#like as bleak as it was I wonder if there was joy in escapes and laughter and recognition that he was due compassion afterwards

[inquisitorismone]

It is really sad that Anders is no longer the same person after he merged with Justice and it’s even sadder that he’s not even capable of recognizing that. I get it I get it it’s a trauma metaphor whatever but good god. They messed up a perfectly good twink is what they did. Look at him. He’s got anxiety

[lisenberry]

We drift in and out

Chapter 3: Did I find you, or you find me?

E/NSFW/MDNI

CW: Consensual Somno, Light Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst

6k (I know, I went nuts)

10k COMPLETE!

This whole fic started with one picture of a man with hairy arms holding a baby. Everything that came after was a fever dream.

Ch. 1 , Ch. 2, AO3

You had one last night together.  Eighteen short hours before a black Land Rover would pick him up and take him away.  Off to catch a plane to some forward operating base in a remote, foreign place.

He’d been home with you for four months, by far his longest leave yet.  With each day, you’d gotten more comfortable, wondering if maybe he’d become permanent.  That instead of just playing house, you were living something real.  Building something special together.

That your plans could change, and you could let the fearful part of you rest.  That doubtful voice that kept you always prepared.  Always on.  The survival mode that kept you moving forward but also stopped you from slowing down long enough to breathe.  To enjoy.

It was a skill that benefited you in your work.  The single-minded attention to detail and success.  And when you’d learned you were pregnant, it had kept you from giving into the panic of the unknown.  But once she was born, you didn’t have a choice, but to sit with it all.  The joy, and the exhaustion.  Slow, blissful days had become your routine.    

Now you were facing the plan again.  The one he wasn’t in.  You’d survive, of course, but the bleakness of it cut like a wound.  You should’ve known nothing so perfect could last forever.  Maybe you did know, deep down.  Maybe he did, too, and that’s why you kept each other just a bit out of reach. 

But you still had a little more time.  A few more memories to make before it came to an uncertain end.

You popped out to Marks & Sparks for supplies to make dinner.  It had become a little holiday for you in the last few months.  He’d stay home with the baby, and you’d put on real clothes and do your hair and escape for a few hours to squeeze the fruits and smell the cheeses.  Go aisle by aisle and daydream about new recipes to try.

Not this time.  This time you hurried through as fast as you could.  Wasted not a minute as you snatched up everything on your list and rushed to get back to them.

They weren’t in your apartment when got home, so you crossed the hall and knocked on the door to his. 

“It’s open!”  His voice rang from inside, as you tried the knob and walked in.

He had the baby’s highchair in the kitchen, and the dining room table set with fine china and candles.  Music crooned from some hidden speaker, something classical you’d never heard before.

“What’s all this?”  You asked, as you set down the bags of groceries on his counter. 

“I thought we could eat out tonight.  Something different.”  He stood with his hands at his hips, and a burp cloth strung over his shoulder.  A scheming smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.  They didn’t crinkle at the edges the same way you’d gotten used to.

“You’re okay with me making a mess of your kitchen?”  You teased.  “You know I’ll use every pan and utensil at my disposal.”

Your place was lovely, but his side of the building had twice the space, and a balcony that overlooked Hyde Park.  During the few times you visited, it had felt like stepping into a different world.  Like a fancy hotel suite in a far-off country, in the way that it had visitors but never really felt lived in.  Sanitized into a blank slate, adaptable to anyone who crossed the threshold in search of an escape from their mundane reality.

Or like a museum, it was a place that existed outside of time. 

“You cook, I’ll clean up.”   He leaned his hips back against the granite and opened his arms to it welcomingly. 

It made sense that he’d want to spend his last night in his own home.  His own bed. 

“Suit yourself,” you plopped a smacking kiss on the baby’s downy head as she sat contentedly in her chair, chewing on a colorful toy.

When you turned your attention back to him, he waited patiently for his greeting.   The longing with which he first looked at you and your daughter the day you’d come home was back again.  It had seemed like the start of something then.

This time it felt like the end, as you pulled up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.  Short and sweet.  If you hooked your arms around his neck and buried your face in his neck, like every corner of your soul was aching to do, you’d never let go.

The food would rot on the counter and the hard things would never get done. 

So, you settled back down and unpacked the bags in front of you. 

“Will you pick the wine?  I’m making your favorite.” 

In lifetimes past, you would’ve dressed up and gone to The Midland in King’s Cross for dinner.  Fed each other oysters and champagne.  Danced until the early hours of the morning and crashed wildly into bed.  Shared a cigar afterwards, naked but for the shelter of each other’s arms.

This time, you made roast beef with fingerling potatoes, minty peas, and glazed carrots.  Topped with gravy and with a side of Yorkshire pudding to sop it all up.

It’d be some time before the baby could join in on the feast, but she flailed with enthusiasm at the smells and the excitement with which the two of you ate.  Oblivious to how much her lukewarm cereal and the bottle that she could now almost hold on her own paled in comparison.

In place of a West End show, there were airplane spoons and milky sneezes to keep you laughing.  Something to focus on besides the future.  Besides each other. 

The chasm that was too deep and too far to cross, let alone name.

As if on cue, with the last sip of wine, she started to fuss.  Fisted her eyes and arched her back in surrender as John rose to soothe her.  You’d have many more nights to put her to bed, but who knew what awaited him.  You gave him the time alone as you collected the place settings and started the cleaning that he’d promised you.

The little one sighed so heavily against his chest as she curled into him, burying her fingers in his shirt.  You knew the feeling, ached for it as you silently cursed your ability to dirty so many dishes making a meal. 

He was gone long enough for you to handwash the china and fill the dishwasher, and you wondered if she fought sleep, or if he simply lingered a little longer.  Did he tell her a story, or share some secret that was just between them? 

The polished wood floorboards creaked under his weight when he finally returned to the kitchen.  There was a stiffness to his towering form, as if he was flexing under an invisible weight.

“Just in time.  Everything’s already done,” you chided, gently, as you dried your hands on a towel.    

“I set her up in the portable crib with the monitor.  In the bedroom next to mine.”

“Her first sleepover.”  You still couldn’t look at him.  You hadn’t yet, had you?  Not really.  Not since he got the call earlier that day.

Since you’d told him he was never meant to be a part of your life.  That you could live without him.

A lie that he’d surely seen through, but you needed to keep for yourself as you busied your hands and kept your back to him.

But he wouldn’t let you hide, as he stepped behind you and pulled you in. 

“Don’t pull away.  Please.  Not yet.”  He tucked his grizzled chin into the curve of your neck. 

“I’m trying.”  You let your head fall back against him, vaguely aware that the music was still playing.  Something sad and slow as you swayed to the beat of it.

His hands rested on your hips as he spun you around to face him.  If a kiss could fix everything, you gave it to him then.  Did your best as you fisted his hair and pulled him down to you, while his palms roamed lower to cup your ass and lift you onto the counter.

Like meat and wine, you savored his lips and his tongue as he delved even deeper.  Splitting you open and demanding more.  Demanding everything. 

Your shirt was over your head and his roughened fingers scratched along the skin of your back, massaging and kneading the sides of your spine while he unhooked your bra.  The same muscles you’d kept rigid all day he coaxed into pliancy with each stroke as a weak moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s a girl.  Be soft and sweet for me, will you?”  He started off slow at the tip of your ear, trailing light, tickling kisses down the shell and to where the lobe met your neck.    

It sent shivers down your arms, and your naked breasts budded to peaks as they grazed against the cool smoothness of his shirt.  You didn’t want cool, or smooth, just heat and texture as you pulled it off his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He groaned at the contact, a fierce and hungry sound as he took one of your hands and slotted it between you.  Pressed your palm against the bulge in his pants and grinded against it, letting you feel the way it grew and hardened at your touch.

“Tell me you’ll miss me.  Fucking lie to me, just say it,” he grated out, against your collarbone.  Miss him?  Lie to him?  It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t.  “I need to hear you to say it.” 

“I miss you already,” you whined, as you slid your hands from his groin to his ass and anchored him closer to the dampening heat at your core.

“I’m right here.” 

“Then take me to bed.  And show me how much you’ll miss me.”  It was your turn to grind against him, rubbing the bud of your arousal greedily along the lip of his fly through your thin linen pants as your tits bobbed wantonly against his furry chest.

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that, love,” he growled, lifting you up again and carrying you down the hallway.  “I’d rather take my time.”

And he did, starting with his fingers, then his mouth.  Drawing out each sensation like he was mapping the stars.   Exploring the far reaches of your body and forging new paths until you were shaking and spent. 

You marked him in return.  Staked a claim on the meat of his pec with a dark red love bite as he came hard and hot inside your pulsating quim.  Filled you up with a contented smile on his face, as if there was no better feeling in the world.  No place he’d rather be.

“Be back before it fades, okay?”  You nuzzled the hair around the spot with your nose as you drifted off beside him, his fingers lazily circling your hole to push the leaky drops of his seed back in. 

Did he have hopes that it would take? 

Did you?

Later, a strangled sound, like a wounded animal woke you from a fitful sleep.  At some point, you must’ve turned to your side and faced away from him because he was behind you.  Pulling at your hips and burying his head between your shoulder blades.

“John?  What is it?”

“Just a dream.  A bad dream.” 

You felt the swell of his cock as he sought out the smooth shelter between your thighs.  Arching against him instinctively, you curved onto your back and parted your legs as he absently rutted around to find your opening.  Still brimming with the sticky spend from your last bout.

He’d always been a giver, but this one was just for him as he worked out his nightmare on your flesh, your insides, your soul.  It felt like a battle.  A whole damn war as he smothered you with his heavy, dead-weight body and took ground, pounding away at your sensitive, stimulated cunt.

You wondered if he was even awake, or if he was still in the dream, as he fucked into you roughly and muttered far away words.  Bit back his own tears as they mixed with the sweat on your skin.

“Mine...Fucking mine...Not letting you go...Not to anyone else...”

Deprived of oxygen from his bulk on your chest, you almost blacked out with the force of your climax, caught by surprise at the way the mound of hair at his base aroused your clit into bloom with each thrust.  A tenderness amidst the brutal onslaught.  A divine mercy. 

If you had air, you’d have screamed at the intensity of it.  Spotty flashes of light broke the darkness as you felt the last of your spurting aftershocks flutter around him, soaking you both and easing the incinerating friction from the stretch of him. 

You could only clench your teeth and your walls as he shuddered with the strength of his own fresh release.  With his face buried in your shoulder, you knew he didn’t smile this time.  The sorrow of it hit you like a blow to your heart as you felt him stiffen with awareness, the fog of sleep clearing from his consciousness.

“I’m yours.  There’s no one else, John,” you panted, begged, as he eased up onto to his elbows to give you enough space to take a breath.  “Only you.”

********

Before you knew it, the black Land Rover was waiting like a harbinger along the street below.

“Here’s the keys to the truck, and to my place.  Just in case.”  He tossed a set into the bowl you kept on the sideboard.  “I know how much you’re dying to go spying in my cupboards.”  He raised a amused eyebrow to match the gentle hitch in his mustache.

“I wouldn’t do that.”  Except you totally would.  At the first opportunity.

“Afraid of what you’ll find?”

“An expired box of Earl Grey in the kitchen, perfectly sorted socks in the bedroom.  Stinky smelling beard oil in the bathroom.”  You flashed a cheeky grin at the last, in an effort to keep the tone light. 

If he could be strong, so could you.  You wouldn’t be the one to break.  No matter what you felt like on the inside.  You’d save it for when he was gone.

“Beard oil?  This is all natural.”  As if you’d insulted his manhood, he smoothed his mustache down with two hands, in a way you’d seen him do a thousand times.  He’d trained any willfulness from his facial hair with nothing but nose grease and perseverance.  Molded by time and patience, like marble cliffs and silt-shined creek beds.

“But I was right about the socks though, wasn’t I?”

“And the tea.”  He hitched his mouth into a smile and turned his focus to the gurgling baby perched on his hip, yapping and cooing like she was in on the conversation.

The way he looked at her gave you hope that he’d call it all off.  He’d sit back down on the couch and turn on the football.  Put his heavy feet up on your table and let his flight leave without him.

“I’m sure we can find some priceless antiques in there she can teeth on.”  They would start coming in soon.  Another change he’d miss.

“Look, you don’t have to wait.”  He paused to clear the words he was looking for from his throat.  “I understand if you—”

“I just got you, John,” you cut him off, saving him from the self-sacrificing speech, and looked down at her chubby fist wrapped in a white-knuckle grip around his finger.  “You’re not getting rid of us yet.”

Don’t let go, sweetheart.  Don’t let him go.  You willed it into her with your own thoughts.

Your world had gotten so small since she was born.  You’d gone from having a job that needed you, coworkers and clients with a network of responsibilities, down to having just one job. 

One person who needed you.

But it would’ve been a lot smaller without him.  How lonely would you have been without someone to share it all with?  How much of him had seeped into your life, and your heart?

“Be nice to your mum,” he whispered against her soft head, as he kissed her cheek and passed her back to you quickly.  Looking everywhere but at you.  “You have Kate’s number?  In case you need anything?”

You pulled him closer with your free hand to his waist, forcing him to see you.  Eyes wide and blue, he looked scared.  For the first time.

Anything more than a kiss to the forehead would have broken you both.  You’d already said your goodbyes the night before, and again that morning.  So, you simply tilted your head up to him, your own eyes kind and trusting, and felt his beard graze your skin one last time.

And then you watched him go.

********

By the third week, nothing in your apartment smelled like him anymore.  Everything had been washed, and the windows had been left open too long to let in the cool fall breeze.  Looking around, you realized that nothing in your home was his.

He’d come through your life with a force and left no trace behind, as if he was never even there.  It wasn’t right.  You wished with renewed clarity that you’d taken more pictures of him.  That you’d recorded every moment. 

Something to show your daughter, someday, if she ever questioned whether or not she was loved.  Something you could show yourself, when your mind tricked you into believing it was just a dream.

It was the need to seek out that connection, that comfort, that had you unlocking the door to his flat and letting yourself inside.  It was dark, and too quiet.  Cold and cavernous, like he was the one who heated it and gave it light. 

With the baby bouncing on your hip, you explored from room to room.  Three bedrooms and four bathrooms.  And still, you couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere there either.

His sheets had been washed since you’d spent the night.  His bathroom scrubbed of any lingering soap by the cleaning company that came once a month to keep it free of dust and spiders while he was away.

Trapped in time until the next visitor passed through.

Your grief and frustration sprung anew as you moved into his office.  Surely it would have something.  The indent of his body in a leather seat, or the half-burnt end of a forgotten cigar.

But his chair was too firm to leave a crease, and his ashtray was clean.   

There were no medals or honors hung along the walls, and the top of his desk was empty, except for one framed photo.  It was exactly what you were looking for, but at the same time, something you never expected.

It was from four years before, when he’d talked you into running a marathon together for a charity for wounded veterans.  You remembered the day clearly but never knew someone had taken a picture.  It must’ve been at the end, because you were both dewy-faced and soaked in sweat, smiling like mad.

His arm was around your shoulder and yours was at his waist.  You looked like a couple.  Like you were in love.  Was that how you always looked when you were together? 

Was this what you’d been missing out on all this time?

Surely, there were others.  You’d open a drawer and find photos of him with other people.  His parents, his friends.  Other women.

But as you pulled them apart one by one, you only found files of old bank statements and tax forms.  Until you got to the bottom.  A lone manila envelope, padded and thick.

With your name written in the wonky, hurried strokes of his hand.

Your own hands shook as you turned it over to find it sealed.  He must’ve wanted you to see what was inside, or else it wouldn’t have your name on it.

Right?

It felt like paper, documents of some kind, but with something else to give it bulk.  You shouldn’t have seen it, shouldn’t have gone digging through his stuff.  But he’d known you were going to snoop.  Had practically dared you to, didn’t he?

You tucked it back in where you’d found it.  Whatever it was, he could give it to you when he came back.  You’d promised him that you’d wait, and you would.

However long it took.

Just as you shut the drawer, your phone began to buzz in your pocket, jolting you guiltily as if you’d been caught.  You took it out, expecting it to be just another spam call, but paused in immediate horror at the name across the screen. 

(John’s) Kate

He’d saved the contact in your phone in case you needed to get in touch with him.  You couldn’t think of a situation where you’d be justified in pulling his attention away from a job, but you could only think of one reason she’d be calling you.

“Hello,” you answered.

*******

Two hours later, your apartment was full.  Well, there were only four guests gathered around your coffee table and perched with varying degrees of curiosity and tension along your couch and side chairs, but it felt overcrowded considering their size.

Three men that you’d never seen before, and then there was Kate.  Somehow, she took up just as much space as they did.  She carried herself with an air of authority that made your spine straighten reflexively. 

“He didn’t tell us he had a family.”  The clean cut one in the ball cap, who’d introduced himself as Kyle, spoke first as you poured him a cup of tea.  “We all wanted to express our support in person.”

“There wasn’t much to tell until recently,” you smiled, slightly, trying to be a good hostess despite the circumstances.

“You’ve been his emergency contact for the last five years,” Kate added as she declined your offer of milk and sugar.

“I didn’t know that.”  That was as long as you’d known each other.  Did he really not have anyone else? 

“He’s a very private man.”  She did you the favor of talking about him as if he wasn’t gone.  As if there was still hope.

“How did you know about it?”  MacTavish, the stocky Scot with the close-cut mohawk intoned back to her, with a bristling hostility you couldn’t miss.

“I’m CIA.  It’s my job to know everyone’s secrets.” 

You thought maybe she was trying to make a joke, but her face was dead serious. 

“We never would have let him—” He looked regretfully from you to your baby as the blond one with the black surgical mask cut him off with a supportive hand to his knee.

“Have any of you ever successfully talked him out of something once he’d put his mind to it?”  You looked around at the faces of the men staring back at you.  The people he spent all his time with when he wasn’t with you.  “I’m sure that’s why he didn’t tell you.  Afraid you’d treat him differently if he was a real person.”

Perhaps for the same reason he’d never told you how he felt.  Afraid to make it something real.  Something it would hurt to lose.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, please,” you continued, bracing for the worst.

“A massive fuck up from the beginning, is what it was—”  Kyle interjected, heatedly, before he was interrupted by a pointed look from Kate.

“It’s mostly classified, of course.  So, we can’t go into details.  But John requested an indefinite leave of absence about four months ago.  In the interim, his team was assigned to assist another task force in a sensitive operation.”  She spoke evenly as if reciting a sequence of events before a committee.

And you listened, all the while searching for the bits she left unsaid.  The parts that she hid behind her narrative. 

Phrases like, ‘severe loss of life’, ‘pinned down in hostile territory’, and ‘unable to ascertain status’, were cold, calculated ways of saying something went horribly wrong.

You weren’t a naïve civilian who devoured sound bites at face value.  You worked with government contracts all the time.  American, British.  They were all the same.  ‘Cover your ass,’ was their collective motto.

When she finished, you had more questions than answers.  But one thing stood out in your mind.  He hadn’t been home for so long by accident.  He’d chosen to stay.  He’d given up his team, indefinitely, to be with you. 

“So, if I understand correctly, it was a massive fuck up.  You him called away, despite his clear wishes to be left alone, to save your ass and theirs.”  You turned your attention from Kate over to the team.  “And he got you out.  And you left him behind?” 

He’d quit for you.  But he’d gone back for them. 

“Not willingly.”  The one in the mask, Lieutenant Riley, spoke up for the first time.  His eerily dark eyes shot daggers at Kate, as if the fault was hers.

“He knew what he was doing.  We needed to reassess the objective and regroup.  And I’m available to discuss it at length with you another time, Lieutenant.”

“We know he’s alive.”  MacTavish reassured you.  “If he was dead, they’d be broadcasting his body and celebrating all over the dark web.” 

Oh, what a relief.  The visual turned up bile your throat.

“And if he’s been taken prisoner or something?”

“He’s an exceptionally valuable hostage.  We’ll have a few weeks at least, while they interrogate him, before he’s ransomed.”

Tortured, she meant.  The bile turned to acid, and you forced yourself not to be sick. 

“So, what now?”  You were in a daze.  Kate’s firm, rational, voice grounded you and kept you present when all you wanted to do was breakdown.  To scream and cry and pound your fists against their chests to get back out there and find him.

Her position demanded it, you imagined.  Judging by the tension flowing between the team, they ached to do just that.  It was as if they were held back by some invisible muzzle.  Reined in by years of service.  One strong woman was all that kept them from charging off to take matters into their own hands.

“We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have news,” Kate answered, softer than before.  Perhaps aware that her words alone held little comfort.  That they were as grim as hollow condolences.  “But here, standard protocol.  We had it stripped of anything sensitive.  There’s only a few pictures and text messages left.  It’s unlocked.” 

She handed you his battered old phone.  The screen was scratched up, and the case was cracked enough to be useless protection.  You didn’t think they even supported this model anymore.  You couldn’t help but smile when you saw it. 

‘It’s busted to bloody hell, but still hanging on’, he’d said about it once with a proud laugh.  You prayed that he was the same, wherever he was.

“Thank you.  It was nice to meet you all,” you replied, politely, suddenly anxious to be alone.  To fall apart in peace.  “I wish it was under better circumstances.  Maybe next time we can have a drink and a proper laugh.  When he’s home.” 

“We’ll get him back, Mrs. Price.”  It was Kyle who pulled you into a hug, as if you were family.  “I promise.”

It was the first time anyone had called you that, and you didn’t correct him.  In the moment, it was a comfort.  A universal truth that you longed to hear from someone else’s lips. 

The others followed suit with their goodbyes, but their warmth and concern were a shallow replacement for the man you were missing.  Kate settled for a stoic handshake before you closed the door on them all and set your back against it for support.

The phone in your hand was heavy as you pulled it up to see his text messages, looking for any possible clue or something to keep hope alive.  There were a few off color jokes between him and his mates.   Notes to you about what was for dinner, and silly photos he’d taken of the baby.

One single text exchange with Kate.  As if he’d deleted them as soon as they came in.  Or perhaps Kate had wiped them as part of her pruning.  It was from four months prior. 

I hope you know what you’re doing.

Never more certain in my life.

Were they talking about you?  Of his choice to leave?  It reminded you of something else he’d left behind.  Something you’d forgotten in the whirlwind of the last few hours.

When you held the envelope again in your hands, you didn’t think twice about ripping through the seal.  Inside was a stack of handwritten letters, all dated and signed with his name.

You focused on the one on top, from the day before he’d left.

Hey love,

If you’re reading this, then something must’ve happened to me.  Or your curious nature got the best of you, and you went snooping around my desk.

I hope it’s the latter because it’s time you knew, and who knows when I’ll get the courage to tell you myself.  But if it’s the former, then I’m sorry.

I can’t say I’m surprised, though.  There’s only so many times I can dare death to find me before it wins.  You just have to know that I did my best, for whatever it’s worth.

I never felt like I could have a family.  I didn’t deserve that sort of peace after the things I’ve done.  I’ve taken too many lives to have any chance at a happy one.  Killed too many sons to be entitled to any of my own.

It’s been my purpose.  What I’m good at.  And I never wanted to bring that burden home to anyone else.

Then I saw you again after I made myself a promise to stay away from you this time.  You were so fearless and calm.  I just wanted to be near you.  Close enough that you might scare away the darkness in me.  

If someone like you, and her, could trust me and see any good in me, then maybe I’m not such a monster after all. 

You made me believe in fate.  In something bigger that was beyond my control.  I just hope that it’s not done with me yet.  That it’s not done with us. 

If this is the end, then I just want to say thank you and leave you with everything.  Everything that I have, and everything that I left unsaid.

These letters are from all the other times I’ve done this.  The other missions that called me away since we met, in the event that I didn’t come back.  You were the only thing worth coming home to, and I’m sorry I didn’t share them sooner. 

If you’re just being nosy, and I’m already warm in our bed with the baby drooling on my chest, I hope I’ve already told you a thousand times how much I love you.  How lucky I am to have known your love in return.

And I hope you’re already wearing one of these rings.  I couldn’t decide which one, so I’ll let you choose.  They’ve been in my family for ages.  All yours now.

All my heart, John.

The pages were flooded with salty tears by the time the jingle at the bottom of the envelope caught your attention.  Five different rings.  Yellow and white gold, glistening diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires.  Old and new.

But not yet.  You didn’t dare to touch them yet.  Didn’t choose.  You believed in fate, too.  He wasn’t gone, and it wasn’t the end. 

*******

The next days passed by in a blur, waiting by the phone.  You were thankful for the baby, as she didn’t let you wallow or crumble the way you wanted to.  There were still diapers to change, and bottles to fill.  Smiles to fake and colic to soothe.

You wondered if she missed him, too.  If she even noticed he was gone.

It was three in the morning when you got the call, and you shot up in bed, sleep quickly forgotten when you answered.  You didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.

“John!”

“Hiya, darling.”  His voice was a faint groan of relief. 

“Where are you?”  You held the phone away from your face just long enough to see the long, foreign number with a country code you couldn’t place.  “Does Kate know where you are?”

“I don’t have a lot of time.  I’m in the blind.  I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You flung off your covers and rushed to your computer.  He was in trouble.    

“I’m here.  Are you hurt?” 

“Not bad.”  You could hear him smiling, the way the words huffed out through pained lips.  It was definitely bad.

You had to keep him talking, to stay on the line long enough for you to work.  The laptop took forever to start up.  You hadn’t used it since you’d left your employment, and it must’ve needed a hundred updates.  But you didn’t have time as your fingers trembled anxiously over the keys.

This was what you did.  This was your job.  You designed software that could find people.  Find targets.  Needles in the giant haystack that was the world.

You set the phone to speaker mode and plugged it in to your program.

“Whose phone is this, John?”  It would be encrypted, you presumed.  You wouldn’t be lucky enough to have its location turned on. 

“An old friend.  I’d put him on, but he’s not with us anymore, I’m afraid.  Poor fellow took a fall.”  Another gurgled laugh.  “But his name was Makarov.  When you talk to Kate, tell her the mission’s complete.”

“You can tell her yourself.  You’re going to be fine.  Just keep talking to me.”

You buzzed through lines of code, searching for the one you needed. 

“How’s the poppet?  Is she being a good girl?”

“She’s sleeping.  She’s okay.  Misses you.  Can’t wait to see you.”

Got it!  You broke through the encryption and pinned his location using satellite GPS.

“It’s not looking good, love.”

“Do you believe in fate, John?”  You asked, as you used your laptop’s connection to call Kate.

There was a reason you’d met each other.  You were certain now that nothing had been by chance.  You were meant to find him.  You were meant to find each other.

“Ah, went pawing through my drawers, did you?  Which ring did you pick?” 

“I’ll show you when you get home,” you promised as the line finally connected.  “Kate!  I know where John is.  You have to hurry.”

You sent her the coordinates to the exact centimeter.  He was deep underground, in some kind of a bunker.  Or an old mineshaft.  To her credit, Kate didn’t argue or ask where you got your intel.

Two hours later, you were still on the phone with him.  The light began to creep slowly through the curtains, bringing with it a brand new day.  But his breath had slowed, and his words came thicker from his throat.

“Just a little longer, okay?”  You didn’t let him sense your fear as you quietly willed your life into him, to keep him hanging on. 

Where the fuck were they?

The line had gone too quiet when you heard the blast. 

“John!  John, what was that?”  You prayed it was the team, and not a fresh wave of enemy combatants come to finish the job.

“In here!”  John’s voice, with a renewed strength. 

“Bravo-7 to Watcher.  Eyes on Bravo-6.  We’ve got him.”  You heard Lieutenant Riley’s unmistakable accent breakthrough as he got closer to the phone.  “Have med-evac waiting topside.  He’s in rough shape.”  He switched from his comms to John.  “Can you walk, Cap?”

“Well, you aren’t fucking carrying me, Ghost.  That’s for bloody sure.”

“Please don’t leave me.”  The tears that you finally let fall were of release.  Of relief.  You didn’t know if he still held the phone, or if it lay forgotten on the ground as they carried him away.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Me, a couple episodes into season 3 of Justified:

This is a show about fantastic dialogue, masterclass performance seminars from every character actor you can imagine, and being hideously fucking depressing. It's also unfortunately very plot-driven, but the depressing thing is what's making me want to quit.

Like, thematically, it's about how everyone is human and everyone is complicated and that's an approach to character I massively appreciate. One which naturally inclines towards a hopeful worldview, because humans can be reached, can be reasoned with, could maybe decide to do better. There's no monsters, everyone has their joys and pains, and the show is wonderful about allowing sympathy where you'd never expect. But its other theme, what I would argue is the thesis of the entire series, is that people can't change. They can want to, they can try, they can even leave everything behind and start over just to avoid the temptation to backslide- there's still no escape from either yourself or your circumstances. Your path will inevitably lead you back to exactly where you started.

We're all trapped in our patterns, there's no way to break the cycle.

And this leaves the overall sensation I get from watching it (especially the season two finale episode) as this crushing sense of waste. These beautiful, fascinating, Image-bearing human beings who yearn and hurt: they're doomed. Their fates are sealed from the moment they're born. The world doesn't change, nothing changes, nothing ever will, and choice is an illusion. You can't fix anything, even yourself. You can strive, but you'll never be free. You'll fail in the same way every time.

For a fun and funny adventure show where everyone is witty and the realism level is hovering around '70s action movie', it's bleak as fuck. I'm just sad, man. I feel like all these characters are in Dante's purgatory.

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎMoral Orel Agere໒ ˚⁎

hellooo can i please request cg!stephanie and little!nurse bendy hcs if it’s ok for u?? have a nice day

Caregiver Stephanie

•Stephanie’s difficult upbringing and experiences in Moralton have made her fiercely protective, especially of those she cares about. She takes on the role of caregiver for Bendy as a way to provide the nurturing she never received

•Given the harshness of Moralton, Stephanie is determined to create a safe and comforting space for Bendy. She transforms her home into a sanctuary where Bendy can feel free to regress without judgment or fear

•Stephanie isn’t overly expressive with her emotions, but she shows her care through actions. She might prepare Bendy’s favorite meal or make sure her favorite blanket is always clean and ready. Her care is subtle but deeply felt

•Stephanie’s voice is naturally soft and calming, which helps soothe Bendy when she's feeling small or overwhelmed. Steph often hums lullabies or reads simple stories in her gentle tone

•Life in Moralton is unpredictable and often harsh, so Stephanie creates a stable routine for Bendy when they regress. This routine helps Bendy feel secure amidst the chaos, giving them a sense of stability

•Stephanie’s own struggles with isolation and loneliness make her particularly empathetic towards Bendy’s needs. She understands the importance of feeling cared for and goes out of her way to ensure Bendy feels loved and understood

•Stephanie may not be outwardly sentimental, but she shows her affection in small, meaningful ways—like making sure Bendy’s favorite snacks are always stocked or quietly joining her during playtime without interrupting her flow

Age-Regressing Nurse Bendy

•Escaping Reality : Bendy’s regression is a way to escape the grim realities of life in Moralton. When she enters little space, she retreat to a simpler, more innocent world where she can feel safe and carefree

•Despite the bleakness around them, Bendy’s little space is full of childlike wonder. She might be drawn to coloring, playing with simple toys, or watching old cartoons, finding solace in these innocent activities

•Bendy often turns to Stephanie for comfort, especially when the pressures of her adult responsibilities become too much. In little space, she become more reliant on her Care giver, needing reassurance and gentle care to feel secure

•Sensitivity to Criticism : In little space, Bendy is more sensitive to the harshness of Moralton’s judgmental society. Stephanie shields her from this, offering a safe haven where she can express themselves without fear of reprimand or scorn

•Bendy’s regression might involve clinging to nostalgic items or routines that remind her of a simpler, happier time, whether it’s a childhood toy, a favorite book, or a comforting bedtime routine that Stephanie helps her with

•The rigid moral expectations of Moralton weigh heavily on Bendy, even in little space. She might worry about being seen as "weak" or "childish," but Stephanie’s unwavering support helps her embrace her regression as a healthy coping mechanism

•The unpredictability of life in Moralton makes Bendy crave stability. Stephanie’s consistent presence and the routines she establishes become a crucial part of Bendy’s ability to feel safe and grounded when she regress

•Despite the darkness around them, Bendy finds genuine joy in her regression, whether it’s through playing games, cuddling with Stephanie, or enjoying simple pleasures like cookies and milk. These moments of happiness are fleeting but precious, making them all the more meaningful in the bleak landscape of Moralton

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[princeblack]

cleaning the fan switches takes forever, using a rag that’s quickly becoming too greasy for the job. the winds of tatooine are heavy today, making the sand sting his eyes as he works. he pulls his scarf up over his face, squinting as he reaches to clean the last switch.

no one bothers him in his work because he belongs to watto, resident toydarian, junk dealer and human trafficker. regulus grew up in slavery, being put to work as soon as he was old enough to pick up a wrench. his mother always told him he was a miracle, her gift from above when she was purchased by the hutts. she said she was given him to save her; her one and only joy in a bleak, unforgiving life.

and regulus tried to be a good son, despite how difficult it was sometimes surviving the harsh weather of tatooine, bringing food home for his mother and learning tasks most would consider too complex for his age. but he became an expert pilot as young as eight years old, building droids on the side. watto found out about most of them, selling them so he couldn’t make any money. but he managed to get compensation for at least a few he built in creative places, slowly stockpiling his family’s meager savings. if it weren’t for the transmitters he needed to disable, he could’ve escaped this planet by now.

he’s almost done with his task, letting the scarf fall from his face. just then he’s interrupted by the rumbling voice of watto, beckoning him into the shop in huttese. regulus begrudgingly gets up, hurrying back into the dusty junkshop. it’s empty except for watto and two figures; an older man with dark brown hair, dressed in a poncho, and a young girl around his age. her beauty makes him do a double take, surprised by the sight of the prettiest face he’s ever seen. people aren’t often beautiful like this; in fact, they never are. she’s almost ethereal, from her soft auburn braids to her perfectly sculpted features. she has big blue eyes, full lips and a delicate bone structure. there’s almost an innocent, clean look about her, as if she doesn’t belong on this planet. regulus has seen many traders and pilots and sometimes their children, but none looked like like her.

“coona tee-tocky malia?” watto demands angrily in huttese, asking regulus what took so long.

“mel tassa cho-passa,” regulus responds, assuring him he was cleaning like he was tasked.

"chut! chut! gando doe wallya. me dwana no bata." he practically barks the words, demanding regulus watch the shop so he can do business out back. his yellow eyes are narrowed almost greedily at the man in the poncho, who regulus assumes is about to be swindled out of whatever money he owns. the blue toydarian’s wings flap as he leads the older man from the building, a nasty smirk revealing those yellowed tusks jutting from his mouth.

regulus wonders if the princess still standing in the junkshop has ever seen a toydarian before. he strides over to the counter, taking a seat on it and fixing curious green eyes on her. “you must be from one of the moons of iego. i heard from a space pilot once that angels live there– the most beautiful creatures anyone's seen in the known universe.” his tone is light-hearted, although he means every word. she’s the most gorgeous person he’s ever met, and there’s something angelic about her. 

he doesn’t know that she’s the naboo queen undercover, anonymously trying to help a jedi find parts to repair their ship so they can make it to coruscant and report on an invasion on her planet from the trade federation. he only knows that she’s beautiful and far too clean for tatooine, seeming like a fish out of water. he’s drawn to her; some tug that he can’t ignore. he knows better than to ask for details about her business or how she wound up in the outer rim, because one of the first lessons he learned as a slave was not to ask customers for details. it was bad for business. / @devcted

[crzyimp]

Another Sun Au: Tang Monk and Young Sun

Author's Note: Written for the discord JTTW server event! Ngl this is one of my guilty pleasures and one I often think about/daydream. This is a intro to hopefully more(when I have time to write) of my au. Also open for any questions(and requests if it sparks my mood) related to Journey to the west :3

Warnings: None

Words: Roughly 1.65k

Special thanks and shoutout to @sparrow-in-boots for being my beta reader! Check out their blog(s) and art!!

“Baldy monky! I'm here for the secret lesson!” A jovial voice shrieks, the voice bouncing and echoing in his cell. It wouldn't be a secret for long with how loud she's being, but then again, not a single adult yaoguai monkey stopped her yet, nor did the Great Sage make an appearance since that day. So much trust to allow her to roam free like this or how overconfident the ruler of the mountain seems to be, with no care that even children can come and go as they please.

He opens and closes his mouth, as if to say something, before calmly replying to her; “Young Sun,” he wants to keep his distance, at least emotional and personal, “Refrain from shouting, remember inside voices, less you draw six ears.” Especially when any day his head will be on a platter for the Great Sage and his sworn brothers as the grandest of grand feasts. “And please do not call me ‘Baldy Monky’, it's rude.”

Finally she comes into his view with a blank expression, but her eyes sparkle with innocent joy. “Sorry, shifu.” Young Sun whispers, crouching next to his bars. “I got excited about today's lessons.” Tripitaka sighs, tries his best to smile at her, only to falter when she flinches. “I'm really sorry for being loud. Please don't be mad at me.” He can only blink and look at her.

Mad at her? Sure, he was mad and frustrated, but at his situation rather than her; Tripitaka was meant to be journeying to the West to gather the scriptures to bring back to the Tang Empire, along with his small party. The travel was ruinously cut short after they were captured by yaoguai, with Tripitaka as the sole survivor who witnessed the others devoured. He would’ve met the same fate, but fate was crueler. The Heaven-Equaling Great Sage, the one who wreaked havoc in heaven and escaped from Budda’s imprisonment, happened to pay a visit to his lowly general's home. The look from those fiery eyes petrified his very soul that day, before the Great Sage declared that he will stay at the Flower Fruit Mountain for a celebration in the coming weeks, as the main course. “Dis….Young Sun, let us start with your lesson.” He shifts to face her, his beads - bless the Merciful Bodhisattva they didn't strip from him - cupped together in his hands.

“Okay, Shifu.” Young Sun mimics him, albeit clumsily, her thin and hairy arms shuffling her equally hairy legs to cross together like his. His lips twitches, as he fondly looks at her and reminded how at her age he did the very same thing: full of energy and wonderment for the world with a yearning to learn and to help; until the iron bars between them came back to his view and the bleak reminder of his future. Despite this, he begins the first teachings of Buddhism, blessed that at least this persistent, curious monkey wants to learn.

It wasn't even a day after his arrival that Young Sun met him for the first time.

“I am Sun Yángguāng, the youngest and first to be born in 500 years! Who are you, ape? And why are you bald?”

He was so terrified and shocked at their first, but short meeting together as the Great Sage and his four ape generals were there as well. Tripitaka can't recall if it was one of the generals or the Great Sage himself who whisked her away for a scolding. Not that it did much, as she found ways to visit him and learn much of the outside world and Buddhism through him.

“Um…shifu..” Her voice was quiet and unsure, something that must've been on her mind for some time.

“We're not meant to talk during meditation.” He replies.

“I know but…” Young Sun sighs and Tripitaka opens his eyes to look at her. “...I'm conflicted, each day draws nearer to the King's grand feast with the other sages and your…” She bites down at her lip, her eyes move to the ground when they meet his. Ah, this topic again. He remembers how jovial she was at the beginning of the feast and the special occasion until she realized what it meant for him. A topic that is that left her more somber and haunted by restless nights, though this never stopped her from visits and lessons.

“I cannot be biased and say I wish to die, Young Sun. I wish to live so that I continue my journey, but if I am fated to die here, then so be it.” He accepted this, it breaks his heart that he'll fail before he even began,but he'll atone in his next life. He just never expected this would also break her heart, someone who only knew him for a short time. Tripitaka watches as she bows her head and her knuckles turn white with her colorful hanfu bunched up between her fingers; her body shakes with a sharp inhale. He doesn't say a word, nor comforts or cries, he accepts his death and so must she.

No words were exchanged between them after that, Young Sun collects herself and leaves with her head high, but her eyes clouded. Tripitaka inhales deeply and returns to his meditation. That was the last time he saw her, never returning for lessons or visits again; the small ray of sunshine made his lonesome cell dark and alone with his thoughts.

Days or weeks have passed, and Tripitaka wasn't certain how long he's been trapped, but none of that matter as today was his final day in this life. The guards came and announced it before they escorted him from the dingy dungeon to the opulent stone palace. So many twists and turns that made his head spin. It was like a labyrinth and only the residents would know the exit. It was hopeless to even attempt an escape. Before the guards arrived in a room with a tray of food and wine. So the Great Sage had some compassion to allow him one final supper, even if it was back handed to him.

The guards toss him onto the stone floor, the rugs his only means to dampen his fall and the cold before they turn and slam the door with a laugh. He can still hear them through the thick wood as he dusts himself off. If he listens more closely, he can hear the chattering of servants as he sits with his eyes closed.

“Today's finally here!”

“All the Sages under one roof like before the Great War. This will be the perfect mend between our alliance!”

“I heard the Demon Bull King is bringing his son, but not his first wife. I wonder if one of his servants has juicy gossip about that.”

“Grandfather Sun has picked such a perfect day to celebrate, such an auspicious day!”

“Shifu.” A hush whisper against his ear and hands quickly press to stop any sounds of panic slipping through his mouth. “It's me, Young Sun.” Tripitaka finally relaxes and opens his eyes as her arms slip past his head. “I meditated and reflected before I finally found the answer.” He shuffles until he can see Young Sun and softly gasps at the sight. “I decided to fully dedicate myself to be your disciple and helping you on your journey.”

The candle's lights shine beautifully against her freshly shaven head and just beyond, over her shoulder from his view, a hidden passage. “We don't have much time Shifu, we have to hurry before they find ou-”

Just as Young Sun helps bring her master to his feet, a scream bounces and echoes off the walls, cutting through all else and sending the whole palace in a flurry. “Yángguāng! Someone took our Yángguāng!”

Sun Yángguāng wastes no time as she guides her master through the secret passage and closes it behind them. She has to be quick and clever for them to escape. She hoped Aunty RinRin wouldn't check up on her for another thirty minutes, but she should've expected today's excitement that Aunty Rinrin wanted her to look her best for the guests. Her hands reach for his, and she presses a finger to her lip before navigating the secret passage; crossing one room to reach a new one without notice. One day, Young Sun will apologize for the fright she given to Aunty RinRin over the mess of her room, but not today.

The two pause and stop whenever footsteps drawing near are heard, only to go a different direction. She leads downwards, deeper into the stone palace, “Trust me, Shifu.” As if she knew his doubts, and gave a squeeze to the monk's hand. Tripitaka says nothing, but squeezes her hand back.

The smell of a salty breeze, cracks of moonlight dances on the small craven dock. “This is how the elders survived the burning.” Young Sun helps Tripitaka into the small boat, barely enough room for the two of them between boxes and jars. “Forgive me for my absence. I was getting preparations ready, and it wasn't easy to go unnoticed. It's the downside of being the youngest and only mortal of my kingdom.”

He watches her untie the ropes and use the oar to push away from dry land. “I hope the king was drinking his fill before that scream, I don't think I can outsmart him when his mind isn't dull with wine. Hopefully there is mercy and we leave without his notice.”

Gently, the oar glides and swishes in the water as the boat exits the cave and into the open; neither of them dare light a lantern nor talk as the sounds of shouting and soon fighting rang out from the island. They keep their eyes forward as the sounds are slowly drowned by the waves splashing against the boat on their journey to the west.

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

Removing this from the Masterlist Post of 'Bun's canon divergence for the Nurse explained' cause it doesn't really fit in terms of the plain going over Sally's story in a nutshell, but that doesn't mean it's any less important!

Sally's mental health degrading is a major driving factor in the narrative around her character, as is her point of view slowly shifting from this idea of death constantly following her and stealing away her joy and the innocent, wonderful things (her baby sister, some friends, her children and husband) to death serving as the only escape from the unrelenting hell of existence for the innocent. To live is to suffer, to be punished, and edgy as it sounds, truth and justice are concepts man devised to make himself feel better about the inconsequential cruelty of the world.

It's bleak, it's edgy, but it's the position of hopelessness all of the events in Sally's life have conspired to put her in. (Entire post of it's own but to put it in a nutshell: class-shock, racism, sexism (both at women and intersex people) the loss of pregnancies, children and eventually her husband, systemic oppression, grooming (exploitation of widows in pre-1900s), abuse in the work place of ALL kinds, eventual escalation into S/A. being witness and rendered helpless to a sort of suffering that even pales her own (it's her patients, innocent and frankly left to rot in overcrowded, underfunded positions and subject to soul destroying 'treatments' in the form of lobotomy and things that her heart knows are torture) just to highlight the most important notes)

But I would be remiss to say that like, fuck, her misery doesn't end when she steps out of Crotus Prenn. Returning to her home nightly, the home Andrew built for them and the family he and Sally would build together; she returns to a graveyard, both literally and metaphorically.

Sally's home, this homey looking wooden manor surrounded by trees but there's this notable coldness when you enter it. It seems abandoned in all but three rooms: the kitchen, the living room and the master bedroom. Through following the dust, you can follow Sally's daily path through the home, like a funeral procession. Passing by empty rooms that were supposed to be nurseries, still furnished, but now covered in a layer of dust, a monument she hasn't found the strength to disassemble. And moving beneath a portrait of her and Andrew, commissioned for her wedding that seems to glare knowingly, but she keeps it up, she knows she deserves the condemnation of Andrew's stare for how badly she's let things become.

But that's just the inside of the house, ghosts of hopes gone and the possibility of where fate could have lent a merciful hand and changed everything and yet didn't

When you pass into the backyard, amidst rose bushes and columbines and so, so many beautiful little concrete monuments of angels at play and dogs keeping watch, are graves. Nine. Little. Graves. All of Sally's children. Never further than a stroll from the monster of a house that threatens to consume her every night she returns home.

[morvantmortuary]

hey so it’s tdov and I went back and forth for a while about what to say, but I guess it’s this

I’m coming up on eight years of knowing I’m not cis and like, maybe three years of finally accepting that about myself and figuring out what I am rather than what I’m not. it can be a long and difficult road sometimes, no matter how comfortable you are with other aspects of yourself, because cis people can make the process such a fucking pain whenever you try to move an inch beyond their shitty little binary that a lot of them cling to because they’re scared to death of how big the world actually is and can be

and I just wanted to say that as long as I’m writing, I’m writing for the other weirdos who are made to feel uncomfortable in their own skin with how they present or who they are by people who will never get it and could never even dream of getting something so beautiful and wonderful about the process of self-creation so maybe we can have a little bit of a breather or a place to go.

I know when I started writing I was trying to explain to myself how I wanted to be loved and what I thought that looked like. some of the people who have been kind enough to read my work have mentioned at times that my work has felt like a place they could feel comfortable experimenting with how they felt being referred to or treated in a different way, and the idea that someone else could feel happy sitting in the space I made for myself to try to understand how I feel, has been something I’ve treasured on really dark days

so that’s it, I guess. things are bleak right now in ways I try not to talk about on this blog, because this is just as much a space for me to try to escape as it is for whoever might hang around to read. but I promise I’m going to keep writing for everyone else who feels like they need to place to get away, and my necromancers and I will always love the people who spend time here with us exactly as they are, no matter how the world demands you feel about your body. it’s yours, and as long as it makes you happy, it’s perfect 🖤🖤🖤

to my gender variant family: we have always been here, and they can never take that away from us, or our joy. 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

[magical-girl-lora]

I remember being told that my score for the yearly maths challenge was more than 10% higher than everybody in the rest of my year at my school. More people at that school went to Oxford or Cambridge than almost all the other schools in the country, so, of course, I would follow in my father and mother's footsteps and go to Oxford. Surely, *surely* that would be my thing. It always had been! I was good at maths, great at maths, told day in, day out at school that maths was what I was made for, made to do.

But I started writing music most breaktimes on the school computers since I realised it was a thing I could do. I got MixCraft on my first laptop, and it became all I did after school. I loved it, to the supposed detriment of every other thing at the time. I would wake up in the middle of the night to do homework in time for the next day, I started spending every lunch break in the piano room. It was an escape.

Crashing out of studying maths at university was so bleak. I had already arranged for student halls, and that year I was given no courses to do except to pass that maths re-take. I should have gone back to my parents, found a way out of it, but instead I sat in that room and tried to sort through the sludge of studying, eating, relationships, friendship, family, CPTSD, insomnia, depression, gender, maths, endless garbage, nothingness, pain, don't eat, sleep, don't eat, sleep, don't eat, try to sleep, you need food. it's happening again. go outside and get everything you can find at the shop. put it on the table. eat. eat. eat. don't stop. send a picture to your friend. "look! i ate today." repeat. worry if the fact that you chat with older men online makes you a predator. worry if they think you're even a person. worry if the things they want you to do make you a predator. worry if you would ever break the cycle. your friend tells you he slept with her. he told you he knew you were trans the whole time. you can't bare to face him, to face anybody, all of those people that always said they were there if you needed them, and they barely registered your absence. You got sick, they took you to the hospital in the night, you thought you were going to die, you knew it.

And then, like that, it's over. you're with your parents and disappointing them in the way you always seem to do, but there's a post from this girl on facebook. She is so beautiful and there's a drawing of a caterpie on her page and she has posted about fire emblem. She is looking for somebody to live with.

And she is everything. And she is every joy in the world, obliterating the sepia, lighting the world into colour, life and love and wonder and excitement. Every new experience something to share, every meal something to enjoy together, every day more to see and heal and hurt and heal again and imagine and cry and laugh. And her smile, her eyes, her laugh, her touch, her cheeks oh god her cheeks, her hair, her kindness, her love, her care. So stunningly kind and she'll be convinced that no, it's normal to act like this, it's normal to care about friends this much, and in doing so you believe it too. The world is a kind place because she is there with you.

[sanguineness-wings]

(Don't know who else to talk to so I'm just going through my mental list of "uh who do I know that looks like they like crying about Hawks?")

I was just re-reading TUM 22 because it still emotionally ruins me and I found out the volume title is "Daily Lives of Heroes" joy :') and it'll probably get an Eng release late 2023 *sad kazoo noises* but I was looking for evidence RE: is Hawks' apartment really monitored, or am I just jumping to angsty conclusions for no reason? And I see that Deku says, "Popular heroes have several homes to avoid stalkerish fans…but what about Hawks?" And ding ding! 🎶 There's my proof, Because he only has ONE home, supplied by the HPSC. It feels like a subtle way to say that his "2nd private home" is to avoid the stalkerish HPSC. It would make sense for them wouldn't it, to be more cautious after Nagant? They already were, by choosing someone younger, by putting her in Tartarus - which they control, no info leaks, and Hawks is a master at gathering info in and out of places, they'd need to be. Eng release will tell us if he really said something like, he only goes there to "show" he's using it to the HPSC, which I think he is because going there just for "appearances" is not something he would do for the public.

You could coordinate a wild fanfic using this lore, with Hawks needing to sneak out of his secret home before the HPSC rings his doorbell, or other heroes. I wonder if they monitor his credit card too? Because if he's buying furniture, that isn't needed for the apartment they gave him, that implies he's hiding something from them, something big and a secret home is major red flags for conspiracy. That might be why his home is so bare of any items or even a bed. Meaning I have great opportunity to write Best Jeanist threading together the softest bed and blankets and pillows for Hawks to smuggle in.

I’m honored to be on the “cries about Hawks list”! Because I do in fact cry about him all of the time. I live for the angst. 

I was so excited to finally get a glimpse of Hawks’ living situation and oh boy, I was not expecting it to be so bleak. This man is on the shortest leash. I seriously don’t know how he has mentally survived all of this. He was completely isolated as a child and everything about his adult life was controlled.

He only has one tiny unmonitored room to escape to.

The concept of personal knickknacks must be so foreign to him. You could definitely play into bird nesting instincts and him not being able to for ULTIMATE ANGST.

I would love to read about Jeanist secretly taking care of Hawks. That would warm my little heart. Hawks deserves all of the softness in the world after everything he’s been through.

[dionysiore]

ask game time!! :) -> List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 5 people who liked or reblogged something from you!

This has been sitting in my inbox for a while now, apologies for that! I honestly had to think this question through and really ask myself: what makes me happy? It’s a bleak kind of question to ask myself but I think I’ve been cruising through life without any merits to my own mental health.

I’ve had some turbulent time in my life that forced me to move and wreaked havoc on my mental health regarding familial relationships and have spent two years of my life feeling lonely and unwanted.

So, what makes me happy?

1. During the time, being in phone calls with close friends and being able to genuinely laugh hard made me happy. It felt like ages since I last laughed hard and carefree.

2. Writing fan fiction and escaping into the story and knowing that it brings other people joy to read. Reading comments has been so validating and I’m genuinely grateful that there are those who take enjoyment from reading my fics! Often times I doubt myself and wondered if anyone would even care to read it and had to force myself to post the fics.

3. Reading books and the escapism that it provides.

4. After two years, I was able to move back to my home state two months ago (which has been anxiety inducing and so many uncertainties) but after settling, I’m happy to be back and surrounded by familiar people again who I know love me endlessly.

5. This was tricky to think about and will probably sound cheesy but I’m happy now that I’m in a better place than I was during those last two years 💛

[ronaldanthony4]

Television Rules

Alright, so let me spill the beans on what's been bothering me lately. Recently, I've been feeling incredibly annoyed with my family and their complete infatuation with those dark, high-end TV shows that are clearly not suitable for kids. It's reached a point where their obsession has transformed them into TV snobs, and quite frankly, I've had enough of it. Their fixation on these dark shows has created a divide between us, as I find myself unable to relate to their conversations. It's disheartening to see their enthusiasm for something that I find unsettling and unsuitable for our family dynamic. I yearn for the days when we would gather around the TV to watch light-hearted sitcoms or engage in meaningful conversations that didn't revolve around fictional characters. It's become increasingly clear to me that this obsession with high-end TV shows is taking a toll on our family's relationships and overall well-being.

I mean, here I am, just trying to enjoy some innocent animated kids' shows, and they're giving me grief for it. Yeah, I might be a grown-up lad, but I've got my reasons. You see, I reckon watching those cartoons actually does some good for my artistic skills. It's like an autistic thing for me, in a way. And I've had enough of them acting like I'm doing something wrong. I've always been fascinated by the stunning animation techniques and the attention to detail in these kids' shows. The intricate plotlines and character developments often inspire me to think outside the box and push my own artistic boundaries. In a way, it's like a form of visual storytelling that ignites my imagination and fuels my creativity. So, why should I be judged or ridiculed for finding inspiration and solace in something that brings me joy and enhances my artistic skills?

They keep harping on about how adults shouldn't be watching cartoons. Well, if they're so quick to forget, it's adults who made those cartoons in the first place. Adults who dismiss the value of cartoons fail to recognise the immense talent and artistry that goes into creating these animated masterpieces. Cartoons are not just mindless entertainment; they possess complex themes, nuanced storytelling, and stunning visuals that captivate audiences of all ages. By appreciating and finding inspiration in cartoons, I am embracing a medium that has the power to transcend age barriers and ignite the imagination of anyone willing to open their mind to its wonders. It's like they've forgotten that creativity isn't confined to age, mate. But nah, they're too wrapped up in their bleak dramas and twisted mysteries to see the bigger picture.

And don't even get me started on Netflix. Every time I try to use the kids' account, they're all like, "Oi, that's for your younger cousins!" Like, give me a break. The grown-up version of Netflix is just a cesspool of grim tales and mind-boggling mysteries that I've had my fill of. So for me, there is nothing good to be watched in Netflix. So, I ain't budging on this one. If they want to judge me for sticking to the kids' account, then let 'em. I couldn't care less. At least with the kids' account, I know what to expect - bright colours, funny characters, and wholesome storylines. It's a breath of fresh air compared to the dark and twisted shows that dominate the adult section. Besides, who says cartoons are just for kids? I find them entertaining and lighthearted, a perfect escape from the harsh realities of the world. So, while others may scoff at my choice, I'll continue to enjoy my favourite animated shows on the kids' account, without a care in the world.

But here's the kicker. When I've got my own place someday, mark my words, I'm laying down some ground rules when it comes to TV time. It's going to be a whole different ball game under my roof. First off, no more of those overly premium, doom-and-gloom shows. None of that rubbish. Instead, we're sticking to the good stuff – kids' shows, educational bits, religious content, and lifestyle channels. Oh, and if they're hankering to watch something that ain't exactly for kids, they gotta come to me first. I want to create a positive and family-friendly environment in my home, and that starts with the television. I believe that exposing children to educational and age-appropriate content will not only entertain them but also stimulate their minds. Additionally, I want to ensure that any media they consume aligns with our family values and beliefs. By having them ask for permission to watch more mature shows, I can monitor what they are exposed to and have meaningful discussions about it.

Yeah, you heard me right. They'll need my permission. I'm gonna be the TV gatekeeper, examining the content and deciding whether it's fit for our screens or not. And let me tell you, I've got high standards. The shows I'll approve of? They gotta be light-hearted, family-oriented, a bit comedic, maybe even historical or educational, and definitely uplifting for the spirit. If they can't meet these simple criteria, they're out. I strongly believe that as the TV gatekeeper, it is my duty to ensure that my family is exposed to quality content that aligns with our values and promotes positive messaging. I want to foster a wholesome and enriching environment, where we can enjoy shows that not only entertain but also educate. By carefully examining each programme and selecting ones that meet these criteria, I can guarantee that our TV time will be both enjoyable and worthwhile. With my high standards, I am confident that our family's television experience will be nothing short of exceptional.

In terms of channel selection, I prefer to keep the options limited to a few specific categories. Firstly, I opt for kids' channels to ensure that the content remains suitable and engaging for younger viewers. Additionally, I am inclined towards educational channels as they provide informative and thought-provoking content that helps me broaden my knowledge. Furthermore, religious channels are important to me as they allow me to stay connected with my faith and engage in spiritual content. Lastly, lifestyle channels appeal to me as they offer a range of programmes related to health, wellness, fashion, and overall personal growth. These channels not only entertain me but also inspire me to lead a healthier and more fulfilling life. Moreover, lifestyle channels often feature experts who provide valuable tips and advice on various aspects of life, making them a valuable resource for self-improvement.

In order to maintain control over what is being watched in my space, I have established clear rules for the television. If anyone dares to disobey these rules, they will face consequences. For instance, if someone chooses to watch a violent movie without my permission, they will be immediately disconnected from the Wi-Fi for the entire duration of their stay. They are still free to watch whatever they desire on their personal mobile gadgets. This strict policy is in place to protect any young children who may be present from being exposed to any negative or disturbing content that could potentially influence them negatively. If they think this rule is too strict, I give them freedom to leave, but they will be considered as persona-non-grata in my household. By implementing this strict policy, I aim to create a positive and nurturing environment for them. I understand that some guests may find this rule challenging, but it is essential for maintaining a harmonious atmosphere where everyone feels comfortable and protected.

Oh, and just for a bit of extra mischief, I'm gonna hide Netflix in the TV settings and slap on some good ol' Christian-oriented Pureflix instead. That'll teach 'em a lesson about assuming things, won't it? So, there you have it, my grand plan to bring some sanity back to our telly time. It's all about maintaining a positive vibe and making sure our visitors' kiddos don't get scarred for life by the gloom and doom that's all too common these days. I believe it is important to further enhance the positive atmosphere of our television experience. By incorporating more uplifting and family-friendly shows and movies into our selection, we can ensure that our visitors' children are not exposed to the negativity and darkness that often pervades our screens. It's about creating a space where everyone feels comfortable and entertained, while also instilling valuable morals and lessons through Christian-oriented content.

In the end, I reckon it's about time someone stepped up and put a bit of order into our TV habits. Sure, we all like a good show now and then, but it shouldn't come at the cost of our overall well-being or the innocence of the little ones. Call me the TV sheriff if you will, but I'm determined to keep our home screen a source of joy, laughter, and a bit of education. It might ruffle a few feathers, but I'm willing to stand my ground for what I believe is right – a television time that's positive, inclusive, and a little cheeky at times. By curating a selection of programmes that promote kindness, empathy, and diversity, we can create a space where everyone feels represented and uplifted. Let's make our living room a sanctuary of positivity, where laughter is contagious and learning is disguised as fun. Together, we can redefine what it means to have a good show and create a TV experience that brings us closer as a family.

[draiochteve]

Shadowbringers being 4 years old now just has brought back so many feelings, emotions, and gratefulness that it's overwhelming. I've seen others express sentiment that the expansion saved/changed their life and it and I echo that as silly as it may seem to some. 

I was in a really shitty place. Life was really looking bleak and I was running out of joy. No work, relationship issues, family making life hell, etc. I was actually mad at the game and ready to quit despite it being my primary escape (and I will confess, logging in as a scholar main that early release day 1 was difficult and I was upset enough I almost didn't give the expansion a shot). However, my partner insisted that what was ahead was meant for me and to keep going. As funny as it is to say, those damn purple trees in Lakeland is what began me letting go of my bitterness and take each step with wide eyed interest. The Crystarium was honestly more magnificent seeing in game than in the trailer. But, of all the things that planted the strongest seed in my heart, it was seeing Exarch rushing into the middle of Lakeland to find us. I need to preface this with where I was creatively and fandom wise. I was struggling on my original fiction and had just began writing fanfic again as a means to learn to stop destroying my own work because I didn't think it was up to par. I wasn't even writing in final fantasy universe (not to say I hadn't before. I use to be known elsewhere in other numbered games). And as for fandom, I had been checked out since my last major deep dive in my teens due to some traumatic shit that happened. I'd enjoy from affair, but the drive to participate again was minuscule. I was more than happy to sit and daydream about my favs in solitude. And none of my favs involved FFXIV. Cloud Strife was my fixation for nearly a decade and no FFXIV could possibly top him. There was no contest and I just wasn't invested in FFXIV enough then to even absorb the story anywhere near as much as I do now (that's a tale for another time). So, lemme tell you when I realized those first feelings of that new fandom fav love was stirring, in such an intense way that I hadn't felt SINCE I first played FFVII, something in me fundamentally changed. Am I saying the catboy rewired my brain chemistry? Considering my ridiculous G'raha fanmerch collection, yes. I found myself binging the entire expansion and finishing it the day before official launch. I was awestruck. Everything just scratched the itch right. Is it a perfect expansion? No, but it brought to the table so much that I was desperately lacking in FFXIV to get invested in the story to the depths that nearly competes with my love of Elder Scrolls.

I remember vividly laying in bed just smiling. That euphoria of having experienced a piece of media so enjoyable that you want more. You have to have more. It's that scratch many creatives in fandom know and is the backbone of our fannish society. I checked Ao3 and there was maybe 1 fic. Okay, fair, we were still in early release. So I read it, found myself still unsatisfied, but decided I'd simply play the game and goof off while I wait. 3 days in, only 1 more and I saw a pile of Emet fics instead. And this is not a bashing on Emet fans, y'all were on that sucker so fast like god bless the devil works hard but y'all work harder. But man if it didn't make my stomach sink. I'd fallen in love with characters before that next to no one cared about and not being heavily on social media at the time, I had a great fear Exarch just didn't sit right with most people are just wasn't as wonderful as I saw. Finally, a week in, I couldn't take it anymore. I realize now, looking back, people were trying to avoid putting out spoilers or were still just digesting the entire expansion. Meanwhile, here I am about to burst at the seams. And burst I did. The first story was for a friend. A silly second person POV subway AU spawned from an inside joke. I still cherish that story to this day as it was made in a moment of pure bliss following a conversation. Then, that bliss turned to anxiety and horror as I let it be public on Ao3. It didn't get much attention at the time and I still am not surprised, but that was a relief. Not too many eyes on me so I could just do whatever. "Whatever" was a feral release of Exarch fics in such rapid succession I've pondered to this day if I was possessed. I was filling a bit of a void in my life as well as in the fandom, but doing so creating was something I hadn't done in so long. It felt incredible. Looking back, it felt like I was in this little happy corner just writing away, finally not scolding myself or tearing down myself, but indulging. Just being. And bless my partner, I couldn't fucking shut up about the Exarch and I know for a while it did get on his nerves and was exhausting. But despite that, he recognized there was something growing in me that he had only seen glimmers of in our years together. It was him that pushed me to join an Exarch fan discord and to stop hiding myself away. Go meet people that are just as enamored as you. Go make those friends. I was terrified and scared that I'd regret diving in. In fact, I convinced myself I was only going to lurk which that sure didn't work out. Instead, what ended up happening was what was the final turning point towards something better. I met so many people I still talk to regularly (many still daily) who helped me find my voice, my courage, fostered my creativity, and encouraged me to keep making. I met so many other writers and artists! Soon, so many people were writing in the fandom it was hard to keep track of new stories. For a while, I was writing for them instead of myself and I don't regret that. I felt like I had found community again. And it's something that I desperately needed. Good and bad happened of course as is what happens with any fandom space. I lost some of those new friends as fast as I made them and some just weren't meant to hang around in my life. But those that are still here stand out as some of the strongest friendships I've ever had. I don't regret it one bit. I'd like to specifically blame my friend Gyoz for this (and you should totally go read her fics ) for the next stage of my FFXIV writing career which was the horny. I was so anxious to expose myself like that again in fandom space and go feral to the point I was incredibly self conscious about being judged. But she was there from the start telling me to not fucking bother worrying about that and to have fun. Be horny on main. Who cares if not everyone likes it? Just go for it. And as most here know, I did and didn't quite stop being horny on main LOL. That liberation led to more experimentation and finally led to Japhinne being born who truly has been a moon in my sky. Taking the step to let her be has opened so many doors for me that it would take another long ass post to explain, but know that she saved me. And I wouldn't have had her without shadowbringers or my friends. I went through so much shit after introducing her to the world (scary af surgery, falling outs, a lot of uncertainty with the future) but those around me and the need to write her stories were such huge factors in helping me pull myself up and not just settle to hurt alone. Saying goodbye to the Crystarium during 5.3 was distressing enough (...confession, I was so worried about Exarch's fate and how I couldn't let Japh continue in canon should he pass that I stayed up until 4AM my time to find datamined dialogue in Japanese confirming he had awaken on the Source. Once I knew, I fucking clocked out for 3 hours and immediately got to playing lol), but that final, for sure farewell upon the week before Endwalker...it was like saying goodbye to home. Things change, people come and go, stories continue. I still find myself wandering the Crystarium remembering how full it once was. Remembering the people gathering and meme-ing in shout chat while browsing the market board (cheers to the people arguing if Emet was a power bottom or not. I never got to see the end of that debate LMAO). Rushing to the Ocular to AFK, log out, or pester Exarch with his wind-up or his name. The music, the atmosphere, the everything. I have similar cherished memories from the other expansions and other zones (shout out to the BLUs self destructing around the Aetheryte in the Middy Eulmore to resummon Innocence sjfhksjdhks) but the Crystarium during 5.0-5.3 will forever be my dwelling in heart. I've gotten engaged since then, had multiple jobs and secured a steady one, have written and published over 200k of fic (with at least 50k more unpublished), and I look back and wonder where the fuck would I even be now without shadowbringers. So, if you made it to the end of this ramble, thanks for reading, and thank you shadowbringers for fucking existing.

[xelsjournal]

december 11 2022 2:12 pm

i think i got it backwards again. like for a while i was laying around like hmmm how to i attract change cuz i feel happy quite frequently and in general am content but im a bit bored. so i decided to switch up everything, my routine, my habits, my intentions, my affirmations, my mindset and see where that would take me. at the very least i can enjoy the voyage and all the newness. and for a while, i had a blast, lots changed, very interesting times, lots of ups and downs. and ive come back to a place of like stability and contentment, but also boredom again and like a looming concern of stagnancy. like im at a start of a long journey and im making my slow and steady progress but im like antsy. but i know that im at the beginning of something in one part of my life and the end of a cycle in another part of my life. i can feel the the dissonance in my joints and i feel restless. i want to rush to somewhere and get there fast, but i know thats not the right way and frankly i cant speed up the pacing of this voyage. i think i just revealed to myself that i need to exercise to relieve the sensation of wanting to expell energy but needing to redirect it. but thats not what this journal was about. anyways back to the topic of change and happiness, i asked myself again recently if i was happy and i said hmmm not really. im not sad, nothings wrongs but im just kinda going about my business, living life. it felt like i was waiting to be happy, like waiting for something to be happy about, for something outside of my to come along and set off a chain reaction that would bring me the ultimate wish fulfillment. so i went all grind mode, gotta-change-up-my-path-so-i-can-change-up-my-life, and i put my happiness somewhere else, somewhere ahead of me in some distant land. and i left and i lived. and i had a fucking blast lmaooo i put my joy in all those exhilarating moments, in those inconveniences, in that sensation of newness. i had been so anticipating it and finally making it happen and deciding to experience it fully and openly, and then having it all play out in such a fun way, so to have it come to what felt like such an abrupt stop and redirection was kind of jarring. i was still committed to enjoying myself until i could get back to somewhere else but then it continued. and continued. and continued some more. and the longer i spend here (realistically im being v dramstic cuz its mostly been these past few days), the more im wondering when tf im gonna go again lmao. cuz like the people im round rn arent making me happy or bringing me peace. if anything 80% of the time theyre feeding my own anger and discontentment. for a while i didnt notice it but since i noticed it like two days ago, every interaction is becoming an obstacle course as i dodge hooks into aggravating conversations or implicit requests for verbal drama dumps. and it has me thinking,,,, do i even wanna be here around these people!?! i think not! cuz why my day gotta be ruined just cuz urs is? but also at the same time im literally here and i cant escape that reality. so do i wait to be happy again? and i kinda subconsciously determined i would have to wait for another voyage to get my happiness back. but i came across a post a few minutes ago that said something about having “to find happiness in the little things all around you” and that had me pause bc damn yeah my life doesnt have to be bleak “until” anything. theres so many things i enjoy, my own company at the top of the list, theres just no reason my happiness needs to only look like one thing of be associated to one thing. i can find my happiness in this very moment. then it had me remembering the law of attraction and how this is kind of a good hack. if i want to be happy and living in excitement, i need to start doing so now. me being happy and exhilarated attracts. more and more opportunities for it to me, so it can open the doors to the joy im seeking by experiencing it in the now. this us a word salad and idc.

[suspcnd]

It took a lot longer to get himself through the door of the museum than it used to. He used to be drawn to it with such strong magnetism, a joy in his life that he shared with his wife. Now he was only left with an aching pit in his chest that asked him over and over again who would be so stupid as to entangle themselves so fully into a life with someone else, married or otherwise.

She was everywhere. At work, in the museum, engraved in ink into his very own skin; there was nowhere Gabriel could go that he could ever escape her. Even the idea of 'escaping' her made him sick. He had set all of these traps, wove his own web, and now he was stuck in it. For so many years it was exactly where he wanted to be, but now it felt like he had to drag himself through hell every single day to pay for his own sins.

So yes, that day, he was late. He didn't want to show at all, but just like every day he forced himself through that feeling into bleak reality. As he entered Nora's workshop, his stomach twisted and threatened to bring up the contents of his stomach - which at this point was just coffee. He had forgotten breakfast again. Seeing her immediately drew his mind to the way he wondered if he should pick up anything for her from the coffee shop, the way he walked with his head high rather than hunched over like she had always reminded him to do, the way she brightened a room just by being in it.

But none of that mattered anymore.

"Hey." He responded, his gaze fixated on the painting she was working on to avoid eye contact. "Uh, no." Then why had he come? "I just wanted to discuss the framing of the last piece with you." He couldn't remember if they had agreed on it yet. He couldn't remember the last thing they agreed on at all. He leaned in closer to the painting she was working on, his eyes narrowing. "Beautiful." He muttered, unable to help himself as he admired her work.

@suspcnd

this painting's condition was terrible, and yet nora loved the time it took to slowly bring it back to the beauty it once was. dirty, burnt, a broken thing and with her magic fingers she fixes it. if only life was this easy. it was moments like these that she has a quick thought of what if she could have saved her marriage, fix it like she did paintings and sculptures that came to the museum broken.

they tried, of course they tried. between the fighting, the yelling, they were always so passionate about each other; an obsession that went beyond simple love. they were so happy, they were each other's air, blood, sweat and tears. like a drug they couldn't quit and whenever they tried they would shake so badly that they'll be back into each other's arms and throats.

gabriel and her, they were killing each other. slowly. their fire clashed, burning too bright for either of them to handle. did she still love him? of course, there's nothing on this god's green earth that will ever make nora stop loving gabriel. but it's better this way, that they're not together anymore. they won't tear each other to pieces.

they still work at the same school because quite frankly they weren't going to lose their successful career just because they're in the same place. they're adults, surely they can manage to work together. it's easier in the school, they hardly talk unless it's about a student that happen to study both dance and art history or at a faculty meeting but other than that? they sadly still see each other at the museum. art was the thing that brought them together, after all.

nora let the painting dry as the door opened, gabriel walking in. "hey." she greeted, like how a civilized adult would. "im working on a new painting, is this urgent?"

[amwritesitall]

Assigning the Sarahs Imaginary Authors Perfumes

Niche content from yours truly. I did spend a lot of time contemplating this though. Also, the "notes" and "when to wear" section is from imaginary authors website

Masterlist

Billie Dean Howard

Fragrance Name: Whispered Myths

Notes: Natural Cambodian Oud, Cantaloupe, Cedarwood, Muskdana, Honey, Salvaged Shipwreck

When to Wear: This is a classic scent with deep historic undertones. It is long-lasting, bold, and artful. Wear it with reverence and appreciate your dynamic place in this big, crazy world.

Lana Winters

Fragrance Name: Slow Explosions

Notes: Saffron, Rose Absolute, Leather, Apple, Benzoin, Cashmeran, Arpora Night Market

When to Wear: With pops of rose and hits of saffron, this scent explodes on the skin and awakens the senses. Every inhale will open you up to the idea of escape, push you to take risks, and embolden you to get truly lost. Let us know how it goes.

Cordelia Goode

Fragrance Name: Saint Julip

Notes: Sweet Mint, Tangerine, Southern Magnolia, Bourbon, Grisalva, Sugarcube

When to Wear: When the weight of the world seems too much to bear, a prayer to Saint Julep will not only soothe, it will give you the aplomb to keep marching forward.

Bette and Dot

Fragrance Name: Yesterday Haze

Notes: Fig, Iris, Cream, Tonka, Tree Bark, Walnut Bitters, Orchard Dust

When to Wear: The seductive, dreamlike quality of this scent works like a magnet. Use it liberally during the day and, as it lingers into night, watch as those around you are lured into your sphere.

Sally McKenna

Fragrance Name: A City on Fire

Notes: Cade oil, Spikenard, Cardamom, Clearwood, Dark Berries, Labdanum, Burnt Match

When to Wear: The refined smoke accord makes this an austere and luxurious scent for evenings on the town, whether with a special someone or alone and looking for trouble.

Audrey Tindall

Fragrance Name: Sundrunk

Notes: Neroli, Rhubarb, Honeysuckle, Rose Water, Orange Zest, First Kiss

When to Wear: The obvious choice is to plunge into this scent at the peak of summer, allowing the cool citrus to wash your worries away. Less obvious is to douse yourself in the darker months, letting your skin soak up the sun and radiate it outward when it matters most.

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Fragrance Name: Fox in the Flowerbed

Notes: Jasmine, Tulips, Frankincense, Wildflower Honey, Pink Peppercorns, Silver Thistle, Alpine Air

When to Wear: Wearing this floral wonder will amplify the beauty in everything. It’s a versatile scent, doubling as a mood-lifter during the day and bringing an ethereal elegance to nights out. Don't be led astray by the name, there is nothing animalic or off-putting about this scent.

Wilhemina Venable

Fragrance Name: O, Unknown!

Notes: Black Tea, Lapsang Souchong Tincture, Orris Butter, Kyoto Moss, Musk Balsam, Sandalwood, ???

When to Wear: At the risk of sounding bleak, this night could be your last. Splash on O, Unknown! and plunge forth into prosperity and joy. Repeat as often as you are able.

Mildred Ratched

Fragrance Name: Every Storm a Serenade

Notes: Danish Spruce, Eucalyptus, Vetiver, Calone, Ambergris, Baltic Sea Mist

When to Wear: Don’t be detoured by perceptions of ambergris, this is an everyday scent for those with discriminating taste.

Harriet Hayes

Fragrance Name: Memoirs of a Trespasser

Notes: Madagascar Vanilla, Guaiacwood, Myrrh, Benzoin Resin, Ambrette Seeds, Oak Barrels

When to Wear: A true adventure scent, wear Memoirs of a Trespasser when traveling, and again when you’re back home to conjure comforting memories.

Alice Macray

Fragrance Name: Telegrama

Notes: Talc, Lavender Absolute, Black Pepper, Teak, Amyris, Vanilla Powder, Fresh Linens

When to Wear: Inspired by a vintage first-class experience, this plush scent has the ability to turn even the most ordinary day into something dignified and memorable. Indulge often.