#remainder that i am not from an english country

[phoneycam]

Codywan but Hanahaki disease

I just remembered that i challenged myself to write shit and the randomiser just made me angstie with this one.

Y’all know how the disease work right? If not, here is the fanlore page to explain a little.

Resume: Obi-Wan is painfully remainded that he loves too much... in multiple ocasions.

1. Quinlan Vos

2. Satine

3. Cody

.

So!

There is this disease that is just kinda normalized by the galaxie. It’s normal to fall in love with someone you shouldn’t, everyone is beautiful and gorgeous in their own way you know? So there are clinics, doctors, specialized post-surgery treatments and things like that.

But for the Jedi it’s a delicate topic. For a jedi to have the hanahaki disease is rare and not always well recived. It’s a bit of a taboo subject let’s say. 

A good amount of people think that they are incapable of getting this disease. Those who know are divided. Some think it shouldn’t be treated any different than any other medical condition, other that it’s a test from the force to prove padawans or to redirect them to the light side, and the most extreme think it’s a sign of the force that they are not destined to be part of the order. 

So imagine the shitshow that unfolded when Obi-Wan, not even a padawan yet, was rushed to the healing halls after spitting a flower mide training.

This unruly and loud 11 year old youngling was having a harsh time with some rather rude bullies when he got to know a chaotic young padawan that kicked their asses. Quinlan Vos was with who he would get like house on fire. It didn’t took long for both of them to become an inseparable and terrifying duo. 

Obi-Wan was a goner before even knowing what that meant. So after some time, Quinlan is gone on a mission with his master and Obi is missing him crazy while trying to train (and failing) and in one of his moments of like, recalibrating his breathing he hears some classmate.

“Surely he’s missing his boyfriend” 

And it is like a whiplash of emotion just colliding. The frustration from the failing training session, shock from realizing something he didn’t wanted, shame and the rage directed to the other younglings, homesickness from Quinlans absense and just plain and suffocating fear. 

He felt horrible, like he’d being punched in the stomach multiple times... 

He wanted to vomit...

and he did.

It would take time for everything to go back to normal. After the surgery, Obi-Wan would start being more quiet and fearful, but when everybody kept avoiding him and yet the looks and whispers still followed him, that fearfullness became anger. Anger he would lash out at anyone who was close enough to make him snap and then escape. 

He wouldn’t even get close to Quinlan for years. Only when he was back from certain kriffed up planet overbeaten by a useless civil-war did he brakedown to finally get a hug from a friend. 

((I will explain Qui-Gon later if someone is interested ùwu7))

The second time it happens he was 16 and in another war infested planet. 

Satine was insufferable. After getting separeted from his master, Obi-Wan was condemned to protect this blonde girl that seemed to enjoy getting in his nerves at any given moment, even when they were on a clear danger scene, calling him by several... innovative names, laughing when he tripped or just hitting him when she thought he said or did something stupid.

He was honestly starting to question if this misssion was worth his sanity when a bad encounter gets them to bond while hiding. They where both badly hurt and without any other option, were forced to truly depend on each other.

Over the rest of the year it would grow to become something more, but it wasn’t the time nor the place to let it flourish.

They had become important for the other in that certain way that would meet the needs of both of them at the moment. But they never got to become friends in the first place. So when the moment to split came, they both knew it wasn’t meant no matter how much it hurt. And it hurt.

Qui-Gon was silent during all the farewell. He wasn’t stupid, he knew something was up as soon as they had been reunited, so he wasn’t too surprised when the flowers came. They had barely left land when the cough started and by the time they where hitting lightspeed, Obi-Wan got send to the back of the ship where his master performed a highly clandestine surgery with the help of the medical droid.

When he wakes up after the surgery, Obi-Wan proceeds to pass the 5 stages of grief. Qui-Gon is nothing but patient through the hole process. 

When his padawan tries to play dumb to himself, he just remaind him of the flowers. When he gets defensive, he just projects calm and serenity through the force. When the anxiety grows to much to the point to ask to please not to tell to the counsil about it, Qui-Gon promises to never tell a soul and when the inevitable brakedown comes in, he comms Quinlan to wait for them in the landing pad.

the fifth stage would take a long time to come. In fact, Qui-Gon wouldn’t even be alive to see it happen. It would be almost two decades and it would come in the form of a person. 

It would be the start of the second year of war. Obi-Wan was putting an unhealthy amount of sugar on a cup of caff when he stopped himself at a realization. He didn’t like sugar on his caff, hell, he didn’t even licked caff! So why in the name of the force did he had it in his personal space??

“General?”

His commanders voice startles him. He turns around to be comfronted with a familiar sight. Cody was only using the bottom part of his armor, one hand resting on the bed he was currently sitting on and the other holding the datapad he was previusly compiling. A worried look acompagning his slowly not so relaxed position.

“Is everything ok sir?”

Oh.

Oh dear...

The realization would come... peacefully. Of course it would be Cody. His wonderfull commander had crowled into his heart slowly and deliberately without knowing. With the reasuring presence, strategic mind and dry humor, it was just logical that Obi-Wan would fall for him... Also because he couldn’t do anything about it. They are at war, he is his superior and he had a duty to fulfil.

The jedi took a deep breath when the familiar sensation starts to fill in, only this time, he doesn’t panic and run to the madical hall. No, this time is different. This time he isn’t overcome with anything if not acceptance. 

This is his commander, who he loves dearly and can’t do anything about it.

So, with a reassuring tone and adoring smile, he responds.

“It’s nothing my dear, just questioning myself about the amount of sugar I see you consume”

Cody watches him closely for a couple seconds before smirking. They both know he is lying but this is not the time to talk about it.

“Sure sir, don’t you worry about it. It’s what keeps my sweet personality alive, other wise it would be crush by tha amount of useless paperwork we are given”

Obi-Wan just chuckles covering a discrete cough and turns to finish their drinks. 

[covid-safer-hotties]

With COVID-19 relief gone, teachers are losing their jobs. It's a blow to diversity. - Published Sept 3, 2024

Erica Popoca's ninth grade English students were livid in the spring when she told them she wouldn't be back to teach this fall.

The district where she works in Hartford, Connecticut, terminated her contract because the COVID-19 relief money that covered her salary was about to dry up. Newer teachers such as Popoca were the first to be cut. Her students wrote letters urging school board members to change their minds.

Popoca, the founding adviser of the multilingual student club, worried she would lose bonds with Latino students she had taught for two years who identify with her culturally as a Latina and as one of the few teachers who speaks Spanish at the school.

The district ultimately came up with other funding to pay her, and in a win for her and her students, officials reversed the layoff.

Popoca is among the thousands of teachers and school staffers across the U.S. at risk of losing their jobs as districts balance their budgets and prepare for the shortfall after COVID-19 relief money expires. Districts have been scrambling to put unfunded staffers into different roles. The reality is that many students will lose contact with adults with whom they have built relationships in recent years.

The Biden administration granted schools $189.5 billion over the past few years through the Elementary and Secondary School Emergency Relief Fund (ESSER) under the American Rescue Plan Act. School officials have until the end of September to commit the remainder of their money, and districts will no longer be able to pay for nonteaching staff roles with that money after Sept. 30. Schools nationwide used most of their relief fund money to pay for classroom teachers and support staff, according to a U.S. Department of Education analysis of district spending for fiscal year 2022. Districts across the country are now laying off recently hired educators, teaching assistants, counselors, restorative justice coordinators and other key staff at schools, or they're scrambling to find ways to retain them.

A recent survey of 190 district leaders by the nonprofit research group Rand found that teacher reductions were "the most common budget cut" officials anticipated. Conversations about staff layoffs cropped up in at least 28 districts ahead of the upcoming fiscal cliff, according to a tracker of media reports from the Georgetown University-based research center Edunomics Lab, which monitors potential layoffs at districts.

The post-pandemic layoffs have been widespread. Montana's Helena Public Schools cut 36 positions, including 21 teachers. The Arlington Independent School District in Texas cut 275 positions, including counselors, tutors and teaching support staff.

Newer teachers are the first to go in states that allow or require districts to use "last-in-first-out" policies, which protect tenured teachers – and many people terminated will be staffers of color, said Aaron Pallas, a professor of sociology and education at Columbia University. States that diversified their educator workforce in the past several years will see a backslide in that progress since "recently hired staff who are often more diverse" will be "laid off more than experienced staff who often are more traditionally white," he said.

Schools serving low-income students will be hit hardest by the shift in funding because those campuses received more federal relief money, Pallas said.

Schools were required to comply with some equity provisions when obligating the relief money. The end of the funding will disparately affect students of color and kids in high-poverty neighborhoods.

Popoca, who comes from the Bronx in New York City, is concerned about what the losses will mean for her school.

"I am relieved but wary because quite a few positions are still vacant," she said. "We don’t have the amount of staff we're supposed to have, and I'm concerned about how the lack of staff is going to impact the students and the school."

Which states are likely to lose new teachers? At least 11 states – Alaska, California, Hawaii, Kentucky, Massachusetts, Missouri, Nebraska, New Jersey, New York, Ohio and Rhode Island – last year had policies explicitly requiring districts to consider seniority in layoff decisions, according to a 2023 analysis from Educators for Excellence, a New York-based nonprofit organization that supports state laws that rid of seniority-based considerations from layoff decisions. Some other states, including Connecticut, where Popoca lives, allow districts to consider seniority in layoff decisions among other factors, but it's not required. Some states ban districts from considering seniority as a factor.

Because junior teachers tend to begin their careers in higher-poverty schools, there could be cases in which schools lose high percentages of their staff, said Marguerite Roza, director of Georgetown University's Edunomics Lab.

"It's really disruptive for students," Roza said. "And it's not great for teachers."

When Popoca told her class of mostly Black and Latino eighth graders last spring that she would be laid off, they were heartbroken. She's one of a few new staffers of color returning to the district this year. A few of her colleagues lost their jobs in the spring and won't be back when school starts, she said.

What should families expect to see at schools? In addition to the emergency funding layoffs, Roza said, many teachers may leave of their own accord. Some districts may also try to shrink their staffing pools with attrition rather than layoffs.

"They're going to hope and pray teachers just leave," Roza said.

Most of the cuts will likely hit the pool of support staff districts beefed up during the pandemic to help kids recover, Columbia's Pallas said.

The counselors, nurses, restorative justice coordinators and teaching assistants added to campus staff in recent years will be gone, and students and their school communities will start to feel that loss by the start of this school year, he said.

Francis Pina is one of several staffers and one of few Black men hired by Boston Public Schools to train teachers how to infuse social-emotional learning into classroom teaching. At the end of last year, he learned his role and the jobs of most new staffers on his team would be dissolved because it was considered a short-term position. Boston Public Schools paid Pina with COVID-19 emergency money through the end of the past academic year.

Pina will return as a high school math teacher this year, but he worries about what will happen to the district's social-emotional learning program.

When he heard his role was coming to an end, Pina said, he was nervous because he felt it was "really important to support students" still facing pandemic-related academic, social and emotional setbacks. He says students in the district haven't worked through all of those losses, even if the district has gone back to the "status quo."

As a Black man who attended Boston Public Schools, he believes he offers a unique perspective to kids, including Black students, and helps them thrive academically and emotionally in school.

"Prioritizing this is important," Pina said. "Kids need to know we care about them."

Teacher diversification will face a setback Diversity among the teaching staff has improved in recent years in Massachusetts, where Pina teaches. But the state's last-in-first-out policy means schools will lose diversification in the workforce, Roza, from the research lab at Georgetown, said.

That's a problem considering students of color are the majority at public schools in the U.S. Nearly one-fourth of public schools did not have an educator of color on staff, according to a May analysis of state-by-state data from TNTP, a nonprofit organization focused on the needs of students of color and those in poverty. Academic studies show students of color perform better academically when they have teachers from diverse backgrounds

There's a surprising reason: Why many schools don't have a single Black teacher

Representation on campuses may be further diminished when the emergency funding ends.

To stave off those losses and rescind seniority-based layoffs, some lawmakers tried to change how layoffs work, but they ran into pushback from the state teachers union, which said the policies harmed protections for senior educators. In March, the Massachusetts Legislature rejected sections of education bills that would have removed seniority considerations as the sole factor for layoffs.

“While we are happy to see the legislature taking strides to improve teacher diversity in Massachusetts, it is disheartening to see that the Education Committee chose not to prioritize protecting these very educators in the event of district layoffs,” Lisa Lazare, executive director of Educators for Excellence's Massachusetts chapter, said in a news release.

More new staffers of color are expected to face layoffs this year, Roza said.

For now, Popoca, in Connecticut, is looking forward to returning to the classroom and seeing her students – many of whom come from Latin American countries and with whom she feels a special bond. She's worried about the cuts, she says, because the school needs more teachers and support staff, not less.

She already has heard from people she knows who had considered entering the teaching profession in Hartford or elsewhere who have pulled back because of the district's lack of money.

"It's really concerning," she said.

[harrycosmo]

“The unbosoming of an ugly duckling,” will be the title of all this nonsense. - Anne Frank, Friday 14th April 1944 Notes on 'The Diary of a Young Girl'

Saturday 19th February 1944 The giddy ups and downs of Anne Frank -

Tuesday 7th March 1944 Anne Frank’s advice for those in a state of melancholy -

She’s such a little philosopher, breaking down the flaws in her mum’s advice. Bet she annoyed the pants off the others in the Secret Annex simply by thinking critically and trying to discuss things. That’s why they harassed her with criticisms so much.

Thursday 23rd March 1944 Envious old guys tryna sabotage Anne & Peter, Peter blushing and Anne being shamelessly vain -

Monday 27th March 1944 Every resident of the Secret Annex is crowded around the radio listening to Winston Churchill making a speech. '... I am wearing a nightdress, which is much too small, too narrow and too short.' Anne doesn't say how she feels about this situation. She does say that 'Peter's eyes are popping out of his head' but she attributes this to the strain of listening to the radio.

Tuesday 28th March 1944 I like it much better if he explains something to me than when I have to teach him; I would really adore him to be my superior in almost everything.' DO GIRLS WANT YOU TO MANSPLAIN OR NOT?!

He longs to kiss you too, Anne. It's because he's afraid of rejection, embarrassment and shame.

Tuesday 4th April 1944 "Eva's Dream" is my best fairy-tale, and the queer thing about it is that I don't know where it comes from. Eva's Dream features a rose who is full of herself just like the flower in The Little Prince. The Little Prince had already been published but only six months before this diary entry and in America, not Europe, which means Anne couldn’t have read it.

Tuesday 11th April 1944 "Then they will find Anne's diary," added Daddy. "Burn it then," suggested the most terrified member of the party. This, and when the police rattled the cupboard door, were my worst moments. "Not my diary, if my diary goes, I go with it!" But luckily Daddy didn't answer. .......................... If we bear all this suffering and if there are still Jews left, when it is over, then Jews, instead of being doomed, will be held up as an example. Who knows, it might even be our religion from which the world and all peoples learn good, and for that reason and that reason only do we have to suffer now. We can never become just Netherlanders, or just English, or representatives of any country for that matter, we will always remain Jews, but we want to, too. ............................... For the remainder of this epic entry in her diary, Anne takes stock of herself and states some of her dreams for the future after the war is over. An indomitable spirit.

Friday 14th April 1944 "The unbosoming of an ugly duckling," will be the title of all this nonsense.

Sunday morning just before eleven o'clock, 16th April 1944 Poor darling Peter awkwardly fumbling his way towards kissing Anne on the ear. Anne in ecstasy.

Monday 17th April 1944 Dear Kitty, Do you think that Mummy and Daddy would approve of my sitting and kissing a boy on a divan - a boy of seventeen and a half and a girl of just under fifteen? I don't really think they would, but I must rely on myself over this. ............. To exchange our thoughts, that shows confidence, and faith in each other; we would both be sure to profit by it! Yours, Anne.

Wednesday 19th April 1944 It is so soothing and peaceful to feel his arms around me, to know that he is close by and yet to remain silent, it can’t be bad, for this tranquillity is good.

Friday 28th April 1944 First kiss on the lips.

Friday 5th May 1944 Anne shares what she intends to tell Daddy in defence of her right to go upstairs for a snog. Very forthright and long-winded. Poor Daddy. The next day, Pim (Daddy) reads it in a letter that Anne gives him and he's upset for the whole evening. Anne talks about it as if she's being grown up but I think she actually enjoys how much it upsets him, which is very childish. The day after that, Pim tells her how hurt he was by her words and Anne realises how obnoxious she's been and is ashamed of herself.

Wednesday 14th June 1944 Aged just 15, Anne works out the narcissistic defence mechanism that is projection and also understands how being far more self-critical than others has emotional and social consequences for her. She may be over-estimating how much of an inner life Peter has. He's not as brilliant as her and he may just simply not have those profound thoughts and feelings like she has -

Thursday 15th June 1944 It's not imagination on my part when I say that to look up at the sky, the clouds, the moon and the stars makes me calm and patient. It's a better medicine than either valerian or bromine; Mother Nature makes me humble and prepared to face every blow courageously.

Thursday 6th July 1944 I've so often thought how lovely it would be to have someone's complete confidence, but now, now that I'm that far, I realise how difficult it is to think what the other person is thinking and then to find the right answer.

Saturday 15th July 1944 I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquillity will return again. In the meantime, I must uphold my ideals, for perhaps the time will come when I shall be able to carry them out.

Friday 21st July 1944 With her second last diary entry, Anne is over-excited from optimism about the trajectory of the war and very jokey. So tragic.

Tuesday 1st August 1944 I can't keep that up: if I'm watched to that extent, I start by getting snappy, then unhappy, and finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be, if... there weren't any other people living in the world.

EPILOGUE As for the two girls, they had been sent to Bergen-Belsen in Germany two months before their mother's death. There Anne showed the same qualities of courage and endurance which had already made her noteworthy at Auschwitz. In February, 1945, both the sisters caught Typhus. One day Margot, who was lying in the bunk immediately above Anne's, seeking to rise, lost her hold and fell on to the floor. In her weakened state the shock killed her. Her sister's death did to Anne what all her previous sufferings had failed to do: it broke her spirit. A few days later, in early March, she died.

................................................

“I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore I am grateful to God for this gift, this possibility of developing myself and of writing, of expressing all that is in me. I can shake off everything if I write; my sorrows disappear; my courage is reborn. But, and that is the great question, will I ever be able to write anything great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?” - Anne Frank

Anne, you were wonderful, lovely and amazing, a great writer and a great person, and you always will be.

[astoryinred]

"Trese" and the truth in the fiction

In short: why the actual monsters in Trese don't have horns, wings, or summoning rituals

Finally the Netflix anime adaptation of the Filipino graphic novel/comics series "Trese" has dropped. It is available in several languages such as English, Filipino, Japanese, Spanish...just to name a few. It is not a perfect work, both in technical terms as well as an adaptation of the source material, but it is worth a watch. Go watch it. Please.

That being said, there is so much to unpack about the series, and I do not mean in terms of the voice-acting and the ethnicities of the persons involved, or just how crunched together the writing is. I will leave that to the critics. What I am writing here is a view as to the real life truths woven into the horror/supernatural threads of the "Trese" episodes, and why these are important. It's because for a lot of people encountering "Trese" at this point, the actual every day monsters of the tale (or at least of the first 4 episodes) are even more distant than the aswangs, tikbalangs, nunos and other supernatural beings that populate the anime.

This will go into spoilers below the cut

Episode 1: The series opens with a train stopping right near the "Guadalupe Station", and some of its passengers being attacked by aswang as they walk along the railroad tracks. During the course of investigating this and another case (that of a ghost murdered on Balete Drive), Alexandra Trese learns that other spirits using this train line have recently perished in a fire or have also been murdered by aswang in league with a politician.

The squatter/informal settler community mentioned in this episode is based on a real one. That area has gone up in flames from accidental and not so accidental fires over the past few decades. Some of the settlers have moved on, but a good many have stubbornly stuck around despite the land being eyed by a large property developer. That area is a symptom of the inequality that plagues that particular part of the metropolis, since it is only less than a mile away from some of the country's swankiest gated subdivisions. While the powers that be are (probably) not involved in selling anyone for meat, they still have a long way to go to address the woes of that community when it is not election season.

As for the other murder in the episode? There have been several cases of women associated with or married to prominent politicians who have died in mysterious circumstances, with some of these deaths ruled as suicide. In many cases, the truth has been hushed up, or simply swept under the rug.

Episode 2: While Alexandra is pursuing the trail of a tikbalang running wild in the city, she also is called to investigate a mysterious series of electrocutions in a gated village. Along the way she discovers that this is a form of human sacrifice to the bagyons manning the electricity providers of the city.

As reprehensible as the bagyons are, what is truly sickening is the seeming indifference of the people in Livewell Village. It's mentioned more in the comics (but also given a line or two of exposition here by the Nuno) that the people regularly offer an outsider, usually a skilled worker in charge of maintenance, to ensure that the bagyon will bless them. In real life there is the callousness that some people exhibit towards essential workers such as yes, repairmen and electricians who have to endure heights and storms just to ensure the "comfort" of consumers. Although the Philippines isn't a country crawling with litiginous folk and "Karens", there are enough of this sort to make essential workers' lives miserable on a daily basis.

Episode 3: This is a difficult one, both in the comics and the anime. One of Trese's cases leads her to cross paths with an actress named Nova, who is later revealed to have had her child left to die (hence making her a target for a specific type of monster). Nova's story is admittedly not easy to deal with and may be considered incredulous, but there are two important contexts to remember when watching it.

The first is that abortion is still illegal throughout the Philippines. It cannot be legally offered by any clinic or medical practitioner. There are clandestine alternatives available, but at a steep price.

That being said, most Filipinos regardless of where they stand on the abortion issue will still consider the abandonment or murder of an infant to be beyond the pale. Yet this does happen. Every month one can expect to read a story or two of babies being tossed in the trash or left in bathrooms---and those are just the stories that make it to the press. There have been exposes about mothers who have sold off their infants to "adopters" willing to pay thousands of pesos or dollars for an under the table transfer of custody. These happen because of desperation, poverty, and lack of resources to support mothers. Maternity leave is only up to 120 days here in most cases, and there are few resources to support mothers with PPD, mothers abandoned by their partners, or those with just too many mouths to feed. Questions of "bodily autonomy" are not first and foremost in the mind of many women who do the worst to their newborns; the question is food on the table for the next day or the day after. Survival is key. Not independence or empowerment.

With these in mind, it is not surprising that Nova is considered one of the most disturbing and reprehensible characters in this episode. From what we see, her choice of abandoning her child stems from vanity and pursuit of a glamorous career. We can see that this is not because she would be out on the streets if she had a child to care for, or because she was escaping something. It's just portrayed as pure selfishness.

It is interesting that Nova is introduced here almost as a juxtaposition to another mother, Ramona. Ramona, the mother of Crispin and Basilio, is an armed insurgent who engages in a ritual to avenge herself on the military men who forced her to murder her own comrades. It is also implied earlier in the season that it was not just murder involved, but that Ramona had also been a "prize" given to the soldiers who captured her. And yes in this context, it can also mean rape. The Armed Forces of the Philippines does not have a shining record when it comes to its treatment of women dissidents and prisoners. This backstory does not justify what Ramona does for the remainder of her screentime, but it does show why she has absolutely no sympathy or mercy to give to anyone outside of her two children. She is part of a cycle of killing that makes any peaceful resolution of the insurgency in the Philippines so difficult to achieve. Both sides behave abominably, and civillians do get caught in the crossfire (or explosions).

Episode 4: Much of this episode revolves around the events in and surrounding a certain police station located near a large public cemetery. We see that the police chief Captain Guerrero has his hands full with cases and keeping his subordinates in line. The cops in the precinct range from the innocent apparent newcomer Tapia to the more stereotypical "asshole" cops Reyes and company. Later it is discovered that the bodies apparently "stolen" from the graves are resurrected zombies who are being directed to attack the station for a specific reason...and it has to do with how the police run their often bloody operations.

The real life neighborhoods surrounding the cemetery have seen their share of violence and "extra judicial killings". In some houses there are still candles and placards calling for justice for family members killed in raids or accused of having been drug suspects (almost a death sentence in the Philippines 2016 onwards). Eyewitnesses and CCTV footage show members of the police force taking part in these raids and clandestine operations. The worst part? The neighborhoods surrounding that particular cemetery haven't even seen the worst of it. Other disadvantaged communities in the north of the metropolis have seen even more deaths of this sort...with some of the deaths being those of children. Google the name of Kian delos Santos as a test case. Kian's case was one of the few to have extended media coverage, and even then the resolution has been rather wanting.

It is tempting to go into the "all cops are bastards" line of thought with this episode, but I do like how Captain Guerrero is forced to interact with someone who he is trying to save in the station, since as it turns out this person has recently lost a family member to this form of senseless murder. Captain Guerrero and the audience are led to remember that these victims have names. They had families. They had lives. They are more than body counts and statistics. That scene is one of the most humanizing of the series, and shows that while not all cops are bastards, there is enough rot in the institution to make it a problem.

Episodes 5-6: I would go more into Episodes 5 and 6, but those deserve a whole new treatment into the nature of truth, compromise, and even gaslighting (even I am not sure how much of a certain character's narrative is true, and how much is just meant to confuse Alexandra with regard to what she knows of her father). The context she does face before those harrowing revelations is a very real one though: things going wrong in a penitentiary.

The penal system of the Philippines is alarmingly punitive and full of inequities. Privileged inmates like politicians do receive special treatment (including media coverage and becoming leaders of factions) while less privileged inmates languish and must struggle to survive the brutal social hiearchy in some institutions. And yes it has happened that inmates have been sent out to do "jobs" of murder and arson in the outside world, often being snuck in and out. A movie that tackles this aspect better is "OTJ (On the Job)" directed by Erik Matti. That one will keep you up at night.

The ending of Episode 6 is rather ambiguous, and it remains to be seen what Alexandra really experienced during her trials prior to becoming a detective, and what her father really did to her and her sibling. We'll have to wait for another season to get to the bottom of that. But if the anime will continue to draw from the comics themselves for stories/case files, we can count on seeing more societal demons and baddies alongside the supernatural ones. And those are the villains that Alexandra Trese cannot just readily beat; it will take a heck lot more than a babaylan na mandirigma to handle those!

[eppysboys]

A letter from Stuart Sutcliffe to Astrid Kircherr, whom he addresses as ‘Darling Angel-face, Astrid, my love.’ The first paragraph is in Sutcliffe’s broken German, a language he was then learning; the remainder is in English. Undated. 

(In part, translated) Today is terrible, but I arrived back home this morning…. Everything I am about to say is quite unimportant and only between the two of us. My youthful bustle … is filling one room with transparent string noodles - I am always the elephant in the china store - the frosty elephant in the mirror…. 

(In English) Dearest, darling Astrid, In this moment I am so unhappy, everything is wrong for me and I need you so much to talk to and be a bit angry with (my little chats (darling)) The customs man was so horrible and took all my things and I have stand [sic] one hour and he said I must leave the camera with him … till I go home, now I can’t make beautiful photographs like I have wish [sic]. I am so sad angel, because when you were here then all would be different and I would not be intersted [sic]. You must not be frightened about the camera, when I come home I have it again. He said I must pay £18!! to take it into the country, but I won’t tell you everything, I will wait till I come back to you, my little angel. I hope you are not big cranky, I am so angry with these stupid people, because they make me so nervous and hysterical and then I write horrible letters to you ... In the train still my angelic little princess, and how much I miss you already. You can’t count the sighs, or know how small I feel without your love. So sad, a little girl with her mother sits by me, the little girl is only a baby but she seems to know how to make me think about you. She drinks her orange so quickly (like you, when you drink the cold milk from the ice-box) and her eyes so big and happy and she holds her little stomach ... I have open [sic] the case and see your terribly sad little letter, my heart is so ashamed and lies in broken pieces in my stomach...

[grinoir]

Religious Medievalism: “Stregheria”, Wicca and History - part 1

[TN: This article will break the Introduction to Stregoneria series for a second, but I believe it’s important to set things into perspective about both Witchcraft and this blog. My goal is to put out content, translated or redacted by me, in order to give people the correct historical information. I see a lot people on TikTok messing with things they don’t know, appropriating and distorting practices and cultures and profiting off of it. The only focus of this blog is the practice and the history behind it, I don’t want to “put people down”, I want to make the information available so you won’t hurt yourselves.

Also, I do not support fa***sm, na**sm or any other movement/ideology that oppresses and discriminates people. I’m specifiying this because I’ve received an anonymous ask about it and it kind of hurt just reading it. I hope this will clarify things and make whoever asked me that more confortable with my blog and my content. I’m a history nerd Strega, nothing more.

This article will be a translation, synthesis and re-elaboration of the following articles

https://tradizioneitaliana.wordpress.com/2020/11/12/medievalismo-religioso-stregheria-wicca-e-storia/

https://medievaleggiando.it/la-legittimazione-storica-della-wicca-margaret-murray-e-la-manipolazione-delle-fonti/

https://medievaleggiando.it/il-vangelo-delle-streghe-e-linizio-della-wicca-il-fascino-di-un-falso-storico/

The first being a rectification of the two that follow.

This article will be divided in two parts because it’s way too long to read and to translate, i’m drained af]

THE DEBUNKING OF MURRAY

Margaret Alice Murray (1863-1963) was a British Anthropologist and Egyptologist, well known in the academic environment for her contributions in the studies of folklore. Even if she was very criticized and her reputation as an historian was poor, her work became popular bestsellers from 1940 onward.

The most well-known and controversial one is “The Witch-Cult in the Western Europe” published in 1921. In this book, Murray alleges that there was some sort of secret model of pagan resistance to Christianity spreaded all across Europe, and that the witches’ hunt and the proof presented to the trials were an attempt to eliminate a rival cult.

This book was clearly influenced by “Satanism and Witchcraft” by Jules Michelet, that alleged that Medieval Witchcraft was an act of popular rebellion against the oppression of feudalism and the Roman Catholic church, that took the form of a secret religion inspired by paganism and organized mainly by women.

To support her narrative, Murray chooses to analyze some of the trials that took place during the great hunt and employs 15 primary sources, mostly British or Scottish (not paneuropean, or sources from the european continent), that describe famous trials. Murray’s analysis of the Somerset Trials in 1664 offer a good example of her work ethics; quoting the testimony of Elizabeth Styles:

“At their meeting they have usually Wine or good Beer, Cakes, Meat or the like. They eat and drink really when they meet in their bodies, dance also and have Musick. The Man in black sits at the higher end, and Anne Bishop usually next him. He useth some words before meat, and none after, his voice is audible, but very low.”

Murray conveniently seems to “forget” to quote the immediately preceding phrase:

”That at every meeting before the Spirit vanisheth away, he appoints the next meeting place and time, and at his departure there is a foul smell.”

Other details offered by Styles are omitted, like when she alleges that the Devil presented to her in the shape of a dog or a cat or a fly, that the Devil offered her followers an oinment to use on their heads and wrists that made it possible to move them from a place to another. Or that sometimes the reunion involved only the spirits of the witches, while their bodies stayed at home.

Murray was fully aware of the fantasy element in the testimonies she included in her books, but she was able, by deliberately manipulating historical sources, to make people believe the fake narrative that a Medieval religion of witches with covens, rites and their own beliefs that relentlessy opposed Christianity really existed.

In her “The God of the Witches”, published in 1933 and clearly written for a commercial audience, she further broadened the scope of her claims on the witches’ cult. In this book, she alleges that until the C17th BCE the there was a religion, older than Christianity, that kept existing in all of Western Europe. Said religion, was focused on the worship of a two-faced horned god, known to the Romans ad Diano; this god presided the witches’ gathering and was mistaken by the Inquisition of the Devil, conclusion that made them associate witchcraft with a satanic cult.

Murray claims the existence of a *specific* non-christian organized cult spread all across Europe that worshipped Diano and relentlessly opposed the Roman Catholic church, but the sources she quotes are late and recount the flattening of the various “pagan” cults to the assimilation with the christian Devil, operated by the Church.

In fact, the Devil that the trials report on, depending on the religion, overlapped with different figures: in British and Scottish traditions the Devil was the result of the demonization of the King of Elphame. In the Basque country, the Devil substituted Mari. In Northern Italy it overlapped with the Donna del Buon Gioco. This means that the “Northern Italian Devil” is different from the “British Devil” and the “Basque Devil”.

This “Devil” is a figure that flattens everything and overlapped and substituted so many different figures, depending on the religion and the figure it ended up overlapping with.

Therefore, Murray’s narrative of a paneuropean cult of the Horned God stems from the analysis of late sources and to the false equivalence of the Devil that presided the Ludus (Sabba) in Scotland (where he masks the King of Elphame) and the Devil of other countries (where he masks other entities).

Since the Devil isn’t the same entity in all of Europe, the narrative of a counter-christianity organized paneuropean cult of prehistoric origin falls too. Instead, what we’re dealing with are Medieval, non-christian rielaborations of different remainders of the Religions of the Gentiles that survived in the Christian age and were absorbed in the legend of the Faery Procession/Procession of the Dominae Nocturnae first, and the legend of the Ludus (Sabba) later.

The following quote by Ronald Hutton, English historian who specialises in Early Modern Britain, British folklore, pre-Christian religion and Contemporary Paganism and professor at the University of Bristol, confirms this:

“Over a quarter of a century ago, I adopted the expression “Pagan survivals” to describe elements of ancient Pagan culture that had persisted in later Christian societies. In doing so, I was drawing a distinction between such survivals, of which there seemed to be many, and “surviving Paganism”; that is the continued self-conscious practice of the older religions, of which there seemed to be none. This point was worth making because even in the 1980s, there was a persisting belief, based on outdated academic texts, that Paganism had survived as a living force among the common people in much of medieval Europe: it was widespread in other scholarly disciplines than history, let alone among the general public. My formula and approach was adopted by other authors in the 1990s. During that decade, however, a reaction set in against it among historians who preferred to stress the comprehensive Christianization of medieval European societies and to relegate elements that had hither to been identifed as of pagan origin to categories of religiously neutral folklore or of lay Christianity. Some emphasized that the undoubted tendency of some Christians at the time to condemn such beliefs and practices as pagan was a hallmark of a highly atypical, reforming, intolerant and evangelical strain of churchman. Michael’s system of classification, in this volume, may be said to take its place in this, apparently now dominant, set of scholarly attitudes. Revisiting the issue myself, I am inclined to meet it halfway. I am startingto agree that to speak of aspects of medieval culture as “Pagan” might indeed be misleading and inadequate. Moreover, it would be especially inappropriate to characterize fgures such as the lady of the night rides, the fairy queen or the Cailleach as “Pagan survivals” when they seem like medieval or post-medieval creations. However, I have equal diffculty in describing them simply and straightforwardly as “Christian” because of their total lack of reference to any aspect of Christianity, including theology, cosmology, scripture and liturgy; all of them would indeed fit far more comfortably into a Pagan world-picture. […] It may be that the old polarized labels are becoming inadequate to describe a medieval and early modern religious and quasi-religious world that is coming to seem even more complex, exciting and interesting than it had seemed to be before.”

Also Michael Ostling, religious studies scholar focusing on the history, historiography, and representation of witches and witchcraft, confirms this in Fairies, Demons, and Nature Spirits: “Small Gods” at the Margin of Christendom, published in 2018.

“Christians encompass aspects of their prior paganism both by inversion and revaluation. But where traditional spirits remain salient to a Christianized culture in encompassed or inverted form, their ongoing reality ought not to be counted by scholars as a pagan survival—though it is likely to be so construed by Christians themselves. Such “surviving” spirits are not just marginalized or diabolized pagan remnants, they are continually re-performed, recreated through Christian ritual and Christian discourse. We find such re-creation of the small gods throughout Christian history, and throughout this volume: when the Urapmin drive out the motobil by the power of the Holy Spirit, when Andean people frame their propitiation of the yawlu with devotion to the Christian God, when Mami Water appears primarily as a trope of Pentecostal deliverance ministry, when thirteenth-century Frenchwomen see, in an unoffcial Christian saint, their best hope of negotiating the return of their stolen babies from the follets, when the brownie and Robin Goodfellow appear in prayers of protection against them, in assertions of their diabolical status, or in tolerant mention of superstitious old wives who stillbelieve in such “harmless devils,” when cunningwomen insist that they only use “good devils” or that the fairies who facilitate their divination have no fear of the cross, this is because the beings involved have succeeded in taking up a niche within Christian discourse. The “good people” have not departed, have not been driven out by the sound of church-bells or the smell of gasoline. There are no pagan survivals: small gods are Christian creations with which to think the limits of Christianity.”

In essence, Murray’s version of events that describes Paganism as an anti-church, anti-society isn’t backed by any historical evidence.

Sources:

https://tradizioneitaliana.wordpress.com/2020/11/12/medievalismo-religioso-stregheria-wicca-e-storia/

https://medievaleggiando.it/la-legittimazione-storica-della-wicca-margaret-murray-e-la-manipolazione-delle-fonti/

https://medievaleggiando.it/il-vangelo-delle-streghe-e-linizio-della-wicca-il-fascino-di-un-falso-storico/

Michael Ostling. Fairies, Demons, and Nature Spirits: ‘Small Gods’ at the Margins of Christendom. Palgrave Macmillan, 2018.

[marumafan]

Hello! I'm new here but I'm slowly reading through some of your analyses and they're amazing! I plan to maybe buy the Japanese novels after reading the English translated ones online, because it's always good to look at the original language (and I can practice my Japanese xD). On merch, I wanted to ask if you knew about the pop-up corner A3 is having in the next week? Apparently there'll be an acrylic stand signed by Sensei with Wolf and Yuuri and I'd love to buy it. I'm trying to look for a service I can use to maybe get it for me since I live in America, so if you happen to know any places I can use that'd be absolutely wonderful.

Hi there!

To the passing reader: This question is about merchandising information.

1) Pop up store

Yes! I do know about the pop-up store, not sure if I'll go (I might). Pop up store information: HERE

2) Maruma International Purchases

Since it's a physical pop-up store and not online, it might not be possible to acquire the items online , at least not right away. (last time they put up the remainders of an event to be sold HERE ) MORE -> Here's information about buying items from abroad.

Kadokawa has some goods online, maybe you want to check them out HERE.

3) Japanese companies and reaching out

Unfortunately, companies in Japan don't seem to be interested in selling to foreign countries. My advise would be to reach out to these companies online, asking for the products to be sold online and internationally. Nowadays we have places like twitter ( 1. event holder , 2. comic site and 3. head company ) and also their own website, where you can leave comments asking for more availability of goods to be purchased online.

My opinions under the cut:

4) More information and opinion

The people in charge of the maruma series haven't been able to publish their promised and scheduled product (online manga).

In Japan this is a big no-no. I can't explain to people abroad how much you do not promise something and not deliver by the promised date in Japan. This is a cultural thing.

Announcements are usually done when things are ready to be shipped, because in Japan if you promise something it gets done.

The back and forth not only with the manga, but with the pop-up store itself, speaks of levels of disorganization that are unheard of in Japan.

The disorganization is hurting the series itself through engagement, people who were originally interested are going from : 1) 7K likes in engagement for a free picture during the waiting period for the manga (see tweet ) to : 2) 1.5 K likes in 7 hours ( see tweet ) for the announcement of the pop up store that was immediately canceled within HOURS (see tweet). The announcement might have gathered more traction if not immediately cancelled; to: 3) 800 likes for the re-scheduling post (see tweet) ; and finally: 4) 500 likes for the current post (notice that the main company comibushi isn't even publishing it themselves, they got some other 3rd party to post it, robbing the post of traction (see tweet ). Whoever is in charge, has made such a mess that not even their publishing company wants to post an originating tweet.

Why am I recounting what's been happening in the past 2 months?

Because I want people to be realistic about their chances of getting anything from this series. They can't even provide promised content for their Japanese audience... so try to imagine how little must they be thinking of anyone outside Japan? I'm not trying to be pessimistic, but I've been here for a while and getting content when it comes to maruma, is a matter of chance.

Sometimes you get content, sometimes you don't. The important thing is to never get your hopes up.

[littleeyesofpallas]

I forgot what I was calling the series on zanpakutou names...

...but this one’s been sitting in drafts for a while.

Yamamoto[山本]: Mountain + Root, meaning the “Foot of [a] mountain”

Genryuusai[元柳斎]: BeginningTime/Original + WillowTree + Holy/Pure

Shigekuni[重國]: Chief/Main/Important + Country/Nation

“Ancient Holy Willow, from the Mountain base, of the Chief Nation”

I did this once before going over character names specifically, but I figured it was worth repeating:  The personal name Genryuusai is a direct play on his character design; the old kungfu master style eyebrows mirroring the hanging leaves of a weeping willow.  The family name is straight forward and locational, but combined with the given name paints a little picture of a tree at the foot of a mountain.

And the 3rd name(?) seems to be like an epithet more than a name; he is Yamamoto Genryuusai “of the Chief Nation,” presumably referring to Soul Society itself as said nation.  This becomes more meaningful once we learn that he is the leader of the original Gotei 13, before they were a military organization, and when they were just a gang of 13 powerful shinigami.  It seems to imply that he’s not just a chief representative of Soul Society, he’s so named because he helped found Soul Society.

Ryuujin[流刃]: School/Style/Way + Sword

Jyakka[若火]: Young/New/Premature + Fire

“Sword Style, Young Fire“

The irony of course being that Yamamoto is old as dirt, but his sword -the reflection of his innermost self- is explicitly youthful.

And then there’s his bankai,

Zanka no Tachi[残火の太刀]: Remain(s) + Fire + Thick + Sword

Zanka[残火]: “Embers”

Tachi[太刀]: a “tachi” is a specific kind of sword, often compared to the western Long Sword

“Tachi of [the] Ember(s)”

Most Bankai don’t really change names, they add extra titles to the shikai name.  But a few have wordplay that break that trend, and this is one of them...

Yamamoto’s here swaps “young fire” for “fire remains,” jumping from the start point of a fire to the end point of one.  The only shared kanji being ka[火] for “fire.”  It also changes out the “sword style” as subject, for a singular sword.  Although, chi[刀] is the same root kanji in [刃] meaning “sword”/”blade” which was an obviously intentional choice to further the parallel between names.  But because they’re pronounced totally differently, without the kanji present, it doesn’t come across in an English translation at all.

Higashi, Kyokujitsujin["東": 旭日刃]: “East,” RisingSun + Blade

[旭日]: Rising + Sun, not that this translates any differently, but it is the term for THE Japanese Rising Sun symbol, and not just the literal two words in proximity.  So while there's the obvious "sun rise" and "East" tied together, it's also got a distinct nationalist flare to it.

“Rising Sun Blade”

This one’s really pretty straight forward, but it plays into the overarching theme...

Nishi, Zanjitsu Gokui["西": 残日獄衣]: “West,” Remainder + Day + PrisonUniform

Gokui[獄衣]: Prison/Jail + Clothes, the term for a “Prison Uniform”

“[The] Day(s) that are Left Prison Uniform”

For some baffling reason the Viz translation for this was “Sunset Hell Robe” which is just wildly off base.  This seems evocative of prisoner watching the sun fall on the last day of a sentence; but whether that’s the last day before release or the last day before execution, isn't by itself clear.  Given the rest of the names here, though, I assume execution.

I actually feel like this is a scene from an old jidaigeki film but I can’t remember which... (it was the plot of an episode of Samurai Champloo, and a random plot for a dungeon in Wild Arms 5, so it might just be a general trope, but I’m positive there’s a singular core film it references.  Is it Hashire! Melos I’m thinking of? I thought I remembered it being a Japanese period piece though...)

Minami, Kaka Juumanokushi Daisoujin["南": 火火十万億死大葬陣]: “South,” FireSquad + TenTrillion + Death(s) + Big + Funeral + Formation/(military)Camp

English translation Viz went with was “Trillion Flame Great Corpse Formation” which, I can sort of see the logic in trying to make sense of an otherwise really tricky collection of kanji, but is once again pretty far off base...

So, I was super confused by why he’d used the construction kaka[火火] which is just “fire” twice, when A) that’s not any kind of a special compound word, and B) [炎] is the kanji for “blaze”/”flame” and the attack name was written vertically, which seems to clearly be a kind of word play here, but I couldn’t figure out what the other side of it was.  But I think I figured it out...

The Ritsuryou was the Chinese influenced law system in Japan during the 700s, and it borrowed a lot of Confucian bureaucratic systems, which included elaborate systems of measurement for uniform inventory of people and assets, many of which are no longer in use.  One such unit of measurement is a ka[火] which is a military squad consisting of 10 soldiers, and is in fact a homonym with ka[火] which just means “fire.”

kaka[火火]: Fire + (military)Squad

Juu-mon-oku-shi[十万億]: 10 + 10thousand + 100million, which is 10,000,000,000,000(ten trillion)

Another little aside, but Japanese has different major units than English does.  juu[十]:10, hyaku[百]:100, chi[千]: 1,000 all line up with English pretty simply in multiples of 10, but then mon[万]: 10,000 has its own designation rather than the compound of "ten + thousand;"

What we call "hundred thousand(s) are written juu-mon[十万]: "10 × 10,000"; and "million" is actually a compound, written as hyaku-mon[百万]: "100 × 10,000" instead of getting its own unit;

oku[億]: is the unit for "100,000,000"/"hundred million(s)" like it's being used here; and then there is also chou[兆]: "10,000,000,000,000"/"ten trillion" which Kubo seems to have avoided using (probably just for the sake of sounding more dramatic) and kyou[京]: "10,000,000,000,000,000"/"ten quadrillion."

“Fire Squad, TenTrillion Deaths, Big Funeral Formation”

So, to be clear...  (military)Formation is the core subject here.

Who’s in formation?  The Fire Squad

What kind of formation? Funeral formation

What kind of Funeral? Big

How Big?  10 trillion

A military squad equipped with fire starting weapons, carrying out a mass military burial, of ten trillion corpses; all of which is pretty literally reflected in how it raises a bunch of skeletons of dead warriors.  That is just a preposterously high death toll though, and it honestly reminds me of the stupid meme shirt, "BORN TO DIE, WORLD IS A FUCK... 410,757,864,530 DEAD COPS."

I do want to clarify that [葬] means "funeral"/"entombment"/"burial"/”interment” etc... and is explicitly about the dead and frequently (although not exclusively) about whole body burial...  I am super confused why the biggest bestest most powerful fire sword doesn't seem to CREMATE people...

but I also want to clarify that together [葬陣] does NOT refer to something like a "concentration camp."  Also "interment" as in to put a body in the ground, is not the same word as "internment..."  The Japanese words for something like an internment camp, or specifically the Nazi concentration camps are [捕虜収容所]: "Prisoner of war housing site" and [強制収容所]: "Forced housing site" respectively.

Kita, Tenchi Kaijin["北": 天地灰尽]: "North,” The World/Universe + Ash + Last day of the month/End

Tenchi[天地]: Heaven + Earth, very literally “Heaven & Earth” but in that it refers to “all creation” or “the whole world” or “the universe.“ 

I'm assuming this uses [尽] to mean "Last Day..." because of the rest of the names' theme of the passing of time.

“The Last Day... The World is Ash“

“The World Reduced to Ashes” was the Viz translation, which at least has the same general imagery as the intended meaning, but it misses the specificity of “The Last Day” and how that plays into the cycle from East to West, South to North in the different forms.  Also, in English it’s a little clunky, but I feel like it evokes two phrases, “The (Whole) World [is] Ash” and “[Your] Last Day [on] Earth” simultaneously.  The whole thing has a distinctly apocalyptic tone to it.

So, his bankai starts at dawn, gets to sundown of the final day, he's brought out to the execution/burial grounds, and then all that's left in the end is ash.  It tells a neat little story, and Kubo clearly had to fiddle with this for a while to get some of these names to come out right, so that's neat to see at work.  It's a shame this fight was so anti-climactic.

[royalpain16]

A Brief History of Princess Diana’s Fiery Family

HADLEY HALL MEARES

JUNE 29, 2021 4:04 PM

According to Tina Brown’s The Diana Chronicles. Indeed, the role of the aristocratic family of Diana, Princess of Wales, for centuries has been that of royal disrupter. This legacy stretches to the 14th century, with their disputed ancestor Hugh Despenser’s alleged torrid affair with King Edward II and Despenser’s eventual brutal execution. Clever, charming, and fiery, much like Diana, her ancestors learned how to play the royal game—and then ripped up the rule book.

“Nearly 300 years on, my father would talk about him with an ashamed, resigned chuckle,” Charles, Earl Spencer, writes in The Spencers: A Personal History of an English Family of the mercurial family blackguard Robert Spencer (1641-1702). While the second earl would secure the Spencers’ status as political power players for centuries, he was also “cunning, supple [and] shameless” with “a restless and mischievous temper, a cold heart, and an abject spirt.”

Sunderland’s ascendancy began in the 1670s when he orchestrated King Charles II’s secret pact with England’s traditional enemy, France. Securing large payments from the French king and court for Charles II and himself, Sunderland was rewarded when he was appointed secretary of state.

After double-crossing Charles II’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, Sunderland cleverly insinuated himself with new King James II. He converted to Catholicism to appeal to the very Catholic king, and became one of James II’s closest advisers. But the king, though he valued the brilliant man’s diplomatic skills, was fully aware of Sunderland’s duplicity.

James II finally dismissed Sunderland from service in 1688, and he was later exiled. But in December of that year, James II was deposed by the Glorious Revolution, bringing his daughter Mary and her husband, William, Prince of Orange, (with whom Sunderland had conspired) to the throne.

Again in favor, he was rewarded with the post of Lord Chamberlain before retiring from public life in 1697. “Too much cannot be said of his talents,” one historian noted. “Nor too little of his principles.”

The Boss: Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough

The daughter of Parliamentarian Richard Jennings and his scandalous wife, Frances, the passionate, brilliant Sarah (1660-1744) started out as a maid of honor in the court of James II. She became the most powerful woman in England, through her magnetic control of the future Queen Anne, a comparative dullard who worshipped her and perhaps became her lover. (You may remember their relationship from the 2018 movie The Favourite, in which Rachel Weisz played Sarah.)

For Sarah, her friendship with Anne was a way to advance her family and her liberal Whig politics, which she shared with her equally powerful husband, the military hero the Duke of Marlborough. “I hated tyranny by nature,” she wrote in one version of her memoir, according to Ophelia Field’s The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill. “I thought mankind was born free, & if Princes were ordained to make their subjects happy; so I had always in me an invincible aversion to slavery, & to flattery.”

In 1700, Sarah arranged the marriage of her distant relation Charles Spencer, the future Third Earl of Sunderland, with her favorite daughter, Anne. Over the next 44 years, she would shape the family fortunes—and gift them with their famed auburn-tinted locks.

According to The Favourite: The Life of Sarah Churchill, with Anne’s accession to the throne in 1702 Sarah reached the peak of her power, racking up virtually every important post in Queen Anne’s suite, dictating cabinet appointments, and encouraging the ire of satirists.

But cracks would soon begin to appear. Queen Anne was naturally inclined to support the royalist Tories and was encouraged in these leanings by a new favorite named Abigail. A vindictive Sarah became a master propagandist, leaking insinuations about their relationship to the press, and allegedly threatening to blackmail Anne over the contents of their highly charged correspondence.

Sarah was finally forced to vacate her royal apartments in 1711, but she was not down for the count. A brilliant businesswoman, she became the richest woman in England, according to Field, controlling her Spencer grandchildren with promises of money and power. Centuries before the modern Diana and Prince Charles wed, Sarah even attempted to marry her favorite granddaughter—Lady Diana Spencer—to the broke Frederick, Prince of Wales, with a promise of 100,000-pound dowry. The plan fell through.

But not all her grandchildren were willing to be manipulated by their formidable matriarch. Sarah claimed her equally tough granddaughter Anne “[deserved] to be burnt,” and she disinherited her grandson Charles, Fifth Earl of Sunderland, which prompted him to write her:

As for putting me out of your will…I neither expected or desired to be in it. I…assure Your Grace that this is the last time I shall ever trouble you by letter or conversation. I am Your Grace’s grandson, Sunderland.

Sarah’s letter back was brutal. “You end that you are my grandson. Which is indeed a very melancholy truth…had you not been my grandson, you would have been in as bad a condition as you deserve to be.” Fitting words from a woman immortalized by Alexander Pope thusly:

Sixty years the World has been her Trade, The wisest Fool much Time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age, No Passion gratify’d except her Rage.

The Star: Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire

From the start there was something special about Georgiana (1757-1806), the coddled daughter of John, First Earl Spencer and his wife, Margaret. The captivating teenager married the sophisticated William, Duke of Devonshire, in 1774, and quickly became a sensation in London’s highest circles. “[The Duchess of Devonshire] effaces all,” Horace Walpole wrote, according to The Devonshires: The Story of a Family and a Nation. “Her youth, figure, flowing good nature, sense…and modest familiarity, make her a phenomenon.”

Georgiana soon found her cold, older husband was not nearly as interested in her as everyone else. Luckily, she had many talents with which to amuse herself. She set fashions of the day, developed her own haughty way of speaking, known as the “Cavendish drawl,” and became dear friends with Marie Antoinette, according to Amanda Foreman’s The Duchess. She was also a successful novelist, and an amateur scientist.

But it was Georgiana’s brilliance as a Whig operative that would turn her into a target of the press. Constantly brainstorming with her friend, George, Prince of Wales, and political soulmate Charles James Fox, she hosted countless summits at her home. Georgiana was, she later wrote, “in the midst of the action,” seeing

“partys rise and fall—friends be united and disunited—the ties of love give way to caprice, to interest, and to vanity…”

Georgiana also worked essentially as a campaign manager for Whig candidates. During the 1784 election she bravely canvassed the street for Fox, charming Londoners with her common touch. “During her canvass,” Walpole wrote, “the Duchess made no scruple of visiting some of the humblest of electors, dazzling and enchanting them by the fascination of her manner, the power of her beauty and the influence of her high rank.”

According to Foreman’s The Duchess, there were rumors Georgiana kissed men in exchange for votes, leading to scurrilous cartoons distributed by the Tory opposition. “You have almost unavoidably amassed a great deal of useless trash—gathered weeds instead of flowers,” Lady Spencer wrote Georgiana. “You live so constantly in public you cannot live for your own soul.”

Her mother was worried about more than bad press. The hard-partying Georgiana was one of a long line of Spencer gambling addicts. She also had a laudanum dependency, and a scandalous ménage à trois arrangement with her husband and the disreputable Bess Foster. Calamity struck in 1792, when Georgiana became pregnant by the future Prime Minister Charles Grey and was banished from the country for a while.

Georgiana returned to her husband and children two years later. For the remainder of her life she battled ill health, but continued her role as a political operative, aware of what she could have been. “Would I were a man,” she mused to Sir Philip Francis. “To unite my talents, my hopes, my fortune, with [Charles James Fox’s], to make common cause, and fall or rule.”

From the start, the Spencer legacy laid heavily on John Spencer’s (1924-1992)

shoulders. As a child he was constantly cowed by his genealogically obsessed, brutal father, who considered him an intellectual lightweight. “He used to dread the train journey home [from boarding school],” his son, Diana’s brother Charles, writes. “He would hide in shadows of the train carriage, hoping his father had forgotten to collect him.”

But by the 1940s, John’s heroism as a captain in the Royal Scots Greys during World War II, and his tall, good looks and simple charm made him a most eligible bachelor. According to the documentary When the Spencers Met the Monarchy, he was even once looked at by the palace as a suitor to the future Queen Elizabeth II.

Instead, in 1954, Queen Elizabeth II (whom he served as an equerry) attended his wedding to heiress Frances Roche at Westminster Abbey. The couple had four children—Sarah, Jane, Diana, and Charles (another son, John, died shortly after birth). They were a mismatched pair, he rather dull and she vivacious, but John was reportedly blindsided when he discovered Frances was cheating on him. “How many of those years were happy?” he later said of his marriage. “I thought all of them until the moment that we parted.”

After the dissolution of his marriage, John became Diana and Charles’s primary caregiver and developed what Lord Glenconner once termed “an unfortunate raw sausage look.” Although he was stiff and old-fashioned, he attempted to be an involved father, and Diana was determined to be his “comforting angel,” according to The Diana Chronicles.

In 1975, John’s fortunes turned when his curmudgeonly father died, making him the Eighth Earl Spencer. According to Andrew Morton, he also inherited a 2.25-million-pound bill for death duties as well as 80,000-pounds-a-year running costs for Althorp, the family estate in Northamptonshire. He also found a helpmate to run Althorp in the fascinating Raine, Countess of Dartmouth, whom he married in 1976 without even telling his children. “We weren’t invited. ‘Not grand enough,’” his daughter Sarah quipped to a reporter at the time.

Despite the flippant tone, John’s betrayal would cause a deep rift in the family. A severe stroke in 1978 caused him to become frail and even more distant from his children. “He was one person before and he was certainly a different person after,” Princess Diana said, according to Morton. “He’s remained estranged but adoring since. If he comes and sees me he comes and sees me, if he doesn’t he doesn’t. It’s not my problem anymore. It’s his.”

The Rebel: Frances Shand Kydd

Frances Ruth Roche (1936-2004) wasn’t from as noble stock as the Spencers, but her family was far richer. Her father Maurice, fourth Baron Fermoy, was a conservative politician and a “terrible bottom pincher,” Lady Glenconner says in The Diana Chronicles, while her wealthy mother, Ruth, was a scheming, incurable snob and great friend of Elizabeth, the Queen Mother.

It was Ruth who encouraged a teenage Frances to marry the much older John Spencer, despite her tender age. “When you meet someone at the age of 15 and get engaged just five months out of school at 17, you can look back and ask, ‘Was I adult?’” she asked years later. “I sure thought I was at the time.”

The couple cultivated a farm at her family home of Park House in Norfolk, but Frances was quickly disillusioned with life in the country as a young aristocratic mother. “I’m so bloody bored with opening village fetes,” she told a friend. It was no wonder that the fiery Frances wanted more. “She was very attractive and blonde and sexy with such joie de vivre and fun about her,” a friend told Brown, author of The Diana Chronicles.

By the 1960s, Frances escaped to London more and more. She also started having an affair with a married bon vivant named Peter Shand Kydd. In 1967, she separated from John and left her two youngest children with him. “The biggest disruption was when Mummy decided to leg it. That’s the vivid memory we have—the four of us,” Princess Diana later told Andrew Morton.

Frances fought for custody of the children but lost to John, partially due to her own mother, Baroness Fermoy, who testified against her. Social outcasts, the Shand Kydds eventually moved to the coast of Scotland, and their warm household was a refuge for her children when they were allowed to visit. “Diana and I adored it for its wild beauty and the fun we had on the sea, lobster potting and mackerel-fishing,” Charles Spencer recalls.

Frances counseled against her youngest daughter’s marriage to Prince Charles, seeing too many parallels to her own first marriage—including her mother’s encouragement of the match. According to Brown, after voicing her concerns, Diana said, “Mummy, you don’t understand. I love him.” Frances replied, “Love him, or love what he is?” To which Diana asked rhetorically, “What’s the difference?”

The Grande Dames: Barbara Cartland and Raine Spencer

Perhaps no writer influenced generations of British romantics—including Princess Diana—more than Barbara Cartland (1901-2000). The author of 723 books, Cartland had, in the words of Brown, a “penchant for pink, her meringue coiffure and false eyelashes,” which betrayed a steely, snobbish character that was tough as nails.

Cartland would pass both her strength and outrageousness on to her daughter Raine (1929-2016), whom she raised to be, in Brown’s words, a “social monster baby.” Not only did she nab Gerald Legge, Ninth Earl of Dartmouth, but she also forged a career as a conservative politician, becoming the youngest person to ever serve on the Westminster City Council.

“She never took any prisoners, and never took no for an answer,” a friend recalled.

In the early 1970s, Raine set her sights on the divorced John Spencer. “She wanted to marry Daddy; that was her target and that was it,” Princess Diana recalled. According to sources, “Acid Raine” alienated the children and old friends. She also took the reins of Althorp, allegedly selling off family treasures and decorating it in her and her mother’s garish style.

During the lead-up to Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles in 1981, what to do with the clownish Cartlands became a national conversation. According to Brown:

Alexander Chancellor, the editor of The Spectator, wrote an editorial in which he called for a special Act of Parliament to ban Raine and her mother from St. Paul’s Cathedral, adding, “For it would be more than a little unfair on everybody if these two absurdly theatrical ladies were permitted to turn a moving national celebration into a pantomime.” Diana was so afraid the pantomime might indeed take place, she pressed for stratagems to blackball Cartland.

In the end Raine was invited but her mother was not. This would not be the most awkward Spencer wedding—that prize would go to Charles Spencer’s first wedding in 1989, where Diana scolded Raine for her rudeness to their mother. “If only you knew how much we all hated you for what you’ve done, you’ve ruined the house, you spend Daddy’s money and what for?” she hissed.

For her part, Raine would tire of being the scapegoat for the Spencer dysfunction. “I’m absolutely sick of the ‘wicked stepmother’ lark,” she said, according to Kitty Kelley. “You’re never going to make me sound like a human being, because people like to think I’m Dracula’s mother.”

Surprisingly, Diana would come to agree. Toward the end of her life, she grew close to her stepmother, whose no-nonsense advice she came to admire. However, it appears there was no love lost between Diana and her former favorite writer, who would quip of the royal breakup, “Of course, you know where it all went wrong. She wouldn’t do oral sex.”

The Role Model: Lady Sarah McCorquodale

Born in 1955, Sarah Spencer was the oldest, and wildest of John and Frances Spencer’s brood. Reckless and salty from an early age, Brown writes that she was kicked out of boarding school and rode her horse into her grandmother’s living room. “Sarah always had to be the best at everything,” a friend recalled. “The best car, the wittiest put-down, and the best dress.”

She also had a constant shadow in her youngest sister, Diana. “I idolized my eldest sister and I used to do all her washing when she came back from school. I packed her suitcase, ran her bath, made her bed—the whole lot. I did it all and I thought it was wonderful,” Diana told Morton.

In 1977, Sarah, who had suffered from anorexia, according to Brown, met Prince Charles at Ascot. The two began dating, and it was Sarah who introduced Diana to the prince during a shooting party at Althorp (“I’m cupid,” she’d later quip). “I remember,” Diana later said, “feeling desperately sorry for him that my sister was wrapped around his neck because she’s quite a tough old thing.”

But Sarah’s romance with the prince would soon end. She made the mistake of talking to reporters. Not only did she reportedly confess to having “thousands of boyfriends,” she also disparaged Charles as a hopeless romantic. “I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love, whether it was a dustman or the King of England,” she said. “If he asked me I would turn him down.”

This cardinal sin would cause Sarah to be promptly frozen out, with Charles reportedly informing her, “You’ve just done something extremely stupid.” And so, only three years later Charles would begin to court the blossoming Diana. Perhaps there was a hint of jealousy in her alleged counsel to a despondent Diana to not pull out of the wedding over his relationship with Camilla: “Bad luck, ‘Duch. Your face is on the tea towels so you’re too late to chicken out.”

[with-my-murder-flute]

Initial sketch notes of my historical research on Islamic experiences of the Siege of Jerusalem during the First Crusade, posted August 6, 2020.  This is the long version of “Why might Yusuf al-Kaysani, who is from the Maghreb, have been fighting at Jerusalem in 1099?”

Trigger Warning: Graphic violence, slavery, and genocide

Notes taken from reading Paul M. Cobb’s The Race for Paradise: An Isamic History of the Crusades and supplemented by Dr. Google. I’m reading Cobb’s book partly because it’s on audiobook (though it is a fricking Audible Exclusive) and partly because it’s written for Western non-Muslim audiences, which helps get me up to speed.

The Old Guard Through History video says Joe and Nicky met during the Siege of Jerusalem in 1099, so I’ve focused most of my research on that.

Historians generally agree that in the 11th century the Islamic* world did not have a “Muslims vs Christians” worldview like the one Christians were beginning to develop. Their experience led them to expect Christians to be allies as often as enemies. Around the 1060s Christians began a new paradigm of religious war against Muslims, which Muslims didn’t really realize at the time--they responded to times when Christians would choose religious affiliation over clear strategic gain as shocking and bizarre, a departure from the status quo

(*Islamic: Society predominantly defined by Muslim rule and culture, but containing people of many different religions)

The Islamic response to the First Crusade was decentralized and diverse. There were a lot of different groups in the Levant*, many of whom had deep divisions, rivalries, and feuds. They mostly saw the Crusaders as a new factor that might affect their existing rivalries with other Islamic states, and were used to being able to broker deals or treaties with Christian groups to turn local warfare to their advantage.

(*Levant: A term used to describe countries in the Eastern Mediterranean, especially those with traditional religious significance to the Abrahamic religions - modern-day Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and parts of Egypt and Turkey. Comes from the French word for “rising”, in the sense of “where the sun rises”)

Additional term I’m going to be using a lot: “Frank”. It’s the Islamic term for, basically, “Western European” (of both the pagan and Roman Catholic varieties). It’s easier than saying “the Roman Catholics” or “The Crusaders” (which is putting a later cultural construct on people who didn’t call themselves that)

The biggest division of Islamic society in this area is, roughly, the Seljuq Turks and the Fatimid Caliphate. 

In the year 1000, the Fatimids were riding high: They ruled Egypt and North Africa stretching across to the Atlantic, much of the Levant, the island of Sicily, and bits of the Arabian Peninsula around the Red Sea. 

Then in the mid-11th century the Seljuqs came BLASTING OUTTA NOWHERE like holy shit calm your jets and conquered a lot of Fatimid and Byzantine territory (we’re talking the yellow parts of the map, they’ll destroy the Byzantines entirely later)

In addition to losing land to the Seljuqs, the Fatimids also lost Sicily to the Normans (who don’t even GO THERE but anyway), and North Africa through?? Independence movements?? Sheer carelessness??? I’m not quite certain.

The Seljuqs were Sunni, the Fatimids were Shi’ite, I... am not gonna try to explain that whole thing. Here’s a video.

(Small note for Yusuf character reasons: A big motivation behind the move of Ifriqiya [modern Tunisia and parts of Algieria and Libya] out of Fatimid control was that most of their populations were also Sunni)

So the Franks left Constantinople and travelled through what is now Turkey but was at the time the Byzantine Empire, and then moved into Seljuq lands. Most of the fighting in the First Crusade was against Seljuqs--mostly against tribes who fought for themselves, I think? Although in Damascus (which was a huge city the Franks just breezed by in favour of historically significant ghost towns) there was a general jihad preached like “Hey somebody should do something about all these Europeans”, so some of the people fighting were like... random people from Damascus.

While the Seljuqs were distracted, the Fatimids thought they could win some land back from THOSE UPSTARTS, so they snuck in and grabbed Jerusalem.  As Peter Konieczny reports, there are scholars who think the Fatimids thought, partly because they had a lot of experience ruling Egypt’s Coptic Christian population, that they could reach a mutually satisfactory alliance with the Franks, especially since it seemed like most of the Franks didn’t intend to settle in the area, but return to Europe once they ensured pilgrim access to Jerusalem, which had mostly been hindered by banditry in Seljuq-controlled areas. 

When I read stuff just generally about the Fatimid army, it’s described as being composed of two groups:

Berber tribesmen (Kutama and Sanhaja) (I’m struggling to find more info about them)

Mamluks, who are... a cross between slaves and mercenaries? Basically, they were captives from non-Muslim territory (in the Fatimids’ case, mostly Circassia in central Asia) who were brought to Muslim lands and trained as soldiers, but once active as soldiers, were paid and hired by different groups, able to achieve freedom, often gained important government posts, and occasionally toppled the government they served and ruled the roost.

This next bit is based on fairly standard histories of the Siege of Jerusalem that rely a lot on Western sources, like this article by Michael D. Hull and this article by Michael Cartwright. Which... have to be taken with a grain of salt, because medieval military histories don’t tend to line up super well with archaeology or plain logistics. Generally, it isn’t wise to take medieval European sources at their word when they say “the army had 10,000 people” or “they killed every last person”. They’re often written after the fact and with clear biases, and, when it comes to the Crusades, with an imperfect understanding of the culture they’re describing. I’d like to have better sources, but this is where I’m starting from, especially since I have limited access to academic sources during the summer.

So, the standard history says that Jerusalem was taken in 1098 by  Emir  al-Afdal Shahinshah, but by 1099, governor Iftikhar al-Daula was in command of the defenses. and that he had a “garrison of Arab cavalry and Sudanese archers.” Cartwright reports it as “perhaps several thousand infantry and an elite cavalry corps of 400 Egyptians.” I currently have no way of knowing which of these troops were Mamluks and which weren’t.

According to Hull, when the Fatimids in Jerusalem realized they would have to face a siege, they expelled all Christians of any denomination from the city, as well as all Jews “except for those of a sect for whom it was mandatory to reside in the Holy City”. Cartwright reports it as “...all Christians were kicked out if the city. In contrast, the Jewish population were allowed to stay”. Cartwright reports that Jerusalem’s population, 70,000 at the beginning of the year, was lowered to 30,000 by the expulsions (though some people were also coming into the city to take refuge from the oncoming Frankish army). Additional preparations included poisoning wells outside of Jerusalem to deny the Frankish army water, and emptying the land around the city of livestock and people. 

The Fatimids were also expecting the arrival of an army marching north from Egypt to help them out relatively soon, which explains why their strategy was mostly “hunker down and wait” with very limited attacks outside the city.

The Franks came southward down the coast to Jaffa, where they took the nearest port to Jerusalem, and then approached the city.

June 7, 1099: The Frankish army shows up at Jerusalem with about 15,000 people total and less than 1,500 armed knights. They split into two camps, one attacking from the south, one from the north. They were in rough shape and didn’t have any siege weapons, so the Fatimid defenders were able to sit up on the walls, taunt them, and shoot arrows. They enlivened the tedium by sending cavalry units outside the walls to harass Franks who were scavenging for food and water.

June 13, 1099: Some Franks on the north side of the city managed to scrabble together siege ladders and try to climb up and assault the walls; they were repelled pretty easily by the defenders.

June 17, 1099: English and Genoese ships land at Jaffa, carrying siege equipment and fresh supplies. Hull reports that the Fatimids dispatched troops, 400 Arabs and 200 Turks, to attack the supply chain between Jaffa and Jerusalem; Hull reports that the Franks only lost 5 of the force of maybe 150-200 knights, and “all of the archers” (about 50?)

It takes about three weeks to transport the supplies to Jerusalem and for the siege towers to be built; the Genoese played an especially large role in building the siege equipment, and their chief engineer is named as  William Embriaco.

On July 10 the siege engines were finished and wheeled to the walls. That night everyone inside the city and out sat over campfires, showing each other pictures of their families and trying to humanize themselves for the audience to make their impending deaths more impactful

(I kid)

(mostly)

June 13-15: Almost continuous fighting between the Franks, who are trying to move their siege engines close enough to make it onto the walls of Jerusalem, and the Fatimid defenders, who were trying to fight them off and burn their towers down. 

June 15: The Franks breach the walls and begin pouring inside, killing and looting its inhabitants. There is well-documented destruction of Muslim and Jewish holy places, where Muslims and Jews fled for refuge and were killed. This part is. Sickening. Tens of thousands of people dead; the streets running with blood. 

The Fatimid governor and various others (possibly the remainders of the army? Possibly important citizens? Some Jews appear to be in this group?) took refuge in the Tower of David, and were able to negotiate to leave Jerusalem safely. The Fatimid soldiers who left the city that way joined the advancing Fatimid army at Ascalon, southwest of Jerusalem.

It’s unclear who the survivors were--the sources mention people left aside being made into slaves, being allowed to leave the city, or being ransomed by rich relatives outside the city. The fact that we have Jewish and Muslim accounts of what happened during this time means there were survivors

But let’s face it: The survivors were the minority. The majority of people, thousands of them, were slaughtered by the Franks as they took over the city.

Epilogue: The Fatimids tried to take Jerusalem back a month later, and failed. Jerusalem was in Crusader hands.

It’s taken me three days to write this up and I’m ending it feeling really blah and drained by the enormity of this shit. I... 

The Race for Paradise has this bit that talks about two Western ways of talking about the Crusades: 

The Traditional paradigm, where this was a great moment for Christianity, whew we kicked those guys’ BUTTS!

The Lachrymose (Latin for “full of tears”) paradigm, coming to popularity since the Enlightenment, where this was horrific mass slaughter caused by religious zealotry and it was bad and everything was bad 

But the thing is, we can’t actually stop there. Or, that is: It’s not actually useful for our only narratives about the Crusades to be either “Christians kill everyone and it’s awesome” or “Christians kill everyone and it’s terrible”. It’s not true; it feeds into the overall false narrative of “European Christians only interacted with [Muslims/Middle Easterners/People of Colour] very rarely, and only when there was an atrocity happening.” It means we fail to acknowledge all the cross-cultural contacts that happened without an atrocity, and fail to realize that a lot of these atrocities came out of the context of incredibly warlike countries whose economies depended on warfare and conquest.

Another element is... during the 11th century, when all of this happened, the Normans also invaded England. Their conquest was absolutely brutal. England was ethnically and linguistically divided for centuries between a French-speaking colonial upper class, and the English-speaking peasantry. But over the centuries, these two groups came to live together peacefully and build a distinctly new society. Most peoples’ narratives of medieval England are not “a land of massacre, genocide, and ethnic strife”, even though those things definitely happened. We just have much stronger associations with medieval English art, literature, culture, fashion, and architecture than its slaughters.

So basically: The challenge for us in the 21st century is to develop a richer understanding of the past. We know a hell of a lot about battles and armies; we know way less about merchants and farmers, and about the long decades between battles and armies. Military history tells us about waging war, but if we can look past that, we can find out about waging peace.

Now I’m going to go collapse into my bed, and in a day or five I’ll write up a TL;DR version about what I think the likeliest backstories for Joe are (Briefly: probably a Fatimid cavalry soldier or an ordinary person who thought it was safe to be in Jerusalem at the time, and had to defend himself and his servants etc when the city fell)

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Russia X Secretary: Fear of First time (1/2) (NSFW)

TW: Sexual Themes, and mentions of violence. (handsypandsy is my NSFW tag!)

A/N: This is going to be a short story made into two parts. Both of which are going to be kind of long. (Also if anyone can do a word count on this that would be nice, because I currently have no way of doing that...)

This was a conversation they have had but once. Russia and the secretary for the world meetings had already been together for more than a handful of months. The secretary had expressed previously that she was fully intending to wait for marriage to give away her virginity. Both for religious reasons, and due to some past events that made her subconscious about her body, making her insecure. Russia, dissapointed in her reaction toward his advances, had informed her marriage between a country and human was forbidden. None the less he respected her decision, and stayed by her side regardless.

This had put a small wedge in their relationship. He was frustrated over not being able to physically show her his affection, and grew angry over having another reason that made being a country painfully annoying. The secretary on the other hand was having a bit of a crisis. On one hand she wanted to keep her virginity, but on the other hand, she felt her own Sexual frustration rise. It took only a week for her mind to change on the subject.

They were watching a movie on her couch, but the tension between them made the air heavy, and focusing on the movie impossible. They had tried cuddling, but with every touch and shift Russia grew akward, and impatient. He wanted nothing more but to feel her, and show his ever growing desires. Never in his life had this kind of feeling bloomed before, let alone the fact he accepted someone's rejection of his actions. If they did he'd usually force them to do what he wants anyway. So natural he was going to bring the subject up again, eventually. But lucky for him the Secretary beat him to the question.

"Hey Russia... Can we talk about something?"

"Da? Is something the matter?"

The deep breath she took made him temporarily forget the sensations that had been flaring up and agitating him, and focus on her concern.

"I know that we can't get married... And it has me thinking it doesn't matter if I stay a virgin over it, and I think I need to explain another reason why I said no..."

At this point Russia had already turned towards her, pushing some of her short black hair out from her face as she continued.

"It's not just the religious thing. It's not even how I was treated when I was younger. I'm just scared. I didn't want to do it if we weren't married because I was worried you'd just take what you wanted and just... Leave me."

Russia had to take a second to realize what she had said. His heart partially shattered over the fact she would assume something like that.

"Sunflower, If I wanted to take from you, I could have easily done so already. I understand I am not always pure and sweet, but I do not take from you. You usually give me what I want anyway."

He tried smiling for her, but nothing was able to hide the tone in his voice showcasing his inner pain. The secretary had picked up on it, her body shrinking back, and her throat swelling up from her emotions.

"No, I didn't mean it like that it's just- I don't want to lose you. I didn't want to do it with you, and disappoint you. What if I'm not good enough, what if I'm too disgusting and you decide to leave me anyway..."

He had enough of her attitude towards the subject and got up from the couch, rubbing his face from the pent up emotions. This made the secretary choke on her sadness, and she did all she did to keep her tears from falling.

Turning around to face her, Russia could feel his heart shatter further seeing the glisten in her eyes. He understood, or took her feelings in consideration at the very least, but his inability to communicate his feelings properly left him with only one option. Giving her a slight scare, he had sweeper her up off the cushions bridal style.

"What are you doing?"

"We are going to be making the love. I will not allow you to be feeling like this, So I am proving your feelings wrong."

She felt a layer of blush immediately dust her cheeks, and buried her face into his shoulder. Giving a small whimper of protest, but ultimately giving in. Her heart racing.

"F-fine. But-"

"Nyet! No more denying my advances. No more rejecting me, da?"

"But why would you even bother?"

He had to kick the door open that lead to the downstairs guest room, and tossed her lightly on the bed. Immediately hovering over her.

"You are not this dense, but you currently are acting like you are. I do not understand, or care, why you think I'd care about your insecurities."

He had slightly cringed at the last statement, fully realizing how that translation came across after saying it. But this seemed to get the point across as the secretary had looked away, a small smirk on her face.

"You can't just say something like that you know."

"And you can't keep testing my patience by teasing me."

She tilted her head, not fully understanding what he meant. Prompting him to explain.

"You are very cute. I would be lying if I did not admit too... Erhm- Thinking about this?"

The secretary chuckled at him.

"Do you mean... You have fantasies of me?"

Russia nods almost shyly, lifting his scarf over his nose, looking away in hopes she didn't notice his flustered cheeks. Though his actions made it painfully obvious.

"D-da. The daydreaming started out all cute. But as of lately..."

She had to caress his cheek, forcing him to look back at him as she spoke up.

"I'm sorry... I really didn't know I hurt you when I said no the first time."

"I was not hurt! I did not like being told no because... Well... I can't... Marry you..."

This came to a major surprise to the secretary.

"Wait- You want to marry me? I thought you'd be against that because of Belarus? For a while I was concerned I was being too clingy..."

Russia gave her a small grunt.

"But you are not her! I don't mind the thought of marriage, but with my little sister who has little concern over my feelings... Are you laughing at me?"

She had to cover her mouth, but the small giggles still slipped through.

"Sorry! It's just, Kind of ironic hearing that from you..."

She gently booped his nose as soon as he scrunched his face up in annoyance. Russia fully knowing he can't disagree with her statement. The atmosphere finally turning lighthearted like it use to be.

This didn't distract Russia from being his mischievous self though. Gently he laid his weight on top of the secretary, kissing her, then pulling away as soon as their lips touched. He wasn't expecting the soft look in her eyes, lips still parted from the kiss. He didn't even miss the motion of her swallowing the excess saliva.

Giving a quirked eyebrow he decided to push a little further.

"Does this mean, you have decided to change your mind? I can make the love to you?"

The laugh that she gave him over his slight broken english seemed to rile him up more, especially with the rapid nods she gave him.

Feeling his breath hitch in his throat he dove in for a more passionate kiss. Memories of their first kiss and how sloppy it was flooded his mind, causing him to smile against her.

Soon enough the secretary found her hands in his hair, but had given grunts of disapproval as Russia pinned her hands above her. His tongue tracing her lips, wiggling its way into her mouth. The friction of bumpy tongue against her smoother muscle gained a soft moan from both parties.

Russia pulled back, shifting his weight back to hovering, and asked another question.

"So you really are still a virgin, da? I'm sorry if I get to rough with you. Even more so I am sorry if I go against your will to stop at any point. But the thought of having you squirm against me makes me want to... You know."

She blushed, giving a quick nod. She figured he wasn't going to be able to stop once they started. But the thought of him being rough excited her. She was always being told how cute, and small she was at work. How fragile a human was in a room of strong countries and it irked her. She had to get it off her chest.

"I can take it you know. I'm not a little kid, just because I'm a little childish-"

"I would hope not!"

"Let me finish! It drives me insane that everyone else gets to act like I'm a child! I hate it, it makes me feel guilty. Especially because I don't even feel like a woman half the time. I'm over weight, overwhelming, and according to my family I'm way to clingy... So I wouldn't be upset if you didn't want to do this..."

Russia was about five seconds away from taking her without permission. He didn't want to hurt her, or be forceful like that, but the more reasons she gave for "leaving", and the more excuses She gave that stalled the moment was quite Frankly, driving him insane. He was losing the remainder of his patience.

"You are very cute, and pretty. You're working on losing weight, so let me help. This is like excersize right? I do not think you're childish, you're just fun, and goofy! It is very nice to have someone fool around with me..."

Leaning in closer to the side of her head, he makes sure to whisper and breath directly in her ear. A small little trick he discovered that he knows drives her crazy.

"I think you are very womanly. You might have a chubby belly, but you still have curves. And you're... Breasts... are just the right size for me. You being so affectionate and honest makes it very easy to be with you. You don't do what some woman do and pretend to be fine. I don't just like it about you, I need it from you. If you were not like you, I'd be confused. We already discovered once what happens when you lie to me. I am unsure if choking is a thing you like, but I am very sure the last time my hands were around your neck, it was not a pleasant experience..."

The secretary couldn't hold back her remark.

"No. It did not give me the pleasure smile..."

Russia gave a short chortle, kissing her cheek and pressing their forheads together.

"Then do you want me as well? Can I... I can't be honest about my feelings verbally, not like you. So can I please, one of these times show you how you make me feel? Preferably now?"

Deciding to tease him, she pretended to think about it, laughing at his drawn out groan as he buried his head in the crook on her neck. Surprised by the kisses to her flesh, and the small line up of pleases he begged with. Any anwser was a good one for him.

"Da. We can... Have sex then. But just promise me you'll be by my side by morning..."

She felt him nod against her neck, his kisses turning into soft nibbles, and sucking. He didn't want to waste anymore time, but knew from all the movies he watched with her that the first time was important. And just because he was virgin as well, did not mean he didn't know what to do, or how it might hurt.

He started to chuckle into her chest, already leaving small red marks along her throat. His hands had wormed their way under her shirt. His cold fingertips mixed with the feathery touches made her squirm and shudder.

Her heart leaped into her throat as he reached around her torso, and successfully unclasped her bra. She was in shock at how gentle he was being. She was fighting between enjoying the moment, and flipping him over and try to move things along faster.

"You don't have to be so gently. I said I could take it..."

"Da, I know. But I refuse to hurt you."

"Hurt me? I trust you lovebug~ your my big old Russian teddy bear! You couldn't hurt me even if you tried-"

"Not what I was meaning."

Her face turned beat red as it dawned on her what he meant. Now she was morbidly courious if he was really that big, and her eyes unintentionally drifted to his crotch.

He gave her an unseen smirk, and sat himself on her hips. He carelessly pulled off his shirt, somehow leaving his scarf intact, earning an annoyed face from the secretary. Taking the obvious hint he slowly removed his scarf. The scaring on his neck made her eyes widen, and her heart weight heavy in her chest.

"Wh- Russia..."

He shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. All he could say was:

"You are not the only one uncomfortable with their body..."

He leaned back down, his taller body making it possible to stay seated over her hips, giving him easier access to her lips and face. Hands snagging the hem of her shirt, and doing away with the fabric. Her bra falling away with it as well.

She covered her chest, already red and wet from his earlier barrage of licking and kisses. Yet again he pinned her arms over her head.

"If you continue to hide from me Sunflower, I will tie you up..."

She looked away after his claims, but nodded in understanding anyway.

He gave her more kisses, this time they were soft, and ticklish. He made sure to run his lips over each spot she gave the most giggles too, indulging in her sounds. Soon enough he had the ability to tongue at her nipples, hearing her giggles go to restrained moans. For Russia, any further restraint from her was delt with punishment. He started testing her further as such.

He went from licking, to sucking. And when that bared no vocal fruit from her he bit down on them. Her attempts at arching her back Was held in place by his body. But he got what he wanted. She had given him a rather loud moan, even if it sounded pained she did nothing to protest against his actions.

Giving a courious peak he saw the contorted and scrunched up face she was giving. Her teeth digging into her lips. Another bite, and another painful groan. These pleasant sounds were rewarded with kisses, and sucks to her perked up breasts. Russia was seemingly successful in training her to stop resisting, causing her to finally relax and let go.

-End of Part one-

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[muwur]

If requests are open.. Suga x reader -3rd year student- where friends to pining where reader is a exchange student mid year -parent’s job- and reader is new to the school, can barely communicate Japanese and is too shy to meet new people.. reader is welcomed as a co-manager for vb club and all the other boys adopt her has their sister. She tutors them in their English lesson too.. also how would Suga help her open up from her shyness..

request: sugawara x fem! reader who is a shy exchange student!

another beginning.

✩ one-shot ✩ for sugawara bb

❧ fem reader

✎ 4.9k words

a/n: FINALLY GOT THIS BBY DONE, ty for being patient requester <3 i hope its ok, lmk if u would like smth different!

also curious but do yall listen to music when you write or read? i dnt always but when i DO i listen to some boppy music so i can shake mah ass (unles im depresso AHAHA) LMAO rec me some pls--

send me asks--

current listen: juicy by doja cat, gasolina by daddy yankee, 11 PM by maluma

A pencil dangled between two of your fingers, gently swinging back and forth as you tapped the eraser’s tip against your chin in thought. Looking over Hinata’s shoulder at the worksheet laying on the table, you extended your hand and made a neat scrawl on the page. “That’s good translating, Hinata! However,” you dragged your pencil across the surface, marking a line and arrow to point at a space near the beginning of his sentence, “keep in mind that although gerunds look like verbs, they act as nouns. So, this word should go here.”

Yachi, who was seated to your right, nodded in agreement. “I looked through his notes doodles, and it looked like they were going over gerunds in class!”

With narrowed eyes, Hinata scanned the page, muttering the sentence underneath his breath. Suddenly, his hazel eyes lit up in understanding and his lips morphed into a round “O.” “Ohhhh, that make a lot more sense! Thanks, (y/n), you’re a big help, especially in English! Also, look, guys!”

He rummaged through his cluttered backpack and fished out a slightly wrinkled sheet of paper with a red “14/50” marked on the top right corner. Holding it up proudly, he declared, “I got a better score than last time! By nine points!”

“That’s still an F,” Tsukishima pointed out, eyes glued to the pages of the book he was reading. Yamaguchi and Kageyama tried to stifle their snickers.

“Y-You’re not even looking!” Hinata defended. The ginger was met with a shrug. “I don’t need to see the score to know you failed.”

Before any fighting could break out, however, the door swung open, revealing the remaining third-years. Bags of snacks in their arms, the four of them stepped in. “We’re back! Your parent/guardian let us in, (y/n),” Sugawara announced, setting his bag down on the table. The rest followed suit and set the goodies down. Rummaging through one of the bags, Daichi pulled out a meat bun.

“Hinata, here’s your meat bun,” he said, handing the snack to the excited first-year, who had long-forgotten Tsukishima’s snide remark about his lack of intellectual aptitude. Kiyoko offered Kageyama his milk, the slight brush of their hands being enough to stir Noya and Tanaka into an envious craze. Asahi tried to settle them down, nervously reminding them that they needed to act respectful in your home, especially after your family had agreed to let you all study there. You stifled a giggle as Sugawara and Daichi joined in, scolding their underclassmen for their poor behavior and threatening them with a time-out.

With an exasperated sigh, Sugawara took a seat next to you on the mat. “Ah, I can’t help but worry about how Ennoshita’s going to handle both of them on his own.”

Giving a sidelong glance to the second-year, who was now forcing Noya and Tanaka to complete timed practice problems, your lips formed a small smile. “Looks like he does a pretty good job at it, though.”

Sugawara let out an amused huff. “Guess I’m worried over nothing. Oh, also,” he dug into the plastic bag in front of him, taking out your favorite snack and offering it to you. “Here you go.”

(can u tell from my stories yet that fav snacks aka actions are my love language--)

“Oh, thank you, Suga, I didn’t even ask for this…” you flashed him a grateful smile and took the package from his hands, suppressing the blush that threatened to overcome your cheeks as your fingertips brushed. He gave a sheepish smile and glanced to the side in response, giving the back of his neck an anxious rub.

“Ah, it’s the least I could do to thank you for letting us all come over to study. It’s really helpful. I appreciate it, (y/n).”

“It’s not much, really. I’m more than glad to help you all (read: Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, and Noya) out with English and offer my place. Having everyone together makes it easier. They need to pass these exams so you all get to play.”

Your offer to help the team with their studies may have seemed a simple gesture as both their friend and co-manager. On the inside, however, you really were more than happy to have everyone over for whatever reason. It left you with a feeling of awe. The last thing you would’ve expected 3 months ago was to be sitting in your new home in Japan, surrounded by a group of people who accepted you despite your poor Japanese and late appearance to Karasuno. Just 4 months ago, after you learned about your parent/guardian’s job transfer to Japan, you were left feeling an array of mixed feelings:

Anxiety – a whole new country? With a language you could barely even speak or understand? How was that going to work? Could you even make friends at school? God knows how long it took you to make the friends you have now.

Disappointment – you were looking forward to graduating high school with the friends you’ve made throughout the past few years. Having to say goodbye would be difficult, and you’d miss them.

Yet, you felt a sliver of hopefulness – new experiences were waiting for you. You had the opportunity to lead a new life in a foreign place. It filled you both with fear and exhilaration.

On the night before your first day at Karasuno, you could barely sleep after spending hours religiously practicing how to introduce yourself in Japanese. Having to introduce yourself to the class and speaking with your new classmates was inevitable, after all. And so the next day, you found yourself standing in front of the classroom, trying to suppress the nervous shudder that threatened to rack your body and ignore the prickles of sweat on your palms. Despite how much you mentally recited your introduction that morning, your current situation left your mind blank, unable to conjure any words. Fueled by the awkward silence, the numerous gazes focused on you, and the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach, what came out was a quiet, jumbled form of what you intended to say.

“Hello, (y/n) (l/n). I’m (insert your original country name here). I can’t Japanese, but I hope friends. Everyone, nice to meet,” you bowed, both in respect and so that you could hide your face, which was red from embarrassment. You knew you messed up, but you pretended otherwise, hoping that nobody would point out your mistake.

You straightened up after a few moments of silence, registering the confused looks of your new classmates and feeling another stab of shame. In response to your introduction, the teacher raised her eyebrows and blinked in confusion. Then her eyes warmed, and she offered you a smile as she spoke up. “Class, this is (l/n) (y/n). She recently moved here from (insert OG country here). She’s still learning Japanese; however, her English is perfect, so I’m sure you can all learn something from each other. Please make her feel welcome. Your seat is over there, (l/n).”

Shoulders sagging, you made your way to your desk, avoiding eye contact despite the pairs of eyes that followed you to your seat. Focusing on the lecture was a struggle. Not only could you barely understand anything the teacher was saying; worries about how the rest of the day would go also flooded your mind. This was only the morning; how could you navigate your way through the halls? Ask for directions? Would you meet people? Where would you eat lunch? How could you survive?

The remainder of the classes went by gruesomely slow. Too embarrassed from your slip this morning and too shy to meet new people despite wanting to make a friend, you successfully dodged conversation with any of your classmates. You were relieved that finally lunch came by, yet that presented another problem. You weren’t sure where to go, but you were sure that you were going to eat by yourself.

After a few minutes of walking around the hallways, you settled for eating lunch in the classroom. At least it meant you didn’t have to rush to class after the bell rang. Taking a seat, you pulled out your boxed lunch and set it out in front of you. Painfully aware of how alone you must have looked, you pretended to look really interested in your meal (am i the only one or--). You poked it, broke it into pieces, then brought each sliver to your mouth and chewed slowly. If only your family had switched your phone plans earlier, then you could at least spend time scrolling the internet or lament to your friends back home about how your day was going.

Still “engrossed” in your meal, you failed to notice a figure standing in front of your desk. Only after you saw a hand situate itself on the edge of your desk did you look up.

You met the chestnut eyes of a boy. He bore a warm smile that made a small crinkle in his eyes and beauty mark. Strands of grey hair draped naturally in front of his eyes and framed the sides of his face. Despite your unease, his soft features helped to calm your racing heart and mind. He seemed a friendly person; after all, he was able to approach you.

“Hey, you’re (l/n), right? I’m Sugawara Koushi, but you can call me Suga. I’m in your class,” he introduced in pretty darn good English.

‘Man, that means he heard me this morning…’ you thought miserably. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel some relief. Perhaps you hadn’t given others or yourself much of a chance before jumping to the conclusion that you were incapable of meeting new people.

Clearing your throat, you shyly extended a hand to him in greeting. “Yes, I’m (y/n) (l/n). Call me (y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Suga,” you replied hesitantly, finally using the correct words in Japanese that you had been practicing the previous night.

Shaking your hand, his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Your Japanese sounds pretty good! You just moved, so you’re still learning, right? How about I help you improve that while you help me with English?”

You were about to nod eagerly in appreciation when you both overheard some snickering across the room. Two boys and a girl sat together, whispering quite loudly and sneaking oh-so-inconspicuous glances over at your desk. Taking notice that they were caught staring, they presumed to loudly munch on their meals and talk about the weather.

Suga only shot them annoyed glare and shook his head before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, those are my… Friends.” The strain in his voice after saying that last word made you question if they really were on friendly terms.

After that day, you found yourself spending every lunch period with Suga and his other third-year friends Daichi, Asahi, and Shimizu. You initially felt unsure of how to talk to them, but after Sugawara’s efforts to include you in his circle and some reassuring words about being yourself and not letting a small, temporary language barrier hold you back from making friends, you earned a bit of confidence. While you spoke a hybrid of English and Japanese with them, you eventually managed to pick up a lot of Japanese from talking everyday, and after these few months of constant exposure, you were able to hold decent conversations. Additionally, the extra help you sought from the teaching staff allowed you to be able to keep up in class, and your instructors were understanding enough to give you some leniency on your assignments during this adjustment period.

Hanging around your new friends often, it was only a matter of time before you were introduced to the rest of Karasuno’s boys’ volleyball team. It occurred one lunch period three weeks after you first arrived, when Asahi suggested that you join some club activities. You were discouraged, however, considering that it was already halfway through the year, you didn’t know enough Japanese yet to converse with just anyone, and you were a tad shy, which made joining clubs a bit difficult. At that moment, your new friends all made eye contact with each other, then looked at you.

“Why not join our volleyball club?” Suga asked. “Shimizu could always use the help. She’s our only student manager.”

Shimizu nodded in agreement, her blue gaze soft. “Your help would be really appreciated. There’s a lot to this job, so having someone to split the work with would be relieving. You can also help me look for someone to take my place when we graduate.”

Later that day you found yourself in the gym being blocked by Sugawara, who was protecting you from two crazed boys whose collars were held back by Daichi. A ginger-haired boy looked at you with curiosity, excitedly introducing himself as Hinata and pointing out the names of the other members on the court (“This is ‘Bakageyama’ and that guy’s ‘Four-eyed Jerk Face’—").

Upon their release (which was granted only after they promised to behave), Tanaka and Noya dashed over to you, tears in their eyes as they held your hands and expressed their gratitude for your presence. “Oh, (y/n), you kind soul, helping Shimizu with the managerial work. Better yet, now we have two cute girls to support us, this is amazing!”

And that’s how you found yourself sitting with your new friends in your living room and feeling grateful for their vibrant personalities, kindness, and acceptance. You couldn’t have asked for a better batch of friends to end your year with. Though, you were most grateful to Sugawara. If not for him, the last several months of your highschool experience may have gone by miserably, with nothing special to note and no new friends to celebrate with. His gentle, understanding nature had done nothing but support you and make you feel welcome. He helped introduce you to a new, comfortable life you had trouble imagining before your arrival to Japan. He dispelled your doubts and fears, instilling in you a newfound confidence in your abilities. It certainly helped that the team was just as supportive and patient with you.

You could recount the events of the past few months that brought warmth to your heart. These people were growing on you, making you feel like you could be yourself more each day. Daichi provided you a sense of security and leadership. Asahi was empathetic, quick to detect your feelings of uneasiness and asking you if you were okay. Shimizu made sure to make you feel welcome as a friend and fellow manager, even inviting you to a café over the weekend to brainstorm ideas on recruiting a replacement (who you both later discovered to be Yachi) and try out some desserts. Tanaka and Noya tried to teach you all the Japanese curse words they knew, initially lying to you about their meanings so they could see the rest of the team’s reactions when you would blurt things out in the middle of practice (Let’s just say that Daichi, Suga, Ennoshita, and Tsukki knew whose fault this was, and Asahi was real shook hearing a string of curse words from your mouth while you sat there, no ill intent emanating from you whatsoever). Ennoshita gave you a comforting, easygoing presence. Tsukki was… Tsukki (LOL). But he could carry on a conversation, often genuinely interested whenever you talked about the culture back in (other country). And you knew he was soft. Hinata was a burst of energy, and you found his bickering with Tsukishima and Kageyama silly and quite precious. You often stayed with Yachi to toss balls to Kageyama late at night, much to his appreciation. Yachi and Yamaguchi were some of the biggest sweethearts on the team, and all you could think about was needing to protect them.

There was definitely something different in your interactions with Sugawara, though. You found yourself closest to him out of everyone. It may have been because he was the first you talked to, or maybe it was because he was one of the most easygoing people you’ve ever met. That, and you found yourself wanting to get closer to him. You wanted to know more about him.

Sugawara chuckled in response. “I suppose you’re right. We wouldn’t have made it this far without everyone,” he said softly, a tinge of fondness showing in his brown eyes. He proceeded to take out his schoolwork and pen, resting his chin in his palm as he read the words across the page of his assignment. Occasionally, you glanced over at him, admiring the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration, and how his hair brushed his cheeks whenever his head shifted in its position. How the grey tips of lashes kissed his bottom eyelids with each flutter of his chocolate hues. You even took a mental note that his lips, currently pursed in thought, were rather smooth and full in appearance.

A rogue thought about how those lips would feel against your own flitted across your mind. It brought a small pang to your chest, and you had to mentally slap yourself back into reality. You noticed these new feelings were starting to become more prevalent the longer you hung around Sugawara. You consulted your friends back home about it, and in their excitement, they insisted you had a crush on this guy (and demanded photos). Heart palpitations, heat-flooded cheeks, covert glances, and a desire for closeness in all aspects possible? All symptoms of infatuation, your personal love doctors concluded. You recalled when these signs first appeared about a month ago, after he offered to walk you home when practice had gone late into the night. Initially you declined, not wanting him to go out of his way when it was already dark outside. However, after seeing the soft look in his eyes as he declared he wanted to ensure you got home safely and that he didn’t mind the walk, your heart couldn’t help but give in and agree.

It was a tranquil night, accompanied only by the sound of crickets chirping and a cool, whispy breeze. About 15 minutes after having left campus, you were both seated on an aged bench at a small park, snacking on recent convenience store purchases to satisfy your growling stomachs. A comfortable silence settled in the air. The nightly surroundings were illuminated by the gentle glow of several nearby lampposts and stars that burned lightyears away.

Your gaze followed the tracks of a small bug crawling across the sidewalk in front of your feet. It skittered soundlessly against the pavement, eventually disappearing in the security of a bush. A gentle sigh took hold of your attention, and your eyes flickered over to your friend, who was peering up at the star-dusted evening sky.

“Do you know what you’re doing after graduation?” he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice.

You shook your head. “No clue, to be honest. You?”

He pursed his lips and took a sidelong glance at you before focusing back upwards. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher…”

“Seems fitting. Your Japanese lessons have been really helpful,” you pointed out, smiling.

The tips of his lips curved upwards as well. “Really? I’m glad. You’ve improved a lot, too. You’re a quick learner.”

“Heh, well I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Another comfortable silence fell upon you two before he spoke again. “I was thinking about how to keep in touch with everyone after we left, and how it’s a shame we’re leaving so soon after you arrived. I would’ve liked to know you better, too, but there’s only a few months left...”

His genuine words left a rosy tinge on your cheeks. As you were thinking of a response, you looked down, noticing how close your hand lay next to his. Heartrate quickening, you stammered, “Y-Yeah, I wish we had more time, too.. T-To hang around each other, I mean. But graduation doesn’t have to mean goodbye, right?”

“That’s true... You always know just what to say, you know that, (y/n)?” he turned his gaze on you and held out an extended pinky. “Promise to talk to me after graduating, then?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and huffed in amusement. Taking your own pinky and intertwining it with his, you nodded. “So long as you keep your end of the promise, too.”

“Of course.”

Sugawara’s voice brought you out of your momentary flashback. “(Y/n)? Can I ask you a question?”

Blinking your previous thoughts away and calming the warmth on your cheeks, you responded, “What’s up?”

He slid his assignment closer to you, pointing at a section he was having trouble with. “Here. I’m not sure if I’m doing this correctly..”

You leaned in, scooching towards him and closing in on the gap between you. Focused on the homework, you failed to notice how the brush of your shoulders made Sugawara’s body stiffen slightly. With your proximity, your scent easily wafted to his nose, and he could observe the closer details of your appearance. The hair tucked behind your ear exposed your cheekbone, looking soft to the touch. Your determined hues scanned the page, and he could visualize your thinking through your small, occasional self-nods. You looked cute and comfortable in the casual hoodie you wore, bringing him a strange, mixed sense of bashfulness and ease. His mind wandered, trying to envision how you would look if you wore any of his jackets, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of your sweet voice and scribbles against paper.

“It sounds great, Suga! I just made a note there on how you can fix it; otherwise, it should be okay,” you gave him a reassuring smile as you slid his work back to him. You, however, didn’t shift back to your original position and instead stayed seated mere inches from the boy. Not that he minded, but…

“O-Oh, alright, thanks!”

It made concentrating during the rest of the study session a little difficult.

Occasionally you did get up, helping mostly the first and second years with some of their English assignments. His eyes would secretly (but c’mon, everyone but Hinata and Kageyama could tell) follow your figure, admiring the way you looked as you interacted happily with the others and did whatever you could to assist them. Yet you always returned to the same spot, near Suga. Close enough that everyone else on the team took notice (if they haven’t already), relayed the information via mental telephone, and secretly agreed to depart a bit earlier than they had anticipated.

“Oh, you guys are leaving already?” you asked everyone as they were packing up their belongings.

They all nodded in response, offering up their reasons for leaving earlier than the original time you set, which ranged from, “My parents wanted me home for dinner” to “My sister’s wasted and locked out of the house, nobody’s home—” (u good der Saeko)

Standing at your doorway, you waved to your friends, sending them off with a “I’ll see you at school!” as they waved back and filed out of your home. Looking over to Suga, who was still standing beside you, you wondered, “Oh, you’re staying?”

“Oh, yeah! I was surprised to see everyone leave so soon, but I was planning to head home in another hour. B-But I can go now if you need me to..!” he answered a bit shakily, waving around his hands in small, bashful gestures.

You shook your head and you waved your hand dismissively. “It’s okay, you’re more than welcome to stay for however long you need to.”

Settled back in the common area, you both tried to resume your schoolwork, but to no avail. Groaning, you leaned back, using your arms to support you from behind. “I’m tired of workingggggg.”

He sighed in agreement, resting an elbow on the table and propping up his head in a closed fist. “Same. Do you want to do something else?”

“Hmm..” you pondered aloud. “Do you want to see my room?”

Shrugging and responding with a “why not?”, you both stood up, leaving the common area to go to your room. You opened the door and stepped inside, Suga closely trailing behind you.

“Welcome to my room. Make yourself cozy,” you insisted as you sat on your bed and pat the spot next to you. He took your offer, taking a seat beside you and looking around your bedroom in curiosity.

“Something about this place really seems like you, (y/n).”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Is it the messy pile of clothes in that basket or the neat desk I cleaned up this morning?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose you could say those are part of it. I just meant there’s a lot to you that you should feel comfortable sharing with others. People are complex and there’s so many sides to a person we discover along the way. I remember how timid you were in our first weeks of knowing each other, and now you’re getting along great with everyone and work hard to improve everyday. You were able to overcome a stressful repeat of entering highschool, but this time in another country, and adapted just fine! Your kindness and determination is admirable.”

Twiddling with your fingers, you felt a sheepish grin form on your face. “Aha, you’re too kind, Suga. You know I couldn’t have made these friends or adjust so well without your help. I was too worried about talking to anyone until you came up to me, so… Thank you.”

You risked a glance towards the boy, finding his chocolate gaze already set on you. If none of your interactions in the past month had set your heart ablaze, then certainly this moment would take the cake. Sugawara’s eyes flickered downwards briefly in a moment of hesitance, then locked again onto yours with a hint of an undetectable emotion lurking behind those irises.  Neither of you could bring up any words to say. The only sounds present were the soft hums of your breathing and the low creak of your bed as you found yourselves shifting your weight in order to inch closer to one another.

His mind flooded with a cacophony of emotions, from crippling nervousness to an allure for risk-taking. He could barely come to terms with the current situation and what might happen. Maybe he was overthinking it. Surely being this close face-to-face with someone who you just happen to like doesn’t automatically mean they like you back and want to kiss you just as much. Perhaps you were just leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder; after all, you did seem tired from the events of today. Or, you were scooting close for a better look at his face so you could point out, “hey, you got a little something on your face.” Perhaps a crumb from the cracker he had earlier?

But when he took note of the way your eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes caressing the tops of your dusted cheeks, his doubts began to waver. Maybe this was the chance he’s been seeking out lately. Once Daichi deciphered Sugawara’s affections for you, eventually the whole team found out and began to silently root for him. Thankfully, despite their blatant attempts to help him out, you hadn’t noticed a thing. It made him wonder whether you were oblivious, or just didn’t like him, or both. However, in this moment, when it appeared as though maybe you returned his feelings, he felt he should—as Tanaka would say—shoot his shot.

A sudden knock on the door sent you both jumping 5 feet away from each other. Frazzled and wide-eyed, you choked out a weak, “H-Hello?” in response to the interruption. The door opened, revealing your parent/guardian, who peeked inside.

“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to stay and have it with us?” they were asking Suga.

Heart still racing from the fear that gripped it, he blinked in surprise. He piped out a polite no thank you, reasoning that he didn’t want to intrude.

“Nonsense, we’re happy to have you. Come soon.”

They closed the door and left, leaving you two in an awkward silence that was soon interrupted by the sound of your cough. “We should, uh, get going…”

Standing up, you reached for the door with Suga in tow. The tension in the air remained between the two of you throughout dinner. Nevertheless, Sugawara was able to leave a good impression on your family by being a good conversationalist, even earning a few laughs from your parent/guardian. It made your heart swell at how natural it was for him to be able to get along with others.

After dinner ended and he packed his things, you stepped outside with him to send him off, closing the door behind you. He was about to salute you with a “thanks for having me over” when you gave him a peck on the cheek so sudden that he didn’t have time to react before you were already making your way back into your house.

“Thanks for coming, Suga! I’ll see you at school! Let me know when you get home!” you exclaimed animatedly, shutting the door quickly to hide your embarrassment from your sudden actions. You leaned your back against it, instantly regretting what you did with tightly shut eyes. ‘Oh gawd how am I gonna face him at school tomorrow dhefjkg.’

But on the other side of the door, Suga stood dumbfounded, hovering a hand over the area your lips had touch. Though highly embarrassed, he felt a rush of elation pass over him like a humongous wave that never stopped crashing against the shores.

He was starting to really think it was a good idea to introduce himself to the cute new girl in class. Nice one, Suga.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Selfish pt.8 - Sheriff of Nottingham x Reader (Robin Hood 2018)

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Author’s Note: This sat in my drafts for ages with a note screaming that I had all the plot points and just had to write it. At least it made me chuckle every time I looked at it! But it’s finally done! And I get to bring you more of the Sheriff and his Norse Goddess. (Come on, we know she is.)

I read this back out loud and made myself laugh a bunch of times. But also there are SO many great conversations in this. It’s another piece of mine I like very much 🥰

Disclaimer: Robin Hood characters & plot not mine  / mad world still courtesy of Otto Bathust / lyrics not mine

Premise: The more you look at Nottingham the more you see corruption in it’s power structure, and you turn to the one man you can confront. There are things that you want to move forward with in your relationship, but not until you’re on exactly the same page...

Words: 9575

Warnings: Sexual Pre-Amble / All the plot threads for the movie pick up and our girl is not best pleased with any of them / Scars/Sheriff’s Backstory

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I tried to warn her this ain’t a friendly game It’s just warfare by a different name She won’t listen so I’m tryin' to pretend That I don’t know how the story’s gonna end It’s like a tight rope hangin' by a thread A vicious cycle where no one comes out ahead She’s divin’ in to try to save a drowning man But I’ll take her down with me if I can My heart stays locked away somewhere You’re the reason that it’s there

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Fighting for the things you give me I wanna share your love Feelin' like a wounded soldier Strength is not enough And I can't win this battle on my own My sword has long been buried Piled on with dirt Speak to me your promises Resurrect your word I'll rise up and be your voice I made my choice This is my story Your songs are stored inside my heart So break me apart It's for your glory Let it pour out of me Let it pour out of me It's for your glory So ride out on your wings of love Show me that you're here Cast down on my enemies Trembling with fear Cuz I can't win this battle on my own No I can't win this battle on my own I'll rise up and be your voice I made my choice This is my story

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Months more passed into your marriage, and you could happily - hand-on-heart - say that you were enjoying it. Askel became a little softer on it, but kept trying to point out that he wouldn’t see it as a real marriage until at least he was involved. When you put it to Marcus, as the witness, he simply held his hands up. “Look, I just did what I was asked. But if it was just for a certificate to prove something… I dunno if it counts.” You would let the Church argue that one. Tuck would have the answer, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear it or not. It was a marriage, and that’s what Wil was putting to the people, documents standing or not. It wasn’t something you even had to push down or to the back of your mind, it was just something you never thought on. At least your brother was starting to realise how much happier you were now, and that your husband continued to make you happy. That was what mattered. And their relationship was certainly getting better because of it. Askel’s English was broken, and his accent at times make it difficult (not that he cared), but he was trying now. That made you proud of him, especially when the Sheriff responded in kind with Norse. That made Askel happy – to see you were not the only one trying in your relationship. Both of you were making an effort for the other.  It had Askel thinking this might work after all, although on occasion he’d grumble to you about not getting the opportunity to stab the guy on behalf of your father, and then take you back home. Teasingly you offered to let Askel return home but he always refused, preferring to ‘protect’ you. Although you weren’t sure you needed it. Askel did like spending a lot of time down at the docks now, however, as the Norse ships started arriving – you knew he was enjoying being around your people again. You weren’t always on duty with your guard, and you had them all pretty well trained by now. Marcus liked to, on occasion, give you breaks and you seemed to be given a lot more advisory meetings to attend. Luckily Lucian was still around to help you with those. You weren’t sure you wanted to put unnecessary stress on someone who was meant to be retiring, but he simply chuckled: “My dear, these are the hardest fought battles. Political ones, you’re doing excellent work out there I can already see that. But now I must help you master these. Besides, I would feel better doing something for the Sheriff. Wil does need guidance on occasion! He made the right choice with you, of that I am certain.” He didn’t need to add that statement, and you were certainly humbled. You were done with those today, though, and you knew that Wil would be busy for the rest of his own. Considering how much complaining he’d done this morning whilst dressing. To save him from leaving looking riled up – especially as the Lords decided to make it their mission to collect him - you pulled him back from the door at the last second and into a fierce kiss. At least he’d left with a smile, if not a yearning to spend the remainder of his day alone with you. He’d been continually busy for the past few weeks, and less time could therefore be spent with him outside of quiet morning and night hours. You were aware that during this time Vesper had been able to stretch his legs less and less, and that horse was growing restless. You were off duty, and with nothing else much to do other than read or sit with your thoughts, you believed you could provide the perfect solution. You approached the Sheriff’s office fairly cautiously, greeted with a smile by Alden, who was now every so often joining your guard in training. Although you seldom saw the point, because he was already very good. He didn’t need you – but he wanted to be involved and that was sweet. “Good day, my lady.” He stood to attention and you politely inclined your head, “How is he?” “On and off. You’ll be welcome respite.” “What a shame that it is only to ask one question, is he with anyone?” “No, and he’d prefer for it to be kept that way until his next meeting. Of course, you will be a notable exception.” “I’ll knock anyway!” And you did so, but didn’t wait for a response before entering. “…Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think my personal guard wasn’t doing his job.” “You specifically told him I could enter?” “I don’t think he’d stop you.” Wil pushed his chair out to stand but you stilled him, “No, please, stay seated it’s just one question and I’ll be leaving! You have much to do.” “Well, you may ask when ready.” “Vesper.” “…Yes?” His head tilted. “May I take him out? Beyond the walls? I just… You’ve been busy and I’d like to make sure that he doesn’t get… too restless.” “Ah. Well I’ll defer to you, if you think he’ll be fine.” There were a few seconds of silence between you, before he smiled and added, “I think he trusts you, but do be careful.” “I will, I promise!” You beamed – it was all about respect, but you would want to keep control of a stallion like that. You’d watched Wil with him enough to know how it was done. Thinking better of just turning and running back out, instead you approached his desk, leaning down to catch his lips – this kiss far more gentle. “Enjoy your day.” The smile that graced his face was a delight to watch, “Thank you. I’ll try my upmost to make that so.” Wil took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles to bid you farewell, you couldn’t help beaming as you left the room, closing the door behind you and wishing Alden well. You were certainly about to have a good day. Marcus had told you previously that Vesper only let the Sheriff anywhere near him to ride. So you knew that if this worked it was another number to add to the apparent ‘miracles’ that were happening here because of you. Then again, you’d always had an understanding with this horse; he was considerably calmer with you than the others, and it didn’t take long for you to persuade him to let you saddle him up, hands through his mane and over his neck, before stroking his muzzle – whispering gentle words in Norse. The same ones you used to use with your own horse before he was fully used to you; until Vesper allowed you to slip on his reigns. “Okay, Vesper…” You stroked him delicately again, before swinging yourself up onto his back, “let’s get you running!” Although you were careful with him through the streets of Nottingham, you could feel the both of you getting used to each other, figuring the other out. He was tall and steady, more than Eyhamel was – but you had to remind yourself he wasn’t the same kind of horse. Which gave him the edge out here – he was used to walking streets like this now. Eyha was still nervous about how close some of them were; in the mines especially – he was used to small spread out houses, sea air and countryside. You wondered how long Wil and Vesper had been a partnership, did Vesper grow up on streets like this, or did he know Wil’s country estate? The one where his family had- Vesper tugged the reigns sharply and you gasped, knowing you’d have got distracted, out of sync. Angrily thinking on something you shouldn’t have been. It had transferred through you into him, and you were forced to take a calming breath. “Sorry. That one’s on me.” Both of you were eager to get running, and you could feel that energy as you approached the gates. You’d come a different way to usual today, and this one led out to the toll bridge; the ground was a little flatter and smoothed out down a slope, with no trees here you knew you could let the power in the horse beneath you fly. Although you didn’t get to do that right away, because as you pulled up to the toll bridge the scene unfolding in front of you demanded your attention. The guards operating the bridge were currently yelling in the faces of a couple of scared looking peasants. And when the yelling didn’t work, they were dragged to the floor and promptly beaten. The anger running through you into Vesper had him starting forward, and you were glad of it, not attempting to pull him back. “STOP!!! STOP!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?”  Your shouts were at least controlled as you put Vesper between the guards and the people, forcing them to back up. Your look was hard and if they thought you were done with them- “What. Are. You. Doing?” You demanded once more, glaring. “They have to pay the toll, can’t pay, no entry.” The guard very nearly spat, as if you were the problem. Clearly he wasn’t impressed with your intervention. “Are you Nottingham guard?” If they were yours you were about to axe them on the spot, “Who do you report to?” “The council.” Oh, that meant they weren’t charged with defending the city. “We are not the guard.” “I should hope not.” You forced them to back up again, Vesper was happy to aid in the fact that you were having none of it, “I’d see you off my guard before you could think. Who authorised you to do this!?” “The Sheriff. We have our orders.” You stilled Vesper for a moment with one single blink, Wil? Wil was just letting this happen? Did he know it happened like this? You knew you didn’t want to believe it. “We’ll see about that.” If you weren’t so determined to take Vesper out you’d be marching back up to the palace and dragging him down here to witness for himself. “Let them through.” “On whose authority?” You folded your arms, “My husbands. My own. I don’t care – you should be ashamed of yourselves.” Power, give them a drop and things like this happened… You wheeled Vesper around to the two peasants, recovering themselves and their goods. “Are you alright? Do you need assistance?” Your face and voice were considerably softer. That would be a short trek, you wouldn’t have minded doing that.  But they both shook their heads, bowing their thanks to you. “No, M’lady! Thank you.” “Truly, it’s nothing. I can only apologise.” You waited to make sure that they got inside before turning back to the guard, “I catch you doing this again, you really will have to answer to someone higher than me, and I can promise you, you won’t be keeping your positions either.” You made sure to let that sink in with enough fierce in your voice, before once again turning his horse on a dime and urging Vesper out over the bridge. Well, now you’d need to spend some time out here cooling off, too.

The Sheriff, whilst all this was happening, had left his office. As much to be truly alone as to catch a glimpse of you, finding the highest point in the palace to keep an eye on as large an area of the outskirts as possible. He took his work with him, although he couldn’t say he wasn’t distracted. This could at least have been brushed off for a few days, the opportunity to watch you run his horse was not something to be missed. Wil found himself smiling uncontrollably as you did appear, and when you said run Vesper, you’d really meant it. You pushed him hard, galloping across the flat plains, fluctuating between sweeping and tight turns to add variety to the speed. But there were rivers and streams that you strayed into and Wil could swear he heard your laugh from all the way out there. And on the other side, lush long grass bled into the scenery and slopping hills, before it ended in forest. You never strayed up there, but you certainly strolled out of sight every so often. On these occasions he would just watch and wait for you to come back, instead of getting anything done. He sighed gently, before chuckling – wishing he could be beside you right now, wind rushing through his hair. A distraction maybe, but a welcome one. The Sheriff’s blue eyes flicked back down to his documents, before he firmly placed them to one side, focusing back on you. Voice soft as he mused to himself, “Well, Y/N… you’ve done it again…”

***

 Your escapades at the toll booth this morning didn’t take long to reach the Lords and, when eventually the Sheriff had to abandon his seat in favour of the Lords meeting, they were quick to jump on the subject with him. If he were honest, he was happy that you seemed to be taking control, using your voice, showing Nottingham your authority here. As you were married, he didn’t see anything wrong with you using him as your leverage. Wil supposed that the Lords didn’t like that you were female. He wasn’t about to let that kind of thinking stop you – and the Sheriff knew for a fact you weren’t either. However, apparently, you’d been busy in town this morning. “-She’s been messing with the toll bridge! That’s there for a reason, but she’s threatened the guard! They aren’t the city guard, not hers! She’s letting people through without paying the toll! This is unbelievable! She’s going to destroy everything we’re putting into place-!” Wil sat back in his chair, and stretched, looking between them all as they all began fussing and agreeing. He’d let them all talk, but not listen to a word. That was the reason you were here after all, was it not? You were here to shake things up, that was the purpose of putting you in charge. “With all due respect, gentleman, she is in her position to challenge the way things are done.” “She means to topple us.” The Sheriff held his hands up, “No, No. My wife will make things better for our city. I’m sure whatever happened at the toll was a misunderstanding. She already has our defences in better shape. She’ll do much more for us than that.” Pembroke gave him a look of significance, “The war effort?” His eyes narrowed, what was Pembroke suggesting? “She has no part in that, nor reason to know anything about it.” “The tolls-” “I will make sure that I explain to her the importance.” Wil took a breath, “I have this under control.” “Do you?” The Sheriff chuckled, “You think I can’t handle a woman like her? She’s young, she does not understand all our ways yet. She’s malleable – she’ll toe the line. I won’t even need to ask it of her.” He knew that you probably had a better grasp of things than he’d admit to them; but the war wasn’t anything he’d needed to involve you in, it was so far away. Getting you mixed up in it was unnecessary – besides that, he was sure that his side of the plan was something you could agree with. Also, right now William had to play the game the men in front of him wanted him to play – assumed he was playing. The Sheriff had to show that he could control you, that you weren’t unruly. It wouldn’t take much for one man in the room to think you were a little above your station and want you shipped back home. Or worse, there was so much worse that could be done… Wil crossed his arms over his body, just so the hidden blade pressed flat into his chest – they were underestimating the both of you. It anyone came for you, he’d protect you with his life, of that the Sheriff was already sure. You had a duty to defend him and his city, and you might think it to be that – whether you loved him or not. But he would certainly be doing this for love; the knowledge he’d never meet anyone quite like you ever again. Shaking Nottingham up was not the only thing you’d done, after all. You were undoing him piece by piece, and it had been so subtle at first Wil hadn’t even noticed – but now he wanted all these things he’d never considered before… and he wanted to share them with you. “See it done, Sheriff.” Oh he would. Just not in the way they thought.

*** By the time you got back it was late afternoon, you made sure to come back through the gate you went out of – shooting the guards a look, just so they knew you’d be going straight to the Sheriff with this. Luckily you weren’t in a nice dress today; you and Vesper by this point drying off nicely, but certainly a little worse for wear. Water stains and mud flecked your dress and his lower body. You couldn’t help but be glad you’d got to ride him, and from the signals he was giving off, Vesper was happy too. You dismounted as soon as you entered the palace grounds, laughing as you led him back towards the stable. You were happy to go and brush him down yourself, but when a stable hand came to relieve you of him – promising that all would be okay when you warned him of Vesper’s temperament – you found yourself void of things to do. Not for long, your curiosity had you running back to Wil to see if he’d be back from his duties today. Not in his office anymore, but his ready room. Doors and windows open, light flooded him and you had to pause and catch your breath at the way it broke over his form, his eyes, sifting through his hair, the occasional glint off his signet ring. You felt a knot in your stomach for a moment and couldn’t help but softly gasp as the heat ran through you. Oh. It was like that…

Eventually he put his quill down and his eyes raised to you. A small smile on his face as this time he did get up from his seat, “Darling, forgive me, come come…” The Sheriff waved you forward. “Oh, I-!” You walked to him, “I wasn’t waiting for your permission, I-” you took his hands in yours, loving the way the smile on his face grew exponentially as you did so, “I’m sorry. I was… a little dazed.” He chuckled, “By me?” letting your hands go he cupped your face, and that smile of his became a smug smirk. “Who else?” Your voice was soft, and you let him lead you to his lips. Even though his kiss was sweet and short it just made you want him more. But Wil cleared his throat: “What happened at the toll booth today?” You took a step back from him, hoping that tone wasn’t really as accusatory as it sounded to you, “Do you know what they are doing to your people-!!?” Suddenly all your outrage from this morning came flooding back, “I understand that tolls must be paid, but beating it out of people!?! If they can’t pay, turn them around, but BEAT them!?” “Y/N-” “NO! NO! Listen to me, do you have any idea how badly that reflects on you?” Wil’s eyebrows furrowed, how much you cared for him really was admirable, but you had to understand how this worked; “Y/N, those are the rules. You care too much. You do. It doesn’t matter what they think of me, but how they follow the rules.” “They’re BEATING pe-” you stopped yourself short, you knew he understood that. Hell, you knew he understood that better than anyone. “It matters. You are not a bad person. Stop… stop trying to make me believe you are.” “This is the way it goes.” “You’re better than this.” “I’m not.” You hated that sincerity in his eyes, why wasn’t he fighting this? “You are.” You shook your head, drawing him back to you, “You can stop this.” “You know it doesn’t work that way.” He stepped back and towards his desk, “Your actions are reflecting on you and if they think you’re pushing a little too far they will…” Wil left that sentence to finish itself. Any sexual excitement within you was suddenly gone at how nonchalant he was being, “I would like to see them try!” “This’s not the point, is it.” “You can’t ignore what they are doing on the pretence of protecting me, what if it was your idea?” The look in those blue eyes was almost haunting, “The Church is fine with this!?” “Backs bent, heads bowed.” The Sheriff’s voice sounded tired – something he’d heard and repeated all too often. Too much history. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” The shake of your head was not only in disappointment, but that you really hadn’t fathomed how big that barrier was to him. A wall you couldn’t see, and maybe one you’d never clear. “It’s not me you need to apologise to, but the people of your city. What they think of you matters, if only to me. And it should matter to you.” “They will think what they think, I have very little say in that. You on the other hand…” The Sheriff collected something from his desk, and held it out for you. “I care what they think of you very much. And whilst I may have my own barriers… you influence the thinking of this City. They will tolerate me to love you. And if you are swaying the people…” You took the letter from him delicately, “The Church can’t put a stop to that?” He nodded encouragingly as you turned your eyes to the parchment, and they widened at the seal, “…My- My father-!?” “I thought it only right for you to be the one to open it.” “Thank you.” The look in your eyes and that smile were so sincere. The kind he got to see on your face when all your defences were down, when you could be yourself with only him. Something Wil wished he could see much more often than he did. You broke the seal and read, small smile immediately widening, eyes scanning the English. It was a little grammatically incorrect… but the sentiment was there. It was English for your husband, that much was for certain. And your smile became a joyous laugh as you wiped a tear from your eye. “It’s a congratulatory letter on our marriage!” “Really!?” And the tone in the Sheriff’s voice made you look to him immediately; you didn’t ever think you’d heard it so light. So overjoyed. The wall was suddenly down as genuine awe crossed his face, eyes bright and wide. You gave a nod, before beckoning him to you, and as he rounded you Wil wound his arms around your waist, propping his head on your shoulder to read. You watched him curiously, at the way he tried and failed to hide that smile – eventually doing so by placing a kiss into your skin. “Well, the honour is certainly all mine.” You laughed, hands over his, “We’re getting somewhere.” “Anything is progress.” He agreed, “Long may that continue… But, with you here, perhaps there is nothing we can’t do.” “Well,” you reached behind you to run your fingers into his hair, “As long as I can change that attitude of yours. Keep your people on side… You keep running things as you do. We make quite the team.” This time the Sheriff’s kiss was to your neck, and he lingered there, making you shudder. “On that, I can agree.”

***

 Eventually you discovered that perhaps the Sheriff was not really protecting you at all. Perhaps he was protecting himself, perhaps his fairly blasé approach to the treatment of his people was not on account of the Lords and the Church. It was just more spun rhetoric; but spun to you? That hurt more than you expected. Clearly you weren’t supposed to find this out, but you had only just missed him in his ready room – with the window open and the wax still melted, a stack of draft notices ready to be signed; that right around now you had half a mind to burn - and all the signs that the room had been hastily vacated, made you believe that Wil was unexpectedly interrupted and he would return soon. You were fine with waiting but were looking a little too closely at the papers on his desk; one immediately confusing you, that looked like Arabic writing… And as you pulled it from out of the stack you gasped instantly in shock. Panic overtook you for a minute and in your wish not to believe it was what it so clearly depicted, you leafed through the documents to hide it again. But you knew you couldn’t leave it out of sight out of mind, and for all he had said to you, the Sheriff owed you an explanation. Wil took the stairs back up to his space with a grumble. Why anyone had thought that small breakages were important enough to interrupt him for he didn’t know. Other than him turning his annoyance on them “Just FIX it then!” and muttering about time wasting. He didn’t need to survey the evidence, all they needed to do was mend it: in fact the Sheriff wasn’t even sure he would have noticed if they hadn’t had directed his attention to it. When he reached his ready room, he was surprised to see you there, pouring over the papers on his desk. Wil thought this odd; you’d never been interested in draft noticed before now. You didn’t need to be either, he’d already said that he wasn’t about to touch your city guard. The Sheriff entered the room cautiously, and quiet, craning to see exactly what you were staring at. Unfortunately the angle of the rest of his stacks of documents didn’t make that so easy, and he was so tall you couldn’t fail to miss him. Wil didn’t even get to open his mouth. “This better be a peace treaty because not only is that Arabic, that’s the Church seal and there’s NO way in hell I want you involved with that!” You’d allow him an explanation, but your look to his face told the Sheriff he better not even think about lying to you now. Wil swallowed hard; his mouth opened then he thought better of it. You turned away from the desk, stance fairly aggressive – and that extended to the look in your eyes, colour vibrant with anger. Wil raised a hand to stop you before you started, you had to hear it from him, no matter how hard it might be for the Sheriff to say. “Y/N… It’s not- it’s not like that.” “Those are numbers, Wil, what are you doing!? Are you paying the enemy-!?” He pressed a finger to his lips “SHH!” and his tone was insistent, “Let me explain this!” “I don’t think you need to-! If you’re plotting with them that’s treason! What about the King!? And with the Church!?” You were clearly shocked, and Wil stepped back to close the door, eyes still on you, “After what they’ve done to you!? Being in league with them!?! The King is responsible for our union! He sent me here-!” “This has been going on a little longer than you’ve been present in my life and it’s not about that, it’s a means to an end!” “If they find out they will KILL you! You’ll be made a spectacle of! This is your country! Why send so many innocent men out there to die for a cause that you’re clearly working against! What is the play-!?” You took a step back as he took one forward, flinching. This wasn’t good, and Wil had to get you back on side quickly – but there was something about what you were saying, you still only cared for him. That’s what you were worried about, what would happen to him. “Is- Is that why you must be so silent!?” “Y/N. It’s not… please, it isn’t what you’re thinking. It is not that our King is bad, it is not… a means to seize power, that is just the outcome of an idea. But I need the support of the Church to take this all the way to being in power. Think about it, if I have unlimited power… control of England, then I have the means to stop the Church. There’ll be no more control, not of me, of the people, of everyone else they oppress just because they hold power through their ‘Divine’ cause.” He swallowed, exhaling deep and trying not to sound so fanatical, “…This only works if the King is removed. That will only happen if the enemy win. Then, once I am in place… Well, the Moors will bring their religion with them too, as you have.” You took one thing from this. “You don’t believe.” “Would you?” “…Wil…” That hurt so much, “Wil, you… you are lost!” No belief? No faith? In anything…? You stepped away from him again, which was too much for the Sheriff’s heart to take and his hand shot out to grasp your wrist, dragging you closer to him: “No! No. Not with you. I have never been lost with you.” He kept you there, but the look in your eyes was breaking his heart, “The King lets this happen. To me, to countless others… and so it continues. I can’t touch the Foundling House, I can’t stop this without winning this war, this way. What kind of King lets these things happen, Y/N!? Would your father!?” “There’s another way. Wil there is a better way. Working with the Church is not the answer.” “They will never see it coming if I involve them. They think the power is shared, really for the first time it is me using them. But, make no mistake, Y/N, I need them.” “No…” You wriggled free of his grip, but cupped his face instead, “You don’t.” “You told me I was a better person than this. Now you understand I’m not.” He indicated to the paper, “But I need you with me on this. And it is the only thing I will ask. Bad, yes, I admit as much… But to do a world of good? You must see that?” You looked away from him and back to the parchment, glaring hard. The Sheriff’s hands settled on your waist, but you didn’t back away from him this time. Your look was steely, and he was going to hear this once and once only and heed you on it. “I do not approve of this. But I am with you on it - IF at the end of all this I may slay some of these Lords and these people who hurt you. And I don’t want to hear another word from you on supporting our soldiers out there. You are going to tell me the truth, William, or I’ll take this to the King myself. Do you understand me? Not one secret.” There were a few more seconds of silence than you would like but eventually he nodded, “Yes, yes.  I understand.” And the Sheriff knew there was no way to threaten you or have you back down on this. You’d be much more likely to slit his throat than listen to his demands. You took a step back, “Find yourself. Because I don’t think you’ll do it in me.” Head down you brushed passed him and exited the room, deeply troubled. Wil turned to watch you go with a soft sigh; you had it all wrong. You were all of his faith that he had left. Nothing good had ever come of believing in a higher power or doing as the Church requested… but you, something had brought you across the water, and to him… The Sheriff wasn’t inclined to think that was just good luck. You stopped on the stairs and had to sit for a moment, hand against the wall; breathing hard to make sure you didn’t cry instead. You hated that you somehow sympathised with this cause. That you understood him. It was treason, it was crazy, Wil would bet his life on something so insane that may not even work out for him. You knew he was power hungry too… you didn’t like it but it was there, and you doubted he would deny it. The Sheriff wasn’t going to find taking that crown a burden, he would relish it. But after all the pain they had caused him in the past, if his end goal truly was to rid this country of its oppression under the Church, then you couldn’t help but agree it might be something desperately needed. It wasn’t just him after all – and it was quite clearly also affecting his present. Haunting Wil in everyone he had the misfortune of interacting with. After all, the Sheriff might be free of that house, but he was not free of them.

 *** The Sheriff certainly became more careful of the way that he spoke around you in meetings. But when you knew all the pieces at play, it was fascinating to watch them talk. You wondered if everyone in this room was in on it. Just a few of them? You started accompanying him to Church a little more just to keep your eyes on them. At night though, Wil would sit you down, or take you in his arms and he’d spill all those secrets that no one else would. Things that, by the way he told them, only you knew. When you asked if this was only because you asked, or if he really trusted you with such information he only smiled. ‘You should know.’ So, for the imminent attack of what every Town Hall meeting called ‘the far enemy’ you had begun challenging Marcus, Alden and Askel to defend the walls. Each of them picked a specialist crew from your guard and tried to defend the wall from you. Armed with a training sword and bow. The idea was to stop you from making your way inside the walls, but every so often another member of the guard was selected as a target and you had to get to them. Honestly it was the most fun you’d had in a while, even if it produced mixed results and some of the teams were far better at stopping you, or slowing you down, than others. Sometimes you wouldn’t even have scaled the walls or made it to the first gate. Sometimes you’d end up cornered on top of the wall, but you’d put up a pretty good fight before they finally caught you. Sometimes you could get through, but they’d slowed you down enough to gather a force up at the palace or to move your ‘target’ far from the scene. Sometimes they’d still be peering over the wall and you’d have to whistle them from an opposite roof, waving. Sometimes you’d end up dragging the target back to them and saying, “Well, my husband would be dead by now. Congratulations!” When they dared you to do the same thing, you were nearly always successful. Askel always scoffed and said that was just because you were so adamant at defending your man – not necessarily your city. Your argument was you were head of the Nottingham guard, so if you couldn’t stop people they might as well dismiss you now. (But you might also concede his point.) But it was a laugh, and you all enjoyed it so much that it became a regular drill, and you’d practice all times of day and in all weathers. The greatest thing was just to hear Wil turn it into propaganda; how the guard were preparing for all eventualities, that they were going to defend Nottingham just as the soldiers were defending ‘us’ in the Crusade. You’d only allow it because he always looked so happy to talk about good things happening and the Church always looked kinda sour about it. You did your best to act as a Lady of Nottingham would and not smugly smirk over at them… you didn’t always succeed. But pretty soon you and Askel were teaching the best and brightest to free run the roof tops and scale the palace in good time. Marcus was built a little heavier and it wasn’t his forte, but you admired him trying, before he eventually concluded he’d rather keep his feet on the ground. Alden however was quicker than you, and as you started to figure out how useful he’d be, you were actually glad of the Sheriff’s offer of his personal guard to the cause when necessary. More important to you, of course, was that you had to worry less about who Wil had to defend him, when you could see clear evidence of how good Alden was, and how much he’d grown, right in front of you. Lucien liked watching you with a shake of his head as if you were all young, naive idiots and, usually when you’d made it to the roof, called up to you that he didn’t realise Nottingham needed an ariel team. He wasn’t about to hide how proud he was of his guard growing, and almost literally flying, with you. One thing was for sure, if the far enemy did ever get over here, no matter what the Sheriff’s arrangement was, you and your boys would defend this city. You wouldn’t let innocent lives you were charged with protecting die just so he could take power. That, you vowed.

***

To show solidarity with your trainees - and those now returning to the city from war unable to be much use there anymore, but still wishing to help out, that you’d taken into your guard – every so often you would stand the wall yourself. You certainly didn’t mind it; everyone was in fairly good spirits and would call to each other up and down the wall. Sometimes they sung songs that you didn’t really understand and if Wil passed below you, he’d yell up about using such language around a Lady with a shake of his head. Only with them throwing back that you were ‘hardly a Lady’. You didn’t mind it much, you were just happy that everyone else enjoyed themselves and you got to look out across the landscape and dream about riding out as far as your eyes could see. Sometimes you could see smoke whisps coming from far off villages and on the occasions that you were facing Shirebrook you could only smile as you thought of Charles and Cara. They seemed due a visit, you would make a mental note of that. One thing you did always make sure to check on was the mines and the tolls. Regular contact with your people kept you popular and Marian, along with her Will, were always welcoming. Especially if you took Tuck with you. The four of you would discuss policy that you had no qualms taking back to your husband for your night talks; even if he blustered and told you he’d hear no more on it. As long as there was one voice in his ear attempting to help the people, you were happy being it. Especially away from the smoke and mirrors world of the Lords – who you trusted less and less the more they opened their mouths. Today you were back on the wall, and in a moment of true boredom, doing nothing more than passing the time of day with Marcus. There were still a few complaints you had that you’d only tell him, and as usual he’d simply chuckle about it and offer solidarity. Sometimes advice, but even just lending his ear helped you sort through things in your brain. Luckily it was a clear day, and the suns rays were warming but not beating down on you. Good on all accounts. However, you were distracted from the conversation by someone calling you: “My Lady-!” At first you couldn’t find the source, not the wall, or below you, “My Lady!” Turning you realised that they were in the street behind you, a small group on horseback. You approached the edge of the wall cautiously, Marcus walked in step, hand on the hilt of his sword, almost making you laugh to see how quick he would be to defend you from nothing. “Yes?” “My Lady, do you… perhaps know where we can find the Sheriff?” You tilted your head, why would they ask you? You’d been out here all day. “Your husband is expecting some very important members of his jurisdiction. They have arrived and urgently wish to speak to him but, we have looked everywhere. We were hoping you may be able to assist?” Instead of offering them any places you’d be convinced they wouldn’t have checked – that he wouldn’t want anyone else knowing of anyway – you simply chuckled, “Yes. I will find him for you, whereabouts would you like him sent?” “The main hall, if you please My Lady. Thank you.” You turned back to Marcus, “Well, right hand, I leave my watch in your capable hands.” “Go on. Aid him to his meeting. In fact stay, he’ll need you, I can imagine it’ll only be tedium!” You headed towards the set of steps with another barked laugh, “Thank you, Marcus! You’re sending me to that tedium too!” It didn’t take you long to figure out where Wil would be. If they’d been thorough in their search, there was only one room they wouldn’t dare enter. Each and every room you could knock on and, alright you’d be facing his wrath if you entered without permission, but you’d have still found him. If they couldn’t find him, then he was out – unlikely, considering Wil often told you if he was to be away from the palace for too long – or he was here. You knocked gently on your room door and upon receiving no answer opened it softly. Your assumption was correct and you closed the door quick, but silently, behind you. Wil was lying on his front on the bed, arms folded under his chin, completely unbothered by the day. You stilled for a second, wondering why he might have left his shirt off. You weren’t about to ignore how much those scars still made your heart ache. He was clearly here to hide away from the world, you weren’t about to stop him. “Darling, what’s wrong?” Your voice was soft, as you walked forward, studying him for any signs that it was anything of significance. Illness? He’d been alright when you’d left him this morning. Wil sighed, shuffling, “To be honest I’m fed up with everyone. I just needed some quiet time alone. Not to be shirking my duties, but…” You paused, not wishing to be intrusive if he didn’t want, “From me too?” “No… No…” He chuckled, “You can stay.” You clambered onto the bed, still surveying his body; “You’re tense…” “I’m what?” “Tense… It’s all in your body language… your shoulders are tense, are you okay?” Wil opened his mouth, but clamped it shut, lucky that you wouldn’t see. No, he dare not tell you about what was going on in his head. “Yes, I’m… fine.” “Just close your eyes and try to relax…” He was suddenly aware of a pressure on his lower back, and your legs brushed against his as you settled yourself on top of him, trying to make sure not to pressure him with too much of your weight. Suddenly your hands were on Wil’s shoulders, pushing gently against all the tensions that had built themselves up in his muscles. “What are you doing?” “It’s just a massage… don’t worry, I’m pretty good at it, you can thank your rigorous guard training for this – my mother passed it on to all her children and now all you guard are perfecting it too. Good for war and training injuries but, also tension… and you, husband dearest, are extremely tense. I will not ask what is troubling you, but I would like to relieve you of it.” He groaned gently as you worked at the knots, which made you smile, at least he was enjoying it, “That feels good…” “Yeah?” “Yeah… Where have you been all my life?” He moved his arms from under himself at your insistence. “Well, now you know. Just come to me!” The Sheriff groaned again as you worked down his arms, into his fingers, and then back up, “Can you do it a little harder?” “Oh I forgot, it’s not fun if it’s not painful.” You smacked him playfully, “Sure, whatever you say.” But that only made him elicit more contented groans, louder than before. “Shhhh!” Although you couldn’t help but giggle, “You’re meant to be hiding from the world, aren’t you?” “Harder!” “Wil – I don’t want to hurt you-! Y’know there’s a fine line between relaxing your muscles and tearing them!” You ran your knuckles up his spine; and the growl he elicited made you smirk; you did the motion again, if only to keep the Sheriff growling like that…  “Agh-----!!!” “I told you it’d hurt.” “That didn’t hurt, that was good, do it again.” Unbelievable. “You’re very good at this.” “Happy to help!” You made your circles a little lighter, assured that even when working tension out of him you wanted to be gentle. There was probably a lot of scar tissue under his skin, and you didn’t want to upset it, or cause twinges in him. He chuckled slightly, running his hands gently along your legs under your dress, you couldn’t help but sigh against his fingertips. Although you couldn’t see the Sheriff’s face, you were sure that pulled a smirk from him.   “I don’t know want to be too rough…” “Nothing wrong with being rough.” You wondered if you were supposed to take that with the sexual edge of his voice. Probably. You swallowed hard, happy that if you were blushing he also wouldn’t see your face. You pushed your fingers to his neck, and then through the ends of his hair, the Sheriff sighed again as you pulled your fingernails back down, and then over his shoulders and ran his spine; Wil shivered a little, which made you giggle. “Isn’t gentle so much better?” “I get the feeling this isn’t a massage…” You refused to rise to that, even if that heat that hadn’t flooded you for a little while – since you’d seen him in that glorious sunshine before speaking about the toll booth in fact – returned at just the sound of Wil’s voice right now. You continued circular motions up his back, pushing harder in areas and softer in others; what the Sheriff didn’t realise of course was you’d spent the first few run-throughs seeing what he liked best and where, so now you could give him a proper massage. All you wanted was his emotional responses the way he’d given them to you before. “Ahhhhhhh---!!” You smirked slightly; “Better?” He growled; hands back on your legs, “Harder---!!” Ignoring Wil’s command for his whole body, just pushed harder through the parts that wanted it, you refused to strain anything on him. You supposed this was fairly intimate, considering you’d not actually officially consummated your marriage yet… if you could call it a real marriage. He still messed with your feelings too much, you didn’t want to give yourself to him once more until you could trust him to keep your happiness paramount, to keep you completely in the loop. Your body let you know exactly how it felt about that idea, and threatened to shake, you pushed back through his hair, and stopped. The Sheriff’s smile was present in his voice, “Finished?” “If you want me to stop?” And you thought that was probably for the best. “Well. Lady’s choice.” You laughed, and sat back, so you were between his legs and not sitting on him anymore. Wil turned so that he was leaning on his elbow, and could look at you, “What is your verdict, should I be partaking more often?” “It’s possibly not the only way you can relieve tension.” The smirk twitched on his lips and Wil took your hand in his, guiding you a little close to him, “Well, I’m certainly fine with staying here and learning more.” This time you knew you were blushing horribly, and your body was fine with completely betraying you. “Well, I believe I should be telling you that you have visitors, but I will greet them for you as your wife… I wish for you to stay here. And rest, you do enough.” You smiled gently, “I’m glad you thought it was okay.” “Okay?” Wil shook his head, and leaned in, for your efforts you received a series of short and incredibly sweet kisses, “It was a lot better than just okay.” he murmured against your lips before kissing you one last time.

***

Quiet mornings were nice between you, today you didn’t need to be anywhere in particular until much later in the day and even then, the Sheriff had extended his invitation as a courtesy. Certainly, therefore, a meeting to present only as his wife and not an important advisor. You’d probably decide if you were turning up or not at the very last minute. Wil was getting ready for the day, but, sitting there at the end of the bed talking to him in your white nightgown was distracting at best. You had one foot dangling off the edge of the bed and your other tucked up under you as you rested your arms and head on your knee. Due to this, your nightgown had ridden up, and both legs were fully exposed to him. This wasn’t unusual, he couldn’t lie about that – but… this morning looking at you was getting him a little worked up. The Sheriff supposed that was mostly because he had a lot on his mind right now, especially about you. His movements were sluggish as he got dressed, and Wil felt uncomfortable at best, breathing heavily. He bit his lips together, hoping you weren’t noticing this… and yet perhaps hoping that you were… Good God he wanted you, but, did you want him? Did you really? There were too many mixed signals, an he needed to be sure.

The Sheriff cleared his throat, approaching you, “Y/N... I realise that... we have not been intimate in a long time. And I don’t know if that is because you don’t trust me, you don’t want me- Well, with what you know it almost doesn’t surprise me. Although I... have been in conversation with Tuck.” You immediately looked up; eyes wide, attentive to what he was about to say. Clearly you couldn’t trust anybody anymore. “And he... imparted to me that you have been in conversation about... the possibility of children?” Of course Tuck would betray such a conversation. After all the confessional visits; this was a big one. “I...” You blinked a few times, unsure of exactly where this conversation was going to lead. It wasn’t one you’d ever had; you didn’t have the faintest idea of Wil’s stance on it. “I have talked to my handmaidens about it, yes.” The Sheriff stepped forward, taking your hand in his as he sank to his knee, “Oh, so… you would… want to-” He paused for a minute to think on his phrasing, “Do you want this with me?” “I never exactly envisioned this conversation happening this way.” “Well, what better time?” “Why did he even mention it?” Wil shrugged delicately, “He thought I might like to know.” Your eyes dropped from his face and you chewed your lip, “Forgive my thinking, but I wasn’t so sure – with your own past – you would want to have children.” “It wasn’t something I suspected to get the opportunity to-” He waved a hand, and then smiled gently, “Forgive me, but the prospect is exciting, isn’t it?” You swallowed thickly, “It is.” You wouldn’t deny that, “But I cannot bring a child into a world where we are not on the same side about where we’re going.” “Aren’t we?” “…Wil. There are problems here, and I will not have a child with you to fix them.” Your hand was still in his and you squeezed it, as his eyes dulled and you knew you were hurting him, “…But,” and it was a big but, “I am ready to try. While we figure everything else out.” Then you took his other hand in yours, “And we will, figure it all out, together.” The smile on the Sheriff’s face, the brightness in his eyes, the way he laced your fingers had your body screaming at you. Louder than ever before, than even that first night. “We will.” He agreed, “But do not doubt that I want this, with you.” That emphasis was clear, you knew all about the other women; but you were his only focus now. Your body trembled and you hoped that it was not betraying you to him; was that excitement? Or desire? Or both? ‘It’s now or never!’ was all you could think. ‘If you want him as bad as you know you do, what better time than when he is asking you for this.’ “Do you, have anything important to do today?” The Sheriff’s head tipped, eyebrow raised, wondering if you were going where he hoped you were: “Not, particularly.” “I do not wish for you to just shirk your duty for this…” Although there was a tiny smirk on your face. “Is my duty not to you?” and to our future. “Stay. With me.” “Now?” This wasn’t just the conversation about what could be, this was the conversation. His eyes brightened, “Of course, I will stay. If my wife insists.” “Oh…” You pulled him off his knees and to your lips, as Wil already shrugging himself out of his coat, “I do.” Wil’s hands glided up your legs, as his kisses became a little harder, a little hotter. Your nightdress moved up your body and it was all you could do to help him, pulling at the ties at the top to wriggle out of it. You looped your arms around his neck, already moaning against his kisses, knowing that your arousal was already plain to see on your inner thighs. The Sheriff stripped himself of his jacket and undershirt, and then his trousers and undergarments. His hands on the inside of your thighs as you kept kissing him, parting your legs delicately as he laid you back. That sticky sweetness already lingering on his fingertips, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “How long?” “Too long…” Was your only breathless answer as Wil pulled his lips from yours to lick his fingers, “Oh, Y/N. You should have said something.” You shook your head, but he denied you the opportunity to recapture his lips as he ran his fingers through your wetness – causing you to shudder. “…You just said it for me.” That smirk of his was bigger than usual as he tasted you again, and this time when he kissed you harshly, the Sheriff pressed his tongue to yours, giving you the opportunity to taste yourself. You moaned quietly again, pulling his body to completely cover yours and he held you strong in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his. “I love you.” You pulled back for just a moment, just to study his face as he said it. “Do you?” “You know I do.” You were once again struck by the vulnerability, the way Wil said it with such conviction. No games, no lies. There was no room for any of that here, not between the two of you. Not here. “I love you too…” He shuddered at the Norse. Your hands were up in his hair, gentle kiss to his forehead, then his lips, “I want this… and I need you… Wil, I need you.” He held your hands once more as he pushed into you, gentler than before – but so different. Your body tingled, coils in your stomach radiating the same heat as before. Everything was suddenly so pleasant. It had been before, but now… perhaps that was just you thinking on context. Before it was about you, it was about becoming his… This wasn’t; this was about both of you, about your future. The possibility of having a family… You pulled him closer, and mixed with your moaning were distinct words; Norse – what else? The Sheriff smiled into your skin, pressing lingering kisses against your shoulder. “I want to hear them, Y/N, even if I don’t understand them…” But you both knew he already did. The sentiment, the million different ways you were capable of telling him how much you loved him. The million different ways you always would…

---

💜Thank you for reading! I don’t think I’ll get 9 done by the end of the year but I’m happy that we’re at this point and we can start heading towards the movie plot now!💙

[teruthecreator]

THS IS A ROBBERY 🔫YOUR ROLESWAP LORE!!! HAND IT OVER 🤲if u want 2 :)

just took my melatonin bc i have to wake up at 4:30 AM to drive 16 hours to my mother’s so i’m sorry if this becomes derailed but uh. here’s the roleswap lore! or, at least, everything i’ve decided (along with matthew and corinne bc the three of us tagteamed on it) 

gonna chuck it all under a readmore bc this is going to get long

so first off, just gonna run out in front and say i have no idea how this fits into graduation plot. i haven’t gotten that in plot consideration, given their character differences in comparison to their canonical selves. so, for the most part, it’s a lot of background establishment and character traits. but i do have a few plot bits that i’ve figured out bc i thought it was cool. why such a long preamble? i don’t know. help me

fitzroy maplecourt: 

first off, he’s not called sir!!! because he doesn’t go to knight school! 

my idea for his backstory is that the way he decides to grapple with his identity crisis/imposter syndrome (which he definitely Still has) is that instead of becoming a grander, larger than life version of himself. he just. goes the opposite.

not necessarily becoming a degenerate (bc he just smokes pot and that’s not bad he’s just vibing)??? but more just like. leaning into the laid-back nature of life that one might pick up from a lifetime in rural country. 

he goes to a liberal arts school a ways away and just decides to bum around and take life not seriously. he develops a pretty large group of acquaintances being a hippie stoner; he doesn’t really pursue a degree either. i think if he picked up any major it was probably like. an art major or an english but he basically fails most of his classes bc he doesn’t care! 

unlike his canonical counterpart, fitzroy doesn’t mind being called nicknames!! ones i think he has the most are fitz or roy, but basically you could call him anything and he’ll respond. that is because, instead of clinging to the concept of his identity bc it’s the only thing he feels he has, his identity is nebulous!! he doesn’t understand it and it scares him too much to be concrete, so he just lets people decide shit about him for him. 

his personal philosophy is more about floating through life and letting people assume shit about him than having a solid personality and backstory that people understand and recognize. it is a more dissociative way of having an identity crisis! how fun! he also barely talks about his past, and what he does talk about are cherrypicked points of his past that fit his narrative of being a casual down-to-earth hippie

 the moment that this all changes is when order decides to pop in and grant him powers!!!! wahoo!!!! here’s how that happens: 

he’s baked out of his fucking gourd in his dorm room, in the spring semester of his junior year. he’s alone (which is rare) and he’s maybe a little sad, but he decides to just ignore it. he looks at his table and laughs. “hehe, what if this table just. blew up?” he says to himself. it isn’t that funny, but he laughs. then he lays his hand on the table. 

the table blows up.

after that, he has magic!!! 

i’m going to go into detail a little bit later about how fitzroy’s magic manifests in the roleswap universe, but i wanna get through the backstory first. basically, he gets really freaked out after his magic comes to him because it is So New and Wow What and What The Fuck.

he realizes that this new addition to his character Completely changes how people who know him would perceive him (as a bum stoner chill guy), and he can no longer have control of his narrative with this magic business. so he drops out!

well, he actually just transfers. to a school far, far away where people will never know who he was and he can rebuild his narrative with this magic incorporated into it. he chooses wiggenstaff’s because he figures the school would have more of a knowledge of magic than his libarts school, which would mean he could understand why the fuck weed gave him magic (sidenote: it wasn’t weed, obvs, but he thinks this so for a while he doesn’t smoke!) 

he is now the chill hippie of wiggenstaff’s!!! most people like him because his personality is fairly easy to digest; some people think he shouldn’t be there, but he is! he starts out as a sidekick and he would’ve honestly been fine with that forever, but then he’s suddenly thrust into the hero track!!! wow!!!! i will also explain this with the magic. 

but yeah!! that’s fitzroy, for the most part. now we’ll move onto the other boy

argonaut keene:

he actually prefers if people call him argonaut, but he’s less likely to correct people than canon fitzroy Or canon argo. he’s a tad bit shyer in this universe!

argo’s backstory pretty much follows the same idea of his canonical background, but with some key differences that shape him into the character he is in the present! 

basically he still grows up on shebrie’s ship, surrounded by crewmates and the salty sea air. but his fascination with the sea doesn’t manifest into this swashbuckling lifestyle that he has in canon. 

what fascinates him more is the ship itself. how it functions, how water wears down wood, how directional currents can affect navigation. basically, he becomes invested in the sciences part of sealife more than the pirateering. he has special interests in marine biology, but his heart remains in nautical engineering. figuring out ways to make the ship run better, faster, and more efficiently consumes his childhood thoughts!

shebrie encourages her son’s craving for knowledge with tomes and books from all over the world about anything related to engineering and nautical things. he’s homeschooled, basically, but he becomes rather intelligent within a few short years! 

and then, well....shebrie dies. yeah we aren’t escaping that finality, sorry folks. that part of canon Still Applies.

after shebrie’s death (coughMURDERcough), argo is. traumatized! and he makes the decision to almost entirely sever himself from his life on the sea. it’s all too painful to look back upon--the times he spent studying with his mother in the captain’s quarters, rattling off dolphin facts as they sailed onward, dreaming of turning gears as the ship gently rocked him to sleep--and so he just decides to throw the whole thing out!

he can’t ignore his lifetime of education, though, so he continues to pursue it. with the remainder of money his mother left behind, he enrolls himself in a boarding school of science and technology, with plans to continue study in Only engineering. no more nautical Anything on his roster.

eventually, when he is old enough and graduates high school, he roams around...trying to figure out what to do. he doesn’t have enough money for college, so he can’t continue his scholarly efforts yet. he works around, job-to-job, city-to-city, and just notices how...delayed everything feels. like society is suffering under this slow pace towards innovation. 

and that’s when he decides his next course of action. if he were to discover the root of some problem and engineer a solution, he would be famous! he would gain notoriety and praise and--and all the things his mother had as a captain. but he would have it on his own, separate from his mother, and separate from his past. 

he figures out his next course of action: attend a school that will give his prestigious enough marks to be accepted onto a research team, find a problem, solve it, help the world, maybe earn a little bit of that credit and respect that would make him feel like he was doing his mother proud. 

the thing i want to emphasize here is that argo’s take on helping the world comes from that morality that canon fitzroy has. canon fitzroy wanted to be a knight because he wanted to fairly and justly instill ideas of “good” and “bad” onto the world. roleswap argo has a similar moral sense, but instead of establishing rules he wants to fix the “bad” and make it “good” in a technological/scientific sense.

the only school argo can think of that can get him that kind of notoriety is wiggenstaff’s. getting onto the HOG board would mean he’d have access to countless resources and be respected by a large audience, which would give him the opportunity to make change happen. even if he’s only a sidekick On Paper, what matters is that the diploma would give him the ability to Apply to the HOG. so he drafts a carefully worded letter for a scholarship and achieves a full-ride!!! epic 

like fitzroy’s magic, i’m going to break down argo’s relation to the unbroken chain after i get through backstory stuff. but trust me, I’ve Thought Of It

argo sort of blends into the background at wiggenstaff’s. or, he would, if his roommates/friends weren’t so Fucking Out There. fitzroy is enough to make him always be visible, but even the firbolg’s massive frame means eyes are always on him. which makes him nervous!! he doesn’t like the attention (as opposed to his canonical self, who revels in it for the self-esteem fuel) his insecurities manifest more in what he’s Doing rather than what he Is, mostly because his identity is barricaded by a wall of trauma repression

he’s still plenty funny and witty, just quieter. also he’s a lot Meaner than canon argo, at least to me. because if you irritate him he Will just completely shut you down with words. motherfucker doesn’t bark but he will most DEFINITELY bite

that’s their backstories, for the most part! in terms of how they interact together:

as established, they meet prior to wiggenstaff’s on a tinder date (during the grace period of argo working odd jobs and fitzroy about to be granted immense fucking power) and end up casually dating during the course of their wiggenstaff education. argo is a nervous goober and fitzroy just likes making him blush. it’s very cute.

fitzroy is still less inclined for the romantic than argo, who remains a steadfast absolute romantic internally. fitzroy still holds a lot of the self-doubt and distrust that canon fitzroy has, only it manifests in him not taking anything seriously! which means when he catches Feelings feelings he basically freaks out 

argo still falls in love really quickly, only now he’s more conflicted about it because being in love means trusting and trust means communication and communication means Oops Years Of Trauma Are Being Unloaded Uh Oh! 

now i’m going to touch on the big points that i find really interesting: fitzroy’s magic and argo’s relation to the unbroken chain

fitzroy’s magic:

chaos is not the being that grants him magic. it’s order! 

my take on what this means for what deity is on what plane of reality is that chaos is more Needed so they are the one that is physically On Nua, while Order remains in dreamscapes because they are already a constant amongst the tangible world. yes i know this directly contradicts the reasoning for why theyre Supposed to be where in canon, leave me alone i’m having fun. 

my reasoning for this switch is because chaos stands to be a contradiction to everything canon fitzroy has going on. he has a very strict, nailed-down understanding of himself and the world. everything he thinks is in black and white, bold statements, no questions, he follows rules and obeys the law. untiiiiil chaos gives him magic and shocks him out of that complacency. they lean into his inner impulses and that rage he’s kept locked deep inside. they allow for magic to Explode out of him, rather in calculated bursts or with intent. 

which is why order is more fitting for roleswap fitzroy!! because fitzroy, in this world, has less of a concrete grasp of himself and the world. he purposely lets himself be nebulous and goes with the flow. thinking of the future in real terms is not something fitzroy Does, he has no plans and that’s Fine. order seeks to give fitzroy a backbone, to put it simply. 

his magic doesn’t go impulsively out of him. it is calculated--it comes with thoughts and intentions. the reason it surprises fitzroy when the table blows up is because he didn’t think his thoughts or wants would amount into that, but that’s what order is trying to show him. that his intentions matter. that he matters and he has to Think and Focus and Be Here.

i’m still not sure if his power would manifest as lightning??? because the imagery for the lightning works perfectly for canon fitzroy because of the random power of lightning strikes. but for roleswap fitzroy it’s more like...thunder. like Purpose. thunder happens because of a reaction--it comes with intent. if differing air temperatures collide, it creates thunder. that combination is purpose + intent equating in magic. 

i think that part needs word bc like. how would one quantify thunder?? i think fire might also work really well because the idea of a controlled fire. like things have to Happen in order for fire to start, it can’t just appear like lightning can. 

order’s manipulation relies more heavily on the concept of boosting him up as a savior/hero, rather than boosting his ego and desire for power. fitzroy Has no desires in roleswap world--he’s just there. but when he gets put on the hero track, now he’s suddenly been given purpose. and order uses that to be like “wow, look at all these people who rely on you! look how important you are! don’t you want to use this magic for good?? to do good?? start a war with a demon come on pussy :-)”

OH YEAH also he becomes a hero in this universe (like in terms of tracks) because of the fact that it directly contradicts how he views himself. for canon fitzroy, it was showing him how much more he is capable of without the restrictions of morals (i.e, king fitzroy). but roleswap fitzroy doesn’t Have an image he wants to bolster! he doesn’t think he needs it and, frankly, he doesn’t care for it. the hero tracks carries with it all these stereotypes and expectations that now directly contradict his personality--thus showing him he is capable of more.

okay now for argo’s business jesus christ this post is so long and im NOT EVEN DONE WITH ALL THE POINTS I WANTED TO MENTION

argo’s relation to the unbroken chain:

so since roleswap argo has less of an association with his past (and, by extension, the memory of his mother), he is less inclined to join the mysterious cult that his mother was a part of. 

moreover, he doesn’t necessarily believe the shit he’s told??? he’s way more skeptical of jackal than canon argo is--immediately questioning why and how jackal knew his mother, and constantly trying to poke holes through his narrative.

generally speaking, if you try to talk to roleswap argo about his mother or his past, he Shuts Down. like completely. and that usually results in him snapping at you or just clamming up completely. mostly he just gets really snippy and angry because Hey Shut Up Dickhead I Don’t Want To Talk About It

a part of me still isn’t sure whether or not argo would take the unbroken chain up on their offer. but i also know that, plot wise and character arc wise, it is a necessary part of argo’s story. so i think, at most, he agrees but is extremely hesitant and might even let fitzroy on immediately once he’s given the task of digging into fitzroy’s life

also, they’re boyfriends in this universe, so how could he Really keep it a secret for that long. come on jackal, you idiot, you know they’re kissing. 

i think he’d Eventually warm up to jackal as a sort of father figure, but only after many nights of conversation and dancing around the subject of shebrie.

OH YEAH. this argo doesn’t know the commodore murdered his mother! important to note! he just assumes what he was told was true, that she sailed into dangerous territory and was ambushed. 

during the tribunal bit If That Even Happens In This World, i think fitzroy actually is the one who figures it out Before argo. and once argo does, well............fuck!

OKAY last little bit, just gonna talk about some random extra parts of the world that i’ve thought of already: 

in this universe, grey takes on higglemas’s identity instead of hieronymous’s!!! this is for good reason actually

okay so basically my thought was that, instead of whatever happened in canon yadda yadda dog time, hieronymous and grey are fighting and it’s a pretty evenly matched battle. there’s a cooldown moment where hiero thinks he’s safe but grey uses sneaky backhanded tactics to try and get the drop on him. 

only higgs sees it in time and saves his brother, taking the hit himself. he collapses, extremely wounded, and hiero rushes to his aid. he’s cradling his brother’s body, trying to keep him alive, when grey approaches to deliver the final blow. 

hiero is completely crushed and defeated and basically will let grey do anything to him by this point. the only thing he begs of is to let him live long enough to save his brother.

now, grey isn’t nice. let me make that clear. grey fucking SUCKS and the reason he agrees is because he wants a Real War with hiero and he can’t get that if hiero is basically like “if you let higgs die then you might as well kill me”.

so, grey agrees, and hiero ends up saving higgs by turning him into a cat. was supposed to be a temporary solution until he could find a better spell, but he wasn’t the magic guy in the duo. eventually, grey gets tired of waiting and decides to do some other shit. like turning the school the brothers have been running into a backalley place for demons!!

he takes the form of higglemas and leaves hieronymous locked in his office as basically a mascot. he’s like the queen and grey is the parliament--grey makes all the rules, but everyone assumes it’s hiero. faux-higgs is more on the ground, changing things and making the school a place more fitting for an eventual war. he builds up the concept of heroes and villains being Real, in the hopes he can sway some mortals to his side when he’s able to open a portal to hell. 

hiero still tries to stop this from happening, but his pride and his self-image is wounded by what happened. he feels guilty and puts the blame entirely on him, instead of doing the whole cowardice route like higgs did in canon. he gets people to help him eventually, via mind control and all tht jazz. 

also in this universe, buckminster is the one who gets birdified instead of leon!! has to do with my leon/buckminster and higgs/hiero narrative parallels that i’ve thought of for far too long.

firbolg is exactly the same in this universe. it is hard to swap three people and i didn’t want to think about him. 

fitzroy doesn’t pick a grab. i think he’d rather a lizard, like a bearded dragon. he names him something stupid. like scaly. or kyle. 

uhhh yeah!!! i think that’s....everything i’ve thought of so far!! lemme know if you wanna hear my takes on any other elements in the roleswap world!!!!

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Five: Requiem

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 5 / 15

Warnings — language

A/N — Taglist is open! Comment, message, or ask and I’ll add you to the roster :) (Also I’m a freakin’ moron and forgot to post on Wednesday night like usual, which was yesterday. So enjoy this late chapter lol!)

Previous — Next

The first person you text is Namjoon. To you, he was the obvious choice. Friendly, open, and the first of the members to accept you into their enclave. It wasn't anything in particular, just saying hi and reminding him of who you are and that you were looking forward to tomorrow.

Not two minutes later, he replies and invites you to join a group chat he'd just created for you and all seven members.

"This way, we can all keep in touch!" he says. "DMs are fine, of course, but if we all wanna get to know each other, group chats can be a lot of fun."

He wasn't wrong. The remainder of Sunday evening is spent texting the members. On the way home, while you cook a quick dinner, and when you're relaxing before bed. They're flooding your messages with all kinds of hilarity. Jungkook and Hoseok are a fan of memes, while Yoongi seems to prefer the straightforward communication that gifs provide. Jimin and Namjoon adore emojis, and Jin sticks to his usual bad dad jokes. Taehyung replies to a question every now and then, but for the most part, he's absent from the conversation.

"You're awfully quiet, Taehyung-ssi," Jimin teases half-way through a conversation on whether or not mint ice cream is edible.

"I'm working, but you guys are blowing up my phone so it's hard to concentrate."

A sigh slips out as you reply, "You can put your phone on vibrate, Taehyung. Really, we won't mind. Or at least I certainly won't."

His response is speedy. "Okay. I'll talk to you all tomorrow."

Namjoon sends you a private message. "Don't let him bother you. He can get like this when he's focused. He doesn't do well with things distracting him."

"Yeah...you're probably right."

"Oh, I definitely am!"

"Hey, thank you again for everything. Except for Kim Taehyung, I really feel at ease with everyone. I feel like we're going to get along great at the set tomorrow."

"My pleasure, [Y/n]. I really wanted to avoid you feeling like more of an outsider than you probably already do. Being in a new country, even if you speak the language, can be scary. I've been to enough of them to know that there's no place like home...but maybe we can make it a bit easier."

A smile spreads across your face at his genuine spirit and pure kindness. "You have, big time! Each of you is really fun to be around. Honestly? I can't wait for 'Run' tomorrow! Can I ask where we're going? I didn't see a production report yet, and Director Hyeon hasn't responded to my email."

"We'll probably knock out a few episodes in one night, and I think we're closing down the Seoul Museum of Art. They're going to close a bit early so we can have it to ourselves. The games we have planned will happen there!"

You turn your eyes away from your cell phone at the mention of the museum. Recalling what happened over the weekend, returning to that place doesn't seem like a terrific idea. But then again, if you are there with Taehyung, maybe the two of you can finally talk about what you see in your dreams.

Maybe, just maybe, you can get those answers.

Your resolve strengthens a little bit, and a new message comes through, one not from the group chat or Namjoon. You click out of your conversation with the leader and check the notification.

"Who are you?"

The question is blunt and straightforward, coming from the second-youngest member via a private chat. You open the message, and your fingers hover above the keyboard for a few moments.

"Hi Taehyung. What do you mean?"

"I know we've met before. I can't remember where."

You bite your lip at his statement. So you were right; he does have some sort of familiarity with you, too. Now, to figure out just how much.

"Have you been to a concert before? Or a fan-sign? Maybe you worked on the set of Hwarang?"

"None of those. I actually didn't listen to much of your music before recently, and I've never been to a concert or fan-sign. And I've never worked on any set before."

"You weren't a fan of BTS? Even though you applied to Big Hit?"

"Nope. Actually, my roommate Milo was the Bangtan superfan. I heard of you guys through her, and then of Big Hit. I applied because I wanted to live in Seoul. It's been my dream all my life. Big Hit just happened to have the job I wanted in the ideal location. Call it fate, I guess."

A half-truth, but it will have to do for now.

"I know. I remember. Your gut feeling."

You pause, your fingers halting mid-type. How did he already know about that? You hadn't mentioned it in either the group chat or in the earlier conversation. In fact, the only person you'd mentioned the gut feeling about Seoul to was—

"I have to go, sorry. I'll see you at the museum tomorrow. I think you know the way."

The museum looks almost spooky after the sun begins to set over the buildings that touch the sky. Downtown Seoul is as beautiful as ever as the bright oranges and pastel pinks bathe the exteriors of each in brilliant colors. If it weren't for the thirty or so Big Hit employees rushing about, you might've stood at the entrance for much longer than thirty seconds.

But the moment you're on-scene, you go to work. One of the producers flags you down, offers a brief introduction, and tells you where to hide the English words.

"Have you seen what we did a few episodes back, eighty-seven and eighty-eight?" he asks, shoving a stack of stickers into your hands. "When we put Hangul all over the Oil Tank Culture Park?"

You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile. "I haven't...exactly watched too much 'Run.'"

The producer waves it off. "Just run around the building and stick these wherever you think seven boys may or may not find them. Feel free to go crazy. We have fifteen minutes to get everything set before filming starts. The boys should be here soon. So, go! Once you're done, come back here. While they're running around, you can help me with the grading system."

"Grading system?"

"They're going to make sentences with the words they find. Since you know English the best, you can award points to each word based on difficulty in using."

A smile spreads across your face. "Got it! Sounds fun."

You speed off into the museum, weaving past the sound and lighting crew that are attempting to set up. Several of the museum staff have also stayed behind to give guidance, and you're relieved that the boys and company have the entire building to themselves. This wouldn't be possible during daytime hours when the public is here.

You begin sticking several dozen stickers along the walls, on the frames of pieces of art, on the marble floor. Basically, anywhere you can reach. You cover the Van Gogh exhibit with difficult words like "effervescence" and "halcyon," along with colorful words like "lilac" and "vermilion."

The further into the building you move, the fewer and fewer people you see. Once you've passed the room of modern art and approach the Winged Victory of Samothrace, there's no one in sight. Down to your last few words, you slip into the dimmed hallway and turn the corner.

Winged Victory is just as you remember. Tall and beautiful and haunting. The statue is still so familiar to you. Looking at the base, you can almost see the body of the woman from your dream. Right before you and Taehyung started running for your lives, this was where a murder occurred.

You flinch at the memory of the blood, but something else inside you is pulling you out of the room and towards the fountain. Last time you saw it, you ran from the room and left the friendly acquaintance behind. Part of you wonders what he must've thought. Surely, you looked like you'd seen a ghost.

But you might as well have.

Your feet tip-toe on the marble. The boys have most certainly arrived, and the filming has started from the sound of it. Their crazed and excited laughter fills the echo-y halls. Seeing as there aren't any stickers this far into the museum, you take your chances and continue moving deeper in. The producer could wait just a few more minutes, couldn't he?

The last of the sunlight ricochets across each panel of glass in the dome ceiling, greeting you with shards of light skewed in every direction. Like fireflies dancing together, they bring an almost magical aura to the open space, one very different from the horrors of your nightmares. The columns are made of ever-moving fire, and the fountain is made of glittery stars.

As you stand in the doorway, your throat drys and tightens. Seeing this place again, no matter how different, brings back the memories you can't explain. Are they even memories? Surely, that has to be what they are. But from when or from whom, you can't explain. They're a requiem for someone you hardly know.

Does Taehyung know the answers? Does he know more than you about this event you keep playing over and over in your mind? He's been in your dreams ever since you were a child, as a version much older than you were then and even older than you are now. Who has just one dream their whole lives, unless the explanation is that he has that dream, too?

You shake your head at the absurdity of it all. "What am I doing here?" you murmur, running your hand through your hair.

"Are you okay?"

The deep voice behind you causes you to jump and spin, eyes wide as you spot a familiar face at the entrance to the fountain. Taehyung stands with his hands in the pockets of his pants, his head tilted as he observes you.

"Holy shit, don't sneak up on people!"

The brunet smirks a little and shrugs. "Didn't mean to, sorry. You were staring off into space and didn't even hear me walk down the hallway. And it's hard to be quiet on marble floors."

"God, sorry, I didn't mean to snap." You run your hands over your face. "This museum has...some strange memories for me. I thought coming back here would help, but I think I've made it worse."

"How do you mean? I thought you hadn't been to Seoul before?"

"I haven't. It's complicated." Your eyes flicker to the corridor behind him. "Where's your cameraman?"

"I ditched him, told him I was running off to the restroom. But I didn't see you anywhere, so I figured you'd be back here."

Eyebrows pulling together, you reply, "How'd you figure that?"

"Well, you seemed really freaked out last weekend. You ran out of here like a ghost was chasing you. I was honestly worried until I saw you at Big Hit the next day, and you seemed fine, so..."

He trails off, and the realization of his words hits you. "Wait...shit, were you the one I was talking to both times I visited here this week? The one in the hoodie and mask?"

Taehyung nods, though there's a tiny line between his brows that shows he's as confused as you are. "Yes? I thought you knew that from day one, when you spoke to me at the Van Gogh exhibit."

Shaking your head fervently, you spout, "No! Not at all. I had no idea, honest to god. I just thought you were shy or introverted or maybe had a tough time talking to girls. I never, ever thought you were..." You gesture to all of him.

His brown eyes widen as he steps closer and out of the doorway. "Wait, really? You had no idea."

"None!"

He chuckles softly, turning to gaze at the fountain as the sunlight fades to soft blues of night. "I'd assumed you knew who I was. You were so open and friendly to a perfect stranger. I thought you'd recognized me."

"Not at all," you retort. "I was being nice and friendly because there was something about you that was so damn familiar. Kind of like this whole place, actually. I don't know. I can't explain it."

Taehyung nods and runs a hand through his curly locks. "I won't lie, there's something off about this place for me, too." He shifts his attention from the fountain to you. "You weren't lying about anything you said before, were you? About you being called to Seoul and not knowing why?"

You lock eyes with him as you reply, "I promise, everything I said was true."

"Then why did you run away?"

A heavy sigh slips out, and you sit down on the water fountain's edge. Looking into the water to your side, you run various ways to go about this disclosure. Blunt truth? A comforting lie? A bit of both?

"[Y/n]?"

"I've had this...nightmare, ever since I was a little girl. Ever since I could remember. It's always the same. I'm running for my life with someone I know that I care deeply about. We're trying to escape a murderer who's closing in behind us. He's just slaughtered one of our friends and he's coming for us."

You pause to take a breath, and Taehyung takes that pause to sit beside you. He doesn't say a word, only waist patiently for you to continue.

"We're eventually trapped. The man with me tells me to run while he distracts the murderer. Of course, I don't listen. There's a fight. We're both injured. And we both die."

There's a pregnant pause in the air before Taehyung hangs his head and murmurs, "That sounds horrible."

"I haven't told you everything," you reply. "I'm afraid I shouldn't...but what the hell." You gesture to the space around you. "In my dream, the entire thing is set here, in the Seoul Museum of Art. Our friend was killed at the base of Winged Victory. The fight happens among these columns. And the man and I, we die in this very fountain, bleeding out from gunshot wounds."

You turn to face the man beside you, seeing his eyes shift from his feet to yours as his head tilts slightly. "And every time, it's the same three people besides me. The same woman at the base of Winged Victory, the same murderer with a gun, the same man that this nightmare-version of me loves. I have no idea who the first two are..."

In your hesitation, Taehyung says, "But you know the last one."

Nodding, your knuckles turn white as you drip your knees. Here it goes. All or nothing. No turning back now.

"I do. He's—"

"—Me."

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can​, @jaienn​