#God knows about every sparrow that falls. but the sparrow still falls.

[neverendingford]

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[rivetingrosie4]

Duet

(Part 1/2)

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: Explicit | tumblr masterlist | Ao3

Summary: Arthur takes you out for a much-needed, fancy date. Though you both thoroughly enjoy the whole evening, you’re both eager to get home and make love. When you finally arrive home, Arthur invites you to take a steamy shower with him.

Tags: modern au, post gang, romantic angst, romantic smut, loving marriage, hot date, parenthood, eventual shower sex

Chapter word count: 6,091

𑁦𐂂𑁦

This work is partially inspired by the following song lyrics. It’s been my sincere goal to capture both the spirit of the lyrics and the feel of the song's music in this work. Please consider giving this beautiful song a listen at the link below.

-Penny and Sparrow, “Duet”

It’s a starless night in the city. Arthur pulls the steering wheel to the right, and the city’s bright lights, stark in their atmospheric places, reflect in a swirling mirage off the black hood of his pickup.

There you are beside him, your still form a steady breath of soundness amidst the rushing streams of blurred people along each side of the vehicle.

He sits back in his seat and breathes it in deeply—your presence. He’s always hated coming to the city. Where the buildings grow taller and tighter together. Where the voice of the stars is hushed to muted, then silenced by the blaring insistence of humanity’s crush. Where strangers are forced into each other’s spaces. But with you, he feels none of it. Feels only that breath of soundness that floods and fills the inside of the truck cabin, here and now. That follows the two of you wherever you go.

So, what was once a loathsome chore to be avoided is a pleasure, with you. And he’d been eager to carry it out.

It had been long past due anyway. He can hardly remember the last time the two of you had gone out for a date. Which is a sin in itself. It must’ve been before the baby. Had to have been after the private little wedding. Too long ago, either way. He’s always wanted to keep the feelings of excitement and specialness alive anyway, to repel any atrophy that could creep into your relationship over time if either of you failed to notice. To make you know that he hasn’t tired of you. Never could. And enough has happened since then. So he’d made a point to finally take you out, and to make it a thing both easy and sure. Not to let it slip from the calendar. To assure you the baby would be taken care of, that everything would be.

He’d even enjoyed the easy familiarity of getting ready in the same rooms. The sounds and smells of your preparation. Your heady, sensuous perfume that so easily undid him like the tail of an old, ragged 3-ply strand of yarn. The sight of you leaning toward the mirror to clasp the sparkling black pearl and diamond cluster earrings that he’d gifted to you moons ago to your lobes before turning to him.

God, had you shown out. A tiny slip of a number. Black silk that drapes along your form like shimmering river water, its bias cut showing your every bodily curve and setting his nerves aflame. The straps that display your dogwood petal-soft skin and highlight the elegant outlines of your shoulders, straps that are sure to be slid away when he gets you home and secreted away, alone in the quiet. He’s only too eager help them off and to see the gown fall in one moment to the floor around your feet, transformed to nothing more than a heap of rippling satin without you to fill it.

It was something—not a wonder to him, but something—that you could still so easily make him so crazy. Inside, like a wild dog with his tongue hanging from his head. How you knew just what to do, to make him so. And did it with quiet simplicity.

Because the reality is he knows you. He knows more about you than he knows about anyone, things he couldn’t put into words if he tried, maybe even knows you better than yourself. And one thing he knows is how deeply, how painfully difficult it’s always been for you to let anyone see your skin and body. Knows the reasons, what you’ve lived through, both in yourself and from others. Knows the pressure put on you by the world and by yourself to be some form of perfection. Knows how you like to cover up with covert layers, with sleeves and baggy, flowing frills.

But without asking if he’d like it, without even a single word, you’d done it. Worn a dress this evening that makes his own knees and body turn to mountain lake melt. Shown off your scars and stretch marks and rolls. Put your deep trust in him and unyielding love for him on bright neon display, in a way only he could know.

Christ alive, the mere thought of your trust swells his heart full of love and sends him wild with pulsating desire and need. And there won’t be anything to keep him from you tonight.

Silent in your seat beside him, you watch the show of neon lights on the hood of the pickup as it rolls down the city streets.

It had gladdened you heartily when Arthur had invited you out on a date of his own volition, unprompted. You’d gotten to a place where such things weren’t remotely on your radar anymore. And the invitation alone had quickened things inside you, like the sparked flicker of an incipient flame. You’d smiled and agreed, and he’d smiled, and the moment had been like widened lungs amidst the ruddy, laborious muss of daily life.

And you’d so wanted to be good for him. In your own mind, had wanted to be something less messily human and more put together. To be something with its unsightly bits tucked away, something easily and naturally suave and gracefully sexy. Wanted to remind him that you still cherish him so deeply and still so dearly long to be and feel cherished by him, though behind your fears, you always already know you are.

But you’d seen a black silken slip dress in the back of your closet with the tag still on it. And you didn’t have any other reason to wear such a garment than for an imaginary sexy date, by which time you would have magically become a different person—one without gnarled scars on the backs of your shoulders left by body acne in years passed, or flab hanging from under your arms, or silvery stretch marks from gaining weight and losing it and gaining it and losing it again, or rolls of fat above your pubic bone.

You’d pulled it from the rack and run the pads of your fingers over its shine, knowing it would never see the light of day—or dark of night—if not now. Hoping that Arthur could still feel something physical for you in it. Finding in yourself ample trust in him, that even if he didn’t, he’d never, ever hurt you, and would only behave in a way to make you feel special.

So you’d tried it on and decided to leap.

And from the master bathroom, you’d stolen peeks to watch Arthur dress in the connected master bedroom. With his hair already pomaded and already dressed in his black slacks and white ribbed undershirt, he’d slid his arm into the sleeve of his crisp white button down, then the other arm, then had stood before the full-length cheval mirror and had tugged and straightened the collar before looking down and slipping each button into its hole, working upwards. Then he’d tucked his shirt neatly into his slacks and had snaked his black leather belt through the loops, finally buckling it closed with a faint jingle. Each movement, each sound, had unraveled you from warp and weft to mere fibers.

You’d told yourself you needed all this intel. Because you’d also seen when he’d turned away and flipped his wrist to unbutton each cuff, rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and checked his antique 1899 pocket watch before slipping it into his pocket. And then you’d heard the low, deep clacks of his brightly shining black dress shoes against the hardwood floor, and you’d seen the faintly pronounced ripple of a few muscles in his back through the white fabric and the way it was stretched by his broad shoulders, hard arms, and tapered waist when he moved. And you’d known you would be the one to undo each button and remove each article when you both returned home tonight.

Though after years, you know well the order of all the garments and undergarments he wears, as he knows yours.

And when you’d turned towards each other, him entering the bathroom to dab on cologne, you entering the bedroom to slip on your shoes, the expression on his face had been a memory you will cling to and wear like a jewel until the reaper calls to fetch you. It had turned your spine and knees to oil and had heated your chest and face as if with steam.

He wanted you. Good God, did he want you. One fractioned moment of a glimpse had been all it’d taken. And it had silently stolen your breath. He’d said something like how stunningly beautiful you are, though you can’t recall the exact words. Because his eyes and face had said much more, and you hadn’t wanted to miss it. Nor had you missed when he’d fought to softly smile and not appear so ready to have you.

How deeply and fully you’d wanted him too, just the same. Like a guttural pull to his physical form in your belly, in your throat. Its inexorable urgency would only prove to continue to snowball steadily throughout the night.

Then you’d toed past each other, and he’d donned the bay rum cologne that always makes you weak and wet and delivers you into his arms.

Sometimes, in your life now, a few moments catch you. Snare you. And you think. Of all the things you’ve been over the course of your life thus far, at turns. Young and stupid; an awkward whelp; a reckless thief; then a sly con; and, briefly, a friend among friends. A wife, and now a mother as well. But alone was the thing you had been for most of your life. Much more alone than the average person, for longer, and alone in every way that mattered.

Then Arthur had come and made you a woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body. A woman who has carried a part of him inside you. Things that had been so other—so distantly removed from what you were and had always, always been—that you’d never been able to conceive of such an existence or its experience. To be one—to actually be one. Now you are one. A woman that a man wants. A woman who knows a man’s body.

Then Arthur had come and taught you things about life and love you couldn’t possibly have ever known on your own. Things no one could have ever told you. That love could have such a brutally frightening quality and texture to it—what if the one you loved came to harm? That to be united with someone meant risking yourself—that if he or she died, part of you would decay with them. That love isn’t always something one must do, as is often with blood. That love could be just as strong a tie or stronger when one chooses to love. That the absence of shared blood dulls and fades nothing. That two may share one heart, and therein is the strongest of bloods. That the decision of love itself is not merely a flippant fancy, but a fixed rock of reality. Then Arthur had come and given it all to you.

Who would have ever thought? Who could have? Certainly not you.

The drive into the city and to the restaurant had been punctuated with quiet coos to each other for directions through the tight streets. He’d opened every door for you, from the car to the inside of the restaurant. Had rested his large, calloused outlaw-turned-rancher hand very gently on the bared, dimpled skin of your lower back, to show you through each of the doors.

Holy God, did it switch every nerve inside you to electric, flipped the fluttery animals inside your chest into a swarming frenzy. The considerate gestures had put you into the pocket of his palm like warmed, dripping honey. But just as moving for you, it also plainly told the whole wide world: you were his.

Once inside the ritzy restaurant he’d chosen, he’d even pulled your chair out for you. Your shared supper had featured smiles and genuine, familiar laughter over the white linen tablecloth. And even that had been his gift to you, that you’d felt in your body. Laughter’s soothing, comforting effects flooding and lulling you as the tightness of stress left you. And the thought had occurred to you—how grateful you are for a spouse who can make you laugh, who wants to, and whose ability to do so has never faded with time. He’s never even seemed to shy away from sharing in moments of laughter, not when it comes to you.

It was his marked attention that—for reasons you couldn’t quite explain—had brought you close to tears behind your blithe smile. He’d hardly ever taken his eyes off of you. It was truly like you were the only woman in the room. And rather than it being a possessiveness that had made that so special for you, it had been the fact that he didn’t need to see any other woman. That you were the only one who did anything for him. That he was spoken for. Then there was the fact that if anyone had gawked and ogled him or flirted with him, you could glory in the simple truth that a man with his heart and his body would be going home with you tonight. No one else.

But more than any of that, his generously given attention had filled and satiated your soul. Things you never—or hardly ever—received from any other human: sincerely absorbed and thoughtful conversation, the clearly apparent desires to hear your inner life and thoughts and to smile and laugh with you. The fulfilled longing to just be with you. It welled inside you, because it was everything you craved from him and everything you wanted to give him as well.

You’d been completely relaxed and at ease all through your date. Every time you’d released a rested breath, you’d noticed some lovely new thing about your surroundings. Dimly glowing light from the scrolling sconces and the faint clinks of several types of silver cutlery on fine china. Classical piano, violin, and bass played live in the corner and the brush of luscious velvet on your skin from the seat back. A divine yet light meal of delicately crafted scallops and the finest fresh oysters. You’d reveled in the briefest sensation of the oyster filling your throat and slipping down, each time you’d swallowed one.

For dessert, chocolate ganache and a mound of macerated strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries, tossed with mint and Grand Marnier, topped with scratch-made whipped cream, and dusted with fine honeycomb sugar. Sparse sips of bourbon barrel-aged Cabernet for him, and for you, a glass each of Chardonnay and later ruby port, from stemmed glasses. Undivided attention and meeting each other’s eyes with a wellspring of affection.

It had been just what your soul had needed, and he’d known it.

Arthur slows to a stop at a red light, inwardly groaning at the obstacle drawing out your journey home. He quietly sighs through his nostrils and taps his thumb against the wheel. He glances to you at his right side, and you exchange sincere smiles.

Facing forward again, he glances down at his left ring finger. A simple ring—a rounded silver band inset by a much narrower black one—rests upon it.

In a blink, he’s taken back to those early days, before the whelming thrum of daily life, before the visceral clutch of those terrifying days in the hospital, before Grace, before you’d even become pregnant.

How he’d loved you, in a raring, aflutter, dithery way; in a way that engulfed himself sweepingly, wolfishly; in the natural way, it often seems, of new love. Though he’d kept himself tempered and even, until he’d known with surety you’d felt the same.

Then had come the quiet little ceremony, and you’d spent over a year in honeymoon bliss. Trying all the while to become pregnant, knowing you only had so much time. Then you had. And effervescent couldn’t begin to describe the two of you. Your very body, your miraculous and wondrous body, had caressed and carried all those other dreams Arthur hadn’t been fully aware that he’d still had.

Then Grace had come. A month and a half early, and earthshakingly beautiful. But her lungs had wanted to fail her, when she’d only just had a chance to greet and grace the world with herself. And in one swoop, that same beautiful new world had threatened to shatter and crumble in on itself. The blistering maelstrom of vicissitudes had nearly spun his head off his shoulders. At the time, he could only imagine all that you were going through.

Together you’d watched her every ragged breath, every labored rise of her tiny, ruddy chest, from morning until night, in days that blended and stretched to insanity. Had been forced to remain on the other side of a glass cocoon that smacked too familiarly of a coffin to him. A tiny coffin.

It had nearly killed him, your loving protector, to have to watch you go through such intense heartache and not be able to do a single thing to inoculate you against it. To watch his new infant daughter struggle to hold onto life, when he could do nothing. It had been a sort of pain concocted especially for him.

Still, the two of you had clung to each other for strength.

But hadn’t you been the bearer of all the strength? Because when turmoil and uncertainty had crushed and clamped in on him, the very worst of his hideous fears had come pouring out of him. Instead of stalwartness and fortitude, he’d proven a source of splitting chaos and weakness. After a life with some seasons of swindling and criminality, spans of cool violence and masked cavalierness towards tenderness and endearment, it had been a tiny, helpless babe that had shredded him and turned him inside out. Coming apart at the seams; bloodying his knuckles with the trunk of an oak outside the hospital; in the culmination of his inner storm, whispering insidious, nonsensical fears through the pale, eerie, hospital-room gloam that the recompense for his life was to blame and that you’d be better off without him.

With seeming great effort and a quietly tremulous voice, you’d told him, without turning, that he was the only thing keeping either of the two of you alive. That such thinking was preposterous. And that you both loved and needed him now. And forever.

Of course, his special brand of fear and self-loathing had turned out to be the very last goddamn thing you’d needed to hear, and once he’d remembered your own anxieties and insecurities, he’d been flooded with remorse.

When he’d been coming apart, you’d been holding together. When he’d left his family to beat against the tree, you’d been the one to remain at Grace’s side. And when he’d whispered the lies his mind had convinced him of, you’d quietly, though quaveringly, spoken the truth aloud to right him.

It was you who was the strong one. You who had borne the immense weight of his fears. You.

And you’d continued to prove it when the two of you had finally been able to take Grace home. She’d been so frail. So helpless. But together—just as you had been to see her struggle—the two of you had been witness to the unfathomable mystery of the simultaneous fragility and resiliency of…life. Because she’d strengthened and flourished and breathed.

He recalls somewhere in the days afterward, when you’d sought to bathe her in the tub on your own, without the aid of a plastic doodad. You’d hastily offered promises he hadn’t asked for: that you’d be sure to keep alert and wouldn’t let her drift below the water’s surface.

It had been then that he’d noticed the faint, receding shadows beneath your eyes. He’d had to ask himself if he could remember whether they’d previously been darker than they were in that moment, and whether they were beginning to brighten. Either way, he’d realized the toll the ordeal had taken on you, that you’d never voluntarily alluded to—the fullness of which he’d somehow missed, having been caught in what he deems his own silly, self-focused storm.

In memory, he can still see you from his secreted place behind the threshold, seated nude in the tub with the naked babe on your arm, skin to skin. Can still make out the tinkle of the water droplets falling from your fingertips onto her tender crown and the soft babbling of Grace’s healthy coos. Can still hear your quiet, broken plea—

“Wouldn’t you like to stay with Mama, baby? Won’t you stay? Stay with me? Please-” you’d whispered, and had sniffled when you’d wept, “Stay.”

It had put his heart and soul through a sieve. Thoroughly riven, he’d silently leaned his crumpled face into the wall, resting his forehead and eye socket against the doorjamb. He had reached up and felt wetness upon his cheek.

It had been you who had been the strong one.

He remembered being forced to ponder: how close had he come? Had he been a cobweb’s thread away from losing Grace? From losing you? He’d never know. Didn’t want to. And in those moments, shadowed in the bedroom, he’d been thrust into the experience of how it could’ve been: what would he do? How when, in search of an answer, his head had poked through a firmamental membrane to find the black mist of—nothingness.

Willing himself back to the present moment just in time, he swallows thickly, and gives attention again to the onyx light of evening.

Such shoulders, he thinks, envisioning that elegant outline of your neck exposed by your black silken gown without needing to turn and look at you. They’ve surely borne more than just those thin straps.

You watch placidly as Arthur takes the truck to the left, and the traffic ebbs and flows as you roll through the night.

Somehow, it’s enjoyable to simply sit here with him. His passenger seat princess, sharing in the sweet, silent glances and smiles. Needing no words to know that he’s on pins and needles to get home and make love to you. And ruminating in the knowledge that you feel exactly the same way.

It had taken no convincing for you to agree when he’d invited you out, though he’d been ready anyway with explanations of the provisions he’d planned, having foreseen your thought for Grace. He’d spoken them before you’d even fully opened your mouth to form the question. And you’d had to smile, because Arthur didn’t normally tip his hand to show—well, much of anything; but of all things, certainly not eagerness.

Your current train of thought flits to Grace, and though you know you should try to remain in the present with him, you can’t help but wonder if she’s cooing and smiling, enjoying time on her belly or struggling with it, or maybe drifting off to well-fed sleep.

Four months ago, you’d been so caged with guttural worry, you hadn’t been in a position to imagine time away from her for a romantic evening. Four months ago, when you’d pushed her from your body too early, and her little lungs betrayed her.

An unmooring. That was what it had felt like. Snagged and suspended in a strange, amorphous abysm with no corners, no boundaries. Hovering somewhere in life that looked on fate.

You’d tried to be steady for her. Remained there, in her room, beside her glass case. With your body still wracked by the huge task of childbirth, you’d clawed to hang on by a wisped fiber. You’d held yourself and slightly swayed by the waist at times, to cope. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t ready for her to become nothing more than a lifeless shell. Weren’t ready to see these newly sprung fears become reality. Weren’t ready.

Arthur had held you up. He’d been the only witness to the crystalline dew of your tears in the early hours as they teetered and finally rolled down your skin. Had been there every moment of every morning, every afternoon, evening, and early dawn. Right at both your sides.

When your weak, poisonous mind had told you all the worst—that you were to blame, that your despicable body had failed her when she’d needed you most—he’d held you and poured into your ears the antidote: that all of it was beyond your control, that your amazing body had been a loving home to her, and that both he and Grace loved you.

And when you’d finally required sleep, he’d forced himself to keep awake. And you’d discovered him in the same place when you’d blinked awake. But that was when you’d noticed the stark rim of red all the way around his eyes, from more than just fatigue. And he’d quietly told you he needed to step outside.

When he’d returned, he’d looked worse than when he’d left. As you’d been watching Grace sleep, he’d walked up, arms hanging haggardly at his sides, and uttered the poison in his own mind with a sheer, ragged breath.

Hearing it had split a rift in your heart, and you’d fought not to let it feed the fear wanting to grow inside you. For so long you’d fought your own anxieties that you weren’t enough to keep Arthur from leaving you. He couldn’t have known that during those days and nights of worrying for Grace, this fear of yours had been exacerbated and magnified by thoughts you couldn’t seem to keep at bay: what you’d heard once somewhere, that even the most loving, devoted couples often part after the death of a beloved child. Surely, for him to leave you after such a loss would be too selfish, too cruel. But he had been cruel. Hadn’t he? He had, to others. Why not you? It would only be a different incarnation of cruelty, for him to leave you. Was it enough that he’d changed, that you’d seen it in him, that he loved you?

Roiling and scattered and warring against fears that seemed to leap to others like lily pads, you’d tried to work it all out inside, without a word across your tongue. You’d even inwardly berated yourself for such thoughts over your relationship with Arthur, while Grace was right there, fighting for life. But you couldn’t help it. You loved them both. So it was that the fear had grown to monstrous inside you. And to hear him speak nourishment to that beast… But he couldn’t have known. And in that moment, you’d had to consciously choose to use all your might to force yourself to believe it was only his extreme fatigue and worry talking.

But after you’d gently spoken the fruits of that internal fight aloud to him, you’d known he would be reminded of the history of your personal anxieties, like a clap of thunder to the back of his head.

You’d caught sight of his weary back hunching as he succumbed to all of it—the truth, the memories, the remorse, the renewed constancy, the overwhelming drain.

As he’d resumed his place at your side, you’d quickly fallen to sleep again, without having realized it. And when you’d awoke that time, you’d found his body had given out. Slumped back in his padded chair, head hanging to the side and mouth open, the fabric of his shirt rumpled to a wad. The journal left open and hanging haphazardly on his lap, his pencil limp in the pocket of his curled hand upon the armrest.

It was only then that you’d noticed the bloody damage to his knuckles, what looked like tiny fragments of tree bark left in his wounds. He hadn’t merely pounded a tree; he had hit it and dragged his fist through the jagged, toothy bark.

You’d called a nurse into the room and asked her to fetch you a first aid kit, planning to tend to him yourself. While she was gone, your eyes returned to the journal.

Since you’d been together, he’d voluntarily made it your shared journal, a place only the two of you could go. A haven. Nevertheless, since it’d been his custom for so many years beforehand, he always seemed to use it a little more than you did. There he was again, retreating to that sacred, secret, communal place.

You took the journal from its sliding perch on his thigh and saw the messy sketches of Grace in her cocoon, of you in your sleep. And you read in his beautifully old-fashioned hand, though it now bore a touch of needling worry to its scrawl, .

Grace Ada Morgan~

For a moment, I forgot. It was this insanity gettin’ into my head. I’m so exhausted, sweet babygirl. I forgot that leavin’ doesn’t ever fix anything. Please forgive me. I promise I didn’t forget that your mother and you are everything to me. Just forgot the right way to show it. Forgot that you both need me too. But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I swear it. I ain’t ever leavin’ you. Either of you. So please, don’t ask me to go into the ground. .

It had broken loose something inside you, and you had wept until, when you’d started cleaning his wounds with soapy water, he’d begun to wake. You’d quickly brushed your tears away, tried to smile, and kissed him, though you’d known he couldn’t miss the puffy redness of your eyes and nose.

Jointly, the two of you had renewed your commitment to never let Grace go without the knowledge of your love. You’d both affirmed the reality that you already had been loving her and would continue to love her through every moment of her life, short or long, including the moments of pain or difficulty.

Arthur had been your strength, even when he hadn’t realized it. He’d unwittingly been the catalyst to processing things you’d needed to, and had spoken aloud things you’d desperately required to hear. And before then, his broad back had carried the cumulative load of the fraught situation, his own fears, and your anxieties. He’d been much stronger than he’d known.

Having left city borders several minutes ago, the black truck’s headlights slice through the indigo night as Arthur begins the pickup’s slow ascent to your mountain home. He’s given the familiar sights of stately pines and dancing moths and a craggy dirt path. Ensigns of the home he’s made with you.

He can’t keep his mind from ambling again to all the times he’s been alone in these woods with you. Night fishing, skinny dipping. How often, even in the midst of such pleasures, his doubts and fears would surface. He would warn you of them, that to be with him would only bring you some sort of pain or cause you irreparable harm.

You’d always reply something to the contrary; different variations, but always the same meaning. That he couldn’t know that. That you loved him. And that to be without him would do you a deep pain you were certain of.

He pulls onto the winding road hidden by thick foliage that begins your shared property and leads to the homestead. Further down, he stops at the metal gate, hops out to open it, drives the truck through, exits again to close it behind you, and continues up the road.

Once he’s parked at the house, you’re happy to let Arthur hurry around to your truck door and open it for you one last time.

Out of habit, you try to hide the roll of your belly with your forearm as he leads you from your seat. You’ve never felt the urge to do so more strongly than you feel it now, after carrying your baby and acquiring even more flab and stretch marks than you’d had before. But it occurs to you that he’s told you numerous times there isn’t any need for such things. That he loves you and craves your body, just exactly the way you are.

Internally, your mind has always warred to believe that it isn’t too good to be true, that such spoken words are not only pitying sentiments and niceties. You’ve told him multiple times, even early on, that he deserved better, could easily get better, and that you harbored fears he would realize it all too soon for your heart. Fears that he would leave you all together, throwing you away like you just might deserve.

But he’s sworn himself to you, in heart and in body, over and over again. It’s as if you are shattered potsherds, scattered upon the floor, unable. Presumed by yourself to be worthless. He gathers you—every discarded splinter—dressing and filling the cracks of you with his own love, not hiding your history but honoring it. And binding you, until you’re stronger than before.

And in this way, he joins himself to you.

Have you done enough of the same for him? You think on it all through entering the empty house, hardly noticing the moon’s glimmering cast that strikes his wedding band as he unlocks the door before you, hardly hearing him toss his keys on the counter. You think on it as you both slip from your shoes and quietly pad into the bedroom, and you’re finally cognizant of your surroundings. You think on it as you turn and watch him walk into the room.

What his love and loving him felt like, at the beginning.

Like the sharp tip of a jagged pane of glass thrust up into your belly, channeling through your ribcage, pausing when it reaches your heart, and slicing slowly with a surgeon’s motion into the organ. Never had anyone but you seen the inside. Fear wouldn’t have captured what you’d felt. Because there would be no earth that could withstand the force of your knees when they hit, if when he saw the inside he tossed it aside, and turned away to depart.

But when he had seen, the moment of his seeing had imprinted you with the inside of his own splayed heart—a thing more primal than a name—on the inner walls of the atriums and ventricles, on the abdominal aorta, on the pulmonary valve. On dredged parts of you that you’d never thought another human would glimpse.

And now, you think on what that same love feels like, after all these years.

Seeing him, all of him, as he is. Being known so thoroughly by him. Splayed heart meeting splayed heart, clotted that way, the bloody cells fusing and knitting themselves anew. Grown over and healed to a scar. But healed. Forever one flesh and one blood. The mess of a deepening, steadfast, stronger love.

A love that stays. That chooses to. There was never anything more romantic to you.

Arthur flips on the bedroom light and gazes at you where you stand removing your earrings and setting them aside, waiting for him. All he can think as he ventures towards you is loving you, and feeling your love. The full scope of it, in its history, and in this moment. How it had started, so heady and engulfing, it had swallowed him whole; though it had hardly been ready for life’s travails. How it’s still those things, but much more. How he knows you. Better than he’s known anyone. How he’s seen you in your every form, in every turn of life’s capricious road, and loves you the more for it. How your heart understands his.

This love has long drawn a rich burgundy, like the Cabernet he’d sipped tonight. This love that has long taken anchored grasp, its taproot reaching down into the core of him. It has flowered and fruited several times over. And like any goodly, fragrant fruit, it refreshes and sustains him. Gives him life.

He takes his time gazing over the exposed skin of your shoulders, doing what he can to ready himself to show it to you. This shared love that has matured and sweetened and ripened to something devastatingly deep and forever lasting.

a/n: Part 2 will pick up with the very next moment in the story. Comments always welcome! Reblogs always greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for your gracious support.

tag list: @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @clevergirl74 @subpopizzy

[gomu-fer]

The sparrow and the hunter

Zoro x fem!reader

Warnings: pure fluff, mentions of daggers, zoro making fun of gods as he does, fem reader can transform into an animal idk thought you should know

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: In which Zoro falls hard for you and he struggles with it

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

When you first joined the crew, Zoro was very skeptical about what you actually would bring to the table, since your abilities were… unique to say the least, but you had helped them giving useful information and advise when in a very tight situation, and who was he to doubt his captains decisions.

“A BIRD?” Luffy exclaimed almost jumping out of his seat. Yes, you could turn into a bird

“Yep, that’s why I am a good informant! People don’t suspect of a tiny sparrow flying around” you explained followed by a wink

“But… how?!” The navigator asked still confused

You turned around tugging your shirt slightly down and removing your hair form your back to reveal a tattoo “This is an ancient mark that was bestowed upon me by my people, the mark of a god called Quetzalcoatl, also known as the feathered snake. It carries the power that allows me to transform”

This only made Zoro grow even more doubtful about you, a god? It sounded like a fairytale to him. But as it turned out, you were also a fearless fighter, extremely skillful with daggers and combined with your special ability it made you fierce, which earned you his respect quickly after having fought beside him and the strawhats.

As you slowly went from the quiet reserved new crewmate to show your real colors of a confident caring bright and easygoing individual, the swordsman didn’t mind sharing with you the ‘training zone’ which was just a section of the going merry Nami had assigned to such activities to prevent accidents. Most if not all of the time you would train separately since you only did cardio and battle training and Zoro was more of a heavy lifting kind of guy. Both seemed to enjoy the silence of each other’s company and only exchanging few hellos and goodbyes.

But of course that slowly began to change when Zoro became curious on your fighting tactics

“Where did you get that dagger?” He asked from the other side of the ‘gym’ after staring at you training from a while, you turned to him a little taken aback, he wasn’t the one to talk let alone start a conversation

“I made it myself when I was 12” you answered as you slowly walked to where the stoic swordsman was standing.

Zoro had noticed how this dagger was different from the others you kept on your belt, not only was the shape and overall hold and design different, you kept it in a cover around your thigh at all times, so it peeked his interest

You presented the dagger, making slow steady movements that made it shine in the afternoon sun, it indeed looked more homemade, and the sharp edge was of a black shiny material he had never seen before.

“My father was a hunter, he showed me how to build this type of daggers to protect myself since we lived in the mountains… and for artistic purposes” Zoro’s eyes examined every detail of the weapon, and in further examination he noticed how indeed everything about it was really you, your essence was plastered all over it

“Interesting” he said still fixated on the dagger “You can hold it”

Zoro looked at you now closer and speaking almost in a whisper, you handed him your beloved weapon and he took it slowly. It was lighter than he expected it to be, he made an aggressive strong move as if he was cutting something and you giggled which made him embarrassed and a little insecure

“What?” He blurted out in defense

“You don’t use it like that, it’s meant for self defense or close targets. You have to move fast and steady” you took his hand in yours and demonstrated how to attack with it cornering your own throat between the dagger

“Always strike with purpose”

The swordsman felt his heart rate accelerate and a pink blush creeping from his neck, his gaze fixated in yours and his mind racing. You offered a sweet smile before removing yourself from the hold, Zoro returned the dagger to you shyly “Nice uhm… technique… and beautiful dagger” he immediately turned around to resume his workout, still flushed and with nervous hands.

The green haired pirate felt his head spinning not believing how you, a freshly arrived new strawhat, had not only allowed him to hold something you treasured and valued so much, but also had pointed it to your neck with his hands while being a man that doubled you in size and strength. His head couldn’t stop thinking about the intimacy of it all, it had left him breathless. You trusted him

But really it was just the beginning of the end for this poor man. Zoro had found himself trying to have more of you, like you had casted a spell, craving for your attention and essence.

He now looked for you when he entered any room, always wanting to be in your presence even while you just were enjoying your hobbies or any mundane task, he was eager to learn things about you and oh what a wonderful person you were to chat to, always keeping the conversation fun and interesting, listening attentively when it was his turn to talk, always sharing a piece of your soul.

You had seen through his stoic scary facade and saw what he really was. Everything that Zoro did was driven by love and the deep meaningful connections with the people around him, always remaining loyal and acting as the protector of the crew not because it’s his job but because he cares. He may not be as expressive as Sanji, but you were able to read him.

This scared Zoro immensely, not only cause he started to catch himself feeling annoyed whenever the stupid cook swooned your way or called you sweet names, or cause he couldn’t stop thinking about you even when training or trying to nap, or cause somehow you seemed to enjoy being around him too. No, it scared him because it made him feel like you had a hold on his heart and was afraid of being vulnerable. He felt weak

So when he finally came to the conclusion he was falling for you, and falling hard, instead of talking about his feelings, he opted for actively avoid you but of course you noticed right away. At first you gave him some time pretending you didn’t notice, he probably needed space from you feeling like you were smothering him, but eventually it had started not only to become ridiculous but to hurt you, because at the contrary of Zoros better judgment, you cared.

You excused yourself from dinner way early one evening, making a lame excuse so that you could finally catch Zoro alone on the crows nest on night watch and confront him, tired of his obnoxious behavior. Your stomach stirred in nervousness as you laid down on your hammock trying to distract yourself while crocheting, the door creaked open and you saw Nami menacingly standing in front of the door

“When are you gonna pull Zoro out of his misery?” your brows furrowed and a scoff escaped your lips

“What are you talking about? He’s the one avoiding me” The navigator rolled her eyes and sighed very loudly clearly annoyed

“He’s head over heels for you y/n! But he doesn’t know what to do just spare him”

“That’s not true” you sounded almost sad, Nami slowly came closer to you changing her approach

“You’re kidding right?, I swear he almost got up and ran after you when you stormed out, he’s smitten I had never seen him like this” you didn’t answer, thinking about his change in behavior and Namis thoughts, it seemed like it made sense

“I was planning on talking to him later anyways”

An exited squirm escaped Nami as she aggressively pushed your hammock back and forth shaking you “FINALLY! I swear you both were driving me insane”

As the sun disappeared behind the ocean and the moon greeted you shining through the cloudless sky, you awaited for everyone to retire to their bedrooms to peek your head through the door of the girls quarters, the ship was lulled by the waves and not a sound could be heard, quite rare for the Merry to be this quiet only confirming everyone was fast asleep.

You looked up to see the swordsman’s green hair peeking through the crows nest, only making you more nervous

“I can see you staring you know?” Zoro spoke loud enough so you could hear but not to wake anyone up, a shiver ran down your spine before you cleared your throat approaching the tall nest

“Can we talk? Please?” You didn’t wait for an answer before transforming and flying your way up, feeling shaky as you landed in the edge and morphing back

“I guess” Zoro whispered, arms crossed in front of his chest looking up at the stars twinkling in the night sky

The gentle breeze made your hair dance revealing your glistening eyes and your pinkish cheeks, the moonlight softened you making you look like a fallen angel that had answered to Zoros prayers. Of course he knew what were you doing here, it made his heart quiver in anticipation both of not having a clue of how you may approach the topic and to finally see you up close again after a long time of staring from afar

“Why are you avoiding me?” Oh so we are going straight to it “I gave you space so you would figure things out, but it has gotten stupid what did I do wrong?”

Silence pierced your ears only hearing your heavy breaths both of how nervous you were and how quickly you had morphed to get up there with him, you had never been so blunt in your life but it was Zoro who we are talking about here there was no way around it

“I don’t know” after a while of you staring at him while his gaze shifted from you to literally anything else this was his response? You sighed defeated before getting up

“I won’t get in your way then” it hurt you deeply but what else could you do if you couldn’t reason with the hardheaded swordsman?. Before you could get on the ladder you felt a strong hand reach yours in a hurry

“Wait… stay” there was a shift in his tone, you had never heard Zoro speak like this, it was like soft plead for understanding. You hesitated but sat back down face to face while he kept his grip on your hand

“If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling I can’t understand Zoro” you also changed your tone to a softer one, making him feel secure, encouraging him to speak up.

There was no other way around it, even if he didn’t felt ready to say it out loud the more he did leaps around his feelings the worse it’ll get. Zoro squished your hand as he struggled to find the words

“I’m avoiding you because I can’t handle the way you make me feel” He couldn’t look at you even if he tried but if he did he would be met with a puzzled expression planted all over your face

“I am falling for you and I don’t know what to do”

Zoro looked intensely into your big orbs that shone as bright as the moonlight above both of you, the confusion of your face was washed away immediately, a loving smile now in its place. You giggled which made him back up in embarrassment you did that often

“You love me you big idiot! That’s what you do” you said before leaning in to lock your lips in his.

The pirates eyes widen in surprise but slowly welcomed your action, melting in your touch and positioning a hand in your back to keep you closer while both of your hands hanged from his neck. You tasted sweet like he imagined but way more addictive, he never wanted to part his lips from yours ever again, but breathing was necessary for both of you.

Your smile came back to your mouth as you separated, cupping both of his cheeks so he would keep looking at you

“I love you Zoro”

An unfamiliar warmth settled on his face, but a wonderful feeling captured his heart and then he knew, if he was to ever give his heart to anyone in the world it’ll be you, you’ll take care of it and love it unconditionally

“If I say it back you’ll kiss me again?” your laugh was heard again brightening the dark sea and the pirates soul

“Yes”

“I love you too y/n”

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Omg I loved doing this oneeee, and ofc had to represent my culture adding an aztec god as reference ☝🏻 if you want a series or a follow up lmk, as always feel free to request and correct me, English is not mu first language

[guiltreservoir]

in spite of the way that it is ✧ read on ao3

⫘⫘⫘

when buck first brings it up, it's to everyone in the 118, or at least anyone who's willing to lend an ear. he saunters into the kitchen with a smile bright enough to account for the unseasonably grey weather outside, megawatt-beam elation radiating off of his body and bouncing into every corner of the station. the minute he starts blabbing about how tommy came to his place late last night, at least two ears are swiftly discounted — chim walks away with his hands firmly clapped over the sides of his head, saying, "la la la, don't want to hear it," much like a petulant kindergartener.

bobby finds himself suddenly very busy with noisily reorganizing the utensil drawer, but doesn't quite leave the area; hen immediately raises her brows and takes a pointed sip of her orange juice, knowing buck will continue unprompted. ravi, just coming up the stairs himself, has no idea what he's walking into, the poor guy.

and eddie — eddie knows better than to involve himself in this. he could easily extract himself now, fake a phone call with christopher's school, pretend like there's something imperative that he left in the locker room. instead, he remains parked at the table, piping mug of black coffee insisting that he needs mo' joe as it sits untouched in front of him. his own uncertain reflection stares back at him from the coffee's dark surface.

"i think i finally found someone who can match me," buck's declaring, cheeky grin still lighting up his face like a marquee sign. eddie can practically see the colorful bulbs flashing above his head, a giant neon arrow and the brazen announcement: this lucky guy got his brains fucked out last night!!

"bless that man," hen snorts, shaking her head a bit. ravi's brows knit together in confusion, and when he asks for details on what buck's referring to in the first place, hen's head shaking deepens. "ignorance is bliss, ravi, you probably don't want to know."

"buck got laid last night," falls out of eddie's mouth without him meaning to let it, and fuck, he hopes it sounded more casual than it felt, bubbling up his esophagus like bitter-hot bile.

ravi's, "...and?" is reassuring. eddie feigns a laugh, relieved his cover isn't blown. he glimpses at buck, whose gigantic smile hasn't faltered for even a millisecond, and ignores the mass of earthworms writhing beneath the tin lid of his breastbone.

"and it was seriously awesome!" buck pumps his fist into the air, triumphant and ridiculous, sunbeam personified, and god. buck may be the one getting railed into his mattress by his new boyfriend, but eddie is the one who's truly fucked.

⫘⫘⫘

when buck has eddie over for drinks at his place the next night and asks him if he wants to hear more about it, he convinces himself it's a fine idea. how much can really go wrong, anyway? it's just the man who cradles eddie's whole cowardly lion heart in his unknowing palms, telling him about the way that eddie's good, kind, unbearably hot friend fucked him so tenderly he cried.

it's fine. everything is fine.

buck's never been one to spare details, especially not when eddie allows him all of the space and time in the world to lay out how he got laid. the nearly-gone beer in his hand (on his lips, on his tongue, on the collar of his shirt where an errant drop landed) is fuel for his fire, rattling the confines of his inhibitions just enough to knock a few loose, get him spilling details like the belgian white down his throat.

"he was really good, eddie." the glint in buck's eye is evidence enough, but eddie wants more; he's curious, to a detrimental degree, a tabby cat scaling a tree to catch a sparrow whose wings will carry it to safety, leaving him hungry and without the knowledge of how to climb back down to level ground.

"yeah?" he presses, like he needs to.

"yeah," buck continues. the next pull he takes from his bottle is long, slow, draining it empty. eddie's eyes track the movement, the pink curl of his mouth over the bottle's rim, the wet flick of his tongue across the cusp, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows the dredges. "it was like he could just... tell what i needed."

eddie's stomach drops. he blames the beer. his mind offers, silently, i would know what you needed, too.

he blames the beer.

"he made sure to take it slow, to start. he's— he's not a small guy, you know."

flashes of tommy's sweat-slick skin offer themselves up readily in the eye of eddie's mind. all thanks to their sparring during muay thai, he knows how it feels to be pinned beneath that man, to feel the heft of his strong arms and legs and chest against his own, to feel so utterly surrounded. he can only imagine what it's like to have tommy inside, too. he says, rougher than he means to, "i know."

buck clears his throat, ducks his head. when he meets eddie's eyes again, his cheeks are flushed. "i... i don't have to tell you about this, man. maybe it's too much. i mean, he's your close friend."

"you're my close friend," eddie says thoughtlessly.

the expression that settles on buck's features is complicated, to say the least.

"buck, i told you it's okay. you can tell me whatever you're comfortable with me knowing." eddie's can of worms burst opened wriggles and squirms, a slimy tangle mucking up his chest cavity. he catches and clings onto buck's gaze and adds, unequivocal, "i'll tell you if i want you to stop."

if buck's face wasn't already rosy, it would be now. his mouth falls open before his response catches up to him, and the spit-glint of his bottom teeth against his tongue makes eddie grit his own together, lest he say something he shouldn't.

"are you sure?" buck asks, back turning to eddie while he reaches into the fridge behind him for a third round. when he turns around again he's got two cold bottles in his hands, tilting one towards eddie, an offering that eddie accepts as automatic as breathing.

the fizzzzz-clink of buck popping the beercaps punctuates eddie's answering, "yes."

"alright." another generous swig of buck's drink bolsters his nerve. "i didn't think he was gonna fit at first, eddie. i swear to you, it doesn't seem like it should work. it's not like i haven't had anything up my ass before, i mean, tommy's even been warming me up for the real thing. but."

warming him up, jesus. buck's nonchalance is staggering, even when frankly, this isn't even the first time eddie's been confronted with such imagery. he wishes he could forget buck telling him about the times taylor had used her strap with him. not because it wasn't an appealing thought — eddie might have complex emotions around taylor, but the idea of buck getting dicked down by anyone at all has always been one that twists his guts into feverish knots. hence the desire for selective amnesia.

he fails not to wonder exactly what the thick line of tommy's dick would look like snuggled between the cleft of buck's asscheeks and swirls his beer in its bottle before knocking back a good-sized gulp, saying, "i'm guessing you made it work eventually."

because how the fuck else is he supposed to react while he's busy painting a vivid mural of his two 'close friends' fucking on the ceiling of his overenthusiastic imagination? he might as well be michelangelo with the way he's filling in the blanks with such inspiration.

the sputtering laugh that comes from buck has no right being as charming as it is. "he did indeed get his dick inside of me, yeah, great job putting those pieces together."

"thanks, it was difficult."

"i bet," buck responds. his gaze separates from eddie's and drifts down the length of his torso, catching on the steady rise and fall of the breaths expanding his chest before continuing down his past his bellybutton. he focuses just below eddie's belt before skimming back up to peer into his eyes again. "he took his time getting me ready with his fingers, and even still i felt like he was gonna split me in half. he got maybe halfway inside and i was already seeing stars. thankfully he kinda paused and gave me a second to adjust."

"come on, man." eddie's heartbeat threshes his ribcage and echoes all the way up to his eardrums, frantic and heady, bass drum kicking a chaotic rhythm. he can't help but imagine tommy's big, surprisingly gentle hands working buck open before slicking himself up with lube to nudge inside. he wonders if it made buck gasp, if he cursed and clenched at the blunt shock and slow push and steady tilt of tommy's hips. he wonders if tommy's got claw marks on him somewhere from buck scrabbling for purchase while curling his toes and communicating without words that he needed a minute.

"too much?" the way buck's half-mast eyes glitter reminds eddie of a tiger slinking low through moonlight silver-soaked grasses. all at once he can sympathize with the position of a lone antelope lurking just beyond through the open plains, vulnerable and enticing.

he perks his ears forward, tilts his head down, looking into the eyes of the beast who's about to consume him, and says, "no."

the antelope places its fragile skull straight into the tiger's hanging maw.

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie makes it through the next couple of days without jerking off about it, he considers himself victorious. he's been doing a fine job of distracting himself, hanging out with his girlfriend, his kid. he's been reading before he falls asleep to keep his mind from wandering too far. he's been working out more, burning off the extra energy that's been vibrating through his entire nervous system since buck drenched his subconscious — and his conscious mind, who is he kidding — with the most luscious, arousing descriptions of sex he's ever heard.

he's doing fine, until he's leaving the station with buck after a long shift and tommy's there to pick him up. he's standing outside of his buck's jeep, conveniently parked next to eddie's truck, eyes crinkly with delight at the sight of them. his voice carries through the atmosphere and shudders straight down into eddie's molten core, a simple and swift, "evan! eddie."

"hi, tommy," eddie says at the same time that buck says, "hey, babe!"

evan.

babe.

eddie is going to dissolve into a cloud of nebulous vapor.

he autopilots his way through the rest of their short conversation, ears buzzing with static, cottonmouth setting in. he doesn't pay attention to the small talk, mind too busy reeling with potential. the moment he'd caught sight of buck's jeep, he was a goner.

where is tommy's car? did he stay the night at buck's, hang out at his place for the day just waiting to come play chauffeur and take him back home to pound him into the mattress while kissing him deep and lazy, like his lips are laden with ambrosia?

"catch you later, eddie," he hears tommy say over the ringing in his ears. buck knocks shoulders with him and nods agreeably, lashes fluttering and lips stretching into a pretty smile.

the best eddie can manage in response is a pathetic wave and a half-hearted, "bye, guys."

his drive home is thirty-six minutes too long. he relinquishes his willpower and allows the fog of his daydreams to creep in.

"tommy called me a good boy when he finally bottomed out," buck had told him around a drawn-out exhale, hops heavy on his breath, steaming the air between their faces. somewhere between the third and fourth beer the space between them had collapsed, eddie backed against the kitchen counter and buck looming over him, cool and collected and beautiful and dangerous, striped wildcat on the hunt.

"he told me how incredible it felt inside me, how i was all warm and tight. and god, eddie, you don't understand how crazy it felt. it was so much, but in the best way. it was warm and tight for me, too."

that's when eddie had spooked and bolted, yanking free from within the loose gape of buck's tiger fangs and nicking himself on jagged ivory edges. worms clustered and crawled up from his chest and into his throat as he stumbled away, wounded and wet. he'd choked out, "i can't," and buck had backed off without hesitation, no longer a fierce big cat but a helpless cub, saying, sorry and low, "i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner."

⫘⫘⫘

when eddie finally gets his hand around his dick, it's nearly enough to make him cry. the bittersweet reprieve of it, the way he's been craving his own attention while being even better at withholding it from himself — there's practically nothing he's more practiced at, but just because it comes fairly naturally to him at this point doesn't mean it is painless.

he sinks into a different brand of masochism found in the inviting expanse of his mattress, world narrowed down to the sensation of his slippery grip around his blood-rushed cock, to the white-hot fantasies splaying themselves out in the darkest meadows of his mind, absolutely resplendent. he tries to make his hand feel warm, tight, incredible, like buck's soft aching insides; he speculates whether or not tommy would talk to him like that, if they were to hook up. would he qualify as good, in tommy's eyes?

with barely a second thought, he brings his free hand down to play between his asscheeks, knuckle ghosting across the delicate skin of his hole. tommy's fingers are bigger than his, tommy's bigger all around. a moan wrenches itself free as he swipes up some lube from where it's dripping down his balls and presses a fingertip inside.

eddie's pace picks up along with his breathing, chest heaving like he's been running for hours, days, years. maybe he has been. maybe he still is.

"fuck," he grits out, rolling his hips up into his hand. his mind is playing through scenes of buck opening up for tommy, tommy so careful and confident, scenes of buck wrapping his limbs around him to draw him as close and deep as he can get, buck so open and wanting. buck, such a fucking good boy.

eddie's orgasm shreds through him gut to throat like the sharp starving blade of a hunter, come spattering across his stomach, stickying his fist.

there are real tears streaking down his cheeks, now, damp and unrelenting, a mix of relief and guilt and something else he can't figure out a name for.

he jams the heels of his hands against his eye sockets and thinks, i know, i know, i should've stopped sooner.

[the-phoenix-heart]

Right. so uh. The final season of TUA dropped

I don't know how to feel.

(All the Spoilers Ahead)

Like halfway through this season I would have said it's not what I would've done, but I liked it. I enjoyed it. I thought it was iconic. Maybe a bit of an overuse of the Babyshark song, but you know, not that bad.

But like after that I think I started to hate the season when I realized things weren't going to be explained.

Like there is good about the season don't get me wrong. It was funny. The acting was stellar. I don't hate the ending in principle (I'll get to it later). I don't hate most of the ideas in principle. But it's the little things that keep piling up and piling up.

Like we're at the end of the series and I still don't understand marigold or durango. SO much stuff went unexplained. Why was Jennifer in a squid? Why was she in Moldova in the original timeline? Does she have powers herself or is she just a person until she touches one of the marigolds? Are there 43 durango babies like there were 43 marigold babies? Presumably she was the only one because she was the only one Reggie was protecting, but in that case WHY was she the only one. And that's just all the questions I have about Jennifer. Not even getting into her role in the story.

Because yeah, as a character she's pretty much nothing. She's vaguely empowered. She's vaguely interesting. She vaguely something. I'm not against her as a character. That scene where her and Ben are watching The Blob in different rooms is moving and great foreshadowing in hindsight. But that aside she's just a plot device to help destroy the world this time around. After her and Ben have sex she's just there to be in pain because of the virus. At least we known Ben. I can believe Sparrow Ben and hers connection, even if I'm so glad their romance was mostly just a horny world ending virus. Seriously the moment Ben started talking to her in the diner I got love interest red flags and was so uninterested.

Sparrow Ben by the way is a draaaaag on this season. Look, it was probably the right decision to let Original Ben move on, even if I think Klaus should have been involved with it. But it means when season 3 happened they trapped themselves to Sparrow Ben, who is not as interesting a character as Original Ben and also has less of a connection to the original Hargreeves siblings. Like I get why Luther or Klaus are trying to spend time with Ben, but the rest? I don't. Which is why I guess he's so disconnected from them this season, and doesn't get the big ending moment with them (times like this I wish they had kept Ghost Ben around).

But of course at least Ben has things to do this season. Imagine being someone as useless as Luther? Luther spends the season being a himbo, not at all the leader he used to be, and a repository of sex jokes and sconce jokes. And we REALLY aren't looking at his issues??? He's living in the condemned remains of his childhood home and also the place where he fell in love with Sloane, and we're not going to talk about that???

And then there's Klaus...Klaus, Klaus, Klaus. It's tradition that Klaus kicks off a personal sidequest/subplot every season, but by GOD this was the worst one. Like, it's funny, in a dark sort of way, but it's also so POINTLESS. We really wasted precious time in this six episode season on Klaus being kidnapped by his former drug dealer, working as a medium for one customer who is looking to find her ex's money he hid, getting Kill Billed, and then getting rescued. WHY?! Why was Alison the only one who cared? Why didn't Abigail at least say something like, "Where's Klaus? I've been wanting to see him."

And he was so close to really finally getting his this season. His introduction this series showed that more than anyone he was effected by the loss of his powers-ie. being terrified of the world and falling back into his old habits so he's very careful about everything. He also gets to be Claire's fun uncle this season! And then after he is forced to get his powers back he is rightfully pissed and in a state of distress and it's really working. And then it's just...a funny sideplot I guess?

The sideplot's purpose I suppose is to properly redeem Allison after last season, showing she'll still do anything for her family, and I'm sorry but that was the WORST way to do it. Allison and Klaus have always been close with each other in every season, and only now are they saying it's kind of unhealthy. And ultimately it doesn't matter since it's just a footnote in the last episode. Like, this season treats her so weird. For someone who was pushing the plot along last season she really doesn't have much to do this season other than her relationship with Klaus. They don't even really address the whole Allison created another world for us thing, or how much she screwed them over last season (And I am NOT an Allison hater okay. I loved her arc last season. I just also think that they should acknowledge it more in this season). The six year time skip really is doing so much work to ignore the events of last season.

And then there's Viktor. Who is both doing a lot this season and coming out looking like he's doing nothing. He's just kinda there for a few episodes, they imply he has commitment issues and then do nothing with that (I guess it's just meant to point out how awful this new timeline is?), and up until the flashback with him asking to go on the mission and being turned down, as well as the mission with Reginald I kinda kept forgetting he was there. Which is not something you want to do for your actor who gets top billing and is arguably the most important character in the series.

But of course he isn't the most important character this season. Which means it is finally time to talk about the clusterfuck in the room.

Let me just say, I kinda get what they were going for. Lila would be uncomfortable with being a housewife and would need an escape, and her and Five have been set up as connected since the second season so it's not impossible that she would try something with him, and it's not even that creepy from a Watsonian point of view because he's in his sixties and by the time they do anything he's in the body of a 24 year old at least; and from Five's point of view he is an incredibly lonely guy who has no real purpose in life anymore and is still a man out of time so it's not impossible that he might look at Lila as a person for that connection he's been missing since Dolores and yet-

My body STILL cringes at the sight of them.

Like, what should have happened logically is they kiss and then the two recoil in revulsion and talk about how much of a mistake that once and how gross it is. And yet the season tries to string us along with this awful love triangle.

And let's be clear it is not awful for Five. You can call it character assassination for him, personally I don't agree with that, but the framing makes it out that Five is in tragic love with her. Like they could have had a happy life together in that cottagecore universe, but OH the trappings of their universe kept them from it. Five ends the season as the most important character who has the answers and has to tragically give them.

I don't hate the diner with all the other Fives. I don't hate him traversing the multiverse for answers. I don't hate Five in this season, even if it is out of character for him to abandon a mission like that (He spent 50 years in the apocalypse trying to get home he wouldn't give up after SIX). I do hate what it does to Diego and Lila's characters.

It makes sense for Lila to be uncomfortable with suburban life. It also makes sense that Diego is uncomfortable with suburban life. At the same time it makes NO sense. Honestly the roles should be reversed, Diego should be putting all his time into being a full time parent and Lila should have the money making job, that makes more sense for their characters. Diego may be obsessed with heroism, but he also is obsessed with the ideals of family and taking care of them, it doesn't make sense for Diego to be so distant from them. Hell in the end LILA is the one with the big family moments, Diego doesn't even say goodbye to them I think. Diego's character is warped to fit this love triangle subplot they concocted and it REAKS. I HATE it. To make Five look like a viable option they have to make Diego this weird deadbeat-ish out of shape dad which makes NO SENSE.

And Lila is so hard done by the subplot because it controls her motivations. Why would Lila of all people choose to be a stay at home mom? I like that she's still disguising herself and doing her own thing on the sly, but she could do that even if she had a job. She's still a fun character, and I like that they played up her loyalties. I like the scene at the end where she almost dooms the world to stay with her family, but of course FIVE has to talk her down from that decision not her HUSBAND. Because her connection with Five is somehow more important than her connection with Diego that has been built up after three seasons.

And that's not to say anything about the small details that ruin this season for me. In no particular order-

The absence of Ray was the first major red flag for me. I guess he might've been unable to play the role this season so they just wrote him out of the show or they didn't know how to write him into it so they just said he ran out on Allison and Claire. Either way I hate it. Ray was such a good character in season 2 and I know this timeline is supposed to be kinda shitty, but that is doing Ray as a character so dirty, and Allison as well seeing as Allison and him were married and happy in season 2.

The absence of SLOANE. Did Luther not go trying to find Sloane in this new world? Did he just give up? He keeps mentioning her so why didn't he DO anything. Why didn't Sparrow Ben try to find his siblings???

I shouldn't still be mad about the absence of Dave, but I in fact am. His absence in season 3 was already conspicuous (the timeline had already changed with Dave enlisting earlier than expected and Klaus not being with him in Vietnam, who's to say he couldn't have still been alive in that timeline?) but the fact that he's not in this timeline either is so fucking sad for Klaus. Maybe him and Dave were soulmates, maybe they weren't, but the show sure treated it like they were. I know that the ending of the show is meant to be tragic, but we couldn't have THIS?

Seeing as Lila's family is alive in this timeline, why do none of the Hargreeveses have their biological families?

And let's talk about that ending shall we? Again, I get what they were going for. The ultimate sacrifice together as a family. The idea that they were so dangerous their existence was parasitic to the universe. The idea that after death they're still there as a couple of marigolds. It's sweet.

It's also FUCKING STUPID.

I might've been happy with the ending if Gene and Jean had been included being happy. I might've been happy with the ending if Eudora was there. I might've been happy if Dave or Harlan were there. As it stands none of them were there so that ending is already terrible to me, but it means I have no problem ripping apart the fabric of the ending.

Firstly, any story that says there is only one timeline is boring. Any story that says there is only one timeline and that timeline is normal is worse than boring, it's just plain stupid.

The idea that the Hargreeves are destined for an eternal tormenting cycle of destroying and saving the world is, at best, deeply nihilistic. I think it fails to understand that the end of the world could probably be avoided with therapy. But if we really take that as the gosphel then here is a bright idea, how about you spread all of them out across the timeline so they can't come together and end the universe? Then you still get a sacrifice without that horrible one timeline outcome.

That's another thing that makes no sense. So what, the way to make the one true timeline is that in one timeline Lila, Five, Diego, Luther, Klaus, Viktor, and Allison have to sacrifice themselves Cleanseiffer and that fixes everything? When there are countless alternate universes where they still have the marigold?

The refusal to acknowledge all 43 marigold children has always been a thorn in my side, but I really felt it this season. This would've been the perfect time to include all of them. Hell, maybe use the subway system and the other Five's to send the message that they need to give up their marigold. THAT would have been evocative.

Or, I dunno, don't kill everyone. Maybe if you're going to do the durango/marigold plot then maybe have a bunch of durango children to parallel the marigold children. Have them be their equal and opposites to really nail down that whole yin and yang thing you TRIED to give Jennifer and Ben. Just something, god, anything rather than what you gave us.

[rottenpunkandmadeofweasels]

kind of losing my shit rn and have a million things to say about this wonderful episode and the gang involved

thank you Beth may for the complex feelings running through Scary that are still drowning in denial and the incredibly slow breakage of her emotional walls. Even after Terry's death the struggle of admitting all her feelings about it is some beautiful characterization. The layers upon layers of subtle character work is like an emotional artichoke where each piece you let us peel back and examine is building a more and more intense pile of complicated and earth shattering feelings. you have not shown us all your cards even in this devastating time and once or if you do the payoff might just kill me.

thank you Matt Arnold for the comedic and heartbreaking choices you brought to this episode. The consistency you bring to Link and his loyalty was like a punch to the gut this episode. With fucking everything that happened with Taylor to his declaration of never wanting to see his dad again while breaking the anchor is god I can't even. He loves so strong and will stand by their side but he recognizes the foundation of his and Grant's relationship has crumbled and his Dad is not who he thought he was. Ending with the anchor breaking character choice made me litterally shout OH FUCK and I don't want it any other way. You know your fucking character.

Thank you Freddie Wong for being one of the funniest people ever. Today was not Taylor's big emotions episode and that's absolutely ok because it was immediately filled with one of the funniest bits ever. I have really strong reactions to things so when the gay foot mecha orb thing happened I fell to the floor shout screaming. Out of anyone on this goddamn podcast I think you have made me fall to the floor more times then anyone else. fucking comedic genius with a genius character.

Thank you Will Campos just thank you for Normal in his entirety. Normal flipping his shit this episode made me excited beyond belief and there are a million things I could say about Normal that I have already shouted at several people about regularly because he makes me nuts I love him and how you perform him. His conversation with Scary at the end made me sick it was so fucking good. So little was said but all of it was so loud. Love him more than anything.

Fucking Anthony Burch. Thank you Anthony. my god. What can I say about this guy that I haven't already said to every person I know and my online creative writing course. No writer or actor or anything has made me get up from my fucking seat and SCREAM. He has made me cry, laugh, pace around my kitchen like a caged animal like no other. He's my greatest inspiration and my worst enemy. this fucking guy reawakened my love for writing like no other piece of media has. Your worldbuilding, characters, choices, improv makes me flip my lid. I love Sparrow and Grant and Nicky and Dead Terry and Everyone in this fucking episode I fucking can't. As a twin I need to be fucking devasted by Lark and Sparrow in this next episode they make me so sick.

just a huge fucking rant that doesn't encapsulate all my feelings but a mini and not really ode to this podcast that I needed to get out while I was still fresh and emotional.

[spotsupstuff]

Everyday I fall in love more and more with Sparrow and Euros.

Love the fact that some inspector will just snatch her for cuddles!

What is your secret girl?!? What is your secret to make a whole Hivemind love you!?!

How did Caper realize that all of him loved Sparrow?( like realizing that every component, every begin that makes him love this beautiful individual that is Three Sparrow on a Wire)

Also, after those 2 years passed after the Rot incident, how was the make up? How was the moment of reconciliation? (Like after all the rockiest parts and all that was left to say was an apology)

biggest cuddle monster in 0g ever..

n don't ask Her!!!! she has no fuckin idea either!! one moment she's working away as usual n the other this giant fuck is gently prying off her wooden golden mask n asking her if he can devote his faith to her. they did NOT ready her for THAT in school

idk if you ever like,,, fell deep in love (pls don't take this the wrong way), but for him it was smth like that. just.... they were talking about something stupid, sitting side by side, shoulders bumping against each other as they laughed and suddenly it hit him somewhere deep- somewhere everywhere- that gods, this person means so much to me i can't even fathom it. despite what i am, i can't grasp it. he didn't really know how to name it at that time, but he knew he wanted to give her his devotion and be there with her as much as possible

oh their reconcilation didn't happen after those two years! that would be killing them both more than the Rot ever could. even though Sparrows was pissed, she still like.. loves him. and all that. she's so angry specifically cuz she loves him. so after she pulled the metaphorical euthanization trigger on the Lab section and got everything sorted with the reparation team, she booked it as fast as she could to the puppet chamber to check on him

at some point before this Boreas was called up and he chewed up Euros for keeping quiet, but the main point really was for *someone* to be there with the kid when a portion of him is just. killed off. so when Sparrows stumbles in Boreas greets her with a nod from the video call projected by his overseer

"how is he? how did he take it?"

"...well.. he *screamed*. then he shoved his puppet into the corner there and clutched at his head. since then he has not moved and barely responded to audial cues."

so she huffs in concern, slowly walks up to him and sits right next to him facing the opposite way, knees pulled up to her chest just like him. Boreas stays, quietly bracing himself in annoyance and exasperation at possibly having to be a mediator. he SUCKS at being a mediator. these kids are gonna be the death of him

thankfully it all proceeds calmly. Sparrows leans against Euros' side n starts explaining in whispers why she yelled and called him names and actually used her Mechanic's privilage when forbidding him from accompanying her ("i... shouldn't have done that. that wasn't fair to you. i'm sorry about that one thing and i'm calling it off."). she's good with kids! babysat and kind of helped raise some of them back home when she was still just a teen, so she knows the best approach is first explaining herself so everything is clean. it's how mom talks with her even now in situations like this. Euros might not be a kid, but he's still very much in his learning stage of life so she'd do good about approaching the situation in as healthy and direct manner as she can. if he learns to solve interpersonal issues from her like this, it would be stellar

he repays her idea in kind and mumbles out his own explanation for keeping quiet about it

"that is the stupidest thing i've ever heard come from your speakers. which says a lot, you can be pretty dumb even on the good days."

"-miserable sigh- ...yeah... i.. see it now. blatantly. ...i'm sorry Sparrows."

she doesn't forgive him. she says she will be probably forever hurt and angry about this until something makes her forget (-glares at the concept of aging-). after all, he betrayed her trust with such a... such a serious thing. when they were meant to be honest and genuine and completely open with each other. but when he snaps to look at her with fear in the eyes as if he wasn't the giant intimidating thing in the sky casting kilometers long shadows, she reassures his that this doesn't mean their relationship is over, they just... gotta rebuild some stuff. and he's the one who has to do most of the job here ("cuz i'll be far too busy rebuilding your Lab Wing, shithead. and also it's all ur fault -lighthearted shoulder nudge-"). the rebuilding is mostly what happens after the repairs are finished, during the court case against Sparrows' capability as an Iterator Mechanic n then afterwards

this conversation is also where Boreas finds quite a good amount of respect for Sparrows as a person. he came in as an elder brother of one and left as an elder brother of two. he ends up playing a pretty key role in the court case n saves her job

[mother-of-houseplants-2]

i miss my ex and i don't know how to feel about it.

he wasn't good to me. he was the kind of man who didn’t listen when i said "no," touched me when i was sick and delirious and didn't want to be touched, didn't care to know me beyond the version of me he had in his head, treated me like i was just another side character in the grand bildungsroman of his life. which is... bad. i'm learning that it's bad. i'm learning to come to terms with the fact that he hurt me, perhaps irreparably. he changed me.

but i miss him. he was funny. he had the best kermit impression in the world. he felt a deep connection to birds; the first animal he ever had to bury was a sparrow he found dead in his backyard. he was nice. be bought me the most beautiful flowers. he always offered to hold my hand because my fingers were always cold. even when it was winter and he didn't have gloves and i did. he'd still cover my whole hand in his so mine would stay protected from the cold.

he liked joyce and shelley and faulkner and adichie. he liked house of leaves and old japanese indie games and the song can i call you rose. he could always talk his way out of a bind. he stood up for other people, even if he didn't do it in all the right ways. he rode his bike across the state and told me he loved me while lying, half delirious, in a cornfield in the middle of nowhere.

and i miss him. i miss the lines around his mouth when he smiled. i miss the softness of his hands. i miss getting pictures of the sunrise while i was just falling asleep. i miss long texts that always ended with a little saturn emoji and new poems in my inbox every week. i miss his smell - sandalwood and honey and oud, like a candle i once smelled crouched on a grocery store floor. i miss walking with him by the river, the way he first laughed when i was frightened by geese, then shielded me from them.

he has a job downtown now, and a dog named kevin. he lives in a brand new apartment i've never seen. i don't know how his grandparents are doing, or his elderly neighbor back home. or the fish in the stream by his father’s house. or his cat. i haven't heard a silly poem about a pelican in months.

i don't miss the press of his lips on my skin, or the tightness in my chest when i saw him come my way. i don't miss the way he touched me. or talked to me, sometimes, like i was nothing but a figment of his imagination. but i miss him. god. i miss him.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

August 19th

Joy, joy, joy! although not all joy. At last, news of Jonathan. The dear fellow has been ill; that is why he did not write. I am not afraid to think it or say it, now that I know. Mr. Hawkins sent me on the letter, and wrote himself, oh, so kindly. I am to leave in the morning and go over to Jonathan, and to help to nurse him if necessary, and to bring him home.

Oh, Mina 🎶

You should go, Mina 🎶

Before your friend bites your neck, Mina 🎶

Oooh won’t you leave her now 🎶

I must write no more; I must keep it to say to Jonathan, my husband. The letter that he has seen and touched must comfort me till we meet.

🥺

Now back to Dr Medical Malpractice and RENFIELD:

Strange and sudden change in Renfield last night. About eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my interest in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the attendant and at times servile; but to-night, the man tells me, he was quite haughty. Would not condescend to talk with him at all. All he would say was:—

"I don't want to talk to you: you don't count now; the Master is at hand."

Tiens donc

(Look sometimes only French expressions can capture the vibes in my brain)

It looks like religious mania, and he will soon think that he himself is God.

Unlike you, Seward! You certainly don’t act like God to your patients!

How these madmen give themselves away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall; but the God created from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men only knew!

…

I am weary to-night and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, and how different things might have been. If I don't sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus—C2HCl3O H2O! I must be careful not to let it grow into a habit.

Your consumption of chloral is the least dreadful of your habits.

I had lain tossing about, and had heard the clock strike only twice, when the night-watchman came to me, sent up from the ward, to say that Renfield had escaped.

HA

As I got through the belt of trees I saw a white figure scale the high wall which separates our grounds from those of the deserted house.

You know who else is described as a white figure and sickly and escapes at night? Yeah. Yeaaah.

I ran back at once, told the watchman to get three or four men immediately and follow me into the grounds of Carfax —

That’s where Dracula’s new house is isn’t it. Fun times ahead.

"I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You will reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and afar off. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will not pass me by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?"

He is a selfish old beggar anyhow.

And you are insufferable

With strength and determination like his, he might have done wild work before he was caged. He is safe now at any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn't get free from the strait-waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he's chained to the wall in the padded room. His cries are at times awful, but the silences that follow are more deadly still, for he means murder in every turn and movement.

AND SO DO I

< Prev 🦇 Next >

[fiveapocalypse]

for the kid five and parent siblings thing:

could you do something about one of the siblings (maybe klaus?) taking five shopping! i think it’d be a very chaotic experience 😌

Allison is normally the grocer in the family for many reasons. For one, Klaus would buy everything he landed his eyes on, Ben (sparrow) was a bit too angry with people even if they deserved it, Diego was a great grocer but he tended to be busy at times, Luther was also good at shopping and wouldn’t mind doing it but sometimes he wasn’t home, and Viktor was usually doing a lesson or had already shopped and Allison didn’t want to force it on him again. Everyone did their part in the house after all. This meant, however, that she was the one shopping with Five.

Normally, when one of the siblings shopped with Five, they came back ranting about the whole trip. Allison didn’t see what the problem was. Five wouldn’t be THAT bad to shop with. He was always saying he was grown. How annoying and chaotic could it be?

Unfortunately, as she’s going to find out, it was actually going to be a little bit different than what she imagined.

For one, Five ACTUALLY needed one of those child harnesses. Turns out he has a habit of just walking away from you without warning and scaring both himself AND you once he falls out of auto-pilot and realizes he’s alone. For two, he was like a kid in a candy store. He often grabbed stuff out of the blue, trying to see what they were, tossing them in the cart absentmindedly. It’s a habit, she knows, from his apocalypse days where he grabbed anything he could, stuffing it inside his wagon and dragging it along the wasteland’s streets. This, however, was NOT the apocalypse and Allison had to put back a million cans (exaggeration, maybe) of food and other items, explaining to a very slightly out of it Five (Luther had dumped their brother on her when he was STILL sleeping which, in hindsight, was probably not a good idea when five woke up in the car nearly screaming and was still not awake enough to realize he was in the real world) that this wasn’t the apocalypse, he didn’t need to get all this food, it wouldn’t go bad and would still be there when they went shopping again.

None of these actions were bad, however, and Allison didn’t mind being her brother’s keeper. It taught her how to be more patient, anyway.

Every few minutes, Five would grab her wrist, fingers sliding across her pulse.

Every few minutes, he’d sidle up close to her, and mumble that she was warm, and that was funny, because dead people aren’t warm.

Every few minutes, Allison noticed Five grabbing her hand, letting her hold his, squeezing it.

Shopping was good. Great even. It was a little sad, and it was a little hard to manage, but Allison loved it. She loved hanging out with her siblings, enjoyed spending time together with a brother she never knew after the age of thirteen, was happily—

“Oh my god, Five, get DOWN!”

Or well, she WAS, until her pint sized brother was climbing the shelves and was now on the top row, legs dangling from the ledge, the very SHARP ledge, the harness leash that lead from his body to her hand was hanging limply in the air because Allison assumed that, since Five started holding her hand, he wouldn’t go wander off.

She was wrong.

Five frowned at her, standing up on his two feet. He peered down, then took a step back and shook his head until he looked like a bobble head.

Allison’s stomach twisted at the reminder.

Five hated heights. Something to do about their father, and training, and rooftops. He might have gotten over the fear in the apocalypse, because he HAD to, but he’s tired, and in a body that hasn’t gone through the even worse effects of the apocalypse (the doctor says he has asthma, that his skin is sensitive, as if it had been burned, that his eyesight has deteriorated, that his hearing is a bit off, that he can’t walk too well, run too fast, somehow his leg broke a few times? He had to stave off an infection? Cut off his own fingers? Allison didn’t want to hear more), and now he doesn’t want to get down the shelf he climbed because it was much too high and he was terrified of using his powers out of the mindset that he would disappear all over again.

Allison breathed.

Held her arms out.

“Hey… hey, I need you to use your powers, okay? Just your teleporting. Nothing else. You can do that. You’ve always been good at that.”

Five gives her a look. As if to say he’s NEVER been good at that. The evidence is his body, the apocalypse, Allison keeps telling him to, because if she doesn’t, Five will stay up there, shaking like a leaf because he’s under the air vents, and close to screaming his head off. He still looks like he’s half asleep.

But, he does curl his hands into fists, uncurls them quickly when he sees flickering blue light.

“Just teleporting.”

Five blinks at her.

“You can do that. Remember when you kept teleporting in front of us during training? The race exercise.”

His face scrunches up. His hands glow blue.

“You don’t have to think about it. Not too much at least. Just—it’s a bit like picturing where you wanna go, right? And just—telling your body to take you there.”

A few seconds of silence go by, and then a whoosh that startled Allison enough that she almost didn’t catch Five who practically latched onto her like a koala. Right. She’s warm. Like a living, breathing, human.

“You’re okay,” she mumbles, because Five is still in the apocalypse, and those shelves he climbed were probably broken buildings and hazardous rubble, and Allison was probably just a figment of his imagination, telling him to use his powers, to get out of this situation before he died there, cold and lonely.

“You’re okay, I promise.”

Hehe oops you asked for chaotic and I just gave you sadness.

[danbisroom]

Ep. 7 - We’ll return when we drift apart

Hello my fellow souls,

welcome back to Danbi’s Room, your weekly dose of safe space. Go grab a cup of something warm and get yourself cosy.

I hope you had a nice and fulfilling week!

I’m back with original pieces, thank you again for your patience and understanding.

Goodness, so many things to say…okay let’s start.

I feel that, in general, we have given up on magic. I wouldn’t say it’s because “we have the proof it’s total nonsense”. I see it more as “ we got to a point where we’re conditioned to think we can’t afford to believe in it”. Now, obviously this topic is sociologically complicated, but at the end of the day it doesn’t even matter, ‘cause we’re in Danbi’s Room and what matters is to talk about our feelings and share stuff right?

So, call me crazy but I do believe in magic. I also believe that the concept of what magic is can vary for each one of us. An advice I’d give you is to start looking for it in the small things. You know, it’s just another way of connecting the dots and following what our heart actually wants.

Like the broken compass.

You know, the one Jack Sparrow uses. It doesn’t point to the North. As mad and useless that might seem at first, it’s the opposite. The so-called broken compass guides you towards what you truly desire, towards what your soul actually craves. Now, this naturally raises two questions. The first would be that you need to have at least an idea of what you want for all this to work. Not an easy task at all, given that you have to set directions and determine a path (that can totally change along the way), but it’s not impossible. It’s hard. it’s tiring, it requires effort, sure, but it’s between you and…you.

The second question is that if you’re not already surrounded by your people you’re going to be misunderstood, judged, looked down upon. Heavily. Why would you use a compass that seems broken to anybody else? Why would you trust it?

The point is exactly that: trusting the compass means trusting yourself. Trusting your gut, trusting your dreams who will be manifested along the way. Trusting your own magic and the one encompassing you. Again, most people don’t do that, not anymore. They let their wise inner child be buried alive. They’re still there screaming but nobody listens. Even so, magic is still such a huge component of our being we are instinctively drawn to anything resembling it: fantasy fiction, dressing up, being in Nature, religions, praying, any type of art really…and more things to count. Not that differentiating these categories is pointless but I believe we should also acknowledge they all somehow fall under the term “magic”.

Yeah I digressed. But it’s useful to make my point, which is that people who don’t believe in magic will try to drag you down in every possible way. They’ll say they do it for you, that they love you, that it’s better their way, it’s safer. And you’re crazy, you will fail, or, even worse, you’re already a failure. You’re a “weirdo”. They envy the sparkle in your eyes, that glimpse of the universe you got within you.

You might not agree with what I’m about to say, but, for God’s sake, don’t listen to them. Even if they’re loved ones, don’t let them kill you, don’t bury your inner child alive. Please, I beg you. Listen to that kid, they know better. Protect them, they will protect you. Even when it’s difficult and terrifying, hold on a bit more. Celebrate your unique way to live, of orienting yourself. You create you’re own direction, isn’t that amazing? And we’re born with it, we’re born oriented, we’re born knowing how to relate our body to space, both internally and externally. I find that extraordinary.

Don’t lose that.

And remember: you’re not crazy, and even if you are, that’s fine.

If they mock you, if they laugh behind your back, they are, most likely, even crazier than you.

Today’s song recommendation is, for obvious reasons, Broken Compass, both the 3Racha version and the Stray Kids version. I would take a look at the lyrics if I were you, while enjoying CB97’s great production.

I hope you enjoyed this episode and that you have a beautiful week ahead of you!

I’ll see you in the next one, big hug!

With love, yours,

Danbi

[marilostfieldblog]

[Video transcript begin.]

[The camera is in someone's front shirt pocket, two sets of footsteps are heard alongside the clicking of a metal object. One of the two people takes a deep breath before sighing.]

?: Listen I uh… I'm still sorry about… y'know… failing to get Sparrow out.

[Voice identified: Mari.]

?: You tried, Mari. That's all anyone could ask for. You shouldn't blame yourself for how things happened.

[Voice Identified: William Keane.]

M: I'm the reason Rose is back, though! She shouldn't have to be here!

W: Whilst I agree that Rose shouldn't be anywhere near here, they made their own choice. You didn't force her hand.

[Mari begins silently crying. Barely picked up by the microphone.]

M: I fucked up Will… If I had just tried harder, I…

W: Oi. Don't go on about the self-sacrifice bullshit on me now, Mari. Anyone who would have tried would likely have the same outcome.

M: If I had just stopped Sparrow from running off I… besides you and I both know what my plan was… you caught me the day before.

W: Mm. I did. Sparrow is a child, Mari, they don't listen to what people older than them say. Or younger, actually.

M: They had a good reason for it… Cassidy getting caught. I just… I wish I could've kept my promise with Edgar.

[There appears to be a slight sigh from the other, as it begins speaking again.]

W: I do too. But, you know what? You fucking tried. That's what matters, you actually tried.

M: God… if Sarah heard me still feeling bad… she'd kick my ass. Hell… she also told me it wasn't my fault.

W: You know, if more than one person says it isn't your fault, it most likely isn't your fault. If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, feels like a duck, and in every other aspect is a duck, mate, its probably a fucking duck.

M: It… it feels like my fault…

W: And it will, for a while. A long, long while. But it shows you care. Ness said that to me.

M: God… no offense but, I didn't expect to hear that from you.

W: I do not practice what I preach, mate.

[There's a chuckle from William.]

[Mari begins humming a song as they walk, identified as "My grandfather's clock".]

M: Ugh… that damn song is stuck in my fuckin head.

W: Is the music box still there?

M: No, Sparrow has it.

W: … Where do you think they are?

M: Somewhere with Rose… I don't fuckin’ remember where.

[Mari stops humming.]

M: Why do you ask?

W: … the song's soothing, is all.

M: Yeah uh… I haven't… tried talking to Rose or Sparrow. I'm sure Rose isn't mad but… Sparrow.

W: Once Sparrow realizes you were trying to keep 'em safe, they… could understand. We can cover the ground we haven't checked later, if you want.

M: William… We lied to them for months… About their mother. You, me, Edgar… Jenny seems to be the only one they aren't mad at.

W: In my defense, I didn't actually lie. The file does state she wasn't entirely dead. But… I don't think they'd care for technicalities.

[Mari stops, their feet firm in place.]

M: Ruby is dead. None of what that thing was is Ruby.

W: But–

M: No buts, William. Ruby is dead.

[There is no reply from the other, just a glance downwards]

M: Trust me. I wish this was some fairy tale where all we have to do is hug Ruby and she’d turn back into a human. But it isn't.

W: if you would read how they're created, then–

M: There was a fucking bullet wound in her head. I'm sorry, and I know Rose would hate me for saying this. RUBY. IS. DEAD.

[A sudden loud bang is heard nearby. Followed by another, and then another.]

M: WHAT THE FUCK?

[Mari falls backwards. Landing with a loud thud.]

W: HOLY SHIT. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?

[Will stays still, seemingly frozen in place]

M: SECURITY? A DEAD BODY? I DON'T FUCKIN' KNOW!

[Another series of bangs.]

M: CAN WE JUST GO? I'D LIKE NOT TO DIE TODAY!

W: DEAD PEOPLE DON'T BANG ON DOORS. NOR DOES SECURITY. I think..?

M: MOTHERFUCKER, I DON'T CARE! COME ON!

[Another loud bang. This one not followed up by a second.]

W: uh… okay… wait.

[William's voice raises, still staring in the direction of the bangs]

W: Hello? Are you… not security? One bang for yes! [Aside] This is not gonna work.

[A pause. Then an extremely loud, singular bang. William gasps.]

M: God damn it… I don't have a choice here, do I?

W: No. We're helping. Right! Random person, 1 bang for if you're human!

[Another singular bang.]

M: [Whispered.] God damn it…

[Mari tries to stand up, only to fall right back down.]

M: Help?

W: Right, right, sorry.

[It reaches out, grabbing Mari's forearm. He pulls the other up to their feet.]

W: Okay. Right. Person banging on the wall, will you hurt us if we come near? 1 for yes, 2 for no?

[Two bangs.]

M: Come on then.

[Mari starts running in the direction of the banging.]

[There's a second pair of footsteps with the high pitched clicking, presumably Will's. He's a slight blur to the camera.]

M: RANDOM PERSON BANGING ON THE WALL! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

[A pause, before the banging continues, getting louder as the two approach.]

W: Those bangs sound like they fucking hurt, man! How the hells can someone even do that?!

M: I DON'T KNOW! LET'S JUST HURRY UP!

[Mari speeds forward, the sound of heavy breathing is also heard.]

W: Fucking hell, wait up!

M: NO! RANDOM PERSON, ARE YOU IN PAIN? 1 FOR YES, 2 FOR NO?

[A loud bang. Followed by a quiet thud.]

W: OKAY, NO FUCKING WAITING UP. I'LL CATCH UP.

M: YEP. THIS IS GONNA HURT!

[Mari runs fast enough to make the camera a black blur, they scream in pain every time their foot hits the ground.]

M: SON OF A BITCH!

W: WE'RE CLOSE DUDE, YOU GOT THIS!

M: KEEP BANGING ON THE DOOR, DUDE! WE'RE GONNA FIND YOU!

[The banging continues, but the space between each one grows longer as time goes on. They start to get slightly quieter.]

M: FOUND IT!

[Mari stops in front of a door, they try to open it only for the doorknob to barely even jiggle.]

M: Fuck… Locked…

[Will catches up, his panting and clanking leg audible with the pipe it used for walking.]

W: Idea! Person stuck, please push against the door?

[William grabs the door handle, and attempts to pull at it.]

W: What the hell do they put in these doors?

M: I do not know.

[Will backs off for a second and places the pipe aside, before warning the trapped person, and attempting again.]

M: Let me try.

[Mari slowly walks over to the door, limping. They look down for a moment, blood visibly leaking from their foot, which is slightly in frame.]

W: Dude, you’ll need serious care after this.

M: Yeah. Don't care.

[Mari grabs the door handle and tries to pull at it, still nothing. They step back before shouting and landing on the floor.]

M: FUCK! I STEPPED ON ONE OF THE BROKEN BONES IN MY FOOT!

W: OH FUCK.

M: THAT HURT!

W: I don't know how to help or what to do fuck, fuck–

M: Just… Get the fucking door open.

W: On it, I'm on it!

[He gets back into position, before pulling once more with all of its strength, the strain visible in its expression.]

M: You can do it!

[There is a loud sound of something breaking as the door finally flings open, and someone tumbles out. Landing face first on the floor, coughing violently.]

W: Oh, shit! Are yo–

M: Who the fuck–

[The man attempts to push himself off the ground with one hand, ultimately failing. He appears to be covered in blood. Some dried. Some a little more fresh. His white dress shirt is torn. And his brown hair is matted with more blood. He twitches slightly.]

M: E– Edgar?

[William is still holding itself against the door, staring down at the figure on the floor. It doesn't move a muscle.]

M: EDGAR? [To themselves.] No, no, I'm fucking losing it… he’s dead, he can’t be… can he?

[Mari hops up, their arms seen with the sound of hair being moved.]

[The man on the ground attempts to push himself up again, this time successfully being able to get onto his knees. He does not look up at the two. Not yet.]

M: Dude… Is… No fucking way… I… Do you need help?

[As Mari speaks, Will moves slowly towards the man. It reaches out an arm, and gently grasps a bit of his shirt. After a few seconds, he grasps it tighter, pulling on it slightly. Testing to see if the man in front of them is real.]

M: Dude…

?: [Quietly.] You…

[Voice identified: Edgar Elliot Pression.]

M: Edgar…

W: H– how…?

E: [Slightly louder.] I… you actually… I’m… is this…

M: Hello?

[Will's arm retreats, and curls his hand into a fist, to stop the sudden onslaught of shaking.]

[Instead of responding, Edgar begins to laugh, just loud enough for the software to be sure that the shaking isn’t from crying. Although that appears to be in the mix as well. His voice is slightly raspy and it sounds a little painful for him to speak.]

W: Ed– Edgar?...

M: Edgar… Y– you…

[He finally turns over, now sitting on the ground. His face is also covered in blood, dried streaks of it trail down from his mouth, the lines continue on, making their way down his neck and vanishing where his shirt collar begins. Dark bags sit under his eyes, which are full of tears. He stares at the two, a relieved smile on his face. His eyes jitter between the two, unsure who to focus on.]

E: You’re here! You– you’re actually here! And I’m–

[His voice falters, and he coughs a few times.]

M: I…

[Mari falls to the ground, wrapping their arms around Edgar, he attempts to raise his arms to return the gesture, but he doesn’t seem to be able to. The phone is angled towards Will.]

[William stands there, simultaneously aghast and agape, absolutely in shock, before copying Mari's movements, although he hugs both of the people on the ground. Its head is turned away, both to not hit the two with his "accessory", and to not cry on them.]

M: I… I thought… We thought we lost you.

E: No, I’ve– I’ve been here. I–

M: We haven't seen anything… Heard anything… Nothing.

W: I… l– looked for… gods k– know how long…

E: I’ve b– been in there for so long, I honestly th– thought you didn’t care. I t– thought you all left me t– to rot.

M: W– we didn’t leave y– you… we wouldn’t! We just didn't know… it– like I said, we haven't seen anything. Nothing. Like showfall was… blocking us, or some shit.

W: But… how? I thought H– Hetch shot you? We all saw. On that show.

E: T– they cut the broadcast. For anyone w– who cared. Made it seem like I– I got shot.

M: I…

[Mari stops, they take a deep breath, before laughing.]

M: I'm sorry…

E: Don’t.

M: I told you I wouldn't be here… I'm so sorry…

E: And I told you the show was on the 19th. I– I think we’re even now.

M: Sparrow… ugh… never min–

[Slightly noticed by the camera, Will's grip in the hug has heightened, properly hugging them both.]

[Edgar stays silent for 10 seconds.]

E: … I’ve really missed you guys.

[He shudders, covering his mouth with his arm. Possibly holding back vomit. He moves his arm away to speak.]

E: I haven’t been able to contact anybody. [Muttered.] Except Iris.

[Will jolts slightly.]

W: WET. CAT.

M: What? William, we're having a moment, is now really the time to describe all of us at any given moment?

E: Wait a minute. I remember being informed of that nickname.

W: SHE– SHE FUCKING KNEW! SHE WAS T– TALKING ABOUT YOU ON THAT FUCKING BLOG!

[Edgar laughs again. His tone becomes slightly frustrated for a moment.]

E: Yeah. She also threw pebbles at me.

M: I… Will, let me go, I need something out of my pocket… Edgar needs help.

[Mari pulls away fully. Will does as it's told, solely hugging Edgar now. Their arms tight around him. Edgar leans into it.]

M: Ok… hope these batteries still work.

[Mari pulls something out of their pocket, an old walkie-talkie. Scratched and chipped, they press a button and for the first 5 seconds nothing but static until…]

M: Hello, do you copy?

?: Mari! You and Will ok? You guys didn't die did you?

[IDENTITY REDACTED.]

M: We… found Edgar…

?: Wh– I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD!?

M: Will, you’re up.

W: … hm? Oh, u– uh, he's… he's alive!

?: HA! FUCKING BRILLIANT!

[The person clears their throat.]

?: Hi, Edgar, hope you’re uh… Well, at least kinda okay.

E: I’m uh… I’m really not. [A pause.] I’m sorry, I need to throw up. I think.

?: Don't fucking apologize! You've been through so much, it makes sense.

E: … Hm.

M: Hey um, get bread, blankets, and the first aid kit. We'll be there soon.

[Another click as the walkie-talkie shuts off.]

E: I, um… I do actually need to throw up. Can I…?

[Will moves away quickly, giving him space.]

W: Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm sorry.

[Edgar leans over away from the two and throws up, before looking back at Will, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.]

E: Don’t apologize.

M: Edgar do you… do you want to come back to my hideout? At least for a few days?

W: If not, w– we can always find you a quick way out? If that exists.

E: The hideout sounds… nice. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to really, uh. Walk. Or run. Or stand.

M: Hm… [Quietly.] adrenaline, please be my friend here.

[Mari slowly stands up, shaking slightly, the tremors appear noticeably in the video.]

M: Wait… should we tell Rose or… well… she wouldn't believe us, would she?

W: D– don't know. Not my place to say.

M: Edgar?

E: Hm? Sorry. I think I missed that. What?

M: Should we tell Rose? Or will she not believe us?

E: Oh. I… that’s your call. I don’t know if she will.

M: There's also everyone else…

E: Wait.

M: Yes? What is it?

E: How’s– how’s Jenny?

M: She um… Well… Um… Not great… Alive, but not great… Especially because…

[Mari stops, Extending their hand to Edgar.]

M: Never mind, we need to get going.

[Edgar nods, shakily raising his left hand. As he does so, one of the pieces of cloth tied around his arm slides down just enough to reveal the wound underneath, it looks like a deep bite mark, he rushes to cover it. Eyes wide with terror. His gaze flicks to both Mari and Will quickly.]

M: Edgar… what the fuck is that wound.

[Will is simply staring, his face unreadable, but it holds a subtle sadness in his eyes.]

E: It’s– I– ah, it’s um. Nothing.

M: Bullshit. What is it.

[Edgar looks away from Mari, and mutters something too quiet to hear.]

M: Please.

[He still doesn’t make eye contact.]

E: I didn’t… have anything to eat in there.

[Mari tenses.]

E: … I did what I had to.

M: Edgar…

E: Please don’t be mad at m–

[Mari picks the man up and braces him on their shoulders, interrupting his sentence.]

M: Soup and bread. We're getting you soup and bread.

E: … Thank you.

[He sounds as if he’s holding back more tears.]

M: You helped me, now it's my turn.

[Mari starts walking.]

M: William, you're coming too. Should we… update you on the way? Or do you want to wait?

E: I need to know what’s happened. I…

[He stops mid sentence.]

E: How long has it been…? I stopped looking at the date a while ago. Seemed… pointless.

M: Three weeks? I think? A little under? Maybe two and a half? Uh… Will?

W: Y– yeah. The latter.

M: Can I…

[Mari suddenly jolts, a choked sound escaping from their mouth.]

M: I… I really can't keep this up… should I say now or later?

E: I’d rather know now. If it’s important.

W: … Yeah, it’s very important.

M: I um… the escape failed… Sparrow ran off and found Ruby's corpse… and– it fucking stood up… Sparrow…

[Mari keeps walking, slowing down slightly, now sobbing.]

M: Rose is… I… I…

E: Mari. Did something happen to her? Y– you need to tell me. Please.

M: She ran in… She's in here with Sparrow… I'm so fucking sorry.

[Edgar stays silent.]

W: T-this is not Mari's fault, at all.

E: … Yes, I know.

[Will nods, fiddling with a cut on his hand.]

M: I'm sorry… I didn't mean for her to be here.

E: Mari. Stop it. It’s not your fault.

M: But it is… If I just kept hold of the wagon… or went a different direction–

E: Hindsight is always 20/20.

M: Yeah… But that does mean one thing… William.

[Mari turns to face William, the camera somewhat following.]

W: Y– yeah?

M: Remember our deal? If the escape failed?

W: I… do. Wait. Mari. No.

M: Ugh… Yeah… Really wish I didn't have to break that promise.

[Will sighs, but he nods.]

M: Still gonna try and get us all out of here… I won't have it any other way.

W: Pfft. Whatever you say, Drill Sergeant.

[Will does a mock salute with its free hand as a playful gesture, before readjusting its grip on the pipe. Edgar chuckles.]

M: Anyway… I'm gonna–

[Mari pulls out their phone, the camera facing the floor. They sigh after 10 seconds.]

M: Y'know what? Record this, I don’t care. Buh Bye!

[End transcript.]

[betatesterjenny]

I think you should try talking about that nightmare, mate.

The first thing I saw was Sparrow.

They were being chased by something. They looked terrified. I could see their tears, even from far away. I ran after them, to try to help, to find out what was happening, and…

God. I didn’t get there in time.

They were… Murdered by someone. Right in front of me. They had looked right at me. Made eye contact. They screamed my name. Loud.

It was… bloody. And violent. I never thought I would ever see a living person completely change into a lifeless, bloody mess like that… and I had never felt such loss.

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even move. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was cry. And so I did.

I was spun around by the shoulder to face a man. He looked furious. His eye was twitching, and he was… Tense would be an understatement.

He spoke after a second. “Now, I don’t dislike you as much as I do Mari. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to show you this. Good luck.”

Before I could react to what he had said properly, his fist collided with my face, and I fell to the ground… but I never hit the ground.

I fell back into some sort of kitchen… My hand was resting on a cutting board as I tried to catch my balance, but as soon as I looked at it, it was stabbed directly in the center. God, I… I felt the pain vividly. I had never had something like that happen before, but it felt so real… I screamed.

When I opened my eyes again, I was behind a building. There was a teenager in front of me. Behind him, three others, a blonde one being held back by two darker, shadowy figures. He looked like he was trying to reach me.

Before I could try to question why he was trying to help, my uninjured hand was stabbed with a screwdriver and stuck to the wall. I think I heard someone scream. I couldn’t tell if it was me, the blonde, or both.

I heard clicking, and when my blurred vision became clear again, I saw the sunset reflecting off of the blade of a box cutter in the teen’s hand. Within a couple seconds, it was plunged into my legs. My right leg four times, my left leg three. I choked on my voice when I tried to scream again.

I saw the world around me disappear, and felt myself fall as soon as the screwdriver was removed from my hand, as if it were a pushpin holding me to that part of the nightmare.

I landed in a ball pit. When I reached the surface, someone sprinted up to me and asked if I saw any kids in the pit. I said no, but they didn’t seem to hear me, or they didn’t care, or something.

They dragged me out of the ball pit to go look for the kids, apparently missing. My legs burned and bled with every step. I tried to ignore it. If I could do any one thing correctly in this nightmare, I was going to do it, and if that was trying to help this person find missing children, so be it.

As we were walking, I stopped feeling their hand on my still bloodied wrist. I tried to look around, but as soon as I looked in a direction, something attacked me. It looked like an animatronic, but I couldn’t make out which one before I was thrown to the ground by it.

It sunk its claws into my left leg and dragged me down a hallway. The floors were rough against me, but all I could focus on was the tearing of the flesh on my leg. It was… awful. I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t have the vocabulary for this… I thought I heard some sort of TV static coming from it, but I didn’t dare look back.

Eventually, I wasn’t being dragged anymore. I forced myself to stand up, not wanting to take the chance of being dragged again. When I looked around, I wasn’t in the same place. It was wide and open and full of colorful birthday streamers and carousels and drawings and posters all over the walls, but I couldn’t make out what they were or what they said. It was too dark. And I was distracted by the screaming I heard soon after I arrived.

It was loud, blood-curdling.

And then it stopped abruptly.

When I looked around, I jumped. The man from before was right next to me. But he was covered in blood. The smell of it filled my nose and I gagged. The visuals didn’t help… I could barely make out his face.

Then his eyes opened. He looked right at me. “Listen next time, Jenny.”

And… then I woke up.

The first thing I did was check my hands… There was nothing wrong with them, but the pain was still faintly there. Like it had happened in the past, and they were still healing.

I… needed to go on a walk. I needed to clear my mind…

What I didn’t know then was that as soon as I closed the door, Jeremy woke up too.

[bestworstcase]

silver eyes death resurrection mirrors infinite unbound the moon balance life and death my memories stay with me what would be the point of keeping their memories the heart very rarely forgets. no one to guide them. smoke and mirrors truth will rise mirrored eyes the girl who fell through the world hope as fire fire as wrath wrath as revolution despair becomes destruction becomes fire becomes hope. it’s not about why it’s about knowing. manifestations of anonymity. destiny is cruel redemption is coercive heroism is self-harm we just have to keep pressing forward and so we must press on. makes them into the them they wanted to be when they were still them. ascension reincarnation death life all semantic you shall walk its face even the gods couldn’t kill her in the end. and the moon falls down. the cat knows who wrote the story. …a sparrow’s born to fly a rose will grow to be a seed running hard to stay in place you’re just who you always were. resilience. passion resourcefulness bravery ingenuity strength. your faith in mankind was not misplaced. lonely towers lonely girls closed doors forgetting not forgetting desperate to make amends. a smaller more honest soul (the things you’ve long forgotten) we lie complacent i don’t want to hear your absolution. toil in isolation learn from your mistakes grovel for forgiveness it’s all my fault it’s all my fault. every child on remnant knows this story. broken fairytales trying to get it right this time. you’re doing this all alone? the jabberwalker the cat the blacksmith the tree. tired of leaving places in ashes. burdens and destinies and stasis and—defiance. the flaw in the design. what strength have i that i should wait? what span of life that i should show patience? is my strength the strength of stone? is my flesh made of bronze? hope has no place here and they lived all that remains. an invincible monster that took your mother

[nutria--oscura]

me? listening to an ep when it comes out rather than hours later? a rare occasion for sure (shit's gonna go down isn't it?)

~spoilers for s2 ep47~

"crunchy munchy refuge"? HENRY'S BACK? PLEASE

"they must deal with the loss of a team member" WELL- YEA. THEY BETTER TALK ABOUT IT

hi um... what song is this? why? oh- no reason... not sobbing at all [screams]

we did it boys... Hermie finally got his show stopping number, his final performance, the entire cold open to himself.

"this same podcast dungeons and dragons" PART ?? OF WILL SAYING IT DND INSTEAD OF DNDADS (it makes me giggle so much every time)

every time Matt opens Link's fact by reminding everyone that the teens are spouses, it returns to me the life Anthony takes away whenever he hurts Hermie

OOOOOO PROPS? Love Will bringing in the props- THE LOVERS? REVERSED LOVERS- OH SHITTTTT

loving the energy in the room

oh? Lark and Sparrow are with them?

OH YEAH- NORMAL WASN'T CONSCIOUS OH SHIT-

HIDE HERMIE??? YEA LISTEN TO SCARY, DON'T TOUCH HIM-

idiots- the lot of the- WAIT WHAT- ANTHONY

OH NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Lark just trying to leave-

Normal doesn't see Hermie? wow, ok, i'm already crying- ok

LARK AND SPARROW FUCK OFF- LET HIS SAY BYE-

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK F U C K K K K

"this heaven has one less spouse, but heaven has one more angel" I love Hermie but, that boy is not going to heaven

Anthony sounded so inspired when he said "garages" I aspire to be that inspired in my life lol

Hi Will, let Normal go feral please :) Merci <3

NORMAL CASTS COMMAND

ELDRITCH BLAST ON THE DOOR

YES FREDDIE FUCK YEA

"I want to pull the pin on one of them and then throw the whole box at them" to that I raise you, wasn't it Darryl who threw the ENTIRE bag of beans in s1? Wilsons and throwing full containers of dangerous stuff, I tell ya-

"the shrapnel does a cool, like right over my eyebrow? y'know, cool scar, y'know?" SCAR SCAR SCAR SCAR ON LINKKK

Pennies? NAT 1 NOOOOO

"they haven't made pennies in years Normal" oKAY

GENTLE REPOSEEE

FUCK

NORMAL AND THE NAT FUCKING 1S JEEZ-

I just saw 2 ppl's names who are coming up and i am now so terrified-

ANTHONY NO PLEA- THAT'S THE SEGUAY? HOLY SHIT

how did I fucking know that that would be the knock- whAT?

Henry has a portal to old earth?

jumping = falling upward

Oakvale? man with bracele- iS THAT BARRY?

why does he have old Erin O'Neil's voice

HENRYYYYYYY HENRY HENRY HENRY HENRYYYY!

ok. who said Henry would be like "i'm still alive cause of my healthy vegan lifestyle" to the other dads? i'm giving you a pat on the head and a cookie

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SEX FURNITURE? yea, ok.

MERCEDES IS DEAD? NOOOOOO (the second Will said "jar of Mercedes Oak-Garcia's ashes" I dropped my phone-) WHY IS TIME PROGRESSING IN THIS PODCAST ABOUT GENERATIONAL TRAUMA AND HOW IT CAN EFFECT PEOPLE OVER TIME AGHHHHH-

"can you go wait outside" oH NOOOOOO

HERMIE ARCANA CHECK- FUCKING 3- WILL CHANGE YOUR DICE PLEASE GOD NO

FUCK NO NO NO N O O O

"if none of you guys can help him and none of you guys understand how this works then we gotta go to the one guy who can!" THE WAY I JUMPED OUT OF MY FUCKING SEAT WHEN WILL SIAD THT- SCAM ACTUALLY IS BACK TOOO BOIS

YOU TELL THEM NORM. YOU FUCKING TELL THEM

Scary's voice- oh gosh-

THE SIMPSONS?

"I'm here when it's sad, I'm here when it's fun. Did somebody do something to my son?" NEW SCAM OPENING RHYME AHHHHHH

SCAM ACTUALLY ACTUALLY CARES

"he's just a goof, goofs never die" WHAT IF I DIE?

NO SOUL?

hey, Anthony. fuck you <3 /j well... /hj

YES NORMAL PUNCH HIM (can you guys tell i love scam?)

"bad girl, i'm a bad girl i do what needs to be done. sometimes people fuck with my friends and i fuck with them back"

"you feel like home for some reason" WHAT IF I CRY?

TELL HIM SCARY- OH NOOOOO

one thing i have learned is when Will's character(s) start crying, i cry. and well... Normal's crying, and gUESS WHAT?

OH GODDDD THE TWO-FACE TREE FOR OUR TWO-FACE BOY-

NORMAL AND HENRY <333

THE SEX CANDLES-

HENRY'S FAVOURITE SHOW IS BACK!

THE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH OF THE EP GEEZ

CHAPARRAL ON 3? OH SHI- yeaaaa

THE SUN IS BACKKKK

"Normal goes to the sort of fresh mound of earth, where Hermie is buried, and he kneels and he says, 'I liked you too.' He puts his hand on the dirt and he says, 'goodnight sweet prince.'" OH GOD OH FUCK- I LITERALLY COLLAPSED ON THE GROUND AND WHEN I GOT UP SLIPPED AND SLID DOWN THE WALL FROM CRYING- OH GEEZ- "GOODBYE SWEET PRINCE, SWEET PRINCE" OH GOSH-

WE'RE DOING THE MEMORIES NOW???? GOD-

i'm sorry- they're teaching Hero AND NORMAL

DADDIES HQ

FREDDIE WITH THE SAVE- OH CMON ANTHONY-

what. the. fuck.

NO. DON'T END ON NORMAL BEING YELLED AT. FOR THE SAKE OF MY MENTAL HEALTH DON'T. PLEASE-

love that Normal at 6 years old had the intelligence to lock the door. no one at daddies hq did that. like, the door was unlocked when Normal got there

In conclusion:

HERMIE NOOOOO-

[sliceoflifeshepard]

Part 23 of Heaven's Fallen: The Beginning Of The End

We're about to hit the 30k mark of the screenplay and its the beginning of the end of it :D

INT. ERIK AND GLENDA’S CAR – MORNING

GLENDA is sprawled across the backseat, curled up as best as she can whilst on her phone, checking the local news. There has been nothing to say about ANGELS or anything like that and she’s been texting ERIK who is nowhere to be found, probably in a shop somewhere.

GLENDA’s phone has been going crazy with texts from government workers for the supernatural division and she’s been steadily working through the texts, reassuring the workers that they’re working on things and people will be fine.

She knows things are not fine.

GLENDA sighs and gets up, sitting in the back seat still and watching people pass by in their cars and on foot. She shivers, a little cold, her mind still relaying what happened the night before.

GLENDA:

[sighing]

We’re running out of time. We have to move quick, we have to do something before they catch on

GLENDA texts ERIK again and then moves to CHARLIE on her contact list, informing CHARLIE of the texts she’s been getting. They have a lot to sort out.

INT. TIANA’S CAR – MORNING

TIANA is sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, she looks alright. She’s got a lot running through her mind. She’s just found out her dad is danger, her girlfriend is a GOD now and things are just absolutely mind-numbingly crazy.

TIANA is checking herself in the mirror when she spots a small box in the glove box, after rummaging through for a CD to play on the car speakers.

TIANA freezes, looking around. She is alone in the car right now, everyone else is getting food or other things. TIANA’s hands are shaking as she opens the box, to reveal an engagement ring. There is a flashback to a couple days previously, where they were in LIVERPOOL. Tears are filling TIANA’s eyes as everything starts to fall into place now – everybody else had been making plans and TIANA and ZARIAH were slap bang in the middle of it.

TIANA wants to find ZARIAH. She already knows the answer she wants to give, she already knows that she wants to spend the rest of her life with her, the rest of eternity even.

TIANA closes the box and puts it back where it belongs in the glove box and finds a CD, fiddling with it whilst ZARIAH comes back to the car.

ZARIAH climbs into the front passenger seat of the car, her powers having seemingly calmed down from the drama of the night before. Its clear that there is still a lot to talk about.

ZARIAH reaches for TIANA’s hand, seeing TIANA is still shaking.

ZARIAH:

Tiana?

The music starts blasting, TIANA turns it down and turns her head to see ZARIAH. TIANA is smiling.

TIANA:

Listen, about last night. I know it wasn’t your fault, we didn’t realise Sephania’s plans, we didn’t know how weak she was and how strong you’d be… I don’t blame you one bit.

ZARIAH:

I can help protect you now. I can...I can save you.

TIANA laughs a little nervously.

TIANA:

You saved my life a long time ago and you’ve been with me every step of the way since. I wouldn’t be here without you and yeah, sure, life hasn’t exactly been normal for us all...but I wouldn’t have it any other way. So don’t doubt yourself, okay? We look out for each other, its what we do.

ZARIAH:

[smiling]

You found the ring, didn’t you?

TIANA giggles, nodding and retrieving it from the glove box.

ZARIAH:

We’re coming up on the final battle, the fight for our lives and for this world. No matter what happens, I want to be with you until the end of time itself. You are my world, I would never do anything to hurt you. I know what’s been asked of us all and I know we’ll see some of us fall. But I will protect you with my own life.

ZARIAH opens the box, smiling all the while. She looks honestly at TIANA.

ZARIAH:

Come what may, we do this together. Words cannot even begin to explain how I feel, so I have to ask – Will you marry me, Sebastiana Kennedy?

TIANA laughs again, nodding.

TIANA:

I will. I always will. I’ll always choose you. And we’ll walk into hell together, to save everything. I’ll marry you. And just promise me, promise me one thing. You’ll talk to me if anything ever worries you, if you ever have any doubts. I’ll help ease those fears.

ZARIAH slowly nods,

ZARIAH:

Of course.

ZARIAH slips the ring on TIANA’s finger, throwing the box to the floor and kissing her.

TIANA starts to cry, kissing her back.

TIANA pulls away after a few moments.

TIANA:

We gotta go save Mum and Dad. Lets round up the troops. I’m ready to do this.

The music goes back up, ZARIAH leaves the car to go round up the others – with CHARLIE and ERIK entering TIANA’s car as passengers, BEZALIEL and ANGELO going with GLENDA and ANTON and CASSIAN being on their own.

INT. AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE IN MANCHESTER – MORNING

SAMANTHA is seen at a table, eating with chains around her once more. RAQAEL and HALCYON are bloodied, but smiling. They haven’t changed their clothes, they haven’t healed themselves, they’re letting SAMANTHA see her work, what she’s done to them.

RAQAEL is talking to HALCYON but we don’t hear what is being said, the focus is on SAMANTHA who is struggling.

SAMANTHA wants so desperately to be free, but she knows what will happen if she tries to escape. Her scythe is on the table, in her reach but she knows she can’t use it.

SAMANTHA sighs and takes a drink of something provided, scanning the grounds, wondering if she could even make an escape plan.

RAQAEL and HALCYON shift their attention as they hear footsteps outside the abandoned warehouse, grabbing weapons and being on guard, wondering who it could be.

They step outside.