. "Because you're never getting rid of me." Then she let out a small yawn. "I am tired though. Take me to bed?"

Reggie grinned and whooped as he gathered her into a bridal carry, bouncing them off to his room, Carrie's laughter echoing through the hallways as he did.

[go-to-the-mirror]

Weaver time! I really do like this episode. If I'm being honest I like every episode - bar a couple stranger ones in season 3, they just weren't scary to me - so that isn't much of a surprise, but it's a pretty good one.

I'm also pretty tired, so... yeah? After this I'm going to go to sleep.

@a-mag-a-day

The concept of free will gets me pretty excited so enjoy the words!

This includes: love of Jon Sims, looking at Jon's life through the lens of "this guy ADHD", cat photo, musings on free will (good words), how are the tapes turning on, what does Annabelle mean about the statement summaries, musings on what the web is and "The Spider & The Eye" by pocketsizedquasar propaganda, discussion of Enid Blyton books, among other things.

DAISY (Quietly) Perhaps they bugged out. ARCHIVIST Was that a joke?

Asjdjshfhsjh I love him so much your honour. I want to shake him a little bit.

MELANIE I'm fine. Uh, a-and please don't call me Mel. DAISY What? Since when? MELANIE Always. I’m trying to be more open about this stuff.

Hnhrnhrh Melanie my absolute beloved <3 I'm glad she's getting better, that's good for her, you know. Being ok is really great actually.

ARCHIVIST I'm sure the flares will work fine. I mean, unless it's all some elaborate plot to have us burn this place down again. BASIRA So what if it is? ARCHIVIST I don’t follow. BASIRA I mean, anything we do could be part of the grand master plan. So, what, we do nothing? Just sit on our hands and hope that's not what the spiders want?

Jon's either incredibly impulsive or incredibly indecisive, which... A) Attention Deficit Hyperativity Disorder (the name is a misnomer, not a deficit, etc, i mean he's adhd though) and B) I mean like... that's sort of partially why he ended the world? I mean like grabbing this kid, dead parents, granny doesn't care about him - and yknow, a shitty childhood affects you, and with this Extra trauma, he'll be alienated from other people, due to the mundane things and because... you can't tell anyone about the spooky stuff.

And then he's already probably predisposed to be impulsive, to not think things through, and then ADHD it's... not a Great Time. Because of other people. You know, you're either too much or not enough, no one's ever going to like you so why try. With him it's like "I was an annoying child." "I was hardly an easy child to deal with." Like, not to sound like a broken record, but I see myself in that. It's not always malicious, but yeah, when you're always too much, too loud, too annoying, you internalize it, think there's something wrong with you, cut people off, don't... try.

Like, Elias's plan sort of depended on the Archivist and the Archival Assistants being... isolated. No one'll notice, or care when they die, or go missing, or change. And, I mean, yeah. He was pretty much alone. Is it an ADHD thing to have no best friends? Is it an ADHD thing to never wonder why you're alone? Like, he was closest with his assistant, who he suspected of murder, and his ex-girlfriend who he hadn't talked to in years. His work-life balance was terrible since before he discovered he'd work for life. Also ADHD ppl usually have a higher rate of substance abuse and addiction, because of the whole less dopamine thing.

This is getting so bloody off topic. Jon's combination fear of being manipulated and his impulsivity and inability to think things through, in addition to all the other things detailed above make him a great candidate for ending the world.

Sasha's too friendly, and we don't know enough about her to really draw any conclusions about how good of a (spooky) Archivist she'd be. I'd say she'd be a better mundane archivist but none of those people had anything even resembling a library science degree, and she was stapling things. Apparently you're really not supposed to staple things.

Melanie, I think, would be a great (spooky) Archivist, mostly because she's so similar to Jon. What with the whole chasing after War Ghosts thing, and being pretty prickly, and I think that she could have been an Archivist, Archivist!Melanie guys, come on, think about the possibilities! Also this leaves the door open for Flesh!Jon and I fucking love Flesh!Jon, but now is really not the time to get into that.

ARCHIVIST Yep. Official Institute paper and everything.

Official institute paper should be available as merch smh.

WHAT IF THEY HAVE PENS?? DO YOU THINK THEY HAVE OFFICIAL INSTITUTE PENS? THEYVE GOT TO RIGHT? OH THE POSIBILITIES OF NOVELTY STATIONARY!!

Free will is a funny old thing, isn’t it, Jon? Can I call you Jon? I’m going to call you Jon.

I mean, hey! It's an improvement on the other Avatars! He gets to be called a name! Lovely jubbly!

With any other animal, we talk about instinct, we talk about training. Perhaps, if we have spent enough time with them, we talk about personality. But we never talk about choice. We never look at a dog racing wildly after a thrown ball and think, ‘What an odd decision that dog has made.’

My cat, Marble, chases after things like a dog. He's so odd /pos, I love him so much.

Cat Anecdote (Catecdote?): Ereyesterday, early in the morning - so early to be basically still the day before - Marble climbed onto my bed and lay right beside me, and as I stroked him I realized how small he was - Marble's a mainecoon so he's a LOOONG cat - but, I realized that he's still just a cat, and as he purred as I fell asleep, I knew that I loved him more than anything else in the world. I love him so much.

[ID: A photo of a cat, sitting down with one paw raised, looking at something above the camera. He's a tabby maincoon, and is dark brown, light brown, and grey. His legs are mostly dark brown, his stomach grey, and the rest of his body a mix of dark brown and light brown. /End ID]

Look I had to include a photo of him. Sorry, this was so irrelevant.

Of course, people are so very different from dogs. Our brains are larger, more complex; so many more little factors and wrinkles to push us and pull us. But does any of it actually constitute free will? Free of what? We all have forces that drive us, circumstances that direct us, and even if we choose to ignore these and act against all logic just to prove that we can, is that not simply allowing the existential terror of our own powerlessness to control us instead?

!!!

Look, okay, if someone knew everything, knew everything about you and everyone else and the world and everything, then theoretically, they would be able to know exactly what you'd do. We're all pushed and pulled by forces in our lives, no matter how unpredictable you are, there's always an underlying reason, and if there isn't... well there's your reason.

I was baking a while back, and thinking about this episode, and I realized that every moment in my life had lead to me, standing in the kitchen, thinking about The Magnus Archives, and looking for some kind of measuring cup, and I realized that whatever decision I made, if I took one from the drawer, or from the dishwasher, or left the kitchen entirely, that choice was not my choice, none of them were, my whole life has been preordained from the very beginning, not in some fate way, but in that everyone is affected by the circumstances around us, and this just makes what happened happen?

Yes, we're responsible for our own choices, but are they really our choices? If knowing everything makes them not - which I believe, it makes sense - then they are and were never our choices, free will is ignorance.

Not only can free will and omniscience not coexist, but free will has never existed, it's just a lie we tell ourselves, because it makes sense to us. Why am I lying on my bed typing this out? Because I wanted to. But no. It's because Sixteenthdays wrote The Hermit Archives AU, it's because my sister got into an unspecified university, it's because Ashes started a mag a day, it's because the pandemic happened, it's because I was curious about hermitcraft fandom demographics, it's because I have a computer, it's because of so many things, and none of those things were done randomly either. I presume Sixteenthdays is writing THA because they like both TMA and MCYT. A mag a day was started because The Magnus Archives was created, because the mods wanted to re-experience the community created from the episodes initial airing. My sister got into the unspecified university because we moved to unspecified country. And that's only a fraction of the factors that lead to me, here, talking about these factors.

Terrifying to think about, isn't it!

He ultimately decides that, if all the millions upon millions of factors and influences that weigh upon our choices were fully and completely known, then all could be foreseen and predetermined. But, he argues, it is quite impossible for the human mind to comprehend even a fraction of these, and in that vast, dark space of ignorance lies ‘free will’.

Come onnn Jonny, we had an omniscient character who's bloody terrified of being out of control, I really really do wish that we'd gotten more of this sort of thing in season 5.

Like I get why not, his omniscience has limits, we're more focused on other things, but there was a missed opportunity there, I feel.

Where would it fit in? Idk!

I think that one probably comes down to whether or not you’re choosing to continue reading this statement out loud. You didn’t mean to, did you? No, I’m sure you told Basira and Melanie that you were going to glance it over and report back. Perhaps they asked you if you were going to record it and you shook your head. “Maybe later.” That sounds like the sort of thing you’d say.

!!!!!!!!! oh boy!!

Do you think that's... exactly what he said? Because I think it's exactly what he said and he's just like Oh Boy!

But think about it, Jon, when’s the last time you were able to read a statement quietly to yourself without instinctively hitting record and speaking it aloud? Is it just instinct, habit? Or is it a compulsion, a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother-of-Puppets? Or both?

That raises the question - are the tapes turning on by themselves, or is Jon (and by extension Martin and co.) turning them on unconsciously. The Web has shown an ability to... distract... people what with Jon and his lighter. Jon's also been shown to forget to turn tapes off a lot of the time, and Tim did mention that Jon was just reaching for the tape recorder when they were talking (MAG 98). I feel like that's actually more plausible to me than them just... turning on by themselves. The Web's all manipulation and stuff. Alternatively, it's Annabelle Cane hiding under Jon's desk /j.

I know the summaries have started to confuse you. Where do they come from when you read a statement fresh? How do you just sort of know what it’s about before you even start to read it? But by then, you’re away, the rollercoaster is dropping and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that I don’t crash you.

I'm guessing this is referring to statements that haven't been read before, like MAG 123 - Web Development. That raises the question, though, what about the statement of Hazel Rutter? I mean, he obviously didn't know what was going to be inside that, and The Eye can't lie.

Actually, I think Elias, you know, he just put the summary there so it wasn't one of the spooky ones, but like he's already... tied in by the point where he's reading the summary. No turning back, already too deep.

Also that line, just, "hope that I don't crash you." Hmm. Oh, Jon, there really was no way to avoid it.

Of course, I learned many of my skills from my mother, who could wield guilt like a rapier and anger like a scalpel. She never simply screamed at you. She was always aware of exactly what kind of fury or disappointment was needed to make sure you regretted ever catching her attention.

Sure! Did Annabelle grow up to... sort of be a part of The Web? Yes, she did. Sure, maybe it's manipulative, but you know what? I've been called manipulative, I've been worried I'm manipulative, and if The Eye can be the fear of being both Watcher and Watched, The Slaughter the fear of the one getting hurt and the one hurting, The End the fear of the one who stays alive forever and the one who knows when they will die, then The Web can be the fear of the one being manipulated and the one afraid of being a manipulator.

She might not have been afraid, sure. What we know of Annabelle's childhood is from the perspective of her fundamentally changed - in more than just the regular way - from that. We just don't know what she was feeling before, we barely know anything about her.

Just read "The Spider & The Eye" by pocketsizedquasar, it's really good, the first lines of the summary live in my mind rent free.

Annabelle Cane has a choice to make. (Annabelle Cane is not sure what choice is anymore).

Like! Aa! Sahar has great words.

She had eight children, yet weaved that life around herself in such a way that she always seemed both the victim of it, yet curiously divorced from any responsibility. In many ways, she was the victim, at least of my father, whose pathological absence spoke of a man who had no interest whatsoever in engaging with the life where he had trapped his family.

Uh nothing to say, just highlighting it. Hmnhrnh good words.

My biggest attempt to assert some form of influence over my family was when I decided to run away.

I've actually packed a bag to run away before and let it be known I was much worse at packing than Annabelle asjdssjfg

and the only book I could say belonged to only me: Five Go Down to the Sea.

I was always more fond of The Five Find-Outers and Dog, and The Adventurous Four, though I did like The Famous Five. I also really liked Mallory Towers. George from The Famous Five is definitely the reason I'm trans.

I will simply say that when a spider reaches a certain size, it is not entirely made up of spider anymore.

Hey, what the fuck does this mean! :D

So, how much free will was involved in that story? What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible? I felt no loss of control – no puppet strings guided me – and yet the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear of spiders so acute that would later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis.

Isn't it more terrifying to not know for sure whether you're being controlled or not? To be frozen in terror and indecision, unsure of which action you will willingly take will be the one they want you to take?

The Mother is the fear of manipulation and lost control made manifest, so perhaps it is our fear that projects her influence on everything that happens, like the mind retrospectively assigning reason to our actions, so we fit whatever occurs into the neatest pattern we can and declare her web both intricate and complete.

But, the mind of the dreamer affects the dream, so perhaps she wasn't weaving her own web, but the fear of her weaving her web made it so she could and did! Aaaa I love this podded cast!

Or perhaps I am simply telling you what you need to hear in order to behave exactly as the Mother wishes you to. Perhaps I have never even seen a beach.

THAT ENDING!!! OH WOW THATS A GREAT ENDING!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH! JUST dont dont drop the mic it'll damage it, BUT DO SOMETHING TO A SMILIAR EFFECT!

(Shaken) That was, uh… I d-didn’t like that. I couldn’t…

Fuck, dude, he really is shaken.

Ahhh it's only going to get... worse.

I can’t say I’m sad to have another ally allegedly on our side, but I don’t like the idea of being important to The Web. That’s a really bad place to be.

IT SURE IS! Aaaaaa... :(

Annabelle’s right, though. I mean, I can’t trust anything she says to not be another lie to further manipulate and manoeuvre us, but deep down, I think she’s right. What I’ve been doing to these people, it hasn’t been because I was puppeted or controlled or possessed. I wanted to do it. It felt good. But at least I know I can stop. I just... don’t know how. I don’t want to stop.

Hey, I mean! Good for him right, he has all these people around him to help! They're going to be nice about it and not threaten him with murder, right!

Right?

No but, I mean, I'm not really, I don't really feel right talking about this, I don't have any experience related to it, I'm just pointing to it. Great words! Yeah!

Well, that's been a little ramble! Hope you enjoyed the cat picture if nothing else. He really is the light of my life. See y'all tomorrow I guess?

[soundsgoodfeelsgood]

why "Be Nice To Me" by The Front Bottoms is the perfect angsty wolfstar song - a TED talk

ok so. i am totally in love with this song. i love the instruments and the way they play with eachother. but the lyrics. THE LYRICS. that is exactly how i envision wolfstar's relationship to be circa october 1981. there's a war going on, they're tired - no, drained. they love each other so much they start hating each other. they're suspicious, there's a terrible climate, and they're on the edge.

so, here's a lyrics deep dive

I got boulders on my shoulders Collar bones begin to crack There is very little left of me and it's never coming back There are certain things you ask of me There are certain things I lack The beginning, we were winning Now we're just making up facts

the song starts with a bang. as i said, the war is consuming them from the inside out. so much so that they're beginning to crack. they remember how at the beginning of their relationship they were on top of the world, but now, after everything they've been through, they are lying to themselves about how good things actually are, holding on to the last shreds of their relationship

What's it matter anymore? You believe the lies I tell There's no meaning to the words But we still sing these songs well If we all left it alone I'm sure it'd work itself out fine We keep playing with the numbers We are running out of time

they know they're both lying to each other about their work with the Order, they both have secrets, but they decide to still believe each other. they still sing the love song they adored but the words loose their meaning. if this was a simple bump in their relationship they'd find a way to work through it but time's running out

But you're a killer And I'm your best friend Think it's unfair, your situation You say I'm changing Sorry, I didn't know I had to stay the same Could we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me, driving me insane

they're both changing, the war is changing both of them. they're arguing because they believe they wouldn't let it affect them, their relationship, but alas. tension is so high they can barely deal with each other

Well, I try to write you poems, but the words, they don't make sense My hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are too tense And I try to show emotion, but my eyes won't seem to wet And I'd love to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they went

as much as they try to mend their relationship, they reached the no-turning-back point. there is so much going on with they're life that they can't bring themselves to do the thing that used to come naturally, like talking, be vulnerable, communicate

You're a flashlight in a dark room for the loneliest blackout You were all we had left after it all was filtered out Turn you on in a dark room right before we both pass out Turn you on when I need you, but the batteries ran out

despite everything going on they just can't give up yet. they are too important for each other, the flashligh during the blackout. but at the same time they can't be there for each other anymore like they used to - the batteries run out

And you're a werewolf and I'm a full moon And all your very worst enemies will be gone soon I think you're changing Don't worry, you don't gotta stay the same Could we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me, driving me insane

so here we are again. we're changing, but this time i realise that it's something we can't stop. we have to change in order to survive this. it is still said with sarcasm, maybe longing, but it's happening and we can't stop it now. except we can just...avoid the thing all together. can we talk about this later? i can't stand you now, you're driving me insane.

but on a less serious note this songs litterally refers to a killer and a werewolf. like. i'm not even joking. would've been less obvious if they'd just slapped their names in there.

[dredshirtroberts]

It is...finished sent

most of my main anxieties and insecurities surrounding sending my parents a very clear message to "Fuck right the fuck off" (phrased politer because I raised myself better than that) have been...put back into perspective. There was a moment of weakness to just not send it, give them another shot (what's a fiftie- sixti- hundreth shot, anyway?). After all, I must be overreacting and just deciding this out of nowhere (sarcasm).

But thankfully I have friends - my new family - who I love very much and appreciate even more, who helped me remember that even if it was just what i'd said in the group server, it was still really bad.

I mean, you'd think having my parents on a Revenge List (for legal reasons, it's a joke and no death is involved - especially not arson or murder) would be enough support for me to go "hey yeah actually maybe they're really terrible and i've been putting up with bullshit for too long" but i mean. here we are lol.

i mean i still sent the thing and i wouldn't have done that without support and knowing I was safe to do so, so like. that might be enough of a sign lol.

I do feel bad, you know. for them. I know it will feel like it's out of the blue, and they won't know where it's coming from. They'll be confused and probably upset about it. But also? also they deserve this. (I mean they don't actually, they do not deserve the nicety of me asking them to fuck off in a polite but firm way, they deserve me shouting it at them while throwing them the finger and driving off into the sunset in a cloud of smoke, but like. a text message is fine).

I do kind of wish there had been a way for me to explain what they had done wrong, so they would be less confused, but all that does is open the door for them to deny it, to tell me my lived experiences are wrong, to ignore me and walk over me again and again and again. it's no my job to explain things and make this experience more palatable to them. I do not need to make them feel better about this, because it's going to hurt them. And they're damn lucky I acknowledge that at minimum. I do more but that's because i'm inherently damaged by their treatment of me in a way i have not yet had time to fix all the way.

I am trying not to be annoying by posting about this in too many places. I'm not trying to make it about me, I don't want a lot of attention for this, I just. I'm so tired and i just...i just want my parents to leave me alone. They had their shot to get to know me and they squandered it. now it's Too Late and I do not trust them and that's...that's allowed for me to say to them. It's allowed for me to tell them I do not want them as a major part of my life. If they wanted to be more involved they should have gotten involved well before i moved from Virginia to Michigan. They should have gotten involved well before i graduated college.

but they didn't care and now I don't either. I'm done begging for scraps of affection from them, and i don't want to give them any anymore, so it's done.

it's done.

i did it.

holyfuck i did it, i told them to fuck off. i actually *did it.*

...i think i need...i need to go do something else for a while.

[mercurygray]

“when we woke” for Daphne and Mike if you’re up for it!

Mornings were softer in Cairo.

In the desert, a man woke with dew on his face and the morning chill slowly seeping away from his tent as the sun rose over the hills, the world in perfect silence except for the wind, and the sound of sand sliding across sand. Here in the city there was the call to prayer, and the slow clip-clop of mules and pushcarts moving to market, the flutter of bird wings against the window shutters as they chattered for breakfast. In the desert he had a canvas cot and standard issue army blankets, and a tentmate who snored, but Daphne's sheets were cotton, and her pillows had real feathers in them, and he'd yet to hear her snore.

It was his usual practice, to wake early - the habit of the desert, some would say, to make the most of the early part of the day when the heat was less intense. But Daphne had no such clock, and she'd sleep for ages if you left her.

All the better to admire, Mike thought to himself, idly pushing a strand of hair gently off her face.

She'd wanted to go to the Blue Door, down near Garden City, where the music was loud and all the soldiers went for the dancing (which was chaotic) and the girls (who were plentiful) and the rum (which was strong.) But Mike had said no, that the others were going there, and she'd laughed.

"Are you ashamed of me, Mike Sadler?"

"Not ashamed," he'd said, defensively. "Never ashamed. I just …don't like sharing." He'd leaned close to her ear, relishing the smell of her perfume, the feel of her skin under his lips. "If any of them saw you they'd all want you, too, and I'd never hear the end of it."

"None of them have girlfriends, then?"

"Not the kind you introduce to your friends." He could just see them now, Reg and Johnny and Dave, laughing and leering over Daphne and making terrible jokes about advance units and deep penetration thinking she'd be like all the other girls who wouldn't understand and would bat their eyes and ask them to explain. She lived in the world of maps and reports and requisitions, and she knew the war almost as well as everyone who was fighting it.

But she'd let him pick a different street, and they'd gone for coffees and tiny slivers of baklawa at the other end of the market, their knees pressing together under the tiny bistro tables while he tried not to think about what was under her skirt. "Speaking of friends, I met your Captain Stirling, you know. He was at Government House the other day with some paper he needed signed."

He'd tried his hardest not to scowl. "And?"

Daphne licked a bit of rosewater and honey off the end of her coffee spoon. "I have reason to believe he was admiring my backside."

God, send me the patience not to kill my superior officer. "Don't give me more reasons to hate him."

How she'd laughed at that. "He's hardly my type - and I rather think I'm not his. He's been seen about town with a Frenchwoman - Eva Mansour. Terribly fashionable and glamorous." She took another sip of her coffee. "No, I got the sense that he was rather bored with all of it," she said, her voice calm and incredibly observant as she watched him over the brim of her cup. "That nothing he ever did was going to be enough - that he's always searching for something with a bigger bang."

"That's Captain Stirling all right." Bored aristocrat with too much time and not enough people to say no.

"But still you follow him."

Mike had nodded. "I suppose I admire him, a little. It's easy to take risks, sometimes, with a life like his. But not our risks. And he still does it. I can admire that." He'd sighed. "And, at the same time, carry a tremendous grudge."

"A grudge! I'm not going home with him, Michael," she said, leaning conspiratorially across the table. "I'm going home with you."

And so she was - home, to her little bolthole of an apartment so he could wrestle the clothes from her body and be wrestled out of his in turn, to get hot and tired and fall asleep just as the evening was turning cold again, and wake with the sun so he might admire her again.

"I'm not ashamed," he whispered aloud. "How could anyone be ashamed of you?"

[izzy-b-hands]

A sort of follow up to my last You/Ferguson (for lack of better way to describe that) fic!

---

"How does it even work," you grumble. "Being sick and horny. I'm horny, but too fucking tired to do anything about it."

"You are so bad at being sick," Ferguson smiles and moves your legs to sit beside you on the couch, only to set them back on his lap.

"Thank you for the motivation to get better."

"I might have an idea that could help both," he says. "Would you like to hear it?"

You nod, miserably.

"I take care you being horny first," he purrs. "And in exchange, you take the next dose of the medicine the doctor gave you."

"Eugh. It tastes terrible and makes me tired."

"Some cuddling and napping would be required as well."

You smile weakly. "Alright. Tell me more."

He taps your inner thigh. "Open those for me, hm?"

You flop your leg nearest the couch edge to the floor.

"That works."

He lays in between your legs, and presses a kiss to your thigh before running a finger under the waistband of your pants. "These will need to come off eventually for more. First-"

He more or less buries his face between your legs, doing his best to tease at exactly what 'more' entails.

You start to move to try and give him more space, but he reaches up and gently grabs your wrist. "Don't worry about me. I'll let you know if I need you to do anything, and you let me know if you want to stop. Otherwise, lay back and relax for me."

You drop your head back onto the couch's padded armrest and sigh. "I can do that."

"Good."

His hand moves back down to rest on your thigh, the other moving aside your underwear to, as he murmurs against you, 'take care of you properly.'

It's heavenly.

Relaxed, splayed out, with him moaning in between every lick and suck, rutting against the couch in the limited room he has.

"Let me do something to make it up to you," you sigh as he slips a finger inside. "Just a little something, even."

He presses a flurry of kisses to your thighs. "What exactly do you have in mind? I won't have you overdoing it right now?"

"A blowjob is hardly overdoing it!"

"Fair enough, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit I want it," he says. "Let me wait a bit longer though."

He moans and sighs and you almost giggle at him eating you out like his last meal.

That's what does it, as much as anything else. His arm gently pulling your leg from the floor to sit on his shoulder like the other already is, one hand reaching up to intertwine his fingers in yours.

"Love-"

He nods as he keeps going, and you let yourself go.

He holds you through it, chuckling and kissing your shaking legs. "Feeling any better? You didn't even notice when the fabric fell back over you did-"

"Switch places with me. Now."

He jokes often that you're the only one aside from his superiors at work that can command him to do anything, but he practically falls over himself to obey now.

"Ferguson!"

He lifts you up, and then lays you both back down with a groan.

"Your back! I meant let me move, and then you-"

"Shhh. I wanted to. Easiest way to get you in my lap."

"That is hardly the easiest way."

"You're sick, let me do a bit extra for you."

You smile and give him a quick kiss before doing your best to settle between his legs without kicking him in the process.

"I'll admit the other way might have made that easier," he laughs.

"It's an achievement for me for the day. The most I might move in the next few hours, for that matter."

You grin, and mouth his cock through the thin grey sweatpants he's wearing.

"You know, if you make me come in these I'll have nothing else to wear."

"A tragedy," you lift your head and smile. "I suppose we'll both have to strip and head for the bedroom after this."

"After all of this, sure," he reaches down and cradles your face in his hand. "A warm bath for you first, then the medicine-"

"So good up until then."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "Then after that, snuggling in bed, and sleep. You need it."

You smirk and mouth over his cock again. He's already half hard, but there's something about making his cock twitch with each touch and feeling him grow under your lips that makes the whole thing even hotter.

"Relax," you tease.

"As if I could right now," he whimpers. "Fucking-"

"We'll get there!"

He laughs softly, his hand in your hair now, but there's no pressing down.

In your head, you thank the universe for grey sweatpants. They make it easier to tease his balls through them, which leaves him panting.

"I really hope you didn't want to do this for long," he gasps, and you lick at the head of his cock through the fabric. "Actually, sit up for a minute. We need to switch spots again."

It's only another couple of minutes before he has you prone on the couch, and slips his cock out of his sweatpants and inside you.

"Jesus christ," is what he mumbles into your ear. "Let me know if-"

"You're good; I promise you're good; please-"

He's warm and his weight is comforting and nothing else matters except how good he feels as he thrusts, each movement grinding your clit perfectly into the couch.

"This isn't going to be as long as I want," he moans. "Let me apologise in advance."

"Just keep going," you whimper. This is the best you've felt all day.

He holds out long enough for you to shudder beneath him, moaning into the couch as you come.

He's quiet except for a sweet and soft gasp in your ear as he comes a few moments later.

"When my legs work again," he sighs. "I'll carry you to the bath."

"I can walk myself there."

"You know I'm going to bring the medicine with, don't you?"

"Yup. But take solace that I'm not as bad to pill as a cat."

He laughs and kisses your shoulders and neck, and despite the aches in your body you feel like you could lay there forever.

[rodechi]

Living Anxiety

It is 4am and I am unable to sleep, and so I find myself writing the rough draft of this in the hopes that writing it down will tire me out. To all of you who have noticed me withdrawing more and more lately, I am pulling back the curtain a bit to share a bit of what I have been wrestling with privately.

To give some insight into my home life: it is a house, but not my home. I have lived here in this small podunk town in Tennessee all my life. Opportunities were always few and far between unless you work a dead-end job for pennies on the dollar (TN has no state minimum wage, so a lot of jobs will start you at the federal $7.25/hr -- or less if you work a job that gets tips!) or really enjoy dealing in antique furniture. It's also a terrible place to live as someone queer. My nephew got run off the road just last year because an older man saw him with makeup on, veering toward him and forcing him off the road, calling him slurs in the process. Hell, I STILL have neighbors who are die-hard Trump supporters. Which brings me to my mother. Mercifully, she's very anti-Trump, but in many ways still very conservative. She worked as a nurse nearly 40 years and is set in beliefs from that long ago as well. To her, gender is immutable -- although I have been on HRT for over 2 years now, she doesn't make even the barest effort to acknowledge it. To her, I will always be Daniel, not Wren. Always her little boy. Always "him". I'm not even respected enough to have my own bank account; she has access to view my statements at any time and will frequently question me about purchases I make, money I send to friends and partners, anything. "I want to make sure it's you spending your money, not anyone else." No trust, no boundaries. Hell, she told me once "My boundaries mean that I can ignore yours." In addition, she's developed a victim complex, always blaming me for perceived slights against her that she has imagined. She uses that as fuel to make "jokes" about how she wants to tie me up so I'd miss a flight away or how she'll get me arrested for something just so I wouldn't be able to leave.

With all of that in mind, you can surely see why I would be eager to move away. However, there are a few extenuating factors that make it difficult for me, especially lately. Notably, my lack of income, lack of living history (since I've lived here my whole life), and just sheer logistics.

First off, at the moment, I have no income. I had a job, from April 2018 until January 2022. I worked as a veterinary assistant at a local clinic, since I wanted a job that served a purpose and I love animals. I initially wanted to go to college for it (after failing at another college under a different major), but quickly learned that while I was okay with doing it as a job, I didn't want it to be my career. I was overworked, underpaid, taken advantage of, and regularly given tasks outside my job description and above my paygrade. I was part-time, despite being scheduled for 30 hour workweeks (and frequently having to stay an average of 4 to 6 hours late over the week). As such, no benefits! Woooo! I was also given the job of about 3 to 4 other people, including being the person expected to teach the newer hires, perform tech support, and more roles beyond that. It was a soul-crushing line of work that chewed me up and spit me out. I even had to write up one of my bosses (and got her forced into retirement) because she would punch and kick some dogs, and one of the doctors that replaced her… I still relive a moment where I had to assist him with a euthanasia on a puppy that he botched and did improperly (and illegally!) So while I only worked there just shy of 4 years, it left me with the worst burnout, depression, anxiety, and compassion fatigue I have ever experienced in my life. When I found myself getting impatient and mad at the animals regularly, I knew that was my sign to quit while I could. I should have gotten another job since then, but I was content to live off my savings while I recovered my mental health.

In addition to these issues, I also have been living with a phobia of driving a car. Not just a fear, mind you. An honest-to-God "diagnosed by a psychiatrist" phobia. Not just me being worried I'll get into an accident or anything… Even thinking about being behind the steering wheel of a car is enough to send me into panic attacks. Mom forced me to take Driver's Education in high school, and I forced myself to drive in the hope that I could condition myself to get past it. Instead I had a hellish semester, with the teacher literally telling me "The only reason I'm not failing you is that you didn't crash the car." and criticizing me because "You will do something right 10 times and then screw it up so bad the next it's like you've never done it." It's definitely given me a complex on top of the existing phobia. And so, living in this town where a car is basically mandatory, my options for getting out are very limited.

And so, when one of my partners invited me to move to the West Coast to be with them, I was eager to get out. So we have been spending the past few weeks looking at apartments online, trying to find a place that would take us, even with me being dead weight as I am now with no job, no living history, and mediocre credit. It's been incredibly stressful, and we are still searching. But god if it ain't soulcrushing. Most places require us to have a cosigner, and most places in the area require them to have the frankly-absurd requirement of the cosigner making 4 times the rent. My parents refuse, not wanting to be responsible for "someone you don't know." At this point our options are getting slimmer and slimmer, with the deadline baring down on us.

And so here I am, in a house where I am regularly emotionally abused, in a state that hates me for being pansexual and transgender, trying to move to a state where no apartment will take me because I'm expected to have an income from a job that I can't get until I'm over there. It hurts and it stresses me the fuck out.

I could write so much more, but I'm exhausted and upset. I'm going to nap.

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 22: Early August 1920 Continuation

Masterlist

Downton is in mourning. Everyone is dressed in black and Sybil's funeral has brought upon a new wave of sadness to those within the house.

They are gathered in the Drawing room. Emma is sitting with Tom, their hands intertwined as she watches Billy, worried. He has barely spoken, barely eaten ever since Sybil passed and although Emma is struggling too, she wishes she could take away his pain. They are best friends and he doesn't deserve to lose his wife.

"I know we all sound like parrots, Billy," Emma catches Matthew saying, "but I really would like to help if I can. And so would Mary, Emma and Tom."

"My wife is dead. I am past help, but thank you." Bill quietly replies.

Lord Grantham enters the Drawing room, addressing Lady Grantham, "The Southesks looked for you to say goodbye."

She gives him a short answer, "I was here," before turning away from him. Emma sighs. Lady Grantham still blames him for Sybil's death.

Isobel stands and Emma, Mary, Tom and Edith stand with her. "I hope you'll let me know if there's anything I can do. Anything at all."

"Thank you," Mary murmurs.

The Dowager stands. "I'll come with you. Save him getting the car out twice."

"You're both very welcome to stay for some dinner." Lord Grantham says.

"I don't think so." His mother replies. "Grief makes one so terribly tired." She turns to her daughter-in-law and bends down to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, my dear. Now that it's over, try to get some rest." She glances over to Billy before kissing her granddaughters and Emma, which she's surprised by, goodbye.

Lord Grantham sits in the chair next to his wife as the woman speaks, "Is it over? When one loses a child, is it ever really over?"

——

"I spoke with Lady Grantham this morning; she wants me to call her Cora now. Shall I call Lord Grantham Robert?" Emma jokes as she walks with Billy in the grounds the next day. She had insisted he needed some air.

"She said the same to me." Billy quietly replies.

There's a lull in the conversation as Emma tries to find something else to say. "What will you name her?"

"Sybil." He answers.

Emma smiles. "A way to remember her. It's lovely."

"Lord Grantham doesn't seem to think so. He says it will be too painful." Billy explains.

"Oh, who cares what he thinks?" Emma dismisses. "I think it's a brilliant idea. Little Sybil can remember her mother and so can we. She deserves to be remembered."

"Indeed she does. She was a better person than I will ever be. I just hope her daughter can be too." Billy confesses.

"Billy, with you as a father, that little girl will be just fine." She comforts.

"Thank you, for being here. You make me feel less, empty, Emma." He admits. "I guess that comes with being best friends."

"Of course, Billy. I love you, you know that. You're like a brother to me." Emma sombrely thinks over the other brother that she lost.

Billy pauses, stopping his stroll. "I was thinking about staying in Downton for a while. Sybil deserves to be with her family."

Emma nods. "Tom wants to move to Liverpool." She blurts.

"What do you want?"

"I want to be happy, and if that's in Liverpool then so be it," Emma replies.

——

Later on in the day, Emma takes Ivy on a walk into the Village when she hears someone calling her.

"Emma, Mrs Branson!" Emma stops and turns to see Ethel of all people running up to her and carrying a basket and handbag in each hand.

"Oh! Ethel?" Emma splutters. "I didn't know you were back." The last time she had seen the woman was the day she came charging into the Dinning room with Charlie on her hip. Emma wonders where he is now though she wonders whether she should ask when she sees the sad look on Ethel's face when she looks at Ivy.

"I work for Mrs Crawley now at Crawley House," Ethel explains.

"Oh, I hadn't heard."

"She's been ever so kind to me and I'd hate her to suffer for it. You see, she's hired me as cook-housekeeper, but to be honest, my cooking's a little rusty." Ethel explains. "I wonder if I could ask for your advice?"

Emma blinks at her in surprise. "Well, I..."

"She's giving a lunch party, to help Her Ladyship in her sorrow." Ethel hurriedly continues. "I know she'll tell me to keep it simple, but I'd like to surprise her with something really nice."

"Well, that's lovely to hear but I'm not the greatest cook. I could ask Mrs Patmore for you, if you would like?" Emma offers.

Ethel smiles gratefully. "She just needs to help me prepare a few dishes. Just tell me how to make them, I'll do the work."

"Right, of course." Emma nods and continues on her way.

——

Emma returns to Downton; she drops off Ivy at the Nursery and heads downstairs to the Kitchen. She hadn't liked Ethel when she was here but considering everything, Emma feels like she should help her.

She steps into the Kitchen to find Daisy and a girl she doesn't know.

Emma feels awkward when she walks in. Daisy gives a small polite smile though looks slightly startled while the unknown girl, Ivy the Kitchen maid she assumes, stares at her wide eyed.

"Um, hi Daisy." Emma greets. "I am looking for Mrs Patmore. Do you know where she is?"

"I'm here." Emma turns to see the woman she is looking for. "How can I help you, Mrs Branson?"

"Ah, Mrs Patmore. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a moment." Emma says.

"All right then." She turns to the two girls. "Right off you go." They quickly leave the room. Mrs Patmore looks at Emma expectantly.

"Well, I saw Ethel this morning, she works at Crawley house now." Emma begins.

"I had heard."

"Well, apparently Mrs Crawley is hosting a luncheon for Her Ladyship and she wants help with making some meals and I suggested I'd ask for your help," Emma explains.

Mrs Patmore looks uncomfortable. "Look, I don't mean to be rude or personal, Ethel, but Mr Carson has made it very clear that none of the servants should go anywhere near Ethel."

Emma frowns, confused. "Why not?" She asks.

"She has a tarnished reputation. She's had certain... dealings with other people. Improper." Mrs Patmore whispers, looking around anxiously. Emma finds it kind of funny.

Emma realises what she means. Ethel has previously worked as a prostitute and now Crawley house is 'tarnished' because of this. Oh, Ethel.

This doesn't deter Emma as she recalls what Sybil would do. "But surely, you're not afraid she'll corrupt you, are you?" She argues.

"I am not!" Mrs Patmore huffs.

"Then why should Mrs Crawley be punished for showing Ethel kindness?" Mrs Patmore sighs reluctantly and Emma knows she's given in.

"I'll go to her before dinner." Mrs Patmore tells her.

Emma beams, thanks her and walks out of the Kitchen to go back upstairs.

"Mrs Branson! You're a sight for sore eyes." Emma turns to see Thomas walking up to her with Jimmy and Alfred walking behind him.

"You too, Mr Barrow," Emma smirks at him. She can see the two footmen are surprised by this.

"What are you doing down here?" Thomas asks with a smile.

"None of your business." Emma retorts with a grin. "Now I best be going." She turns to the two footmen. "Alfred. Jimmy." Then turns to Thomas. "Mr Barrow."

She goes up the stairs, sniggering to herself. Emma can hear Jimmy go, "What was that?" as she reaches the top.

——

Lord Grantham had invited Mr Travis for dinner to discuss baby Sybil's christening.

Emma walks into the Library with Tom, Mary and Matthew, dressed for dinner to find Isobel in there with Cora and the Dowager.

"Hello, Mother. What brings you here?" Matthew asks.

Isobel goes to answer but the Dowager speaks instead, "She's just invited Cora and Edith and Mary and Emma to come to luncheon on Thursday." Oh, Emma didn't know she had been invited as well.

"Oh, how kind," Mary says to her mother-in-law. "Thank you."

"Isobel?" Emma turns to see Lord Grantham walk in with Edith and Billy trailing behind him. "Have you come for dinner?"

"Oh, no. I'm dressed quite wrongly and I know you have a guest." Isobel replies. Emma thinks she's perfectly fine but these people's customs do not say so.

"I doubt Mr Travis has much of an eye for fashion." The Dowager remarks.

"Oh, do stay. We need cheering up." Emma insists.

——

There was pleasant conversation at dinner when discussing the details of baby Sybil's christening but the conversation then moved on to Ivy having been christened a Catholic.

"But isn't there something rather un-English about the Roman Church?" Mr Travis remarks. On his left are Cora, Matthew, then Edith, Tom, the Dowager, Robert (she had decided she might as well call him Robert; he hadn't pulled a face yet), Mary, Emma, Isobel and Billy.

"Since I am an Irishman, that's not likely to bother me." Tom counters.

"I cannot feel bells and incense, and all the rest of that pagan falderal is pleasing to God." Mr Travis continues.

"I see."

"So, is He not pleased by the population of France or Italy?" Billy challenges.

"Not as pleased as He is by the worship of the Anglicans, no." Mr Travis answers tensely.

"South America? Portugal? Have they missed the mark, too?" Edith adds.

"I do not mean to sound harsh. I'm sure there are many individuals from those lands who please Him."

"And the Russians? And the Spanish?" Mary pushes.

"There must be many good Spaniards."

"And we haven't even started on the non-Christians. There's the whole Indian subcontinent, to begin with." Matthew speaks.

"Doesn't the bible say 'love thy neighbour'? Shouldn't that include all denominations? Shouldn't that include everyone, even if their beliefs don't align with yours?" Emma adds.

"Yes, but—"

"And the British Empire. Does He approve of that?" Isobel questions.

"If you mean does He approve of the expansion of the Christian message, then, yes, I think He does." Mr Travis answers.

"And so do I." Robert defends.

"But isn't it erasing other's beliefs just because they do not agree with yours?" Emma challenges.

"Poor Mr Travis. You're all ganging up on him." Robert scolds them before she can continue.

"Well, you and Granny are ganging up against Tom and Emma," Mary argues.

"Not me." Her grandmother counters. "The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk is a dear friend. And she's more Catholic than the Pope."

"I doubt Tom even asked Emma how she felt about the baby being baptised into a different tribe than her own." Robert remarks. At any other time, Emma would have been pleased he has come to her defiance.

Emma wants to say that her father's side was catholic so is she though she does not practice so their daughter isn't in a different tribe but remembers she isn't supposed to remember them.

"It was my suggestion I have you know." Emma retorts. Robert grumbles.

——

Matthew's POV

Tom, Billy and Matthew walk around the grounds. Matthew had wanted to show the two men his ideas and it did no harm to get Billy out of the house. They observe one of the farms.

"It's badly run and it makes no sense to manage it separately," Matthew complains. He wishes his father-in-law would understand.

"What about the tenant?" Billy asks.

"We'd look after him."

"He's growing barley and wheat. I'd say he'd do better with sheep." Tom tells them as he looks around the farm.

"Exactly. We'd merge the grazing. How do you know that?" Matthew questions him in surprise. They all stop.

"How do you," Billy counters, "after spending all your growing years in Manchester?"

Matthew huffs out a laugh at his brother-in-law's response. He has a point. "I've been on a steep learning curve since arriving at Downton."

"My grandfather was a tenant farmer in Galway, with black-faced sheep," Tom explains.

"So, there's a country boy inside the revolutionary," Billy remarks. They begin walking again.

"Not much of one."

"You both must hate it here." Matthew frowns at the man sympathetically. He must greatly dislike not being able to provide for his young family.

"No, I don't hate it," Tom replies, shaking his head. "But I don't belong here either."

"I feel the same," Billy adds. The three of them stop their walking.

"What will you do?" Matthew asks. He does not know what else to say.

"I've thought of Liverpool. There might be something for me there." Tom explains.

"How does Emma feel about this?"

Tom smiles softly. "She wants me to be happy."

"Billy? Where are you to go?" Matthew asks, turning to his brother-in-law when realising he had not answered.

Billy shrugs. "I do not know. The jobs I've looked at so far are out of the county."

"And the baby?"

"I'll hire a woman or get a cousin to take care of her. I don't know. But what else can I do?" Billy replies. Matthew gives him a sympathetic smile. Poor chap.

"You could leave her here. Emma would be thrilled." Tom suggests.

"No. I'll not be separated from her. She's all I have left of her mother." Billy declares before walking on.

End of Matthew's POV

——

Isobel sits at the head of the table while Cora and the Dowager sit on either side of her while Emma, Mary and Edith sit on seats further down.

"This was very good." Cora compliments as they finish up the course.

"It was. It really was." Isobel replies in disbelief.

"Don't sound so surprised." The Dowager remarks.

"I am surprised. I owe Ethel an apology. I've underestimated her." Isobel says. Emma smiles, pleased her plan had worked.

"I sometimes wonder if I should learn to cook." Edith contemplates.

"Why?" Mary asks in a very Mary way.

"You never know. It might come in handy one day." Edith replies, not letting her sister put her off. "And I've got to do something."

"What did you say to that editor who wanted you to write for him?" Isobel asks her. Emma looks to Edith in interest.

"I haven't said anything yet. It's probably too late now, anyway." Edith answers despondently.

"Surely not if he was serious." Emma insists. Edith gives her a small smile.

"Matthew tells me Robert was against it," Isobel says. Emma tries to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Cora's next remark shows she's not alone in her irritation with the man.

"What difference does that make?"

"Oh, really, my dear, shh." The Dowager says in surprise.

"We're all family. I'm not letting the side down. I'm just saying that Robert frequently makes decisions based on values that have no relevance anymore." Cora argues.

"Do you think I should do it?" Edith asks after a brief but awkward silence.

"I wouldn't countermand your father," Isobel replies.

"Then why bring it up?" The Dowager remarks.

"Well, I do. And so does Matthew." Mary says.

Suddenly Robert Crawley bursts into the room with a furious look on his face. Emma jumps in her seat in surprise.

"And so does Matthew what? What else has Matthew decided for my family?" Robert spits out.

"Robert!" Isobel greets, standing up.

"Don't worry. I don't need to be fed. We're going. All of you. Now." Robert replies.

"What are you talking about?" His wife asks. It's the most civil Emma has heard her when Robert is involved.

"Do you know who has prepared this luncheon for you?" Robert questions.

"Yes. Ethel. Our former housemaid." Cora answers in disbelief.

"Who bore a bastard child!"

"W-what?" His mother stammers. Emma herself is surprised by his statement as she was not expecting it to come out of his mouth.

"Robert, Ethel has rebuilt her life." Cora retorts.

"Has she? Do you know what she has built it into?" Robert remarks.

"What do you mean?" Mary asks.

"I think Cousin Robert is referring to Ethel's work as a prostitute." Isobel calmly answers. They all, except Robert and Emma, turn to look at her in surprise. Isobel continues staring at Robert.

"Well, of course, you know, these days servants are very hard to find." The Dowager remarks. Emma knows she'll laugh about that statement one day but right now, with Robert angrily staring them down, she knows this isn't the time.

"I don't think you understand the difficulties she's had to face." Isobel begins.

"Robert, Ethel had a child and the fact that she had to turn to such a life says more about the world we live in than it does about her," Emma adds.

"I couldn't care less how she earns her living! Good luck to her! What I care about is that Isobel has exposed my family to scandal." Robert bellows.

"But who would know?" Isobel questions.

"I can't tell you how people find out these things, but they do. Your gardener, your Kitchen maid..." Robert immediately stops talking when Ethel walks in with the pudding on a tray. Ethel pauses in surprise then places the tray on the side table.

"I suppose she has an appropriate costume for every activity." Emma hears the Dowager murmur.

"We're leaving." Robert states.

"Is this because of me, Milord?" Ethel timidly asks, clinging the tray to her front now the pudding sits on the table.

"No, it's because of His Lordship. And we are not leaving." Cora replies. "Is that a Charlotte Russe? How delicious."

"I hope it's tasty, Milady. Mrs Patmore and Mrs Branson gave me some help."

Emma shifts uncomfortably when she feels Robert's stormy gaze on her.

"I'm glad to know that both of them have good hearts, and do not judge," Cora says, looking directly at her husband, challenging him.

"Is anyone coming?" Robert asks. Everyone continues sitting, not moving.

"It seems a pity to miss such a good pudding." The Dowager pipes up.

Robert turns and slams the door behind him as he leaves. Emma sighs in relief now that he's gone.

——

Emma notes that evening that Robert is not in the Drawing room after dinner.

She joins Tom, Matthew and Mary when they go up to the Nursery. They walk in to find Billy there, cradling baby Sybil.

Emma walks in first, giving him a smile before walking over to pick up her own daughter. She's awake and gurgling. Tom reaches over to stroke her cheek.

"How is she doing?" Matthew asks Billy.

"She's blooming," Billy replies, handing over his daughter to his sister-in-law. Emma smiles as she watches Matthew place a hand on baby Sybil's head. She knows the two seem to be beginning to worry about conceiving though Emma knows they have loads of time before it becomes a real concern.

——

The next day Emma is walking the grounds with Edith and Mary when Anna comes running up to them with a beaming smile on her face, a piece of paper clutched in her hand.

"Milady! It's arrived! It's here! I wanted you to be the first to know." Anna cries gleefully.

"Know what? What's arrived?" Mary asks.

"He's done it! Mr Murray's done it! He's got her to make a statement! Witnessed and everything!" Anna explains.

A smile breaks on Emma's face. "So, when will Mr Bates be set free?" She asks.

Anna looks down at the letter. "It will take a few weeks, for the formalities." She reads. "But he'll be released. Mr Murray's quite clear about that. So, Mr Bates is coming home."

"Oh, I am so, so happy for you." Mary cheers.

"I know you are."

"Have you told Papa?" Edith asks.

"Not yet, Milady."

"Oh, do. Please do. He's very low just now. And it will be wonderful for him to hear something good." Mary says.

They all hurry back to the house, beaming. Finally, something good!

——

They enter the house through the front door and enter the Library through the entryway there. Robert stands by his desk, looking forlorn.

"I'm ever so sorry to interrupt, Milord," Anna greets, "but Mrs Bartlett has given a statement that'll clear him." She reads from the letter. "At least, Mr Murray says 'it will make the verdict unsafe'. So, Mr Bates is coming back to Downton."

"Isn't it marvellous?" Mary adds.

"Yes. That is absolutely marvellous." Robert agrees with a smile. "Do you want to telephone Murray? If you do, tell Carson. He'll manage it for you." He walks away.

"Why? Are you going out?" Edith asks.

"Your grandmother has asked us to call." Us? Him and Cora? Emma wonders if the Dowager has a plan. "But I'll hear what he says later. I really am so very glad."

He leaves and they get to work with getting Anna on the phone with Mr Murray.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[bravewolfvesperia]

"Mm-mm. Don't be sorry. You weren't doing anything wrong. I can't blame you for what wannabe assassins do." That said, he would like to do away with them permanently, but he wasn't sure Flynn would approve even that. Doing away with people trying to assassinate Flynn himself. That did... kind of concern and scare Yuri, all things considered, though. If those people somehow escaped after being jailed, wouldn't they go after him again?

Truth be told, Yuri would rather never have to think about or worry about it again. He had done away with Ragou for similar reasons. Not having been imprisoned at all no less, the guy was left to his own devices. To decide to kill under the radar again. When Yuri had found him at the bridge... he had also been plotting to get revenge on - and likely attempt to kill - Flynn. Cumore had been another one, gunning for Flynn.

Even if Flynn didn't like Yuri taking this sort of thing into his own hands... he was, at this point, truly getting tired of Flynn being in danger because of people like this. Genuinely, Flynn had done nothing wrong to anyone. All he did so far was try to aid the people who needed aid, and to make relations with the guilds better to avoid further war. To avoid more death. It wasn't like he was wiping out rich people's funds or something to truly make the wealthy despise him on a personal level.

Maybe this was because of the guilds, but... even then, Yuri couldn't wrap his head around someone wanting the empire and guilds to go to war. For their relationship to stay terrible. People who profited off death were bad enough, but... he couldn't imagine how someone would even want to. How would that make them go so far as to target an innocent young man. Flynn's calm demeanor might have been the only thing keeping Yuri from becoming enraged at the thought of it.

Hearing Flynn make a light joke did relieve him somewhat. Despite that he couldn't shake the annoyance and irritability at the whole situation happening at all, he truly didn't want to stress Flynn out about this situation, and that was doubly so with him in this condition. "To be honest... I'm not even sure I had a favorite place. Like, a number one favorite? I'd have to think on it. I did visit a lot of places. If you want, we could go to the Nordopolica coliseum as challengers. There's other stuff we could do, other places we could go... but that's the easiest one I can think of off the top of my head."

After all, Yuri didn't want to merely go where he wanted to be again. He wanted to give it thought, sure, for his own favorite place... but also for a place Flynn would be happy to see. He gave Flynn a small smile, a plan to think it over later when things settled down. "Well, I'll think of something. Something not Zopheir. We might not be able to do a whole vacation sort of thing in the super near future, but maybe once all this stuff going on now is settled... we could make plans to visit at least one place for a little while. We can do some actual long term planning for a real vacation after that."

It was funny, in a strange and maybe sad way. When they were teenagers, it had been Flynn who expressed his desire to go out and travel the world while, at the time, Yuri would have rather stayed at the Lower Quarter to take care of their home and their people. Not that Flynn didn’t share the same sentiment, but after hearing some of the stories his father would tell whenever he would come home from being stationed in another town for a while… Even if those tales were faded memories by then, Flynn still couldn’t help but want to see them for himself.

But now it was Yuri who was traveling the world, seeing everything that the world had to offer. Flynn got to travel a few times himself but it was always for work purposes. He wasn’t complaining in the slightest! But… There were times where he wished he could actually slow down and enjoy the sights. He hoped that one day he could actually get the opportunity to do that… and that Yuri would get to be there, by his side.

Before responding to Yuri’s wish to take him on a trip somewhere, however, Flynn had more important matters to deal with. He couldn’t go anywhere if he died because of this poison. So, he would take the medicine bottle carefully into his hands and… while he knew it would make Yuri nervous, he couldn’t stop the brief hesitation before he brought it to his lips. He drinks a mouthful of the bitter medicine, making a light grimace at the taste. He listens to what he’s told though and doesn’t drink it all in one go but he noted that nothing about the medicine tasted off, thankfully. Between Yuri not showing any signs of being poisoned and this, Flynn felt a bit more confident about taking the medicine.

He doesn’t finish it off quite yet, deciding to wait a few moments before taking the next mouthful. Instead, he would look back to Yuri in order to give him a gentle and comforting smile. “I think… I’m going to be alright. I really do apologize for the trouble, my love…”

To distract himself from Yuri’s worried and watchful gaze and from the medicine currently in his hands, Flynn quickly decides to return to the earlier topic. “... If I’m able to go on a trip with you one day… I want you to take me to your favorite location that you visited on your journey. I’d like to experience it with you, if I can. Though I will draw the line at visiting the Zoephir Drifts. I’ve heard from Captain Raven himself about how hellishly cold that place was and I have no interest in seeing it. Thank you.”

Flynn held a pout for a couple of moments but… well, he couldn’t help but laugh a little at his own words. As if Yuri would actually take him there. But Flynn hoped that with his small little joke and the laugh that came after it, he could at least get rid of the tension of the situation that currently lingered in the background of their minds.

[arlecchno]

IM SO GLAD YOURE ALSO LOVING SUMMERS FIC IM LIKE ACTUALLY SO IN LOVE WITH IT (insert me going batshit insane) alsooo do look forward to more stupid banter in the middle of supposedly serious situations , they are the best and there are more . stan mcs little water creations tbh

bleh , honestly all my other writing works are old and i think pretty shitty at this point but i can link you to some if you really want (or i could write you a short story / drabble , i feel like thatd be less embarrassing on my part lmao , lmk if you want that) about my games though ... 1 2 3(WIP) the first two are well over a year old now , plus primarily unedited , so dont mind any possible grammar mistakes or generally terrible story flow (i swear ive gotten better since these 😰) and the third was also created last year (for a school project) , im slooowly chipping away at finishing the code haha ...

I ACTUALLY COMMENT ON MY OWN DOCS AS WELL !!! there arent much of them because .. well i havent wrote much outside of my private dms LOL

i also think it is insanely fun to comment on my own work

aand ive contacted my friends (aka my two and only true loves /p /hj) about the kinnie thing .. and one of them sent me this to fill out

youre not wrong actually haha , am i that easy to read ?

im an ambivert , i dont like seeking out social interaction irl unless its one of my close friends or im just that bored , but i do get really loud / energetic when i am comfortable (i think you can tell that by how much goddamn energy i put into these asks) but my "social battery" still drains relatively fast i cant handle people very well lmao honestly , my and cynos reasoning for making our terrible jokes align a bit , although most people (apart from my irl friends apparently ???) dont find me intimidating , my main motivation when i slip in puns is to get people to laugh at how terrible they are , because im well aware theyre pretty bad (or all my friends just have the same broken sense of humor i do) . but yeah , i guess now theres two people on my genshin kin list now why do i kin both of the artificial humans in the game -

lets play a game where we ask eachother random questions , so its easier to end things off lol , got a window in your room ? if so , rate the view it has !

- jellyfish

yes the summers fic is so good thank you very much for recommending me it 😖🫶

AND YOOO THOSE GAMES ARE CUTE HAHA i liked nel and akira!!! also impressive how you did 2/3 of them in scratch,, i've had very little experience with it from like a few years back when i took a computing class and damn was it hard as hell 😵‍💫😵‍💫 so kudos to you man

glad i'm not the only one who comments on my own fics on docs LMAO and like you said, it's insanely fun!!!

the way that you're technically all of the above in the bingo 😭😭😭 and that drawing is sooo pretty!£8483£!!£! is that you or an oc of yours? (either way i've been eyeing it ever since i started typing here, hehe)

sooo i basically predicted what you're like irl?

i think for the most part it's because i'm a bit similar to you in some sort of ways, i'm only ever close with my closest friends and can get tired by interacting with people sometimes 😞 but the downside is that everyone finds me scary HAHA 😭😭 my friends had told me a bunch of times on how intimidating i look, when i really just have a normal expression on my face... apparently they said i always look like i have murder on my mind 🚶‍♀️

you now have another addition to the kin list, congrats 🤗

GREAT GAME!!! i do have a window in my room but it doesn't really have a great view... i'm currently living in a shitty apartment for the time being and the only thing i see from the window of my room is my neighbour's unit from my apartment complex 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ so i'd probably give it a 3/10 T-T

now, a question for you! what's the most silliest thing that you currently own? (it can be a purchased item, a gift you got, etc)

hope you're having a great day jellyfish ^^