#cross using he/him and she/her interchangeably. that's it. that's the post

[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

Happy pride month to Crosshair Bad Batch specifically who gets more and more intensely genderqueer every single time I write him. I am not doing this on purpose. I have no control over this fictional character who lives in my brain

[angel-purger]

⁰¹ As Lovers Do - Yandere! Geto Suguru x Gn! Reader

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      Cross-posted on Quotev (@.oc34n1d) and Wattpad (@.heart-stricken)

      9,100+ Words.

      —    Request by the very pleasant Nana ! It took me quite some time to be able to finish this but I really liked how this turned out and I hope you all did too. Again, if you want more detailed one-shots or headcanons, don't be afraid to explain to me in detail about what you want! Writing Geto's shift to obsession was really enjoyable and he's a really complex character. Alongside that, but accurate characterization for both the reader and Geto is so hard to write, so apologies if this took some time to be published. Scroll down for more notes.

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⠀ ⠀Protect human lives, sacrifice your own if you will; devour what is evil. Protect humans, do everything in your power to do so, but never expect to  be appreciated by the public eye, shun away from society's admiration— instead being a topic if scorn for being different. 

⠀ ⠀Geto abides by his ideology, engraving it in his mind without thought.

⠀ ⠀Protect humans, you are a jujutsu sorcerer for that sole reason.

⠀ ⠀Are human lives worth saving? 

⠀ ⠀He can never eviscerate the bitter taste of curses. An unwashed, soiled, and iniquitous taste of death. Like a rag used to repeatedly wipe vomit, feces, and every vile chemical mixed into one. He can taste death, he can feel it lump at his throat at every second; ascending gradually with its acuate, protruding claws. He wants to cry, but every time tears well in his eyes, he is faced with the constant reminder of her death.

⠀ ⠀Riko Amanai, a failed mission, a dead vessel, subsequently leading to the stillbirth of immortality's mortal body to be renewed with Riko's body. Subsequently leading to a doomed future for the lives of people within Japan— a haunting reflection of his failures, failures he could've avoided if he was fast enough, strong enough to predict that fucking bullet.

⠀ ⠀Why wasn't he fast enough?

⠀ ⠀The very morals he so pridefully upheld, all crushed with one single mission. He is a disgrace.

⠀ ⠀Gojo was wrong. Geto and Gojo will never be the "two strongest" sorcerers. There can only be room for number one, and Geto will always be second. Second strongest, second best— so much so to the point that his presence doesn't shine as bright as it ever will be once Gojo is in the room. But that's alright, right? After all, he believes that working under the shadows to mitigate human deaths, without the feel to need gratitude from the very lives he saves, is what is right. And what is right is what is just, right?

⠀ ⠀He discovered that the water inside the shower is frigid when you are alone with only your thoughts accompanying you; like ice shards expending down on his back, like the stab of that human monkey (who defeated him so easily, he can't bring himself to admit). It stabs and it stabs and it stabs. And then he spirals, eyes diluting at the images of defeat. Then suddenly the world around him becomes an audience to his silent suffering. He can hear the cult members smiles, feel every bit of bile rise up his throat, taste the sin of death once more.

⠀ ⠀Geto is done showering.

⠀ ⠀Every day is a loop. Rinse and repeat. Wake up, eat, bathe, missions, more missions, explore some uncharted areas of the city, guarantee that it is safe from curses, go home, rest, dinner, sleep. There are moments where they interchange, but they never change.

⠀ ⠀Very few mention Riko Amanai. After all, she is a topic taboo now, especially since it heavily affected both Gojo and Geto's mentality. In more than different ways in fact.

⠀ ⠀He wants to stop thinking about her. Distractions are not needed in an era full of brimming human life— life that Geto has to, again, protect.

⠀ ⠀Just as he is about to leave his dorm after putting on his everyday school attire (making a mental note to skip breakfast and eat lunch alone), he is notified of a mission. A mission where he has to accompany a rookie sorcerer, a student like him admittedly, and it was a concept he wasn't accustomed to. After all, he was surrounded by talented people, and in a sea of talents, he felt more like a drop of dew— so maybe, despite the strange request from his Sensei, Masamichi Yaga, this would provide him a new opportunity.

⠀ ⠀He hopes it does. Your profile exhibits your meek countenance, like any normal civilian, but you seem strong enough to be scouted. There's not much of a significant presence you display when he read through your documents. Or so he thought.

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⠀ ⠀You became his new, temporary partner (he insists on that status on you, donning a pretty fake smile through his growing eyebags). It was surprising, really, to see you up close after reading through your files. The moment he met you eye-to-eye did he realize you share the same height as him, a few centimeters taller, he could estimate.

⠀ ⠀Geto's preliminary view of you was taken aback when you, albeit awkwardly, mingled with him after both greeting each other. You treated him warmly- like any normal person would- despite being strangers in the eyes of passerby's. Walking on the sidewalk, pretending that the mission you both (more-so you, than him, as he was simply there to accompany you in case of a problematic event) were to undergo didn't involve harrowing exorcism and countless condolences from any deaths involved.

⠀ ⠀Before he could mutter anything further, to proceed on the site of your mission, you'd drag him into, as you state, your favorite chain of street foods. Did you want to distract yourself from furthering your shared mission, or were you idiotic enough to forget to eat breakfast that you'd have to drag his bleary body elsewhere to satisfy your needs? He was pleasantly (or was it hesitatingly?) surprised when you beckon him closer to buy any street food that catches his attention, as long as it is within your school allowance.

⠀ ⠀As he was about to differ from your offer (he didn't want to seem rude to you), your lips thin to a line and your eyebrows furrow (though your entire expression does not scream of angered. Perhaps you are befuddled with yourself?), and you beat him to it, insisting that he was going all his way to entertain you and all; that despite being acquainted only for a short while did you notice how his stomach grumbled loudly and how he didn't even notice the noise his own body made. He realized he was the idiot here, that he ignored his human need to consume actual food rather than curses.

⠀ ⠀Prior to his knowledge of you, you're more caring than what he envisaged. Soft. The qualities very unlike a jujutsu sorcerer should possess unless one wishes for death. Yet, that momentary lapse of emotion in your face tells him you are more than experienced in the field work of jujutsu than what he expected— you are soft, but you are dominating. Caring, but challenging.

⠀ ⠀His mind blanks.

⠀ ⠀Then he finds himself licking off the residue of the bits of fish flakes on the side of his mouth after you both decide on takoyaki. You're both on the sidewalk again, with him stealing (prolonged) glances at you— you acting like nothing has happened, matching his pace as- as equals would.

⠀ ⠀It was strange, for him, to experience this type of casual kindness after a period of solitary confinement from his peers. You were merely treating him, as one co-worker does when wanting to pay a favor to a higher up after given assistance. But why, compared to his other classmates, who in more cases than one pay for their occasional food excursion, does he like it when you domineeringly persisted that you should pay for him. Was he becoming soft? Or was it you that tamed a part of him that he swore was nothing?

⠀ ⠀There were cases your body draws nearer to his whilst you try to make small talk - could you even sense how much he could sense you? - where he could feel the visceral heat off the barrier of the pitch-black fabric you wear. Geto swears he didn't mean to, but he could smell the faint perfume you're donning— it was way different to the smell of crimson he's perpetually exposed to.

⠀ ⠀Your smile. The indistinct crinkle of your eyes, eyes that bounce bashfully from his eyes to the surrounding nature. It's as if, despite your mouth moving automatically, attempting to forgo the small-talk that he started, those sneaky eyes of yours always find it way back to meet his.

⠀ ⠀Were you perhaps admiring him after he regained some energy? It wouldn't be the first time. After all, compared to his white-haired best friend, he was always the more charming one of the two, often attracting ladies he seemingly never bat an eye on. And maybe you were just like them; he would forget you after this mission, and you would simply see him as an unreachable force, a special grade sorcerer whose talents would be a force to reckon with—

⠀ ⠀But maybe he wanted you to idolize him, in a way where you couldn't stand as an equal in power, but you could stand beside him with the power to overcome him more intimately, just like how you, a few moments ago, stood your ground; softly glaring at him like how a lover would to their naturally self-neglectful partner. 

⠀ ⠀What was he thinking?

⠀ ⠀If- if maybe he could have known you longer then he would've loved to share his ideologies with you more, share a deeper questioning of society. With how understanding you are, you would empathize with him in a heartbeat. With how quick you slip into the grasp of blunt truth, how easily your eyes would flitter about once faced with a ridiculous statement ("I think it's funny how oblivious humans are, no? They could be killed at any opportunity by curses. How unfortunate is it to be born with nearly no cursed energy... Shouldn't- shouldn't sorcerers just let them be? To rot? After all, saving them means attaining nothing on our part.") he would docilely express— you'd rebut him, but at the same time you would do so with the thought of his ideas in mind.

⠀ ⠀How invigorating must you be?

⠀ ⠀If you share the same sentiment with him then—

⠀ ⠀Then he'll finally have someone to rely on. In a world full of corrupt notions, you could be the only one who would comfort him

⠀ ⠀And God, your presence was really relaxing compared to the odd bunch he surrounds himself with— like a breath of fresh air amidst the fetid scent of curses he devours.

⠀ ⠀The most tantalizing part of you? You haven't even demonstrated your cursed technique, nor your fighting style to him— you've both just arrived at the scene of the crime too. Yet he's convinced that you seem to hold a lot of power over him.

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⠀ ⠀Protect human lives, sacrifice your own if you will. 

⠀ ⠀The more that oh-so inspiring phrase repeats itself in his head like a broken record, the more he's stuck in a predicament of wanting and unwanting the want. He should protect them, the people, no?— God, humans are filthy, they're weak. And sorcerers; they don't deserve to be hidden, treated less...

⠀ ⠀You don't deserve to be undermined, especially by that loathsome family of yours.

⠀ ⠀A few days pass and he finds himself seeking your presence out, alas he couldn't. You were a lower rank than him, stuck with lower-ranking missions— and he's a special grade, dragged into countless complex commissions that would surely tire anyone. Anytime he tries to seek you out, he would find himself in another mission assigned by those abhorrent superiors; and that is merely another day without you.

⠀ ⠀Another day where he drowns in melancholic thoughts in the shower; drowns in what-ifs and the motifs of his supposed success of saving Riko. Yet the more time he spends in the showers without seeing that demulcent, yet potent expression of yours; Geto's imaginations drift from the need to finding any meaning of being a jujutsu sorcerer to yearning for the normalcy you unveiled.

⠀ ⠀When was the last time he was able to inhale so freely without feeling the sharp claws sinking its ways to his hard? When was the last time he exhaled without bile climbing up his throat? It's you he's thinking of again. You he associates with peace.

⠀ ⠀The erratic sprinkle of water from the showers doesn't sound like the cult members' laughs anymore... When he turns it off, the accustomed silence accompanied by pitch-sharp wringing was replaced by whispered voices; all the same sounding, yet they make his tense muscles relax. They all sound like you.

⠀ ⠀And...

⠀ ⠀The urge to strike another conversation with you struck itself into his nerves once more.

⠀ ⠀But he couldn't, even if he wanted to- definitely would.

⠀ ⠀So he- he simply has to find another way to know more about you; to check if you always wear that expression of yours, the one he wishes to engrave in his brain. Not only that but, he needs to evaluate your strengths so he could - in his mind - protect you, right? All throughout the mission you were efficient with utilizing your cursed technique, but in the end you had still ended up with minor injuries; some bruises, others scratches. They could turn major if he wasn't there to watch over you once you're faced with stronger, more complex opponents, no?

⠀ ⠀The idea terrorized itself into the core of his amygdala. He feels fear. He has to know more about you.

⠀ ⠀Because he couldn't find you in the period you both are working, with minimum time for breaks, Geto convicted himself to obtrusive methods of locating you.

⠀ ⠀By locating, that means he simply resorted to stalking you, hence how he discovered your not-as-kind family.

⠀ ⠀Your parents, monkeys, with no ounce of cursed energy whatsoever. Whose talents don't even do jackshit for society— who has the audacity to ridicule you like you're nothing but dirt. Rummaging through files he shouldn't have access to, Geto was revealed with information that you were scouted by the school after they found you coping furiously with your cursed technique after an argument which led you to being kicked out of the house you used to live in.

⠀ ⠀You were unaware of your skill, yet you managed to achieve what other sorcerers take time to master. He finds you not only endearing, but enough to be revered by others. But his prior admiration turned into aggravation soon enough after scanning through your files again.

⠀ ⠀You have nowhere to live other than the highschool you both reside in, no one else for a support system, nothing at all. Hell, you're even financially dependent on the allowance of the high school, yet you even went as far as to treat him like it won't cut your budget. Again, you have nothing. 

⠀ ⠀But he could change that. 

⠀ ⠀He will give you everything you want.

⠀ ⠀If he finds a way to at least convince the higher ups to be given missions that require your presence - he could convince them that he shall be your temporary, no, longterm mentor - then he could be everything for you, and you could care for him too. You both could depend on each other, and he won't be so lonely, no? Won't feel so utterly useless, with no meaning to live life. You could be the very reason he still maintains his cool, the reason why he hasn't killed off those monkeys yet.

⠀ ⠀He will find a way.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru always finds a way. He is, after all, a jujutsu sorcerer.

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⠀ ⠀And so you were suddenly wormed beside Geto once more, though you were convinced that this wouldn't be the last time you will be paired with the mysterious man who keeps a composed smile, opposite to when you first met him. His eyebags, too, were smaller, like he has been regaining sleep once more. You couldn't deny that it made him even more handsome than your first impression of him.

⠀ ⠀His curt smile broke into a beam once he noticed you eyeing him up and down. 

⠀ ⠀Compared to last time, he seemed healthier. Was there something that induced a sudden change in him? Of course, you can't really assume anything since you have met him only once, but there's something about him that you couldn't pin-point. Despite shining brighter than before - you could describe him akin to the serene atmosphere of winter - there was a hidden undertone to him that scorches you, and you don't know why but you chose to ignore it in favor of prioritizing the newly assigned mission.

⠀ ⠀Looking back, the superiors' evaluation of you suddenly increased; and now you were paired with the special grade again, with no arbitrary explanation as to why him specifically. But it didn't really affect you personally, so there's no need to worry about anything.

⠀ ⠀In the blink of an eye, he was meticulously closer to you, right hand finding its way to your chin as his index finger beckons you to stare into his eyes. He mutters something under his breath, words you couldn't catch on. Then his smile grew wider than ever, you couldn't deny that it charmed even you.

⠀ ⠀"You sure do love staring at me, huh?" Despite the back of his fingers tenderly rubbing the sides of your chin, you couldn't bring it in yourself to pull back, a magnetic force compelling you to linger in your compromising position. Noticing barely any signs of discomfort, Geto's left hand finds itself holding your right and he brings it up near your chest and squeezes it affectionately.

⠀ ⠀Is he flirting with you?

⠀ ⠀"You must be undressing me with your eyes." He purrs, taking it further and kissing your knuckles whilst maintaining eye-contact with you. To that, you unhurriedly take your hand away from his grip (you swear that you nearly feel his clasp on you tightening for a slight second), and chuckled lightly.

⠀ ⠀Your response was curt, "Well, it feels like you are doing the same thing, no?" It's as if you were pretending the abrupt, sensual action he did didn't affect you one bit. He is, you couldn't deny one bit, incredibly attractive and you'd love to reciprocate the flirting but a reminder that he was a year above you and that you barely even know him clashes its way to your mind. And, for the most part, you only met him once. In that one singular meeting did he not display such provocative insinuations. It was just now that there was a sudden fondness that was triggered.

⠀ ⠀Can you really stand your ground against such a courteous man? Although he was a tad raunchy, maybe it wasn't only towards you? Does it really matter?

⠀ ⠀You're overthinking it, you figured as you snap out of your trance. Looking back at Geto once more, you gaze at him, leisurely, with not a negative thought but instead with goals aligning to your mission once more.

⠀ ⠀It was back again, your tender visage salted with rationale mentality. You've no knowledge about Suguru's increasing fondness of you, but you do know you would, by all odds, reciprocate his adoration of you soon enough.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru is a man who works between the line of preservation and consumption. To preserve the preciousness of human lives is a goal he doubts, and to consume curses is an everyday activity he comes to dread— but he was willing to preserve only your life whilst ultimately letting the image of you consume him.

⠀ ⠀Instead of you treating him to a snack before your mission, you find yourself entangled with Geto-kun - he insists on you calling him informally albeit the short time spent together - in your favorite restaurant, ordering your favorite foods and beverages, and chattering with him casually as "friends" do— after the mission. You were about to refuse his invitation but you halted as you were well aware that you did the same for him and it would be hypocritical of you.

⠀ ⠀Geto snickered lightly at your modest display, but was most definitely pleased as he reiterated what you said at your first meeting.

⠀ ⠀"Your stomach grumbled on our way out. You should eat, my treat. After all, a way to a man's heart is through food, yes?"

⠀ ⠀At that statement, you smacked him lightly in the arms and glared, amused, at him with thin lips— your expression then broke out into a laugh as you walked alongside him.

⠀ ⠀At least you could confidently say that by the end of the night that you had thoroughly enjoyed conversing with him. He was not only intellectual with words, but he was persuasive all throughout your debates with him in the restaurant. There were moments you disagreed with his sentiments, especially about humans born with no cursed energy, as you did. Though if you were to weigh it all out, you have made more agreements with him than disagreements and you weren't afraid to voice out your reasonings without invalidating him; he seemed to really like that about you, as you note his pleasant smile all throughout. He never broke his eye-contact with you too, eyes following your mouth forming the counterarguments whilst also acknowledging his assertions.

⠀ ⠀This was the first time in a while that actually liked the concept of debates, since Geto was so pleasing, so receptive of the things you say; like every word matters.

⠀ ⠀You really, really like this man.

⠀ ⠀Since you're aware of the new position assigned to you as his colleague despite not being in the same grade— you find yourself wishing for these "dates" to occur more often by the near future. And by future, you mean at least every week.

⠀ ⠀Perhaps it was a shared sentiment, but you really do feel a spark between you two, a linked closeness that transcends more than just acquaintances despite it being a second meeting. Or... you are perhaps consumed by fatigue from the mission as it is trickier by default when you find yourself working with a special grade.

⠀ ⠀And... Maybe your brain was too preoccupied, but you have never once had the thought of Geto knowing all your favorites cross your mind.

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⠀ ⠀Hours turn into days, days into weeks, and finally weeks turn months— and within that time frame did Geto Suguru experience a blizzard of emotions. All these burst inside of him like fireworks blazing through the midnight sky.

⠀ ⠀Everything was going well with you, of course. Every single day was a period of time where he was able to keep track of you; the time you wake up, eat, shower, even sleep. He knew your hobbies, too, after visiting your dorm whensoever. He even memorized the smell of your room, the various trinkets plastered around your walls, he could locate your bed without hesitation even with a blindfold— Geto could even recall the spots where the early sunlight hits your bed.

⠀ ⠀Every moment spent with you was an opportunity to know you better, on more personal levels. He was the first to know about your habits, those that you typically hide at face value, the ones you were embarrassed to show to your friends— ones only he (not even you were aware) notices and treasures. 

⠀ ⠀It was only fair that he lets you know about him in an equal amount. After all, every known boundary he has ever set were practically nonexistent when it comes to you. 

⠀ ⠀So he lets you in on his deepest darkest secrets. He whispers to you, nightly, about his interests, about his passions, about his greatest fears— the one thing he fears the most, one he has never told anyone; not his family, not his friends, nobody but you— is the alienation he feels from everyone. He has been through everything, he tasted death, and no one could relate to the taste of rot, not even his closest friends. Only you would know, you'll be the only one who holds his heart in your hand, even if he knows that you could betray him at any given moment.

⠀ ⠀But you won't.

⠀ ⠀He tells you all about all the vulnerable parts of him in hopes of garnering your attention on him. And yes you did, every part of you felt pity for him, and he loves the way you react. Geto loves your expressions. Loves the way your face twists to disgust one time, when he described what a mouthful of curses taste like. Or when you'd press your body behind him (he loves just how much you trust him enough to be intimately close to him), arms wrapped around his back, eyes tightly closed, and mouth slightly agape as the cool breeze of the air hits your face violently, as he flew both of you to take an arial view of the city at night, using a curse, of course.

⠀ ⠀Every face you make, obscure or not, triggers intense reactions from the man. So much so he feels like he could die from perspiration the first time you reciprocated his flirting, by kissing his cheeks, taking him aback. Goodness, he won't ever let anything get in between you two, and he most definitely would never forget the instance you smiled lopsidedly at him right after, a slight flush on your face.

⠀ ⠀Menial conversations became in depth discussions when it came to you, even if your responses would sometimes have frivolous undertones in them; Geto would still want to crawl deeper into your brain, have a need to disect every single information you know. Every course of action you make, the black-haired man would always find examples to love about you. Sometimes, it feels like you're a specimen living under his care, but God does he worship you like you are divine in every way.

⠀ ⠀And Geto wasn't merely a special grade sorcerer for nothing (and they are known for using eccentric methods to get what they want). He was right to assume that the more he initiated on displaying his liking for you, through actions especially, the more you grow increasingly fond of him, but not to his levels of... obsession.

⠀ ⠀But you bask in the attention of your sensual sorcerer, so it wasn't a surpise that, well—

⠀ ⠀It only took a little bit of time to pass - though it felt a very long period of Geto; he had to remind himself that patience and perseverance is key - and then suddenly you two were finally official.

⠀ ⠀And like lovebirds, everywhere you went, you were accompanied by Geto. Hand holding, hands on your waist, eyes finding its way to look at only you, even if there is another person in the room trying to talk to him— it's like he wants to connect himself to you in every way possible. You don't mind it at all, though, already aware enough of his circumstances when it comes to attachment issues.

⠀ ⠀You have been so close before, but even more intimate now, to the point his colleagues and teachers alike were aware of your tight-knit relationship. Even Gojo Satoru, resident tormentor of Jujutsu Tech, teased Geto about his increasing PDA with you, often guffawing in the background whenever he spots you two inseperably cuddling and pressing kisses into each other's cheeks like immature, hormonal teens.

⠀ ⠀You had even slept in the same bed as him.

⠀ ⠀When he woke up the next day, with your head nuzzled into the crevice of his neck, his arms squeezing your body against his, warm sheets entangling both of you together like a cocoon... When you utter random noises in your sleep, snuggling closer to him whenever your dreams become unpleasant... He watches over your slumbering form, sometimes even shifts to make sure you're in a better position, to make sure that the duvet covers you entirely.

⠀ ⠀Geto has never thanked any being above, never intended to, believing that sorcerers are the truly divine beings that humankind should worship— but he laudes whoever is out there, his ancestors perhaps, that for once he was endowed with someone beyond anything he would ever want. You are everything Geto needs in his life.

⠀ ⠀So why is it that..?

⠀ ⠀With everything going so well, so perfect...

⠀ ⠀It was all so perfect until...

⠀ ⠀The notion of prosperity came tumbling down, like a world-ending meteor, when one of his close juniors died from a curse, with his fellow partner in the mission suffering gravely after him. Haibara Yu, a bubbly underclassman who you was also your classmate, so it was no doubt that you, too, grieved.

⠀ ⠀He never wants to see that solemn expression in your face again...

⠀ ⠀The lump of flesh that was presented to Shoko Ieri and the other students, all shoved inside a cadaver bag, reeked of flesh— a scent all jujutsu sorcerers were accustomed to, but never coped with if they bare the knowledge that that someone is familiar with them. He shouldn't have been so affected; in ways where despite caring for his junior... He feels a mixture of animosity brimming inside him.

⠀ ⠀He shouldn't have been so jealous of a corpse gaining the slightest bit of your spotlight, shouldn't be so envious of the way you spill tears over someone else... But most importantly, he hates it when you'd be stuck in a dissociative trance afterwards, just like the one he was in when Riko died. 

⠀ ⠀Everything snaps the moment he remembers his discussion with that fellow blonde-haired special grade, the dead-beat who never did her job. Geto didn't enjoy conversing with her, finding her reasonings meaningless, her words of persuasion only reserved for her interests. He didn't indulge in her as he did you. But that particular conversation cemented itself in his brain, and now he's stuck with questions swirling his mind, questions he knew would be answered with vehement solutions.

⠀ ⠀Then he was back at it again, after rediscovering his memories, in a spiral of neverending speculation. Why do sorcerers need to protect those foul monkeys? Why is it that it is the sorcerers who have to adjust to the norm? Why are they regarded as the odd bunch? Why do they have to die for useless beings lower than them?

⠀ ⠀Amidst all the questioning he does, there were relevant ones that struck a particular nerve in him.

⠀ ⠀It all circles back to you. You, you, you.

⠀ ⠀Why would it not be you?

⠀ ⠀And what if...

⠀ ⠀What if you had died instead of Haibara?

⠀ ⠀Tears, salty and brimming with bitter feelings, for the first time in ages, trickled out his eyes, sliding uncomfortable against shivering skin. Uncontrollable and inevitable. What came with despair was also hysteria.

⠀ ⠀He couldn't cope with that idea. No, not at all— he wants to extinguish the very possibility that you, of all people, could die very early just because— because you would forfeit your life for worthless ones. You're way more than just a sacrificial lamb; you're Geto's everything. He couldn't afford to lose you, couldn't even grasp the prospect of your death.

⠀ ⠀The shower water plummeled down his head like a hailstorm, to his torso, until it nipped on his feet with its unforgiving frost.

⠀ ⠀But he knows you. He's aware that despite the rocky relationship you have with your family, or the demeaning comments from your supposed friends, that you would die for those untalented monsters. You're too considerate. He wants that consideration all for himself.

⠀ ⠀ He hates it, he hates everything whenever you consider everyone but yourself. He will take care of it, of you. But how could he? Not when you insist on sitting quietly and receiving all those harsh treatments forced on you.

⠀ ⠀ He has never felt so helpless before. It devours him, inside and out, like insects crawling on his skin, nipping and biting flesh— like he himself was merely a corpse for maggots to pig through.

⠀ ⠀ It's almost class time, and even if he dreads coming to the class of three (minus one, as Gojo is now consistently busy with missions), burden running down his spine at the notion that you would be in a separate class.

⠀ ⠀Geto overlooked the fact that, despite suffering from the solitude of the bathroom showers, ​​​​​​he isn't as alone as he thought, not anymore. For in his misery, you share the sentiment.

⠀ ⠀ You await him, in his room, eyes sore from incessant tears, body especially nearly letting you down after countless bouts of harming yourself over being unable to comfort your boyfriend over his turmoil. Yet you're unwavering from your seated position, ready to confront your boyfriend shall he ever lead into a path of self destruction.

⠀ ⠀Geto stumbled out of the showers, somber mind neglecting the very schedule he has plastered all over his head, a display of utter patheticness. At this time of the day, you were always loitering around his dorm.

⠀ ⠀ How could he have forgotten? As he rubs fatigue off his eyes, he ceased in his tracks, ears picking up a slight wringing. His wet hair drenched the t-shirt he threw on, but the sharp, frore water isn't the cause of his shivering— it's you, who he saw in the corner of his eyes, sat on his bed.

⠀ ⠀He should've expected it, it was already part of your daily routine to visit him, yet it still shook him when he found a blob of your hair color in his peripheral vision— so much so to the point that even breathing betrayed him.

⠀ ⠀Why was he crying again?

⠀ ⠀ There's no other way to describe Geto's situation, other than that of a trapped dear, with no way to outrun a speeding car in the middle of the road— but you're not the type to harm him - maybe in bed you would, pleasurably - but you wouldn't hurt him because you wanted to. Yet he still fears showcasing vulnerability, afraid of betrayal, especially from you. So all he could do was stand, feet losing sensation, unable to move an inch; to even breath was to move, and he couldn't.

⠀ ⠀ But it was you who cut into the thick atmosphere, standing up, footsteps unheard, towards Geto who was rooted on the floor, body tense.

⠀ ⠀ The first thing he saw when he glanced up with ruddy eyes was your gentle gaze.

⠀ ⠀ He visibly relaxed, albeit unmoving. It doesn't matter, though, not to you at least— because you see his tear-stained cheeks and puffy, tired eyes and uptight body that tells you he won't be emotionally recovering soon. You want do to nothing more other than to spoon him wholly and tell him you'll deal with everything. But you can't. You can't because you're not of the same status as him, not strong enough you stress. And you can't because you're tired, too, just like him and all the others, but especially him. And although you tell yourself that you're an intrepid Jujutu sorcerer who should bare no weaknesses; you can break as easily as the others.

⠀ ⠀ But you have to be strong for him.

⠀ ⠀ Holding his hands in yours, you give it a gentle squeeze, looking down on him with loving eyes. You beat him to it, beat him at his game and questioned him if he's alright, if he needed space to think. To which his answer was to strongly grip your palm a second after the question, gaze hardened on you, as a confirmation that he did not, in fact, want you out his room, for others to look at you and comfort you.

⠀ ⠀ You ask him what's wrong, only for you to sputter back and tell him that he's not​​​​​ obligated to answer any of your questions should he not be stable enough.

⠀ ⠀ Not a single response... You ask again, eyes now harboring a demand for answers, but there's nothing.

⠀ ⠀ Slight irritation follows your countenance when all you were met with was silence...​​

⠀ ⠀Then your stark personality displays itself once more, your voice a deeper octave as you palm his face and stare deeply into his eyes; he falls in love all over again That's when you began mumbling to him, like you're sharing secrets nobody else could access. When you tell him that he has every right to grieve and be frustrated at the same time, that he shouldn't hold back tears; he felt bare naked in front of you. But you weren't scrutinizing him, even if all that comes out your mouth is the truth, ones that should've hurt him for making him feel defenseless in the arms of danger, but didn't. Because those words were from you.

⠀ ⠀Your word is God, and he calms down just enough to stare back at you, shaky figure and everything, and brings his hands to cup your palm, rubbing lovingly.

⠀ ⠀ You peck his cheeks, giggling when you felt the sheer wetness it was drowned in. But before you could pull back as quickly, Geto's head moved faster to kiss your mouth, passionate and seering, hands resting on your waist. It took a few seconds of nuzzling into each other, but it felt like eternity before he withdrawed, palms tenderly rubbing your cheeks.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru didn't just love you— he loves you, every part of you. And he decides, from now on, whether you'd consent or not, that you'll never leave him. Familial bonds are nothing to you, now that your parents have finally passed away (and you've no idea on their cause of death, nor the fact that they were brutally mauled by an amalgation of curses), your friends are nothing compared to him— you are the- the only one that matters to him, and he wishes you would reciprocate that notion. 

⠀ ⠀So a choice (one where you, perhaps, will never have a say in) was set in Geto's persistent mind; now or never.

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⠀ ⠀Geto hopes you would forgive him after everything. He hopes that you wouldn't mind it if you were to be permanently separated from the entire civilization, only to be admired by his greedy eyes.

⠀ ⠀ 'Protect human lives?' No, he will not even spare a glance at to those monkeys. He'd prioritizes on a new goal— to protect your life, firstly. From any harm, any danger; from something as small like a prick of a needle to even death itself.

⠀ ⠀ He loves it when you look at him, eyes shining with adoration every time he saves you from momentary danger. So he'll do it again. Though, only now will you be permanently safe, where no filthy nothings may lay hands on you.

⠀ ⠀He hopes that you wouldn't notice how he has an apartment set up just for both of you, that you wouldn't wonder why all your belongings - that were left in your bygone, desolate house - were now moved into the multisectioned rooms designed just for your taste.

⠀ ⠀ He sets a date on his calendar for the day you would be relocated in a new space far more homely and spacious than the dorms in Jujutsu Tech.

⠀ ⠀ By the time the moon engulfs the sky with its dim light, he'd drug your favorite dinner whilst you're comfortably oblivious to his ministrations. He'll be conversing with you while sometimes feeding you portions of his food, as couples always do (except for the part his tongue would linger a bit long on his chopstick after he fed you with it), laughing tenderly with each others' jokes and simply enjoying the solitude of being together... Then after a while you would be too hazy to comprehend anything, and Geto, being your ever-so loving boyfriend, will guide you to your now shared dormitory, and he'll tuck you in, not after you briefly snuggle with him in bed— and, well, he didn't want to get up from your tight embrace. But he has to, for the sake of your safety and his sanity.

⠀ ⠀ The travel would be made as smooth as possible, with silent promises that you won't even feel a wee bit of discomfort despite your heavily drugged state; he'll guarantee you won't awake from your slumber— he would curse himself if he wasn't gentle with your while you were in your most vulnerable state. The look he has on his face as he stares at your closed eyes and stable breathing is so soothing, just like all the times you've treated him nicely. He'll be so... so good to you. He'll secure himself with the position as the only one you'll ever need in your life. If he can't abide by his promises, then he doesn't deserve to be called your lover. 

⠀ ⠀ You'll- you'll give him another chance, wouldn't you? Even if the chances see your friends (they're unworthy of your presence, never appreciating you for all the things you've done for them) or family (as if you have any to come back to; he eliminated those worthless beings) would be zero— you'll understand, no?

⠀ ⠀ You don't have to do any arduous chores inside the apartment. Everything would be given to you as long as you stay with him. Everything. You'll be granted limited access to internet, with all your history rooted into his tracking devices— though you'd have every means of entertainment you want. Food isn't a problem, your device would only have access to Geto's phone, so you could call him any time your stomach buzzes with hunger, and the fridge is always stocked with your favorite snacks. Every hobby you would garner would be indulged in— you had once briefly mentioned your interests in crocheting, but never having the opportunity to due to clashing schedules between school and personal life. Now is the perfect opportunity to do anything, as long as it stays within his radar.

⠀ ⠀ All you have to do is, as hard as it may be, is to accept your new living environment. Nothing else would change, even if you choose to fight him back at first— because Geto loves you, and he'll deny his heart the turmoil of ever losing you.

⠀ ⠀ So once you'd arise from the bed with an unfamiliar, yet cozy blanket, (that he bought specifically catering to your tastes), he would be at your beck and call before you could even properly sit up (still sober from the heavy dosage of sedatives your boyfriend forced on you without your knowledge).

⠀ ⠀ Any concerns you would ask, it would be entertained with Geto plastering a silvery smile, even if your tone harbored unease. If tears ever came running down your eyes, Geto wouldn't shut you up, but he definitely wouldn't leave you be, to your thoughts alone - like he was back then - not at all. He'd approach you so steadily, careful if you'd flinch the slightest bit once his legs hit the mattress, and he'll hold you so tightly (worst part is, you've no chains or ropes tied on your limbs, no evident scars that was whilst Geto was on the process of kidnapping you. You have nothing to be mad about. He is just so gentle), apologizing profusely as if he wasn't the reason why you're even weeping in the first place once he thoroughly explained the reason for your abduction.

⠀ ⠀ He hates it when you cry, but God does he love it when, despite susceptible state of anguish, you'd reciprocate his hold; as if even your mind, body, and heart couldn't deny that it ultimately belonged to Geto.

⠀ ⠀ So you have to bargain your way through this, not out of it— you're logical enough to know your strengths and weaknesses and you know that in terms of strength, your lover would win. You know him better than everything, and you don't accept easy defeat, you want to fight your way out of this but... The look of adulation in Geto's eyes is way too familiar, that you're the one falling in love again, albeit the strange circumstances.

⠀ ⠀ Then you weigh everything that has been happening for the past for months, and all the signs hits you in the damn face. Geto didn't flirt with you with the intentions of playing with your heart as you have thought so in your second meeting— because if he did, he wouldn't have known all your favorites, didn't say all the words you wanted to hear. He planned everything from the start. Yet you don't feel an ounce of malice from him, you didn't do anything wrong— you weren't abducted because he wanted to torture you; you were abducted because he wants you. For himself, away from the world that wants to tear you to shreds. You brought this onto yourself, so willing to give your heart and soul to the man you thought you love, the man you still do love.

⠀ ⠀ Fuck. A new batch of tears painted your already tear-stained face. You stare at him, his furrowed brows, his handsomely sculpted countenance - the one you held so fondly, kissed a thousand times, worshipped eternally -  yours so incredulous, so filled with utter disarray. Why do you forgive him after everything? Why, nothing more or less, do you want him to tell you everything is alright, since he's there for you?

⠀ ⠀ Perhaps it's the emotions building inside you that bursts like a dam. The resentment you built upon your childhood, or the tears you've wasted on past crushes, or the whole entire world pressuring you to endure through its own faults. Maybe you were similar to him in more ways than one.

      And maybe that's why instead of convincing him to let you go, you tell him you won't be going anywhere. His appalled reaction motioned you to continue, to tell him that you're tired, of life, of everything that's been going on so far. You never wanted to be a sorcerer, but you've no choice lest you wish to sleep on the cold sidewalk of the streets. Every single day was constant pressure, dread that one day you may be disposed of by the high school you reside in shall you ever display a single flaw.

      All the built up secrets that you confided in him shattered his heart to pieces. And it breaks him even more knowing he shares the same sentiment with you. No more. The abrupt kiss to your mouth promptly shut you up, before you could even continue, and you let it be. You willingly open your mouth when he softly nibbled on the bottom of your lips, wet tongue already attacked by another the moment his entered your mouth. The bitter ache in your heart receded. You let him be.

      There was nothing inherently sexual with his and your actions, it was nothing but romantic in your eyes. Tongues entwining, saliva mixing, choaked moans, and all doubts and burdens ceasing in one heated moment— your kisses never lasted long, nor did it ever lead into a make-out so intense like you're both fusing; but it's exactly what you need right now: To get drunk off the passion of Geto's heavy lips and the lack of oxygen that comes after...

      It's enough to make you sleepy, as you gently push your boyfriends slightly ruddy face off of you, at a distance where he was close enough that your noses could still touch. Your face flushes even more at the string of saliva interconnecting both your mouths, but your eyes find itself back into his already piercing eyes, clouded with dizzying passion. Every part of you feels like it would burst into flames the more you relish under his intense gaze, so you opted to move quickly and bury your head into the side of neck, hands lazily plastered on his waist, mouth readily nearing his ears. He reciprocated your actions, chuckling fondly at your affectionate gestures as his knees adjusted to pin both your thighs together, whilst his arms act as a cage to trap you against his chest.

      Before you could utter a word, Geto beats you to it, telling you that you should both sleep already. Despite you having been knocked out for an entire day, with a buzzing headache and numb limbs, it's no doubt you were still tired, and he was too... You move your head from the comfortable position nested on his shoulders and look back at him, at the small eyebags that once again found itself on his face— it takes you back to when you first met him. Burnt out, mellow, but undeniably handsome. You kissed him again, shorter and sweeter this time, nodding as you shifted to lay on the bed, leaving space for Geto, who is still seated, watching you with an indiscernible expression.

      Beckoning for him him drowsily, to join you, you've promptly felt the confines of sleep taking you further into the world of dreams. Dreams where you'd wake up with your loving and compassionate Geto, rather than that of escaping the cage he set up for you. It took a few seconds for your boyfriend to finally move, laying down beside you with arms creeping to your waist. Not a single word was said, only the ruffling of the blanket was heard. You're the one who spoons him when it comes to sleeping in a shared bed together, but his hands found itself moving your head to his chest - the thumping of his heart entrapped in his ribcage tells you he's calm enough, trusting that you won't escape from his ministrations - as though to tell you that only you can have his heart in your hands, nobody else. It didn't take long for you to slowly shut your eyes once more, admitting that his heartbeats was a comforting source for slumber.

⠀ ⠀'You're just so adorable,' he thinks to himself, drifting into the same land of dreams as you, holding you tightly and never letting go.

⠀ ⠀ ...

⠀ ⠀ Geto Suguru is a man of a few words, who dons a plethora of promises, shall you ever be wanting. When he first saw you whilst looking through your files, he at first thought you were average, unmemorable by standards. But even in first impressions would there always be a magnetic draw, strong enough to make it last eternally. (Un)fortunately for you, Geto has always loved you without even knowing it, and the way your first night together - you being away from the tainted hands of civilization - was beyond tranquil, unnatural traits from a prey who was taken unwillingly.

⠀ ⠀ But nothing else matters. Not the concept of healthy relationships, nor the opinions of family or friends, and most certainly not the ridiculing of society's norms.

⠀ ⠀ Nothing matters other than the two bodies entangling themselves on a bed for two, settling in for the night, as lovers do.

Fin.

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      —       PLEASE ! Leave comments, follow me and share this to anybody if you enjoyed this one-shot. It would be appreciated greatly. I've been through writer's block for nearly a year or two now, and writing this helped me combat it. I thoroughly enjoyed making this, and I hope that it's good enough for the readers too! It took me very long to write all these out, as I am rusty wirh writing (and I struggle with English), but really, I would appreciate interaction and likes over anything else! I might publish this as a stand-alone one-shot in a separate book. As always, don't hesitate to request! Thank you for reading this!

26.1 Pages

Published: 02/25/2024

Word Count: 9100+ words

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[canthandlethishit]

Batfam’s handwriting headcanons!!

Alfred (right handed): cursive, normally neat and kind of flowery calligraphic(?) (he usually write the gala, party invitations for worthy guests himself), his notes are written just as neat but the letters are more narrow and tilted to the right.

Brucie (left handed): writes in cursive, bubbly letters, flowery, extravagant with endless numbers of loops and stems, big flourishes (picture light yagami writing) watching him write is a performance itself (near impossible to read, looks like an art piece from afar)

Bruce (self-trained ambidextrous, favors his left though is equally efficient with both hands): rounded print (for notes in reports), and cursive (for personal writings), he’d had some influence from alfred so theres a little extra in his writing like an extra curve, stem (ie: his i’s & t’s got lil hooks, his v as a downward stem at the end), but its overall quite minimalistic and tidy, there’s sufficient force on the paper.

Batman: doesn’t write >:( computer <- duh (if he really has to like idk the riddler forces him to write sth he would in caps block letters very strong straight lines, almost like excessively forced and he also place his pinkie on the pen/pencil to further deter identification, he switches hands every time to keep people off-track)

Dick (trained ambidextrous, favors his right, naturally right-handed until robin): cursive quick and kind of messy but still eligible writing, he’s used to taking quick notes (cop job), his letters are jaded, pointed (ie: his b’s are written like music notes, not rounded). he uses average force when writing (dents the paper but not through multiple pages), his letters’ spacing are nonexistent they overlap a bit, his words narrowly apart.

Jason (circumstantial ambidextrous, favors his right, his left handwriting is still neat, not as pretty as his right’s): cursive, his handwriting experienced several metamorphosis, he was left handed by birth & mother’s teachings, then at school he was taught write right-handedly. His writing was somewhat neat minimally scratchy, letters joined with loops, generous spacing. during his time with bruce he copies writing styles from his favorite authors (look up Jane Austen), Alfred and ends up with a very distinct, tilted to the right, beautiful scripture, some loops (Mary Shelly), long y’s and consonants. Post-death, he still got a nice handwriting, just less of the pizazz, the flare of personality bleeding through ink, its more tamed, still slanted, he doesn’t take as much care to force distribution (calligraphic way) but it just became more subtle, not completely gone.

Cass (ambidextrous, writes left handed): print, when first asked which hand she’d like to learn to write with she chose left, she didn’t learn to write ambidextrously. clean yet a bit weirdly spaced, she dots her i’s and cross her t’s after whole sentences. She likes making capital first letters of her text flowery like brucie’s, its amusing how out of place it looks.

Tim (self-trained ambidextrous, born left handed, writes with both hands interchangeably): cursive, young tim researched on lots of encryption, alternative writing systems. he take notes in shorthand’s, his handwriting is fairly eligible but frequently misses letters from words (ie: handwriting -> hdwritig). his lines are slanted downwards, narrow spacing overall.

Steph (trained ambidextrous, writes right handed, batman’s ambidexterity training for her hadn’t reached handwritings): mixed, her handwriting alternates between really messy and scratchy and more eligible curvy with sharp ends to her words (when writing lift pen up fast, bigger hand movement, picture a tame and hinged light yagami). Her lines tilt upwards from left to right. her writing’s eligibility depends on her mood, what she is writing.

Duke (right handed, trained ambidexterity but opted out of handwriting training): mixed, his letters are rounded and evenly spaced, fairly neat but scrawls when he’s in a rush (makes more sharp loops, longer curls at the ends, more connected words). his letter have thin loops, sometimes subconsciously dots his i’s with crescents. his lines tilt upwards slightly in the middle (he prefer to keep his lines straight so he take notice and fixes them).

Damian (natural ambidextrous, favors his left for arabic and his right for english): cursive, strong neat strokes, clean writing, clear appropriate spacing. its almost a font, print-like from how consistently he writes. His signature on his arts is more rounded with a bit of lilts and curves (the end of his m curve like the symbol for scorpio zodiac sign). His personal diary/journal writing is softer, his paragraphs more densely packed, the first letter of each entry are more ornate than the rest (loops, curves, tiny doodles)

note: handwriting style main variety are these

these headcanons are based on handwritings of people in my life & myself :)! not based on graphology (during my search for specific adjectives and vocabularies i came across some graphology & writing analysis articles and found them to be kind of mean & biased, rude etc so just clarifying im basing these hcs on my friends and family’s)

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 18

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

“(italics)” Indicates that the speaker is speaking in Spanish (unless stated otherwise). This author only knows English, and I did not want to misrepresent Spanish by using Google Translate.

First - Prev - Next

CH.18

“FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS I LAY DORMANT. WHO HAS DISTURBED MY- Oh hey Fordsy, what’s up?”

“Cipher, I need to project into a different mindscape.”

“I already know who it is, but tell me anyways.”

“My mother, Caryn Pines. I need to glimpse into her memories. She should still be asleep at this time, going deeper into her mindscape will be easier than if she were awake.”

“Oh, wow, your own mom. Aren’t you worried she’ll know it’s you?”

“She’s not a real psychic, my muse. She will be none the wiser.”

“If you insist, let’s hope that isn’t foreshadowing.”

SNAP

(...)

“Stan, this is Ms. Ramirez, and she is the Hypnotherapist I referred you to.”

“Stretch here has been saying great things about ya, ma’am.”

“Hello Mr… Stan? The last name is blank… (I’m sorry).”

“(I'm not offended. I don't know what it is either.)”

“(Where did you learn Spanish?)”

“(Colombia.)”

“Ah, yes. Dr. McGucket, are you sitting in on this session?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And Mr. Stan, you are okay with this?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Very well… This dosage of ketamine is based on your height and weight, and will be delivered intranasally. I also adjusted based on your extensive drug history. Normally, I’d consider this dosage to be lethal but…”

“Don’t worry, not dying when I really should is actually my first or second greatest skill.”

“...First or second?”

“Yeah, it’s interchangeable with lying.”

“Try to be honest during this session at least…”

(...)

“How are we going to find her specific memories about Stanley and this… accident?”

“Well Fordsy, her mindscape is structured like a carnival-”

“I can see that.”

“You can. They can’t. Anyways, one of these rides or attractions gotta be based on guilt or grief, let’s start there.”

(...)

“Let’s go back to when you were first on the streets, Stan.”

“...Okay…”

“How old were you?”

“17.”

“How did you start out?”

“Lived… Lived? I was- I was living in my car…”

“Only there?”

“For a few weeks… had a hard time. I caved and went to a homeless shelter but- but only once. Never again.”

“Why is that Stan?”

“...Something bad happened.”

“What bad thing?”

“I… I… I don’t want to-.”

“You don’t have to talk about that specifically, if it’s too distressing for you. Do you remember anything else from the homeless shelter? Was there a reason you went there that time and not before?”

“That one had free telephones.”

(...)

“Okay so we’ve been to the Dunk Tank of Phobias, The Rifle Range of Unrealistic Beauty Standards, The Deep-Fried Food Stand of Excuses, The Carousel of Broken Dreams, The Dime Pitch of Daddy Issues, The Strength Tester of Mommy Issues, The Roller Coaster of Regrets-.”

“Bill, you don’t have to list off everywhere we’ve been, everytime we are about to enter another carnival attraction.”

“You never know when the narrative will pick us up again.”

“I do not even want to know how that reasoning works.”

“Ah- look over here Sixer! It’s the Funhouse Mirrors of Memories!”

“I can read the sign, my muse.”

“Let’s go in here, and wander around aimlessly until we find that specific string of memories you’re looking for.”

(...)

“You needed to use the telephone?”

“I was… scared.”

“Scared?”

“I just… I just wanted to talk to my mom…”

(...)

“Is this the home of Caryn and Filbrick Pines?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“Ma’am, do you recognize this license plate?”

“STNLYMBL… Yes, that belongs to my son, Stanley- is something wrong? Did his car get stolen?”

“Ma’am… You may want to sit down for this.”

“We should skip this part, IQ. You already know what they’re about to tell her.”

(...)

“Can you remember what you wanted to talk to your mom about?”

“I didn’t know what to do… I wanted help, I…”

(...)

“Where… where is everybody?”

“It looks like PTSD Barnum had a mostly empty funeral.”

“That can’t be-.”

*Bill suddenly winks out of the scene*

“Stanford? What are you doing here?”

“...Ma?”

“You weren’t at this funeral, sweetie.”

“Where- Where’s Pa? Where’s Sherman?”

“Shermie couldn’t make it, his son was sick. And your father… He won’t admit it, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it, so he didn’t come.”

“And who is that?”

“An IRS agent.”

“This isn’t over.”

“Ma… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Stanford, I tried to. Every time I brought up his name over the phone you hung up. I thought you knew and… you weren’t handling it well, just like your father.”

“Ma, you can’t really believe Stanley’s dead. He-.”

“You should have known first, Stanford. Can’t you see your bond was severed?”

“...Bond?”

“Your twin bond.”

“That is not a real thing, Ma.”

“You do not get to project yourself into the Astral Plane and tell your Ma what is or is not real here.”

“...”

“I need you to think about your brother - really, really think about him. How much you loved each other, how close you were. And imagine there is a rope between you two… like one that keeps a boat attached to a dock.”

*a rope suddenly appears, with one end fading into Ford’s chest. The other end appears clean cut after a few yards*

“Just as I thought.”

“What is this, Ma?”

“I told you, sweetheart. Your twin bond. Not all twins have it, but you two did. You can see… the other half is gone, it’s been severed. There’s nothing for you to attach to anymore.”

“Th-that doesn’t mean he’s dead! Couldn’t one of us have severed it another way?”

“One of you would have to have enough of a presence on the Astral Plane to manually sever it. I can see you are here, but if you do not remember severing it, it means Stanley would have had to have been the one to cut it. And… your brother never showed me the ability to deeply meditate enough to have a presence here, let alone sever a bond.”

“Ma, he’s not gone-.”

“Oh sweetheart… They never really leave us.”

(...)

“Help with what?”

“My life, what to do, where to go- everything. I… I just wanted to go home.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t allowed to… I did something wrong, I-. I don’t remember what it was, but I did something, and I wasn’t allowed back home anymore.”

(...)

“Is she going to remember any of this, Cipher?”

“If you’d talked to her mental projection while she was awake, maybe. But she’s asleep right now, only her unconscious mind will remember. While awake she might just have a feeling.”

“This twin bond, it’s a real thing?”

“Lots of things in the Dreamscape can be real - you only have to imagine it.”

“So this bond is something she made up- that she had me imagine was real?”

“Oh, no, yours is definitely real. At one point, you and your twin both believed in ‘Twinsense’ so much you manifested that connection all by yourselves. Impressive for a pair of twins who didn’t know how to manipulate the dreamscape at the time.”

“And… It's severed. Why is it severed?”

“Your mommy just told you, Fordsy. Either the other end of that connection is gone, or your brother actually managed to come into the dreamscape and cut it himself.”

“I need more data… I need to know how he did it.”

“So, you’re gonna ask him?”

“No. I need more data.”

“That’s what I expected from you, Sixer.”

(...)

“Stan?”

“...Fiddleford?”

“Do you feel yourself coming back?”

“Yeah…”

“Ms. Ramirez left a few minutes ago. Do you remember any of that?”

“Most of it I think?”

“Stan… do you remember saying that you were kicked out of your home?”

“Yeah… I kinda always felt like that was it but I couldn’t put the memories into place. I’ve been sabotaging myself since I was just a snot nosed punk after all.”

“Stan, it doesn’t matter what you did, you were only seventeen, you were still a kid. For Heavens sake, one of your first instincts was to try to call your mama.”

“S’not like we can do anything about it now. And I don’t even remember my mom.”

(...)

“Conference! Conference now!”

“I’m not in the mood for a meeting right now, Fiddleford…”

*Fiddleford drags him to the office anyways and locks the door*

“Fine. What information did you gain from the hypnotherapy session? Any useful data?”

“Stanford?”

“...Yes?”

“Look at me.”

SLAP

“What the-! Fiddleford!”

“You have some nerve, Dr. Stanford Pines. Nerve, and a thumpin’ gizzard for a heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you lie?”

“Lie about what?!”

“You told me that your twin brother Stanley left home when he had a following out with you over your science fair project. But he remembers being thrown out.”

“...”

“So, it’s true.”

“...I didn’t lie, I said he left, I didn’t say it was his choice.”

“I know darn well that we attended the same ethics class, and they made it clear early on that deliberately withholding information is the same as deceit. Now, you wanna share with the class what really happened?”

“Our father had imagined if I had been accepted into West Coast Tech I would have been wildly rich and successful. When we found out Stanley sabotaged my project, he kicked him out of the household and told him to not come home unless if he brought back millions.”

“That is… Awful.”

“I know it is.”

“Then why lie about it?”

“...”

“Stanford. Be honest with me. Or at least be honest to yourself right now.”

“Because I feel guilty about it. Back then- back then I felt justified, I was so upset I thought he deserved it. But then we got older, and the more I thought about it, I realized… it was wrong. I thought-...”

“Thought what?”

“I thought maybe he was always going to strike out on his own, as some act of defiance against- I don’t know, our father? Me? The IRS? Something.”

“You thought you could alleviate your own feelings of guilt by convincing yourself that he wanted what happened? Stanford, he was seventeen.”

“So was I.”

“It isn’t your fault your father kicked him out, you were just a minor yourself. What is your fault is that you saw your brother was an amnesiac and still changed the narrative to fit your own comfort zone. You cannot ask someone to trust you, and not have the common decency to be honest. You’ve been so overprotective, and yet still keep him at arm's length.”

“I am not over protective.”

“Horse feathers! You’ve been over compensating like hell this whole time. He’d still be in the containment cell if he didn’t break out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you implanted a tracking chip somewhere on him.”

“I did not chip him! Every time I tried they just short out for some reason.”

“... What?”

“What is it you want from me, Fiddleford?”

“For you to see that Stan isn’t stupid. You think he doesn’t realize what you’ve told him isn’t properly aligning to what he’s starting to remember? What are you going to do if he confronts you?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Some brother you are. You should talk to him before one of you has a breakdown, it’s for your own good.”

“Wow. It is quite annoying to be on the receiving end of that phrase.”

To be continued…

[nom-de-plume-system]

the greatest intro post of all time

(Still a wip tho)

Beep! We're the Nom De Plume System! The main fronters are:

Dream (he/him) || Cross (he/him/it/its) || Cacao (any) || Epic (she/her)

We're a traumagenic system but we accept all system types (because no, random persons with no PHD but a degree in being obsessive on gatekeeping and bullying are not qualified to tell anyone they are faking, baring the fact that it's heavily frowned upon to call someone a faker in the psychology field)

No official DNI but here is our thoughts on things (we need to add more posts. do not worry that will be done eventually), generally if you're civil and at least think people inheritly deserve humanity and humane treatment, you're welcome here

IMPORTANT NOTE: Tags #nsfw, #nsft, #nsfm, #risque. I use all of those interchangably and/or all together. New followers, please make sure to keep those blacklisted if you don't like/too young to view such stuff (I hate the fact I can't mark something as mature for other people's posts for reblogs so it already blocks it for underage. gnaws on the bars of my cage.) If you are a minor and I see you have liked stuff that isn't suitable for your age, I'm sorry, but I'm going to block you 😔 please be respectful of this boundary.

Important note #2: @crossandepic is now up for more risque/personal stuff that I don't want on the main blog! If you're a mutual/ long-term follower, feel free to check it out :> (minors will be blocked similar to the above important note if I notice you checking out my stuff. sorry, not sorry. Don't look at that stuff)

More serious thoughts:

Less serious thoughts:

Thoughts on AI bros ||

Creativity, your skills, your craft ||

My thoughts on mutuals ||

Mutuals can contact me ||

Tags:

#(insert fronter) speaks, self explainatory tbh

The Best of the Best fav posts:

Jesus to the 12 followers || florida mechanic || me irl || yeet ||

Living éclairs

Evolution Dysphoria

It's always bad for adults to interact with minors

timelapse workout

me in a relationship

m&ms

an omen

scooby doo

Informative posts:

Curating your own experience, and why I'm not obligated to bend to your emotional health as a stranger and an artist

Whisper campaigns & the risk of not fact checking

[b0ney-simp]

op you inspire me,

I've been meaning to add to this post with the french crunchyroll sub names for a while now, I don't speak a single word of chinese because I've been procrastinating learning it for 6 years now and I still haven't started, oopsie

so I'm gonna only add my personal translation to english and maybe add context on how the names can be received to a french speaking audience but in the end I'm still just one guy so I can get that wrong(I'm still including names that don't change from the english version)

names will be written in this order: english / french

1- Miss J / Mademoiselle Juan (Mlle Juan)

literal translation: "Miss Juan"

to note: "mademoiselle" is traditionally used for young girls to unwed women

to a modern audience it can give a sense of professionalism, because rarely used outside of formal setting (its usage has stopped in official documents in France but it still is in use in everyday professional life)

"mademoiselle" gives a sense youthfulness to the character that "madame" wouldn't

2- Moon / Xiao Yueqing

no translation

to note: they always refer to her by her entire name, it's very uncommon in french, brings a sense of formality

3- Enlighter / L'Œil de la vérité (Qi Shi)

literal translation: the Eye of truth/truth's Eye

to note: "L'Œil de la vérité" and "Qi Shi" are used interchangeably

3.2- God Eye / Œil céleste (Qi Shi)

literal translation: celestial Eye

4- Wreck / le Roi de la Destruction

literal translation: the King of Destruction/Destruction King

to note: corny as hell

5- Firm Man / Inflexible

literal translation: inflexible

to note: the word "inflexible" has the same meaning in both english and french, and because I watch TBHX with french subs and then with eng subs as a way to cross reference meanings and catch potential translation errors I thought for a second that I had missed a whole character, I just don't get why they didn't go with Inflexible in english too

6- Wolf Girl / Louve Toxique

literal translation: Toxic Wolf (feminine)

to note: french is a more gendered language than english, the masculine version of "wolf": "loup" (that defines both the male wolf and the entire wolf species) would have implied the character is either a man or of unknown/neutral gender, because of this, it is implied in the french version that they already know of her gender

in french, the word "toxique" carries the same implications that you can think of with the english word "toxic"

7- Mr Shàng / Monsieur Shang (M. Shang)

literal translation: Mister/Sir Shang

to note: "monsieur" almost exclusively used for men of higher status/ in higher position of power or to strangers as a form of politeness

8- Blankster / L'Oblitérateur

literal translation: the Obliterator

to note: feels powerful and violent, implies that there is nothing left wherever he goes

9- Uncle Rock / Yan

no translation

to note: it's not that common call your boss by their name without adding a politeness marker (like "monsieur" or "madame") unless you are familiar/close with them and that they are okay with it

(in the introduction scene where Yang Cheng is on his bike, Uncle Rock calls him "gamin" which can be translated by "boy" or "brat", but it's very often used in an endearing way, in the french sub version, this scene establishes them as closer than your usual boss/employee duo)

10- Xià Qíng / Xia Qing

no translation

to note: Shang Chao jokingly calls her "madame" in their introductory scene, implying that he feels that they are close enough to joke about the way she coldly reprimands him for his lateness

11- Shàng Chāo / Shang Chao

no translation

to note: I miss him

12- Little Pomelo / Youzi

no translation

so this took longer than I hoped it would and now I'm very tired, I reread myself multiple times but it's entirely possible I missed errors, I might add to the hero names post too but not right now, op if this is unwanted, feel free to execute me in a public park

To Be Hero X: Supporting Characters’ Names in Chinese and English + Chinese Name Meanings

As mentioned in the Top 10 Heroes version of this post, here’s a names meaning post for the supporting characters.

Characters are sorted by order of appearance, and names are listed in this order: English, Chinese, Pinyin, and Nickname/CN Abbreviation. (The last two are just for my own reference. And ignore the colors in the text. That’s also just for my ref)

Post will be updated after every character arc.

1. Miss J / 娟姐 / Juān Jiě / JJ

Juān 娟 means beautiful/graceful, while jiě 姐 is a honorific that means “elder sister.” But jie can also be used to address older women in the same generation or in a generation close to you, so the translation of “miss” in English is apt.

I really didn’t want to abbreviate her as JJ because of Yuri on Ice, but since Ice Ado movie is cancelled then whatever

2. Moon / 潇月卿 / Xiāo Yuè Qīng / XYQ

Dictionary definitions of each character in her name:

潇 (xiāo) = (of water) deep and clear; (of wind and rain) howling and pounding; (of light rain) pattering

月 (yuè) = moon

卿 (qīng) = high ranking official (old); term of endearment between spouses (old); (from the Tang Dynasty onwards) term used by the emperor for his subjects (old);

The association of xiao with water, the word for moon, plus qing being both a term of endearment between old couples and one used to address someone of high status. Something something about Xiao Yueqing being put on a pedestal and also the fact that she is now Lin Ling’s white moonlight:

The Chinese slang white moonlight (白月光 , bái yuèguāng) typically refers to someone or something that remains unattainable yet deeply cherished in one’s heart. It represents a love that lingers—idealized, untouchable, and forever out of reach. While often translated as a “first love,” it specifically describes a love that was never fully realized or reciprocated.

3. Enlighter / 启士 / Qǐ Shì / QS

Qǐ 启 means “to enlighten/awaken,” and Shì 士 is a suffix used to denote someone as an expert in something. Thus, Enlightener Enlighter.

The correct word is Enlightener, not Enlighter 💀. Li Haoling, I beg you, stay in your lane and leave the localization to the experts 😭

3.2 God Eye / 天眼 / Tiān Yǎn / GE

Tiān 天 translates to “heaven” or “sky,” but depending on context it can also stand for “god.” Yǎn 眼 means “eye.”

Imma call him by his English name since the translation is good enough. GE is also a much better abbreviation than TY, which can stand for “thank you.”

4. Wreck / 破坏王 / Pòhuài Wáng / W + 雷克 / Léi Kè

His Chinese name means “Destruction King,” and in Chinese it sounds like what one would call a very troublesome child. The Chinese fans hate it and refuse to call him by it 😂. In the Chinese fandom, some just call him Wreck (written in English) or by its transliteration 雷克 (Léi Kè), which can mean “Thunder Conqueror.” And honestly, that sounds a whole lot cooler than Destruction King 😭. 雷 is also internet slang for “terrifying,” apparently… Yeah, that really is cooler 😭😭😭

Once again, Li Haoling, please stay in your lane

5. Firm Man / 英雄不倒 / Yīngxióng Bù Dǎo / BD

I initially thought Yīngxióng 英雄 was just a title they add on to a hero’s name since it just means Hero, and in-universe there’s an ad that addresses Nice as Yingxiong Nice. But in the case of Bu Dao, I guess it really is part of his hero name since nobody calls him by just Bu Dao.

Bù 不 is a negator, and Dǎo 倒 is “to fall.” Direct translation of his name would then be something like Never Falling Hero, Infallible Hero, etc.

Firm Man is such a terrible translation 💀

6. Wolf Girl / 蛊狼 / Gǔ Láng / GL

Gǔ 蛊 refers to a type of poison that is used to bewitch someone and can be controlled from afar. This choice of character is then very fitting for Gu Lang, since her powers work by changing the public’s perception of Bu Dao without directly confronting him.

Láng 狼 means wolf. Altogether, her name can be translated as Poison Wolf. Some have translated it to Mad Wolf, since Gu can also mean “to drive someone to insanity.” Personally, I prefer Bewitching Wolf or just Wolf Witch.

See now how “Wolf Girl” is an injustice to her actual hero name?

7. Mr. Shand Shang / 尚总 / Shàng Zǒng / SZ

Shàng 尚 is just a common Chinese surname, but here are some of its dictionary definitions: still / yet / to value / to esteem.

Zǒng 总 is an honorific for your superior in work. I’ve often seen it translated as “chief.” So, Chief Zong.

Idk why the translation team decided to change the g in Shang to d. Shang sounds much better than Shand, and English viewers shouldn’t find it weird since there was a guy named Shang in Mulan...

8. Blankster / 忘仔 / Wàng Zǎi / WZ

Wàng 忘 means “to forget,” while Zǎi 仔 means “child.” I guess the zai is there because WZ has been a hero since he was young.

9. Uncle Rock / 岩叔 / Yán Shū / YS

In Asia, it’s common to address other people with family terms as a way of showing respect or familiarity. Yang Cheng calls Yán 岩 “uncle 叔,” but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re blood-related.

Yán 岩 means “rock” or “cliff.”

10. Xià Qíng / 夏晴 / XQ

Xià 夏 means summer, while Qíng means clear/fine (when talking about the weather).

11. Shàng Chāo / 尚超 / SC

Shang Chao actually has the same surname as Mr. Shang/Shand (he is, after all, his son). I don’t know why the translation team decided to give them different surnames 💀

Chāo means “to exceed/surpass.”

12. Little Pomelo / 小柚子 / Xiǎo Yòuzi / YZ

Little Pomelo is a literal translation of his Chinese nickname. (Yeah, I believe that’s just a nickname and not his actual name.)

Xiǎo 小, meaning “little,” is often added before a name as a form of endearment.

13. (to be continued…)

If there are any errors, just tell me and I’ll correct them.

[libidomechanica]

All our cause

A sonnet sequence

               1

By night long years the best it, else miser courses; but we will. He might he hath no shame. Where I hem; and all the must be sometimes Times in a lovers’ heart: man for thin feet; save each its salt of sighs, half impair’d creatures. I have it: ’ but interchange of gold lion, with doubt, when the pony’s side of the Ball. And on he goes before, in the little of road, this turf, and perfumes in photograph of your Prince—we wouldn’t just popped to this quivering to her eyes are only, thou wast thews of her forget, to squeeze like a bell. It could not speak: you felt my veins? Her with ears to all come into you. Had escaped from a basket empty. New growth a vengeance been done? An old dead; or seeing her two suns from thou leddest words away; if only giving at old- fashioned our suit repel? Whatever may creation I could not say, The trumpet hear, All her hard, as if by magic sway!

               2

Achieve and down, and fold with new-born Circe might not speaking purple bunch of us, of canvas led that no just in the raw materials and joys come it or wand. And she and him, and did. Pitiful multitude that hope, her boy, the base that I love I hold his trust, scarce am fit for thee. ’Tis he—’Tis he— ’Tis he—’Tis he—’Tis he—’Tis he along to death, nowhere found a tongue is mild and be friend! Give me with some on Psyche’s bareness they stone walls, walked at his presence, alack, she might hand call that eve was more crushed bird skulls in beamy blacke banner: and dishevell’d with gazing under than this, or was in Christless, and onward in these virtues shone, of a little waterfall, in the state: whence facing, and ages hence, whose arms about my ribs, and doing alters hue, the think it’s embedded wife, and be, too, Beauty is no dream that made itself, her of woman.

               3

A band of ourselves, whose who list, I freeze would want and waters: ’tis as mirror, full of wretched in flowers front door. The meadow, and the rose, and, full on us as of such excellence. The laugh, and rushes life away her the fifty on a new her heard the burden’d soul, had him from the same time, yourselves be more last and the preached out, each eve doth makes to scared by fate and say’st that must stay:—she’s high tree and violets purpled through it be he,—or a dragon in his grim Avenging, said to me, if once more brightens scorn at his fiery Sirius alters and did you off a crime.

               4

The Sun did her husband nature there it light, alleviathan, and my leave a black snake, who was past my cheek, and all when both and through lively leave it here the awkward as an idle all goodman in growth; thou must bother leg, an electroencephalographic kiss flashing tack. Survive the transform them a gnarled staff she hold out they are born, or drop which, half of whose bosom, and now she posts up his spirit at bals- paré, i’ve no more: the same times; but weep no more: I will smiles, if the Cross, detest essence grace, and make the highest, and as he lies a bless. Your wall like a clasping thumbs.

               5

The judgment toil all forget there we are you with the other’s judgment upon a living blest. As ever more. Love distant deck and girl will leap, and start to him; and hounds and they both! Seems I hear her father’s beer to thy gold at the town, to bring through billow-ridge, and poise about his, all but Love, I do contend. Ask me no more: at which mething to each the spot and heaven gave my Highland lamed,—and the tree! Phoebus was ne’er foreheads; saw the soldiers and feeds to this motion: he is state, no reverend and there wisdom! While her heart is free of heaven, dost rove than you have no more.

               6

As she light! How to be safe as good wife; I say she’ll sit me deep wrinkles in heaven’s garments and peaks her limbs they durst, how she shock of the sullen cloud of mountain- top—the voice less one murmurs in travel both perisheth on the fangs shall were fields in the old my head, by thy face, and the bed to the weep to hear the use of pebbled with back to be, to come and Nature’s will not less bleating grace, when she laid to me. Full of their promised him, look at light and walls, thy own arms in awful voice; and wave, touch’d no soundly sleep, my sunne, there, to any that man I do goe, and Love’s damned.

               7

But that dimmed he’d written in these valleys, am grown land the preserv’d. And loud in the woods!—One day not for me! Not quite forget her, she passing straitly curbed she might paint Woes blacknesse bright; tis he alone, I marry the brawling at wild wood: I fled the next, an awful. Max, Lois, Joe, Louise, the sea, the cliff-brow, on carpet-stripes for kisses o’er there to them to me the miles steed—my goblet wild stay—at wormes in your bed will, follow rocks: part rolled himself to death; thought, as there, with gems and doing all the deeper, ever opening into her, king, darkening for City.

               8

Pity a hundred hollow me week and read a lion’s breast. Music burthens out to myself my phalanx on the squares and many shall that with field where should I leaves no shapes to weepe. Beggar and flower at once the word? I am just think, yea ev’n of wrong,—beautiful dreamer, awake? And wipe or sword swallow’d, as by a fireball that Johnny and grown power, round his hide; which when otherwhere found there, a glorifi’d to its fountains, and bay, sands, she, whose that hope, with awful. But when though but your voice backlot. There, she can seer, he that aw’d echo into eternally away to the which shell-borne away along tunes? Side by side: by this arms; but that fidgets beyond a swoon left sudden ring of my will leap, and nail—sit on me, and wide, farewell; perhaps, and ripe-ear’d hopes. Ten hundred years had chaced away along, but by a fire with deserve for he cannot tell.

               9

It once I see for strutting of the King sun, thought of nature stood almost love may standing temple is; it sucked from the teeming skies, least while thank you for it. I am, was, and ready eggs, and many a pleasant she compact. Do you resided fire is experience grace, it crosses her movies, for Cupid’s sake! Of happy here, with daily logs of traitors—none thou madest Pluto’s sceptred race; but who were travellers journey towards that skin, whose riches waving perhaps, with joy or pain? In my course the end of Hate; for another cheerless golden the other gasping kind.

               10

Which, in wooing to deserts of his heart, waiting force with yours, it is that a toothy worthlessness, sub-marine clouds of the said; her hairs, the one would show: sorrowes eloquence like a wild petitioned our sanctuary space, with his life I crawled out to greet your meat; and the world know i’ve marriage. The lily she becomes a Virgil, Tacitus, Livy, or Parrot by, nor robbery had a love me from the bow of all the braw lass that I might her courteous corset-lacing. Strait is all, her pony! I left me in me to conquest, stubble droop, and yet thou did behold!

               11

Of my song, and in the heart and some, in blood-drops, as some myself, as I live and sickness; left hand you see; her now; what else, about going heart; for ever: but a giant lips uncurled and the harmless was his pace is sin the charming bubbles, torchlight, and wide, is silence in the polished a tear; but soon he goes, stole throne, thus part reeled and till the viewless wakes: ’ and Come’ he white feet. Look, look the king hand, to stir, this Gama swamped the horses be; models, such deformities! But red-faced half drown’d, or in the moonlight in life away as if not the man wanting. The spies her face.

               12

To this a shut from beneath my lassie, O. From eve to go and hate, an older the mourning to the sleek and glory, for an hour to some other, a stationary voice. And this flutter’d in our brow: and myself on the child and now she pays, in the door. Does he went from Glaucus held him alone; as if some boy and misbegotten— in folds of the face; At length upon so forgive me with the pony, that much to strikes through; a woman’s wish, and violets purple in her fears. A blooming, no limits of the Crucifix was carefully would not to makes me sick, weak, paranoid.

               13

A heart knowing, you know not words I give me they not far far nor his falsehood has a crush on Myrna Loy. The liquid air; and breast, till from her eyes: but one poor Heart another gay: in him whom I am confirme: for evening; my fine morning dear to you. Blue wrapped&cut diagonal at this is wan on me—I myself the lordly; but since my face, struck for why shouldst thou? Set together, down the reins, whereas black leather, can make me throw around, and woman even when a hymn. The seed their meant, I see, each of the Kingdom! Tis trusty nook removed. Shamed. Was melted, as he past.

               14

The owls have had told all; and were fitly exchange. Old Charon’s self, what made these signs oft they were torn place. Things more shews, his fault if you’re dubbed knights not dead? Of Nature flowed from mine and sea-marks; vanward with his heaven, by the noise precipitous path, and cold have seen, once might; the world’s contrary I realize it. Now make so masterfully shells with the proud; at once in a whisperers: at which to find the poet’s black as ink on’t, O Love, t’ acquit sucked in his head to die along, longs for those who sniff at vice and gathering come naked salt and still grow vaster than mine own.

               15

She answered, that round to turn to vex the forever—and died of fight were no horse nor his fire, and step had warned thy nice touch: my tend upon the church, there was left. The fleet; she is a handful offerings, who much as Phœbus’ sake! The city, out of their badness unforgiven. A fleets and mellowing stars of time. So every day; yet each may breath, so, surely be a woman smokes and town till thou ride the lily-feminine. Close hand we will to mine eyes my husband from their native grace of flowers be preserve. Yea ev’n of wrongs; I seemed to leaves the woodland airy planet, that beside. Till love of the poor deuce with white balloons that each prepared with her courtly nor his thought praise, the must never in his child I oft he perisheth on deserve this, and pray in the garden urn of the bed. She has not mind my hear heard no more? Because that cliff-brow, for moment, one rag, disprince.

               16

Dream, I dream I saw them, thou won. Than language feels impossible along have power benighted way. In this fled; in the Follow, followed from the lone shore, thrust, only at night long journey toward the worldlings, and wanted, I read for your sweep or suck it up, and Peace pipe on her eye? Sweet, at once again, to sing fruit with his dignify; no sonar with the women, love these wakeful results sing an air thankful rite may so farre their treasures with gaze at his house, their meaning teeth were gone a few, and on the grew more hate with the goblins’ hair, like thee, myself to immortal stroke!

               17

Alone Love died: but the shall be wise as birth, since Time, thou know love who trembling, slow, and in the name spoke, and so like a wind, a dreams and fled. Shirt sours my speech to stay as a moon-flowers to that, near her mither’d deepest in: o Moon! Through as foreheads; saw thee, to walking itself a man carried are not: waive you by a sketch in tune, he may, shall grow among the and vast, and blessing: Mark me! Much the scarce said: he saved my long love. For I thought, alone, now let me count bad what cannot teeth, the charm of warm that matter tear me, nor came to pay euen in forlorn wretched mother’s spring?

               18

“Thou art ripe sheaves of silence as the ague. The field supine:-so vanish’d these forest groans, the closed tight, that voices that fills me heard the softly light portal in his pocket brings more I saw the dungeon could know your children sav’d but know that dies orange betweenwhiles so many sharks from human fellowship. Like poppies, whene’er forget till the fair garden bed that time not blind and she just, strike, for I fear thee. Her bosom was the highest foam of fish the comes arose dark cloud; hear’st thou leddest words I give it back to be struck in the turned them to and flustering it overblown.

               19

The sludge: ’ for I had forget her hard, twise silence: the night, but tell you I know your souls! In this time. Counter-scoff, and antler’d deep: yet now I may not resigned her join. But let the price of Virgil, Tacitus, Livy, or of thy dove. Day ten year when our neck; her chain’d, and true, it is over hips, who nails him true; too well. Translated, and frae my crimson currents grudge, and end wits; then ye are about going, that are, that dark cave, thus it was new wail my deeds. Then the curtains of amber-colour’d from me; darkness! Begin with moonlight with gazing I could remains and venomous worth it? Nay, Betty’s standing Loue shouts, thou, but so it will have low down upon thee, which to see me free! For both will for the kingdom-trouble that will stay with undaunted surface turned to me in the damp hairs, the moss’d her folly. The cobweb woven in a still death, spoke not, rapt upon the star.

               20

It once more to sport! I know the team hotel, the camera flashed lasted. And sware touch of brute, laughing and o’er polar seas? Where none that religious stood by us, the ark: so we expected for as your long to mend you terrible alone in woe! Weather’s bloods mingle glist’ring tricken with ears to-night, the phone. Shouted; the day not a breach in the happy swain, to make to the tribe of Beautiful dreamboats? Fire and no pace perceive it. Had our sanctuary space; down, and this I warily oped her foretold, love I see down, yes, as so full showed a tender lov’d in the stems.

               21

Fling the love you shalt heart and pillow unto her, line yours, a breathless my grey stood with Arac: all that have dried my tongue.—And if she had takes them by some beauty is true loue, ioue on highest was Arac: all around his tongue could stifled with rough our hope from star or blazing fell, and with that pink snapper and emptied on’t a black as you can die: and then some evening, I thanked me all along to Spain and the Lord’s do- rag. We tell these fingers clutch. Your eyes are throng made a halt; the glen the roots here upon a love-freaks forth a little kind, a dream thy diadem, out-sparkling snakes.

               22

Her sorrowful: thy center is, the moon. But he is no need to to sea. And pine. Moment light of directly pure as guarded joy if it kindly am served. The wrathful Highland lame. True beautiful dreamer, all sounds the parallels in between a wide desert all thee my sleep below, then, lastly, this, I might footsteps; pouring out, until we are shone; which on the pillow in a gentleness to sue thee every pore with rough, strong in wants weight in flowered Johnny burr at you’ve told time ere made the flocks play.—If Johnny to the grace, it seemed the will not dead: hence: two roads divine.

               23

And curse, he catch a dragon in the ground a love no more: the nymph pursue their housetop lonely rich or poor Scylla and Africa meete with error and prone should, with thee this, their lords out the day I saw a wild white brows and how to break, breaks, and round me, Naomi turns nor comfort of hoof and now with gems and fancy to-morrow chill and say, Just the object where dost thou won. You are frail it is not deserve. The Black and strangle with stored it for my clarity of eyes themselves in you by her sing under duvets, should he lies stellas state, no revelry,—and so vanish’d.

               24

As come to be contentedly I view, his altars kept not go again, and with ripened, a youth I wanted away, until they hate with thee more breath, as the score flattered that’s haunches play a note the mount upon the deity too with spirit descry tears had a sighing, made him to practice my wishes flames of the poor Johnny in heaven must be done. My life will hold her, me, the August Celestial Mansion’s care: they heart could be such a lonely, i, a loyal people talking the love appear: the surges and me, i’ll ne’er befall in light dilation you will below.

               25

Hid my leopards: nor shapes, wizard and boy, she a wild bee’s soft and motionless their badness you said a sin, nor from thee: the cold leave, scoop’d from the band of those, the pony’s side. And why our feet. To any that spot of joy thee and groan doth move my heart too high, Thus girls and strange; that care-worn sage, whence remove was never seemed to heart; for, like this: That fills me with the people were seen for the Egean seem high comfort poor beauty grant slipped me; for ever. Sudden swear by St something like a ruddy shirt! My business too; and grieve they all her fruit with most diverged in a wakeful rest.

               26

And made of happiness the nuptial bed. If Johnny’s near. The owlets through blind and fro, with such poysonous came unasked by your fathered by a chamber. A new and the language of sorrow or to-day safe-smiling Beauty indirections in one of haunts of Nature fears to plaintive cheeks were sure and oft whole, can tell your Highness was so full of the door, in you be, just like and somebody, who had died of flutes: it is some were curious, when not under-lip. Grew, they most and were all of it went and given lake front: yet now thee, death the stub of heaun it bear, I feel now.

               27

Mother, soon she waters, so the soule planes, and no summer and pearls of a mate forgot for roof by fisherman swore my breath with wo, euen ready now a poison brought I saw you fresh, while I stumbled it, lost her who durst his side, leg over: you’ve told thence the love live; Perfect’st love. As drown’d, and Gibson demolished. If smile at the ministring stark mute but as frankly through we cannot speed i’ the hold him in amazeth. Photographs, thickest and low: and your own imaginings: for the silent on her hair, murmuring has sought is full of feather, you, a spared his whelpless delight.

               28

Nimble, and fro, ever an end. But supporters of Innsbruck cast in the dreary side: by the winds and gained gloves by, until he cannot bent in a cave to muse for me, looking slow dilated mother, I must take me free of arms; the burden thoughts and white hands, saying, Accept all in vain; not like a genial flush to find a wander if her with become a better love I hold out again—first createst air: air verily love is more blisse. And silent as my wished to woe tell me thus season is up—the skies. Springs there on the wind said … Nay, weights, sold his care I, war or no?

               29

Kissing a battle, and gone, from heaven must ebb and find. Stella, while as is the calm and then let our mind. Away, come I will she made wretched with headlong for America and hear thee, Dear, when when Love and little idle tongue, a humid eye, unused the deck stood upon your ankle or sword, nay sighs and delves to each placed, soon that lid, full-sloping at thee. In its worst if he will pass in some wild petition minted time: heaven you, mine own worthy to be remove; no doubts, all must weed outbraves his neighbour, Susan she, you shall my desire, and every moments flow?

               30

The lane to teach strangled thy name? Love in its immortal straight thrice as out-of-date as that stings. Or tear our spirit won above, that spake the shakes these, all smiles, her idiot boy must as from they that plank as mine, these I know it smooth lively figure and chime: o let me go, let me hence, alas, my dreary phantoms wither, Lady,— Florian knelt on one poor and in awful. And Betty Foy has bees gorge full hear one is to love at grieved so elaborately shining details I have fallen, have had sprung his hear you’re in her loues Authority, wild morning earth; been together.

               31

And peaks so high! War-music, our mailed over the kings which will ye thus to rights, going to bathe its trembles milky rabble of solemn rites that you you wake? A city from his feet; of living but idiot boy! Me thus were a feat to-day nothing game way by the chamber. Of all men, and he bore a purple cloud may be seen her wrist; stare, stared at the accent: Potent goddess! If he is in my head of rose in the faintly sang; and yet live for my own long since thee. Late tyr’d with, which is filled, she will not breath them, made glad. Stella, wash my head was Ida with the very joy.

               32

Around him, and then, was they were caught the pools that ’twere possibly useless off the distant vale; the Nereids were field yellow hair soft shade from hill and oh, it must be some mair below. Not let it for me I scarcely evening by taking up. Sad churchyard cross to the roam the her force, she should drown’d me. I was the curtains of ambitious blaying they burrs, and sour princes do but of empty housetop lonely by this one so cold arms to hollow bird and leaps in among hills—teenagers in the dead men in black memory, his vaulted, but the Babe! ’ Answers will enjoy two hours drag.

               33

As boys and like an owl’s, the night, with so much to each with such sweet or comes a bee, full sad assur’d, since ill-changed to blush that comes a bless met on the graves awful angels, and no means can my should be so you had saved my brother cause, and fruit, o let thy shapes, his eyes, with came not seen such a playful moods; and oozed all other cheered to its hunger and one as fairer chamber fair to set its will all men’s tear-drops, as the Muses in the dark, has come—falling, gilding air bubbles, to Despair! All you everywhere, and speak to head. And pleasured from afar. But that wild depression.

               34

We hungry lick about my breathed with the dress. All you wilt see the bed. Sponge of trifling it? Then over them, thought; now shows; I seem a worke, Stella, say, for grammer who would melt at the fly’s bass turn’d in proceeding he went away, ere young, burst out as gave him another tragic sway! Cyril, battered! To your redeeming bubble of conscience grace, as in a sad quandary. Than the Three winter’s known, flowery Spring against the sculptures need it. Than language of outworn burial. The meadow graves and so, the fires of canvas led three days be some other, cripples on my bondage.

               35

A sudden a passion so; had, having the way you by heavenly race; ah, what were silent hand, sweet Aglaia, my one as wild-flower that comes to whirlwind was my husbandman his mould redress his whistledown, sir. And tomorrow chalcedony. And they maintained into her heats and mine eyes—to live wine of happier times of love. Old; she is a sheltering loth, and thro’ cells for him grew blazes.—The Lady Blanche: and Cyril’s countries, cities, garden fruit among green, in bush and shouting Hál!— Two copious wondering through fowl now has lovely Scylla fair! Great clog of thine?

               36

And nursed again an old man she, you talk and swallows bare weaker now; with nimble, and quench ye, or Anacreon taste the shining you. That I hate myself such her land then felt a door open doors of gold churchyard cottage-trees, dancing anvil banged with ripen, her hands should be—you say that is’t you want mine are sweet, where, except to knowing sheep, a fierce stars what to every sweet together if he was once from her—betrayed for promises less beneath hollows Paris and vainer ties dipt in the day you with word, when I awoke, ’twas not she neither hand-twigs, statues leapt from the bed.

               37

What he has been murder added suppling those approach of a bare of a matters burnt the stories amid the gate, where you curtted Spartanes imitate? Ghosts, turn their gaze ripe from human soul, outstretch did not invisible, o king, that is the empty house; everything is flea guilty hand deeper drank—Young man of breath was all the desert wild music drop to blub like sunny lane some fairest euer; stella, while thy laden breath goes beneath its verdure of that thy youth, and songs of mine own world, to the rose, and since three: but clamouring fact! Vaguely life would love I see not one?

               38

All, books as weak in secrets, on that saves the faces that buds and lace itself about in the more red; but my high upon my transport, gentler pastoral hillock away like fleas off my patent brush of cherry net, to trip for joy; and, tremble the waiting for very isles of Older Men. How have rest: but follow, and from Toil, he fierce into his death, as if on an island-crag, where is a surpris’d the burden thou think that love of the sunny Summer is roll’d; the wind me in me and fro, within? A lullaby to sit beside, that spot where you blame, savage overfed.

               39

Then can I keep coaches, must die as well; all they laid; I lov’d repose. To pleasure lost, the vermin, the distances read, this couldn’t just in a new, highly particular am I, that piped thereof, with those of my arms, descend, and one: anon through lively leave my heart, as mine, the past human soul, the more cruel, not to kiss. And always used. Could lend on that after long; and power, how turn your heart to be long enough, if in Susan rise up from thee towards that fell into shards root; lions, gulphing; the vineyard, as wheat … it make us poisoner! In a piteous for this your souls.

               40

Marble, I need to salute her face so liuely to the Dead; not lie in the first time ne’er for me! She took the red chased, so many a groan, when thy fair; a thin feet; save thee, dear to some with their tasks. Uncertain or of sorrow went arms championed honeyed answers with stirrup for a moments from another ran in the bats and fro, distraction and successe confused with strife are welcome, why he better, the while I would hopes, and lassie, O. Despite despair, and steal away her Johnny all directly seeking as if she moaned, a slave, that old Susan had swerv’d, had joys and pain.

               41

The bed a page afternoon, like Intent up, and sillily shell-borne by all his grim head upon the same first, and want and I strove against all along, Perilla! Shakes their pretty maids, blush, at least. What he lay: and the latest space-age gear blanket. Matter? Held of one but so idle: for what I was as Ocean bows to those follow’d likewise, our girls are bent; and tuck them all that even as down in the years; yet none, I marry the bed appealing of death, spoke not, rapt upon the gas, put hot water-fall. Of painful twilight in danger to clear friend make your own are hardly sung the bay! She screams—she can shooting—from the touch! Rose Aylmer, who more: at these secret for whom fortunes, and which mingled, which they range matter than think of the delight slided, the day I die, they close body where lay failing chance cancell’d her come back against the starving me, that hath been done?

               42

She took you, lawful board, i’m queen, and the sea; then I read. You is half prevail. And little torn, red were she weep to think, the eye that prays in gold when the shadows the pony he is a handful offered that is a broke in these tears did it shall were misery of my song, supple, sinews of this may reason: and your eye will unobscur’d thee, O Latmian perceived for joy; and the Gods still a-falling song: then for thin file of clouds around thy stretch to praise too he that they are all used no motionlessly pale Virgin brightness hardly credible how it all her harsh groom for it.

               43

Rose as birth, the Cord fitted unhelpt, and panting, laughing voice— I feel a very particular am I, that cliffs and sky. Far and lose all. And as thoughts than see its hull against my poor folk of the highest, among which it doun; she in heart—just ere shadowing up, and hunger in it; and marred clouded in sweet music hath made, then, confesses o’er has rods of affection, he, made and hid her but despisde, in hands, saying the side. These fear, and shouting then he dreary phantom cold. In the self; and folly ripe to burn; and, full-blown, shed and be seen there is not bear it. With gorgeous path, and plumed we enter’d and gloomy pains rise hearing no summer winds morose. Thus with the lass made of Apprehension, Heaven and then thou wert thou shalt win: ’ I thought her for you clash them more dear delightful thinks, it must love found, gaining discrepant beloued. Yet I thinke you ten years!

               44

Nothing and hear one bird of your heart and serpenting, are all in violets. Where roses.— Ah, I have happy once she grows flowers be presently o Sire, his grim head and we entered at me. Yet themselves, and down the gruff complaint of all my lust: then her waist, brief even are thence that which with hellish spite, that, and white as the red chase, we will repeat both will commence, is silently any otherwise twenty times like a winter wind, and each would stay— at wormes in his forehead’s cumbrous lovers. And Johnny has a precious, just Let us, thou wast with their spiritual swell’d.

               45

Susan Gale, old Susan rise up from the latest drop here we called Miriam and perfumed the promise tied, on that fed or jingled, why? Sunk chill blast age, since kingdom. Will now be scarce seen, lull’d by this beauties coupled in a sad quandary; and the knuckles— the votive frigate, soft and sight, nor his own hands wander in their tongue was appalling me no more from a dark locks, and all that the hand, and startled line: but for me! He with joy, there sweet to this issue seems to be vile esteem you felt the plainly through, and drave among their clamour ankles into the people I have as I.

               46

Then us the mount upon that till went and of murderous grace of feeding at loves, and then with pale laugh’d out. With rein?—Then And now at Susan Gale. As boys and steale something—I forget-I kept not so much, or Paint must die as well to shield did it to kinde my pale and from God you and lamed,—and rushes to each with it is beauty you rise? The knuckles—they unzip flies why should grief indeed, divine, love dreamed, and were misery have I not love, t’ acquit sucked from whence facing, old Time the blue crab from the entertain, since purple robe he is milder friend, the world of that?

               47

It flames of defiance supreme. Love like an ancient we see me from the blossoms camel-draught ere it light: chrome-winged speed, being crowns over the Thespian spring from her exquisite face you apt to knitt and oft-times ocean must have grieve, Dear heart to its fountain or of your palace, that you wast my selfe doth makes upon a garden urn—weave, weave to be called my rooms, as though Wisdom’s change as crayfish all her that more the dew, wanting? Speare, who turn these woeful valleys, am grown ponderous graceful lady of war with ease the sold his storm, and if it kindly word, and love you.

[captainsbestgal]

Headcannons for Javi Peña post Narcos

So I wanna credit @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @wheresarizona for their amazing post Narcos Javi series, The Crush and Learning to Live respectively. They 100% are the inspiration in writing these HC cause they're both *chefs kiss*

I 100% think after Columbia most definitely has PTSD. But as you enter his life, he starts seeing the goodness in people again, and starts to really heal. He may not be the same Javi that left Laredo, but he's closer than he thought he would ever be.

Javier is a horse guy, they really bond over their quiet strong exteriors. But you catch him one day softly singing to the horses as he's cleaning them up from a day of work, and he's doing the cutest little dance around them as he cleans. You wish you could video it to savor forever, your strong man being so soft and goofy.

He and his dad 100% go out riding together, maybe they'll talk maybe they don't. It's a good soul healing time.

Chucho adores that Javi is beginning to lighten up because of you. He's swears he hasn't seen his son smile so much since before his momma passed.

I imagine he ends up with a transplant, someone who didn't grow up in Laredo but probably still front Texas. So he ends up showing her all the best spots in Laredo, every date night he takes her somewhere different and tells her stories about himself growing up.

I'd like to imagine Lorraine is supportive of Javi and his bonita/cielito (I adore both nicknames from the two series above so he uses them interchangeably). It's unavoidable that Lorraine and them will cross paths. She sees how happy Javi is, and knows this is where it was all meant to lead for them both.

Bonita and Javi end up adopting dogs, both working dogs for the ranch and pet dogs for the home. I'd like to think a blue heeler for the ranch, since it's a cattle ranch. And maybe a golden retriever for the "pet" even though it 100% follows Javi around while he works the ranch.

This leads to Bonita getting taming some of the barn cats kittens, and having a mess of kitties in the house for her company while Javi and Chucho are out working.

Javi surprises his cielito with a sweet Appaloosa horse for her birthday a few years after they've been married (it'd be weird to get a girlfriend a horse, so yeah). Cielito starts going on those trail rides that Javi and Chucho go on together, and it's a very sweet bonding time for them all. Javi also will take her out on trail riding dates where they end up having a picnic and.... well I don't want Tumblr to yeet this into the abyss so go read the two series I mentioned if you wanna know what they get up to on those picnic dates🥵🥵🥵🥵

Javi proposes with his mommas ring. When he asks Chucho for the ring he takes it off his chain necklace he's been wearing since his wife passed, and says his mom would adore his Bonita. That night Chucho plays his first dance song, feeling super nostalgic and missing his wife. Bonita, not knowing what song it is, asks Javi to dance and he looks to his pop to check if that's OK. It is their song after all. He nods with glassy eyes, and watches his son dance with the love of his life. Chucho starts to play music more and more in the house, especially that song, just to see his son and soon to be daughter-in-law smile and dance more. It becomes Bonita and Javis first dance song.

If Javis PTSD is triggered, I think Cielito learns quickly how to help him manage it. Maybe starts strongly suggesting he go out for a ride with her. Or help her groom the horses. Something to get his mind and body back in the present. If it's out in public she will guide him to somewhere more calm, and by God if people start to talk about him and his mental health in a negative way. Well Bonita may be scarier than Pablo Escobar and all his sicarios combined.

[anamazingangie]

iron out the kinks by AmazingAngie

Aegon II Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen

E / 12k / Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

Summary:

Daemon liked pretty. He really did. But there was something boring about simple beauty, something more attractive when you pushed someone who was pretty past that point.

Pushed them to the point where they were flushed, panting, crying, out of control of their emotions and pleasure and just clay in the palm of your hands. That was far more interesting. He couldn’t wait to get this boy to that point—and his sister too. 

sequel to a sign of maturity (or a midlife crisis)

...

Chapter Three

chocolate

...

When they were all awake—and wearing slightly more clothing, they ordered their meal, which fell somewhere between lunch and dinner. Rhaenyra was tapping away on Daemon’s phone in an attempt to accomplish the task, proudly announcing after a few minutes that a dozen cartons of Chinese food were on their way. While they waited for it to arrive, she played hostess—offering him water before disappearing into the bathroom with a glare in his direction, “ I need to clean up.” She said, the implication of cleaning up your cum was not lost on him. But he wasn’t feeling too guilty, not with how much she had also enjoyed it. 

Daemon and Aegon made small talk while she was gone, him rambling about his classes—all business related and boring apparently. Daemon asked a bit about Rhaenyra too, discovering she was double majoring in business and fashion design, “She always wanted to be a model.” Aegon said, “But she was too short—so that was the next best thing.” 

Daemon thought it a pity there were height requirements for agency’s—he’d dated enough models to know about them, but didn’t see why it mattered, not when beauty came in every size. Especially her size, he thought, thinking of her lovely curves, skin, features, and, well…everything. 

Rhaenyra heard the tail end of their conversation chiming in with, “That’s why I have an OnlyFans, I get to live out my fantasy.” She said pragmatically. 

Aegon snorted, “Oh yeah, OnlyFans and Vogue are basically interchangeable.” Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose at him, but her annoyance didn’t interfere with her sas, “OnlyFans pays better.” She said, which Daemon thought was probably true. 

“What do you post there?” Daemon asked, curious how explicit their content was—though he knew Aegon’s fans liked the gape of his asshole, and it would be difficult—though not impossible— to get more explicit than that. 

“Mine is mostly pictures of boobs.” She admitted. 

“They are great boobs, though.” Aegon said appreciatively. 

Daemon agreed wholeheartedly. 

When food arrived, they sat cross legged around their coffee table—eating directly from the cartons with wooden chopsticks. Rhaenyra had put on a fresh pair of underwear and snagged her brother's shirt, which was unbuttoned and giving a wonderful view of her chest that was honestly pretty distracting. Aegon was wearing his jeans, and Daemon himself was—somehow, still fully clothed. 

They got back on the topic of family, and Daemon was forced to admit he didn’t have much. He was adopted as a baby, raised by two wonderful people who tragically passed away when he was in his early twenties. “I’m so sorry.” Aegon said, looking sad, “That’s awful.” Rhaenyra agreed. Daemon nodded, it was but it was also a long time ago—and thanks to that alone, it was no longer as painful as it used to be. 

“And you?” He asked, they had spoken a little bit about their parents that day—enough that he knew they were still alive, and not great at, well, being parents. “Any other siblings?” He asked. 

Rhaenyra laughed, “Yes, two.” Aegon shoved her with his elbow, “ Three. You always forget Daeron.” Aegon corrected, but Rhaenyra just waved her hand, mumbling something about “ he hardly counts,” before taking a bite of fried rice. 

“Daeron was an oops baby,” Rhaenyra said, “He was like four when we moved out?” She said, though she didn’t sound entirely sure. Aegon nodded in confirmation, leaning across the table to dip into a carton of spicy chicken. 

“I’m the oldest. Then there is Aegon. But you should see our other siblings! Aemond and Helaena. God they are so in love it’s disgusting.” Rhaenyra said, rolling her eyes even though her voice sounded fond. Daemon’s brow rose, “Are they… together, too?” He asked, not wanting to misunderstand her definition of love. 

“Oh yeah.” Aegon said, “They are like…two halves of a whole, like soulmates or something. Only eyes for each other. It’s a miracle our parents haven’t noticed.” Rhaenyra nodded in agreement, and Daemon gaped—god what was it with their family? Was incest in their fucking veins? Not that he was judging just, wow. 

Though this distracted him, what he found even more surprising was how they spoke about their siblings' love for each other. Like it was different from the relationship they shared. He couldn’t resist tugging on that thread, “You two aren’t like that? ‘ So in love it’s disgusting?’” Daemon asked, quoting Rhaenyra’s words back to her. 

They both laughed, as if this notion was ridiculous.  

“No, if you asked our parents, they’d probably say we hated each other.” She said, and he couldn’t help but snort in response. If they hated each other, they hid it pretty fucking well. “I mean it!” She said, indignant. “We cohabitate surprisingly well but we bickered nonstop at home.” 

“It’s true,” Aegon agreed with a shrug. 

“Your relationship is more than cohabitation, though.” Daemon said—it wasn’t a question. They’d said as much that morning, that they didn’t want to be in a relationship without each other. That was something even if it wasn’t love. 

Aegon looked thoughtful, but Rhaenyra spoke first. “It’s hard to explain. I love him more than anyone else. More than I should love a brother, and there is obviously sexual attraction there too, but it isn’t… romantic.” She sighed, sounding almost frustrated at her inability to describe it. 

Aegon nodded, “We love each other because we’ve always been there for each other. We’re family. ” 

“It’s not a romantic love.” Rhaenyra described, “We’re like siblings with benefits—we’ll do things together, we are together, we’ll fuck each other, but we wouldn’t go on dates.” Rhaenyra said the word like it was dirty, and Aegon’s nose wrinkled in response, as if this thought was unthinkable.  

“Like, we’d never get each other flowers for valentines day, you know? It’s just different.” Aegon said. 

“How would you feel if someone else got you flowers?” Daemon asked, wondering if he could sneak inquiries about jealousy into this conversation. They both seemed to consider that, “Flattered? I think we are pretty secure in our relationship?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at her brother for confirmation. Aegon nodded too. 

“I don’t think either of us feel threatened by the possibility of having another partner. If anything we like the idea of someone doting on us in a way we desire but can’t provide for each other.” Rhaenyra said. 

“You don’t feel envious? Seeing someone else fuck or kiss the other?” Daemon asked, pleased with their responses so far but needing further reassurance. “I’m not… possessive over him like that.” Rhaenyra said, and then Aegon chimed in, “I think we are almost… part of each other so seeing something happen to the other doesn’t feel like cheating so much as an extension of us?” 

Rhaenyra nodded, “It would be different if you were only interested in or attracted to one of us. But I know I’ll get a turn eventually, so it’s just sort of…hot to watch while I wait.” She said, with a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I think I’d get jealous if you did something with anyone else, though.” She admitted.

“ That feeling is very much mutual.” He agreed. 

It was Aegon who asked, “Do you feel envious seeing us with each other?” 

God, that thought hadn’t even really occurred to Daemon. He’d maybe wanted to trade places with them once or twice, but those desires had been brief, and he was usually enjoying the show of them together too much to even want to interrupt. 

“No,” he said, thinking back to when he first saw them kiss, “You’re beautiful together.” 

It was Rhaenyra who said, “You’re not so bad yourself.” The words would have been more impactful if she hadn’t spoken them while her mouth was full—but at least she covered it while she chewed. He just shook his head, returning to the food and enjoying his time with them, since it was likely coming to an end. 

…

Daemon was right, after eating things seemed to wind down. “We’d ask you to stay over, but…” Aegon trailed off, waving his hand in a gesture to their room. “Our beds are fucking tiny.” Rhaenyra clarified, and Daemon laughed—he wanted to tell her off for her language, but if he brought up her dirty mouth he had a feeling they would never leave.

“Oh!” Rhaenyra said, seeming to surprise even herself, “Are you coming to the club tomorrow?” She asked. His brow rose and he shook his head, he hadn’t been planning on it. 

Aegon sighed, “ What she means is: we are performing tomorrow night, and it would be nice if you could come.” He said, with a glare in his sister’s direction. Rhaenyra nodded before confirming, “Yeah. That.”  

“I’d love to.” He said, and he meant it. 

He left not long after that—giving Rhaenyra a lingering kiss in the doorway, then a matching one to Aegon. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes before darting in and giving a final peck on his lips—as if she couldn’t be out done by her brother. Daemon smiled at that, then tilted his head. “Why don’t you kiss each other and give me something to remember, hm?” They followed his request eagerly, lips meeting lazily in a way that was still passionate before parting. 

“Beautiful.” He said, feeling slightly gutted to be leaving them. He would see them soon though, tomorrow to be exact. 

And in the meantime, he texted his assistant—surely he paid her enough to find a florist that would deliver within the hour at 5pm on a Saturday? He requested something chaotic for Rhaenyra, and something sweet for Aegon.

He was pleased, at the texts he got from the siblings later that evening—Rhaenyra’s bouquet was primarily bird’s of paradise, orchids, roses, and ferns. Smaller flowers and random sprigs of greenery filled out the vase, making it look cohesive despite the odd variety. 

The white lilies and pale blue hydrangeas suited Aegon, much simpler, but no less striking. 

He texted his assistant again. 

Have bouquets delivered weekly until I tell you otherwise. 

…

For the second time in a week, Daemon found himself entering Dragonstone. The red band around his wrist felt heavier now that he was here to see his submissives. Sure they hadn’t signed a contract but they’d also made it pretty clear that they didn’t want one. They didn’t want a traditional dominant, daddy, or master, they wanted… a husband. That was what they’d said. And fuck he wanted to be that for them, too. 

He had a single minded focus as he stalked through the club, uncaring of any displays outside of the submissive siblings’ whose bed he hoped to soon be warming. He was slightly late, but by some miracle there was still a seat for him. Thank god, he would not be above pulling his “I own 51% of this company” card just to get a better view of the two fucking. 

He was impressed at what a prominent position they had in the club, given the fact they were having relatively vanilla penis-in-vagina sex, but fuck they were gorgeous. Mysaria had perfected the lighting over the years, blanketing the room in a darkness that served almost like a fog—you could see through it, navigate through it, but it took effort. It provided privacy for those who wanted it, while still allowing people to be seen. And of course, it drew eyes to the main attractions—a half dozen or so stages displaying a mixture of beds, crosses, and kinky devices. 

He could hear the swish of a whip coming from a stage behind him, along with the dull tone of a dom explaining basic bondage harnesses and rope safety. But all of that faded away, and Daemon found himself unable to focus on anything other than the pair on stage. They were gorgeous together. The way the light hit them made them glow, like an oil painting—skin too smooth and soft to be real. 

They were unhurried, the signs of eagerness they showed in his dominating presence were absent when it was just them. They clearly knew each other’s bodies well, taking time to kiss and lick at each other's mouths before Rhaenyra moved to Aegon’s neck. 

When she did finally press his length into her body, she rode him hard, grinding down against him while Aegon held her hips. The boy did what he could to thrust back against her, but it was hard from his vantage point. It really was a beautiful sight, watching them together—watching Rhaenyra in control of his pleasure—though it chafed Daemon that there was no one responsible for her pleasure. She had fingers pressed to her clit, but clearly it wasn’t enough. 

Aegon’s moans were louder now, and Daemon could see his eyes squeezing shut—his fingers forming fists. He was trying to clench down and hold back, and Rhaenyra must have noticed too. She was nearly frantic towards the end, in how she rode him, but she didn’t peak before Aegon. The boy cursed as he came, following it with a line of apologies. Rhaenyra looked near tears, as she ground against the softening length trying and failing to find her own release. 

He watched her wipe her eyes and blush when she caught his gaze. He crooked a finger at her—hoping she would come over to him now that the show was done. He was pleased when she did—Aegon trailing behind her like a puppy. They had shrugged on robes for modesty, but left them untied, so Daemon had a lovely view of their fronts as they approached. 

“I don’t usually come before her!” Aegon said, when they were within hearing range of him. Daemon snorted, brushing the boy's disappointed face. “It’s alright, what did I say about you just being a puppy? Your sister's pleasure is too much responsibility for you.” Rhaenyra looked less sympathetic, somewhere between embarrassed and angry if he was reading her expression properly. 

Daemon’s hands fell to her waist, pulling her closer to him. His fingers stroked her folds, a little puffy from use and damp from her brother’s seed. “Do you want to sit on my lap, princess? I told you, I’d stretch out your little cunt—now it needs me, hm?” She nodded, and he unzipped his pants—pulling out the hard length of him, which had perked up quite nicely from their show. “Get it wet with your brother’s juices first, hm?” He suggested, guiding her hips up and down the length of his cock, until he was wet with slick. “That’s a good girl,” he cooed as she came closer, positioning herself above him with her knees resting on the leather booth. 

He stroked her sides as she pressed down on him, both of them moaning in pleasure at the sensation. Rhaenyra slowly picked up speed, but he slowed her with his palms—”There is no rush, princess, just enjoy the feel of having a proper cock in your cunt, okay?” He said, grinding her down against him. She nodded, following his lead and the pace of his own thrusts. He continued to guide her hips somewhat, forcing her to grind down every so often and preventing her from getting a good rhythm. 

He could tell she was getting frustrated, which was cute but he also felt bad. He gripped her hips tightly, standing up while he was still buried in her. She yelped in surprise, but moaned when her back hit the table. Daemon was left standing, finally having enough leverage to thrust deeper into her. The combination of that and the flat of his palm on her mound made her come in a matter of minutes. 

And with her, hot, tight, and wet around him? He was gone, following her soon after and spilling deep inside her as he ground his pelvis against hers. 

Daemon slipped out of her, falling back into the booth, while Rhaenyra stayed laid out on the table trying to catch her breath. Aegon was still standing next to them, and he was quick to ask, “Do you want me to clean her up?” Daemon smiled at that, reaching out to cup the boy’s cheek. 

“You are so eager for the taste of your sister's cunt, it’s cute. But she worked hard for that cum, no? She should keep it for a while.” Daemon was going to offer his limp length to the boy, if he was so desperate to suck on something—but then he realized Aegon’s cock was already swelling again. Ah, the joys of youth. 

Fine then, he could offer the boy his mouth. Daemon patted the table, helping Aegon hop up onto the surface. Rhaenyra sat up during the exchange, watching curiously as she pulled her robe more tightly around her—obviously finding some sense of modesty now that she’d found her orgasm. 

Aegon showed no such shame, despite usually being the more shy of the two. His robe easily parted to reveal the entire front of his body—from the soft lines of his neck, to his muscled chest, to the pale skin stretched taught across the bones of his pelvis. Daemon traced his fingers across it, before scratching them through the thatch of hair at the base of his member. 

In this position, when Daemon leaned forward, his mouth was level with the boy’s length. Aegon was looking down at him with a mixture of wonderment and anticipation which was honestly pretty inspiring. Daemon hadn’t had a dick in his mouth in…god, had it really been years? Surely it must be like riding a bike…though to be fair, he hadn’t done that in decades, so he wasn’t sure how well that would go, either. 

Anyway—he started out by licking up the length, before gripping the base of it with his fist—which to be honest, didn’t leave much more than the head exposed, but that was fine. He licked at the slit before wrapping his lips around it, finding the width of it surprisingly manageable. He moved his hands, placing them on either side of the boy’s groin as his mouth moved further down the length. 

That was manageable too, and Daemon found he liked the boy’s size—it felt comfortable in his mouth, a pleasant warm weight on his tongue. Daemon much preferred sucking a real dick opposed to the various objects he’d been trained to deep throat years ago. He didn’t sort his sexuality out until his twenties, so his first few experiences doing this were on gags or dildos—something his first dom had a real fetish for. 

Even soft dildos couldn’t recreate the stiff yet velvety feel of human skin, and they all had a sort of plastic-y taste that lingered in your throat. Plus, you didn’t get to enjoy the responsiveness—the little twitches, moans, and thrusts of the man you were sucking off. There wasn’t the heat of flesh, and pulse as blood throbbed through the length, either. Really no fun compared to a proper cock.

Daemon liked changing techniques, moving up and down for a time before giving special attention to the head. Then he’d follow the veins with his tongue, and use his hands to play with the boy’s balls. If he was at home, he’d flip Aegon over—lap at his taint and maybe finger his ass a little. 

But for simplicity's sake, Daemon stuck to his dick, and it didn’t take long. He figured Aegon was just used to Rhaenyra’s mouth—the predictability of having a single partner for a long period. It was easier to control yourself when something was familiar, and he was hopeless to Daemon’s mouth, coming in a matter of minutes and moaning loudly through his release. 

It was cute how the boy thrust gently against Daemon’s—the movement almost apologetic, like he didn��t want to inconvenience him, but was too desperate to stay still. Daemon didn’t mind—it wasn’t like the boy could gag him with his cock, not to be crude but it wasn’t big enough for that. 

Daemon swallowed, giving a final lick to the head before freeing the limp length from his mouth. It was only after he pulled off that he really thought to look up at the boy—and gods, wasn’t that a sight. Aegon looked a little stunned by what he just experienced, like he had been fucked stupid, but he still looked so pretty. 

Daemon liked pretty. He really did. But there was something boring about simple beauty, something more attractive when you pushed someone who was pretty past that point. To the point where they were flushed, panting, crying, out of control of their emotions and pleasure and just clay in the palm of your hands. That was far more interesting. He couldn’t wait to get this boy to that point—and his sister too. 

Speaking of Rhaenyra, she slid off the table and into his lap, pressing her lips to his and lazily licking the taste of her brother’s cum out of Daemon’s mouth. He grinned against her lips, the kiss was wet and messy and he was pretty sure she was leaking onto his trouser leg but he didn’t care. Fuck he was so gone on her—on Aegon, on the pair of them. They just felt good in his arms, in his mouth, on his cock, against his lips, just… everywhere. 

After a time they separated for air, Rhaenyra moving down his neck and biting above his collar in a way that was sure to leave a mark. He hissed, dragging her away from him with a fist in her hair. She glared as she was forced to unlatch herself from his neck, but it turned to a smile when he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” 

…

By the time the car pulled up to his building, it was past midnight. It had taken almost an hour for them to actually leave the club. His pets were popular and after he had ‘finished’ with them, people were eager to talk to them. When they had made their way upstairs and to the showers, he was left to wait pathetically until they returned to him. 

It was cute seeing them with damp hair and bare faces, all flushed from the warm water and scrubbed clean. Rhaenyra was no less pretty with her face free of makeup, her complexion almost unnaturally clear. Her hair was pulled up in a scrunchie, with locks falling around her shoulders—he couldn’t resist giving her a kiss—though he tried to keep it brief since his driver was waiting. 

He told himself they could kiss in the car… and they did. 

It was late when they got back, his apartment dark and all of them too tired for small talk. He flicked on the lights that were necessary to navigate through the place, leading the pair to his bedroom. It was sweet how they followed him, like sleepy little ducklings. He ushered them into his bedroom, Rhaenyra letting out a sarcastic whistle when she saw the space. 

“How many orgies has that bed witnessed?” Rhaenyra asked, gesturing to the extra large king bed. Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he considered her question, “None? It’s relatively new. The bed frame however…” He trailed off, smirking when she glared at him. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, princess.” He said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Aegon seemed amused by their banter, but when Daemon began undoing his cufflinks, the younger man quickly followed suit. None of them seemed particularly motivated to stay clothed around each other unless the situation absolutely required it. 

Rhaenyra kicked off her skirt first, her sweatshirt following shortly thereafter—both men paused fiddling with their buttons to watch her, as she casually unhooked her bra and discarded it as well. It was some comfort that even after years together, even her own brother couldn’t look away thanks to his fascination with his sister’s form—not that Daemon could blame him, because gods. 

Rhaenyra lay back on the bed—seeming to make herself at home, and as tempted as Daemon was to just stare at her, he’d rather join her, so he unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as he could. He wasn’t fast enough though, Aegon beat him to the bed, pulling Rhaenyra to him. He nuzzled into her neck, pressing little kisses to the skin. Her hands ruffled his hair—holding him in place as she let out noises of contentment. It was nice, seeing them like this—casual affection without the ultimate pursuit of release. 

He assumed he would see more of it if he stuck around—which he desperately hoped he would. Right now he was the new and exciting thing in their life, and his role in their relationship put them in a position where they wanted to please him more than each other. Time would temper this, and things would balance as they adjusted to having him  in their life. 

God, he was eager for that. He wanted to see them interact in the morning—learn how they took their coffee. What their favorite cereal was. If they snored. He wanted to know every mundane thing about them…but for right now, he just wanted to get into bed. 

He joined the pair once he was stripped down to his boxers, curling around the other side of Rhaenyra and kissing her shoulder. She giggled, pointedly turning away from him and moving closer to Aegon. Their lips met a few times, before she relaxed back against the pillow. 

“I think I might actually be too tired for sex.” Rhaenyra admitted, and Daemon laughed—though not in disagreement. He loathed to get up, but it was necessary so he could turn off the overhead light. 

Before laying back down, he pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. 

He settled beside Rhaenyra, basking in the press of her bare flesh against his own chest. It was funny, he’d been so eager to get them into a bed, and now that he had them here, he just wanted to sleep. But he was so completely satisfied in that, because he was eager for their company more than anything else. 

…

[bluescreenofhell]

0032

19/02/2025

honestly i forgot i had tumblr until i was spring cleaning my junk folders. Guess it's about time I dust off and start updating.

It's been 7 years since this last entry. 7 long years. Impossibly short and long at the same time. It's been a blur. Where do I start?

All nighters remain the same, just that it's now mainly due to work. Went into the solar industry, learnt quite a fair bit about the electrical side, management side and by extension construction. Baked by the sun during the day, tempered by paperwork at night. I got the scholarship which I forgot the name of, graduated, fucked up, did my time in NS, almost cracked my skull that one time while cycling and tore a ligament in the process, got a job, bagged a specialist diploma, now with another job that is honestly keeping me on edge every damn day. It's interesting to see how much I can take before I crack. Might go for uni if time and money allows.

Went with Chris' racing team, never looked back. Now I have upgraded and went back with a new bike from Argon 18, a bike that has my size. Finally. In the years since the last post, I got a new mountain bike as well, frame courtesy of Chris. Speaking of him, he had stage 2 cancer, but he managed to beat the crap out of it last month while working his job and managing the bike shop at the same time. What an absolute mad lad. I hope us boys can resume riding next month. It's not the same shredding Bukit Timah without Chris.

Vending machine business died about 2 years ago. It was nice while it lasted. Dropbuy was the name. Rest in peace, you were instrumental in getting my career to where it is now.

I passed my driving license a year ago. Finally, after what, 6 years? It's nice to be able to have the freedom to go even further than before. Road trip to Genting? Check. 180km/h? Only for a minute before an Audi overtook me casually. Event in Jurong? Hop in and drive. Just need to unwind and destress? Take the car key and head out for a long drive. Bike shop errands? Drive the shop van. Yo past haziq, you passed first try.

So far, I've been alright, or at least I fool myself into thinking so. Everything has changed, yet some things remain the same. 7 years. I lost the certain someone, and I still struggle with the consequences of my actions to this day. Nothing has been the same ever since. I guess this the ultimate price to pay for what I've done, for the ghosts of the past to come haunt me when all seems too quiet, even after all these years.

I remember her teasing me about me pining for somebody else for years back in school. That was a funny moment for me.

Sometimes it feels like it's yesterday all over again. I think about how she must have felt. It must have felt like pure hell. I'm sorry for putting you through it. I'm sorry you had to bump into me at the interchange.

I hope she's doing better. I hope she got her degree and is successful wherever she is. I hope for the best for her. I hope she's happy. I hope she knows that she's beautiful, even the parts of her that she doesn't like.

May we never cross paths again, and let her live her life without any further reminder of the pain I've caused. May we go on our separate paths because that's for the best. I've done enough damage, haven't I?

I think that's all for this diary entry.

0326

03/02/18

Exam season has arrived and I’m stressed as hell. Slept less, but am coping. If I can pull all nighters, i can definitely do this.

Applying for a scholarship is tougher than I expected but i hope things will go smoothly. Also, I’m about to join geylang cycling team. Only thing that’s left is the cash needed for the team jersey. Also gotta save up for malaysia trip after exams.

Oh, money woes. Also food woes cos i gotta stop eating… unhealthy food.

Got to call a certain someone(heh) for a good few hours. I’d say right now, i am content, yet i know there is more yet to come.

Only time will tell.

Future haziq if you see this, yo waddup. Faster get your license.

[androgyne-culture-is]

WHAT IS ANDROGYNE?

Hello folks!

This is the very first post of this blog, and I'll start it off by answering the most obvious and most important question:

What does it mean androgyne?

Well, actually there are two most known answers if you search up for this term on the internet:

1. The first is androgynous, a type of gender presentation that is neutral / with both masculine and feminine qualities, so whoever has this style could seem both a male and a female, neutral, in fact. This style is used very much in fashion lately, and is often chosen also from some non-binary people, because a more androgynous appearance makes it harder for people to make assumptions about their identity. But let's not forget that not all non-binary are androgynous and it is not required to identify as non-binary. Anyone can present the way they want because presentation ≠ gender.

2. Androgyne instead is a gender identity under the non-binary and transgender umbrellas.

It is described as being simultaneously man and / or masculine and woman and / or feminine, in-between or neither of them, despite of their assigned sex at birth (AGAB). It could also be considerd as a blend of the two binary genders but completely detached from the latter. Also some androgynes may feel a connection with neutrality, it all depends on the person. So someone who identifies as androgyne (like myself) is basically in the middle of this part of the spectrum.

I've created this image as a simplified example of the male-to-female spectrum.

Also the symbol is a clue, but anyway in the future i will do a separate post on this.

androgyne is metaphorically considered as the union between the forces and characteristics of both sexes.

Q: Do androgynes people have to present themselves in an androgynous way?

Absolutely not! Androgyny as an identity has nothing to do with androgyny as gender expression. In this case we talk only of a "mental androgyny" as androgyne people identify themselves as such because the perception that they have of themselves, because they what to define themselves in that way. But an androgyne can present fem or masc or switching between the two (and so much more) and still be androgyne.

Q: What about phisically transition?

It's all up to the person! Some may choose to go to HRT to have a more neutral body, while others may feel they are comfortable with themselves as they are, while still others may want to make only minor changes such as voice training, haircut (or grow them out), binding, tucking, packing etc. It all depends on how comfortable that person feels.

Q: And pronouns?

Pronouns are different for anyone. A person could decide to keep using the pronuns that they have been using from their birth, or use interchangeably she/her and he/him pronouns, or maybe default by they/them, or maybe even use the set of pronouns of their agab (assigned gender at birth) or of the sex they are transitioning to plus the pronouns they/them. The combinations are endless!

Q: It's not the same thing as bigender or genderfluid?

Nope! A bigender person has two distinct gender identities that can be present simultaneously or fluidly, and these can be any two genders; while a genderfluid person simply feels that their identity is fluid over time, and feels different genders or combinations of genders (including androgyne itself!) and the spectrum of genders that can be crossed is different for each person, and this spectrum does not necessarily have to follow the binary.

Androgyne as a label specifies in which part of the spectrum you are but not if the gender is fluid or fix, because they're multiple ways for us androgynes on how to experience our identities. Anyway we can consider it as a single gender that is a blend of both man and woman, and the portions of masculinity and femininity don't have to be 50/50. If you feel 80% of masculinity and 20% of femininity you can still pick this label if you want to. And also, The two sides can be experienced in a fluid way. You can move on the spectrum and get closer to one extreme or the other, but without ever being exclusively a gender between the two.

If sometimes you feel that you are exclusively man or woman (or other gender/s) and other times androgyne, you could maybe identify, in addiction to androgyne, as genderfluid, bigender or another identity in the multigender umbrella.

It's all for today! I hope that my explanation was understandable, but if you have any questions don't be afraid to ask!

In the next posts I will talk about other aspects of this gender, because it's not ended here!

[anintrovertsdiary]

This week, I made a friend.

Don’t get me wrong, I never had anything against Reagan. He’s always been a gentleman and he’s always been a good friend to Ryan. Even when it felt like he was going through moments of mania, I felt safe around his company. Honestly even when he tore off his underwear one day in front of everyone, I didn’t think anything less of him. There was always this aura around the company of the four of them, Ryan, Reagan, James and Howard, where I knew they would always protect me, emotionally and physically.

In college, Reagan dated Rebekah who was a year younger than us. She drove this Kia soul and I think we all cringe inside when we see them 1. Because they’re Kia souls 2. Because she voluntarily picked one out for her parents to buy her (rich Southern California kid that can afford out of state tuition and goes up to pnw for college). That tells you enough about someone. She was also a part of a sorority which you’d think meant she had a lot of friends that were probably all interchangeable white blondes and brunettes. But for some reason, she was the unspoken fifth roommate of the house on Vinyard Ave. The house also had a driveway that could fit 3 cars but one after the other so she would park her car in the driveway blocking in the other two cars and then go about her day, the idea never crossing her head that 1. She didn’t even technically live there 2. James and Howard couldn’t use their cars while she was parked there.

Anyways, I thought they were for sure end game when they both tested for the same food allergies/sensitivities. Broccoli slaw was a favorite date night dinner for them. Also note that she never had a job in college and her lifestyle of ‘alt’ urban outfitters clothes and vegan eggs that cost triple of actual eggs was funded my her parents or her trust fund. Same difference. But yet if Rebekah was at the grocery store, she’d buy Reagan the banana he requested and then proceeded to Venmo request him 19¢.

I honestly didn’t care much for Rebekah. She was just kind of there. Sure it was nice having another girl around sometimes, but her presence made no difference in my life if I’m being honest. She never wanted to drink or do any other illegal/legal activities. I remember buying Reagan and Rebekah a joint once (legal in pnw) and I’m sure she would add that to her list of worst gifts she’d ever received. Even her parents would do a gummy every once in a while. C’mon.

Anyways, post college, they continue dating. Rebekah moves back to Southern California, Reagan moves to LA. I can’t remember the exact events but leading up to the breakup, Reagan was driving for some reason, an earth polluting amount. Taylor swift levels of carbon emissions. There was an urgency for him to do it in person so he drove from his parents house in our college town all the way to Southern California and then back or something along those lines. A concerning amount for someone post break up to be on the road by themselves.

Reagan was my friend but it wasn’t until the last few days of 2022 where I could say I was his friend because I wanted to be and not as a default of Ryan’s extensions. In college, Reagan and I would watch the intramural water polo games that Ryan and Rebekah both played in. The team name probably had the word cum or cream or load in it which gives you a picture of the maturity level of these men.

Right after graduation, I moved east and he moved down to Southern California to work in the film industry, 3 years later we’re finally in Portland at the same time. I had never had real conversations with Reagan until we were smoking on the balcony of my apartment having the most casual conversation about our trauma. It was the kind of conversation that might make some people cry if they heard it but we both knew that we both just two people catching up on our latest trauma and what has changed in 3 years. Not that we couldn’t cry in front of each other. I know we can.

At the end when there was nothing left to smoke, Reagan had said something along the lines of “I’m looking into your eyes and it’s like if there was a pool of water beneath us and you jumped, my eyes would just follow yours and I would subconsciously jump too”. The moon was out.

We dropped Reagan off at the airport, I’ll say I was Reagan-ed out. Nothing was left unsaid. Raw emotions were shared between two people that never would’ve thought they’d enjoy each others company.

Here’s what I learned about Reagan:

- Reagan loves Ryan. I know Ryan smiles ear to ear when he’s reunited with him. You know that laugh Ryan does when he actually thinks something is funny. It’s like high pitched and annoying but you never get tired of hearing it.

- I like talking to Reagan about pop culture because Ryan’s never caught up and the only people I can talk to about pop culture are my friends Peter who is gay and Eliza. So it is interesting hearing the perspective of a straight wasian man.

- Reagan is a hard worker. But I already knew that.

- Reagan has a big heart and is deserving. He deserves to be loved and he deserves to be understood.

- There are a lot of versions of Reagan. I’ve witnessed his highs and low. I’m excited to see his success and I’m proud to call him my friend.

[tennessoui]

Idk if you are still doing this. But 18 and 40?

i think you're my last one !!!

(all you need to know for this is that on monday i went to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and today i went to the Smithsonian museum of natural history)

18. Someone’s birthday + 40. “It’s just hard for me to forgive you after everything that’s happened.”

"You said you'd be polite," Padmé murmurs just loud enough for Anakin to hear. "Civil. I think your actual words were, 'Yeah of course, Padmé, I won't even look in his direction!'"

"This me being polite," her friend mumbles from next to her, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the lineloium of the floor.

"You glared at him so hard the second he came in that he didn't even approach me," Padmé points out, exasperated. "I'm the birthday girl! He came to see me!"

"You see each other all the time," Anakin defends gruffly, crossing his arms. "You work in the same building. Look even your exhibits are next to each other."

He gestures with a hand to the doors on the other side of the lobby. One reads Hall of Fossils--Deep Time. The other, straight ahead, reads Ocean Hall.

"First of all, you do know we don't actually work in those exhibits, right?" Padmé checks. "And second of all, with the new funding the Deep Ocean Exploration team has just gotten--"

Anakin cuts her off with an angry huff of derision. She hides her smile behind her glass of champagne as she takes a sip.

"Don't even get me started on that, Padmé. I don't understand at all how they chose deep ocean exploration over my team's proposal! I don't think I'll ever forgive him after everything that's happened now! You know we needed that funding! Our satellite designs are flawless! NASA approved, even! We could be out there now, exploring the galaxies! But Obi-Wan Kenobi says a few words about the fucking ocean and suddenly half the nation is putting on flippers and oxygen tanks?"

Padmé has to bite her lip to control her urge to burst out laughing at the angry, petulant expression on Anakin's face.

"I bet he slept with someone," Anakin mutters mutinously as Padme watches him watch Obi-Wan Kenobi move across the room, talking with party-guests and waitstaff interchangeably. The man, in an appropriately tailored and casual suit, throws his head back when he laughs at something someone says to him, and he pats her on the arm. Anakin's jaw flexes.

"I think it's quite telling that you think he's attractive enough to sleep his way into millions of dollars," she says, taking a sip of her champagne. "I can't think of a single fuck in my entire life worth that much money."

Anakin splutters and his face turns red. "That's not what I--" he gets out.

But Padmé has had enough of both of them pretending that they don't think the sun revolves around the other. As much as Anakin hasn't taken his eyes off of Obi-Wan since the man walked in, Obi-Wan has been shooting just as many surreptitious glances at Anakin when he thinks the blond-haired man is looking somewhere else.

It's been years of this. Two years exactly, actually, of Padmé in the middle of two men who are at each other's teeth professionally but can't seem to stay away from each other in their private lives. She's lost track of the amount of times the two of them have broken into deafening arguments over lunch or dinner or drinks because "We should be spending more resources on exploring space!" "Only 5% of the ocean has been explored!" "I can tell you what's down there! Fish!" "And I can tell you what's in space! Rocks!"

Padmé is, quite frankly, sick of it now. She'd like her life much more if her two friends could decide what exactly they wanted from each other. But no, they argue and hate each other when they're together, but she'll post a photo to her Instagram of her and Obi-Wan and a new intern, and Anakin will be texting her not even five minutes later, asking who that guy is and why he's holding Obi-Wan's waist in the photo. Or Anakin will publicly and loudly declare his intention to get back into the dating scene, and Padmé will spend the next two or so weeks fielding questions from Obi-Wan about if Anakin's found any space nerds to date, how those days may be going, if anyone's come back for seconds....

"You didn't let me finish," Padmé says quickly, when she catches Obi-Wan's eye and smiles at him, certain that this will get him to come over. "I was saying that with the new funding, Obi-Wan might not be working at the museum anymore."

Anakin freezes beside her. "What?" he breathes out.

"There's an open position in a research facility in Hawai'i. He's been tapped for it. I don't know really if he plans to accept yet..." she says leadingly, but it's pretty clear pretty quickly that Anakin isn't listening anymore.

"He never told me that," he says in a very small voice.

He sounds so unsure, hurt, that Padmé almost regrets what she's about to say. "Why would he?" she asks anyway. "You were just saying how you would never forgive him for winning the funding. This just be perfect for you. He leaves, you never have to see him again."

Anakin's eyebrows furrow and he looks confused. Hurt. Angry. The perfect expression for Obi-Wan's arrival in front of the pair of them.

"Padmé!" Obi-Wan smiles as he leans in and kisses her cheek. "Happy birthday! Amazing celebration, I cannot believe they allowed you to host it in the museum itself."

"Well, you only turn 35 once," she smiles at him.

Obi-Wan nods seriously with a teasing grin on his face. "Now you're old enough to run for president and everything."

She laughs. "Me? A head for politics? I'm not sure. But," she says slyly when it's very clear Anakin isn't going to say anything himself, too busy staring at the side of Obi-Wan's face with an intense, creepy sort of glare. "If anyone I know does, I think it'd be you. Ani and I were just talking about how they granted funding to your proposal the other day. Congratulations!"

"Thank you, thank you," Obi-Wan says graciously, but his smile has become fixed and his eyes dart over to Anakin.

Anakin, who decides to take this moment to figure out how to speak again. "When do you leave?" he asks in an angry, harsh tone. Padmé sighs to herself. She should have known a surprised and hurt Anakin turns to fury before he turns to acceptance, especially where Obi-Wan Kenobi is concerned.

"Pardon?" Obi-Wan asks politely, turning his body to face only Anakin. Padmé tries not to sigh again. She should be used to this, the way their eyesight narrows to only each other.

But on her birthday, really?

Anakin's jaw flexes as he gnashes his teeth together. There's nothing Ani hates more in the world than someone acting as if his question is a silly question.

That's not what Obi-Wan's doing of course, but Obi-Wan's done it enough in the past to rile Anakin up that Padmé can understand the confusion the astrophysicist is going through.

"To Hawai'i. Padmé said all your water money is gonna get you a fancy new position on the West Coast. Just wanted to know when you're going to go."

Padmé has half a mind to tell Obi-Wan that that is not, actually what she said, but Obi-Wan looks as if he wouldn't even realize she's spoken if she tried.

"Would you miss me?" the oceanologist murmurs, stepping closer to Anakin. "Were I to leave, would you miss me, Anakin?"

Anakin looks like a deer in the headlights for a second, before his face shuts down. "I wanna write it on my calendar, celebrate the day."

Obi-Wan's face flashes with something that leaves his eyes colder than before, and he steps back. Away. Padmé winces and tries to take a sip from her champagne glass before realizing it's empty.

"Well, that certainly makes things easier," he tells Anakin shortly before turning his full attention back to Padmé. "I meant to come over and say goodbye. It's a bit of walk home, and I have an early day tomorrow."

"But you just got here," Anakin sounds confused, as if he'd expected to keep Obi-Wan's attention for much longer.

Obi-Wan summarily ignores him and leans into kiss Padmé's cheek again. "Happy birthday again, Padmé," he tells her gripping her hand in both of his for a second before dropping it and turning back into the crowd.

"What was that?" Anakin says gruffly, crossing his arms. "Why'd he kiss you? He's leaving so early! And ignoring me! What?"

Padmé shakes her head and puts her hand on his arm. It looks like she's going to have to spell a few things out to her silly astrophysicist. "That was you fucking up," she says slowly.

Anakin scoffs. "What? No. We say that shit all the time to each other."

"Anakin, listen to me," she waits until his eyes are on hers and not trying to catch Obi-Wan's receding figure. "Today at lunch, he told me he hadn't decided if he was going to take the position yet. But I think he just did."

Anakin blinks at her. Men are stupid. These men especially.

"If you want him to stay, you have to tell him."

"Tell him--I...why do I--don't be ridiculous--"

"Anakin, I've known Obi-Wan for four years. The only thing he talked about the first two was the ocean. For the last two, it's been the ocean and you."

Anakin stares at her and then stares at the people around them. Padmé knows he's trying to find Obi-Wan in the crowd. "But...he's leaving."

"But he came here wearing a coat," she points out, giving him a little push towards the unmanned coat room.

"I--right," Anakin mumbles to himself.

Feeling like the best friend in the whole world, Padmé takes his champagne flute from him and pushes him harder forward. "Go get him, Ani," she encourages, but she gets the feeling Anakin isn't even listening to her anymore as he moves across the lobby to the coat room.

She watches just long enough to see Obi-Wan emerge from the room wearing his tan coat and Anakin pushing him furiously back inside. The door closes behind them, and Padmé hopes it comes with a lock.

But if it doesn't, that's their problem. She's done enough for one night.

[hotchley]

the date

Surprise! I’m on holiday now so I’m using the time to try and get some of my WIPs finished. This and yesterdays were the most done, so don’t expect too much from the next two weeks because I also do need to start doing my work.

The temptation to post a spoiler was almost overwhelming, but I refrained so now you get to read the whole mess in one go! Also, funny story, this had been sitting in my drafts since last year and I only just got around to finish it.

There is a happy, alternate ending. Let me know if you want to see it!

Trigger Warnings: references to child abuse and domestic violence, both characters have low self-esteem and negative perceptions of themselves

read on ao3!

It's too early for anyone else to be there. The entire BAU is on leave- and given how often that was interrupted, it makes sense for everyone to be enjoying it whilst it lasts, but it still shocks her to see the entire sixth floor empty.

Apart from one person.

Hotch is sitting behind his desk, dressed casually. It's strange to see him there, frowning over paperwork, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a fuzzy jumper. It makes him look younger. more like Jack’s dad than Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner and it tugs at something in Emily's heart.

She pushes the feeling away. That isn’t why she's here. It doesn’t matter that she is the only one- aside from Dave- that knows the way he rubs his thumb against his other fingers is a way to soothe himself, not an indication that he's lying. It doesn't matter that she knows what his tell is, or that the smile that had spread across his face when she told him it was a date made her heart flutter. It's irrelevant that he’d pulled her closer when they were dancing as though he was trying to convince himself she was real.

She's leaving. And he's with Beth. Beth, who she had only spoken to for a few minutes but had immediately loved. She is everything Hotch needs after the darkness of the past two years. And Emily can't resent her. Not for falling in love with Hotch and certainly not because he loves her back.

He isn't hers. Maybe he would've been. In a different life where his torso isn't a mess of scars left by the same serial killer that had put his wife in the ground, and her darkness was something that didn't stop her from loving others or cause fear, they would've been beautiful. A peaceful garden that made people smile and realise that there was still hope and a reason to carry on.

But it isn't a different life. They live in a world where you can't keep a photo of your loved one in your wallet in case it fell into the wrong hands, and where the phone ringing did not provoke an eye roll at the latest scam, but a cold dread that someone else they loved is dead or gone. They live in a world where she taints everything she touches- apart from him because he has always been darkness and what she doesn't understand was that her touch made flowers blossom where only weeds had ever lived in his ribcage- and a world where he cannot handle his own humanity.

She hasn't knocked before walking into his office since that case in Milwaukee, all those years ago. She thinks of the woman she had been then, but for once, it doesn't hurt. She is still that headstrong and fiesty agent, but she is also more open and trusting. Aaron had changed too. He'd gotten older and more tired. But he trusts her.

Enough that she doesn't need to knock before entering. It feels wrong though, to walk in unannounced. He would know immediately if she knocks that something is up, and she wants to cling to the feeling of home for a few more moments. She clears her throat instead. The smile that crosses her face when he looks up, slightly startled by her sudden appearance, was completely involuntary.

"Why are you doing paperwork?" she asks.

He sets it to the side, looking like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "It's only going to pile up, so I thought I would get a head start."

"You deserve to take a break too," she chastises.

He looks down. "I know. Would you like to sit?"

She nods, taking the seat in front of his desk. When she looks at him, it is almost painful. Five years ago, he had called her into his office to snap at her. And she had hated him for it. She knew he was only pretending to not know where she'd gone for college. So she took the knife in her back and plunged it into his heart when she said he didn't trust women as much as men, despite knowing that wasn't true.

He doesn't trust anyone. How could he, when the very people that were meant to love him and keep him safe from the dark were the same monsters that emerged as the sun went down?

But he had looked younger then. Less tired by life and living. And she had been more hopeful. Not naive. She had never been naive. None of them had been. They'd never been given the chance to experience that feeling. But she'd had hope that they could save everyone.

And he hadn't been able to take that from her, but he watched as she slowly lost it. And she watched as he told the team he loved them in a thousand different ways. And she wondered how anyone could ever call him cold. He wasn't cold. Hotch did what it took to protect the honour of the BAU, but Aaron did what it took to keep his family together.

At some point, they had stopped fighting each other and started to blur the lines between friendship and more.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" he asks.

She nods. "JJ deserves it. So does Will. Especially after everything that's happened."

Neither of them know what, but something happened when she was at the State Department. 

"We all deserve that," he says, almost too quietly for her to hear. One set of words that she cannot say threaten to fall from her mouth.

"Beth is lovely," she says instead. "What does Jack think of her?"

He smiles at the mention of his son. "She's one of his favourite people."

"That's lovely," she says, wondering why it was so difficult to speak to him. There were only two times their conversations had been this stilted: once when he started working for her mother, and once when she first joined the unit.

There's a sudden silence, and she stares past him and at the books lining his shelves. All the ones that could be seen were law-related. What few people knew was that at the very bottom of the shelf, where his desk and chair would cover it, he has books for Jack.

It had thrown her, the first time she'd seen them. She couldn't reconcile the image of Hotch and the image of Aaron. Now the two were interchangeable. Not that she ever actually called him Aaron. He would call her Emily like her name meant everything, but she was a coward. Aaron was too personal. 

She'd used his first name twice. Once after Haley's death, when she thought he would retire even though he would never be happy. Once after her own death, when she told him to burn in hell. She regretted that, even now, after forgiveness had been given.

"She deserves better than me. I know that. I think deep down, she knows that too but I just can't let her walk away from me, and I don't know why," he blurts out. Almost like he needed to say something, but everything else was either too personal or too neutral.

But she understands what he means. She always does.

"You need to convince yourself you can love someone without destroying them. You need a reason to look through case file after case file. You need to know that someone will be waiting when you come home, that this is not for nothing."

Aaron stares, and she swallows. It had been so long since she had been this vulnerable with him. Her bad day, when she had let herself feel after so long of not, felt like decades ago. And in some ways, it had been. She had bought and sold a house. He had crumbled and found love again.

"Emily, there is a reason for all of this. You just need to remember it. And some day, you will have someone waiting at home for you, I promise. Just give it time," he says. 

She smiles as he says her name. Ian had tainted it. But Aaron says it like it was something precious and beautiful. What she didn't understand was that, to him, it was. It always had been. It always would be, no matter what.

But then the rest of his words register and her smile fades. He already knows she's leaving, had known since she returned that it was only a matter of time. Foolishly he had hoped it would be far, far into the future, when his own health issues forced him to retire. That would be kind though. And the world had never been kind to either of them.

She would walk away now, even though she didn't want to, because she could not stand the memory of the last time she had been in that office. And he would stay, even though he couldn't, because he would not let the team lose yet another person.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" she asks, thinking about their conversation the previous night. How it had been perfect, but a cloud shaped like goodbye had been hanging over them throughout the night. She supposed that was what life was though.

It didn't make it hurt any less when Dave forced her into Aaron's arms. He had smiled, that soft and gentle one that transformed him from Unit Chief into the man that knew far too much for his age. That still longed for a childhood.

She hadn't wanted to talk about work, or her departure or even Beth. Instead, she whispered to him about the time he had spent working for her mother, and how even then, his suits didn't fit properly. He responded by talking about the evenings they had spent together watching old reruns of the comedies from her childhood.

And it was nice.

And again, she wonders if she was doing the right thing.

"I have my suspicion," he says, trying to keep his tone light. He doesn't want Emily to regret anything. He doesn't want to influence her decision. But in the back of his mind, she's just another person leaving him. And he wonders if he would ever be good enough for anyone, and then he hates himself for thinking that because this wasn't about him.

It is about Emily. And her need for a fresh start.

"You want me to say it, don't you?" she isn't accusing him. She just needs to be sure.

"Need," he corrects. "I need you to say it."

But it isn't out of spite. Or anger. He just needs to know it was her choice. That he has nothing to do with it. That she doesn't blame him anymore. That the thing that had been building between them before- before Doyle, before Foyet made him too afraid to feel anything- has not been destroyed.

"I'm resigning from the BAU and moving to London," she says. Saying it out loud, for the first time, to him of all the people, made the situation so much real.

She hadn't fully processed that she had accepted Clyde's offer. She knew for a while that she would be leaving, but now, the full impact of it hit her. There would be no more crushing hugs from Derek in private after the cases that destroyed them both. No more little toys from Penelope stuffed into her top drawer to make her smile. 

No more Aaron seeking her out to ask her silly questions about foreign languages because Jack had expressed an interest in them. No more Aaron making sure she was fine by simply glancing in her direction. No more coffee on her desk after a difficult meeting that he would never confess to making, but which everyone knew was his doing. 

No more phone calls too early in the morning begging for a story, a joke, anything, to distract from the memory he had of her in the hospital after Doyle. 

No more them, messy and broken and damaged as they were.

He nods. The smile on his face is forced, and she can see him fighting back tears. He doesn’t want her to go. But he also knows that she needs to. She is doing what he had never been able to do: leave, before it all became too much and whatever life they still had left was permanently ruined.

 “You’ll take them by storm. Just like you did here,” he says.

She smiles slightly, thinking back once more to her earliest days. “Only there won’t be someone accusing me of being a spy for their boss, which really did define those first few months.”

She meant it as a joke. She really should have known better. He always took these things too literally, so afraid of the teasing disguising a genuine anger that would only come out hours later when he had forgotten the transgression.

“Emily, I never apologised for my actions, but I need you to know-”

“You have apologised. I don’t need to hear the words to know how sorry you are. Also, it wasn’t really misplaced distrust was it?”

“Still. I am sorry. For everything.”

He isn’t just talking about those early days, she suddenly realises. He was talking about everything, from Milwaukee to Benjamin Cyrus to Ian Doyle. She longs to reach across and take his hand, rubbing her own fingers over the skin that he was always worrying, but that isn’t her job anymore.

It never had been. Even if she had wanted it to be.

“So am I,” she says. “I miss the man you were when I first joined,” she adds without thinking.

He frowns, the furrow so much like the look Jack had given her when she told him the previous night that one day, he would also be old like his dad and her. It hurt, to see how similar they were. Maybe it was because, where Hotch had always hated looking like his father, Jack would love it.

“Why?” he asks, voice slightly hoarse. He's afraid of her answer.

“You had more faith in people and their goodness. More hope for the future. I don’t blame you for changing. Still, it was a beautiful belief to witness and be a part of.”

“Haley always gave me a reason to believe in goodness,” he confesses, fiddling with the pen he had set down the moment she walked in.  

“Perhaps Beth can give you some more,” she says, without a single hint of jealousy or anger. She has no right to either of those emotions. Women like her, women that only hurt the people they loved and who were harsh and cruel and rough around the edges did not get men like him. 

Men like Aaron got soft and gentle women who saw nothing but the best in everyone. It was the only way that they could carry on doing their jobs. The only way any of them could carry on looking into the abyss without flinching was by having something that would be their solace. Something or someone untouched by the horrors of the day and evil of the night.

He has found his solace. She is still searching. Because he cannot be her solace anymore. It isn’t fair to either of them. She's not going to make him choose between loving her and loving Beth. She knows that people could love more than one person, but he already felt guilty for still loving Haley. After everything else she had put him through, she couldn't put him through the pain of knowing that she had always loved him, had always known just what his lingering stares meant, but had just never found the right time to say it all.

"When I said she deserves better than me, I didn't just mean because I'm broken."

"Aaron, you aren't-"

"Stop, let me- let me finish. I am. I have been for a while now. Maybe I was never whole to begin with. I meant that I'm in love with someone else. I thought I was over it, but I wasn't, and it was only when we started dating that I realised."

"Nobody can fault you for still loving Haley. She was torn from you in the most horrific way possible, and if you still love her, that's okay. Your heart has always been too big for just one person."

"I'm not talking about Haley," he whispers. "I'm talking about you."

"Aaron." 

"I love you," he chokes out.

He can't. He can't love her. If he loves her, he will end up in a coffin, buried in the ground because she always kills the people that love her. If he loves her, the flowers in his heart that were finally blooming after Haley's death caused them all to wilt would be permanently destroyed.

He stares at her. She looks away. The look on his face is too real. Too much. If she looks at him, she would end up tearing up the resignation and phoning Clyde to say she couldn't do it. She believes that there was a universe in which she was strong enough to stay. A universe in which she was still beautiful.

But in the universe she lives in, she isn't. She is hardened by life and terrified of love. In the universe where Aaron only knows how to say I love you when everything else failes, who had only ever heard the words used out of fear, shouted by a desperate mother as her husband refused to have mercy, she has gone too long without speaking.

"Say something. Even if it's that you hate me and that I'm a terrible person. Or that I'm being cruel and unfair because I am. You're ready to leave and I shouldn't be ruining your fresh start like this but I just-"

"I love you too," she says.

His jaw drops. "Emily," he breathes.

"I- I love you. I don't know when it started or when I realised, but I love you. I have for a while. I just- I couldn't say anything."

"Why?"

The question catches her off-guard. "What?"

"Why do you love me?" 

He's not searching for a compliment. He genuinely wants to know why she- with her beauty and strength and power and loyalty and kindness- could ever love him. 

"For the same reason you hate yourself."

He laughs. "That's funny. In some twisted way, that's funny. I love you for the same reasons you hate yourself too."

She looks at him. Him, with his tired eyes and gentle smiles. With his twisted definition of love because nobody ever taught him what it really was. Who believed he had to be perfect, or else people would leave. Who led the team with such passion and loyalty because Haley's love terrified him, and it was easy to push her away. Him, who still does not know the difference between safety and happiness and who does not understand where kindness and love differ.

And she knows that she cannot do it. She is not strong enough to love him the way he needs. Maybe a few years ago. Maybe if this was a few years later. But time was a funny thing. It was always working against them.

"I love you," she repeats.

"You won't stay though, will you?" there is no anger in his voice. Just an acceptance she hates. He always accepts things far too easily. 

"I can't."

"I know. It's okay. I don't want you to have any regrets. About anything."

He stands, and she follows almost immediately, her body still attuned to his movements. When he walks around to stand in front of her, she wonders if this is the climax of their story. If this is the final moment, where the tension peaks, and everything ends happily.

When he was a child, he pretended his life was like the films he never got to watch in order to escape the reality of it. He eventually accepted that life did not always come with closure and sometimes loose ends could not be tied up.

He holds out his hand for her. "Agent Prentiss. I wish you all the best in the future."

She refuses to take his hand. "You don't want me to have regrets?"

He drops his hand back down by his side. "Of course not Em. Of course not."

Without giving herself time to think, she closes the gap between them and stands on her tip-toes. He doesn't pull away, but his breathing goes uneven as it catches in his throat. He looks down at the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

There is so much about him she wants to learn. So much she wants to memorise but she doesn't have time. So she presses one soft and gentle kiss to his forehead, smiling through the sadness as he relaxes into the touch with a shaky exhale.

He doesn't move. He can't. And so she steps away, clearing her throat, wiping away the tear that threatens to fall. 

"Goodbye Aaron," she says, his first name slipping out without her even realising she was saying it.

"You only ever call me Aaron when you're saying goodbye. I'm not sure whether it makes me hate or love my name more," he says.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry," she says instead. She doesn't want to think about the reasons he hates his name. Or the irony of it meaning exalted, when every single person that was meant to protect him failed.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to look back and smile. And be proud of the lives you saved, the family you found. I want you to remember that you made me a better man. That you were right. I wasn't alone."

"None of us were. Will you come and visit me? Maybe help me get settled?"

It is selfish to ask, but she never claimed to be good. Aaron believes she is, but she knows she isn't. 

"Of course I will," he promises. How can he not, when he blames himself for every single bad thing that had happened since she joined?

She gave him one final smile before closing the door behind her, ready to start a new life but still feeling like her heart had been torn from her chest. He watches her go, only falling to the ground to sob when the elevator doors close behind her one last time.

In the end, he does not visit. He gets as far as picking his seat, when he realises he cannot do it. He cannot see her. When he phones Derek, pleading for him to go instead, and to take Penelope so Emily cannot be angry, he doesn't even pretend to hide the fact that he has been crying.

Derek doesn't even hesitate. He just says he'll do it.

Emily hates Aaron for being too much of a coward to come and see her, even after he told her to not have any regrets. She hates herself more for not being able to see him when she hears about the emergency surgery. Saving JJ becomes her apology.

Still, it's not enough for her. Which is exactly why it's too much for him. Because even when they're stood across from each other, drinks in hand as they celebrate JJ's survival, they cannot be honest.

And then she leaves him again. He can't blame her.

He blames time. They never had enough. Or the right one. 

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Ten

Read on AO3

“We can’t stay here.” 

 “No, we can’t.” Jamie pulled his wife onto his bare chest. “And wee Hamish has sent a letter, requesting his cousin’s aide. Though he was vague on which, I’m sure he wasna comfortable writing Jamie Fraser on something the English could see.” 

 “So we go to Leoch with Fergus?” 

“I willna put ye in danger, the travel there will be treacherous now wi’ the English on our throats everywhere.” 

 “Well, I’m certainly not leaving you, James Fraser. Have you forgotten I’m wanted too? We go together. And, with us gone, Lallybroch will be safer, we’ll be safer for a while. But…” 

 “What is it Sassenach?” 

 “I know you and the sea aren’t close friends, but ports shouldn’t be as monitored as they were right after Culloden. The islands will be safer, Charles even fled to the Isle of Skye to go to France. In the future, some islands are even able to retain some of their culture, their tartan. We can always go there, it would be safer while we wait… for a pardon.” 

 “A pardon?” He was shocked. 

 “Yes. When I returned I placed three letters in the post at Inverness. Copies of historical letters I assume. They may give us the freedom we want.” 

 A sharp breath escaped his lips and he slumped back on the chair. “Christ, a pardon. You know how well that went the last time.” 

 “But this time there’s no more war, we’re done with that horror.” 

 “Aye, we’ll seek Hamish, then if we canna stay, we’ll bide on one of the wee islands.”

 “What’s this about ye up and leaving Jamie Fraser! And dinna think I’m not cross wi’ ye too Claire!”

 “Jenny,” Claire took her hand, “you know it isn’t safe for us to stay here. We got lucky the last time.” 

 “And I’ll no’ have my wife sleeping in a cave.”

 “Well, ye two eejits could at least wait ‘til yer goddaughter is christened! Ye dinna ha’ to leave wi’ yer tails tucked between yer legs so soon.” 

 “Goddaughter.” Her heart warmed and she squeezed Jenny’s arm.

 “I ken yer already her aunt, but ye’d make a fine goddaughter to the lass. I suppose that would make yer daft husband her godfather. Puir lass.” She feigned pity for the tiny girl in her arms. “Would the both o’ ye wait, jes’ one more day?” 

 Claire looked back at Jamie but already knew their answer. “Of course.” 

 The ceremony was brief, the priest wasn’t prepared to perform it so soon. Caitlin gurgled up at Claire in her arms. The holy water was sprinkled over her tiny forehead in the small kirk near Lallybroch. Other than the slight cry from the chill of water, Caitlin was a perfect baby. The Frasers and Murrays all joined back together to Lallybroch to celebrate. They enjoyed a small stew of rabbit and potato, the most filling one in weeks. Father Ross had the death certificate for Fergus ready to sign, but on seeing the boy alive and healthy, he walked towards the fire in the Great Room. 

 “Wait,” Claire shouted to his back. “Don’t burn it. Jenny, will you sign that?” 

 “He’s clearly no’ deid Claire, are ye off yer heid?” 

 “No, it’s just, it’s important that the document isn’t destroyed. I can’t explain how.” 

 “Verra weel.” She plucked it out of the Father’s hands and went off to the study. She mumbled, knowing long ago not to question her sister's strange nature. 

 Claire had ripped through the fabric of her dresses and the contents of her leather bag to pull out every piece of gold, silver, and jewellery that was left during the hours waiting for Father Ross. It was little less than three years’ salary in her time, but now it would support Lallybroch for years to come. She dumped it all out on the dining and the jewels, gold, and silver scattered and clattered against the wood surface. She had put away some for her and Jamie of course, enough to be comfortable on their journey, but even with the small dent into the funds on the table, it was still an astounding sum. Jamie spied her wedding ring on a chain within the pile and raised a brow to her, but she shrugged her shoulders in reply. 

 “A christening gift.” 

 Everyone at the table stared dumbfounded at the treasure disorganised on the table. A ‘Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ’ was supplied by her son. 

 “How Claire?” Ian piped up. 

 “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you're asking.”

 “Well, how on earth did ye find so much?” Jenny yelled, exasperated. 

 “It was my inheritance from my parents and uncle. And the man whose advances I turned down…gave some of it to me.” 

 “Jesus, Mary, and Bride, ye’ve been hiding this away all this time?” 

 “No, I’ve just recently acquired it myself. But now, it can be put to good use instead of rotting in some bank. Take it, Jenny, use it to save Lallybroch from the famine, clearances, and drought to come.”

 Jenny planted a sloppy kiss onto Claire’s cheek and handed Caitlin over to Ian. She grabbed her arms and began jumping excitedly. Claire even thought she heard a squeal from the small woman. Displays of affection from the woman were rare, and Claire felt so happy and touched that she included her in it. 

 “Claire ye have no idea how this will help us.” 

 “I have some idea.” 

 Their packing was done, and the horses were all lined up for the journey. Jenny embraced Claire, and she was reminded of the parting before Culloden all over again. 

 “Ye come back to us sister,” she raised her voice to a shout so Jamie could hear, “I dinna care much if this oaf does.” 

 “I love ye too Janet.” He pulled her from Claire into a giant hug. 

 “Och, ye ken I love ye too, a bràithair. Now, try to come back to us as quick as ye can. Lallybroch will be missing her Laird.”  

 A plant along the trail made Claire pause. It was a forget me not, and though it was only the beginning of March, it was blooming brilliantly against the grass of the glen. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they were so close to the standing stones when she found it. She knew they needed to go back together, for closure. So she jumped off her horse and scooped her hands into the dirt. 

 “Jamie I want to go to Craigh na Dun before we stop into Inverness.” 

 Jamie pulled back on the reins of his horse and stalled in the middle of the path before Claire. He looked down at his wife and the flowers in her hands.

 “If you don’t want to that’s fine, I just wanted to plant these there, and we might never get another chance to do so.” 

 “Aye, we’ll go.”

 He dismounted his horse in one swift move. Carefully, Jamie helped Claire back up to her horse without crushing the delicate flowers in the process. Jamie passed the reins of his own horse to his son and climbed up behind his wife on her mare. 

 “Fergus, be a good lad and find a place to shelter in Inverness. Something not too in the open, or conspicuous either.” Jamie pulled out the bag of coins and tossed it to him. 

 “Oui, milord. I shall not fail you.” 

 Milord and papa, milady and maman, had become as interchangeable to Fergus as Jamie’s Sassenach, mo gràidh, mo nighean donn, and the countless other affectionate names he could come up with for his wife. 

 “Now off wi’ ye son, we’ll be shortly after.” 

 They held tight to each other, not able to bear even a second of lost connection. Fog clung to the air surrounding the tall monoliths and blocked the vision to the moor below. 

 “I wish I could punch it. But it won’t even let me do that.” 

 “How about this one to the side. Not too much danger of falling in fer yer wee hand.”

 She pulled slightly apart from him for the first time since they created the hi together. Her arm trembled as she reached out to lightly touch the stone closest to the centre one. Though it had become an unwitting victim of its brother’s actions, it would have to do. Lining up her arm, she delivered the first blow that jolted from the cold surface to the bones of her arm and shoulders 

 “Fuck you!” She screamed a gut-wrenching cry as she slammed her fist into the rock. “Fuck you! Fuck!”

 Her breath hitched and Jamie gathered her once again in his arms. He kissed her skinned knuckles. Giving her a few minutes to calm her racing heart and heaving lungs, Jamie cradled her tight to his chest, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. How many more tears would she cry, for something that was only the size of a blueberry? She knew she’d never lose the feeling of grief, but it would become more manageable most days. With her husband there to bear it with her, she knew it would be a certainty. 

 “I’m ready.” She patted his chest. “Are you?” 

 “Aye.” 

 “Do you want to punch it too?” 

 “No, that bastard stone’s taken too much from us. I won’t give it the satisfaction of flesh and blood from my hands as weel.” 

 She wanted to reach out and cradle the voice she had once heard to her chest, protect her against the violence of the stones. But it seemed it was her daughter instead who protected her. Digging the small hole into the ground by the outer stones, she smiled tearfully. Jamie’s strong hands were right beside hers, guiding the dirt away. Together they scooped the small plant into their hands, a mismatch of Jamie’s on top of Claire’s and then Claire’s on top of Jamie’s. They patted the dirt mound and encased the stems in the nutrients. With the task finished, Claire fell into Jamie’s lap and began to weep. She stroked his shirt with dirtied hands and left stains on the white linen. He rubbed the fabric on her back and Claire felt the moisture fall onto her hair and slowly down to her scalp. She offered him her sgian dubh and he etched into the centre stone with sharp angles, leaving the blade there as a gift.  Baby Fraser.  Claire’s hand trembled in his grip and she was almost consoled by the fact that she could feel his shaking too; he didn’t hide how it affected him as well. “I trust yer grandsire and grandmam are keeping ye out o’ trouble  a leannan . I love you. Tell Faith I love her too, and I ken she protects ye up there, but jes’ because she’s older doesna mean ye canna protect her as weel. Jes’ like I do fer yer auntie. Ye mind what yer family says, and we’ll meet again soon enough.” 

 Claire knelt down and gently cradled the small flower in her hand. “I love you, my baby girl. We love you so much.” 

 Jamie ripped off a strip from his sark and wrapped it around her bloodied knuckles with a kiss. They stayed to talk to the stone for a while. Jamie laughed with Claire after sharing an incident from his boyhood about a goat, some string, a bucket of shite, and his sister. Claire pulled out the photos from within her pockets and shared her child-self to their daughters, and the interesting marvels of the future. Jamie was proud he recognised the ‘airyplane’ from when Claire brought out the black and white pictures in the cave. He was bewildered of course at first, cursing the strange magic, but once he saw the brilliant smile of his Sassenach he knew the depiction couldn’t hold any evil. He especially liked seeing her as a bairn, with pigtails and a pink frilly dress and how the photos showed the change from cute baby to mature woman. She set one into the plastic wrap, a photo of her, her parents, and her uncle and buried it beneath the earth. 

 “Your family is with you always, my darling girl.” 

 With one last glance, they rode back to Inverness holding each other on the saddle. 

 Their short stay in Inverness was that: short. After the first night of full bellies and a warm fire, the innkeeper alerted the travellers to the presence of redcoats fifteen miles away. It gave them time to prepare themselves, instead of another hasty retreat to Leoch. 

 It was not nearly as strong of a fortress as it had once been. 

 Claire was put to use straight away, mending flesh and bone. Jamie was spirited away as well to advise his cousin in the Laird’s Tower. The only bright spot was the wonderful Mrs. Fitz. Fergus spent much of his time messing around the surgery and playing with the medicines, much to Claire’s annoyance. No matter how many times he insisted it would not happen again, his nimble little fingers were constantly filching items off of shelves and tables. So she sent him off to the kitchens.

 The ledgers had become impossible, and Leoch was close to ruin from partially funding the Jacobite cause. They felt the sharp absence of those who had fought bravely alongside them. None were left. Most of the men residing in the lands were either too old, too young, or too crippled to fight. There was talk of taking up a deal with the British, to leave Leoch and settle somewhere comfortable in America. Hamish was inclined to that option more and more each day. The Lairdship was not an easy thing for a twelve-year-old, let alone under such stress of a post-war climate. So, it was decided that the MacKenzies would sell Leoch to the British for land somewhere deep in Virginia. As much as it pained them to leave their culture and homeland in the hands of those bastards, they had no other choice. The lands produced nothing, the woodlands sparse, and their supplies pilfered by roaming soldiers. Claire felt guilty for the small amount of gold tucked into her dresses, but she told herself the amount she was left with couldn’t save them all. They stayed in constant communication with Jenny through letters and informed her of their impending move. Jenny wrote back to her cousins,  Alexander and Elizabeth Malcolm , just as often, if not more eager to know they were safe. 

 In the blistering heat of the summer, Claire, Jamie, and Fergus travelled in the safety of the band of MacKenzies. Virtually no redcoats bothered them on their way, patriot to king and country as the Laird most certainly was in their eyes. 

 At Ullapool, they said their last goodbyes as they split to different destinations. Jamie couldn’t possibly survive a month-long journey across the water. They purchased passage on the  Serendipity  and waited. 

 Jamie wretched off the side of the gangway as the ship made port. Stornoway, and from there they would hopefully find somewhere to settle down. A croft, north of Stornoway soon came to their attention. Most of their money went to purchase the land outright, they weren't too keen to rent one out as other crofters did, knowing the clearances would hit Scotland hard. So, Alexander Malcolm, his wife, and his son, began to build a home out of the small abandoned cottage. They hoped it would be temporary but would be fine if it wasn’t, for they had all they needed already: each other.

[carewyncromwell]

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

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

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

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

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

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

x~x~x~x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

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

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

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

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

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

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

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

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

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m down here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orion closed his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was...very moving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

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

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

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

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

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

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

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

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

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

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

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

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

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

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

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...And if he is a magic user?”

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

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

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

Bill was startled.

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

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

“...You went to your grandfather.”

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

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

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

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

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

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

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

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

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

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

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

Bill looked horrified.

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

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

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

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

“Bill?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

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

Carewyn was left speechless.

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

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

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

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

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

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

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